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atozfic · 8 months

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splish splash.

pairing. san x seonghwa x wooyoung x yunho x fem!reader synopsis. they’re out to prove who’s the best at the breast-stroke- gets dragged off stage as the people boo over such a terrible pun. warnings. no use of y/n, swim team au, lifeguard!reader, pro-swimmers!sanhwawooho, they’re all wearing speedos :), smut ( porn with unnecesary plot, degradation, m+f oral sex, piv sex, anal sex, double penetration, triple penetration bc u got 3 holes for a reason sweetcheeks, mxm interactions, dom/sub dynamics, spanking, hair pulling, way more warnings that there’s honestly no point listing, just know this is pure filth that covers most bases of stereotypical fanfiction smut, mother in christ what have i written? ) no verbal consent is given throughout this but all parties are willing participants !! word count. 20k+ ( of literal porn. i need to leave this physical terrain bc i am not worthy of existing after writing this i fear. ) hyde’s input. hey girlie pops, long time no see.

it’s crazy, what some people will do for money.

take, for example, your roommate. she’s a smart girl. a beautiful one, too. with a promising future in criminal law, once she gets herself that pesky little degree. and, yet, she’s funding her tuition with money she earns distributing high-end drugs on campus. rather counter-productive, most would agree. or, in a far less extreme version, there’s that overly-hyper frat boy, who can always be found doing the dumbest dares at a party, all for a few bucks and a keg of beer.

and then there is you.

you would have arrived home twenty minutes ago at this point, had things gone to plan, a backlog of neglected assignments and a baby bonsai tree in need of watering desperately awaiting your return. yet here you are, stuck in your ugly flip-flops and uncomfortably stale shorts, whistle around your neck and a look of exhaustion on your face.

the swimming pool had closed, technically, an hour and a half ago. the sports centre seems to believe, however, that certain members of the college swim team reserve the right to use the pool for however long they require and desire, even if it is at your expense. if you were being paid overtime, perhaps you’d have a more positive outlook on things and less of a frown creasing on your forehead.

if the swimmers weren’t so irritating, maybe you’d enjoy the view.

“all that height, and for what?” the sophomore boy’s voice- jung wooyoung? you aren’t overly familiar with him, seeing him only in sporadic flashes when you pass each other on campus or at some uncivilised frat party- echos through the large room, his hair a wet mess. if you were gaining anything from being here, you’d perhaps muster up the energy to remind the boy of how a swim cap is necessary at all times in the water. “can’t even out-swim me with those long legs!”

“wanna know what my long legs are for?” jeong yunho, a junior with the face of an angel and the body proportions of a sinner, pipes up from across the olympic length pool. unlike the other boy, a crimson cap keeps his own locks out of sight. “climbing up the stairs to go fuck your mom!”

it’s impossible to stifle your laughter, no matter how hard you try to just play it off as a tickle at the back of your throat, a cough forcing its way out. when your eyes meet those of the glaring senior, however, you’re wishing you hadn’t made a sound.

“even the lifeguard can’t take you seriously, yunho,” park seonghwa speaks, eyes not leaving yours as his muscled arms work to pull himself out of the water, before letting his well-rounded behind sit down on the edge. a breath hitches in your throat as his gloriously muscled thighs come into view, drops of water cascading down them in a pattern set to hypnotise you, keep you staring a little longer than is good for your health. “bet she’s heard all about you and the boner incident of 2019.”

truthfully, you have no clue what the dark haired male is on about. that doesn’t stop you from laughing again though, this time a little out of malice and a lot because it’s quite endearing to see a loudmouth like jeong yunho be silenced so easily, head bowed and ears a little rosier with embarrassment.

this small moment of peace is soon shattered by the reality that these boys can’t spend more than ten minutes in a room- particularly one that includes a pool- without arguing. while one boasts about his speed, the other begins to jab at his lack of endurance, and the remaining of the three reminds them all of the fact he holds the most medals amongst them.

“are they always like this?” you jump, surprised by the cold drop of water that lands on your exposed thigh, all courtesy of the boy who’s invited himself to sit down next to you on the bench.

“not always,” you bite at the inside of your cheek, willing yourself to not look at san in all his wet glory. you’re afraid that, once you start looking at him, you won’t be able to stop. it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve fallen victim to the crime that is his enchanting smile. “guess they’re feeling a little feistier than usual, with the district championship just around the corner. rumour has it one of you guys is risking his scholarship if he’s not in the top three.”

are you and san close?

that’s a good question. see, by social standards, you’re not strangers. you share several classes, you attend the same parties, you’ve even texted a few times- mostly on the days one of you miss class (read as: san misses class thanks to his swim-meets) and you need a copy of any notes taken that lesson.

but, you aren’t exactly friends either. you don’t go out of your ways to spend time together, you don’t know more than the surface level about one another, you don’t check-in with each other.

so, is acquaintances the best word to describe you two?

that depends on how common it is for an acquaintance to suck another acquaintance’s cock. granted, there had been a lot of alcohol in the mix, on both ends, with you drinking to forget a botched assignment and san drinking to forget how badly his voice had apparently cracked in front of his crush.

a few weeks have passed since the incident and things haven’t exactly been the same. you’ve missed class twice and ended up contacting heather- a sweet girl who sits down by the front and seems to live with her hand raised in the air- for any notes. likewise, san has found himself declining party invitations, the knowledge that you would be there all too prevalent in the front of his mind.

the irony is that neither of you quite know the reason why you’re avoiding each other, you just are.

or, were, until san had walked in with his swim team buddies- if they could even be considered that- and spotted you in your lifeguard attire. he hadn’t been as slick as he thought he was, sneaking glances at you between laps and even gaining an undeniable smile each time he watched you blow that stupid whistle at some misbehaving kids.

he was slicker with the fact he didn’t need to be here, at this hour. but, he figured staying gave him the chance to stare at you a little longer and, maybe, think up an excuse to talk to you.

“i should-”

“i missed-”

you both speak at the same time, minutes after watching the three musketeers disappear into the locker rooms, with the smallest of them continuing to dig at them for not being able to out-swim him despite their ample amount of height. san’s quick to signal you to go first, a dimple making itself known on his face and reminding you of the deadliest part of him: the false innocence that drips off him like warm candy.

sweet, sticky, making a mess all over the place.

“i should probably start cleaning up.” it turns out san also isn’t discreet when it comes to hiding the disappointment in his face, because no sooner than those words leave your mouth, the dimple is gone and he’s sat a little straighter, a little more ridged, like when the professor points him out in the middle of the class and the golden boy can’t stomach all the attention being on him. “but, what were you gonna say?”

“oh,” and it’s like he’s just remembered that yes, there is something he wants to say. “i missed you in class yesterday.”

it catches you off guard, leaving you to almost drop the whistle you’ve been fiddling between your fingers for the past few minutes. something about sitting so close to him while both of you are dressed so scantily has you feeling unnerved, like you need to run away as fast as possible, yet also wanting to plant yourself right in his lap.

“i didn’t think,” you’re cut off by your own throat, dry and desperate for a drink under his intense gaze. san is a walking contradiction, you think, with his sharp cheekbones and soft heart, his intense eyes and his easy-going smile. his presence gives you never-ending whiplash, never sure if he’s more angel than devil. “i didn’t think you noticed.”

“how could i not? there was no one to laugh with me at professor nam and his weird toe-shoes!” his laugh is infectious, willing your own to make an appearance.

the sound of distant muffled yelling fills the air of the swimming pool and it isn’t hard to recognise wooyoung’s high-pitched laughter amongst it. clearly, their childish arguing has carried on into the changing rooms. it surprises you in no way, already more than used to their antics.

their rivalry is one for the ages, all of them constantly bumping heads for the spot of the top swimmer on campus, their sports scholarships becoming their pride and joy.

you suppose it doesn’t help that all four boys run in different circles, only really crossing paths when faced with swim-meets and days of practice. the senior, park seonghwa, runs with the richer kids of the college, all sharing their trust-funds and god complexes as a common interest. you’re not overly familiar with them, though you’re certain he and a particular blue-haired boy are rarely seen apart. jeong yunho, the tallest, is in with the jocks, which is mostly just because his taller friend is the captain of the basketball team. and jung wooyoung tends to surround himself with the stoners from the school, something you’d learned from kang yeosang, a dealer you shared a couple classes with back in your first semester.

san, ever the golden boy, drifts between a couple different groups but he can usually be found alone and enjoying his own company, if not being followed by a flock of his own little fan-club, men and women alike begging for just an ounce of his time.

your name echos around the room. your head snaps to the side and you find that san is now closer, staring at you in a way that’s making your insides knot up. you’ve seen that look only once before, and it done nothing but leave your knees and your ego bruised. “were you listening to me?”

“what? uh, yeah, i was,” you’re quick to lie, knowing it’s about to backfire when he breaks out in a challenging grin.

“really? what did i say?” he only allows you to stumble over words for a minute before cutting off your incomprehensible speaking when he grabs at your chin and tilts your head up, staring straight into your eyes. “that’s what i thought. you were too busy getting lost in that pretty little head of yours to pay attention to me.”

you stutter over a noise and settle for that as your response, though entirely incomprehensible and nonsensical. the way he continues to stare at you feels cruel, demons dancing around in those pretty eyes of his. demons that are telling him to tease, torture, torment the fragile eyes staring back at him, the same ones he’d delighted in watching fill up with tears a few weeks back, the pressure of his crown slamming against the back of your tight throat entirely overwhelming you to the point of crying, tears dripping down your cheeks and mixing with your own drool pooling over the swell of his balls.

“need me to repeat myself?” you’re slow to catch up to the fact he’s speaking again, and even slower to notice the hand resting on your knee. at first, you think you’re imagining things, the feather light tracing of nails over your soft skin a mere figment of your imagination. but, no, your eyes flash down to glimpse and his hand is there, fingers dancing over your naked skin like it’s their own personal stage and he’s intending to put on the show of a lifetime. he speaks your name. “questions are meant to be answered.”

“i-” san picks the perfect time to apply pressure on you, hand gripping the flesh on the lower end of your thigh. goosebumps spring to life at the feeling of his cold ring on your damp skin. it takes a shaky breath to try compose yourself but you do eventually manage to get a reply out. “sorry... please say it again.”

“huh,” he pauses to contemplate, slowly leaning his face closer to your own, giving you all the time to pull back if you want to. you stay still and his minty breath infects your senses while the hand on your leg replaces your thigh with your face, the grip he has on it forcing blunt nails to nip at your skin. normally, you’d worry about the marks it’s going to leave behind. right now, you want him to grip tighter, dig deeper into your flesh till he’s drawing blood and licking it off your cheeks. “how the fuck do you still sound so cute begging?”

“is that,” his other hand curls around the back of you, finding a resting place on your hip. the window of opportunity you once had to pull back or run away is slammed shut the moment he tugs you a little closer, the side of your body crashing into his naked chest. “what you said earlier?”

“oh, no.” san almost sounds like he’s cooing, a mocking tone in his voice that has your thighs clenching in a way you’re sure he notices. his eye flickering down to glance at them confirms your suspicions, the smirk taking over his features the metaphorical cherry on top. “i was just talking about how i’ve still not returned the favour.”

mind blanking out on you, you stare back at him in what you can only imagine to be a dumb-founded look, mouth slightly agape and teasing your answer.

what follows, however, is a resounding silence on your end.

“c’mon, princess, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what happened the last time i got you alone.”

forget? it’s all you’ve been able to think of every time you’ve seen him since, whether he was a figure in the corner of your eye during class or making his way down the campus car-park in search of his beaten up mustang.

each time, like an old record player, your mind plays on loop the way he looked staring down at you, long legs spread enough to fit you between them, closing in on you to trap you in place each time you swallowed him a little deeper; replaying the symphony of whiny moans and airy breaths you’d pulled from him, lips swollen and red from trying too hard to hold back his cries of pleasure; reviving the memory of his vice grip on your hair, tugging at the roots to tilt you back into the perfect angle for his hips to piston into your warm mouth, meeting his own crescendo in one final pathetic whimper of your name.

a whimper that’s pushed you over the edge several times since, fingers soaked in your own sins and mouth biting down on your pillow to keep your poor sleeping roommate oblivious to your actions.

“no,” an answer escapes you alongside a shaky breath, something about the way he’s slowly trailing his fingers down your neck and the intensity he’s staring at you with hypnotising you into forgetting all about the boisterous boys and their changing-rooms chanting. “haven’t forgot.”

it’s his turn to stay quiet and you begin to wonder if he’s recalling it too, if he’s reminding himself of how easily your bodies melted together, like candle-wax meeting a flame. the question of if he’s thought about the exact scene, hands stuffed down his pants while a dull ache builds in his wrist, burns the tip of your tongue.

but his eyes burn you more.

they’re usually wide, bright, full of that bubbly nature san is known all over for. but, if what people say is true and the eyes are the mirror to one’s soul, then san’s soul must be a dark pit made up of lustful glares and hooded eyelids, resting so low his eyes almost appear shut.

“then, don’t you agree that it’s my turn to have a taste?”

it’s the question to end all questions, no time to even think of forming an answer when his fingertips are dancing over your skin so rhythmically, like a practiced choreography when they curl and wrap themselves around your neck. they rest there for a heartbeat, and then another, before you feel it begin.

the pressure is dull, at first, and you think you’re imagining it. but it grows, like a seed under the sun, blossoms into thorns squeezing around your airways, a deformed rose made from the red marks his fingers will be sure to leave behind.

you try to breath in, only for it to get caught somewhere between your lips and his tightening hold.

“you’re too fucking pretty, you know?” the hand on your hip has found a new home on your cheek, palm warm and thumb rough as he swipes it over your bottom lip. “all i can ever think about around you, even when you were drooling all over my balls.”

you want to answer, you really do. but between the hand around your throat and the heat shooting straight for your core, burning up in a puddle of arousal, you can’t. all you can do is watch the man before you, raven hair a beautiful mess just begging for some fingers to be ran through it and stare promising to ruin you in the best way possible.

the silence pleases him.

“y’know, it’s so hard to get you alone. always got someone wanting to talk to you, stealing your attention. do you even know how many stupid parties i had to attend to finally get the chance to talk to you?” san pauses, like he’s waiting for you to relay an answer, guess a number. he loosens up the grip on your neck, teasing your skin with a few soothing strokes of his slender fingers, lulling you into a state bordering insanity. “no answer, angel? or are you lost in that pretty little head again?”

“i’m,” your voice is but a whisper, raspy with your new found thirst. ��trying to figure out what you want from me.”

if it’s the wrong or right thing to say, you’re soon to find out, the sharp faced boy releasing a dangerously low chuckle as he takes a hold of your chin. like a pretty doll, you move any time and any way his fingers command you to, finding yourself staring right up into his eyes, a swirl of melting caramel that reminds you of how sweet yet sultry every inch of him is. lips near touching, he refuses to break eye contact as he speaks up once more, sealing both your fates when his breath hits your face.

“then let me show you what i want.”

his mouth comes down on yours like it’s the answers to all your prayers and, yet, all your nightmares.

it excites you how easily he works his lips over your own, captivating every inch of you when he tilts his head to the right and deepens the kiss. the rhythm to his kiss is a mismatch of beats, where one moment your lips are moving in a sensual waltz, grazing tongues and dipping heads to get rid of that inch of a space remaining between your bodies, and the next moment your tongues are tangled in a tango, the kind where his teeth send blood rushing to your lips with every bite he drags over them and his hand drags shivers down your spine as it makes its way down your body.

yet it terrifies you how willingly you succumb to san’s touch, intoxicated by whatever witchcraft he currently holds over you. there’s a deadliness to the way his lips part from your own only to begin a seamless descent down your jaw and the expanse of your neck, a poisonous element to the way his hand once again finds itself clutching the meat of your thigh.

the moment his fingertips meet the bottom of your shorts, you’re wishing you’d never slipped them on in the first place, every fibre of your being growing angsty under the weight of his suddenly halted hand. it stays still for an immeasurable amount of time, grazing over the bottom of your shorts occasionally while he continues to mouth at your neck.

like mosses and the great sea, san parts your legs with little to no effort, creating a pathway for his fingers to travel further up your thigh. blunt fingernails drag up your skin, a trail of goosebumps being left behind, a visible marking of where he’s touching you.

his movements halt too soon for your liking, too much distance between his lithe fingers and your body’s very core.

“have you figured out what i want yet, pretty?” his voice is a stark difference to the usual light-hearted, almost squeak-like tone you’ve grown used to hearing from the smiley boy. right now, there’s no trace of humour in the thick rasp and there’s no time for smiling while he’s glaring down at you through hooded eyes.

something compels you to nod your head, even though you’re a little too lost in the thoughts concerning what you want, rather than what the devil incarnate by your side wants.

“you have?” the words come out in a layer of amazement, and you have to wonder if it’s because of the lie you’ve just told or the way your legs have closed in around his hand, trapping it between them. “i want to know what you want, though.”

you want his thumb to stop stroking over the flesh of your inner thigh.

you want his eyes to stop gazing down at you like you’re the perfect prey.

you want him to stop teetering your impending pleasure on a string.

you want-

“you.” is all you manage to breath out.

it seems to do the trick, however, your point getting very much across to him. a softness flickers over his features, brows unfurling and smirk curling up into a full smile for what feels like an eternity, but is actually no more than a couple of seconds before his devilish aura is back.

lips meet lips again, the desperation and force behind each stroke of his tongue against yours the same as before. san, much to your delight, seems to grow just as impatient as you’ve been since the moment he welcomed himself into the empty space next to you on the bench.

one hand still resting between your thighs, his other seizes the opportunity to drag your body closer, so close that you have no choice but to swing one leg over him and slot yourself in his lap.

there was one time, in the middle of what you’ve deemed to be the most boring lecture ever, that you had thought about what it would feel like to sit in choi san’s lap. unintentionally, of course, for how could anyone look over at him in those grey sweatpants, legs manspreading like it was nobody’s business and pen tapping away at the table in front of him, and not daydream about being perched in his lap, head resting somewhere between his shoulder and his soft hair?

you’d imagined him to be the embodiment of soft and comfortable, warm and reassuring the way he’d lazily lay an arm over your hip to make sure there’s no risk of you slipping out of your new seat. you never, for the life of you, imagined you’d feel the outline of his dick resting against your ass the first time you finally claimed your throne.

choosing to not dwell on the heavy feeling of him pressed against you, you choose instead to focus on the way his lips trail away from yours and make their descent towards the top of your chest.

his hand abandons post between your thighs and rises to the surface, where long fingers begin to pull at the straps of your red swimsuit, successfully manoeuvring the nylon material till it’s bunched around your midriff and your breasts are exposed to the damp air of the swimming hall.

with no want left to play around, he dives right in to dragging his lips down the upper swell of your left breast. you imagine he can feel the beating of your racing heart beneath the goosebump littered skin. it doesn’t take long for his tongue to enter the scene, skilfully flicking over your hardened nipple a couple times before enveloping his mouth around the bud.

one, two, three sucks and he’s moving on to your right breast. there’s no lead up, this time, simply his mouth finding delight in toying with your body while he busies his hand with your left side, thumb and pointer finger rolling and tugging and spreading the remnants of his saliva over your heated skin.

the straw that breaks the camel’s back, and has you arching your own, is the faintest pressure of his teeth biting down on you. it dances on a thin line between pleasurable and painful, exhilarating enough to make you throw your head back as a moan slips past your lips. it echoes in the empty room, replaying your own sound for both of you to hear again and again before the chain is broken by a giggle.

his giggle.

“why are,” he picks the right time to trail his fingers down your body, dragging your swimsuit with them till it sits uncomfortably tight around the top of your hipbones, skintight fabric digging into the damp skin. “you laughing?”

“has anyone ever told you how pretty your tits are?” it’s crude and heartwarming all at once, quite like the man who says it and the little smile he shoots up in your direction as he rolls his tongue over your nipple once again.

“no, i can’t say they have.” the hands that have been resting on his shoulder, grasping them in a vice grip in fear of slipping off of him and and directly onto the concrete floor, gain enough confidence for you let one slide around to the back of his neck and thread your fingertips in the back of his locks, hair as soft as you’ve always imagined it to be. “you’re the first.”

“i’ll wear that title with honour,” he seems to delight in the way you’re carding through his hair, eyes closing while he tilts his head back further into your touch. a delighted sigh follows. “has anyone ever asked you to sit on their face?”

“again, no.”

“another honourable title for me, i guess.” san’s giving you whiplash, with all this switching between being his usual goofy self and the man that minutes before was speaking profanities on how you’d looked choking on his dick. he peaks his eyes open again, slowly, adjusting to the bright lights he stares up at each time he’s doing the backstroke. when he has the nerves to smile at you, all dreamy eyed and relaxed sitting beneath your body on the bench. “now, can you please stand up and get naked so you can fuck yourself on my tongue?”

this time, it’s your laugh that echoes in the air.

“stop, i’m being serious!” he seems to whine his way through his words, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly in a way you’re certain is going to drive you insane. “i can’t go another second like this, you literally sitting on my dick, without blowing my load. and i really don’t feel like having to explain to coach kwon why my team speedos are stained in cum.”

“you’re so-” you give up on trying to find a single word to describe him, knowing there’s no word that can quite capture choi san’s essence. “okay, okay, fine, but you kind of need to let go of me for me to, y’know, stand up.”

“oh, sorry bout that.” san’s sheepish smile shouldn’t be this cute, not when it’s followed by him removing his hands from your half-naked body.

reluctant, your feet meet the ground and you stand up from his lap. he seems to move quicker than you, no hesitation to be seen as he twists his body around and lays along the bench on his back, eyes all the while watching you expectantly.

your fingers are far from as nimble as his, and there’s a shake to them, meaning you’re a lot less slick with how you pull the swimsuit off yourself. you opt for killing two birds with one stone, dragging your shorts down alongside the red suit, till both are pooled around your feet and you’re begging with every cell in your body that you look more graceful than you feel, stepping out of the leg holes.

in all honesty, you’re more embarrassed with the fact he’d watched you remove your clothes than with how you’re now stood naked, legs a little shaky and the wetness gathering between your folds you’re suddenly so much more aware of, the cool air fighting against your pulsating heat.

“well?” san speaks with expectation, legs bent at the knee while the balls of his feet rest on the edge of the bench. “are you gonna just stand there or you gonna sit on my face?”

“are you... sure you want me to?” even you feel the idiocy behind asking such a thing, when he’s laying right there with eyes full of glee and a raging boner pressed against his hip, nothing but the familiar colours of your college to stop you from seeing him all his naked glory. still, you can’t help elaborating. “i mean, the bench isn’t exactly sturdy and, i mean, what if i slip off of you?”

“y/n, are you joking? you have to be joking!” his offence is playful enough to ease a little of the hesitation inside of you. “do you see these puppies, baby? these are my mad gains from flailing my silly little arms around in a pool six days a week!”

you think this can’t be real as you watch the golden boy of the school put on a show, flexing his arms in an effort to display his muscles and voicing the most ridiculous words that not even he seems to be taking seriously, a bubble of laughter popping in every sentence.

“i’m not gonna let you slip, now hurry up!” again with the whining.

“god, you’re so desperate!”

“for you? always.”

the following minute is made up of wobbled steps and a poor attempt at amping yourself up, repeating mantra after mantra in your head that you are the sex goddess and no man is going to make you feel nervous. not even if that man has a jaw one could slice diamonds with.

he’s got a firm grasp of your thighs before you’ve even got the chance to get comfortable, legs a little shaky as you hover over his naked chest and will your knees to find grip on the bench beneath them.

“come closer, my tongue’s not that long!” san’s pulling you up, closer, all the way to where his wanton mouth awaits you. as if to give you a preview of what awaits you, the kisses from before reduced to nothing, his tongue pops out to run over the smooth of his bottom lip. you repeat the process of trying to find balance, a position in which you don’t need to worry about toppling overboard. though, with the way his finger squeeze into your thigh, you doubt you’ll have to worry about that truly happening. “comfortable?”

“as i’ll ever be.”

“all the people that would die to be in your position, and you say that?” he tsks, tongue hitting off the roof of his mouth before a blow of air hits against your folds and, though it’s faint from the distance still between his mouth and where he wants it to be, it sends a jolt of excitement up your spine. “i’ll just have to make sure i over-perform, make you more eager for next time.”

neither of you choose to dwell on the words next time.

him, too occupied with getting his first taste, tongue licking a strip up your core and coming to a stop as the tip of it bumps against your clit.

you, too busy having the air knocked out of your lungs, hand unconsciously finding safety in gripping his hair as you lurch forward momentarily, mouth falling open in a quiet gasp that echoes around and around.

“hmm, make sure you hold on tight.” you know he’s teasing you, with his words, and with his eyes, and with his mouth that seems to find enjoyment in trailing itself over your clitoral hood and up your pubic bone. “you smell mouthwatering, you know? enough to make a man go feral.”

the chance to reply never comes, not when san makes his way back down to your clit and greets it with the stroke of his flattened tongue. every tiny nerve sparks to life under his touch and you feel yourself grow wetter, a wave of warm arousal leaking out of your hole. his tongue dives down to welcome it, not allowing more than a single drop- landing on his chin- to go to waste.

you don’t even notice the lack of his grip around your left leg until you feel it: the first few seconds of his fingertips probing around your soaked cunt, coating themselves in your liquid pleasure until it’s dripping down the back of his hand.

the first finger to enter your hole is gentle, tentative to the way your body receives him, his pointer and ring finger keeping your folds spread and allowing him the full view of the middle one slowly disappearing from sight, burying itself in the warmth of your pussy. distracted, his mouth pulls back and his head meets the bench again while his eyes soak in the sight above him, flickering up to catch your reaction when another finger enters you, this time with a lot less care as it forces you open around it.

“so pretty,” he mutters the words, more to himself than to you, delighting as he witnesses you struggling to bite back a pathetic moan when his digits curl within you. he repeats the action a couple times, flicking his wrist back and forth, fingers brushing over your tight walls each time and culminating in a curl that has him pressing against the spongy-like flesh inside. “so, so pretty.”

your hips begin to rut against his hand, meeting every one of his thrusts with perfect timing that has him reaching deeper, further, better places inside of you. all the while he’s just watching and admiring the furrow in your brow and the way the swells of your breast bounce in sync with you.

your pussy clenches tighter and his fingers fight to reach deeper before spreading themselves wider in an attempt to scissor you open. he’s giving it his all, a third finger slipping in despite the dull ache setting in his wrist while he coaxes you closer and closer to the tipping point.

san takes just as easy as he gives, and it’s that fact alone that drives him to pull his hand back, fingers withdrawing from you and the pleasure you’re pursuing.

“why’d you-” you heave through heavy breaths, brain fuzzy from the unvoiced orgasm you were so close to having, every nerve ready to tingle, every muscle ready to tremble, every toe ready to curl. “stop?”

“because,” the wet smack of his fingers hitting against your clit is louder than the whimper that drops from your mouth. san hears both, however, and grins, quickly landing another smack against your engorged clit. “the goal is to make you cum on my face, not my fingers. consider them the appetiser, something to awaken your senses.”

his tongue licks in an upward motion, starting from the tip of your taint and ending at your clit, and you get deja-vu to just minutes before, when you’d first felt his tongue on your melting skin, the saliva it leaves in a trail behind it serving to cool you down. a shiver runs up your spine as he blows air onto your cunt, the pressure of it doing wonders to stimulate your clit.

“would you stop?”

“look who’s whining now.” san, despite what he says, does as you ask and puts an end what feels like unending teasing- really, it’s hardly been a minute but the pulsing of your heat and the loss of a climax leave you no room to think about something as abstract as time.

his lips make a victorious return, wrapping themselves around your clit and sucking against the pulsing nub. every so often, he delivers a couple kitten licks- ups and downs, sides to sides, figure eights- before swiftly returning to kissing your most intimate parts.

in an attempt to make your toes curl, he dips lower and teases the tips of his tongue over your entrance, wet muscle moving over wet skin and tastebuds covering themselves in your essence, till the moans echoing off the walls are indistinguishable between san’s and your own.

“you can move,” he grunts into you after a few minutes of repeated alternating between kissing your clit and tonguing at your hole. it’s muffled with the way he’s holding you down against his face and you feel his lips brush against your lower ones as he speaks. “need you to move. wanna see you use me, pretty.”

and, who are you to deny the man?

you’re hesitant at first, just like you were all those weeks ago as you sank to your knees for him. you test the waters and give a single roll of your hips. it feels good, great, especially when paired with his own efforts at dragging his tongue over you.

it takes a few more attempts, and san’s patience wearing thin to the point he resorts to grabbing a firm hold of your arse cheeks and planting you flat on his mouth, tongue flat and eyes staring up at you in a demand to move, goddamn it.

move you most certainly do, grinding down on his tongue like you’ve done many a time with different men’s cocks. it’s messy, sloppy in the way that his spit mingles with your wetness, a cocktail of fluids sliding down his throat, and painting his lips, and dribbling down his chin as he eats you like a man starved that’s alas getting a taste of the sweetest fruit.

the rhythm of your hips is thrown off when the man beneath you switches from having you grinding down onto his flattened tongue to slipping the muscle inside of your hole, thrusting it as far as up as the length of it allows him to. with every time your body comes crashing down on his mouth, the tip of his nose bumps against your clit, forcing you to angle yourself upwards to gain more of the friction.

hands find hair, lips part in unabashed moans, thighs shake with the oncoming of an orgasmic state of mind.

the moment builds too quickly, too unexpectedly, like the ghost of your stolen climax is back with a vengeance and set on ensuring there will be no denying it this time.

“s-shit,” your eyes squeeze shut, too scared to look down at his ecstasy filled eyes in fear of it being what finally tips you over the edge. “i’m gonna- ah- gonna cum.”

san pays no mind to your warning. if anything, he takes it as a challenge, an invisible timer beginning in his head and forcing him to see how quickly he can get you to unravel all over his face. he’s getting everything he asked for, your naked body a mess above him as you fuck yourself on his tongue and your hands, with minds of their own, sliding up to grab and squeeze at your tits.

he watches how the pastel blue nail polish clashes with the darkened colour of your abused nipples, fingers working to pinch, and twist, and pull at them as you lose yourself in the moment.

when you cum, it’s with rolled-back eyes and shaky thighs, his hands gripping at you tighter to steady you as you sway above him, his tongue working at coaxing you through your high.

he licks up every drop of cum he can manage, until you’re cringing in overstimulation and reaching down to push him away. he let’s you move him, mouth moving to trail a couple kisses over your inner thigh, something akin to lipstick stains- yet so much dirtier in nature- being left behind on your soft flesh.

“told you i wouldn’t let you fall,” he’s the first to speak, partly because he correctly thinks you’re incapable of forming anything coherent in the afterglow of your orgasm, but mostly because he wants- no, needs to hear you praise him.

needs to hear you praise him like he’d done for you that night, eyes still hooded and chest visibly heaving as he finished processing watching you swallow every spurt of hot cum he’d shot down your throat. the praise never comes.

well, at least not from you.

at first he thinks he’s imagining the sound of clapping. it’s slow, and booming, and tinted with the slightest hint of sarcasm. it grows louder though, far too loud for it to just be in his imagination. the stilling of your body, going rigid as you fall back onto his chest, the sticky remnants of your orgasm cold against his heated skin, confirms that you hear the clapping too.

“bravo, choi. always thought your reputation with the ladies was a little overhyped, but i stand corrected.”

never has he hated the sight of park seonghwa so much, not even in the times they’ve been head-to-head in the final lap and the older male’s offensively bright swim-cap is all san can see every time he twists his head to catch a breath of air.

the three swimmers stand on the opposite end of the swimming pool, all in various stages of undress.

there’s wooyoung, who looks like he’s not so much as dried himself with a towel, still dressed in his team swimwear. and yunho, who’s got a towel wrapped around his waist messily, hair damp against his forehead and likely smelling of the cheap shampoo provided in the locker-room showers. lastly, seonghwa, who’s seemingly fully dressed spar for one of those irritating long coats san always sees him trailing around campus in.

one look into your panicked eyes is enough for san to spring into action, fumbling to sit himself up and pull your body flush against his, facing your naked back in the direction of his rivals.

he bites back a groan as you shift in his lap, unknowingly- or maybe you do know- pressing your soaked centre against his erection, which already strains inside the confines of the nylon material, leaving very little to the imagination.

“do you mind?” he’s glad the words come out clearly, booming across the pool at them and their unwavering staring.

“not at all.”

san holds you tighter against him, eyeing at your discarded swimsuit on the floor as he listens to a shuffle of footsteps. assuming the three men have made their way back into the locker-room, he’s speechless when he looks up to find them approaching the bench, seonghwa leading the trio with a secure grip on the back of wooyoung’s neck, whose eyes can’t seem to leave the floor, while yunho trails a little behind them, one hand grasping onto the towel around him.

“get your hands off her!” he leans back, pulling you with him, in an attempt to stray out of seonghwa’s reach as he extends his hand out. he fails, however, and the tips of seonghwa’s elongated fingers brush over your shoulder.

a shiver runs down you, one that san feels, the unexpected touch tickling your nerves.

“she’s a grown up,” the eldest of the men muses as he builds a rhythm out of how his fingers soother over your sweat slicked skin. “who i’m sure can speak for herself if she wants my hands off her.”

out of all the men, seonghwa has always been the one san despised most. between the constant boasting of wealth- money he acquired through labor, though not the working kind- and the disrespect he’s never had a problem showing towards others, he never fails to strike a nerve, awakening a dark part of san’s brain that activates his fight or flight response. by far, however, his arrogance is the worst, that sense of entitlement that drives him to think everything and everyone is a piece of clay for him to mold and manipulate till they fit his ideal shape.

the rich boy’s hand smoothes over your naked shoulder and san can’t resist glaring up at him.

“c’mon san, now’s hardly the time to be modest,” behind the oldest swimmer, yunho and wooyoung seem to be battling an inner conflict, yunho fighting to keep his towel in place and wooyoung fighting to keep the shame off his face while his dick visibly strains against the confines of his chlorine-covered swimwear. “not after the show you two just put on.”

“we didn’t,” it’s the first time you manage to speak since covering san’s tongue in your cum, breathing at last steady and face hidden from everyone’s view, much to san’s despair. “know you were watching.”

“and, if you had known, would you have stopped?” yunho is the one asking the question and, suddenly, san’s so much more aware of what exactly he’s hiding underneath his towel.

you give no answer.

“of course she wouldn’t,” seonghwa answers for you, hand moving to grasp the back of your neck. with no warning, he grips a little too tight for comfort and and yanks you backwards, till you’re staring right into san’s eyes and the only thing keeping you perched in his lap is seonghwa’s body pressed flat against yours. “there’s nothing a whore loves more than an audience, right?”

if put on trial in a court of law and sworn to tell the truth, and nothing but the truth, over whether or not you’d just clenched around nothing at park seonghwa’s degrading name, you’d plead that you never did such a thing.

you’d be found guilty.

“poor woo nearly came untouched just watching you two. isn’t that right?” the eldest turns to stare back at where you imagine wooyoung to be. “pretty boy nearly whined just at the thought of being in san’s position, a mouth full of cunt and someone using him like the fuck-toy he is.”

the air grows thick, between you, and san, and every other living being in the room. it feels like the walls are closing in on themselves with every second that passes, the sweat dripping down your back and coming to a rest between your arse cheeks evidence that the space is heating up. or maybe it’s just your body, hardly processing the high it’s just come down from and there’s already another source for a new-found arousal, a source in the shape of three muscular men stood behind you and one beneath you, eyes wary as he gazes into your own, like he wants to ask if you’re okay but all the blood is too busy circulating in his crotch for his brain to be productive.

“now, i hardly think it’s very nice of you to get our wooyoung all riled up and not even offer to help him out.” you decide you’re being lulled into a false sense of safety the second you feel the pressure of seonghwa’s hand leave your skin. behind you, there’s a shuffling of footsteps that call you to crane your neck and catch a glimpse of what exactly is going on but san’s eyes beg you to keep staring into his, to count the galaxies that dance within them while he grips at your waist. “so the chance to offer is off the table and you’re simply going to do as told. doesn’t that sound easier, hmm? no having to make pesky decisions, just spread those legs and follow orders.”

at last, you get your first glimpse at jung wooyoung.

he sits down on the bench, no more than a breath of space between where you and san are perched. he’s a vision in himself, shoulders hunched and embarrassed face the same shade of red as the tip of his cock, an angry looking bulbous head poking out the top of far-too-tight speedos.

san’s grip tightens the longer you stare at the other boy, gaze dancing over the shape of his body and mouth-watering as, for the first time, you see the appeal of jung wooyoung. never before have you understood why eyes follow him in the hallways, like he’s more than just another pretty boy on campus- something that’s in abundance. but you see it now, understand the appeal of his stand-out nose; and the veins that run down his arms; and floppy style to his hair, that seems to be calling out to have your fingers running through it.

with no prior warning, the grip on your hips tightens even more, till san is digging crescents into the soft skin and he’s lifting you, off of his lap and right into wooyoung’s.

the usually boisterous boy’s eyes meet yours, no longer filled with that spark of defiance and, instead, glazed over in tears, a quiet pleading being exchanged between you.

only, you’re unsure what he’s begging of you.

“are you going to just sit there,” seonghwa speaks up, boredom in his tone that has you picturing him rolling his eyes and picking at his manicured nails. “or are you going to help the poor pup cum?”

“what?!” that certainly helps you find your voice, and the guts to turn around and look at the man.

you find him stood closer than you imagined, with tailored trousers hugging his thighs and a perfectly ironed shirt tucked into them, the last few messy buttons the only indication he’d rushed to dress himself. eyes looking past him, you find more of a friendly aura in yunho, who, despite fighting a battle against the towel wrapped around his figure, manages to shoot a smile at you.

and then there’s san, who stands with muscled arms crossed over his chest and a painfully obvious boner resting in the confines of his swimwear, though he’s done a better job at keeping himself concealed than the boy beneath you. his face appears indifferent, yet the twitch in his eye speaks of a tamed anger, a frustration he’s yet to unleash on the men who’d interrupted him amidst his feast.

