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#the author is a dirty liar.
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Day 195.2: Hobbies (Part 2)
You can read Part 1 here, if you'd like. Or read this as a stand alone; all you need to know is that Harry learned to make Turkish Pottery.
Draco stood in the doorway, quite certain that he couldn't be seeing what his eyes thought they were seeing. There was no world in which he could be staring at Harry Potter.
If it was Potter, he seemed to have grown even more attractive in the four years since last Draco saw him. Where his hair had been shorn close to his head, it now was long enough for him to pull into a messy topknot; his face had been clean-shaven and now he had a neat, tidy beard. He'd been in pristine, formal auror robes at the last function they'd happened upon each other during, and now he sat with his legs spread wide around the kick wheel, jeans tattered and splattered with clay, wearing an olive green Henley that made his bronze skin glow, sleeves rolled up exposing his forearms, hands covered in clay.
And Draco couldn't think, couldn't even form words, because in no world was it acceptable for someone to look that fucking hot when they were that fucking messy.
Finally, he found his voice, since Potter was just sitting there and staring right back, the piece he'd been constructing now a crumpled heap of clay. "Potter?"
"Err, both by name and by trade," he replied, "yes."
And Draco couldn't quite help himself, he huffed a laugh, because this was so ridiculous, so utterly preposterous, that what else was he meant to do?
"I'm guessing you're surprised to see me."
He huffed a laugh, "I think anyone would be surprised to see you here."
(Read more below the cut)
Potter hummed, scraping the white clay off the wheel and dropping it into a bucket as he moved to standing. "I'd like to keep it that way, if it's all the same to you."
He took a step back, "Are you going to try to obliviate me?" he asked, not keen on having anyone mess with his mind.
The other man blinked at him, "The thought hadn't even occurred to me." He went to the sink and washed his hands, "I was just going to ask your price for keeping it a secret," he added, looking over his shoulder at Draco.
"Oh," he replied, shoulders easing a bit. "No, of course. I won't tell anyone."
Potter raised an eyebrow and turned around, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the sink. "What's the catch?"
"No catch," he insisted. "I'm sure you had your reasons for leaving. Circe knows I've thought about it enough," he added. "I would like to purchase some of your work though, if you're amenable," he said, since that was why he'd stopped here in the first place.
Those keen green eyes, scrutinized him for a moment longer, weighing him, before deciding to drop whatever thoughts had been swirling around his head. "Sure," he said easily. "That's why I'm here," he added with a shrug.
"Your work is," Draco shook his head, "mind-blowingly incredible."
Potter laughed and Draco watched from the corner of his eye as he pushed off the sink and wandered over closer to where Draco was looking at the wall of tea sets. "Thanks."
"Do you do it all by hand?"
The other man looked over at him, "As opposed to?"
"Using magic?"
"Oh," he said, eyebrows raising like the idea surprised him, "Yeah, everything is handmade. I," he shrugged, "use magic to help with cleaning up but the whole point of starting pottery was to have something to do with my hands. My magic-" he broke off, "well. I'm sure you read the papers when it was splashed across every front page."
Draco had been exceedingly curious about that, "Well, one never knows quite what to believe when reading those rags," he said.
The corner of Potter's mouth quirked, "That is," he sighed while he searched for the right words, "refreshingly nice to hear."
He hummed, "Well, I like to hope that people don't believe all that they read about me."
"What brought you in?" Potter asked, graciously changing topics.
Draco laughed, "Luna has one of your tea sets," he said, gesturing to the display in front of him. "It's beautiful," he added. "I asked her where she got it and she told me the name of your shop. Didn't bother to mention that it was you running it, though."
Potter chuckled, "That checks out."
He picked up a pretty blue teacup, examining the intricate designs all of the different shades of blues and the one cheerful pop of yellow.
"Well," he said, "I'll leave you to look." He caught a loose curl and tried to tuck it back into his bun. "Let me know if you have any questions."
Truth be told, Draco had a thousand questions. And some of them were even about Potter’s work.
Nonetheless, he couldn’t quite bring himself to ask, it wasn’t his place, and anything that he wanted to know was ultimately just to satisfy his curiosity about where Potter had gone, what he’d done while he was there, and why he’d left.
Eventually, after picking up various pieces to test the way the different cups felt as he held them in his hand, he settled on a set that was a deep, earthy brown on the outside, glazed until it looked almost wet with how shiny it was. But it was the inside that Draco was really taken with. The inside was painted with blues and teals and whites, it looked like a constellation exploding into being and he couldn’t wait to have a cup of tea and watch the image appear as he drank it.
“Find something you liked?” Potter asked, looking up from a bowl he was painting.
“So many things that I liked,” he replied with a laugh.
Potter smiled at him, bright and earnest. “Thank you.” He set down his paint brush and moved to the counter so he could start packaging the tea set.
Draco watched his sure, graceful movements as he wrapped each cup and the double pot in paper and tidily boxed it up.
After paying with his muggle bank card, Draco said, “thank you. I,” he swallowed, “I won’t tell anyone you’re here.”
Potter leaned his elbows on the counter, green eyes searching Draco’s face. “I believe you,” he replied.
The other man reached out to hand Draco the box and their fingers brushed and Draco was shocked by a jolt of magic so strong he couldn’t help but gasp. It didn’t hurt, it was a sort of pleasant tingling that he felt race up his arm and then down his spine leaving something bright and hot in its wake.
“Shit,” Potter hissed, wandlessly catching the box with Draco’s tea set in it and holding out a steadying hand to Draco but not touching him. “Sorry. Godric, I’m sorry. Are you alright?”
He nodded, “What was that?”
“My magic,” he shook his head, “it’s close to the surface sometimes. It doesn’t happen with muggles,” he hastened to add like he thought Draco might be worried that he was breaking the statue of secrecy. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not hurt?”
He shook his head, “it didn’t hurt at all.”
“Oh,” Potter said, as though it was a surprise. “Most people say it’s like when you get shocked with static electricity.”
“I’m fine,” he repeated, not entirely sure how to say that it had felt nice without admitting that was the case. “It just surprised me.”
He held out the box again, keeping his fingers back, and Draco took it. A small part of his brain was tempted to reach out and touch him again, to hold his hand, see if prolonged contact would lessen or strengthen the feeling.
He resisted.
“What did your healers say was causing that?” he asked as he walked backwards toward the door.
“No one knows,” Potter replied with a shrug.
He frowned, that was a bit disconcerting. “I’m a healer.”
“I know.”
Something thrilled in the pit of his stomach to know that Potter had kept tabs on him. “I specialize in psychological and trauma induced magi-care.”
The other man tilted his head, “for people who’ve suppressed their magic because of trauma.”
“Sometimes,” he agreed. “But also people for whom the opposite it true.”
“My understanding was that your work largely revolves around children and teens,” Potter replied, obviously making the connection between what Draco was saying and what he was implying.
He hummed, “Sometimes,” he affirmed. “Often, even. But I don’t specialize in a particular age group. The field has grown quite a bit in the past few years,” he said, leaving the ‘since you’ve been away’ left unsaid. “I’d,” he swallowed nervously, “be happy to see you, if you are interested. A lot of people really struggled right after the war and the wizarding community has never been good about mental health care. It’s possible that your healer-” he broke off and cleared his throat. “Well. It’s possible that we know more now than we knew then. That’s all I’m trying to say.”
Potter stared at him for a long moment and Draco had to resist the urge to fidget and start talking again.
“Well,” he said again. “Here’s my card, in case you ever decide it’s something you’re interested in.” He flicked his business card toward Potter, using a little wandless magic to help it arrive at its destination.
Then Draco turned and fled the shop without waiting for anything more to be said on the matter.
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To be continued.
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Big fan of Kendare straight up lying to us in the summary of the first book
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lilflowerpot · 2 years
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Hey! I just had a fun little question. What’s your favorite comfort episode in the show? Mines S1 episode 10, it’s such a fun episode and I’ll always love the fight between the Druid and Keith! And I hope your doing well!
At the risk of being i n c r e d i b l y predictable, the overwhelming majority of my favourite episodes are Keith-centric,,,,,,,,, shocking, I know. At the very tippy top of that list would probably be The Belly of the Weblum (s02ep09), because it not only gave me Keith in the wake of having confirmed his galra heritage, but also him meeting & working alongside another galra - who was obviously later revealed to be Acxa, but I personally expected to be Lotor - which was a really important moment for him! Yes, by this point voltron had already established an alliance with the BoM, so this wasn't the //first// non-threatening galra Keith had come into contact with, but it //was// the first prolongued interaction wherein Keith was actively working side-by-side with someone he could consider to be "like him" (and given that this takes place at a point where he feels, more than ever, othered from the rest of the paladins, I think it must have been an important moment of connection for him)... Which, of course, means the eventual betrayal of his unlikely ally is all the more potant a sting, with Keith commenting "you're just like the rest of them," with that moment solidifying in his mind that he himself would ultimately betray voltron!! Because becoming a source of pain to the people he loves has always been Keith's greatest fear!! And he is shown several times over to liken himself to Zarkon!!
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lilithandherharlots · 9 months
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Too shy to tell you
miguel o’hara x fem!reader
Miguel hides your heals in hopes of making you forget you ever owned a pair...he confesses about his theft during a hot and heavy night of sex.
Warnings: This might be interpreted as possessive or an unhealthy bond. Though its supposed to be just a very shy and respectful Miguel who let's loose during sex.:]
Authors note: I am not a writer!! This is my first time righting fanfic.. like.. ever!!! So don't attack me. Though honest, constructive criticism is something that I would love to hear. Sorry if there are spelling mistakes. Also, I don't know how to put proper description..... enjoy!!!!
:::
"Miggy?" I call out to my boyfriend who's currently towering over the coffee machine, waiting for it to brew.
"Yes, my love?" He responds with a look over his shoulder.
"Have you seen my black pointed heals? I can't seem to find them."
"No. Have you checked by the door?" He was lying.
He was lying. He was lying, and he didn't feel bad about it. The truth was he had stuffed them in the highest cupboard of the laundry room. He knew you couldn't reach it. He liked it that way. He couldn't let you open it since he had stuffed at least 4 pairs of heals in there.
"No miggy, they aren't here." You say after checking everywhere by the front door.
"Idk what to say, baby... we have to leave soon. Just throw on a different pair and I'll buy you some new ones later."
He was a liar... and he was damn good at it... until he wasn't.
:::
It was 2am. This insanity started hours ago, but Miguel's stamina wouldn't let down. Your soft moans could fuel him till sun rise, and he would love to do this forever. But unlike him, you have limits. Limits to your ability to stay strong, or at least keep yourself up right. But he doesn't really care. Your begs for a break won't succeed with a constantly starving man like him.
"One more round, please baby... please. I need you." His desperate begs caress your tear stained cheeks as he whispers them softly, leaning over you and filling you with sloppy thrust.
"Miguel- please.. It's too much.." You whine as you try to pull away, gripping desperately onto the sheets.
"Last one.... I promise..." he lies.
He said the same thing the last 4 rounds. If he could have it his way he'd continue. But he knew you couldn't keep going for much longer, so he used this opportunity to tell you what he couldn't bring himself to say otherwise.
"I lied..." he confesses. Watching your tits bounce with every rough trust, keeping himself busy while you tried to form a reply. It took you a while, but you managed to let out a soft hum, waiting for him to explain himself further.
"I took them. Your heels.. I fucking hate those things.." he thrust get faster as he says it. Hoping to make your brain foggy enough to not remember his confessions in the morning.
"I like your height, so why do you wear those weird things?" His heart felt lighter as he told you.
"I like that your height forces you to get on your tippy toes every time you want a kiss from me.. and even then, I have to bend over to reach you.... I like that you rely on me to reach those high shelves. Every time you ask me, you grow as red as a rose...."
You can feel his movements speed up. You can barely hear him... your mind fuzzy from pleasure. Lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin felt like white noise at this point. The dim shadow of his frame covering you completely.
"You're so small under me.. your body falls any way I bend it..." At his point, he was just speaking the first thing to cross his mind.
You didn't hear him, and he knew it. Seconds later, you feel his weight shift, the mattress by your head sinking under his heavy hand as he leaned in and whispered.
"Please don't take that away from me."
His words were demanding. He felt exactly what he said. Even though your eyes were shut tight, you knew his eyes were locked on you. His breath heavy, as if he just confessed a dirty secret. He kinda did...
"Promise me.... Promise me you won't wear them and I'll help you cum."
As tired as you were. You wanted it. You needed it. You needed him. So you give in.
"F-fine... I promise."
"You promise what?" He smirked hearing your whiney voice.
"I promise I won't wear the heels!!"
The pleasure he got from you saying that was immense. He shifted his weight once more as he changed your position like a marionette doll. Spreading your legs apart. His hands wrapped around your thighs, and his claws dug into your skin. The stinging pain of it was a wake-up call, causing you to gasp for air.
This position caused him to go deeper. The sticky mess from your previous rounds was being pushed out of your aching hole. The sound of his hips hitting your ass grew louder with every precise thrust. They got louder and louder until they stopped. Your thighs had clenched closed as you hit that high you were chasing. And you took him with you. Tightening around his pulsing cock in a way that made him fill you to the brim once more.
He watched your body shake. Your hips jerking forward. He would usually take that as his sign to keep going, but your fucked out face was telling him you couldn't take another thrust.
"You did great my love..... my little angel~" He cooed gentle praises as he rubbed your claw marked thighs.
"I'll buy you the cutest flats."
:::
A thing he didn't know.. is that you lied, too. His secret cupboard was emptied, and your heal collection was restored... and yes.. he pouted in silence.
The end
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tyonfs · 10 months
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the marriage and baby project
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❝ this thing cries? god, what a cockblock. ❞
PAIRING ▸ mark lee x fem!reader
GENRES ▸ smut, fluff, crack, angst, college au, sort of a fake dating au, sort of a roommate au
WARNINGS ▸ profanity, sexual tension, mark is a virgin, reader is a born again virgin(??), dirty talk, big dick mark agenda, golden hour reference ifykyk, oral (m. receiving), protected sex this time, also no real babies were endangered during the marriage and baby project just a robot one
SUMMARY ▸ mark lee has had the biggest crush on you for years, so, naturally, he’s over the moon when you’re both partnered for a group project. however, he underestimates just how close two people can get when they have to pretend they’re married for a month while taking care of a fake baby.
PLAYLIST ▸ nonsense by sabrina carpenter • golden hour by mark 
WORD COUNT ▸ 13,291 words
AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ IT’S HERE! reparations for mark sort of?? anyways i hope you guys like it ♡ part of the dunk shot! series but can be read separately
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MARK LEE HAD TERRIBLE LUCK.
At this point in his life, it was almost set in stone. In some parallel universe, there was an eleventh commandment reinstating this. He had friends like Park Jisung to tell him that his misfortune wasn’t that bad, but following a chain of recent events (and walking into plenty of awkward moments), Mark concluded that not only was his luck complete shit, but his best friend was a complete liar, too.
These series of unfortunate events only worsened when Mark found out he was paired with you for a group project.
Not just any group project, but the marriage and baby project. Over the next four weeks, you and Mark would play the role of a (hopefully) happy, married couple. Together, you two would be responsible for a fake baby that mimicked the real needs of an actual infant. At the end of the unit, the professor would grade him based on his parent logs and by gauging if the RealCare Baby doll was still in good shape.
The only reason why Mark took Family and Consumer Science was because his friends told him it would be an easy A for a general education requirement he needed to fulfill. No one clued him in on having to become a married man and father.
“Hi, Mark,” you greeted with a smile, sliding into the seat next to him. “I guess I’m Y/N Lee for the next few weeks.”
He felt his heart drop to his stomach.
Here was a brief rundown: you were essentially a femme fatale, a drop-dead gorgeous it-girl; and Mark was a loser who was somewhat good at playing basketball. On top of that, Mark harbored the biggest crush on you since forever.
Forever dated back to high school. The first time he laid eyes on you was during the only other class you two ever shared: AP Literature. Introductions were on the very first day, and when everyone went around sharing their passions and interests, Mark couldn’t take his eyes off of you when you gushed about how much you loved gardening.
Although Mark never spoke to you much, he had always thought you were the most breathtaking individual he had ever seen. That was probably why he was malfunctioning right now. He had never gotten the opportunity to be around you like this, mostly because you were dating Vernon Chwe up until last year. All he could do was admire from afar helplessly, eyes lingering as you strode down hallways.
Chenle told him that there was a definite shelf life on relationships like yours and Vernon’s—relationships that were mostly physical—so he was confident you two wouldn’t last. And he was right. When you and Vernon broke up, Mark felt bad seeing your teary eyes, but an ugly part of him had been waiting for it to happen.
This situation, however, was like winning the lottery. Not only was he partnered up with you, but he had to play the role of your husband? Things like this never really happened to Mark, so he figured some misfortunate was coming his way soon.
“Hey, Y/N,” he managed to get out.
“I like your hair today,” you complimented.
“I didn’t do anything to it.”
Somewhere, in the depths of Mark’s subconscious, a metaphysical Zhong Chenle was screaming, “She’s flirting with you, dumbass!” whilst stabbing Mark with metaphysical pitchforks lit on fire.
“Come up and get your babies,” the professor, Dr. Han, instructed. “These RealCare infant simulators use wireless programming to track and report on your behaviors, which is why I had you all sign those consent forms.” She held up one of the dolls for everyone to see. “I’m not gonna require you all to keep your dolls in a car seat, but I will be able to see records of misuse, clothing changes, temperature changes, whether you’ve rocked, fed, or burped your baby, or respond to its cries.”
Great. He had to walk around campus with a plastic baby. Mark’s friends were never going to let him live this down.
He wondered if the RealCare infant could play basketball.
He turned to face you again. “Do you want a boy or girl?”
“Mark Lee,” Dr. Han chided, and he nearly jumped when he saw her standing right beside his desk. “You don’t get to choose the gender of your child in real life, so I’ll be randomly assigning each couple a baby.”
“I don’t think we’ve considered the possibility of gene editing.”
“You can take that up with Congress.”
She handed Mark one of the dolls, and he assumed he was now the father of a girl when he saw the pink onesie. He also got a bag with several care items for the baby, and he shuddered at the thought of having to leave basketball practice to change his baby’s diaper.
“What should we name her?” you asked, peering over at the plastic bundle of joy.
“How about Paula?”
Mark paused after you went silent. All he could think of was the character from Earthbound when he suggested that, and you were probably too nice to say that you hated it.
You hummed in thought. “Hey, she shares a name with one of the characters from Earthbound.”
Pause. You, of all people, knew the cult classic Super Nintendo Entertainment System RPG, Earthbound? You knew Earthbound? If Mark didn’t already have a crush on you, this would have been the moment that made him fall for you hard.
“W-wait,” he stuttered pathetically. “You play Earthbound?”
“I did as a kid,” you explained. “I don’t remember much of it now, though. Paula was one of the main characters, though, right?” You scooted your chair a little closer. “So, are we naming her Paula?”
“Yeah, we can do Pau—”
“Group three has claimed the name Paula for their baby!” their professor announced. “The rest of the groups can come up and write the name of their baby on the board.”
“Who else was thinking of Paula?” Mark muttered, looking back to see said group, consisting of Jung Sungchan and Shin Yuna, who were fiddling with their baby.
You two eventually decided on naming your baby Frisk, which was the result of talking about other indie RPG games. Thankfully, the name wasn’t taken by the time Mark claimed it on the board, so you two were set with your newly-minted family. The professor had told every couple to come up with a plan on taking care of the baby, so you and Mark figured out a schedule before leaving class.
“So, I’m taking the baby back to my apartment, right?” Mark clarified while he walked with you down the hallway. “I have basketball practice right now, but if you could take care of her until I’m done, then I can take her home.”
“Where’s home?”
“Uh…” Mark was blanking. “My apartment?”
“Where is it?”
“Like, the student apartments on Sixth Street—Room 301.”
“Alright, I’ll head over there. I have to stop by my place to pack first, though.”
“Wait… what?”
“We’re married now, right?” You cocked your head to the side, as if you were confused. “Give me your keys. I’ll wait for you at home.”
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Maybe Mark was downright stupid, but he handed over his keys to you without a second thought.
He handed over the keys to his apartment. You two weren’t even that close for him to trust you so wholeheartedly, and here he was, acting like he had no other care in the world, no concept of safety.
For some reason, he only realized how irrational this was halfway through basketball practice. When Johnny Suh passed him the ball, he figured out mid-dribble that there was a possibility that you could rob him.
What would you even take? His deodorant? There was a pretty sweet air fryer in the kitchen that his parents got him, but it wasn’t expensive enough to rob someone’s house for. Mark was definitely in over his head because he was 100% confident that he didn’t have anything of value to you.
“Dude, are you good?” Zhong Chenle asked, patting his back firmly. “You’ve been off all practice.”
“I’m a married man now,” Mark muttered.
“Oh, nice,” Chenle replied, feigning interest before leaning over to Kim Jungwoo and whispering, “Get him some ice for his head.”
(“On it,” Jungwoo affirmed.
“Bro, don’t actually get me ice,” Mark tried, looking defeated as he watched Jungwoo walk away.)
He shot Chenle a withering look. “It’s the marriage and baby project.”
Those were the only words his best friend needed to hear. After all, it was Chenle’s fault that Mark ended up in that class, anyway. If he didn’t suggest it for Mark’s GE requirement, then Mark probably wouldn’t have had to suffer through an entire semester of it.
“Who’d you get?” Chenle asked, a wide grin stretching across his face as he pried for information.
As of late, Chenle had been overbearing about Mark’s love life. His friend was constantly pushing him to talk to girls, despite Mark’s insistence that he didn’t want to talk to anyone but you. Of course, even after declaring that, he had never actually made a move on you. He was far too shy and you were far too pretty.
“Y/N,” Mark muttered.
“Y/N,” the point guard repeated, staring his friend down until his eyes were big as discs. “The Y/N? The one you’ve been crushing on since forever?”
“Yes,” Mark replied pointedly, “and let’s not make a big deal about it because absolutely nothing’s going to happen.” After recalling his conversation with you earlier, he paused for a second before adding, “Even though… nevermind.”
“What?” Chenle pressed.
“Nothing.”
“Don’t pull that shit on me. You know I can see right through you.”
“Okay, fine.” Mark huffed lightly. “She’s crashing at my place until we’re done with the project.”
“Don’t lie to me either.”
“I’m not lying!”
“Mark, I’m not an idiot.”
“Dude, I’m serious,” he insisted, but there was no convincing Chenle until Mark had actual, physical proof. “When have I ever lied to you?”
“Remember when we played Two Truths and a Lie, and you—”
“Okay, clearly lying is required for Two Truths and a Lie, so that doesn’t count.”
“Well, that’s true.” Chenle rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess you don’t have any reason to be lying about this, but there’s no fucking way Y/N, of all people, is living with you. That’s gotta be straight out of a rom-com.”
“You’re living with who?” a voice called from behind Chenle.
Johnny Suh, captain of the basketball team and one of Mark’s best friends, strode over and slung an arm around Chenle’s shoulders. He had quite a few inches on both of them, and it made interrogations far more intimidating. This was exactly the time when Johnny would start grilling Mark for more information. Unlike Chenle, Johnny was persistent.
“Y/N,” Chenle answered before Mark could start denying. “They’re paired up for that lame baby project.”
Johnny raised his brows, impressed. “Dude, it’s your chance.”
“Chance for what?”
“To get pus—”
“Don’t say that!” Mark exclaimed, cheeks burning bright red. He felt like he was going to faint from how embarrassed he was. “I like her in a very… a very respectful way.”
“Oh.” Chenle snorted. “Good luck with that.”
With that, Chenle made some comment about being parched, and he jogged off to the water fountain. Mark’s eyes followed him, but his face was set in a frown. His friend’s good-natured comment seemed backhanded, and Mark had a weird feeling about it. So, he turned to Johnny.
“What’d he mean by that?”
Johnny grinned. “He means Y/N’s going to break you.”
(Jungwoo, who had been gone for a majority of the conversation, approached the trio and said, “I brought the ice pack.”
Mark could only sigh. “Jesus Christ, Jungwoo.”)
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chenle (douchebag #2): did you break yet?
mark: no
johnny (douchebag #1): did you break yet?
mark: no
chenle (douchebag #2): how about now?
mark: no
Naturally, gossip traveled faster than light, so the entire basketball team soon found out about Mark living with you. Everyone seemed to agree that you would break Mark, too, so they all started placing bets on when it would happen.
Johnny was betting on a week, but Chenle held out hope, wagering ten dollars on Mark lasting a week and a half. Mark still had no idea why they thought you were going to break him, but he was starting to understand when he walked into his apartment to see you in shorts and a bikini top.
“I was gonna go to the community pool,” you said. No greetings, just straight to business. “I can take the baby with me, if you want.”
Mark was too distracted by the two suitcases by the door to respond, though. He just glanced from you to the luggages for several seconds before he asked, “You were serious about living here?”
You tilted your head, confused. “You don’t want me to?”
“No, it’s fine, just…” Mark shook his head. “It’s nothing. Enjoy your swim.”
“You’re not coming?”
“Uh…”
“Come on,” you urged, grabbing his hand and tugging him a little closer. “You can watch Frisk while I swim.”
He swallowed hard. Something about you being in minimal clothing and getting in water didn’t seem like it would bode well for Mark. His seemingly innocent crush on you was now tainted, like ink blots splotching white paper, growing bigger and bigger.
“Sure,” he ended up saying. Mark decided not to go against you for now; he would use this opportunity to find out what the fuck was going on in your head. “I’ll put my backpack away real quick.” When he got to his room and flicked the lights on, he raised his voice so that you could hear him. “By the way, I can take the couch! You can sleep on my bed.”
