#f(x) four walls

[lokis-army-77]

Private Viewing

Camboy!Eddie Munson x fem reader

Word Count: 6.8k

What happens when your favorite camboy is in your class? You should stop watching his content... or should you? What happens when you are eventually paired together for a project? Everything will be just fine, won't it?

Warning: 18 +. This is pure fucking filth. Spit, masturbation (m and f), use of vibrators and fleshlight, choking, multiple orgasms, squirting, oral (f reviving), fingering, voyeurism? Soft!dom Eddie, tell me if I'm missing anything.

Thank you @lesservillain for giving me this wonderful idea. 💗 and @munson-blurbs for figuring out if I should do this for Steve or Eddie and for helping give me a title💗.

Masterlist

Nothing but slick sounds filled your room, the occasional deep moan calling out from your laptop speakers accompanying your own sweet cries. The guy on the screen, Ed as he called himself, or DungeonMaster as he was known on Only Fans and Twitter, was fisting his cock in his heavily ringed hand. He was putting on a show for more than ten thousand viewers but the way he stared down the camera with those dark eyes made you think he was watching you, fucking his hand to the way you were pumping your fingers in and out of your soaking wet pussy. 

You had stumbled upon his Twitter three months ago and he immediately captured your eye. The way his tattoos wrapped around his pale skin, how he wasn’t all lean muscle like the other OF guys, his tummy by no means a six-pack but he still looked strong enough to sweep you off your feet with ease. His moans were heavenly and so was the deep timber of his force as he praised you through the thirty-second video clip. It was all enough to convert you from your usual consumption of smutty books to the infamous Only Fans sight. 

Since then, his streams and videos have become the one and only thing you get off to. And like then, tonight was no exception. 

You were so close to the edge, Ed’s moans spurring you on. Your fingers move at an almost inhuman pace in and out, in and out. 

“Rub that clit for me, baby. Need you to cum.” He groaned, head resting on his shoulder as he continued you pleasure himself. 

“Fuck!” You gasp as you rub your clit with your free hand. Your rhythm is horribly off but it doesn’t matter, you are so close to cumming. So so so close. “Please,” you beg out into your empty room. You aren’t too sure why or what you are pleading for. More friction? More fingers? More words of encouragement from him? Maybe you’re asking to cum? 

It’s like he had heard you through the screen as he moaned out, “That’s a good girl. Just like that. Doing so well for me. You gonna cum baby? Yeah? Me too. Want me to count for you?” He nods his head lazily. “I knew you would baby. Okay. Five.”

You want to cry.

“Four.” 

The strings tugging inside you are becoming taut.

“Three.”

You feel like you’re going to explode. He’s counting too slowly.

“Two.”

The tears are flowing now.

“One.”

You let out a strangled scream.

“Cum baby. Do it, now.”

Your walls clench around your fingers and your legs snap shut, trapping your fingers. Every muscle in your body is shuddering as those strings snap and your release comes out in a stream, wetting your hand and the bed. Your hearing has gone, there’s a ringing in your ears but you can faintly hear Ed cumming as well. 

With watery vision and slow movements, you turn to face your laptop screen just in time to see his tattoo-covered chest painted with milky white ropes of cum. 

When the ringing subsides you hear him say more clearly, “Thata girl. Always make me cum so much.” He takes a towel and wipes off his chest and stomach before adjusting the camera view to the shoulders up. “Get you some rest baby, I’ll see you on Thursday.” 

And then the live is over. 

Slowly, sluggishly, you remove your hands from between your legs and begin the now regular clean-up routine before going to bed. 

…

Three days later, Thursday rolls around, and thus begins the fall semester of your junior year of college. It’s a groggy morning, everyone is tired and very unenthusiastic about having an 8 a.m. advanced music composition class. 

You had struggled to get out of bed at six this morning just to get one of the dorm showers first before they were all taken up. Luckily two of the five were open and you were able to get to class a whole twenty minutes early, even having time to grab coffee at the on-campus Starbucks on the way.

The music building was old and the tables you and your fellow students sat at were even older. It all added to the sleepy ambiance. Your eyes drooped and you yawned every time someone else did, the black coffee you had chugged not doing anything for you. 

You’re only awoken when your professor, a stout old man with a very severe receding hairline, slams open the door to the classroom a little too hard and it hits the brick wall, creating a loud, startling bang. 

He apologizes before making his introduction.  He then gets out a clipboard with a sheet attached and hands it off to a girl in the front row, instructing everyone to fill in their name and school email for his role sheet.

It’s only once you’ve finished and passed the clipboard on, that you notice the guy two seats down from you looks vaguely familiar. You can’t quite put a finger on it and it bugs you. 

His hair is pulled back into a messy bun and his clothes make him look like the alternative guy of your dreams back in high school. He’s got rings on almost every finger and an aura that just screams confidence. 

It begins to become a problem, your inability to place this guy's face. You’ve only taken a handful of notes the entire first hour and thirty minutes into this two-hour class. Your eyes are constantly staring at him no matter how hard you try to make yourself pay attention. 

Then, he raises his hand to answer one of your professor's questions. That’s when it clicks. Your pen falls from your grasp and your mouth forms an O. 

“Oh my fucking god. No. It can’t be.” You think to yourself but just to be sure you take out your phone, turn the brightness and volume down, and hide it under the table. You open Twitter as fast as you can and you don’t even have to look for his user, he’s the first post on the screen. 

Ed @ DungeonMaster86 was boldly displayed above a picture of the guy sitting next to you with his massive dick in his hand. 

It’s a wonder you weren’t caught with how you practically choked on thin air and began furiously looking from your phone to the guy and then back to your phone. 

Your stomach drops. You can’t keep watching his videos, can you? That wouldn’t be right. That would be weird, watching the porn your classmate makes. 

When class is finally called to an end you pack up as quickly as you can and bolt out the door to your next class, hoping that by getting away from Ed, you'd be able to concentrate. Out of sight, out of mind.

That statement turns out to be false when he is in your next class and when you spot him in the student commons talking with another guy. It's like once you made the connection of who he was, he was everywhere.

…

Arriving back at your dorm, you throw your backpack on your desk, snatch your laptop out of it, and struggle to jump up onto your bed. Never had you been so thankful for the single dorm than this moment as your curser hovered over the bookmarked Only Fans page at the top of your screen. No roommate meant no one would see the moral dilemma you were currently losing with yourself. 

‘You know him, it’s wrong to keep watching his videos.”

‘What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him though. The only way he would know you are watching is if you tell him, you aren’t going to tell him, are you?’

‘No…’ 

‘Then it’s okay, it’ll just add an extra element of taboo to his streams. Plus, he’d miss you in the chat.’

You sigh as the devil on your shoulder wins out once again, talking you into something you know you shouldn’t be. But hey, it feels good to be bad. 

Steadily, you click on his bookmarked profile and the first thing to pop up is the live stream that is currently in session. And against your better judgment, you enter the stream.

He’s only just started, people are slowly filtering in. Ed is sitting on the edge of his bed, shirt off, and a singular, ringed hand teasing himself through his black jeans. 

You breathe a sigh as he looks into the camera, eyes half-lidded, luring you in. It does the job, because in an instant your fingers are typing out a message in chat. 

Princess23: hi Ed

His eyes flicker as he reads his messages, smiling as he replies to you. "Hi, Princess. How's my girl been?"

There's a bubble of excitement at the fact that he recognizes your username, even if you've been a regular in the chat for months.

Princess23: stressful… you've been distracting me.

The reply to his question is truer than he realizes. 

"Aww, princess, is that so? You've been thinking of me?" He leans back on his free elbow, still groping himself with the other hand.

Princess23: yes. been thinking about your cock, how much I want it in my mouth. 

It's one of the less bold comments you make but it makes you blush all the same, especially now.

"Yeah? You want me to fuck that pretty little mouth? Of yours?"

Princess23: yes please

"Mmm." He hums, fingers now fumbling with the button and zipper of his jeans. 

You set your laptop to the side and start to situate yourself. Slowly taking your clothes off one by one. 

Ed replies to a few more comments before announcing that it's time to start.

He leaves the screen for just a moment before coming back with something in his hand. Smirking at the camera he shows it. A flashlight in the shape of a mouth.

"This one’s for you, Princess. Since you need my dick so bad," Ed explains. He sets it on his bed before making a show of taking his jeans and boxers off. 

As you watch, your hands roam your body. Fingers pinching and pulling at your sensitive nipples before trailing down. The light touch over your ribs makes you giggle. Then you rub and scratch at the inside of your thighs. 

Ed's moans are now coming through your speakers, you tilt your head to watch.

"Spit on my cock baby, get it nice and wet for me." He commands before spitting in his own hand and rubbing it on his thick length. 

"Your mouth looks so pretty like this, waiting, drooling for me. Need me to fill it so bad don't you, baby?" 

"Yes." You answer him breathlessly, fingers teasing around your mound. 

You watch and he sits back down on his bed, thighs spread, a hand cupping his balls and the other grabbing the fleshlight. He lets out a long, drawn-out moan when he inserts his cock into the fake mouth. 

"Fuck baby, your mouth feels so perfect." 

You can't help but whine. Allowing your fingers to finally circle your clit. 

The both of you go one like this for a bit. Him fucking the fleshlight and you massaging your clit. But then you need more, more than your hand can give you. So you reach to your bedside table, stretching at an uncomfortable angle to open the drawer and pull out the purple mini wand you kept there.

The vibrations start slow and constant as you press the toy to your clit. It pulls soft, quiet noises from you as you watch your computer screen. Your mind is blank, filled only with the pretty sounds Ed is making, the way his body looks, and the pleasure between your legs.

There are no thoughts. You follow his lead. When his hand speeds up, you kick up the vibrations, when he slows down, you turn the vibrator back to the first level. 

It's a rollercoaster, almost, taking your pleasure for a ride. The stream isn't even done yet when you feel that tight pull in your abdomen. The toy works you up fast. 

So you stop. Taking the toy away and changing positions. On your hands and knees, you hug a pillow to your chest and prop the toy up under you, keeping it standing as you push your clit down onto it. It's not even on and it's making your hips buck in sensitivity.

You turn it back on and immediately feel the slick seeping from your cunt and running down the toy. 

"Oh fuck," you cry.  Your eyes locked on the screen where Ed has also changed positions. 

He's got his own toy lying on the bed and he's laying over it. The way his leg and glute muscles contract as he thrusts into the toy has you memorized. 

He chants, "Baby, baby, baby." Over and over. What you would give to have him chanting your name instead. Like a prearranged falling from his lips, praising you, worshiping you.

The need for him grows and so does the tightness in your core. 

Reaching your hand down you turn the speed up. Your hips buck into the toy and you bury your face in the pillow. You're close.

He’s not far behind. Peering up from your pillow you can see his thrusts are sputtering. Sporadic as he draws close to his end. 

“God dammit, baby. Gonna cum in this perfect mouth of yours. Fuck. Can you swallow it like the good pet you are? Hum? The good pet I know you can be?”

“Yes.” You turn up the vibrator. “Fuck, wanna swallow all of you. Please.” 

The vibrations are becoming too much but you keep the toy pressed into you, hips shaking at the feeling of being overstimulated. 

Without warning, you cum with a guttural cry into your pillow. Body spasming, muscles twitching. You can still hear Ed moaning and the sloppy sounds of his cock fucking the fleshlight. 

With barely any energy you reach down between your heavy body and the bed and turn your toy off. You don’t even bother with your computer, too exhausted and fucked out to exit the stream. You fall asleep to the sounds of your new classmate's self-pleasure. 

…

It’s October now. The semester is halfway over and you’ve still been watching Ed, or Eddie. You learned his actual name in class when your professor called role on him by name the second week. 

Today you are being assigned a partner for the final project. You have your fingers crossed that Eddie won’t be chosen as your partner but as your professor calls out pairs, it seems luck is against you. 

You freeze when your name is called and directly after so is Eddie’s. You groan internally. How the hell are you supposed to do this? You already have trouble concentrating when he sits two seats away, what’s going to happen when he actually interacts with you?

There isn’t much time to think about that as he abruptly moves from his seat to the one directly next to you. 

“Hi.” He says, eyes bright and expectant. “I’m Eddie.” He holds out his hand for you to shake but you just stare at him. He looks at you curiously before waving his hand in front of your face. “Hello? Cat got your tongue?”

You snap out of your stupor and accept his hand, shaking it as you introduce yourself. “Sorry. I was a bit out of it.” You say, trying to play it off as you just staring off into space. 

“No problem.” He smiles. “Uh, do you want to exchange numbers so we can figure out when we can work on this together?” 

“Oh, yeah. Here,” You open your phone and push it to him with the messages app open. “You can text yourself.” 

He does just that, even going as far as putting in his contact name as Eddie with the skull and crossbones emoji beside it. 

“Great. I’ll text you when I’m free. I have work on Mondays and Thursdays, sometimes on Saturdays, but other than that I’m usually free.”

You nearly choke when you realize he’s given you his streaming schedule. “I- uh. Okay. Just text me when you can.”

"Sure thing sweetheart." He grins at you before standing, grabbing his things, and heading out of class along with the rest of the students. 

You sit there for a minute, thinking. God, what are you getting yourself into?

…

You both have finally come up with meeting times that work for both of you. Tuesday and Wednesday after seven. Giving you time to get to the school library after the closing shift at your on-campus job. 

It’s been two weeks of working together on this project and it’s been easier than you had originally thought to concentrate on the task at hand and keep your dirty thoughts at bay. 

Right now, you are both sitting in one of the private study rooms looking at Eddie’s computer as he explains why this particular cord progression would fit with the emotions you are trying to convey in your composition. 

You sigh, “Eddie, as much as I love that sound, I really don’t think it fits with the overall composition of the song. It isn’t as emotionally charged as I’d like it to be.”

“Well show me something similar to what you’re wanting.” He rakes his hand through his hair. It’s been a long night for each of you. It seems that every new section of the song you are creating for the project gives you a new challenge to work through together. 

You pull out your phone and Eddie leans over to watch as you begin to type. There is a particular song you are thinking of that has the weight and emotion you are trying to convey with your own music and as you type the first letter of the song, O, the first suggestion that pops up is onlyfans/DungeonMaster. 

Mortified, you slam your phone down on the table. Eddie looks at you with an eyebrow raised. 

“What was that?” He asks.

“What was what?” You answer. 

“Why did you slam your phone down?”

“Oh, I just forgot the title of the song.”

“Right…” He scratches under his chin and then stretches back in his chair. “Why don’t we call it quits for tonight? It’s getting late and we aren’t going to agree on anything if we’re both tired.”

A yawn suddenly comes up out of nowhere and you then realize how tired you actually are. “That sounds good to me.” You agree with Eddie and begin packing up your things. You don’t want to be with him longer than you need to be right now, even if he seemingly didn’t notice his OF user pop up on your phone screen. 

“Bye Eddie.” You wave to him on your way out the door.

Faintly you hear him call out to you, giving a goodbye of his own. "See ya, sweetheart."

… 

After your little slip, you began avoiding Eddie. At least in person, you still tuned into his streams. You bailed on the next three meetups you had planned, helping only through voice notes and text. Eddie said he understood when you said your boss was forcing you to stay late to deep clean. 

It was Thursday now and when you saw him in class he barely looked your way and you wondered if he had seen what you hoped he had not. 

You tried stopping him once your lecture was over, feeling an anxiousness creeping into your mind. Your conscience had been telling you to come clean. To explain your perversion. Let him know you watched him, that you paid to enjoy seeing him fuck into a toy or his hand. 

You called out his name and reached for his arm. "Eddie."

He turns to you. "Hum?"

You take a deep breath to ground yourself. "I wanted to say sorry for not being able to come help with the project."

"It's okay, you said you had work." He replies, unbothered. 

"No, Eddie, I didn't get held back at work. That was a lie."

He doesn't look all too surprised. 

"I've kinda been avoiding you because- well, because of what I think you might have seen on my phone that day."

Eddie stops you there. "Can this wait until later? I've really got some errands to run before work."

"Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry to keep you Ed." You had meant it as a nickname but as it came pushing past your lips it was too late to take it back. You had never heard anyone call him that outside of his onlyfans. 

You watched as his eyes widened at the name and a spark went off behind them. "I'll see you later sweetheart." The smirk he gives you isn't the usual playful one you'd seen him throw before. No, this was sinister, like he knew.

Your heart fell into your stomach as you watched him walk away, leaving you alone.

Tonight as you logged into the stream, it wasn’t to get off. It was to see if he'd show any signs of knowing you might be lurking about among the thousands of viewers.

When the video loads, Eddie is sitting in his desk chair. He's talking to the chat like he always does. There's something different in the atmosphere around him, mischief if you've placed it correctly. 

He keeps replying to comments until the clock reaches 6:10. It's time for the show to begin. 

"Tonight I have a very special treat for you guys." Eddie starts as he reaches over just off camera to his desk. "I've got the wand out." 

The chat erupts. Eddie doesn't bring his vibrator out often, but when he does, you know it's going to be a good show for every party involved. 

"I would also like to say hello to a special quest in the stream tonight." Eddie’s smirk gets bigger and your heart pounds in your chest. "Hi, sweetheart. Hope you enjoy yourself." 

You feel like you've been shot. There's a ringing in your ears and your breathing has stopped. 

He knows. Fuck. He definitely knows. You've never heard him say that pet name on camera. It's always babe or baby when he refers to the collective whole watching the stream. Eddie has only ever used that name with you.

Eddie starts up the vibrator, tracing it over his covered cock. He hums at the feeling, loud and long. 

You clench your thighs together. You tell yourself you should stop watching but you can't bring yourself to. 

'He knows." You argue with yourself.

'But he wants you to watch. Why else would he say his pet name for you? Why else would he say he hopes you enjoy yourself? He knows and he likes it.'

The devil on your shoulder makes sense again and you curse it. 

So, you watch. Intently, you watch. Your eyes never leave the screen. 

Eddie whimpers once he has his cock out of his pants. The tip is a deep purple/red color, showing how worked up he's gotten already.

He lets his head fall back, resting on his chair as he moves the vibrator down to his balls. He presses it into himself before dragging it up his shaft and to the head. 

You feel a wetness seeping into the cotton of your panties and as his legs widen, yours press together more. 

"Oh fuck. Oh fuck, sweetheart." Eddie moans, mouth open slack and eyes squeezed shut. 

You can't believe he's saying your pet name and making those noises. You wonder what he's thinking about. How you'd look sucking on his cock? Maybe what it would be like to be pounding into you, watching your cunt suck him in and clench around him. 

Eddie grits his teeth when he turns the speed up. One hand is holding the vibrator just at the frenulum while the other is cupping and squeezing his balls. 

Your thoughts are running wild and your hips have started to rock in search of some kind of friction.

He moves his hand from his balls and begins to tug on his shaft. Deep guttural moans fill the air, and the sound of them turns you on even more. 

It's not long before Eddie is bucking his cock into his hand. You can see his muscles straining in his legs as he does. 

"Fuck fuck fuck- ah fuck sweetheart, you've got me so close. Fuck." His voice is pinched. You can see the exhaustion in the furrow of his eyebrows as he pressed the vibrator over his tip, the change in placement making his hips shudder. “God, I’m gonna cum. The thought of you is gonna make me cum, sweetheart.” 

Hearing his breathy, deep, timber of a voice say that the thought of you was going to do him in had you thinking you might just cum too. No touching required, just Eddie and his beautiful noises. 

In a matter of seconds, Eddie is choking on his words as his balls go taut. He lets out a drawn-out grunt and ropes of cum begin to spurt out over his chest, covering him like a painting. He doesn’t even bother to clean himself up before he looks into the camera and says good night, chuckling when he mentions your particular pet name again. Then, the screen goes dark. 

…

Fridays are slow in the used bookshop you work at. Especially after 4:30. No one had been inside in maybe an hour? Your boss left early, leaving you alone to close down at 6. For the past fifteen minutes, you’ve been putting misplaced books back where they belong, sweeping, and tidying up anything else you see. 

Because of the usual slowness, you have your headphones on. The music isn’t loud but it does drown out the sound of the bell chiming as someone enters the building. You are unaware of the person creeping up behind you until you are suddenly turned around and corralled against the bookshelf. 

You let out an alarmed screech only for your mouth to be covered by a big, warm hand. Your headphones fall to the floor beside you as they are accidentally knocked off your head. You hear his voice then, whispering in your ear. 

“Hi, Sweetheart.” 

“Eddie-” You heave, relieved it wasn’t someone coming to kill you in cold blood.

“Did you enjoy my show last night?” He leans back, caressing a strand of hair away from your face. 

You shake your head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You deny. Even after you had told yourself you would come clean to him, granted that was before you knew he knew your secret. 

“You don’t know, do you? I think you do why else would my account have popped up on your search suggestions the other day?” 

Keeping your mouth shut, you refuse to answer. 

Eddie takes your chin between his fingers and moves your face to the side as he leans into you. His lips tickle the shell of your ear as he speaks again. “So… Which one of my subs are you? Hum?”

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. 

Eddie tuts. “Don’t get all shy on me. Tell me. Now.” His tone is dominating. It’s one thing to hear it over a computer speaker, it's another when you hear it in person. His presence alone had your knees knocking. 

“I-I,” You can't help but stutter. “It’s Princess23.” You shamefully tell him your user, eyes looking anywhere but his.

He sucks in a breath. “Oh, Princess. That was you?”

He forces you to look at him and you nod your head. 

You hate that he’s making you look him in the eye, but you can see what’s swirling around deep within them. Desire, lust, dominance, but nothing mean. Nothing hurtful. 

As you watch him, you catch the minute changes in his expression. His jaw clenches and his eyes darken, a hunger taking over as he stares you down. 

“I can give you a private show if you want, baby.” He leans back in. “Right here,” He nipps at your ear lobe. “Right now.” 

“Eddie, we can’t… We’re at my work.” 

He looks around you, head swiveling to peer down both ends of the aisle. “It’s fine Sweetheart, no one’s here but us, right?”

“Yes, but-”

He cuts you off with a finger over your lips. 

“Then let me show you why the real thing is so much better than what you’ve seen online.” He doesn’t give you time to think before his lips are on yours. 

They are soft, almost pillow-like as they mold against yours. His tongue slithers its way into your mouth, tasting you, he moans when he does. 

To you, he tastes like menthol cigarettes and black coffee with the faintest hint of weed. It’s intoxicating, and addicting. You’ve only had one taste and now you won't be able to function without him.  

His hand cups your cheek and pulls you closer. Your arms wrap around his neck, fingers tugging at his hair. His body keeps you pinned to the shelves and he spreads your legs by inserting one of his own between them.

With him being so much taller than you, it only takes you barely bending your knees for you to make contact with his thigh. You are thankful when he doesn’t stop you from humping his leg. The friction of you rubbing yourself against him has the seam of your pants pressing against your clit. It’s a wonderful pressure that leaves your mind blank. 

When he pulls away, you follow, not wanting his mouth to leave yours. Eddie chuckles when you give a needy whine. 

"It's okay baby, I'll give you what you want." He coos. "But first, since you wanna get yourself off, you've got to make yourself cum on my leg."

You pout. "But Eddie…"

"Ah ah, don't complain sweet girl, you'll only make it take longer. Now get to work."

You do as he says, rolling your hips with purpose against him. He doesn't help you at all, he only provides support and kissed along your jaw every few seconds as he watches you work. 

It's harder than you thought it would be. The layers of denim dulled the sensations yet added to the tension your clit felt as the fabric rubbed against it. 

"Mmm, fuck." You gasp, fingers gripping onto Eddie’s shoulders. "M'so close. Eddie, I'm so close."

He smiles at you and he gives your body gentle touches. "That's it, Princess. Let go. Being such a good girl for me."

You moan loudly at his praise. 

"That right sweet girl, use me to get yourself off. That's it, keep going."

His words are spurring you on, your hips, although losing their rhythm and steadiness, keep going strong. Then, you feel it. That tautness in your tummy and the ache in your bones. You are so close.

"Please, Eddie. Ah- so close. Need more." Your words are short and your hips move faster. 

"What is it, baby? What do you need?" Eddie asks, willing to give you just a little.

"Kiss me again," you beg. 

He obliges. Taking your face in his hands and practically devouring you. 

The canter of your hips stalls as your body shudders against him. A sticky wetness can now be felt,  uncomfortably, between your legs.

"So good for me." He praises.

You can feel how hard he is, his needy cock prominently pressing into your thigh.

"Wanna feel you. Eddie please, I need to feel you." You're practically begging him to fuck you now.

"Yeah, sweet girl? You need me to stretch that pretty pussy on my dick? Make you feel so good, baby." He trailed his kiss down to your neck, stopping only to suck and nip at the sensitive skin. 

You nod frantically. "Yes, yes Eddie. Need you inside me."

Hands rush to unbutton pants, fingers caress bare skin, breaths hitch. You tug at Eddie's pants impatiently as he pulls your own down. The sudden feeling of cold air hitting the pool of slick between your thighs. 

You are both a whirlwind of arms and clothes and a few books falling from their shelf. Eddie’s fingers make their way to your center, exploring between your folds. 

You throw your head back, cracking it on the shelf above. "Ow," You moan out in pain.

"Careful there, Sweetheart." He gives you another kiss and moves his unoccupied hand to cradle your head.

The pain is instantly forgotten when two of his thick fingers circle your clit before pushing into your entrance.

"Mmmm- god." He feels so good inside you, fingers curling into your walls. The wet slick of him moving fills the stagnant air of the bookstore.

"You're sucking me in, baby. Pussy squeezing me so tight." Eddie rests his forehead on yours, his breath mixing with your own. "Can't wait to feel you around my cock."

Gasping in response, you buck your hips up into his hand. "More-"

It doesn't take much convincing for Eddie to pull his hand from between your legs and position his hard length at your entrance. Slowly he slips inside, meeting no resistance with how wet you are. 

Eddie pushes into you, cock stretching you out farther than you think you've ever been before. His one hand rests on the back of your head while the other pushes your shaking hand out of his way as he goes to press it against your neck.

You grasp his arm, nails scratching his skin as he chokes you. 

"Oh- oh, Eddie. Fuck me." You cry, cunt fluttering around him. 

Your words are music to his ears. His pace begins steadily. In and out at a lazy, leisurely speed. Then he picks it up, hips bucking faster and faster. 

He's giving it all to you. Everything you've dreamed of since you saw him on your Twitter all those months ago.

The head of his cock is repeatedly hitting that one spot inside of you that makes your toes curl. You can’t keep yourself up. The feelings coursing through you have your knees buckling and Eddie does a good job at catching your weight. 

He stops his movements to try and situate you. “Come on, baby, gotta stand up.” 

You shake your head. “I can’t, s’too much.” Your heart is pounding in your chest, if you even tried to stand you would just fall again. “There's a couch.” You point to the back of the store. “It’s in the break room.” 

Eddie grunts as he hoists you up in his arms and follows your directions. 

The couch is old and made of leather. It is cold on your skin as Eddie lays you down and you shiver as he rips your pants and underwear from around your ankles. Never would you have ever imagined being naked from the waist down in your work break room. 

In contrast to the cool leather, Eddie’s hands are searing hot. He grips the back of your knees, picking your legs up and spreading you out. You’re almost folded in half. 

“Jesus fucking christ. You. Are. Beautiful.” He enunciated every word. The complement has you keening and clenching around nothing. “Fuck, look at that pretty cunt. She’s gaping for me.” Eddie smiles, eyes flickering to yours before looking back to your most intimate part. 

You let out a wonton gasp when he spits, a glob of it falling right atop your parted slit. Eddie takes a hand away and grabs his cock. He rubs the tip through your folds, giving your clit a heavy tap tap tap before entering you again and grabbing the back of your knee again. 

Eddie wastes no time in pistoning his hips into yours. The new angle gives him free range of movement to fuck you fast and deep. The skin of his thighs makes a sharp slapping sound when he connects with your ass, it sets the rhythm for the song of your shared moans. 

“Pull your shirt up.” He commands and you do as he says. Lifting your shirt up and over your breasts. Eddie lets out an irritated grunt at the sight of your bra. “That too.” He puffs out and you pull it up as far as it will allow. 

Your breasts bounce as Eddie fucks you mercilessly into the couch. His eyes are shamelessly trained on them. “Fucking hell, Princess. Gimmie our hands.” 

You reach out for him and he grabs your wrists, guiding you to hold your legs back like he had been doing. With the newfound freedom of his hands, he extends them out to play with your tits.  He pinches and tugs at your nipples, making you moan in pleasure as he continues his assault. His thrusts become faster, harder, more desperate. You know he's close and you can't take much more either. 

“Eddie… Ah- Eddie-” You babble out his name. You wiggle under his hold and the harsh prodding of his cock into your cervix. The strings of another orgasm are being pulled tight. 

He growls. “I know baby, I know. Fucking cum for me. Cum on my cock.” 

Tears well up in your eyes and begin to overflow. Your body writhes, back bowing, muscles straining. You’re on the precipice. 

Eddie sees how close you are and moves a hand down between your legs, circling his thumb over your slick-covered clit. 

“Oooh- Oh fuck!” You scream. “Shit shit shit shitshitshitshit…. Ah!” 

“Louder.” He moans. “Want the whole town to hear you sweet girl.” 

“Eddie! Oh, I’m there. I’m fucking there.” You cry, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as you let go. A scream erupts from your throat. Even in your ecstasy, you can feel Eddie’s tempo shift. He’s losing speed. 

“Goddammit. I cumming too.” Eddie whimpers, sinking into you fully. His cum fills you up and you can fill you as it runs down your ass as he pulls out. 

Your body is twitching as he moves you to lay more fully on the couch. He doesn’t follow though. No. He sinks to his knees and before your foggy mind can even comprehend it, he attaches his mouth to your pussy.  

You are pliant under his touch, unable to resist. His tongue explores you and you moan in pleasure. He’s lapping up the mixture of his cum and your slick, humming at the taste the whole time. 

You choke back a sob when his tongue flicks repeatedly over your clit before he begins to suck on the already abused bud. “Eddie, please.” Reaching down you tug on his hair but he doesn’t move. “Ed-” He starts shaking his head, burying himself in your pussy. 

Another orgasm is quickly approaching. Your breathing quickens and you can feel your body trembling as he works you up, sending you higher and higher until you can’t take it anymore. Your orgasm hits you like a wave, and your body spasms in pleasure. He doesn't stop, continuing his ministrations until you finally come down from your high once more.

“Christ. You taste so good.” He says as he crawls up your spent body. Draping himself over you he places kiss after tender kiss all over your face. “Did so good for me. I’m so proud of you.” 

“Yeah?” You whisper. 

“Mhum. So proud.” He grins, the light of the room catching in the wetness covering him from nose to chin. 

Eddie cuddles into you more and your eyes close. He’s exhausted you. You both lay there in silence, content in each other's presence. Eddie eventually falls asleep, his breathing slow and steady. You don’t have the heart or the energy to wake him. You stay awake, just barely, still in awe of what happened. 

It feels like hours have gone by when you finally do shake Eddie, calling out to him softly. He stirs, grumbling as he looks up at you. 

“Eds, baby, I need to lock up.” 

He only rests his head back down between your breasts. You shake him again. 

“Eddie.” You say it a bit more sternly. “Get up and I’ll let you take me back to yours.” 

That gets his attention and he’s up and dressing himself in an instant. You on the other hand are slower, feeling the prominent ache between your legs. He has to help you pull your panties and jeans back on. 

He has to help you close the store as well, your legs weak and not trusted to hold up your body weight without crumbling to the ground. 

Never had you thought this was how this would end. Sitting in the passenger seat of your favorite camboy's car as he drives you to his apartment, grinning like the Cheshire cat as you both think of all the fun things you’ll get up to. Round two was bound to be wilder than the first. 

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things smut #stranger things fic #female reader #camboy!eddie #camboy!eddie munson #soft!dom eddie

[shuaflix]

kim mingyu’s (unhelpful) guide to losing your virginity

❝ you’re telling me that you, Miss Dick Repellent, had sex with Captain Chastity By Choice over here. ❞

PAIRING ▸ kim mingyu x fem!reader

GENRES ▸ smut, fluff, humor, college au, best friends to lovers au, friends with benefits au

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, alcohol consumption, rated m for mingyu, slow burn, he fell first but she fell harder but then he tripped and ate shit, probably the most self-indulgent thing i’ve written, mingyu and mc are both virgins, sexual content, sexual tension, protected and unprotected sex (i would not advise doing the latter), lots of teasing and banter, oral (f. and m. receiving), fingering, wall sex, couch sex, public sex, mingyu discovers what pasties are, soonyoung orders 20 connect fours, they are avid enjoyers of the barbie movies

SUMMARY ▸ after accidentally telling your friends that kim mingyu took your virginity (he didn't), you’re shocked when he proposes to relieve you of the fabled v-card for good (he does).

PLAYLIST ▸ perfect by one direction • spell by niki • fatal flaw by ellise • give me a kiss by lolo zouaï • step? by bibi

WORD COUNT ▸ 31,273 words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ someone (fia) once told me i write too many college aus. i said yeah ur right. and i’m gonna do it again

“BIRDS AND BEES CANNOT PHYSICALLY FUCK.”

You sounded more distressed than informative while you were trying to reason with your longtime best friend, Kim Mingyu. He, on the other hand, appeared visibly worked up over this childish level of argument you two were having.

“It is a metaphor,” he said. “Everyone knows birds and bees aren’t screwing each other up in the trees.”

You still couldn’t wrap your head around it. Hours ago, you had fucked yourself over after Kwon Soonyoung had casually brought up the topic of body counts. After everyone in your friend group went around listing theirs (Soonyoung: 3; Jungwoo: 3; Minghao: 2; Vernon: 5), you accidentally blurted out that your body count actually existed—one, to be exact.

This was a problem because, to everyone’s prior knowledge, you were a virgin.

Sure, you kissed a few guys before—maybe had a few heated makeout sessions—but you never really went all the way. Yeah, Mark Lee was coming onto you freshman year, but before he could start sliding his hand down your pants, you nearly screamed and killed the vibe. It was safe to say that Mark never thought about trying to get with you again.

After being barraged with questions about who finally claimed your v-card, you decided to blurt out the one name that felt the safest to you.

And that was Kim Mingyu.

Now, you and Mingyu had been friends for a long time, dating back to your freshman year of college when he wound up being your dorm neighbor. After about a month of Mingyu only knocking on your door to use your printer or air fryer, your relationship finally upgraded to having semi-deep conversations and going to the dining hall together. Eventually, Kim Mingyu became a staple in your life—or perhaps more like a pesky gnat you couldn’t get rid of.

Either way, since you figured that Mingyu was equally as sexually inexperienced as you were, you felt as though your safest bet was to keep your secret with him. This way, the both of you could finally not be labeled as the friend group’s token virgins.

To make matters worse, though, you didn’t expect your friends to have such a dramatic reaction to the news. They were convinced that you and Mingyu were going at it every night. In reality, he was only coming over to your apartment at the dead of night because his fridge had been broken since September. You made a pact with him that you two would take turns cooking every other day, and today was his turn.

(You secretly looked forward to the days when he would cook. Mingyu’s culinary skills were surprisingly top-notch. You were pretty sure his flavor palate was 250% more refined than the average human, considering he could tell apart regular butter from I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter.)

So, while Mingyu was frying salmon, you were bombarding him with questions about sex. After all, if you were now living your life as a self-proclaimed non-virgin, then you had to educate yourself on the birds and the bees.

That was where the argument arose because what the fuck did the birds and the bees have to do with anything?

“So why do they use the birds and the bees?” you asked. “Why don’t they use, like, the butterflies and the bees? You know, pollination? I feel like that makes more sense.”

“It’s ‘cause birds hatch eggs, which is supposed to symbolize, like, female ovulation,” Mingyu explained, “and bees pollinating flowers is for male fertilization.”

You leaned back in your seat, absolutely mind-blown. Mingyu took your silence as understanding and turned on you, pointing his large cooking tongs in your direction.

“You’re way too innocent to be telling everyone we slept together,” he said. “I’d start watching porn or something, ‘cause asking me about the symbolism of the birds and bees isn’t gonna cut it. That’s middle school behavior, Y/N.”

Your cheeks heated up with embarrassment. “I’m not innocent! I know how sex works; I just don’t understand how you like… you know, do the deed.”

Mingyu snorted. “You can’t even say it properly!”

“Can to!” you fired back before folding your arms across your chest. “I just choose not to because of my Miranda Rights. You know, my right to remain silent and all that.”

“I don’t think that applies here.”

“It can.”

“Yeah, okay. But not when Soonyoung asked about your body count?”

“You’re not still upset about me telling the group we slept together, right? I swear it was a total—”

“Of course I’m upset, Y/N,” he interjected. “I wanted my first time to be my first time, and you just told everyone we fucked like it was nothing.”

Yeah, it was safe to say that the tension between you and Mingyu had been growing for a while. You two still hung out as usual, but he would sometimes drop passive-aggressive comments about your fuck-up that would make you feel miserable for the rest of the day. There wasn’t anything you could do but apologize, especially when Mingyu insisted that you two keep up the farce so that your friends wouldn’t get on your back for being a liar.

You could tell he cared—deep, deep down—about how this would affect you. Honestly, he was too good for you.

“Anyway, we can’t do anything about it now, so let’s drop it.” He sighed, and the only sounds you could hear for a moment were the fan running and the salmon sizzling on the pan. You waited until Mingyu started plating the food. “Dinner’s ready.”

For a few minutes, you two ate in utter silence. The only sounds in the room were the occasional scraping noises of fork against plate.

Mingyu decided to speak up. “I submitted one of the pictures I took to an art gallery.”

“Oh, really? The sunset ones you took when you went camping with Jungwoo?” you asked.

“Yeah, a few of the ones I developed looked really good, so he suggested I try sending them in. They haven’t reached out yet, but I’m hoping they put it up for their exhibition.”

“That’s sick. I’ll go see it with you if they put your work up.”

You two relapsed into silence after Mingyu hummed appreciatively. He was back to chewing his thoughts away while you wanted to crawl in a hole and die.

“I fucked up, Gyu,” you admitted. “I really fucked up. I’m sorry.”

He smiled one of those lopsided, easygoing grins that could put anyone at ease. Yet, you still felt disheartened that he knew exactly what you were referring to.

“It’s whatever. At least you saved us from being asked if we’re still virgins.”

“I feel like I’m living a lie,” you grumbled. “It’s been eating at me for the past week. I might just fess up to Soonyoung.”

“You do know he’s gonna get mad at you for lying about something so petty.”

“But it’s even worse if he finds out later on!”

Mingyu just hummed in response, brows knitted together like he was pondering over something.

“Yeah, I guess,” was all he said, ending the discourse as he set your plate of food down in front of you on the dining table. You poked at the delectable salmon with your fork. “Don’t worry about what Soonyoung thinks. Sex isn’t something you can just jump into if you’re not ready.”

“But I am ready,” you complained between mouthfuls of food. “Every time I’m in the mood, I get so close and then chicken out. Maybe I’m just not doing it with the right person.”

“That would also be an important factor.”

You shook your head to dismiss the topic. “Whatever. Maybe they won’t bother us about it now that they think the deed’s done.”

“Maybe,” Mingyu echoed, although clear uncertainty hung in those syllables.

Once, in high school, you lied to your P.E. teacher about being on your period so that you wouldn’t have to participate in swimming for a week. On another occasion, you lied to your parents about going to your friend’s house to work on a group project so that you could actually drink alcohol for the first time.

Lying to Kwon Soonyoung was a whole other realm of difficulty.

It had been less than a day since you and Mingyu brushed off your lie that blew out of proportion. You were stupid to think that it wouldn’t haunt you further because Minghao wore a simpering smile on his face as soon as he saw you and Mingyu walk into the library together.

As soon as you two took your seats at your friend group’s respective table, Soonyoung and Jungwoo immediately started hounding you with more questions. Mingyu was clearly irritated—whether that was because he didn’t want the topic brought up again or he didn’t appreciate Soonyoung getting distracted from their little app developing session, you had no idea. They must have been excited now that they had both of their targets to harass.

“You are never willing to put out,” your bewildered friend rambled, “and you’re telling me that you, Miss Dick Repellent, had sex with Captain Chastity By Choice over here.”

“Wow,” Mingyu spoke up. “That was, like, the worst possible way to phrase that.”

You frowned. “Dick repellent?”

“C’mon, everyone here knows about the whole Mark-gate incident.”

You rolled your eyes. “Look, whatever went down between Mingyu and I just… happened. I have nothing else to say on the matter.”

“You know what just happens?” Vernon Chwe, who normally kept his two cents to himself, decided to blurt out. “Losing your passport. That’s the kind of thing that just happens.” The sour tone his voice took on indicated that he was still bitter about showing up at the airport with Boo Seungkwan for his Italy trip last summer without his passport. “But sex? That doesn’t just happen. It’s a process.”

“Unless you were under the influence,” Minghao added. Then, he turned to you and Mingyu with curious eyes. “Were you drunk? High? Coked out?”

Obviously, you and Mingyu weren’t smart enough to cover all the bases of your lie, so neither of you planned out a story beforehand. Taken by surprise, he ended up stuttering, “N-no?”

“So it didn’t just happen,” Jungwoo said with a grin. “You two knew what you were doing.”

“I think you guys are making this way deeper than it actually is,” you replied. “We were just horny and things ended up going that way. That’s all there is to it.”

Minghao snickered. “I don’t believe that for one second.”

“Well, you should,” you started, voice rising along with your temper, “because Mingyu’s hot, and it’s perfectly normal for a young woman to want to have sex with someone who looks like a walking wet dream!”

Your table fell silent, and you suddenly wished you had dramatically stormed away after your (loud) confession. There was nothing subtle about the judgment and concern in everyone’s eyes, but most importantly, you were horrified to see Mingyu’s equally horrified reaction to your outburst.

“Walking wet dream,” Soonyoung parroted in a quieter voice, amusement tugging at his lips. “I’m gonna make that his contact name now.”

Jungwoo shrugged. “Well, I guess it checks out. Mingyu did say he found Y/N cute for a while.”

Your cheeks burned. He found you cute?

Mingyu, who was now blushing tomato red, covered his face with his hands and groaned. If you weren’t so mortified about embarrassing yourself and Mingyu in front of your entire friend group earlier, then you might have found him a little adorable.

So, you fucked up. Again.

You played out your conversation with your friends about five different times, thinking of various outcomes that could have taken place instead. If you didn’t blurt out the first thing that came to your head on impulse, then maybe you wouldn’t have dug a deeper hole for yourself.

Plus, you had to deal with Mingyu now.

Jungwoo’s words kept parroting in your head like a broken record. Cute. What did that mean, anyway? Squirrels were cute, and you were hoping you had enough sex appeal to not be put on the same tier as squirrels.

Of course, you ended up leaving the library after mumbling some excuse about having to attend a professor’s office hours. Although that was a complete lie, your friends seemed to buy it. You thought you were off the hook until you received a text from your friend.

mingyu: can we talk later?

You didn’t know what to think. If this lie of yours ended up breaking your friendship with Mingyu for good, you weren’t sure if you would ever be able to forgive yourself. So, you settled for curling up on your couch and spooning ice cream into your mouth until the pain subsided.

It was nearly midnight when the knock came at your door.

When you opened it, the very man you didn’t want to see was standing big and tall. You were tempted to close the door on Mingyu, but there was no point in pushing him away even more.

“I forgot to reply to your text,” you said.

“I know.” Mingyu looked you up and down, which you couldn’t help but blush at, but you figured he was just eyeing your Hello Kitty pajamas. “Can I come in?”

You opened the door wider, allowing him to step inside. “Are you here to yell at me?”

“No, although I should after what you pulled,” he teased, and you were grateful that he sounded lighthearted again. The tension was still thick, though, and you were certain it was because of the indirect confessions of attraction you both let slip. “I’m here to make a proposal.”

“What is it?”

Mingyu shrugged off his jacket, revealing his toned, muscular arms. You wondered just how much work he put into bulking up at the gym, and then your thoughts started to drift elsewhere. Thinking about how buff his chest was, thinking about how broad his shoulders were, thinking about how—

“A solution to both of our problems,” Mingyu interrupted your thoughts as he took a seat on your couch. He pointed at the bowl of ice cream you left on a cushion. “Is this cookies and cream?”

“Yeah, you can have some.” You took a seat next to him and inquired, “So… explain.”

“Okay, uh, well…” He trailed off, trying some of the ice cream after fiddling with the spoon for minutes. “Hey, this is really good ice cream.”

You gently pushed his spoon down before he could scoop more into his mouth. “Gyu, get to the point already.”

“I never noticed your coffee table was such a nice shade of brown.”

“Mingyu.”

“Could this be mahogany?”

“Mingyu.”

“Alright, alright.” He sighed, turning his head down ever-so-slightly. You were a little terrified that he was going to go on a spiel about ending the friendship, but then he said, “We’re both in predicaments. Our friends won’t leave us alone about the sex thing and you’re still heated about being a virgin. I mean, I’m also tired of my partner being my right hand, so like…”

Oh god. Mingyu was going to ask you to have sex. Kim Mingyu was about to get in your pants right now.

And were you against it? Not at all. The only thing that worried you was that you weren’t sure if you were ready—for sex and potentially blurring the lines of friendship between you and Mingyu.

“So, what are you getting at?” you asked, trying to play off your unnaturally high-pitched voice with a cough.

“Well, after that uncomfortable conversation earlier, I was just thinking… I clearly find you attractive and you find me attractive,” he said, and when he ducked his head a little, you could see the tips of his ears flaming red. “I’m saying I’m down for you to be my first.”

You willed yourself not to stammer over your words as you said, “I thought you wanted your first time to be special.”

“I do,” he mumbled. “That’s why I started thinking about it seriously after you called me a—”

“You don’t have to repeat it,” you cut him off quickly, your face feeling hot again. “But yeah, I’ve always thought you were hot—um, objectively. I didn’t think you thought the same about me, though.”

“Yeah, I do,” he replied shyly, “but I also know you’ve tried to have sex multiple times and back out whenever you get close.” Before you could respond, Mingyu pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and set it down between you two. “That’s why I made this.”

You eyed the paper curiously, glancing at Mingyu for his approval to go ahead and open it. When he gestured for you to do so, you picked it up and unfolded it.

(EX) VIRGIN CONTRACT

Both parties may request whatever they want to try

Either party may approve or deny the other’s request

The contract ends at either party’s request

The friendship must not be ruined, and if the friendship is ever in danger of being ruined, the contract will be terminated.

“I figured it would be less intimidating with you since we both have no idea what’s going on,” Mingyu continued. “This way we can explore whatever we want without judgment.”

(Mingyu would never admit it to you, but part of him was eager to see you underneath him with that shy expression of yours melting away into pure, unadulterated lust. And you would never admit that you wouldn’t exactly hate that.)

“I’m not gonna lie,” you started, “I think we would be bullied even more for this.”

“That’s the unspoken rule number five,” he explained. “We keep whatever this is between ourselves. I know you struggle in that area, but—”

“Oh, shut up.” You couldn’t help but giggle as you set the paper down. “I don’t know…”

“Take your time to think it over.”

“Actually, I’ve made up my mind. Let’s do it.”

Mingyu did a double take, his features curiously pulling together. “Um, I meant that you could take a few days. Not milliseconds.”

There was a reason as to why you caved quickly. Your thoughts had been running at a billion miles per hour for the entirety of your conversation with Mingyu. You were confident that your decision was well-calculated.

Did you want to fuck Mingyu? Yes.

Were you terrified of possibly ruining your friendship? Absolutely.

However, considering the conversation had already happened, the course of your friendship had drastically changed already. The only thing even more potentially damaging than bringing physical intimacy into the relationship was rejecting this offer. If you turned Mingyu down now, your interactions with him would soon fizzle into awkward, cordial small talk.

“Hey, I think it’d be fun,” you decided to say instead of giving him the rundown of your internal crisis.

“Really? You’re sure?”

“I wouldn’t agree to it if I wasn’t. I mean, it’s a big proposal.”

He gave you one of his lopsided smiles. “Right. I didn’t wanna rush into it or anything, but I think we should talk about it more when you’re ready.” Mingyu picked up the remote and handed it to you. “So, wanna get back to our Barbie marathon? We’re on Fairytopia, right?”

“Yeah,” you agreed, taking the remote from him with a touch of disappointment settling into your bones. Part of you was hoping he would get to it right away. “Yeah, we can talk about it later.”

You two did not talk about it.

It had been approximately six days and Mingyu had not reached out once about your contract. You were starting to think that you should have added some sort of clause about response time because the silence was killing you.

The next time you saw him was at a Kappa Sigma party. Soonyoung and Jungwoo always extended an invite to you, which was nice because that meant you could walk right in without being checked out and approved by some frat brother. You would normally drag Shin Ryujin along with you, but she insisted that she wouldn’t be able to wake up for her midterm if she went out to drink. Thus, you figured you wouldn’t show up, but after seeing Mingyu in the background of Minghao’s Snapchat story (which was a video of Vernon snorting a line off some girl’s stomach), you got your ass out of bed and threw your sluttiest top on.

Thirty minutes later, there you were, listening to Lee Chan ramble inside of the Kappa Sigma house. Ten feet from your target: Kim Mingyu.

“I got scammed, Y/N,” the frat brother, who was deep in five beers and four vodka shots, ranted to you while occasionally slurring his words. “Soonyoung ropes me into joining for friends, but I already knew all the people in the frat, anyway!” He paused to take another swig of his beer. “Zero benefits! Zero!”

Although you enjoyed Chan’s company, you were really trying to get Mingyu’s attention. Since walking in and waiting for him to approach you didn’t work, you were going to have to march up to him directly. Unfortunately, the drunk freshman in front of you was not helping one bit.

“That blows,” you replied sympathetically, “but at least you get to party, and you don’t have to worry about finding housing.”

Chan scoffed. “Yeah, if I’m not a sober monitor, then I just get alcohol poisoning. I can never win.”

For the next thirty minutes, you ended up listening to Chan drone on about how the world was against him. Eventually, he started to realize that he didn’t have it all that bad, and then he passed out after you helped him to the couch. You gave up on trying to get Mingyu’s attention; all of your attempts had been in vain, and you didn’t want to embarrass yourself.

After talking to Vernon briefly, though, you found the opportunity to strike. Jungwoo announced a game of rage cage, so you were going to expertly place yourself next to Mingyu. Since everyone else would be focused on the game, you would use that chance to invite him to talk privately later.

Your plan was going smoothly until you stood next to Mingyu and realized he was a shot away from blacking out.

“You look like you’ve been through the trenches and back,” you said.

“Can’t tell where the floor is.”

“Under your feet.”

“Wow, you’re right.”

He was most definitely not in the right headspace to have a conversation about the contract—or to have any conversation, really.

“I’ve been wondering if you’d show up,” he continued. “I wanted to see you.”

Curse your heart for fluttering pathetically.

“You did?” you asked.

There was no time for Mingyu to respond because everyone around the table started screaming at you. When you turned your attention back to the game, you realized the red solo cup was in front of you and Vernon was about to stack you.

“Careful, Y/N, Vernon’s been on a roll,” Minghao taunted, eyes lit up with amusement as he watched you fumble with the ping pong ball.

“I have,” Vernon confirmed. From across the table, he smirked at Joshua Hong, who you figured was his victim from the last game.  

Your lips curled up in a lazy grin. “Yeah? Let’s see if you can stack me even once.”

So, you lost. Miserably.

Vernon was on a roll, and you formally apologized for ever doubting him. (You apologized after getting stacked for a third time, but Vernon didn’t ease up on you. He was a ruthless killing machine.)

On top of the six times you got stacked, you also ended up being the unfortunate bitch cup receiver. You downed it without too many complaints; you were past the point of scowling through your drinks. It would have been less pathetic if you hadn’t talked yourself up so much.

On the bright side, you and Mingyu had gotten so drunk that Soonyoung ushered you two into his room to sober up. Since Chan had already thrown up on the couch, your friend decided that it was better to make sure you were in close proximity to a toilet.

Soonyoung instructed, “Remember, if you feel like throwing up, make sure you go to the—oh my god, Chan, keep your clothes on!”

He groaned and slammed the door shut so that he could chase after his intoxicated friend. You were just thankful that you weren’t that drunk. The room was starting to spin, however, so you were dreading waking up with a headache in the morning.

“You were terrible today,” Mingyu mumbled. His shoulder brushed against yours, and you ended up leaning against him. “But I’m glad you sucked ass.”

Your lips curled in distaste. “What the hell?”

“I only got stacked once thanks to your god-awful performance.” He let his head hang so that he could suck in a sharp breath. “Wow, I feel like shit.”

“You’re such a bitch,” you complained. “I was gonna ask you something serious, too!”

“Oh, really? What is it?”

“Well, I’m not gonna tell you now!”

You almost stammered at the end of your sentence when you saw Mingyu’s puppy eyes on full display. Despite the pleading look on his face, you couldn’t help but notice the way the stray rays of sunlight that poured into Soonyoung’s room were catching onto Mingyu’s honeyed skin. It made his dark brown eyes look like melted amber.

You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol making you feel hot or if the humidity was created by the drunk college students packed into the house like sardines, but Soonyoung’s room felt balmy. Your shirt clung to the sweat beading your back, but all you could think about was how close you and Mingyu were.

It seemed as though he was thinking the same thing. “We should open a window or something.”

“It’s so hot,” you whined. “Feels like a sauna in here.”

“I know. Soonyoung never opens the windows, even though there’s no air conditioning in here.”

“He should invest in a fan.”

“Yeah, that’s why I like your place. You have a nice cooling system.”

You laughed. Mostly because you had very different intentions for this conversation, and here Mingyu was, talking about your air conditioning.

You were sobering up, but you still felt drunk off Mingyu’s attention.

Like he was sharing a secret, your best friend leaned in close to your ear while trying to suppress a giggle. “Should we get out of here?”

“And go where?”

“Your place. Duh.”

“I don’t know if I can even walk downstairs,” you mumbled, suddenly afraid that he was going to think you were a bore.

“I can,” Mingyu said, and before you knew it, he was kneeling down with his back facing you and his arms reaching back. You just stared at him for a moment before he shot you back a questioning look. “What’re you waiting for? Get on.”

You sort of let your body fall against his, but Mingyu helped you regain your balance almost immediately. He gripped your thighs firmly while you looped your arms around his neck. When he stood up, you almost gasped upon realizing how high up you were. It was in that moment when you were suddenly hyper-aware of how massive he was, how strong his back muscles were, and—

He yelped. “Bug!”

—how this man was terrified of everything under the sun.

If you had Mingyu’s height, you wouldn’t let anything stop you. But here he was, cowering even as he towered over the tiny spider that was crawling across the floor.

“You have got to be kidding,” you deadpanned. “You can so easily step over it.”

“They jump.”

“Name one instance where a spider’s ever jumped on you.”

He stiffened. “Uh, never. But that’s because I avoid them at all costs.”

Eventually, with some persuasion and promises of ice cream at home, Mingyu did manage to step over the beast, which was a common house spider. Kim Mingyu struck gold in the gene pool lottery. It was only fair that he had some stupid-sounding fatal flaw.