“are you now deaf along with being dumb or something?” the eldest pulls your attention back to him with little effort, a smirk meeting the glare you shoot his way. “you made that brat hard, now do your job and fix the mess you’ve made.”

words of protest get lost in a surprised gasp as the boy in question takes your hand in his, veiny hand guiding you down to a veiny shaft. wooyoung wraps both of your fingers over his leaking cock, his holding yours in place around him while he ruts his hips up once, twice into your hold, the action sending his swimwear even further down the his length and exposing nearly the full sight of it to the swimming hall.

you don’t mean to compare, yet you’re incapable of ignoring the fact that while wooyoung may be on the slightly shorter side compared to san, he’s certainly leading in the thickness department, with a mushroomed head and the prettiest trail of trimmed hairs leading down his pelvis.

he guides you over his shaft a number of times, a little less shy now as he outwardly whines when your thumb runs over his tip, wiping away the fat bead of precum resting upon it. at some point, he moves his hand away, needing both of his free to lean back on the bench, yet yours keeps moving at it’s own volition, stroking him in a pattern of threes, interrupting every trio with a swipe over his tip or a fondle of his still-concealed balls.

“please,” the whine in his voice is so unlike the jung wooyoung you’ve watched week after week, hurling abuse and echoing boasts of his own talents while keeping himself afloat in the swimming pool.

“he asked nicely.” you’d just about forgotten about everyone else in the room, until seonghwa’s irritatingly unbothered voice serves to remind you of his presence. “rule number one: good behaviour is rewarded.”

“what do i,” you interrupt your own question to glance over wooyoung once more. “do?” you pinch your thigh, skin stinging as nails bite it, and confirm with yourself that this is not a dream but, in fact, very much real.

jung wooyoung is hard and begging you to do something.

“i don’t care how you do it, just put one of your holes to good use for once and make him cum.”

there’s still an echo of seonghwa’s voice by the time you successfully manage to rid wooyoung of his swimwear, the damp fabric clinging to the warm skin and the taut muscles of his thighs. the boy isn’t much help either, seemingly reduced to nothing but a writhing, panting mess instead of someone competent enough to raise himself off the bench just enough for you to undress him.

the sight is mesmerising, one you’re certain will remain ingrained in your memory till the day you die: wooyoung, disheveled and untouched, with his achingly hard cock pressed flat against his lower stomach, his swimmer-thighs spread with a set of balls between them that you find yourself near salivating over as a trickle of his own precum runs down them.

“your cock’s...” you begin to speak, yet trail off as your digits wrap themselves around his shaft, just to delight in the way his breath jumps when you drag your hand upwards and give a soft squeeze as you reach the head. “so pretty, woo.”

“youngie.” seonghwa cuts in from behind you. “he prefers to be called youngie when he’s getting his cock teased.”

“yeah, youngie?” you try it out.

instantly, he nods and something akin to a whimper flies out of him.

fascinated by his shaky breaths and his pretty chest, where warm, tanned skin appears to be near glowing under the swimming halls bright lights as his cheeks flush a palette full of reds and pinks, your eyes are completely fixed on him. there’s something vulnerable and breakable about the way he’s looking at your with the widest of eyes, his eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip receiving countless abuse from his teeth.

never have you been so desperate to push someone past their own limits.

officially running on nothing but pure instincts, you close your mind off to thoughts, like how the boy you’d spent weeks avoiding and missing is stood only metres away, witnessing the way the tip of your finger teases over the slit of his sport rival’s cock. or like how park seonghwa, perhaps the campus’ most infamous trust-fund baby, seems to have complete control of the situation at hand, yourself and jung wooyoung nothing but idolised dolls he’s moving into whatever obscene position he wants you in.

instead, you focus on how wooyoung’s eyes roll back and he lets out a gasp when you gather up fluids from within your salivating mouth and part your own lips, watching how your own spit drips onto his lower stomach, and your hand, and his painfully hard cock.

the saliva serves not only as a visual pleasure, something that’s awakening inside of you at the sight of it leaving you with whole new kind of excitement bubbling along your body, but as a physical pleasure for wooyoung, who seems to have no protest to how much easier it is to slide your hand up his length with the added lubrication of your own spit.

“fuck...” he curses under his breath and his hands find purchase on your body, one gripping your hip while the other grabs at your forehand, like he’s scared you’ll release the grip you have on him and strip away the sweet release of friction. “don’t just focus on the tip- shit, ah- play with my balls too.”

“wooyoung!” ready to oblige, ready to give the pretty faced boy anything he demanded of you, you’ve no time to think of a reply before the ringmaster of this circus reminds you of his overlooking presence behind your back. “stop speaking like an ungrateful brat and take what you’re given. or else... well, i’m sure you don’t need reminding of what happens to pups that misbehave.”

the way jung wooyoung’s whole body grows rigid beneath you, paired with the countless times park seonghwa has butted in to speak on the boy’s sexual preferences, leaves you with the sense that the two are not only acquainted with how each other’s bodies move underwater..

“s-sorry,” this is not the voice of boastful jung wooyoung, who near bounces down the college halls and airdrops nudes in class because he’s bored. this is a voice that’s soft and meek. like a beady-eyed puppy, so quick to submit to it’s owner. “just feels too good. i’m sorry”

“yeah, you will be sorry.” seonghwa’s hand is cold against your back and it lulls a shiver out of you as fingers trickle down your spine like water off a duck’s wings. part of you hates him for stealing wooyoung’s attention off of you just as you were beginning to revel in it, a larger part of you wants to know why the sternness in his voice is enough to have your clit aching to be touched. “spitfire, be a good cocksleave and sit on his dick.”

“ok, stop!” a sense of shame comes over you when it takes hearing san’s outburst to remember the fact he’s watching the scene unfold. “don’t you think you’re taking this too far now, park seonghwa? i know you and wooyoung have your... agreement on how you treat each other, but don’t drag someone else into it. not when she never even asked for this.”

“you had your tongue tasting the eighth wonder of the world on that bench twenty minutes ago, both of you knowing there was a chance you’d be caught, and you want to tell me no one was asking for this?”

“that was private! you guys are the ones who-”

“there’s no such thing as privacy in a public area. besides, it’s hardly like she’s not enjoying this. if anything, i think spitfire doesn’t like the way you’re getting in the way of her teaching youngie a lesson in obedience.” you’re naive to think no one would notice the way you’ve began to grind down on wooyoung’s cock, stealing whimpers out of him as the soaked lips of your pussy rubbed up against him and holding back your own moans each time his tip meets the bundle of nerves that make up your clit. “choi, if you’re that much of a pissy pants that can’t enjoy himself even just this once in life, then feel free to leave. i’m sure the four of us will be too occupied to notice your absence.”

you’re not paying close enough attention to figure out if san’s newfound silence is due to his departure, or if he’s simply too stunned to speak, your eyes focused on nothing and no one but the boy at your mercy.

the initial burn of wooyoung breaching your entry reminds you of how long it’s been since you’d been stretched open by something other than someone’s cold fingers or wagging tongue. it’s been more or less three long months of juggling test after test, assignments piling up on your desktop and a relationship with your now ex-boyfriend being tossed completely into the gutter.

not once had you thought your return to the world of sexual bliss would be in front of an audience, much less at the very place you work.

doubting that it’s been as long for him as it has for you, wooyoung still spares nothing when it comes to reacting to your touch. with eyes squeezing shut, head rolling back, abdomen muscles flexing along side every shaken intake of breath, the boy puts on a show so pornographic it puts the professionals to shame. a whine exits his lips, lips that carry marks of his own teeth and look like they’re in need of a healthy dose of chapstick, and look so disgustingly kissable that your own tingle at the thought.

all those rumours of jung wooyoung being a camboy rush to the forefront of your mind, feeling truer than ever when your eyes take in the bob of his adam’s apple, and the perfectly timed run of his tongue over his lower lip, and the pretty way in which the prominent veins in his hands looks as he clamps his grip down on your hips.

he’s a sight worth paying for.

“are you okay?” not the first thing you’d imagined saying after sinking all the way down on his cock, the need to check up on him taking over before you’d even noticed it’s existence.

“yeah...” he sighs his way through the word, eyes still closed and grip still very much tight on your skin, blunt fingertips likely leaving crescent moons you’ll find yourself staring at for days to come, memories of this moment replaying in a rose-tinted haze. “just need a second, you- you feel good, fuck me.”

“i’m kinda already doing that, youngie.” you giggle, like a lovesick adolescent speaking to their crush of the week, but the boy’s instant smile upon hearing it puts out the fire of shame building in the pit of your stomach.

“hmm,” he hums back, acknowledging your words without giving you the satisfaction of hearing him tell you how you’re correct. “are you okay?”

wooyoung flips the question on you and it parallels with the way he pulls the rains in physically, lithe hips thrusting upwards in search of feeling more, reaching deeper inside of you. in the back of your mind you already picture a look of displeasure on park seonghwa’s face, scowling lips loading up to berate you and demand you take repossession of jung wooyoung’s sanity.

“yeah, i’m-” with the eldest man in mind, you stop and compose yourself, as well as you can while wooyoung’s mouthing at your neck, your collarbones, the tops of your breasts. “i’m wondering who told you you were allowed to touch me?”

control is easily regained, all it takes is your hand squeezing around jung wooyoung’s throat and your soaked walls clenching around his aching cock and he’s melting like ice cream on a warm summer’s day, leaving behind a sticky mess.

satisfaction and pleasure come crashing in tandem, wave after wave moving in motion with each lethargic roll of your body against the swimmer’s, who seems to be a quicker learner than you’d believed him to be, hands flying off your body like it was made up of hot stones and, instead, now holding a firm and grounding grip of the bench beneath you both.

“harder.” you feel a hint of emotion within park seonghwa’s voice this time he speaks. it’s fleeting, and hard to make out quite what feeling it is he’s experiencing, but it’s there and it’s certainly a step up from the usual shameless, egotistical, megalomaniac tone he takes on. “squeeze his throat tighter.”

under the possession of his commanding tone, you find yourself caving into his command, fingers pressing a little harder into wooyoung’s warm skin. the boy gulps down whatever pride he has and delivers a pleasured whine. you grind down harder and an evil, twisted part of you you’ve never met before longs to laugh at the way he so desperately is struggling to keep his composure, fighting back the urge to meet your hips with his own upward thrusts.

so, you do.

“hear that, youngie?” seonghwa’s voice becomes less grating each time you hear it, once an unwelcome and intrusive thought but now a second voice and a valued player in a game of wreck the wooyoung. “you’re being laughed at. isn’t that just pathetic?”

“y-yes, fuck-” he falls victim to your walls clenching around him, gripping his cock in a vice grip. the image of confidence withers away so easily to reveal a teary-eyed, pretty-faced, cum-desperate man. “i’m pathetic.”

“yeah, you are.” seonghwa circles his way around the rocking bench, no longer out of view hidden behind your back but, instead, staring you down with piercing eyes that cut through you like a knife to hot butter. “he’s getting close. never lasts long, really, even seen him cum untouched just from giving me head. but that’s okay, isn’t it youngie? you’re a slut for having your sack drained, huh?”

the swimmer beneath you has never looked redder than he does right now, secrets of his sexual nature getting exposed to the people he likely considers his biggest athletic competition. though you probably should, you don’t push him away when his face finds safety in the crook of your neck, parted lips covering your burning skin in sticky drool.

“don’t let him fool you guys, he’s into the degrading nature of it all. trust me.” you wonder if it should concern you the way seonghwa speaks about jung wooyoung as though he’s nothing but a pet, a possession of which he just so happens to have complete control over. you’re more concerned with the fact it excites you. “call him a good boy, i dare you.”

the words haven’t even formed in your throat and the boy between your thighs is gripping onto your waist a little tighter, lips near pouting and eyes screwed shut in uncontrollable pleasure, burning down his spine and threatening to push him over the edge of sexual bliss.

you consider having mercy, the inexperienced side of you thinking the boy looks like he’s full of shame and embarrassment. the throbbing of his rock hard cock repeatedly stuffing your aching cunt reminds you he’s getting off on the humiliation.

“is he a good boy, though?” you stare up at park seonghwa, not even sparing a whimpering wooyoung any attention as he begins a rambled protest to defend his good behaviour. “i mean, i don’t remember telling him he could touch me. do you, hwa?”

the hands that grip you tightly let go quick, like your skin were an unexpectedly warm stove, scorching his skin right off him.

“i don’t remember either,” the eldest’s agreement has you reeling in a way you never expected, filling you with a new found sense of control.

a control that is ripped away far too quickly, like park seonghwa sensed you growing falsely confident over the situation at hand.

like a shark circling it’s prey, the tall man makes his way back around the bench, each fall of his shoe-covered feet echoing in the quiet swim hall. click, click, click, and he’s right at your back, not a word uttered as the soft of his palm lands on the nape of your neck. achingly slow does it travel down the expanse of your back, not a single noise filling the space other than the rise and fall of your body on top of wooyoung’s and the same boy’s poorly contained moans and mewls of pleasure.

the silence is interrupted by your own shocked gasp, mouth falling agape in shock as your movements come to a complete halt. his hands, no longer soft and delicate, grip you in an iron-tight hold, fingers greedy as they dig into your meaty flesh with no mercy or regard for the pain it may inflict on you.

“no, get up,” like a switch was flipped in as little as a minute, park seonghwa’s voice has lost all sense of the excitement it had whilst he spoke on jung wooyoung’s dirty endeavours and has returned back to the cold, callous, commanding tone it had originally.

he sounds angry, feels angry in the way the fingers of his free hand tangle themselves in the hair at the back of your head and give a harsh tug, forcing your head back till you’re met with his scowling face and perfectly groomed hair, even in it’s dampened state it seems to frame his face perfectly.

“what?” you babble out, dumbstruck, much like the desperate boy beneath you who’s began to mutter apology after apology between pleadings of please no don’t do this and i promise i’ll behave, i’ll keep my hands to myself.

none of it works.

“you heard me. get. up.” the fingers on your waist tug, pull, drag you away from the quivering mess that has become of jung wooyoung, who near sobs as the cool air hits his now painfully hard cock, tip redder than the bottom of your favourite heels and a vein more prominent under his sensitive skin than the ones on his muscular arms. you’re not given much of a chance to process what’s happening before seonghwa speaks again. “wooyoung, up, now. you’re not getting to cum, so get off the bench and make room for someone else.”

the boy makes no further attempt to protest, cheeks painted pink in shame and chest shining with sweat as he shakily rises to his feet, head hung low when you watch him walk out of your line of sight.

then, your knees meet the floor.

park seonghwa chuckles as you go down, hands finding grip in your hair and forcing you to sit up right. heart beating faster, your mind begins to race with questions of what comes next, who comes next.

what dirty desires are about to be unveiled within you, forced into the unforgiving fluorescent lights of the swimming hall?

“jeong, you’re up,” seonghwa’s knee digs into your back and his fingers tug until your scalp begins to sting a little. you don’t want to like it but, in life, you don’t always get what you want.

there’s a series of shuffles behind you, followed by heavy footsteps. there’s no rush, yet no hesitation, just calm and collected footsteps of someone making their way over to do god knows what with you.

when jeong yunho, with his towel that’s looking a lot tighter around his crotch still around his waist, steps into frame, an inexplicable sense of comfort washes over you.

maybe it’s the way he smiles down at you, or the fact his hands brush seonghwa’s off of you, or the way his fingers take a hold of your chin once he’s seated in front of you.

maybe it’s just the fact he’s jeong yunho, campus himbo with a reputation for walking girls home at night just to make sure they’re safe and for singing britney spears with no shame each time the karaoke mic gets passed around.

whatever it is, it’s turning you on.

your knees are burning with fresh pain as park seonghwa shoves you closer to the mammoth of a man and you can’t help but swallow down the ball of anxiety growing in your throat.

everything about jeong yunho’s demeanour has always seemed large, with powerful arms that drag his body through the weight of water and large hands that effortlessly carry countless textbooks through the university halls; a tall frame that helps him stand out in any crowd and a personality loud enough to set off alarms; his thighs a muscular stairway leading up to a well rounded, remarkably defined posterior. it’s safe to say he’s carried a reputation for some time, one that consists of whispers between girls on campus who recount just how well endowed he really is. 7 inches, 9 inches, 12 inches, you’ve heard it all, each girl claiming it to be bigger than the last.

unfortunately, there’s no ruler at your disposal to uncover the truth of the rumours, but you confirm he’s certainly large as you watch him undo the towel. larger than you’ve ever seen before, with a thickness to match, and two heavy looking balls decorating the base.

he wraps a hand around it and you watch how he gives a light squeeze at the head, slowly sliding down the length of it till he reaches the tuft of groomed hairs on his pelvic bone. one of his hands alone holds half of his cock, leaving you almost certain you’d need to use both hands on him.

“d’you want it, sweetheart?” his words are teasing but his voice is soft, a complete one-eighty to the verbal berating you’ve been receiving- and enjoying- from park seonghwa.

you’re sure he notices the way you clench your thighs as he slaps his cock once, then twice against his stomach, the precum leaking out on to his tanned skinned.

there’s an itch inside your throat, one you imagine only he can scratch.

“you wanna taste it?” he’s still speaking to you through the arousal that fogs over your brain, commanding your tongue to swipe over your bottom lip as you burn your gaze at the glistening liquid on his warm skin, tastebuds aching to have him paint them in white.

you nod your head.

his own throws itself back, a chuckle rupturing out of his chest as he continues to tease himself with his hand.

“fuck, yeah, bet you can’t wait to taste my cock, feel it stab the back of your tight throat.” a smile should never look so sweet while it’s part of the same mouth spewing out such filth. somehow, jeong yunho makes it work. “gonna get it nice and wet for me, yeah? make it sloppy, i love it when a pretty thing like you gets all messy over my cock.”

the knee that’s suddenly digging it’s way into your back has no mercy. you wince, pull in a sharp breath and inch just that little bit closer to the bench. like a glove fits a hand, you slip right in between the muscled tree trunks that make up jeong yunho’s thighs.

you wonder, if only momentarily, what sweet a death it would be to be crushed between them, taut muscles constricting the flow of air to your lungs like a boa with its prey.

but there’s a far more preferable way to be choked by the man before you, body carved out in such definition you fear michael angelo himself stands in admiration of it.

his hand snakes its way around your body, warm and heavy and imposing with the grip it settles for at the base of your neck. in spite of the sharp stab coming from behind- where you have no doubt one park seonghwa stands with disgruntled impatience written all over his irritatingly perfect face- there is no doubt in your mind that the man in front of you holds the reigns. with eyes of honey and lips of velvet, he peers down at you with a tendered expression, saying nothing yet everything with the gentle, repeated sooth of his thumb over your skin.

you need no verbal instructions this time around.

a hand grips the base of him as the other squeezes the flesh of your own thigh, piercing your skin with just enough pressure to assure you this is the reality you find yourself in, rather than some twisted, substance influenced dream.

the first taste is the sweetest, tongue a missionary sent into the foreign land of his body to discover the way he reacts as you drag it over the tip. he gives nothing but a squeeze to the back of your neck; and that crumbles you under his control.

with a few more kitten licks- for good luck, if anything,- the show begins with the parting of your lips, the widening of your mouth, the burning of your skin as you struggle with your ability to swallow him whole. you make it no further than a third of his length before he’s tugging gently on your roots and bringing you back to the surface of existence.

“breathe, okay,” his voice is gentle, calming your nerves yet sending your heart into a fit of patternless beats. “inhale, exhale, got it? through the nose, that’s gonna help you relax.”

doing as he says, you swallow three whole breaths. shaky, ragged, each feeling hollow in your chest in comparison to the weight of his cock on your tongue.

“pretty girl,” he practically coos, hand cupping your chin as his thumb smoothes over the swell of your bottom lip. it’s tender, sweet, and almost enough to make you forget the sight of his engorged cock that sits angrily between his tree-trunk shaped thighs, crying out for the return of your mouth’s affection. “someone’s gotta teach you to not be greedy, hmm? small little mouth of yours is no fit for me, don’t go choking on it.”

heat flashes between your thighs, your heartbeat dropping right down to your clit and leaving you with a burning ache, the kind only a gentleman like this could soothe. your fingers may have to do, however, if the stubborn arsehole behind you would be so kind as to let you enjoy yourself.

the way park seonghwa curls his hand round the front of your neck and flexes his nimble fingers- that goddamn family heirloom ring a punishing cold to your warm skin, near brandishing you as touched by some nepotism child- when you do so little as clench your thighs together to relieve the pressure, or lack-there-of, between your thighs tells you he’ll grant you no such fun.

“you’d need to have something big enough for her to choke on,” san, precious san. still here, still somewhere beneath this god-forsaken tin-can roof swimming pool, watching you bruise your knees and your ego for another man, another one of his team-mates. what must he think of you? has he lost whatever respect he may have had? does he think he’d been just another body to exchange fluids with, that night at the party? if you could just see his face, you’d not need to wonder all these things. his eyes, they always give him away, too earnest and pure for his own good.

“shut it, choi,” yunho’s bark isn’t half as loud as seonghwa’s booming commands have been, and are nowhere near as malignant. if anything, the gentle giant is humoured by his team-mate’s words, as if he knows they’re a preposterous thing to say about him. then again, you can’t imagine any man remaining humble about themselves if they were so well-endowed. “or do you wanna crack out the measuring tape again and remind yourself of just how much of me there is to choke on?”

silence.

it takes a few moments for the spotlight to return to you, a gradual shift from playful to lust driven energy encapsulating the broad frame of the man before. he cups your cheek, feather-light touch smoothing over your skin while his eyes burrow daggers into your soul.

why must his shoulders be so wide? it almost angers you as much as it sends a wave of heat between your legs.

almost, but not quite.

“‘s cute,” he half mumbles, distracted by the sight you paint below him on your knees, bruises already forming and thighs clenching for some relief of pressure. “your little pussy’s all wet just from having my cock in your mouth.”

“i think you’re forgetting she was bouncing on woo’s dick a few minutes ago, yunho,” the devil on your shoulder won’t let you rest, hand snaking through the threads of your hair and tugging on your roots. not enough to hurt, just enough to sting. “have some modesty.”

“sure, let’s act like i’m not the one who had her cumming all over my face a while ago.” san mumbles a string of words you wish you could unhear, face heating up as the shame burns through your bloodstream.

how had you gotten here?

you’re allowed no such freedom to ponder over previous actions as jeong yunho’s all encompassing frame works to remind you of where you find yourself: on your knees dressed in nothing but your own shame- shame which seems to slip off of you, piece by piece, baring you shamelessly to this pack of wolf-eyed boys’ for their eyes to feast upon.

strong, veiny hands reach out and drag you forwards, just an inch yet it’s all you need to feel the weight of park seonghwa’s domineering figure float off of you, rendering you under the control of this much larger, far smilier looking man. “eyes on me, okay? don’t wanna miss the way i’m about to make them roll back.”

there begins a game of push and pull, where jeong yunho pushes you closer and closer to his evident arousal, all the while teasing you as he pulls his hips back, keeping your waiting mouth open and empty, and oh-so frustrated at the feeling of being so close yet so far away from his dripping tip.

the first real taste you get of him does, in fact, nearly have your eyes rolling back. a kitten lick, barely there yet fully felt, running over the underside of his cock, a taste of salted skin, and musky sweat, and stale chlorine mixing in with the warmth of him flooding your senses. his reaction is no more composed than yours, blatantly parting his lips in a gasp and bucking his hips up, forwards, any direction they need follow to chase after your mouth.

happy to comply, you take pride in tasting him a second time, this time right over the growing drop of pre-cum pebbling on his tip. white flashes behind your closing eyes as his grip in your hair tightens, a pulse of heat firing straight down your spine as your mind floods with images of what it must be like to watch this man, this gentleman, this figure that so wholly encompasses what it means to be a himbo in this day and age lose his cool and revolt into his most carnal, basal instincts to take whatever pleasure he needs from you with a reckless abandon, burrow his throbbing cock down your throat till the beat of his heart takes over your own.

instead, you settle for wrapping your lips around him, at last, and letting him guide you just that little bit down his length. the weight of him feels nice, a strange sense of comfort birthing in your bones as you grow used to feel of him taking up your palate. his breaths seem to run in tandem with the inches he sinks deep between your parted lips.

a deep breath, he lowers you further, till your left cheek begins to bulge out.

tongue pinned to the floor of your mouth, you make use of it as best you can, rolling it over the bottom of his shaft and earning yourself a plethora of gratifying sounds, each deep and desperate and crooning straight out of jeong yunho’s broad chest.

another deep breath, another inch.

for all the false dominance you wield over the situation, with the heat of your mouth and spill of your own saliva slickening his cock, his real and visceral dominance doubles it by tenfold, with a hand on the back of your neck, guiding your every move, and a knowing, gentle look cast downwards at you from where he sits propped on the bench, thighs a heavy mass to case your body between. a silly little voice in your head whispers a seductive tale of how easily this man could get you in a headlock and suffocate your fragile windpipes. a wave of heat, this one going right down to your core and forcing you to pay attention to it, shifting awkwardly and clenching the muscles in your own legs in hopes of getting some pitiful amount of pressure.

all breathing stops as he hits the back of your throat.

hands pulling tight, a biting pain ripping through your hair and a tired gag creeping out of your constricting throat, yunho holds you still and strong, as unmoving as the mountains that fill the horizon from your bedroom window.

he’s not even fully in, an arguably obscene amount of him still awaiting some form of attention beyond the spill of the spit filling up your mouth. but there’s nowhere for it to go, not within your mouth at least, and so you manoeuvre your hand up and grip the neglected inches, the tip of your pinkie teasingly brushing over the swell of his balls.

he lurches forward, gasping in a breath of air at last. “fucking christ- shit,” he grits his teeth. “her mouth’s warm.”

“well, obviously. this your first time getting a blowjob or something, jeong?” god, the reminder of seonghwa being here, somewhere behind you, fox eyes judging your every move and keeping his cool, no matter how hard you’d seen his cock straining in those ridiculous pant-suit trousers he sports. it’s sickening.

“yeah, yunho, watch out before you have a repeat of 2019.”

if the taller jeong wants to snap at the other, you never find out, instead dedicating yourself to the glory of worshipping him between your parted lips and tight throat, jaw ready to lock itself in place so long as it keeps him inside.

you treat him differently than you’d treated san that night. you’d been tipsy then, buzzing off the colourful shots of who-knows-what you’d been conned into downing a half hours before, mind hazy as you kneeled between him and teased your tongue over every crevice of him it could reach, dripping him in drool and working an ache into your overused tongue by the time you got watched him spill over the edge of ecstasy. that wasn’t even about san’s pleasure, no real care put into getting him off, your own selfish need to indulge in the pleasure of feeling, tasting, worshipping him taking precedence.

but, right now, you’re overwhelmingly sober, mind hazed only by a cloud of inexplicable lust that rolled in the moment san shot you his stupid smile, and you care about making jeong yunho cum. in fact, it’s the only thing on your mind as you bob your head up and down, letting his own hand guide your pace.

“shh, shh,” he’s hushing your own struggles for breath and carding his fingers through the tresses of your hair, his legs clamping down on either side of you, pinning you in your rightful place. “taking it so good, baby. so fucking good.”

good’s not good enough.

you want to leave him mind-blown, exhausted, unhinged. you want him clenching his jaw, and baring his teeth, and stuttering over any praise he tries to give you. in fact, you need it, need that thrill-driven lust of collapsing the sanity of a man as broad and strong and capable as him.

so you pick up the pace, fight against the steady up-and-down of his grip and try to take just that little bit more of him in your mouth and down your throat, till you’ve no doubt there’s a visible bulge of where he sits down your windpipe. you think back on what he said- i love it when a pretty thing like you gets all messy over my cock- and work towards doing just that, mouth a fountain of over-flowing spit that paints lines down your chin and over his heavy balls. the hand at his base lightly drags the tips of its nails over his burning skin and you physically feel the way his cock jumps in your mouth, head twitching as his hips involuntarily jolt forwards.

eyes as wide as a deer in headlights, you glance up to stare into his own, only to find they’re rolling back in his head, too caught up in the headiness of having your mouth on him to visually focus. it’s erotic, tracing your eyes over the protruding vein in his neck and the unrhythmic heaving of his chest- like every breath he pulls is a rare gift and a miracle- and the straining of his muscled thighs that hold back his urge to buck freely into your mouth, use you as nothing but a hole to get himself off with.

your free hand stakes claim over your own sexual frustration, nimble fingers rubbing tight, slow circles over your clit in an attempt to just ease that heat burning you from the inside out.

“she’s touching herself, jeong,” not even the irritating, grating voice of park seonghwa’s unwanted commentary can take away the kick you’re getting out of working this man into a frenzy. “are you just going to let her, without your permiss-”

“shut up, park,” yunho is wrecked, voice divulging so far from that loud, boyish charm into a dark, broken sort of gruffed out thing, echoing straight out of his chest. but, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t listen to the other man, doesn’t force his eyes open to glance down in a hazed daze to witness your pathetic attempts to work your fingers over yourself.

only, he doesn’t tell you to stop.

he just... watches. and then smiles, squeezes out what can only be described as a broken whine, and tilts his head back once more, relinquishing all control of his body over to you. the scene divulging into a chorus of mumbled words, fuck and please and yes becoming the only word yunho knows, the only three you hear.

only as he cums does jeong yunho regain that bit of self-control he’s lost, ripping your mouth off him- a stuttered mumble of i wanna paint that pretty face- and erupting in a mess of grunted moans, cock twitching in his palm as rope after rope of white, hot fluid shoots out of it. it’s messy, and disgusting, and sticky, marking the skin on your cheeks, nestling in your hair, dripping over your shut eyelashes.

the last drops land in your parted mouth as his grasp shakes and you regain the right to wrap your lips around his mushroomed tip.

lips stained in pearly white, cheeks and neck matching too. the throb of your neglected cunt, clenching itself around nothing but the mere thought of having jeong yunho stuff you full, break you in two and leave you spent.

the man in question is in a no better state, head thrown back and chest a heaving mess glistening with the shine of his own sweat. his mouth hangs open, near heaving in breaths of air and his hands, adopting a mind of their own, grip harder in your hair and hold you firmly in place, tongue laving over his sensitive tip, pushing him closer and closer to the ledge of overstimulation.

“fuck- uh, fucking look at you,” sweet voice, foul words. two fingers drag over your cheek, coating themselves in the sticky substance he’s painted you in. “drooling all over me.”

he’s right, you are drooling. down your chin, an uncomfortable damp coat covers your overheating skin as you continue to stretch your lips around his length, ready to rip another thigh-shuddering orgasm out of the man.

yunho grants you no such pleasure.

instead, a grip tugs back on your hair and, before you can feebly attempt to catch your fleeing breath, he’s pulling you up into his lap, straddling you across the well-defined muscles of his thigh. those big, capable hands he pushes himself through pools, and rivers, and all other bodies of water manipulate your limbs however he likes, a rag-doll free for him to toy with for as long as he sees fit.

“yun-” you don’t even manage to say his name properly, not when he grinds you down into his lap, smothering his tanned skin in your juices. the friction runs straight for your pulsing clit and you’re rendered to sinking into his welcoming arms, head collapsing into the crook of his neck, parted lips panting up a storm against his sweated skin.

“that nice for you, angel?” the soft words, the rough hands, the perfect roll of your hips. you feel like you could sob, break apart completely. yunho tracing a hand up the curve of your spine and soothing his long fingers over a knot in you back doesn’t help your case. “bet it is. little bit of release to all that tension you’ve been feeling, yeah?”

you think you nod.

it’s hard to tell.

sparks fly within your loins, heating you from the inside out. yunho, at some point, has wound his fist into the tresses of your hair, nails scrapping along your scalp. it’s pleasurable, all over, soothing you into a state of utter relaxation, a being with no purpose other than to take whatever this mass of warmth and muscles and width offers you.

his hand makes a fist and gently tugs, forcing a whine out of you as you’re faced with the bright lights once more. traces of his own cum stain the very place your face had lay. it’s erotic to see, drying up your tongue with a need to lick it clean.

“no, no, focus, right here,” a single finger taps at your cheek, followed by the tilting of your chin that forces you to stare back at the hungry eyes of jeong yunho. “eyes on me. want a front row seat to watching your eyes roll back.”

god, he’s filthy, and delicate, and that just makes him all that more filthy.

swiping his digits through the remnants of his sticky cum, he makes sure you’re staring right back at him as those same fingers snake their way down between your grinding bodies and burrow themselves deep in your soaked heat. shallow pumps of his hand fuck his cum-coated fingers deeper, long and lithe enough he barely needs to move to have you feeling him all over, everywhere.

by the time he curls them, pressing against that spongy wall, you’re just about ready to cry.

“think she’s gonna cum,” oh god, no, why must he remind you of your audience? why does it no longer frighten you to have eyes watching you be defiled but, rather, have you clenching around him tighter, chasing that fever-like ecstasy the man means to deliver? “she’s gripping my fingers so tight- shit, almost makes me wanna bust my load just thinking how warm her pussy would feel round my cock.”

“don’t let her cum,” you vow, some day, to wring the neck of park seonghwa. “just cause she’s gone all cockdrunk doesn’t mean she’s earnt-”

“shut up, hwa,” the boy’s thumb pokes up and you can’t help the way you grind down into it, smothering your clit in whatever pressure you can get. “pretty baby’s more than earned it. stop being bitter that i’m the one who’s gonna give her it.”

give you it, he does.

three fingers deep, the cocktail of your wetness mixing with his cum-cated digits aiding the ebb and flow of his rhythm, jeong yunho has your toes curling, eyes rolling, thighs shaking. you blackout, for only a moment, lost in the wilderness of pleasure.

the aftershocks are barely kicking in when you’re suddenly ripped away from yunho’s hold. the sounds of your beating heart and heaving chest muffle the disgruntled exchange of words between the swim-team, inhibiting your ability to stay clued-in on the events that surround you. all you know is that when your body meets the bench once more, on all wobbly fours, jeong yunho no longer sits tall and proud.

a sharp sting hits your rear- a smack, that echoes in the empty space of the swimming hall. the only appropriate response is the shriek you let out, twisted in your own conflicting emotions of pain, and pleasure, and painful pleasure. a second smack meets the other cheek. this time, there’s no doubt a wanton whine escapes you.

“since the rest of them can’t take orders,” you’d already known it was seonghwa whose hands were suddenly all over you, pinning you in a position of submission. the sound of his grandiose voice sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine, top to tail. “i’ll have to do it myself.”

with no word of warning, he smooths his hands down the globes of your ass, teases the crease of skin where your inner thigh meets your dripping heat, and fucks two whole fingers into your sensitive core. knuckles deep, they sit still upon initial intrusion, basking in the warmth of you and coating themselves in the essence from an orgasm you’ve yet to even fully recover from and the cum yunho’d scooped off your own face.

then, at last, when your nails dig marks into the wood below, he curls them a come-hither motion.

with shame painted on your skin, you toss your head back and release an inhumane cry, eyes hazily gazing up at the horrendous white lights above. “oh god!”

“not quite. i do appreciate the flattery though,” there’s no need to glance over your shoulder to know that pompous, trust-fund baby is wearing the most earth-shattering smirk, some stupid strand of his perfectly groomed hair dangling over one of his eyes, like some 90s heartthrob boy-band member. you do it anyway.

park seonghwa is an unfairly attractive man, sporting a beauty so ethereal it almost makes you angry.

that anger seems to dampen the wetter he gets you.

his touch is slow, but by no means is it gentle. calculated and malevolent, he plays with your insides like they’re nothing but the strings to your puppet. a curl of his fingers and one of your hands shoots forward. the torturously slow pace that he pumps his digits in and out, and your jaw falls slack. his thumb bumps and grinds against your throbbing clit, and your elbows give out, sending you crashing face-first down onto the bench.

his free hand presses down on your lower back, bending you deeper, hiking your ass up higher in the air. and, at first, you think you’re imagining it, that trickle of warmth against your other entrance, believing it nothing but a trick of your melting brain.

you’re who-knows how many hours deep in a whirlwind of pleasure and penetrative stares, people have been driven to the brink of insanity over far less in the past.

but then seonghwa’s fingers leave your cunt, warm and wet trails following their journey over your skin. there’s no imaginative mind great enough in this universe to conjure up that initial shock to feeling how he prods and pokes at your puckered hole, lubricating it with the dirty mixture of both you and yunho’s cum and his very own spit.

the tip of his pointer finger ventures onward first, breaking through the surface of your tight muscles in a shallow intrusion.

the feeling has you frozen, frightened, intrigued. eyes widening, moans dying, pussy pulsating in an empty need.

“don’t go getting shy on us now, spitfire,” the collective language he uses brings back the weight of all the boys’ eyes on you. hesitantly, you angle your face off the bench, and regret it the instant you meet the brown comfort of his eyes. “fun’s just starting. ain’t that right, san?”

a tense energy takes over the large room, with san’s shoulders tensing, and yunho’s feet fidgeting, and wooyoung’s cheeks blushing. seonghwa seems impervious to the shift, whether voluntarily or not, and instead invites himself to further exploring the limits of your body.

he’s kind enough to spare a bit of care into the way his finger sinks deeper into your unexplored hole. another dribble of his hot saliva lands messily onto you, aiding the slip and slide of his hand. two, or three, or four strokes of his finger and you’re submitting to the intrusion, hips rutting higher and presenting yourself more to the man.

“come here,” the command calls over your body and, at first, you think its aimed at you. so you try scooting further back, only to be halted by seonghwa speaking once again. “yeah you, choi. come get under her.”

for the first time since this all began, you’re on the precipice of saying no.

they’d listen, all of them. wouldn’t push you, pressure you or force you to keep going, not if you truly voiced your negation. even park seonghwa, as big an arsehole as he may be, would have no qualms ending his fun and agreeing to never speak of this again.

and it’s not that you don’t want choi san under you. far from it, as you’ve already made pretty clear earlier, thighs his personal ear-warmers while his tongue delved deep for your honey-suckle glory. you’re hardly uncomfortable at the thought of him under you, chest rising repeatedly in frantic breaths and legs bent at the knee to give him just the right leverage to fuck up into your messy cunt-

it’s not till he’s three feet away from you, hands fidgeting by his side, eyes looking anywhere but you and your compromising position, and the world’s most obnoxiously boner-strained tent in his swimming gear that realisation washes over you. you’re hesitating because of him, because of his possible discomfort.

what if he wants to say no? what if he doesn’t want to get under you? what if his eyes will never look into your own again, too shocked and disgusted by all the things you’ve let be done to you? by his own team-mates/rivals, too?

hell, you’ve shocked yourself even, never in a million years had you pictured a day you’d be at the mercy of some rich prick, overdressed for every occasion and looking like a vogue-cover-model reject. but when he’s edging another finger into the already-tight squeeze of your ass, and pushing your buttons just enough to nudge you towards an edge that never seems to arrive, how could you ever dream of being anywhere else?

a hand touches your cheek.

soft. tender. it takes the extra time to soothe the pads of its fingers against your burning cheek.