He set his backpack next to his desk, but when he turned back to head to the living room, you were standing right at the doorway. His heart jumped a little in his chest, and he was sure your stay would result in him being predisposed to cardiac arrest. The RealCare baby was nestled snug in your arms as you frowned back at Mark.
“Married couples sleep together,” you said.
“B-but we’re—”
“We’ll have to go to couples therapy if you’re gonna be so distant.” There was a hint of a smile on your face, and Mark couldn’t tell if you were joking or not. All he knew was that you were crazy. Crazy and incredibly hot. “That can’t be good for the baby.”
You must have been hellbent on breaking him.
“Yeah, okay,” Mark breathed out. He supposed he would have to sleep with all his clothes on for the next few weeks. “That works for me.”
“Great!” you chirped before taking Mark’s hand and grinning. “Rub sunscreen on my back?”
The sun wasn’t even out.
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Mark decided he wouldn’t tell Chenle or Johnny shit.
The moment you shimmied off your shorts at the poolside, Mark was pretty sure you were already breaking him. It was bad enough that he let his hands linger when he rubbed sunscreen on your back (with no sunlight to be seen), but your bikini bottoms were offering him too good of a view. Mark distracted himself with his phone, feigning a sudden interest in tomorrow’s weather when he felt a splash of water against his cheek.
He looked up to see you on the poolside, smiling up at him coyly. “You have to hold our baby with both hands.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled, shuffling to put his phone away and move the doll into a more comfortable position.
“Sit,” you insisted, patting the concrete right in front of you. “It’s no fun if you just watch.”
Mark nodded and kicked off his Nike slides to the side. He sat down at the edge of the pool carefully, adjusting Frisk in his arms so that she wouldn’t get wet, and he dipped his feet into the water. He didn’t expect it to be so warm, but he was glad that he had an excuse to explain why his face felt so hot.
“Hey, can I ask you something?” Mark started, meeting your gaze with his nervous one. When you hummed inquisitively, he continued, “Why are you so into this whole marriage and baby project? I mean, I don’t think any of the other groups are going this far for a good grade.”
He thought his direct question would leave you unnerved. Instead, you just smiled.
“I don’t know,” you said. “I just feel like it’d be fun to be Mark Lee’s wife for a few weeks.”
“And… so you wanna live in my house?”
“Of course!” You straightened up, looking visibly shocked. “I’d feel horrible for Frisk if she had to be raised by separated parents.”
“Oh, uh, right.” Mark was still befuddled, but he nodded along to your words. “So, what else are you planning? I’m not gonna wake up to breakfast in bed, am I?”
“That depends.” You leaned closer and Mark could hear his heart thumping in his chest. “What’s your definition of breakfast in bed?”
If Mark was good at keeping a straight face earlier, he certainly wasn’t doing so hot right now. After realizing the implication in your words, his jaw hung open comically. He didn’t have the mental capacity to string any words together and formulate a response. There was just white sound ringing in his ears.
“You good?” you asked.
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I just feel hot.”
“Then why don’t you come swim with me?” You grabbed his hand and tugged gently, encouraging him to get in fully. “The water’s nice.”
“What about Frisk?”
“Frisk will be perfectly fine. It’s just for a bit.”
Mark let out a shaky exhale. He didn’t want to get his hopes up or anything, but this offer felt like it would quickly escalate if Mark engaged. Alarms went off in his head. He knew this was much too fast for him to keep up with, but his body moved against all rational thought. Before he could stop himself, he was already putting Frisk down.
He pulled his shirt up and over his head.
You were eyeing him like a hawk, taking in his toned body as he revealed more skin. Mark almost felt shy to undress himself in front of you, but he quickly realized how much more nervous he was going to feel once he was actually in the pool with you.
With a light grunt, he lowered himself into the water. The smell of chlorine overwhelmed him for a moment, but then Mark was focused on you and how cool the water was. It did feel nice, as you told him, but now he was terrified of getting an erection.
Once, Mark walked in on Jeong Jaehyun fucking a good friend of his in a hot tub. That was how he knew pool sex was not out of the question.
“Whoa,” you mumbled, reaching out to run the pads of your fingers down Mark’s abs. “You’re so ripped.”
He tried not to shudder under your touch and instead opted for a laugh. “Are you lying to make me feel good?”
“What?”
“Like…” Mark was fumbling for words, rummaging his brain for something that didn’t sound stupid. “I feel like you’re just saying stuff to get in my head.”
“Get in your head? Why would I do that?”
His throat felt dry when he swallowed. “I don’t know,” he mumbled before clearing his throat and saying, “I just feel like you’ve never shown this much interest in me before, so…”
Your face clouded with puzzlement. Mark wondered if you were offended by him questioning your genuinity, and he seemed to be correct when you pulled back with a frown. Your hand dropped back to your side, yet your touch still lingered across his skin.
“You’re cute, Mark,” you said simply, as if you were stating a known fact. “There’s no way girls haven’t told you that before.”
No, girls hadn’t told him that.
Perhaps Mark was overshadowed by the rest of the basketball team members, but he never experienced girls flocking to cheer him on like they did for Johnny Suh. He was never the one to stay back to talk to someone who had been eyeing him the whole game. Sure, Mark got a few looks here and there, but no girl had outright told him that he was cute.
Until you, he supposed. He had received a lifetime of attention from you today. This was quite possibly the most significant point of his college experience so far.
Whenever Mark and his friends talked about girls, he would always quietly listen. He never had much to share, especially not when Jungwoo had stories that rivaled Casanova himself. No one cared enough to hear about Mark’s pure little crush on you when they could hear about the threesome Jungwoo had with two cheerleaders.
Plus, you had been with Vernon for so long. Mark held his tongue most of the time out of respect. Even if you weren’t part of the conversation, he didn’t want to talk badly about Vernon just because he liked you. It would have been pathetic of Mark to talk big when, in reality, he was a coward.
“Only you,” he replied in a soft voice, almost embarrassed.
You looked genuinely shocked when you asked, “Really?” That coy smile returned to your lips when you shook your head and moved to wrap your arms around Mark’s neck. You simpered, “Poor, poor Mark. You really have no idea.”
“Idea of what?”
He shivered when your breath tickled his ear. “Any girl would kill to be in my shoes right now.”
That had to be an exaggeration. Mark didn’t condone murder. Plus, you were barefoot.
“I have a feeling,” you continued, “that you’re not as innocent as you pretend you are.”
Was that the impression Mark gave off? It wasn’t that he was trying to present himself as some goody two shoes, but he was far tamer than the rest of his friends.
But maybe you were implying something else. Something more carnal.
If you were implying that Mark hadn’t let a single dirty thought rack his brain, then you were gravely mistaken. Mark Lee was still a man—a man who oftentimes thought with his dick. Of course, he tried his best to never think of you in indecent ways, but what good was his willpower when you were stripped down to a bikini in front of him?
Mark let out a shuddering breath and held you back by your shoulders. “Y/N, I don’t think us being this close right now is a good idea. We’re in public, like—”
“So?” You laughed, moving his hands from your shoulders to your waist. Mark had to keep his large hands from fidgeting, especially when you moved in so close that your chests were nearly touching. “I don’t see anyone else out here.”
“Someone could walk through those gates at any moment.”
“Then I hope they enjoy the show.”
One could call you desperate.
Mark wouldn’t call you that, though. There was no desperation in your tone; you were just confident—someone who marched to the beat of their own drum. It was like you had zero shame in any of the things you said, so Mark wouldn’t dare call you desperate. Especially not when he liked you too much for his own good.
There was no way he could resist your advances, not when you were looking at him with those bedroom eyes. Mark could only close your eyes and anticipate what he had been waiting for his entire life when you started leaning in.
Right when your lips neared his, though, Mark heard a splash right next to him. At first, he brushed it off, but then the gurgles and cries snapped him out of whatever trance he was in. The mechanic wailing made his heart drop to his stomach.
“Oh shit,” you whispered.
Your maternal instincts kicked in when you dunked your head in the pool to save the plastic baby. Mark, on the other hand, turned around with a scowl. He leaned over the poolside and shook his head in dismay.
“This thing cries?” he muttered to himself. “God, what a cockblock.”
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“Uh… is it okay?” Mark asked, trying to wrap his head around why you looked so distressed over the fake child. “Or, well, are you okay?”
“It?” you repeated, scowling at Mark’s unintentional dehumanization of the robot infant. “You’re referring to our baby as an it?”
“Sorry.” Mark hoisted himself up and out of the pool. He sat beside you to examine the doll, and it seemed as if the RealCare infant was still in good shape. There was no noticeable damage done by the water, so you two seemed to have lucked out. “I’m sure nothing’s gonna happen to our grade. Maybe she’ll think we gave her a bath!”
You didn’t meet Mark’s eyes, and your voice was no louder than a whisper when you said, “Hopefully.”
“What’s wrong?” He placed a hand on your shoulder and squeezed gently in an attempt to comfort you.
“I’m a horrible mother.”
“You’re not a horrible mother.”
“I am an utterly horrible mother.”
“It’s a doll, Y/N.”
“It’s our child, Mark!”
“If you’re a horrible mother, then I’m a horrible father,” he insisted. For a moment, you just looked up at him with perplexed eyes, so Mark sighed and sat down in front of you. He crossed his legs and placed a hand on Frisk’s plastic leg. “This means we can just learn how to be good parents together—little by little. We’re not gonna get everything right the first time. That’s how parenting works, right?”
Slowly, a smile crept to your lips, and Mark had never been so elated to see your eyes gleam so cheerfully.
“Thanks, Mark,” you said, punching his shoulder playfully. It actually hurt like a bitch, but Mark steeled his nerves so that he didn’t look pathetic in front of you. “You’ve really got a way with words sometimes.”
For a moment, he felt like this moment you two shared was almost beautiful. A little dispute resolved shortly after common understanding was the perfect thing to bond over. Sure, you were a little strange at first, but Mark was starting to think that maybe—deep down—you could be vulnerable, too.
But then you crushed his notion into shards of glass when you asked, “So, are you a virgin?”
Mark let out a strangled noise that sounded like a cat drowning. He lamely hit the center of his chest with his fist to regain his composure, but your sincere smile was already morphing into a smirk, and Mark felt like his world was capsizing. Once again, he had reverted back into a complete loser. His moment of glory was over.
“Um… define virgin.”
“Someone who hasn’t had sex,” you answered.
Oh, that probably made sense.
He tried to divert the topic with a pathetic whine. “We were just having a moment.”
“A moment has to end eventually.”
“You could’ve ended it with a gentler transition,” he grumbled, “but, yes, I’m a virgin.”
You frowned. “How?”
“What do you mean, how? I just haven’t had sex.”
“But we had a baby together.”
“A plastic baby for a group project,” Mark deadpanned. He wondered when you would ever stop blurring the lines between fantasy and reality, even though it amused him. He turned the question on you, asking, “Are you a virgin?”
He knew damn well you weren’t, but you replied, “Yeah.”
Mark narrowed his eyes. “No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Y/N, I’m not stupid.”
“I’m a born again virgin.”
“Oh my God.” He wanted to die. “You are not a born again virgin.”
“I’m not sure you can make that decision for me.” You then grinned like a Cheshire cat, a clear indication that you were going to say something that would wind up having you redirected to a psychologist. “We can lose our virginities to each other.”
Mark tugged a hand through his hair and, almost embarrassed by how choked up his voice sounded, whispered, “Are you insane?”
“Maybe so.”
And Mark ended up laughing. Laughing hysterically to the point where he thought he was going crazy. He probably looked and sounded like a madman, but you were eerily calm. You had finally pushed him off the edge, and he hated to admit it, but he was certain that you had finally broken him. It only took less than a day for you to pull apart the strings of his sanity—an impressive feat, really.
Except you hadn’t broken him quite in the way Johnny and Chenle were probably expecting. Whatever it was you did spurred Mark Lee to grab you by the back of the neck and lean down to kiss you hard.
And when he pulled back, breathless and frazzled, your lips curled into a grin that could make flowers bloom and birds sing.
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And, so, it carried on like that for the next week.
Mark and you lived together for an entire week with not too many complications. Sure, he was getting irritated from the baby waking him up every night, but it wasn’t as terrible as the intense sexual tension that he could do nothing about.
You would always subtly make a move on Mark, who would attempt to reciprocate and proceed to either get interrupted by Frisk or something else. So, Mark would wait until you were asleep to jerk off in the bathroom. He knew that you would be fully willing to help him out, but he still couldn’t tell what your intentions were, so he felt unsure about starting something with you.
However, that didn’t stop Mark and you from making out with each other whenever you could. After the first kiss, you two couldn’t get enough of each other. Mark was eager to run his hands down your body while yours were dangling loosely around his neck. You would practically jump into his arms, allowing him to carry you until you were pressed against a wall or thrown onto his bed, and then he would lose himself to the taste of your lips.
Until Frisk would start crying again.
“Anything noteworthy?” Chenle asked during practice, dribbling his basketball while keeping his gaze fixed on his best friend.
“I kissed Y/N again,” Mark said, “because she was driving me crazy… again.”
“As one does, I guess.” Chenle threw the ball to Mark, who caught it swiftly. “Good job, dude. Maybe you’ll finally get laid.”
That was how Mark’s updates had been going for the past week. Chenle was more impressed the first few times, but now his response seemed scheduled, like he was expecting it.
The first night was truly the strangest encounter. After you and Mark shared a frenzied kiss, he took off his jacket to cover you up after noticing the goosebumps running down your arms. Then, he walked you back to his apartment (and sprinted back to the pool afterward because he left Frisk at the poolside).
The heated poolside kiss offered the perfect opportunity for you and Mark to spend the night together, but he couldn’t get a grip on himself. He ended up tucking you in his bed and sleeping on the couch. It took a while for him to fall asleep, though, because all he could think about were how soft your lips were against his.
But it was all so wrong.
Mark felt like he was the punchline of some sick joke. Whatever you were doing to him was messing with his head, and he couldn’t seem to figure out if there was any genuinity in your actions. Sure, you two shared a fraction of a moment when you started breaking down over the plastic baby, but it was almost immediately shattered by your frivolous question.
From being the pathetic college student who pined after you for years to becoming the object of your every desire, Mark was quite confused. He was questioning every single word that slipped from your lips, every action that threw him in for a loop. It was painstakingly miserable.
“I don’t wanna get laid like that.” Mark scowled. “Especially not with our baby crying every other minute.”
Chenle’s eyes widened, and he stopped dribbling the ball after Mark threw it to him, choosing to tuck it under his arm. “Whoa. Sounds like you’re not very happy.”
“Great observation, Chenle. Maybe psychology’s up your alley if statistics doesn’t work out.”
Chenle chose to ignore the jab and pointed out, “You don’t normally argue back like this.”
“We should start calling you Sherlock.”
“Dude, you’re mad.”
“I’m telling you she’s crazy, not—”
“No, Mark, you’re mad,” Chenle repeated. “You’re angry. I’ve never seen you heated before. You usually just take whatever comes at you, or you just laugh these things off.”
Mark sighed heavily. “I guess parenting takes a lot out of a person.”
“Maybe this is a good thing,” Chenle tried. “Maybe now you’ll get over your weird obsession with Y/N.”
“I don’t have a weird obsession with—”
Mark felt a firm hand on his shoulder, and he turned to see Johnny Suh standing right behind him. The basketball team captain’s eyebrows were raised.
“Trust me, dude,” he said, “you do have a weird obsession.”
Mark spluttered, offended. “Does everyone think this?”
He looked around to see most of the basketball team members nodding in agreement, but they looked away and got back to their drills as soon as Mark made eye contact with a few of them. Mark had never felt so distressed in his life, not even when Jisung’s stupid cat ate his pet goldfish last year.
“Mark!” a voice echoed from the entrance of the gym. His head whipped around to see you sauntering over with Frisk in a baby carrier. “You’re taking the baby home today, right? I’m going to the gym for an hour.”
Mark felt like an idiot for fixating on the way your gym shorts hugged your thighs deliciously. He could only think of how he would just tear them off if no one else was around. Maybe he could have you ride his thigh—
Actually, before that, Mark needed to move past first base with you. It was difficult getting more than five minutes together when parenting duties arose.
He was starting to see why everyone thought he had a weird obsession.
“Uh, yeah,” he stammered out while taking Frisk from your arms. “I’ll take her home after practice ends.”
“Alright, thanks,” you replied, getting on your toes to peck Mark’s lips gently before turning on your heels. “Bye, babe.”
“Dude, she’s insane,” Chenle said in awe as he watched you head out of the gym.
“Insane,” Mark affirmed, “and so fucking hot.”
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Later in the day, when you had finally put Frisk to sleep, Mark decided to bring up what you did in front of the entire basketball team. It had been on his mind all day; not because you kissed him but because you kissed him in front of his friends. Screwing around privately was much different from being affectionate in public.
“That was quite the stunt you pulled earlier,” he mentioned. When you responded with a questioning hum, he clarified, “Kissing me in front of the entire team.”
You were preoccupied with your reflection in the hallway mirror, messing with your hair to see what looked better. Mark was trying not to ogle so openly at the gym shorts that you were still wearing. He was almost starting to feel guilty for thinking such dirty thoughts.
“Oh, well, I saw the way you were looking at me,” you said, “so I just did it.”
“Looking at you?” he asked thoughtlessly, and then he only realized you had turned around because he couldn’t stare at your ass anymore. Now he had been caught and shame was burning on his face. “Uh, sorry, I was just—”
“You’re looking again,” you observed.
“Yeah, I’m sorry, I just—”
“You don’t have to apologize, Mark.” You walked over and straddled his thighs, as far back as possible so that you were sitting more on his knees. This was bad; Mark was going to get a boner if you kept this up. “You can just make it up to me.”
“I got a really big, um…”
You smiled in that coy way that made all the blood rush to Mark’s cock, painfully tenting his pants in the most uncomfortable way. “Got a really big what?”
He swallowed thickly. “Problem.”
“Need any help with that?”
Mark let out a happy sigh and his words spilled out faster than he could even process them. “Haven’t even taken you out for dinner yet.”
“Mark.”
“It’s the principle of the matter. I mean, I guess I made you ramen the other night. That has to count for something, right?”
“Mark.”
“No, that can’t count for anything. I have to actually pay for a proper dinner at a proper restaurant with—”
“Mark!” you exclaimed once again, and he snapped out of his ramblings to look down at you. All the blood was rushing to his cock when he watched you slowly lower down to your knees. In a softer voice, you asked, “Do you need any help or not?”
“Please.”
His voice came out with an edge of desperation. Mark didn’t know he had it in him to beg like that, and it would have embarrassed him if he wasn’t already yearning for you. While you didn’t directly tease him, the little curl of your lips made Mark’s face feel hot.
Your fingers slid past his waistband, and you started tugging at his pants with one hand while the other worked on his zipper. Mark rushed to help you, unable to contain how eager he was to feel your pretty lips around his throbbing cock. It was almost painful how he ached for you.
All he wanted was for Frisk to shut the fuck up for ten minutes—just ten minutes—so that he could receive the head of his life. Mark made a silent prayer that the robot baby wouldn’t start crying for milk and interrupt the moment like it always did.
Once you and Mark finally managed to yank his pants and boxers down to his ankles, you knelt back down and stared at Mark’s cock, watching it twitch sporadically. At first, he worried that you were underwhelmed by the size—maybe even having second thoughts on giving him a blowjob.
It was when he noticed your shy body language when he decided to ask, “Everything okay?”
“You’re so fucking huge,” you said after a moment of hesitation. “Like, I’m almost worried I won’t be able to take it all.”
Sometimes, Mark truly couldn’t tell if you were real or some sort of manifestation of his every desire and fantasy.
He started to lean toward the latter after he watched you lean forward to spit on the head of his cock, moving your hand up and down his shaft to lubricate him.
With a few experimental kitten licks to the head of his cock, you wound up taking his head into your mouth. Mark let out a groan immediately, internally begging you to just stop teasing and take the rest of him in. His cock was nearly throbbing from all the teasing. If you ever decided to really edge him, he would be a goner.
“Y/N, please,” he mumbled, cupping your cheek with his hand to urge you to take in more.
Your soft lips, painted cherry red, moved down on his cock. Mark couldn’t even think straight as you swirled your tongue around his length, taking your time along his thick veins. A breathless laugh escaped his lips; he was desperate—needing more.
Mark’s face was pinched in pleasure, trying to conceal the deep groans that dared escape his throat. He ended up giving in, though, because your tongue snaking around his girth was almost too much for him to handle. Then, you started to speed up, which Mark suspected was encouraged by his moans.
It felt as though the walls were crashing around him, so Mark stood up, leaving you perplexed and looking up at him with his cock still in your mouth. Somewhere between that, he managed to kick his jeans and boxers off his ankles completely. You were still bobbing your head back and forth, and the sight was breathtaking.
So, Mark did the only thing he could think of, and he grabbed a fistful of your hair at the back of your head and started bucking his hips into your mouth.
You let out a muffled cry, although it was clear you were enjoying Mark taking charge by the way you gripped his thighs and hollowed your cheeks out. There was a fire burning in Mark that he had never ignited before—something that woke him up, or woke something in him up.
“Yeah? You like that?” he taunted. Mark never expected such filthy words to come from his mouth, but he couldn’t help himself. “You’re such a good girl for me.”
Heat prickled his skin, and Mark had never had someone get him off, but he was sure this was it. Countless nights of beating off couldn’t compare to this moment—not when it was you, on your knees, looking up at him with those hazy, glazed-over eyes. Mark ran his thumb over your lip, smudging your lipstick further, and then it was all over for him.
Tiny shocks of pleasure coursed up his spine, and before Mark knew it, he was cumming in your mouth with zero warning. The feeling was so intense, all at once, and then it started subsiding. Aftershocks of pleasure came in waves, but Mark was so drunk on the feeling. He probably should have mentioned his incoming orgasm to you, but now he couldn’t even think properly as he watched you swallow down his load.
You stayed on your knees, keeping your gaze fixed on him as you pulled your lips off his cock.
Mark groaned at the sight. “Fuck,” was all he could muster before he knelt down and reconnected his lips with yours in a rushed kiss.
Dizzy. Hot. Frenzied. Mark felt like his surroundings had melted away, and the world was just you and him. He pulled you up to your feet, keeping his palms on your cheeks, and moved you carefully to his bedroom.
You pulled away to take off your shirt as you sat at the edge of Mark’s bed. You and Mark had cuddled a few nights on the same mattress, but being able to fuck you was completely different. Even though your dynamic was already strange, sealing the deal like this would change everything.
But Mark wasn’t complaining.
“You know,” he decided to admit as he pulled off his t-shirt, “the guys think I have some sort of weird obsession with you.”
“Well, are you?”
You kicked off your pants, and you were left in a black lingerie set that Mark couldn’t take his eyes off of. The way the fabric hugged your every curve made his brain go haywire. Maybe it was because Mark was a virgin, but he was freaking out and you two hadn’t even gotten started.
In response, Mark nodded. “Yeah, a little.”
You smiled and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down on top of you. Mark’s lips were slow on yours, lazily slipping into your mouth and licking as he pleased. He sighed happily into your mouth and felt his heartbeat skyrocket when your smile grew against his lips.
This kiss deepened, this time with more fervor, and Mark groaned into your mouth when he felt your nails rake down his back. He spread his slender fingers out to run his hand down the front of your body, shuddering lightly once he was at your stomach. Any lower and Mark would be in dangerous territory.
You pulled away to ask, “Are you nervous?”
“This is my first time,” Mark replied, “and it’s a little scarier doing it with someone who’s more confident than I am.”
“I’m actually pretty nervous, too.”
“You are?”
“Yeah, because I was going to ask you not to fuck me.” You pulled him closer so that you could press a kiss to his jawline. “I want you to make love to me.”
Mark’s jaw went slack at your words. All of a sudden, he wondered if the passage of time moved slower because five seconds of watching you shy away felt like an eternity.
Mark was uncertain. He had always been uncertain of many things in his life. He wasn’t very confident in himself, which was something he was working on. In fact, he was still half-expecting you to walk out on him at any moment.
But Mark was certain of one thing: He liked you a lot, and he wanted to give you anything you wanted.
He leaned down to brush his nose against yours. “You’re sure?”
“Positive.” You grinned before attempting to wriggle out of his grip. “Let me get on top so I can help you, Mark.”
“O-on top?” he stammered, and he wanted to hit himself for sounding so pathetic. It seemed to get a giggle out of you, though, so his worries washed away.
Mark sat back against his pillows. His blushes normally started at his chest before creeping up to his collarbones, so he really hoped you wouldn’t be able to see just how flustered he was. It was impossible to contain when you crawled toward him, though, sitting up on his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck.
“Condom,” he reminded in a whisper.
“I have the implant.” You held up your arm and pressed down on the fleshy underside. “Wanna feel?”
“Um…”
“Come on, touch it,” you urged. “It’s like X-Men, except my mutation is no fertilization.”
“What if I accidentally turn it off?”
“Pretty sure it doesn’t work like that, Mark.”
Mark allowed you to take his finger and poke the contraceptive in your arm. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but his eyes went wide when he realized how hard it was. He loosened his grip on you so that he held you more gently with careful hands.
“It doesn’t hurt?” he asked, frowning.
“Yeah, it’s fine,” you said with a smile. “Why? Are you worried?”
“I don’t wanna hurt you,” he said. “I just wanna make you feel good.”
You took Mark’s hand and moved it down to the apex of your thighs, sighing softly when his fingers brushed against your clothed cunt. Mark started with gentle prods before his fingers were nearly clawing to get your thong off. He wanted nothing more than to drown his fingers in your cunt.
He pulled out to undo your bra slowly, moving the straps down your arms first before he snapped the band behind you. A sigh fell from his lips when your bra slid down your body, and he quickly tossed it aside so that he could really look at you.