You whispered instructions on how to sneak past the crowd and giggled into his ear while he tried to creep downstairs and walk out the front door. Thankfully, the house was so packed that hardly anyone noticed you and Mingyu leaving. Only a few guys outside greeted him, but they were simultaneously puking their guts out.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to the party?” you asked as your chin rested on his shoulder. You were genuinely curious because Mingyu always invited you if there was a party. “I only found out when I saw Minghao’s story.”

“Uh… I was about to text you, but then Soonyoung wouldn’t shut up with the teasing and I didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable if you showed up,” he admitted, and, from where you were, you could see the tip of his ear turning pink. “But I was hoping you’d come on your own.”

You tightened your grip on him. “I wouldn’t have felt uncomfortable.”

There was silence for a while between you two, and you felt like the balmy night air was thick with undiscussed feelings. A topic that you and Mingyu were mindful about skirting around, even when the aftereffects of liquid confidence still coursed through your blood. You could hardly even realize it yourself.

Your chin rested on his shoulder. Mingyu had given you piggyback rides before—back when you two were freshmen and still a little shy around each other. The first time was when you ended up twisting your ankle during a Halloweekend party, resulting in Mingyu offering to carry you back to your dorm. You hadn’t had many guy friends before college, so the thought of casual physical contact with a man was strange to you back then.

Everything slowly started to feel natural between you and Mingyu. Now, it was as if someone took a hammer and smashed your perception to pieces. The air was suddenly stifling and you were overly-conscious about how Mingyu’s chest swelled whenever you adjusted your hold on him.

He set you down once he reached the front door of your building. You had mostly sobered up by now, though you were certain you would lose your footing if you took the stairs instead of the elevator.

By the time you two had reached your door, you were already going off on some tangent about how you technically had more sexual experience than Mingyu, despite your total confusion over the actual mechanics of intercourse.

He kicked off his shoes before walking into your living room. “I think you’re underestimating me. Just because I’m saving my first time doesn’t mean I have zero experience whatsoever.”

“Saving it for me,” you teased.

“God,” Mingyu hissed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if your words were truly headache-inducing (but it was mostly to hide his blush). “I never should’ve told you that.”

“Hey, you can’t take it back now.” A giggle bubbled from your lips. “You think I’m cute.”

“I didn’t say cute.”

“I’m repeating exactly what Jungwoo told me.”

“No, he downplayed it for you. I told him”—Mingyu had turned to you fully, placing his hands on your shoulders and letting them slide down to your forearms—“that you’re…” It was as if he snapped out of some sort of trance, shaking his head to stop himself from rambling. “Never mind. Forget what I said.”

“What?!” you exclaimed, pushing at his chest. Hard. “You can’t just say that and back out!”

He winced, shooting you those puppy dog eyes that always made you melt. “I’ll tell you one day.”

“And that day better be today, ‘cause—”

“One day,” he repeated. “It’s too late now. We have a busy day tomorrow.” Mingyu squeezed your forearms gently before letting go and fishing out his phone and keys from his pockets. “I’ll take the couch.”

“Whoa, hold on. What do we have tomorrow?”

The corner of his lip raised in amusement, nearly going unnoticed. “We have that contract to get to, don’t we?”

Obviously, you weren’t able to get any sleep when Mingyu’s words kept sending butterflies to your stomach.

It took an hour of tossing and turning for you to finally get some sleep. That smirk of his kept replaying in your head, flashing behind your eyes over and over again until you forced yourself to blink the image away.

When you woke up in the morning, it was because Mingyu gently tapped your shoulder until you stirred. Since it was a Saturday, you were hoping to sleep in, although the sunlight making Mingyu’s tanned skin glow under its rays was a pleasant sight to wake to.

He grinned, flashing his brilliant white teeth. “Morning.”

“Good morning.” You yawned. “Was the couch comfy?”

“Yeah, I fucking love your couch,” he said, “but it did get a little lonely out there.”

Your chest seized for a moment. Was that an invitation? Or was he suggesting that you could have joined him? Not to mention you could detect the faintest trace of longing in his eyes.

It was too early in the morning for you to think straight, though, so all you could do was that breathy laugh of yours—the one that always sounded frazzled and nervous. Laugh and change the topic.

“So, why’re you up so early?”

“I gotta meet up with Jeonghan real quick, but I’ll drop by later,” he explained. “Forgot I agreed to go to the gym today.”

You remembered Jeonghan—the cute senior from Kappa Sigma that always brought a different girl to their parties. You had spoken to him once or twice after Soonyoung introduced you. It was all small talk, though, nothing of significance. The only distinct memory you had of Jeonghan was how Soonyoung sent him home in an Uber during one party he was blacking out at last year only for Jeonghan to take that Uber right back to the party.

“Alright,” you mumbled, voice still thick with sleep. “You can take the spare key.”

“Say less.”

After Mingyu left and you stretched in your bed for a while, your phone went off with several texts from Minghao. Some of them were from last night, but you had passed out by the time he started sending them.

hao: dude where are you hao: AND WHERE’S MINGYU hao: we’re about to uber back soon hao: soonyoung said he left u guys in his room and now ur both missing?? hao: wait jk i forgot i have ur locations hao: BRUH hao: oh my god hao: u gmfu hao: psa i will be extremely annoying until you spill everything

hao: GOOD MORNING hao: RISE AND SHINE hao: now spill

y/n: good morning. y/n: dot dot dot

hao: bitch hao: i'm onto you

y/n: 😀 y/n: wanna get breakfast? y/n: we can go to that new açai bowl place that opened up near campus y/n: i can spill then

hao: sure i’ll pick you up in 10

The açai bowl place was unfortunately mediocre.

You were not impressed with the range of toppings and neither was Minghao. You two ended up settling for your regular orders with several inclusions left out. To top it off, the bowls were insanely overpriced, leaving you and Minghao thoroughly unsatisfied.

You sat at one of the tables with him, scooping granola into your mouth as you listened to him talk about his experience at the party. Apparently, Vernon started to black out as soon as they made him do a keg stand, so Minghao and Jungwoo took the liberty of taking him home and tucking him in bed. Soonyoung was scrambling around the house because the party had gotten so out-of-hand that one of the neighbors called the cops on them.

You ended up explaining how you and Mingyu ended up going home, fighting down the heat spreading across your face whenever Minghao would shoot you a knowing look. It was as if he was saying, Oh, man, you two are practically already dating.

“Yeah, and about that,” he started and cleared his throat, “you two are still virgins, right?”

Your jaw went slack for a moment, and all you could do was stare at your friend until he let out a questioning hum.

“What?” Minghao continued. “Okay, I haven’t told the others about what I noticed or anything. I just picked up on it last night.”

You frowned before asking, “You picked up on… my v-card?”

“No.” He scoffed. “I picked up on the way you and Mingyu were acting around each other. If you guys actually had sex, there’s no reason for you to act all shy whenever Mingyu comes near you. So, I concluded that either you two haven’t fucked or you caught feelings for him.”

You swallowed hard. For the most part, Minghao had pieced it together perfectly, but you were unsure about his last presumption.

First of all, you had zero idea that you were acting shy in front of Mingyu last night. Sure, there were moments where you felt like your heart dropped to your stomach, but you didn’t think it was noticeable enough for other people to pick up on it.

Second of all, you were pretty sure you were just caught up in the excitement of potentially having sex with Mingyu. Minghao was probably mistaking your anticipation for an emotion too complex for you to feel for your best friend.

Lastly, he caught your virgin self red-handed. Since you still hadn’t established a proper story with Mingyu yet, there was no way you could defend yourself now. Not when you were blanking on excuses.

“H-huh?”

“You were still acting like Little Miss I’ve Never Felt The Touch Of A Man, is what I’m saying.”

You frowned. Okay, rude.

“Fine. You got me,” you replied, sighing in defeat. “We’re both still virgins. I really fucked up when I started running my mouth in front of you guys.”

Minghao almost seemed alarmed for a moment, but his expression relaxed. Slowly, his smile tugged into a proper laugh. It wasn’t enough to wipe the mortified expression off your face, though; in fact, you felt even more humiliated.

“I knew it,” he said. “I knew there was something fishy about your story!”

“Please don’t tell the others,” you begged. “Soonyoung’s gonna hate me if he finds out I lied to him.”

Kwon Soonyoung was especially sensitive about lying. Most people were, of course, but Soonyoung prioritized trust in his relationships, whether they were platonic or romantic. Once, when he found out his ex-girlfriend lied about where she would go on Friday nights, he broke up with her a week later.

You weren’t sure how he would react to your lie, but you weren’t enthusiastic about finding out.

“You’re gonna tell him eventually, though, right?”

You sighed. “I know I have to eventually. I just have to find the right timing. Things got complicated between Mingyu and I, so I’m trying to figure that out first.”

Minghao took a sip from his Coca-Cola. “What happened between you and Mingyu?”

You swallowed down a mouthful of açai and granola before explaining, “So, basically, to clear up the lie about Mingyu and I, we’ve decided to lose our virginities to each other.”

“You’re losing your virginity… to cover up a lie?”

“No! I mean, technically yes, but, like, I just think—”

“Listen,” he interrupted. “I know you’re terrible at math, but let’s put two and two together here.” Despite the offense drawn across your face, he continued, “Mingyu’s been saving himself for that ‘special someone,’ so obviously, he wouldn’t just lose his virginity to anyone.”

“You’re saying he’s gonna back out?”

“I’m saying—” Minghao cut himself off and a smile spread across his face. “You know what, I’m gonna let you figure that out for yourself. My work here is officially done.”

“What?! You can’t just say that and give me no context!”

He folded his arms across his chest. “Vernon told me not to meddle, so I’m going to keep my mouth shut until you see it for yourself.”

“See what for myself?” you asked with an exasperated sigh.

“You’ll see.”

When you got home, Mingyu was already in your house with a large whiteboard in the center of your living room. Before you even opened your mouth to ask where the hell it came from, he explained that he “borrowed” it from the community room downstairs. (You made a mental note to return it before anyone noticed it missing.)

Your head was still turning after your conversation with Minghao, and you weren’t all that great at hiding your expression. As soon as you made eye contact with Mingyu, you could tell he knew something was up.

“Did something happen?” he asked.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” you replied as you shrugged off your jacket. “How was the gym? Also, why the whiteboard?”

He grinned. Scrawled on the board in blue Expo marker were both of your names as headers for columns. Mingyu handed you a black marker and stood with one hand gripping the top of the board.

“Step one,” he started. “We write down anything we wanna try, and then we approve or veto the options.”

You uncapped the marker. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

“No judgment?”

“No judgment.”

You started writing down whatever desires you had pushed down for years. Albeit short, you figured they covered all the bases. Weeks ago, you wouldn’t have dreamed of admitting any of them to Mingyu; now that your relationship with him took a turn, however, it wasn’t so hard to reveal them.

Next to you, Mingyu was shamelessly jotting sex positions down like he had them memorized. You peeked at his list out of the corner of your eye and nearly did a spit take. The first one on your list was kissing, but Mingyu had started off with anal.

Although he agreed to zero judgment, you were finding it hard to feel the same way.

Once you two were done, you stepped back to look at the whiteboard with its two complete lists side-by-side. Mingyu’s list was considerably longer than yours, but you stood by your own. You felt as though yours was more natural, more gradual.

Y/N

Kissing

Neck kissing

Touching

Penetrative sex

MINGYU

Anal

69

Cowgirl

Wall sex

Public sex

Phone sex

It had come to your attention that Mingyu, like every other man, was incredibly horny.

You had been worrying about the act of sex itself for ages, and your best friend was suggesting something far beyond your capabilities? You weren’t even considering doing anal in the next ten years, let alone for the sake of your contract.

Mingyu snorted. “Kissing.”

“You said no judgment!”

“I thought it was cute, that’s all,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Anyway, anal?” You scoffed. “I don’t know if your list is exactly beginner level.”

“Well, that’ll just make you an expert by the end of this, won’t it?”

You couldn’t stop your cheeks from heating up. “Okay, how about we start with my much more reasonable list, and then we can get to your scary, intimidating one once we actually, um… do the deed.”

“You have seriously got to start just saying sex.”

“Shut up.”

Mingyu’s smirk was not helping your blush one bit, so you just pretended the embarrassing warmth spreading across your chest didn’t exist. Instead, you grabbed the whiteboard eraser to wipe off the ink from the word anal.

Your best friend slash fuckbuddy let out a petulant whine, so you smacked his bicep.

“I approve of the others for now,” you started shyly, “but we start yours after my list is finished. Do you have anything from mine that you don’t approve of?”

The question wasn’t very sensible, considering all of your list was a prerequisite for more than half of Mingyu’s list. However, after your conversation with Minghao, you were still unsure if Mingyu actually wanted to go all the way with you.

“Nope,” he answered, smiling at you with questioning eyes as if his answer had already been clear as day. “Your list is pretty tame, y’know? Not that it’s a problem or anything.”

Before you could answer, he sucked in a sharp breath and looked over at the board again. “Actually, maybe we should get rid of your first one. It might mess with, uh, rule four.”

Ah, the fourth rule: The friendship must not be ruined, and if the friendship was ever in danger of being ruined, the contract would be terminated.

You were devastated that it had come back to bite you in the ass.

In an attempt to veil your disappointment, you shrugged and turned your head away so that your best friend wouldn’t see the rejection clouding your eyes.

“I’m just curious, but why’re you against kissing?” you asked. “I mean, I just feel like it’ll be awkward if we don’t.”

“You know, it’s the whole neurotransmitters and dopamine rush thing, Y/N,” he explained. If you weren’t feeling so miserable about your best friend turning you down, then you probably would have giggled at his random neuroscience tidbit. “It’s such an emotional act.”

Part of you understood Mingyu’s reasoning behind avoiding kissing. If you were so affected just by his words and eye contact now, then kissing him would mess with your emotions. You weren’t exactly sure if you held kissing at more of a sentimental level as Mingyu did, but you agreed that it intensified intimacy.

Before you were about to hesitantly accept his words, though, Mingyu added, “Judas, in fact, betrayed Jesus with a kiss.”

You couldn’t believe those words came out of his mouth.

“Yeah,” you started, “I don’t think these situations are comparable.”

After gingerly prying the whiteboard eraser from your fingers, Mingyu crossed out “kissing” from your column. The dried ink from the dry erase marker streaked across the board, leaving fragments of ink scattered about that he didn’t bother wiping off. (You were a little distracted by the little zap of electricity that coursed through your veins after his fingers brushed against yours.)

Without missing a beat, Mingyu asked, “You don’t have, like, crabs or anything, right?”

“You’re accusing me of having pubic lice?”

“Well, when you put it like that,” he mumbled, “I guess it sort of sounds like I am. I mean, I don’t actually think you have crabs! I just—you know… it’s good to ask.”

“No, Mingyu, I don’t have crabs.”

“Good, good.” His voice trailed off awkwardly and he leaned against the frame of the whiteboard. His unrelaxed mannerisms were making you feel nervous. “That’s always good.”

“Do you have crabs?”

“I do. Her name’s Clawdia, but with a w, like claw.”

“Mingyu,” you warned.

“I’m kidding.” He held his hands up in defense. “No crabs here. Except Clawdia, but she belongs to Wonwoo.”

You rolled your eyes. Mingyu’s roommate since freshman year, Jeon Wonwoo, was someone you surprisingly didn’t have a lot of interactions with despite him and Mingyu being best friends. Whenever you went over to Mingyu’s place, Wonwoo was normally locked up in his room, either studying or gaming away.

Apparently, he also owned a crab.

“Alright, so,” you started in a small voice, “when do we start?”

His eye contact was galvanizing, sending little currents shooting up your spine. For a moment, you felt like you couldn’t breathe. All you could think about was how brown Mingyu’s eyes were and how they swallowed you whole whenever his gaze set on you.

Normally, you could see glimmers of sunlight dancing across his irises. Now, the look in his eyes was almost ferocious, like two voids that sucked you in.

His lips were pressed together in a thin line, and you almost picked up on the raised pitch of his voice when he proposed, “How about later?”

“Later sounds perfect.”

Telling white lies became increasingly easier around Kim Mingyu.

Later never came.

You were starting to experience major déjà vu because it was so like Mingyu to chicken out after giving his word. Not one phone call or text to meet up, nor did you two bring it up in day-to-day conversations.

On one particular night, though, Mingyu sent you a semi-suggestive message, asking for permission to come over. Since you figured you would be in for a long night, you made sure to shave and spritzed yourself all over with your favorite Givenchy perfume. To your dismay, Mingyu was quick to mention that he wanted to continue your Barbie movie marathon. You begrudgingly spent your night watching Barbie in the 12 Dancing Princesses.

(And you swore his fingers brushed against yours under the blanket you two shared, but when you glanced up at his face, flickering with the shifting TV light, he pulled his hand back faster than it happened.)

The very moment a Barbie movie would start playing, you knew that absolutely nothing would happen between you and Mingyu. And, even if he tried to initiate anything, you wouldn’t reciprocate because there was no fucking way you would taint your wholesome Barbie marathon experience with sexual intercourse.

A week flew by without any follow-up on the contract, but you supposed you were partly to blame, too. There were several times where you could have brought up the topic yourself, but you were just as hesitant as Mingyu. Talking about it was one thing, but acting on your hormones was a feat of its own.

All the waiting and anticipation over Mingyu hopefully making a move was simply making you hornier. It was hard to even think properly whenever you started daydreaming of his lips on top of yours, dragging down your neck, moving down your body—

“—and that’s why you will be receiving twenty boxes of Connect Fours.” Soonyoung finished, causing you to snap out of whatever fantasy was playing in your head.

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t really know how to articulate myself better here,” he said. “Twenty boxes of Connect—”

“No, no, I heard what you said,” you interrupted, “but why the fuck?”

He waved your question off. “That’s not important. What’s important is that you let me know when you get those twenty boxes.” He flashed you a grin and a thumbs-up when you just nodded, dazed. “Thanks. This is why I love you.”

You took a nervous sip from your vanilla milkshake. (Soonyoung worked for the Undergraduate Student Council, which meant you could exploit him for his free dining dollars.)

You couldn’t help but feel crushing guilt every time you spoke to Soonyoung, especially when you two were hanging out one-on-one like this. Mingyu had been harping on and on about how it wasn’t that big of a deal, but maybe it was because the thought of losing your virginity was such a huge deal to you that you kept brooding over your lie.

And, to make matters worse, all you could think about was Mingyu because you were horny out of your mind. The longer he stayed away from you, the longer you kept thinking about him. You almost wished he hadn’t initiated this stupid contract if he wasn’t going to follow through with it.

“Hey, look, it’s your walking wet dream,” Soonyoung said, and lo and behold, there he was: Kim Mingyu fitted in a sleeveless white shirt and gray sweatpants.

He was walking with Jungwoo, whom you assumed came from the gym, too. Mingyu’s hair was damp and matted to his neck, and his muscles were accentuated by a faint sheen of sweat. They didn’t notice you and Soonyoung at first, too occupied with their own conversation, but after Soonyoung hollered from the table you two were sitting at, the two men started looking around until they spotted you.

Maybe you were seeing things, but it was almost like Mingyu seized up at the sight of you.

“Y/N!” Jungwoo was looking at you as if a lightbulb just went off in his head. “I’m formally inviting you to join Kappa Sigma in Vegas this weekend.” When you were about to protest, he continued, “Apparently, Chan’s date flaked on him last minute, so he’s looking for someone else to go with him.”

You folded your arms across your chest. “So what’s the catch?”

“No catch. You get to go to Vegas for free and hang out with me and Soonyoung.”

“Seriously?”

Soonyoung grinned. “C’mon, it’s Sin City.”

Mingyu scoffed. “Wait, this weekend? Isn’t that kind of short notice?”

“It’s Vegas, and everything’s covered. All you have to do is pack a bag or two.” Jungwoo clicked his tongue before patting Mingyu’s chest. “You won’t mind, right? Y’know, since you two fucked and all.”

“Jungwoo!” you screeched, horrified by his blunt wording.

“What? It’s true.”

Mingyu lowered his gaze. “It just happened once. No big deal.”

“See, Mingyu doesn’t have any hard feelings,” Soonyoung said, elbowing you gently in an attempt to lighten your mood. “You have Chan’s number, right? Just shoot him a text when you decide.”

You nodded half-heartedly. Some sort of sick grief pressed against your lungs, snaking its way up your throat and making it hard to breathe. It grew hotter and hotter until you had to swallow it down before any tears started rolling down your cheeks.

“We gotta get to our next class,” Jungwoo said, jerking a thumb in Mingyu’s direction, “but just say yes! Think about it: free hotel, free transportation, free drinks—we’ve got you covered.”

“Yeah,” you muttered, huffy. “Maybe I will.”

You felt stupid. Completely and utterly stupid.

Kim Mingyu, although easy on the eyes, was proving to be quite difficult for your heart.

It wasn’t like you two were dating, nor had either of you even kickstarted your friends with benefits relationship, so there was no reason for you to be upset over his words. As many times as you tried to push it down, you kept seeing his twisted expression when he uttered those three words that pricked you like thorns. No big deal.

No big deal that you felt like crying your eyes out over Kim Mingyu, who wasn’t even anything to you other than a friend. No big deal that you were curled up on your couch, watching a TV show that you were barely paying attention to, but the noise made you feel less alone. No big deal that you were scooping your cookies and cream ice cream into your mouth, thinking about how it was his favorite flavor.

The stupid part was that Mingyu was just covering up your mess. You two didn’t even have sex, and he was just going along with the lie that you came up with. There was no logical reason for you to be mad at him.

And you realized that logic wasn’t often involved in matters of the heart, anyway.

A knock came at your door at approximately 9:15 p.m.—right when you were about to take a shower and drag yourself to bed. You figured it was Mingyu before you even opened it because no one else would show up uninvited.

“Hey,” he said, taking note of your disheveled appearance with an agonizingly slow sweep of his eyes. An ugly part of your heart wanted to believe he possibly could have been checking you out. “Are you busy right now?”

“I was just doing my assignment, but it’s due tomorrow, so I’m chilling.”

“Sorry, I should’ve called or texted.”

You shook your head. “No, it’s all good. Did you need anything?”

You could see him visibly swallow before asking, “Can I come in?” As soon as you opened the door wider, letting Mingyu step through the entry-way, he turned to you and let his shoulders sag. “I feel like I fucked up somehow.”

“You didn’t fuck up,” you said, keeping your back turned to him as you closed and locked your door. Your hand lingered on the door knob for a moment until you pulled away and headed to your living room, hardly sparing Mingyu a glance. “You were just covering for our lie.”

That clearly wasn’t what was plaguing Mingyu, though. Even after you clarified that he hadn’t done anything wrong, it still looked like something was bothering him. His eyes were hard and his jaw was jutting out, which was what his face usually set into when he was sulking.

“Are you really going to Vegas?” he asked, then added, “With Chan?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know yet. It sounds fun. I mean, they’re covering practically everything for me, so I might.”

The reality was that you didn’t care if you went to Vegas or not. Sure, you were more interested after finding out that you didn’t have to pay for transportation or the hotel. Plus, getting to spend time with Jungwoo and Soonyoung away from your college town sounded like a fun experience.

However, you didn’t like the idea of being Chan’s replacement date. You also didn’t want him to feel obligated to go with you just because he had no one else to go with. You also didn’t know what being his date actually entailed because you didn’t want the whole weekend to consist of his frat brothers egging him on to make a move on you.

Like Mingyu said, it was short notice. You were definitely going to feel stressed about making plans for Vegas when it was days away. Not only did you have to pack, but you had to make sure you were all caught up on your schoolwork before you spent your weekend drinking and partying. It didn’t help that you weren’t even done with your assignments due tomorrow.

Mingyu frowned. “You do realize it’s this weekend, right? And you’re probably gonna have to skip your Friday classes to make it.”

“Yeah, I realize that.” You scoffed. “I don’t see why it concerns you, though, considering you and I have both skipped classes before just because we didn’t feel like going. Do you not want me to go or something?”

“It’s completely your decision.”

“If it’s completely my decision, then why are you here? And why are we talking about this?”

He faltered, stammering over words that he couldn’t string together before saying, “Look, it’s your choice whether you go or not. I’m not gonna sit here and tell you I don’t want you to go.”

You paused. A stupid jolt of your heart made you ask, “You don’t want me to go?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You literally just did.”

Mingyu took a moment to replay his own words in his head, his expression morphing from confused to dumbfounded in a matter of seconds. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before letting out a heavy sigh.

“Okay, yeah,” he said, “but I didn’t say that to change your mind or anything.”

“Well, if you’re gonna bring it up, then at least give me a reason to stay,” you said with an exasperated breath, “or else why should I pass up a free trip to Vegas?”

He pulled away quicker than it happened. One minute you were frustrated, and the next you felt Mingyu’s soft lips pressed against yours for a brief moment. Then, you were frustrated again because it was over so soon. You were blinking away your shock as Mingyu’s hair tickled your face before pulling back.

He kissed you.

Kim Mingyu kissed you.

“You could just stay here,” he murmured in that velvety voice of his, reaching over to card a hand through your hair, brushing that one spot under your ear that made you shudder, “with me.”

Your eyes followed his movements while the rest of your body was frozen, stunned by the sudden physical contact. Mingyu’s voice grew huskier and his eyes darker, but all you could think about were how big his hands were as his fingers ghosted your collarbone.

His lips tugged up in amusement because from one glance, anyone could tell he had an effect on you. There was no denying the electric current running through your body; it was making it harder and harder for you to resist him.

You wasted no time in pulling him down by his collar and kissed him with earnest longing tucked into the corners of your lips.

He didn’t reciprocate until his eyes glazed over with lust, and then Mingyu was grabbing at your waist and pulling you closer. His touch burned, nearly making you flinch underneath the pads of his fingers. If you were being perfectly honest with yourself, there were times where you imagined his lips on yours like this—a thought that crept into your head whenever you saw girls chatting him up at parties.

In sophomore year, Mingyu had a thing with a girl named Hayoung for a few months. There wasn’t a party that would go by without you seeing Mingyu in a corner with her, whispering little secrets that they would laugh at. That was also the year when you became scarily good at hiding your lingering stares. You eventually mastered the art of people-watching without being caught.

And, deep down, you were probably jealous.

And that was probably why you felt like you were in the clouds when Mingyu’s lips were finally on yours.

The two of you were soon engulfed in a cloud of lust once Mingyu nipped at your bottom lip with his sharp canines and slid his tongue into your mouth. You let slip a sound that was something between a whimper and exhale, but it was quickly muffled by Mingyu’s mouth pressing harder against yours, licking into your mouth eagerly. It was as if your lips were molding together in perfect harmony.

It felt as though time melted away, pooling at your feet until you couldn’t move one bit. You felt Mingyu’s big hands ravage down your body while yours were looped around his neck. Just when he started tugging at your clothes, he pulled back and sucked in a sharp breath to ground himself.

You did the same, letting your chest rise and fall steadily as you stared up at him with hints of lust in your eyes that hadn’t ebbed away just yet.

A few moments of silence passed before Mingyu looked toward the whiteboard that you had moved up against the wall.

“Why was kissing on your list, anyway?” he pressed. “You’ve already done it before, so it’s not like it’s anything new to you.” You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Nothing was making sense in your own head. Mingyu stepped closer to you and let his gaze fall to your lips. “Is there another reason?”

You two were impossibly close. So close that you could smell the cologne wafting off him. Feel the cold metal of his chain against your skin.

You were positive that Mingyu could pick up on the nervous hitch in your breathing. Your stomach knotted tighter and tighter as he towered over you, and your heart bruised against your rib cage with how hard it was beating.

“I guess I just felt like I wanted to kiss you,” you admitted, dropping your voice so low that it was barely audible.

But Mingyu heard it. It was clear by the unmistakable grin that stretched across his face.

Always the gentleman, Mingyu asked, “Does that mean we’re ready for step two?”

“What’s step two?”

“Step two on losing your virginity,” Mingyu announced with a dramatic flourish of his wrist to amplify his theatrical voice, “is to set the mood.”

You were pretty sure you and Mingyu already had a good mood going on until he interrupted to announce that.

“Wait, so you were waiting for…” You cut yourself off, shaking your head in disbelief as your eyes focused on his sheepish grin.

“You have to actually want me so that we can start,” he reasoned. “I can’t, like, make you feel good if you’re not into it.”

“But you knew I was attracted to you. I literally called you a ‘walking wet dream’ in front of all our friends.”

“That’s different. You finding me hot isn’t the same as wanting to kiss me.”

“O-okay,” you stammered, “but how do I know if you feel the same way or not?”

“Well,” Mingyu started in that low, husky voice of his, setting his hands on your hips after a beat of hesitation and pulling you closer, “I could just show you.”

His breath was hot against your ear, and you felt as if it lulled you into some sort of trance as he pulled you toward him. Closer and closer until he was sitting on your couch and pulling you on top of him. Before you could even straddle Mingyu properly, he started planting kisses up the column of your neck. Each one grew more hungry than the last as he nipped and sucked at your tender skin.

This was not happening.

Well, of course this was supposed to happen, but you hadn’t exactly mentally prepared yourself for this very moment. The very moment when you and Mingyu would physically cross the line of friendship.

“That feel good?” he purred against your skin, the vibrations making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The fire in his stare made you feel like putty in his hands.

“Mmhm,” was all you could muster without falling apart, so you just wrapped your arms around him tighter.

You winced when he bit down on a particularly sensitive patch of your flesh. For a while, Mingyu just sucked and nipped at the side of your neck until he was pulling back and you were whining for more. His thumb brushed against the bluish-black mark he created, and you could only imagine how much concealer you were going to need to cover it up.

His lips attached to your neck again. For a moment, you thought he was going to give you another hickey until his pecks traveled up all the way to kiss a tender spot under your ear, and then you two froze for a few seconds, not knowing how to proceed. Mingyu’s lips tugged into a frown as he looked at you with an inquisitive hum.

His gaze fell to your lips. “Should I just—”

He cut you off with a swift, experimental peck to your lips. A small smile tugged at his lips when he saw how flustered you looked after.

“Mingyu,” you said in a small voice, “I thought you said no kissing?”

“I don’t care anymore.”

Once again, his lips chased yours until he successfully captured them in a searing kiss. You immediately melted in his hold, and even though part of you was screaming at the other half to stop and think about what you and your best friend were doing, all you cared about was the way Mingyu pulled you closer by the waist, higher onto his lap.

Yet, although you were unbearably horny, you still flinched when Mingyu’s fingers slid under your shirt and sprawled out against your bare midriff.

He froze instantly and then drew his hands back until they were resting on your thighs. You couldn’t help but let out a disappointed sigh, curling your hands into fists so that your nails were pressing crescent-shaped indents into your palms.

You shook your head, your breath stuttering in your chest. “I’m sorry. I’m all good. I just need to—”

“No, no, don’t apologize,” Mingyu said, reaching over to brush your hair out of your face. His other hand stayed on your thigh and gave you a comforting squeeze. “We’re doing this at your pace, remember? We can stop whenever you want.”

But even though he said the right words to put you at ease, you still couldn’t help but feel frustrated with yourself. You just didn’t understand why you had that mental block keeping you from going further. The mixture of discontent and irritation painted across your face was clear as day. But you didn’t want to feel like an idiot in front of Mingyu, so you uncurled your fists and placed your hands on his chest instead.

“Can we try again tomorrow?” you asked shyly.

A single angry tear slid down your cheek, which Mingyu took notice of and promptly wiped from your face with his thumb.

“Of course.” His eyes were a little wide, like he was momentarily buffering while he was trying to figure out how to comfort you. His eyes darted around the room before they settled on the TV remote you kept neatly on top of a stack of books on the coffee table. “Wanna continue our marathon? I think we’re on Island Princess now.”

After you nodded, Mingyu gently helped you off his lap so that you two could watch the movie together. As he toyed with your remote, you couldn’t help but glance at his arms, watching his biceps flex under his shirt. You thought about how they were just circled around your body, and you soon wished his touch was back on your skin.

A short while into the movie, Mingyu’s hand found itself on top of your knee, and you bit back a small smile as it stayed there for the rest of the night.

Mingyu spent another night on the couch—accidentally, because you two fell asleep in the middle of Barbie and the Island Princess—but, this time, you ended up spending the night right next to him.

Of course, nothing happened other than you tossing and turning a few times due to Mingyu’s snores and prying yourself out of his grip so that you could nestle into your blanket. It was an unfortunate fate that you and Mingyu wound up waking up on opposite sides of the couch.

You kept your eyes screwed shut after you woke up, though, choosing to wallow in your own thoughts for the first ten minutes of your day. You couldn’t get over what happened between you and Mingyu last night, and it was making you dread the thought of facing him once you opened your eyes. You were praying that he wouldn’t regret what went down.

It made you feel better that he didn’t shy away from you during the movie. He even made some light jokes about what you two did, which, at the very least, made you glad that he wasn’t having second thoughts.

(“I don’t know why they didn’t call you Captain Chastity By Choice,” Mingyu blurted out while scooping popcorn into his mouth. “We already knocked out half your list.”)

“Morning,” he grumbled in that husky morning voice that made your stomach feel like you were free-falling off a cliff. His soft, sleepy eyes gave you a once-over before he said, “I know you’re awake, Y/N.”

You had been peeking at him through barely-open eyes, but you gave up your farce and straightened up to face him properly.

“Good morning,” you greeted back. “Sleep well?”

He hummed before leaning in to peck your lips—a gesture that caught you off-guard because you didn’t think he would just start casually kissing you whenever. It felt far too intimate for you to brush it off as hormones acting up. You didn’t have the time to ask Mingyu why he did that before he started complaining.

You thought back to the whiteboard where Mingyu crossed out kissing, leaving behind faint traces of dry ink.

“Sort of,” he replied with a pout. “You stole the blanket! I had to curl up in the corner because I was freezing.”

He was rubbing small circles on your thigh with his thumb as he spoke, and you wondered if he knew the effect he had on you.

“By the way,” he continued, “I have an idea.”

“What’s your idea?”

“Let’s not make sex our goal. We can start slow today—maybe just foreplay until you’re comfortable with me.” He straightened up and crossed his legs so that he could face you. “No one’s taken the time to make you feel comfortable first, right?”

You recalled your list of unsuccessful trysts, starting with good old Mark Lee, who unfortunately became reduced to an inside joke in your friend group. After that, you were only intimate with two other men in your college years.

One was Choi Yeonjun, who you stopped while he was in the middle of stripping down so that you could make your escape. He was hot and all, but your nerves caught up to you by the time his tongue was down your throat. The other was Lee Minho, who was an absolute sweetheart, but you ended up calling an Uber to take you home after you saw his (somewhat intimidating) hard-on.

They were quite embarrassing recollections.

“You’re gonna spend the whole day making me feel comfortable?” you asked, and there was a hopeful gleam in your eyes that made Mingyu feel like he was a supernova among stars.

“If that’s what it takes.”

You had to appreciate Mingyu’s commitment.

After making pancakes for you and showing you Reddit stories on TikTok as you ate (which you also spent nearly an hour dissecting afterward), he got right to pulling you onto his lap and tracing a path up and down your forearms. Of course, he let you keep scrolling through his TikTok because you had gotten so immersed in the Reddit stories. Mingyu offered commentary as you two listened to each one under your new favorite profile of the hour.

“Her boyfriend invited another girl to his team dinner?” Mingyu gasped upon hearing the further details, still ghosting his large hands along your arms.

“Not the asshole,” you confirmed at the end with an adamant nod. “He was totally shutting her down when she told him she was uncomfortable.”

“He’s definitely got feelings for the other girl.”

You nearly sucked in a breath at his words. For whatever reason, the very mention of feelings made your nerves feel like cut wire. It was probably because whatever you and Mingyu had become was toeing the line of situationship.

Later, you ended up laying on top of him as a random Disney movie played on your TV. You didn’t exactly remember the process of you two choosing what to watch, but neither of you paid any attention after Mingyu slipped his hands past the hem of your shirt. The pads of his fingers burned against your skin as he drew circles on your bare waist.

“Higher,” you whispered.

Mingyu hummed inquisitively, peering down at you with an amused smile. He ran his hands up your torso so that his fingers rested right under the underwire of your bra.

“Like that?” he asked, and the teasing inflection in his voice made it clear that he was waiting for you to beg for more. And, oh, he loved the look on your face as you fought down your embarrassment. You shook your head before he cooed, “No?”

“No,” you echoed, “higher.”

Mingyu’s fingers slid up just enough to feel the wiring lining your bra cups. He frowned and moved one hand to the small of your back, snaking his hand up until he was holding onto the clasp.

“Mind if I get this out of the way?”

“Go ahead.”

He unclasped your bra with expert precision, his fingers working effortlessly to undo the hook. Your eyes were practically bugging open as you felt the fabric fall from your chest, wondering where in the world Mingyu learned how to do that. You didn’t have the mind to ask, though, because as soon as your bra straps came loose and fell down your shoulders, Mingyu’s hands cupped your breasts and squeezed experimentally.

This was probably the farthest you had gone in terms of physical touch, and you didn’t feel strange at all. Something about Mingyu’s touch was comforting, like the warmth of the sun enveloping you whole.

He rolled your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger, making you wince upon contact. You didn’t realize you were so sensitive already. It was clearly affecting Mingyu, too; you could feel something hard poking your thigh, and from what you gathered, it was impressively large under his sweatpants.

“So,” you started, a little too nervous for your liking, “all this is supposed to help me feel comfortable during sex?”

“Yeah, I worked it all out in my head,” Mingyu said between intervals of circling your nipple with his thumb and kissing your neck. “This is all part of my extremely helpful guide to helping you lose your virginity.”

“I wouldn’t call it extremely helpful, considering you’re a virgin yourself.” You laughed when Mingyu pouted in response. “What? I’m just saying I don’t think you have the credentials.”

“I will in”—he proceeded to check an imaginary watch on his wrist—“two business days.”

Two business days, as in the two days Soonyoung and Jungwoo had left for their Vegas trip. Mingyu was determined for you both to lose your virginities by then, although he reassured you over and over again that you could always speak up if you needed more time.

You had been getting several updates from Soonyoung and Jungwoo throughout the day. Apparently, Chan ended up going stag, but last night you saw two girls draped over him on Jungwoo’s Snapchat story. It made you feel a little less bad about turning down being his date.

“Plus,” Mingyu continued, “I have no problem getting naked right now. You’re the one who’s holding back.”

There was a challenging fire in your eyes. “You have no problem?”

“Nope.”

“Alright.” You put your hands over Mingyu’s and pushed them away from your body. “Then strip. Getting comfortable being naked means we have to actually be naked, right?”

“That means you have to undress, too.”

“Fine.”

He looked amused. “Fine.”

Fuck.

You were nervous.

And surprisingly, it wasn’t the thought of being naked in front of Mingyu that made you nervous, it was seeing your best friend completely nude that had you worried. It was no surprise to anyone that Mingyu was a looker, and you weren’t sure you were ready what he looked like under those clothes.

Mingyu gently moved you off of him and stood up to start stripping off his pants and shirt. His shirt came off in a single, swift motion, revealing his toned, muscular body. Years of work were etched in the grooves of his abdomen, his soft stomach complemented by strong muscle. Mingyu was never the type to show off his body at the gym, but you were starting to wish you were prepared for how gorgeous he was.  

Next, he pushed his sweatpants down until the fabric swamped his ankles. You swallowed hard when you saw the growing bulge in his boxers, but seconds later you were looking at how his hard cock stood right up as soon as his boxers had been discarded somewhere across your living room floor.

He was huge.

“Your turn,” he murmured.

You felt your pulse race.

“That’s not fitting inside me,” you blurted out, cheeks heating up with embarrassment. “There’s no way that fits inside me.”

“It’ll fit, Y/N,” he replied softly, reaching forward to take your hands in his. “I’ll do everything I can to make it fit comfortably, and if it doesn’t work out, then we can just keep trying at whatever pace works for you.” You looked skeptical but Mingyu held up his pinky finger. “Promise.”

There was no room for you to doubt him when he was looking at you with those big, hopeful eyes. So, you hooked your pinky finger with his and smiled when he helped you take off your shirt, still keeping your fingers interlocked.

Since you normally slept without a bra, your torso was fully bare once your shirt was off, so Mingyu nearly choked on his spit when he saw you. You moved your free hand to slide your shorts down while his eyes were fixed on the swell of your breasts.

“Can I motorboat your tits?” he asked bluntly.

You snorted immediately, taken aback by his straightforward question. Not only that, but your pinky fingers were still hooked together—a rather intimate gesture followed by a vulgar question.

“Whoa there, Sex Education. Let’s take it down a notch.”

He chuckled before sitting back down on the couch. You thought he would’ve wanted to take care of his hard-on, but Mingyu just held out his arms to you.

“What?” you asked, letting him grab your waist and pull you flush to his chest. Your brows furrowed more when he grabbed the TV remote from your coffee table. “What’re you doing?”

“We have to finish Barbie and the Island Princess, don’t we?”

You gave him a look before it clicked for you. This was all part of Mingyu’s plan to make you feel comfortable—pushing your limits and then settling for something that would put you at ease—so you cozied up to him and let him play the movie.

A demure smile stretched across your face. “Only if we can cuddle.”

“As my lady commands,” he joked, and then you were both laughing.

(And, spoiler: he did more than cuddle.

The way he kissed you made you feel like you were standing on hot coals. His tongue was halfway down your throat and his hands ran up and down your sides. You kissed him until your lungs burned for oxygen and you had to pull back for air. Mingyu peppered love bites all over your body and, by the end of the night, you two were a tangled mess of limbs on the floor with your sweat matting your hair down.

But, most importantly, you two finally got through Barbie and the Island Princess.)

There were a few reasons why Mingyu was roommates with Jeon Wonwoo.

He specifically chose not to room with someone in the friend group for two reasons: the first reason was because Wonwoo’s living habits aligned more with his, and the second reason was to avoid any possibility of ruining the friendship dynamic. Mingyu had his fair share of horror roommate stories, dating back to freshman year when his roommate in the dorms lived like a slob and muttered borderline psychopathic threats in his sleep. You remembered countless nights when Mingyu would knock at your door and ask if he could sleep on the floor.

For Mingyu, Wonwoo was his only saving grace since sophomore year.

You had gone to their room a few times, but you never overstayed your welcome. Although Wonwoo never complained, you felt guilty every time he walked out of his room with AirPods in. It was like he knew to block you out when he heard you coming in.

Today, since Mingyu had been working on code all day, you offered to bring him boba from the farmer’s market that you went to with Ryujin.

You double-checked the label on the side before handing him the drink. “Strawberry matcha.”

“Thanks. I’ve been deprived of boba since fall semester.” He grinned as he tore the plastic wrapping his straw was in. Mingyu popped the straw into the sealing film and took a sip before handing it to you. “Want some?”

“Sure.” You graciously took the cup to sip the delicious fruity blend. Shyly, you added, “It’s also a thank you… for last night. You actually helped a lot.”

You could tell Mingyu was fighting down a smirk; you could practically hear it in his tone. “Oh, did I?”

“Yeah, I actually did feel a lot more comfortable after all that.”

He flashed you a bright grin. “See? It’s the guide.”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

“I’m serious! It’s effective, isn’t it?” He set his drink down to turn his chair and look up at you properly. “You may think I thought of all that on a whim, but I really put extensive thought into it.”

You had to give him credit for the whole scientific method thing he had going on. You wondered if Mingyu’s consecutive six years of participation in the science fair had prepared him for this very moment.

“Extensive thought,” you echoed. “What? Did you write it all down in a notebook or something?” You laughed it off like it was a joke, but when Mingyu’s expression didn’t budge, you realized that you had hit the nail on the head. “Oh my god, you wrote it down!”

Mingyu huffed. “It’s not even that big of a deal! Writing stuff down helps me organize my thoughts.”

“Well, can I see it?”

“Hell no.”

“Just tell me which notebook you wrote it in.”

“No, ‘cause then you’re gonna look at it later.”

Mingyu thought he was subtle enough to pick up the notebook in front of him and move it away from your reach. Rookie mistake.

Your eyes followed his movements.

“That’s the one, isn’t it?” you asked, pointing at the red notebook that you’ve seen Mingyu jot notes down in before. He always carried it in his school bag, and you were starting to piece together why you hadn’t seen it around lately.

“N-no.”

“You’re such a bad liar, Gyu.” You hardly noticed his hands finding the backs of your thighs and pulling you down to straddle his knees. “Will you ever let me see it?”

“Maybe,” he replied, “or I can just show you what I have planned.”

It was then when you realized that the front of Mingyu’s jeans did look strained. The visible outline of his bulge made you unconsciously clench, which he smirked at once he felt the pulsation against his leg. You weren’t even sure if he was fully hard, but you could definitely feel him through your cotton shorts once you were pulled onto his thighs.

His lips found yours in seconds. Days ago, this was something you were hesitant about doing, but now it came more naturally. Your hands moved in a familiar path from his chest to loop around his neck, and then it was like a switch turned on for your best friend.

You broke from the kiss for air and you both looked down, foreheads touching as Mingyu grabbed your ass with rough hands and helped you grind down on him. Your head clouded over, and all you could think about was moving your hips to meet his so that you could chase the growing ache between your legs.

“That’s right,” he rasped. “That’s a good girl.”

Oh, if he knew the effect his words had on you. You were shamefully ruining the front of his jeans with how aroused you were.

At this point, his hardened length felt massive under you, so you lifted your hips to see just how big his pants had tented up. Mingyu’s grip on you loosened and he lowered his head, embarrassed. Before he could apologize, though, you got off his lap and sank to your knees.

Ever-so-sweetly, you asked, “Can I help?”

You swore you had never seen Mingyu look so blown away in his life.

“A-are you sure?”

“Of course.” You pouted. “You’ve been doing so much for me, and I wanna make you feel good, too.” You balanced your forearms on his knees and grinned up at him, watching his Adam’s apple bob nervously. “So, can I?”

“Please,” he nearly whimpered, fumbling with his zipper to get his jeans and black Calvin Klein boxers down. You helped him out graciously, tugging the fabric down to his ankles and marveling at his cock once it sprung up, curved slightly to your left. Mingyu nearly fell apart when he saw you between his legs, letting out an eager groan. “Jesus Christ, Y/N.”

“You’re really big,” you mumbled, tracing his v-line accentuated by his taut muscles, then his hip, and then the long vein that ran down his shaft with your thumb.

You weren’t even sure if you would be able to take all of him in your mouth. Plus, this wasn’t exactly your area of expertise. You knew this wasn’t Mingyu’s first time receiving head, so you were slightly intimidated. You were slightly terrified about possibly not being good at sucking dick, but you figured your mouth could do a better job than his right hand.

But you had already come this far.

Mingyu’s hand carded through your hair, pulling it back from your face. The gesture only made your confidence falter, wanting to just melt like putty in his grip. You reached out to wrap your hand around his shaft, surprised how rock-hard it was. That just made it all the more nerve-wracking to take him down your throat.

He seemed to pick up on your hesitation, gently asking, “Want me to talk you through it?”

You looked up at him and nodded, flushing hotly when you saw his sincere eyes gleam with amusement.

“Open your mouth,” he instructed, grabbing your jaw and gently pressing down on your bottom lip with his thumb. You obeyed and parted your lips just enough for him to slide his thumb into your mouth. “Wider.”

You complied. Mingyu adjusted his hips quickly before encouraging you with a nudge to put your mouth over the head of his cock. You wrapped your lips over his tip, licking off the precum that beaded his slit, and Mingyu hissed sharply.

He let out a sharp breath and let his gaze fly to the ceiling, gripping the arm of his chair. “Fuck, Y/N.”

Mingyu calling out your name so desperately only spurred you to take more of his cock until it hit the roof of your mouth. You were addicted to the sounds of his whimpers, relishing each high-pitched whine from him as you licked the underside of his head. Before, you thought the act of giving head was just extra work for women, but now you were starting to see why it was so addicting. Every moan and cry from Mingyu just made your pride inflate.

You looked up at him through your lashes to see the breathtaking view of his head thrown back and neck veins strained. Mingyu’s hips bucked up slightly, but he fought down his moans to make sure Wonwoo didn’t hear anything.

“Sorry,” he grunted out, eyes screwed shut in pure bliss. “Couldn’t help it.”

You pulled off of him for a moment to reply, “I don’t mind if you do it again.”

“Really?” His voice was almost breathless, half-surprised and half-excited.

You nodded, and Mingyu regained his composure a little so that he could sit up and slide his hand into your hair once more. Your lips wrapped around his cock again and sucked gently on his impressive length. His fingers buried themselves into your hair for leverage so that he could hold onto you while he started slowly moving his hips into your mouth.

With the way Mingyu was moving, you could feel the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat and making you gag. He looked at you for confirmation to continue, so you nodded eagerly and sat up higher on your knees to take him in fully.

The first push into your mouth he did was meek—just enough to get the tip of his head down your throat. You tried to relax your throat to take him in easier, blinking back a few stray tears that were brought on by your gag reflex. The second push was a little stronger, getting a little deeper, which roused a moan out of you. Mingyu must have felt the vibration in his cock because he groaned and bucked his hips into your mouth rougher. His thumb found your bottom lip and rubbed it gently, as if he was prying it open wider.

“Fuck, Y/N, your mouth feels so good,” Mingyu breathed out, soft grunts and curses falling from his lips as he went faster.

His free hand wiped away the tears that started streaming down your cheeks. You were past the point of slight discomfort now, and now you were too focused on listening to Mingyu’s pretty moans to think about anything else.

Without any proper warning, Mingyu’s entire body tensed up and he let out a loud groan, shooting his cum down your throat. He threw his head back, and then his whole body relaxed. His grip on your hair tightened and loosened. You squeezed your eyes shut and swallowed down his load before you pulled off of him, watching his chest heave as he tried to control his breathing.

“F-fuck, I’m sorry,” he apologized profusely. Still winded from his own high, Mingyu was stumbling over his own words. “I didn’t… didn’t think it would happen that fast.” He opened his eyes again and nearly fell apart at the sight of you. “Fuck. Did you really swallow?”

You nodded, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Yeah, I remember Jungwoo told me before that spitters are quitters, or something like that.”

The tension was thick in the room. Although you intended for your comment to lighten things up, the look in Mingyu’s eyes only darkened.

“Come here.”

You could only squeak in surprise as Mingyu pulled you up to kiss him, his rough hands cupping your cheeks. He didn’t seem to care that he was tasting himself on your tongue, and the act only made you moan against his lips. Seconds stretched into minutes before he pulled back.

“My turn,” he said. “Take off your shorts and get on the bed.”

You were reaching to tug down your shorts before he had even finished talking. After sitting down on the edge of your bed, your fingers flew down to tug at your underwear, but Mingyu got to it before you did. He knelt so that he was between your thighs, looking up at you carefully as he slid the cloth past your ankles and lifted one of your legs higher before propping it over his shoulder.

He pulled you in by the hips, dragging his nose up your middle thigh until it reached the apex of your legs. You looked down at Mingyu, breath hitching as you put your other leg over his free shoulder. His hands slid up your thighs and gripped your hips tightly. His long fingers were splayed out at your abdomen, and you felt your stomach flutter.

“No one’s ever gone down on you, huh?” he asked, and you confirmed his statement with a shake of your head. “Just sit back and let me do all the work, then.”

Your nerves caught up to you for a moment. You started to overthink, wondering if the position you were in was unflattering, or if you even tasted good down there, or if Mingyu was only doing this because he felt obligated.

But then he circled your clit with his tongue and you couldn’t think at all.

You cut yourself off by slapping a hand over your mouth, trying to muffle the moan that threatened to slip. Your train of thought had completely derailed when Mingyu licked a long stripe between your folds. His eyes were half-lidded, clouded with lust as he flattened his tongue against your cunt to taste you better. A soft groan from him vibrated through your core and up your spine.

Your back arched almost immediately. “Oh—oh my god.”

He started kissing your cunt, and god, it all felt so dirty. You had never felt this way before, and now that you knew that Mingyu’s tongue could make you feel this good, you were starting to see the full appeal of sex. He paused to suck on your clit, and you felt like you were short-circuiting while he ate you out like a man starved.

A pressure started building. You grew anxious and shot right up, tugging on Mingyu’s hair. He was unaware of your panic at first, and then he lifted his head once he felt you tap his shoulder repeatedly. Once his mouth was gone, though, you felt that pressure ebbing away.

“Something wrong?” he asked. “Need me to stop?”

You had to push down all of your shame to admit, “I think I have to use the bathroom.”

To your surprise, Mingyu just laughed. “The bathroom?”

“I’m serious!” You flushed, and the warmth that prickled your skin was different this time.

“I promise you, that’s not what you’re feeling,” he said, rubbing your thigh with his thumb in slow circles. His voice was gentle, like he was trying to soothe your nerves. “Just trust me and let that pressure keep building. Eventually, it’s gonna reach a point where it can’t hold itself in anymore, and then you’re gonna feel really good.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, so just relax for me, okay?”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding before sitting back in your previous position where you had your elbows propped up. Mingyu returned to your cunt with an experimental lick, lasting all of two seconds before he resorted back to his rough kissing and sucking.

You held onto the sheets for dear life as Mingyu plunged his hot tongue into your core, reaching a specific spot that made your eyes roll back and your toes curl. He kept your hips pinned to the mattress as he licked into you. His nose brushed against your clit with how close his face was. It was the final push to send you over the edge, and the warmth that had been building up finally unleashed into blinding white pleasure.

You came hard. The force of your orgasm nearly knocked the wind out of you, and your back was lifting off the bed as Mingyu tried to hold your hips down with great effort. The warmth of it coursed through your entire body, causing the surface of your skin to bead with sweat and cling to the sheets you were laying on.

And, as a photographer, Mingyu had taken pictures of countless gorgeous views that he’d come across in his lifetime, but the sight of you falling apart because of him was, by far, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

He pulled back to rub your clit in gentle circles while you were being pulled and swept away by the undertow of your orgasm. Mingyu murmured sweet nothings to keep you grounded, but you couldn’t process any of his words as your ears rang with white noise.

You blinked slowly as you came down from your high, whining as soon as Mingyu took his hand away from your sore clit. Before you were going to praise him for how good he was with his mouth, his lips returned to clean up the mess you made. You could only writhe and whimper as Mingyu licked at your soaking cunt.

He pulled back to grin at you, his lips and chin glistening with your arousal. You had always thought Mingyu looked attractive, but he was godly like this. Your heart raced just by looking at how his dark hair fell into his face and how his canines showed in his smile.

“Earth to Y/N,” he called, waving a hand in front of your face. When you snapped back into reality, you shot him a questioning look. “I was asking how you’re feeling.”

“Good—great,” you corrected, and then you let out a blissful sigh. “Amazing.”

“Great.” He grinned. “Ready for round two?”

“Round two?”

“Yeah, beautiful. You didn’t think we were done yet, right?”

“Jesus Christ, Y/N.” Ryujin looked mortified upon first glance of the bruises that littered your neck. “Are you hooking up with a leech?”

You had gone over to Ryujin’s apartment to drop off one of the prints she got from the farmer’s market and left in your car. Naturally, you ended up spending the evening there. Since you were so eager to share what had happened between you and Mingyu (telling Vernon or Minghao simply wasn’t an option right now), you ended up spilling everything that went down.

From the contract to you and Mingyu going down on each other earlier today, Ryujin hung onto every single word of yours with her jaw hanging in an almost comical way. She was shoveling handfuls of Hot Cheetos into her mouth as you gave her a detailed rundown of the story.