“you feeling okay?” san’s quiet tone, meant only for you, is enough to move you to near-tears. you crave his hug. the position you find yourself in only allows you to reach out and grasp at where his knee bends as he crouches down to your level. it’s all the same, san knows. san understands. his own hand lands on top of yours, messily threading digits.

“she’s literally stuffed with another man’s cum and you’re worried about her? well aren’t you just the sweetest.” a cheap remark from seonghwa.

san purposefully ignores it, and everything about the man, instead choosing to keep his focus on what matters.

you.

“think you could make some room for me down there?” your nose wrinkles at his choice of words.

his giggle echoes.

“no, no, not... like that,” he guides you as he talks, grip moving to your shoulders and coaxing you up into a seating position. somewhere along the way, seonghwa’s hands leave you. he doesn’t stray too far, however, and your back soon collides against his chest. “here, pretty. want you to make space for me down here.”

within seconds, choi san’s back in his rightful place: splayed out beneath you, body fit snug between your parted legs and hair an unruly, sweated mess against his forehead.

no clothing sits between you both, blessing you with the mouthwatering drag of his cock through your folds. hard, and red, and leaking at the tip, a slight curve to the right, dribbling precum against his well-toned stomach. you’re biting your lip before you fully register your own thoughts, body a mind of its own as you grind down onto him.

control is limited and fleeting, that of which seonghwa reminds you without uttering so much as a word. instead, he clamps a harsh grip down on either side of your hips, rucks you up to where he needs you and guides you down onto san’s cock.

it’s thick, imposing and something that seonghwa blesses you no time to ease into things. instead, you’re slammed down, san buried to the hilt inside of you.

“hey there,” delicate fingers skim up the tense muscles in your thigh and find pleasure in delivering a teasing tickle to your sides. “come here often?”

the cheeky grin, the double entendre, the way san looks so goddamn proud of himself for saying it. you can’t help it, you wind up giggling uncontrollably.

wrong choice. bad idea. danger zone.

san contorts in pain, and lust, and something else you’ve never seen behind his eyes before, hissing through his teeth like some feral cat. his eyes match that of a feline too. “you trying to squeeze my dick off or something?”

you compose yourself upon the reminder of that san can feel you tensing around him, pull in a deep breath and find your voice again, at last. “or... something.”

maybe you’re a little out of breath. maybe you’re a little hoarse. it doesn’t seem to matter to the boy below, his only response being to cant his hips up and lick at the fire burning in your insides.

“you two are disgusting,” once again, park seonghwa wins gold in the nobody-asked-for-you-bum-ass-opinion olympics. let’s see if he’ll continue his winning streak and go for gold in the hypocrite-athon too!

the hands on your sides begin you guide you, with seonghwa squeezing his perfectly manicured nails into your plush skin and bouncing you down onto san. up, down, up and down, repeated strokes like the ones their hands deliver each time they breach the surface.

it’s easy, this pleasure. it’s a gift, hand-delivered by two god-like men that sandwich you between them- one a mass that fills you, the other a weight that controls you. liberating in every sense, you can’t help the way your head rolls back to find purchase on one of seonghwa’s shoulders, completely melting into the ways he winds you over san.

“shit, yes, you feel,” san’s no better than you, mouth agape and hands unsteady as they trace every inch of skin they can reach: the dimples of your back, the swell of your breasts, the hood of your clit. his hips are the only steady thing about him, not a falter in the way they grind up to kiss your dripping pussy with his cock. “so good. so warm, tight. love it.”

a hand curls round your front, travels up between your breast and over your sternum. it settled for a grip a round your throat, no pressure applied, it simply exists against your windpipe, a silent threat.

“look what you do to him, hmm,” a squeeze around your neck. seonghwa’s warm breath fans against your ear, taunting you. “look what you’re doing to them.”

through your glossed-over gaze, you trail your way past the sight of san and all his captivating beauty, settling instead on the equally erotic, not-at-all surprising image that stands just past where his head rests at the edge of the wooden bench.

a sweaty wooyoung, bent at the waist and whining up a storm, while a far more composed yunho pounds his hips into the boy’s arse.

your walls clench and san whimpers, a string of curses and pleads leaving him.

“think you’re finally ready for me?” the devil on your shoulder- at your back, more truly,- smirks into your skin, careless enough to not even feign it being anything but a rhetoric question. ready or not, park seonghwa is going to finally get his own fill of the thrill, his own satisfaction, beyond mere observation and controlling.

the spill of your own wetness slips down your thighs as san continues to fuck himself deep. it doesn’t travel far as seonghwa coats himself in you, wetting his fingers before they slip back inside your ass. a few generous, tempting pumps into your ring of muscles, fingers spreading a little further apart each time, till he decides that’s enough, he’s ready, you’re ready.

the unbuckling of a belt.

an unzipping of trousers.

trousers bunched down muscled thighs.

the first cut may be the deepest, but you highly doubt it’s as deep as seonghwa feels feeding his cock into your arse, stretching you apart to make way for him. a part of you feels like it can’t breathe, impaled on both these men who sit so deep inside you, you fear you’ll feel the ghost of their touch for weeks to come.

but what does it matter, really, when seonghwa pulls you back against him and whispers filth against your ear?

this is all you’re good for. cock-drunk whore. gonna let us cum inside?

and san’s coaxing you down to trail his mouth over your chest, the tongue flicking over your nipple a terrible juxtapose to his crooning words?

taking it so well, baby. so tight, and perfect, and god. ‘s that what baby needs, huh, for me to touch her little clit?

the two men find a rhythm, a synchronised routine to how they pull and push you around. their thrusts ebb and flow, no moment existing where you sit empty. they treat your body like they treat the pool, swimming through your waves of pleasure and effortlessly advancing to the finishing line, the winning stroke. then, san’s hand meets your cheek and your thoughts are dragged underwater, muffling the sounds of everyone else- the shlickt sound that echoes with each inch of cock fucked into you, the high-pitched whimpers of a fucked out wooyoung, the slapping of skin against skin- as he pulls you in for a kiss.

it’s a hungry one, all teeth and tongue and swollen lips. you pull away more breathless than before and fighting back a big dopey grin, toes curling as the swell of one of their cocks hits a nice spot inside you, body too on fire to know just exactly where the new wave of heat is coming from.

“h-how d’you do it, hm?” it’s almost a whisper, something meant only for your ears, yet you hear him loud and clear, voice stuttering off in a mess of whines and moans. “still got that pretty-girl smile, even while getting fucked silly.”

it almost makes you shy, till you remember what you’re doing and who you’re doing it with. you settle for a quick, short answer. mostly because you fear you’re losing the ability to think in full-sentences, much less speak one out loud. “can multitask.”

like your own words are the key to pandora’s box, your eyes widen, and your mouth dries, and your heart reels as a new desire burrows itself somewhere between the parts of you owned by san and the parts owned by seonghwa. the desire makes room for more, for someone more, and, without much chance for second-thoughts or hesitation, you find what little stability you can manage with one hand pressing down onto san’s toned chest and reach forward with your free hand.

fingers, light as a feather, curl around wooyoung’s solid shaft. the man’s hips stutter at the unexpected contact, eyes flying open to glance down in time to watch you reach out your tongue, licking up the droplets of precum that threaten to spill from his mushroomed tip.

“please, god, please!” he’s beyond the point of sense, poor baby, struggling to keep up with yunho’s hips’ repeated slamming into his tight ass. so, you can’t really blame him or shame him for the way he hastily rips his hand through your hair, tugging your mouth as far down his cock as the angle allows.

a few hairs rip from your skull in his grip. you reward him with a pleasant hum, moans muffled with the mouth-full he’s providing you.

“shit- look at that,” seonghwa pipes up from behind you, the motion of his hips never faulting or failing as he continues to take part in the filthiest three-way tango known to man, hands bouncing you down to meet each raise of san’s hips, plundering the other man’s cock deep, deep, deep, till he’s kissing your cervix and you’re seeing stars before your eyes. “should cup youngie’s- fucking christ- his balls, san, cup ‘em.”

you’re vaguely aware of his compliance, hand lifting off whatever part of you it was touching- your nipple, your hip, your jaw, it’s hard to tell when you feel like san’s everywhere, all over you, part of you- to graze the set of well-groomed spheres that threaten to slap your chin each time wooyoung thrusts forward.

barely two seconds, hardly any pressure against them, and the youngest of the four is nearly in tears, wailing and begging over broken whines that it’s too much, can’t take it, don’t stop.

there’s a ringing in your ear. because everything is becoming too much: wooyoung in your mouth, san rutting up into you and seonghwa’s hands clawing and pulling your body back into each of his overpowered thrusts. the boy in front of you is the first to fall apart, twitching in your mouth and, without a warning, choking you on the cum he shoots down your throat. a hand pulls you back, just enough to paint your face in the final drops released from wooyoung.

one of the other men is next, a string of curses and grunts filling the air. there’s a new stickiness between your legs, gooey white staining your skin. it’s all building up, and up, and up, until you topple over and are sent reeling into wave after wave of blinding pressure, toes cramping up and muscles spasming as you shoot off into another astral field, creaming around san and chocking seonghwa’s cock.

you don’t register the release of your hips nor the crash-down of your body. one moment, you’re pressed back against seonghwa, mouth dropped open in a silent scream for merciless pleasure, and the next you’re cradled in san’s warm embrace, a crooning tone to the way he hushes and calms you, unheard i got yous, and did so good for us, babys, and just let me hold yous falling on deaf ears.

for a moment in your own history, time ceases to exist.

there’s no ticking of the large clock on the wall, reminding you of how long ago your shift had ended. there’s no thoughts of your plant friend drying out in the staleness of your room, desperately awaiting you to revive it with some h2o. there’s no consequences awaiting your actions, no shame to be feared and leaving you unable to look any of the four swimmers in the eye ever again.

instead of being crashed against choi san’s body, a mixture of his, yours, and several other people’s bodily fluids serving as the adhesive that keeps you stuck together in your mess, you’re floating in space, not quite alive but not quite dead, just there.

nerves tingling, body aching, mind switched off.

four, or five, or ten, maybe even fifteen minutes pass by the time you regain focus on your surroundings.

your name, whispered. it’s his voice that pulls you back, sweet and soft and oh so like the san you’re used to, the one that sends teasing winks your way when your eyes happen to meet his in class, and the one who has the prettiest notes you’ve ever seen, a colour-scheme for his every highlight and the cutest of doodles to go along with the topic on the paper.

the one who’s hand is currently brushing through your hair, fingers careful as they catch on the tangles near the split ends.

“hmm,” you swear you want to say his name, say more than that, but there’s an ache in your jaw that hinders you from even attempting, your voice-box likely having taken a beaten in the throws of your pleasured moans.

“you okay there?” he giggles over the end of the sentence, and you feel your slowing heartbeat stutter at the sound.

he feels you nod into the crook of his neck and lets his free hand find perch against your hip, moments before giving it a light squeeze.

he’s warm, and pleasant, and soft.

and moving you both into an up-right position, hands splaying flat against your back and keeping you secure against him, your legs wrapping around his slender waist. you drift off again, between time and space, and come to at the first drop of water that lands on your back.

one drop, two drops, and then a downpour of heat crashing onto both of you.

you can tell from the colour of the pinkish tiles along the communal shower floor that you’re in the women’s changing room, and mentally note to thank him, even if he’s not aware, for bringing you somewhere you won’t have to shamefully stumble out of in the nude, your change of clothes safely tucked away within one of the lockers.

“i’m gonna put you down now, okay?” he speaks so gently that it overwhelms you, answering him only with an affirmative nod of your head.

neither of you speak while he lathers shampoo into your hair, nor when he’s dragging his soap covered hands over the cum that stains your skin, wiping it away and leaving nothing but suds where the liquid once was. he doesn’t speak while covering your eyes with his hands, blocking the sting of the shampoo. you don’t speak when you inch closer, head falling forward to rest against his chest.

when he does eventually speak again, both of your fingertips are wrinkled and bodies are clean, the water of the shower serving as nothing but a way to keep warm.

“you’re, uh, not” the echo of his voice in the empty lockers feels so much more intimate than how his cries sounded by the pool. “doing anything on wednesday, right?”

too lazy to move, you angle your face to stare up at him from his chest and take a moment to just stare, look at the way his hair is sticking to his forehead, at the way his eyes are back to being wide, at the way the marks you’d littered along his neck are becoming more prominent.

“how’d you know?” your question confirms his own, and a tenseness you’d not noticed melts off of his shoulders.

“wednesday is race day. you never work race days.”

it’s such an odd detail to have noticed, and it’s making you question everything you thought you knew about your relationship with san. do acquaintances remember each other’s schedules? do acquaintances bring each other soothing teas when they notice the other developing flu symptoms? do acquaintances waste time pulling faces at each other in lectures they should probably be paying attention to.

“i’m not taking part in the race this time, by choice. my grades are good enough, don’t need to worry about winning some championship to keep my education.” san is speaking unpromptly at this point, rambling in a way you’ve only seen him do when he’s nervous, or excited, or both. “it’s okay if you don’t want to, or you have better things to do or places to be! but, i was just thinking, maybe you’d wanna spend some time with me? there’s this medieval market down on main-street, it’s meant to be really cool, and i just think it would be even cooler to go with you? but, again, you don’t have to. forget it, actually, i’m being stupid and assuming you’re not doing something with your friends or your-”

the kiss you interrupt him with is far more innocent than the one you shared earlier, no hands rushing to touch and tongues desperate to taste, just two sets of lips moving as one.

you pull back and he chases after you, lips landing another peck before you’re grasping his cheek in your hold and forcing him back.

“i think you could have asked me to come help clean your apartment for you and i’d still say yes, just to spend my day with you,” you say, and he smiles as if on instinct, unable to stop it even if he tried.

“really?”

“really.”

“good, cause i already bought us two tickets and i really didn’t wanna have to go alone.” there’s drops of water dancing on his eyelashes, and laziness in his every movement, and you’re both still very much naked, but none of that seems to matter when he gives you another peck, like he’s awakened an addiction and your lips are now his favourite vice. “but, now that you mention it, my apartment could do with some cleaning. and i bet you’d look amazing in a maid outfit.”

a slap echoes in the showers.

“hey! don’t worry, i’ll be wearing a matching one!”

#ateez smut #park seonghwa smut #jeong yunho smut #choi san smut #jung wooyoung smut #ateez oneshot

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shinjisdone · 10 months

Text

How I Imagine TWST Could Be If There Was A Female!MC

Had a bad day yesterday and just wanted to write some brainrot for myself

TW: MC/Reader is solely female here and will be main point talked about/focused on. Many mentions on bullying because you are a girl in an all-boys-academy.

Little differences/somethings there would be I think if MC was female:

Since NRC is an all-boys-academy I think there might be some differences on how the MC might be treated.

Let's just pretend you are really the only girl there, for simplicity's sake.

Grim might feel indifferent OR is stupid enough to not get why being a girl in an all-boys-academy might be a big deal for everyone.

Crowley might go HMMMM how UnusUAL, I'm sure my schOOL isn't miXED....HMMMMM...pondering very deeply.

Oh, well. Who cares. Do his chores anyway.

Would give you the usual school uniform, might ask if you'd like a skirt or even maybe dig up some old skirts. Who knows, maybe NRC used to be mixed.

If you do want that, he'd make you -PSYCH! Of COURSE he'd tell Sam to buy you one. Size and length as well as style can be chosen by you, it just needs to fit with the rest of the uniform.

When barging into the ceremony I believe everyone would be too startled/beside themselves to notice. Grim is the nuisance having to be dealt with.

If there is anything you specifically need...Crowley will just throw it your way.

On your first day Ace might need a second to realize you are a girl. Uh, not only do you not know who the Great Sevens are but you are at the wrong school, too, idiot! Haha! What's a girlie doing here?

Shenanigans happen quickly and Deuce comes to the rescue!

Needs much longer to realize you are a girl. You speak your thanks and as he says it's no problem he - suddenly - clams - up. Oh. Oh. You...g-g-g-girl...? Female....? A womf...?

Blushes like crazy and can't get a peep out, still as a statue. Ace's yelling is what snaps him out of it.

When Ace asks you if he could stay the night since...he got cuffed...you are first like - hmmm. Hmmm.

ಠಿ_ಠ

Nah, nah, nah! It ain't like that! He's gonna sleep on the couch in the lounge! There is no other place and Ramshakle is as good as abandonded anyway. What, you just want some cat as company?

...What do u mean here are ghosts ಠ_ಠ

Trey would be like, oh. Hello. Um, well, I didn't expect you here.

Well, if the headmaster says so, please, feel welcome! Anyone and everyone is welcome to a tea party! (well, if it aligns with the rules...)

Cater might be more surprised. You are so cute! Like, don't take it the wrong way but he just...finds you cute! From the way you make your hair to how you get a unique outfit (if you choose to wear an uniform skirt), oh he wishes he could do it too! Unfortunately, he can't cuz well, uniform is UNIform...

Riddle is too preoccupied and pissy to even notice a new person in the room. He'd probably only notice you after his overblot is over.

Cue in a few days later and he comes to apologize and properly introduce himself. As you introduce yourself back he makes the silent note that you are actually a girl. Huh. This school is not mixed...and you being here certainly must break a rule somewhere...but...you don't seem so bad, so he'll just ignore it. He is the dormleader of Heartslabyul, not of the entirety of NRC.

All in all: Ace barely cares that you are a girl and would just throw his usual jokes and jabs. Would sometimes throw in some that have to do with you being female but those are never in ill will.

Deuce my beloved would at the beginning be very shy but grows used to you and proclaim you as his best friend anyway. Would sometimes forget you are a girl and catch himself in the act. Might feel sheepish or EXTREMELY embarrassed. When the topic of you being female comes up anywhere, no matter with whom, he gets flustered and shy regardless of how close you are.

Trey is the most indifferent but throws in some protective advice anyhow. As your senior and you as his junior, he has to look out for you and he takes you being the only girl in an all-boys-school in account as well while doing so.

Cater annooooooys you to hell and back about how cute you are. He just thinks girls have much more variety when it comes to styling and likes to show you new trends. He has sisters as well so he is more used hanging around girls, anyway.

Riddle is also indifferent but he catches himself often in situations where he focuses intently on you being female. Do you feel comfortable? Is anyone bullying you? That behaviour is unacceptable, so do tell him when something like that happens. Riddle tries to grow from his flaws but will gladly cuff someone's head for that anyday... Would also act more gentlemanly for you. Opens doors, tells Ace and Deuce to hold your books can't you see they are heavy, invites you over to tea parties and takes out the chair for you. A bit more reliant with you when it comes to rule-breaking.

Savanclaw issssss...a bit more attentive of you being female.

Jack is a million times x 100000 more protective of you. You are the only girl here and people here kinda suck are like twisted villains. What are you doing here?!

He has little siblings so he somewhat sees you as his third one (if you'd like that. Though he would never admit that...) and just asks and asks and asks if you are okay, if you need something.

Will walk you from class to your dorm or anywhere else you need to be even if he doesn't, no matter what.

10000000% tsundere. He's...not doing this cuz he's worried...or likes to take care of you.

Ruggie is confused??? On what??? you??? are??? doing here???

UH this is not a mixed school!!! Helloooo??? Does something go 'ding ding ding'! in your head or what?

Also protective, mostly because of his own siblings and that he thinks you are naive. People that are different in any regard are unfortunately easy targets for others. This school won't be easy for you he already knows. So he might as well help out instead of being another troublemaker for you.

While he helps out he is also kinda wary of you??? Women in his home are uh, intimidating and if you have been doing good so far, you surely are, well, at least something that he doesn't want to mess with. Better stay on your good side, even IF you are a more gentle and meek one.

Leona issss....weird?

Makes fun of you but makes sure you aren't messed with at the same time? Tsundere that drank respect women juice.

Don't hang around him, don't bother him...but also stay out of trouble, if someone bothers you, tell them Leona sent you.

Softer around you and while he does tease you, he never really disrespects you. Distant but not cold.

Azul is intriguied but perhaps wouldn't care too much - unless he can make a deal out of this.

Aren't you tired getting all of this attention? You are magicless and the only girl to boot! Azul can help you...just sign here.

Might try to win your favor by being a suck-up gentleman by calling you Miss (Name). How are you today? Need any help?

Only if you can offer anything useful to him. Like, no offense but you're magicless...and unfortunately not as stupid as ADeuce.

Besides, his gentlemanly acts aren't as genuine as Riddle's.

Floyd has a 50/50 chance of not caring a bit or straight up interested in you because you are female.

Either: Huh? So what, you are just another plankton.

Or: Huh? A fishie swimming against the stream? What's a girl doing here?

However, if you are not interesting enough expect his interest to go down the drain.

If you heavily react to being picked on because you are girl, don't show it. Otherwise Floyd will exploit it like crazy. Will mention how lonely it might be to be the only girl, will pull on your hair, might switch between Shrimpy and Miss Shrimpy or straight up call you girlie or lassie. Kind of a bully but likes you nonethless if you are interesting.

Jade will increase his gentlemanly behaviour 100%!

Is more intrigued by you than Floyd. Oya, oya, what do we have here?

More keen on calling you miss or whatever you prefer and treats you quite nicely, almost like a princess, especially if you are regular at Monstro Longue.

Just as teasing as his brother but more consistent with it. Likes to mess with you but acts less roudy than Floyd but there is still...a certain air to him that makes him even more unbearable than his twin. A weird mix of looking down at you and treating you like you are special.

KALIIMMMM

A good boy 100%. Stupid enough or rather oblivious to notice that you are indeed the only girl here!

Nothing would change to how he treats you honestly. A good guy, a real champ. Is definitely gonna give you nicknames however if you are sweet to him, ending your name with the honorific '-chan' and you cannot convince me otherwise.

Can be very stupid about how your situation might affect you. Treats it like nothing's wrong, cuz there IS nothing wrong!

JAMILLLL

Kinda confused as well? Well, you've been here long enough and are surrounded by good friends so he takes it you are or will be fine.

Still, be careful, okay? There are some meanies out here...he's not saying it out of worry, it is common sense.

Might keep an extra eye out for you but if nothing happens, he'll stop. His priority is Kalim and if you are okay, then everything else is okay, too.

Will tell Kalim to stop being so unaware of your situation. Show a bit of decency, try to see it from her perspective. You are magicless as well so things are sure to be difficult.

Might also ask Ace on how you are doing to get a third party's perspective of things during basketball training. Just as pre-information, nothing more...

Will definietly not ask Floyd. He knows how he is and if the topic turns to be about you and he hears it, he gets all "Heeee, you're talkin' about Shrimpy????"

It's annoying. It's even more annoying how much Floyd wants to annoy you.

Might think of his sister when he sees you and remembers to write to her a bit more frequently.

Epel: "Wait, you are a girl for real?! I thought yer just looked like one, like me! ...O-Or pretended to be one, maybe, I think..."

Squints his eyes reaaaal hard to really identify you. You sure you're a girl? And not just...a pretty boy like him?

Hm, ah shucks. Kinda hoped he might find another cursed soul like him. Well, at least you get it when people treat you a certain way just because of your looks.

Might have an easier time to show you his true self when speaking since you might either see through him easily or because he just knows he doesn't need to pretend in front of you.

He has a feeling you get it.

And when you agree and tell him how cool he is? Aquired yourself immediately a fierce friend (or crush, he kinda liked it when you called him cool...)

Hell, yeah, you get it!

Does actively NOT treat you with you being female in mind. You're one of the boyz. Doesn't want you to feel any different or casted out.

Got your back like crazy. He finds himself feeling more confident around you and will defend you like nothing else. So what if you are a magicless girl?! You're hella cool yourself!

Will call you cool and not cute, even if it isn't accurate.

The most annoying for sure is Rook.

The guy is a romantic at heart and believes it is fate that you came here.

You aren't an outcast! No, you are like a chosen hero! A princess around 22 twisted villains~ How exciting! Doesn't it make your heart beat faster?!

'Mademoiselle' is thrown at you constantlyyyy. The moment you hear the word you know Rook is around the corner, watching you. Weirdly nice and romantic towards you. He truly does believe you being in NRC is something special. He cannot help but gush about it!

When it comes to special events, he offers to prepare you for it with outfits or make-up. He's creative and sees you as his canvas and believes that no matter will be done or not, you will look beautiful! 100 points!

Vil is *sucks in breath* quick to criticize.

Doesn't truly care...but if you show the slightest bit of interest in fashion and beauty, hooh boy will he be watching.

Means to help but is, uh...mean. So, so, so mean.

But other than that...I don't think he'd care? HE is the fairest of them all...and you are just a potato.

Huh? Oh no, is this some shojo manga and you are the heroine getting a reverse harem or somethin'?

Idia is...weirded out but as long as he doesn't have to deal with you, he'll be fine.

Until you start getting involved in these overblots and...everything turns out okay? Like in a happy ending of a fairytale?

OMG are you a heroine?

No, he doesn't wanna be part of your harem!

Maaaaybe a bit more shy but just maybe. Will avoid you just as he does to everyone.

When in a good and braver mood, will call you 'heroine' when some 'anime shenanigans' happen as he calls them. If you're confused, will scream internally out of embarassment but also HOW COULD U NOT KNOW THAT TERM U NORMIE

Might call you that more often to mess with you.

Orhto kinda...won't care?

Probably scans you on your first meeting and goes 'yep, indeed f for female'.

As long as you are nice to his brother, all is good. Hey, be his friend too, while you're add it! Pretty please?

Malleus wouldn't care either. You being a magicless girl in NRC is quite curious and he will ask you about that...but no matter what your answer might be, he will listen, maybe take it to heart and set it aside, here and there. He doesn't care much for it.

As long as your bravery and willingness to be his friend remains, he won't ever make a fuss about it. Just be you.

During your meeting he might ask, "Oh? Are you perhaps a witch with a fitting black cat living here now in this abandonded house with a few ghostly roommates? Heh, I jest."

No matter what, you will still be his Child of Man.

If you do end up having trouble in school because you are a girl, he might go to Lilia for advice. He never had to deal with something like this before...shall he burn these bullies to crisps for making you school life difficult?

Lilia secretly agrees but tells him not to.

Other than that, same old Tsunotarou.

Lilia would go like "oh!" and that's it.

Curious, this is unusual for NRC but he is always happy and excited when changes happen.

Like the old man that he is he offers you his advice and help in anything. Even if he is an ancient fae, he is also your senior, so go ahead and ask him, alright?

Will also call you something endearing like Kalim and Rook. Adds the honorific '-chan' to you, definitely.

Very glad you are Malleus' friend, for that you automatically earned his protection. Just call when something's up, k?

Silver first needs to wake up.

huh????? zzz...

Wait, let him wake up...

Still a bit more.

There we go. Now that he is fully awake he realizes you are a girl.

Still somewhat in his dream lands, might wake up and say, "Wait, I didn't dream about a princess...or did I?" when he sees you.

Sometimes he does not fully realize its you when he freshly woke up. Needs to blink away the weariness before he goes "oh."

A tad bit more worried about you than his old man. Anything could happen and while you are in good hands not Crowley Silver sometimes tends to think about your happiness and safety here at NRC. You doing okay with the lessons? The teachers? The classmates? He's willing to offer his protection too, you know.

Perhaps its a knight thing to protect the maidens or smth, i dunno.

HUMAAAN!!!

WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?! THIS IS N R C, SILLY! AN ALL-BOYS-ACADEMY! THERE'S NO 'F' IN THAT!

BUT THERE WILL BE ON YOUR MARKS SINCE YOU SUCK SO MUCH!

A meanie, especially at the beginning since he doesn't believe you belong here.

Magicless at a magic school? Failure.

Female at an all-boys-school? Unaccaptable.

nOT WaKA-SAmA????? A DISGRACE

He will warm up to you though...it takes time. Protective as Silver but not as subtle.

Idiot will scream HOW OF COURSE YOU NEED HIS HELP YOU ARE THE ONLY GIRL HERE! HOW MANY HAVE ALREADY MOCKED YOU, HUH?! CUZ HE CAN PROBABLY COUNT HOW MANY TIMES BUT WOULD NEED 20 HANDS FOR THAT!

Means well but...obnoxious.

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #f!reader #f!mc #twst headcanons #smth silly #smth stupid #my days have been hell i need this #twst x f!reader

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wri0thesley · 7 months

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lion tamer - jing yuan x reader (12.4k)

it's taken for granted you'll take the job that nobody else wants, whilst the general is indisposed. you just didn't expect things to turn out like this.

cw: not sfw, minors dni. chubby reader. reader is afab but no gendered terms are used. descriptions of raw meat (animals eating), food, pining, fingering, cunnilingus, coming inside. pet names including little bird, darling, little thing. reader is implied to be shorter than jing yuan.

This was a commissioned work.

It’s a quiet whisper, at first - gossip among the lower-downs of the Luofu. You hear it on the fringes and the edges, but you dismiss it as really none of your business; you’re already working harder than most everyone else thanks to the small matter of your far shorter lifespan, and you don’t intend to set yourself back by listening to idle gossip. You have other things to concentrate on; the busywork that you’ve been assigned to as a junior (very junior) member of the Seat of Divine Foresight.

Really, though they call you a ‘non-administrative support specialist’, you know what you really are; a general dogsbody, somebody to pick up all of the pieces that others sweep by. Still; just getting a position here means you’ve outdone most people, and you hold in your heart the idea that you could get even further up this ladder of success if you simply tried hard enough. You’ve heard tell that even some of the long-life species haven’t managed to make it as far as actually working within the Seat itself, so really . . . you can’t help but feel a little proud of yourself.

Which is why you choose to ignore the swirling rumour about your esteemed Arbiter-General until you’re called into a meeting with Yong Hai himself.

(The General is sick, the rumours say. The General may not last another day. The General’s laziness has caught up with him, the General may not make it, and what will we all do then--)

“So,” Yong Hai says, all business. “You’ve probably heard about it already.”

There’s a flare of disquiet in your gut; that the gossip and the rumours you’ve been so steadfastly avoiding are true. You don’t know what the Luofu would do with General Jing Yuan; you cannot imagine the ship and the world without him, when he has been such a stolid presence - and the way that the general public will react doesn’t bear thinking about--

“Stop that,” Yong Hai says, with an amused look in his eye even as he fights to keep his mouth in a firm, commanding line. “It’s not as bad as people are saying. The General has simply . . . contracted something that he isn’t bouncing back as quickly from as we’d hoped. We’ve had to send him off to the Alchemy Commission for a few days, just to see if we can work out how to help . . .” The secretary catches himself, clearly remembering he’s talking to someone who amounts to little more than custodial staff. He coughs. “Anyway. It’s left us in a bit of a conundrum, and after some discussion, we think you’re qualified to handle it.”

You tilt your head to the side as you try and think what you could possibly do to assist in this matter.

You’re no healer; you’re no nurse. You can’t help them figure out how to cure the General, you’re not equipped to sit at his bedside and mop his feverish brow (your cheeks go hot and your face burns at the very thought of it). You certainly can’t take over any of Jing Yuan’s actual duties. The idea of you as any kind of military strategist is laughable--

“How can I help, Sir?” You ask, partly because that is what’s expected of you and partly because you really have no idea what use you’ll be in the situation.

“Ah,” he says, and then he coughs again - he looks into the corner of the room, as if he’s begging someone to help him, and you remember that he and his sister are most often found together. But here, it’s just the two of you, and he has nobody to help him to break whatever news he’s going to break to you. You hope it’s not going to involve cleaning up a sick-room; you’re really not good with that kind of thing--

“We need somebody to tend to his home affairs,” Yong Hai says, eventually. “He . . . Ah, look, I’m going to come out and say it. General Jing Yuan has a penchant for taking in stray animals and the like, and he only even agreed to let himself be looked at on the caveat we had to promise to find someone to look after them.”

You think of the statues of lions that decorate the place, and you feel a trickle of cold sweat down the back of your spine. You hope desperately that the secretary isn’t implying that you’re about to quite literally be fed to the lions--

“Stop looking like that!” He says, exasperated. “All of them are perfectly tame, and you’ll be in no danger. He has a . . . lion that he’s incredibly fond of. Several birds. And . . . ah,” he looks embarrassed again. “He’s informed us he usually leaves out a veritable feast for any other neighbourhood strays on his balcony, and he was very worried that they weren’t going to be properly nourished whilst he was away.”

Finches. You can do that. Neighbourhood strays - cats and dogs, you suppose - are all very well. But the lion . . .

That doesn’t matter. Yong Hai seems to have reached the end of his meeting with you, to his tangible relief. He’s already bustling about his desk and looking longingly towards the closed door.

“A new schedule’s been drawn up for you and sent to you already,” he says. “All of the relevant information should be in the attachments! Have fun, won’t you? The General is so very fond of his pets, you see--”

Your phone beeps as if it is punctuating his point; the secretary beams at you, and you get the distinct impression you are being told to put your best foot forward and roll with the punches. ‘Get on with it’, as someone without any manners might say.

“Understood,” you say, and you force yourself to smile and look on the bright side of things even if you’re sure you’re going to have nightmares about being eaten alive by a lion tonight. This is a post that the General wanted filled personally! This is almost as personal as someone can get to the General, actually; it appears you’ll be working in his actual home! It’s a . . . a step up! A stepping stone!

You force yourself to ignore that it is actually very much a case of sticking the lowest ranked person (and someone well-known for taking on as much as they can with cheerful aplomb, due to your fear of ever really saying ‘no’) onto the job that nobody else wants to do.

“I’ll do my best,” you say, and Yong Hai beams at you even as he gestures for you to go and get to grips with your new role.

Well.

You have no other choice then, really, but to Get On With It.

You are quite frankly terrified the next day, when you turn up to your newest duty. The documents sent to you had instructed you to pick up raw meat for the lion from the General’s most trusted supplier before you went up to his chambers; apparently, birdseed and cat-and-dog food was kept there, but the lion’s appetite could not so easily be sated. You have to give yourself a pep-talk before all of it; have to convince yourself that running away from this new responsibility would be both awful for your career prospects and terribly cruel.

“Ah,” says the supplier, when you turn up and tremulously hand over your phone so he can see the attachments displayed on the screen giving you this new Meat Power, “So you’re looking after the waifs and strays and Mimi, then?”

“Mimi?” You ask, your voice tremulous, and he laughs as he hands over two incredibly full buckets of raw meat. It’s a good job you’re not squeamish.

“That’s the lion,” he says. “The General tried to name her Snow Lion after he realised she wasn’t just going to be a pretty little white housecat, but . . . Mimi fits. You’ll see!”

The concept of Jing Yuan attempting to adopt a pretty little white house cat and being saddled instead with a huge lion, and having to continue to refer to the powerful beast as ‘Mimi’ despite his best efforts, keeps you entertained right up until you’re outside the door to the General’s chambers and you remember that a carnivorous predator awaits you on the other side of it.

“Well,” you say to yourself, hoisting the buckets up and taking a deep breath, “there’s no point delaying the inevitable. If I get eaten today . . .”

And you let the pass-key you’ve been given float against the sensor, until the ornate doors to Jing Yuan’s chambers slowly part and admit you into the Arbiter-General’s inner sanctum.

The first thing that you’re struck by is how it seems that the General left in a rush. The entire place, whilst not dirty, has an air of untidiness. You hear the cheeping of finches from the first room; excitement that their Master may have finally returned to play with them. You can’t help but feel sorry for them - from what Yong Hai has said, it may be quite a while before Jing Yuan is well enough to return to his home.

There are touches of the General everywhere, now that you’re looking. Delicate flowers (you’ve heard he likes small, delicate things, and you can’t help the nervous tug at your clothing as you consider just how indelicate you find yourself). Ceramics and porcelain that you fear are so fragile they may shatter even under your gaze. An unfinished game of star chess, a coffee cup left half-drunk . . . That last one could fetch a fine price in the black market. You’ve heard those traders hawking ‘tissues used by Helm Master Yukong’ or even ‘a book enjoyed by General Jing Yuan’s protege!’.

Before your mind can lead you too far down that dangerous path, though, the lady of the hour appears.

She’s beautiful.

You have to stop yourself gasping aloud. Any fears you might have had seem to fall to the wayside, unimportant, compared to the majesty of the lion before you; the pure white fur, the wise face, the mane that fluffs out from her. She’s pure white; lean, but perhaps with a little pouch at the tummy. Not a single snarl or tangle mars her fur, not a single speck of dirt upon her, like the false moon looking down upon the Luofu--

She sees that you’re holding two big buckets and seems to recognise them, because it’s barely a breath before her ears twitch and she pounces like a kitten, seemingly not realising that you are smaller than her owner and she is far larger than the average kitten is. All of the wind is knocked out of you as you cry out her name and are tackled to the ground.

You find yourself beneath the warmth of her body, a sweet scent emanating from her fur as if the esteemed General regularly bathes and shampoos her. Delighted, she sticks her snout right into one of the buckets. A low, pleased rumble emits from her throat as she works her teeth over the meat--

You reach up, hesitantly, with the one arm that isn’t pinned by the great weight of her. Your fingers hover for a moment, unsure of what to do - is she like a cat? Does she prefer chin scratches or ear scratches?

You settle for a very light pet at the side of her mane, just by her face. Her fur is just as soft as you had thought she would be - a lady who is clearly incredibly spoilt. Well-cared for. You have another flash of a vision of Jing Yuan - combing her mane, tying a shiny ribbon about her neck to match the ribbon he wears in his own hair.

Mimi pauses in her enjoyment of the food. Your breath catches in your throat, all of your senses on a sudden high alert - what if she didn’t like being touched like that? What if she’s about to mistake your hand for a part of the buffet you’ve brought her?

A moment that seems like an hour passes.

And then she leans into your hand with a pleased rumble-squeak-growl, her eyes closing in pleasure, and despite how your heart is beating and your legs are aching from the way she’s twisted them and trapped them beneath her . . . you smile.