“Take off your thong,” he mumbled, tugging at the band eagerly.
You raised your hips and Mark helped you remove your last garment, and when you were completely bare in front of him, he was sure he could die a happy man. His fingertips ran down your body, looking at you with perplexed eyes, like he was trying to figure out if you were real or some otherworldly being beyond his imagination.
You lowered onto him slowly, and he tipped his head back and groaned as you did. Mark couldn’t explain how he felt. The squeeze was slightly painful, but feeling you all around his cock was wonderful. His eyes went a little unfocused as he stared at the spot where you two were joined, and Mark found his fingers digging into your hips.
“Jesus, Y/N,” he rasped out. “You feel so fucking good.”
“I can set the pace,” you whimpered out, although you already looked way too caught up in your own pleasure to move. “Just give me a second. You’re so b-big.”
“Then I can do everything for you.”
Mark didn’t hesitate before he grabbed the back of your thighs and flipped you around so that he was suspended over you, using one hand to keep himself up while the other was gripping your hip. The swiftness caused him to bottom out unintentionally, and it left you both gasping and moaning at the deeper penetration.
He started thrusting at a steady pace, breath hitching every time he watched your face twist and contort in pleasure. Mark slipped out a few times and had to regain his rhythm afterward, but soon he was starting to get the hang of it. The feeling was phenomenal; he felt like he was breathing in stars that exploded into little supernovas in his head. And it was even harder to keep his composure when you looked so fucked-out underneath him.
Mark’s hand flew up to grip the headboard, and he laughed a little breathlessly because this was what he dreamt of for years. This was the very image of his wet dreams of you, and it was unraveling right before him. Those fantasies, though, couldn’t hold a candle to the real thing.
Neither of you were much of talkers—just far too lost in each other’s bodies to do anything but moan and whine. When your legs wrapped around his waist, Mark felt impossibly deeper inside of you. Each thrust felt like an electric current running under his skin. The buildup of pleasure was making him feel hotter and hotter until he felt like he would explode.
Mark had never been into spirituality, but he truly felt like he had ascended to some higher plane when his nerve endings met rapture and he came inside you. The release left him breathing hard, almost stuttering to a stop before he realized that you still needed to cum, and he sped up again to get you to your orgasm. Still, he was slow enough that you could feel his thrusts deep inside of you. Right where you needed him.
“Mark,” you breathed out, but no other words were forming on your lips. You reached out without any sense of direction, so Mark lowered his head to kiss you with more assurance than he had ever felt in his life.
One hand on the headboard, one fighting down your hips, and his body pressed flush against yours as he made love to you. Mark admitted that he had gotten a little carried away at first, but now he wanted to go as slow as you needed.
“T-that’s it,” you gasped out. “Right there.”
You arched your spine, and Mark held the small of your back to keep you there while you fell into your orgasm. He fucked you through your orgasm, sparing your lips for the time being and showing your neck some love so that he could hear your delightful moans. He made sure that you were able to ride your high out for as long as possible, releasing his grip from the headboard so that he could rub your clit in small, precise circles.
The room soon fell silent, and Mark just watched your chest rise and fall with a small smile. He tucked your loose strands of hair behind your ear and leaned in for another kiss.
And, since the universe wanted Mark to be miserable, Frisk started crying again. Her mechanical wails were heard in the distance.
Mark let his head drop, burying it in the crook of your neck before he sighed heavily. Then, he rose up again to gather his garments from the floor. You did the same with great reluctance, and this was probably the first time Mark had seen you so frustrated to deal with Frisk. There was unspoken tension in the air, but you both knew your project grade had to be dealt with first. Aftercare could come later.
“I’ll get the baby,” he muttered.
Just as miserable as he was, you nodded in understanding. “I’ll get a clean diaper.”
As Mark was walking down his hallway, he froze dead in his tracks and his eyes widened.
“Wait,” he announced, and he was confident the stars aligned and constellations formed for this pivotal moment, “I found the clit.”
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On a Friday night, Mark decided to take you to get ice cream instead of going home straight after basketball practice. It had been a rough week, so he figured you two needed a break. Frisk had been crying nonstop all night, and it was causing you both to lose sleep. It had gotten to the point where Mark’s eye bags were so dark that it looked as if someone had punched him on both sides of his face.
“What’s your favorite flavor?” he asked, hands in his pockets as he firmly held onto his phone. He needed to pull it out as fast as he could before you tried to pay for the ice cream. Thankfully, Mark was quick with Apple Pay.
“Mint chocolate chip,” you said. “You?”
Mark’s nose scrunched up at the thought of eating mint chocolate chip ice cream willingly. “Mine’s cookies and cream.”
“Why are you making that face?”
“Because mint chocolate chip is terrible.”
“No, it’s not!” you argued. “Cookies and cream is literally the most basic flavor.”
“Well, at least it actually tastes good. Can’t really say the same for your dairy toothpaste.”
Thankfully, you were so adamant on defending your low quality ice cream flavor that Mark was able to pay for your ice creams without you noticing. The cashier even chuckled at the banter that kept going back and forth, not even stopping when Mark whipped out his phone to pay for the two cups.
“We literally have nothing in common,” you continued bickering, not ceasing even when you and Mark got a table outside. “I hate basketball, I don’t like gaming—and those are pretty much the top two things you love!”
“I thought you played Earthbound.”
“I did, but that’s different. You play first person shooter, not RPGs.”
Mark shrugged. “That’s fine. I don’t like shopping or watching Single’s Inferno, so I don’t expect you to like basketball or gaming.”
“But what do we talk about then?” You sighed. “We have absolutely no common interests to talk about.”
“We’re talking fine right now, aren’t we?” He paused to wipe the smear of ice cream off your bottom lip with his thumb, and then proceeded to lick it clean himself since there were no napkins nearby. “You had a little something.”
“Oh, thanks,” you replied, blinking several times before you snapped back into reality. “Are we talking fine? We were just arguing over ice cream flavors.”
“I’m not having a bad time, though,” he said with a shrug, scooping some ice cream into his mouth. “I liked you even when I knew jack shit about you.”
“You did? Since when?”
“Uh…” Mark was sure his cheeks had gone bright red. “Like, one or six years ago?”
“One or six?” you asked, eyes wide as saucers. “That’s a very big timeframe.” You were deep in thought as you ate your ice cream, pondering on his words before asking, “So, like, high school, right?”
Mark nodded shyly. “Around then—yeah.”
You laughed, and Mark’s face grew hotter from embarrassment. It was like he was being made fun of, like you thought his feelings were some spectacle to laugh at. Maybe you were going to say he was “cute” for feeling that way or something, and that was probably worse.
But Mark pushed the discomfort down. He tried to believe that you were just so surprised that you couldn’t help but laugh. It didn’t matter, anyway; you two were mostly good now.
“Yo,” you said, frowning as your eyes unfocused. “I feel like we’re forgetting something.”
Mark chewed on that thought for a moment before he frantically leapt to his feet. Panic bubbled in his chest when he realized what—or who—exactly they were missing.
“The fucking baby’s still in the car.”
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Mark had not ever felt such intense parental fear in his life.
Well, he supposed he hadn’t felt parental fear ever, actually. Not until he realized he left his robot baby (which happened to be 45% of his grade) in his car. Three spine-chilling minutes that made Mark question whether he was even any good at being a dad.
But, when Mark looked over to see how panicked you looked, he realized that you both had something in common. The two of you looked absolutely crazy, sprinting to the parking lot in a desperate attempt to get to their robot baby.
Honestly, Mark felt like his life wouldn’t be as fun without a little crazy.
It was a few days after the car incident when Mark decided to take matters into his own hands. So what if you two had no common hobbies? That didn’t mean you had absolutely nothing in common. He concluded that if he couldn’t find something for you both to enjoy, then he would just do all of your favorite things until something stuck.
That was how he ended up dragging a planter box into his apartment. He had gotten it off Facebook Marketplace for a cheap price after two entire days of stalking the listings. Mark had to drive about fifteen miles to pick it up, so he hoped you would like it.
You looked up from the child development textbook you were reading with inquisitive eyes. Mark was a heaving mess from having to lug the planter box from his car. You set your book down and got up to see why Mark was lingering in the entryway.
“What’s that?” you asked.
He probably looked painfully awkward as he tried to carry the oblong planter box. Mark struggled for a moment before giving up and setting it on the ground, right in the middle of the living room. His mother would have scolded him for getting dirt on his floor so recklessly, so he made a mental note to vacuum later.
“We have nothing in common,” he said.
“Yes, I think we’ve already gone over that.”
“Yeah, but you’re living here. I’m not gonna make you miserable with all my gaming and basketball talk all the time.” Mark gestured to the planter box. “Since you like gardening, I figured you could at least be entertained by this.”
You didn’t respond for a moment, so Mark continued, “Or, uh… you could teach me about plants and stuff,” he tried, but his heart was hammering in his chest. Was he fucking up already? Maybe you didn’t even like gardening anymore and this was all for nothing. “Sorry, I can return—”
“How’d you know I liked gardening?” you cut in to ask.
Mark blanched. “Um… you mentioned it during your introduction in AP Lit. You told the class you liked gardening, so I just assumed you would still be into it… I don’t know.”
“You remember that?”
“Yeah, I do.”
He wasn’t sure if his eyes were just playing tricks on him, but he swore the sun shone brighter when you smiled. Golden rays of light streamed into the room when your face broke into a wide grin, and Mark could see leftover traces of sun in your eyes. So warm and happy that he felt his soul light up.
“Come on,” you said, reaching forward to grab Mark’s hand and lace your fingers with his. “I’ll show you how to grow some flowers. Which ones did you get?”
Mark checked the packet and flipped it over for you to see. “Sunflowers.”
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Parenting was hard.
Almost an entire month of being a father, and the only thing Mark gathered was that parenting was pretty fucking hard.
So, naturally, Mark had to explode eventually. There was only so much a man could stand. From having to wake up multiple times throughout the night, spend basketball practices babysitting, and change diapers between classes, Mark was certain he would suffocate under the pressure of parenting.
And he was anxious.
Anxious about the project. Anxious about Frisk. Anxious about you.
Mark truly couldn’t get a read on you; it was almost impossible to tell if he had peeled back every single layer of yours, or if there were some still left. There were days where he thought you were truly into him, and then there were days where Mark couldn’t gauge where you were at. He felt like he had fallen for someone who wouldn’t ever take him seriously.
That was how he ended up arguing with you in the living room. At this point, Mark was going to have to go to Dr. Han’s office hours because why the hell was the baby allowed to wake them up at four in the morning? He was far too tired to think straight, but Mark’s tired, irritable state left him vulnerable and ready to start an argument.
“See, if you didn’t decide to move in on your own—which you never even asked me for permission, by the way—then we wouldn’t be in this situation right now,” Mark said, tugging a hand through his hair with a frustrated sigh. “I really don’t understand what you were thinking.”
“I was thinking that a mom and a dad should—”
“We’re not actual parents, Y/N!” he yelled. “I don’t know how many times I have to say it, but this is literally a group project! We aren’t even a real couple!”
You stiffened. “Okay, whatever. That doesn’t change the fact that it isn’t easier to take care of Frisk when we’re together.”
Mark stood up and walked toward you. “How is it easier? Give me one example.” He stared at you wordlessly while you were finding the words to argue back, but you stayed quiet. “Neither of us can get a good night’s sleep because Frisk wakes up crying every single night. If you stayed at your apartment, then we could’ve switched off.”
“If you don’t want me to stay here that badly, then you can just tell me to go home instead of making me feel like shit,” you muttered.
“I make you feel like shit? You make me feel like shit, Y/N!” Mark replied, exasperated. “You’re constantly making these comments about how you want me, but none of it feels sincere! It’s like you enjoy playing these… these mind games with me.”
“Mark, we’re both tired. Let’s talk about this another time.”
You started walking away, but Mark was on your heels. He knew that if he didn’t get closure for this conversation, then he probably wouldn’t get the chance to talk to you about this again.
“I really wanna talk about this now, though,” Mark pleaded. “Come on, I know you’re messing with my head so just—”
You stopped in your tracks to turn on Mark, venom in your words as you spat, “Listen, why are you so fucking insecure that you’re so set on making me seem like the bad guy here? It’s always ‘you’re messing with me’ and ‘you don’t take me seriously’ while leaving zero room for the fact that shit, Mark, maybe I genuinely like you!”
Shame bubbled under Mark’s skin like boiling magma, hiccuping spurts of lava that threatened to make him go red in the face. You had a point; he had been spinning everything on you, which was the single worst thing he could do as a man. As a friend. Whatever you two were considered, Mark hadn’t been treating you right, but he still hated the doubt that kept rising in his chest.
It had all been too fast for him.
“I know,” he started softly, grabbing your hands so gently, as if they would shatter like glass. “I know, and I’m sorry. I just—it’s hard for me to understand why you want me when you—”
You threw your head back and forced out a laugh, and Mark thought you were going crazy until he realized your exasperation had just boiled over into hysteria. You seemed lost for a moment, just staring up at him with a pained look in your eyes.  
“Why does anyone need a reason to like someone?” you asked. “That’s the whole point, Mark. You’re not supposed to understand why you’re feeling the way you are. The same goes for you. I mean, hell, you wanted me when I was still dating Vernon.”
Mark didn’t know what to say, so he just gawked at you until you continued, “Now, let me ask you the real question here: do you actually like me, or did you just like the idea of me?”
Mark realized he had put you on a pedestal this entire time. From the beginning, he had never truly liked you; he just liked the idea of you—the version of you he fabricated in his head. After spending so much time with you over the past few weeks, he had gotten to know the real you, and it was a stark difference from the person he thought you were.
In short, you were absolutely crazy. You were sort of a mess, didn’t think before you spoke, and it seemed as though you acted upon every impulsive thought you had. Mark was quite terrified of you sometimes, if he had to be perfectly honest. He had never seen or met a woman as brazen as you were.
And yet, he liked you.
Mark liked you so much more than he liked the girl he thought you were.
He liked you, who spoke her mind so shamelessly, not thinking about the consequences of her actions until it was too late. The you that was so outspoken, so unapologetic. Mark adored every little flaw of yours that got on his nerves and drove him mad, and he liked you so much that he preferred the you he had seen now, as opposed to who he thought you were before.
But now, as you stared at him, expecting an answer, he really didn’t know how to express what he was feeling into words. All Mark could do was look at you helplessly, shaking his head because he needed you to know that he didn’t just like the thought of having you.
“Alright, then,” you whispered, clearly upset. You sucked in a sharp breath and then straightened up, looking right into his eyes. “Your name’s Mark. You have an older brother who also went to our high school. You’re from Toronto, Canada, but you’re not a big fan of maple syrup or ice hockey. You like watermelon, though, and you’re also pretty good with a guitar. You aren’t sure about what you wanna be when you grow up, but you like playing basketball, so you’re gonna stick with that for as long as you’re interested.”
Mark’s jaw nearly went slack. He had pieced it together while you spoke, but the answer was just too incomprehensible for him. There was no way you remembered his AP Literature introduction, too.
“What else?” you continued. “Oh, right. You wore that colorblock sweater nearly every day; you played the piano in the band room whenever you and your friends were in there for lunch; and you would always wait behind if someone had to stop and tie their shoes. Oh, and I remember when you wore your shorts the wrong way during P.E. that one time. Everyone laughed at you, even the teacher, but you weren’t even embarrassed. You just laughed it off.”
“I liked you, too, you idiot,” you finished. You stammered for a moment before correcting yourself, “Like—like you.”
There was a long minute of silence with Mark just trying to wrap his head around what you had just unloaded in front of him. With great hesitance, he asked, “When I told you that I liked you in high school and you laughed, was that just because you realized we felt the same way?”
Slowly, the flickering anger across your face fell apart, and your realization that dawned upon you was more sad than shocking. Mark had always felt insecure around you, but now he was truly terrified that he had been misreading you this entire time.
“Did you think I was laughing at your feelings?” you asked. The ice in your stare was quickly replaced with an apologetic gaze. “I’m so sorry, Mark. I really didn’t mean to. I just thought it was funny because we both felt the same way. I was just—”
“No, I’m sorry,” he corrected. “I was jumping to conclusions because I was so insecure. I didn’t think a girl like you could ever like a guy like me.”
“A guy like you?” You frowned, and then you reached forward to cup his face. “Mark, why do you think so little of yourself? I told you, any girl would kill to be in my shoes.”
Mark looked at you—looked at you with all the stars of the universe in his eyes. “I don’t want any girl, Y/N. I want you,” he confessed. “I like you more than I thought I did.” He shook his head and added, “I mean, I liked you before the project, but I had no idea what kind of person you were. I’m saying I like you a lot more now that I know you better.”
A smile stretched across your face, and Mark wondered if you knew just how beautiful you looked when your eyes crinkled at the corners.
“I like you, too,” was all you said, and it was all he needed to hear.
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Today marked the end of the marriage and baby project.
It was a little bittersweet, although Mark thought it was odd that he had spent a month taking care of Frisk only to flip the doll over and power it off. He pretended it was more sentimental than it felt, but he was honestly glad to be done with the project. It taught him a lot, but Mark was not going to miss being woken up in the middle of the night.
You, on the other hand, seemed the most upset when you were handing in your final report. You even held onto Frisk a little longer before giving her away, watching her be piled on top of the other robot babies with sad eyes.
“Would anyone like to share what they learned over this past month?” Dr. Han asked the class. “It can be a simple observation or you can pull something from your write-up.”
Mark didn’t even feel like he was in total control of his body when his hand flew up. He didn’t even want to share his thoughts with the class. But the words were already in his head, not even budging from his memory when most of the heads in the room turned to face him.
“I can go,” he offered, sparing you a quick, nervous glance before standing up.
“Parenting is hard,” Mark started, so matter-of-factly that the class erupted into laughter. He waited for the room to simmer down before continuing, “I felt like an unfit father most of the time. Actually, an unfit husband.” This got a few more chuckles out of his classmates. “Taking care of Frisk felt like a chore. I wanted to split up the tasks with Y/N, but she always insisted on doing things together. We argued a lot because I felt like it was a waste of both our times, but she was right. Parenting isn’t about finding the easy way out.”
Dr. Han nodded with a hum of approval. “You’re right, Mark, parenting is—”
“And,” Mark kept going, “you can’t be a good parent if you can’t be a good partner. It’s sort of like, uh, gardening; you can’t just focus on one flower and let the others around it die. You have to cover all the bases.”
“That’s great, Mark,” Dr. Han said. “You and Y/N still get a C, though.”
Mark let his shoulders drop, disappointed. “Man.”
Mark walked back to his row and slumped in his seat, defeated. You were hiding your smile, nudging his shoulder to let him know that you acknowledged his speech.
The reality of the situation was that you and Mark were called into Dr. Han’s office last week. She initially said something vague about needing to talk to you two about the project, but then she brought up concerns about Frisk’s health. Apparently, she noted the change in temperature while Frisk was locked in the car, which was “a very dangerous situation to put a child in.” Dr. Han also didn’t care for Mark’s explanation that Frisk should have cried as soon as she realized her parents were leaving without her.
Normally, you two would’ve failed the project, but since your reports and final paper were so detailed and you and Mark went the extra mile of living together, Dr. Han decided to take pity on you two. The best she could give you was a C, which Mark didn’t mind considering he half-despised that stupid robot baby.
(He sort of missed her, though.)
“Nice try,” you whispered with a playful smile, “but it’s okay. I give you an A in my heart. Maybe extra credit for the gardening analogy.”
Mark flushed a little. “Thanks, I guess.” He looked over at the stack of papers on Dr. Han’s desk, and then he tuned in for a bit of her concluding statements about the marriage and baby project. “So what does this mean for us?”
Under the desk, you reached over to grip Mark’s hand. He squeezed back and then looked over his shoulder to see an easygoing grin on your face. You shrugged your shoulders and leaned back in your seat.
“I guess we can stop being fake husband and wife,” you said, “and we can start being a real couple.”
Mark snickered, quite pleased with your response as he turned back to face the front of the room.
“Yeah,” he mumbled under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear. “I like the sound of that.”
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Mark was always nervous before games, but even more so today.
Not only was it the first home game of the season, but he hadn’t exactly been in prime condition ever since he started dating you. He was pretty sure half of his stamina was spent on you during nights, and then he was just sluggish during the day. Since you had finally moved back to your own apartment, he thought he would start seeing you less, but it was quite the opposite; you still came back almost every  night. (Not that you lived very far, anyway.)
He was currently in the locker room changing into his jersey. The rest of his teammates were filling up their water bottles outside the court, and Mark told them he’d catch up with them later.
“Hey there, tiger,” an all too familiar voice called from the doorway.
Mark whipped his head around to see you standing there in one of his jerseys, which he suspected you stole from his closet. He had to admit it looked way better on you than it did on him, and he couldn’t get enough. One of his secret desires had to be seeing you in his uniform, as oversized as it looked on your figure.
Just seeing you there put his nerves at ease.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, a happy grin lighting up his face. “I thought you hated basketball games.”
“I do,” you whined. You walked over and pulled your boyfriend in for a hug. “I like you, though.”
“Wow,” he breathed out. “This means everything to me, Y/N. You have no idea.”
You giggled. “Really? So you wouldn’t mind if I distracted you a little before your game?”
“I—I don’t know, I…” Mark floundered for words before he caved with a sigh. “Fine.”
You immediately started nipping at Mark’s neck, grabbing fistfuls of the front of his shirt as he let out an appreciative sigh. If he wasn’t careful, he was sure to get carried away, and God knew how badly that would end with his game starting anytime soon.
Just before Mark was about to let a groan slip, though, he heard loud clapping followed by the sound of his teammates singing the happy birthday song.
This wasn’t happening.
Mark pulled away from you to look in the direction of the music. Surely enough, his entire team was walking in with Chenle and Johnny leading them at the front.
“Happy birthday to you,” they all sang in broken unison, “happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Mark Lee—”
“What the fuck?” Mark cut in, and he pushed your hands down when he noticed you were clapping and singing along, too. “You know it’s not my birthday!”
“—happy birthday to you!”
They finished their song with a chorus of cheers and laughs. Mark’s face heated up. Maybe he deserved this. Maybe this was karma for walking in on both Johnny and Jaehyun in the past.
Jungwoo emerged from the middle of the group, holding a cake that read: Congrats you are no longer a VIRGIN.
(It was important to note that the word “virgin” was in uppercase.)
Tasteful.
“Good job, Mark.” Chenle patted his back firmly before turning to his girlfriend. “And thank you, Y/N.”
You gave him a thumbs up before trying some of the frosting on the cake. “Ooh, it’s vanilla.”
Mark was sure his face was red as a tomato. “You guys suck.” He scrunched up his nose when Johnny urged him to try some of the cake, but he ended up complying and taking a bite from the slice he was holding. “I’ll admit the cake’s good, though.”
Johnny laughed before he raised his voice to announce, “Alright, we’re playing soon, so let’s wrap this up and bully him later.”
Chatter rose from the team again, and they all started filing into the gym. Mark hung back to let out a groan and bury his face in your chest.
“It was a good cake,” you tried, carding your fingers through his hair.
“Good cake,” he agreed. “A little wordy, though. They could’ve just written ‘virgin’ and crossed it out.”
“You can do that for my cake,” you suggested. “My born again virgin cake.”
Mark let out a sound that was between a groan and a laugh. He really couldn’t get enough of you, even when you were making fun of him. Despite how many times you both agreed on having absolutely nothing in common, it was surprisingly easy to talk to you.
After an entire month of all the pain and suffering that came with taking care of Frisk, he came to the conclusion that maybe parenting really was a gift. Even if that gift happened to be wrapped with barbed wire.
So maybe Mark Lee had terrible luck, but one thing was for sure: he really hit the jackpot with you.
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AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ if you made it all the way to the end i will kiss your cheeks!!! thank you for reading and i hope you enjoyed the marriage and baby project ♡ at first i meant for this to be way more romcom but it got a tiny bit angsty unexpectedly :’) basically mark crushing on reader slowly turning into mark falling in love with the reader for who she is because <33 mark lee <33 
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BONUS ▸ 
“I got here as fast as I could,” you said, trying to catch your breath through your words. “It actually happened?”
“Yeah, look.” Mark placed a hand on the small of your back and guided you to his small balcony, gesturing to the golden flowers atop their tall stalks. “The sunflowers finally bloomed.”
4K notes · View notes
gureumz · 8 months
Text
liar, sweetheart
rating: explicit
member: sunghoon
premise: your best friend, benj, is a twin but he's the complete opposite of his brother. his brother, sunghoon, is all kinds of sleazy, or so you've heard. knowing about your big fat crush on your best friend, this sorry excuse of a twin brother agrees to put in a good word, in exchange for a good fuck, of course.
notes: fem!reader, dom!sunghoon, sort of rivals-to-lovers, unprotected sex, slight breeding, dacryphilia, dirty talk, degradation, praise, clothed sex, accidental voyeurism, sunghoon is two people here lmao, lmk if i missed anything!
a/n: fifth entry for my 1k follower special! we're in the endgame now, people. one last after this and my 1k event is ending. how did that happen :') anyways, i really got back into my writing groove for this one so i hope you all enjoy!