“This is so messy,” she gushed. “I love it.”

“It’s not messy!” you defended, and then added, “Okay, it’s a little messy, but we agreed to stop if it ever starts affecting our friendship.”

“So, you think sucking and fucking isn’t going to affect your friendship at all?”

You stayed silent.

“You should know that cross-contamination in the friend group most likely leads to disaster,” Ryujin continued as she popped a Hot Cheeto in her mouth. “It’s all fun and games because you guys think you’ll be able to maintain the friendship, but as soon as someone catches feelings, it’s over.”

A heavy sigh fell from your lips. “To be honest, I’m a little worried.”

“Worried?”

“We had this whole rule against kissing and it lasted, like, a week,” you explained. “I mean, we didn’t even do anything during that week, so I guess it lasted, like, five minutes. The rule was supposed to be there so that we wouldn’t catch feelings or anything, but Mingyu completely ignores it now. I’m not reading too deeply into this, right?”

Ryujin pondered in thought for a moment before redirecting the question back to you. “Do you want it to be deeper than it is?”

You frowned. “Huh?”

“Like, think about it,” Ryujin said. “Remember when you had a little crush on Mingyu during freshman year? Well, sometimes attraction doesn’t go away, so maybe your old feelings are coming back up now that you guys are, like, hooking up. Probably doesn’t help that Mingyu’s considered conventionally attractive.”

Sure, you had your occasional moments of weakness bubble up to the surface. It was something you tried to keep under wraps, but you were sure Mingyu could pick up on it whenever you were being extra touchy after intimacy.

They were never really of concern to you, though. You figured that you and Mingyu would live out the rest of your lives in parallel lines, neither of you crossing over to the other. It was what made your relationship with him rather simple, really. You would never cross over to his side, and he would never cross over to yours.

That was, until the contract was put into place.

“I don’t know…” you trailed off, and Ryujin clearly wasn’t pleased with your answer.

“Y/N, imagine him kissing another girl,” your friend instructed. She motioned for you to close your eyes, so you groaned and did as she said. You cleared your head to make room for whatever visualization she was making you do. “Imagine him kissing that girl from the Kap Sig party last year. The one who was all giggly and talkative when Mingyu was with us, and then she ignored us after he left.”

“Oh.” You made a face, not even wanting to picture that in your head. “Yeah, I don’t like that, but that girl was bitchy. I don’t think that necessarily means I have feelings for Mingyu, though.”

“Now, imagine him kissing the most likable girl you can think of,” she said. “This girl is the perfect match for Mingyu. She’s gorgeous, and she has a shoulder tattoo—the kind he went crazy over in freshman year. Not only that, but she’s smart. She takes good care of him. She brings him and his friends cookies whenever she bakes. She’s the kind of girl that everyone can’t help but adore when they meet her for the first time.”

You tried to really picture it in your head this time.

You imagined Mingyu next to someone who would be in his league, someone who made people want to stop and stare. You imagined how he would be complimented wherever he went for him and his girlfriend being such an attractive couple.

You imagined him making dinner for her and eating together. You imagined him laughing at inside jokes only the two of them knew about. You imagined him watching Barbie movies with her.

And it made your heart twist painfully.

You decided to shrug it off instead, saying, “If he’s happy, I’m happy.”

“Enough with that shit,” Ryujin deadpanned. “I’m here for drama. Give me something to work with, at least.” She shook her head disappointedly, and you couldn’t help but laugh at her. Once you simmered down, she continued, “But, in all seriousness, I think you should really be careful with whatever you and Mingyu have going on. It won’t end pretty if someone catches feelings while the other person doesn’t.”

You pressed your lips together in a grim line. “You’re right. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Anyway, back to the juicy stuff,” Ryujin said, inching closer to you while hugging her knees. “What else did you guys do?”

“We sixty-nined,” you whispered, as if it was some scandalous bit of gossip. “He was the six; I was the nine.”

“Okay, never mind, let’s tone down the juicy.”

You woke up to several Snapchat notifications from Jungwoo. They were all sent at four in the morning, and most of them were just him running through the streets of Las Vegas at night without his shirt on. You were mildly concerned, but you figured they were just having fun.

You tapped through the other snaps Jungwoo sent you. Soonyoung blacked out on a bar counter. A hooker sitting on Chan’s lap. Jeonghan with several hundred dollar bills in his hands. Another snap of Jeonghan with the caption stating that he lost all his money.

Then, it struck you that it was their last day in Vegas.

“We have one more day,” you informed Mingyu over the phone, “and then we have to start seeing each other secretly.”

“That’s kinda hot.”

“No! Not hot! I don’t know about you, but I experience crushing guilt whenever I have to sneak around them, like when I lied about us sleeping together.”

“Technically, we’re already doing that.”

You snorted. “You know what I mean.”

“By the way, not contract-related, but you should come over right now,” he said. “I have some good news to share.”

“Is it about your pink eye scare?”

At around two in the morning, Mingyu texted you a picture of his puffy eye and claimed he was “allergic to pussy.” You sent him back a picture of you flipping him off.

It turned out to be allergies, but Mingyu was completely convinced he had pink eye—all thanks to WebMD. You had to listen to him freaking out for thirty minutes until he calmly informed you that his eye wasn’t puffy anymore.

“Not funny,” he warned. “Okay, kinda funny, but—okay, wait, point is, you should come over.”

You giggled. “Okay, I’ll come over. See you soon.”

You hung up the phone to get ready, feeling oddly excited about going over to Mingyu’s. Ryujin’s words from last night started to get into your head, making you wonder how you truly distinguished your relationship with your best friend. Because why did you feel the need to put on makeup to see him when you had never thought about that in your four years of being friends? And why were you taking extra long to pick out an outfit that was supposed to be casual?

You were deep in thought all the way to his doorstep, only letting it dissolve into the backwaters of your memory once the door opened to Mingyu’s excited face.

“They chose my submission,” was the first thing he said, his eyes shining.

You didn’t even have to ask for clarification. Right away, you knew exactly what he was talking about: the sunset photograph he submitted to the exhibition. It had been all he was raving about for weeks.

“Oh my god!” Your eyes were wide as you looked down at your hands helplessly. “I don’t have anything for us to celebrate with! Hold on, I can run to the store and buy, like, cake or—”

“Slow down.” Mingyu laughed. He grabbed you gently by your forearms and grinned. “We don’t need to celebrate anything. Just promise me you’ll come see my photography.”

“Of course.”

“My submission was for you, so you have to go. Promise?”

If it was even possible, your eyes grew even wider. “It was?”

“You’ll see.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Anyway, the gallery opening is in a few days. I’ll text you the address and time later.”

“Alright.” You held out your pinky to interlock with his own. “I promise.”

Mingyu wrapped his pinky around yours and grinned before tugging you by the same finger into his apartment. You followed him into his room, eyeing how strong and wide his back was. You were starting to fall back into dangerous imaginations again, wondering if he was going to make a move on you again now that you two only had a day left. Not that you would admit it to your best friend, but you were hoping something would happen.  

“Wonwoo found out Clawdia was getting lonely, so he’s out looking for a pet store that sells hermit crabs,” Mingyu explained. “He was on my ass about it, too, because I said crabs are probably fine being on their own. I mean, they’re called hermit crabs. How was I supposed to know they’re social creatures? Misleading name, if you ask me.”

Although you were (partly) engrossed in his story about Wonwoo’s pet crab, your eyes couldn’t help but linger on the red notebook on Mingyu’s desk.

He picked up on what was distracting you before you could even tear your gaze away, saying, “You’re so nosy.”

You made a face. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” His shoulders slumped as a retired sigh escaped his lips. You could see that you had been wearing him down over the notebook, so he bargained, “Alright, I’ll show you on one condition.” He plopped down on the edge of his bed. “I want something in return.”

You were most definitely taking his words the wrong way because your cheeks were heating up while Mingyu remained completely impassive.

“Something in return?”

“Yeah, I want an answer,” he started, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “When exactly did you start finding me cute? Or, in your words, a ‘walking wet dream,’ right?”

You barked out an unamused laugh. “Yeah, there’s no way I’m telling you.”

“Notebook,” Mingyu reminded.

Suddenly, you were elated about show-and-tell.

“You first,” he insisted. “I assure you, mine is regrettably more embarrassing.”

“The first time I found you cute…” you trailed off, trying to recall the exact moment you started appreciating your best friend’s attractiveness. “I’d say it was in freshman year when we went on the hike together during orientation week. You were all sweaty and wrapped your arm around me when we took a group picture at the top. I was going crazy about it to Ryujin, but then we became good friends, so I just pretended I never felt that way.”

“Freshman year?” he asked, wide-eyed. “You thought I was cute back then? I was a baby!”

“We were eighteen. Don’t make me sound like a creep.”

Mingyu laughed. “I just can’t believe you thought I was cute back then. I didn’t even think you thought about me like that.”

“It was our first week and I was cut loose from my parents.” You shrugged. “Plus, I think every girl in our orientation group wanted to get in your pants.”

“Not Ryujin.”

“No, she was still dating that guy from her high school, remember?”

You scrunched up your nose at the memory; back in the first few months of your freshman year, Ryujin always ditched you and Mingyu at random points during the night because her controlling boyfriend would call to make sure she wasn’t out and about. He was especially suspicious of Mingyu for being an attractive, well-liked man. You found the whole thing ridiculous because her boyfriend was keeping her from having fun and making friends.

To make matters worse, Mingyu ended up finding out Ryujin’s boyfriend was cheating on her after seeing one of his mutual friends post him on her private Snapchat story. It was a picture of them in bed together, and he completely denied it when confronted. You and Ryujin bonded the most during the week she planned to dump her boyfriend, and she ran straight to you once she did. After she cried her tears and used up all of your tissues, you two had your own beach bonfire to burn all of the gifts he got her.

You still remembered how you and Mingyu were back then. Since you two were still new friends, things were still a little shy and awkward. It wasn’t until your third year that you and Mingyu got closer, starting to hang out one-on-one instead of with Ryujin. Since she got busy with internships and her club activities, Ryujin grew a little distant from Mingyu, although they were still on good terms.

“Alright,” you said, impatience sticky like honey on your tongue, “your turn.”

“Ah, right.”

Mingyu walked over to his desk and picked up the notebook. You watched how he rubbed the back of his neck before turning back to you, and his head was turned so that you wouldn’t catch sight of his blush. (You noticed, though.) He flipped past several pages, eyes skimming through math formulas and physics problems before he landed on a page with several scribbles and arrows.

“It’s, like, this page and a few more,” he explained. “Knock yourself out.”

(You decided not to point out that it was more like ten pages.)

You grinned, thrilled, and laid out the notebook in front of you so that you could take everything in. Right away, Kim Mingyu’s Guide to Losing Your Virginity was scrawled at the top. You snorted, grabbing a pencil from his desk to write Unhelpful before Guide. He watched you nervously as your eyes flitted from note to note, your smile growing bigger at certain things he wrote.

A poorly-drawn arrow from how to make y/n feel comfortable to make sure she knows she can take everything at her own pace made you feel something warm and fluttering in your chest. You couldn’t believe Mingyu put this much effort into making you feel good—so much effort that he had entire pages in his notebook dedicated to brainstorming how to pleasure you. You had never been so focused in your life as you read through what he penciled in, and one idea in particular caught your attention.

suggest REALLY sexual things so she feels more comfortable sharing what she wants to do. this will probably make her judge (bully??) you but it’s for good reason

“You’re kidding,” you said, eyes still fixed on the notebook. “You made your list that long just so I wouldn’t feel awkward?”

Even though you asked the question, you were barely listening to him as your heart pounded in your chest and your blood rushed in your ears. You didn’t even have half the mind to see the shy expression painted over Mingyu’s face because you were so locked in on the notebook. His stammering and backtracking became background noise as you were hyper-focused on the words he wrote.

Somehow, this felt bigger than any emotion you had experienced before.

You were consumed, and it scared you. Sweltering in the overwhelming feeling of longing and possibly something more. And you realized that even if you ended up with someone else after all this, a part of you would always belong to Mingyu—the part of you that watched Barbie movies and liked coming home to a dinner for two.

Was it presumptuous for you to assume that Kim Mingyu could possibly harbor romantic feelings toward you? Was it safe to say that maybe you felt the same way?

“—but now that you’ve seen it,” you finally heard him say (after taking a few seconds to register his voice), “can we take out phone sex from the list? I was never really big on that.”

You looked up at him and laughed, a touch distracted because you were still caught in the tide of your own revelations. But you laughed like you were eighteen again, sitting in Mingyu’s dorm room and listening to him recount one of his hilarious stories about him getting lost on campus or being chased by seagulls.

And now you were twenty-one, sitting in Mingyu’s apartment and giggling like you were eighteen again.

Everything melted away, and all you could think about was how badly you wanted to kiss Mingyu.

You sat up on your knees and wrapped your arms around his neck. You didn’t think you had ever looked at Mingyu with such unadulterated desire in your eyes.

Craving. Longing. Yearning.

All of it was festering inside you.

“You’re such a dork, Gyu,” you murmured before pressing your lips to his.

This time, when you kissed him, you felt like all of the stars in the sky hung below the clouds just to witness this very moment. Mingyu was stunned for a few moments before he brought his hands up to pull your face closer to his. His nose brushed against your cheek, and you let a giggle slip between soft pecks and deeper kisses.

He pulled back for air, labored breaths falling from his lips before he found you again. This time, the kiss was deeper, rougher. Adrenaline coursed through your veins as Mingyu held you tighter, squeezing your sides so hard that you were arching up against his body.

You had always tried to push down hope before it was born, but the way Mingyu held you made you feel like you were on top of the world. You wanted to believe there was longing in the way his hands ran up and down your body, but you were too scared that you were mistaking his lust for something more.

Even as he pulled away once more to catch his breath, keeping his eyes flitting between your eyes and lips while his forehead was pressed against yours, you so desperately wanted to believe that there was something more behind his affectionate gaze. Something real.

It was when he pressed a chaste kiss to your nose that your hope bloomed in your chest like a valley of flowers kissed by spring.

His hand found its way behind your head, bringing you back to him for more. You felt like you could be there forever, just exchanging wordless affection and holding each other close. Mingyu moved over you so that he was suspended over your body, starting to lick into your mouth once your back hit the bedsheets. You accepted it almost immediately, parting your lips so that your tongue could dance with his.

Then, you were whining against his lips, begging for more. The sloppier and dirtier your kisses got, you were desperate for more skin-to-skin contact. You hooked your finger into one of his belt loops and tugged him closer, which resulted in Mingyu grinding his hips down against yours.

“You want more?” he asked, more raspy than coherent, really, and you could only nod in response as you pulled him closer. Mingyu peppered kisses from your jawline to the column of your neck, leaving behind love bites that you would need a lot of concealer and color corrector for later. “I don’t wanna rush—”

“No, Gyu,” you urged him, tugging him forward by the front of his shirt. “I need you.”

His voice came out in a breath. “Need me?”

“I want you. I want you to be my first because I… I trust you.”

He grinned brightly, canines on full display while his hair was a tousled mess above you. You were pretty sure his smile would be imprinted behind your eyelids forever.

His hand slipped under your shirt and ran up your back, maintaining eye contact with you and looking pleasantly surprised at the absence of your bra.

He pressed a tender kiss to the side of your neck before helping you pull off your shirt. Mingyu’s face was set in a grin before his smile slowly fell, replaced by a look of utter confusion. His brows were pulled together in perplexion as he stared at your tits.

Or, more specifically, the pasties over your nipples.

“Oh, my bad,” you said, unfazed, “I forgot I still had those on.”

“What is it?”

“Seriously? You’ve never seen a nipple cover?” you asked, making your best friend yelp when you peeled the adhesive off your skin. Mingyu shrunk back with a wince before you placed the silicone in his hand. “It doesn’t bite.”

He weighed it in his palm carefully before placing it on his bedside table. “Looks like a chicken breast.” Then, he looked back at your tits. Instead of bedroom eyes, there was genuine concern in his gaze. “It didn’t hurt when you ripped it off, right?”

You stifled a laugh. “No, it didn’t hurt. My boobs are all good.”

You took his hand and placed it over your left breast for good measure. He squeezed experimentally, but you were certain he was just still in shock over the nipple cover. This would normally be when you shrunk in on yourself, but Mingyu discovering the existence of pasties was far too entertaining for you to shy away.

“Good,” he said before he sighed, a little too dreamy to convince you that this was purely platonic. The lighthearted moment settled back into tension. Barely loud enough for you to hear, Mingyu murmured, “You’re so pretty like this.”

You wondered if your eyes were as big as they felt. “You think I’m pretty?”

“You don’t?” He frowned, as if he was offended that you weren’t seeing what he was. “I think you’re beautiful.”

He said it before, but you thought it was just a pet name because he was in the mood. Now that he was saying it so sincerely, looking at you like you were his entire world, you felt like you had turned into putty in his hold. Your nerves were practically on fire under your skin.

“You’re sure about this, right?” he asked again, brushing a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. When you nodded, he readjusted his position so that he was underneath you, moving your hips so that you were sitting on top of him. “Just let me know if you wanna stop.”

“It’s your first time, too,” you said softly, reaching out to trace his jawline. “Are you ready?”

“Oh, I’ve been waiting.” He smiled before pulling you down for another long kiss.

He kissed you for what seemed like ages, running his hands all over your body and teasing you with kisses to your neck and jawline when he pulled away. While he was getting a condom from his nightstand, you wondered how you could ever get enough of him if this was what sleeping with Kim Mingyu was like.

While you both were a mess of limbs, you managed to remove every article of clothing from each other until your bare bodies were pressed against each other. He tore the silver wrapping of the condom off to slide the lubricated rubber over his cock. Of course you had seen him naked before, but you still couldn’t get over how wonderfully sculpted his body was. He had to have been blessed by a Greek god.

Mingyu held you close to his chest, his eyes raking your body again and again until you felt weak in the knees. When he hovered over you, lining up his cock with your soaked cunt, you had to swallow down your anxiousness.

Questions billowed in your head, floating about until they turned into butterflies and flew straight to your gut. What if he didn’t fit? What if you couldn’t take all of him in? What if it hurt?

But Mingyu had always been so reliable, so comforting. You felt safe in his arms, even if you had been working yourself up over this very act for years. You wanted to be brave for him.

“Are you ready?” he asked once more—just to be safe because he was right there. This was your last chance to back out and he wanted to make sure you truly wanted this.

You nodded with firm self-assurance. “Yeah, I am.”

“Okay, bear with me here,” he replied, the tips of his ears going pink as he tried to laugh off his awkwardness. “I’ve never exactly done this before.”

You laughed. “Me neither. We can figure it out together.”

His lips tugged into a small smile. Mingyu leaned down to press a soft kiss to your lips before he tried pushing his cock into you, guiding it with his entrance. It took him a few tries to work the head in without accidentally slipping out. The first stretch you felt wasn’t painful, but there was mild discomfort that you pushed down.

But then Mingyu couldn’t push into you any further. Your excitement fizzled and your emotions were swinging dangerously into a pit of worries.

Your best friend was a problem-solver, though. He hummed inquisitively before repositioning himself at your entrance.

“Wrap your legs around my hips,” he instructed. “I think that’ll be easier for you.”

You did as he said, tucking your legs around his hips and hooking your ankles together. Your arms hung loosely around his neck, playing with the ends of his hair and twirling them around your fingers. You bucked your hips up once to indicate you were ready, not realizing that it would make Mingyu grunt instead. You could feel your core pulsing from how badly you needed him.

After sucking in a shaky breath, Mingyu started pushing into you once more. Your arousal made it easier for him to slip inside, finally pushing the head of his cock past your folds. You cried out, tightening your grip on Mingyu as you adjusted to his size. You hadn’t even gotten his full cock in you yet.

Mingyu eased his way inside you for what seemed like ever. He didn’t care about how long he was taking or if he was getting impatient; he calmly took the time to work his cock into you. The long vein that ran down his length made you shudder as it brushed against your walls.

“That feel good?” he rasped, looking into your eyes for any signs of pain.

You nodded eagerly. “Y-yes! Please keep going.”

Your body was hot. Feverish. It felt like your pleasure was building up slowly—a dull ache at your core that grew as Mingyu pushed deeper inside you. He lowered his head to kiss your neck at the same time, nipping and sucking at your tender flesh while you moaned and writhed under him.

Finally—finally, finally, finally—Mingyu’s hips pressed flush against yours and you bit down on your lip to keep yourself from screaming out. The pain was sharp, almost dizzying, but after Mingyu held you and kissed you all over until you relaxed, you felt it subside slowly. He sighed happily, bucking into you slightly to feel how deep he was. You buried your face into his chest once you felt the room going a little fuzzy.

Aching, gnawing pain.

Deeper and deeper, but the pain built with each push into you. One certain thrust made you feel as though you hit a peak, but then you felt yourself coming down. You closed your eyes through it, taking deep breaths until the pain had mostly alleviated, a new feeling of pleasure rushing through your body.  

He didn’t say anything for a long while, just letting you take things at your own pace. It was only until you begged him to move that Mingyu complied and started moving his hips.

With an experimental, shallow thrust, you let out a whimper and let one of your legs unhook from the other, letting it lay on the bed instead. Mingyu held your other hip up and started thrusting slowly into you, making sure to keep his pace exact so that he didn’t slip out again. Your pleasure was building up fast, like a spell of vertigo that left your head spinning and your body flushed.

“F-feels so good, Gyu,” you cried out, and then you couldn’t say anything at all once his tongue pried its way into your mouth. His lips slotted against yours perfectly, like both of your lips had been specifically molded to fit each other’s.

He thrusted deeper. Some of his thrusts hit that golden spot inside you that made your world turn blinding white. You were dangerously close to an orgasm with how good he was making you feel.

Mingyu sped up his thrusts, holding your hips and dragging his lips across your skin to leave love bites along your collarbone and shoulders. With the way he shifted your hips to pound in at a better angle had your legs shaking and your eyes rolling back into your head. You were far too sensitive to last long, especially since this was your first time experiencing such pleasure.

Realizing that your muscles had started involuntarily twitching, Mingyu thrusted into you deeper and caged you in his grip. You were teetering on the precipice of a release, holding onto his strong arms for leverage—something to ground yourself while you about to dive into your own ecstasy.

The brute strength in his thrusts led you to falling over the edge, jolts of pleasure coursing through you as you chanted Mingyu’s name over and over again like a prayer. The force of your orgasm nearly knocked the wind out of you, making the world before you go blurry as Mingyu fucked you through your high.

You nearly didn’t register him moaning out, too, his lips framing your name as he came. It felt as if you had short-circuited, laying underneath him helplessly as you rode out your orgasm. The current tugged and swept you away, sending aftershocks of pleasure to your sore cunt.

You blinked twice to reorient yourself, coherence bleeding back into you. It was when Mingyu kissed your forehead that it finally clicked for you.

You finally lost your virginity.

“Thank you,” he whispered against your temple. “That was incredible.”

You nodded, dazed, about to thank him back before you noticed that something was running down your hip. You touched the liquid curiously, wondering if you had just been that overstimulated, but what you found on your fingertips was blood.

You shrieked.

“What happened?” he asked, eyes wide before he saw your hand. He chuckled lightly. “Oh, I see. This is normal after your first time; it’s no big deal.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, don’t sweat it.”

Mingyu didn’t seem to understand the gravity of the situation, though; he was smiling delightedly while you were a panicked mess. Blood was gushing out of the very place Mingyu’s cock was buried, and you were humiliated because of your new position as Human Ketchup Bottle.

“Wow,” he cooed sarcastically, rubbing your hips gently, “it’s like you’re my personal little volcano.”

“Oh my god. Please shut the fuck up, Gyu.”

After helping clean you up and a few more sessions of you two gushing over how good your first time felt, you and Mingyu laid in bed together, side-by-side. He had gone on several tangents about how it was nice that you two didn’t feel awkward around each other and that he was almost worried because he heard a lot of horror stories about people’s first time.

Apparently, Vernon’s first time was quite unmemorable because it was a quickie in a hot tub. He had never considered the friction caused by the water being uncomfortable, so it wasn’t one for the books.

To your surprise, when Mingyu headed to the kitchen to get you some water, you felt strangely hollow. As your eyes grew unfocused, the ache from the penetration was more clear, and you started to feel a little empty.

No one ever talked about what happened after sex. No one ever talked about how, shortly following the aftermath of your first time when you were coming down from the dazzling glow of your orgasm, the only thing you could feel was overwhelming vulnerability.

It was like you had been flying up in the clouds, got too close to the sun, and dropped right into a void of sadness. You were bordering on a feeling of emptiness as you stared up at Mingyu’s popcorn ceiling.

Then, the bed dipped next to you. Mingyu came back with a glass of water for you and one of his sweaters—the black Ralph Lauren one his mom got him for his high school graduation. Yeah, he was definitely starting to outgrow it, but he kept it hung up in his closet, anyway. Something about it being sentimental to him.

“You good?” he asked in a gentle voice, setting the glass of water on the nightstand. He slid onto the mattress next to you, wrapping a strong arm around your waist. “You look a little out of it.”

“I’m better now,” was all you said, smiling contently after placing your arm on top of his.

“Did something happen? Did I do something?”

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to tell Mingyu how you were feeling; you just didn’t know how to. There was nothing he had done to upset you at all, and the night had been incredible. You were still over-the-moon from losing your virginity to your best friend. That was why the wave of sadness that hit you afterward was strange and foreign.

“No, no, it’s just…” You sighed. “I just felt really sad for a few seconds. Like, don’t get me wrong, that was the best feeling ever, but after you went to go get water and stuff, I just got really sad.”

Something flashed across Mingyu’s face. It was the look he always wore when he was correcting someone or explaining some nerdy bit of information he knew. You were anticipating him to go on some tangent about heightened emotions peaking during sex would lead to a crash—something along those lines.

But then, he simmered. His expression was immediately replaced with understanding as he squeezed you tighter. Mingyu must have known that you just wanted to be comforted, not talked to, so he just tucked his head into the crook of your neck.

You felt warmer. Safer.

“Do you feel better now?” he asked.

You sucked in a breath. “Much better.”

Somewhere between your mumbles and whispers of conversation, you and Mingyu ended up drifting asleep in each other’s arms.

It was around twilight when you woke up, dusky purple streaming through the windows and across Mingyu’s peaceful face as he was deep in slumber. You turned your gaze back up, staring at the chipped paint and grooves in the popcorn ceiling, feeling as if you were drowning in your own emotions.

The feeling settled in your chest. It was always there, like a dull ache, but now it was loud. Pounding.

You were in love with Kim Mingyu.

You ran into Ryujin later—much later. It was well after you went back to your apartment and had a meltdown over your newly-recognized feelings for your best friend.

After you talked yourself through your feelings for nearly an hour, you realized that you couldn’t handle this problem head-on. You needed the assistance of your favorite cookies and cream ice cream from Ben and Jerry’s, so you walked to the nearby grocery store in sweatpants and a jacket.

While you were trying to balance three tubs of ice cream in your arms, Ryujin happened to wander into the freezer section, looking mildly concerned at the sight of you. She was pushing a cart full of groceries with her glasses sitting low on her nose.

“Need any help there?” she asked, moving aside her bag of cilantro to make space for your ice cream.

“You were right,” you admitted, and you nearly sounded hysterical with how breathless and frazzled you were. “I’m in love with him.”

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah.”

“That explains the ice cream.”

“Totally overshot the much simpler feeling of just liking someone, or being attracted to someone,” you rambled, allowing her to take the tubs of ice cream from your hands. “It couldn’t even just be a silly little crush, either. I’m just… in love with him.”

“So, what’re you gonna do now?”

You paused. “Would it be reasonable for me to think about it after I see him again?”

“Reasonable? Absolutely not. Stupid? Probably.”

“Well, that’s what college is for, anyway.”

“I support you,” she started, “even if I think you’re a dumb bitch.”

“Thanks, Ryujin, I think.”

The golden rule about being in your twenties was that it was the prime time to be young, dumb, and make stupid decisions.

The stupid decision you settled on for today was inviting Mingyu over when you really should have been taking some time to figure out your feelings for him. You knew very well that this would fuck with your emotions, but you had to give in to your carnal desires. Now that Mingyu had relinquished you of your virgin title, you couldn’t get enough.

You had always wondered what it would be like when you finally lost your virginity. Part of you thought it would be some sort of final form that you would achieve, but it wasn’t exactly all that different. Society overvalued deflowerment, you figured, but there was something that rang true.

Your face glowed a little brighter. Whether that was because of your recent confidence boost or your post-sex elation, you weren’t sure.

But now, you were in a predicament: you wanted more. Naturally, that led you to calling Mingyu and subtly asking if he wanted to come over.

That was how you ended up with your chest pressed against the wall while Mingyu’s body was caging yours. His strong chest was against your sweat-beaded back, and you swore you could feel every muscle of his keeping you from budging. It took him a few valiant efforts to fit his cock inside of you, and you had to reposition yourself several times for him to find a good angle. Once he had slid into you with ease, though, he started thrusting into you with vigor, soft grunts falling from his perfect lips.

(You realized Mingyu wasn’t able to get enough of you, too. He walked in, exchanged a greeting and gave you an update on Wonwoo’s crabs before his rough hands were turning you around and holding you against the wall. While his lips worked on your neck, you managed to sputter out some nonsense about being happy for Wonwoo’s new crab, Clawmander.)

“You’re wet,” he observed, his tone frank and even.

“Excellent observation, Sherlock Holmes.” You managed to gasp out the words before Mingyu’s cock hit that perfect spot inside you that made your vision curl with darkness at the ends.

“Jesus,” he hissed, lips brushing against your left ear. You let out a sound that was somewhere between a whimper and a moan while he used his free hand to rub your clit in torturous circles. “I didn’t think you’d get this worked up over me.”

You didn’t answer him. This wasn’t the right time or place for him to hear the true reason. Plus, you could hardly string any words together when he was making you feel so good.

“Don’t cum just yet,” he muttered, and you whined when his cock slid out of you. When you turned around to ask him what his deal was, Mingyu lifted you up effortlessly and carried you to your couch. He had you straddling him while his hands rested on your thighs. “I want you to ride me, beautiful.”

Intimidation settled in. Mingyu could see it in your eyes—the way they refocused and your gaze flitted around hesitantly.

And, because Mingyu was just a tenderhearted, loveable ray of sunshine, he added gently, “If you want to, of course.”

Your eyes went lust-lidded as you wrapped your arms around his neck. You just wanted to make him proud.

“Sit back,” you told him, and you lifted your hips so that you could sink down on his throbbing cock.

Mingyu sucked in a sharp breath, holding your hip with one hand and helping adjust his length with the other. You winced, still not used to the penetration, but the initial pain was less sharp than it was the first couple times. Once you felt the mild discomfort replaced with the hot pleasure you were chasing just minutes before, Mingyu helped you start moving your hips up and down on him. He let go of your hips to throw his head back and run his hands down his face, agonized that he couldn’t fuck into you himself.

You placed one hand on his chest and let your body hover over his as you fucked yourself on his cock. Then, Mingyu decided to pull you flush to his body and buck his hips up on his own. You cried out from feeling him deeper inside you, but then you were moaning into the curve of his neck.

“You feel so good around me,” he whispered into your hair. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

You pulled back, still bouncing on his dick with spurts of clarity returning to you. You were still dazed from how good he felt inside you, but Mingyu’s words were trying to reel you back into proper coherence.

“H-how long?” you stuttered out.

Mingyu smirked up at you, but before the fluttery feeling returned to your chest, you were paralyzed with fear when you heard a loud knock followed by the door handle turning. Your oncoming orgasm came to a halt and dissipated immediately after.

You and Mingyu repelled like magnets; you winced as he practically manhandled you off his lap and scrambled away, so you pushed him off the couch as payback. You only had time to pull your blanket up to cover your bare chest before Soonyoung appeared in the doorway. Mingyu, butt naked, was perfectly facing the front door, and he could only cover his crotch with both hands in time.

Cue Soonyoung screaming, then Mingyu, then you.

For a few seconds, it was a perfect choir of discordant screeching.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” you yelled as Mingyu tried to duck out of the way. He eventually realized there was no immediate escape and just turned around, making Soonyoung sigh heavily and cover his eyes with his sleeve when he saw Mingyu’s ass on full display.

“Well, my… my Connect Fours—”

“You could’ve knocked!”

“You told me I could come over and pick them up!”

“You still could’ve knocked!”

“Don’t blame me; I am the victim here! Normally, you’re in here watching a rerun of Jersey Shore, so I wasn’t exactly thinking, ‘Oh, what if Y/N’s actually getting dicked down by Mingyu right now?’ No! Because no one tells me what’s going on anymore!” Soonyoung argued. “I just came here to get my Connect Fours, not for front row seats to the Magic Mingyu show!”

“I’m sorry.” You sent Mingyu an uneasy look, and then you grew more concerned as you watched him manage to awkwardly wrap most of his body with the white drapes at your windows. You turned back to Soonyoung. “You didn’t see too much, did you?”

“I just saw Mingyu’s asscheeks on full display!”

Mingyu pouted, taking great offense to Soonyoung’s panic. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Okay, I’d rather see your asscheeks, like, on purpose,” he replied, exasperated, “not like this! My eyes feel violated.”

“Soonyoung,” you whispered harshly, and, if looks could kill, you were sure your friend would be six feet under. You waved your hand, motioning for him to leave as the situation was becoming increasingly awkward. “I’ve only got ten of the boxes so far. I’ll text you when the rest come.”

“Right, right,” he mumbled, turning to grab the large package at your entryway. “I’ll just take this and go, then. Let me know when the rest come.”

You sighed. “Yeah, of course.”

“By the way, how big is Mingyu’s dick? He won’t tell us how—”

Mingyu, who looked horrified at this point, raised his voice so high that you nearly burst out laughing from how squeaky it sounded. “Can you leave already?!”

“Before I go,” he said, “I’ll see you guys at Kap Sig for the Beerlympics tomorrow, right?” After he was met by two piercing glares, your friend realized that this was probably not the time nor place for this conversation. “Sorry! Just text me if you decide to show up!”

Soonyoung closed the door behind him loudly to make it known that he had left, and you and Mingyu relaxed once he was finally gone.

“I’m gonna lock your door,” Mingyu started, all huffy and flushed with embarrassment, “and then we can get back to what we were doing.” While he was making sure your lock was secure and walked back, he kept lecturing, “You know, you should really keep your door locked all the time. You never know what’s going to happen.”

You heard him loud and clear, but your mind was still buzzing with questions from what he said before you two were walked in on. All you wanted to know was how long he had been waiting to sleep with you, and you were so curious that you weren’t even feeling humiliated anymore over Soonyoung nearly seeing you naked.

“How long have you been waiting?” you asked. When Mingyu only gave you a confused look, you clarified, “You said it earlier while I was on top of you.”

“Oh.” He rubbed the back of his neck before his lips stretched into a smile. “How about this: I’ll tell you when you come to see my work in the gallery.”

You folded your arms across your chest. “Fine, but I was gonna show up either way.”

“See, that’s what I like about you.” You were too busy blushing to notice that Mingyu had already made his way between your legs and was hovering over you. He peeled the blanket off from your body and put it over the head of your couch. Tapping your knee, he said, “Now, open up, beautiful. Since you were doing so good for me, I’ll make it up to you.”

It was the next day around noon, and the remaining ten boxes of Connect Fours arrived at your door in another giant package. You texted Soonyoung that he could come pick them up (and wait for you to open the door).

You still hadn’t cleared things up from yesterday when he walked in on you and Mingyu, so you weren’t sure how to look him in the eye without feeling absolute shame. Not only that, but the guilt from your lie had been swirling in your chest constantly now that you were hit with the reality that Soonyoung had already perceived your strange friends with benefits relationship with Mingyu.

After you spent practically the entire day with Mingyu yesterday, even driving him to 7-Eleven for munchies at 3 a.m., you ended up getting the green light from him to tell Soonyoung everything. He knew that the guilt was weighing on your chest, and you both concurred that you would feel much better after coming clean.

After all, Soonyoung was one of your best friends, and you didn’t want him to keep deceiving him, no matter how big or insignificant your lie was to him.

When Soonyoung arrived at your door, making sure to knock three times, he greeted you with his usual cheery smile.

“Hey,” he said with an awkward edge to his voice. “Proud of me? I knocked this time.”

You went over this conversation about a million times in your head, thinking of different possible scenarios and outcomes that could happen. For each one, though, there was no eloquent way to bring up your lie without you sounding like you were overcompensating by rambling.

Just rip the bandage off, you told yourself.

It was hard to find the words, though, and your brain couldn’t figure out how to smoothly deliver the news.

Soonyoung looked like he didn’t know what to do, considering you had been staring blankly at him for several seconds without saying anything. “Is this a bad time?” he asked after a pause.

You shook your head quickly. “No, I have something I need to tell you.”

“Yeah? What’s up?”

You gestured for him to come inside, and Soonyoung took off his shoes before walking into your apartment. You felt yourself flush when he intentionally avoided sitting on your couch and just stood between your hallway and living room.

Soonyoung liked to joke around most of the time, but even he could tell that you were trying to bring up something serious. His arms were folded across his chest, the bewilderment in his eyes coalescing into sympathy. You intended for this to be honest, clear communication, but your breath was getting short and your eyes were darting to your feet before you could even get the words out.

This was deeper than your lie. You could admit that you were a liar, but something inside you withered at the very thought of admitting that there was something going on between you and Mingyu. Something that crossed the line of platonic friendship but kept its distance from romance.

So, before anything else, you blurted out, “I lied about being a virgin. Mingyu and I didn’t have sex.”

Your voice was thick with emotion. For a moment, your friend just stared at you, unblinking.

“Huh?” He sounded utterly confused as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t want to make things awkward and bring it up, but didn’t I walk in on you and Mingyu yesterday?”

“No, I’m talking about the time I told you I had sex with Mingyu.”

“In the library?”

“Yes.”

“So you guys didn’t have sex?”

“Well, technically we did, but—”

“Wait, let me get this straight,” Soonyoung said, pausing before he continued, “so, you’re a virgin?”

“No.”

“No?”

“I was a virgin, but now I’m not. The timeline got fucked.”

“Wait, so, you were a virgin when you told me you weren’t a virgin,” he recounted, to which you nodded in response, and you could tell a few of the pieces in his head fit together when he finished, “and then you lost your virginity.” You nodded again to affirm his statement and your friend let a low-pitched whistle slip. “Wow, that is some crazy lore.”

Fiddling with your fingers, you asked, “Are you mad that I lied to you guys?”

“Mad? No way,” he said. “Like, sure, I don’t really understand why you lied. I guess you had your own reasons. It’s not like it’s a bad thing to be a virgin. There’s no way I’d be mad over something like that, though.”

“I was worried because I thought you hated liars,” you explained, and although you didn’t mention his ex-girlfriend, it seemed as though Soonyoung knew exactly what you were talking about.

“I care about lies that hurt, and, hey, you told me eventually,” he said. “I’m not gonna hold it against you for not telling me about something you weren’t ready to share.”

He worried at his lower lip before adding, “You didn’t lose it to Mingyu because of what I said, right?”

You felt like a weight was lifted off your shoulders, and your breathing steadied. You didn’t even realize how fast your heart was beating until you could feel every muscle in your body relax.

“No, of course not.” You finally cracked a smile. “To be honest, when you guys grilled us about it in the library, it did set things in motion. I don’t regret any of it, though—except lying to you guys about it. I’ve been wanting it to happen for a while now.”

“Good. You should probably tell the others when you’re ready, too.” He gave you a warm smile before amusement seeped back into his eyes. He turned to pick up the large package of Connect Fours and said, “Congrats to you and Mingyu, by the way. I always knew you two would get together.”

You nearly got whiplash from how fast you turned your neck. “Soonyoung—what?”

“Yeah, I mean, he’s been crazy for you ever since freshman year. I figured he would eventually grow a pair and ask you out,” he elaborated. Once Soonyoung hoisted the box up and turned around to look at you, he froze when he saw the dumbfounded look on your face. “Oh, shit. You’re not dating him, are you?”

“No, Soonyoung. No, I’m not.”

“Oh… my bad.”

Around twenty minutes after Soonyoung’s slip-up, you decided you would go with him to Kappa Sigma’s “Beerlympics,” which you hadn’t exactly been banking on showing up to. When you were informed about it yesterday, you had to research online to make sure that no, Soonyoung wasn’t speaking some alien language.

You never really understood half the things Soonyoung and Jungwoo talked about in relation to their fraternity. It usually went in one ear and out the other. It was always something about chapter meetings, pledges, and the sort of nonsense that made you wonder if you two were even living in the same world.

Before you decided to go, Soonyoung had to guide you to the couch to sit down and process your thoughts, which you figured was a great feat for him considering he was still traumatized from walking in on you and Mingyu.

Even after you stared blankly at the wall, though, you still couldn’t fathom the thought of Kim Mingyu liking you all these years. And, you didn’t outwardly admit it to Soonyoung, but the thought of your best friend liking you back made you inexplicably happy.

After you quickly changed into more appropriate clothing, Soonyoung and you walked over to frat row, passing by several large fraternity houses before arriving at the male-infested Beerlympics event. Your friend was still carrying his box of Connect Fours, which kept rattling as you two walked.

Yesterday, you were considering not going, mostly because you committed to going to Mingyu’s exhibition today, too. He had texted you the details, informing you that it would be early in the evening, so you weren’t going to spend longer than a few hours at Kappa Sigma.

Plus, now that Soonyoung had accidentally revealed the feelings Mingyu was harboring for you, confessing to him was weighing heavy on your mind. You desperately needed to tell your friends about your feelings before you ended up self-combusting.

In a matter of minutes, you were sitting between Vernon and Jungwoo on the couch, watching Minghao and Soonyoung shotgun a Coors Light. The box of Connect Fours was currently being used as a drink stand.

“You just came back from Vegas,” you told them, “and you’re already hosting a Beerlympics?”

“What did you expect us to do? We only drank hard alcohol in Vegas,” Jungwoo explained. “It’s only right that we come back and drink beer.”

You rolled your eyes, incredulous. “You guys can’t be serious.”

“By the way,” Vernon started, “is Mingyu coming? I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“You went to the gym with him yesterday,” Minghao pointed out.

“And that was in the past.”

Soonyoung cleared his throat once he was done with his beer. “Speaking of Mingyu… Y/N has something to tell you guys.”

“Right.” You cleared your throat before announcing, “I’ve gathered you all here today because someone said something he wasn’t supposed to.”

“And that someone was me,” Soonyoung mumbled, dejected.

“Wait,” Jungwoo interrupted, “we need context.”

Although you talked to Minghao before about the pact between you and Mingyu, you still hadn’t explained the whole ordeal to Vernon, Jungwoo, and Soonyoung. As you rambled on about how Mingyu proposed the idea and you two started becoming friends with benefits, Soonyoung’s face fell more and more as he realized he had royally fucked up. Vernon, on the other hand, despite having been kept in the dark this entire time, kept a placid expression on his face while the other three boys lost their shit.

You went on to explain the whiteboard, the notebook, how scared you were about ruining your friendship with Mingyu, and how Soonyoung walked in on you two and accidentally revealed that Mingyu had been crushing on you for a while.

“There’s no way you actually wrote all that down on a whiteboard,” Soonyoung said with an incredulous laugh. When Minghao pointed out that your whiteboard (that you still hadn’t returned to the community room) was literally in the living room, your friend cried, “I can’t believe I didn’t notice that!”

“Yeah, it was front and center when you walked in on Mingyu and I,” you said.

“To be fair, Mingyu’s ass was very distracting.”

You folded your arms across your chest, staring the four boys down. “Okay, well, that’s my side of what happened. It’s your turn to spill what you know.”

They all looked at each other warily before Vernon decided to break it down for you. He explained how Mingyu had been crushing on you ever since you two were in the same orientation group, and your breath caught in your throat because that was exactly when you also found him cute. Apparently, since you had become good friends with Soonyoung and Minghao shortly after (and later, their respective roommates: Jungwoo and Vernon), Mingyu didn’t try to read into your closeness too much.

All of the pieces were connecting in your head—all of the little moments and things he said that you brushed off as a coincidence. Every realization was like a firefly in your head, flickering and blinking under dim light until it shone bright and clear in total darkness.

Every time he called you beautiful. Every time he kissed you. Every time he looked at you like you were all he wanted.

Mingyu saying he wanted his first time to be with someone special wasn’t just a previous notion of his that he discarded once you two made the pact. You were the someone special he wanted to be with.

And god, if only he knew how badly you wanted to be with him right now.

“Alright, Y/N, do not tell Mingyu about any of this,” Soonyoung warned. “I’ve survived Jungwoo’s stupid ‘ecstasy water’—fuck you for that health violation of a drink, by the way—and I’m not letting Kim Mingyu be the reason why I end up six feet under.”

“I’m gonna have to tell him I found out from you, Soonyoung,” you argued. “There would literally be no other way for me to find out if it wasn’t from one of you guys.”

Vernon was quiet before he suggested, “What if we throw Jungwoo under the bus?”

“Yo, that’s hella smart,” Soonyoung praised before giving Vernon a high-five.

“I would prefer not to be thrown under the bus, thank you,” Jungwoo deadpanned.

“We are not throwing Jungwoo under the bus,” you agreed. “Besides, there’s been something that I’ve been thinking about for a while, too.” You paused to pour a shot for yourself, downing the contents of your red solo cup in one go. Wringing your hands together, you confessed, “I think I like Mingyu.”

“Oh, wow.” Jungwoo nearly choked over his words and held out his cup to you. “Pour me a shot, too. I’m gonna need it.”

Minghao decided to take over, asking, “As a person?”

“As a… man.”

“Well, men are people—sometimes.”

You groaned, unlacing your fingers to drop your face into your hands. You couldn’t believe you were saying this at the Kappa Sigma house, of all places.

“I—well, yeah, obviously. I just… okay, the point is, I sort of realized I really like him, and I was scared because I don’t know how this is gonna affect the group dynamic.” You felt your face growing hot as you talked about it, but you continued, “I wasn’t going to say anything, but what you guys just told me changes things, I think. I feel like I really need to tell him how I feel, if that’s okay with you guys.”

(You took another shot.)

You had never said the words out loud—not even to yourself. Your emotions felt more real now that they were out in the open for your friends to hear. Amidst all the booming music and drunken shouts in the house, your friends were silent.

“Why’re you asking us for permission?” Jungwoo finally spoke up. “We aren’t gonna be dicks and say you shouldn’t ask him out just so we can keep our friend group as it is. Just ask him out.”

(Another shot.)

“What he said,” Vernon agreed. “If Mingyu’s crush on you didn’t affect our friendship for four years and your crush on him didn’t make things weird, then I don’t see why you have to hide how you feel.”

(You gulped down your fourth shot.)

By the time Minghao started harping on about how you should be following your heart, you were starting to feel the alcohol settle. It ran through your veins, thick like molasses, until you felt sluggish. Then, spurred by your determination to confess your feelings, you rose up to your feet.

“I’m gonna do it,” you breathed out.

“When?” Soonyoung asked.

“Now.” You stopped to gather your belongings—your phone from the Connect Four box and your bag from the couch. “I’m gonna go see him.”

“Let’s call you an Uber,” Jungwoo said, and when he realized he was probably the most sober out of his friends, he dragged himself off the couch. Apparently, he was drinking in moderation after nearly getting alcohol poisoning in Vegas and dealing with a nasty hangover. “Okay, I’ll call you an Uber.”

Jungwoo walked you outside, waiting with you on the sidewalk until your Uber arrived. He recounted some of the highlights of his weekend in Vegas to you, and you listened intently even though you could feel your heartbeat drumming in your ears. You weren’t sure if it was because you were intoxicated or your nerves over potentially confessing your feelings to Mingyu.

When your Uber pulled into the driveway—a white SUV that was large enough for you to assume that Jungwoo accidentally booked an Uber XL.

As you were getting into the passenger’s seat, Jungwoo held the door open long enough to tell you, “Hey, I’ll let you in on a little secret: Mingyu never really cared for watching movies until he met you.”

While your Uber driver took you to your destination in silence, you were certain your heart was glowing brighter than any sunset out there.

The gallery was empty when you arrived—eerily quiet. A long, white table sat at the foyer where the front desk was. Plates of what you suspected had cookies on them were left littered with crumbs. The gallery assistant seated at the front desk must have been a student working part-time because her nose was buried in a textbook, hardly noticing you walking inside the building.

Your buzz was wearing off by now and your stomach had dropped in a deep pit when you realized that you were late. You swore you had timed it right. Mingyu told you to be there at 5 p.m., and yes, you were twenty minutes late, but you didn’t expect the whole venue to be cleared out.

Maybe everyone else was just late. That had to be it, right?

When you tried to look up Mingyu’s location on Find My Friends, he was miles away and looked as if he was on a trail.

You decided to call him, wondering why he hadn’t texted you yet. You were too disoriented in the car to give him a heads up, but he would normally text you, anyway.

After three rings, he picked up. “Hello?”

“Mingyu!” you cried in a hushed voice. “Am I late? Did you leave already? I can’t see anyone here.”

“Where?” he asked. “Uh, if you’re talking about Beerlympics, I didn’t go because I had a project due tonight.”

“No, the gallery. You said it started at five, right?”

Mingyu was silent for what seemed like forever before he stifled a laugh. “You mean the gallery opening tomorrow night?”

You had never sobered up so quickly.

While Mingyu was laughing at you on the other end of the line, you were pulling up your text messages to confirm that he had given you the wrong details. Instead, you were met with the horrifying realization that you just read the invite wrong.

“I mean, you can still see my work while you’re there,” he continued. “I think they’ve already switched out their old art.”

You groaned. “I’m so stupid.”

You roamed around the gallery as Mingyu told you about his day, looking at all of the art pieces that were submitted. After you took some pictures of various paintings and sculptures that were on display, your eyes fell upon a sunset photograph hung up on the wall.

The very photograph you came here for.

You had seen gorgeous sunsets before, but you had never seen pictures that did them any justice. What Mingyu had captured, though, was absolutely breathtaking.

Over the foliage, the sky was a wonderful blend of oranges, yellows, pinks, and purples. The great ball of light dipped below the horizon, peeking out just enough to see its wonderful color. The rays of sunlight reached out past the frame, illuminating the treetops and the current of water that ran to the side.

To the right, you saw Mingyu’s placard fixed to the wall, hanging proud next to its photograph.

Kim Mingyu You’re My Sunset 2023 The sun’s last kiss to the sky. If there’s a world where I can watch sunsets forever, I hope she’s there with me.

“—so I’m pretty sure I’m gonna get a C on the quiz because he made us write out our code on paper. My handwriting is dogshit, so I hope he has a fun time reading mine.” He trailed off when he realized you went silent on the other end. “Y/N?”

“Where are you?” you asked, a touch distracted as your eyes drank in the words etched onto the placard.

“Huh? I’m on that hiking trail near the freshman dorms,” he said. “I was gonna go watch the sunset, if you wanted to come see it with me.”

And because you were so helplessly in love with him, it was easier than breathing to say, “I’d love to watch the sunset with you.”

It took you one more Uber and forty minutes to find Mingyu where he was waiting for you. You told him not to walk all the way back down to meet you, so you made your journey to the top on your own. You were definitely not dressed for a hike, but sunset was coming soon and you didn’t have time to stop at your apartment to change.

You waved once you saw him, biting back your smile because you didn’t want to look overly-excited to see him. He had probably been outside for a while, judging by the sheen of sweat that made his biceps glisten under the setting sun.

“You made it just in time,” he said. “Sunset’s in a few.”

Your chest heaved as you recovered from your hike up. It had been ages since you worked out properly, so part of you was glad that you didn’t let Mingyu go back down and fetch you. You surely would have had to make him stop several times for you to take a breather.

He was sitting on a large, flat rock—so smooth that it was probably the perfect spot on the entire mountain to watch a sunset. Mingyu scooted over so that you had room and you sat down right next to him, knees knocking and shoulders brushing against his.

You had never seen anything as formidably beautiful as the view before you. The sun had started to dip below the horizon, glowing a spectacular orange. Muted colors of blue and gray vanished like a skip, blurring into colors more intense, more breathtaking. Oranges and yellows blend into the canvas of the sky, soon blending with pink and red hues that made the clouds look like the seventh heaven.

It felt like the sun was setting, calling the stars out just for you two. It cast its rays onto the lake below, leaving the surface glittering with millions of golden sparkles.

This was the sight that reminded Mingyu of you.

For a while, you two just watched the sky wordlessly until you started, “I saw your—”

“What if we watched the entire Marvel Cinematic Universe for our next marathon?” he asked at the same time, but his words were stronger—more purposeful—so you answered him instead.

“We still haven’t finished our Barbie marathon,” you said. “We’re still on Barbie and the Diamond Castle.”

“But… when we finish.”

You hummed. “How long does it take to finish all of the Marvel movies?”

You tried to mentally note down all of the titles you knew with the limited knowledge you had of the Marvel cinematography. You were pretty sure you watched a good amount of them—the big ones that broke records in theaters—but you never tried watching them in order.

“Seventy hours and forty-six minutes. I checked.”

“We’d be marathoning forever.”

He smiled. “It wouldn't be the end of the world if we marathoned forever.”

You laughed, loud and clear. It was almost ridiculous to think of you and Mingyu in your fifties, sitting on a couch and watching yet another movie marathon in the measly hours of free time you had between work and other responsibilities.

And then it hit you. Your heart jumped to your throat.

You and Mingyu, doing the same things you did now in your fifties. You and Mingyu, sitting on a couch and watching another marathon together. You and Mingyu, swamped with work and responsibilities but still spending time with each other amidst all that.

You and Mingyu.

Your lungs were trees and there was a forest fire. It tore its way through each leaf, each branch, and it felt like that fire would burn forever. Burn until the sky had no sun and the world was in ruins. You couldn’t think straight as your heart raced and your breath got caught in your throat.

“Forever?” you asked in a small voice.

Mingyu’s eyes softened, more sincere and longing in them. At this point, he had gone pink beneath his golden skin. He moved his hand over yours, giving it a gentle squeeze, but all you could focus on was how the last rays of the evening shone on your best friend’s face. He was painted with sunset.

“Yeah, forever,” he confirmed. “I guess this is my way of confessing, so… Y/N, my forever marathoner, my sunset, will you go out with me?”

You were choked up at what felt like the worst possible time to be malfunctioning. “Sunset—”

“You saw it, right? The dedication next to my sunset picture?” he asked. “You finally realized that I’ve been in love with you for the past four years?”

He said the words so casually, as if he was telling you the color of the sky. But you could feel the weight settle in—the years of longing and pining.

This time, instead of just craning your neck, you turned your whole body to face him. The way he looked at you sent butterflies to your stomach, but your eyebrows pulled into a frown. You were sure that you couldn’t have possibly let it slip to him that Soonyoung told you everything.

“How did you… how did you know?”

He grinned, leaning back a little on his hands. “Before you got here, Soonyoung drunk FaceTimed me and started apologizing for exposing my four-year crush on you. He also apologized for assuming that I had the balls to ask you out.”

You scoffed a little, recalling how Soonyoung was practically begging you not to tell Mingyu yourself. It only made sense that he would be the one to fess up after all that alcohol got into his system. You made a mental note to call him out on this very moment the next time you saw him.