For the first week, every time you let yourself into Jing Yuan’s space, you are alone aside from the animals he keeps there. Mimi launches herself at you, but you’ve learnt to sidestep and laugh and ruffle her mane, offering her choice little tidbits to curl up and gnaw on her food whilst you see to the strays that congregate on Jing Yuan’s balcony. They had taken a little longer to warm to you, but after the second day when it became clear if they wanted the same food Jing Yuan usually prepared they would have to come to you, they had thawed considerably. You leave them to their devices, and finish off with the finches.

They hop from place to place in their cage, cheeping brightly. Sometimes they hop onto your finger or your shoulder, looking at you like you’re the most wonderful being in the universe. Once one had hopped onto your head and you’d stayed stock-still for five minutes, afraid of disturbing it.

After all of the pets and animals are fed, you’ve gotten into the habit of sitting with them for a little while. Curling around Mimi and stroking her mane and her tail (you’ve braided it, actually, and told her how pretty she looks with little red ribbons in her fur as she blinked at you her slow, lazy blinks). Listening to birdsong. Letting the strays rub about your feet and imagining the Arbiter-General himself doing all of these mundane tasks.

It’s strange, to think of him as so . . . so much a real person. General Jing Yuan has always seemed a man of mystery and just a touch of romance to you; a long life species who has outlived almost everyone he’s ever worked with, who has steered the Luofu into glories and battled bravely and heroically against Abundance abominations for longer than you’ve been alive. The first time you’d met him, when you’d gotten your place at the Seat of Divine Foresight (before you’d quite found out how meagre your duties really were), you’d been utterly tongue-tied.

He’d been charming, naturally. Smiling and charismatic and low and pleasant-voiced, saying how glad he was to have you aboard and how he hoped you would enjoy your time here. There’d been, perhaps, a flash of sadness in his eye at the knowledge you were a short-life species-- but you’d quickly tried to dispel that notion, scolding yourself for your own romanticism. Jing Yuan is your colleague, your boss - better to not harbour such idealism, to make him into a storybook character instead of a man.

Still. It’s rather hard to imagine him out of breath, puffing and wheezing, after pulling the bucket Mimi had gotten her paw stuck in off of the silly lion’s foreleg before she sent herself into a panic.

You think that the menagerie that he keeps in his private quarters have grown fond of you in turn. The task that everyone had seemed to find so onerous quickly becomes one of your favourite parts of the day; there is something to be said about the healing properties to the soul of having a lion roll over to show you her tummy and wiggle enticingly until you give in to her and give her all of the rubs and tickles that she so clearly desires.

So for about a week and a half, everything chugs along; you fall into routine, and the animals recognise you in turn. They sometimes still crane their necks and heads hopefully around you to see if Jing Yuan is around (Mimi especially occasionally looks dejected at his absence, though her ears perk up once again as soon as she remembers the buckets you come bearing are filled with delicious morsels for her), but when it is just you they still seem somewhat satisfied.

Nobody gives you any warning that Jing Yuan has returned to his own rooms.

Which is why you walk into the main room with your buckets swinging on your arms, singing a silly little song you’ve composed for Mimi about how the meat is soon to be ‘delicious and yummy’ in her ‘full-up-tummy’, you’re so surprised to hear a velvet soft chuckle floating from the big circular sofa in the centre of it that you almost drop all of those delicious-and-yummy steaks and thighs all over Jing Yuan’s ornately tiled floor.

You stare at the sofa, your cheeks going all-over hot, as a mass of blankets moves and shifts and a slightly ruffled pale head emerges from them.

The General himself.

It’s obvious, looking at him, that he hasn’t been feeling his best. His normally tied up hair falls over his face in unstyled sweeps, there are dark circles beneath his eyes and a sharpness to his cheekbones that you have never noticed before. Instead of the armour you have grown so used to seeing him clad in, he wears civilian clothes; a loose shirt that shows off the lines of his throat, his collarbone.

Despite all of that, though, he is still the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. Your heart still skips a beat. He takes you in for a moment, his face scrunched up as if he is not quite awake; and then, a small smile spreads over his handsome face.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he says, in that low, musical voice. “I’d like to know where the song has to go, after her tummy has been filled.”

“I’m so sorry,” you blurt out, awkward, nervous, unsure of what to say. “I-- nobody told me you’d be back, I can leave, I didn’t mean to--”

He holds up a lazy hand, the smile still on his face. His eyes are half-lidded, his overall look almost indulgent.

“Please,” he says. “I’m . . . better, but not fully recovered. I’ve been given strict instructions that I'm not to lift heavy objects or do anything more than relax for at least another week. I’d be much obliged - if it’s not too much trouble on top of your own duties, of course - if you could carry on seeing to my . . . what did they call it?” Another small, secret smile. “Ah yes. My little zoo.”

“I-if you’re sure . . .” You say, surprised to find when you say it aloud that you’re relieved. You truly have gotten attached to all of the animals, even in this short time.

Mimi butts your leg, impatient for her food, her huge paw petulantly tapping upon the floor. Jing Yuan laughs again, and you feel your stomach clench at the warm sound as it fills the room.

“Oh, she likes you,” he says, in delight. “I’ve never seen her be so patient with anyone but myself, you know.”

“She’s been friendly since I met her,” you reply, reaching down to scratch her behind her ears and to place the buckets somewhere she won’t make such a mess (though she’s actually a fairly fastidious eater, for someone with no thumbs; you suppose she’s so proud of her lovely white coat that she doesn’t want to risk staining it).

Jing Yuan hums in consideration, his smile not leaving his face, as he watches you pet Mimi and her affectionate head bump before she dives back into her food. As you move into the other sitting room - the one that the finches reside in - you hear more rustling, and as you gather the birdseed you’re surprised to see that Jing Yuan is following you, sloping afterwards determinedly. There’s a definite tilt to his walk - the walk of a man who’s been in bed for a week - and you can’t help but say something.

“Sh-should you be out of bed, General?” You wince at the slight admonishment in your tone, fearing he will think you’re scolding him - but Jing Yuan simply smiles.

“I need to check on my sweet little charges,” he says. “Come now. I’ve been in bed for days. Let me wander about my own rooms without worrying your pretty head too much about it, alright?”

It takes all of your grace not to turn into a pathetic, embarrassed mess at the easy way he says ‘your pretty head’ - somehow, you manage to keep your composure, keep some measure of poise, even as inside you feel yourself turn to mush.

He sits down upon a chaise by the birdcages as you reach in to fill the small bowls and scatter the feed, his eyes not leaving you for a second. He smiles when he sees a finch or two hop upon your hand to peck at the seeds and bits left in the crevices of your palm.

“A true animal whisperer,” he says, watching one of the more inquisitive finches hop up to your wrist and your forearm to tug teasingly at your elbow-length sleeves. “They’re not too fond of strangers, either.”

“I have been feeding them for a week, Sir,” you say to him, with a smile at the finch as you urge it off of your arm and back to the rest of its friends. “They’ve gotten used to me.”

He shakes his head, his hair falling about his shoulders, and you’re struck with the thought that he and Mimi even look similar. You’ve heard the old adage about how pet owners and their pets grow to look the same, of course, but you’d never realised quite how true it was until that moment and the sight of Jing Yuan doing a motion you’ve grown used to Mimi doing.

He follows, too, as you take food and water onto the balcony. As cats wind around first your ankles, and then his - as dogs wag their tails and lick at your hands.

“If I were a jealous man . . .” He says, laughing. “They must see something truly special in you.”

“Me?” You ask, aiming for a tinkly laugh but landing on ‘incredulous’. “No, they’re just sweet creatures. All of them are.”

He’s unerringly patient with the animals; his big hands tender as they scratch ears and tickle chins. Seeing the great General being so delicate makes your heart turn over in your chest; his big, scarred hands in direct opposition to the delicate bones and the soft fluff of all of the creatures that mass here.

“Don’t be so modest,” Jing Yuan says quietly in reply. “I’ve known some of these animals for years. If they didn’t think you were something special . . .”

Your cheeks are hot again. Somehow, in the course of this conversation, Jing Yuan has gotten closer and closer to you. Out here on the balcony, under the warm false sun of the Luofu, there’s nowhere for Jing Yuan to sit and watch - so he’s stood close to you. Close enough that you can see the warm gold amber of his gaze, the fan of his lashes, the mole high up beneath his eye. You swallow, and the sound is almost indecently loud even with the background mewls and barks and purrs.

“I’m glad that they found someone so able to do this for me,” he says, his voice still quiet. That single word, those single two syllables, somehow manage to be imbued with more meaning than you’d ever imagined they could be. “I’ll be looking forward to seeing you.”

“Just until you’re feeling a bit better,” you reply, cheeks still hot, throat still sore, heart still beating far too fast in your chest. You wonder what Jing Yuan is thinking as he looks down at you - if he has noticed your anxiety, the way that he seems to set you all aflutter. You hope he thinks it is merely because he is your superior, and not because it’s so very hard not to dwell on his looks and his warm voice and the surprisingly different persona that he shows when he’s doing this--

Jing Yuan is still smiling at you, from back on the sofa covered in his blankets with Mimi spread out protectively over his feet, as you foolishly wave goodbye and leave his chambers.

You get to witness Jing Yuan’s recovery firsthand. The first few days, he is still unsure of his own limbs; he still slowly lopes around the rooms. Once or twice, you come in to feed the animals and he stays wrapped within his blankets, Mimi only leaving his side to demand some cuddles and some meat from you.

Despite his illness, though, he always has time to talk to you. He always asks you how you are feeling, what you have been doing; he teases you for how the animals seem to recognise you just as well as him now. When one of the finches pecks at your cheek, he chuckles and says;

“Ah, wouldn’t we all like to give our little bird a kiss like that?”

You don’t know how to respond to that, ducking your head, muttering something unintelligible that wins another of his laughs. His words err on the edge of being flirtatious. Once or twice he compliments your outfit, your hair - how lovely you look today. You never know how to react to such things; you force yourself not to dwell on them, reminding yourself of Jing Yuan’s own looks and his position and trying to tell yourself not to get attached and that the General is merely trying to be polite.

One afternoon, he asks you to sit with him and have tea.

It would be rude of you to say no; not when he has placed two teacups before him, anticipating your acceptance, a plate of sweet treats in an amount that would be gluttonous even for him arranged with the tea service. So you try and gracefully position yourself across from him. You try and remember your manners as you take the cup by the handle, as you choose the least ornamented and sugary of the delicacies on offer--

(It’s hard not to remember being told not to indulge at all. You feel conscious of eating in front of him--)

“Have this one,” Jing Yuan says, as if he can read your mind, and he pushes towards you an intricately decorated little cake resplendent with sugar roses and ruffles. “It’s one of my favourites.”

Your mouth waters. You give him an embarrassed smile as he encourages you further, reaching over to pick it up himself and place it upon your plate instead of merely pushing it.

“Really?” You ask, trying to pick it up neatly. “It’s a bit more delicate than I thought you’d like. I suppose I imagined you liking things a little rougher--”

Your face goes hot as you realise what you just said, but Jing Yuan ignores the innuendo and simply smiles at you.

“Ah,” he says. “I like things that are . . . delicate. Smaller than me. So lovely to observe and enjoy, don’t you think?” His gaze doesn’t leave your face. You have never considered yourself delicate - the curves that you display have put an end to that - but under his eyes, you can’t help but think of the breadth of his shoulders and his height and think how a man like him could make even you feel small and breakable. “What do you think?”

The little cake is sweet on the tongue, flavoured with a hint of something you can’t quite name. Your eyes widen in surprise.

“It’s wonderful,” you tell him, swallowing the bite and enjoying how the taste lingers. “Truly.”

“I’m so glad you enjoyed it,” he says - and then, he reaches over the table. “You have something--”

You go stock-still, embarrassed and shocked at the intimacy of the gesture, as he uses his thumb to wipe a smudge of icing from the corner of your mouth. He keeps your gaze the whole time. It is something a lover does - it is not something you’d ever expected General Jing Yuan to do for you--

“There,” he says, returning to his cake as if nothing has happened. “It would be a terrible shame if I couldn’t see all of your lovely face, after all.”

He is always saying things like this; off-the-cuff remarks that, if he were not the General of the Xianzhou Luofu, you would interpret as being flirty. He mentions them when you have tea together, when he ropes you into playing a game of star chess (“Don’t think I will go easy on you because you are nice to look at,” he says, as he places the counters into their starting positions), when he watches you and Mimi and you and the finches and tells you that he cannot decide which is cuter.

You see him get gradually stronger and stronger. No more limping. He is almost always dressed, now. His hair no longer falls in shaggy waves about his face. His dark circles dissipate, his voice getting somehow even deeper and more velvety.

The unspoken reality that soon, Jing Yuan will be well and you will no longer have to take on this extra duty hangs over your head.

You find that the idea makes you feel sick. You are not only enjoying caring for the animals, now, but you’ve also started to look forward to seeing the General.

Well.

That’s not quite it.

You have to be honest with yourself, don’t you?

You’ve developed a crush on him.

You can’t imagine not seeing him. Not being greeted with Mimi’s butts and her batting paws; not hearing the pleased chirps of his finches whenever they see you. Not enjoying tea with him any more, simply existing in this lazy golden time when you do not have to think about work or his position above you or anything other than the four walls that surround you and the multiple hearts beating within it.

Jing Yuan brings it up first.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says, coughing one day after the two of you have played a game of star chess that you were thoroughly destroyed during. “Well. I’m sure you’ve noticed that I’m getting better.”

“I’m glad to see it, Sir,” you say, forcing a smile to your face even as your heart falls into the region of your feet. “We were all very worried about you. Everyone is always asking me how you are and when you’ll be returning to work--”

His face clouds, a flinch so quick you almost miss it.

“Yes,” he says, a mournful tone to his voice. “I’ll soon be returning to work.”

You tell yourself sternly not to cry. This was never supposed to be permanent.

“Then I suppose you won’t need me any longer,” you say, forcing a smile on your face. You are going to be gracious if it kills you.

“Ah,” Jing Yuan replies. “That’s what I’d like to talk to you about. I . . . we are all very fond of you, you see.” He motions to Mimi, who has come to curl beside you, her head laid against your knee. “I fear Mimi will riot if you were to stop bringing her all of those steaks, you understand. And who knows what she’d do, deprived of your song about her tummy?”

You squeak in embarrassment. Mimi lifts her head and gives you a slow, displeased look, much to Jing Yuan’s amusement.

“Well. I’m very aware that it’s not part of your duties, and I’d be willing of course to pay you more for all of the trouble, but--”

You see Jing Yuan falter for one of the first times; as if he is afraid that you are about to reject him outright. He coughs, trying to hide his anxiety, but it is an emotion you’re intimately familiar with and as such you recognise it for what it is.

“We’re all so very fond of you,” he repeats. “Won’t you keep coming?”

You barely leave a breath before you’re happily agreeing.

It’s not quite the same.

You knew it wouldn’t be; you knew that you wouldn’t see Jing Yuan anywhere near as often, as he resumed all of the many duties that the Arbiter-General has to take on. Despite how unenthused he had seemed to be returning to his work, you knew that Jing Yuan took his responsibilities terribly seriously).

Still.

You had thought you might see him more. Might still be able to drink a cup of tea with him, even if it could not be the same kind of slow, languid time the two of you had taken over it before. You’d thought that there’d still be time for a conversation or two.

The reality is that you almost never see the General now.

At work, your paths had crossed only rarely; now, hyper-aware of his presence, you realise that you see him almost never. Not at work, and not at his own home.

You’re still excited to see the animals - for the finches to happily chirp at you as if they’re telling you about their day. One of them rides about on your shoulder, now, even when you go out to feed the strays. You’re still excited to tell Mimi what a good girl she is and rub her tummy and play with her (she’s inordinately fond of ribbons and the chasing thereof, like an overgrown housecat).

But without Jing Yuan there . . .

There’s something missing.

You still do your duties as well as you can - Jing Yuan has negotiated a hefty raise for you, all things considered - but you can’t help sometimes leaving his home feeling a little empty at the lack of seeing the General. You can’t help being disconsolate as you think about him - as you remember his flirty little asides, the way he’d looked at you across the room, the smile that played across his mouth whenever he did. You know he couldn’t really be interested in you, that he was probably like that with most people - but a secret little flame cannot help but burn in your heart even so.

Days pass, quiet, lonely. You work, and feed the animals, and go home to your own empty quarters. You work, feed, go home, work, feed, go home--

Until one evening, when you’re just about to leave Jing Yuan’s chambers, when the door opens and the General appears. He looks a little red in the face; his breath comes in short little pants. You’ve never seen him so obviously flustered; usually, Jing Yuan fits perfectly up to his reputation as the Drowsy General.

“Are you alright?” You ask him, rushing over. You’re touching him before you’ve thought through consequences; finger hovering over his pulse point, reaching up to feel his forehead to make sure he’s not running a temperature. Through the panting, he looks at you and smiles.

“I’m afraid,” he says, still breathing heavily, his voice rasping. “I made up a little lie to be able to get back here on an errand that doesn’t really exist.”

“General,” you scold him. It’s not like him to shirk responsibilities. He laughs.

“Yes, yes, I know, little thing-- but I had to see you. I wanted to see you again.”

You think he’s misspoken.

“I have to get back,” he says, and he reaches down - his hands upon your cheek again. You don’t know how to reply, what to say, what is going on. All you know is that you are there, and Jing Yuan is there, and something is happening. Fizzing on the air is a promise that something is going to change. “But . . . I couldn’t-- I needed to finally--”

Jing Yuan kisses you.

It’s a kiss as messy and rushed as he is right now. A kiss that says that he has to hurry back, despite how much he doesn’t want to. You, unused to being kissed and even more unused to being kissed by handsome military leaders who feel a hundred times out of your league, do not kiss him back. He’s messy and wet, and his teeth clash against your lips as you stand there, feeling foolish and wrong-footed.

He realises you’re not kissing him back, and he stops - he draws back, his eyebrows furrowed. He opens his mouth to speak.

He’s going to say it was a mistake, you realise. He’s going to say he thought you were someone else, that he was carried away in the heat of the moment. You and Jing Yuan? No. It couldn’t be. It’s absurd, it’s silly, nobody could ever believe it - and yet.

And yet.

Your heart couldn’t take his rejection.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out - and you push past him and out of the door and back towards the comforting ordinary normality of your own empty rooms.

Despite your embarrassment, fear and all of those other emotions keeping you up all night, when you wake up the next morning you know that things will be worse the more you put them off. So you get dressed for work and you thank Lan that, when you walk into the Seat of Divine Foresight, Jing Yuan is nowhere to be seen.

You hope he is hard at work, far away from you. You cannot quite face him yet. You haven’t properly said goodbye to your foolish dreams.

You can’t shirk your other duties either, so at the ordinary time you stand up from your desk (you’ve somehow been saddled with the job of reviewing paperwork for grammar inconsistencies. You feel certain there ought to be software of some sort that does this job for you, but it had been laid here on your desk when you’d gotten to it and you were not in the habit of arguing about your duties), and you head to the designated supplier of raw meats for Mimi’s consumption.

“Oh,” says the supplier, the evening after Jing Yuan had finagled a way to see you. “He told me to let you know to go straight up today.”

You frown, not quite sure why; you hope Mimi is alright. It feels strange to be going towards Jing Yuan’s home without your arms weighed down with buckets of meat, but you push forward even so. You hope last night - the awkward kiss, the way he had looked at you - does not sour things between the two of you. You hope that he isn’t about to tell you to never come back. Your heart makes a new home, somewhere in the vicinity of your throat, as you hesitantly knock upon his door.

A beat passes. Your mind helpfully provides you with all of the ways in which Jing Yuan could be about to fire you - or worse, let you down gently and admit that he had a moment of weakness. In that moment, you suddenly seem so much more aware than before of yourself - of the unfashionable curves, of the amount of space you take up, of how a man like Jing Yuan could surely not have really wanted to kiss someone like you - and then, he has opened the door and he is smiling at you and he doesn’t look angry.

Instead, upon seeing you there, a smile passes across his face; tugs at the corners of his lips, crinkles the corners of his eyes.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” he says to you - and he reaches across the threshold and his hand brushes your cheek, as soft and tender with you as he is with his finches. “I’m sorry if I frightened you last night.”

“I’m sorry I ran,” tumbles out of your mouth. “I just . . . I didn’t think you-- and somebody like me-- and I was afraid--”

He lays a finger over your lips, still smiling.

“It’s alright,” he says, in that low, smooth voice. “I’m sorry if I caused you undue trouble, little bird.” The pet name falls from his lips as easily as any other trifle, though it makes you feel hot and aware of yourself and flattered all at once. “Please come in.”

He takes your hand to gently urge you across the threshold, his touch still feather light. You think, as he does it, of all of the other things those hands have done; all of the battles they have waged, all of the strength that must be contained within them despite how gentle his touch is now.

“I’ve asked someone else to take care of the animals,” he says to you, not letting go of your hand as he leads you through the front room. You realise with a start exactly where he is taking you as he approaches a door you have never had reason to open before. He looks at you, eyes keen and golden. “I wanted us to be alone. I would hope, little bird, if you do not want this . . .”

“I do,” tumbles from your mouth. It is nothing but the honest truth. You let the crush that you’ve been trying to deny, the fear of Jing Yuan not liking you or finding you attractive, the anxieties of not being good enough, all wash over you, in favour of the beating of your heart and the feel of his hand on your face and the sight of his hand upon the doorknob of his bedroom.

He turns fully so he stands before you. Hands come up, cradling your face; thumbs brushing the plump apples of your cheek, fingertips upon the soft flesh. He is smiling still, even as he dips his head lower, so low you can see the multitudes of swirling shades of gold in his eyes.

“Promise me,” he murmurs, low and soft. “Tell me you want me the way I want you. No expectations, little one. Your career, your position, your everything - nothing will change if you do not want me as badly as I desire you. Honesty.” You realise a tear has escaped from the corner of your eye. You have never felt so . . . seen. So very much wanted. So sure of anything in your life. He wipes that tear with his thumb, tilting your face closer to him so that if you just angled your head differently you could kiss him. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” you whisper, and Jing Yuan’s lips meet yours.

This kiss is entirely unlike the one from yesterday; this kiss is slow, luxurious. Jing Yuan starts off gentle with you, his hand still cupping your jaw - his lips moving against yours in slow, indolent waves. He nips at your bottom lip with his teeth and wins a gasp from you, a hitch of your breath, as your own hands come up to rest lightly upon his chest. You feel his mouth curve into a smile against your own.

“You’re adorable,” he rumbles, pulling back just enough that you can still feel his breath on your face. “Truly - you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this to you.”

“I--” You helplessly stare up at him. You can barely believe this is happening, as he pushes open the door to his most private of domains. “Really?”

He laughs again, gently taking your arm and urging you into the room. You are helpless to do anything but follow him - to let him slowly, slowly, slowly pull you beside him and onto his bed.

“You really have no idea how . . . desirable you are?” He asks, voice low and husky, humming with want. His hand skims over your cheek, the nape of your neck, following the line of your jaw and your throat to linger over your collarbone. His eyes follow the path his fingers take, not moving from your form for an instant. “You really didn’t notice me staring at you, little bird?” He leans in, close enough for his breath to tickle your ear. His lips brush over the pulse point in your neck, making you squeak in surprise again even as it sends a bolt of heat to the space between your legs. “Imagining what you would feel like under my hands? Imagining what you would look like, divested of that maddeningly conservative uniform they make you wear?” Another kiss, this one with a hint of teeth. You realise with a hot flush of embarrassment mixed with want you have cried out at the sensation of the almost-bite. “Imagining how you would react to every touch I gave you?”

“Sir,” you pant, dazed and amazed and hot and needy. “I-- I thought about you, too--”

“Oh,” he murmurs, as his big fingers slide over your body, feeling the ample shape of you through that same conservative uniform. His big palms brush the soft chub of your upper arms, the meat of your chest, the shape of your waist and over the curve of your hips, basely appreciating your body even beneath the fabric. “I’m sure they were no match for the utterly filthy things I imagined doing to you.”

His thumb digs into the indent of your waist, tugging you closer to him so that you’re pressed tighter against his body. He smiles down at you, every inch the conquering general, and your heart beats in time with the pounding between your legs. He looks at you like he wants to devour you. Wanting and hungry and lustful, like you’re the most delicious thing he’s ever seen. It’s not a look you’re overly familiar with receiving - but oh, does it feel amazing to be on the receiving end of it from Jing Yuan.

“Such a fragile thing,” he murmurs down to you, and you almost laugh, for you do not feel fragile - but Jing Yuan continues speaking, and you get lost in the dulcet tone of his voice. “So very mortal. So very ephemeral . . .” He sighs, dips his head and kisses you again, a flurry of pecks upon your lips as his thumb draws circles where it rests. “Will you let me make the most of having you, little bird? Let me show you how beautiful you are?” He smiles. “I have always had a weakness for delicate things.”

He means it.

Any time you have ever felt too big; ungainly, or ill-shaped - all of it falls to the wayside under the warm haze of being looked at and admired and wanted by Jing Yuan. You find yourself smiling up at him, aware you probably look as though there is not a thought in your head, but the General doesn’t seem to mind as he looks at you with hunger colouring his gaze.

“May I undress you?” He asks, voice low and cajoling. His fingers tease beneath the neckline of your uniform, and it feels as though they leave a trail of fire everywhere they linger. You do not trust yourself to speak; you nod at him, your breath coming out in short little pants. He makes a soft noise of approval, before his fingers are working at buttons and fabric. Cool air hits your bare skin; your uniform is gently cajoled off of your body, tossed aside to be worried about later as Jing Yuan’s hungry eyes drink in every new inch of your exposed skin.

He does not stop praising you as he does it.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, as your top half is bared, as his eyes roam over your chest and his hands come up and squeeze the generous curve of them, palms rough against delicate skin. You shiver as his thumbs find your nipples, as they rub over them again and again until the buds stiffen beneath his touch and a soft whine escapes the back of your throat. “You’re beautiful.”

His tone is nothing if not worshipful. By slow, luxurious degrees, Jing Yuan helps divest you of your garments. As your underwear and bottoms are rolled down, as fabric bunches at thighs and knees, he does not stop murmuring sweet nothings about how soft you are, how beautiful, how lucky he is to be able to see you like this.

About how he has been thinking about having you like this since the moment he saw you.

“You looked so beautiful then too,” he murmurs, as your underwear is pulled from your ankles. He briefly gazes at it, the gusset saturated with your slick, and he smiles. “Ah . . . that little song, the nervous, shy reaction to realising I was there - the sight of you all soft-eyed and adoring with Mimi . . . I’ve never wanted to have my wicked way with somebody quite so much.”

You’re bare beneath him, Jing Yuan slowly urging you to lay down upon the coverlets of his large bed. You suppose that it’s so large so that if Mimi desires to sleep with him, she can, but it alongside Jing Yuan’s own size simply helps you feel small and delicate and breakable in a way you never have before.

“I wanted to know,” Jing Yuan murmurs, leaning down and brushing his lips over yours, teasing and feather-light. “If you would be quite so adorable, squirming and nervous and vulnerable, if I were to have you like this.”

Your cheeks are hot. Jing Yuan has not lost a single garment of his own, but you are entirely unguarded to whatever he wants to do to you now - bare of every scrap of fabric. His gaze lingering on your body almost makes you want to draw in; to curl around the exposed flesh of your stomach, to cover the pudge.

Jing Yuan notices something in the way you hold yourself. He smiles down at you and cups your cheek.

“Don’t hide,” he breathes. “I want to see all of you, little thing. I want you to know how beautiful I find you.”

“I--”

He takes your hand in his, shifting so he is on his knees between your legs. Gently, he guides your unsure hand to the space over his own crotch. Even through the layers of fabric, you can sense the heat of him; the stiffness pushing against his trousers.

“If I did not want you,” he says, “why would you make me so needy, hmm? Feel what you do to me.” He presses your hand a little harder against it, a soft hiss of breath escaping him, encouraging you to not simply take his word for it. Your face hot as ever, you do so; give a gentle squeeze that makes him groan. “Ah-- be careful, sweet thing. I want to take my time over you.”

He lets go of your hand, gently urging you to place it back beside you. Your fingers find purchase in his sheets. You still cannot quite believe where you are; that it’s the great Arbiter-General leaning over you, looking down at you like you’re the most beautiful thing that he’s ever seen.

“I-it’s not fair,” you say to him, your voice dry. “I’ve lost all of my clothes, and you’re still fully dressed--”

He chuckles. This time, when he bends down, there’s a slow, deliberate quality about him. He kisses your neck again; trails wet butterfly kisses over your collarbones, lower and lower to the swell of your chest. His hands come to cup the generous weight of them, even as his mouth floats closer and closer to your nipples, tightening and stiffening in anticipation.

“I told you,” he says, murmuring in between flicks of his tongue against the buds. “I want to take my time over you.” He looks at you, eyes half-lidded. “Ah, you short-life species . . . You never learn patience. I have all of the time in the world to give you ecstasy over and over--”

People call Jing Yuan the Dozing General. As he applies his tongue to your nipples, though - as he suckles and nips and bites, as he kisses and squeezes until you feel dizzy with the attention he’s lavishing upon you, you realise that they are misinformed. Jing Yuan is not lazy or dozing - Jing Yuan merely likes to take his time over things.

And oh, is he enjoying taking his time over you.

You whine under his touch. You whimper and squirm, your cheeks flooding hot, your entire body prickling with tension and pleasure as his attentions upon your nipples send shockwaves of pleasure down to your sex. You feel wetness fair seeping out of you; slick rolling down your thighs, making a mess of Jing Yuan’s bed sheets.

“Please,” you manage to get out, dry-voiced and wanting, after what seems like an eternity. “Please, Sir--”

“Jing Yuan,” He corrects you, a smile on his face as he continues to trail wet kisses over your bare skin. “What kind of man would I be if I allowed you to call me ‘Sir’ buried knuckle-deep in you, sweet thing? We are on even ground here.”

It’s hard not to think of him as the General. You are currently barely able to string a thought together, and he hasn’t even touched the place between your thighs yet. Still - you need him to touch you somewhere else. You need his attentions to give your chest a break (your nipples are sore, stiffened points - your skin slick with the wetness of his licks and kisses) and move to somewhere else. You force out, through your desire to genuflect to his status, his given name.

“Jing Yuan--”

“Hmm?” He asks, raising his head. His lips are swollen and pink, his eyes amused. “Do you need something, little bird?”

“Please . . .” A soft exhale, trying to work through the mass of sensations and needs that your body seems to have become. Jing Yuan does not stop touching even as you try and get out your words; still gently squeezing and toying with the weight of your chests. He’s smiling, enjoying watching you desperately work through the haze of your desire.

“Your words,” he says, a maddening smile pulling at his lips. “Tell me what you want, and I promise I’ll do all in my power to give you it.”

“Please,” you say again, your brain fuzzy. His hands move from your chest now; big palms travelling over the curve of your stomach, your hips, resting there in a way that makes you almost lose all of your senses. “I want you to touch me . . . there--”

“Where, little thing?” He’s still smiling. “Here?” A gentle squeeze to your hips. “Here?” His palm roves over your stomach, the soft pouch just above your mound. You whimper again. “Ah. Come now--”

“Between my legs,” you whisper, voice tight and breaking with desire. “Jing Yuan, please--”

“Ah,” he laughs, dips down and kisses you once on the mouth. “You need only to ask. Spread your thighs for me, lovely thing.”

You do, utterly helplessly. Jing Yuan sighs reverently, moving further down so that he can bend his head to look at you. Your face burns under his scrutiny, fearful that he will find something lacking in your body even as his eyes greedily drink you in like you are the finest wine. He breathes deeply, and you hope that your scent is not off-putting - and then, his fingers are sliding slowly and surely up the soft plush of your legs and closer and closer to the space between your thighs and your heart is beating too fast and your breath is coming in short pants.

“Calm down,” he murmurs, and you keen as his hands reach your sex; as he uses his thumbs to spread the plump lips of your labia apart and the cool air hits your slick, heated core. “Ah, darling . . .”

There is so much in those two syllables. Hunger and desire and adoration, all mixed together as one. In another world, with another person, it might have made you feel self-conscious; but Jing Yuan looks down at you as if you are the most beautiful treasure he has ever had the good fortune to witness.

He leans down, down - and you squeak as you realise what he’s about to do, surprised, but it does not deter him at all as he lets his tongue take a slow, luxurious lick down your sex. The base of his tongue presses against your clit, the pressure on the swollen hitherto ignored nub almost enough to make you come right there and then - but then he pulls back again, chuckling.

“Mm,” he says. “If I allow myself to sample too much of something so sweet, I’m afraid I’ll lose my composure.” He moves his hand instead; lets his fingers explore the length of you, fingertips brushing against your clenching entrance and dancing about your swollen clit. There is little pressure exerted on your sex; merely Jing Yuan’s slow, considering explorations. You clench your own fingers into the bedsheets in order to stop yourself writhing.

“Lovely,” Jing Yuan says to himself. “Ah, you feel like velvet. Such a pretty thing; so perfectly made . . .” He sighs, even as the tip of his longest finger nudges against your entrance. Your hips move of their own accord, trying to suck him in and get him to put his finger inside of you, but he clicks his tongue with an amused chide; “Impatient,” he says. “Ah. You’re lucky you’re so irresistible--”

He slides his finger inside of you, slowly but certainly. You sigh, your lashes fluttering closed - his touch stokes all of those fires inside of you, of course, burning to fever pitch . . . but the sensation of finally having something inside of you has also made you realise how empty you felt before. It feels good, to have something to fill that pulsing space. Jing Yuan watches with rapt attention as he slides his finger half out, and then half inside of you again.

You have had some experience, but you have never felt the way Jing Yuan makes you feel.

“You take it so well,” he murmurs. “Look how pretty you look with something inside of you. Ah. I could spend hours doing this to you . . .”

You make a soft whine of discontent at the idea and he laughs, clicking his tongue even as he’s letting his second finger dance at your entrance ready to join the first.

“No, even I do not have the patience for that right now,” he agrees. “Not when you feel so wonderful, little bird. Not when I cannot wait to see you come apart.”

The second finger; a slight scissoring motion as it enters you, getting you used to the size and stretch of two of his digits instead of one. The heel of his palm presses against your clit with every wet pump, sending frissons of pleasure to the tips of your toes; but he still does not rush himself. He still lets himself enjoy the feel of you clinging tightly to his fingers, the sight of them disappearing inside of your slick, drooling hole.

“Does that feel good?” He asks you, deciding you haven’t spoken recently enough. “Tell me if you want me to go faster, sweet thing--”

“Please,” you say, ragged, breathing heavy. You can feel a tight hot ball of tension between your legs, rolling in your gut, threatening to overwhelm you. “Please, Jing Yuan, faster--”

“Very well,” he smiles, and he crooks his fingers inside of you to find your g-spot - causing your back to arch involuntarily, a whine of pure enjoyment to loose itself from your throat. At the same time, his thumb moves to play with your clit - to toy with the bud, to roll and to circle and to press against the swollen bundle of nerves. What already felt like electric shocks of pleasure move on; instead, they are lightning bolts, ricocheting up your spine and stopping just short of striking earth.

“You’re close,” Jing Yuan says, and you are staring at his mouth. How a strand of your own gossamer-thin arousal is still glimmering at the corner. How his eyes are so focused on you that his gaze feels almost scorching. “That’s right. Let go for me, sweet thing--”

His soft entreaty pushes you over the edge, and the lightning strikes home as your peak hits you with all of the force of a storm.

His fingers work you over the crest of your orgasm, the two inside of you constantly rubbing against that spongy spot that makes you see stars, the big pad of his thumb roughly sliding over your twitching clit in circles and lines. As the waves come to a head and then slowly begin to dissipate, he slows his attentions too - until the slow strokes of his fingers fade out into nothing. He does not seem to care that you’ve soaked his fingers and his palm and the fabric he wears and his bed too - merely keeps looking at you, smiling, like you’re giving him the most precious gift imaginable.

“Good,” he praises you. “But . . . I’m afraid that just that taste from earlier wasn’t quite enough, little bird. May I use my mouth on you?”

Who would ever believe this? Who would ever imagine little old you, on the Arbiter-General’s bed, as he looks at you and waits for your permission to fuck you with his tongue? You feel rather tongue-tied yourself - but you recall what Jing Yuan said earlier, about using your words.

“Please do,” you say, aloud, and Jing Yuan gives you that same smile that makes you feel like the only being in the whole universe.

“Thank you,” he says, sounding entirely like he means it - like it’s truly an honour for him to be able to serve you on his hands and knees. And then he has moved his body further down the bed, elegant and graceful and leonine, and his mouth is heading towards the slick-soaked place between your legs and his tongue is glinting wet in the bedroom and then he is on you, licking at you, hungrily devouring your sex like it is his last meal before an execution.

You’re still oversensitive from his earlier attentions, and the sensation of the wet muscle of his tongue working over you almost pushed you into another early orgasm. Your fingers move from where they’re still clenched into the bedsheets to cling to his hair instead, pulling on the silvery pale strands as your back arches and you blindly cant your hips forward towards his mouth.

He groans aloud at having his hair pulled, and the groan sends vibrations all through your body that make you feel weak at the knees, your toes curling. His tongue continues its assault; back and forth, back and forth. Wetness drools from your sex and onto his face; you can feel the heat in his cheeks, the fan of his lashes against your bare skin.

He twirls his tongue about your entrance, teasingly dips into it, as the channel of your sex constricts and pulses in an attempt to pull him even further in. He groans as your hands knit further into his hair, fucking you for a moment with his tongue before he seems to try and work his face further into your sex.

It’s like he wants to engulf you; soft noises of pleasure keep falling from his mouth, interspersed with rumbling groans. He’s almost gyrating against the bed, you realise, your cheeks hot - grinding his crotch into the mattress as if he’s desperate to have some attention of his own.

That sight makes your mouth go dry; all of the moisture in your body instead congregating between your legs to make a new home in Jing Yuan’s mouth and smeared across his cheeks.

His tongue flicks across your clit and the noise that escapes you is almost animal; Jing Yuan says something, perhaps, or at least makes some kind of muffled noise from his position happily buried in your sex before he shifts his tongue just so and his mouth fastens around your clit fully.