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"what do you think of sunghoon?"
your ears perk up as you turn your head to give your best friend a look.
oh, benj. sweet, sweet benjamin park.
awkward but in a cute, boyish sort of way, tall almost to the point of gangly, but handsome in the way supermodels were.
benj is a figure skater, a very good one at that. he's at the level where if he did well enough, he'd be international news tomorrow. you've seen him skate and to you, it was nothing short of mesmerizing.
oh, you. clueless, utterly clueless you.
honestly, it was all so predictable.
a situation right out of booktok's latest favorite friends-to-lovers novel by some up-and-coming author. the comfortable silence, the memorized starbucks orders, the pining, oh, the pining. booktok lives for the pining.
sitting here in benj's room as he casually games, fingers lazily moving over his ps5 controller, you realize just how utterly shortsighted you were.
of course you'd fall in love with your best friend. it's law. it's fate. a canon event, as the kids say.
but, you're getting out of topic here. right now, benj is asking you about his twin brother.
"what do you mean?" you ask, swiveling around in the office chair by benj's desk. benj is perched on his bed, leaned up against his headboard as he plays.
"like...what do you think of him...?" benj repeats, as if in an attempt to rephrase his question but ultimately failing.
your forehead creases even more.
"you have to be more specific than that," you chuckle.
benj pauses the game, setting the controller down. he shifts on his side so he can get a better look at you.
"do you like him?" benj deadpans, raising an eyebrow.
you nearly choke on your own saliva.
sunghoon. benj's twin brother.
the younger twin, as benj always reminded. your thoughts drift to the other park brother, complete in all his dark clothes and equally dark hair.
while benj afforded himself the preference of dying his hair an icy blonde, sunghoon kept his own hair jet black. benj wore sweaters and cardigans and loose-fitting shirts, but sunghoon wore button-ups, with the first three buttons popped open, paired with jeans ripped to the heavens.
benj is the shining star in this family, a star figure skater, an overachiever. sunghoon battles his way around ice hockey, dabbles in dance, keeps his triumphs to himself.
benj is the sun, while sunghoon is the moon. yin and yang.
you get the picture.
oh, and sunghoon is a complete asshole. benj is not.
"he's okay," you finally answer. benj looks at you like he's waiting for more.
"that's it?" benj asks after a second.
you roll your eyes. "i don't know what you want me to say. i barely talk to him since i spend most of my time with you."
benj cocks his head to the side, as if curious.
"weird," he says. "he asks about you all the time."
this piques your interest.
"he does?"
benj shrugs, returning his attention to the tv. he picks the forgotten controller back up, resuming his game.
"yeah. asks if and when you'll be coming over," benj explains. he shoots you a quick side glance.
"you're not hooking up behind my back, are you?"
you physically recoil at benj's words, the idea initially repulsive to you.
"absolutely not," you practically spit out. "he's not my type."
benj bursts out laughing, his eyes forming cute crescents as he does so.
"you basically just called me ugly with that," benj points out, eyes unmoving from the tv screen.
you stutter for a second. "that's not what i meant. it's just—well we're not close, at least not like how we are and—"
you sigh, cutting yourself off. you've embarrassed yourself enough, you think.
benj shakes his head, one side of his mouth turning up in a half-smile.
"okay, no need to explain, ______. i was just asking," benj says. "but the way you're so defensive about it is raising a few questions, not gonna lie."
you rub exasperatedly at your temples.
"i am not sleeping with your brother."
---
"hey."
you nearly jump a foot back in surprise. looking up, you're met with the stern gaze of sunghoon, black hair falling over his eyes. he's wearing one of those compression shirts, ridiculously tight against his toned upper body.
you turn away before it gets weird.
"oh, sorry, is benj home?" you ask, peeking momentarily past sunghoon.
"he's at training," sunghoon informs. "didn't he tell you?"
you glance at your watch. "he said he'd be done by now."
sunghoon raises an eyebrow. "well, he's not."
your mouth falls open, your mind momentarily going blank. you shift your expression to one of stony resolve.
"you know what, i'll just come back. sorry to bother you," you say, already turning away.
"i didn't tell you to leave, did i?"
you turn back, giving sunghoon a look. you stare hard, noticing just how much he resembles benj. but some things differ, naturally.
an extra beauty mark. the slightly sharper upturn of his nose. the seemingly eternal frown on his face.
"you can come in," sunghoon says with a sigh, stepping aside. you duck your head as you cross the threshold.
"and don't be so uptight next time," he adds. you can practically hear the smirk as he says this.
you glare daggers at sunghoon and he's still smiling as he closes the door behind him. he crosses his arms and studies you.
he leans back against the door and you straighten yourself up as much as you could.
"what's your problem, sunghoon?" you ask, planting your hands on your hips.
"what's yours?" sunghoon replies. you feel a twinge of annoyance spark in your chest.
"nothing," you emphasize. "and that's exactly it. i don't have a problem but if you don't stop acting like that, i might just have one soon enough."
"acting like what?" sunghoon questions, tilting his head to the side.
you swallow. you rack your brain for something to say, and don't be mistaken, you have a lot, but it's like your train of thought has halted altogether.
"like...that," you say, gesticulating vaguely with your hands.
sunghoon laughs, a hand coming up to run through his hair. you watch him, observe as his muscles shift beneath that stupidly tight, stupidly attractive shirt.
...what?
"are you this jumpy with my brother?" sunghoon asks, shoving his hands in the pockets of his grey sweatpants.
"i don't follow," you say, taking a step back. being close to sunghoon seems suffocating now, as if the air is stuffy with something you can't quite put your finger on.
"of course, you don't," sunghoon mutters under his breath.
it takes everything in you not to punch him square in the jaw.
"you like benj, don't you?" it's more of a statement rather than a question and it's so unexpected to you, you nearly stumble back in surprise.
"what?" is all you can say.
sunghoon snorts as if your confusion is oh-so-amusing.
"no need to deny it, _______," sunghoon reassures. "everyone with one working eye can see it."
you decide to stay silent. maybe if you don't react, sunghoon would drop the subject.
sunghoon seems satisfied with himself as he grins, nodding to himself, probably mentally patting himself on the back for his 'detective work'. he brushes past you and you get a whiff of his perfume and what you can assume is his body wash.
fresh. powdery. clean.
you wait a second before you hear his bedroom door close.
you let out a breath you weren't aware you were holding.
your phone vibrates with a notification and you're relieved to see it's a message from benj.
'are you at my place yet? i'll be home in a few. sunghoon will let you in. sorry, love u!'
you smile to yourself as you lock your phone.
---
you couldn't stop thinking about it.
were you really that obvious? or is it just some twin telepathy that's why sunghoon could tell? could benj tell?
you sit up, careful not to jostle anything in your immediate vicinity. you peer up at benj's sleeping figure from where you're situated on his spare mattress, positioned on the floor right next to his bed.
he seems to be deep in slumber, shoulders rising and falling steadily. you swallow, realizing how parched your throat has gotten. you get up on your feet, treading carefully around benj's room to get to the door.
you exit, walking down the hallway of the parks' penthouse apartment, trying to make as minimal sound as you can. you round the corner to where you know the kitchen is and you immediately stop in your tracks.
"shit—" you curse, startled by the figure standing by the kitchen island.
your eyes adjust to the dim lighting and you realize you've come face to face with sunghoon.
"hi, _______," sunghoon greets. "fancy seeing you here."
you huff, approaching the refrigerator. "ha ha. you scared the shit out of me."
you hear sunghoon laugh quietly from behind you.
you take the ice-cold pitcher out of the fridge, setting it on the counter before walking over to the cupboards where the parks keep their glasses.
you can feel sunghoon watching you, aware of the burning attention. you can feel your neck prickle with it.
you pull the cupboard door open and it's only now that you realize you can barely see. afraid to just reach in and possibly knock over and break something, you pause, willing your vision to adjust even more to the low lighting.
"hey, can you turn on the—"
your words are cut off when you feel warmth press up against your back. you flinch, watching with wide eyes as sunghoon's arm braces itself against the countertop in front of you. he reaches over you, his breath tickling the top of your head.
you shiver involuntarily.
you turn to face him, pressing yourself fully against the granite behind you. sunghoon pulls a glass down from the cupboard, handing it to you. his arm is still planted firmly to your side, half caging you in.
"here," sunghoon says.
you can just make out his face in the low light, his scent invading your senses once more. you take the glass from him and he steps away, freeing you.
you wordlessly return to the center of the kitchen, pouring yourself the water you desperately need. and boy, do you need it.
you gulp down mouthfuls of it, unsure why your legs are suddenly weak, your knees threatening to give out.
"hey," sunghoon calls out. you pause, turning to where he's still standing by the cupboards.
he has the same easy stance he had earlier in the day. leaned back, arms crossed. even in the dark, you can feel him staring.
"what?" it comes out a little more harshly than you'd like and you wince.
"do you hate me or something?" sunghoon asks brusquely.
once again, you find yourself rendered speechless by sunghoon.
"no," you answer simply, setting your glass down.
"then why don't you hang out with me like you do with benj?" sunghoon asks, approaching you.
"because benj is my best friend, you're not," you respond. sunghoon stops right in front of you and you have to crane your neck to meet where you think his eyes are.
"your best friend that you're in love with," sunghoon says, a hint of amusement in his voice.
"that's not true," you deny.
sunghoon snickers. "sure, keep lying to yourself, sweetheart."
you inhale at the term of endearment.
"you know, i never understood why you got closer to him but you stopped spending time with me altogether," sunghoon muses. "the three of us grew up together, remember?"
you do.
the afternoons spent in the local playground. you and benj sat on the swings while sunghoon pushed. you and sunghoon on the seesaw while benj attempted to balance in the middle (much to their mother's horror). the twins hiding while you played seeker.
a smile tugs at your lips at the memory. and then it falters just as quick.
"you were the one who stopped hanging out with us," you say, a little accusatory in the way you did. "you had newer ice hockey friends and when middle school rolled around, you decided those girls were worth your time more than us."
'more than me,' is what you wanted to say. but you swallow it down.
sunghoon stays silent at this. after what you estimate is a minute, he sighs.
"sorry," is all he says.
you shake your head. "it's okay, we all drift apart from our childhood friends at one point."
sunghoon steps even closer. you can feel him now. a strange crackle of electricity tickles your fingertips.
"that's not the case with you and benj," sunghoon observes.
it's your turn to say nothing.
"i can help you," sunghoon suggests. your head snaps up as you try to process sunghoon's words.
you can see him now, illuminated by the faint hallway lights behind you. sunghoon's looking at you, expression unreadable.
"help me?" you parrot back. sunghoon nods.
"i can help you get with benj, if that's what you want. plant the seeds, so to speak," sunghoon explains. "he is my twin brother, after all."
you consider this for a moment. there's no denying the giddy feeling you get in benj's presence. the comfort it gives you when you spend the whole day together. the butterflies in your stomach when he beams at you, all bright and shining.
this should be an offer you can't refuse.
"i just have one thing to ask of you," sunghoon cuts through your thoughts.
"what?" you ask.
sunghoon pauses, turning away as if gathering his own words.
"do you ever feel that there's this weird...thing between us?" sunghoon asks.
your whole body seems to stiffen. your hands turn cold, clammy.
"like tension," sunghoon elaborates. "something you can't really explain."
"no," you answer a little too quickly.
sunghoon chuckles. "there you go again, lying."
you avoid sunghoon's gaze, staring hard at a spot behind him where his shadow dances against the cabinets.
"if you agree to...try this thing with me just this once, i'll help you get together with benj," sunghoon concludes, bending lower so he's in your line of sight.
unable to avoid him any longer, you look into sunghoon's eyes. he's much clearer now, your eyes well-adjusted to the dark. he's looking at you, expression soft, unlike the other times you've come face-to-face with him.
"so, you're offering to be my wingman, but only if i let you fuck me?" you string your words out carefully. "is that it?"
sunghoon sighs, shrugging. "basically, yeah. sounds fucking weird but you can always say no."
"it is weird," you confirm. you cross your arms as you narrow your eyes at sunghoon.
"can't we just skip the part where we fuck and go straight to the part where you help me?"
sunghoon grins down at you, dipping even lower so you're eye level with him.
"it's as if you don't know me at all, _______," sunghoon says lowly. "that hardly seems fair, sweetheart."
you grit your teeth.
"besides, do you want to skip the part where we fuck?" sunghoon presses on the last word, holding your gaze as he said it. you feel a warmth spread all over your body.
you take a deep breath, steadying yourself. your mind is at war with itself, warning you that this is a bad idea. if you get together with benj after, what then? take the secret that you fucked his brother to your grave?
"just this once, and when we're done, you'll help me, correct?" you say, raising a brow at sunghoon.
sunghoon nods. "exactly."
you pause. you want it. what 'it' is, you're not so sure.
you reach your hand out.
"deal."
sunghoon grasps your hand in his, squeezing firmly. his fingers envelop yours easily, your palm almost cartoonishly smaller than his.
and he's warm. so warm.
your eyes meet his and it's like something snaps.
you feel sunghoon grasp at your waist and your own arms come flying up to wrap around sunghoon's neck. he kisses you fervently, harshly, desperately. you respond with the same enthusiasm, pulling him closer to you.
sunghoon pushes you against the fridge, the contents rattling within. you gasp as the cold metal presses through your thin pajamas, but sunghoon drinks in any noise from you with his mouth.
"fuck," sunghoon mutters softly.
"god, ______," sunghoon continues, hands splayed against your back, his lips exploring the expanse of your neck.
"sunghoon," you whisper, clutching onto his wide frame. you mewl softly when you feel him suckle on a spot just above your collarbone.
you pull sunghoon away from your neck, guiding his face back to level with yours. you kiss him some more, a strange feeling bubbling within you.
it's making you want more of sunghoon, as if your whole being craved him.
you hear a soft click of a door opening somewhere down the hall and your eyes fly open, your hands forcing sunghoon off you. he jumps back as well, a panicked look on his face.
footsteps echo in the hallway and a voice immediately follows after.
"_______?"
benj. it's benj. his voice is thick with sleep and you look over at sunghoon, eyes wide with alarm.
"i-i'm in the kitchen," you call out. "just needed a drink."
you rush out of the kitchen and into the hall, running right into benj's firm chest. he catches you before you stumble and he holds you at arm's length, looking at you through half-closed eyes.
"there you are," benj says with a laugh.
you let out a nervous giggle of your own, gently pushing benj back towards his room.
"i'm right here," you assure him. benj rambles on about hearing noises from his room and you quickly dismiss it as you just messing around in their kitchen.
just as you herd benj back into his room, you look back down the hall and see sunghoon sauntering casually towards his own door. he catches your eye and winks, stepping quietly into his room.
---
"i know what you were doing last night."
you stop dead in your tracks, hand frozen in midair just as you're unwrapping your hair from your towel.
you had just stepped out of the bathroom adjacent to benj's room, dressed in his shirt and your shorts from yesterday. it's the morning after your little tryst with sunghoon and you were nearly a hundred percent sure you had successfully lied your way out of an explanation to benj.
it turns out, you haven't.
"you were hooking up with sunghoon, weren't you?" benj says, looking at you expectantly.
you put on your best attempt at an appalled expression, eyes wide an lips turning down into a frown.
"no, i wasn't," you muster up with as much disgust as you can.
benj just laughs. "i've lived here for nearly half my life, ____. i know the sounds of this house better than you."
"well, you thought wrong," you argue, busying yourself with brushing through your hair. you keep your eyes trained on the full body mirror in front of you, setting your sight on your own face.
benj comes up behind you, looking at you as if he could see right through you.
you think maybe he can.
"you're such a bad liar," benj accuses.
"i would never hook up with your brother," you protest, raking through your hair aggressively. you're getting antsy and you pray that benj would just drop the subject.
"why not?" benj questions.
you look at his reflection, scowling. "i don't like him like that, benj."
"hooking up with him would feel like hooking up with you," you add. 'a red herring, yes,' you think. 'distract him, make him feel weird for even asking.'
benj gives you a look. "what's so bad about that?"
you stare open-mouthed at benj. a million thoughts are flying through your head and something pinches at your chest.
"you're my best friend, benj," you try to reason. "that's weird."
"and hooking up with my brother isn't?"
you groan, letting your head fall into your hands.
"i didn't hook up with sunghoon!"
benj nods, pouting as if not fully convinced. "okay, whatever you say."
he steps out through the door, leaving you in his eerily quiet room.
you sigh, turning back to your reflection.
"not yet," you whisper to yourself.
---
"aren't you leaving yet?"
you look up from your phone and you're met with sunghoon peeking through benj's door. his hair is damp and you can smell his aftershave from where you're sprawled out on benj's bed.
"nope," you reply curtly, turning back to your phone.
"you've been here two days," sunghoon points out, stepping into the room. you ignore the jolt of excitement in your gut.
"i'll leave once benj comes back from training," you say.
"oh sure, then the two of you will get caught up again in whatever nerd things you do, and then it's the evening and you'll stay another night, walking around in your skimpy pajamas," sunghoon rambles sarcastically.
you narrow your eyes him as you sit up. "what's wrong with my pajamas?"
"they make me impossibly hard, _______. that's what's wrong," sunghoon admits, expression unchanging.
your eyebrows shoot up in mild surprise. "that down bad, huh?"
"nah," sunghoon replies nonchalantly.
"whatever you say, sweetheart," you say, throwing the pet name back at sunghoon.
sunghoon lets his eyes travel over your body, expression darkening, and you feel every hair on your skin stand up under his unrelenting gaze. you shift around, unsure of what to do with sunghoon's undivided attention.
you watch as sunghoon approaches, his jaw set as he pauses right before benj's bed. he meets your eyes and before you know it, sunghoon is crawling over you, stopping once he has you caged in between his arms.
"you're seriously not thinking of fucking me on your twin brother's bed, are you?" you whisper. you're nearly nose to nose with sunghoon now.
"i am," sunghoon answers simply before kissing you, effectively driving you back against the plush mattress.
the same bubbling feeling reappears and you grab at any part of sunghoon that you can, hooking your legs around his waist. he grunts against your mouth and you feel him harden against your core.
"this is my shirt by the way," sunghoon grins against your lips. "benj stole it from me a while back."
you moan at the thought of it. you feel sunghoon reach under your—his—shirt, chuckling when he feels the absence of a bra. he cups one of your breasts in his hand, kneading as he continues his assault on your lips.
"lose this," sunghoon commands, his other hand tugging your shorts down harshly. you oblige, reaching down to discard the piece of clothing along with your underwear.
"but keep this on," sunghoon adds as he kisses along your jaw, referring to the large shirt swallowing your frame.
you kick off your shorts and underwear the same time sunghoon pulls back to undo his own joggers. he throws them off to the side unceremoniously before hovering back over you, his eyes scanning every feature of your face.
"if you're so in love with benj, why are you about to sleep with me on his bed?" sunghoon asks, his fingers trailing down delicately from your chest down to your stomach. you flinch, fighting the urge to curl into yourself at the ticklish feeling.
sunghoon continues down towards the space between your legs, wasting no time swiping through your folds. you gasp, back arching as sunghoon rubs up and down, finger circling teasingly around your entrance.
"you talk too much," you counter, voice shaking. "are you gonna fuck my brains out or what?"
sunghoon sneers, shoving two fingers in without warning. you yelp, turning to bury your face in benj's pillow. it smells like him, but you barely register that, seeing as his twin's fingers are knuckles deep in you.
"go on, run your mouth like you always do, slut," sunghoon taunts. you involuntarily clench down at his use of such a degrading word and sunghoon notices, of course, his mouth curling into a smirk.
"should have known you were into that," sunghoon wonders out loud. he moves his fingers in and out of you, pumping his thick digits into your wanting hole.
you clamp a hand down on your mouth, suppressing every noise that threatens to escape you.
"let me hear you, pretty, come on," sunghoon coos, prying your hand off your face. "it's just the two of us here."
you bite your lip but let yourself be heard as sunghoon continues to fuck you with his fingers. he curls them up inside you and you thrash about, the pressure building within your abdomen.
"gonna cum already? you're so fucking easy," sunghoon comments, leveling his face with your cunt. he blows softly against your clit and you cry out in pleasure.
you feel the wet heat of his tongue press against your bundle of nerves and coupled with sunghoon's fingers, you can't help but curse loudly at the sensations.
"shit, sunghoon!" you whine. "yes, just like that, please."
sunghoon wraps his lips around your clit, sucking and running his tongue over it alternately. you feel like you're about to lose your mind. you're seconds away from orgasm and you barely have any time to warn sunghoon.
"i'm gonna cum, sunghoon i'm gonna—"
you're cut short by your own loud moans as you feel yourself come undone, your whole body seizing up. you grip at the sheets beneath you with one hand while the other reaches down to thread through sunghoon's hair. you hear him grunt against your pussy as you tug at the strands.
eventually, you relax, easing up on sunghoon's hair. he comes up to face you, his mouth glistening with your release. he licks his lips, smirking at the way you watch him with awe.
"you still with me?" sunghoon asks with a raise of his brow. you nod weakly, hands coming up to cup at his face.
sunghoon leans down to kiss you tenderly and you moan as you taste yourself on his lips. he moves his lips against yours slowly, savoring each pass of your tongue over each other's, tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth as he pulls away.
you peek down and see that sunghoon's cock stands red and angry against the black of his shirt.
"fuck me raw," you say before you can stop yourself.
sunghoon's eyebrows shoot up.
"are you sure?" he asks.
you nod, angling your hips up. restraint be damned, you want sunghoon and you want him now.
sunghoon chews down on his bottom lip as he lines himself up against your dripping hole. he coats his tip with your juices and you throw your head back as he teases you with his leaking cock.
"please," you whisper.
sunghoon presses a kiss on your cheek. "i got you, angel."
you feel him push in, stretching you out more than you anticipated. your mouth falls open in a silent moan as sunghoon slowly but surely bottoms out. your heart races and your mind loses all coherent thought. all you can register is that sunghoon feels like he's splitting you open with his dick.
"fuuuuck," sunghoon drawls into your ear.
"so fucking tight and so fucking good," he continues, bracing himself on either side of you. he moves his hips experimentally, pulling out then thrusting in and the two of you moan at the same time.
"give it to me," you pant, pulling sunghoon closer. "don't you dare hold back."
sunghoon grunts as he snaps his hips forward. you whine and moan like a whore as sunghoon fucks into you with reckless abandon. he keeps his eyes on your face, observing every expression that passes over your features.
"look at me," sunghoon orders as you let your eyes flutter close. "i said, look at me."
you obey, peering up at sunghoon through your lashes. he grabs your jaw as he hammers even harder into you. you cry out brokenly as you feel him deep within you. he's like a man starved, eyes wild as he takes you like this. rough and uncaring and oh so desperate.
"waited so long for this," sunghoon grunts. "to have you moaning and begging under me."
you feel tears prickle in your eyes, half from sunghoon's sharp nails digging into your cheek and half from the way his cock repeatedly punches against your cervix. it hurts but it's a pain you'd like to savor.
"god," sunghoon says, his face scrunching up in pleasure. he momentarily closes his eyes as he moves his hips even faster. he turns back to you, and by this time, your tears have escaped, streaking your face.
"fuck yeah, cry for me," sunghoon curses. "my pretty slut, weeping over my dick."
"oh, fuck—"
it came so suddenly, so unexpectedly that you can physically feel your body jolt. your second orgasm of the day rips through you, brought about by the filthy words escaping sunghoon's mouth. you hear him practically growl above you as he stills, your cunt clenching down so hard he's unable to move. you feel him twitch inside you and a second later, the warmth of his cum follows, shooting deep inside.
you're full-on crying now, mind hazy from pleasure as sunghoon catches himself before completely crushing you with his weight.
you wrap your shaky arms around sunghoon's shoulders, stroking his hair as the two of you calm yourselves down. sunghoon pulls out a minute later and you wince, immediately clamping your legs together to keep all of him inside you.
sunghoon plops down next to you, breathing heavy as his eyes stare at the ceiling. you hug your knees to your chest, hoping that nothing stains benj's sheets.
"fuck, that's a good girl, keeping all my cum in," sunghoon says through breathless chuckles. you groan, swatting at his chest.
"get tissues or something," you demand weakly, rolling over to your side. sunghoon pulls you close and cradles you against his chest.
"later," he murmurs, kissing you on the forehead. "just wanna hold you."
you hum in agreement, letting your eyes droop close. the two of you lay there, unmoving for a few minutes.
you initially think it's your imagination but you can hear faint footsteps coming down the hallway from outside benj's room. just as your eyes fly open, a loud knock thunders against the door.
"are you done?" comes benj's muffled voice from the other side.
"as much as i wanted to stay and watch, that might not be something you guys are into, so i gave you your privacy," he continues.
you and sunghoon look at each other, clearly panicking.
"but please, for the love of god, don't do it on my goddamn bed next time!"
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letjungcoook7 · 6 months
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body to body || jjk || +18
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☾ summary: you've had enough of your boyfriend's teasing. so, you decide to punish him.
☾ w.c: 3,4k
☾ pairing: idol!jungkook x fem!reader
☾ rating: 18+ minors do not interact.
☾ genre: smut, established relationship.
☾ warnings: switch! reader, switch! jungkook, spitting, slapping, hair pulling, tits playing, clit playing, deep throat, oral sex (male and female), overstimulation, squirting, big dick jk
☾ author's note: keep in mind that this is all fiction and there's no connection to reality here. english is not my first language so im sorry in advance for any grammar and spelling mistakes.
You and Jungkook have shared three and a half years together, and you often find yourself marveling at how fortunate you are to have met and be loved by him. Introduced by a mutual friend, your connection has been incredibly secure, making Jungkook the best thing that has ever happened to you.
Yet, not everything in your relationship is flawless.
The need for secrecy due to Jungkook's contract has been a significant source of disagreement. While you don't seek attention, the desire for more freedom, such as openly going to restaurants or walking hand in hand, clashes with the constraints imposed by the contract. Although you understand it's part of his job, you can't help but wonder if it would be so bad to have a private relationship instead of a secret one.
There are phases in which accepting this is easier, others less so and there are times when it doesn't bother you at all. But as Jungkook's first solo album approached and his more mature side was shown, you fell into a loop of frustration.