“Things get messy when someone likes someone else in the friend group, you know?” he continued, looking over the cliffside for a moment before turning back to you. “But, with you, I don’t think I mind things getting a little messy.”

“Do you remember when Jungwoo told you I found you cute, and I told him I really said something else?” he went on, turning his head away this time. He sounded more shy when he admitted, “Beautiful. I called you beautiful.”

“I just…” You faltered, trying to work up the courage to look him in the eye. When you did, the melted amber swirling in his eyes nearly made you stammer. “I didn’t expect any of this.”

Mingyu must have mistook your nerves for hesitation because he immediately said, “It’s all good, Y/N. I just wanted to come clean to you. You don’t have to answer—”

“No, Mingyu,” you cut him off, breathing out the words with an edge of desperation, “I didn’t expect this because I came here to ask you out.”

It was his turn to be shell-shocked. Mingyu’s pink lips parted in surprise, mouth opening and closing like he wanted to say something, but he clearly hadn’t even thought of this outcome. You watched his Adam’s apple bob nervously.

He looked at your lips, then your eyes, then your lips again. He lifted his hand to touch your cheek, fingers spreading so that he could cradle your jaw. He looked transfixed, looking at you like you were far more captivating than the sunset that was playing out for you two. His eyes fluttered shut once he closed the distance and his lips met yours.

If you were his sunset, Mingyu was your sunrise. Every time he kissed or touched you, you felt warmth spread through your whole body, making you beam brighter than any star in the galaxy.

He pulled back, but he was still so close that his nose was touching yours, both of your ragged, uneven breaths mixing in the tight space between you two. He held the back of your head and pressed your foreheads together, a gesture of his that always made you feel like you were soaring.

Your voice failed you as Mingyu’s calloused hands bunched up the fabric of your shirt to glide down your back, tracing the bumps down your spine and gripping tighter once he reached your hips. It was like he was charting a map of your body, taking note of every little curve and dip he came across.

“W-we’re outside,” you stuttered out.

“No one’s gonna catch us. I wanna show you how I feel every time I look at you,” he murmured in a low voice that only you could hear. “Lay down for me, Y/N. I want you to watch the last of the sunset while I show you how much I love you.”

You didn’t reply, mostly because you wanted to let your actions speak for you. You pulled him in for a short, chaste kiss before you scooted up on the rock and laid down for him. The solid surface was uncomfortable at first, but then Mingyu had you get up for a moment so that he could spread his jacket out for you. You laid back down and looked up, gasping when you realized you had a perfect view of the setting sun.

Mingyu tugged down your shorts and underwear, making sure to carefully fold them and set them aside instead of just discarding them somewhere. Now that you could feel the coolness against your bare skin, you were grateful that his jacket was under you. He pulled his sweatpants down past his hips and hovered over you, eyes flickering up to meet yours. They were hazy, swimming with lust, but you could see his sincere adoration, too. He refused to kiss you because he didn’t want to obstruct your view of the sunset.

“Are you ready?” he asked, lifting his middle and ring finger to his lips and licking them for extra lubrication.

You sucked in a sharp breath at that. “Please—yes.”

Slowly, Mingyu pushed his fingers inside of you, watching you bite your lip and screw your eyes shut with an amused half-smile. His thumb worked slow circles on your clit while his fingers were nestled in you.

“Open your eyes, beautiful,” he instructed. “You’re gonna miss the sunset.”

Finding a steady pace was no problem for Mingyu at all. He watched you squirm and moan underneath him as his fingers slid in and out of your cunt. His knuckles were glistening with your arousal, and Mingyu stared at where they disappeared inside you with unfocused eyes. He curled his fingers inside you ever-so-slightly, passing over your g-spot, and you arched your back at the feeling.  

His name stuttered past your lips, coming out so raw and passionate that all the blood rushed to Mingyu’s cock. His boxers were tented, and you were once again intimidated by how huge he was. His bulge brushed against your thigh as he plunged his fingers into you.

You felt limp under his touch, but just when you felt prickles of heat under your skin, Mingyu’s fingers slid out of you. You nearly cried out over his false promise of a release as you dug your nails into his shoulders.

“The sky,” he whispered. Like it was instinct, he licked his fingers clean without batting an eye. An embarrassed rush of heat sank into your cheeks. “I need to be inside you for the rest of the sunset. Fuck, I don’t have a condom on me.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck loosely. “That’s okay. You can just pull out.” You looked straight into his eyes and said, “I trust you, Gyu.”

“Go raw? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, we can just get Plan B tomorrow, if anything.”

Kim Mingyu looked like he could die a happy man then and there.

He tugged down his boxers, letting his cock spring up and slap the underside of his belly. It was already huge and flushed with beads of precum collecting at his slit. Mingyu shuddered almost immediately when the cool air hit him.

He spread your legs with his large hands, and you swallowed thickly before Mingyu started rubbing the head of his cock along your slit. He made sure to smear the arousal between your legs to your clit. The last rays of the sun shone on his face, and you could see the glint of hunger in his eyes.

At this point, you were nearly begging for him, so Mingyu started pushing into you carefully. His brows were pinched and his bottom lip was sucked into his teeth while he worked his way into you, his eyes glinting with utter focus.

It was so different without the condom. Intense. Hot. The drag of his cock inside you made you falter, absolutely loving the new friction and texture you were feeling.

You swallowed down your gasp with a shuddering breath. Your tight expression slowly relaxed as Mingyu’s cock worked its way inside you. Every time you wanted to close your eyes, you snapped them back open to catch a glimpse of the blurry hues above.

“That’s it,” he cooed, the praise only turning you on more. “You feel so good.”

He started circling your clit with his thumb again, getting your walls to relax so that you immediately took more of him in. Mingyu’s cock twitched inside of you, causing that one muscle in your leg to twitch. You weren’t sure how long you were going to be able to last if he kept teasing you like this.

When his head dipped into your opening, you sucked in a breath, but he did not enter just yet. Your hips bucked up against his, and Mingyu held them down so that he could position himself without slipping out of you. A sound that was between a deep chuckle and a grunt rumbled in his chest at your eagerness.

With little preamble, Mingyu started pushing deeper into you, letting himself sink while his breathing grew short. His cock brushed sensitive spots inside you that left your toes curling and your vision going blotchy. You watched the sky grow darker and darker, vibrant orange colors blending into deep reds.

A debauched moan bubbled past your lips once Mingyu started fucking into you slowly. Each roll of his hips brought a blinding wave of pleasure that left behind a sheen of sweat coating your body. The initial sting of penetration dissolved quickly into pleasure.

You dragged your nails down his well-defined back muscles, sighing blissfully with each thrust of Mingyu’s hips. His back muscles flexed underneath your hand as his cock worked in and out of you. He tucked his face into the crook of your neck and moaned along with you, and the look in his eyes told you that all he wanted to do was kiss you, but he was adamant on making you see the sun.

“Oh my god!” you cried out once Mingyu used his free hand to lift your leg over his hip, getting a better angle so that he could plunge into you. Blinking away tears, you were nearly sobbing when you said, “I… I didn’t say it back, Gyu. I love you, too. God, I’ve loved you back for so long, too.”

All the lust in Mingyu’s gaze had melted away, being replaced by the most loving gaze you had seen in his shining eyes. He leaned down to kiss you slow—a completely different pace from how he had been fucking you. When he pulled away, he kept his lips at the shell of your ear, whispering sweet nothings.

With his hips snapping into you at a near-animalistic pace, you were quickly reaching your peak. Mingyu seemed to take notice and rubbed your clit faster to catch you up to speed. Heat spread under your skin, making each nerve ending feel like it was on fire.

“There,” he gasped out after he turned his gaze up for a moment. “Do you see it? The sun kissing the sky?”

He had been waiting so long for you, pining so hard, that when your orgasm ripped through you, Mingyu came almost immediately after. He groaned before pulling out of you, his strained expression melting quickly into bliss once his release came. It seemed as though Mingyu didn’t want to get you dirty, so he shot his load to the side where he could hide it easily.

You looked up, and you finally saw how devastatingly beautiful the sunset was with its palette of colors exploding across the sky.

Reds. Oranges. Dying glimpses of yellows. You felt like you were experiencing a sensory overload with how the colors mixed and blended together while Mingyu was helping you ride out your orgasm.

This was it. This was the seventh heaven.

While you were still twitching from your intense orgasm, Mingyu sat up so that he could fix his pants, his chest rising and falling in tune with yours. You were still sprawled out on the rock, watching the last rays of sunlight dip below the horizon. The previously colorful sky had been drowned out by black and blue, but it was still bright enough to make out your surroundings.

“I never answered you properly,” you said after you caught your breath. The clouds rolled out of view, revealing the illuminated moon that shone down on you two. You sat up, meeting Mingyu’s curious gaze and declaring, “I’d love to go out with you.”

You had never really been able to fully understand what love was. It had been a foreign concept to you for years. When Mingyu smiled brightly and kissed you again, though, it had never been so clear to you.

You honestly felt bad for the librarian.

As soon as you and Mingyu walked into the library hand-in-hand, you heard a chorus of groans from your friend group’s table. They were all jeering at you like they hadn’t been the ones convincing you to ask out Mingyu a few days ago. This time, Ryujin was also mocking you with them.

(You had asked her to show up so that you could give her the Smiski figurine she had delivered to your house. You had no idea why your friends kept ordering things and using your address for delivery.)

Soonyoung cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled, “Get a room!”

“We’re just holding hands!” Mingyu exclaimed. “You’re acting like we’re in the Victorian ages.” He waved his hand to get Soonyoung to move. “Give me some room so we can work on our project together.”

You giggled and took your seat next to Mingyu, your pinkies interlocked under the table. You were sure the honeymoon phase would wear off in a few months, but for now, you couldn’t get enough of each other. Of course, you kept most of your PDA behind closed doors so that your friends would taunt you, but you were happy with that.

Speaking of your friends, they were all over-the-moon when you and Mingyu announced that you were dating. Ryujin had screamed into your ear so loudly that you were pretty sure you experienced temporary hearing loss.

You and Mingyu also finally returned the whiteboard to the community room after erasing all of the sexual terminology on it. You two were surprised that you actually managed to knock out everything on both lists that hadn’t been canceled. Apparently, Jeonghan had been distressed over the whiteboard’s disappearance and filed a complaint to get a new one. He got his happy ending, too, when you and Mingyu rolled it back into the room.

“Y/N, Mingyu,” Jungwoo called. “Body counts—go!”

Mingyu blinked. “One?” he deadpanned. “Why would it be higher than that, dude?”

It was your turn now, with all eyes on you. Before, you wondered why you even felt the need to lie about something like that. It had all seemed like such a silly concern back then, but now you realized that there had never been a rush to lose your v-card.

Now, you could confidently say, “One.”

Because Kim Mingyu’s Guide To Losing Your Virginity really was effective.

mingyu: hey mingyu: what happens when we finish the marvel marathon

y/n: wdym

mingyu: like what do we do with our lives mingyu: 70 hours and 46 minutes mingyu: it has to end eventually mingyu: we’ve been marathoning all this time with no foreseeable end until now

y/n: what did we do before the marvel marathon

mingyu: the barbie marathon

y/n: and what did we do before that

mingyu: the disney princesses marathon

y/n: and before that

mingyu: the saw marathon

y/n: exactly y/n: we will keep marathoning for as long as marathons exist

mingyu: is that your way of saying we’re forever?

y/n: yes it is

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ if you made it all the way to the end, MUAH! thank you so much for reading !! and thank you to everyone who asked to be on the tag list, i was so floored by the love you guys showed the teaser ♡ first and foremost, i have to shoutout fia for being the reason i changed my magic mike joke to magic mingyu. i would also like to shoutout mingyu for existing because his existence is the reason why this came into fruition. also shoutout to you for reading this because wow!!! you sat through all those words??? i am so honored, really :’) i hope you enjoyed this, thank you for being on this rollercoaster with me, and i hope you look forward to my future works

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#svt scenarios #seventeen scenarios #mingyu smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #seventeen #mingyu x reader #kim mingyu #svt imagines #seventeen imagines #mingyu imagines #mingyu scenarios #svt hard hours #seventeen hard hours #seventeen x reader

[pedantic-poison]

Delicious | LN4

pairing: fem sainz!reader x lando norris

genre: SMUTTTTT, 18+ MINORS DNI, p in v, fingering, light choking, use of pet names (darling, baby, sweetheart, good girl, etc), cream pie, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y'all!!!!), language, hold the moan vibes, dirty talk, Lando being a hoe

requested: yes!

word count: 3.9k

author's note: i LOVE me some brother's best friend trope

When your older brother first joined McLaren, you were unbelievably proud of him, so, naturally, you moved heaven and earth to make it to his first race with the team. Meeting Lando, you finally understood why all of Carlos' stories from before the season started were about his new teammate, and how much he made him laugh. He was friendly to you, and kind, and had a knack for making sure you never felt out of place. He also made your chest go a little tight, but you chose to ignore that feeling. Best not to complicate things for your brother.

It's been years since you first met Lando, and you can't quite use that excuse to convince yourself you need to avoid Lando. You still try, certainly, but it doesn't really carry the weight it used to, not with Carlos at Ferrari now. Would it still be messy? Maybe. Would it be a complete shit show? ...Probably not, right?

That little tendril of doubt created just enough space for that weird feeling Lando elicited to bloom. And now, with the Summer break giving Carlos time off, he's invited Lando to your family's home, for an entire week.

"Morning," the sound of Lando's voice snapped you out of your thoughts. As if it wasn't already bad enough that he was staying in your house, now Lando had the audacity to show up in the kitchen, voice gravely from sleep, with a pair of gray sweatpants hanging low enough on his hips to show the V-line of his muscles there. Your eyes trailed up his torso, allowing yourself to indulge in his tan skin and taut muscles for just a moment, before your gaze met his. A knowing look danced across his face, eyes glinting with mischief, as he smirked at you over his mug of coffee.

"Oh, um, good morning," you coughed out, embarrassed at having been caught. "How'd you sleep?" you managed to force out.

Lando took his time, finishing his sip of coffee before answering, "Slept alright. Couldn't fall asleep for a while, for some reason, though." You couldn't quite decipher the look on his face while he said it, but he didn't give you enough time to overthink it. "You?"

Your face heated immediately at the reminder of what exactly you'd been doing last night, instead of sleeping. "F-fine, thanks." It had been four long days where Lando had made himself seemingly unavoidable. Even at night, when you could close your door to the rest of the house, and lock yourself away, your thoughts strayed back to Lando no matter what you did. Last night, the ache in your core had gotten so unbearable that you'd touched yourself to the thought of him. It seemed that even the walls of your room couldn't quite keep Lando out.

"What's got you thinking so hard over there, Sainz?"

You schooled your expression, refusing to let him throw you off balance again. "Wouldn't you like to know, Norris." The coffee mug in your hands hid your face rather well as you lifted it to take a sip, leveling him with a look that you hoped seemed like a challenge.

Pushing off the counter he'd been leaning against, Lando took a step closer to you. "I really, really would, actually."

You allowed yourself to lean in for just a moment, inhaling the smell of him, before pulling back. "Too bad." Chair legs scraping against the floor as you pushed away from the table, standing and taking your mug and book with you.

"Oh, come on! You're really gonna tease me like that?" he whined, shouting at your back as you headed up the stairs.

"Gotta make you work for it, Norris!" you called back, retreating into your room once again, giddier than you'd care to admit, and telling yourself that you'd only left because you had work to do. Certainly not because you weren't sure how much longer you'd be able to hold on with Lando under the same roof.

Just three more days.

The loud splashes and laughter from outside drew your attention away from your book, for what felt like the hundredth time in two minutes. Sighing exasperatedly, you rolled over on your bed, craning your neck up to look out of your window.

Carlos and Lando were in the pool in the backyard below you, squealing like little kids as they hit each other with water balloons. You rolled your eyes at the childish behavior, even as you fought (and failed) to keep a smile off of your lips. You heard your father's voice ring throughout the house, and Carlos and Lando must've heard it too, because they quickly dropped their makeshift weapons at the call that they needed to get cleaned up for dinner. Your parents weren't terribly strict, but even they preferred for everyone at their dinner table to be fully clothed and not dripping everywhere.

Just as you'd made your way out of your room to head downstairs, you froze, finding a sopping wet Lando Norris in the hallway. Even after you (accidentally) ogled him this morning, you couldn't manage to keep your eyes on his as you watched the way the droplets of water fell off the ridges of his chiseled chest and torso. You hadn't quite noticed how close you'd come to running into each other, barely a foot of space between you, that seemed to shrink more and more the longer you stared. And you weren't the only one. The sundress you wore hung off your body in a way that made Lando want to memorize every line and curve of it himself. Looking wasn't enough - he'd always been more of a hands-on learner, anyways. And the way the gentle breeze swirled the skirt of it around your hips and legs made him want to find out if you were wearing anything underneath it. Made him want to rip anything he found there off with his teeth.

"Hermanita! Lando! Dinner in twenty minutes!" Carlos shouted up, from the sound of it in the kitchen, most likely helping your parents like the doting son he was. Helping, unlike you. Standing in the hallway, now only inches from Lando, chest rising and falling erratically as you tried to convince yourself that you should not fuck your brother's friend and former teammate in your parents' house with your entire family downstairs.

"Twenty minutes," Lando breathed, barely above a whisper. He took a final step forward, mouth painfully close to touching yours as his spread into a mischievous grin. "I can work with that."

His lips crashed into yours, hands gripping your face delicately as he did so, moving only after yours landed in his hair. Lando finally, finally, got his hands on those hips that had been torturing him, tempting him, for years, squeezing as he pulled you into him. Your fingers raked through his curls, tugging gently as you pushed him backwards into your room. He went willingly, grinning into the kiss at your enthusiasm as you kicked the door shut behind you, letting you take charge for the time being and falling to the bed when the backs of his knees hit it, hands dragging down your thighs as he went. For a moment, you paused, taking in the way Lando was looking up at you. Adoring. Reverent. Hungry.

His hands on your thighs urged you forward to straddle him, sliding his grip up your back to pull your torso flush with his. "God, these fucking tits," he groaned, squeezing you harder into his chest before sliding his hands around to your front, cupping them harshly. Through lidded eyes, you watched his hands, large, nimble, and veiny, knead your breasts while he hummed appreciatively, unable to look away from your chest for even a moment. "Been waiting to get my hands on you for so long, sweetheart," he heaved, speaking into your skin as his lips trailed over your exposed chest, just under your collarbone, punctuating the statement with a final, firm squeeze of your tits.

Before you could finish the whine building in you at the loss of his hands, Lando had yanked down the flimsy straps of your sundress, allowing your tits to spill out over the neckline. Lando swears he could come from that sight alone. "You're so gorgeous," he muttered, more to himself than to you, before looking back into your eyes, "so fucking gorgeous." His lips found yours again, stealing your breath as one hand reached up to ghost over your nipple, already sensitive and hardening from the cool air in your room, while the other lowered to rest on your waist, gently urging you to rock your hips against him at your own pace. "So," his kisses now landed on your jaw, "so," your neck, "beautiful. I think it might actually kill me," gently nipping at your pulse point before soothing the tender skin with his tongue.

Your breath had grown shallow from the attention he paid to your neck and chest, hitching as he tweaked your nipple just right, almost harsh enough to be painful but light enough to make you crave more. But what caused your breath to quicken was the feeling of Lando under you. Those strong, muscled thighs, bracketed by your own, felt so firm you couldn't stop your mind from wondering how they would feel if you ground yourself against them. The way they tensed as he moved, or restrained himself from moving as he tried to let you set the pace, felt so delicious against your thighs and through layers of fabric, you can't imagine how they would feel flexing against your core. Delicious as those thoughts were, they would have to wait for another time, because nothing was more tempting than the press of his hard cock against you, straining at the material of his swim trunks, the remaining water of the pool dampening your already wet panties.

"Shh, sweetheart, we've got to be careful," Lando startles you, the hand that had been on your tits gently closing over your mouth, and only then did you realize just how much noise you'd been making. Your cheeks heated at the realization, feeling your breath catching in your throat, rapid and uneven, whimpers and whines and a whole host of other, embarrassing sounds trapped beneath the firm press of Lando's large hand. You were so worked up that even that thought, the sheer size of his palm against you, how those thick, nimble fingers would feel between your thighs, made you whine louder, hips speeding up as you sought some kind of friction. Lando's eyes darkened as you ground yourself onto him, harder, faster, hand tightening around your waist and thighs flexing underneath you. He was holding back, you could tell, his restraint hanging by a thread, and every move you made threatened to fray that thread to its breaking point.

You wanted to make him snap.

There would be another time to savor this, to take your time, to memorize every inch of him, later.

You raised one of your hands from his broad shoulders, gripping the hand that covered your mouth and tapping twice. Immediately, Lando removed his hand, eyes filling with concern that he'd done something wrong, but before he could ask you were already whining again.

"Please, Lan," you begged, hips pressing down as harshly as you could manage. "Need you so bad, please, please," your voice was thin and breathy, and if you weren't nearly delirious from finally having this, having him, within your grasp, you might've been embarrassed by it. "Don't tease me, I c - can't take it."

Lando's head fell back with a groan, making no effort to silence himself as he did with you. "Fuck, darling, you want me that much, huh?" You nodded eagerly, hips continuing their grind as you felt Lando's cock twitch beneath you. "Such a desperate little thing, aren't you?" he asked, latching his mouth on the flesh of your breast, sucking a harsh mark into the delicate skin. Low enough that your family wouldn't be able to see, you realized, but dark enough that you'd have a reminder of him on your skin for the next few days. The thought made you flush with heat. The sudden bite of Lando's teeth on your tit shocked you out of your haze. "I asked you a question, sweetheart."

You blinked down at him, bleary eyed, "W-what?"

His grin was wicked as he looked up at you, "Aw, poor baby's already going cock dumb and I haven't even fucked you yet." Your cheeks heated, and he didn't give you the time to gather yourself enough to formulate a comeback. "I asked if you were a desperate little thing for me? You desperate for me to fuck you stupid, darling?"

A whine escaped your lips, unbidden, at his words, and the look in his eyes told you he wouldn't let you deny its cause. "God, yes, Lan, yes I'm so desperate for you, want you to fuck me so bad, I - fuck -"

The sensation of his fingers sliding your thong to the side scrambled your brains again, scattering any thoughts you'd managed to gather. The rough, calloused pad of his thumb brushed over your clit, and your body rocked violently into his hold, chasing the pleasure. "Keep talking to me, sweetheart, tell me what you want. Tell me all the filthy things my pretty little girl wants me to do to her," he whispered into your ear, lips going back to attacking your neck.

"W-want - want you to - ah- fuck me with your fingers, think about those p-perfect hands all the - fuck - t-time, want your thick fingers in me before you fuck me, Lando," you moaned out, pushing through even though your whines threatened to interrupt you.

"Good girl," he purred, sliding his middle finger through your folds, moaning into your neck at the feel of you. "So fucking wet f'me, darling, fuck," his left hand tweaked your nipple, as his right slowly sank a finger into you. The sound he let out was almost animalistic as he felt you clenching around him, reacting to the stretch that even one of his fingers made you feel. "Holy shit, you're so tight, baby," he lifted his head to be level with yours, wanting to watch your face as he touched you. "How am I gonna fit my cock into this tight little pussy of yours if you can barely take one of my fingers?"

The only answer you could give him was a needy moan, one that had his left hand going back up, not to cover your mouth, but to rest on your throat. "Shh, remember, sweetheart, you don't want your parents to hear us, do you?"

You shook your head fiercely, but immediately lost your train of thought again as Lando began to pump his finger in and out of you, slowly to let you adjust. His thumb landed firmly back on your clit, and the way he curled his long, thick fingers had him reaching a spot inside of you you'd never managed to reach before.

"What else do you want me to do, darling? Don't tell me you've already gone brainless? I've barely gotten started with you."

"Want more, Lan, want you to stretch me with your fingers so you can fuck me, want to feel you - oh, god," you barely managed to catch yourself before you screamed at the feeling of Lando pushing another finger into you. Even though he was aided by your wetness, Lando slowed his pace as he let you adjust again, easing into you as gently as possible as he maintained his circles on your clit.

"Want to feel me what, sweetheart?" he encouraged, curling his fingers to that same spot, this time hitting it hit his index and middle fingers and making your brain short circuit.

"Want to - Lan - w-want, I, fuck," you babbled, head falling to the crook of Lando's shoulder as you struggled for words.

"Come on, now, darling, be a good girl and tell me what you want. You do want to be a good girl f'me, don't you?" He chuckled lightly at how quickly you nodded, head staying buried in his neck.

"I- I want t-to feel you in me, feel your cock in me, feel you stretch me out with it, f-feel you fill me up - stuff me full with you, with your cum, leave me dripping with it."

The hand on your throat tightened harshly, briefly, before both of Lando's hands were off you and working on his swim trunks. "Jesus christ, baby, you've got a dirty little mouth on you. Such a perfect fucking girl for me, darling, such a dirty little thing, god you're perfect," he mumbled the praises into your mouth, stopping every so often to kiss you tenderly, hungrily, as his hands made quick work of the tie on his swim trunks, pulling them down enough to let his cock spring free. Your eyes widened involuntarily at the sight of it slapping against his stomach, the hard muscles of his abs and the red, leaking tip of his cock mesmerizing you.

You lifted your hips, allowing Lando to yank you closer to him until you hovered just over his cock, both of your hands bracing against his shoulders as one of his went under your dress to guide his cock through your folds.

"You want me to fuck you, sweetheart?"

"Yes, please Lan, please, ple-"

You had to cover your mouth with your own hand this time, the stretch of his cock making your eyes water, tears springing from them. Lando stared straight into your eyes as he sank you down onto his cock, bottom lip trapped between his teeth in a feeble attempt to silence himself. Both of his hands landed on your hips, gripping harshly as he held himself back from fucking up into you right away.

"God, baby you're so tight, you have such a perfect little cunt," he panted, eyes fixed on yours, not wanting to miss a single expression on your face. Finally, he bottomed out, the slow glide of his cock in you heavenly, fingers flexing against you as he forced himself to be patient.

A weak whimper left you despite the hand over your mouth as you slowly rose up, dropping harshly back onto Lando's cock and digging in your fingers at the sensation.

"Fuuuuuuuck," Lando ground out, hips bucking slightly up into you as you sank back down on him again.

It didn't take long for your legs to begin to shake, pace faltering as you grew tired. "Lando," you breathed out, head nestled in the crook of his neck again.

"Yes, darling?" His voice was thin, reedy, telling you he was just as affected as you were, even if he was better at hiding it.

"Can't - can't," your own gasp interrupted you as the head of Lando's cock hit a particularly sensitive spot inside you. "Too tired, need you to - god."

Lando chuckled, chest rumbling underneath your forehead, "You need me to do it for you, baby? You already too fucked out to move?"

"Please," you whined, unable to muster any embarrassment at the desperation in your voice. He knew he did this to you. Why bother trying to hide it?

Something in your neediness got to him, hands sliding up to your waist and squeezing as he gave himself a better hold on you. "That's a good girl. Don't worry, sweetheart, I've got you."

He lifted you off his cock, before slamming you back down onto him, hips fucking up into you harshly. The feeling of him manhandling you with ease was nearly enough to make you come on its own, but that combined with the way he kept hitting that spot inside of you, over, and over, and over again? You were so close you felt like you were going to explode.

And Lando knew it, too. Could tell from the way your hands scrabbled for purchase on his muscular shoulders, the way your head went limp on his shoulder as you gave him complete control over your body, from the way you clenched around him, and when he dropped one of his hands to graze a thumb over your clit as he fucked up into you, you were helpless to do anything but collapse into his embrace as you rode out your high.

Lando continued to hold you up by your waist, limbs sluggish and heavy, as he chased his own high, spurred on by your whimpers of overstimulation. But what finally pushed him over the edge was the sound of your voice, wrecked and fucked out, whispering weakly in his ear, "Please, Lando, please fill me up."

He came with a groan that he tried to bury in your neck, nipping lightly at the skin as he came down, chest heaving and moving you with it since you still hadn't managed to regain control of your own body just yet. The feeling of him painting your walls made you whimper, unintentionally clenching around him again, which elicited a deep groan from him.

"You keep squeezing me like that, darling, and you're gonna get me hard again."

You giggled, which earned you a playful swat on the ass from Lando, chuckling along with you as he stroked your cheek tenderly, admiring you in your post-orgasm haze.

"Lan-"

"Dinner is ready! Hurry up and get down here, we're starving!" The sound of your brother's voice jolted both of you out of your stupor, matching looks of panic on your faces.

Before you could say anything else, Lando whispers, "We're talking about this later tonight, sweetheart." Placing a kiss on your cheek, Lando lifts you off of him, hissing at the feeling, and setting you on your bed next to him before getting up and running across the hall to his room.

After you managed to muster the strength to move, you quickly fixed your dress, trying to make sure that your face and hair weren't dead giveaways for just having had the best sex of your life. You rushed downstairs, blaming your breathlessness on having run to dispel your mother's concern, and sat down quickly, trying to avoid any questions about what had taken you so long.

A few seconds later, Lando joined you, sitting across from you, eyes burning into you in a way that made you shift in your seat. That turned out to be a huge mistake, because just as your brother passed you the salad, Lando's cum leaked out of you as you realized belatedly that not only had you not cleaned up, but you hadn't even put your panties back on. You froze, quickly shifting back and squeezing your thighs together in an effort to stop him from seeping out of you, and miraculously, none of your family seemed to notice.

But the way your eyes widened told Lando exactly what had happened.

When your parents asked how the dinner was, you stammered out some poor excuse of a response, not really knowing how to speak to your family with Lando's cum dripping out of you.

Lando shot you a wicked grin, winking quickly enough that no one else saw it, and stared right into your eyes as he answered.

"Delicious."

#lando norris x reader #lando norris #f1 smut #f1 #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris smut #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 smut #formula one smut #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris blurb #ln4 #formula 1 #formula one #lando norris f1 #mclaren f1 #lando norris x oc #formula 1 x you #formula 1 fic #formula 1 x y/n #formula 1 x female reader

[kakushino]

The Queen

Ryomen Sukuna x F! Reader

He never orders you around - rather, he requests.

Tags: slight gore, suggestive, fem reader, true form Sukuna Word count: 1,7k

Masterlist

AN: Fanart used in banner made by the amazing @innaillus - be sure to check out their divine fanart Written as a Secret Santa's gift for @zoyakuna - Merry (early) Christmas! (and pls stop slandering Giyuu, it's causing me undue stress)

There was little to amuse you in your secluded throne room underground. 

Correction - there had been little to amuse you out of your throne room, so you had retreated back into your palace - and even then, was it a palace, when there were no servants, no great halls, no music, and no consort?

Just you - the Supreme Sovereign - and your throne made of roots and vines. 

Which made it odd to hear a sound echo in your chamber. You feared nothing, no one, and your heart remained steady, not a beat out of place, your eyes closed as you rested from lifetimes of exhaustion.

“Who goes there?” you called out, not moving from your reclined position. 

You were it to him, the holy grail of his searching - the Queen of Curses. Your name was feared enough that it had been scratched out from all written sources, the feats accredited to you terrifying… yet thrilling to Sukuna. He had needed to meet you, though he knew not why… A deep hunger for companionship, another who could stand at his level, who could reign with him from his Shrine, a craving so consuming he nearly went mad with his searching. 

And he did find you, though hardly in the condition he thought he would.

“This is what You have become? The cynosure of all mortals reduced to a wretch.” 

The voice was rough, forceful - distinctly male - though the tone held a hint of remorse and confusion. “All beauty is short-lived,” was all you said, a slight irritation churning your stomach for the first time in - decades, centuries, millenia? Who knows?

“Not for curses. We are eternal.” You felt the way cursed energy swirled around him - violent, and intense. It lashed out at your own, but like water parting around a blade, yours did too, accepting and redirecting the angry force, dispersing it, and eventually absorbing it. It was like taking a deep breath of fresh air after being suffocated under the weight of the world, a drop of water quenching a soul-deep thirst in the desert of life.

You opened your eyes and sat up properly as you studied him.

The man - curse - was tall, broad, and regal. A king would be a title befitting his posture. His hair was a light color you could hardly make out in the darkness of your abode. The dark marks adorning his face stood out starkly against his skin, as did the shape of the disfigured flesh on the right side of his face. Four gleaming eyes were focused on you, four arms relaxed at his sides.

This man was fascinating, and beautiful; he could easily sway the hearts of humans, bring them to their knees. Too bad you were not human.

“Join me, your Majesty.” Despite the wording, it was a plea. How odd. 

“Who are you to ask anything of me?” You blinked slowly. You felt the way cursed energy swirled around him - violent, intense, … defensive, lonely. It enticed you, spoke to you in a language you understood all too well. It wasn’t in your nature to deny an honest request.

“Ryomen Sukuna, your Majesty,” he introduced himself. There was a sense of pride in the way he spoke, as if his existence was created, carved out, into the world by his own hands.

Perhaps Ryomen Sukuna would be the cure to your continued boredom. 

You stood up from your throne, your figure hardly atrophied as your cursed energy kept you in peak form. The roots and vines retreated into the cave walls, leaving no trace of your royal seat, the chamber empty again for centuries to come.

“Very well.”

Living with Sukuna was hardly boring. Each day, you felt your apathy falling away as you spent time with the King of Curses, until you smiled freely in his presence. The day you realized he softened you to this degree came all too suddenly.

His cruelty to humans who sought to undermine him was but a flimsy curtain of who he truly was. Like a displeased cat, claws exposed, he scratched up those daring to approach him, but with you -

With you he was as playful and borderline affectionate as the tabby you used to feed back in your human days. It warmed your heart, and your cheeks, to feel his eyes on your figure. It made you feel unsteady on your feet. It made you question who was the ruler of the other, who held the power over the other; the power imbalance slowly became a balance - your energy dimmed by the way he could play you like a puppet.

All these feelings weaved together and knotted around your heart, snaring you in a complex web too tight to escape, exposing your throat to him like a delicacy to be gorged upon.

Only if you let him know, that is.

You somehow felt that a man like him wouldn’t settle, and more importantly, he was a man; just another one of the hordes who wanted a demure consort, you could bet. You were not a dainty flower he likely sought; you were a weed - growing strong despite the harshest of conditions, clawing out a place for your existence where there had been none before. The Curse of Curses.

So you buried those feelings like a female buried herself under layers of junihitoe - though you refused to wear that monstrosity despite the latest fashion in Japan, as all the fabric was too heavy for comfort. You made do with the yukata you stole from Sukuna’s wardrobe. It was definitely not because it smelled like him. 

You kept away from the humans and the ruling in his Shrine, spending time with Uraume, him, or alone in the gardens - until you could not. He’d left you in charge of his Kingdom when he had business to do. 

Human men were deplorable, thinking you were just a weak curse to be manipulated and slandered. You didn’t raise your voice at all, yet it shut everyone up in the hall - save for one local lord thinking himself too mighty to listen. No amount of flattery would have kept him alive after that. A wave of your hand made vines grow out of his guts - burrowing through his flesh as easily as tearing paper apart; sweet-smelling white flowers bloomed from the mess of red-coated plant matter in the middle of the chamber. 

You sat in Sukuna’s throne of bones, regal and untouchable.

That was how he found you - presiding over his subjects like the Goddess you were, and bloody Spring sprouted in front of him, rubies glinting upon the stone floors like a grotesque decoration. 

At first, he had wanted to study you - the Queen of Curses, the Supreme Sovereign, older than him, wiser, more powerful. Forgotten, yet not forgotten enough for him not to find any sources mentioning your title. He had been curious about you, and then he became curious about the feelings you evoked in him. Your presence in his home converted from an adornment into an emollient to him, smoothing the rough edges and softening the spikes of his defenses against you, yet you remained the centerpiece of his attention, even when you weren’t in his presence. He found himself thinking about you in all his waking moments.

“Everyone, out.”

He could not hide his devotion to you if he tried now - it had grown roots in his soul and fed off of his life-force, yet strengthened it twice as much. His heart was set ablaze every time he laid eyes upon your form, the blood in his veins searing hot, branding him from the inside - a slave to you forevermore.

And so he knelt at your feet, the bottom two of his arms supporting him as he leaned forward, his top pair carefully reaching for your foot and raising it to his face.

The King of Curses kissed your ankle, closing his eyes in silent worship to his Goddess, his World. 

“Your Majesty,” he greeted you in a whisper, his lips caressing your skin.

Your eyes grew soft as you studied him, your posture proud but your expression fond. “Sukuna.”

Wet, hot tongue darted out to taste your skin, making you jolt and tear your leg from his grasp with pursed lips. The tabby was particularly impertinent today.

“You have no respect for your Queen, do you?” 

“On the contrary, I hold all the respect for you.” His smirk was mischievous, he knew as well as you did neither of you were serious about this. Just a harmless teasing, if a bit skewed. 

You used your foot to lightly push against his chest to tip him over onto his back - which he let you do, for he could have as easily resisted. Even falling down, he looked graceful. It made you feel warm inside your ribcage as you pushed a joyous smile down.

Sukuna turned the fall into a backwards roll, ending up on his knees again.

“At least you know your place - on your knees before me…”

“I-” he licked his lips, “I would gladly be on my knees for you all day, Your Majesty.”

Oh? It was your turn to give him a smile full of mischief as he slowly moved back to you. You remained silent.

“Has a cat got your tongue?” 

Sukuna shuffled forward on his knees, his top pair of arms resting on the bones of his throne as he came even closer. Palms trailing to your thighs and covering them with his hands - an easy feat with his size. 

You could do naught but marvel at the contrast of your limbs and his - each powerful and deadly in their own right, each in a different way. There was no tremor of fear in your muscles, only anticipation, even while he lightly spread your legs to fit his torso between them as you lounged on his throne.

“Let me feast on your nectar.” His voice, smooth like silk, a plea rather than an order, the nuance of his tone telling all you needed to know. He appeared unreadable to others, but he was as exposed and vulnerable as a newborn babe to you at this moment.

Even so, your lips parted in surprise at his request for you didn’t expect him to say it out loud at last. “Forward, aren’t you?”

His carmine eyes - all four of them - focused on yours with an intensity you were only just getting used to with him. Sukuna said nothing as he waited for your response.

The devil didn’t bargain, after all.

“Very well… Show me how you would worship your Queen, my King.”

dividers by the divine @benkeibear

network: @enchantedforest-network

#unleashing this in wake of zoya's exams #i hope this can cheer you up or idk #this fanart piece has been rotting my brain since it came out istg #and there is something immensely hot about women in power #and dangerous men being glorified guard dogs #anyway #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #jjk sukuna #sukuna fanfic #jjk fanfic #jjk #true form sukuna #desi the blue eyed kakushi #kakushino

[mickandmusings]

sincerity & sonnets

-

pairing: anthony bridgerton x f!reader

word count: 2.1k

summary: anthony bridgerton is blessed with many things-a warm, loving family, a well-funded lifestyle as a viscount, a beautiful wife. more notably, he is cursed with a short fuse and a sharp tongue, which might lead to his demise.

(based off of this request! to the anon who requested, I sort of wrote the argument as more of a sharp remark, but i hope it is still angsty enough for your liking! <3)

warnings: angsty->fluffy, no other warnings

-

As Anthony sat at his desk, scribbling away at his numerous piles of papers stacked in front of him, he noted the unusual quietness that had fallen on his study. He first thought that he had shut the door, but one quick look at the doorway contradicted his beliefs. Anthony's eyebrows furrowed in confusion-his home was never quiet.

Between his own family, and the families of his four sisters and three brothers, his home was full of life: laughter bounding off the walls, his wife and sisters' voices chatting over tea, the stampeding footfalls of his hoard of nieces and nephews assured his ears would never grow accustomed to utter silence. Even in the rare occurrence that the house was empty save for Anthony and his beloved wife, he'd often hear her humming to herself as she attended to her own business in their home, or she would join him in his study, writing her own correspondences at the smaller desk next to his own. Which is why, now, as he sat at his desk this afternoon, the silence stunned him. Anthony frowned, lifting his pocket watch to assure himself he was not entirely losing his mind. As the gold clock stared back at him, the small hand signaled it was midday.

He chuckled to himself, his wife must have chosen to sleep in entirely too long. Y/N was a chronic night owl, often keeping Anthony awake with her bedside chatter and comments on the appearance of the night sky through the window that faced their bed. Anthony would indulge her, but would still wake before the sun. His wife, however, would not budge for several more hours. He grinned and pocketed his watch, pushing himself up from his chair to wake his sleeping beauty of a wife.

Anthony bounded up the stairs two at a time, nodding curtly at any house staff before reaching their shared bedchambers. His dark eyes peer into the empty bedroom-his wife certainly was not here. He noted the dutifully made bed, the open curtains allowing the sunlight in, and, most importantly, his wife's absence. Anthony shook his head briefly before dashing back down the stairs, nearly stumbling into one of his wife's handmaidens.

"Pardon me," he addresses the woman with a sigh, a bit breathless from the unexpected goose chase his wife has taken him on. "Do you know the whereabouts of my wife?"

The younger maid looks at Anthony almost confused, but quickly takes on a professional tone:

"The Viscountess is reading in the garden, she's only just gotten back from tea with the Dowager Viscountess and the Duchess."

Anthony nodded in thanks, hastily departing for their expansive garden, his mind racing. Seeing his wife was an afternoon ritual-she would come bounding into his study after tea with his mother and respective sisters, spouting off all of the new ladies' gossip as he listened intently, all while pretending he was entirely disinterested. He enjoyed seeing her eyes grow wide with the shock of scandal, or her smile at a sweet interaction she witnessed at the park. If you were to ask Anthony Bridgerton, there was no sight more splendid than his wife in all of her extraordinary, everyday beauty. Not that he would admit that aloud, at least not to anyone but her.

Frankly, he was missing her presence today more than he cared to admit. He spotted Y/N almost instantly, her periwinkle gown shining in the sun. She sat in a chair politely under a shady tree, the book on her lap seemingly forgotten. Her expressive eyes locked onto the treeline in the distance, her face solemn. Anthony's heart seemed to fall in his chest, the sinking realization of why his home had been so soundless for the entirety of the day. His chest felt tight as he thought of his actions last night...

-

It had been a very, very long day for Anthony. With Francesca's upcoming debut to society, his mother had been harping on Anthony for nearly a fortnight about every minute detail. His patience for his mother was infinite, but sometimes she did manage to test its limits. Atop this hurdle was the never ending stacks of paperwork littering his desk, waiting to be looked over and signed off by his barely legible scrawl. He had neglected to write Colin back for weeks-his younger brother writing about his travels in Greece. The house staff had been in and out of his study all day, the incessant knocking severing his nerves. The heavy weight of life as a viscount was falling on Anthony, making him irritable and exhausted. His dear wife had settled his discomfort around lunch, bringing his nearly-cold meal into his study to make sure he ate. She had left him with a chaste kiss and a better mood, but Anthony had returned to her worse for wear.

Dinner in their large dining room had felt unnaturally dreary, only the sound of utensils clanking against china plates filling the air, only to be stifled by his wife's chatter. Normally, Anthony would've listened attentively, enjoying hearing about trips to the modiste or how Portia Featherington had driven his wife to near madness. Today, however, her voice had him pressing his nails into his palms to aid his irritation. He sipped his wine and shuffled his food on his plate to avoid making eye contact, he would not want her to see the frustration lingering in his eyes.

"Eloise was completely beside herself, I had never seen her so embarrassed! Madame Delacroix-"

"Must you talk so incessantly?!" Anthony's voice spat out in a low growl, dripping with fierce vexation.

Y/N's eyes grew wide, looking at her husband as if he had sprouted an extra arm and slapped her with it. She said nothing, only cowering in on herself, staring down at her lap as she fidgets with her hands. After several moments of Anthony's intense silence, she lifts a shaky hand and wipes the tears forming in her eyes as she hastily made her way out of the room, attempting to put as much distance between her and Anthony as possible.

Anthony followed suit moments later, feeling angry at himself as he slammed the door of his study shut, falling asleep at his desk hours later. Y/N had slept on her side of a bed far too large for one, her eyes tender and cheeks splotchy, her mind racing. Did she truly talk too much? Had he been annoyed by her daily talks for all these months? Her mind weaved small details into a full blown breakdown, and she quickly settled on being Anthony's perfect, quiet wife as she caved to her drowsiness.

-

The wind blew his wife's curls against her shoulder as Anthony approached her in the backyard, her back still facing him. He wasn't sure she had even heard him approach, her eyes still focused on the landscape sprawled before them. Anthony shuffles nervously, his hands behind him as he stands at her side, only the wind and birds chirping aiding the suffocating silence.

"Splendid weather we're having," Anthony's voice finally spoke, awkward and fumbling into casual conversation as he sank into the chair across from him. Y/N said nothing, only blinking in the same direction she had been staring at the entire time. Anthony nodded, mostly to himself, resigning himself to her silence, it was what he deserved at the moment.

After several moments of dead silence, Y/N turned her attention back to the book perched in her lap, and Anthony sat silently, wanting to spout out his apology in a hurried, bumbling manner, but he knew his wife, she would simply nod and continue reading, allowing herself to stew in prolonged silence.

He rose quietly, leaving with a small kiss landing atop her head-a touch that burned Y/N's skin. She watched Anthony leave out of the corner of her eye, sighing heavily as his presence was back inside their home. She was a myriad of feelings: angry at Anthony for being so blatantly cruel, his words had stung and left her reeling for hours. She was sad, as much as the words had fired her up, they had torn her heart, leaving her chest heavy with dejection. Y/N was nearly bursting at the seams to just apologize-even if it wasn't her who needed to apologize-just so the awkward encounters would come to an end. She wondered if Anthony even felt remorse at all.

In his study, Anthony ran his hands through his hair for the hundredth time, attempting to focus on the business papers in front of him. His efforts were fruitless-all he could think of was the empty look on Y/N's face. He had never seen her this lifeless, like her glow had been snuffed out, and it was entirely his fault. Anthony's mind raced with a million different scenarios of how he would make this up to her, ranging from flowers to begging on hands and knees, but despite his blunders, he knew his lady well. His Viscountess had never been one for showy things or frivolous purchases, she would only want his sincerest apologies. He would do it tonight, over dinner, he decided. He only hoped when the time came, she would at least spare him a glance.

-

Hours later, at the dining room table, Anthony found himself sitting in his chair at the head of the table completely alone. The kitchen staff came and left with plates and glasses, but his wife had yet to make an appearance. Anthony's foot tapped against the floor in anxiety, his eyes shooting up to the closest staff member, nearly shouting:

"Where is the Viscountess taking her dinner?"

The head of the kitchen staff looked at Anthony wide-eyed at his outburst, replying politely:

"Viscountess Bridgerton took her dinner in the library tonight."

Anthony said nothing, rising from his seat and walking down the hallway, coming to the door of the library and knocking lightly.

"Come in."

Anthony nearly burst into a fit of tears, happy to hear her voice.

He pushed the door open, Y/N's eyes meeting his before they dropped back down to the open book in her hands. Anthony felt guilt press heavy on his chest. He settled into the plush chair opposite her, separated only by a small end table. Anthony looked over at her, his brown eyes all but practically begging her to say something to him.

"Y/N..." Anthony's voice is small and timid, trying to coax her into at least hearing him out. Y/N's voice came out a whisper, cutting him off.

"I am sorry."

Anthony furrowed his brow, that was certainly not what he was expecting to hear. He looked over at her, her gaze locked on the moonlight coming through the window, her eyes glassy with tears.

"I am sorry I have become a burden, Anthony. I did not realize I irritated you with my ramblings. I thought you wanted to hear of my daily activities. I know my day as a woman is not nearly as riveting as yours as a Viscount, but-"

"My dear, your apologies are not necessary," Anthony's voice dripped with sincerity, his eyes warm as he looked at her, ready to grovel for forgiveness. He stuck his hand out for her to take, which she did. He pulled her towards him softly, his gentle touches coaxing her into his lap. Y/N's eyes grow soft under his gaze, her limbs melting in his strong hold. "I am the one who has been a fool. I look forward to your ramblings, no matter if they hold what you consider to be valuable or not, they brighten my day. I wait most ardently for news of trips to the modiste, or my mother's ramblings over tea-" He pauses, tucking a stray curl back behind her ear, his thumb wiping away the stray tears on her cheeks.

"I don't want you to be silent. Your voice is more pleasant than any other sound," Anthony cuts himself off, sighing, before starting again. "I should not have spoken to you in such a manner. I should not have raised my voice at you. You have my word that it will never happen again, I cannot go another day surrounded by your silence, it is torture."

Y/N smiles slightly at her husband's words, his transgressions forgiven with his sincere words. His face is close enough to hers to brush her nose against his, their lips close enough to meet.

"Are you certain you were not a poet before we met, Lord Bridgerton?" Y/N's voice is a whisper, the moment feeling far too intimate for anything else.

Anthony chuckles as his hand grasps the side of her face lightly, bringing her closer, speaking before he kisses her deeply:

"Only for you, my beloved...you inspire sonnets."

-

#anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton #request #bridgerton x reader

[mattyriddlesbitch]

Pretty and Pliant

Mattheo Riddle x f!Reader

Warnings: somnophilia, fingering, unprotected sex, pure smut no plot

18+ Minors DNI!

You were sleeping in Mattheo’s dorm, last you remember was him cuddling you from behind, already asleep behind you. Now, you have been woken up, lying on your stomach as you feel something pushing in and out of your walls. A moan tears from your throat as you turn to see Mattheo kneeling beside you in the darkness of the room, his hand down your shorts and panties. You turn back and bury your head in the pillow in front of you, moaning softly into them.

You had told him you didn’t mind when he woke you up like that. In fact, you liked it. You encouraged it.

Mattheo loved it, too. He loved you like this. Pretty and pliant. He could do nearly anything he wanted, and you wouldn’t argue with him. Not that you would normally, but your compliance in your groggy state when woken up like this was something that he loved. No questions, no words, no hesitation other than the slowness of your tired movements.

You could hear the wetness from between your thighs as he fingered your pussy. Your moans and that embarrassing wet sound of your pussy were the only things heard in those four walls. You gripped the green sheets beneath you as he suddenly sped up. You could feel the pleasure building up in your stomach, slowly, but still there.

He pulled his hand out and you whined. He tugged off your shorts and panties, pulling you back by your hips so your ass was in the air for him. You could feel just how wet you were once your pussy was exposed to the cold air in the room. You could hear the soft rustling of him pulling down his pants before he started to slowly push into you. Your moans were muffled by the pillow your face was still in. He bottomed out and gripped your hips tightly before beginning to thrust in and out of you, setting a pace that has the pleasure building in your stomach again. His grip was nearly bruising as he moved your hips to meet his thrusts, hitting a little deeper.

No words were exchanged, just your moans and his soft groans as he fucked himself into you. He always made sure you came before him. He groaned as he felt your walls starting to clench around him more, telling him you were close as your moans got louder, whinier. He kept his pace, watching as you came around him with the sweetest moan he’s ever heard. He didn’t last much longer than that, his hips thrusting into yours a bit erratically as he came inside you.

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle x reader smut #slytherin boys smut #slytherin boys x reader #slytherin boys

[captain-hawks]

double shift

— kento nanami x f!reader

summary: Kento Nanami hates overtime, but who is he to say no when his boss asks him to go check on his wife while he's out of town?

word count: 4.2k

content: NSFW, 18+, smut, infidelity, heavy lactation kink, fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, multiple orgasms, degradation, dirty talk, squirting, breeding kink, restraints, counter sex, wet & messy

Kento’s grip on the steering wheel tightens as he stares at his phone nestled in the cupholder, limbs taut with aggravation as the bored voice of his boss continues on, “She hasn’t been answering my calls all day, and I’m not flying back for another week yet. I know you’re probably about to leave the office, but I’m going to need you to stop at my house and check on her first, Nanami.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, the words ‘OVERTIME’ flashing red behind his eyes and drawing forth a fresh surge of anger that has him contemplating the consequences of smashing his phone on the pavement outside and finding a new job entirely.

Today has been shit.

Capital S, Shit.

His asshole boss has been out of town for nearly a week already, every client is somehow ten times more unbearable than usual, the incompetence across the office has become a goddamn disease, and he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that that piece of shit is doing anything  but keeping his dick in his pants while his wife and their new baby are left home alone.

His very attractive, very lovely wife who probably has no idea what a waste of oxygen her husband is. 

You’re too fucking good for him.

And you’re also too good for Kento, who’s spent more nights than he’d care to admit furiously fisting his cock to the memory of whatever tantalizing outfit you’d turned up at the office wearing that day.

And seeing you pregnant?

While the knowledge that you were now entirely stuck with that undeserving asshole sent his blood boiling, Kento could hardly complain about the sight of you during those months, his shaft straining painfully in his slacks every time he laid eyes upon your gloriously swollen, heavy breasts. 

And the cum he splattered all over the mirror and sink after inevitably rushing out of his office when you finally left? Well, that was between him and the four walls of the men’s bathroom. 

So after the awful day he’s already had, Kento’s not sure he can imagine a worse type of overtime than waltzing into your house and playing the part of a dutiful employee checking in on his boss’s wife, acting like he doesn’t want to fuck you so bad it’s driving him up a goddamn wall.

But he’ll fucking do it.

Of course he will. 

“Sure,” he replies tersely, before hanging up and peeling out of the parking lot.

᠃ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

She’s finally asleep.

Sighing weakly in relief, you close the door to your daughter’s bedroom and shuffle down the hallway. You make it all the way to the kitchen before you’re forced to lean heavily against the countertop, gritting your teeth as another wave of discomfort radiates from your sore, swollen breasts. 

“Hello?” a familiar, male voice tentatively calls out in a hushed tone.

You whip around, still clutching the counter for support, eyes widening at the side of Kento Nanami standing in the doorway to your kitchen. 

“Hi?” you respond, your heart doing a somersault as you drink in the sight of his tall, muscled form. 

He twirls a key around his finger twice before catching it in the palm of his hand and stuffing it in his pocket. “I apologize for barging in, but your spare key hiding spot is shit, and I didn’t want to ring the doorbell and wake the baby.”

“It’s okay, Nanami,” you assure him, the erratic thrumming in your chest far from a feeling of fear.

For whatever reason, he appears to be attempting to avert his eyes after glancing over at you quickly, roughly running a hand through his hair. “Your husband asked me to check on you. He said he hasn’t heard from you all day,” he explains carefully. 

“Well, I figured it would be rude to interrupt the wild orgies he pays for with the company credit card,” you deadpan.

Nanami’s jaw ticks, “He—”

“I’m well aware of what he does.”

“Then why—”

“Because I realized too late, and I’m too tired to do anything about it right now,” you sigh, wincing at the continuous ache of your breasts.

And it’s then that you realize why Nanami’s been looking anywhere but at you directly.

You’re wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and knee-high socks, which in and of itself isn’t overtly reprehensible, given that you’re in your own house, you have a four-month-old child, and you can’t remember the last time you got a full night’s rest. The issue is that your breasts are so sore and tender right now, you haven’t been able to even look at a bra in days. 

Which, once again, wouldn’t be an issue alone in the privacy of your home…when one of your husband’s employees isn’t desperately trying not to acknowledge the fact that two large wet spots have soaked through your shirt. 