Sucking and licking, suckling upon the pearl like his life depends upon it; tongue occasionally just brushing under the hood, where you’re most engorged, and you can do nothing but cling onto his hair and pull at it as the most intense orgasm you’ve ever felt rips through your body.

You cannot put into words the way that you feel as Jing Yuan devours you. Your entire body feels, suddenly, as if it weighs nothing; as if sparkling lights suffuse your fingers and toes and you float into the stratosphere, white lights dancing behind your eyes in time with your whine (a whine so loud you’re sure everybody on the Luofu must have heard of it).

You come down, eventually, to the sound of Jing Yuan panting. The wet noise as his mouth separates from you, the pleased grin on his face as he uses his thumb to wipe his mouth of some of your slick. It’s a pointless endeavour, really; his face is so saturated with it you’re not sure if he’ll ever be dry again.

“Darling,” Jing Yuan repeats, looking you in the eye, smiling like the cat who has gotten the cream. “You have no idea how much I enjoyed doing that.”

The words almost make you go over shy - but you push that to the side. There is no point, you decide, being nervous of a man who has now known you so intimately.

“In which case,” you say, breathlessly - your voice is still a little scratchy from the moaning and whimpering you’ve been doing - “Will you let me make you feel just as good?”

He looks at you for a moment, before he throws his head back and laughs.

“Why,” he says. “Of course I will.”

“Come,” Jing Yuan is murmuring, and he is finally removing his own clothes. Armour drops to the side of him, shirts unbuttoned and fastenings unhooked. His body is muscular and dotted with scars, befitting his status as a military hero; a light dusting of pale hair upon his proud chest, down into a trail to the vee of his hips. You swallow, your throat dry, trying to blink back the waves of pleasure that are still lapping gently at your shores in order to concentrate on what’s going on. His face is still wet with your slick, his hair damp with sweat and falling in messy strands over his flushed face. He looks well-fucked even without you touching him back, as if merely getting you to feel good was enough for him.

His cock. It’s stiff against the hard planes of his abdomen, a thick, pretty specimen bubbling with precome at the flushed tip. He sighs, running his hand over it once, and your mouth practically waters at the way it twitches. It looks stiff and hard enough that you wonder if it hurts, to want so badly - but Jing Yuan looks at you and smiles, as he rearranges himself on the bed. Pillows are moved, and before you know it he has sat against them, propping himself up like an emperor upon his throne. His cock stands proud and wanting, and he gently pats his thigh as if he is calling an obedient animal to him.

“I don’t wish to hurt you, little bird,” he says - and again, you think of how it feels to be smaller than him. How he does not care about the flesh that spills from straps or curves over fabric. How he looks at you like the most beautiful thing in the world and calls you ‘delicate’ and ‘little’ and ‘precious’ and means them. “Come. Take a seat. As slowly as you need.”

Despite how he has seen you so intimately, you cannot help but feel a little flare of fear as you approach him. He smiles, entirely at peace and at comfort with you going at your own pace, and you could kiss him for it.

“Touch,” he murmurs. “Don’t be afraid.”

With trembling fingers, you reach out; let your hand encircle his cock, get used to the width and the feel of him and imagine it inside of you. He pulses beneath your palm, a soft hum of pleasure falling from the back of his throat as you give it a cursory pump. He curses softly as your thumb rubs across the slit of his cockhead, the bubble of precome wetting the pad.

“Touch,” he says, with a smile. “But don’t get me too excited, little bird. I don’t want to come anywhere but inside of you.”

Your cheeks go hot at his easy profession; your tongue darts out to trace your lower lip. You’re used to the feel of him now; the heat that seems to stir beneath the surface of his cock, the veins that marble the side of his shaft, the ruddy pink of the head. Taking a deep breath, you spread your legs and let yourself readjust, straddling him. His own hands come up to cling to your thighs, sinking into the soft flesh there.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs, as if in devotion, as if praying to an Aeon. “You’re beautiful.”

His cockhead brushes your clit as you fit it snugly between the lips of your sex; you shift your hips, until it catches against your entrance and your eyes flutter closed.

Your eyes are still closed as you begin to lower yourself down, so you feel every inch of him as he makes his home within your body. Your eyes being closed, of course, you miss the softness and the warmth that fills Jing Yuan’s gaze as he looks at you. The brief moment of sadness that passes behind his eyes as he remembers that you are a short-life species; that he cannot have all of the time in the world with you, to teach you pleasures the likes of which you do not yet know. The sadness he cannot spend his lifetime learning you by heart--

But you hear the soft murmur of your name, as he bottoms out inside of you and you take a moment to simply rest there with him buried as deep inside of you as he can go. You feel the way one of his hands slides up your spine to grip the back of your head and to pull you into a kiss as deep and adoring as anything else he’s done so far.

Teeth and tongue and lips, whimpering and gasping into one another’s mouths until you do not know where he ends and where you begin, Jing Yuan somehow manages to murmur;

“Move whenever you want, sweet thing. Set the pace.”

It does not, in the end, feel like either of those things happen. Instead, it feels as though the universe sets the pace for you; as if you simply know when to begin to move your hips, how to bend and angle yourself just so in order for Jing Yuan to hit all of the most sensitive spots inside of you.

One hand remains on your hip, helping you with the pace - the other remains on the back of your head, to allow him to kiss, as if he doesn’t want to let his mouth separate from yours for any longer than necessary. It’s a romance that you didn’t expect of the General, but it’s hardly one you’re going to complain about when his mouth feels so good and the constant nibbling of your lip and curl of his tongue against yours is distracting you from the mounting pleasure already starting to coalesce inside of you.

There is nothing in the world for a while except Jing Yuan’s body underneath yours. His hands, his mouth, the feel of his shoulders beneath your own palms where you cling to him for leverage. You sweat and breathe and kiss and fuck as one, until the call inside of you becomes too much to ignore.

“I’m--” You pull back from the kiss to whisper, voice hoarse. “I’m going to--”

“Shh,” Jing Yuan says, kissing again. His own voice climbs in pitch, and you hear a shiver and a shudder in his syllables that makes you aware that he, too, is not far from his own release. His teeth nip at your lower lip as he half-begs into your mouth. “Please. Come again for me, sweet thing, little bird, pretty-- let me feel you--”

Your third orgasm crashes over you, your sex spasming around his cock, tight and hot and pulsing - and Jing Yuan groans into your mouth as you push him over the edge too, and you feel his cock spasm in turn. Ropes of hot release shoot inside of you; you had thought, earlier, that having his cock buried all the way inside of you was the extent of how full you could feel.

You were wrong.

You bite at his lips, whining and half-sobbing, as the please encompasses you like a cloak of warmth. Jing Yuan groans in return, his hips making needy fast circles to chase the dregs of his own release. It feels right, for the two of you to peak together like this. For the two of you to chase every last drop of pleasure, entwined together and sweating and kissing and as close to one being as it’s possible to be.

Eventually, your breathing slows. Eventually, the kiss turns tender instead of frenzied. Eventually, you pull back from Jing Yuan with a foolish smile on your face and your cheeks hot and tears of pleasure (that you hadn’t even realised you had cried) rolling down your face like sparkling diamonds.

You stare at each other, the enormity of what has happened washing over you. Jing Yuan’s face is calm and serene, but his eyes are bright still, his cheeks still high in colour.

You fear for a moment that he is about to dismiss you; that what the two of you just shared will mean nothing now that it is over. You fear that you’re about to go back to what you were before; a colleague and an employer, a General and a subordinate. But then, Jing Yuan lets out a deep rumbling sigh, pleased, as he collapses back upon the pillows. He opens his arms for you to dismount, his cock sliding slippery and wet outside of you, his come trickling down your thighs.

“Come here,” he murmurs, sounding tired but terribly pleased; the cat who has gotten the cream. He’s like a lion once more. You are helpless to resist his indication that he wants to cuddle, and so you let him pull you into his arms, let him manoeuvre you to lay against his chest until you can hear his heart beating. His fingers stroke your head, like you’re a sweet-tempered animal yourself. “Mmm. Rest with me, little bird.”

You let yourself. Your body is aching and sore from the orgasms and the sex, and you let your eyes drift closed, lulled by the comforting rhythm of his breathing.

A sleepy kiss is dropped onto the crown of your head.

“Enjoy it whilst you can,” Jing Yuan hums. “Before we start having to make room for Mimi every night.”

#writing #not sfw text #jing yuan smut #jing yuan x reader #chubby reader posting #commissioned work #hsr x reader #hsr smut #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail smut #hsr posting

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blue-ink-pearls · 23 days

Text

Fig Isn't Meant to Be Cassandra's Paladin, Bucky Applebees Is

As most of us have realized since Ankarna's original domain was revealed, Fig is clearly supposed to be her paladin. The archdevil of rebellion united with the goddess of conviction and justice would be an incredible force for fighting wrongs, for inspiring revolutions, and creating true positive change.

But Fig wasn't wrong that Cassandra would be immensely helped by having a paladin swear themselves to her. Even though Kristen is an extraordinary cleric, she's only one person.

When we first meet Bucky Applebees in Junior Year, he is filled with doubt and uncertainty. He's a paladin of Helio, the same religion (cult) that Kristen fled from and he has been forced to take on the role of protector to his younger brothers that Kristen once held as the eldest daughter. He hasn't told his parents about the gold Kristen gave them, he thinks he's going to hell for lying, he misses his sister but thinks she's living in sin (maybe?), and he's curious about what beer tastes like (but never mind, he doesn't want to know. He bets it would be great. For sinners, would love it.).

When Cassandra dies/is kidnapped, Kristen first feels a connection to her goddess again when she thinks of how her doubt and uncertainty led to her escaping that life and finding freedom from Helio and her parents.

Ally: "I think she spent so much time trapped and feeling, like, super wrong, that doubt and mystery actually feel like a really beautiful escape, and more true." Brennan: "The concept of escape hits you. And for a moment you hear (clicking). And all of the locks on the windows and all of the locks on the doors of this room just open slightly. A little bit of divine magic flows through you....[W]hen you thought of escape, you thought of, yeah, embracing the unknown gives you the strength to leave a bad situation. Escape."

Bucky, Bricker, and Cork are still trapped and now that Brennan's brought Bucky back into the story, I don't think the season is going to end with Kristen leaving her little brothers in an abusive home life when there's every possibility for them to find safety and acceptance at Morded Manor.

I believe that if Kristen is able to help her brothers get away from their parents and the Church of Helio*, then Bucky is going to need a new god to follow. Why wouldn't Bucky, a scared, uncertain 14 year-old kid, not follow a goddess in the image of his older sister, whose very essence is that "whenever you're in the dark, I'm here holding your hand."

Kristen has always had a hard time doing the work of growing her church, of telling people about Cassandra. I think she'd find it easy to tell her siblings all about Cassandra when she's trying to help them find enough doubt and uncertainty in what they've known all their lives, that they'll have the courage to escape too.

*Also, there's definitely going to be further exploration of the Church of Sol, and by extension the Church of Helio, as they were 100% involved in what happened to Ankarna and Kristen is probably going to try to keep Bobby Dawn away from Bucky, just as she absolutely rejected Buddy Dawn becoming her brother's mentor.

#fantasy high #fhjy spoilers #kristen applebees #fig faeth #bucky applebees #fantasy high junior year #fhjy

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targaryenluvs · 3 months

Text

— BEST LIFE

pairings: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader (past), harvey specter x fem!juniorpartner!reader (present)

summary: you’d once been apart of the bau team, but after a situation and a falling out with your boyfriend you moved on. what happens when the bau needs your help on a case, which your boyfriend harvey is also assisting on?

warnings: angsty, asshole harvey cause duh, jealousy (spencer) kisses, cute harvey

wordcount: 1.7k

a/n: this literally sprouted in my mind and i just needed to write it lmao, if you haven’t watched suits or criminal minds go right now‼️ they’re both my husbands 😋

when jessica had called you into her office, you’d been calm. apparently one of your cases, which had you and harvey working together, was now of fbi interest. your client was currently suing a company for faulty wiring in his home, which caused it to burn down. and it was apparently not the case at all, the home was suspected to be tied into a serial arsonist.

what you didn’t expect was for your client to be accused of being the arsonist.

“you’re sitting here,”

“uh-huh.”

“telling me,”

“yup.”

“that i’m supposed to believe that richard jeena, the fifty three year old little man, is a serial arsonist?”

you shut the file infront of you, meeting harvey’s eye, “sweetheart?” he uncrossed his legs, leaning forwards with a sweet smile, “yes?” you leaned forwards as well, “that, is exactly what i’m telling you.” harvey leaned back into his chair, disbelief riddling his face.

“and the fbi is flying here?” you nodded along, “fbi agents?” you nodded again, “probably field agents or whatever they’re called. they’ll sit in on the trial, survey the scenes, collect evidence and all.” the familiar clicking of donna’s heels brought a smile to your face, “profilers.”

your heart dropped with one word, “what’d you say?” donna made her way to the two of you, plopping herself down in the chair next to you, “it’s those fbi profilers. yknow, they look at the room and can tell you if he’s left or right handed, blonde, mommy issues and all. nice little packaged criminal profile in seconds.” you couldn’t help correcting her, having dealt with your fair share of assumptions in your years as a profiler.

“that’s not how it works,” harvey swiveled in his chair as donna looked your way, “oh?” harvey smirked as you sighed, “that’s not how it works, we don’t just walk into a room and have it speak to us. we survey the place, fresh eyes and open minds. we look for the things that everyone else seems to miss. we put ourselves in the minds of the criminals themselves, to get a better understanding of them, why they did it and all. you work your way back, start from the victim maybe, see where they’ve been, what they did in the last week, who they talk to. sometimes the killers in their personal circle but not always. every case is different, we try our best to provide an accurate, unbiased profile.”

“i want to take you on my desk, right now.” you rolled your eyes at your boyfriends words as donna stared intently, “we. you said ‘we’, as if you know what they do and their job. oh my god, you use to be one. that’s the job you had before coming here! you have a degree in criminal justice, and you said your last job you were at for what, seven years?”

“i graduated high school early, entered harvard at a young age, graduated, entered the fbi at the same time as a— friend. was also studying law, sat the exam in new york since it’s where i wanted to be. finished up at harvard, i was mid to late twenties when i left, wound up here and am now a junior partner, capiche?”

“could just say your age.” mike stood by the door with a wad of files in his hand, “i’d rather die, mike.” harvey laughed, “please don’t incentivise my lovely girlfriend to killing herself mike.”

“as nice as it is to see you all bonding, and trust me, it hits me right in the heart, jessica wants yourself and y/n in the conference room.” louis spoke from the door as you stood up, “first of all, trust with you is fickle, second, tell it to hit you in the face next time lou.” you smacked harvey’s arm as he held his arms up, “friendly fire, i’ll put it out later.” you shoved him by his back before smiling at louis, “i’m sorry about him, he’s not a big fan of the fbi.” louis nodded as he followed you, “duly noted.”

“she’s right, damn pigs.” harvey joked as you approached the conference room, “your highness,” you grinned, “you never treat me so nicely when we’re at home harvey.” he held his hand over his heart, “now don’t lie sweetheart, i’m as nice as mike.” the snort that left your lips had harvey doubling over, “oh please, nice as mike? you wish.”

your giggles were drained from your throat as you stared at half of your old team.

derek morgan, emily prentiss, penelope garcia & spencer reid. the last name, and face you’d still not looked at yet. thankfully, harvey noticed your tenseness, “y/n? sweetheart, you alright?” there it was, that word, sweetheart. spencer couldn’t help but wonder, was it just a word? you always use to call him it, before you dated, teasing of course.

“yeah, i’m fine harv.” he nodded, even if he didn’t believe you he could always ask later on. pulling out his and yours chairs, you sat next to one another. “harvey specter & y/n l/n?” emily questioned as you nodded, “the one and only. and then there’s y/n.” harvey leaned back in his chair, whilst derek stared him down.

what an ass. is what he wanted to say, it was also what he assumed emily was thinking. “emily.” she glanced over at you, surprised at you using her name, “it’s nice to see you all. how’ve you been?” and the bewildered expression was wiped clean off your face, no remnant left. you were a damn lawyer, if there was one thing you’d learned, it was to keep a straight face.

penelope smiled, “we’ve been good, y/n. but we miss you, back home. you’re a lawyer now huh?” you grinned, “the one and only.” harvey squeezed your hand, you squeezed back. “youngest junior partner, ever. my dream. just hoping to make it to senior partner soon, take the title of youngest out from under this guy. i’m happy here, i hope you are too. but down to business.”

and for the next few hours, you’d sat and listened. overlooking the case files, giving statements, reviewing security footage from surrounding houses. at some point mike ended up in the room, having met with your client and being harvey’s associate.

you’d had the pleasure of introducing spencer and mike, the two undeniably similar. you felt comfortable, even betting with penelope that if they touched the world would implode.

“and how much would he loose?”

“127,478.23.” mike and spencer rushed out as the rest of you fought to suppress your smiles, “well y/n, seems like we’ve got a genius-off.” derek laughed as the two men looked towards you, “don’t worry i’ll still love you mike.” mike scoffed at your words, “what makes you think i’d loose?”

“because i know you, and i know reid. trust me, you’d loose.”

reid. not spencer, spence, sweetheart. none of the above, you’d used his last name. as if he was nothing more than a colleague.

“okay, we’ve been here for far too long. and as much as i’d like to sit here and slowly rot, i’d rather do that at the restaurant i have booked for dinner with two lovely ladies. y/n and i have a trial date tomorrow, 8.00am. i think, we bring him along, show him what’s to happen if he doesn’t confess, than toast victory champagne when said confession rolls through. how’s that sound?” if derek’s grin was any indicator, besides a big fat yes?

spencer wanted to puke, ‘lovely ladies?’ multiple women? this man was insufferable. you gathered yourself and harvey’s files, a hand gestured towards you, the last file in said hand. “thanks reid.” he smiled, “no problem-o.” your eyebrows furrowed, “never change do you?” spencer didn’t have time to respond, his brain was too busy blowing a fuse as harvey opened the door for you. “ready for dinner lovely lady?” they all heard harvey ask as you nodded, the four watched as you walked out, his hand on your back as he pecked you on the lips.

“reid, you alright?” derek’s hand rested on his shoulder, “i’m fine, why wouldn’t i be fine? don’t we have places to be? hotch would want to know their on our side, that they reviewed all the information. they’ll help us get a confession out of him.” derek sighed, “because you just saw your ex, who you haven’t seen in years. the one you never got over, happily living in new york as comfortable as possible. a successful business woman and lawyer, happily in a relationship.”

spencer shook his head, “you don’t know that.” emily directed a sympathetic smile his way, “we sat with them for three hours. we watched them laugh, bounce off of eachother for theories, quite literally finish eachothers sentences. order food for eachother without asking, and get their meals right. they held hands when they could, he continued to call her sweetheart. and now they’re going out to dinner.”

spencer’s shoulder dropped, they were right. he’d come here excited at the possibility of seeing you again, talking to you. maybe even beginning again with you. instead, you’re apparently with some suited up asshole. he was annoyingly sweet when it came to you though.

as if the whole three hours weren’t a slap in the face, harvey’s voice rung out through the hallway, “there’s my lovely lady!” rachel, who they’d all met earlier on, was currently guiding a young girl to harvey’s arms. “daddy!” if hearts were boats, than his was sinking. he may have had a chance beforehand, but now?

“is mommy here?” your daughter was currently situated on harvey’s hip, “why don’t you hug her and find out?” your arms were out in the open as your daughter squealed before running to you, “d’you have a fun day with rach?” she nodded her head rapidly as yourself and harvey smiled, he stood behind you, chest to back. his hand rested on your waist as the other moved aside hair from her face, before moving hair from your own.

“now, my lovely ladies, it’s time for dinner.”

lovely ladies, for once, spencer had made a mistake. harvey was going out with multiple women, but not in the way he thought. his daughter and the mother of his child, you.

his words and actions meant nothing, they would mean nothing. you were happy, so happy. you had everything you wanted, a loving marriage and man, a gorgeous family. something spencer hadn’t given you. a man who knew you could hold your own. spencer knew that too, but he couldn’t help himself back then.

right now, you were living your best life.

#criminal minds x bau!reader #criminal minds x reader #suits x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #harvey specter x fem!reader #harvey specter #harvey specter x reader #harvey specter x you

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dilemmaontwolegs · 1 month

Note

Ok I know you said time won't make them nicer to each other.

But I need her reaction to Carlos being diagnosed with appendicitis. Maybe she's the one that takes him to the hospital?!

The Uphill Battle {2} || CS55

Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, smut, name calling, angst

WC: 2.9k

Part One

Carlos was grumpier than usual. And that was saying something since he had been in a mood since the news broke about Lewis taking his seat. You could understand that after losing seats to guys all the time before getting a spot in the Academy. Carlos, however, was not used to that feeling and it showed as he pushed himself harder at each training.

“You’re too weak,” he taunted as you wiped the sweat from your brow and started another set of reps with trembling arms. “It’s like you don’t even want to be in F1.”

You let the weight bar fall into the shelf and sat up. “Go project yourself onto someone else, you miserable shit.”

After taking second place at the feature race in Bahrain you had shown you had the drive for F1, but it didn’t seem to change his training approach. He was still firmly on the path of insult until you explode and prove him wrong. To be fair, it had worked so far.

A muscled arm, followed by a bare chest, blocked your way when you stood up, a sneer pulling at his lips. “You’re not funny.”

“I wasn’t joking. Now get out of my way, you have free practice to get ready for.”

He looked at the clock on the wall and sighed. He hadn’t meant to let time get away from him but when he found you in the gym he decided to finish his warm up routine alongside you. It had been a mistake because he couldn’t help but pester and critique you until he completely forgot what he was meant to be doing.

“Fine, but you need to stay and finish your set. That was just embarrassing to watch.”

“I’m done. With you. And with your training. Go fuck yourself, Junior.” You shoved past him, your elbow connecting with his gut, before you made your way to the stack of towels. You felt his presence follow you to the changing rooms and he closed the door to the shower cubicle.

“You’re done when I say you are done,” Carlos growled, turning you to face him before he pressed your back to the cold tile wall.

You tipped your head back and laughed darkly. “Only for the next nine months, then I’m Lewis’ problem. Or, maybe I’ll get the golden boy as my PT. Charles seems sweet and kind, I wouldn’t mind testing his patience.”

“Listen here, you little-” Whatever threat you would have ignored was lost as you flipped the handle of the cold tap and washed it gush out of the showerhead and straight into Carlos’ face.

“You were saying?”

“Brat.” The timber in his voice had the desired effect as his hand enveloped your throat and pulled you under the cold spray. His lips crashed against yours and his thigh nudged your legs apart, your hips riding the thick muscle as you kissed him back just as passionately. “I really hate you.”

You grinned, but it was more a baring of teeth ready to sink into his skin. “I don’t even hate you, that’s how little I feel about you.”

His palm glided over your ribs, touching the flesh bared by the sports bra you trained in, and slipped between the waistband of your shorts. His fingers spread your folds and curled into your core as your head fell back against the tiles.

“You feel something,” Carlos chuckled, dipping his head down to leave his mark on the swell of your breast. “Or you wouldn’t feel so fucking wet.”

“God I hate it when you open your mouth, just fuck me already.”

Carlos pulled the elastic waistband and let it snap back against your skin. The twanging pain was instant but then it was gone as he dragged the material down your legs. Another ache flared as he sunk his teeth into the soft supple skin on your thigh and you cried out at the heat that radiated from the indents he left behind.

“Fucking savage,” you growled, but you both knew how much you liked it that way.

“Sticks and stones, malcriada.”

You were needy, impatient, and well aware someone would come looking for Carlos as the countdown to free practice began. The lure of a verbal repartee would have to wait if you wanted some pleasure to balance out the pain in the arse that was Carlos. You pushed Carlos onto the bench where your dry towel had been abandoned and he lifted his hips for you to drag his shorts off.

“You gonna ride this di-“ You slapped your hand over his mouth to silence him and straddled his hips, sinking down on his cock with a moan that echoed around the changing room.

“Be a good boy and keep the commentary to yourself if you want a happy ending,” you warned as you let your hand fall to his shoulder and started to roll your hips. He heeded your words and bit his bottom lip to keep from saying something that would leave him with blue balls.

His hands gripped your waist and guided you up and down, setting rhythm that had you bouncing on his dick and an orgasm quickly building. The heat flashing across your body was the perfect contrast to the droplets of cold water collecting on your back and shivering down your spine.

“Fuck, harder,” you begged as your head fell back and he grazed his teeth over your throat. Your gasp filled the small cubicle as he nipped sharply at your skin and you raked your nails down his chest, earning a deep groan from his parted lips. The pained sound made your cunt clench and flutter before he suddenly stood up and turned you to face the wall. The emptiness within your body was quickly filled with the snap of his hips and his hand slapped over your mouth to muffle the cry at the sudden fullness.

“Shut up and take it,” he ordered quietly in your ear. “This is what you asked for.”

Carlos’ hands fell to your hips, bruising your skin with their harsh grip as he pounded into you. The slap of your bodies colliding filled the small space and your eyes rolled back into your head as your legs began to tremble. Your breathing deepened and you forgot where you were as your mind emptied and your body exploded.

“Fuck, that feels good,” Carlos moaned, your walls tightening around him with your orgasm. A wordless grunt warmed your ear before he sealed his lips over your racing pulse and left his mark while he filled your cunt.

Your forehead pressed to the cool tile as you regained your breath and Carlos pulled out, chuckling as he watched his cum leak down your still trembling thighs. “God, you’re a whore.”

“That’s more of an insult to you, desperado,” you teased. “Should I send the invoice to you or Sainz Senior?”

You forced yourself upright and stepped under the cold spray to see his smirk fade as you washed his seed away. You both jumped at the loud knock on the bathroom door and a voice called out, “Carlos, are you in there? You’re going to be late.”

“Just a sec,” Carlos shouted back before attempting to step under the now warm spray. You cast your hands out, splaying your fingers across his torso, catching the pained wince that crossed his face.

“Tsk, tsk, Daddy’s calling,” you said with a shake of your head.

He looked down at himself, the evidence of what transpired glistening on his cock. “Seriously?”

It was your turn to smirk and push him back further before waving him off. “Good luck.”

Free practice was already underway by the time you finished showering and changing into fresh Ferrari merch. No one really paid you any mind as you found a good spot on the balcony above the pit lane and watched the final 30 minutes of track time.

Despite there being better performers, your eyes kept being drawn back to your PT and the lowly 7th place he finished. You had catalogued a list of insults for him and went down to the debrief room ready to rule him up when you found him leaning against the corridor wall. Lines from his balaclava creased his cheeks and his eyes screwed shut as he clutched a hand to his stomach.

“Don’t think playing sick will let you off the hook for that performance,” you said as you crossed your arms.

There was no humour in his face, no wry amusement that usually came with your insults. Instead, he silently pushed off from the wall and made his way on towards the briefing room.

You kind of felt bad as you left the track and returned to the hotel. There had been a misstep in the turbulent dance that had been going on for months and you were left unsettled by it. Nothing on the tv could distract you enough that you finally gave up and took the elevator to Carlos’ floor. It was late but you figured he would still be awake as you knocked on his door.

“You look like shit,” you greeted, but your voice was thick with concern. “What’s wrong?”

Sweat beaded on his forehead and the sickly sheen covered his bare chest too. Reaching out, you felt his skin burning like a furnace and he swayed on his feet before leaning on the doorway.

“You don’t care, so just go,” he rasped, his voice pained and weak.

You rolled your eyes and stepped around him to see a sick bowl on the coffee table with some painkillers beside it and a rumpled blanket spread over the couch. He made to follow but he could barely hold himself up and it was only your arms that kept him collapsing. “Fuck sake, Carlos, you need a hospital.”

“Just need sleep,” he argued. His body shivered and his throat worked to swallow but you had been through enough hangovers to know what was coming. You leapt for the sick bowl and barely got it under his face before he hurled up the bright blue electrolyte drink that you spotted on the table.

“Where’s your phone and your keys?” He peeked up from the bowl pitifully and he saw the determined look on your face before pointing to the kitchen. “Can you stand on your own? Don’t look so offended, it’s a reasonable question in your state.”

“I’m fine.”

“And I’m Max Verstappen.” You let go of him for a second to see if he would crumple to the carpet but he seemed to hold himself on pure stubbornness so you dashed to the kitchen to dump the bowl in the sink and grab his belongings.

“Planning on robbing me too?” he asked as he noticed you grabbed his wallet too.

“Since I’m apparently a whore, you owe me a hefty debt,” you muttered sarcastically. “It’s for your ID, asshole.”

Carlos didn’t deign to respond as he curled one arm around your shoulders, leaning heavily into your embrace, and the other clutched his abdomen.

“You’ve been in pain since practice, haven’t you?”

“Maybe…can we just go?”

You pocketed his things and took as much weight as you could off him, using every ounce of your strength training as you guided him to the elevator. It was strange to see him so reserved in the elevator mirror as it headed down to the underground car park and it was even stranger to sit in the driver seat of his car.

“Please don’t crash it,” he murmured as you started it up and headed out into the street.

“I know you don’t believe it, but I am actually a decent driver,” you muttered. The city traffic was busy 24/7 but the satnav came in handy with the directions to the emergency room at the nearest hospital. “Should I call your dad?”

“No. It’s probably nothing but a stomach bug.”

That ‘probably nothing’ turned out to be acute appendicitis. You could have laughed at how spectacularly wrong Carlos was but you were too worried as he was wheeled away to surgery and you were left to make a phone call.

‘Do not call him Daddy Sainz,’ you reminded yourself as you entered the passcode on Carlos’ phone and hoped he wasn’t too delusional to get it right. Thankfully it unlocked and you went to his contacts. “Hello, Mr Sainz?”

“Who is this?” he asked worriedly.

“It’s Y/N, I drive for Ferrari in the Academy, uh, Carlos is my Mentor.”

“Where is my son? Why do you have his phone?”

“He’s at the hospital. They’re just taking him into surgery now to remove his appendix.”

The elder Sainz must had put you on speakerphone as you heard the noises at his end increase. “Which hospital? Why are you only calling me now?”

“King Fahad Armed Forces and you’re welcome, by the way, if it wasn’t for me your son would still be curled up on the couch in his room until it burst.”

“He said you had an attitude,” the old man muttered quietly before he resigned himself to a sigh. “Thank you. I’ll be there soon.”

You sent him the ward number that Carlos would be brought through when he was out of surgery and tried to make yourself comfortable on a vinyl chair. It must have been cozy enough as you dozed off, only waking when a nurse tapped your shoulder and smiled sweetly. “Mr Sainz is on his way up now, the operation went well.”

You rubbed your eyes and thanked her as you sat up to see almost two hours had passed. It was then you noticed a pair of brown eyes were watching curiously from across the room.

“Have you been watching me sleep?” you asked as you stretched and cracked your back.

The old man snorted a laugh and put down the almost empty styrofoam cup of black coffee. “You don’t need to wait, I can look after him from here.”

“And ruin my perfect posture for nothing? I’m fine waiting a bit longer.” You stood up and made your way to the percolator jug of black sludge and poured yourself a cup too before pacing the room. “Have you been talking with the other teams yet?”

His eyes followed you back and forth like he was trying to pick your brain apart. “About what?”

“2025. He’s too good for his F1 career to end now.”

The old man stood up too and refilled his cup. “Would you like milk and sugar?” he asked when he noticed your face scrunch at the first sip.

“Just a tiny dash of milk please, no sugar. I like my coffee like I like my men: a little dark and bitter.”

He chuckled and poured a small amount of milk into your cup before returning to his seat. “I can see why my son likes you.”

You spluttered on your mouthful and hurried to swallow the hot liquid. “You must be thinking about someone else. Carlos and I just about have a mutual understanding, and it wouldn’t be a stretch to say he borderline hates me.”

“Can’t be too many female Ferrari drivers that he mentors from the Academy, because I sincerely remember his comment about her,” the old man teased, crossing one leg over the other and staring over the rim of his cup. His eyebrow arched, daring you to correct him until he took the silence with an air of smugness.

Sounds grew along the quiet ward and soon Carlos was wheeled in on a hospital bed, parking into the empty space that had been between the two chairs. Though he looked a little sleepy, Carlos was awake and he smiled dopily from where he lay looking up at you.

“The doctors said your testicle retrieval went well.”

His smile broke with a deep laugh and he turned to look at his amused dad. “I see you met her.”

“I did.” Carlos Senior stood up and kissed his son’s forehead. “I’m glad you had her to take care of you, son. I’ll give you a few moments alone.”

You frowned as his dad left the room, waiting for the door to close quietly behind him. “What the hell were you thinking! Why didn’t you say anything? You could have died!”

Carlos shrugged and shifted carefully to get comfortable on this pillow behind his head. “We don’t exactly have the sort of relationship where we talk about things.”

You huffed and lifted his head, fluffing the pillow before shoving it back into place. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Back to the insults, finally.” The sick bastard smiled happily and settled into the pillow with a contented sigh. “For a moment I thought I died and went to heaven.”

“Not funny.”

“Was so, you just care about me too much to laugh. Admit it, you would’ve missed me.” He opened his hand and inched it closer to the edge of the bed.

“They must have given you the strong stuff, you’re clearly delusional,” you said with a roll of your eyes but placed your hand into his palm and he closed his fingers around them. “Your dad seems to think you like me.”

Carlos yawned and closed his eyes, but a smile played on his lips. “That’s probably the beginning of dementia. Don’t get your hopes up.”

“Trust me, I wasn’t,” you chuckled. A few moments of silence filled the room before a soft snore broke the quiet. Careful not to wake him, you kissed his cheek and whispered, “I’m glad you’re okay, Junior.”

“Knew it,” he said as he cracked one eye open and grinned.

You let go of his hand and dropped into your chair with an annoyed huff. “Asshole.”

“Brat.”

#ollie answers #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz smut #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula one imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula one fanfiction #f1 x reader

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i-turned-into-the-stone · 3 months

Text

[Commissioned] Wrong Place - Hanni NewJeans

Tag: Non-con, Mentioned Cheating, Messy Face Fucking, Throat Fuck, Cum Swallowing, Breeding, Creampie

Character: Hanni - NewJeans × M!Reader

Word Count: 5,405

Over the weekend, Hanni found herself stuck at home while her parents were off on a boring business trip. To top it off, her boyfriend was tied up with some lame part-time job crap.

But then, her friend, Danielle, who attended a different college from her, spilled the beans about a party she was planning to hit up. Hanni's ears perked up at the mention of a party, and she felt a sudden urge to join the scene.

Danielle wasn't exactly keen on bringing a, for the lack of a better word, studious girl like Hanni to this particular shindig. She made it clear that it wasn't your run-of-the-mill party and definitely not a place for someone who was not used to party like Hanni.

But Hanni wasn't about to take no for an answer. She put on her best puppy-dog face and cooked up some lame excuse about being scared shitless to be home alone. She even promised Danielle she'd be on her best behavior and all that jazz.

Thing is, Hanni had never been to any party before, so she kept hammering away at Danielle until she caved. "Fine, you can come, but don't come crying to me if shit hits the fan. You're on your own.”

The next day, the day of the party arrived. The moment Hanni stepped into the villa where the whole shebang was going down, her heart started doing somersaults in her chest. It was like it wanted to bail on her, right then and there.

This party was off the chain. People were half-naked all over the place, going at it like rabbits. Boys and girls were making out in full view, not giving a single fuck. Some girls were even getting gangbanged by the pool while everyone cheered them on like a bunch of horny spectators.

Sex was happening left and right, at every corner Hanni's eyes landed on. Booze and pills were scattered all over, like a goddamn buffet of debauchery. The whole scene was so in-your-face that it hit Hanni like a ton of bricks, making her gulp hard.

Danielle looked over at Hanni, smirking like she knew what was up. Well, she did warn Hanni, fair and square. She gave Hanni a pat on the shoulder. "Remember, I'm not taking any responsibility here. Take care of yourself and feel free to bail whenever you want~ Bye!”

And just like that, Danielle disappeared into the sea of bodies, leaving this uneasy girl to fend for herself at this godforsaken party. Anxiety tightened its grip on her with each passing moment, turning her into a shrunken shadow lurking in the background.

She couldn't escape the lewd scenes playing out before her eyes, pushing the limits of her endurance. Shit was getting real, and regret started gnawing at her heart. She knew deep down she shouldn't have insisted on coming to this place. This was totally not her kind of place.

Haunted by the indecency surrounding her, she desperately sought refuge from the madness. She made her way upstairs, slyly avoiding a bunch of girls having nasty sex under the staircase. Talk about a sight she wouldn't be forgetting anytime soon.

Most of the rooms on the second floor were occupied, locked, but luck was on her side as she found herself at the last one down the hallway. She barged in, slamming the door shut behind her. Taking a moment to catch her breath, she kicked off her shoes and tossed her bag onto the couch.

Little did Hanni know, this room belonged to you, the unlucky bastard who had just been shot down by some arrogant junior on campus. "Fucking bitches," you grumbled as you locked the door behind you, seeking some semblance of privacy.

As you plopped down on the couch, you noticed an unfamiliar handbag lying there and curiosity got the best of you as you decided to snoop around a bit. Rifling through the girly items inside, you stumbled upon a wallet.

Opening it up, your eyes scanned the ID, it looked more like a student visa and a smirk tugged at your lips as you checked out the info. "Vietnamese? No shit?" you muttered, unable to believe what you saw.

Just as you were admiring the image on the ID, Hanni casually popped out of the bathroom, clueless about your presence in the room. You instantly gave Hanni a lustful once-over, checking her out from head to toe.

Her outfit, a simple sleeveless crop top and a low waist skirt, were hugging her frame in all the right places, accentuating her curves. It was like innocence and sexiness had a wild sex and birthed this tantalizing combo that got your libido rising.

You leaned back on the couch, flashing her a sly smile. "Well, hello there, Miss Hanni Pham," you drawled, your eyes hungrily feasting on her curvy figure, mainly her exposed belly.

Seeing her picture, you thought she'd look all young and innocent, but were you off the mark. She definitely had that cute factor going on, however, her body was something else. That sexy tummy and those hips, they looked like they were just begging to be held onto while she got pounded hard.

Hanni's eyes practically popped out of her head when she spotted you in the room. She nervously stammered, "W-Who are you?" Her sweet voice was trembling, her mind trying to make sense of the situation.