Honestly, you like seeing his shirtless photos, the faces he makes and you love the fact that so many people covet something that only you can have. And here comes the big impasse: nobody can really know. With that, you need to see countless comments about your boyfriend's body, about your boyfriend's explicit lyrics and many girls lusting after your boyfriend. Without being able to even say a thing.
Jungkook, however, really enjoy to see you jealous. He always reassured you and assured you that you had nothing to worry about, but he liked to tease and provoke. Only to later make it up to you by giving lots of kisses and affection or being punished by you. And he didn't know which option he liked the best.
He was excited about his next single and was on set for the music video. As usual, he sent you photos and talked to you whenever he could. You loved feeling like you were part of his life and, working from home most of the time, it was easy to keep up with him. Your routine was flexible, which allowed, for example, you to accompany him on trips. But staying in a hotel room, in a different country and not being able to leave because of a damn meeting, is not what you would describe as fun.,
You sighed, grabbing your water bottle and taking a small sip, enough to moisten your lips after giving a project presentation. The meeting was close to ending when you receive a message from Jungkook, including a photo of his outfit for the video—a white oversized blazer, no shirt underneath, and white oversized pants adorned with chains around his neck and rings. The mirror selfie accentuates his abs. You roll your eyes at the anticipated comments, but deep down, you can't deny finding him extremely hot.
Jungkook: did you like it? You: haha. You: what do you think? Jungkook: you did You: i did not. Jungkook: are you going to say that even when you're mad you don't get wet? Jungkook: are you going to say that if I put my hand in your panties right now you will be dry? Jungkook: spare me, y/n You: you're a fuckin idiot. You: you are dirty. Jungkook: but i'm not a liar.
With irritation building up, you decide not to respond, leaving him to feel the weight of your displeasure. Determined to make him regret intentionally provoking your anger, you plan to ensure he faces consequences when he gets back to the hotel. It's a silent resolution, but one that promises to make him reconsider his teasing.
After taking a shower, fixing your hair, and applying a deliberately chosen fragrance – Jungkook's favorite – you slipped into black lace lingerie and completed the ensemble with a black silk robe. Checking yourself in the mirror, adjusting your hair, you observed your body as a confidence boost. Feeling so fucking hot and powerful, you were ready to make him regret his provocation.
Earlier, you had ordered a nice room service wine. Now, in your hotel room, you opened the bottle and poured it into a glass. Sipping the wine slowly, the delay in Jungkook's arrival led you to finish two glasses quickly. Not enough to get drunk, just to lighten your mood.
As Jungkook slowly swung open the door, you cast a quick, provocative look over your shoulder, meeting his entrance with a coy smile. The door clicked shut, and he greeted you with a mischievous grin, playfully poking his cheek with his tongue and toying with the piercing in his mouth.
"What's all this?" he asked, a trace of cynicism in his tone, fully aware of the purpose behind your ensemble. Your boyfriend approached, now clad in his usual attire — gray oversized sweatpants and a black, roomy shirt. Notably, you sported one of the chains from earlier around his neck, prompting a sardonic laugh to escape your lips.
“All this what, Jungkook?” You asked, your voice low and calm, crossing your legs and maintaining eye contact with him.
"Y/N..." he said, walking over to the couch you were sitting on, quickly bringing his body closer to yours. But you stopped him, placing your hand on his chest and shaking your head.
"No," you said firmly, looking at him who smiled.
"Are you angry with me?" he said in a false tone of innocence and trying to get closer again and, once again, being pushed away by you.
"Why would I be?" You feign disdain, shrugging.
"You know why, hm?" Jungkook responded, sliding his hand up your thigh. You look straight ahead, shaking your head and holding onto his wrist, pulling his hand away.
"Jungkook." you scolded him, without even looking at Jungkook.
"I'm sorry." he said in a sly tone, leaning against the sofa. "How can I make up to you?"
You held back a smile. He was getting into the game and you loved it. You look at him, getting up and standing in front of him, who also suppresses a smile, pursing his lips and opening his legs so you can be in the middle.
"Come here" Jungkook says, pointing to his lap.
“You’re not the one on control, Jungkook.” you lean your body towards him, one hand resting on the back of the couch, while the other slips onto the chain around his neck. You take enough of it in your fingers and wrap it around, making the chain tighten around his neck. He wide his eyes open at first and then smiles.
Dirty. He is filthy.
You slap him on the cheek, then hold Jungkook's face, making him look at you.
“Who you belong to, Jungkook?” you ask, your voice comes out deep.
"T-to y-you." he answers you, with round, dark eyes.
"And what you deserve?" Now you tighten even more the chain around his neck. He swallows hard, making you smile satisfied.
"Be punished?" he responds uncertainly and you laugh.
"It was a question?" You tilt your head to the side.
"No. I deserve to be punished." Jungkook says firmly.
"Good boy."
You let go of his face, as well as the chain. You take a step back, taking off your robe and climbing onto Jungkook's lap, who quickly runs both hands down your back to your ass. Holding tight to your skin, Jungkook brings his mouth to your neck, kissing your skin slowly and running his tongue along the curve of your neck as you rub against him.
Your lips open and you let out low moans, feeling Jungkook's hand roaming your body. You can feel your growing bulge beneath Jungkook’s pants.
His fingers lower the straps of your bra, making your breasts out. He stares at you, sliding his tongue down the valley between your breasts, reaching your nipples and sucking one at a time, before focusing on the other, licking and rubbing his tongue across it, making you roll over on his lap and moan.
Your nipples hard against Jungkook's hot tongue and the feeling of him hard beneath you almost makes you forget that you wanted to punish him.
Then, in a moment of sanity, you push yourself to get up from Jungkook's lap, who stops you, wrapping his arms around your waist and forcing you back onto his lap.
"Did you forget that I'm stronger, Y\N?" Jungkook says, with a thick tone. "I think you forgot who has control here."
He looks at you with raised eyebrows. You try, once again, to get up, making him hold you tighter in his lap and give an ironic laugh.
You didn't want to get up, though.
He knew that.
You loved it when he takes control, even if it wasn't exactly what you had planned for today.
He throws you on the couch next to him, standing up quickly and making you look up, due to the difference in height between Jungkook standing and you sitting. He grabs a whole hand of your hair and pulls it, making you tilt your head back more.
"Open," he demands and you obey, separating your lips and letting him spit into your mouth, swallowing his saliva and blinking your eyes a few times, without breaking eye contact.
Jungkook lowers his body a little and brushes his fingers against your pussy, still covered with your panties, making the lace rub on your skin as you open your legs.
"Wet, huh?" he smiles, sticking his hand inside your panties and stimulating your clit in circular movements.
“Jungkook…” you whimper, moaning softly.
His response is a laugh.
"Lay down," Jungkook says and you do.
Meanwhile, Jungkook takes off his shirt and pulls down his pants, along with his underwear, holding his dick. He pumps a few times and then settles down, resting one knee on the couch next to your face and the other leg on the floor. Jungkook's dick was just a few inches from your mouth.
You lift your head and accidentally bump your lips against his dick, who lets out a grunt and holds it in your hair.
"Open your mouth and suck the tip."
You look at him, running your tongue between your lips and wrap your mouth around his cockhead, making suction. He moans lowly as your tongue slides over the head of his dick. He holds your hair tight and forces his hips against your face, taking more than just the tip into your mouth.
"Remember one thing, Y/N: you're not the one who's going to suck me, I'm the one who's going to fuck your mouth," he says calmly, his tone dirty and his eyes brimming with lust.
After that, he forced his hips even more, causing almost all of his dick to enter your mouth at once, making you choke. Tears fell in your eyes, which made him smile as you coughed. He began his thrusts, causing his dick to enter your mouth even further, reaching your throat and practically making you lose your breath.
You had to concentrate to relax your muscles while Jungkook got deeper. The corners of your lips were wet and tears fell down your cheeks as his balls hit your chin and he moaned loudly.
You also needed to breathe through your nose and that was difficult due to the speed Jungkook moved.
He was too big to be that deep, but you could take it. You do everything for him.
With short thrusts, he forces his dick further down your throat and you close your eyes tightly, while with his hand, Jungkook holds your head in place and helps the movements, pulling your head against his cock a little more. You could feel him twitching and you knew he wouldn't last long.
You looked up and whimpered, being muffled by his dick, who smiled, biting your bottom lip and playing with his lip ring while his entire length was inside your throat. Jungkook contracted his abdomen, marking his muscles even more. You gag again, but he doesn't care and continues what he was doing. Just a few moments later, Jungkook moves his hips away, relieving some of the pressure on your throat, leaving your mouth a little. That's your cue to continue sucking his dick, forcing the inside of your cheeks against his dick as he groans. He still forces his hips against your face, and you use your tongue to slide his cock better and, as soon as he starts to cum, he moans your name. You feel his salty cum running down your throat and spilling out of the corner of your lips.
Jungkook smiles satisfied, taking his dick out of your mouth and, with his arm covered in tattoos, he holds your face and runs his thumb across your lips, wiping away his cum. You had already swallowed when you sucked his thumb, and he was breathing heavily.
"I didn't even manage to warn you that I was going to cum, right?" he said, still running his finger across your lips and smiling. "It's just because your mouth feels so good, you know?"
You let out a cynical laugh as Jungkook stands facing the couch. You sit up, to compose yourself and run your tongue between your lips, looking at your boyfriend who looks you up and down, as if he was going to devour you.
You adjust your breasts back into your bra and, suddenly, Jungkook spreads both hands on your thighs, pushing them apart. You moan surprised and smile when his fingers reach your panties and pull them off your body.
He kneels between your legs and you thread your fingers in his hair and he begins to slowly rub the piercing along your pussy
You sigh at the contact of his mouth on you and he looks up, sliding his tongue down your crotch towards your clit. Your whole body shivers and you moan, bucking your hips as Jungkook's tongue swirls around your clit, taking his time. He teases and sucks the area in a provocative way, making you force his head between your legs, in a silent request for more. He doesn't budge, he continues to run his tongue from your clitoris to your entrance, passing through your folds and hardens his tongue, stimulating your clit more intensely.
When he inserts two fingers inside you, you almost scream, pressing your legs against his ears and as his mouth moves on your clit, his fingers fuck you at an intense pace. You move your hips, swaying and pulling Jungkook's hair, who just looks at you. His gaze was now steady, his eyes narrow and focused on giving you pleasure. But you could barely maintain eye contact, especially when he hooked his fingers, fingering your G-spot.
With his free hand, Jungkook palms the lower part of your belly, putting pressure on your skin while you breathe heavily, having difficulty keeping yourself in place. He makes audible noises with his mouth while eating your pussy, he knows how much you like it. He fingers you with precise movements and his head bobs as he passes his lips and tongue along the length of your pussy, but still focusing on your clitoris.
Your legs were already shaking, each time Jungkook's fingers reached your pleasure point and his mouth worked on your pussy. Your legs felt weak and you pulled his hair, desperate. You lean your body forward a little, pulling Jungkook even more against your pussy. He didn't slow down his movements for a second and then you screamed, exploding with pleasure. But he doesn't stop, he continues to stimulate you, even if you are completely sensitive after a orgasm. So you squirm more and whimper. You can't keep your hips still and Jungkook takes a while to pull away.
He smiles, looking at the white couch, now wet with your juice. Your chest rises and falls in an attempt to normalize your breathing. You watch Jungkook looking proudly at the mess you both made on the couch.
“Fuck, we’re not home, Jungkook” you say, apprehensive.
"And how could you avoid that?" He arches his eyebrow and laughs, making you roll your eyes.
Jungkook holds your hand and you stand up, still shaking. You both, between kisses, go to bed. He gets on top of you, between your legs and you can feel him getting fully hard again, which makes you smile. He then presses his body against yours, kissing you more intensely, using his tongue more than his lips. You hold the back of his head while your other hand scratches the skin of Jungkook's shoulder, hard, as if you wanted to mark your territory.
You feel Jungkook slide the head of his cock through your pussy, rubbing it against your clit and making you separate your mouth from his and moan.
"Do you like?" Jungkook slowly rubs into you.
“Y-yeah,” you say, your voice cracking, and he curls his lips into a smile. You roll over, increasing the contact even more.
Jungkook then grabs your hip and turns you onto your stomach. He starts by kissing the back of your neck, moving the strands of hair out of the way and slides his mouth down your back, reaching your ass and placing a kiss on each cheek. He holds his hand firmly on your hip and you stick your ass up, making your boyfriend smile as he runs his thumb over your entrance. Jungkook positions himself and, with one thrust, penetrates you. You moan and roll around, feeling him fill you completely.
You bury your face in the pillow, in total despair when Jungkook moves in, making rhythmic and precise back and forth movements. He holds his left arm over your ass, giving him a privileged view of his cock going in and out of your pussy, which was squeezing him.
"So fucking good," he growls and you turn your face to the side, trying to look over your shoulder, but your vision is limited. You hear Jungkook's moans and the sound of his hips hitting your ass. "I needed this so bad," he whispered.
Jungkook moaned in pain, feeling you stretch with each thrust. You rubbed your ass against him nonstop. Your eyes were teary with excitement as Jungkook pounded you deep, your pussy clenching around him and his balls slapping you.
“Jungk-” you moan, hips arching. "Fuck"
He smiles, using the force to hit you even more. You moan at the deep, painful stimulation, but you somehow needed it. Just the thought of having him outside of you was desperate. You felt like that dick was made to be attached to your pussy.
"Do you like it?" Jungkook asked a rhetorical question and you hummed in response. "Are you mine to use?" it was also rhetorical.
“I am…” you say with a shaky voice.
Jungkook striked a few audible slaps to your ass, squeezing your skin tightly. You felt it burn, wondering if it would leave marks. A few thrusts later and he, without warning, pulls out of you, making you groan in disapproval. He turns you onto your back again and, without wasting time, climbs on top of you, thrusting himself into your cunt. He moves his hips back and forth, with his hand resting on the mattress, marking his biceps and with his tattooed arm, holding your thigh.
He was frowning, his mouth was open, moaning constantly and the chain around his neck was making pendulous movements in you as he reached deep. The hand that used to hold your thigh begins to stimulate your clitoris up and down, making you whimper and roll, clenching the walls of your pussy around his cock that is twitching nonstop. He presses his lips to yours desperately. Due to the movements, the kiss became ungainly, but it was clear how much you both were burning with desire.
You moaned in unison and your breaths mixed together. Jungkook was the first to orgasm, shooting warm jets of cum inside you. He didn't slow down, but separated his lips from yours and focused on rubbing your clit until you came once again.
You looked at each other, smiling and he pulled out of you, both of you ruined.
Jungkook pressed his lips to you, filling your mouth, cheek and neck with kisses while you breathed heavily and his body rested on top of yours. You bring your hands to the hair on the back of his neck, hugging him as if you wanted him to melt into you and whisper: "I'll still punish you later, Jeon Jungkook."
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f1fnatic · 5 months
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LIAR ⤿ c. sainz 55
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→ ( in which. . . ) you and carlos have been dating for three years. carlos started to grow distant. after charles shows you a picture of his infidelity, you catch him in the act after a day at work.
→ ( fanfic genre. . . ) written
→ ( pairing. . . ) cheater!carlos sainz x longtime!girlfriend!reader
→ (content warnings/disclaimers. . . ) mentions of sex, language, yelling, cheating, alcohol consumption, angst
→ ( author's note. . . ) this was my first time writing angst/cheating. it was fun experimenting with this type of writing. i hope you enjoy! see end for more.
→ ( masterlist )
"you fucking liar!" echoed through the otherwise quiet apartment. hurried footsteps sounded from the hallway, another pair following the first close behind. was this what everything came to? walking out on your supposed soulmate after years together? how did you get here? and what did you do to deserve this?
one week prior ↴
you had noticed the distance growing. carlos was becoming closed off and almost secretive. he didn't confide in you as much as he used to. you didn't think twice about it and assumed it was something to do with work. ferrari had been going through a rough patch, both him and charles struggling to start or finish a race for the past three weeks.
you understood how stressful being a driver was. you had been around formula 1 for a while now, because of him. you and carlos met when he drove for redbull, in 2015. the two of you started dating shortly after in 2017.
you were always there for him, through thick and thin. through the blood, sweat, and tears. after every win, podium, loss, dnf, dns, etc. you understood how hard it was for him to perform well but not get the results wanted.
so, when you received a picture of carlos with another woman, a blond, on his lap, hands on his shoulders and lips touching, you were livid. charles had sent it to you, with a simple caption that read "i am sorry." it was the after-party of a not-so-successful qatar grand prix.
rage, confusion, sadness, and disgust coursed through your veins. the thought of him finding comfort in a woman who wasn't you made you sick. your hands shook, eyes blurred, and breath quickened.
you could not believe that carlos would ever cheat, especially on you. you had given him everything. love, attention, comfort, and compassion. and this is what he gave you in return? you had sacrificed so much to make him happy. you felt useless. had you thrown away six years of your life just to get cheated on? did he feel guilty? did he regret his choice to kiss a random girl? thoughts sped through your mind.
what did you do until he got home? your apartment no longer felt like a home. it felt gross and unnatural to be in there. to think that the person you shared it with was sharing a different room across the world. did he share your bed with someone else as well? the pictures of the two of you that hung on the wall seemed to mock you.
every passing minute became more and more painful. could you act like everything was fine when he eventually did get home? or would you lose it immediately the second he walked in through the front door?
unfortunately, you knew that only time would tell.
present day ↴
today was the day that carlos got home. you were at work, trying to distract yourself from the inevitable conflict about to occur. you reached the front door of your shared apartment. shaking hands held the key and you placed it in the lock and turned it. pushing open the door, the apartment was quiet, suspiciously quiet.
you noticed that the kitchen was a mess. plates and cooking utensils were in the sink, dirty and waiting to be washed. two wine glasses left discarded on the quartz bar. a bottle of red cabernet left opened and almost empty. one of the glasses had lipstick stains littered around the rim.
your heartbeat quickened. adrenaline began to pump through your body. you quickly toed off your shoes, and your feet ached after a long day. you also discarded your purse and jacket, making your way to your and carlos' bedroom.
as you got closer, you heard moaning. your heart dropped to your stomach. you opened the door as soon as you reached it. low and behold, it was carlos and the same blond from the picture that charles sent you. the blond was on top of carlos, head back and mouth open in euphoria. carlos had the same expression as her on his face.
tears immediately welled in your eyes and quickly fell. you felt defeated. it was one thing to see a picture of your boyfriend kissing another girl, but to catch him with that same girl in the bed that you shared, in the same bed that he fucked you in, was different.
finally, carlos opened his eyes and noticed you in the doorway. his hands found the blond's hips to stop her from moving. his eyes widened with guilt and surprise; mouth wide open in shock.
"y-y/n?!" he shouted. the blond turned to look at you and god, she was pretty. you partially understood why he did it. she covered herself with one of the loose sheets and unstrattled carlos, allowing him to get up.
"y/n, i can explain-" he starts.
"explain what, carlos?!" you shout, cutting him off. "how on earth can you explain me walking in on you fucking another girl in our bed?!"
"it was a simple mistake, mi amor, that's all." he tried to reason, smiling meekly. the nickname that once held so much love now held nothing. the name that made butterflies flutter in your stomach now made them sink.
"you fucking liar!" you screamed. "this was on purpose!" it echoed through the now quiet apartment. you turned your back on the pair and walked away. your hurried footsteps sounded from the hallway, carlos' pair following yours closely behind.
"y/n, stop!" he yelled, grabbing your wrist and turning you around to face him.
"do not fucking touch me!" you say, yanking your wrist from his grip. the complete and utter audacity he had to try to attempt to explain why he cheated. "was i not enough for you? did i do something wrong? did i not fuck you the right way? did i not get you off fast enough? huh, carlos? what made you decide to throw away six years together huh? six fucking years!"
carlos stares at you, his brown eyes that you thought were breathtaking were now filling you with disdain. "tell me carlos!"
"i-i don't know why," he stutters, turning his gaze to the floor, taking a sudden interest in the hardwood paneling. "you were enough, you still are enough. please y/n, we can move past this. i was drunk and stupid, my judgement was clouded." he tries to reason, reaching to grab both of your hands.
"no, stop it. no amount of time can get me to forgive you for this. i will never forgive you, carlos." you said his name with such disgust that he flinched. "charles showed me a picture of you kissing her in qatar in a bar during an after-party. i have known for a week. but to think that you would take her into our home and fuck her?"
"wait, wait, wait. charles texted you?" carlos questioned. there was anger present in his voice. "why the fuck did he text you?" it seemed that he was upset at the fact that charles told you he cheated.
i scoff, crossing my arms. "unbelievable, you are unbelievable. you cheated on me and you are caught up on the fact that your teammate texted me proof? how much of an egotistical cunt do you have to be?"
"me? i'm the unbelievable one? you're the one walking out on me because of a stupid, drunken mistake." he says nonchalantly, glossing over the insult. it's almost like he didn't care that your relationship was ending.
"fuck you, carlos. i am done. we are done. do not call me, do not try to find me to convince me to come back to you." the tears were flowing vigorously down your cheeks. you knew your makeup was running, but you didn't care. "i am fucking done. thanks for nothing. i hope have fun fucking that slut and that you are happy with the choice you made." you finish, walking away through the home that once brought you so much joy to be in.
you gathered your things. purse, shoes, phone, coat, and keys. you would get everything else later. you opened the door and then slammed it once stepping outside. it was then when every emotion hit you at once. violent sobs wracked your body making you shake. you slid down the door hugging yourself. you could not believe it. you don't know if you ever would.
after eventually calming down, you decide to call the one person who made you aware of this whole situation. you clicked on his contact's name and then the call button. you placed your phone on your ear to hear two rings before he picked up.
"hello? y/n? why are you calling." asked the voice.
"charles," you pause. the question of 'was this a good idea?' ran through your head. but, at this point you didn't care. carlos and what he thought was the least of your worries. "i need you to pick me up."
low key happy with this one, wrote it last night and like where it went. i think i might turn it into a charles x reader :P let me know in the comments if you want that :) thank you for reading! as usual, feedback and requests are welcome; make sure to leave a comment and kudos! (only if you want :P)
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joelscruff · 11 months
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feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART ONE
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"trying to play it coy, trying to make it disappear"
⚠️ new series alert! ⚠️ and also my 1k follower celebration!!! (altho it might as well be the 2k celebration now considering how fast my following has grown. thank you ;-;) i polled my followers a little while ago to choose between 3 different fic premises and this one was the winner! it was originally meant to be a stand alone but i'm actually more interested in making it a brand new series, so i hope you guys enjoy! i'm not exactly sure how many parts this will be yet, i'll let you know when i do. title and lyrics are from 'bad liar' by selena gomez.
summary: you're back from college for the summer, staying with your devout catholic parents in your childhood home while they order you around and try to keep authority over you. as an act of rebellion you ask your new neighbor mr. miller to teach you how to play guitar, but it turns out there's a lot more he wants to teach you. (no outbreak, no use of y/n) rating: 18+ explicit (minors, do not interact) warnings: (for this fic in general) age difference (reader is in her 20s, joel in his 50s), innocent/inexperienced reader, dirty old man joel, corruption (but it's consensual), praise kink, dirty talk, general smut, mentions of religion (reader's family are very catholic) -- (for this chapter) wet dreams, mentions of masturbation. word count: 5k ao3
The sun is warm and pleasant on your bare skin as you lay out in the freshly mown grass of your backyard, absorbing the heat and smiling languidly despite the humidity. You're grateful for your family's wealth on days like today, knowing that at any moment you could take a few steps and dive headfirst into the cool water of your pool, fresh and inviting. It's been about a month since you returned and you've spent almost every day outside among the green grass, the chlorinated water, the burning Texas sun. It's been heaven.
The backdoor suddenly swings open and your father's voice booms out into the backyard, "Family meeting," he states, loud and serious, "Five minutes."
Or hell.
With a groan you slowly sit up, hands digging into the thin towel laid out beneath you. You know better than to ignore an order like that. Being back from college for the summer has certainly had it's perks; no annoying roommates, no loud parties, a large backyard and pool to yourself, but having to deal with your parents again certainly isn't one of them. You'd thought coming back after three years might have softened them a bit, lowered their guard, made them less strict. Instead, it's almost had the opposite effect.
You slide into your flip flops and walk begrudgingly inside the house, making note of your mother standing anxiously by the stove with her arms crossed. What's the issue now? At least once a week your father calls these "family meetings", which always pertain to you and only you, seeing as you're their only child. Last week they'd spent half an hour berating you about forgetting to put the garbage out, the week before they'd tried to explain the importance of an early bed time to you, like you were seven.
You're a grown woman, a full fledged adult. Sure, you're only twenty one, you're unemployed, you're currently in the process of obtaining an arts degree that probably won't secure you anything tangible in the real world, but you're an adult nonetheless. You only have one year left of school before you can leave all this behind and start fresh somewhere else. You'd thought coming back home for one more summer would bring nostalgia and happiness, a few months of normality before life exploded in front of you.
Turns out your parents had pictured something different.
Your father gestures toward the kitchen table, urging for you to sit. You hate when they do this, make you feel small and childish while they both stand above you and reiterate rules they've had your whole life, rules that apparently you'll never grow out of. You wonder what rule you've broken now.
"We've noticed that you barely leave the house," your father begins, voice deep and authoritative, "We were under the impression that when you came home you'd be spending time with old friends, doing some volunteering again."
"Going to church," your mother adds beside him, a frown permanently etched on her face, "You've only gone twice since you've been here."
Call the cops, you think to yourself, forcibly holding back an eyeroll. Ironically your father is a police officer, and you highly doubt he'd ever come if you called.