“I should…” you trail off awkwardly, glancing around the room in hopes that you left one of your flannel over shirts lying within reach. 

“It’s fine,” Nanami blurts out, scratching the back of his head and studiously feigning interest in the collection of party invites and shopping lists stuck to the side of your fridge. 

᠃ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

It’s not fine. 

It’s anything but fine. 

It’s a complete fucking disaster. 

Kento hasn’t seen you since you gave birth. And despite how exhausted he knows you are—he can see it in the bags under your eyes and the limpness of your posture— your soft pregnancy glow has transformed into a postpartum radiance that has his breath catching in his throat each time his eyes sweep over you. 

You’re fucking stunning. 

And somehow, he knows your husband hasn’t noticed this. Hasn’t told you how incredible you are, how fantastic motherhood looks on you. It sends a fresh wave of anger coursing through him, the mere thought that he could bear to let himself stray from you—especially now, at such a vulnerable time. 

But any hopes Kento had of trying not to commit this sight of you to memory were swiftly dashed the moment he noticed the wet spots on your shirt. 

Even now, when he’s looking at a box of cereal on the counter as if it’s the most interesting thing in the entire world, every layer of his inner psyche is rapidly overheating at the thought of your heavy, swollen breasts. The milk leaking from them, soaking through your clothes and inevitably trailing down your stomach. 

He needs to fucking leave. Now. 

“I should go—“

“—do you want some tea?”

You both speak at the same time, and when Kento turns to face you again, you’ve slipped a blue flannel shirt on, buttoning it up partway. As if his traitorous cock will somehow forget what he now knows is obscured underneath the added layer of material. But despite the growing discomfort swelling and throbbing against the zipper of his pants, he concedes, his need to quell the apparent loneliness in your eyes with a moment of company winning out over his lust-addled desire to disappear to the nearest private place to jerk off. 

He’s thankful to sit after you pour him a cup, hiding any and all evidence of what a terrible man he is beneath the table, one leg idly bouncing as he wills his hard on to go down. It’s a big ask, though, given that you’re probably not even aware of what you’re doing to him when you lean your body over the kitchen island with your mug clutched between your fingers as you idly chat with him, your oversized shirt just barely masking the flash of pink panties it reveals beneath each time your shoulders bounce as you laugh. 

He’s two seconds from excusing himself to put his fucking dick in the freezer. 

His chair scrapes against the tile floor as he pushes it back, having decided he’s at his limit, but he pauses when a pained sound escapes your lips. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, hurrying over to where you’re now pressing your forehead against the island countertop, whimpering softly. His hand hovers for a moment before he opts to gently touch your shoulder, just to let you know he’s there. 

Your fingers scrape over the marble as you breathe out in a quiet voice, “No.”

As if on instinct, Kento begins to rub small, comforting circles into your upper back, his tentative touches growing more confident when he feels your tense body behind to relax slightly. 

“What’s wrong? What can I do?”

You whine again, standing up straighter but keeping your back to him as you clutch at your chest. “They…they hurt so bad.”

Kento’s halfway certain his soul has left his body as he watches, stunned, while you slide your hands up under your shirt and squeeze at your breasts, exhaling a chorus of breathy little sounds like the fucked up cherry on top. 

“Do you need to…” he trails off, and though you can’t see from where he’s standing behind you, he vaguely gestures in the general direction where he can only surmise the baby’s room is. 

“It’s…they’re clogged,” you whisper, elbows lifting up and revealing the small of your back as you begin to knead your tits desperately. “They’ve been so sore and swollen for days.”

Kento bites his lower lip, mentally steadying himself for a moment before he asks, “Tell me how I can help.”

“Can you grab a clean washcloth out of the drawer next to the sink and soak it in hot water?”

He swiftly complies with your request, returning moments later after wringing out the small towel and waiting for it to cool down slightly. You’re still using the counter to steady yourself, so he approaches you from behind and goes to hand you the washcloth, only to find his hand immediately pinned between your own and one of your breasts. 

You let out a whimpering cry of relief, and it takes everything in him not to let out the noise rumbling in his own throat as you squeeze his hand over your tit. 

“I’m sorry,” you whimper. “It just feels so…”

“It’s okay,” Kento murmurs. “Relax.”

Internally, every single warning bell inside of his head is blaring indignantly over the fact that he’s got his hand under his boss’s wife’s shirt, and he’s massaging her lactating breasts with a hot towel while she whimpers and presses into his touch. 

But your fingers are laced with his, and you’re not telling him to stop. 

In fact, you’re begging him to keep going, keeping a hold of his left hand when he switches the towel to his right, urging him to massage both of your tits at the same time. And who is he to tell you no?

Kento’s fairly certain his balls are going to be aching for days when he feels the warm liquid that begins to coat his fingers.

Fucking fuck. 

What the fuck is he doing?

Then your back arches as you outright moan when he brazenly toys with both of your nipples at the same time, milk squirting out, your ass pressing directly into his throbbing erection. 

And fuck it, fuck dignity, because Kento’s on the verge of coming in his pants. 

But then you spin around to face him, your back pressed into the island as you gaze at him shyly and say, “I…I think I need more.”

Your eyes flick from his mouth back down to your breasts, and he cups the side of your face as he asks, “Are you sure?”

You nod, slipping your shirt off entirely and tossing it aside, and Kento’s mouth goes dry as he stares at the trails of milk leaking from your tits, wondering how he’d ever thought to call today ‘Shitty’. 

He motions toward the counter, his large hands grasping your waist to help you get seated up on top of it, fingertips hesitant to pull away from your lacy panties when he spies the wet spot over your cunt. 

Kento has never thought of himself as a greedy man. Far from it, actually. 

But the moment his mouth latches onto one of your hot, swollen breasts, pulling a shameless moan from your pretty lips as your thighs wrap around him, the sweet taste of your milk hitting his tongue, he feels fucking insatiable. 

His mind is a buzz of static as he drinks from your tits, all the blood in his body rushing to his cock, precum soaking through his boxers and slacks. Your fingers tangle in his hair, the heel of your foot pressing into his back and pulling him closer, and he groans, one hand grasping your upper thigh as he teases your nipples between his teeth and squeezes a spray of liquid onto his gluttonous tongue. 

“Feels so good, Nanami,” you whine, fingertips sliding down the front of his dress shirt, catching on each button.  

“Kento,” he exhales, licking up the milk dripping down your chest. 

“Kento,” you moan, tugging hard on the tousled blond strands that have fallen onto his forehead. 

And at the sound of your breathy, wrecked tone moaning out his name for the first time, every nerve ending in Kento’s body goes up in flames. 

᠃ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Nothing has ever felt this good. 

Nothing. 

Kento Nanami’s sinful mouth is latched onto your heavy, engorged tits, greedily drinking every spurt of breast milk that comes leaking out of you, the flow growing steadier with each lap and squeeze. 

He has no fucking clue that most of your impromptu visits to the office are actually to see him. To talk to him, if only for a few moments. Kento Nanami, who has always treated you with unfailing kindness under his sometimes brash exterior. Who extends more patience toward you than all of his coworkers combined. 

He has no idea how trapped you feel in your marriage, how often you’ve longed for the bland touch of your husband in bed to be his. 

He doesn’t know how many times you’ve brought yourself over the edge with your fingers with his face lingering in your mind, the rough, teasing sound of words you’ve imagined in his voice playing out in your head like the most sinful soundtrack you’ve ever heard. 

And now he’s grunting and moaning as he makes a mess of both of you, his lips and chin gleaming with the same wet, sticky milk that’s all over your chest and thighs and his hands and pooling on the countertop beneath you. 

It’s filthy.

It’s so fucking filthy. 

And maybe it’s wrong. 

But you’re so desperate for him. For this. You need more. You need it so badly, you can hardly breathe. Searing desire is coiled so tightly in your abdomen, you’re trembling with restraint, aching with the desire to beg him to fuck you. You know he wants it, too, though. It’s hard to miss the thick, mouth-watering outline of his cock straining against his pants, like a beacon waiting to fulfill your darkest desires. 

It’s a line you know he won’t cross unless you ask for it. 

“Kento,” you murmur again, pulling his face up to meet yours. 

“Mmm?” he asks, pupils blown wide with lust, and you can tell he’s slightly dazed, drunk off of the taste of the milk leaking from your tits. 

You lean closer, letting your lips hover over his, Kento’s breath mingling with your own as you whisper, “Please touch me.”

He gently pushes your thighs further apart, carefully running a finger over the front of your panties. His voice is a rough, gravelly sound as he asks, “Here?”

A thrill shoots up your spine at the feather-light touch. “Yes.”

“More?” he questions, his lips brushing against your mouth as he hooks a finger in your underwear and pulls them aside. 

“More,” you keen, bucking into him as his knuckles graze your clit. 

He slides a finger through your folds, visibility shuddering as he comments, “You’re so fucking wet.”

“For you,” you pant, trying to resist the urge to shamelessly start riding his hand. 

Kento’s mouth engulfs yours in a rough, hungry kiss at the same moment he slides a thick digit into your cunt, and he swallows down the whimpering cry of pleasure that spills out of you. His lips are relentless as they slot against yours, and you arch into him, every part of your body drawn to his blazing touch on your skin. 

You can taste the remnants of your breastmilk on Kento’s lips, but you don’t care as you let him slip his tongue into your mouth. He kisses you so deeply it makes your toes curl, one hand cradling the back of your head while he stuffs a second finger into your hole. 

And just when you thought you couldn’t get any more sensitive under his touch, he dips his head back down to continue ravishing your forgotten breasts, pumping his soaked fingers in and out of your pussy all the while. 

“Kento,” you whimper, chest heaving as you press your heels into the cabinets below, every muscle in your body going taut under the onslaught of arousal coursing through you. 

“Can you come for me?” he asks, his gravelly, barely restrained tone searing itself into your mind. 

It’s the combination of his thumb massaging circles into your sensitive bundle of nerves and the sight of milk dripping down his chin as he messily drinks from you that sends you tumbling over the edge, the rubber band inside of you snapping like a whip as your orgasm washes over you. There’s an unfamiliar feeling that accompanies it, clear liquid squirting from your cunt and soaking the front of Kento’s dress shirt. 

Kento’s eyes darken a fraction as he grasps your chin, thumb pressing into your bottom lip. “Good girl,” he murmurs, kissing you. “Good fucking girl.”

Hand reaching between your bodies, you grasp his cock through his slacks, marveling at how maddeningly thick he feels. 

“I want you to fuck me now, Kento,” you tell him in no uncertain terms, rubbing your palm up and down his erection for good measure. “Fuck me like I’m a bad girl.”

Kento growls, hand palming the side of your neck, thumb caressing your collarbones, “You have no fucking clue what you do to me.”

“Show me.”

You’ve hardly had a chance to unbutton his pants before he’s slipping your panties down, stuffing them into his pocket. His hands come up to undo his tie, but rather than tossing the silky material aside, he asks, “Do you trust me?”

You nod in response, and he steps around the island, pulling your hands behind your back and tying your wrists together snugly with the yellow and black material. Anticipation zings through your chest, a fresh wave of arousal dripping from your sensitive cunt. 

“Is that too tight?”

You shake your head. “It’s perfect.”

He wastes no time in shedding the rest of his clothes, and you find yourself pressing hard against the restraints once you see his cock in all its glory, thick and flushed and so fucking big that you whimper.  

You spread your legs wide for him again as he steps between them, rubbing the leaking head of his cock against your damp slit. He notches it at your entrance, tilting your chin to his mouth and dragging your bottom lip between his teeth before he murmurs, “You’re perfect.”

Kento’s hands grasp your hips as he notches his cock at your dripping entrance, slowly easing into you. He massages your breasts, his hot mouth nipping and lapping a trail from your shoulder to the sensitive spot behind your earlobe while he pushes deeper into your cunt. When he eventually bottoms out, you’re both breathing hard, and his tie is fighting for its life to keep your wrists bound behind you. 

“Are you okay?” 

You let out a huff of air, your entire body poised to implode with the weight of the lust and pleasure raging inside of you. “Fuck me like you mean it, Kento.”

Whatever thinly veiled restraint was left in him crumbles to dust at your request, and Kento tugs you closer to the edge of the counter as he begins to pound into your cunt at a ruthless pace, splitting you open right in the middle of your kitchen. The cool marble is slick and sticky beneath you, covered in a myriad of filthy fluids that continue to leak out of you. 

“So beautiful,” he grunts, punctuating each word with a rough snap of his hips. 

“I feel like a whore,” you admit, biting your lower lip, tits bouncing heavily with his punishing thrusts. 

A short, dark laugh escapes Kento’s lips, his brows raising. He leans in, stuffing his cock deep into your cunt as he presses his mouth to yours and murmurs, “Well you’re my pretty, filthy whore.”

If your husband talked to you like this, you’d slap him. But from Kento…the liquid heat that churns in your belly is anything but anger. 

“Am I?” you ask, trying to sound as innocent as you can when he’s balls deep inside of you. 

“Yeah,” he rasps, not missing a beat as he catches on to what you want to hear. He squeezes your tits, milk squirting everywhere. “My dirty slut. You’re such a good girl, making a such a fucking mess. Squirting all over me while your tits leak everywhere.”

You gasp as he leans down, burying his face in your tits, latching on to one of your nipples and drinking deeply from you again. The combined feeling of him sucking on your breasts and the push and drag of his shaft inside of you leaves you cock drunk, begging and babbling senselessly as tears of pleasure prick at the corners of your eyes.

“Wanna put another baby in you, keep these nice and round and full for me,” he grunts, letting milk spray from your tits and leak down your bodies, dripping down his cock and coating his balls. 

The thought leaves you dizzy and breathless, keening as you imagine Kento filling you over and over with his seed. Waking up each morning to his cock already stuffed inside of you, fucking the previous night’s cum right back into your needy cunt. Tying you up to your bed posts with that goddamn tie. The satisfaction on his face when your breasts grow heavy and your belly grows round again for him, awakening something so feral inside of him he’s incapable of keeping his mouth off of your tits and his cock from the heat between your thighs whenever you’re alone. 

Rational thinking is a thing of the past as you choke out, nearly sobbing with pleasure, cunt squelching wetly as he pounds into you, “Fill me, Kento. Please.”

Kento curses, leaning in to caress the side of your face as he mutters, “My filthy girl.”

“Yours,” you pant. “I’m yours.”

He captures your mouth in a deep, heated kiss, fingers grasping your hips for purchase as he plunges into your cunt, drawing shuddering, unabashed moans out of you. “Come all over my cock then,” he instructs, his rough tone dragging down your spine, fingers toying with your clit while your pussy clenches down on every inch of him. 

And when he leans down, holding eye contact with you as he licks up a forgotten trail of milk rolling down one of your tits, there’s nothing that can stop the searing explosion of pleasure that ignites inside of you, your entire body trembling with the relentless, burning hot flood of the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. 

He follows moments after you, driving his length in to the hilt as he groans, fingers gripping you tightly, his thick cock pulsing heavily inside of you as he fills your cunt deeply with ropes of cum. As fucked out as you feel, you can’t help but whine at the ceaseless arousal that stirs within your gut as your pussy quivers around the stretch of his cock, milking every drop of Kento’s seed from him. 

Kento feels you subtly rocking your hips back into him, and his answering chuckle is like warm honey as he reaches between you. He plays with your overstimulated clit, pressing gentle kisses along your jaw and down the side of your neck as his seed begins to leak out of you. You moan softly, head falling against his shoulder, pleasure mounting inside of you once more. Leveraging what remains of his softening cock, he slowly fucks his cum back inside of you, his rough whispers of praise a warm caress against the shell of your ear as your entire body dissolves into one last blissful climax that leaves you completely boneless. 

You have all of two minutes to bask in the afterglow, Kento’s hands and lips tenderly mapping out your body, when the sound of your phone ringing on the countertop beside you startles you both. Your gaze meets his as you both see the unwelcome name that flashes on the screen, and he promptly flips your phone over and scoops you into his arms as he makes his way toward the living room.

“If I’m working overtime, I’m making this a double shift.”

— likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated!

#kento nanami x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento #kento nanami #nanami kento x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen smut #nanami smut #kento nanami smut #jjk #jjk smut #dee writes

[gutsby]

Trigger Tease

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Your honeymoon from hell takes you straight to a strip club south of Madripoor, where Bucky teaches you how to give a lap dance, shoot a gun, and kill a man all in one night—and maybe agree to have his baby, too.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Oral (m! & f!receiving). Sex in a sauna. Sex in a strip club. Praise & degradation. Breeding kink. Daddy kink. Double homicide. Dickriding. Beefy, mob boss Bucky hates birth control and bad men—loves babies and killing HYDRA operatives for his wife.

Descriptions of violence throughout

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

Roleplay was fun—even vital for a marriage like yours.

Only instead of assuming the role of sexy masseuse, strong and strapping CEO, hands-on handyman, or some naughty professor with a knack for after-class punishment, Bucky got to play a bloodlusting assassin.

‘Winter Soldier’ didn’t have quite the same ring as most pornographic tropes, but that was no matter. What counted now was making the shot, and getting it right.

You sincerely hoped you wouldn’t fuck this up.

It was no secret that the Barnes’ bloodline was steeped in dealing, stealing, gunslinging, and laundering cash. Staggering privilege, too. From the sandy shores of Curaçao to Luxembourg and Guinea-Bissau, any living heir to the dynasty could have expected to find safe refuge and respect just about anywhere that they went. It was all but engrained in their DNA at this point.

All that is to say, Bucky had no trouble finding a foreign hideaway in a pinch. He liked the Swiss Alps the best.

After your short and sweet conversation with ‘Joey’ over the phone—HYDRA hijacking the intercom system—he and Sam and Steve had made the split-second decision to reroute the plane to Zürich, and now you were here.

72 hours into a four-day ticking time bomb and totally clueless as to how you might stave off impending death, and mitigate other casualties, the best that you could.

The stress fucking with Bucky made it worth it, though.

In between breakfast and the start of your husband’s early briefing that day, you’d found yourself situated in much the same way you’d been spending a lot of time lately: pinned against the wall of a wood-paneled sauna, Bucky’s broad shoulders supporting both of your legs as he buried his face deep between your thighs. You sighed.

“Hold still,” Bucky grunted, voice muffled as he tried to keep your slick, squirming body in place above him.

You yelped and seized a fistful of his hair when he wedged his tongue even further inside you, nudging your clit with his nose almost too teasingly and deliberate.

“I can’t…help it,” you bit back, ignoring the brief glare you earned from your husband as soon as you said it, “Your tongue’s just so— s— James!”

This time, Bucky let out a full-throated groan when you yanked on those poor wet locks of his—‘Gonna make me bald by next Christmas if you keep doin’ that, honey’—and he pried his head from your legs just long enough to knock you flat on the sauna bench close by.

The western red cedar seared hot on your skin, already flushed from the exhaustion wrought by Bucky’s tongue; you hardly had the strength to hold yourself up when he pushed you onto your back and crawled over your body.

“How ‘bout my fingers, doll? Can you take a couple’a those for me?” Bucky crooned above you as he stroked your hair, bathed in pure sunlight pouring in from the windows. His voice was a touch more sympathetic now.

After all, this was your third orgasm of the morning. It really wasn’t fair for him to use that biological weapon of mass destruction he liked to call his tongue when he knew how sensitive your clit would get from just one ‘O’. Even his hands might be too much in your current state.

Bucky was busy peppering your skin with kisses, working his way from the base of your neck to the crown of your head, when you whimpered and tried to fight a smile.

“Finger,” you corrected him, “Just one finger, Barnes.”

You would’ve thought you’d just thrown your wedding ring in his face and told him to eat shit. Just one?

“How’s one finger s’posed to stretch you out for my cock, huh? Practically had you screamin’ when I stuck it in last night,” Bucky wasn’t one to hide his amusement, grinning even bigger when you swatted him on the arm.

“Who said anything about your cock?” You tried to keep cool as Bucky’s fingers trailed right back down to the place you felt yourself throbbing, aching for his touch, “You have a meeting in ten minutes.”

“Meeting doesn’t start until I say so, my love,” Bucky reminded you just as his index ghosted over your folds.

In truth, he was willing to play this game any way, and for however long, you wanted it done, so long as he was the one bringing you pleasure all the while. Be that his cock, his finger, or all fucking five on one hand, Bucky just wanted to get you off. It was far better sustenance to him than the whole fucking meal he’d eaten that morning.

Bucky kept it down to one digit and lightly circled your bundle of nerves when he sensed you were ready.

You gripped his forearm and shot a quick look between your legs, still in disbelief as to how he could make you feel this good so soon after you’d cum twice before. You felt his lips drift over to yours and steal a few kisses.

“Always doin’ so good for me,” Bucky praised, moving his finger in circles. When you whined against his mouth, he pressed it even harder, “Such a good girl for daddy.”

“James,” you breathed, clenching your legs together.

“Everything OK?”

“Uh-huh.”

More than OK, in fact. That delectable coil of sweet, euphoric release was already swelling gently in your tummy. Bucky moved his finger even faster.

“Tell me how it feels,” he murmured low in your ear.

Bucky loved seeing you try to articulate your feelings—relatively fresh and new to your world, still—while he was giving you pleasure. Adored the way you winced and whined and arched your back into his touch as a whole blustering hailstorm of sensations crashed over you.

He sank his tongue in your mouth as he kissed you, as if trying to extract the words from between your lips. Your response, in consequence, came somewhat stifled.

“Mm— feels so, oh—” Your voice broke off in a moan when Bucky tightened his circles, “—so good, daddy.”

“Wanna show daddy how good and cum for me?”

Bucky knew by the way you were whimpering under his hand that the tendril in your stomach had almost tripled in size. It wouldn’t take much to tip you over the edge.

“My sweet girl,” he said, rubbing your cunt at the same time he was stroking the back of your head, gently, “Feels so nice down there, doesn’t it?”

You rolled your hips against the bench and nodded. Your breaths were short and ragged, panting helplessly into Bucky’s mouth when he adjusted his hand just a little: pressing the pad of his thumb to your clit, with his index moving down to your entrance. Pushing inside you.

“Another,” you choked, not thinking.

Bucky met your desperate gaze and nodded, knowing this was exactly what you needed to make it over the precipice.

Still, he wouldn’t be Bucky if he didn’t tease just a bit.

“I thought my wife wanted one finger,” he hummed, brow pinching inward.

“No, no.” You could’ve shrieked when he curled the digit, “Want more— Bucky, please, please, I need more.”

Again, your husband appeared to nod in understanding, but his fingers didn’t budge. He worked his thumb a little faster and watched you writhe on the seat beneath him.

“How many, honey? Don’t wanna hurt my baby.” His words were all kindness, it seemed, but his tone laced with shameless condescension—the kind that said, yes, I know you need this, and no, I won’t indulge you just yet. Bucky was the worst when he wanted to prove a point. You could’ve ripped at his clothes and torn them in two if you weren’t both stark naked and shrouded in steam.

You opted to pull at his hair instead.

Bucky winced, but the smirk never left.

“I said how many?” he pressed again.

“Three. Four.” Fuck if you knew.

Your husband raised both eyebrows and hummed, a single finger still plunging in and out of your cunt at a rapid-fire pace. He teased the tip of another at your entrance and smiled even more when you whined.

“Needy little thing, isn’t she?”

“Bucky—”

“Just wants to fuck daddy’s hand to get herself off, hm?”

Bucky didn’t bother to mask his sweet, degrading tone any longer as he talked down and teased you to no end. It drove him half-insane to see you squirm around, rut your hips, let him say the filthiest fucking words he could conjure up, and just bob your head to whatever he said. His impeccant wife and her insatiable needs—Bucky couldn’t even begin to express how turned on the sheer dichotomy got him. He stared in your eyes, all glossy and soft, and felt his cock stand even more rigid on his belly.

He didn’t give a shit if he’d taunted you enough or not; he just shoved his middle and ring fingers alongside the first and clenched his jaw to start fucking you hard with all three.

Your whole face contorted with pleasure, tinged with the faintest shade of discomfort at the tail end of it. You’d forgotten how big his fingers felt all together.

“Bucky,” you whined, mindlessly clawing at the wrist that was moving back and forth, fast, between your legs, “B-Baby, slow— slow down a little.”

But Bucky was deep in the zone. He knew you wanted it too—sensed that you liked to play it safe when it came to your pleasure and grew a little timid at times it got to feel too much—and he needed to talk you through it.

Rather than turn his head and keep to himself as he got you up to your peak, Bucky pressed his face down to yours and nodded again—this time with a tender sincerity.

“Feel a little stretch down there, huh?”

You didn’t have to say anything, just whimpering in time. Bucky kissed your forehead and let you fold into him as his fingers wreaked havoc down below. He kissed you again, and again, and in between kisses, mumbled,

“That’s daddy’s sweet, needy little slut.”

“My perfect fucking wife, so good at taking my fingers.”

“Gonna be nice and stretched out for my cock, hm?”

Every syllable spoken aloud was like a brand new catalyst for your impending release. You barely nodded your head, opened your mouth and whined pathetically, but that’s exactly how Bucky wanted you. Exactly how you needed to be, bucking your hips in time with the cadence of his fingers fucking inside you, and soon, those whimpers were turning to moans as that soft little helix inside you reached its breaking point.

Bucky brushed once or twice more against your sensitive spot, and suddenly you were coming undone all over him—crying his name, clawing his skin, squeezing your legs so tight around his wrist you feared you might snap it in two, and then getting kissed again, over and over. Bucky soaked in your every sound, and the few tears that would inevitably spring to your eyes, like sweet nectar.

You were still moaning, curling your tongue feebly against his own and leaning into him as far as you could, when your husband slipped three fingers up between your mouth and his and pushed them past your parted lips.

“Suck,” Bucky said, clenching his jaw as he watched you, “C’mere, honey, taste your cunt on my fingers.”

You took him in and sucked your arousal off his fingers just like he asked. Took him by surprise and dragged a mindless, lazy, half-crazed and careless tongue all over his hand, where your juices had no doubt collected too.

That slutty, fucked-out look you gave him—like your brain had all but fallen out of your head with the orgasm he’d given you—was everything Bucky could’ve wanted.

He climbed on top of you and took the base of his cock, rock-hard and weeping tears of precum from the tip, almost drunk from the feeling himself. His mouth hung open as he dragged himself over the seam of your cunt.

“I need to fuck you now.”

Bucky’s words couldn’t have hung in the fog-infested air for more than a millisecond or two before he had you back in his arms and carried to the far end of the sauna.

At the door—or, rather, on it—with your back flush against the wood, you felt Bucky pin you in place with his hips and press his erection to that soft, cramped space between your bodies. You tightened your legs around his middle and sucked in a breath when you felt him pulse.

Then the head of his cock was circling that slick, taut ring of muscles like all hope for his future happiness lay there: right between your legs in the softest and sweetest recesses of your body he could reach. His eyes could’ve been engulfed in flames and still not betrayed a fraction of the smouldering desire that lay behind them now—he drank you in with a single look and sighed.

“Can I— do it, now?” The term ‘fucking’ swiftly lost all lustre when he was an inch from your heat and ready to press in; he just needed to be in you, a part of you, now.

“Yeah,” you breathed. You pressed your forehead to his.

Bucky ran his tip once more down your slit and had just begun to ease his hips forward when a moan snagged in his throat. He braced you firmer against the door, letting your arms drape over his shoulders, and was just about to slide his length inside of you, then—

Thump, thump, thump.

Three knocks in quick succession.

You jumped, the sudden raps reverberating up the door.

Bucky held you to him, tight, and planted a hand beside your head as if to hold the whole frame still. Then, through gritted teeth,

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Need you downstairs. Now.”

It was Sam.

“Can it wait?”

“No.”

Bucky frowned. Scratched the wood surface reflexively.

“Can it…wait?” he tried again, tone laden with a silent but pointed, ‘Is it urgent enough to drag me away from my wife when I’m less than an inch away from being seven inside her?’ Evidently, Sam got the gist, or was just keen to get him out, because he returned, quick:

“Yeah. Legal’s here.”

‘Shit’ was Bucky’s wordless expression below you.

Then a ‘Shit, shit, shit, just shoot me now’ kind of look that raised an eyebrow on your own frazzled face.

Wasn’t the arrival of Bucky’s legal team a good thing? He’d been agonizing for days, badgering Sam and Steve to no end over when they’d hear back from his retinue, and here they were. You couldn’t ask just yet, as your husband was lowering you to the floor and stepping back from the door, chest racked with a shuddering breath, but you wanted to know. You reached for a towel.

“Fine. Fuck. I’ll be right out.” As it was, Bucky had chosen to forgo the dry-off altogether and just started chucking clothes on his body, eyes roaming all over.

You turned from the sound of Sam’s retreating steps and found him moving fast, graceless—shoulders hunched, head bowed, pants wrestled almost angrily up his legs. He found his balance, barely, bracing his weight against the sink, then nearly tore the porcelain fixture off the wall with how hard he kicked it trying to get his left shoe on.

He muscled into his dress shirt and flushed bright red.

In a second, you had either side of the crisp white button-up between your hands, frowning.

“Any reason why we’re so upset?” you asked after a beat.

Bucky puffed a short breath over your head as you secured the first button. Then the next. Then the next.

“What? Apart from the fact I’m not balls deep and about to give you your fourth orgasm?” he grumbled.

You shot him a look.

“I mean it’s— not ideal, getting a visit at a time like this,” Bucky continued once he’d sufficiently contained half a smirk and could don a more serious look, “If we were getting any good news they would’ve just called.”

Hell, great news could’ve made it in an email. The whole aggregate of his legal team taking the trip from Brooklyn to Zürich meant that shit had most likely hit the fan in a big way. Bucky wasn’t thrilled to learn the ‘how’ just yet.

Instead, he cupped your cheek in one hand and brushed his thumb along its curve once you’d made it to the last button of his shirt. He started to lean in, hoping to delay the briefing downstairs with a quick diversion to your lips, but he stopped about an inch away from your face.

You’d lowered your touch, slipping it under the band of his boxers. He was still as hard as you’d felt him last.

Bucky let out a grunt when your fingertips grazed the soft tufts of hair adorning that part of his abdomen. He sucked in a breath when they sank even further.

“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” you said, voice dulcet and slow as you wrapped your hand around the base of his shaft.

Again, a sound rumbled deep inside Bucky’s chest, and the thumb resting on your cheek stirred. In fact, it had no other choice—your head was starting to move.

Descending, slowly. Sinking to the floor in front of him. Positioning yourself right above the bulge in his pants.

Now Bucky’s palm was laying flat on your head, resting light as it ever had while you drew him even closer.

“Baby—”

“Yeah?” you hummed, just then tugging him out and bringing your mouth to the swollen, leaking head. Bucky gripped a good handful of your hair and rutted his hips without meaning to, and you smiled, “Can’t have my husband showing up hard as a rock to his meeting.”

You were right. There was no way Bucky was getting rid of this wood without the help of his hand or one of your holes. And, under any set of circumstances, he would’ve much preferred the latter to the former. He groaned when you took his tip to your lips and stroked him softly.

You made remarkably quick work of the man with just a minute or two, your mouth, your hand, and a tiny bit of spit—a record-breaking feat, Bucky had thought to himself with some embarrassment. But you weren’t concerned with his stamina in the slightest, focusing instead on the ways in which you might maximize his pleasure in the same way he’d done for you. Stretching your lips, loosening your jaw, and taking him down as far and as frequently as you could manage without gagging around him, you had him good. Deep. All but aching for release as he took a firm hold of the sink behind him.

“That’s a—fuck, that’s a good…fuckin’ girl.”

You bobbed your head once or twice more, flitting your gaze to his face, and felt the warmth unload in ropes—glazing your throat and every soft, square inch of your mouth as he did. Practically flooding your tongue with his cum. Bucky groaned and made a fist in your hair.

“Baby…shit,” came the sound of disbelief under his breath when you pulled off just enough to breathe.

You were careful how you took in air; flaring your nostrils the slightest bit, feeling a twitch at the corners of your lips as you tried not to smirk. Then, with an obscene sort of precision and purpose, you gave something else a try.

You stuck your tongue out at Bucky to show him the warm, oozing load he’d just left in your mouth.

Your husband’s response was immediate: evidently, he loved nothing more than a show of himself inside you, displayed like a prize between your two rows of teeth. You watched him grit his own to suppress a moan.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he seethed. Still reeling from his high.

Then he paused, in awe for a second, before dropping one finger to your mouth and swirling his touch along the sticky, opaque puddle resting over your tongue.

You closed your lips around him, snug, and held his gaze.

A weaker man might have come undone. Bucky just let out a breath and smiled.

“If you wanna play show-and-tell with my cum I can find someplace to put that, doll,” he said, low as ever, then,

“C’mere.”

You didn’t need the powers of telepathy to understand what he’d meant. Should’ve known better than to dip your toe in the cumplay game with a man who arguably harbored the world’s biggest breeding kink and really wanted to knock you up. The realization had you back on your feet in an instant. Having swallowed fast, pried your lips off his digit with a pop, and licked the corners of your mouth, you rose without the threat of a second thought.

Your pale yellow dress was the first thing you grabbed—the first thing Bucky tried to yank off of your body when you’d slipped it up your legs and staggered backward.

“Not happening, Barnes,” you giggled, pretending not to see him advance when you stepped back.

But Bucky had never been big on civility in times like these. He lunged forward and nearly tore the barely-zipped frock off your frame, eliciting a shriek and another arch look from you as you started toward the door.

You were amazed you made it through—your husband had had to stop to tuck his dick back in his pants before stumbling after you—but when you took off down the hall, you knew it was only a matter of time before you heard his footsteps thundering fast after your own.

The tips of your toes had just barely grazed the first step down the stairs when hands seized your hips. You yelped.

“BUCKY!”

Whether on account of your own practiced agility, or the fact that Bucky’s palms were still sticky and slick with his sweat, you managed to wrest yourself out of his grip just long enough to get a start down the stairs.

“COME HERE!” Bucky boomed loud, trying his hardest not to laugh as he chased after you.

You screamed without meaning to. Yanked your wrist out of his reach when you’d made it to the bottom of the stairs and felt your husband close the distance in quick. You tried to be firm, insistent, primed with the kind of fine and unfuckwithable attitude that signaled you meant business. You didn’t, though—the series of giggles bubbling up in your chest said as much.

You descended the last step with a hitch, almost losing your shit within a foot of the landing, when Bucky scooped you up in his arms and held on tight. His lips were at your ear in a second, breaths coming in quick.

“Hell, I’ll give you one right here, honey,” he sneered before flipping you back around to face him.

He pressed you flush to the wrought iron railing, then over it, pushing you back bit-by-bit until you had no choice but to jump and latch your legs around his hips.

“James Buchanan Barnes, if you don’t—”

“Give you a baby right now?”

“—get off of me!” You were laughing now, squirming when he nipped at the space just below your ear.

One more second and he might’ve convinced you. Your Bucky was persuasive like that, too smug and self-assured for his own good but one hell of an advocate when he wanted to be. At length, he opened his mouth to take an even bigger, teasing bite, when a voice cut in,

“Barnes.”

He stopped. You froze. Together, you reluctantly turned your heads in the direction of the sound and found a keystone conference table situated at the far end of the room—seating a dozen-odd faces with identical, muted expressions of surprise. Mild discomfort, for some.

Wild discomfort for your mother and father, you saw.

Bucky set you down and simultaneously yanked the hem of your dress back into place. Flashed a smile for the ages and snaked an arm around your waist as he started to lead you over.

“Nat! Hi,” he tried, far too casual, “Long time no see.”

You bit the inside of your cheek hard and hoped like hell your husband had remembered to zip up his pants.

The woman at the head of the table—the source of the voice you’d heard—raised a brow. One cherry-red curl from her sleek, cropped bob threatened to fall out of place as she tilted her face to regard you both. The smile Bucky proffered had done nothing to repair her glare.

Some wordless exchange passed between the two of them, and next, you felt a hand directing you to a seat across the way—Steve. Smug as ever. Smirking just then.

The empty chair beside your mother. The horror.

You were dimly aware of some introductions being made on your behalf and a round of awkward, disjointed congratulations around the table. Greetings from Nat, Sam, Steve—conceited little shit—a few you knew as Bucky’s groomsmen, a couple members of the security detail, and several more friendly, unfamiliar faces, including a smartly dressed blond named Sharon. Your husband had taken a seat by the latter at the end of the table.

“Momma.” You weren’t sure why you felt the need to whisper when the attention had turned back to Natasha and other matters, but you did, “Where have you been?”

Your mother and father were perched in their chairs like prisoners. There were no shackles to be seen but an air of discomfiture and compulsion bound to their every feature. You couldn’t be sure if it was humiliation on your behalf—they had just witnessed their son-in-law promise to put a baby in you for all present to hear—or something more.

For once in your life, you hoped it was just the prudish, sex-averse tendencies of the two rendering them silent.

You tried your mother again when she hadn’t responded.

“Momma.”

“Now is not the time.”

Her voice was clipped. Abrasive.

You knew better than to test that tone another time. You sank back in your seat and let your gaze roam the table, flitting between your father and Bucky a few more times than it probably should have. Surely, your dad, who had screwed Bucky over to hell and back, obliterated your wedding, and jeopardized your lives for a few more million in his pocket would have warranted some sidelong, hateful look from your husband. A glance or a stare, certainly something to show that he knew, and hadn’t forgotten.

No—Bucky was occupied with Sharon at the moment.

You watched your father twist his signet ring on his pinky, jerking the gold back and forth as if hoping for it to break, or save him. He didn’t look at Bucky, either.

“Natasha Romanoff is the Barnes’ retained legal talent for all things maritime crime and narcotics trade-related. Some estate planning, too,” a voice rumbled beside you.

You made a low ‘Hm’ to feign understanding of whatever the fuck Steve had just said, and nodded.

Then, when your eyes wandered left again,

“Sharon Carter, criminal liaison and kingpin informant. Been in bed with the Barnes’ as long as I can remember.”

He really couldn’t have used a worse string of words if he had tried. You cocked your head just slightly and stared at the pair. You considered holding your tongue.

“And she’s been in bed with Bucky how often before?” You’d decided against self-restraint for the time being.

Steve blinked a little harder.

“What do y—”

“I’m not asking if, but when, they fucked,” you interrupted.

Steve blinked again, as if to clear a string of cobwebs from his eyes, and couldn’t quite find the words to answer your question. Either the truth or some half-baked crock of bullshit—there was no in between.

“Once,” he answered, at length. Honest.

You figured as much.

In any other situation where you were faced with one of Bucky’s former fuckbuddies, you probably would’ve felt more than a twinge of jealousy. Might’ve even cast a dark look in the girl’s direction and willed her not to even breathe the same air as him. Then you remembered you weren’t fourteen years old and could behave with some modicum of maturity when it came to some old flame of your husband. They weren’t even sitting that close.

You winced when Bucky gave her shoulder a playful squeeze, though. That facial tic you couldn’t control.

“So to recap,” Natasha announced, having just plodded through a few dull formalities up front, “Barnes got the intercom call from Schröder at 1500 hours, Friday.”

Every head nodded.

“Schröder gave Barnes exactly ninety-six hours to recover the $90 million lost in the…mishap, in Brooklyn—” Natasha’s eyes flickered to your father no longer than a second, “—and today is Monday. We have twenty-four hours to come up with the funds, or face the…penalties of Schröder’s exploding offer. Whatever those may be.”

You knew what ‘those’ were. Ms. Romanoff was either too kind or too diplomatic to say it, you reckoned, but the threat Joey Schröder had made to Bucky had been patently clear: procure the cash or your wife’s family dies.

That was why you’d been so surprised to see your mother and father seated at the table that morning—Schröder had further stipulated that there was to be no contact between you and your parents in the time it took to come up with the money. You’d been completely cut off, in the Alps, since the day of the attack, left to wonder without reprieve whether HYDRA’s bloodless henchmen had taken hostages of your parents, let them abscond to Brooklyn, or simply killed them both and sent the rest of you all on a wild goose chase to get hold of the money.

Now if they’d only had sex once, why was she looking at him like that?—The intruding thought couldn’t be helped when you peered over again—Surely the most platonic and professional working relationships didn’t call for looks like that.

Shut the fuck up. Shut the entire fuck up, please.

The lives of those closest to you were on the line and all you could think now was how well you compared to this random woman in giving Bucky head? Brain fucking rot.

You scrunched your nose and turned back to Natasha.

“…and up until this morning, Schröder’s whereabouts were unknown,” she continued, careful as she spoke.

It seemed that part had caught Bucky’s attention, too, because he was tilting his head away from Sharon and shifting his gaze to the woman at the head of the table.

“And now?” he cut in.

“I’m getting there, James.”

Sharon smiled a little at that, tracing her nail on the notepad in front of her. She muttered something to Bucky, who disregarded her remark entirely.

“Do we know where Schröder is?” he barked.

Across the table, Sam shifted in his seat. He glanced to Natasha, then Sharon.

“I believe we have modestly reliable intel—” he began, only to have his speech mowed over by an impatient, increasingly irate Bucky.

“No. No— we don’t do ‘modestly reliable’ for this, Sam. We either know where the fuck the guy is or we don’t.”

That last fragment seemed to hang in the air a couple seconds longer than needed, and a tense silence fell over the table. It took a new voice—one you hadn’t heard much at all yourself—to reignite the conversation.

“I know it,” Sharon said, “I know he’s in Madripoor.”

Madripoor? The make-believe safe haven for terrorists? You couldn’t tell if she was kidding at first. Then Bucky flitted a look to the side, and his expression was grave. Natasha’s, too. Maybe there was a Madripoor after all.

“Or he will be there, most likely, tomorrow night,” Steve interjected. The hands that had been folded neatly in front of him were now tapping a light and mindless beat on the table, “He’s got the Foxy Den rented out for a…thing.”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Where else but a titty bar would Joey host his ‘things’?” he muttered just loud enough for everyone to hear.

So Madripoor was real, and it had strip clubs. Wonderful.

It seemed Natasha was keen to regain control of the conversation, because she presently broke in,

“Keep in mind that time is of the essence—a private flight from here to the Indonesian archipelago is sixteen hours minimum. We most likely can’t afford to fly private, b—”

“Since when the fuck can’t I afford to fly private?” Bucky spat.

You hated how short and plainly nasty he was being to all those around him. If you hadn’t known any better, you might’ve thought these folks were at fault somehow, but they weren’t. Your father, the real culprit, was sitting right under Bucky’s nose, and he wouldn’t even look in his general direction. Your husband flared his nostrils with a new surge of indignation, and Sharon patted his hand.

“She’s not talking finances, bub,” the blond started, “She’s saying your jet is on a no-fly list, we don’t have time to charter a new plane, and there’s a hefty fucking bounty on your head if you ever set foot in Madripoor. We need to get you on a commercial flight, undercover.”

“Fuck that.” Bucky’s response was reflexive. He rose fast.

If your parents could have appeared any more stiff and uncomfortable you might have mistaken them for two charming, thoroughly terrified wax figures. Your father continued to fiddle with his ring as he watched Bucky.

Natasha tensed as well. As soon as Bucky was up on his feet, pacing around at the end of the table, she was urging him to relax, Buck, this isn’t anything we haven’t done before—sit down, please. Bucky didn’t sit, and he most certainly didn’t relax, but he did kick a stool across the room.

“I am not going back to that shithole.”

The stool tumbled onto its side, one leg splintered in half. You made a mental note to look into some anger management classes. Your parents, along with most of the table, flinched at the crashing sound, while your husband stood, supremely agitated, and did not even regard the broken chair. He turned away from Natasha.

“Yeah, well, that ‘shithole’ is our only hope of getting Schröder behind bars and you out of custody, Bucky,” Natasha called as he started to pace away.

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

Bucky tilted his head to the side. He contemplated snagging a bottle of Macallan 25 off the bar cart by the window but decided against it.

“Have you been listening to a word of what I’ve said all weekend?” Natasha returned, almost as biting, “Turned on MSNBC or CNN or any other news outlet in the last forty-eighty hours?”

She dropped her own notepad on the table and scanned the area in search of something else. Sam and Steve took that as their opportunity to jump in.

“Bucky,” Sam started, calmly, “There were over a dozen foreign attachés and two heads of State at your wedding, half of whom are now being hospitalized for injuries they sustained in the attack.”

“So?” Bucky snapped.

His eyes were already trailing back to the cart.

“So you think the U.N. Security Council was just gonna let that slide?”

“Two-thirds of its members have been up in arms, practically chomping at the bit to get someone pinned for the fucking thing—that leaves you or Schröder on the chopping block,” Steve chimed in.

“So one more federal probe. What’s the big deal?” Bucky hardly realized he’d taken a tumbler in his hands.

Just as he’d turned to pour himself a drink, guided more by bare muscle memory than anything else, Natasha raised a manila folder—the item she’d been looking for. He’d filled his glass half full when the folder was flung his way like a frisbee. He narrowly saved himself a papercut—or ten—by ducking his head, almost spilling his drink.

“The fuck, Nat?!” he bellowed.

“Extradition, Bucky. Search warrants for your Brooklyn residence, all your money service businesses up the Eastern Seaboard, and a whole hell of a lot of other financial records that we do not need dredged up in this mess.” Natasha pointed to the folder on the floor, which had just spilled a litany of documents at his feet.

“Let them.” Bucky wasn’t fazed by the warrants, walking over them as he drank, “I’m not going to Madripoor."

This time, it was Sharon's turn to roll her eyes as she swiveled in her chair to face Bucky. She was turned from you now, but you could almost smell the smug, knowing look she raked over your husband as she uncrossed her legs and leaned back.

"We don't have time for this," she said, coolly, "If you have any hopes of getting the Counter-Terrorism Committee off your ass and Schröder in custody, you'll listen to Nat."

Bucky paused, weighing her words in his mind before meeting her gaze again. He brought his glass to his lips and drained it.

Then, perhaps feeling a bit emboldened by the idea that she was the only one to have shut Bucky up—to have made him listen, as it were—Sharon piped up again. You didn't need to see her face to know for certain there was a smirk etched across it,

"Don't look so glum, honey. We have no choice here."

It startled every last soul at that table, yourself included and Sharon especially, when the cup in Bucky's hand sailed across the room and shattered on the edge of a cabinet close by. Before the glass had so much as splintered and scattered half of its jagged shards along the floor, your husband was stalking, then stopping, then looming over Sharon with an implacably dour look. And a jaw set tight as you'd ever seen it.

"My choice," he seethed, so low the words almost came out in a murmur, "is to protect my wife. Whatever you, or Natasha, or anyone else has in mind comes second to that. Do you understand?"

Sharon nodded that she did.

A hushed silence fell over the room once more, only now its duration was greater, and the cause of it—your red-faced, fuming husband—had turned his back to the group and was retrieving from the bar cart another glass. Another drink. Natasha followed his path with a vigilant eye.

"Bucky," she said.

Bucky didn't answer. Filled his new glass to the brim.

"Bucky," Natasha tried with a little more volume and vigor.

Your husband lifted the cup to his mouth and started to guzzle, against every shrill and helpless plea from his liver, you guessed. You wanted to object, to take leave of your seat as quick as you could and knock the thing out of his hand before he could finish, but Natasha had you beat—not with any physical act but a word to slow him down: "Barnes."

Then, a few more to get him to stop entirely:

"Look. Over there."

She pointed to a slip of paper somewhere at the top of the shuffle.

Bucky shifted his gaze to the floor. You saw him lick both corners of his mouth, bathed in whiskey residuum and a light, nascent spatter of stubble. He looked almost menacing in spite of the grin that kicked up.

"What's this?" he murmured.

"The terms of Schröder's newest offer. The one he made this morning."

Bucky's second glass was discarded in an instant.

He dropped to his knees, seized the paper in his hands and pored over the bare, 11-point Times New Roman typeface like it was the single most precious set of words in the world to him. There were several mountains of text, and you sensed he couldn't begin to under the legal jargon with just one cursory look.

"What? What's'it mean?" Bucky wouldn't tear his gaze away, even as he shouted to Natasha.

Your own eyes probably should've been fixed on Bucky, or in your lap, or out the window, reflecting in silence on what the fuck could be going on and why it felt as though things were suddenly coming to a perilous head. Instead, you pivoted to Natasha. Her face was tilted to you.

Then she spoke to Bucky, still crouched on the floor a few feet away from her, but she kept her focus on you. She spoke carefully.

"Schröder won't take the money, Bucky."

"What?"

Bucky's gaze combed over the page, desperate to make sense of what was printed in front of him—"The hell's this all mean, Nat, tell me what it means and what he wants, for fuck's sake."—and he flipped the document. Read some more. His eyes flitted from line to line in a full-blown terror.

Then the eyes stopped in one spot.

Bucky stood.

Fisting the letter in one hand and making a wild, inarticulate gesture with the other, he probably could've seared a hole in Natasha's head with the force of his stare. She refused to meet it.

"This is a joke, isn't it?"

All of a sudden, your father leaned over your mother to you,

"We can make it work. We can keep you—"

"Hey. Don't talk to her. Don't fuckin' look at her. Is this—"

"—safe. We'll keep you safe, darling, I swear."

"—some kind of sick fucking joke?!"

You stared at your dad in disbelief. Bewilderment. Then you chanced a look at Bucky, who had all but gone blue in the face as he approached your father from the opposite end of the table, letter still crushed in his hand.

Your father averted his gaze.

He knew.

You saw him flick the gold signet on his pinky once more, and for reasons you didn't yet understand yourself, you couldn't look away from it, or him.

Surely this scared-shitless son of a bitch could speak to you now. He'd have to. There was no way he wouldn't when the problem was staring him right in the face and his son-in-law was practically apoplectic with rage in front of him.

Something clicked in Bucky's brain.

He knew.

Your husband’s breath caught with the full weight of the realization, and he blinked. He didn’t hesitate; he simply sidestepped Sam and Steve—who had stood as soon as they saw the look of understanding cross over his face—and he seized your father. You heard a scream, most likely from your mother, and you saw Bucky swing, but the act barely registered as real until his fist first cracked against your dad’s skull. Again. And again. And again.

Somewhere in the raucous din and sounds of punches, kicks, and muffled groans, a discharge of blood, and the dim recognition that some of the stuff was dousing you, too, you managed to make out several words, disjointed:

“—FUCKING KILL YOU—SOLD HER—SOLD HER?!”

Roleplay was fun—even vital for a marriage like yours.

Only instead of assuming the role of sexy masseuse, strong and strapping CEO, hands-on handyman, or some naughty professor with a knack for after-class punishment, Bucky got to play a bloodlusting assassin.

‘Winter Soldier’ didn’t have quite the same ring as most pornographic tropes, it was true, but it was an alter-ego he’d been given from his earliest days as a made man. A caricature of himself that was to represent everything he did and was capable of doing in places like Madripoor.

You didn’t know that side. You didn’t like that side.

It was Bucky, and it wasn’t—pummeling your father’s face in the ground after learning that he had offered you up, again, in satisfaction of a debt. Sparing no feelings when he spoke to Natasha, Sam, Steve, Sharon, or anyone, making clear his wife’s safety was paramount.

Maybe you were meant to feel proud. Or flattered. Or safe. But oddly, the longer you’d stared at the bloodied, bruised fist he held above your father’s face and the half-deranged look of anger on his own, the more you began to wonder if the fury was for your protection, or simply a knee-jerk response to the thought of losing a possession. A mere object that he couldn’t bear to part ways with.

You had thought long and hard about where the Soldier stopped and Bucky began. No matter where you landed, you were far from comfortable with the conclusion.

Now, even as you stood two feet away from the man in an upper-level lounge of the Foxy Den, roughly half a day removed from the whirlwind turn of events that almost sent your father to hospital, you hardly knew what to say.

“Zip me up?”

The closest thing you’d had to conversation in hours. Bucky obliged.

You viewed your new dress in the mirror from the side and made a face. Pretended to examine the tight black number but were really just zeroing in on the sight of Bucky’s knuckles as he dragged the zip up your back. He hadn’t bothered to mend his hands, and you hadn’t thought to offer to bandage them up. You tried not to stare.

The hands paused at the top of your dress and froze.

Then crept back slowly, taking the zip along with it.

“Wanna—?”

“Bucky!”

One low groan, followed by a palm to his worn and wearied face. When you spun around, he didn’t move.

“Are you serious?” you bit.

“Will you talk to me now?” Bucky retorted.

To be fair, neither he nor his Winter Soldier persona knew how to solve the silent treatment from a pissed-off wife. This was brand new territory—being ignored for hours on end—and frankly, he had thought a playful request for sex might make you more amenable to conversation.

He had thought wrong.

You stared daggers at his handsome face and raised a finger as though to warn him, then stopped. Opened your mouth as if to speak, then appeared to decide against it. A steady, pulsing bass from the floors below was all that could be heard, and momentarily, you were reminded of why you were all here in the first place:

Locate Schröder. Corner Schröder. Capture Schröder. Bring the bad man to justice—or else just pump the motherfucker’s head full of lead and be done with it.

You weren’t too familiar with the particulars of the plan, but that had seemed to be the heart of it. Bucky never intended for you to stray from the safety of the lounge upstairs, where half of his team were casing the club through dozens of surveillance cameras, and he would likely take off with Sam and Steve the second you’d finished dressing. Now would be the time to talk.

And you planned to. Eventually.

For now, though, you’d let him sweat it out.

You had long envied women with effortless sex appeal and charisma. The kind that seemed to be made for the stage, capable of transfixing any audience, or individual, with little more than their aura alone. You’d never felt a fraction of that allure emanate from yourself before, personally, but looking at Bucky now brought you as close as you’d ever been. He was enthralled by your every move, he was intrigued at all times, you could see.

He was visibly aroused before you had even touched him. You knew it was cruel and unkind before you were even fully conscious of what you were doing, but you did it.

Someone had to teach this man how to control his anger—and his urges—somehow. Who better than you?

You drew closer to Bucky until your fronts almost touched.

“Baby,” you murmured. Simple, nearly plaintive.

Bucky blanched. Could it be? Had his bullshit gambit actually paid off and made you want to talk, or possibly do more? His hands immediately went for your hips, but you were quick to shove them off. You poked one finger to his chest and shook your head.

“We can talk,” you said, measured.

You pressed into his sternum and pretended not to see a short-lived look of defeat, followed by confusion, cross Bucky’s features. He let you walk him back a step or two.

“Okay. What about?”

Where the hell could you even begin?

“Sit first,” you urged him.

It was then that he realized you’d been walking him toward the plush sectional couch behind him—a cozy little touch to the VIP room only marginally diminished by the fact that it was coated in liquor, coke, and glitter. Bucky sat down anyway.

You didn’t follow, choosing instead to stand as you appeared to…scratch something on your back? Your husband looked on in muted curiosity as you reached behind yourself and tilted your torso just slightly.

Then he heard a zip. A hitch. Another, longer drag.

Bucky knew he was fucked before you ever slipped the dress off your body. You were to make quick work of it, eyes never leaving the man in front of you as you peeled the fabric down your legs and off of your frame entirely. When you were down to just your underwear, you hadn’t even needed to see his face to know exactly where his gaze was likely to land—this part was new to him. You kicked the dress aside and let him stare.

To be fair, it wasn’t every day he got to see a Ruger LC9 strapped to your thigh. Hidden in plain sight now that you were stripped bare before him in just your bra, panties, and garter-like holster across the top of your leg.