Caught off guard by Hanni's sudden question, you fired it right back at her. "And who might you be?" After all, this was your room, no doubt about it.

Hanni's face turned beet red as she realized her mistake. "Oh, I-I'm so sorry! I must have barged in without thinking," she blurted out, genuinely remorseful. She looked away, fidgeting with her hands.

Her timid response only made you find Hanni even more adorable. So you softened your expression, extending a reassuring hand her way. "No need to apologize. It's just a little mix-up, I'm pretty sure," you said, your voice soothing and gentle. "This happens to be my room, by the way."

Hanni met your gaze, visibly relieved that you did not seem to be a bad guy. "I-I see. I'm really sorry. I was just..." She paused, glancing toward the door. "I'll get out of here right away," she abruptly added.

Intrigued by Hanni's unexpected presence and captivated by her innocent charm, you felt your hormones raging, especially after your failed attempts to get down and dirty with your juniors.

"How about sticking around for a while? I just caught sight of a couple fucking their brains out in the hallway. I'm sure you don't want a front-row seat for that, right? That's why you ended up here, am I wrong?" you tossed out, trying to convince her to hang out a little longer.

You hit the nail. Hanni's surprise was written all over her face. She hesitated for a moment, torn between her original intentions and the undeniable curiosity that now gripped her. Eventually, her shy nature gave in, and she nodded hesitantly, deciding to stay in the room.

"Oh, right. My bad for messing up your stuff. I thought maybe someone had left their crap lying around or something," you said, stuffing all her belongings back into her handbag and placing it on the seat beside you, luring her to come closer.

"Th-thank you," Hanni stammered, her voice barely audible as her nervousness consumed her. She bit her lip, her eyes flickering with uncertainty.

Unable to resist the growing temptation, you gestured for Hanni to join you on the couch. "Come on, Hanni-ssi," you purred, patting the seat beside you. "Take a load off. Let's have a chat and sip on some drinks. Let's get to know each other."

Without waiting for her response, you casually flipped the unused upside down cups on the tray at the corner of the table in front of the couch, before grabbing some vodka from a bottle you had lying around on the cabinet nearby.

You weren't even sure what brand it was, but alcohol is alcohol. You poured the vodka into the cups and slid one over to the side where you expected Hanni to sit.

Hanni grabbed her bag from the couch and plopped down beside you, clutching it tightly. The air in the room crackled with an undeniable tension, and you had a mischievous plan up your sleeve to coax Hanni into some twisted fun.

Sporting a sly grin, you persuaded Hanni to take a sip of the vodka you had poured for her. But she hesitated as she politely declined, "No, it's okay. I'm, I'm not used to drink alcohol, Sunbae."

Hearing her confession that she was kind of a good girl type of fashion sent a rush of excitement through your veins. The thought of toying with her innocence made your pulse quicken. But you knew you had to tread carefully.

In a persuasive tone, you continued to nudge Hanni, tempting her. "Don't be so formal, Hanni," you coaxed. "Calling me oppa is fine. We all have our first times, right?"

Hanni's eyes flickered indecision, caught between her reservations and the pull of the forbidden. Sensing her internal struggle, you maintained a patient approach, fully aware that rushing things could lead to disaster.

Suppressing your primal urges, you focused on slowly seducing Hanni, leading her deeper into the realm of decoy. "Come on, Hanni," you whispered, your voice dripping with suspense. "Just a little sip won't hurt. It'll be our little secret.”

Hanni finally gave in and took a sip of the fiery liquid. She coughed, her delicate frame trembling as she set the cup down, pressing her chest in discomfort. The strong taste of the alcohol caught her off guard, but you weren't done with her.

Putting on a concerned face, you scooted closer to Hanni, your hand gently rubbing her back in a soothing gesture but your touch had ulterior motives. Your fingers traced the outline of her bra through her top, teasing and testing the game.

"You kinda drank it the wrong way," you whispered with faux sweetness. "Let me show you the right way." You picked up her drink and brought it to her lips, locking eyes with her. “Take it in one shot. It will taste way better," you fibbed, making your intentions crystal clear.

"N-no, wait–"

You didn't give her a chance to protest further, forcefully guided the liquid down her throat, your grip firm. The mingling taste of the alcohol and her resistance created a heady cocktail of dominance and submission, fuelling your lust.

Hanni’s cough filled the room, her throat burning from the alcohol. It was like the perfect opportunity presented itself, and you took it immediately, firmly pressed your hand on her abdomen, rubbing in a way that was both comforting and sinister.

Hanni's eyes widened, and she realized your sick intentions. She judged you wrong. She knew exactly what you were up to. She wasn't going to let it happen as she pushed you away, trying to escape the situation, but you weren't about to let her slip away that easily.

You grabbed hold of Hanni, pulling her onto your lap and wrapping your arm around her waist. The alcohol in your cup was poured into your mouth but instead of swallowing, you smashed your lips against hers in a forceful and messy kiss.

She struggled against your advances, her protests muffled when your lips locked, and you passed the liquid from your mouth into hers, some of it dripping down her chin and staining her clothes. The taste of vodka mixed with the warmth of her mouth, creating an intoxicating blend that only fueled your hunger even more.

You slid your hand down her back, your fingers tracing the curve of her spine before gripping her slim waist, holding her in place. The taste of vodka lingered on your lips as you deepened the kiss, exploring the depths of her mouth with a thirst that bordered on obsession.

Hanni's struggles grew more desperate, fear dancing in her eyes. But you paid no mind to her resistance. Your free hand found its way to her thigh, fingers grazing the soft skin beneath her skirt. With a low growl, you broke the kiss. Hanni gasped for air, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to regain her composure.

“You're about to find out just how fucking good a party like this can be,” you said, your voice coated with authority.

“S-Stop! Please! Let me go! Ugh!” she said, trying to get up.

Just as you were about to lean in for another kiss, Hanni's phone suddenly rang from inside her handbag, shattering the spell that had enveloped you. You fished her phone out, quickly checking the nickname on the screen.

Turns out Hanni already had a boyfriend, but you didn't give a damn about that. With a smirk, you answered the call, a wicked glint in your eyes. "Sorry, dude, my baby is a bit tied up right now," you taunted, then promptly turned off her phone, cutting off any connection to the outside world.

Hanni's eyes widened in disbelief and horror at what you had done. "No!!!" she screamed, desperation filling her voice, as she reached out to grab the phone from your hand. Ignoring her pleas, you tossed the phone aside.

Pushing her back onto the couch, you positioned yourself between her legs, as you pinned her hands beside her head. The power you held over the girl depleted any concern for her well-being or personal relationships.

"You better calm down, babe," you threatened, a hostile glint in your eyes. "If you keep acting up, I'll bring my boys in here to have some fun with you. Ever thought about taking in more than one dick at a time?"

Hanni's whole body trembled with fear, her eyes welling up with tears. She pleaded desperately, "Please... Just let me go. I want to go home..."

"Going home?" you sneered, leaning in closer, your clothed erection pressing against her crotch. "Then why the fuck did you come here in the first place, huh?"

Tears streamed down Hanni's cheeks as she broke into sobs. "Dani..."

“Dani? Ah, Danielle.” You recalled you had hung out with that petite girl a few times before and were well aware of how Danielle handled herself in wild parties like this.

That girl might seem pure and delicate to the people who don't know her but she was probably off somewhere, getting high on a few cocks in this villa so no need to worry about her much as nothing was going to stand between you and this fresh prey.

Without further delay, you buried your face in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply, savoring her sweet scent. Her eyes squeezed shut, her body tingling with goosebumps as you trailed kisses towards her flushed ear.

Yearning for more of her taste, you traced your tongue along her earlobe, eliciting a moan from the girl. "Mmm!"

Cupping her face, you made her meet your gaze. "I'll fuck you better than your boyfriend ever could," you whispered.

She struck your chest, screaming, "No! I don't want to! Argh!"

You effortlessly seized both of her hands and pulled her up, guiding her to lean against the backrest. Ensuring she stayed still, you cradled her in your lap before removing your jacket.

Grasping both sides of her face, you kissed her once more, your tongue delving into her open mouth. "Mmph!" She attempted to pull away, but you sucked her tender tongue into your mouth. After breaking the kiss, you took hold of her hands that had been clawing at your shoulders as you stood up, your bulge positioned right in front of her face.

Placing her hands on your belt, you smiled down at her. "Come on, Hanni. Don't be shy. Come get your milk since you don't like alcohol." She vigorously shook her head. There was no way she was going to suck a stranger's dick.

You harshly tugged at her hair, causing her to yelp. “Fucking do it before I completely lose my shit and rape the shit out of your cunt.”

"P-Please... I-I don't know how... I haven't..." She gasped for air, cut off by your action of pulling her messy hair and delivered a light slap.

"We'll do this the hard way then." You hopped off the couch, dragging her by her the arm toward the door. "No! Please!" She dropped to her knees, resisting your pull by putting more weight on her body.

Snapping her arm off, you undid your belt, a mocking tone in your voice. "I'll give you a hand this time," you taunted, unzipping your jeans while observing her sobbing-shaking on the floor.

Hanni knew she was about to be violated and and the realization that she couldn't do anything to prevent it shattered her spirit. Your threat hit her hard. She had no desire to be at the disposal of multiple strangers she didn't even know.

"Hold on, o-oppa... Can we just take things slow?" she pleaded, holding back a cry.

"Um... Yeah, sure, sorry." You took a step back but before she had a chance to catch her breath, you forcefully slammed her against the couch and delivered a harsh slap across her face. In a burst of anger, you erupted, "Don't be a damn prude. We both know you're here to have fun! So be a good little bitch and do as I fucking say."

You held the girl down on the couch by her throat and tore her top and flimsy white bra off until her firm breasts were exposed to hang freely. You squeezed her mound and tugged at her pink nipples, causing her to yelp. She felt her nipples throb under your cruel treatment.

"Shut the fuck up. You only make noise when I tell you to," you barked, delivering another hard slap across her cheek.

Hanni hugged her naked body, crying out for help, though her pleas fell on deaf ears. Tears streamed down her face, smudging the light makeup that would soon be further ruined.

"Now then..." Your boxer and jeans crumpled around your ankles as you presented your thick cock to her small round face. "Open your mouth, Hanni."

As expected, the innocent and fragile girl remained steadfast, continuing to cry as if it could save her. But you took matters into your own hands, gripping her head and positioning it towards your eager member.

You tightly grasped the hair at the top of her head and pulled back. "Ack— Ough!"

Half of your cock slipped into her warm, wet mouth. "Ah, fuck!" With force, you pressed her face onto your cock, thrusting forward. "Damn! I could cum already. Haa!"

"Bleurgh!" Hanni gagged, her nails digging into your thighs as she desperately tried to push you away. Your lengthy thickness gradually stretched her jaws, causing her eyes to roll up as your cockhead invaded her tight throat.

The sensation of her soft, spongy mouth ignited a craving for more. You began to move your hips, holding her head in place. Hanni's adorable red lips wrapped tightly around your shaft, gliding back and forth, leaving a trail of saliva behind.

As the pace quickened, a more sticky thicker drool dripped down her chin, eventually reaching the floor. Nonstop tears streamed down her cheeks as she blinked weakly, struggling with each gag as your cock slid past her uvula.

She choked on your cock, feeling the solidity of it going down her throat and back out again, causing her to retch but finding nothing to spit out. Out of breath, she coughed painfully, snorting out snot through her reddened nose. Groaning in despair, she lifted her ass in an attempt to retreat from your cock, but to no avail.

"Fuck yeah... Shit, shit, shit! Ohh!"

Your knees bent, your toes curling as you hit the peak, shooting excessive load inside her aching mouth. Hanni had no choice but to swallow and suffocate on the sticky substance filling her throat, threatening to overflow from her mouth, but your cock acted as a barrier.

As your senses slowly returned, you withdrew from her mouth. Hanni collapsed onto all fours, coughing and gasping for air while spitting out the remaining mixture of your semen and her own saliva. It continued to drip onto the floor since she couldn't close her mouth.

Meanwhile, you took a seat on the edge of the table a step behind you, slightly out of breath from the intense orgasm that had just subsided. A smile formed on your face as you looked at the whimpering girl.

"That was amazing. Are you sure you never sucked cocks before? First time?" you expressed, reaching forward to give her ass a firm smack, followed by a squeeze.

Hanni's will to speak was shattered, her gasps mingling with her sobs. She felt disgusted. How she would ever be able to tell anyone about this. Thoughts of her parents and her caring boyfriend crossed her mind, causing her to cry even harder.

Irritated by the lack of response from the girl, you yanked her hair, pulling her head between your spread legs. You lifted her face to meet your gaze.

“Why so sad? Don't tell me you're not a fan of swallowing cum. Do you prefer to get drunk on vodka instead?” you mocked, gently brushing aside the hair that clung to her tear-stained face before taking off your shirt.

Hanni shook her head slowly, her body jerking with each sob. You flashed a smile and used the shirt to wipe away the tears, snot, and cum from her face. Her makeup had completely vanished, but her natural cuteness radiated even more on her bare face.

"Did I push my baby girl too far? It's alright, let's take it easy this time," you said, tossing the crumpled shirt aside. Taking her hands, you placed them on your sticky, slippery cock. "Suck it clean, okay? Get it nice and hard again, or else someone else might get a turn with you."

Hanni didn't have much choice but to do as you said. She knew she was trapped, and trying to escape would only make things worse. With shaky hands, she started stroking your hardening shaft.

Her small, soft hands struggled to fully grasp your size, but they were more than enough to reignite your sex drive. You placed a hand on top of her head, leaning back slightly. Hanni held her breath, even closing her eyes for a moment, before she finally took your girth in her mouth.

You simply guided her head down, relishing the sensation of her soft lips enveloping your fully erect cock. "There you go," you hissed with pleasure. "Keep your eyes on me and suck it."

She opened her eyes and locked her gaze with yours, maintaining eye contact as she blew you to the max of her ability. Her head bobbed up and down without any need for further direction from you. You could feel her tongue trapped beneath, pulsating against the underside of your sensitive cock, adding an extra level of sensation.

As Hanni slobbered on your cock, you snatched the vodka bottle with your free hand and took a few big gulps. "Pwaaa!" you let out a satisfied huff, forcing her face even lower, making her gag harshly. "Fuck! I can never get enough of this."

Setting the bottle down, you started using her head like a fleshlight. Her neat blowjob quickly turned into a sloppy one as she gagged louder, coughing up spit all over your cock, her nails digging into your thighs, trying to prevent her nose from hitting your pelvis.

"I'm gonna fucking cum again at this rate... Ughhh!" you groaned, your eyes fixed on the ceiling. "But I know you're just gonna waste it all again, so–"

With a forceful push, you ejected her off your cock, sending her tumbling to the floor, heaving. The mixture of precum and her spit dripped excessively. You stood up and grabbed her under her arm, dragging her across the room to the bed.

Shoving her onto her back, you wasted no time and swiftly grabbed her legs, pulling her lower body to the edge of the mattress. Stepping forward between her spread legs, you lifted her mini skirt up to her waist, revealing her white panties.

Hanni tried to spring up, but you pushed her back down again. She quickly covered her crotch with her hands, but you swatted them away. "W-Wait... No, please–"

You slapped her breast and gave it a hard squeeze. "Shut up. Brace yourself, 'cause I'm gonna stretch your pussy real good."

Losing patience, you ripped her panties right in the middle, exposing her bald pussy completely. With your elbows keeping her thighs apart, you started rubbing her entrance, all wet and ready.

"Nngh!" Hanni bit her lip, trying to hold back unwilling moan as she clutched the sheets beside her head. She had reluctantly accepted that she couldn't avoid this, but the thought of you fucking her raw made her head spin.

Once you had sufficiently lubricated your middle finger, you slid it inside her folds, testing the waters. “No…!” Her body tensed up right away, tightness surrounding your finger. But there was no barrier to stop its full penetration as it disappeared completely inside her.

"You're such a slut but I know exactly how to handle naughty little sluts like you." You pushed your finger back into her cunt. She cried out, then gasped, gritting her teeth to stifle a moan.

Hanni let out a squeal as you suddenly replaced your finger with your full length inside her pussy. She felt her inner walls ripping, her eyes widening in shock. You were thick enough to cause some pain as you ground yourself into her, smashing her hips down onto the bed.

Words failed you, and you moved your body as if on autopilot. Uncontrolled cries of discomfort pain burst out of her as you started thrusting, fast, deep, and ruthless, relentlessly battering her inside. Her ass slammed against the bed with each savage stroke, your cock driving her down and across the mattress.

One hand tangled in her hair, tugging her head up to watch her swollen pussy as your cock slid in and out. Your arm snaked upward, giving her breast a squeeze. Your breath was hot on her face as you pumped rougher.

"You're mine now, you little– Fuck!" You couldn't even finish your sentence as her velvety canal overwhelmed your senses.

Both of your hands slid up and firmly encircled her throat. You weren't choking her, but she could feel your strength, aware that you had the power to do so all the while your cock slammed into her deeply, never stopping or pausing.

Your breath quickened, and your hands circled her waist, moving her onto you. Lifted up and down, you were using her like a fuck toy. You pounded a few more thrusts then your balls tightened, so you had to stop for a moment, your cock buried deep inside her, the tip hitting a barrier that you could not see.

You let out a breath, not ready to blow your load just yet, but even when you paused, her pussy clenched and sucked you in. One hand that had been groping her tit slid down to her sweaty stomach, pressing against the pillowy flesh. The other hand hooked under her knee, lifting her leg up to her chest, granting better access.

"I'm gonna fill this up," you muttered, not really talking to anyone specific, as you admired and massaged her belly. "I'm gonna cum so much inside you, Hanni baby. I'll fucking impregnate you."

The other girls you'd fucked were always worried about stupid shits like condoms and pulling out, but with this girl, nothing was going to stop you from satisfying your own cravings. You pulled back, leaving just the tip inside, before slamming your cock back into her wet pussy, making wetness around her entrance splatter.

She gasped, her stomach sunking, and her back arching. It was so easy to pound into her now; her body betrayed her, getting even wetter than ever before. All she could discern was the deliberate stretch of her inner walls as your thick cock filled her up completely. That's all you could feel too.

You fucked her slower, but each thrust was harder and sharper, probably hitting her cervix dead-on. Hanni fought her way back to reality as her body adjusted to the deep, thorough glide in and out of her slippery tunnel. It was a struggle, but with each impact, she managed to ease the ache.

"You feeling better now, huh?" you laughed, like you could read her mind. Didn't take a genius to figure it out; her pussy’s clenching walls and sloshing wetness spoke volumes.

Her resistance was crumbling with each passing second. Your actions had her mind all fuzzy and messed up. Her body was losing control, no match for your brutal, ripping thrusts.

She was panting, squirming, twisting, and bucking—nothing she did could escape the scorching heat in her core, the fullness of your cock sliding in and out, over and over, while you held on tight and dominated her writhing form. You picked up the pace, and she huffed and shuddered, and then a long, blissful moan marked the start of her shattered resistance.

"Hanni," you mumbled her name, driving as deep as you could reach into her and leaning forward to suck on her tits, one by one, as her pussy helplessly milked your swollen cock.

“So hot and tight. Ohh... Oh shit!”

A wet heat pooled deep in her belly as you pumped load after load of cum into her pussy. Hanni wailed, a sound that could've been pleasure or a protest against you cumming inside her fertile womb.

Nonetheless, she didn't care anymore, not at that moment. The fraction of your cock in her overstimulated tunnel set her brain off. Thick, creamy cum oozed between your bodies and dripped down her ass.

Instead of stopping right there, you kept going, your sensitive cock hungry for more. The mix of her sweaty floral scent, her blissful state, and her vulnerability only drove you harder, making your cock stand at full attention.

Your grip on her hips tightened as you pounded away with savage determination. You growled into her ear, "You're mine now. I won't quit. I'm gonna fill your pussy with my cum." Your hand found its way back to her throat, adding an extra edge to your thrusts. She was completely limp in your grasp, utterly powerless to resist.

You took a deep breath, one more push, and it happened. A scorching surge of heat flooded deep inside her, reaching depths unknown. You let go of her leg, and it weakly fell, trembling from the force of her own orgasm that pushed your seed out, coating your throbbing cock.

"Ahh... Mm..." Hanni whimpered, her words barely coherent.

You panted, hovering over her with your hands on either side of her head. With a satisfied grin, you slipped two fingers into her gaping mouth, playing with her tongue while your thumb caressed her lower lip.

“Fuck, how the hell am I hard again? Well, I guess we're not going anywhere anytime soon," you scoffed, well aware that she heard you, even though she avoided making eye contact. What she failed to ignore was the growing girth of your cock inside her pussy. The sensation made her legs instinctively close up.

"Yah, Hanni Pham, cheer up. How about I let you ride me next?" you suggested mockingly, not expecting a response.

You were about to switch positions when a double knock on the door interrupted your action. You clicked your tongue in annoyance, choosing to ignore it.

"Hanni? Are you in there? Are you doing okay?" a soft voice called out to the girl you were in the midst of fucking. It had to be Danielle, you thought, and abruptly pulled out of Hanni, causing her to wince.

Danielle's voice should have brought some reassurance to Hanni. However, at that moment, she felt nothing, just pure sadness. She turned her body sideways on the bed, curling up and silently letting her tears flow.

Nothing could change her situation now—it was too late to turn back.

#kpop smut #kpop gg #male reader #kpop girls #newjeans smut #hanni pham #hanni smut #newjeans hanni #commissioned work #non con smut

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nicohischierz · 3 months

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hiding in plain sight: hughes sister

tagging: @ivy-34, @francesfarhadi, @hzstry8, @cixrosie, @itsnotgray, @estapa94, @trevs-swiftie, @heartz4hischif you want to join the taglist let me know!!

luke had walked into jack’s room rubbing his chest.

“what’s going on bud?” jack asked, lowering his phone. luke crawled into jacks bed and laid in his back. “my chest hurts,” luke answered.

jack turned to his younger brother and continued asking questions, searching his symptoms up online before deciding if it required a trip to the doctors.

“ever since i moved here, i’ve got this dull ache in my chest and sometimes it hurts more than other times,” luke explained.

“do you think you’re homesick?” jack asked.

luke shrugged. “i asked quinn about it and he said he gets it too sometimes but quinn isn’t homesick anymore,”

jack couldn’t help and luke decided to give up. so the two brothers left it alone.

luke monitored the feeling in his chest and found it lightening on december 5th.

the whole family was in vancouver. everyone except you.

ellen, jim, jack, luke and quinn were in quinn’s apartment playing games when his doorbell rang.

the group weren’t expecting anyone so quinn was a bit apprehensive in opening the door.

“your lives have been made better!” you exclaimed hugging your oldest brother.

quinn hugged you back after clocking who you were. the older hughes boy squeezed you tightly, making sure you weren’t a figment of his imagination.

luke was next.

with the two of you being close in age, luke had missed you dearly. upon inhaling your comforting scent, the ache in luke’s chest lifted.

actually. when all three brothers saw you in the doorway, the aches in their chest vanished upon seeing their younger sister.

you smiled at jack after letting go of luke. the two of you may have had a disagreement before he left but he was still your older brother.

so you pulled him in for a hug as he clutched you tightly. “i’m sorry squish,” he whispered.

you pulled away from him and gestured for the other two to come close. “i missed you guys,” you announced, pulling all three brothers in for a hug.

that weekend, you spent as much time as you could with your brothers. you pestered them when you were bored and followed them into every room they visited.

“i mean i’m seeing you for christmas right?” luke had asked.

the devils were getting ready to leave for their next game and luke wanted to make sure his chest never ached again.

you shrugged. “my boyfriends going to sweden and asked if i wanted to come along. i haven’t thought about it much but sweden’s nice and i’ve never been but i barely get to see you guys,” you trailed off.

quinn squeezed your shoulder. “you should go. luke, jack and i have travelled for hockey before and i know you’ve always wanted to go,” he answered.

“i think you should stay.” luke intervened.

“why?” you asked.

“like you said you barely see us, so why make it less by leaving to go to sweden with your boyfriend that none of us know about,” luke added.

“i want to travel the world lukey. i love you guys so much but why do i have to make the compromise everytime.”

you picked up your bag and headed it the door. “whenever you guys are in boston, i have to make the drive to see you. i have to make sure i’m at the lake house every summer just to catch a glimpse of you guys. i’m tired of not putting myself first luke,” you explained.

"its funny cause all your friends make the effort to come see me but I have to be the one to see you," you added.

luke tried to come up with an explanation but you stopped him. you bid goodbye to your family and called for a cab to the airport.

the hughes brothers didn’t realise it at first but that ache in their chest was back and stronger than ever.

it wasn’t till christmas that they all realised it.

luke thought being with his parents would help but the ache was still there, gnawing away at his insides. he felt useless as he lay on the couch rubbing his chest as world juniors played in the background.

quinn and jack were dealing with the same pain as they found refuge on one of the sofas. ellen thought they were being over dramatic babies in need of their mother's care.

"what is going on with the three of you?" she asked, lifting luke's legs onto her lap. the three boys groaned.

"my chest hurts,"

"i feel sick,"

"jack's lying on my arm," they all complained.

"lukey, your chest hurts? why didn't you say anything sooner?" ellen started panicking.

luke shrugged. "i told those two and they thought it might be home sickness but it still hurts and I am literally at home,"

ellen furrowed her eyebrows and looked at her three babies "has it ever not hurt?" she asked.

"earlier in the month," they all replied.

"when?" ellen pressed.

"umm mine stopped when we were all in van, even squish," quinn answered.

"mine too," luke added.

"same," jack joined.

it didn't take long for the hughes matriarch to realise the brothers missed their younger sister.

"whenever you guys feel this pain, who's missing?" she asked quietly.

luke wasn't trying to answer the question directly when he replied "squish!"

in actual fact, the stream had panned to the crowd and their younger sister just so happened to make an appearance. she was sat next to rutger mcgroarty's sister donning a usntdp jersey that the three brothers knew didn't belong to them.

you had waved to the camera, the number two clearly visible on your sleeve before the camera panned down to the owner of the jersey, will smith.

"your sister loves you guys and i know you guys love her. but that boy looks at her like she hung the stars and the moon. he gives her the space to be herself, not just your younger sister," ellen explained.

it took the brothers a few weeks for their mother's words to truly settle in.

it wasn’t until the three brothers were together again and were on instagram when they came across a video with you and will in the background.

the two of you were smiling at each other as will was in the middle of putting his cap on you. the brothers could hear the laugh you let out.

it’s the one in so many of their home videos where you’re having the time of your life.

it’s also the laugh they haven’t heard in a while.

luke felt guilty for suggesting you should’ve stayed.

quinn felt like a bad brother for not making the same effort as you did.

and jack.

well he still felt guilty for what he did before he left for jersey.

#hughes sister imagine #hughes!sister #quinn hughes imagine #jack hughes imagine #luke hughes imagine #nicohischierz writes

528 notes · View notes

ellecdc · 5 days

Note

can i formally request something? (i have no idea if you take smut requests so please ignore me if not😭) a barty x reader smut where everyone already thinks they’re together so they’re like 🤔?? maybe they’re onto something

and maybe if they try to tell people (read regulus) they’re just like -_-¿ this is new

and well done on your exams!! i’m sure you aced them

hahaha omg this is so Barty and reader coded fr. thanks for your request (I hope I did it justice)

Barty Crouch Jr x afab fem!reader who has sex for the first sodding time, Evan

CW: smut - like straight up porn people, p in v intercourse, pussy slapping cuz apparently I'm a freak, soft choking, a slap in the face if you squint, 18+

This conversation had been going on for so long that you were truly fighting the urge to throw your head back and let out a guttural scream out of pure frustration.

But Barty never fought his urges.

“For fuck’s sake!” He screeched. “How many sodding times do you need me to say it: we - are - not - to - geth - er!” He shouted at Evan, emphasising each syllable with a stomp of his foot.

Evan smirked and shared a look with Dorcas before rolling his eyes.

“Sure. And what exactly is this?” He asked, gesturing with his book at your tangled forms.

Okay, so maybe you and Barty were physically affectionate with each other - but that didn’t mean anything.

“What?” Barty asked simply.

“The way you’re sitting, Junior.” Dorcas drawled in a bored tone.

You both looked at each other like you were only just now realising your proximity to each other.

You were positioned on the cushion of the sofa between Barty’s thighs with his arms wrapped around you and his hands weaselled under your shirt and tucked under your breasts.

What?

It was for warmth; he has terrible circulation, you know.

“We always sit like this.” You replied.

Evan scoffed. “You always sit like you’re one sneeze away from having his dick slip inside of you?”

“Okay, you know what?” Barty said, slipping his hands out from your shirt and patting your thighs to say ‘get up’, and standing up behind you. “I didn’t come here to be spoken to like this, least of all by someone who has his head shoved so far up his arse that he could check for tonsillitis.”

Evan shut his book he’d been pretending to read up until that point causing Barty to screech and shout at you to ‘save yourself’ as the two of you took off in the direction of his dorm room.

You were laughing and breathless by the time you made it into Barty’s room and he shut the door behind you, casting a locking charm for good measure should Evan come looking for retribution for the slander.

“Honestly, I think they’re just jealous.” You said breathlessly.

Barty nodded as he sucked in a few deep breaths himself. “I mean, it’s kind of sad he’s never had a best friend that he felt so comfortable with, you know?”

“Exactly!”

“And I don’t know why everyone has to make it so sexual. Do you have great tits? Sure. But that’s not why I put my hands on them!”

“Of course.” You agreed readily. “And I mean, are we two of the hottest people to walk these fucking halls? Of course we are -”

“Absolutely.”

“- but that doesn’t mean we’re shagging!”

“Right!” Barty said with finality as he finally sat down on the chair at his desk. “I don’t know why they have to make everything so weird.”

“Me either.” You groaned as you fell backwards onto Barty’s bed and stared up at the green velvet bed curtains draped over the four poster bed. “They’re probably just jealous.” You repeated. “I mean, we would make a really hot couple; I’d want to be with us too.”

“You know, that’s exactly what I was just thinking.” Barty agreed quickly. “And if we were having sex, they’d bloody know it. It would be hot.”

“Gods, it really would be, wouldn't it?”

“Without a doubt; I’m great in bed, and you’re great at everything.” Barty said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“You know what.” You said as you sat up to face Barty. “It would be hot. Great sex comes from trust-”

“Check.”

“- communication,”

“Check.”

“Familiarity,”

“Duh.”

“Confidence.”

“Obviously.”

“We’d be sodding lucky to be shagging each other!” You proclaimed.

“I agree!” He responded.

You both stared at each other; breathing slightly laboured having gotten yourselves so worked up pleading your cases (to no one, seeing as you were both clearly on the same page).

“Huh.” Barty said finally, giving your body a once over. “You know, maybe it is weird we haven’t fucked before.”

“Yeah.”

Your eyes met his green ones that held an intensity you’d not seen from him before.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you wanna fuck?”

“Yeah.”

And like a flip had been switched, the two of you were launching yourselves at each other.

No time was spent savouring touches or testing waters. It was all teeth clashing, tongues dancing, heavy breathing, and tearing each other’s clothes off.

It felt somehow both forbidden and oh so right.

You’d truly never thought about Barty like this; you really were just that comfortable with one another.

But as you pulled his shirt over his head and started fussing with his belt, a fire roared to life inside you screaming we should have been doing this the whole bloody time.

You nearly tripped over the waistband of your trousers as Barty backed the two of you towards his bed where he sat on the edge.

You broke apart for air as he moved his sinful mouth down the expanse of your torso and took to marking up your breasts.

“Salazar they’re even better like this.” He murmured to himself before taking one of your nipples in his mouth whilst he pinched the other.

You ran your finger through his hair, an action you'd done many times before, but never like this.

You pulled at it roughly and brought his lips back to yours as you pushed him to lay back on his bed so you could straddle him.

“Merlin, Y/N. No foreplay?” He chuckled breathlessly as you gave his cock a few strokes and whispered a lubrication charm.

“Next time.” You sighed as you lined him up with your entrance and slowly sank down onto his cock, causing the two of you to moan in unison.

“Next time, huh?” Barty teased as he smoothed his hands up and down your sides, allowing the two of you to adjust to the feeling of one another before you experimentally rolled your hips.

“What? Don’t you want to fuck me, Junior?” You taunted right back.

Barty thrusted his hips up roughly into yours, causing you to cry out and place your hands on his shoulders to stabilise yourself. “I think it’s very obvious I want to fuck you.”

“Yeah?” You whispered, bringing your mouth back to his and biting gently on his bottom lip.

“Yeah.”

You breathed a laugh out through your nose before you bit down harder.

“Then fuck me.”

And before you could tell which way was up, Barty had flipped the two of you over so he now hovered over top of you and had his hand wrapped around your neck.

“You want to be fucked, doll?” He groaned as he hooked one of your legs around his hip allowing himself that much deeper in you.

If there was one thing you could thank the fucked up breeding habits of Purebloods for, it was apparently the size of their cocks.

“You want me to ruin you?” He continued as he added more pressure to your throat, still grinding into your now sopping cunt. “Make sure no other wizard is ever good enough for you?”

Your entire body felt like it was on fire; the feeling when you’re sitting on the poolside in the sun after a swim; the beads of water only make the sun’s rays feel that much warmer against your skin.

“Oi.” He demanded, giving your cheek a chastising tap. “You gonna be good for me?” He asked more seriously this time.

His beautiful green eyes were nearly fully eclipsed by his pupils as he continued moving in and out of you with what you realised now was a very controlled pace. But you were eager to see where he’d go from here.

“I’ll be good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me.” He ordered.

“I’ll be good.”

“What was that?”

“I’ll be good, Barty.” You whined, pulling at his arms in an attempt to bring him closer.

“Who are you going to be good for?”

“You.”

“Yeah?”

You hummed in agreement as he hiked up your other leg and wrapped it around his hip.

“Tell me.”

“I’ll be good for you! Promise. I’ll be so good for you, please.”

Barty chuckled and let out a taunting cooing sound as he fell to his elbows and brought his face to yours.

“There’s no need to beg, sweets.”

And just like that, he was pulling away from you again.

Suddenly, his hands were on your hips and he lifted them into the air, holding them there as he began slamming into you.

“Gonna be so fucking good for me, aren’t you angel?” He grunted.

You scrunched your eyes shut at the feeling of his throbbing cock pounding into you; adjusting his angle every few thrusts in search of something.

“I bet you’re a fucking screamer, huh? You always got so much to say babygirl; don’t go quiet on me now.”

His fingers dug further into the fat of your hips as he adjusted his grip on you, causing you to let out an embarrassing keening sound.

Apparently that was close, but not quite what Barty had been looking for.

“Close. How about we try…”

And he pulled out of you completely before landing a hard smack against your pussy, forcing a surprised scream to tear from your throat.

“There’s the pretty sounds I was looking for.” He celebrated, rubbing placating circles on your clit before repositioning himself and sinking back into you. “Think you can keep that up for me, Princess?”

“Yes!” You cried quickly, grabbing helplessly at the bedding as he once again lifted your hips up into the air, finding that sweet spot inside you that he’d been in search of before his interruption.

He knew he found his mark when you let out another strangled sob.

“Alright pretty girl, there we go, huh? Does that feel good?”

You were babbling affirmatives nonsensically as he groaned at the sensation of your walls clenching around him; yesses and pleases spilling from your lips.

“Fuck you feel so good.”

“Please Barty.” You cried, reaching a hand up to his wrist.

He let your hips fall to the bed as he brought one thumb to your clit and his other hand took yours in his.

“What is it, princess? Hm?”

“Please.” You whined, and it sounded pathetic even in your own ears in your current state.

But Barty only tsked and pulled two of your fingers into his mouth which he began to suck.

You could feel the tension building in your core as he quickened his pace with his thumb and his hips before letting your fingers go with a pop.

“I’ll take care of your princess, you know that. When have I ever let you down?”

Never.

“Never.”

He smiled triumphantly down at you; and though his mouth was cocky, his eyes were sincere.

“Exactly. I’m not about to start now, yeah?”

And suddenly his thumb was gone from your clit, your ankles were thrown over his shoulders and he was leaning his weight against the backs of your thighs as he began thrusting into you with an air of desperation.

“Atta girl; so good, huh? S’good.” He grunted as his thrusts became somewhat sloppy. “S’fuckin’ good for me. Perfect for me, aren’t you?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes.” You chanted with each thrust of his hips. “Please, oh gods, please, please Barty.”

“I know, I know.” He grunted, clearly as close to teetering over some sort of edge as you were. “I know, I feel it. You’re alright, yeah? Go on, sweets; I’ve got you.”

And his hands were holding onto your thighs for dear life and he was kissing at your knee like even that silly little part of you was something worthy of worship, and he did have you and he never let you down and he wasn’t going to start now and you saw stars as you finally fell over the edge.

The room fell quiet as Barty locked his lips on yours, and you realised you’d been screaming.

His hips stuttered as he thrust into you once, twice, three times more before he followed you over the edge; letting your legs fall from his shoulders as he fell to his elbows on top of you and the two of you fought to catch your breath.

In complete contrast to the Barty who was only moments ago pounding mercilessly into you, he started placing, slow, lingering, gentle kisses over your face as his thumbs rubbed idly at your temples.

He pressed a kiss to your neck, your jaw, the tip of your nose, over your eyelids, your forehead, your ear.

You knew Barty could have a soft side, but you never imagined it so tender.

“I knew you’d be a screamer.” He whispered, breaking you out of the serene moment and surprising a bark of laughter from you, which caused both of you to groan in discomfort before Barty slowly pulled out of you.

“Stay here, princess.” He instructed as he walked away from the bed and returned a few moments later with a warm cloth and one of his (read: your favourite of his) t-shirts.

You watched him carefully as he cleaned you up - and once again, what probably should have felt awkward or embarrassing felt nothing but natural as he doted on you.

“Can you sit up?” He asked; not one hint of condescension in his tone as he held the neckhole of his shirt open for you to slip your head into.

As it poked through, he pressed a kiss to your lips before helping to thread your arms in.

“Is it safe to assume we’ll be doing that again?” You asked with a smirk, causing him to scoff dramatically.

“We’ll be doing that the rest of our lives if I have anything to say about it.”