"Instead, you just spend all your time in that backyard," he continues, nodding along with your mother, "We didn't invite you back to simply laze around all summer, there have been clear expectations you're not meeting."
You take a deep breath, feeling a hint of anger and stubbornness burning in the pit of your stomach. You shove it down, back to that secret hiding place you've cultivated throughout all these years of having to deal with them.
"I'm sorry, dad," you say, trying to sound as earnest as possible as you look to him and then your mother, "Sorry, mom."
"Sorry doesn't cut it, we need to see action," your father replies quickly, brow furrowed, "No more lounging around in the backyard on weekdays, that's a weekend activity from now on, we clear?"
You nod, "Clear."
"We want you to get involved in something," your mom takes a step forward, places her hand awkwardly on your shoulder, "Why don't you call Bethany? She's always looking for more helpers at Sunday School, or maybe Alice? I hear she's been volunteering at the soup kitchen for the summer."
You haven't spoken to either Bethany or Alice since you left for university three years ago. The thought of calling them, let alone having to work with them in either setting, makes you feel ill. You nod again, pretending to agree.
"That sounds good, I'll call them tomorrow morning," Both of your parents smile, appeased, "I think I'll go for a walk now, if that's okay. Clear my head, think about things I can do to improve."
"That's the spirit," your dad says, wrapping an arm around your mother, "Remember, be back before dinner or the door will be locked."
"I know," you nod, forcing a smile, "I won't forget."
--
Well, that's it, then. You'll have to leave.
It sounds dramatic to say that your parents telling you to get off your ass is enough to send you packing, but it goes so much deeper than that. You've spent your entire life doing everything these people say, nodding and smiling when you're meant to, apologizing for everything, doing anything you can to appease and impress them. You'd spent your high school years in youth choir, church group, organizing fundraisers, studying your ass off, tutoring, joining as many extracurriculars as possible until you had no free time. And even then, nothing ever seemed to be enough for them.
When you'd left for college they'd both cried at the airport, held you in their arms and told you with sincerity that they'd miss you so much. Your mother had kissed your face and held your hands and your father had hugged you for the first time since you were eleven years old. And because of their sudden burst of emotions, of affection, you'd actually missed them once you left. You remember you'd cried on the plane, scrolling through pictures of them on your phone until the battery died, thinking to yourself that maybe they weren't the horrible, authoritarian people you thought they were.
They called you once a week while you were at college, asking for updates, telling you they missed you, giving you neighborhood gossip that made you laugh and feel nostalgic for home. Being away from them, it was like they suddenly became two entirely new people, bonded together by their suddenly empty nest and seemingly trying to do right by you now, even if it felt a little too late. You'd thought about coming home a few times for a visit, but the memories that triggered the anger in the pit of your stomach kept you from doing so. You'd kept them at arm's length until you felt ready to come back.
And now you're back, and nothing has changed. They're the same people they always were, expecting too much of you, thinking they can control you, never quite believing that you're trying your best. You'd told them before you came that you just wanted to relax this summer, spend some time at home, maybe meet up with some old friends - keyword being maybe - and they'd seemed totally on board with the idea. There had been no mentions of keeping busy, no mentions of Sunday School or soup kitchens or rules. Then you'd arrived and realized how stupid you'd been to believe that they could ever change.
Your entire life you've been their perfect girl, their A+ student who volunteered and read bible verses and tutored the neighborhood kids, sacrificed your happiness more times than you can count for the sake of keeping them satisfied. But that's the thing: they're not satisfied, and they never will be.
Your flip flops smack against the concrete of your suburban street, sun beginning to set in the distance as you think about how exactly you're going to escape this hell. Yeah, you could just walk out the front door without a word, but it's not like you have anywhere to go or the money to do it. You have your plane ticket for your return flight back to school, but it's not 'til September and it's under your father's name. Your family might be wealthy but none of that wealth has ever gone directly into your pocket, and you doubt it ever will if you just bail on them in the middle of the night with no warning.
Your thoughts scatter when you hear someone call out your name nearby. Your head swivels and you see one of your neighbors, Mrs. Lillard, waving from her front porch. You wave back, give her a small smile.
"How's college treatin' ya?" she calls to you, taking a sip from a bottle of beer, "Got a boyfriend?"
Your cheeks warm immediately and shake your head, "Not yet!" you call back.
"I bet you're battin' 'em all away," her voice is slurred and you're sure that's probably not her first beer of the day, "Nobody's good enough for ya, huh?"
"I guess," you say awkwardly, continuing to walk and hoping she won't ask you to join her for a beer, "How's your husband?"
"Pain in my ass," she responds with a grunt and takes another swig, "Bet you can't wait to have your own white picket fence, perfect as you are."
Her words make you uncomfortable but you just give her your signature fake laugh and flip your hair, waving again, "Bye, Mrs. Lillard."
Your face falls as soon as you turn around, anger burning again. You've spent so much of your life being the picture perfect little suburban girl, doing everything your parents say, saying your prayers and reading to the elderly, killing yourself to get straight A's and only speaking when spoken to. Your reputation is widely known around the neighborhood; the sweet little girl, the pure and innocent God fearing angel. You've portrayed yourself as that girl for so long that you almost don't know which part of you is real anymore.
You keep walking down the street, eyeing the sunset as you go and wondering what would happen if you just didn't go back home tonight. As your father had said, he locks the door every night after dinner; you don't have a key, you've never had a key. You're only allowed into your house on the basis of trust and good merit. If you just refused to go back tonight, how would they react? The thought of doing something like that sends a warm flush of rebellion across your skin, eyes bright with intrigue. But where would you go?
You turn the corner and your nose is suddenly hit with the delectable scent of a barbecue, smokey and delicious. You slow a bit, closing your eyes and breathing in the warm air, stomach growling. You suddenly realize that if you don't go home tonight you'll also miss dinner. Another rule broken. You keep walking, trying to follow the scent like some kind of bloodhound. Maybe you know whoever's cooking and they'll invite you to eat with them.
A few houses down you start to hear the sound of music. There must be a party going on, a birthday or some other special occasion. It's only as you get closer to the sound that you realize it's not being played from a speaker or stereo, but from someone's front porch; a real guitar, live and acoustic.
You approach the house in question and see a man sitting on his front step, guitar in hand as he strums a steady tune. He's looking down, watching his fingers, monitoring his movements, but you see dark brown curls with hints of grey peppered throughout, a stubbled jaw line and curved nose. You slow your speed, furrowing your brow as you try to place him. You're not sure you've ever seen him before.
His music is calm and inviting, a plucky sounding tune that seems vaguely familiar. You're suddenly filled with intrigue, trying to place the song and slowing to a complete stop in front of the house without meaning to. You watch the man's callused fingers pick away at the strings, fast and professional, like he's been doing this for years. He probably has.
You're still trying to place the song, biting your lip and swiping through songs in your mind like an invisible rolodex. Johnny Cash? Bob Dylan? It sounds like one of those songs your parents would forbid you to listen to as a kid, the ones with devil worship in their lyrics, sung by bad men who didn't believe in God. You'd always questioned this logic, wondered how songs about living out in the country or falling in love could be inherently against your religion. They didn't even listen to it, just blindly told you it was against the rules.
Suddenly the man stops playing and you realize the song has come to an end. He looks up then, notices you standing there at the end of his walk with your furrowed brow and flip flops. His eyes are brown, expression startled at first but then fading into something softer as he gives you a small smile.
"Been there long?" he asks, voice crackling slightly, like he hasn't spoken much today.
You shake your head quickly, "I'm sorry, I heard you playing and I-"
"S'alright," he replies strumming his guitar absentmindedly and giving you a shrug, "I don't mind an audience."
He's southern, definitely a Texan, but you're sure you've never met him before. His face and voice are unfamiliar to you, but certainly not unwelcome. He's older, probably in his 40s or even 50s, but he's handsome and slightly boyish in a way despite his greying hair and freckled skin. He reminds you of one of those men on album covers your father had slammed down one day in the record store when you were nine, yelled at you in front of everyone that the men who made that music were filthy sinners. It hadn't stopped you from listening to them, though, curiosity getting the better of you.
Is that who you're looking at now? A filthy sinner?
"You okay?" he asks slowly, tilting his head. You realize you're just staring at him, gathering your thoughts.
You shake your head again quickly, feeling yourself blush under his gaze, "Sorry," you repeat, "I'm uh, I was just passing by and I heard you playing that song. It sounded really familiar."
He gives you a crooked smile and a nod, "Tangled Up in Blue, Bob Dylan."
"I knew it was Bob Dylan," you say, a satisfied smile spreading across your face. That song was from one of the albums you'd listened to in secret, one of the only times you'd had to delete your browser history. You feel pride swell in your chest at the smile you elicit from the man in response, like he's recognizing a fellow music lover.
"Good ear," he continues to lightly pluck at the strings of his guitar, "You play?"
"Um, not really." It's a half truth but mainly a lie, you've never played in your life. You feel slightly disappointed in yourself and you're not sure why; it's not like you've ever felt any kind of urge to learn, especially considering your parents would've made sure you only learned appropriate songs. When would you have even found the time between all your extracurriculars?
"Well, it ain't difficult," he starts playing the song again, slower this time, "Pretty repetitive chord progression, room for some adlibbin' here and there once you get the hang of it."
You nod like you understand what he's talking about, suddenly lost in the way his fingers pull at the strings, make the music come to life out of nothing. His hands are big, fingers long and thick as they curve back and forth, up and down. It's hypnotic to watch. He stops again and looks up, catches you staring.
"How old are you?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.
You swallow, unsure what exactly the right answer is. Part of you wants to lie, tell him you're older than you actually are so he doesn't just see you as some bright eyed kid. This is the first person you've encountered since coming back who doesn't know who you are, doesn't know about your reputation. You could tell him anything, be anyone, and he'd take it at face value.
"I'm twenty five," you lie, but it sounds unnatural in your mouth.
He looks you up and down, eyes raking your body in a way you're unfamiliar with. Like a man. Like the way your roommates back in college get looked at, sensually and flirtatiously, being eyed up by drunk guys at the bar who only have one thing on their mind. You feel your heart begin to thrum quicker in your chest; is that really how this man is looking at you? This grown man, not a high school crush or a college fratboy, a real man?
"Sweetheart, we both know that's a lie," he says with a chuckle, eyes coming back to rest on your face, "I'd guess twenty."
You make a face, "I'm twenty one, actually."
He laughs again, putting his hands up in surrender, "My bad, twenty one."
You watch as he starts to strum once again, something new and unfamiliar. You listen for a few moments, eyes trained back on his fingers, watching him play.
"You wanna come in for a bit?" he asks, voice nonchalant, like he's asking you something completely casual.
And maybe he is, but the words make your eyes widen, your breath catching in your throat. The way he'd looked at you just then, laughed at your words, wanted to know your age... now he's inviting you into his house? You've never actually been flirted with before, not when it mattered, and you're not entirely sure if that's what's happening. But it feels like it, even though you can't imagine how someone like him could see anything sexy about a girl like you.
"...Why?" you ask quietly.
He looks up at you with another smile, still plucking the strings, "If you need to ask then maybe I read you wrong," he chuckles again, eyes trailing down your legs and taking in your short dress, the way it stops at your knees, "Now that I really look at you, maybe I'm talkin' to a good Christian girl."
"You're not," you say it too quickly, "I mean, I'm not. I'm not a good Christian girl."
"No?" he smirks, "Don't have a good southern daddy waitin' for you to come home? Momma waitin' with a pie in the oven?" he's not being serious but you feel your skin flush at the accuracy of his words.
"Maybe," you mutter, hand going down to touch your dress nervously, "But maybe I don't wanna go home."
He nods and stops plucking, licking his lips and thinking to himself. You have to admit, there's something about him that draws you to him, something masculine and new. He's much, much older than you but not in a way that creeps you out or makes you want to run away. You find yourself hoping he'll ask you to come inside again so this time you can give him the right answer, the one he wants to hear.
"You probably should," he finally says, then stands up on his porch steps and slips his guitar onto his back. The strap digs into his broad shoulders, accentuating his size as he suddenly towers over you on the step.
"Sh-should what?" you ask breathlessly, and you wonder if he can tell your heart race has picked up, see the thumping of your pulse in your exposed neck.
"Go back home," he says with a shrug, "I mean, if they're waitin' for you..."
"They're not," you say it with firm finality, shaking your head, "I'm twenty one, I do what I like."
He walks down the steps then, getting closer and closer to you until he's suddenly standing directly in front of you. His eyes cast downward, assessing your expression; you swear he looks at your lips and licks his own again.
"So would you like to come inside?" he asks again, peering down at you with a dark sense of desire that makes you swallow roughly, feel a light and steady thrum between your legs, "Let me teach you how to play that song?"
Here's your chance. Just say yes.
"N-no," you gasp, taking a step back from him, "Um, n-not today."
He smirks, almost like he knew that would be your response. He hitches his guitar up his shoulder and gives you one last smile before turning around and walking back up his steps.
"Well, I'm here if you change your mind," he calls back to you, reaching for the doorknob on his front door and peering at you with another side glance, still assessing you, "Would love to teach a pretty thing like you how to use her fingers."
You feel your lips part in surprise, an unfamiliar tingling sensation flooding your body as he gives you a wink and walks into his house, shutting the door behind him. You've still got that steady throbbing feeling in your underwear, something you've only felt a handful of times. You know what it is, you're not completely clueless, but you can't remember the last time it happened.
You take another step back slowly, heart still pounding in your chest as you stare at his closed door. Then you turn on your heel and speed walk back the way you came, flip flops slapping against the ground aggressively. You revel in the way your thighs rub together as you walk, soothing that ache.
Any thoughts of not going home have gone from your mind. You need to ask your parents who this man is. As soon as possible.
-
You get home right before dinner, giving yourself just enough time to formulate exactly how to ask your parents about the man with the guitar. You're slightly afraid that you might seem too eager, too curious, and that they'll see right through you; you can't imagine how they'd react to knowing their perfect little girl is getting butterflies over a middle aged man.
But that's what you have: butterflies. In your tummy, all over your skin, between your legs. Being talked to the way he did, being looked at the way he did, it's making you feel hot all over, itchy and uncomfortable but in a good way.
The last time you felt this way was during your first week of college, at a party you'd gone to with your roommate. You'd seen him across the room, tall and blonde, watched as he licked his lips and looked you up and down. He was gorgeous, an angel you were convinced God had placed at this party just for you. You felt that tingle between your legs, swallowed down the nervous lump in your throat and imagined what it would be like to be kissed by him.
Then he'd approached and you realized he'd been looking at your roommate the entire time.
Your mother is just beginning to plate the meal when you slip into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table beside your father. She serves you both with a smile and sits, then extends her hands to both of you.
"Bless us, O Lord, for these, Thy gifts," she begins quietly, and you quickly hang your head and close your eyes as she continues, "which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen."
"Amen," you and your dad echo, then begin your meal. Just the same as always.
"How was your walk?" your father asks.
Here goes nothing.
"It was nice," you say, nodding thoughtfully to yourself and hoping you sound nonchalant, "I said hi to Mrs. Lillard."
"We've been praying for her," your mom interjects immediately, "She's an alcoholic, you know."
Your mom stays on top of all the neighborhood gossip, part of the reason you feel she might know something about the mysterious man. With a nod of your head you continue, "And then I saw someone else, a man playing guitar on his front porch, but I've never seen him before."
"Oh, him" your mom rolls her eyes, "Mr. Miller. Piece of work."
Bingo.
Your eyebrows raise, intrigued, "How so?"
"Kindness, dear," your father says with a disapproving nod to your mother, "He's done nothing to us."
She sighs and shakes her head, "You're right, I'm sorry."
The conversation is definitely going somewhere but it's already taking a turn into dangerous territory; you're not one to question, to interfere or interject. Pressing them further might make them suspicious, but you have to know.
"What did he do?" you ask, trying your best to sound casual, "If you don't mind me asking?"
Your mother is about to speak but your father gives her a look, almost a warning. She closes her mouth and sits back in her chair, waiting for him to answer you instead.
"He didn't do anything," your father explains, "Your mother invited him for dinner and he declined, that's all."
"It's the way he declined," your mother sits forward again, voice curt and irritated, "He was very rude."
"Rude?" You can tell your mom wants to talk about it, dredge up something she hasn't been able to discuss for a while; you're surprised she hadn't already told you over the phone while you were at college.
"This isn't appropriate conversation for the dinner table," your father says sternly, and you're not sure if he's talking more-so to you or your mother, "End of discussion." As usual your mother folds in on herself, picking up her fork and starting to eat again.
"Your father's right," she says, though you know she doesn't really believe that, "Let's just eat."
You wonder what the man - Mr. Miller - could have said to make your mother react this way. It's not unusual for her to get stiff and bothered by people - it's pretty easy to push her buttons, actually, but the list of things that offend her is long and detailed. He could have said pretty much anything to set her off. The specifics are lost on you.
You resign yourself to defeat and eat your dinner, sincerely glad that the tingling sensations in your body have subsided. You do not need to be feeling like that with your parents in the room.
-
You dream about him.
It's muddled and confusing, taking place simultaneously back at college and in your childhood bedroom, but he's there. In both places, somehow. You're back at that first week of college party, but instead of the blonde boy it's him standing across the room, eyeing you up and down. But this time he doesn't go for your roommate, he walks over to you and looks deeply into your eyes, gives you that delicious smirk and brings his hands down to touch your waist. He's so big compared to you, so much older. He pulls you in with a strong grasp and holds you to his broad chest, runs his hands down your back.
Then you're both transported from the college party to your parent's house. You're on your bed, sitting next to him atop the covers and watching him play guitar. You watch his fingers, long and thick, hypnotizing you with their movements. He stops playing and brings one to your chin, tilts your head up to look into your eyes again.
"You're not a good Christian girl," he whispers in that southern drawl, breath ghosting across your face, inching closer and closer, "You're all mine, aren't you?"
You wake up with a start and immediately feel the dampness in your underwear, the butterflies back again with a vengeance as your pussy throbs and pulses. You've never felt anything like this before, grasping your chest and reaching for your bedside lamp in the darkness. You sit there in bed for a few moments, catching your breath and waiting for the feelings to vanish again, for your aching core to stop reminding you that it's never been touched, not once, even though you know it's absolutely begging for it.
With shaky hands you reach down and run a finger through your wet folds, shivering at the soft touch. You've never masturbated before, never had sex or anything else you've learned about from your friends at college. They'd looked at you with disbelief when you'd told them you'd never even had an orgasm; one of them had gone so far as to ask if she could give you one.
"No," you'd said curtly, "No thank you."
Now you sit on your childhood bed with your legs open and a finger pressed lightly against you within your underwear. You're not even sure what to do, where exactly to touch, how to bring yourself to completion. You're twenty one years old but you've spent your entire life being the good, pure, God fearing girl waiting for marriage like her parents taught her.
"Enough," you whisper into the darkness, "I'm done waiting."
You yank your finger out of your panties and lay back on the bed, switching off the lamp and closing your eyes again. You've already decided before you drift off that you'll be paying Mr. Miller another visit tomorrow, as soon as possible.
He told you he wanted to teach you how to use your fingers; you intend to make sure he does.
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prettyboytsum · 3 months
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˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚ first night back I iwaizumi hajime cw: afab! reader, dirty talk, oral (receiving) disclaimer: all characters are aged up! mdni! wc: 521
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the first night iwaizumi was back in japan for good was surprising, to say the least. it was one of the few times where he didn’t have to cram a year’s worth of dates in two weeks or soak in your presence because he wouldn’t be able to see you for the next couple of months.
the plan was for him to stay over in your new tokyo apartment for a couple of weeks. he claimed that it would be a closer drive and it’d give him time to figure out when he wanted to go back to the prefecture. the added bonus of seeing you every day, even if only for a short period, was enticing enough for someone who spent the majority of the last four years calling the love of his life. so, as any loving partner would, you had assumed that he’d be tired from his roughly ten-hour flight from california to japan based on all his planning. the sheets were just changed, his favorite scented candles were lit and you made sure to cook up a feast for when he arrived home. you went above and beyond for his trip back. one thing you didn’t account for was that he missed you—in more ways than one. ”fucking missed this pussy,” iwaizumi groans to himself before he buries his face between your thighs. he eats you out like a starved man, your clothes strewn on the kitchen floor the moment he saw you. ”haji,” you whine, short pants escaping your soft lips as you gripped his hair. for all the things you had prepared for, you didn’t expect him to be needy as soon as he landed. ”nobody even came close to how gorgeous you are, baby,” iwaizumi says, pulling you closer to his lips as you grip the island counter. “can’t believe i was away from you for this long—god, i’m gonna fuck you every night.” ”haji,” you moan louder, throwing your head back in pleasure as he fucks you with his tongue. your body gets warmer—you’ve never seen your boyfriend this desperate and you’d be a liar if you said it wasn’t turning you on. ”yeah?” he whispers, planting quick kisses on your thighs before looking up at you. “bet you missed this dick, huh? fingers just weren’t big enough for your pretty cunt.” you nod, biting your lip as you take a proper look at him. his eyes were blown with lust, his voice husky with need and want—a tone that you haven’t heard from him in far too long. you felt yourself get wetter at the sight, squeezing your thighs together. a movement that doesn’t go unnoticed by him. iwaizumi knows that he looks good, he’s tan from the seaside sun, he’s in the best shape of his life—and there’s nothing more dangerous than a man who knows how attractive he is. ”’s okay, princess,” he replies, giving you a boyish smile that only makes your heart stutter and knees buckle. “gonna make you feel so good that you’ll feel me inside of you for days, alright? jus’ let me spoil my girl.”
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✩ author's note: me when i cut it off right before they get down and dirty </3 I SWEAR A FULL FLEDGE TOE CURLING SMUT IS IN THE WORKS ... in the meantime, enjoy a (potentially) part 1 drabble on pussy starved iwa! ⓒ prettyboytsum 2024. all works are posted under this account on tumblr.com and are protected by copyright laws. do not plagiarise these works on any other platform or account.
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loko4koko · 3 months
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·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ Geto Suguru x f!reader ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·
>fanart_credit: xxgojoxx (via_twitter)
MDNI 18+
>word_count: 1152
>contents: fingering (f!receiving), somnophilia (explicit and implied), explicit p in v, suguru calls you “good girl” and “baby” a few times, suguru calls you a “fucktoy” once, suguru has a big fat dick (but we all knew that)
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“what are you doing?”
the hand slipping into the front of your baby blue cotton panties freezes, like a dog who’d been caught eating something they weren’t supposed to. did he think you wouldn’t notice? it’d be impossible not to; with a hand as big as his, it was like he was trying to sneak a fucking baseball mitt into your underwear.
“nothing. go to sleep.” suguru says, with the conviction of pinocchio telling someone the sky was purple. in other words, he is a goddamned dirty liar. his face is smushed into your neck, long hairs tickling the curve of your shoulder. he’s got you pressed against him like you’re planning to run away, back so flush against his chest that his heartbeat reverberates through to you.
you huff, trying to settle back into the sheets, into his hold on you. thankfully it isn’t hard, couldn’t be when he’s so broad, makes you feel so protected and cozy. you’re just getting back comfortable when that hand starts misbehaving again, creeping further into your panties. he doesn’t do anything, just lets his palm sit unmoving atop your pubic bone. it makes you squirm, his fingers are so close to where you’d normally be begging him to put them that you’re not sure how to take it.
“suguru.”
“what? i’m tryin’ to sleep here.”
“uh, no? no, you’re not.”
“am too. hands are cold. stop moving and go to sleep.”
he can’t see it, but he knows you’re scowling. you go to turn around in his arms but he uses that strong hand in your panties to grip your mound, long fingers splayed over your (slowly dampening) cunt. any words you want to say, any whines and complaints are stolen right from your throat by the man behind you. he uses that grip to yank your hips back from where you’d started to roll over, face leaving its spot on your neck to nudge his nose up against your ear.
“baby. i love you. go to fucking sleep.” his voice is riddled with a damningly arousing mix of exhaustion and authority; something that is entirely not helping when he’s already gotten so close to touching your clit that you could taste it. you don’t give him a response other than your silence, squeezing your eyes shut while you try to think about anything other than how deep his slender fingers reach inside of your- okaaay, that’s enough.
“s’my good girl. g’night,” he sighs, leaving a gentle kiss to the shell of your ear before his face is back to its residence on your nape. oh, what a cruel, cruel son of a bitch he is.
you couldn’t sleep for an hour and a half after that, wide awake and thinking about all of the other things you’d do to make suguru call you his good girl while he snores softly against you. occasionally, he’d shuffle a bit to adjust himself, and the hand in your panties follows suit, fingers brushing against your clit right as you’re about to fall asleep. safe to say, it was a rough night for your sleep schedule.
suguru is many things, and a tease is one of them. it’s 8:36am when you’re woken up, rousing from the dream state that only 5 hours of sleep had given you. it isn’t your own doing that wakes you, though. it’s the repetitive tap..tap..tap that you feel on your already sensitive clit. but then, it’s not just touching; it’s suguru’s husky voice in your ear, still colored with sleep and something dangerously lusty.
“-bet you’d like that, though. so fucking wet even in your sleep. i could just slip right inside you, baby..” the fingers touching your most sensitive parts slip lower, succeeding in their goal of spreading your pussy lips apart- not that it’d be hard to with how much slick is leaking out of you. his calloused middle finger finds its way inside of you, unhurriedly feeling around the hot, wet walls it burrowed in to. you have no response, eyes falling shut as your mouth does the opposite.
“you won’t be mad at me, right? if i put it in? give you my cock first thing in the morning? fuck, baby, you’re squeezin’…you awake?” his finger inside of you finds your g-spot in no time, massaging the spongy little spot with a very practiced ease. you can’t speak, only able to give the man behind you a nod. suguru tuts, smearing sloppy wet kisses across your shoulders and neck.