“Where’d you get that?” Bucky nearly choked, eyes wide.

“TJ Maxx,” you huffed, “Where the fuck do you think?”

“I never said you could— And Sam and Steve—”

Bucky paused, suddenly aware of how indignant and stupid he was starting to sound. He had given orders to the rest of his team not to let you carry a gun under any circumstances, but here you were. If he weren’t so violently aroused by the sight of you wearing the thing, he probably would’ve been fuming.

“A couple guys from your security detail were kind enough to make an exception,” you smiled, words verging on smug, “And who’s to say what I ‘can’ and ‘can’t’ do, hm?”

Bucky looked as though he were priming himself to stand when you lifted one stiletto to rest between his legs on the seat. A silent and quasi-sweet threat in one gesture.

“I didn’t say you can’t— well—” Bucky faltered at the last.

“You just said you never gave me permission!” You threw your hands up in exasperation, “That doesn’t sound very equitable to me, James.”

Bucky let out a frustrated sigh of his own.

“C’mon. You know what I mean, honey…I just…want to keep you safe. You know that.”

“Self-defense is a pretty integral part of safety.”

“No one’s ever taught you to shoot!”

“You never bothered to ask!”

This was getting a little too aggressive and Jerry Springer-eqsue for your liking. Not nearly sexy or seductive enough to be heading in the direction you wanted. Bucky always brought the bickering out of you, but you had to stay strong. Slow and steady and all that bullshit.

So, before he could respond to your last remark, you lowered yourself over him. Brought both legs to bracket his hips and hovered carefully in place above the bulge in his tactical pants. When he swallowed beneath you and raked his gaze over your body, you felt a twinge of relief.

You sank further down. Dragged your lower half over his own and earned a groan from deep within his throat. Again, his hands flew to your waist to get a good grip, but you pried them off before they could ever fully sink into the flesh.

“What?” Impatience palpable in Bucky’s tone.

“No,” you answered simply.

“No?”

“No, you don’t get to touch me. You don’t own me.”

Your husband shifted under your body, hands helpless at his sides and masseter muscle visibly clenching beneath the skin as he gritted his teeth. He shook his head.

“I never said that I did,” he managed, after a pause, “Baby, I love you.”

“And beating the shit out of my dad was your special way of showing that?”

“That wasn’t—”

“Or snapping at Natasha. And Sam. Steve. Sharon,” you added emphasis to the last name without really meaning to, and Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. I…lost my temper, I—”

“Couldn’t control your anger. Or wouldn’t. All because my dad made some stupid deal with a man and offered me up as collateral.”

“Because Joey wants you for himself!” Bucky snapped, voice suddenly raised to a near-deafening pitch. He shifted his hips and inadvertently grazed the heat between your legs, drawing a subtle pinch in his brow at the friction, “The deal your dad made was to give you over to Schröder in satisfaction of his own fucking debt—you think I was just gonna sit by and let that happen?!”

In spite of the animosity, you pressed your body to his even harder and watched him fold—if only slightly. He breathed a sharp inhale through his nose and flexed both his hands, as if wanting to make fists. However, he knew better than to move himself around at a time like this.

“What? Like the deal you made with him?”

Your words were clipped, almost cruel. You knew it would hit a nerve in Bucky, and sure enough, he met you right where you wanted him: enraged.

“That’s fucking different,” he seethed, “I would’ve paid your father’s debt without— without anything in it for me.”

“But you didn’t, and you got me.”

“And I love you. I don’t wanna lose you.”

The abrupt vulnerability in his voice was all but agony to hear. For a second, it seemed the anger had fled—or at least been eclipsed by some softer, sweeter shade—only for Bucky to blink again, shake his head, and wear that stupid, hardened look that said, ‘I am not losing this.’ Your hands reached for his belt and started in on the zip.

“You have a real fucked up way of showing love, James.”

To your surprise, Bucky let you continue, unhindered. Blue eyes meeting yours in a cold look.

“Makes two of us,” he mumbled, shrugging his boxers and trousers out of the way anyway.

That was probably true. No person in their right mind would think fucking their husband was the safest, most surefire way to let him know they were pissed at him, but both you and Bucky were working on communication skills, still. You’d get to healthy, non-sex-fueled fights at some point.

As it was, Bucky was fumbling around your thighs, trying to pry them open even wider for better access through your panties. That you allowed, but the second he tried manhandling you over his crotch, you pushed back.

“I wanna do this— without your help,” you said, firm.

Somewhat begrudgingly, Bucky agreed. He let you line yourself up with his length, brace your weight against his shoulders, and when you paused, he made a soft, ‘Hm?’ and glanced down where you looked. Before you could remove the pistol from its holster, he set his palm atop the cool metal.

“Leave it,” he murmured.

His eyes flashed with desire. It was almost more than you could bear, despite the plain fact that riding someone with a firearm strapped to your thigh probably violated every NRA gun safety rule known to man. Whatever.

You lowered yourself onto Bucky, slow, and sucked in a quick breath as he filled you. Your husband groaned.

“Fuck,” followed shortly thereafter, almost timid to crawl out of his mouth as you sank to a fully-seated position on top of him. He gripped the armrest beside him.

When your hips first stirred, you thought the man might burst a blood vessel trying not to move right along with you. You pressed a hand to his chest and reminded him, gently but with purpose: let me fucking do this, Bucky, and he relented. Fisting the couch cushion in something close to a death grip, he nodded his head and heaved a short breath and watched you all the while, grinding on him.

“My pretty…pretty girl,” he managed through his teeth.

He was doing better than you expected. You watched his face contort with pleasure when you lifted yourself up to the tip of his cock and slide back down. You squeezed his shoulders, and you let out a low whimper yourself, and dammit all, you felt that pesky fucking knot already forming in the pit of your stomach. You glanced down and frowned, wanting this to last so much longer.

Fortunately, when your eyes found Bucky’s again, you got the sense that he was in the same boat as you: brow furrowed tight in concentration and lips parted slightly, panting in time with each one of your movements.

“Baby,” he said, the single word treading close to a plea. He paused, dropped a glance to the spot where your bodies were coupled, and swallowed. He cursed aloud, then continued, quietly, “Baby…’m’sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” You bounced a bit faster.

“For— fuckin’ hell, honey— for being a…dick.” The last part of his sentence was pierced by a grunt and a moan, but you heard it just the same.

You clenched around him and tried to keep steady. Manage a small, shit-eating grin above him, even.

“Being a dick?” you repeated, pretending not to know what he meant. When his cock grazed over a particularly sensitive place inside you, you just swallowed the moan and kept going, fingers taking hold of some short tufts of hair at the back of Bucky’s head as you rode him.

“Possessive. Controlling. Kind of a—” Bucky paused to grunt when he bottomed out inside, hands aching to hold you, “—piece of shit.”

Finally, you were getting somewhere. Not nearly close enough to cure the rage or the dark, grating impulses churning inside of him, but good enough, for now.

You reached for his hands and set them over your hips.

The next most natural thing was to lean down and kiss him—let his tongue invade your mouth as soon as he’d caught your lips and show you, with a wordless and fast-moving show of affection, that he missed you. And meant what he’d said. With his hands moving quick to cup your cheeks, hold you to him while he kissed you and stroked deep inside your walls, he gripped you tighter than he had in a while. You could feel strips of tension and desperation bleed through his every fingertip.

“Wanna…fuckin’ kill anyone who even thinks…of— fuck,” Bucky’s words were almost slurred at this point, so close to the point of release it seemed every wild and wanton thought that crossed his mind was likely to dance off his tongue, unchecked. You loved to see him in it this deep.

You also had to remind the murderous alter ego that violence was not the answer…always. You let him pull you closer, bodies pressed flush against each other while you fucked, but you made sure to tilt his chin up to yours so he could see the expression on your face as you spoke.

“Hey,” you pinned him with one stern look, “No murder.”

Bucky frowned.

“Yes murder,” he retorted.

You sighed.

This shit was worse than teaching a dog not to bite.

Instead of pulling back or being strict this time, though, you decided you’d give positive reinforcement a try. You squeezed his short locks of hair, gently, and rolled your hips even tighter to his, eliciting a stuttered groan. You bounced up and down on his cock, pulled him into your chest, and brought your face within an inch of his.

“Promise to be good, and I’ll let you cum inside me,” you murmured into his lips. Not the wisest offer you’d made to date, but one that Bucky seemed to want more than the air in his lungs the second the words escaped you. He pulled you in for a kiss, immediately.

“Fuck, you mean it?” he breathed, in between each sloppy, frenzied movement of his mouth.

“Yeah,” you tried not to grin at how eager he seemed, “You’re gonna apologize to everyone, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

Bucky barely seemed to register anyone or anything but you and your pussy at the moment, yearning for the go-ahead to let himself free inside you. With a nod of your head, you’d let him start meeting your motions with gentle thrusts of his own, and both of you were teetering precariously close to the edge with that added pressure. In spite of both your hot and heady, near-anoetic states, you endeavored to hold out a little longer, legs aching.

“Gonna try and talk to Schröder first?” you panted.

Bucky rutted into you hard, lips twitching into a frown.

“Doesn’t…deserve it,” he grunted, barely able to get the words out as he grabbed your hips and thrusted harder, “A fucking bullet between the eyes is what he needs.”

You eyed him soberly, or as serious as you could manage with the force of his strokes nearly sending you into a spiral. You fought back a moan and gripped him tighter.

“Bucky.”

“Bunny.”

Damn, that name.

“Promise me you won’t kill him—or anyone—tonight.”

“Baby—”

“Promise.”

His thrusts were getting sloppier; with his hands hoisting you just above him and his cock practically drilling into you now, speech and coherent thought were some of the toughest things to accomplish, but he tried it, anyway. Bucky would swallow his pride and accede to his wife, no matter how fucking badly he wanted to cum—and kill that Russian mob boss with both his bare, bloody hands.

He could be better than the Winter Soldier. He would.

With a rough, labored breath, Bucky pulled you in for a kiss and felt you squeeze around his cock like a vice. Still thrusting, clutching you, kissing you hard, he saw both of your releases coming in fast and had to act even quicker.

“I— I promise,” he stammered.

That was all either of you needed, or could bear, quite frankly. In the next second or two, you felt a cord snap in your lower half and a deep, punchy flurry of pleasure follow shortly thereafter, fingers sinking deep in Bucky’s shoulders as he bounced you on his cock and held you close. With your walls still pulsing around him, you felt him chase his own high at a breakneck pace, shooting his load inside you a moment later. It was bad, it was brash, it was a really fucking dumb idea to be playing around with the odds of making babies at a time like this, but it also felt good. Exhilarating, even, feeling him empty his balls in that space between your wet, aching walls and filling you up with his seed.

Maybe just one little mini-Bucky wouldn’t—

STOP.

You barely had the energy to acknowledge, much less arbitrate that bone-crushing conflict between your brain and reproductive organs, so you shut the thoughts up with a quick, messy kiss to Bucky, whose chest was still heaving from the peak of his release, holding you to him.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Maybe even two—

FUCK YOU.

The internal war wouldn’t go away that easy, it seemed.

You kissed Bucky long and hard regardless, hoping the shit would sort itself out before you really had to think. Or worry. Or plan. It was dumb and a bit short-sighted, but feeling that hot, erratic pulse between your legs did a pretty good job of making it seem just fine for right now.

Bucky’s expression was lax. Soaking in the feel of your cum-painted insides still squeezing around him, gently. Had he been anywhere but the heart of Low Town on a covert mission in a strip club, hunting down the head of HYDRA with a whole troupe of trained assassins, he probably would’ve liked to stay that way a little longer. But, as it was, he could already hear folks filing in and out of the lounge, footfalls growing heavier as his team loaded up with guns, grenades, and whatever other weapons they could fit beneath their formal attire.

“Don’t look so sad,” you said as you lifted off of Bucky. Carefully pulling your panties back into place as your husband watched you do it, practically forlorn.

“Too late,” he returned in half a groan, yanking his own clothes where they needed to be and trailing a look up your legs, “Might feel better if we tried it again, though.”

“I bet.” You pulled your dress over your head.

Your husband had just tightened his belt and was rolling his shoulders to get a knot out of his neck, it seemed.

“What are your thoughts on ‘Bucky Jr.’?” he asked casually.

“Don’t start with this shit.”

“Jamie for a girl, maybe?”

“I’ll kill you.”

Your baby talk and death threat tête-à-tête continued for quite some time—just a couple minutes, but they felt like years to you—and before long, you were rubbing the gun under your dress and casting a glare in Bucky’s direction, and he got the sense that it was time to head back to the group. He looped an arm around your waist and led you out into the main space.

The living room was little more than a makeshift headquarters at that point. You’d been expecting to see more faces, but the only ones you found were Sam, Natasha, and a few silent, beefy individuals you assumed were part of security. Where Sharon and your parents had gotten off to was anyone’s guess. You took a seat on the couch.

“Anything yet?” Bucky questioned, approaching the panel of surveillance screens with a wary eye.

“We’ve had intermittent visuals on the second floor for forty minutes or so—” Sam motioned to one screen on the left, “—but Schröder hasn’t moved. Hasn’t done anything but bullshit and booze and buy rounds for his group. Won’t even talk to the dancers, which is weird.”

From what you’d been told, the goal was to get Schröder off the second floor, up to one particular private suite on fourth, then send in an agent dressed as a bottle girl to make entry as soon as the rest of the party had arrived, keeping in contact with HQ, and Sam, via PTT earpiece all the while. The details from that point were hazy, but you’d gotten the sense that someone—or, more likely, a sizable and duly-equipped group of someones—was lying in wait somewhere in the suites surrounding them. Steve had been tasked with leading the incursion, though where he could be found, or whom he was with, remained largely a mystery to you. Recon in a bustling, crowded area with music blaring on all four sides was a formidable undertaking, and you could tell both Sam and Natasha had been having trouble keeping tabs on every player. They seemed on edge, monitoring the screens.

“Won’t talk to the dancers?” Bucky’s brow pinched in.

“Won’t talk to anyone outside of his inner circle,” Natasha said, grim, “Which leads me to think he’s not staying here long. Probably called his associates in for a speedy-quick deal because he knows he’s being tailed.”

“Hasn’t engaged with any of our undercovers?” Bucky pressed.

Natasha and Sam shook their heads. Your husband groaned.

“Then how the hell are we getting him upstairs to the champagne room? If he hasn’t budged and doesn’t look like he’s planning to stay?”

The looks on the faces in front of him said there wasn’t one readily available answer—or any answer at all. Bucky turned back to the screens and seemed to survey the whole panel, gaze cooling with the first inkling that this operation may be classed a failure in the very near future.

He barked some half-coherent babble about strategy, security, and failsafes, then barked for Steve.

And, as if on cue, Steve appeared at the threshold of the room a moment later, breathless and slightly flushed.

“Rogers, you’re suppos—” Sam started, eyes widening at something you couldn’t quite discern from his arrival.

“I know, I know,” Steve cut in, fast, “Want the good news or bad news fir—”

“Just spit it out,” Natasha said, preemptively unnerved.

“Schröder’s headed to the suite right now—”

Bucky raised both eyebrows at Steve as he continued.

“—but they won’t let Wanda in.”

‘Fuck’ was the first audible word from your husband, then Sam, in short order. Wanda must have been the agent playing bottle girl upstairs. This didn’t sound good.

“Why the fuck won’t they let her in?” Bucky snapped.

“Someone might’ve tipped his security off. Or else they’re just being extra cautious about who’s let in.”

Steve fiddled with one cufflink on his suit and tried not to appear too despondent, but the implications of this single event were huge, you could read on every face in the room. Wanda had been meant to do something important before the rest of the brigade mobilized—take some key step that couldn’t be omitted from the plan.

“So we retreat.” Natasha was not one to mince her words, per usual, “Get your guys out of the suites now.”

Bucky’s fingers twitched at his sides.

“No,” he said, sharply, “We’re not doing that.”

“Bucky.”

“We’ll get someone in there. We’ll find another way.”

Your husband was already pacing the space in front of you, and you looked on with uncertain eyes. You chanced a look to Natasha, Sam, and Steve, all of whom shared similar, albeit slightly more wearied, expressions as they watched and murmured among themselves.

“None of our people are getting up there, Barnes. Schröder’s got a goddamn sixth sense about our agents or something,” Steve said, at length.

“They’re all in masks—for a fucking masquerade—and we can’t get one person in?! In-and-out, that’s all it needs to be,” Bucky growled.

“We can’t get in there, that’s the point,” Sam sighed, “Masks or no masks, they know our people too well and won’t let us through.”

“We can at least try, for Christ’s sake. That’s what we came this whole fuckin’ way to do, right?”

When no one said a word in response, Bucky scowled,

“Right?”

There was a lull in the conversation that seemed to last for minutes, when, in reality, couldn’t have been more than ten or fifteen seconds. Tensions were high. You could tell from the look in Bucky’s eye he was trying not to lash out as he normally would, but in no time at all, you saw a fractional break in his resolve. You feared he might fly off the handle, or else compromise something that couldn’t be spared at a time like this. You swallowed.

“I’ll go.”

It was stupid.

Every face turned to regard you as if you were stupid, you assumed as soon as the words had left your mouth.

But then, much to your surprise, Steve was perking up, eyes suddenly brighter as his gaze tilted to you.

“She could,” he said, shortly.

“Should she?” Sam seemed to murmur at once.

“Sure, why not?”

“I can think of plenty reasons why not,” Natasha was quick to counter, but beneath that pensive expression, you could’ve sworn you saw the smallest degree of contemplation. Even hope, from the looks of it.

‘NO’ was Bucky’s wordless, immediate, and resounding answer as he kicked whatever furniture—a footstool, this time—was closest to him and sent it flying toward the door. It seemed that self-control of his had worn off fast.

“No,” he affirmed in a word a second later, jaw clenched, “She is going nowhere near that suite.”

He didn’t even spare you a glance while he spoke. He was too busy eyeing the others, Steve specifically, as his chest rose and fell in uneven breaths and a light, blooming tinge of pink rose the length of his neck. If it weren’t for that staunch and menacing look on his face, he would’ve almost looked cute, you mused to yourself.

But, pretty man be damned, you wouldn’t stand for being ignored. Fuck that noise.

“I will,” you returned, a little more resolute this time.

Now Bucky had no choice but to pivot to you. His expression softened some, but not by much.

“No,” he said, again.

“Yes.”

“Baby—”

“Don’t fucking ‘baby’ me, Barnes. You said someone who wasn’t an agent could make it up there, and I can do it. Or try, at least, like you just said.”

If your attention hadn’t been fixed on your husband, you probably would’ve caught sight of more than one thinly veiled smile from the group around you. Natasha, in particular, all but tickled to see someone stand up to Bucky and give him a taste of his own shit—and live to tell the tale. The sight of her boss’s eyes almost glossy in the first tender look she’d seen from him in years was almost too much to bear. Steve stood grinning beside her, and Sam narrowly stifled an exhale of amusement. Neither you nor Bucky flinched from your positions.

“We can’t risk you being around him. They’re already all on high-alert,” your husband said after a calming breath.

“As are all your trigger-happy comrades waiting just ten feet outside the door, right?” you replied, “What is it, like, five, ten of them in total?”

“Twenty,” Steve interjected. Bucky shot him a look.

“I don’t care. I don’t want you up there when that fucker was just trying to— to kidnap you last week. I’m not—”

“Right. Right. Trying to kidnap me, not kill me. If Schröder wanted me dead, he would’ve made pretty quick work of that before,” you cut in, tone a touch more deliberate, “Even if he sniffs me out, he’s not gonna screw this whole deal by hurting me now.”

But the mere suggestion of harm to you had seemed to raise every hair on its end for Bucky, and then he was shaking his head, evidently more stubborn than ever.

“No, fuck. Don’t start,” he snapped with his newfound indignation, then, quieter, “Please…don’t, honey.”

You wouldn’t bow that easily.

“Why not?”

Truly, Bucky couldn’t be certain if it was the lilt in your voice, the pinch at the sides of your lips, or simply the sincerity consuming your eyes as you spoke to him, but the man could not stomach the thought of you, his own wife, being a stone’s throw from mortal danger and beyond his protection—or control, he wasn’t sure which one of the two was more dominating. Some cruel and unforgiving knot inside him came to tighten, and twist, and, nauseating as it was set on escape, the white-hot surge rose like bile in his throat. Before he could stop it, the words were spilling out through his teeth like froth:

“Cause I fuckin’ said so, that’s why. That’s it. It’s settled. You’re not allowed anywhere near him, you hear me?”

What Bucky hadn’t expected was the swift ascent back to your feet. The cool and almost careless expression as you rose, as though his words hadn’t registered at all.

He certainly hadn’t expected you to check him with your shoulder as you passed, knocking him slightly off-balance as he turned, in shock, and watched you give him one manicured middle finger over your left shoulder.

“Rogers, I’d like you to escort me upstairs.”

Worst of all, Bucky hadn’t expected Steve to listen.

Fortunately for him, the night was still young and with it, more than ample opportunity to be proven wrong again. And again.

“And again,” Steve murmured low in your ear as you walked side-by-side down the corridor on fourth floor, “If you get even the slightest bad feeling, you leave.”

“Might as well dip right now,” you muttered, adjusting your mask. Your attempt at humor fell flat with the man.

“I’m serious. We’ll be right outside and listening in from headquarters, but HYDRA is not a faction to fuck around with, or underestimate—as I assume you know by now.”

You did. Or would, eventually.

After the mask, you were busy trying to yank the back of your cocktail waitress dress to cover the full swell of your ass, not just the upper two-thirds. Unsurprisingly, it was a tougher task than you had been prepared to handle. Your new heels were tight and impossibly high, your new dress a mere scrap of pink fabric riddled with sequins and glitter, and your mask—holy fuck, were you glad Mardi Gras was not a year-round affair. Bucky had insisted on the fluffiest, stuffiest, full-face covering to ensure that no one would be able to recognize you, but in exchange for your anonymity, you had had to give up breathing, it seemed.

And then there was that vial of poison between your tits.

Sam had assured you that it was a nonlethal dose before handing it over; Steve had urged you, discreetly, to pour Schröder two for good measure. Natasha had overheard the latter and threatened legal action if he ever tried killing a target without her permission. You hadn’t spent much longer getting ready in the bathroom after that. Then you’d brushed past your husband the second you’d stepped out and strapped that last, semi-lethal ‘accessory’ to your bra before taking the lift upstairs.

As it turned out, you weren’t able to escape him entirely.

While you walked with Steve, Bucky was in your ear.

Literally—the man was talking nonstop through your earpiece and clearly had no intention of shutting the fuck up anytime soon. You silently wondered if there was a way to adjust the volume on the gadget as you ambled along.

“Honey.” There was a slightly more mechanical buzz to Bucky’s voice over your private line. You ignored it.

“So just find the cup he’s drinking from and pour the serum in?” you reiterated to Steve for the third time in the last ten minutes.

Your companion nodded, rattling off a few extra precautions while Bucky’s tone rang out a bit louder:

“Honey? You there?”

At last, you stuck your finger to the tiny flesh-colored device in your ear and snapped, “What?!”

“I love you.”

This fucker.

“I love you too. You’re still high on my shit list, though,” you answered, low and begrudgingly.

“Did I hear ‘hit list’? You’re gonna let me tap that later?”

If you didn’t have about fifteen different reasons to hate the man’s guts, you almost would’ve chuckled. At length, you muttered a quiet, ‘Kiss my ass, Barnes,’ and turned back to Steve, who was just then leading you closer to a room roped off and marked ‘EXECUTIVE SUITE.’ Your stomach did a flip as you paused around the corner.

“Right there. All you gotta do is knock and say a guy named Zemo sent you,” Steve spoke slowly, as if he were teaching arts and crafts to a five-year-old and not a woman about to embark on a high-risk sedation mission.

You nodded and took the silver tray from him carefully.

All the platter contained was an oversized bottle of Brut and a silver bucket, but damn if it didn’t feel like you were carrying the world and some change on that thing. You shifted your weight from foot to foot and turned in the direction of the door just a few yards away.

The time for painstakingly descriptive instructions and pep talks was long past you now. You nodded to Steve one last time and started to wobble over.

The entryway was flanked by two muscle-bound men. You approached with a smile.

“Hi. Zemo sent me.”

You didn’t know who the fuck Zemo was.

You hoped they wouldn’t ask, or notice how stilted and awkward you’d sounded just then. You swallowed a peach-sized lump in your throat and smiled again.

The one on the left grunted. The one on the right gave a nod. Without a word spoken between them, the former opened the door and made way for you to step over the threshold. You couldn’t help but notice both with their eyes trained straight on your tits as you passed by.

There was no way that had just worked. No pat-downs or harrowing threats? Not a single, searing interrogation into your identity or what you might be there to do?

Men were dumb, you decided, far too easily deceived by a decent pair of tits—HYDRA security personnel or not.

But you already knew that. You stepped inside.

The fetid stench of half a dozen blazing cigars and booze spilled on every surface were the first to greet you. A wave of smoke, then a bone-jostling bum bum bum to the beat of what sounded like a Don Toliver song came next. You almost couldn’t bear to make your feet move.

But then, shortly, you had to because a shrill, shimmer-doused beauty was waving you over toward the kitchen.

“Ba-by!” she shrieked, gesture growing frantic, “Bring it over!”

You walked with the tray out in front of you, careful with your steps across the sticky floor. When you made it over, where one other girl was stirring wildly at some concoction on the counter, you stopped, and had only to stand for a second longer, because the redhead that had beckoned you was taking the tray, setting it down, and grabbing something thin and pointy. You’d barely even registered it as an ice pick until the thing was thrust in your face.

“Crush it up,” she ordered, one curt nod toward a block of ice nearby. Evidently not giving a shit who you were or where you’d come from either. You guessed Wanda had just gotten unlucky, or they’d all stopped giving a fuck once Schröder’s men had really started drinking.

And drinking they had been, as your eyes surveyed the scene. Half-naked women with fully-clothed men, dressed head to toe in the finest of suits that were probably soaked through to the bone with sweat and Stolichnaya. You almost shivered at the sight of all the masked, wildly gyrating pricks, fumbling desperately through one verse of ‘After Party.’ You could vomit.

But where was your prick? That grimy little shit, Joey.

“Back of the room by the couch,” Bucky said, as if he’d read your mind.

Then a beat.

“Wait. Shit. That isn’t him. Schröder’s over by the door.”

How many tall, lanky blonds could there be in this place? You cast a sweeping look across the room and received your answer in less than two shakes of a lamb’s tail—there were a shit ton of Joey lookalikes all around.

“Careful. Mr. Schröder’s been on edge all night. Might bite your head off if you stare too long.”

The girl that was stirring had apparently caught you looking. She set the spoon aside and turned, but not before chancing a quick glance at the man Bucky had identified to you as your target. The man lifted his gaze.

You chipped away at the ice even faster.

Crush the shit, make a drink, pour the serum, and get it in him. Now. Don’t draw his attention just yet, though.

Something in your head told you to steal another look. You knew it was a bad idea, but you went on and did it anyway—and fortunately, felt a wave of relief at seeing that he’d retreated somewhere back with his friends. The ice pick in your hands made it through the last block.

“I’ll serve the shots, you bring the bottle to Mr. Pierce.”

Mr. Who?

“One of Schröder’s associates. Roll with it.”

It was Natasha’s voice now. Measured, but tense.

“He’s the older gentlemen straight ahead. He probably ordered the champagne for him and the others.”

That was Sam. You could only imagine how all of them looked huddled around the surveillance panel with the transmitter to your earpiece being passed about from person to person. The grip Bucky must’ve had on his gun, or his switchblade, or whatever weapon he could seize to make himself feel a little less helpless. But he was—as were you. And truthfully, there was nothing either one of you could do about that until Schröder was in custody. This was the first step toward reaching that goal.

So you walked with the bottle, now bathed in a tub of ice. You tried to keep steady, but the staggering drunks all around were making that tough, to say the least.

When one man struck you straight in the chest, elbows jutting out as he danced, you stumbled back a step. Nearly lost the tray for half a second, then recovered.

Until the dipshit hit you again.

This time you truly almost sent the bottle sailing for the floor, grip slipping on the tray and knees buckling underneath you as the force of the blow set you back. You bit a quick, ‘Fuck!’ in the air, seized the platter twice as hard and braced your weight against something firm behind you. A shelf, a TV stand, or something. Maybe a half-wall if you were lucky enough not to have careened against some expensive piece of furniture. You sighed.

“Everything alright?” a voice rumbled behind you.

Or a person. Yeah, a person would be pretty fucking bad to bump into at a time like this. Your whole body froze.

You turned.

“Ye-es sir. Yes, sir.” You quickly righted your tone the second you realized it was someone important.

Not Schröder, but someone who seemed to be big-name enough; you just weren’t sure who. The man smiled down at you from under his Venetian mask.

“Is this for me?” he nodded toward the tray, half-teasing.

You swallowed.

“Are you Mr. Pierce?” you asked.

The man’s grin stretched even wider.

“Nope, I’m Ward. but I can take you to Pierce.”

For the first time that night, your heart swelled with some promise. You thanked him quietly, gratefully, then made as if to follow him back through the crowd, when all of a sudden, you stopped. That heartfelt swelling in your chest halted right along with it. You almost dropped the tray.

“Schröder!” Ward bellowed.

No, no, now you were actually going to lose your shit. There was no way in hell you were keeping a grip on this silver little plate any longer without crying or screaming or shitting your pretty, pink, sequin minidress right there. You almost shrieked when a hand reached for the tray.

“Pierce got you doing all the heavy lifting, huh, honey? The bastard.” Even through his own ornate mask, you could tell Joey was grinning—glinting with conceit, as was his prerogative. He took the load off your hands.

“Take it easy now, he’s just—”

“Staring at your rack. Pull your top up, baby, please.”

The chatter in your ear had switched from Sam to Bucky at nearly lightning speed. You glanced down at your cleavage and tugged the fabric up quick, heart beating even faster underneath it.

In front of you, Joey Schröder was all teeth. A gruesome spectacle in spite of its seemingly benevolent intentions, one smile could have turned your stomach sideways. And it did—you wanted to throw up again—but you knew you had bigger fish to fry, and evil mobsters to poison. You didn’t flinch when Schröder nudged you in the shoulder and made his way ahead, coaxing you to follow.

You didn’t tense and didn’t protest. Didn’t blink when he led you straight through the party, around a few topless performers on poles, and into a backroom lounge.

In fact, your mind practically sang as he led you inside.

It was just every other nerve, muscle, and trembling tendon not under the immediate control of your brain that needed soothing. You could’ve sworn the men on the couches would see your legs shaking as soon as you trudged into the room and sniff you out on sight.

But if they had, they didn’t show it.

No one moved when you entered, save for a few lopsided grins and tilts of happy, masked faces. Sizing you up. Drinking you in. Far too easily mistakable for a band of apex predators that had just caught wind of their next meal, and not a room full of sleazy Russian mobsters. You bit back your grating disgust with a smile.

“Got a present for ya, Pierce,” Schröder announced.

A honey-blond head flecked with silver and white sat up from the sofa. Presumably the one who’d ordered the champagne.

“Oh yeah? What’d ya pay for her?” he returned, mouth curling up in a wicked smile.

Even above the booming music, you could make out peals of laughter as the men around you shared in some lewd, crude comments and several whispers exchanged between them. You would’ve liked to grab your bottle by the neck and break it over the nearest patron’s head, but then you remembered yourself, and your mission. You stilled beside Schröder and let them crack a few more tasteless jokes at your expense. Schröder chuckled and set the tray down in front of a thoroughly amused Pierce.

Then he grabbed you by the waist.

“Right. I forgot to ask—what is your price, sweetheart?” he said, swiftly pulling you up to his front.

Your hands flew to his chest reflexively. Your nose scrunched in a wince at the sound of an electric shout:

“GET HIM OFF OF HER!”

“Bucky, hey, hey, we can’t just—”

“NO! THAT’S NOT PART OF THE FUCKING PL—”

The line went silent. You scratched at the space behind your ear, trying hard not to betray any pain on your face, or the fear for what might be going on downstairs.

Clearly, you failed on both fronts, because Joey’s grip only tightened. He peered down at you, curious.

“You deaf or somethin’, sugar? What’s your price?”

You batted your eyes, momentarily struggling for words.

But then, somehow, you managed to choke out, stomach churning with bile:

“Whatever you want, sir.”

You felt your soul drain out through the soles of your shoes as you’d said it. Something fell from your face—most likely a light behind your eyes and any semblance of self-worth as you stood before the man who had tried to buy you, drug you, and kill half your family, and then pretend like you wanted to dance for him, or do more.

It wasn’t real.

It wasn’t right by any means, but it was all just roleplay.

Roleplay.

You had to keep telling yourself that as you let Schröder’s hand glide up your spine and grip the back of your neck, tilting your head up to his. It was just like your husband and his cold-blooded Winter Soldier persona, you tried to convince the increasingly frightened voice in your mind. Just like him, just like your sweet and soft and sadistic—

“Bucky,” you whispered unconsciously.

You knew he couldn’t hear you now. It was almost insane to think anyone could save you now but yourself.

“What?” Joey exhaled sharply.

You froze in fear.

“Five hundred bucks,” you corrected your error quickly.

You weren’t sure Schröder was convinced.

“Five hundred bucks for one lap dance and some fun?” he scoffed. Then he squeezed your neck a little tighter and drew your face within an inch of his own. You could feel the hot puffs of breath, smell the rancid liquor on his tongue, but you stayed where he held you in place and tried not to grimace when he said, “That’s a damn steal.”

Your lips were shaking something awful under your mask. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what kissing this vile, soulless bastard would taste like, but you feared it might come sooner than you knew, because Joey was drawing you even more rough and tight into his chest.

Just when your mouth was less than a hair’s breadth away from his, though, you heard a woman’s scream.

Then another. And another. And another.

Before long, almost half the suite had erupted in shrieks, it seemed, and the sounds of their horror were shortly supplanted by a series of explosions. And gunfire.

Johann Schröder dropped your body like the worst habit known to man and went bounding away from the turmoil as fast as he could. This time, you did trip over your heels and took a nasty little nosedive to the ground. Fumbling, crawling, then sliding across the shag carpet on your belly with your eyes in wild search of somewhere to hide.

You spotted a coffee table and muscled your way over.

“SCHRÖDER!” a voice roared from somewhere behind.

Again, you knew better than to look, but the fear of not knowing who, or what, might be barreling your direction at any second outweighed more sensible considerations. You stole a look over your shoulder and nearly screamed.

A man with a pitch black balaclava stormed into the lounge and wasted no time setting sights on his intended target—raising a Heckler & Koch MP7A1 submachine gun to his face and firing the second the impulse struck.

You watched a once-handsome, lively, and drunk man turn to shredded, fleshy carnage in less than an instant and fall right beside your head with a thud. Your hand was your only defense to keep the shriek inside your chest, but even that blockade was crumbling fast as the blood-soaked assassin wrenched the body in the air.

The gunman tore the mask from his victim’s head and inspected the face—or what was left of it. He cursed.

You could tell from your close proximity to the blues of his eyes, and that sigh, you wouldn’t need to ask at all. You just sat there and stared, knees hugged to your chest as Bucky threw the body back down as hard as he could.

“FUCK!” he bellowed, voice flooded with rage.

Steve stumbled in with his gun at the ready. He eyed the man on the floor, then you, then a dozen other flailing, desperate partygoers trying to escape the suite all around you. You just drew in even tighter to the table.

“What happened?! Where’d he go?”

Rogers, like you, seemed unable to look away from the carcass, but for entirely different reasons. He appeared to be studying it just as your husband had been.

“It’s not Schröder!” Bucky yelled.

“Where the fuck’s he— shit.”

Suddenly, an unknown assailant opened fire on the two men from the opposite end of the room. Both dove for cover, but not before Bucky grabbed you and dragged you, full-force, behind the sofa. It didn’t seem there was time for sweet words or consolations, his eyes wide and half-crazed as they bore into yours just in front of you.

“Don’t move,” he barked, readjusting his grip on his gun in one hand and feeling around all over your sides with the other. On seeing and feeling no trauma, he nodded his head and moved his hand to your cheek, just briefly.

“Honey, I need you here—right here for me, alright? Don’t move a muscle,” he spoke low as Steve covered from above, rapid-fire shots ringing out on both sides.

Rushed and furious as he was, he couldn’t help but linger on that face a half-second longer than he intended. You were shaking your head and hugging your knees, meeting his eyes with what seemed to be reproach.

“You promised, Bucky,” you hissed through gritted teeth.

You were in shock, that was what it was, he kept telling himself. You didn’t know what you were saying, and he needed to turn away to help Steve, but then you were eyeing that body—that man he could’ve sworn was Schröder when he’d pumped him full of bullets—and you were turning back to him with unmistakable disgust.

He would’ve fallen to his knees and begged his wife for forgiveness if there weren’t more pressing matters at hand. Like your life and his, and Steve’s—and Sam’s, now, bursting onto the scene with a semi-automatic rifle of his own as he helped his friend gun down the last of the stragglers. Bucky knew he had to help them, too.

So he’d stumbled back on his feet, less conscious than acting on pure impulse, and he joined in on the gunfire.

He reckoned he liked it. However long it lasted. He just rolled his shoulders once and sent the rounds flying; he ducked and he moved and he stood and he crouched and he fired every shot as if it were as easy to him as breathing. He didn’t think. When the three of them had cleared the lounge, and Sam and Steve tore off toward the two or three remaining rooms at the rear of the suite, Bucky still wasn’t fully present in his body. All he knew was that his clip was near-empty and his side was in pain—and the room they had emptied was safe. For you.

For you—where the fuck had you gone?!

Bucky barreled past the spot behind the couch where you were supposed to have been, but weren’t, and made a beeline for the closest room over. And nothing. More empty, threadbare, and bloody rooms filled with bodies that didn’t belong to you, and shortly he was yelling for Sam or Steve or anyone in that massacred suite to help him find his wife. The breaths in his chest were heaving.

He turned once, twice, eyes roaming wildly and hand grabbing fast for more ammo. He couldn’t find any more. Beads of sweat began to collect on his brow, and just when he turned to call for backup once more, he paused.

In his periphery, he saw two forms.

He stopped fully and turned to the side.

If it was fear he had felt just then, he wasn’t aware of it. Instead, it seemed a white-hot and blinding ire had taken over, and rather than grow timid, or afraid, he went cold.

“Bucky…don’t,” you managed in a strangled, hoarse tone, throat visibly contained by a blade being held to it.

Behind you, a man stood masked and unflinchingly calm.

Bucky knew that wouldn’t do—no matter how hard or helplessly you pleaded with him then not to do it, please don’t do it, Bucky, please. All he heard in his head was the throb of his pulse, and all he saw before him was red.

He fired without a second thought.

The round just grazed the edge of the man’s cheek.

Bucky swore. Tried to fire his gun again. It was empty.

Still not thinking, much less hearing his wife’s desperate cries for him to spare the man’s life, he grabbed the smallest, sharpest object that was closest to him and charged your would-be attacker head on.

Both men fell to the floor, but only Bucky was mobile.

Only Bucky held the weapon now, as his opponent’s knife had been lost somewhere in the skirmish, and he was wielding it now faster than he ever had before, he thought—an ice pick, of all fucking things—driving it into the man’s face and neck and chest without the slightest regard for anything else.

Somewhere far outside his mind, he heard you scream. Felt you claw at his arm, grip at his shirt, make some wild, shrill, and vehement pleas that he couldn’t begin to understand in this state, and he continued. Hadn’t even considered slowing down until the man’s carotid was shredded in two and spewing blood all over his front.

Bucky couldn’t be sure how long it lasted like that; all he remembered was stumbling back, energy spent, fist still holding the pick and eyes duly glued to the body he’d just stabbed through and maimed until no life was left.

He saw you crawl over the body.

He wanted to warn you not to touch it. Lifted a hand and tried his best to form words, but nothing came out.

He watched you lift the mask.

From that point on, he was certain he had to have been seeing things that weren’t really there. Trauma-induced psychosis, he tried to assuage himself silently—that was the only explanation for the scene unfolding before him. Surely it couldn’t be you cupping that face, pinching that skin, shaking that cold and lifeless, blood-drenched frame beneath you as a sob racked through your own.

That signet ring on a pinky couldn’t have been real.

Bucky didn’t want to believe that gruesome discovery made manifest before him—in many ways, he couldn’t—but then it was painted clear as day as the cries endured, nothing changed, and a helpless, frantic wail rang out:

“DAD!”

—

Taglist: (If I missed anyone please lmk!!) @vicmc624, @she-could-never, @mcira, @kentokaze, @identity2212, @unaxv, @buchi91, @ordelixx @stinkerbelle007, @opibarnes @wilsons-striped-ties @desigirlxx, @pono-pura-vida, @geminiflanagansblog, @buggy14, @sky-full-0f-fl0wers, @buckysdoll1520, @armystay89, @minimarvelingmarvel, @kunakizen, @ghostiebby06, @blackhawkfanatic @dameron-grant-spector @sushiseoks @deansapplepie @mrsjoequinn @gyokujyn @lunaroserites @first-edition @kaybaby2494, @jaggedsi @excusememrbarnes @daisychainsoflove, @mostlymarvelgirl @diannana @shawnberry @yujyujj @urmomsalex @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @athenabarnes @christinabae @sluttylittlewaistenthusiast @wintrsoldrluvr @bethbunnyy @i-heart-smut @dixsond @aagn360 @dahliawolfe @fantasyfootballchampion @lilyevanstan1325 @kandis-mom @thealyrs

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x you #marvel #mcu #mob bucky barnes #marvel smut #marvel x reader #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #mob!bucky #mob!bucky barnes #mob bucky #mafia!bucky #mafia bucky barnes

[intoxicated-chan]

Okay, so this is more on the soft angst side, but would you be willing to write a Miguel x F!Reader (or gender neutral if you’d prefer that) where Miguel visits Reader’s universe to check in on them since they haven’t visited the Spider Society headquarters for some time now, and he shows up at her apartment right as she’s in the middle of fixing up her wounds after a massive fight. And so he helps patch up her wounds, and after some intense eye contact between the two of them, they kiss (it should be noted that they’ve been pining over each other awhile now, but neither of them have said anything to the other).

And if it isn’t too much, I have these dialogue prompts you can add as well if you need anymore inspiration (you totally don’t have to use them, I just thought they’d fit perfectly with this scenario).

“Are you alright? Where are you hurt?”

“You don’t have to come over here and take care of me you know. I can clean up my own messes.”

“Can I stay? I'll take the couch.”

If this feels like too much, don’t hesitate to decline this ask! I’m just really excited 😅

I Need You to Stay

✿ฺ Paring ➳❥ Miguel O’Hara x F!Reader

✿ฺ Summary ➳❥ Miguel hasn’t heard from you in weeks, he wonders what’s keeping you so busy.

✿ฺ (A/n) ➳❥ Inspired by “Stay” by Ari Abdul. Thank you for the request Anon! I hope you enjoy it and are taking care of yourself. Have a wonderful day/night!

✿ฺ Word Count ➳❥ 887

✿ฺ Content Warnings ➳❥ Female reader, mention of violence, mentions of death, light angst, fluffy, blood, open wounds, light swearing…

Four weeks. It has been four weeks since Miguel last saw you. Normally, he wouldn’t be so worried, but it’s been four days. Usually, if you couldn’t make it, you’d talk to him through a screen but that hasn’t happened in the four weeks. Not a call, not a text, not even a simple message. Heck, even Lyla hasn’t heard anything from you.

Miguel sighs, “I can believe I’m saying this right now…” He looks at Peter B. “I’m putting you in charge until I get back.”

“Where are you going?” Peter B. asks.

“I haven’t heard anything from (Y/n) and Lyla can’t reach her. I’ll be back soon.”

Gwen pops up from behind Peter B.,“Can I join you?” She asks, pulling her hood up as she walks closer to Miguel, “I want to see the person who has Miguel O’Hara crushing on.”

“Excuse me?” Miguel cocks an eyebrow.

“You heard me!”

“No.” Walking away from Gwen.

“Why not?” And Gwen quickly follows.

“Because she could be in danger.” Miguel begins adjusting his gizmo to the correct universe.

“You saw me in action, I could help.” Gwen retorts.

“And I said…” A portal opens up, “No.” Then he disappeared and Gwen scoffed.

“I told you he wouldn’t listen.” Peter B. laughs with Mayday in his arms and Miles right beside him, laughing along.

Miguel lands on the rooftop of your apartment with a grunt. He takes a moment to look around and see if anything has changed, and something did. It was midnight in your universe and the lights to your apartment were still on.

He jumps down and easily clings onto the wall next to your window. With his other hand, he slowly slides your window open and slips in, closing it behind him.

“I know you’re here Miguel!” You call out from the other room, “Heard you since you landed on the roof.”

He chuckles as he walks towards the sound of your voice, “I shouldn’t be so surprised, your abilities have always impressed-” His eyes widen as he looks at you.

You sat at the table, bloody bandages on the table, cotton balls and fresh bandages. But the blood still dripping from the open wounds on your arm made his stomach churn, not in a good way.

He swallows thickly as he comes closer, taking your injured arm in his hand, “Who did this to you?” He growls.

“I took care of it.” You tell him, but it doesn’t stop him from worrying, “Nothing left but cuts and bruises… That will heal.” You try to sooth his worry.

“Are you alright? Where are you hurt?”

“You’re holding the only thing that’s hurting right now.”

Miguel uses his webbing to pull up another chair to sit. He grabs the disinfectant and pours some of his on a cotton ball, you hiss at the contact as he cleans up the blood.

“You don’t have to come over here and take care of me, you know. I can clean up my own messes.” You speak through gritted teeth as it still burns.

“...How strong were they?” He speaks through the awkwardness.

“It wasn’t because they were strong.” You admit, “I got carried away, distracted.”

“By what?”

“The bastard was wearing colors similar to yours. I thought it was you for a split second, and in the second, I was open for an attack and they took it… I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Grabbing the bandages and wrapping up your arm.

“Don’t you remember the first time you brought me on a mission with you. I got distracted.”

“Of course I remember, what kind of idiot throws themself in front of someone.” He looks over the bandages, making sure they’re on correctly and not too tight.

“I thought you were going to die that day, I thought if I could at least save Spider-Man, then for once I did something good in my life.” Your head hangs in shame.

“We cannot save everyone, no matter how hard we try.” Miguel huffs, “At least…” He cups your face, slowly lifting your head to look at him, “I got to save you.”

“Migu-”

“Can I stay?” He asks, “I’ll take the couch.”

“I’m fine, I don’t need someone looking after me.” You pick up the bloody cotton balls and bandages.

“You’re shaking.”

“My arm still hurts and the adrenaline is still pumping.” You lie.

“Please don’t lie to me, (Y/n). You know how much I hate liars.” He comes closer, “Tell me what’s got you so distracted.”

“Everything about you. From your stupid, lovely hair to you entirely.Which is why I stayed away, I didn’t want to be so distracted that I’d cause the team to fall apart.” He cups your face once more and closes the space between you two. His lips falling onto yours.

It made Miguel’s heart beat faster and faster, and for some reason, the pit in his stomach grew even more. But it disappeared when he felt your arms come around his neck, standing on your toes.

He pulls away, “Distracted now?”

“Very.” You mumble.

“Are you letting me stay the night or will we have to go to my place?”

“Are you sure you want to leave Peter in charge for any longer?”

Oh, shit. He forgot about him.

© 2023 Intoxicated-Chan, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without permission.

#x reader #x female reader #fluff #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara #spiderman #spider man 2099 #spider man x y/n #spiderman x you #spider man x reader #spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman x y/n #spider man #spider verse

[farfromstrange]

S.M.S | Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Getting intimate with Matt in the morning on a lazy Sunday.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), SMS (soft morning sex), slight Dom!Matt, praise kink, use of "good girl", unprotected p in v, slight choking, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, slight (very slight) breeding kink, mention of cum eating, use of "my wife"

Word Count: 1.8k

A/n: This is pure filth with no plot. I don't know what came over me. I'm so desperate for this man, it's not even funny anymore. I'm gonna take a cold shower because writing this made me feel some kind of way... anyway, enjoy this little smut piece! Diving right in under the cut (with a gif), so minors, scramble!

Read me on AO3

The morning sun streams in through the windows. In the distance, a few birds are chirping at the top of their little lungs. A car honks. The people of Hell’s Kitchen are slowly waking up and going about their weekend. 

All the noise doesn’t matter to you though. The four walls you call home form a protective shield around you, and the only music in the air is the mixed sound of your moans and Matt’s strong thighs meeting the back of yours as he thrusts his thick cock into the tight confines of your cunt.

He’s behind you, one of his arms wrapped around your shoulders from the front, and the other holds on tight to your hip. He moves your body back against his, thrusting into you over and over again at a gentle pace. You don’t have to do anything but take his long, deep, and slow strokes that you can feel in your stomach. 

With every thrust, the tip of his cock brushes against the spongy spot inside of you. The spot that makes your eyes roll back, your toes curl, and stars erupt in front of your eyes. It makes your entire body give in to the compelling pull of absolute pleasure, the coil within you tightening and tightening and tightening, but still too far away to explode. 

Matt’s fingers are rough, but when they touch you, they remind you of soft feathers, always making sure not to hurt you. He pours his love into his touch like a poet would bleed his soul into his rhymes. His touch burns into your being—into the essence of who you are—and it consumes you to the point that you could never forget the feeling of Matt Murdock touching you. Sometimes it’s rough, sometimes it’s sensual, but it’s always full of unconditional love.

His sweaty skin slaps against yours. He drags his cock out of your cunt again, slowly, until only the tip remains inside, and you whimper at the loss. He grunts into your ear. The sound of your wetness collecting around his shaft, pouring down your thighs together with his pre-cum like an overfilled glass of white wine, reverberates in his ears. It drives him crazy.

Matt grunts, and he pushes back into you. The squelching sound that your slick folds make is not only audible to him. 

You convince yourself that you can feel every single vein along his cock as he fills you in a way only he can. You can feel him twitch, already so sensitive from a sloppy morning fuck—but are you even fucking or are you, in the most literal sense of the word, making love? Are you being primal and animalistic or are you being gentle with each other? It’s more of the latter, you suppose. Neither of you is in a rush. It’s early morning on a Sunday. All you need is each other after life kept you separate for most of the past week. What you have and what you are doing right now is raw, unbridled intimacy—and a primal need that you need to satiate. 

His stubble scratches against the sensitive skin of your shoulder. You moan again. The added stimulation intensifies the burning in your core. The position he has got you in allows him to go deeper, but it tightens your walls to the point it’s almost painful. It’s not unlike you to crave a little pain with pleasure.

“You’re so fucking tight like this,” Matt growls into your ear. “I can feel your pulse against my cock. Do you know how fucking lewd that sounds?”

“Oh, God!” Your eyes roll back, and your toes curl as you moan his name again and again. 

He chuckles roughly. “Never heard something more beautiful.”

“Matt, please,” you beg without knowing what you’re begging for.

You want to come. You want to clench your walls around his cock and cover him in your wetness until the sheets are soaked; you want him to fill you up with his cum until you’re stuffed to the brim, and you want him to eat it out of you like a starved caveman, but you also don’t want this to end. 

You want to keep feeling him just like this, in every ounce of your body, consuming you whole, and loving you endlessly, emotionally, and physically. 

He smiles against your heated skin. Again, he kisses your shoulder. His hand comes to rest around your throat, not squeezing but simply holding you. 

“Lift your leg for me, sweetheart,” he commands.

You inhale sharply. How could you ever disobey him? You lift your leg as he told you to, and he grabs your thighs with his hand, throwing it over his own. You’re on your side, spread wide open for him—over him. His cock hits even deeper, even further than before, and you ask yourself if that is even possible. He’s just so fucking thick. 

“There you go,” Matt purrs, his lips pressing to your ear. The sweat dripping down his temple mixes with yours and soaks into your skin. “Good girl.”

The good girl gets you. It gets you every time. Praise from him is like being praised by a higher entity. Your walls tighten in a vice grip. 

He groans. The groan is so deep it makes his chest vibrate, and his hand tightens around your neck ever so slightly. It’s enough to make you gasp. 

You cling to him. Your nails drag over the hairs on his forearm. The moan you let out sounds high-pitched and too far away to grasp, but he hears it. He hears it all.

And then Matt—that fucker—reaches his free hand between your legs and he cups your wet pussy. His cock still thrusting in and out of you scrambles the words in your brain and turns them into desperate mewls.

He curses when you clench down around him. “You take me so well,” he never fails a beat with the praise, knowing just when to use it to pull a response out of you.

You reach behind yourself to tangle your fingers in his hair. The strands are sweaty, sticking to his skin, and you wish you could see more than his stubble. You wish he would tilt his head down to kiss you. Instead, you have to press your lips to the skin of his neck, tracing your tongue over his pulse points and tugging at his hair. That is how you can taste him. 

You are needy and desperate, and your body is the one thing in control. You couldn’t form a coherent thought even if you tried. It’s just him, his hands, and his cock; he consumes you, all of you, without mercy.

Your touch burns his fuses. He whimpers. You love it when he does that. When he sounds wrecked for you. Only for you. You are the only one that can make him feel this way.

His hand disappears from your cunt. “Open,” he instructs. 

Out of instinct, you open your mouth. He slides the three fingers in the middle between your lips, pushing down on your tongue until you gag like you would on his cock. 

“That’s it. Get them nice and wet for me so I can rub your clit.”

You moan, swirling your tongue around the digits. You suck on them. The saliva drips from the corner of your mouth, down his forearm.

“Gonna make you come, okay?” Matt pants. It turns him on just how messy he can get you, and every time anew, he sees how far he can go. He gives another harsh thrust, then adds, his voice still beyond breathless, “Make you come all over my cock.” 

A strangled moan escapes him, and it is like porn to you. 

When he finally kisses your cheek, you turn your head to meet his lips. As soon as you taste him and yourself on his tongue, you’re done for.

He cups your pussy again, this time rubbing all three fingers you just sucked over your sensitive clit. You howl. Your back arches away and at the same time into his touch–you’re going to burst soon, you know it. 

As if he read your mind, he presses his fingers just below your jaw. The rhythm of his fingers on your clit matches the pounding of his cock, and he skilfully drags his thrusts along your G-spot. 

You pull at his hair. “Matt. I’m gonna–” The words are too much to utter at this time.

“I know,” he coos. “I know, baby. I’ve got you.”

“Fuck!”

“Come for me.”

The coil snaps, sending a shockwave rippling through your entire body, and drowning you in ecstasy. Your thighs quiver and you shout his name like a prayer. You’re falling, and there seems to be no end in sight. No one to catch you. 

You come long and hard, his thrusts faltering as you suck him in and clench with the sheer force of your orgasm. Instinctively, you pull your leg back to shut them and keep him trapped inside, but his hand stops you. 

“Keep your legs open,” Matt says.

You cry out. With every thrust, with every flick of his finger over your already sensitive clit, he drives you deeper into a state of overstimulation.

“I want you to give me another one, baby. One more, and I’ll fill you up. Please.”

It doesn’t take long for you to be back on that edge. You intertwine your fingers with his on your throat. The perfect necklace. 