After a shower and a change into comfies, the two of you returned to the common room, and though Dorcas was long gone, Evan could be found where the two of you had left him, now in the company of Regulus.

“Well boys.” Barty sang dramatically as he swung his legs over the back of the sofa and landed on the seat with a bounce. “We just fucked.”

You rolled your eyes at his blatant goading as you sat beside him.

“Yeah? And I had potions today; so what?” Regulus muttered without looking up from his novel.

“What do you mean so what? This was the first time!” Barty argued.

“This is new.” You insisted severely.

“You know, I always knew Barty was a liar; but I expected better from you, Y/N.”

Your mouth dropped open as Regulus and Evan stood up and walked away from the seating area.

What you didn’t see as they walked towards the Slytherin dungeons was Regulus passing Evan five Galleons for their bet on who could convince the two of you to finally get over your “just friends” bit.

282 notes · View notes

sanarkeo · 3 months

Text

they can’t love you like i love you

nayeon wants to show her girl off to the world.

alternatively: look at you getting fucked by someone you barely know on your first date!! nayeon x reader smut - exhibitionism - humiliation - dom!nayeon w sub!reader - idol!nayeon w idol!reader - power dynamics? unnie kink sorry lol... 4+k words long for some reason

it all started at music bank a week into your group’s promotions for the new title track, when your manager entered the waiting room and yelled out that she had a surprise for all of you. you looked up from your phone just as the hairstylist had fixed your bangs and shot an intrigued look over to your closest friend in the group. she raised her eyebrows at you and mouthed: “twice?”

you knew then that it was all over for you.

even being at the music program today, occupying the same building as them brought you a rush you’d only felt going up on a stage and seeing a thousand fans gush over you. you were finally going to be able to meet them, actually meet them. not smile and wave from afar. you could finally talk about how much they’d inspired you, even take a picture with them. but you’d be lying to yourself if you said your heart wasn’t in full on palpitation mode thinking about finally seeing your favorite girl face to face like this.

you’d even set her as your lockscreen for god’s sake. but maybe then the rumors were true and her face does bring good luck or whatever. embarrassed just wondering what’d happen if she ever saw it, you shoved it into the shallow pocket of the tightest mini skirt the stylists could’ve fit you into and left the room with your members.

the meeting with twice was brief and took place in the most random of kbs corridors. most of what you’d remembered of it was tripping over your words, bowing a bit too much and too fervently, and staring at how gorgeous they looked in person. seeing them in concert was nothing like this.

“congratulations on your new song!” sana shrieked, pulling your leader into a hug and beaming at the rest of you. “ah, i love seeing juniors with so much passion!”

they took turns wishing your group the best and exchanging some encouraging words. you were avoiding eye contact with one of the girls in fear you’d combust, but felt her gaze lay heavily on you. The way im nayeon stared you down stirred something in your stomach and made your fingertips tremble against the copies of signed albums.

Unlike jihyo or dahyun, she barely said a word beyond the niceties. Which was odd, because nayeon was nayeon. Her expression was fixed and ambiguous, and you swore at yourself for giving into looking her up and down. She was wearing that outfit from the concept photos. the one with that fucking jacket and the tube top and that skirt. nayeon had her gloved hands on her hips and you had to tear your eyes away, afraid of letting your stare wander too much.

when your manager signalled for the group to get to rehearsals, you hurried to bow once more with your members and hastily presented the signed albums to twice. when you gave a copy to nayeon, she accepted it with both hands and a closed smile.

“thank you, y/n-ah~”

you turned on your heels and ran back to the waiting room to get ready. your members teased you for how pink your face had turned even with all your makeup on.

when filming was done, your body felt the pressure of the late nights and intense practices come crashing through. you were just glad you’d be able to get a full night’s sleep. stepping into the waiting room ready to change back into your clothes, the sight of your manager glowering at you made you wince.

“how many times do you have to lose your phone? you know, twice’s manager had to come all the way here to hand it to me.”

she sighed and handed you your phone, now with long, deep cracks sustained from a corner - it must’ve fallen out of your pocket while you were running.

you and half your members got into a van to get back to the dorms. as soon as you settled into your seat and got comfortable though, they started to take sneaky glances at each other and giggled.

“i used to think you liked nayeon-sunbaenim too much but i think she actually likes you back,” one of them teased.

“oh my god, did you see how she was looking at you?”

“or maybe she hates you somehow? either way, even i began blushing…”

“-please, please, please guys i think she was just like ill or something.” you were tired, sure, but the annoyance also had something to do with wanting to never think about the stray possibility of her liking you at all. you turned on your phone to send a text to a friend when you saw it. just as you were going to attach some pictures, you were greeted with a flood of selfies of nayeon.

you first raised an eyebrow at your members who were also busy on their phones, as if they played some lame prank on you. but you soon realised that you’d never seen those nayeon selfies before (you were surprisingly on top of twice content for someone who clocked an average of 4 hours of sleep), and that those selfies looked really fucking recent. taken today, recent.

there she was, standing in front of a bathroom mirror, your phone looking small in her hand, a thumb slipped under the waistband, pulling it ever so slightly down. as soon as you saw it, you dropped your phone onto your lap and took a deep breath. nayeon found your phone, nayeon took your phone, nayeon saw your lockscreen and nayeon used your phone to take insanely hot mirror selfies in the kbs bathroom.

all the other images you flicked through were just slight variations of the first, till you landed on a short video. playing it, you saw nayeon moving your phone back and forth from the mirror as she cycled through an array of poses, mouthing… something?

one of your favorite things about im nayeon was how she could sing like an absolute angel, light and airy, while having this depth and hoarseness in her speech. you pressed the speaker against your ear and upped the volume ever so slightly. the sound of her voice, nearly whispering, soft and sultry, forced a sigh out of you. you’d thought she was just spewing random numbers, which you would’ve accepted anyway, but then it hit you.

it was her number.

you [9:01 pm]

hello?

nayeon [9:05 pm]

what took you so long?

before your first date, all she’d given you was a date, a time, and an instruction: wait for me outside your building. the surprise in it made your breath hitch as you stepped out the front door to your dorm. the fact that you kept it a secret from your members and managers gave it the mildest sense of danger you craved after years of obedience. when you got down to the entrance, you saw nayeon leaned against her coupe in an off the shoulder midi and heels.

“you got down here a lil early… you this eager for our date?”

in an instant, your cheeks flushed red. first, because in the 3 weeks you’d been texting each other, you must’ve forgotten how beautiful she looked in person. then, because you looked down at yourself and realized how underdressed you were. nayeon clocked this, and you didn’t notice how she tried her best to resist smirking.

“sorry, umm… i didn’t know we were going somewhere fancy…”

it didn’t click that maybe she’d left that bit out intentionally.

“don’t worry babe, a pretty face like yours doesn’t need a flashy dress to make an impression.”

she opened the door for you then got into the driver’s seat. all the way to the restaurant, you held in the urge to ask her to keep her eyes on the road. it was surreal. being in im nayeon’s car and her driving you to your first date at a restaurant you could hardly afford on your rookie checks. her looking into your eyes, staring at your body like she’d eat you whole.

you’d admit you felt uncomfortably warm as she cursed out other drivers. you’d admit you leaked through your underwear when she gripped your bare thigh with her left hand and drew lines with her thumb. you felt her grip loosen and her fingers trace your thigh higher and higher until she pulled it back to hold the wheel.

“ahh! we’re just around the corner. i hope you like french food?”

you had a curfew, you had dozens of unanswered texts and yet you were tipsy in im nayeon’s apartment. putting down your glass of wine on her coffee table, you looked over at her floor-to-ceiling windows - a view of the han river at midnight framed perfectly - and shook your head at your stupidity.

your leader might kill you. your company could set your contract on fire.

then, you turned and saw nayeon there, bathed in yellow light, head propped against her hand, biting her bottom lip.

“thank you for tonight,” she said and set her glass down to take your hand and stroke the back of it gently with her thumb.

your leader was going to kill you. your contract was up in flames. whatever.

throughout dinner, all that initial embarrassment of feeling out of place in a dimly lit restaurant full of finely plated dishes and women decked out in jewelry, died down and was replaced by a heat that grew up your neck and between your legs. nayeon made you feel like you were the only girl in the room. like you were worthy of everything. like you were beautiful and good. you tried to play it cool but when she got the bill and asked you if you wanted to come over to her place, you’d never felt more easy in your life.

so there you were, the wine’s acidity coating your tongue, your throat dry, just craving her lips that were parted slightly, right in front of you.

“why did you give me your number?” you asked.

“because.”

nayeon licked her lips and you wondered how desperate you looked at that moment.

“and… and why did you take all those pictures?”

as brazen as nayeon was, you still caught her sheepish smile when it appeared for the briefest moment.

“i knew i had to have you from the moment i laid eyes on you.”

you didn’t know then how long she’d actually kept tabs on you for. she scooted closer and intertwined her fingers in yours, never once breaking eye contact. the smell of bergamot and citrus was intoxicating.

“and it worked didn’t it, babe?”

you hummed in agreement and tore your gaze away from her. but your sight landed on her cleavage and you turned dumb. at once, nayeon lifted up your chin and chuckled, just knowing how much you wanted her.

“texting me straight away like a good girl?"

“i had to.”

nayeon exhaled, closed her eyes and moved her hands to your hips.

“such a good girl for me.”

she kissed you and you never realized how soft lips could be. you laid your arms on her shoulders as she slid her tongue between your teeth, then sucked on your bottom lip till it was sore. when you shifted, you felt how wet you were getting just fantasizing about what that tongue could do to you.

when she pulled away, you saw the desire set deep in her eyes. she tilted her head and sunk her teeth onto your neck. she sucked and licked on your sensitive skin, and you didn’t notice how her hands got under your blouse. you were so sure she’d leave hickeys (and what will you even tell your makeup artists tomorrow?), but the way nayeon’s fingertips traced the curves of your waist left goosebumps on your thighs.

“i-i don’t think i should stay overnight though,” you whined, helping nayeon take off your blouse. “i’m already in so much trouble unnie.”

her bunny-toothed grin appeared as soon as you said that last word and she hurried to get your bra off. “don’t worry, unnie will take care of you.” she tossed your bra aside and steadied her breath staring at your tits. “fuck,” she breathed. “i wish all of seoul could see them.”

she played with your nipples for a while before wrapping her lips around one of them. you threw your head back and moaned, feeling her tongue flick at it and encircle it. she planted kisses across your chest making her way to your other breast and slipped her hands beneath the band of your skirt. you resisted the urge to just spread your legs wide open for her when she pulled it down. you never felt more like a slut than then.

after you kicked the skirt to the side, nayeon kissed you and you whimpered into her mouth. “can i taste you?” she asked, and you nodded and ogled at how the pinkness of her full cheeks spread to her nose.

you squirmed in your seat as you watched her carelessly push back her coffee table and get on her knees. it was mesmerizing seeing her fix her bangs the same way she’d always done when you watched her vlogs or interviews, except this time it was in person, and this time, she’d done it before forcefully dragging you closer to the edge of the sofa.

“fuck…” she groaned. ever since she saw you in that mini skirt, she’d been touching herself to the thought of taking it off of you. now you were in front of her, legs inching apart somewhat unconsciously, she was going to have you. all of you. with your underwear still on, she pressed your thighs further back and took a second to admire the sight of you.

“you’re so wet.” nayeon smirked and dragged her tongue from the bottom of your slit to your clit, the friction from the fabric driving you insane. “so wet for me.” she nearly tore your panties forcing it off of you.

she parted your pussy lips with her long fingers and lapped at your cunt with broad strokes. you writhed and wriggled, sobbing at the way her thick tongue moved onto brushing back and forth over your clit.

“nay-nayeon unnie…”

you bit your lip and looked down, catching her gazing up at you like she was going to devour you. you moaned with each shape she drew with the tip of her tongue.

“my little slut got wet even on the drive over to the restaurant right?”

her tongue teased at your hole, dripping with juices, then sunk into it. you tried moving your hips, grinding against her face to get more of it in, wanting so badly to be filled with her warmth.

“mmh…”

“what a slut,” she muttered, pulling away.

nayeon stood up and ordered you to do the same. she grabbed you by the wrist and yanked you to the window. instinctively, you tried to cover yourself up with your hands and angled your body to the side, nervous at who in those officetels and apartments across the river could’ve seen you.

“no, no,” she said in a low voice, getting behind you and taking your hands in hers, exposing you to the skyline of east seoul. you knew the odds were tiny, but reddened uncontrollably at the thought of some stranger being able to watch. your reputation could’ve been wiped just like that. everyone could’ve found out how much of a slut you were for nayeon. yet, she gently pushed your shoulders down and you obediently took that as a cue to kneel.

“what if someone sees?”

nayeon sighed and sat down, her thighs holding you in place, her clothed chest pressed against your bare back. “you’ll put on a show for them then,” she whispered, and gestured for you to sit down. “you’re good at that aren’t you?”

she forced your legs open, but you tried resisting even to come across faintly as having some sense of dignity. digging her nails into your skin, nayeon spread your legs wide open and you instantly felt the cold air on your pussy again. looking down at all those tiny cars stuck in traffic, at all the red and yellow lights of the city, you shuddered but gulped your doubts straight down. as one of her hands slid down your chest to your abs and finally to your needy pussy, the other groped your breast and rubbed your nipple between a finger and a thumb.

you couldn’t get over how warm and smooth her touch was. she rested her chin on your shoulder and you felt her lips hover behind your ear. “baby, i want the whole world to see you get fucked.”

the moment her fingers skimmed over your clit, you jerked your head back, resting it on her shoulder, and whined. she giggled right in your ear and you felt a wave of tingles run down the small of your back. the image of her eating you out was still burned into your mind.

this was the first time you thought that maybe she just liked to torture you, enjoyed the tension in your thighs as you tried your best to keep them apart. not squeeze them together to get a little more pleasure like a bitch in heat. no, you had more patience than that. just enough to to be able to feel the rise and fall of her chest on your back and not collapse to her feet, pleading to be fucked.

with her index and middle fingers, she slowly parted your folds and you heard the subtle sound of her smacking her lips. “such a pretty pink pussy. i can’t wait to ruin you. can’t wait to hear you beg and cry.” nayeon smacked your cunt and removed a hand from your tits to squeeze your cheeks as you winced in pain. “what do you want? say it.”

“i want you…”

she spanked your pussy again.

“you want unnie to what?”

“i want you use my holes and fuck me like i’m your fuck toy!”

just like that, the pent up horniness from nights wasted fingering yourself senseless to imagined scenarios with her spilled right out. you couldn’t tell how badly that sent her on a power trip, but you had somewhat of an idea. because nayeon dragged her fingers up and down your pussy like it was fucking nothing at all then shoved them so far down your mouth you felt them at the back of your throat.

“suck it,” she ordered.

you obeyed her and wrapped your tongue around the salty slickness of her fingers. you bobbed your head up and down, coating their entire length in your spit. all you could think about was them ripping you open. how she so easily held your tits in the palm of her hand. how much more they would stretch your pussy out than your own fingers.

she pulled them out of your greedy mouth and deftly brought them to your entrance. her fingertips dipped in and out like she was testing you, and the frustration nearly made you break free from her hold.

“please, please, please agh… please fuck me, please!”

she kissed your cheek and held your throat in her free hand. “if you say so,” she quipped, and thrust two of her fingers deep into your hole. she plunged into you fast and hard, you were just dumbstruck at how much they filled you up. she curled her fingers to hit your walls at an angle that made you see stars. your breathing grew ragged as she picked up the pace. nayeon’s grip on your throat tightened and you felt yourself reaching a point where you were so blissed out you would’ve done anything to keep her fucking you at that tempo.

“f-fuck me, fuck oh fuck, please i need you, i need more of you-”

without another word, she forced another finger into you and grunted at how tight you felt, clenched around them. “oh my god, you’re so tight for me,” she sneered, the thought of you feeling so vulnerable and small in her hands made her feel ecstatic. at that point, your brain was mush, and every word that left your tongue was some form of: please, fuck, more, or deeper.

“what was that? d’you want me to slow down honey?” she taunted, and drew her fingers back ever so leisurely. the pressure that was building down in you dissipated and you couldn’t help but grasp at her forearm.

“no- no i was gonna- nayeon… fuck!” you felt tears form and the corners of your eyes. how miserable you must’ve looked to anyone who might’ve peered into the window to see you just there, grinding and fucking onto her unmoving hand until it disappeared. her other hand still on your throat, she shoved you down so you were on all fours.

“you can’t cum now, no, not just yet,” she near growled in your ear. she pushed you around and shifted till your ass was up and facing out onto the skyline. it hadn’t crossed your mind until that night how thrilling it was being treated like a piece of meat in nayeon’s hands. your knees and arms yelped at the cold hard marble tiles, but your belly was hot against the silkyness of her thighs.

then, a hard spank landed on your ass cheek. you shrieked but why were you sticking your ass out even more after that? nayeon massaged your ass and rubbed down to the back of your upper thigh.

“i feel so sorry for giving such a good girl such a bad punishment, but i couldn’t stop myself…” she slapped your ass harder this time and you felt the heat and the pinkness form on your skin. “should i? should i stop?”

you shook your head.

“spank me and fuck me until i’m sore,” you sniffled and rested your cheek on the ground.

nayeon shoved all three fingers back into your sopping wet cunt and pistoned them in and out. the only times she’d ever paused for second were to land a slap on your ass. it stung like hell and each subsequent smack made your clit that bit more sensitive to the accidental brushes of her knuckles.

with every pump deeper into you, nayeon felt your walls squeeze tighter and tighter around her fingers. her arms grew tired and yet she just went faster, knowing how close you were getting.

“cum for me baby, cum for unnie.”

as another smack landed on you, the searing pain combined with the overwhelming pleasure was almost too much to handle. your breath hitched and you clawed at the tiles, nayeon’s pace becoming so unforgiving that you just had to-

“fuck- oh fuck! i’m gonna-”

nayeon nearly came to the sound of your scream. you came so hard you felt like your eyes had rolled back into your skull. speechless, shaking, shivering, even when you felt so overstimulated just having her still fingers inside of you, you could only swipe at her arm. feeling liquid stream down your thigh, you whimpered.

when nayeon pulled your exposed form into her arms, you were enveloped in her warmth and her scent. wordlessly, she rubbed your back and planted tender kisses on your shoulder, up to your jawline and onto your lips.

“i like you,” she confessed. and though it sounded so simple and so light, it gave you butterflies.

she cleared her throat and picked you up. you were initially surprised at how strong she was, then blushed when you thought about the definition in her muscles as she fucked you. she kicked open the door to her bedroom and softly laid you onto her bed. tucking you under her heavy blanket, she gave your forehead a peck and slid into the other side. with how dim the lighting was, you could barely make out how nayeon was just looking at you with a goofy smile plastered on her face.

“i like you too,” you admitted. she stroked your cheek and hummed in contentment. you looked over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of the time on her clock. “fuck. my-my manager, i need to let them know i-”

“shh, shh… darling please don’t worry.” all that fear and anxiety was washed away when nayeon shushed you.

“i’ll handle it, princess.”

rahhh first fic! lemme know what you think :D i might continue it but we'll see how it goes... title inspired by underwater by red velvet hehe

#wlw #sapphic #lesbian #twice smut #nayeon smut #nayeon x reader #nayeon x reader smut #twice x reader smut #nayeon imagines #twice imagines #nayeon

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lavendertom · 6 months

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The Neighbor Across the Street pt. 1

Mike Schmidt x Babysitter!f!Reader

part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6

wc: 1.9k

warnings: none! maybe small age gap (reader is 20, mike is like 23/24 ?) lmk if there’s something i missed by chance

summary: the neighbor across the street needs a babysitter, so you take the job, not knowing what’s in store for you as you grow closer to the siblings. pt. 1 of a multi part series!

could be seen as a prequel to my first work My Favorite Prize, but wasn’t written with the intention :) hopefully this doesn’t feel too long, i promise it gets better in pt 2! mostly exposition here 😌

——————————————————————————

College was not the experience you’d expected at all. You lived at home deciding to attend community college, and you didn’t have many friends or the ‘college experience’ everyone else was having. You were lonely, but at least you went to bed in your own room every night rather than sharing a tiny dorm with an annoying roommate and zero privacy.

“I think I found a job for you, y/n.” you heard your mom say as you walked in the door, barely crossing the threshold.

She had been begging you to find a job for months now. You had an agreement with your parents that freshman year you would focus on your studies, but sophomore year you had to step up and start helping balance the burden of college tuition. It was now spring semester of sophomore year and you still had no job.

“Don’t hand me another McDonalds application, please.” you said with a sigh as you placed your keys and bag on the dining room table.

“You know the neighbor across the street, Mike?” you felt your heart drop with the mention of his name. How could you not know the neighbor across the street.

He immediately caught your attention the day he moved in with his sister. You knew he was a few years older than you, he wasn’t in school and he was constantly working. He was nice. Although, you’d never truly spoken to him besides introducing yourself back when he initially moved in and you were just a junior in high school. Your parents often helped him keep up with yard work when things got especially hard. Everyone knew they were struggling, it wasn’t that hard to tell.

“Yeah, I remember him.” Of course I remember Mike. He’s the neighbor that I’ve found a little too attractive since he moved in.

“I saw him this morning before work, he was telling me they’ve been in a really bad place lately. Abby’s babysitter quit, so I might’ve offered for you to stop by and help a few times a week.” your mother said, saying it as fast as possible so you couldn’t object.

“Really, mom?” you said sounding annoyed. “You couldn’t have talked to me about this before throwing me into it?”

“Listen, it won’t be that bad. I told him you’d stop by after dinner to just try it out, no commitment. He’ll be there while you just hang out with Abby for a few hours, you know how she is.” Abby was a sweet kid, just a little quieter than other kids her age.

“Okay fine, I’ll go. No promises this will work out.” You replied as you walked to your room, mentally preparing yourself for the evening ahead of you.

An hour later you found yourself at the doorstep of the Schmidt’s. You hesitantly raised your hand to knock on the door. You waited a moment until the door swung open.

You saw Mike standing in front of you and he honestly looked like a mess. His dark hair was all over the place and his eyes looked tired as can be. He was wearing a black hoodie, the front pocket was falling apart, and jeans that had dirt stains all over the front.

“Hey, y/n, right?” he said.

“Yeah, my mom told me you needed someone to help look after Abby.” you said, getting a good look at his eyes. This was the first time you’d ever seen them in detail. They were brown with a few specks of green and hazel in them. They were actually pretty nice to look at.

“Yeah,” he said with a chuckle, “I didn’t intend on accidentally hiring you for this. Sorry about that.”

“No, it’s totally fine.” you said chuckling yourself, looking down at your hands. “I’ve been needing a job, so it’s kind of a blessing in disguise.”

“You’re in college right? You’re studying… what was it again?” your mom must’ve really given him the rundown.

”Cybersecurity, second year.” you said with a small smile, blush creeping up on your face. You never got used to people complimenting your accomplishments even though you had been an honors student since 3rd grade.

“Right, that’s impressive.”

“Thanks.” you said, smiling sheepishly.

“Anyways, feel free to come in, Abby should be somewhere around here.” he said as he moved out of the doorway, welcoming you into the home.

The house looked cleaner than you’d expected, given the state of the outside of it. It was pretty ordinary and plain. He walked towards the living room, where you could see Abby laying on the ground. There was a TV in front of her playing some kind of old cartoon. An assortment of crayons, markers, and other art supplies were sprawled all across the ground.

“Hey Abs, I want you to meet someone.” Mike said to the young girl. You walked over to stand beside him. “This is y/n, she’s going to hang out with you for a bit today, okay?”

“Hi Abby, it’s nice to meet you!” you said with a smile.

Abby looked at Mike as he spoke, then looked at you, back at Mike again, before finally going back to whatever she was drawing earlier.

“She’s gonna be a little shy at first.” he whispered to you. “Once you start talking to her she should hopefully open up a bit. I’m gonna catch up on some stuff around the house if you need anything.” he gave you a reassuring smile before walking away.

“What kind of drawing is that?” you said in an attempt to start conversation with the girl. She looked at you for a moment before looking back down. This is going to be a long night.

You decided that your initial approach wasn’t going to work. So, you got down to her level. You sat down next to her on the ground, grabbing a piece of paper and marker.

“I like drawing too, you know. Give me the name of any cartoon character and I can draw it for you.” you said softly.

She gave you a side eye, before turning her head towards your face. “Any character?”

“Yup, any character.” you said with a smile.

“Felix the Cat.” she said just before turning her attention back to the paper in front of her. This girl knows her stuff.

After a few minutes of sketching the character, you set the paper down in front of her. She paused her own work, taking the paper into her hands. She looked at you again.

“Can you draw Yogi Bear?” She commented while still looking at the sketch in her hands, sitting up just a bit straighter.

“Sure.” you said before grabbing more paper and markers.

Before you knew it, there was a large stack of drawings from the two of you featuring all sorts of characters ranging from Mickey Mouse to the Powerpuff Girls. The two of you had been doodling for almost 3 hours now, pausing every so often to talk about why they chose the characters they chose. The two of you were now discussing your favorite drawings of the night.

“I think my favorite is…” Abby began before thinking for a moment, “Courage the Cowardly Dog.”

“That’s a good one. Look at how good your drawing is!” you said to the young girl as you both laid on the ground flipping through the pages of art.

“Not as good as yours y/n!” Abby said to you, holding a stack of her favorites in her hands.

The two of you continued your conversation as Mike returned back to check in on you guys. He was genuinely surprised at how quickly Abby opened up to your company. He stood out of the girls sights for just a moment longer, taking in the sounds of laughter coming from both his sister and you.

“Hey Abs, it’s getting late, you wanna get ready for bed?” he said as he walked into the room.

“Mikeee!” Abby whined. “I’m having so much fun with y/n. Please can I stay up a little longer?”

“It’s okay Abby, I’ll be back again soon and we can do it all over again.” you reassured the girl with a smile.

“Do you promise?” she asked you.

“I promise.”

“Pinky promise?”

“Of course!” you said with a laugh, pinky promising that you’d be back. Mike watched the interaction unfold with a smile.

“Alright, go get ready for bed, I’ll come tuck you in soon.” Mike told his sister.

“Bye y/n!” Abby shouted as she made her way to her room.

“So, how was she?” Mike asked you as you stood up from the floor, attempting to tidy up some of the mess you both made.

“Great, actually. I thought she adjusted fairly quickly. You’ve got quite the picasso on your hands.” you said as you quickly gestured to the now extremely messy floor.

“It’s one of the only things that keeps her entertained.” he said with a small chuckle. “But in all seriousness, I can tell she really trusts you. She hasn’t had a babysitter who actually cared for her like this in a while.”

“It was fun, I’m glad it seemed like she had a good time.” you said with a smile. “So when do you think you’ll need me here again?”

“Is tomorrow too soon?”

“No that’s perfect. Already looking forward to it.”

“You know you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, y/n.”

“Seriously, I’m happy to help. I really did have a great time with Abby.”

“Tomorrow it is then.” he said before shuffling through his pockets for a few dollars, attempting to hand you them. “Here, take this for coming on such short notice.”

“Mike, it’s fine. I really don’t mind. You need it more than I do.” you said with a small smile.

“You sure?” he said, almost as if he had to convince himself it was okay.

“I’m sure.” you said as you headed towards the front door. “I think I’m gonna head out now.”

“Thanks again, y/n.” he said through the door as you walked out, the cool night air hitting your face.

“Of course, anytime. See you tomorrow.” you said with a small wave. You walked home with a different feeling inside. You knew taking this little job to help out the neighbor you never attempted to truly get to know was gonna be fun.

Mike shut the door after making sure you crossed the street safely, making his way to Abby’s room.

“Y/n is really fun, Mike.” she said as she pulled the covers over her body.

“That’s good, Abs.” he said as he grabbed one of her favorite teddy bears, handing it to her.

“I think we’re going to be best friends.” she said smiling at the new assortment of drawings she already managed to tape to her walls.

“You be nice to her, okay Abby?” he said to her. “I know how you can get, don’t screw this one up.”

“Okay Mike.” she said groaning, rolling her eyes slightly.

He shut off the lamp next to her bed, giving his sister a small kiss on the forehead. “Goodnight, Abby.”

He shut the door to Abby’s room, making his way back to the living room floor to clean up the mess that was still there. He grabbed one of the left over papers, admiring the assortment of characters on the paper. Right in the middle of it all were two stick figures which could only be assumed to be you and Abby.

He smiled at it, recognizing he had a good feeling about this babysitter. Not only because of how it could help Abby, but because he finally got the neighbor girl to break out of her own shell. Maybe it could even help him too.

#fnaf #fnaf fic #fnaf movie #josh hutcherson #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #abby schmidt #five nights at freddy's #five nights at freddy’s movie #mike schmidt x y/n #mike schmidt x you

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beenbaanbuun · 1 month

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enemies w/ wooyoung

“i can’t believe i have to share a room with you,” wooyoung spits as he dumps his bag on the floor at the side of his bed. he wastes no time in throwing himself down onto the matress, keeping a stern aye on you as you make your way inside, “out of all the people on this trip, its you.”

you scoff as you follow him, slamming the door in your wake. trust you to draw the same colour marble as him. jung fucking wooyoung. number 1 on your hit list ever since the very first time he pulled your hair in junior school. hatred may have been a strong word, but it wasn’t nearly strong enough for the way you feel about him.

and now you have to spend the next week of your life in a combined space with him. perhaps you’ve done something wrong that the universe is punishing you for. maybe it’s a curse, or some evil spirit messing with you. you’re not entirely sure, but either way you’re certain something is out for your blood.

“the couch is available if you want it,” you snarl, barely able to keep a modicum of civility when it comes to wooyoung. there’s just something about him that makes you so inexplicably mad, “you know, if you have that much of a problem with me.”

“i’m fine here, actually,” he puts his hands behind his head in a display of arrogance. it’s difficult not to go over there and slap it out of him as you move to sit on your own bed, “but you can go and sleep there if you want; you won’t find me stopping you.”

you scoff, “what exactly is your problem with me?”

it’s hypocritical of you to ask that, you know. if anyone has the problem, its you. you’re the one who’s always fought against him; eye rolls and back handed comments the only things you give him whenever he’s around you. and you’re the one who’s always arguing with him over the tiniest of things, even if you know deep down that he’s actually right. some days you can’t even find a reason behind your incessant need to hate him, but that never stops you.

he’s just so annoying.

“you’re a stuck up little princess,” wooyoung supplies with that cocky grin still spread across his face. god, what you wouldn’t do to wipe that away and put him in his place; it’s almost a desperate need that you have to knock him down a few pegs.

“anything else, youngie,” you throw the nickname at him like it’s an insult. he catches it effortlessly, chuckling at your attempt to throw him off.

“yes,” he pushes himself from the mattress, sitting himself up straight so he can look at you; look down at where you lay on the bed beside him. so cute, with your arms crossed over your chest in a petulant attempt to act tough in front of him. it doesn’t work, your little act. not with the way your arms push your tits together, making your cleavage look so fuckable. wooyoung’s dick twitches in his sweatpants, “most of my problems are about you, actually.”

cliche, you think as you roll your eyes; of course he thinks you’re the cause of all his problems. just because he doesn’t like you, doesn’t mean he has to blame everything on you.

still, you’re curious.

when he starts talking again, you’re all ears.

“like how you think you’re so tough when you’re being a condescending little brat, when actually it just makes me want to pull you over my lap and make you scream,” the words take a second to sink in, but when they do, your jaw drops. he smirks, “or when you bite your lips when you’re mad; it just makes me think about how pretty they’d look wrapped around my cock.”

you can’t help the way your eyes flicker to the crotch of his sweats. he’s hard, or halfway there at least. fucking huge too, by the looks of it. you dart out your tongue to lap at your dry lips. holy fuck, what’s happening to you.

“and do you know that i see these pretty little things in my dreams?” a single finger brushes gently over your nipple, hard and visible through the thin material of your t-shirt. you suck in a sharp breath, barely catching a moan before it slips out, “wake up covered in my own cum every single time. dream you is just such a good little slut for me.”

the hand that sits gently on your tit begins to move, climbing gently up your chest until it lands on your neck. he squeezes down lightly, your head spinning under the barely there pressure.

“it’s a shame real life you takes a little more taming, hm?” wooyoung drawls as he bends down to your level. warmth spreads across your face as your lifelong enemy blows a stream of cold air over your face, chuckling to himself when you shiver.

how the fuck had you let this happen? one second you’re sure you had the high ground, and the next you have a hand around your throat and wetness leaking from your pussy. part of you wants to fight back. spit in his face and push him away. set a boundary and let him know that this, whatever the fuck this is, will never happen.

what scares you is that an even bigger part of you is begging you to give in.

and it’s a really shame that you’ve never been very good at saying no to yourself. it makes it borderline impossible for you to listen to that ever-shrinking part of your brain that’s telling you to run.

“wooyoung,” you whisper, although youre not even sure of your next words yourself. you haven’t decided whether this is going to happen or not. whether you’re going to let him tame you like he so clearly wants to. you open your mouth, hoping to all that is holy that you make a good choice.

“what do you want, baby?”

“fuck me,” you say.

oh…

“such a good girl.”

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez oneshot #ateez scenarios #ateez fic #ateez smut #wooyoung smut #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung fanfic #wooyoung oneshot

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evansbby · 1 year

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𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟒

part iv - just like animals

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dark alpha!Steve Rogers x naive omega!Reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut, major angst, extremely dark themes, a/b/o dynamic, daddy!kink, dubcon, dumbification, bullying, breeding kink, pregnancy kink, size kink, housewife kink, semi-public sex, pussyjob, oral (f receiving), extreme depictions of bullying and depression, 18+ only, minors do not interact!

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You begin to lose hope, and Steve begins to lose his mind.

Series Masterlist

𝐀/𝐍: Another warning that the angsty content and certain themes in this chapter may be difficult to read. Warnings are there for a reason. Apart from that, thank you so much for being so patient. It took me more than 4 months to write this and it’s 22.2k words long. Enjoy.

Pregnant.

You stare so hard your vision blurs, until the two lines on the test are swimming around comically, almost as if they’re laughing at you. And then you’re blinking rapidly, because your eyes must be playing some kind of cruel trick, right? This can’t be real, this can’t be real, this can’t be real.

You’re pregnant. With Steve’s baby.

It’s with an almost detached silence that you get up and wrap all three tests in a big wad of toilet paper. Like you’re floating through the air, you stuff them under your shirt and make your way out of the room. With Steve still asleep, you venture downstairs and out the front door, the chilly morning air having no effect on you.

You bury the tests at the bottom of the garbage bin, like how you’re currently trying to bury all the emotions threatening to spill out of you. A baby. Inside you. Right at this moment. Steve’s baby. Your hand twitches, reaching up to touch your stomach before you stop yourself. What were you going to do now?

Steve reaches for you when you return to the bedroom, he looks half-asleep as he pulls you back into bed. You wonder whether here, cocooned in cosy warmth, you can just scrunch your eyes up real tight and pretend none of this is happening right now…

“Where did you go?”

“Steve, I… I’m…” Your throat constricts, and panic rises within you like bile as you try to regulate your breathing. “I just went downstairs to drink water.”

Steve hums, drawing you closer and burying his face in your neck while you lie completely still. As if any movement would somehow expose the fact that you’re pregnant. He peppers soft kisses onto your skin, tugging your shirt down to expose more of your neck.

“I’m gonna take you out for dinner tonight.” He says softly, and it’s the last thing you were expecting to hear from him right now. His lips drag up to kiss the corner of your mouth before moving down to your jaw, his hands stroking up and down your body as he holds you close. “You have an exam this morning, don’t you?”

You don’t know whether to laugh or cry at the fact that you’d forgotten you have an exam today.

“Y-Yeah.”

“Mm, so I’ll take you out after. Anywhere you want to go. We can even go shopping before that, I’ll buy you whatever you want.” Steve’s arms encircle around your waist, pulling you up as he rolls onto his back, so that you’re lying on his chest. He blinks up at you, blue eyes suddenly serious, “I want you to forget about everything that happened last night, omega.”

And just like that, it all comes rushing back to you. Like a hurtling freight train that had been momentarily kept at bay because you’d just found out you were pregnant. But now the memories come back at lightning speed. Bucky. Steve Junior. The fight. How Steve hadn’t defended you. How he’d left.

How he’d cheated on you.

How you’d begged him not to leave you.

“Forget all of it.” Steve repeats, cupping your face with both his hands. “None of that’s important anymore, as long as you’ll be good from now on.”

And just like that, he wants you to forget. Move on in a blink of an eye. Forget his cheating, his casual cruelty, how he’d laughed when you’d cried. How he’d told you every detail of his encounter with that other omega, how it had felt like you’d been punched in the gut repeatedly.

How could he expect you to forget? By pretending it never happened and distracting you with shopping trips, gifts and dinners? Was that his way of compensating? Didn’t he feel even a tiny bit of remorse? Could he even acknowledge how much he’d hurt you?

There’s a part of you, underneath all the newfound shock of being pregnant, that wants to confront him about all of it.

Instead, you nod mechanically. “Okay, Steve.”

“Good girl.” He kisses you a few more times before sitting up and setting you down next to him. “Pick a restaurant and text me, I’ll make the reservation.”

With baited breath, you watch him as he gets up, moving around the room to get ready for the day. You know that he’s got his morning run, then a gym session and then two exams back-to-back– which means you won’t see him until a lot later. Maybe it would give you enough time to gather your thoughts and make sense of your situation before you tell him.

***

Your own exam goes by in a blur. It doesn’t help that all you can think about is the fact that there’s literal life growing inside of you, but you somehow soldier through. With nerves mounting, you walk from the university building back to Steve’s house almost in a daze. Worries, questions, concerns, and fears swim around in your head like a school of frenzied fish. What are you going to do?

Acting on desperate impulse alone, you whip your phone out. Shaky fingers scroll desperately, searching for one blocked contact in particular. Almost in a frenzy, you tap on his name, unblocking him and calling him before you can change your mind.

“H-Hello? Peter?”

It takes a few moments for him to register that it’s you, and then:

“Oh my God. Are you okay?!”