“good morning, my filthy girl. you like it when i touch your pussy while you sleep, huh? like the idea of me usin’ you as a fucktoy while you dream about me doing the same?” he pushes himself further against you at the same time that he adds another finger inside of you, grinding his cock against the swell of your ass. he’s at full staff, probably had been for a while—so fucking hard and so fucking hot that you can feel it through his boxers and shorts.
“cum for me and i’ll give it you, yeah? be a good girl ‘n cum all over my fingers, you can do it, baby, jus’ like that.” he’s thrusting those long fingers in and out of you now, much faster than your sleep-addled brain can even comprehend. your own hand wraps around his wrist, hips moving in time with him.
“‘m gonna cum, sugu, please don’t stop,” you whine, voice hoarse from being unused for so long. that knot in your stomach winds itself even tighter, whiny little gasps leaving you as he fucks his fingers deeper into you. it isn’t long before that knot is pulled too taut, before the dam breaks, and your nails are digging deep into his arm. the intensity of your orgasm has you fully awake now, no chance in hell that you’d go back to sleep after this. you were promised something, and you were gonna get it.
your breath is still coming out in sharp pants when he removes his fingers from your tight little hole, only moving them to find the waistband of your panties. he shoves them down unceremoniously, too worked up to keep wasting valuable time that he could spend making you cum all over his heavy cock. he gets his own boxer briefs down around his thighs and grips at the base of his dick, pre-cum staining the backs of your thighs as he finds his way to your cunt. you both gasp when he slips inside of you but he’s quick, leaning over to steal your lips in a kiss full of desire. when his mouth parts from yours, he moves it back to your ear, not even bothering to give you a moment to adjust to his much more than average size stretching you out.
“next time, i’m not waking you up first.”
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>author’s_note: idk i’m just saying if i woke up to this every morning i’d get a lot more done in life 🧎suguru bae plsssss
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>thank you for reading ♡︎
>masterlist.exe
>send a request here!
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© loko4koko 2024
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Day 195.6: Hobbies (Part 6)
It's been a minute since I worked on this one. Feel free to start here if you'd like.
Harry paced around his living room for what had to be the hundredth time by this point. He hadn't been able to stop pacing since he'd left Draco's office, wondering what the other man thought, wondering if he was going to come to see him. Wondering if this latest revelation was too much.
Wondering if Draco could see now that Harry was too much.
The knock on the door took him by surprise and he turned and stared at it uncertainly for a moment. Admittedly, he hadn't actually expected the other man to come.
Another knock and Harry stepped over to the door and opened it to find Draco standing on the other side. "Hi," he murmured.
"I need you to start that again," Draco said, as he pushed past Harry into the living room and collapsed on his sofa. "Rewind to the bit about you being a horocrux."
"Can I say a different thing first?" he asked, nerves sparking in his palms and the tips of his fingers.
The other man looked over at him and raised an eyebrow, "Of course."
"I don't actually want you to be my healer," he said, words all coming out in a rush. "I want to be better because I like you. Like a lot," he said and he could feel the heat rushing under his skin at the confession. "I really like you," he said again because he couldn't quite help himself. "I want to be safe for you."
Draco blinked at him and his breath rushed out in a long sigh. "Harry," he whispered.
"I thought I was okay if I never got to touch anyone again, you know? It was enough for me," he continued, trying to get the words out before he lost his nerve, "to not be a danger to others. Too many people died because of me, you know?"
(Read more below the cut)
"That wasn't your fault," Draco inserted quickly.
He nodded, "I know that," he said. "I know that now," he clarified. "Therapy really helped me to sort through my guilt and shame about things that weren't my fault but still happened because of me. There were a lot of deaths and injuries," he said, pausing to take a slow breath, "They weren't my fault, but people died because I wasn't ready to defeat him yet. I was a child," he added, "and it wasn't my fault but I wish I could have changed it."
Draco nodded, "You've done a lot of really good work."
"Then why am I still shocking people?" he asked.
"I have some theories about that, actually," Draco said, eyes bright, "but since I am not your healer, could I treat this like a conversation and say a few other things first?"
Harry folded himself onto the other end of the sofa, facing Draco as he nodded.
"I really like you too."
He couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face.
"A lot. And I don't think you need me to be your therapist," Draco said. "I'm not saying that you shouldn't go to therapy," he continued, "I think everyone should go to therapy. I go to therapy," he added, "it's really helpful for me."
Harry felt his body relaxing, magic settling under his skin. Draco didn't think he was crazy.
"But I don't think that you need me to be a therapist for you," he said steadily. "You don't need what I specialize in because that's not what your body is doing."
He tilted his head, "What do you mean?"
Draco hummed, "Your core has actual, physical damage done to it. Your magic isn't spiking out of a nervous system response most of the time. An instance like today being the exception. And I might argue that even with it being really triggering, if your core didn't have gaping holes in the shell, you wouldn't have lost control of your magic."
Harry hummed, he'd like to believe that, he really would, but it was hard to imagine that he was right about that. "I was really triggered by the people following me."
"Right," he said. "And that would make anyone nervous. That was a lot."
He swallowed and looked down at his lap, not quite sure how to accept Draco's easy acceptance of his panic attack earlier.
"That was really difficult," he repeated, "You intentionally put yourself in a very triggering environment, your response was completely understandable."
Harry swallowed around the tears that were threatening. He'd cried in front of Draco before but this felt different.
"Harry," he said softly, and he looked up to meet Draco's eyes. "I don't want you to feel like you have to do that for me."
"Sorry?"
"It's okay for you to have boundaries," he said softly. "I want you to have boundaries. I want to help you have boundaries that keep you safe and healthy."
He blinked, throat too tight around the tears there.
"I'm sorry I made that the only way for you to reach me." He took a deep breath before squaring his shoulders and giving himself a little nod, "The truth is that you did way more to let me in than I did to let you in."
His brows furrowed, "What-"
"It wasn't until the last time I saw you that it occurred to me that I'd stopped really trying to 'cure you'," he said with self-deprecating air quotes, "and was just enjoying being your friend. I'd been doing it for a while unconsciously, but it scared me to be just actively trying to build a relationship with you."
He took a slow breath, waiting, giving Draco the space he needed to be able to say the things he needed to say.
"Because it felt ridiculous, you know?" he asked. But before Harry had the chance to feel hurt, Draco was continuing. "It didn't make sense to me that you would want to be spending time with me if I couldn't give you anything other than my company."
"Draco, what-"
"I went to see my own therapist today," he said. "Because this is me," he confessed. "This is the thing I struggle the most with."
"Sorry," he said, shaking his head, "I want to understand. Please help me understand what you're trying to say," he said as earnestly as he could. "What do you struggle with the most?"
Draco took a deep breath, "The idea that someone could love me for who I am and not for what I can give them."
"Draco," he breathed, heart feeling like it had burst inside of him, hot brackish lava spilling out and burning up his insides.
The other man spread his hands like he was putting himself on display.
"I want you," he said. "Godric, I want you so much."
"Harry-"
"I love spending time with you," he continued, unable to stop himself now that he knew what Draco needed to hear. "I love all of the time we've spent together, I've loved getting to know you. I have treasured every little piece of you that you've given me in our conversations. You-" he shook his head, "You're amazing. You amaze me. I want you all of the time."
"Harry," he breathed, eyes full of tears, and Harry ached with the desire to hold him.
"I want to be able to touch you," he confessed, the next best thing to pulling Draco into his arms and holding him until the aches inside of both of them subsided. "I want to hold you so badly."
"Your magic isn't going to hurt me, Harry."
He huffed a laugh, "You keep saying that."
"Because I mean it," he insisted.
"Right, but the healers I saw before I left-"
"Had a fundamental misunderstanding of magical cores, magic in general, and trauma," he inserted smoothly.
He sighed, rubbing his forehead, "tell me more."
Draco straightened, "Your magic isn't going to hurt me because you don't want to hurt me."
"It can't be that simple."
The other man gave him a little smile, "It is and it isn't. I'd be willing to bet that your accidental magic is the stuff of legends."
He huffed, "There have been a few memorable instances."
Draco quirked a grin at him, "Could you repeat what you'd said about being a horocrux?"
"When I was an infant, when Voldemort tried to kill me, he left part of his soul behind. We had a weird connection throughout my childhood. I could feel his magic, feel his imprint inside of me before I understood why. It went both ways, both limiting and enhancing my magic, I think."
"Can you say more about that?" Draco asked.
He laughed, "Now you really sound like my therapist."
"I don't mean to," he said with a frown.
"It's okay," he said. "I want you to know me," he added, then thought about those words for a moment, "Yeah. That's true," he laughed, "I want you to know me."
Draco smiled at him, "I want to know you."
He grinned dopily at Draco for a long moment because he enjoyed the sound of that sentence so much. "Right," he said, shaking his head. "So. Basically, the piece of Voldemort's soul inside of me magnified emotions like fear and anger in particular. My biggest incidences of accidental magic happened from those emotions. Which makes sense when you think about the way a horocrux does that too."
"I think you probably understand the effects of horocruxes better than anyone. There's not a lot of modern understanding of them," Draco said.
"Fair," he conceded. "Well, maybe you can trust me when I tell you that they do that? Like, have you watched Lord of the Rings?"
"I have no idea what that is."
Harry groaned and made it part of the mental list he kept for future movie nights. "Never mind. We'll watch it another time. My point is that I could feel him in my anger and fear in ways I couldn't in other parts of my magic. It makes sense to me that he was magnifying and fortifying those parts of my core. And it makes sense that when he was taken out he left holes that fear and anger would leak out of."
"Can I challenge you on that?" Draco asked, "Just a little?"
He nodded, "Sure."
"I don't think your core is only seeping those things. I think your core is seeping magic that relates to any emotion but your anxiety and fear of hurting people hijacks it."
"What do you mean?"
Draco hummed and seemed to be switching tactics, "What is safe magic for you to perform?"
"Cleaning," he replied immediately. Cleaning had been one of the first things he started allowing his magic to do again.
"Great," he said, "So cleaning never feels like it's going to hurt someone?"
"How could it?"
He nodded, "Right. But," he continued, "if you're feeling something like anger, that could be dangerous for the people around you."
"That seems logical," Harry said, certain that this was what he'd just told Draco. It made sense that his anger spewing out in the form of magic would be dangerous.
"Imagine a time when you were sad, did you feel like it was dangerous for the people around you?"
He shrugged, "It could have been," he said, remembering how his sadness had manifested as anger in his lifetime. And it was fair and true to say that he didn't like to feel too sad around other people; he didn't want to burden them with his grief too often.
Draco gave him a little grin, "I'm setting you up," he informed him.
Harry rolled his eyes, "Thanks for the warning."
"Imagine the last time you were feeling something akin to love for someone. What happened then?"
His mind was immediately drawn back to that night when they'd kissed on this very sofa but he pulled back hard on the reins, that was way too much of an admission, way too fast.
"Like with Ron and Hermione," Draco suggested. "Or perhaps Teddy?"
That was easier. "Alright."
"How did you want to respond? Did you want to touch them? Give them a hug or a pat on the back?"
"Sure, I wanted that," he said because it was true.
"Did you do it?"
He shook his head, "No. Because touching them could hurt them."
"Ready?" he asked, looking at Harry like he was about to drop a bomb on him.
"I would have said 'yes' but I don't really like the tone of your voice," he replied.
Draco hummed. "I could be wrong about this, but I don't think I am."
"Oh good."
He shook his head and took a deep breath, "Do you think it's fair to say that you are afraid that loving people could hurt them too?"
And his gut reaction was to say no. He wanted to simply deny it. Love had saved him; many times over. But his love hadn't saved others; his loving people and them loving him in return had put them in harm's way a lot of times. "I meant it when I said that I didn't believe it was my fault that people died."
Draco nodded, giving him space to work through his thoughts.
"I don't think that I caused their deaths," he said, testing it out to see how the words felt. "But," he said softly and Draco's head tilted in sympathy, "I do feel like maybe if I hadn't loved them and they hadn't loved me that they might not have died." He felt a tear spill down his cheek. "I'm not responsible for their deaths," he repeated, a mantra he'd carried with him for years at this point. "But I do think that if it weren't for love, they would still be here today."
"Yeah," Draco whispered softly, warm and full of understanding. "It feels like what is coming out is fear or anger, but what's coming out is all of your emotions until your anxiety takes over."
"That's," he blew out a breath. "That's a lot."
"Yes," he conceded. "You aren't going to hurt me, Harry," he repeated.
"How do you know?" he asked again, because that's what this seemed to prove, really. Love triggered anxiety which made him zap people.
"Because you don't want to," he said again. "Your magic has never hurt me. Your magic has tried to keep me safe, your magic has tried to tell me you feel safe, your magic has tried to make me feel really-" he broke off and bit his lip.
"Really?"
"Good," he breathed. "Your magic really wanted me to feel good," he finished.
"Yeah?" he asked, throat going a little dry.
Draco's eyes met his and Harry felt like he was on fire, "Yes," he whispered, licking his bottom lip.
"Draco-"
"Kiss me," he murmured.
"Draco-"
"Harry," he said, voice soft and a little desperate. "Please."
He swallowed, "I have an idea."
Draco nodded, "Yes."
Harry laughed, his magic bubbling under his skin, "You don't even know what I was going to say."
"I don't care," he replied. "I'll do anything if it means you'll kiss me again."
"Merlin," he sighed, closing his eyes and trying to make his brain work correctly. "I really like you."
"I really like you too," Draco replied and at the sound of how much closer his voice was Harry opened his eyes to find Draco leaning closer, mere inches from him.
"I don't trust myself," he said. "I want to kiss you but I don't want to touch you."
"Okay," Draco replied, eyebrows furrowing as he tried to work out a solution.
He blew out a breath, "I don't mean this to sound kinky-"
Draco's eyes sparked as they darted from Harry's lips to meet his eyes, clear and eager. "I'm not opposed."
Harry huffed a laugh again, "You still don't know what I was going to say."
"It doesn't matter."
"I want you to tie me up," he finally managed, blocking out all of the ideas flooding his brain. "Then you set the pace, you have the control. If it's too much or it hurts you, you can just stop."
Draco's fingertips brushed feather light over Harry's cheek and Harry's eyelids fluttered shut, his magic rushing under his skin, flooding his body and his senses. "I'm not afraid of you," Draco murmured and Harry clenched his fists at his sides to resist the urge to grab him. "But if that is what it takes to make you feel safe, I will gladly do it."
All of the heat from Draco's body disappeared suddenly and Harry's eyes snapped open to find that he was standing in front of him.
"Show me the way to your bedroom," he said. "And you can read into that as much or as little as you like."
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(Part 5) | Next (hopefully last haha)
Read more of my ficlets here.
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hansensgirl · 3 months
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summary. | Your stepfather wants to try something new with you.
prompts. | Steve Rogers + stepfather + “Don’t you think you’re a little too old to be playing this game?” + face-sitting, requested by Anonymous.
pairing. | dark!stepfather!Steve Rogers x fem!reader.
warnings. | NON/DUBCON, stepcest, age gap, fear, captivity, oral (f), face-sitting, pet names, dirty talk, kind of mean!steve?, Daddy kink, allusions to somnophilia, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!
author’s note. | this is a part of my Dark Concepts (2023) request form. thank you for taking part in this event! please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog. MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY! taglist: @hansensfics
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Steve lays back against your bed, the one he forces himself into night after night.
“Daddy wants to try something new today, sweetie,” he tells you, patting his lap. You know what that means—he’s trained you very well. He never has to repeat himself, and you’re always a good girl for him. Well, you try most of the time. “Come here.”
You’re in your bra and underwear, nothing special, yet he prefers you with no clothes entirely. He swears you’re the most beautiful girl in the world, but he continues to taint you.
You straddle your step-father, and he uses his immense strength to pull you upwards, positioning your legs on each side of his head. 
“Oh– What are you gonna do, D– Daddy?” you question, though you have a slight inkling. “Daddy’s gonna make you sit on his face, baby. And I’m gonna make you feel so good,” Steve tells you. His voice is deep, and it makes your pussy throb.
“But, won’t you get hurt?” you ask. You know he’s more than careful when it comes to these things, but you just want to be sure. You’re also trying to stall him and perhaps convince him to leave you alone for the day. “I won’t, honey. Don’t worry.”
You nod your head as you look down at him, meeting his gaze. His blue eyes are blown out entirely, dark with arousal. You hate this—you hate him. He’s got you stuck in this suburban house as he uses you—his stepdaughter—for his dirty pleasure.
“Really? What about your neck?” you continue, fiddling your fingers. “I know what I’m doing, princess,” Steve reassures, giving you a smile. You can never tell when it’s genuine. He’s a great liar, in contrary to you.
“I know, Daddy… I’m just a bit scared, s’all,” you feign sheepishness as you admit. It’s true—you’re absolutely terrified of your stepfather. He’s hurt you in ways that make your skin crawl, but you find that your body betrays you when your panties are soaked. 
Steve grips the cloth that hides your core, and he tugs at it until it rips, giving him full access to your pussy. 
The older man sighs heavily, jaw clenching as he closes his eyes. You’re worried he’ll lash out and really hurt you.
“Don’t you think you’re a little too old to be playing this game?” he suddenly asks, tone harsh. You gulp thickly. “Wh– What game, Daddy?” you question, hands shaking from fright. “Stop pretending you don’t want this. I know how much of a dirty slut you are,” Steve spits, and before you can reply, he pulls you down onto his mouth.
All thoughts leave your mind when he licks a fat stripe on your pussy, lapping up all the creaminess you have to offer. You moan loudly, and he chuckles, the vibrations adding to the sensation of his skilled mouth on your core.
Your stepfather sucks on your clit, tongue flicking and swirling around the nub. He passes the wet muscle through your folds, teasing you by pretending he’ll insert it into your empty, aching hole.
You moan the title he’s demanded you always call him by, and Steve bucks his hips upwards, desperate for some friction himself. He shakes his head a bit, and you cry out, the pleasure blooming in your core increasing with every lewd movement he makes.
“Fuck, Daddy…” you whine, grinding your hips on his face just a bit. He hums against your wet cunt, and you feel yourself nearing your first climax of what surely will be many. 
Steve taps your thigh twice as a sign that he gives you permission to come. “Th- Thank you, Daddy,” you pant, and your muscles twitch as you come on your stepfather’s mouth. He licks up all that you have to offer and then some, forcing you to ride out your high.
Your heart clamours inside your chest as Steve continues to eat you out.
Maybe he is right. You, indeed, are too old to play that game.
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Dirty Liar (Regina George x Reader)
(𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙚)
𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙪𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙢𝙮 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙨𝙢𝙪𝙩 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙙𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙡 𝙞𝙩'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙙𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡, 𝙄'𝙢 𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙪𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜. 𝙄 𝙙𝙞𝙙 𝙗𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙧'𝙨 𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙣. 𝙄𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙨, 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙡𝙚𝙩 𝙢𝙚 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬. 𝘼𝙣𝙮𝙜𝙖𝙮𝙨, 𝙚𝙣𝙟𝙤𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙛𝙞𝙡𝙩𝙝<3
Warning: smut
﹒⪩⪨﹒
Regina's footsteps can be heard throughout the hallway as she struts to her destination. Her steps may be confident but her thoughts betray her. She's terrified, afraid because she didn't know what to expect.
Or maybe she did know.
She looks at your composed demeanor while scribbling something in your notebook. Once you heard her footsteps, you turned your head to look in her direction.
Isn't this what I want? Regina's thoughts became loud, she wanted you to look in her direction. But not in this given situation where she's fucked. Her face disguises the nervousness that she's feeling inside.
"Come inside and lock the door, Ms. George" Your voice fills her anxiety. She nodded politely and you almost laughed. Just earlier she was being disrespectful and suddenly she's this polite?
With the click of the lock, followed by the sound of your heels. Regina's back was on you, but she knew that you were approaching her. She can feel your presence and it made her knees tremble.
She breathed heavily when she felt your breath on the back of her neck. You move closer until her face is on the door, your hands on her waist as you savor the effect you have on her. At the same time holding her just in case she fell. You feel her body weaken with just your touch.
She turns her head to the side, your faces inches from each other. So close that every breath you release, she consumes it. You stare into her eyes for a moment, she did stare at yours but she was quickly distracted by your lips.
It's so hypnotic that she feels a pull towards it, she moves closer and closer until your lips are centimeters apart.
But you quickly move away, letting out a small smile when you hear her little whimper.
"Do you have any idea why I called you here?" You casually said like you didn't have her pinned against the wall a few seconds ago. Hands-on your pockets while you gave her a look.
"I don't." She breathlessly let out, still not out of it. You enjoyed how she looked almost euphoric. But her response is not something that brought amusement to you.
"Liar" She swallowed thickly. Regina knew, of course, this was her plan. But she never expected the reaction that she received.
"I'm gonna ask one more time. We'll see what happens if you lie again." You guide her to sit on your office chair, trapping her with your arms on her side, she looks up at you with her doe eyes.
"Do you know why you're here? Hmm?" You're asking but your voice is filled with authority. Regina contemplates, she wanna obey so badly.
She knew it would feel good to submit to you.
"Is this what you did to Alissa when you asked her to stay?" Her voice trembles with vulnerability, you place a delicate hand on her cheek. Stroking her cheek with your thumb.
"That's not my question" Slowly your hand trails down her jaw to her throat. You moved her head up so she was directly staring up at you.
You expertly squeeze her throat. She let out a strained little gasp, your squeeze was gentle but you knew where to put it so you could restrain her breath a bit without hurting her.
I move my face closer to her until my lips are beside her ear. I made sure to breathe heavily just so she could feel my breath on her. And that worked cause I felt her shiver under my grip.
"Are you jealous, Ms. George?" I asked, not giving a piece of my mind. Not assuring her, just teasing her. I move my face down to her neck.
"Answer me" I demand softly, my lips touching her jaw as I speak. I press a feather-light kiss on her cheek before removing my hand from her throat so she can answer me. I tilted my head, waiting for her response.
"I'm not." She tried to sound unfazed. I let out a soft laugh.
"Liar," I said, amused that she could hold this long. But I won't tolerate her behavior.
"And what if I told you, yes? This is what I did to her. What would you do?" Regina felt her world collapse, she let out a whimper. Her chest tightened at your words. You technically didn't say that you did, but you also didn't say that you didn't.
"Fuck you" she let out in the softest voice, you caress her cheek. "You're cute" you chuckled at her reaction.
"Fuck you Y/n" Your smile dropped, your movement so fast that she had no choice but to take it. Your hand's on her throat again.
"Listen, since you had no idea why you're here." You sarcastically mocked her.
"Naughty girls like you get called to the office. I don't like how you're behaving in class, Ms. George. And I know that this isn't how you usually behave so I wonder what's got you like this." Regina took your words, and it went straight to her core. Her hands that are gripping on yours weaken at your words.
"So tell me, what's got my star student like this?" You smirked, knowing exactly why she was acting like this. You just want to hear her say it. The entire time, Regina's staring at your lips.
She looks at you with begging eyes. She can't take teasing. You quickly press a light kiss on her lips. Knowing that's what she's asking for.
"Now answer me honestly. Because I don't like this attitude of yours" You gave her a chance, you really did. But Regina remained strong. She remained silent. That changed your whole demeanor.
"On the desk" your voice left no argument for complaining. Regina immediately sat on the desk, knowing what was about to happen next.
You look at Regina with fury in your eyes, it disappears for a moment. You make sure that she wants this, when she gives you a nod and quiet 'yes' your lips immediately find her neck.
"fuck" you heard her sigh, she move her head to the side to give you access. Your hands parted her legs, you stood between them. You wrap your arms around her, pulling her closer to you.
"You're so fucking stubborn Regina" You gave her neck a small bite. Regina let out a moan both from you calling her name and the bite. Your hands wandered all over her body. She grips your hair as you kiss her neck, shoulders, and jaw.
Your hands squeezed her breath, breaths heavy on her neck. Her hands unbutton your shirt, you let her for now. You quickly remove her top. Moaning at the sight of her black lacy bra.
"You planned this didn't you?" You trace her boobs, giving it a little squeeze that made her moan.
"So responsive." Pulling the strap down to expose her hard nipples, you bit your lips. Admiring the sight of her breast.
Fuck she's beautiful
You can't help but pinch her perky nipples. Loving how she gasps, she's so sensitive and you love it. You swallow thickly, slowly losing control.
You slap her breast, she lets out a loud breathy moan. Love the pain, and you love the way it moved. You slapped the other one.
Regina whimpered, you did it multiple times until her breast was red. The same goes with her eyes, a few tears spilling out from it. You kissed her forehead. Your chest makes contact with her breast.
"please" her voice so small and soft, you almost feel sorry for her. Your hand came in contact with her skirt. And to distract her, you devoured her sensitive nipples.
It was worth it.
Her moans and responses...
You left open-mouth kisses all over her breasts, sucking around the skin. Licking her nipples. You look up at her. And the sight is something you could never get tired of.
Your distraction worked, she hadn't noticed that her skirt was gone and your fingers' massaging her clothed pussy. She let out a high-pitched moan from shock.
You smirked her nipple in between your teeth.
Feeling how wet she is already, you rub small slow circles. Her back already arching making her breasts press into you. You press your hand harder on her cunt.
You continue doing the same movements with your fingers. Noticing her getting impatient, you knew what you were doing.
You were in the middle of kissing her neck when you heard her beg
"Please!" You pull your head from her neck to look at her glassy eyes. "What's that baby?" You teased, your fingers moving slower than before.
Regina couldn't take it, she felt hot. Her body's on fire and your fingers only can distract her. She's panting and moaning, not knowing what to do. She just needs you.