Matt pulls out again. You tilt your hips back, forcing him back inside. “I’m gonna come,” you warn him. 

It hasn’t even been two minutes since he last made you, but he knows just how to keep you on edge. That way, he can drag several orgasms out of you, each more intense than the other. He has made it his mission to ruin you for any other man.

When you come this time, Matt lets you snap your thighs shut as your entire body shakes in his arms. You cry out, bucking your hips, and clinging to his hand, but it isn’t enough. 

He thrusts upward into you once more, and then he’s coming, too. His hot cum spurts into your cunt. For a moment, he stills completely. 

Matt sinks his teeth into your bottom lip, the copper taste exploding on both of your tongues, but a little blood has never turned you off. 

He fucks his cum into you, slowly, passionately, making sure that no drop goes to waste. Only when he’s satisfied does he stop, and he allows the two of you a moment to breathe.

Thump, thump, thump. Your heart begins to slow down. 

“Holy shit, Matthew,” you murmur. 

He chuckles, smoothing the spot where he dug his teeth into over with his tongue. “Good morning to you, too.”

“Oh, good morning, indeed.” A satisfied giggle passes your lips. “I think we just woke the neighbors.”

“What time is it?”

You peek at the alarm clock on the nightstand. “Half past ten,” you say.

“Then it’s not a disturbance of the peace,” he states as a matter of fact. 

“It’s not?”

“Nah.” He pulls out, rolling over to pull you into his side. “A noise complaint would never hold up in court. Even if they filed one, I’m a really good lawyer,” he says, “and I will defend my wife’s pleasure until the day I die.”

Matt Murdock Smut Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock smut #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x you #daredevil #no y/n #pwp #daredevil x reader #smut #charlie cox #reader insert

[ki-yomii]

down on you | jjk

➥ pairing | jeon jungkook x f!reader ➥ word count | 4.5k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; dirty talk, pet names, mild praise kink, squirting, hair pulling, standing missionary, rough sex, porn w/ plot, mafia!jk, detective!reader, established relationship, mild angst, mild violence ➥ summary | It’s true, he owns you: blood, bones, and all. ➥ notes | the mafia!jk au no one asked for aka an excuse to write smut w/ feeling lol.

💚 masterlist | inbox | AO3 💚

On his knees staring down the barrel of a loaded gun with a mouthful of blood, he knows this is the end of the line. He’s going to die like a rat in the gutter - no mercy to be found, loopholes to exploit or bribes to be made.

This is the real deal, and there’s no coming back.

Judgement Day comes in the form of a man with dark eyes and a dangerous smirk: Golden, the deadliest guard dog of the underground.

Credited with dozens of hits, you won’t know he’s there until it’s too late. Trying to keep him pinned is like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands, or a whisper on the wind.

And you won’t know he’s coming until you feel the breath on the back of your neck, hear the crack of a bullet ringing in your ears.

Belonging to one of the most powerful men in the world: Kim Namjoon, he’s more war machine than man.

“Go ahead, do it!” He spits at Golden’s feet, a mess of blood and drool staining the crisp leather of his combat boots. “Killing me won’t change a goddamn thing.”

A coy smile tugs at Golden’s mouth, his grin all sharp teeth and violence. He stays where he stands, his silhouette haloed by distant streetlights.

Water laps at the docks, the tang of salt heavy in the mid-summer Seoul air. There’s no rush; they both know he’ll be dead and dumped just like all the rest of the garbage in this rotting city.

“Come on, you prick! Pull the fucking trigger already.”

Golden cocks his head, and hums in the back of his throat. 

“Tch! I hope you’ve got a lot of bullets - we’re gonna knock the crown off Kim’s head one way or another.”

Golden thumbs at the safety of his gun, the barrel glinting through the shadows. “Ahh, is that what you think?” He shrugs, a lazy ripple of muscle. “Well, I have to say: I’d love to see you try.”

The night is shattered by the resounding crack of a gunshot and an echoing splash of something heavy dropping into the water below.

You climb out of the nondescript government-issue car. The faintest tremble of your fingers nearly gives you away but you’re able to reign in the impulse to smooth your hands over your clothes at the last second.

Showing weakness is the last thing you need to be doing right now.

Especially here.

Right in front of where you’ve parked - shoved between two looming apartment complexes - sits a quaint, vintage building. The rough brick face is at odds with the sleek surroundings, but tinted windows keep prying eyes at bay while the classy signing hanging above the door reads The Red Bullet written in caps.

If you didn’t know better, it would be hard to believe this otherwise mundane storefront is a cover for one of the most dangerous international organizations based out of South Korea.

Not only do they hold the keys to the kingdom, but their success is largely in part because they spearhead operations from government espionage all the way to simple blackmail.

Even though it’s been several months since you darkened its doorstep, the familiar sight is enough to steal the breath from your lungs. Send your heart galloping into a tailspin as your stomach swoops.

While time away helped clear your head of stolen kisses and promises whispered in dark rooms, it also drove the longing bone deep.

In those quiet moments to yourself, when you have nothing else to distract from how lonely you are, you miss this place like one misses a limb.

You didn’t realize how attached you were to these four walls until it was too late: the hazy air filled with whorls of smoke, the overhead lights that bathe everything in red, the plush chairs you spent many nights sprawled across, the glossy black stages.

You don’t know how, you don’t know when but at some point it (he) started feeling like home. A luxury you can’t afford. Not again. After all, if you give in, any progress you made outside of his gravitational pull will be for naught.

Which puts you in a dangerous position as you find yourself back where it began; feelings at war with duty, mind vs heart. Because even if it leads you to a place you could go a million years without ever seeing again, you have to follow the trail of bodies.

A bouncer grants you access, the heavy door slamming shut behind you like a death knell as he herds you towards the back of the club.

It’s outside of official operating hours but it’s no less busy inside, men and women alike in scattered conversation as you pass through.

“It’s nice to see you again,” the bouncer murmurs, chancing a quick glance at your profile. “Been a while.”

You swallow, gaze darting down to your shoes. “Ah - yeah… Got busy with work. It’s - it’s nice to see you too.”

The small talk fizzles out, a snuffed candle as you arrive at a cordoned off room, “Here we are. Mr Kim is already expecting you.”

Any further pleasantries grow stale on your tongue as you enter the private booth, fighting against the lump in your throat to manage a hoarse ‘thank you’.

And then you find yourself left alone with the man himself, Kim Namjoon. He’s as intimidating as you remember, lounging back into the leather booth with his ankles crossed.

A lukewarm smile stretches across his lips, the slightest hint of a dimple peeking out from the valley of his cheek. Standing at attention on either side of his reposing form are two massive bodyguards. Their hands rest on the butts of their guns, daring any who enter to try and make a move.

“It’s good to see you again. But I gotta ask - what’s the occasion, Detective?” Namjoon hums. “I thought we were past all this.” He waves a nebulous hand between your bodies. “After all, you’re practically family.”

You ignore the hidden barb with a wince. “Mr Kim, you know why I’m here.”

“I used to know why a long time ago.” A well-groomed brow raises, his gaze glacial as it spears you in place. “But now I’m not so sure.”

“Please, Mr Kim. I don’t want to make this more difficult than it is. I just need to know about the man they fished out of the harbor, and then I’ll be on my way. So… who was he?”

Namjoon scoffs. “What makes you think I know more than the police?”

There’s a flash of a smirk, barely noticed, before his face returns to its neutral expression. As calm and cool as a placid river. “A john’s a john. What I do want to know is why you care so much?”

The underlying question is clear; why are you really here?

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss such matters with civillians.”

“Oh? So I’m a civilian now.” His expression is not unlike the cat that caught the canary: vicious and delighting in the discomfort his evasions are causing. “Gotta say that’s a new one for me.”

Sighing in defeat, you say, “Alright, enough. I get it. I’m wasting my time with you. Let me ask this instead: where is he?” 

“He doesn’t know any more about this than I do,” he says, waving a blase hand towards a door off to the left, “But if you insist, you can find him in the office. Oh, and Detective?”

“...Yes?”

“Take your time, I’ll be out on business all afternoon.”

With a curt nod, you flee the room amid low-throated chuckles and enter the office. Standing near the desk, his broad back turned towards the door, you find the man you simultaneously want to see the most and run from the fastest.

He turns around, the muscles of his back rippling with the movement. Your breath stutters in your chest, and you nearly swallow your tongue as your eyes trace over the cut of his body.

The moment your eyes meet, those many months spent cultivating time and distance turn to ash. You forgot how even the mere sight of him affects you, any resistance to his many charms virtually nonexistent as the world falls away.

Rich, coffee dark; his gaze sucks you in until it’s all you can do not to reach out, to brush your fingers over his edges and feel them soften beneath your palms.

Rocking back on your heels, you clear your throat and glance to the side as you remain standing in the entryway, more than a little off-kilter.

Coming back after so long apart, only to find him the same as the day you left… How do you reconcile everything that’s changed with everything that was?

“Well, hello there.” Jungkook croons, leaning his hip against the corner of the desk with a roll of his shoulders. His arms cross over the trunk of his chest, accentuating the bulk of his chest, the flex of inked bicep. “Long time no see.”

Shifting, you gulp. “Ah - yeah…”

The burn of his gaze - a palpable sensation prickling across your skin - tracks a path from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes as he gives you a thorough once-over.

“You’re looking good,” Jungkook hums in approval, “real good. I’ve missed those pretty eyes of yours.”

“You - you too.”

Your attention doesn’t know where to settle: drifting from the curve of his shoulders to the jut of his bloody knuckles, the tuck of his trim hips to the thick-soled combat boots.

Tiny hairs at the back of your neck stand on end, and your palms slick with sweat.

“I mean, you look… y’know, uh, good too.”

A flash of a crooked smirk, the raising of a pierced brow gets your blood pumping, your heart tattooing a rhythm against your ribs. Emboldens you to reach back with shaky fingers to turn the lock. The sound grates down your spine, bolts of anticipation slicing through you.

It was dumb to think coming here, seeing him again, would end any other way than his taste on your tongue and his cock in your cunt. Hope makes fools of us all.

Should’ve known better but you’d been hopeful those days were long behind you. Now you realize it was inevitable.

After all, Jungkook is magnetic.

The black hole at the center of your universe, consuming everything in its path until he’s what remains in your head, your heart. You’re helpless, ceaselessly drawn to him like a moth to flame.

And try as you might, you can’t say no to a face like that.

Never could, in fact.

Failure to extract yourself from his orbit during your not-relationship is nothing new. That doesn’t mean you can’t make it difficult.

After all, you still have some dignity intact.

So try, try, try again.

“Ahem.” You try to banish the heat from your cheeks, guiding the conversation into the correct territory. “I’m not here on a-a social call, Jeon. I need to know: were you the one that killed and dumped the john in the harbor?”

Stalking closer, a lazy jungle cat on the prowl, Jungkook crosses the distance between you. He only stops once your bodies brush with every labored inhale. Heat radiates from him, and you’re achingly aware of every point of contact.

The light scent of his cologne teases your nose, and his eyes - god, his eyes. They’re shaded and hungry, devouring your expression with single-minded possessiveness. 

“What makes you think I know anything about that?”

“Jeon -- Jungkook.”

He hums.

Your heart thrums, pulse rushing hard through your head until you feel faint, blood surging the longer you stay in close contact. The shameful clench of your cunt makes your cheeks burn all the brighter.

The last time you were looking up at him like this, his hand was on your jaw while his cock thrust balls deep.

“C’mon, you know that isn’t going to work. This is me you’re talking to, not some rookie.”

“Mm,” he purrs, “it is you I’m talking to, isn’t it?”

You manage to bite back the groan but can’t stop your eyes from rolling even if there’s the slightest hint of a stutter when you reply, “Please, I just need to know if you killed him.”

Jungkook looms tall and proud, crowding closer. “And if I did, baby?” he asks.

Instinctively you back up, only to be followed step by step. A game of cat and mouse that finds you pinned against the wall before long. With nowhere to run, you watch, heart in your throat, as Jungkook dips his dark head.

His nose runs along the length of your neck, breath puffing across your sensitive skin as he inhales the pleasant scent of your perfume.

“I - I…”

“Would you see me in handcuffs?” His lips caress the underside of your jaw, a soft groan escaping him. “… C’mon, answer me. Would you?”

“I would - if I had to.”

As much as you wish that was true, you know in your heart of heart's you would do everything in your power to make sure that never happens.

No matter how much you like to think you’d do the right thing when push comes to shove, you’d choose him a thousand times over.

His eyes dance playfully. “Careful, I might like it.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” you say with a snort.

Jungkook chuckles low and warm, using the arm around your waist to tug you into the safety of his body. The softness of your breasts presses into the hard planes of his chest, your nipples pebbling through the thin cotton shirt you wear.

With a deep-throated groan, his hands encircle the curves of your hips as a thickly muscled thigh slots between yours.

An answering quiet sigh gets his blood pumping and his cock twitching.

“Mm, something tells me you’d enjoy it just as much, Detective.”

The use of your title is a rude awakening.

“Jungkook,” You warn, moving to push him away. Only once you start touching him, you can’t stop. His muscles flex beneath your curious fingertips. “We really shouldn’t.”

You’re sure if he could, Jungkook would spend days worshipping between your thighs, velvet heat wrapped around his tongue and hands in his hair as he brings you to peak again and again until you’re a sobbing, sopping, boneless mess beneath him.

“Come on, I know you want me - that you’ve missed me. I can see it in your eyes.”

He kisses the corner of your mouth, tongue flickering out for a brief taste before a rough thumb skates across your bottom lip, tugging down to expose your teeth, the glitter of your tongue as it darts out to flick over the pad of his finger..

“I’ve certainly missed you, baby. Want me to show you?”

Even though you refuse to admit anything out loud, you can’t help but angle your throat back and grind into his hips pressed against yours.

Jungkook tsks, “That’s alright. I’ll get that pretty mouth open one way or another.”

Before you can retort, a mouth swoops down to fuse with yours in a fierce, all-consuming kiss. A low, broken moan punches from your chest.

Reaching up, your fingers sink into the mane of dark hair that brushes the cut of Jungkook’s jaw. Soft, thick, and wavy in your grip; you tug at the roots.

Jungkook hisses. 

Teeth nip at your lip, kittenish licks soothing away the string as blood bursts across your tongues. The thigh shoved between yours grinds up with every wet, sloppy pass of your lips.

Thick muscle spreads your pussy open through the thin slacks of your work uniform. Sparks of pleasure dance down your spine with every rock against your swollen clit.

“S-Shit!” Your shoulders curl in, a shudder jerking through you. “K-Kook, I… !”

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me.” Jungkook growls, rutting his cock against the jut of your hip. The wet patch you’re making on his jeans grows larger with every filthy grind. “You’ve been gone too fucking long. Never again, you hear me?”

You claw at his shoulders, stuttering out, “there’s noth-ing you can do t’stop me.”

“If you don’t come back to me,” his eyes are dark and stormy, voice whiskey rough, “I’ll find you.”

It’s not a threat - it’s a promise.

“Then make sure I never want to leave,” you challenge breathlessly, staring into his blown out pupils, “Make me want to stay.”

Above all else, you think.

The words are barely past your lips when Jungkook accepts your challenge with gusto (just like you knew he would). Without delay, he thumbs open the button on your pants.

Refusing to let you look away, Jungkook yanks them to your feet and swings you up into his arms one-handed. They hang from your ankle like a chain.

Your surprised squeak is quickly swallowed up by a moan when he settles you over the bulge in his pants, your cunt hovering over his erection.

The heat of his skin sinks through the thin cotton of your panties, so, so close to where you need him. Slick soaks into the fabric, and clings to your inner thighs.

Every shift is a smooth, sticky glide of folds that stirs, and stokes the ember of desire smoldering behind your navel.

“Kook,” you breathe. “Please.”

Your head rolls back, and you sag into his chest. Your hips twitch in pathetic little attempts, trying to get pressure where you need it. Having him hot and hard and all for you; any distance between you is suddenly unbearable.

He needs to spread you wide and stuff you full with every inch of his thick cock until he’s so deep you won’t be able to walk for days.

“Shh baby, I’ll give you what you want,” he says, gaze heavy and possessive. “I’m gonna ruin you so good, you’ll have no choice but to come back. You’re mine.”

“Says who?”

“Hmm. You don’t think you are?”

Nibbling on your ear, Jungkook slips a finger under the hem of your panties. He smirks when you keen, rubbing his knuckle up and down your sloppy folds with teasing pressure.

“How about I show you what your body already knows?”

Wasting no time, he lifts you off his cock, the scrap of cloth fluttering to the ground. His free hand dives between your bodies. Then comes the clink of a belt, the sound of a zipper pulling down.

Your heartbeat thunders in your ears, your body coiled with anticipation as your stomach swoops at the brush of his fingers along the underside of your thigh.

“Look so pretty like this, baby.” Jungkook twists his wrist, hips arching back. “And it’s all for me. Fuck, I can’t wait to get inside this pretty pussy.”

Any response dies on your tongue, brain short-circuiting as the slick, fat cockhead rubs along your slit. Pressing against your entrance the slightest bit before slipping up to nudge at your clit - coating himself up in your sticky juices.

The ultimate tease - something Jungkook’s always been overly fond of doing until you’re out of your mind with desperation.

“Please, please, please,” you chant, cheeks on fire and eyes half-lidded as you circle your hips. “Stop playing around. I want it - want you, Kook.”

“Oh, baby,” he smiles, ducking down to kiss your forehead. “You’ll take whatever I give you.”

You can’t stifle the broken sob, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. Liquid fire surges through your veins, a thousand bolts of lightening crackling beneath the surface of your skin. Your pussy is tender, swollen. Walls fluttering in time with your heartbeat. 

“Ha, you’re so needy for me.”

Jungkook’s lips brush away the moisture around your eyes, his thumb drawing soothing circles into the base of your spine. All the while, his torturous grinding never ceases.

“Aren’t you?”

You croak, “I can’t – Kook, please. Anything, I’ll do anything you want just fuck me.”

The flash of his eyes is your only warning before he’s right there, your walls embracing the girth of his erection inch by inch. Every ridge, every jerk as he seats himself as deep inside your silken heat as he can is absolute heaven.

The stretch as you take him to the hilt sends you careening towards the edge, eyes rolling back and toes curling in your shoes.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit!” you whimper.

“Shit!” Jungkook grits his teeth, squeezing the base of his cock as you tighten  around him. With every deep inhale, his pelvis brushes your swollen, needy clit. “Forgot how good you feel wrapped around my dick, baby.”

“Me too,” You gasp, tightening your legs around Jungkook’s hips.”Me too, Kook.”

Dropping his forehead to yours, he says gruffly, “‘m not gonna last long.”

Making a noise of acknowledgement, you wiggle your hips. Sinking your teeth into the side of Jungkook’s jaw, you bite and suck at his skin, wanting to leave a mark to remember you by. His reaction is instantaneous, releasing the grip on his shaft to grab a fist full of hair.

He yanks back.

The long, elegant line of your throat is exposed to his butterfly kisses and scolding love bites.

“Now you’ve really asked for it,” Jungkook huffs out with a dirty chuckle.

“Then give it to me.” You lick your puffy lips, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. “Show me who I belong to.”  

The brewing hurricane in his eyes is unleashed. Wide palms and strong fingers grip your hips so tight you feel bones grind together. His stance widens, his unwavering gaze locking onto your face, brow pinched, and mouth slack.

His lip piercing glints in the light, his tongue sliding out to wet his bottom lip. Dark curls tussle about his head, a wild halo that sweeps down into the burning umber of his eyes.

Helpless, you succumb - enchanted by the darkness peering at you from behind those dangerous eyes. He’s ethereal; a siren song that threatens to drown you, swallow you whole.

You’d happily let him, you realize with a shiver.

It’s true, he owns you: blood, bones, and all.

“Hold on tight,” Jungkook says, hooking his hands under your bottom. 

And then, he’s jackhammering into your cunt so hard and fast all you can do is hold on for the ride. Punch drunk and moaning as he manhandles you how he likes, spreads you wide and stuffs you full until you’re panting for breath and clinging to sanity by your fingernails.

“Fuck yes, that’s it. Look how well your pretty pussy always takes my fat cock.”

His low voice whispering filthy praises in your ear makes you whimper, whine, and writhe as the band of pleasure coiling tight in your belly comes close to snapping. It’s the fastest he’s ever fucked an orgasm out of you, and it feels so good you don’t even care.

The pace is brutal, slamming into you so hard you’re sure you’ll have bruises on your hips come morning. But it’ll be so fucking worth it. You’re going to cum hard and long, you just know it.

About to melt as Jungkook fucks the slick out of you, groaning as you drip down the base of his cock, his balls - his very own pretty little mess.

“Yeah, you gonna cum, baby?” he laughs, pressing a sweaty kiss to the side of your face. “Can feel how - haaah shit - how tight you’re squeezing me.”

“Uh-huh,” you cry, holding onto the tops of his wide shoulders. Every thrust has his cockhead dragging over the spongy patch of your g-spot, sending fissions of pleasure rocketing through your nervous system. “So - so close, baby. Just a little more, I--”

Balancing yourself, you lift up only to slam back down, meeting Jungkook’s thrust with all the force of gravity. “Oh fuck, oh fuck!”

Crashing over you like a tsunami, your orgasm shoots through your limbs and zips down your spine. A warm rush of cum soaks Jungkook’s shaft, the wet and messy sound of your squirt splashing against the floor secondary to the cry that claws its way out of your throat.

“K-Kook!”

Jungkook grunts, his fingers digging into the fat of your hips as he helps you keep bouncing up and down on his erection. “Yeah, that’s it - keep going, baby. Wanna feel you keep cumming all over this cock.”

Aftershocks slice through you like lightning, tiny jolts of electricity. As you come down from your high, your gummy walls pulse, milking at Jungkook’s thick shaft.

He groans softly whenever your muscles tense, release; your body a worn-out rubber band as your breath stutters from you.

Then a hand pets down your flank, your skin shivering with hypersensitivity at the tender touch. “S’okay. Just breathe, baby.”

Peeling open your heavy eyes, you look up at his face. Take in the crinkle of his brow and the ravenous expression. Even floating on a sea of bliss, white noise fills your ears, you want more.

You slur, determined, “Kook, baby, please. Cum in me, want you s’bad.”

“Fuck! Can’t just say shit like that to me or I…” Jungkook bites down onto the tender crook of your neck, muffling his grunts in your flesh. “Shit - ’m so --”

You cry out, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders, “A-haah, K-Kook!”

Snapping his hips forward one last time, Jungkook grinds as deep as he can get and lets go. The fat head of his cock kisses your cervix, his length throbbing in time with his heartbeat as a rush of cum floods your insides.

“Yeah, just like that,” he grunts, rutting once - twice into the cradle of your body, “take it like a good girl.”

He croons when you whine at the press of his pelvis against your oversensitive clit. Thready sparks of pain shoot down your legs that hang limply over his forearms. Every breath stutters from your lungs, slow and deep.

“No more, can’t - can’t…” Shifting, you arch your spine and burrow your head into his chest, nearly catatonic in his arms. “S’too much.”

“Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” Fingers brush over your closed eyelids, smoothing over the arch of your brow. With every kiss dropped to the top of your head, he mumbles in dulcet tones, “I really have missed you, you know.”

You mewl in response as strong fingers knead the backs of your thighs.

“You’re not allowed to go anywhere.”

“Oh,” you can’t muster up enough energy to say anything more, body tender and trembling with little aftershocks, “s’that right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” He chuckles. “You’re staying here - right where I want you.”

In lieu of a response, you pick your head up off the pillow of his chest and seek out his gaze. Liquid soft; he’s looking at you like you hung the world on a string.

“I’ve missed you too, Kook,” you say with a gentle smile.

You’ll allow yourself this moment of weakness when there’s no space between your bodies or hearts. Titles don’t matter much when he’s cradling you to his chest like a piece of precious china.

Between the two of us, you’re the one who hung the moon and stars, you think while combing back his sweaty bangs.

And I think I love you, you whisper voiceless against his lips.

#jeon jungkook x you #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #bts fic #jungkook #bts jungkook

[neopuppy]

Gooner (M)

pairing. Jisung x female reader ft Jeno

genre. fubu AU(alternatively ‘I was half a virgin when I met you!’ AU), Jisung as Jeno’s younger brother/Jeno’s not the best sibling, M/F, filth.. yay👹

warnings. profanity, eavesdropping, incel vibes, y/n’s a bit mean, smut warnings under cut. minors DNI.

wc. 6.5k+

now playing. treat me like a slut//Kim Petras

smut warnings. masturbation, Jisung’s addicted to porn, switching, oral, hair pulling, choking, overstimulation, rough sex, unprotected sex

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

Sweet high-pitched moans resonate through the walls, loud enough to cancel out the ones emitting from overpriced computer speakers.

So loud. So God damn loud.

Jisung sighs, he’d heard your flirty giggles about an hour ago before his brother dragged you through the hallway and into his bedroom across from his. You’ve been here 3? 4 times? This week alone already. He tries to tune out the cracked whine in your tone, raise the volume on the video he’s been watching for five minutes, not really paying attention to what’s happening. How can he when you scream like your lifes being ripped from your body, crying out louder than a woman being chased to her death. 

He blinks to focus his gaze on the computer screen, reaching for the energy drink sat on his desk to sip at. This used to be more enjoyable, time to relax and unwind after school or work. That was before Jeno started hooking up with you. You’re just around all the damn time, always sprawled out on the couch, coming out of their shared bathroom with wet hair and one of his brothers oversized t-shirts. He doesn’t make an effort to talk to you at all, never has tried to get to know any of the random girls that come in and out of his brother's revolving bedroom door. 

Not that you make that easy, always greeting him when you run into each other, smiling and waving, even pinching his cheek when you stumbled out of his brother's room inebriated. You called him cute, a baby, a cute giant baby. It makes his skin crawl to think about it, softly petting his cheek with the back of his hand where you had tugged on his cheek roughly. He spent the rest of the day locked up in his room scouring the internet for videos showcasing girls that looked somewhat like you, your hair or lips, any minuscule feature close enough to yours to stroke himself to.

‘Look at you Sungie, you’re growing up right before my eyes.’ You said drunkenly, staggering back and forth on your feet as you trapped him in the hallway on his way to the bathroom. He didn’t know what to do or say, flinching away from your touch too slowly, he had to stand there gulping thick wads of saliva while you tugged on his cheek and reached up to smack the other side of his face. ‘What a cute giant baby.’

The fantasies brewing in his mind for the last few weeks spilled over as you tiptoed closer and blinked up at him blearily, a flirty smile pulling at your lips. 

He wanted to grip your wrists until they hurt, leave his fingerprints permanently etched on your daint limbs. One of his favorite videos came to mind, wishing to throw you down on all fours and shove the oversized band shirt up to unveil your bare ass, knowing damn well you walk around without bothering to cover yourself up after Jeno fucks your brain dry. He’s so lucky, always manages to pull girls like you, shameless easy sluts desperate to cry on his cock. 

That could be him if he had the balls to even look you in the eye and act out the various ways he imagines plowing through you. He was ready to say something, barely parting his lips open until Jeno blew his chances and dragged you back to his bedroom.

‘Your little brother’s so cute.’ You teased, poking at the olders chest. He scoffed and glared at you, slowly dragging his gaze over to Jisung standing frozen in the hallway before slamming his door shut.

‘Probably made his week talking to you, loser never leaves his room.’ 

Jeno’s such an asshole. He’s not wrong, but he doesn’t have to tell you shit about his younger brother’s life. He does leave his room, he has to eat, meet up with his friends every once in a while.

That’s not the worst part, the worst part is that you seem curious about him. Always subtly mentioning him when he’s in the living room or kitchen. His brother scoffs and mutters under his breath usually, snapping at you to quit asking about that virgin.

He’s not a fucking virgin.. technically. 

It doesn’t matter anyway, you’d probably never give him a chance. Not that he wants a chance, he’s just horny, just needs to actually leave his room and interact with real women like Jeno always says. 

But why would he do that when a few clicks can numb his brain without any hassle, without any effort or convincing. Why would he do that when he can mute the video, get up to press his ear against the door and watch a point of view shot of some whore getting her back blown out while listening to you beg for more.

Harder. Faster. More more more. 

You sound like such a slut, such a cock hungry eager slut. It’s easy to picture your face getting wrecked, he knows how rough Jeno can get after years of listening to the squeals and cries coming out of his room. Girls limping their way out with shame written across their face, they never lasted long, got their fill and moved on to the next. You stuck around, further cementing what a whore you must really be..

Jisung sighs, head dropping back against his door, sliding down to his knees to shove his hand past the waistband of his shorts. He hasn’t left his room today, only once to act like he needed to use the bathroom. He wanted to see you, wanted to catch a glimpse of your outfit and makeup before Jeno ruined everything. The amount of shirts and sweaters you’ve probably stolen by now must be taking up space in your closet. 

You’d look good in some of his clothes too, better than you look in his brothers. You’d look better naked though, laid out on his bed with your legs spread open. He’s been hard from the moment he caught a hint of your signature perfume in the air on his way to the bathroom, it’s enough to make his dick twitch. Enough to lick at his lips and imagine what your skin must taste like. He hates perfume, but you always smell so clean, so feminine and fresh..

“Fuck.” Lotion, he needs lotion. His palm feels extra rough today, calloused up from beating his meat relentlessly over the last few weeks. He can’t keep track anymore, losing count of how many times he’s tugged on his cock everyday, drowning out any hint of guilt that tells him that this is wrong. Besides, how wrong can it be when he cums within minutes picturing your face turning to look back at him as he pulls out to make a mess all over your ass.

“Hey, dipshit!” A loud bang against his door has him choking on his spit, coughing and yanking his hand out of his pants as if he’s been burnt. “Mom called, said to buy dinner.”

Jeno knocks again, throwing out another rude name until he gets up and races to turn off his computer, flustered as he wipes his sweaty palms on his shirt and opens the door. 

You’re standing behind him of course, slouching on his brother's back, peering over his bicep when the door opens. “What'dya want?”

His brother always looks annoyed, he can’t understand why, they’re not that different. 

“Pizza.” You whisper, dragging out your request cutely, fingernails running up and down Jeno’s sides. “Pizzzzzzzzzza.”

He chuckles, grabbing your hands to loop your fingers together and tighten your hold around him. “I could go for some pizza.”

Jisung nods, ducking his head to avoid the way you bat your eyes at him behind Jeno’s back. It’s probably all in his head anyway, the small things you do when his brother can’t see you..

“Alright, I have a package coming in soon. Make yourself useful and bring it in for me before someone snatches it, will you?” Jeno says, shoving at his shoulder before turning away with you still attached to his back. “Told you he was probably jerking off.”

The way you laugh at that comment makes his chest tingle, lifting his gaze to steal one more look at you before shutting his door. To his surprise, you’re already looking back, the corners of your mouth lifting up slightly before you step out of view and the front door shuts.

Whatever. He really isn’t hungry, not for food anyway, not when he can still pick up the lingering scent of your body wash permeating off your warm damp skin. He shoves that thought aside before pulling on some sweats, gingerly placing his length between the elastic waistband and his stomach. 

The door rings not even 5 minutes after the two of you have left, groaning as he opens it and finds a large box that looks too heavy to carry to Jeno’s bedroom. “Asshole.” He knew damn well Jisung wouldn’t want to lift this shit, and he told him to anyway. Fuming for a minute, he rolls his eyes and squats to hoist the package up against one of his thighs, grunting as he kicks the door shut and drops it haphazardly to kick down the hall. That’s what Jeno would do with his deliveries, he’s sure.

He contemplates for a moment on whether or not to leave the box outside of his brother's door, shifting back and noticing he didn’t close it all the way. Probably wants him to leave it inside of his room like some lacky, better he assumes that and does it to avoid hearing shit later. Pointing his toes, he nudges the door open lightly, kicking the box inside only to pause when the warm air touches his face. It still reeks of sex inside of here, it still reeks of you. It’s strong, hot, thick on his tongue. 

Jeno’s room faces the street, catching most of the sunlights heat while Jisung’s window has towering trees to keep that out. He glances to his brother’s bed, it’s still messy, the top blanket wrinkled in places you must have been fisting, damp streaks where your lower half must have been resting. 

He shouldn’t itch to touch, to get a closer look, to lower his face and drag his tongue across the wet patch, but he has to. This—this is what he’s been missing out on, this is what his videos can’t replicate. The smell of your arousal, the warmth rolling off your feverish flesh, the taste of your cunt pouring down his lips. 

Jeno would fucking kill him if he found out about this, he thinks, grazing the tips of his fingers over the bundled up chunks of fabric, dragging over a damp spot between. He probably had you on all fours, face down ass up. Jisung salivates picturing it, the exact way he always imagines you looking back at him over your shoulder as he mercilessly slams inside of you. The blanket pinched between your teeth, cunt dripping out past his plummeting length making a sloppy mess all over his bed. 

This is why you sound so muffled sometimes, making his ears strain to hear all of your sweet begging. He bets you look unreal in this light, always imagining you illuminated under the low blue and purple lights in his room, hair tousled on his black sheets. 

He has to drag his nose against the topper, has to clench it between his fist as he lowers to the spot that undoubtedly rivered down from between your thighs. It’s so raw, so real, instantly bolting electric nerves through his length as his lips lightly meet the half-dried area. There’s still too many hints of Jeno’s deeper musk entwined in the other areas, but this is all you. This is all your fucked open pussy, jerking his hips against the edge of his brother’s bed the more he wraps his lips around the material. Fuck, what he’d give to sit between your thighs for a day like a pathetic dog with his mouth hung open pleading for a taste.

He should stop, get out of here before he gets too worked up, circling his hips faster as his chest tightens and his breath comes out faster. He ruts harder, pulling at the blanket and burying his face in deeper. How wet must you get to leave a mess like this behind? Can you squirt? Do your legs shake when you cum? Each drag of his tongue opens up a new possibility, reinventing the ways he’s dreamt of fucking you. He really shouldn’t have done this, now he’ll never be able to stop his mind from running wild.

“Fuck, does that feel good? Pussy so damn tight for me.” He repeats the same shit he hears Jeno spewing while fucking you. The envy he feels nearly outweighs how pathetic he feels. It’d be harder to swallow if he wasn’t so God damn bricked up at the mere thought of you.

“All that bullshit about men being the worst—“ Jeno’s voice echoes down the hall, the front door slamming shut. “When you’re worse than me.”

Giggles play out loud, only halted by lips smacking together. Jisung sits up in a panic, pushing the blanket back to cover most of the mattress. Cursing under his breath he peers around fast, losing his balance as steps ascend down the hall heading his direction.

Shitshitshit, what the fuck! He can’t move fast enough, stumbling to the floor with his painfully erect cock aching as he drags across. 

“It’s your fault, can’t keep your hands to yourself for a minute!” You squeal, thumping against the bedroom door setting him off in a scurry toward the closet. Jeno will chew his head off if he finds him in here, he doesn’t even want to think about it. Why the fuck would the two of you come back in here so soon?! What about the food?!

“You like it.” Jeno murmurs, pushing open the door to his bedroom right as Jisung manages to shut the closet door as quietly as possible. It’s a mess in here, clothes thrown around everywhere. He has to crawl back on his knees slowly to make sure he doesn’t make a sound, taking long quiet breaths to not be heard.

There’s no way he’ll get caught in here, you’ll have to leave eventually, right? The shutter door does nothing to help his confidence, scooting back into what he hopes is too dark to be visible from the other side if either of you were to look over for some reason(like him breathing too loud). Of course you fall to your knees in front of the closet, his brother’s hand shoving you down by your shoulder as his other works to unbutton his jeans. 

“You look best on your knees.” He says, probably smirking judging off the way you smile up at him and reach for the tops of his thighs. “Let’s make this quick though, don’t want the food to get cold.”

“Pftt, I don’t have to suck your dick.” You bite back, digging your fingers into his jeans. “I’m sure your little brother wouldn’t give a fuck about eating if he had me like this.”

Jisung gulps, willing himself to look away when you reach inside of Jeno’s pants to draw his length free. He doesn’t want to see that, well, he does want to. He doesn’t want to watch you touch his brother though. Doesn’t want to ruin the fantasy world he’s built in his head with the harsh reality.

“You seriously wanna fuck him, don’t you?” Jeno sneers, fisting your hair as you begin to glide the tip of his length across your lips. “You never shut up about him, he wouldn’t even know what to do with you.”

Jisung wishes he could tell him off, glaring between the shutters at him. His lips twitch annoyed, fisting at the dirty pile of clothes under his ass. He’d know what to do with you, all he does is think about it, if only you’d let him practice..

“It’s cute, he always looks away when I catch him staring.” You tease, flicking your tongue out. “Never fucked brother’s before, bet it’d be fun.”

A gasp nearly gets sucked out of his throat, tightening his fist around the piles as a tremor runs up his spine. There’s no way you’re serious, right? Probably just messing with Jeno to piss him off. It works too, because he’s telling you to ‘shut the fuck up’ within the next second, probbing his dick past your lips until you’re forced to take it. 

You hardly even gag, making a quiet little sound as his cock disappears. Jisung can feel his thighs shaking before he realizes his hands are too, his bottom lip quivering. The way your lips stretch, the eye contact you manage to maintain despite his brother’s huge thick size struggling to fill your throat. It’s better than watching porn, you are better than watching porn. You’re the nasty perverse wet dream that’s made him wake up with sticky cum coated boxers come to life. 

He knows this is despicable, down right humiliating to watch you blow his older brother off and enjoy it, but between the cuts of vision he can pretend Jeno’s not there. Your lips are pulled back on his size, only he’d cup the back of your head and make you really gag, make your eyes well up with tears. He’d make sure to ruin your throat, have you raspy for days, making excuses for your scratchy voice. Nothing would please him more than knowing his cock punching your tonsils repeatedly had you sounding sick, clearing your throat and coughing. 

Instinctively his hand reaches for the prominent bulge tenting out from his groin. The tip of his cock wet enough to leak through his boxers making him grateful that he threw on sweats before leaving his room. Watching is one thing, but rubbing his cock to this would be too much, wouldn’t it? Does he even care at this point? 

The groans Jeno’s letting out are loud and throaty as usual, thick cock muffling your wet moans vibrating around his length. Jisung reaches inside of his underwear to stroke the precum pouring from his slit up and down his shaft. He curses under his breath, gripping the base tight as a moan rises up his chest.

With a wet pop you pull off, lips plump and debauched already, turning your gaze up as you take a firm hold on his length and expertly fist him. Jisung bites down on his tongue, pulling the small fabric tangled in his fingers up with his mouth to bite down on. A choked gasp breaks when he sees it, lacey red panties still stained along the seat with a creamy white film.

Fuck, these have to be yours. You’re the only girl that’s been around lately. They have to be the ones you had on today too. 

This couldn’t possibly get any nastier, not the typical scenario he imagines. Jeno’s never involved in those, it usually started in the hallway after you’ve showered. Dropping your towel with a sultry gaze locked on him, that’s how he knows this has to be real. You’re still dressed in one of his brother's shirts, and the panties he immediately shoves to his nose still smell ripe. Couldn’t have been stripped off your body longer than two hours ago. Between the wet sloppy sounds emitting from your throat and his hand stroking faster to match the pace, he takes deeper inhales. It’s stupid, envisioning a field covered in your used dirty underwear, falling from the sky even. 

“That’s it, get my balls too.” Jeno grunts, finally grabbing onto your head the way he would. He holds you in place and fucks against your pretty face, bursting tears out of your eyes that are working overtime to stay open. He’s full on fucking your face now, making Jisung’s hand sting from the burn of his slimey palm dragging against his throbbing cock again. He can’t cum like this, that would be mortifying. Especially because he never wants to forget this.

“Fuck, ah shit, swallow it.” Jeno demands, spilling down your throat and reaching down to pinch your nose. Make you choke and gag like a pro. He won’t cum from this, he’s seen this happen so many times, beat his cock to compilations, but it’s the lewd gargled moan you let out. It’s the way his brother rips his cock free from your lips and wads of spit soar out, painting your chin with the most disgusting vile mixture of thick nut and drool.

“Fuck!” Jisung shouts, wrapping your panties around his length as he tugs himself to completion.

“What the fuck?!” The closet doors flying open before he can even finish climaxing, furrowing his eyebrows and grabbing at another piece of clothing to cover his groin. “What the hell are you doing in here?!”

“Oh my God!” You squeak, scurrying to stand up and clean off your face. “You were in there the whole time!”

“Were you seriously fucking jerking off?!” Jeno shrieks, grabbing the younger by his arm to drag him out of the closet. “The hell is your problem pervert?!”

“N-no! I wasn’t!” Jisung panics, lifting his hands to defend himself.

“My panties!” You screech, bending over to snatch them away from his crotch, accidentally brushing his still sensitive twitching length.

“Ahh!” His hips chase your fleeting touch, face burning up as you scream again and drop your freshly soiled underwear.

“Oh my God, he came in them!”

“Ugh, told you he’s a fucking virgin that wouldn’t know what to do with you.” Jeno sneers annoyed, motioning at the younger. “Stand up man! You’re embarrassing me!”

“I’m not a virgin!” Jisung snaps, face on fire the longer he stays on his knees listening to this with two sets of judging eyes on him. 

“You came after only putting in the tip dude! That doesn’t count!” Jeno shouts, groaning and grabbing him to get up. “Why can’t you be normal!”

“You’re a virgin?” You interrupt, seeming intrigued, shyly lifting your thumb to your mouth to bite on.

“No!” He corrects, shoving at the older. 

“Don’t lie.” Jeno shoves him back. They go back and forth for a minute, Jisung frustratedly balling up his fists and standing straight.

“Fine! I’m like—half a virgin.” He says regretfully, lowering his gaze.

“He jerks off too much that’s why.” Jeno announces, spilling all his business. “Can’t hold his shit inside a real pussy, horny bastard.”

“Dude!”

“I’ve never been with a virgin.” You add, bouncing on your tiptoes. 

“He couldn’t handle you, I’ve already told you.” Jeno repeats, flicking your chin. “He doesn’t deserve a pity fuck from you anyway.”

Jisung wants to disagree, ready to grovel for a pity fuck if you’re really down for that. Keeping his gaze lowered, he tries to ignore the way his dick still reacts to the idea. He’d perform magic to erase that almost first time from his memory if it meant he’d have an actual chance to be inside of you.

“Wouldn’t be a pity fuck.” You mumble demurely, tucking your chin to your chest. “He’s cute.”

Jeno throws his hands up, breaking into a laugh. “He won’t last more than 3 minutes inside of you, you’re still tight even after I fuck you.”

Jisung swallows hard, gnawing at his bottom lip anxiously. “Bet I could..”

“Yeah!” You agree, smacking Jeno’s chest. “How much do you want to bet?”

Jeno laughs sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “Just say you wanna fuck him, we don’t need to bet shit.”

“Fine.” You respond, shrugging, trailing your gaze from Jeno to Jisung. He stares back wide-eyed in disbelief.. now this has to be a dream.

“Pittttttttty fuck.” Jeno sings, slapping your ass as he passes you on the way out. “Don’t forget who fucks you right just because you’re into this helpless loser shit my brother has going on.”

He shouts something about eating all of the pizza if the two of you take too long, leaving you to stand awkwardly shuffling across from Jisung. Clearing his throat, he nods and motions for you to exit the room. “Are you sure about this?”

“Are you not? I mean, you ruined my panties, I think you owe me one..” you say coyly, bumping into his side making red hues rise up the back of his neck. Jisung nods much too fast, leading you to his bedroom which is much different from Jeno’s. A lot more cluttered, dark, less of an inviting scent.

He scrambles to light a candle, spraying a bit of cologne when you step in and suck a long breath in through your nose. “Smells like..”

You trail off, dragging your fingers down his computer desk and eyeing the small trash can full of tissues underneath. “Fresh cum.”

Jisung pretends to laugh, shaking his head and waving his hands ‘no’, adding a few more sprays. “I guess it’s true, I mean you are always alone whenever I come over..”

Eyeing him suspiciously, you sit down on his bed, adjusting the shirt you borrowed from Jeno to cover your upper thighs. “But you like me, right?”

He wants to fall to his knees, grovel and perch his chin on your knee and beg you to stop making this even more humiliating for him. “Y-yes..”

“I know Sungie, you’re not good at hiding it..” you grin, leaning back and patting the space beside you. “Come here.”

Jisung listens, sitting down stiffly next to you. His nerves feel insane, burning through his veins, face on fire. He can’t even look at you, can’t even think about having to touch you.

“Look at me.”

You say that like it’s so easy, as if it’s simple enough to turn his face a centimeter to face you. He gulps, scratching at the cotton material stretched over his thighs, mentally pepping himself up to turn. “Ji, I said look at me.” 

And he has to now, with your fingers pinching his chin, sitting closer to him until your lips are only a breath away from his. The same mouth he just watched suck cock like a professional whore, lips still swollen from taking Jeno’s monstrous size. “You seem nervous.”

Shaking his head, he reaches for your throat, that’s usually how it goes in porn. Those girls always liked to be choked, get manhandled and fucked into the floor. Judging by the way you let Jeno treat you, he doubts you’re any different. His hand can practically wrap around your neck, surging a rush a thrill through his gut as he pushes you down on his bed and traps you with his fingers stretched around choking you. “Not nervous.” He grits, kicking your thighs open with his knees to mount you. 

“Are y-you sure—“ you struggle to ask, tugging on his wrist. 

“Shut the fuck up.” His brother had been stern with you before, you seemed to like it. Even now with wide surprised eyes he leans in and nips at your upper lip, hands beginning to tremble. “I should use a condom with an easy slut like you..” he whispers, pouty pink lips dragging against yours. “You let anyone fuck you.”

Confidence, he has to stay confident. Has to steer the control his way, make sure you know that he’s the one in charge here. His cocks thrumming incessantly, screaming to be set free, begging him to finally fuck something other than his poor useless hand. 

Gripping onto your jaw, he licks across your lips, digging his knee higher to prod your bare middle. Fuck, you’re soaking through the cotton material of his sweats. He knew it, you really are the most erotic dream, ripped straight from the most lust crazed filled thoughts. “You need to beg.”

His knee rubs against your core to emphasize his request, cupping your jaw and chin firmly to assault your mouth further. It’s all too good, stirring his aroused heat into a rapid inescapable fire. Every inch of his skin burns, desperate to remove his clothes and draw you into the depths of hell with him. He can’t stop licking between your lips, can’t stop nibbling on your juicy pout long enough to take anything off.

“Ji—s-slow down,” you whine, gripping his narrow hips to drag your cunt up his thigh. “You’re g-getting too worked u-up.”

He should listen, this is exactly what happened last time. Kissing felt too good to stop, dragging his free hand over your perky breasts shot off too many sparks of electricity throughout his system to slow down. The warmth spreading over his thigh just too damn good to do anything other than pull his length out quickly.

“C-can’t.” He mumbles breathily, wrapping around your neck again for leverage. Pushing your thigh open to direct the tip of his aching cock inside of you. He looks devastated, anguished by the pain visibly throbbing his size. He’s so hard, the tip of his length so red and ready to burst. Biting down on his lip he practically lets out a scream as his cockhead finally drags between your sticky wet folds. “A-ahh!”

“D-don’t!” You cough, slapping his hips. “D-don’t you d-dare cum!”

Fuck. Just listening to you angrily reprimand him makes his balls tighten up even more if possible. Tip not even penetrating your tight hole yet, he takes a few deep breaths, head hung between his shoulders watching his length dangle above your pussy. There’s no way he can let go this easily, too scared to even plunge an inch inside of you the more he psyches himself out and stares between your lower halves drunkenly. 

“‘Mm sorry, s-sorry.” He curses, jerking his hips lower until the fat cockhead gets sucked inside of your warm cunt. Chubbed velvety folds wrap around him as if to draw more in, twitching violently where he struggles to not move and keep control of this moment.

“N-no! You can’t, not y-yet!” You exclaim, reaching a hand up to ball up a chunk of his hair up and pull his head back. “Pull out! D-don’t you dare cum!” 

With all the force you can find, you push his hips hard enough to make him slip out, earning a loud guttural shout as he falls out to the side. Even the two inches he managed to get in leave your hole open, hungrily clenching to be fed again. “G-god.” Whining, you sit up and rip off Jeno’s shirt, stradling Jisung’s sturdy thighs.

“You seriously have to be beating off 10 times a day to be cumming from that.” You half-joke, pushing his shirt up to scratch your nails down his chest and slowly bring him back down. His cheeks light up in flames, ruddy bright even in the dark of his bedroom.

“S-sorry, I really wanted to.. make it good for you.” He says pathetically, sniffling and hiding his face in his shoulder.

“It’ll be good for me if you last longer than a minute baby.” You jeer lightly, scooting back to remove his sweats and get a real good look at the size of his long lean figure. Surprisingly fit for someone who hardly ever leaves his bedroom. “Forget all that shit you watch in porn for a second. Just focus on me, okay?”

It’s evident by the state of his trembling figure and sad wet eyes how badly he wants this. How badly he needs this. Slowly lowering your middle down on his hips, you gently position his girthy length between your wet folds, hands smoothing up his trim waist to his chest to hold on to. “S-slow, like this.”

The small amount of willpower you have helps you ease up and down his length to coat him in your wet slick. Jisung bares his teeth, reaching to circle your waist with his big hands, anything to feel your smooth skin. He has to shut his eyes for now, especially when he first looks up and sees your chest bouncing up and down almost like slow-motion.

This- this is better than porn. God, this is better than anything, the smell of desire clinging to the roof of his mouth, your sweaty bodies rubbing together. How the fuck is he not supposed to cum like this? How the fuck does he stop himself from the humiliation of premature ejaculation? He can go for hours falling down a hole of pornographic content, abusing his fleshlight until the batteries run dry. But this is too much, too good to squeeze the fleshy meat lining your hips, too fucking good to drag his hands back up and follow the shape leading up to your tight waist and heavy breasts.

“You’re doing so good.” You manage to say, losing yourself to the pleasure with each passing rub of your clit grinding against the lifted ridge of his cockhead. “Can you take more?”

Jisung nods rapidly, screaming for more, digging his fingers into your hips for more. He can’t, he really can’t, but he wants to so fucking bad. He wants to be inside of you already, wants to feel the tight clamp of your cunt gripping around him until he’s near death.

“Yes yes, p-please.” He has no idea how obscene he looks begging from your point of view above him, thick lips parting open dribbling saliva from the corners. He’s even prettier like this, helpless and powerless to your word.

“Stay put.” You say sternly, lifting your hips to wrap around the middle of his cock. “Let me move slow, okay?”

He can do nothing besides nod again, eyes blinking open needing to watch as you rub the tip against your hole and bite down to suppress a cry. He’s just as thick as Jeno, you think, maybe a little less, still long enough to leave your cervix bruised. “F-fuck you’re.. big.”

It’s the hardest test of strength to not slam his hips upward, to stay in place the way you told him to. His teeth clench as the last inch of his size disappears inside of you, the heat from your inner walls gripped around him makes his lower back arch, tears well up in his eyes.

You try to move slowly, try to circle your hips and stretch yourself open on his length. 

“F-fuck I’m—I can’t do it.” He cries, scratching your hips and upper thighs roughly. “Too wet, too warm.”

“You c-can baby,” linking your fingers through his, you move his hands to his chest and roll your hips faster. Keeping your hands held together as you build up speed and lift up and down a little faster until a burn scorches up your thighs. “You’re doing so good.”

“Ahh, p-please!” He begs, eyes and nose scrunching up the faster you ride his length. “N-need to!” 

“Do it,” encouraging him, you grab onto his neck firmly with both hands, forcing his face to look at you. “Fuck me.”

Jisung’s chest rises steadily, shoulders stiffening as his teeth grit and he reaches for your waist to toss you down on his bed. Without sliding out more than a few inches he thrusts erratically to chase after the release that’s been begging to be let out from the second he got an inch inside of you. Hard thrust rock your back up higher, still clawing at his neck and shoulders even as his weight drops down on you faster and faster. The entire floor feels like it’s shaking with each powerful collision of his hips clapping against the back of your thighs and ass.

“Y-yes yes!” You moan prettily, the same moans that have gotten him through 5 rounds of fisting his cock like no tomorrow. The same moans he wished would be for him finally singing from your lips for him, only him.

“My n-name,” he stutters, face red and sweaty, lips covered with spit. “P-please say m-my name.”

“Jisung,” you whine, that seductive sweet whine that can make him lose his mind. High-pitched and shattered, sending his hips into a furious pace the more you continue to repeat it. “Sungie, Jisung.. p-please don’t, d-don’t stop! Jisung!”

“Ahh f-fuckkk!” He can barely control his hips as he pulls out with the wettest pop, dripping wet cock slapping down on your stomach. It already hurts too much to even bother with stroking himself to finish, hips writhing forward leaving a slimy path of your own arousal lined up the middle of your stomach.

“Jisu—“ your palms swipes up from the base of his size, cock still fat and long even beneath your stretched fingers. It’s enough to empty his balls until they literally ache. Having to hunch forward and whimper through it. Forcing himself to tear his eyes away from the sight of your abdomen painted in the milky white cream jumping in rivulets out of his twitching dick.

“Holy shit..” you sigh out, catching your breath under the sticky weight of warm cum beginning to dry on your skin. “That’s— you came so much..”

“S-sorry..” he murmurs, moving to your side to lie down, head spinning too much as he blinks at the ceiling. “For all of that.”

“Why? It’s cute..” you say shyly, somehow pulling that soft shy tone out of some hidden bag of tricks you must have after all that. “Never a bad thing to like fucking that much..”

“Think I just like you that much.” He admits, eyes shifting to the side to gauge your reaction. He shouldn’t say that, given the reason you’re even here to begin with, but how can he not?

“I can tell,” you smirk, dragging two fingers through the mess painted on your stomach. “I’m sure we can figure something out.. I know how to work your brother if you haven’t noticed.”

Jisung hums, sitting up feeling strung out and exhausted. “I should clean you, right?”

“That’d be nice.” You nod, watching him get up to find a clean towel.

“How was it? I mean, like, how did I do?” He asks, sitting down and lightly dragging a small towel from your chest to your stomach.

A sneaky smile pulls at your lips, sighing and relaxing. “Not bad for a gooner.”

Jisung blows out a breath nervously, scratching his cheek and shrugging. “I don’t know you’re talking about.”

Sitting up, you reach for his right hand, lifting it up to your face to trace over all the rough calluses lined up and down his palm. “By the time I’m through with you, you’ll forget how your hand even felt.”

“What?”

“Jeno’s not my only fuck buddy.” You wink, shoving his hand away. “Let’s get dressed before he eats through everything.”

Jisung helps you get up, not wanting to further question what you mean by that. Instead he finds a clean shirt to hand you, confirming that he’s right, you do look better in his clothes.

“You’re not getting this shirt back by the way.” You say, pinching his cheek exactly the same way you had weeks ago. “Cutie.”

Dabbing at his blushing cheeks he watches you head out before following after you. Needing to calm himself for a minute. 

You can keep it.

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

#jisung smut #park jisung smut #nct smut #nct dream smut #neopuppy fics #jisung fanfic #park jisung fanfic #nct fanfic #nct dream fanfic #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #jisung x you #nct dream x you

[heartateasee]

“Lucky’s”

bar regular!harry x you

Word Count: 8.4k

Warnings: mentions of cheating, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, protected sex, sex in the back of a car (sex in public), slight size kink

Plot: After a terrible breakup with your now ex-boyfriend, you’d taken up the position of a bar regular at Lucky’s. You’ve become acquainted with another one of the regulars there, Harry, and the two of you hit it off quite nicely. One night when you have an unexpected run in with your ex at your new favorite bar, Harry steps in, and it changes everything.

(Per usual, big thanks to my bestie @finelinenina for sharing some of her inspiration for this one with me and giving me the title. 🤭)

🍻•🍻•🍻

Your chest heaved as you raced down the sidewalk, tossing your keys into your purse with one hand while looking down at your phone that was in the other.

You felt your shoulder collide with someone, and your body jolted, but you were quick to turn around and apologize. “Sorry! I’m so sorry!”

The clock read fifteen minutes past six, and you were supposed to be meeting up with Harry at Lucky’s at six. It was Friday, and unfortunately you got caught up at work. Of course you had a client who showed up five minutes before closing who wanted to pick up their large materials order, and that set you behind almost thirty minutes. 

Lucky’s had become your go to spot after you were forced to find your own apartment due to the awful break-up you had with your ex. He had cheated on you. Admitted to a whole affair right behind your back, and the best part?

He cheated with your best friend.

You frequented Lucky’s almost every day for two weeks before you finally met Harry, but you knew the bartenders knew him as soon as he walked in. Your eyes wandered over the stranger as he leaned his inked forearms against the bar, adorned in a pair of light blue ripped jeans and a vintage white Beastie Boys tee - white and light blue checkerboard Vans on his feet.

The new people you had become accustomed to behind the bar asked him how his trip was, and you couldn’t help but to eavesdrop. He had just finished up a trip to Japan, apparently having been gone for a month, and you watched as he handed souvenirs over to the bartenders.

That night, Harry had parked himself down on a stool a couple down from your own as you drank your third Casamigos Añejo - neat. You stared at the caramel colored liquor in your glass, and you weren’t sure how long you had zoned out before you heard him clearing this throat next to you.

“Haven’t seen you before. Are you new to the area?” He had asked as he took a sip from his own glass.

“Not new to the city, but new to this particular area, yes,” you answered, chugging down the rest of your drink.

It was silent between the two of you before you noticed he moved to sit with only one stool between the two of you now. “I’m Harry.”

You stared at his outstretched hand for a moment before meeting his eyes. It was then you really took him in for the first time. His heart-shaped lips with a mustache shaping over the top one, a defined jawline and cheekbones as well as kind, evergreen eyes.

“Y/N,” you responded as you placed your hand in his own, giving it a shake.

From there he ordered you another drink, and although you didn’t open up to him completely about your previous relationship that night, you opened up enough for him to know the toll it had taken on you without you really even saying it. 

That’s not to say that he didn’t know the full situation now.

Ever since that night, you and Harry had only grown closer, however, the friendship was confined between the walls of Lucky’s only. You didn’t have each other's numbers, and you hadn’t seen each other outside of the bar. This had been going on for the past four months or so, but you were never really sure if you and Harry were teetering on the verge of something more.

He had become a really great friend of yours. He was someone you could easily confide in, especially on the hard days when the downfall of your relationship managed to bleed into the forefront of your mind. 

It had become your thing to meet up at six o’clock on Fridays for food and drinks to celebrate the weekend, so the fact you were running late had you panicking. These were times you did wish that you had his number.

Other nights you were glad you didn’t because sometimes you liked to get drunk at home alone, and you knew you would end up calling him to come over.

So maybe you had a little crush on your new found bar friend, Harry, but you couldn’t help it. He was kind, and nurturing, and you knew that wasn’t an act from the first time you met him. That was just who he was. 

And, of course, you noticed his attractiveness. It was almost annoying sometimes just how captivating Harry was. He was so charming without even trying. Everyone loved him.

As soon as you saw the bright lights of the Lucky’s sign that branched off the side of the building, you couldn’t help but to pick up your pace a little more. You stepped inside, and you were immediately scouring the bar for Harry.

A sigh of relief left you as you noticed him on a stool with his pink beanie tight around his head. He was wearing those same jeans as when you first saw him, but tonight he had on a vintage black Pink Floyd tee - his signature checkerboard Vans adorning his feet.

You forced your way through the groups of people gathering behind the bar to order drinks, and you huffed as you ended up colliding directly into Harry’s back as you tripped over someone’s foot.

Harry quickly looked over his shoulder, and you sent him a soft smile. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he said, eyes running over you, and you realized this was the first time he had ever seen you in your work clothes. “Thought you weren’t going to show for a second.”

You were dressed in a pair of cropped black trousers with a light pink flowy sleeveless top - a black blazer over it. You were pretty sure this was the first time Harry had ever seen you in heels as well as your black pumps were on your feet.

“I’m sorry,” you shook your head as you pulled down the stool he had propped up against the bar top for you - signaling to everyone else that it had been taken. “I got stuck at work longer than expected.”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to apologize. Food should be coming out any minute though, they’re a little busy this evening.”

Your brows narrowed as you draped the strap of your purse on the hook underneath the bar top, sitting down in the process. “You already ordered for us?”

“Yeah, I hope that’s okay. Got you a drink too,” he said, sliding a glass over to you that was filled with your usual caramel colored liquor. “I know you’re always really hungry once you get here, so I wanted to have it ready.”

You felt your heart flutter at the sentiment, and you reached out to give his hand a squeeze. “Thank you, H.”

The corner of his lips turned up into that little smirk that you loved so much - just barely causing the dimple in his cheek to divot. He raised his glass, just barely tilting it towards you as he held your eyes. “Cheers to Friday.”

“Cheers to Friday,” you mimicked after picking up your own drink and tapping it against his.

You each took sips from your glass before setting them back down on the marbled surface, and a hum escaped you as the liquid slightly burned your throat.

“So,” you leaned over to tap your shoulder against his before sitting up straight - crossing one leg over the other. “How was your day?”

“Really great actually,” Harry nodded as he licked over his bottom lip to clean up the excess liquid that lingered on it. “Sold two pieces.”

Over your time together, Harry revealed that he was a sculptor. You had the pleasure of him showing you his works in progress on his phone every now and then. His work was beautiful - completely exquisite.

“Oh my god, Harry!” You gasped. “That’s wonderful. Congratulations.”

Blush tinted his cheeks, and he quickly looked down at his drink. “Thanks.”

“Hey,” you tilted your head to the side. “Be proud of your successes. You deserve them.”

Harry’s eyes flickered back over to yours, and you watched as they danced over your face before you were interrupted by one of the bartenders, Collin, bringing over your food.

You could see that Harry had gotten you the loaded fries that you loved so much, and he had gotten himself his usual veggie burger with cheese tots on the side.

“Thanks, Collin,” Harry said as he passed you one of the sets of silverware that had been placed down on the bar for you both.

“God, you do know me so well because I’m starving,” you groaned while unraveling the silverware - placing the napkin over your lap. 

Stabbing your fork into the cheese fries that were smothered with ranch, sour cream, black olives and pickled jalapenos, you shoved a hefty bite into your mouth. You smeared both the cheese sauce and sour cream along the corners of your lips, and underneath your chin, but you didn’t care.

Little did you know, that was one of the things Harry admired most about you. He loved that you ate with such vigor because you adored food so much. It was cute to see you with different types of food smeared across your face every Friday. 

As much as you were crushing on Harry, he was very much crushing on you. 

It had been so long that Harry couldn’t remember the last time someone had enraptured him as much as you did. Once you finally let him in, he just wanted to know more and more about you. 

He absolutely hated the way you were treated in your last relationship, and he was sure that if he ever saw your ex in public, he would have to be held back to keep himself from decking the bastard right in the face.

You were without a doubt one of the sweetest people he had ever met, and he couldn’t understand how someone had betrayed you in such a way. He wanted nothing more than to show you how much you deserved to be cherished, but he wasn’t sure if you wanted the same.

“Good?” Harry finally spoke up as you shoveled another bite in your mouth.

You lifted a hand to hover over your lips as you hummed - nodding in response.

A smile that stretched from ear to ear grew on his lips as he reached out to wipe the pad of his thumb over your skin to collect the mess you had made. You watched as he brought that same thumb up to his mouth - sucking it between his lips to clean it off.

“I’m glad,” he winked before turning his attention to his burger.

That familiar feeling that sometimes presented itself when you were around him pulsed in your lower abdomen, and you had to force yourself to look away from him before he caught you staring for too long. 

You both worked your way through your food, Harry having the very few fries you left abandoned after getting too full, and now you were turned to face each other on your stools to indulge in conversation. You had just ordered shots for the both of you to celebrate Harry’s success.

“So tell me, which two pieces sold?” You asked lifting your shot glass in the air towards him, and he clinked his against yours before you both downed them.

It was silver tequila, and the both of you were so trained at this point, neither of you flinched.

“The mermaid one, and the sunflower.”

“Both so beautiful,” you shook your head as you remembered Harry showing you pictures of them on his phone. “I’m surprised no one has bought that mirror that you sculpted around. It’s so stunning.”

Harry had bought a large mirror about a month into the two of you knowing each other, and he had framed it with intricate vines and flowers. It was the first piece you actually got to see progress.

“Yeah,” Harry cleared his throat before he shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe I made a wrong move by trying to indulge in something different like that. It was super out of my wheelhouse.”

“No, no,” you shook your head, and reached out to place your hand on his knee. “That piece is breathtaking. The right buyer will come along. I just know it.”

You rubbed your thumb lightly against his leg as you kept a soft smile on your lips, and Harry swallowed harshly.

The truth was, he had placed a ‘NOT FOR SALE’ tag on the mirror - having it just be for display in his studio. He was trying to work up the nerve to give it to you after how excited you got about it while he was working on it. Your excitement spoke to him a lot through the process, and most of the flower work was inspired by the way you made him feel.

“You’re right,” he nodded. “It’ll end up in the right hands, I’m sure of it.”

“Exactly!”

It was silent for a minute before he looked over to you. “Can I confess something?”

You nodded, eyebrows narrowing with concerns. “Of course.”

“I’ve kind of been saving that mirror for you…if you want it.”

You couldn’t help but to stare at him in shock before finding it inside yourself to answer him.

“Harry, I couldn’t possibly-”

“No, I saw how excited you got over it, and to be honest, you inspired a lot of it. I’ve always pictured it to be yours, but if it’s too much, I understand.”

Thinking it over for a moment, you pursed your lips to the side before nodding. “Well, it is very beautiful, and I do adore it, so if you’re offering - I’d love to have it. It’ll just take me a bit to find the right place for it if you don’t mind holding onto it for a little while longer.”

“I’ll hang onto it for however long you need me to,” Harry smiled, and you returned it.

“Okay.”

You both continued to converse for a while before Harry stood up from his seat. 

“I’ve got to use the restroom, I’ll be right back,” he said, rubbing his hand over your back as he propped his stool up against the bar and moved behind you.

“Alright, I’ll be here,” you told him.

You kept your eyes on him as he made his way down the hallway that led to the bathrooms before looking down at your drink. You were feeling extra drawn to him today, and you knew it was because not only had he taken the initiative to order all your favorites before you had even arrived at the bar, but he also revealed that piece you loved so much was just for you.

Not to mention the little move with his thumb to clean up the mess you were making while eating.

Sighing, you looked back up and started to lift your glass to your lips before you caught sight of a couple entering through the door out of your peripheral.

“No,” you whispered to yourself as you turned completely and see who it was.

Your ex-boyfriend, Max, with his arm tight around the waist of your ex-best friend, Flora.

Immediately you stood up, and you felt your hands begin to shake as you reached for your purse on the hook.

“Y/N?” You heard Max’s familiar voice say your name, and you closed your eyes - dropping your chin to your chest.

Deciding there truly was no way out now, you turned around to face the two of them while forcing a tight smile onto your lips. “Max…Flora, hi.”

You watched as Max’s eyes looked you over, as if he was trying to measure how miserable you were without him, and you hoped that it was evident that you were doing much better for yourself now.

When the two of them didn’t speak, you continued.

“I haven’t seen either of you here before,” you said, resisting the urge to drop your hands behind your back to fiddle nervously with your fingers. You wanted to appear confident, and unafraid of this situation.

“Heard about it from a friend,” Max stated, and you could see the way his hand squeezed Flora’s hip out of the corner of your eye. “We decided we’d give it a shot for weekly date night.”

Weekly date night.

That was something you had begged for during the last few months of your relationship with Max, but you were denied. He was “too busy” with work to commit to one day a week for that. It seems like the case was he was just too busy for you.

“Oh, how sweet,” you replied, but this time, you let the sarcasm drip off your tongue as you did so. Noticing that Flora hadn’t uttered a single word, you turned your attention to her. “You look well, Flora.”

It was then that Harry had begun to make his way back from the bathroom, and he stopped when he saw that you were now standing - the backs of the couple in front of you facing him. He walked forward a little more to hear the conversation just as Flora began to speak.

“Thank you,” Flora said, looking up at you before looking back to Max. “Max, honey, we should really find some place to sit.”

As soon as Harry heard the name ‘Max’, he now knew who was standing in front of him, and he wasn’t going to let this slide. It was obvious they had approached you, and that made him furious.

He quickly closed the gap between himself and the three of you, looking over to Max and Flora. “Excuse me, my stool’s right there.”

Harry pointed to the barstool he had been occupying, and Flora and Max took a step back to let him through. Once he was back beside you, he turned to face you completely - resting his hands on your hips.

“Sorry I took so long, baby. There was a line,” he told you before leaning down to rest his cheek against yours - whispering into your ear that the couple in front of you couldn’t see. “I’m going to kiss you now. If you don’t want me to, push me away.”

Your lips parted in surprise at his words, and your eyes watched his every move as he lifted his head. He kept one hand on your hip, and he brought the other up to cup your cheek while pressing the pad of his thumb against your jawline - tilting your head back slightly.

The next thing you knew, Harry’s lips were on yours as you felt the side of his thumb stroking against your cheek. You allowed your lips to ebb and flow for a few seconds as tingles began to form along different parts of your body.

His lips were so soft, and they were moving with a purpose. He was an excellent kisser, which you didn’t expect anything less when it came to Harry. It was obvious he was wonderful at anything he put effort into.

It was only a moment or two later that your lips separated, and your eyes fluttered open to look up at Harry. His cheeks were a bit flushed as he moved his hand up just a bit to allow his fingers to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Who’s this?” Max’s grating voice broke the bubble you found yourself in - having completely forgotten that others were around you.

Looking over to your ex, your mouth opened and closed a few times before Harry spoke up again.

“I’m Harry, Y/N’s boyfriend,” he said, dropping his hand from your face to hold it out to Max. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ve caught your name either.”

“I’m Max.”

You felt your nerves swirling in your stomach as Max shook Harry’s hand, and you watched as Harry smirked at him.

“Oh, so you’re the one who completely disrespected her, and didn’t know how to treat her right?” He laughed, shaking his head as he quickly pulled his hand away - as if he didn’t know it was Max all along.

Flora’s eyes widened as Harry’s words, and she turned completely into Max’s side now. “Honey, we should really go.”

“And you,” Harry continued, looking over to Flora now. “I’d like to know how you gave up an almost fifteen year friendship for a guy who doesn’t even know how to use his dick properly.”

You choked on a gasp, and Harry was quick to turn his attention on you. “You alright, baby?”

He quickly grabbed your drink, handing it to you so that you could take a sip of it.

Harry was clearly just speaking to try to get under Max and Flora’s skin as you had never discussed how your sexual relationship with Max was, but Harry actually wasn’t wrong. Max definitely didn’t perform as well as boyfriends you’ve had in the past, but the emotional connection you once shared made up for that.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Max sneered, stepping forward to grab Harry’s shoulder, turning him to face him.

“Max,” you quickly pushed your hand against his collarbone, and squeezed yourself between the two men - your back against Harry’s chest. Max glared down at you, and now, you felt a bit brave as your smirk mirrored Harry’s from earlier. “I believe he told you he was my boyfriend, so I’m not sure why you’re asking that question again.”

Harry’s arms soon wrapped around your waist, and you felt him nuzzle his face into the side of your neck. You were fully playing into it now, resting your hands against his forearms as you giggled.

“Come on, Flora,” you heard Max huff before he was dragging her behind him - her barely being able to keep us as they exited Lucky’s.

Once they were out of sight, you turned around in Harry’s arms once he loosened them, and eventually he dropped them back down by his sides.

“Thank you,” you told him, biting down on your bottom lip. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Oh, but I did,” Harry nodded as the two of you sat back down. “Came back from the bathroom, and I could tell they had clearly approached you. It pissed me off.”

“Yeah, well, I could tell she was extremely uncomfortable,” you sighed as you grabbed the rest of your drink and downed it. “Fuck, my hands are still shaking.”

You held them out in front of you, and they were in fact still trembling.

“Here,” Harry’s voice was soft as he reached forward and grabbed them, running his thumbs along your knuckles. “Sorry if that kiss was a little much.”

“It wasn’t,” you shook your head. “It wasn’t at all.”

Your eyes held each other’s before you cleared your throat and tilted your head towards the liquor bottles behind the bar.

“I think all that calls for another shot, don’t you?”

🍻•🍻•🍻

It was the next Friday at Lucky’s, and you were currently seated in your usual position next to Harry at the bar. You reached over to snag a cheese tot from his plate - popping it into your mouth after dipping it into his side of ranch.

Neither of you had addressed what happened last week, but it didn’t feel awkward at all between the two of you. That’s definitely not to say that it hadn’t been consuming both of your minds though.

“So,” you started before taking a sip of your drink. “Have you started on anything new this week?”

Harry pursed his lips to the side as he reached over, mimicking your actions by stealing one of your nachos. “Maybe.”

“Hey!” You exclaimed, giving his shoulder a playful shove. “Don’t tell me you’re going to start hiding projects from me now. What did I do to deserve that?”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at how offended you were. “I’m just teasing you. I did start on another piece.”

“And?”

Harry rolled his eyes, but truly he loved how much you were into his work. “It’s another big one. It’ll probably take me a month or so to finish. It was a commissioned piece. It’s the torso of a woman, and the buyer wants it to look crumbled on the top and the bottom - as if it broke off a whole statue.”

You raised your eyebrows at that as you chewed on the nacho you had put in your mouth. Once you swallowed, you licked over your bottom lip before speaking. “Yeah? Have any pics to show me?”

You watched as Harry pulled his phone out of his front pocket, and he swiped the screen a couple of times before turning it to face you. What he was showing you was actually a video, and you could tell Harry had set his phone up on a tripod to record it. You watched as his hands sculpted over the base he had set up, and you found yourself in a trance as you took in the way his palms and fingers shaped the clay.

Those hands were another thing you had noticed about him over time. The veins that stretched across the top of them, as well as his long fingers. Sometimes he wore rings, and sometimes he’d have his nails painted, but you noticed those instances only happened during times where he wasn’t actively working on his projects.

“Oh my,” you breathed once the video ended, looking back at Harry. “It’s so gorgeous already. I can’t believe how talented you are.”

Harry blushed at your comment as he stuck his phone back in pocket. “Thanks, Y/N.”

Just like every other Friday, you worked your way through your food, and turned to face each other a bit more while indulging in another round of drinks.

“There’s something I wanted to tell you about last week,” Harry started, clearing his throat before continuing. “I uhm…I wanted to let you know that I really enjoyed kissing you.”

You felt your heart rate quicken at Harry’s confession, and you could see in his eyes that it took a lot for him to admit. After a few moments, his usual coy smirk presented itself, and he shrugged. “So if you ever needed me for it again, I’d be available.”

Now he was being playful, and to ease your nerves, you knew you needed to do the same thing to cope.

“Oh yeah?” You asked, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. “I’ll make sure to keep your offer in mind.”

“Only if you wanted to, of course, you know. No pressure whatsoever.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t feel pressured,” you shook your head. “I do have some questions about the ground rules though. Am I only allowed to take you up on that if my ex is around or…”

“That depends. Would you like the offer to stand when your ex isn’t around?”

You held Harry’s evergreen eyes as you contemplated his question, and before your mind could catch up with your body, you were now leaning towards Harry with one of your hands wrapped around the back of his neck. Lifting yourself up from your stool just a bit, you used the leverage of his neck to pull his lips down against yours.

After a moment, Harry hummed against your lips, and you felt his hands envelop your hips. His thumbs massaged into your lower stomach as his tongue prodded at the seam of your lips - asking for permission.

You didn’t have to think twice about granting it to him, immediately parting your lips to lick into his mouth first. Tonight Harry had forwent a beanie, his curls a bit unruly, but you liked them that way. You brought your other hand up to tangle into his hair before tugging it - emitting a groan from him.

Remembering that you were very much in public, you allowed yourselves to indulge for a few more minutes before you pulled away. Both of your lashes fluttered as you opened your eyes to look at one another.

“Does that answer your question?” You asked, noticing the shimmer happening in his irises.

“Hm, I don’t know,” Harry teased as he tapped the tip of his nose against yours. “Might have to take you back to mine, and give that another go to really figure it out.”

“Is that right?” You ghosted your lips over his once more. “Well if that’s the case, then what are we waiting for?”

You had never seen Harry move so fast since you’ve known him. He quickly stood from his bar stool as you grabbed your purse - slinging it over your shoulder. Harry threw down a fifty onto the bar to cover your food and drinks, and also leaving a hefty tip, before he took your hand in his.

He laced your fingers together as he carefully led you out of Lucky’s and onto the street. The breeze blew your hair around your face a bit as you stared up at him underneath the moon and the stars, feeling a bit breathless as you pretty much knew where this encounter was headed.

“You’re sure you're okay with going back to mine?” Harry asked as he gave your hand a squeeze. “If not, that’s okay.”

“Harry,” you stepped a bit closer to him, contemplating what you were about to admit for a moment before biting the bullet. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me to come to yours for a while now.”

Harry’s eyes slipped shut, and he leaned down to rest his forehead against yours. “Fuck,” he whispered. “I’ve been crushing on you since a couple of weeks into us knowing each other. Never met anyone like you, Y/N.”

“It sucked in the moment, but if I didn’t go through all that break-up bullshit, we would’ve never met. I wasn’t a firm believer in ‘everything happens for a reason’ until you.”

“Keep talking like that, and we might not make it back to my place. I might just have to deal with you in the car.”

The lowering of his tone, and his words, sent a pulse straight to your clit. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

Harry shook his head. “No, I’m not having my way with you for the first time in my car. You deserve so much more than that.”

This whole thing was giving you whiplash, but in the best way. He had you both horny and emotional all at once, and that was something you had never experienced before.

Since you couldn’t find the words to respond, you were glad that Harry started to lead the both of you down the street towards the parking garage that was just a block away.

“I’ll bring you back for your car tomorrow,” he told you as he entered through the door of the garage, and he started directing you towards his car.

“You just automatically think I’m staying the night?” You were still being playful with him, but once he got to his vehicle, he quickly turned and pressed you against the passenger side of it.

Leaning down, Harry started to press kisses against the side of your neck, and you could feel his mustache grazing against your skin. You pushed your thighs together as you thought of just what that could feel like in other places.

“Not if you don’t want to, no,” Harry spoke against the spot underneath your ear. “But I really hope you will.”

You couldn’t help but moan as he began to suck on that same spot, and your hands reached out to grip his ribs through his shirt. “I think-” you cut yourself off with a gasp as your felt Harry’s teeth tugging at your earlobe. “I think that could be arranged.”

Harry lifted his head, and he quickly pressed a kiss to your lips before pulling the both of you off his car so he could open the passenger door.

“Harry, I know you said you didn’t want the first time to be in a car, but I don’t think I can wait,” you looked up at him with hunger in my eyes. “Can we get in the backseat? You can make the second time more special back at your place.”

A groan rattled in Harry’s throat as he hardened even more in his jeans, and he was quick to open the back door instead - gesturing his hand inside.

“After you,” he smirked, and you crawled in, going to the far side of the car until he was inside as well.

Once the door was shut, you didn’t waste any time in straddling his waist while taking his face back in your hands. You reconnected your partially swollen lips in a sloppy kiss as Harry’s large hands came down to knead the rounds of your ass through your own jeans.

“Take these off,” Harry mumbled against your mouth as he tugged on your belt loops. “I wanna taste you first.”

Harry’s hands ventured back to your hips, and he had you down on the bench seat on your back in the blink of an eye. You stared at him with wide eyes, but you came back down to the present moment when you felt his hands on the waistband of your jeans after he slipped your shoes off.

“Can I?” He asked, and you nodded adamantly as he unbuttoned and unzipped them - pulling them down your legs with ease before tossing them to the side. “God, you’re so gorgeous.”

His palms traveled up the tops of your thighs before his slender fingers wrapped around the waistband of your underwear. The feeling of his knuckles brushing against your lower stomach caused you to whimper, and he couldn’t help but smirk at you.

“Glad to know you’re just as eager as I am,” Harry chuckled as he leaned down to press a kiss right below your belly button as he removed your underwear from your body. 

From there, he knelt down on the floorboard of his car on the passenger side as that seat was more forward than the driver’s side, and he moved you around to have you sitting up - your legs soon thrown over his shoulders.

“My mouth is watering just looking at you,” Harry shook his head, fingertips now teasing along the outside of your calves. “Can’t believe you’re already this wet for me.”

“Always am,” you admitted, the words slipping out before you could process, and you watched as Harry’s pupils dilated. “I can’t help it. I’ve found you so sexy for so long.”

“Oh yeah? What else have you come to find, hm?” Harry hummed as he placed a kiss against the inside of your thigh.

The feeling of his lip against your tender skin caused goosebumps to rise, and you tried your best not to squirm underneath his touch and his gaze.

“That I like the way you treat me,” you responded breathlessly as he placed another kiss a little higher up - edging closer and closer to where you needed him most. “You make me feel seen - feel important. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that before, at least not in the way I do with you.”

“You deserve to feel seen and important because you are important. Such a sweet girl you are, Y/N,” Harry praised you as he dropped his head down to where he was hovering right over your slick core, but his eyes still held yours. “I’d like to show you just how sweet I think you are.”

“Please,” you pleaded, feeling yourself dripping even more just from having him so close. You decided to be a little more brave, and feed into the dirty talk and the teasing. “I’ve also found that I think about how your mustache would feel against me while eating me out a little too often.”

“Thought about me going down on you? A sweet, but dirty girl you’re proving to be.”

Before you could make another remark, you felt Harry’s mouth against your folds as he slid his tongue right through your drenched slit. “Oh,” you moaned, reaching down to thread your fingers through his hair. “Oh my…fuck.”

His mustache was brushing against your clit in the most delicious way, and you weren’t even sure how it could get better than this. The feeling of his mouth finally on you was spreading across your whole body as your toes curled - heels digging into his back.

Your eyes slipped shut while you arched your back, savoring the feeling of Harry practically making out with your cunt. He was strategic with his movements, which was something you had never had when it came to guys giving you head. 

When you felt his perfect lips close in on your swollen pearl and beginning to suck, your hips stuttered up against his face - emitting a moan from him. It was then you felt the tips of his middle and ring finger against your entrance. You opened your eyes to look down at Harry, and he raised his eyebrows, as if asking permission, and you nodded in response.

The strangled moan that left you echoed in the car as you felt his two magical digits filling you, and the tips of his fingers immediately started stroking against your front wall. You could already feel yourself clenching down around his fingers - thighs beginning to tremble against the sides of his head

You dropped your head back onto the headrest, eyes closing once again as your chest began to heave. It had been months since you’ve been touched, Max having been the last one to do so, and that didn’t even begin to compare to the way Harry was making you feel.

“Y/N,” Harry pulled off your clit, and you blinked your eyes open to look back down at him. “You still with me, baby?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, moving your fingers down a little further on his head to brush back the curls that were hanging down onto his forehead. You let out a mewl of pleasure as his fingers hit right against your spot - hips bucking up against him. “It’s so good, Harry. You’re gonna make me come.”

The way Harry’s lips twitched up to one side had the warmth in your abdomen growing even more just at the look of him. “That’s my goal. I need you to come on my tongue.”

When Harry lowered his mouth back down, he sucked on your clit with more vigor, and you cried out as your stomach began to jump. “You think you can take another finger?” He mumbled against you.

“Uh-huh,” you were delirious, feeling sweat forming along your hairline.

As you felt his index finger enter you, you shot up off the seat - sitting up completely now as your other hand latched to the back of Harry’s head to keep his lips against you with your other hand still tangled into the curls on the top of his scalp.

“Oh my god,” you whined, your whole legs beginning to shake. “I’m…I’m coming, Harry.”

Harry continued to suck aggressively on your swollen bud until he felt your walls swallowing his digits completely, and he moved his mouth down to drink up your orgasm as it dripped down them. He moaned at the taste of you - drinking you up as if he couldn’t get enough.

Once he rode you through your climax, he pulled his fingers from you slowly before licking into you once more. You shuddered in sensitivity, but you realized you enjoyed the bit of overstimulation. He didn’t linger too long, pulling back to clean off his fingers with his mouth as well.

“Sorry,” he leaned in to press his lips against yours after you collapsed against the seat again. “Didn’t want to waste anything. You taste so fucking good, Y/N.”

You lazily wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him up onto his knees more - having his chest press right against yours as you smeared your lips on his. “I want your cock now, please.”

“Yeah?” Harry grinned against your mouth. “How do you want it?”

“Can I ride you? Max never let me be on top.”

Harry pulled back instantly at your words, eyebrows narrowing as he looked down at you. “Never?”

You shook your head. “No,” you swallowed harshly, not really understanding that it was such a big deal. “He was always on top or…or behind.”

“Every new bit of information I find out about this guy really makes me regret not punching him last week.”

Tilting your head back, you giggled at Harry’s statement, and that caused his heart to flutter. “What? You think I’m joking?”

You shook your head in response. “Not at all. It’s just a little funny picturing you being violent,” you started to play with the curls that just barely reached the back of his neck. “It’s kind of hot to think about though.”

“Call him,” he teased, as he kissed the corner of your lips. “I’ll give him a proper decking to get you even more hot and bothered than you already are.”

This caused a louder laugh to escape you now, and you tugged at Harry’s torso. “Come on, I wanna get in your lap.”

“Alright, alright. Scoot over for a second, baby.”

You moved over into the other seat so Harry could get up properly and occupy the space you had just been sitting in. Your eyes were trained on his hands as he made quick work of his jeans and briefs - tugging them down right to the tops of his knees. Once his prick bobbed up after being released, your mouth went dry as you watched him give himself a couple of strokes.

He was already so hard and leaking precome, and he had no hesitation in admitting it was because of you. “See what you do to me?” He huffed, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth for a minute before continuing. “Got me so hard just by looking at you - tasting you. I’m so into you, Y/N, you have no idea.”

Not being able to take it any longer, you straddled Harry’s waist much like you did when you first entered the car, but this time you moved his hand away to grind your achy cunt against his length.

“Makes two of us I guess,” you rested your forehead against his. “Because I’m so crazy about you.”

You connected your top lip with Harry’s as you both continued just to grind against each other, slicking up his cock with your arousal.

“If you can reach behind you into my back pocket, I have a condom in my wallet,” Harry lazily licked into your open mouth - stirring something even more feral inside of you.

Keeping one hand on his shoulder, you leaned back, but didn’t stop any of your movements as you reached into his pocket as instructed. You located his wallet, quickly pulling out the condom before sitting up straight again.

Bringing the foil packet to your mouth, you tore the packet open with your teeth. “You want me to do it, or do you want to?”

“You, please,” Harry looked down as he watched your hand take hold of him, and his jaw dropped with a moan as you gave him a squeeze.

You made sure you rolled the condom onto him securely before bracing yourself properly onto his shoulders again, and he reached down to grip one of your hips - the other hand around his length.

“Sit up a little bit for me,” you obeyed, and lifted yourself up onto your knees slightly before you felt his tip prodding at your entrance. “Alright, I’m gonna guide you down.”

Harry used the leverage on your hip to begin sinking you down onto his cock, and you both gasped at the feeling of him finally entering you.

“Big,” you whimpered as your walls stretched around him, and Harry pulled you about halfway down before lifting you up again - wanting you to be eased into it. “I like it.”

Harry’s eyes were honing in on the image of him beginning to disappear inside of you again as he started to bring you back down. “I like your sweet little cunt too. Feels so good - can already feel you pulsing around me.”

“Can’t help it,” you sighed, as he continued his motion of pulling you up again once he brought you just a little further down than the first time. “I want it. I want all of it.”

“Here I was trying to get you used to it, but you just want to take it all right away, don’t you?”

You nodded as you rested your forehead against his temple. “Been waiting so long. I don’t want to wait any longer.”

“Well, if that’s the case…”

Harry then brought you all the way down, filling you to the brim which caused you to throw your head back, hands gripping to his shoulders as you felt the burn, but you loved it.

“Yes,” you gasped. “That’s it. Shit, Harry.”

“Hold on a second,” Harry dropped his face into your chest. “I’m trying not to come.”

You couldn’t help but giggle - knowing you had such an effect on him. “Take your time, babe. I’m not going anywhere. Trust me.”

Caressing your palms over his shoulders and his upper back, you allowed Harry to gather himself as you continued to adjust to his size, and eventually he lifted his head back up. “Alright, we’re good.”

You sent each other lustful smiles as you hooked your fingers together against the back of his neck, and you began to roll your hips against his.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N,” Harry groaned as he moved his hands up to tug your tank top down, and he was more than grateful when he saw a flexible lace bralette underneath. “Can I see these perky tits? Another thing I’ve been dreaming of having my mouth on.”

“Mhmm,” you hummed. “I like having them played with it.”

“Noted.”

Harry pulled the cups of your bralette down to expose both of your breasts, and he wasted no time in cupping underneath each of them. He kneaded the plush flesh in his palms before leaning down - kitten licking at one of your nipples.

“So pretty,” Harry whispered as he moved his actions onto the other nipple. “Every fucking bit of you.”

Your head was swimming with the praise Harry had been giving you all night. You were almost positive no man had complimented you so much within a small period of time, but you loved it. It made you feel confident, and that caused you to start grinding your hips even harder.

“I wanna see,” you brought a hand down to tug at the collar of his shirt. “Wanna see what you’re hiding.”

Harry obeyed you blindly, and you moved your hands as he grabbed the back of his shirt between his shoulder blades and pulled it over his head. Your mouth gaped as you saw the additional ink etched into his torso, and you stopped your movements momentarily to graze your fingers against all of it.

“How is it that someone who’s a sculptor looks so fucking sculpted himself?” You laughed, shaking your head before looking into his eyes. “You’re gorgeous, Harry.”

“Guess this was meant to be then, huh? You’re fucking stunning, and you think I’m gorgeous. It all makes sense.”

Nodding, you now raised onto your knees and then slammed yourself down against Harry - properly riding him. “I’m so glad we’re doing this.”

“Me too, baby. Me too.”

Biting down on your bottom lip, you continued to ride him aggressively, the sounds of your arousal filling the car as Harry’s thick cock entered and exited you at an accelerated pace.

When Harry could see that you were getting tired, he gripped to your hips, and slouched down in the seat a bit more to start fucking up into you.

“Harry,” you whined, laying back as best as you could to grip to the tops of his knees, your torso outstretched - your breasts bouncing with every thrust.

“How could he let you go, hm?” Harry grunted, and you knew he wasn’t going to stop giving it to you this hard until the both of you were coming. “Such a sweet, and pretty girl. So funny, and warm. Warm all over. Can’t believe he didn’t appreciate you, but his loss is my gain. I’m going to treat you right, Y/N. I hope you’ll let me.”

Harry knew it was tricky to bring up your ex in the midst of your first time together, but he couldn’t help it. It was impossible for him to wrap his head around the fact that someone wouldn’t want you.

“I will,” you mewled, the band in your stomach growing once again. “God, I will. And I hope you’ll let me treat you right too.”

“That’s all I want,” Harry dragged one hand down to cup the top of your thigh, extending his thumb to start rubbing against your clit. “Come for me, baby. Let me feel you own my cock.”

Only a few thrusts later, you gave into his command - your orgasm coating his rubber covered length as he rode you through it. You knew he wasn’t far behind as you came down from the white that clouded your vision, and you gripped to his shoulders again - having your tits right in his face as he continued to pound into you.

“I’m gonna come, Y/N,” Harry moaned, looking up into your eyes. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me explode.”

It was then you felt his prick completely pulsing and throbbing inside of you, and as you were still coming down from your own orgasm, you clenched against him to milk him for everything he was worth.

With the both of you panting, you collapsed against Harry’s chest as he gathered you in his arms - stroking his fingers through the back of your hair while pressing kisses against your forehead.

After a moment, you heard him chuckle, and you pulled back just a bit to look up at him.

“What?” You smiled, the sound of his laughter pulling that from you.

“Now I understand why they call it Lucky’s,” he said, reaching a hand up to cup your cheek as he thumbed at your bottom lip. “Because we sure got lucky with each other, didn’t we?”

🍻•🍻•🍻

Taglist: @daydreamingofmatilda @prettygurl-2009 @ghoststyles @lillefroe @gem1712 @lemoncrushh (if you’d like to be added to my taglist, please send me a DM!)

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harry edward styles #harry styles smut #harry styles ff #harry styles fanfic #harry styles au #harry styles smutty fanfic #harryedwardstyles #harrystylesfanfic #harry fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harrystyles #harry #harry smut #harry styles blurb #harry styles smutty blurb #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry x y/n #harry x reader #harry x you #harry au

[lokisgoodgirl]

Like a Queen [Loki x Reader]

A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Just a dirty, praise-filled railing. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Loki x Female Reader. Mirrors. Language. Established relationship. Smut. (w/c 1.2k)

"Urgh, gods..." Loki slurs as his head falls back.

A year. It's been a year. But every time you see that face lost in the pleasure only you can give it's like the first time. In the mirror at the foot of the bed, the hard angles of Loki's jawline set like an anvil. He tips his chin to the ceiling and sinks so deep, so slow, it's like he never wants it to end.

Your best lingerie clings to damp skin, the modest slit in your crotchless panties tugging against Loki's thick cock. Slow, liquid thrusts slip against your walls and slurp when he circles his hips; hands guiding your ass against him. He teases himself at the entrance while you moan his name before easing back in with a groan.

"What did I do..." he breathes as his sex-drunk face falls forward and he meets your eyes in the mirror. "What did I do to deserve this sweet, perfect cunt?"

You clench your fingers against the bedsheets, swaying on all-fours. Loki slips his cock from your pussy and slides it against your throbbing clit, still swollen and humming from the worship of his mouth.

He watches with dark fascination as you start to squirm at the halt of his movements, knuckles whitening. “Well?” he asks again with playful menace.

"I'm just made for you I guess," you sigh as his large palm skates down the ridges of your spine, settling at the base. There’s no getting any sense out of you at times like this; he should know that by now. And he does.

"You are,” he growls approvingly, rubbing the curve of your ass. “Made to take me like a Queen. Made to take my cock like a Queen; made to fuck me like a Queen.” Queen.

The word sends a thrill down your spine that blossoms new fire in your pussy and you clench tighter around the tip of his cock. Loki pushes back in just when you’re tightest. “Norns,” he gasps, half-lidded eyes smouldering down from his station.

There’s something about when he fucks you from behind that’s utterly primal. Like he’s mating you. Like you’re a bitch in heat and he’s powerless to resist the scent he craves; the urge beating through him like the drums of war.

He’s not a god in moments like this. He’s just a man that wants to shake you up and fuck you out and love you harder with every filthy, curse-laden groan from his throat. “Talk to me,” you plead as you sit back against him, inhaling the fresh sweat clinging to his hair, his cock never leaving the grip of your cunt. Where he belongs. Your fingers skate up his cheek. His heartbeat thumps between your shoulder-blades, the flat planes of his chest and stomach pressed tight to your back. Your thighs spread as he readjusts on the mattress, guiding you down to the root of him with a rumble of pleasure. Loki moves hair from one side of your neck, placing a messy kiss on the curve and pulling the flimsy strap of your lingerie between his teeth. It stings your heated skin with a tight thwack.

“You love when I talk,” he goads low and filthy in your ear. “You love when I talk, and you love when I fuck.” “Only me,” you whine. Loki chuckles darkly. “Only you, my Queen.” His thrusts make your body rise and you lose yourself in the fullness of your walls fluttering to the rhythmic lilt of his hips. Loki’s hands massage your breasts, palming upwards, pinching your pebbled nipples as he does it. “No one,” he groans as you reach between your legs and graze his balls, “no one has ever carnally eviscerated me like you can.” They tighten beneath your gentle touch, drawing lazily against the velvet skin.

“When I fuck you… all realms cease to be,' he chokes, 'Only b-burning worlds and…f-fuck, erupting galaxies when I…”

He jolts against your ass, a hiss searing between his teeth. “When I see you trussed up for me like a gift,” he pants, tugging at the flimsy lace cupping your breasts, “when I feel your pussy grip me like wax on a finger.” A wet groan erupts from your mouth into his and Loki’s fingers move to your clit, rubbing slow, wet circles just the way you like it. His kiss is hungry and dark and dangerously loving. He still tastes like your cum. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he mutters as climax tightens in your belly, tensing your thighs, “is your face when you come undone for me.” You whimper, the hand wrapped around his neck clutching at long waves of his sex-damp hair. “Yes, my beautiful queen,” he praises, unable to keep the tremble of impending orgasm from his voice as his thrusts become heavy. “Take me, use me; use my cock like no other in the nine realms can. Give me what I need.” “Not yet,” you beg and he smiles against your cheek. The mirror shows what the two of you are: sweaty and unbearably perfect together. He’s huge behind you; a colossus of muscle and lean lines and luminous skin. His dark hair hangs against your shoulders, his exquisite profile nuzzling into your neck. The god of mischief works one expert hand between your legs, the other grasping against your chest like you might vanish as his powerful thighs pump slowly beneath you. Obsessed. He’s obsessed. Another threat of orgasm rises in your centre. Loki groans loudly and his shoulders tense as you clench, feeling the thick vein running down his length throb. “I think you may take me a little too well,” he chokes as your grip on his hair tightens.

A series of feral grunts burst from Loki’s throat at the smallest increase of speed against his cock. He's ready to burst. Wetness coats the inside of your thighs, his knuckles, his mouth, your fingers. You cover the hand working against your clit, feeling his fingers while they lightly strum you over the edge. He knows your body like it's his own. “Loki,” you moan like a whore, head falling back to his shoulder.   “I’m yours,” he whispers, breath catching. The hand cupping your chest flies to your stomach and he pulls you closer with a stuttering gasp. The flat of his abdomen curls to your back: sweat sticking, curses thundering, stars bursting in front of your eyes. He erupts with a long, guttural groan that shakes the bed. The swell of his cum is immediate; squeezing against the tight throb of his mighty cock and the final, fluttering spasms of your cunt. You see it glistening in the mirror, dripping down the thick root still buried inside you and pearling at the curve of his balls. Loki’s mouth fastens to your cheek like he’s trying to eat you - and maybe he is. His pants are hot against the skin as he slides down your face, top lip dragging before his forehead comes to rest. “What did I do to deserve…?” he pants quietly as he feathers weak kisses along the angle of your jaw. You silence the impending question with a kiss, pulling him closer. “I’m your Queen,” you say with utterly feigned humility. Loki bites his lip, glancing to the mirror. His eyes drop to the sight of him still sheathed deep in your pussy, a thick spindle of cum dangling to the mattress. “You are,” he whispers lovingly in your ear, eyes nailed to yours in the reflection. "Always."

♥️x

#loki x reader #loki smut #loki x female reader smut #loki x female reader #loki x you #loki x you smut #loki x reader smut #lokismut #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson #loki laufesyon x reader #loki odison x reader #loki imagine #loki x yn #loki x y/n

[perrriwinkle]

no but red velvet’s new teaser is giving me f(x) aesthetics

#like it has the same vibe yk #it’s giving shadow #and four walls #me likey <3 #red velvet #f(x)

[moondirti]

animalic (2)

← chapter 1 // series masterlist

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader rating: mature word count: 2.2k summary: a game of cat and mouse warnings: enemies to lovers, canon typical violence, guns, death, blood, angst, no use of y/n (reader is referred to as ‘wraith’) notes: remember when i said part 2 would take a while? i lied. the next chapter is fun as all hell so i wanted to churn this one out as build up. teehee i hope yall like it regardless

He let you go. 

He let you go. 

No matter how Miguel tries to vindicate it, he rounds back to the same conclusion. You weren’t subtle, regardless of what you’d have yourself believe; he’d seen the calculations glaze over your eyes the instant he pinned you to the wall. He knew what was coming, how your heavy breathing was a cover for the clicks of his watch – of which he heard regardless – and your squirming a diversion from the movement of your busy fingers. He had a goddamn plan too, a fail safe in case you decided to attack instead of listening to reason. 

(One he’d settled on for the duration of your lost consciousness, for knowledge that you would.)

So, there is no dismissing it. You’re obnoxious and lack precision, and he could have had you halfway back home by now, which isn’t the case – because he let you go.  

The frigid air of his office thrums with irritation, weighing down on his shoulders until they collapse inwards, his hands coming up to rub the weariness off his expression. HQ has been unsettlingly quiet as of late – occupied by only a fraction of its regular population – and the peace worries him. History betrays its status as the precursor to havoc; lulls in the past have fooled him into believing his mission was drawing to a close, only for another anomaly, another mess, to spin that naivety on its head. 

You were one such instance. A year ago, you’d popped up on an Earth that wasn’t your own, and didn’t leave until you’d drawn all that you could from it. It’s an empty husk now, lacking land to propagate its agriculture. Thousands – millions – dead, from the flap of a butterfly’s wings.

Parasite. A fucking parasite who just won’t quit. 

The mantra surges through him, festering from the base of his gut to the cap of his tongue. It bursts out with a roar right then, the sudden violence finding monitors thrown across the room, smashed to bits of orange light and static. It does nothing to sate him, though, the heady anger filtering out like molasses. His back hunches as he draws in thin breaths. He doesn’t count, nor does he attempt to. Instead, he looks for his only real decompressor. 

The video of Gabriella flickers at him from a distant floor, the transparent tablet wrecked with four distinct claw marks. He exhales, pulling it back to the platform with an extended web. 

“Boss,” 

His mija smiles toothily down at his digital self, winding her small palms in his hair for balance as he carries her. He recalls helping with hers, tying it back into shabby ponytails the mornings before a big game. How she wouldn’t let anyone fix it afterwards, not until her elastic slipped off the ends and her bangs hindered her playing. And she’d run to him, whenever, to get it fixed again. 

“Boss.” 

Her jokes resonate still, echoing laughter from when she’d poke fun at how bad he’d gotten at it, amused by the sudden decline in ability. To Miguel, it was one more reminder that the life he led wasn’t his own. 

“Oh Miguel!” 

So much for calming down.

“Lyla.” He looks up at the virtual assistant, her corporeal character a little fuzzy around the edges. She chooses to ignore his dissociative episode, rather projecting a map of the arachno-humanoid poly-multiverse, a point off centre highlighted in red. His heart skips. Placing the tablet down on his desk, he takes a step closer to survey the pin.

“Managed to track the Wraith down using the day pass you’d given her. Currently stationed on Earth-15, no signs of jumping anytime soon.” 

Parasitic, and stupid enough to forgo destroying a potential tracking device.

Lyla snickers, seemingly able to read the sneer pulling at his cheeks. 

“Seems like she’s afraid of glitching more so than she is you, Boss.” 

His glare snaps to meet her heart shaped sunglasses. 

“Funny.” His assistant shrugs at his admonishment. “Pull up the anomaly cam.” 

A second later, your figure blinks into sight. 

You’re crouched atop a tiled floor, the grout darkened to near-black with grime. In front of you lies a sparse spread of medical supplies; gauze, scissors, and miniature packets of disinfectant wipes. Miguel can’t help but wonder what you think you’re doing, treating your wounds in a bathroom as unsanitary as the one that cramps you. Graffiti littered walls, nests of used paper towels in every corner. You spring up to wash your hands after undoing the old bandages that hugged your forearm, but all that comes out is an inconsistent splutter of grey water. 

His chest twinges, a tug of intrinsic sympathy playing against him. It worsens at the sight of your injury, the consequences of his talons’ assault on you, the puncture points brimming yellow and blackening closer to their middles. He can’t tell whether it’s gotten any better, whether you were good and had it treated by a professional, or made the common mistake of relying too much on your enhanced healing. 

“Gave her a harsh gig there. You always that rough?” 

“When I need to be.” Miguel murmurs, skimming over the conspicuous innuendo.

“Right. Until it comes to finishing the job, that is.” And, despite the offence taken to Lyla’s jest, he can hardly disagree. Newfound resolve hardens within him, sympathy fleeting at its failure to deter him. 

“Set coordinates for Earth-15.” He rumbles, gesturing to his wrist as he walks away. The assistant does as she’s told, shrinking back to an icon on his watch. While waiting for the portal to configure, Miguel cocks his head, taking one last look at your oblivious form. 

“I won't let her get away this time.” 

“Put the money in the fucking bag or she gets it!”

Of all the spider-people you’ve met, you don’t believe any have been the hostage in an armed robbery situation. You imagine that they’d come in at the last minute, valiantly swinging through the window, accentuating their arrival in a shower of shattered glass. They’d demand the money be remitted, and all’s well that ends well. But – of course – there’s got to be a first for everything; your record just so happens to be the lamest of the bunch. 

The masked man presses the gun further into your temple, bursting capillaries until the spot starts to ache with a raw tenderness. His body wraps around you, other arm waving wildly outwards, extending a plastic bag to the poor soul behind the register. You take a great gulp of air, staring at the buzzing fluorescents above, and pray. 

Lord, now would be a really good time to phase out. 

“P-Please, leave her be.” The owner throws a potful of crumpled fives into the bag, as if to punctuate her plea. The man is dismissive in face, urging her for more, shaking the receptacle with comedic insistence. You purse your lips, blinking up at the ceiling once more. 

Or make this more exciting, at the very least. 

“And you!” You’re jolted out of being a passive observer, rattled when the man diverts his attention to you. His gun thrusts harder against your forming bruise, adding to the list of damages sustained in the past week alone. You peer at him from the corner of your eye. His roll incredulously, pointing to the bill in your grip. “The twenty!” 

“Is that a real gun?” 

“Wha– Of course it’s a real fucking gun! Put the money–” 

“In the bag. I know.” 

His hold on you slackens, expectant. By contrast, you ball your fist and punch him square in the nose. The hit sends him reeling farther than it should for the amount of space you had in winding back, the feat prompting a deluge of pride to wash over you. It’s bolstered when he drops the spoils in the process, toppling into a rack of chips and cup noodles that consequently cushion his fall. 

Your first save. 

Filled with bravado, you snatch and pass over the bag to the cashier. 

“Here you go, ma’am.” 

But she doesn’t look at you. Rather, her stare remains trained on the man you’d just disabled. Nerves maturating, you join her line of vision, only to be met with the barrel end of his weapon. You catch the vicious conclusion in the way his hand trembles, veins protruding from the pale skin, supplying courage to the finger hovering right over the trigger. You process it all, aware of the ways it can end, at how fast it can sour.  

Before you can so much as act on it, he shoots. 

Your skin prickles. 

You’ve heard stories of people who don’t realise when a bullet strikes them. Their bodies take time to catch up to the pain, cells stuck in paralytic shock, stimulus signals held somewhere between the existential and a will to delay the inevitable. You think you understand what they mean, your mind dragging in a rare bout of silence. Things slow, for a perennial moment, and you wonder how fast the blood loss will kill you.

You can do nothing but follow the man, who scrambles to a stand, letting him take the money – with whatever else – and watching as he runs out onto the street. 

And even still, the pain hasn’t caught up to you. 

Looking down, the case starts piecing itself together. No blood sticks to your shirt, the fabric still as pristine as it had been upon purchase. You check your arms, then your legs, then reach up to smooth over your head. Nothing. You’re okay.

The relief is short-lived when the morbid sound of gurgling meets your ears. Slowly, you turn, bracing for what you knew you’d find.  

The scene unfolds with a distressing intensity as crimson liquid blooms from the cashier’s throat. The torrent is never-ending, every gush of ichor bringing forth a new momentum, splattering its macabre scene over the register. Her eyes gloss over with an unshed panel of tears, and she looks to you for help. 

She looks to you. 

(You don’t admit it to yourself, but it’s the novelty of that fact that pushes you into action.) 

With a swift leap over the counter, you intercept her mid-fall, carefully cradling her weight as you guide her down to the ground. Scanning your surroundings, you search for a means to call for help. A rotary phone catches your recognition, situated a ways off by the back exit. Despite the inconvenient placement, it stands as your sole option at this stage.

In a split second decision, you sling your backpack off, hastily rummaging through its contents. You find solace in your hoodie, gathering its folds to tightly bunch it up, converting it into a makeshift compress.  Knowing she lacks the strength to apply pressure to the wound, you move to wrap it around her neck, hopeful that it’s tight enough to stem the bleeding while leaving enough room for air. 

Urgency fuelling your every step, you leave her side for a fleeting moment, dashing over to call an ambulance. Your medical knowledge only extends so far, and some selfish part of you itches to pass on the responsibility to someone more competent. It’s an impulse that derives from an innate acceptance, that resoundingly insightful voice in your head telling you it's too late. That she’s already dead, had been from the moment the bullet – that was meant for you – missed. 

Perhaps your help isn’t really helpful at all, then. Perhaps it’s your attempt to wash your hands of the sin. You think back to the grey water in the bathroom, how exasperated you had been at your inability to stay clean. 

(You don’t think you’ll ever rid yourself of this.) 

“911, what’s your emergency?” The question crackles through the receiver.

The bell by the entrance jingles, the chime accompanied by heavy footsteps. You press yourself against the wall, the concept of the robber returning filling you with such dread that you feel your stomach tighten and congeal. It’s a heavy lump, icy cold and slippery, and it seems to weigh a hundred pounds.

“Hello?” The operator says. 

But if it was the man, then he'd have to have changed into a navy and red suit. Somehow, your terror worsens. 

“Hijo de la chingada…” The whisper is barely legible, but the deep baritone is discernible enough to validate the assumption pulled from your brief glimpse. You’d recognise him anywhere. 

Shrinking in on yourself, you cup your palm over your mouth. “Hello,” 

“Ma’am? Can you describe your emergency?” 

“There was an armed robbery at the convenience off sixth and Third. Someone’s hurt.” You hardly register the words as they escape you, eyeing Miguel when he crouches over the lady. You’re propelled back to the conclusion of your last meeting; how his claws tore into you, how his persistence didn't falter until you pressed yourself onto him. 

That kiss. 

He runs a finger over your hoodie-turned-compress, wavering, like he can’t quite place where he’d seen it before. 

Or, maybe he can, for he spins to meet your wide-eyed stare. 

You drop the phone, bolting out the back door, charged on a paroxysm of adrenaline and pure, unadulterated panic.

chapter 3 →

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#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #animalic #x reader #spider man: across the spider verse #spiderman: into the spiderverse #spider man across the spider verse #oscar isaac #spiderman 2099 #spiderman into the spiderverse #spiderman #spider man 2099 #spider-man 2099 #marvel #enemies to lovers #spider-man #angst #miguel o’hara x you #miguel x reader