"Please, please?" Her lips quivered, and you pout your kips at her. Cooing mockingly.
"My poor baby" You squeeze her breast, and her body pulses in response.
"I'm sure you can beg better than that." You whispered, her eyes begged. But that's not what you want. You smile as you feel her twitch on your fingers.
"Beg" you teased. Regina let out a whine. You remove your hand.
You cup her cheeks with your hands, moving till your face just inches from her. You look straight into her, in your miniskirt and unbuttoned blouse.
"Regina" you called, and she immediately knew she had to respond. The only thing on her mind was your fingers.
"Please, please. I-I need you! need your fingers inside. Please y/n!" She moaned, whined, and most importantly she begged. Desperately, and you couldn't deny her any longer.
You press your lips on her, she lets a little squeal out, and you insert your tongue in her mouth. Your hands remove her panties while she's trying to fight for dominance.
She let out a delicious loud moan in your mouth when you insert two fingers into her soaking cunt. You continue to kiss her, giving her a moment to adjust.
When she's adjusted, you angle your hand before thrusting your fingers. The first contact is immediately to her sweet spot. You smirk as you kiss the moaning Regina.
"That's it, baby, take my fingers. God, you're beautiful." You guide her head as you help lay her down on your desk. Your mouth lowered down to her breasts, you spread her legs wider to gain better access.
Her moans got louder the same way the sound of her wet cunt being fucked echoed around your office. You kiss down her stomach until you smell her juice. You gave her clit a kiss, her moan got a little higher when she feels your kiss.
"Oh God!" Her voice trembles when you went on to lick her clit, her hands frantically try to find something to hold into. She settled on your hair.
She doesn't know whether to grip or push your face on her cunt.
"Fuck! Please" she doesn't know what she's begging for. Regina's moan got louder and higher almost with each lick and thrust.
Her feet pressed in your back, her back arched. She looked down at you, moaning when she saw you were already staring up at her. She caresses your cheeks for a moment.
Her hand trembled when you hit her spot, enjoying how much pleasure you're giving her even though she's been bad.
Maybe she'll be fuck into obedience.
Your fingers move faster when you feel her get tighter around your fingers, you feel your muscles straining because of how tight she got but you don't care.
"I'm so fucking close! Ah- fuck!" She breathlessly moaned you feel her legs that's on your shoulders trembling. Her last straw is when you hum while sucking her clit.
She let out a loud moan that almost made you come, her voice hoarse from all the moaning and screaming. You remove your face from her clit when you feel her juices everywhere, she moaned your name while she squirted.
You watched as she rode her high, her legs spasming, her chest heaving up and down as she gasped for air. You moaned at the beautiful sight of your girl.
"That's it, you're a good girl." Your hand pulling slowly. She let out a few whimpers.
"I know you're sensitive. I've got you baby" you caress her head, fixing her disheveled hair. You smile when you see your soaked fingers.
You put your fingers in your mouth, moaning at her taste like you didn't just eat her out.
"So fucking delicious" you clean your fingers before tending to her. You make sure to be extremely careful and gentle. You gave her kisses and cuddles while you cleaned her up.
Once she's cleaned up, you put your hands on her hips.
"I hope you learned your lesson." You smiled sweetly at her, she leaned to kiss you before nodding. She looked adorable.
"Off you go, baby." You walk her to the door, biting your lips as you see how she tries to hide her limps. You close the door to your office with a smile.
Regina stopped for a moment before realizing something.
Did you actually fucked Alissa?
Who heard what happened in your office?
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶
(𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘴)
Oh my fucking God. Bye- I know that this is lacking, I just can't bring myself to reread this and edit😭😭
𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪𝙜𝙚𝙚𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩
・❥・ @dark-hunter16 @isawxxp @modernsapphicism @pyro-les
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ncroissant · 1 day
Text
switch! doppel francis mosses x dom! gn! reader x sub! francis mosses
summary: double-teaming the real francis with doppel! francis
wc: 1.4k
content warning: nsfw, cock can be viewed as a strap, nipple play (personal fave), throat-fucking, blow jobs, hand jobs, dirty talk, doppel francis is referred to as doppel, wrist burns, tied up francis
author’s note: hellooooo my lovelies !! here is the long awaited fanfic that will hopefully satiate everyone’s preferences from the francis mosses poll yesterday (so i'm a pathalogical liar bc the way this was just sub! francis...) i plan to write many, many more sub! francis content because i cannot imagine him any other way. hope you guys enjoy this :) not proofread, minors please dni !!
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“hhGHK-”
“can’t hear you that well down there, francie. speak up f’me?” you smile devlishly, tilting your head to look down at your crotch. francis knelt there with brusied knees, sucking your cock, stroking what he couldn’t fit with two hands.
another francis emerged from behind you, chuckling at his dupilcate’s pitiful state. “is that what the francis of this world is really like? a milk delivery man during the day, then a pathetic little whore who chokes on cocks back at home?” he scoffed, rolling his eyes.
“c’mon, use me too. i would never whine like this while suckin’ on that…” his fingers trailed down your v-line to the base of your cock. “i’m different from this loser…” he pouted, placing his chin on your shoulder, giving you a pleading look.
“m-mmnMPFH, g-GHK!” francis moaned, the vibrations shooting through your cock. he was whiny, but that’s what turned you on the most about your desperate little boyfriend.
you chuckled, gripping at his hair to make him look up at you. “don’t forget to look at me while i fuck your throat, francy,” you instructed as he nodded as best as he could with tears pricking his eyes. the look he gave you was so priceless, his mouth stuff full with your fat cock and drool dripping down his chin.
“yeah, but my dirty boy takes my cock the best,” you praised, making doppel frown. you thrusted your cock deep into francis’ throat, hitting the back of his throat every time you made even the slightest movement.
his eyes rolled back at the thickness and length of your cock, as he exhaled through his nose heavily. he felt his hands drifting down to his bulge, humping the carpet underneath.
you noticed, finally knowing what to do with doppel. “actually, i need you to take care of my needy little boy down there…” you shot francis a glare, shaking your head in disappointment. he whimpered at the action, his eyes widening with tears immediately streaming down his cheeks.
you pulled him off your cock, his saliva connecting to the tip. “haagnh…” he mewled out, his tongue still stuck out, waiting for a sweet treat. “c-cum on my tongue, please…” he begged, placing the tip of your cock on his tongue.
“such a needy boy. always wanting more than what you’re given, huh?” you tutted, grabbing your middle of your cock to tap it roughly on his tongue. he could only moan, feeling his hips shake in anticipating.
“that’s why i have him. to help me discipline you,” you pulled at doppel’s bow to tug him closer, untying it in the process. “c’mere francie. up on my lap,” you patted your lap, holding a hand out for him to get up.
he followed suit, stumbling over his feet a bit, but ultimately sitting on your lap with his back pressed against your chest. his cock was aching in his stupidly tight pants, begging to be let free. his face flushed at the sight of a very different, yet similar version of himself in front of him.
“doppel, c’mere sit on francie’s thigh,” you motioned him over, straightface. you, on the otherhand, begun to tie francis’ wrists above his head with the tie you had previously acquired. doppel obediently followed your instructions, sitting on one of francis’ spread thighs.
“w-what’re we doing?” francis stuttered, feeling exposed despite being fully clothed.
your arms looped around his body, rubbing his nipples through the fabric of his shirt. he jolted. “just punishing you,” you smiled, giving doppel a look. he quickly caught on, unzipping francis’ pants, palming him through his underwear.
your pointer finger tickled at his sensitive nub, while the other hand pinched at his already hardened nipple. francis’ weak spot was his nipples. the way he reacted when you even grazed his nipples made you want to bend him over a bucket and squeeze them until milk came out.
“o-oooH! hnnghh…w-why through my s-shirt?” he whimpered, jutting out his wet lower lip.
you gave him no response, flicking at his buds with your nails, making his arch his back. “gHK! y-you’re too, mnGHHK, rough!” he exclaimed, his brows furrowing. you loved to twist and tug at his nipples.
it was his fault for wearing such a tight uniform shirt. he was just asking to have you toy with his neglected buds that always poked out from the slightly nudge from the shirt fabric. your hands grope his chest, fingers rubbing over them quickly.
doppel wasn’t neglecting francis’ cock either. he was playing lazily with the wet spot on francis’ underwear that leaked pre-cum. it stuck to his pointer finger when he dragged it away, making doppel chuckle at his copy’s sensitivity.
“feel good, francie? squirmin’ so much, hm?” you placed your chin on his shoulder, watching the way his lips shaped into an “o”, mewling at the way you played with his perky nipples. you’d tug on one, flicking the other one quickly.
“g-good, HNGH, o-oghhh...s-so gnhh…” he could barely get a word out, lewd noises just falling out of his lips. you stopped teasing his nipples before slowly unbuttoning his uniform shirt.
doppel wasn’t taking francis seriously, stroking at a pace he thought was slow, but inhumanely too quick for francis. “human dicks are so small. you pleasing anyone with this tiny little guy, huh?” he teased, making eye contact with francis. “oh look, more pre-cum spilled out!”
francis felt how wet his cock was getting, covered in dopel’s spit and his own pre-cum. when he thought he only had to focus on doppel, your hands came back to grope at his chest. you could now visibly see the pink plushness of his nipples.
“looks like something might come out if i squeeze hard enough, right francie?” you whispered in his ear, rolling your fingers around the bud.
“same thing on my end,” doppel chimed in, rubbing his thumb over francis’ slit.
francis shivered at the thought, feeling his high come at lightning speed. the way the tips of your fingers would flick at his nipples combined with doppel’s inhumane strokes made the poor boy explode.
“ooonghhh, ‘m c-cumming soon, mmngh! HGK! c-cumming!” he bursted into doppel’s palm, collapsing into your arms. your movement slowed slightly, but you continued to flick at the tips of his nipples.
doppel took note of this, playing with the slit of his dick, playing with the foreskin. “human stamina is so pathetic. surely you’re not done now?” doppel leaned down, lapping francis’ cum with his monstrous cum.
“UGHK? i-i jus’, hic, came…hnnn…” he cried, tears streaming down his cheeks, feeling his aching tip burn. regardless of his pleads, he still rutting his cock into doppel’s mouth for additional friction.
“show me what your pretty chest looks like now, francie,” you ordered, as he puffed out his chest for you to see properly over his chest. you hummed deciding to untie him so he could give you a real show.
his wrists were red from shaking against the restraints so you pressed chaste kisses against the burns. “that’s not how you show me, is it?” he shook his head, shaking from the way doppel was sucking his dick.
francis’ fingers stretched the skin around his nipples, properly showing you the puffiness of his teased buds. he looked up at you with his fingers strewn across his chest with a teary-eyed expression.
“such a perfect boy f’me,” you praised, ruffling his locks. “so good that you can take another hour of teasing before taking my cock, right?” you grinned, your hands finding their rightful spot on his chest.
‘e-EUGH! yesyesyes…i can take it, hngh!” he nodded furiously, his hips shaking like a dog in heat.
“good boy,” you nodded, sticking your fingers into his already open mouth. you and doppel had a long night ahead of you.
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sillysowa · 7 months
Note
Ok I have a request :) could maybe guess who this is but AHDBSH
The fem reader is a villain while Hobie is the “hero”(not rlly but I forgot what it’s called) that’s been tracking down the reader. But, during the day the both live their normal lives, the readers day job being a barista at the local Cafe. Of course during the night her identity is hidden so she isn’t recognized during the day, which leads to the one morning when Hobie goes to the local coffee shop to order a drink and unknowingly ordering it from his masked nemesis.
What’d ya think? <3
I LOVE your brain anon! Sorry for the wait and if it seems rushed!
BEHIND THE MASK
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pairing : hobie brown x fem!prowler!reader
genre : fluff, slightly suggestive
word count : 3k
warnings : violence
authors note : reader is the prowler but i have incredibly minimal knowledge on the prowler lol
synopsis : hobie has a date with a cute barista who just so happens to be the prowler
“And what exactly do you think you’re doin?”
Spiderpunk’s agonizing voice cuts through the silence of the night and you freeze in your tracks. You knew he’d find you tonight—always chasing after you like a moth to a flame, or a fly to a spiders web.
He drops down from the wall, thrusting his hands into his pockets and clicking his tongue, his loud boots slapping against the ground behind you,
“What’ya got in that bag of yours? Up to something you shouldn’t be?” He questions, coming right up behind you and whispering next to your ear. You turn around, your hands up as you look at him through your mask,
“Bold of you to assume i’ve done anything, I could just be out for a midnight stroll.” You shrug slyly, toying with him. You know just as well as he does that he could have tried to take you down by now, he’s clearly just wanted a little foreplay as usual.
“Oh, is it now? You’ve got this guilty air about you.” He asks, completely prepared for any attack that you might have up your sleeve, “You really want me to believe a dirty little liar like you, hm?” As he provokes you, his gloved hands reach up to your face only to get smacked away, but he only smiles harder—he expected it. A scoff can be heard from under your mask,
“Miss me, Spiderpunk? You seem awfully excited.” You sneer, voice muffled a deeper more menacing tone. His animated mask portrays his every expression, a squinty smirk plastered on his face,
“How’d you know?” He smirks, coming closer. You flex your fingers, claws baring menacingly before you rip a smoke bomb off your belt and slam it down, making Spiderpunk stumble back before you lunge at him through the cloud. His senses go wild, and he web shoots to the wall, swinging around and pulling his guitar out while you’re down. Your momentum landing you on your knees after he dodged, and you can’t react fast enough for his attack. He’s got his guitar above his head before he slams it down on your back,
“Ah!—Fuck me!” You grumble, rolling over and jumping up, shaking your head with your hands in front of you defensively.
“Only if you ask nicely, gorgeous,” He’s got his guitar out on display as if it’s a sword, making you scoff,
“In your dreams.” Your crack your neck and lunge at him, grunting and swinging wherever you can reach from your stance. You’d never admit it, but his height creeped you out and excited you all at once. Never in a million years would you get with a person like Spiderpunk—a loud, obnoxious, wannabe ‘hero’—but the fact that he towered over you like he did made you nervous in the best way possible. You tried to ignore the feelings deep in your stomach and focus on the way that made you feel about your fighting, afraid that he could overpower you if you let your guard down even slightly—which you did. He had used his fucking guitar pick—the small object somehow slicing your arm. You gasped and he hurriedly backed up, nearly tripping over his feet. At first he was dodging your punches well until you threw a right hook in, your knuckles meeting his jaw with as much force as you could muster,
He had no time to react as he stumbled down. You kicked him across the face and pinned his hands down under your shoes. You knew you had to act fast and get the hell away from him,
“Couldn’t have wined and dined me first?” He quips, his wrists pinned beside his head and his legs spread under you. It’s quite a sight—the city’s hero sprawled out under you like this at your mercy. You shake the thoughts out of your head,
“Catch you later, Spiderpunk.” You rasp, reaching to your belt and popping the cap off a homemade bomb. His eyes triple in size as you throw it, your boot shoving his face down before you flee. He scrambles and slings away before the bomb explodes and the walls surrounding it crumble.
He watches from across the street as the damage ensues, cursing to himself when sees the faint glow of your suit as you disappear into the night. You were such a pain in his ass—but couldn’t keep away.
—?” You yell out the name of an order, setting a drink and pastry down. You smile at the customer who walks up and thanks you, giving them a quick smile before returning to the register, swapping out with your coworker,
“Thanks again, Y/N.” They sigh. This isn’t typical behavior from your coworker, they’re typically very hard working but they told you a chunk of their apartment complex was blown up last night. Of course, you had to sympathize with them and help make their shift a little easier—it’s the least you could do after being the unknown cause of their distress.
“Yeah don’t worry about it.” You wipe off your uniform and put on a smile for the customers of the small café you work at. It had been an exhausting shift—only 30 minutes in and it already felt like hell. You looked up ready to give your best customer service voice when your words caught in your throat…
The man in front of you was absolutely breath taking. He had these high cheekbones and pretty eyes, full lips with a ring to compliment them, perfectly styled hair and jewelry all over—god his fashion too. He had this punk rock thing going on, and he was absolutely killing it. Even his body language was attractive, the way his hands were on either side of the table, leaning over slightly to reach your level,
“Mornin’.” He starts, his deep voice only spurring on your attraction towards him, “Could I just get a…” He looks up, biting the inside of his cheek before sighing, “Having a hard time making a choice—wide selection you’ve got. What do you recommend?” He asks with a curious expression, bending down close to hear you over the machinery, clanging dishes, and customer chatter.
You’re stunned, not expecting you’d have to think. After a little stuttering, you can finally think,
“W-Well we have this Persian tea. It’s a black tea base with cardamom and rose petals?” You suggest, your face heating up when he smiles because of course he has the lost beautiful smile you’ve ever seen, “It’s my favorite.” You add, voice coming out oddly quiet and now you’re incredibly embarrassed for reasons you can’t name,
“Sounds perfect, gorgeous.” He eccentrically squints his eyes and shakes his head as he speaks, half lidded eyes locking with yours again.
“And the name for your order?” You ask, tapping in the details on the screen before making eye contact with him,
“Hobie.” And of course, there’s something about the way he says his name that has you melting, but you desperately try to ignore it and pull yourself together. He whips out his wallet and hands you a large bill, your fingers slipping against his as you take it into your hand. You ring him up and gather his change, which he adamantly refuses to take,
“Keep it.” The stunning man winks, walking away and waiting in the line of others who have ordered. For a moment, you stand there completely appalled. When you turn to look at your coworker she’s already staring at you,
“…Oh my god?” She mouths, her hand over her mouth, “You better go make his drink and write your number on his cup, girl—move over i’ve got the register.” She laughs in disbelief, just as flustered as you,
“Thank you, thank you.” You hurriedly giggle, feeling guilty almost at her eagerness before moving out of her way and fumbling around, steeping his tea immediately. You were extra meticulous when crafting his order, wanting it to be just perfect. You caught glimpses of the rockstar-like man over the counter a few times, and almost every time he was already looking at you. You had to bite your lip to fight back the smile that tugged at your lips. When you poured his tea in a cup and clicked the cap on, you pulled out your sharpie and wrote his name messily, scribbling your number under it. With a cheeky smile you set the cup down,
“Hobie?” You call out like you have no idea who he is despite holding eye contact with him. He walks over, pulling a hand out of his pockets and wrapping his long fingers around the cup,
“Thank you, doll.” He rasped, scanning you over one last time when suddenly he squints,
“Y’alright? Doesn’t look like just a little scratch.” He asks you with his eyebrows furrowed, pointing low and squinting in concern. You’re just as confused as he is for a moment, looking down with your heart stopping as you realize it’s the cut from when Spiderpunk sliced you with his guitar pick, the memories of last night flooding into your brain and causing a panic in your nerves, your adrenaline pumping in a flash,
“Oh this? I got this from a clumsy accident the other day, it’s really no biggie.” You brush it off, covering the cut with your hand and cursing internally. You want to hide and never show your face again, the worst possible outcomes clouding your thoughts. He doesn’t seem concerned about your response, taking it for the truth,
“You better be more careful then, yeah?” He playfully chastises, turning to leave, “See y’round, pretty.” And with that, he walks out of the café, humming in delight at the flavors in your favorite drink. He’s almost done with his drink when he finally notices your number on the cup, laughing to himself and freezing in his tracks.
You got a call that night after your shift—you knew you would. When you picked up the phone and his deep voice was on the other end you just about melted into your bed.
“Hey, Hobie.”
“Hello, lovely—never got your name.” He mutters on the other end, background shuffling and movements loud enough to reach your ears. He sounds like he’s flipping switches and plugging stuff in,
“It’s, Y/N.” You chirp. Hobie feels a smile take over his face as he learns your name, repeating it a couple times,
“Such a pretty name you’ve got.” He coo’s his voice low and sultry. You smile widely, stupidly giddy over this
stranger,
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” He says smugly. On the other side of the phone you can faintly hear what sounds like a guitar, an electric guitar, “How about we go out sometime, yeah? When can I see you?” He asks, his voice charismatic.
You think, caught between wanting to see him tomorrow and wanting to be careful about who sees you that day. Tomorrow you had shady plans, and you didn’t want to get him roped into it, “Hm…it sounds weird but can I see you at nine?” You ask with a questioning tilt in your voice, “I understand it’s late but—“
“No worries, hun, works f’me.” He insists, causing you to sigh in relief.
“Okay great! thank you, Hobie.” You smile, fidgeting with your clothes anxiously. He hums and you feel your heart race,
“See you then, Y/N.”
Tonight would be the craziest heist of your life if you could pull it off. Keyword, if.
You didn’t know, but Spiderpunk had been following you the entire night. He had to keep a close watch on you after that stunt you pulled last time. You had somehow managed to outsmart him and he couldn’t let it happen again. You were currently in an alleyway, your pace fast and your head down—you honestly couldn’t look more suspicious as you walked towards the bank.
“Don’t think so.” He mutters to himself, slinging down and following you stealthily. He crept along the walls, keeping a watchful eye on you as you literally sawed open the wall, following close behind.
You on the other hand had a lot of tasks you were juggling all at once—you were texting Hobie telling him you’d see him in 15 minutes, sawing the building open, and watching your back simultaneously.
Spiderpunk, who couldn’t yet see you well enough to notice you were texting with your other hand, jumped when his phone vibrated with a notification. He pulled it out and quickly checked it, his heart racing at your name lighting up his screen. He just had to take you down to make it to the date on time—easy peasy.
He crept into the bank, catching a glimpse of you breaking into all their stashes and safes, literally stuffing cash into your bag. You look rushed and panicked, not as tactful as your usual self. He find it entertaining and comical decided to mess with you a little,
“In a hurry?” That low and taunting voice makes your skin crawl, whipping your head around, fingering tightening on your bag. Of course he was here, how could you have missed him? Or more importantly, how could he have not missed you? You knew it was a shot in the dark to just assume he wouldn’t find you this night as he always does—you bet he has some kind of affinity for you. A gravely sigh tumbles from your lips, shaking your head and slinging your bag over your shoulder,
“Look—I can’t fool around with you tonight, let’s skip the small talk.” You grunt, clicking your claws into readied fists, staring him down with precision. Spiderpunk liked fighting you when you were playful, but there was something about fighting you when you were annoyed that really excited him,
“What’s got your panties in a twist?” He teases with a low whistle, webbing towards you feet first. You dodge, grunting and lunging at him, both of you rolling until he’s got you under him, attempting to restrain you. You bring your knees up and kick him off of you, jumping up and circling him. He stares you down for a while, that messy painted mask squinty-eyed,
“Come on.” He sneers, beckoning you with his two, very long, middle fingers suggestively. You laugh at this, lunging at him in a series of calculated movements. He fights you off, throwing out quips and sly remarks to fire you up. You swing at him, your claws out, and he struggles against you when you attempt to stab him with them, pushing your wrists against the wall and grunting through the struggle. You’re shaking under him, hissing and squirming in an attempt to free yourself when he webs you to the wall.
“Fuck! God—“ You groan, frustrated and beyond pissed at what this means for you. Hobie’s face flashes in your brain and you cringe at the idea of standing him up like this,
“Please! Please just let me go this time…” You grunt, the webs holding you down like a barricade as he pulls your bag off you, spilling the contents out onto the floor—your phone, your outfit for the date, and all the money scattered across the cool tile,
“What’s with the dress? Got a date tonight?” He hums, picking up the fancy garment before dropping it back in place when you just scoff. Hobie reaches down to gather up the money when he notices the time on your phone, straightening up and pulling his own phone out,
“Shit—it’s that time already?” You watch as he hurriedly texts someone, his thumbs dancing across the screen. You slump against the wall as much as you can being restrained, sighing in pure frustration when your phone buzzes.
You both freeze—you because you’re deathly embarrassed and Hobie because his heart drops into his stomach. Directly after he sent a text to Y/N, your phone lit up. He looks at you, trying to decode your body language as he bends down and picks up your phone, confirming his suspicions.
Sure enough, there’s a text from him, or ‘Hobie,’ right in the middle of your lock screen. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger, laughing to himself with his shoulders shaking in tandem.
You on the other hand are completely and utterly unaware of what just happened, still stuck to the wall and helplessly watching the scene in front of you. He stuff his and your phone into his pocket, muttering something to himself that you can’t quite make out before he walks towards you, the soles of his boots echoing in the dark empty bank,
“What the—why did you take my phone? What are you-“ Your rambles are cut short as his gloved hands come up to your mask, removing it despite your protests. After tossing it to the ground, he simply takes it all in. It’s you, his date—the prowler. You’re obviously still completely oblivious to what’s transpired and therefore furious,
“Answer me asshole! What good is seeing my face gonna do for you?“ And now, it’s your turn to be completely speechless as Spiderpunk pulls his mask off. Hobie’s dark hair springs out, his pretty face glowing in the low light and a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he watches you swallow the same truth as he did,
“Cant say I was expecting this.” He whispers coyly, eating up the way you instantly grow quiet and flustered, this extra layer added onto your relationship clearly only exciting you more. You gulp nervously, your heart racing at this sudden turn of events,
“Me neither…” You whisper, simply unable to be mad or upset when now you’ve got your cake and you’re about to eat it too.
Hobie doesn’t do much thinking when he unties you and kicks the money aside, or when he tells you to put on that pretty dress and let him take you out properly. You’re completely stunned, staring down at your prowler claws before stuffing them in your bag and walking out the hole you cut into the bank, Hobie waiting against the wall for you,
“So…about all of this?” You awkwardly chuckle, motioning to the bank, the money, and the mess. Hobie being the anarchist he is simply shrugs, extending his palm for yours and clasping it when you place it against his, slinging away into the night to finally go on that date,
“Not my problem.”
@ohxx @luxxtuxx @fatenpara @hobesbf @defnot-bri
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