The familiarity of Peter’s voice makes you want to cry, the sound bringing back fleeting memories of sitting on his sofa with a bowl of popcorn and a movie, complaining to him about all the alphas in your lectures. Playing computer games on his laptop and laughing when you beat him. Catching the bus to his house after days of not speaking to anyone at university, and the relief you’d feel when he’d open the door…

“I’m… I…Peter, I…”

You’re suddenly awash with shame. The last time you’d seen Peter, his face was spurting blood after being punched several times by Steve. And you hadn’t even bothered to call or text him after that, hadn’t bothered to see if he was okay. Granted, that was also the night Steve had mated you – oh, how could you ever explain all of this mess to Peter?

“Are you okay?” Peter repeats. “I tried to call so many times but you blocked me.” A pause, and then he adds: “Don’t worry, I realised that was probably Steve’s doing.”

You swallow harshly, “I should’ve called you. It’s just… He… He…” But you couldn’t blame it all on Steve, could you? In the past month and a half, it’s not like you’d gone out of your way to contact Peter. No, after Steve had mated you, it was like he’d consumed you, eaten you alive. Wrapped you up in this little bubble where it was just you and him and no one else mattered. A bubble you clearly had been in no hurry to escape from until it had popped unceremoniously all over your face.

“Is he treating you okay?” Peter’s question sounds tentative, as if he doesn’t quite believe his own words.

“No, Peter, I–” A strangled sob escapes your throat from out of nowhere, and you can feel the flimsy threads holding you together as they begin to come apart. “Everything’s a mess, a big fat mess and I don’t know what I’m going to do!”

“What happened? Did he hurt you?”

Why had you called him? How could you even begin to tell him everything you’d been through in the past twenty-four hours? Would Peter ultimately even care to listen to you complain about the man you’d cheated on him with? The man who you’d been living with for the past month, acting like his good little omega while pretending Peter no longer existed?

“It’s all a big mess.” You moan pathetically, hating yourself for how you sound. Here you were, hurt by one man and immediately trying to hurtle yourself into the arms of another. Stupid. Pathetic. Dumb. Careless. You’d gotten yourself into this mess. Just like Steve said – all your fault.

Your hand finds its way to your stomach, stroking it softly through the material of your dress. For a split second, you close your eyes and try and picture it. You, with a baby in your arms. Your very own baby – it looks exactly like you. And Steve coming home, smiling happily as he kisses you and takes your child, swinging it around while it giggles.

But like ink spilling on paper, the image darkens. Now it’s you alone with your baby. Cold, dark, dreary. Steve’s gone. He left you. Left you and left your baby. For that other omega. Left you just like how your dad left too. And it’s all your fault, all your fault, all your fault! Steve’s voice chanting in your head while your baby cries: all your fault, all your fault, all your fault!

“Hello? Are you still there?” Peter’s voice drags you out of your mind. “Look, just tell me what happened. I can help you. I know I wasn’t much help last time but I can help you now. We can figure something out, just tell me where you are, and–”

“I’m sorry,” You interrupt him, swallowing harshly. What had you hoped to achieve by calling your ex-boyfriend and telling him that your current boyfriend got you pregnant? No, you couldn’t do that to Peter. “Look, I don’t know why I called, I can’t drag you into my mess.”

“You haven’t even told me what the mess is–”

“I’m sorry, Peter.” You choke out before quickly hanging up. Methodically, you delete the call history and block his number once more. And then, it’s with almost mechanical grace that you wipe away your tears and clear your throat.

This is your mess. You have to handle it by yourself.

Still reeling from the impulsive phone-call and it’s abrupt ending, you walk the rest of the way back to Steve’s house in a daze of different emotions, wanting nothing more than to just escape your mind which seems to be working in overdrive. Reaching the front door, you’re about to twist the doorknob when you hear a click and the door swings open from the inside.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Little Miss Omega.” Words dripping with smug delight as if he’s caught you with your hand in the cookie jar, Bucky leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest and a wolfish grin on his face, “Was that you I just saw on the phone?”

You duck your head, hoping to just ignore the alpha, nudge past him and run up to yours’ and Steve’s bedroom. But Bucky easily blocks your path, leaving you standing outside on the porch and looking up at him in dismay. Again, you try to push past him but he’s too big, too strong, barely budging.

“I asked you a question. Who were you on the phone with? I bet Stevie doesn’t know, does he?”

Bucky intimidates you, with his light blue eyes and cold gaze. The way he’s always staring. And you don’t think you’ll ever forgive him for what he did to poor Steve Junior. Hands curling into fists by your sides, you can’t help but look to the ground, “I was talking to a friend about a textbook I’m looking for.”

“Nice try, sweetheart. Everyone knows you don’t have any friends.”

“Just let me in!” You try and be assertive, but shoving past him does you no good – just like Steve, he’s practically built like a brick wall.

“Let’s put it to a vote, shall we?” Bucky turns his head slightly, “Hey, Sam. Should I let little omega into the house?”

Over Bucky’s shoulder, you see Sam on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table and a joint between his fingers, a slightly glazed look over his eyes. “I don’t give a fuck, man.”

“I’ll take that as a no. Sorry, sweetheart. I guess Steve should’ve trusted you with keys.” And you can’t believe it when the door slams in your face. You stand there in shock for a few seconds, wrapping your head around exactly what’s just happened. Overhead, the clouds grow darker and you hear a boom of thunder that has your chest tightening.

Hurriedly, you knock on the door once more, trying to persuade yourself that they’re just doing what they always do – acting like alpha jerks and joking around. Of course, they’ll let you in soon – they’d have to be heartless not to.

“Please let me in!” You call out, knocks becoming more incessant as panic begins to bubble inside of you – you’re not too fond of thunder, “Bucky, Sam, please! I think it’s gonna start raining!”

A rush of cold air has you shivering down to the bone, goosebumps rising up and down your limbs. It had been warm in the morning, so you’d worn only a light sundress – absolutely not ideal for the rainstorm that’s clearly about to hit.

“Guys, please!” You cry out again, and it comes out as a whimper. Bucky’s been awful as of late, but maybe Sam would grow irritated by your cries and come to open the door? That’s all you can hope for as you continue to slam your fists against the door harder and harder.

Suddenly, the door opens and you sag with relief until you see it’s Bucky again.

“L-Let me in. Please.” You hate that you have to beg him like this, after everything he’s said and done to you in the past. How he tore Steve Junior, how he called you a bitch in heat. Oh, how badly you wish Steve was here. But then, would Steve have even done anything at all?

Bucky tilts his head as if he’s pretending to think, “How about we strike up a bargain, sweetheart? You give me a kiss, and I’ll let you in.”

It’s as if someone’s dunked poison into your veins. Ugly, green poison that gives you a bad feeling and a bad taste all at once. You take a step back almost cautiously, “N-No.”

“You sure, omega?” Bucky licks his lips, pushing his brown hair out of his face as his gaze drinks you in hungrily. “It’s awfully cold out there, and nice and warm in here. All it’s gonna cost you is one kiss. And don’t worry, I won’t tell Steve.”

You jut your chin out, “No. I’m not going to kiss you. You’re Steve’s best friend, you shouldn’t be acting like this anyway.”

It’s like it’s all a game to him, because Bucky just smiles wickedly, reaching out to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. Revulsion overtakes your body, and you take another step back, blanching before giving him a pleading look.

“Acting like what? I told you, I won’t tell Steve.” He tries to grab you, but you’re quick to dodge him, “Come on, omega. It’s not like Steve’s gonna care anyways. I was there when he cheated on you. I didn’t understand it, if I had a hot piece of ass like you in my bed– I’d never do what he did.”

You bite your lip. The pain is still so fresh, the memory of Steve so nonchalantly telling you how he’d cheated on you, how he didn’t have a mark on his neck that tethered him to you. You’re crestfallen, but there’s a certain fury that awakens inside you too, because you hate how Bucky’s talking about it, you hate how he knows, you hate how he’s using it to his advantage.

“JUST SHUT UP!”

You’ve never yelled at an alpha like this before, your voice sounding over a clap of thunder that hits at that exact moment, “Shut up, okay? My relationship with Steve is none of your business. So just please, please leave me alone and let me in.” And once again you try to barge your way past him, pushing against his arm with all your strength but getting absolutely nowhere with it.

“Listen, you little bitch. Don’t fucking raise your voice at me.” Bucky is quick to grab your arm, twisting it roughly behind your back and making you cry out in pain. “And stop trying to act all high and mighty, like you’re above kissing me. You’re just a pathetic little scholarship slut omega, remember that.”

“Please! It hurts!”

“It hurts!” He mimics, face inches from yours as he sneers down at you, “When are you gonna realise that no one cares when you hurt? Least of all Steve.” His lips are so close to yours, and you can feel his breath on your face as he speaks, “So, what do you say about that kiss, hm, sweetheart? He cheated on you, now’s your chance to do the same. An eye for an eye.”

“No! I’m not going to kiss you, okay? I don’t want to!” You cry out, trying with all your might to wiggle out of his grasp until he cruelly pushes you away and you stumble down the front steps of the house.

“Fine. Suit yourself, omega slut.”

And the door slams shut again, followed by the unmistakable click of the lock. And this time, you know Bucky isn’t coming back to open it. Another clap of thunder, a ripple of lightning and now heavy rain is falling down in earnest. For a few seconds, you just watch in disbelief as the icy cold water soaks through your clothes.

Then you run up against the window, pounding on it, hoping that maybe Sam will let you in. But Sam looks like he’s passed out on the couch and dead to the world around him. And Bucky just sits there, cigarette in mouth and phone in hand, pretending as if he hasn’t just heartlessly locked you outside in the heavy rainfall.

And the rain is unforgiving, so cold as it pelts downwards. Fat droplets of icy water beating down on your head – it’s already soaked through your dress and everything from your hair to your phone is dripping wet.

Once more, you slam your fists on the door, yelling out both their names, begging and pleading to be let in. You shake and rattle the doorknob, you pound at the glass of the window, at one point you even hurl your whole body into the door to maybe break it open – but to no avail.

“Please! It’s c-cold out here!” Your voice comes out hoarse from all the pleading you’ve been doing, and you can’t tell whether it’s rainwater or tears smeared all over your face, “Please let me in! I d-don’t know what I did to you but please, just let me in!”

It’s in the middle of your hundredth ‘please’ that you finally stop, clamping your shivering mouth shut because what’s the point? All this begging, all this pleading, just in the hopes that the two worst people you know might feel sorry for you? When they never have in the past? When they’ve been awful to you every chance they got, despite the fact that you’ve been nothing but polite to them?

No. Bucky and Sam don’t deserve your begging.

You find yourself sinking down on the steps. You contemplate calling Steve, but one glance at the black screen of your phone and you know it’s either dead or the rainwater got to it.

The library was closed for maintenance, and walking to the nearest campus building would be impossible in this rain. Even your old dorm is out of the question, because Steve has the keys to it. And slowly, as the cold numbness begins to spread across your fingertips and up your arms, you feel a sudden numbness in your mind too.

This despairing feeling of no hope, cruelly snatching away any need to survive. You feel your body switch off, the feeling of deadly indifference overtaking you. You bury your head between your legs, wrapping your arms around yourself to preserve any body-heat.

Steve should be home by now... But he isn’t, he isn’t, he isn’t! The voice inside you mocks. He’s probably with that other omega…Cosy in her dorm room, probably kissing her…

You don’t know how long you sit there in the pounding rain, feeling it beat unforgivingly down your head and back. A part of you wants to drown in the rainwater, or let it wash you away and take you somewhere far. Somewhere where it isn’t so wet and so cold, where everyone isn’t so horrible.

The car headlights don’t really register in your head, and neither does the rough hand that grabs your arm a few moments later, shaking you and calling out your name repeatedly. You just keep your head in your lap, hoping and praying that the cold goes away.

“Can you hear me? What the fuck are you doing out here?” Steve demands, grabbing both your shoulders now and shaking them heftily, making you look up slowly and blink. Your vision is completely blurred, and again it’s either from the rain or your tears – you don’t know. But you see Steve’s halo of blonde hair glimmering in the rain, and the furrow of his brow.

You open your mouth but nothing comes out as Steve yanks you up to your feet, pulling you towards the door.

“Did you hear what I just asked you? What are you doing out here in the rain? Are you insane?” He has to raise his voice to be heard above the deathly patter.

“W-Wouldn’t let me in.” You mumble faintly as Steve fishes for his keys, pulling them out of his pocket and unlocking the door in record time, pushing you inside before following you.

“What?” He repeats once you’re both inside, “What did you say?”

The warmth is immediate but you feel no relief – just that same numbness from before. You’re dripping all over the floor, cold beyond belief as you look down at your ruined shoes.

“Th-They wouldn’t let me in.”

It comes out so quiet, so pitiful, so weak and resigned. Because you know he won’t care, that he’ll downplay it. But Steve’s blue eyes blaze with fury once realisation sets in. Face red and knuckles white, he turns to the living room. You must’ve been outside for a while because Sam is gone, and there’s only Bucky who sits with his feet reclined on the coffee table, casually typing away on his phone.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, asshole?” Steve roars, striding into the living room and grabbing Bucky by the collar, yanking him up to his feet.

“Hey, hey, let the fuck go of me.” Bucky’s got a glare on his face as the blond alpha slams him against the wall, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Don’t act fucking stupid,” Steve sneers, “She was outside in the rain for God knows how fucking long. Look at her. She said you wouldn’t let her in.”

Bucky’s gaze shifts towards you, and you know you look like a dishevelled, soaking mess. There’s a split second where his eyes widen, and his throat bobs as he swallows. Then he blinks, that familiarly cruel smirk returning, “Oh. I guess I didn’t hear her knock.”

“Bullshit.”

“What’s going on–?” Sam chooses that moment to come thudding down the stairs. He stops short when he sees you shivering at the landing and the sizable puddle of rainwater by your feet.

“Why would you do it?” Steve slams Bucky against the wall once more, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him this angry. Except the night he mated you.

“Relax the fuck out. It was a joke. Don’t act like you haven’t done shit like this before.”

“Don’t fucking joke with her.”

“I’ll joke with whoever the fuck I want, asshole. Just like how you used to,” Bucky sneers, “before you got yourself whipped on that omega slut.”

The look on Steve’s face is one of absolute livid fury, and he’s about to draw his fist back when–

“Steve, she looks like she’s hypothermic or something.” It’s Sam who speaks, stepping forward and swiftly coming between them. Steve glances at you before looking back at Bucky, giving the brunet one last menacing look before shoving him, then shoving Sam and making his way over to you.

“Both of you can go to hell.” He mutters, blue eyes still filled with rage as he grabs your arm. He inhales sharply, as if stung by how cold your skin feels. And ‘feel’ is a strong word because what you can’t feel is your toes, your fingers, the tip of your nose. And you can’t stop the violent, body-wracking shivers as your body fails to heat itself up.

Steve tries to pull you up the stairs, but it’s like you’re a solid block of ice – half frozen from cold and from the shock of everything that’s happened. Eventually, he just picks you up, carrying you up the stairs as you remain stiff in his arms.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you repeat the words in choked whispers till they lose meaning. And you don’t know what you’re apologising for, but you know Steve’s angry. Which means he’ll be angry at you – maybe for making him fight with his friends? Causing a huge commotion because you cried like a baby for being locked outside? Would he blame you again, tell you it’s all your fault?

Would he leave you?

“I’m s-s-sorry,” you can’t keep your teeth from chattering but you keep repeating it nonetheless, scared of what he might do, what your punishment will be, as he carries you up into his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

You risk a look up at his face. There’s still anger in his eyes as he scans over your body, the way you’re trembling in his arms, cold fingers gripping onto him tightly. And for a moment, he just stands there. Stands there in the middle of his room as if he has no idea what to do, almost as if he’s at a loss.

“You’re really cold.” It’s all he says, and then he carries you into the bathroom, easily holding you close with one arm, and manoeuvring the other to open the tap and fill the bathtub with scalding hot water. You can see the steam rising invitingly, but it’s like all hope’s been snuffed out from within you – you don’t really care about getting warm anymore.

“A-A-Are you m-mad at me?” You ask Steve quietly, but maybe it’s too quiet, or maybe you asked it in your head because he doesn’t respond. Instead, he gently puts you down on your feet, unzipping your dress and taking it off, and then your shoes and sopping wet socks too. That’s when you realise you can’t feel your toes either.

The bath is boiling hot but it only feels lukewarm against your poor, cold-stricken body. He’s filled it up till the brim, so you sit there with your chin resting on your knees and arms wrapped around your legs protectively, as if any moment he’s going to turn on you, yell at you, tell you it’s your fault. And then you expect Steve to leave, and he almost does once he turns the faucet off. But he hesitates at the doorway, as if he’s afraid to leave you alone in the bathroom.

Finally, he decides to stay, sitting down on the floor next to the bathtub, his eyes glued to you. But the anger seems to be gone (or maybe he’s hiding it?). For a long while, no one says anything. And it’s there, in Steve’s bathroom as you sit in the scalding water, that something seems to break inside of you. As if any will you may have had has been sapped out of your body, leaving just a shell behind.

Steve clears his throat, “Are you still cold?”

Silence.

“Omega. Answer me.”

You don’t. Or you can’t. He seems far away.

“Do you want me to make the water hotter?”

Why is he being nice? Is it an act? Is he trying to trick you? Why hasn’t he punished you yet? This is all your fault, isn’t it? Isn’t it?

You stare straight ahead at the tiled wall in front of you. It’s black and white marble. Minimalistic. A simple pattern.

“Is there something written on my face that makes people to treat me like crap?”

It’s you who speaks – but you almost don’t recognise it. Clear, void of any emotion and no stutter. You feel like a ghost, out of your own body and watching yourself from a corner, resigned and not caring what happens next.

And Steve seems slightly taken aback – maybe he expected you not to speak at all. Maybe he only expected you to cry like you always do. But it’s as if you’ve cried all the tears you possibly can, and your body has no more left to give. It’s like you have nothing left inside you to give.

“They shouldn’t have done that.” Steve says darkly, “I’ll make sure they don’t pull shit like that ever again.”

You blink, but don’t respond. You know in your heart that you don’t believe him – not when he picks and chooses when to defend you.

“Is there something so glaringly wrong with me, that it makes people treat me like shit? You should know if there is, because you’re the one who started it, Steve. They wouldn’t be bullying me – no one would be bullying me – if it weren’t for you.”

You feel nothing as you say it, almost as if your body’s given up on protecting you; your tongue allowing you to say things that you’ve only ever dared to think about before. You were profusely apologising to him not five minutes ago, but now it’s like you can’t stop yourself from saying what’s been festering at the back of your mind for who knows how long. But your tone isn’t accusatory, just monotonous. You focus on the pattern on the wall – black, white, black, white, black, white. One white tile has a crack in it. A small one, but it’s there.

“Why did you bully me, Steve? What did I ever do to you, except keep my head down and mind my own business? Did you hate me that much? Do they hate me that much?”

Through your peripheral, you can see him holding his head in his hands for a second. And then he looks up, does that thing where he runs his hands through his hair. Eyes squeezed shut for a second, he opens them and looks down at you, and his hand hovers in the air for a second as if to grab yours, only to snatch it back at the last second.

“I don’t hate you.”

“Why did you treat me so awful, then? And persuade everyone else to do the same?”

Silence. No answer. But it’s not like you expected any different. You fold more within yourself, hugging your knees closer to your chest and letting a huge wave of shivers overtake you.

“Can you just… Could I be alone, please?”

He doesn’t budge even an inch, and again you get the feeling like he’s scared to leave you by yourself. But it feels even more alien when his hand comes up to stroke your hair back. The omega inside you sings for his touch but for once it’s like the numbness within you is overshadowing your base omega desires. You duck away from his hand, making him freeze and snatch it back once again.

After a few beats of silence, you speak once more.

“It’s me, isn’t it? There’s something about me that people just don’t like. No matter how hard I try, how nice I act – it always seems to come back and slap me in the face.”

Steve, his tongue always ready with cajoling words and sweet nothings, seems to have nothing to say. You’ll never figure out how to read his expressions, but his brow is furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line.

“I’ve kept quiet all my life, kept my head down, kept out of everyone’s way – but none of it works.” You meet his gaze, that forever unreadable look; “Please… Please tell me why it never works?”

“I told you; I’ll make sure they never do shit like that again. You won’t have to worry anymore; I’ll make sure they don’t even speak to you–”

“You told me once that nobody cares about me.” You pick at your nails, sounding both broken and matter-of-fact at the same time, thinking back to Bucky’s words from earlier: No one cares if you hurt. “And you’re… you’re right, Steve. No one really does, otherwise Bucky and Sam would have just let me in. And no one would’ve ever bullied me. And… And my mom would answer my texts, and…” A sudden wave of anguish washes over you, “And my dad wouldn’t have left me.”

You don’t know why you’re telling him this now, but it seems like everything’s finally connecting in your head – everyone will leave you, even Steve. The alpha sucks in his breath, and again it’s like his fingers are dancing, creeping over to grab your hand that lays limply on the rim of the bathtub. And this time, he does, squeezing tightly except you’re so emotionally numb that you can’t even feel it.

“You know he left because he wanted a boy? An alpha? You were right, he didn’t care about me, left before my first birthday.” The pain associated with the one thing you never talk about, that you never even think about, is so strong that it almost winds you, and it makes your heart hurt. “N-Now he has a new family. Two sons. He even has a daughter, but I don’t think he’d ever leave her like he left me.”

Steve’s grip on your hand tightens, and you hear this growling sound that comes from his chest. But you’re so far down this well made up of your own pain and anguish, that it’s like Steve’s almost not even there.

“I don’t think my mom ever forgave me for him leaving. And you were right when you said that she doesn’t care about me either. I don’t remember the last time she called me, or even texted to check up on me.” You look up to see him open his mouth to speak but you beat him to it, “Steve, sometimes I… sometimes I hate myself for being like this, for driving everyone away.”

Steve whips his blonde hair out of his face, suddenly sitting up straighter and eyes molten blue with new heat, shoulders squared as if he’s defensive, “Don’t say shit like that.”

“But it’s true. And I drove you away too. To that other omega.” And now fresh anguish cuts through, splicing you open like a knife, the same pain you felt the moment Steve told you he’d kissed someone else.

“You didn’t drive me away–”

“That’s what you told me. You said it was my fault. And it was, and I made you cheat on me. All my fault – that’s what you said.”

“I didn’t mean–” He grabs your face, hands rough and calloused but so familiar, as if a thousand others could touch you at the same time but his touch is the only one you could ever recognise. Face inches from yours and intense gaze boring into you, he exhales sharply, “I didn’t cheat on you, omega. I don’t think you understand what cheating means, but kissing someone is not–”

“I’m not dumb.” You interrupt, and it’s funny because you wouldn’t have dared to ever interrupt him before now. But it’s like you’re a ghost, outside of your own body and long past the point of caring. “Maybe I’m a bit naïve but I know what cheating is.” Tears would’ve been flowing down your cheeks at this point, had you any tears left to cry, “And you know the worst part? You laughed as you told me.”

Steve shuts his eyes again for a second, really scrunches them up and you can see the furrow of his brow, the clench of his jaw. But you don’t know what any of it even means – is he angry with you? Annoyed? Irritated? Do you care?

“It didn’t mean anything with her. I came home to you in the end.”

It meant everything to me! You want to yell, but instead you sink down lower into the water, wanting it to swallow you up, pull you down the drain and away from everything. But strong hands grip your forearms, jerking you back up almost immediately. You suck in your breath before turning to face him, properly face him, “You still kissed her. And you– you gloated about it; told me it was my fault. N-Now you’re gonna leave me just like my dad did. Leave me for her.”

Steve shakes his head, his knuckles white from gripping your shoulders so tightly, “I don’t even remember her face.” He lifts you out of the tub, and you don’t even struggle because what’s the point? The fight seems to have left your body completely. He places you on his lap, naked and wet and trembling, strong arms encircling around you as they’ve done a thousand times before when he’s ready to sway you with his sweet words, “Omega. Listen to me, she meant nothing to me.”

“I don’t think I mean anything to you either.” It’s both an observation and a realisation. All these weeks of trying to persuade yourself that Steve has changed, that Steve’s good to you now, that surely Steve wouldn’t treat you how he treated Sharon. It’s a delayed reaction, but now you’re sure of it. As Bucky said: no one cares if you hurt. Least of all, Steve.

“You mean everyth–” Steve cuts himself off with another deep inhale, the muscles and veins in his neck tensing, “You mean a lot to me–”

“Don’t,” You interrupt him again, “Don’t say things you don’t mean, Steve. You do it all the time and I’ll always believe it – and it’ll all be a lie because it always is.” You shake your head, looking up into his shadowed blue eyes and feeling that lurch in your heart you always feel. “I’ll always fall for your words, Steve. Because you made me fall for you.”

A surge of indescribable anger overtakes you, washing over you like a tidal wave, drenching your already wet body in confused, accusatory rage. Feebly, as if testing the waters, you shove him. It’s a slight push against his chest, but then you do it again with a little more strength. And then again. He’s so strong, so big, so well-built, that he doesn’t even budge but you push him again anyways.

“I hate you for making me fall for you, even though you treated me like dirt at the bottom of your shoe!” You cry, shoving him harder while all Steve does is stare at you with that damned unreadable expression, “I hate you for not standing up for me,” Another shove, harder this time, and then another one, “I hate you for cheating on me, for laughing while you watched me cry. I hate you for making me care so much that it felt like my whole world ended when you told me you kissed her!”

Again and again, you hit him; and every time he just lets you do it. Not even raising a hand to defend himself, just allowing your pushes, slaps, punches and shoves to slam against his shoulders and chest. And everything’s a blur to you, black and white bathroom tiles melting into the blues in Steve’s eyes, and again you shove him, harder and harder, not even knowing you had this animosity inside of you until it came pouring out.

“I hate you for bonding with me when you don’t even care about me. Hate you for making me beg you not to leave me, hate you, hate you, I hate you!” Louder and louder your voice gets, till it’s bouncing off the walls of the bathroom, and you think you see a chip in Steve’s stoic expression when he winces, and you hit him even harder. You’ve never hit anyone in your life but it’s like you can’t stop, this animalistic anger radiating off you in waves.

He catches your fists in his hands easily, as easily as he’s crushed and stomped on your trust and feelings in the past. And he pulls you into him, muscular arms wrapping around you, clutching you to his chest, holding you there while you struggle against him, shove and punch and push, until you finally stop.

“I don’t hate you,” You whisper in defeat, “I can’t hate you – no matter how hard I try, no matter how much I should. I wish I did, but I can’t.” You lower your fists, sagging against his chest in defeat, voice breaking as finally, finally, the tears begin to fall. “Can’t hate you, Steve. Not even a little bit.”

Everything’s still. You. Him. The water in the bathtub. And then:

“I won’t hurt you again.” Steve’s voice comes out oddly thick.

“You’ll leave me.”

“I won’t.”

You stare at your hands, fingers shrivelled from the water, trembling from all the screaming you’ve just done, “Don’t believe you anymore.”

Steve sucks in his breath, and you look up to see him tug at his sweater, pulling it down to expose his neck, pale yet so thick and veiny, connecting to his muscular shoulders. He tilts his head slightly, eyes dark and deathly serious, blinking rapidly with a desperation that you’ve never seen on him before.

“Mark me too.”

Your head whips up, heart skipping several beats. Desperately, you search his face for a sign that he’s joking, that he’s about to laugh in your face. It’s almost instinctive to do that now – you don’t trust him; you don’t believe him. Despite the fact that there seems to be sincerity written on his features, you can see it brimming in his eyes that glow in the dim light of the bathroom, in his lips which practically purse with anticipation.

You don’t know what to say.

“Mark me too, omega. Like how I marked you. I don’t give a fuck about anyone else; I only want you. So claim me, if it’ll make you feel better. I’ll be yours just like how you’re mine.”

You gulp. Steve’s all about grand gestures and sweet words, but could he really mean it? When he’s barely said anything this whole time you’ve poured your frustrations out to him? For a moment, a wild nano-second, the feral omega within you wants to surge forward and bite him hard, claim him how he claimed you that fateful night a month or so ago. Make him hurt how he made you hurt the night he claimed you. Make him yours, and maybe, just maybe, you’d finally be happy?

But then you wilt, like all your feelings have rushed to a standstill and taken a nosedive down to the depths of your own mind. Dark doubts, insecurities, mistrust, hopelessness – all of that seems to overtake any innate desire you have to mate him right back. Clearly, the bond you both shared meant nothing to him when he’d cheated on you. What difference could your measly bite-mark on his neck really make?

“Make me yours.” He repeats.

“You’ll never be mine.” You shrink back within yourself, like a candle that’s been snuffed out, or a balloon that’s slowly deflating.

Steve blinks as if he can’t quite believe it, and you feel a peculiar wavering in your bond. “I don’t understand,” He says slowly, “I’m giving you permission to mark me, omega. Not anyone else, just you. So do it. Mark me.”

You bow your head, shaking it slowly, “I’m tired, Steve.”

There’s a certain pull that you feel in your bond with him, a heaviness in the connection you share. You’ve never felt it before. Hurt. It’s almost as if he’s hurt. Could Steve possibly be hurt? But the feeling is fleeting, glimmering slightly before disappearing altogether, making you think you imagined it to begin with.

No more words are shared between you as he helps you to your feet, wrapping his large black towel around you before guiding you back to the bedroom. Like you’re a kicked and injured puppy who needs him. You wonder if you’ll ever not need him.

You feel nothing as he pulls his old football jersey over your head. It’s your favourite one, the one with all the holes in it that smells so much like him. His lucky jersey, he’d told you once. But even the omega inside of you has quietened down, and you still feel so numb. Numb and cold. And hopeless. Even the bed doesn’t bring you any comfort as Steve tucks you in.

He sits by your side, stroking your hair. You struggle to keep your eyes open, the dark depths of sleep tugging you in, and you wonder what fresh nightmares await inside your head. Steve leaving you? Leaving you and your unborn child? You’re already half asleep when you think you hear him speak again, in an oddly gentle tone:

“When I kissed her, I closed my eyes and pretended it was you.” A pause, as if he’s mulling whether to say his next words, “You’re all I think about – and I think about you so goddamned much, it feels like I’m going insane. I can’t even look at another girl, all I see is you.”

It’s through the throes of sleep that you answer:

“Don’t believe you, Steve. Don’t trust you. How can we raise a chil–”

But even in your half-asleep state, your voice knows to trail off. You know what you were about to say: How can we raise a child together when I don’t even trust you? But you can’t tell him about the baby, not when everything is so uncertain.

Sleep pulls you into unconsciousness. Dark and quiet, you dream of nothing.

***

The next few days feel like you’re living in some sort of limbo, with things between you and Steve quieter than a pin dropping. There seems to be change in the foreboding alpha who used to make your heart stop every time he looked at you. Now, he teeters between a range of different emotions. Like masks – quickly exchanging one for the other. Wary – as if you’re made out of glass. Apologetic – except he’s yet to actually say sorry. Cautious – as if he thinks you might do something to hurt yourself. Angry – not directly at you but it scares you anyways.

And sometimes you don’t recognise him – but did you ever truly know him to begin with? And you also don’t recognise yourself. You feel like a snuffed-out candle and you don’t know what to do with yourself. Steve’s room suddenly feel suffocating, but where else are you supposed to go?

But it’s like there’s an invisible barrier stopping you from leaving his room. The fear of running into Bucky is the biggest barrier, and so everything else comes to a standstill. Cleaning, laundry, all the little things you used to do around the house for Steve and yourself. Things you didn’t even realise had become routine until now. You barely go into the kitchen anymore, with Steve now bringing food up to his bedroom for the two of you.

Soon, your end-of-year exams finish, and looking out onto campus through your window, you can see other students packing up and leaving. Laughing and hugging their parents who show up in pick-up trucks and moving vans. Friends saying tearful goodbyes because everyone’s going home for the summer. Is that what you should do? Go home? When your mother hasn’t given you a call in more than a few months now?

One day, you’re staring listlessly out the window when you hear a knock on the door. Turning your head ever-so-slightly, your eyes meet with Sam’s.

“Steve isn’t here.”

“I know. I wanted to speak to you.” Sam steps into the room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him. Your breath hitches in your throat, and the alpha scoffs when you get up and take a step backwards, “Relax. I’m not going to hurt you.”

It’s less a fear of Sam and more a fear of something bad inevitably happening that makes you swallow harshly. Sam isn’t as bad as Bucky but he was still awful to you, still said the meanest things to you and had done nothing when Bucky locked you out of the house. So, your body is on high-alert as you gaze warily at him now.

“Go away.” You don’t want to beg him, but you don’t have the willpower to even try to be assertive anymore. It’s not like any of the alphas in this house ever listen to you, anyways. “Just go away, okay? I have nothing to say to you.”

Sam scowls at the floor, kicking the carpet before inhaling deeply and looking up to meet your eyes. Why is he here? To ridicule you? Berate you? Laugh at you? Do you even care anymore?

“I’m sorry, okay?” He blurts out, the words tumbling out of his mouth so quickly that you’re stunned for a second, unsure if you’ve heard him correctly. Sam himself looks stunned, and you get the feeling that he’s never apologised to anyone before, let alone an omega. And nobody’s ever apologised to you before, not any of the alphas who’ve bulled you. Not Steve. And certainly not Bucky.

Sam takes a step closer to you, and this time you don’t flinch away.

“Look, I won’t pretend I’m a saint, okay? I know I’ve never been nice to you… But things went too far the other day and I’m man enough to admit that.” He’s still speaking fast, as if he wants to get it all out before he changes his mind.

Should you trust him?

“And I don’t know what the fuck came over Bucky that night,” Sam continues, shoving his hands in his pockets, “Usually he’s the nicest out of the three of us. And I was high as fuck that night, I thought he’d let you in eventually, so I just went upstairs. But whatever, I’m not making any excuses for him or myself.”

You exhale slowly, willing yourself to look up at his face, search for even an ounce of laughter, or a twitch of a smile – any hint that this is all a sick joke.

“So, consider this an apology. And you don’t have to say anything, and you don’t have to forgive me. But just know that you won’t be getting that sort of treatment from me anymore.”

Silence. Except your mind’s working in overdrive: should you trust him? Should you believe him? Did you even want to forgive him? Does this apology make up for all the verbal abuse, berating and bullying that you’ve suffered, with him being one of the main perpetrators? Did his apology even matter anymore, when the damage was already done?

You never get a chance to respond because Steve walks in at that very moment. The blond alpha freezes at the doorway, a bouquet of yellow roses clenched in his hand and a frown quickly forming on his face. His blue eyes narrow as he looks from you to Sam, who’s standing only about a foot away from you.

“Get away from her before I fucking kill you.”

There’s a flurry of movement, the yellow roses drop to the floor and it takes Steve only two strides to cross the room and stand between you and the other alpha.

Sam raises an eyebrow, “Chill out. I only came in here to–”

“Get out.” Steve is curt and seething at the same time, and for a moment it looks like Sam’s about to square up. He opens his mouth to speak before clamping it shut and shaking his head.

“I’m so fucking done with this bullshit.” Sam says under his breath before exiting the room, leaving you alone with the sound of Steve’s rapid breathing as your alpha whips around to stare you down. Your heart lurches when he grabs you by the shoulders, shaking you while those blue eyes never leave your face.

“You were gonna fuck him, weren’t you?”

Your jaw drops at how ludicrous his accusation is, how shockingly unbelievable.

“Wh-What? No, I wasn’t–”

“Don’t lie to me.” With clenched teeth and eyes that look half crazed, you see his pupils darting around as if trying to find the truth in your face. Jaw clenching and unclenching, he squeezes your shoulders and shakes you again, “Don’t think I don’t know what game you’re playing. You think you can cheat on me just because I cheated on you?”

“No–”

“You think you could ever get away with that?” Blonde hair falling over his forehead, eyes bloodshot with anger, he looks like he’s teetering at the edge of his own sanity. “You think you could just hook up with someone else as some sick form of revenge on me, do you?”

“Steve, no–”

“Where’s your phone?” Steve looks incensed, eyes scanning the room like a man possessed. Grabbing it from on top of the dresser, he goes through it quickly. Like he’s done a thousand times before, except this time it’s like he knows he’ll find something. You thank your lucky stars that you deleted the phone call with Peter from your call history – not that that counted as cheating in the slightest.

His frown grows deeper as he opens every app, scrolls through every chat, scours through your call logs. But you feel an eery since of calm – which is the opposite of Steve who looks like he’s about to explode with whatever mad anger that’s suddenly consumed him.

“Don’t you fucking think you can go behind my fucking back, you got that? Especially not with my friends, or that fucking scum beta ex of yours.” He throws your phone down on the bed, clearly having found zero evidence to back his absurd claims, but it doesn’t stop him from glowering at you.

“Listen to me very carefully, omega.” Steve scrunches your face between his thumb and fingers, his expression so intense it chills your blood. “You’re mine. I’m your alpha and I own you. That’s never going to change. If you ever cheat on me, I’ll kill him. And you too.”

He slams his lips against yours in a kiss so bruising, you feel your lips burn. And this kiss is different, you can almost taste the desperation as he moves his tongue against yours. As he holds you close to him so tightly that it hurts, and you can’t breathe, and you feel like he’s never going to let you go.

You fight the urge to kiss him back – because even now, that urge is still there. It’ll always be there. Palms press desperately against his hard chest in a bid to push him away.

“I wouldn’t do that to you!” You cry out as you pull away, “I would never deliberately hurt someone I care about, Steve. I’m not you!”

He lets go of you as suddenly as he’d grabbed you, breathing hard and still seething. And it’s almost like you’re really seeing him now. Steve, who was always so poised, so smooth as he clinically seamed his words together in the past. But now? The distant, crazed look in his eyes, the dishevelled features, hair unkempt, jaw tense, lips bitten and pursed. He’s always been beautiful but there’s an unpredictable edge to him now that maybe wasn’t there before.

Was the alpha losing control?

He backs away, fists clenched at his sides and that intense and crazed expression still on his face. You both stare at each other, it feels like your heart’s about to thud out of your chest. And then abruptly, he turns and strides out of the room, stepping over the bouquet of yellow roses that lay trampled and dejected on the ground.

***

The days all start looking the same. You’re so stationary in Steve’s room yet you feel like you’re running. Constantly running and hiding from the responsibility of the child growing inside of you. Tell him, tell alpha! He deserves to know! The omega inside of you shrieks and croons, but something’s stopping you from doing it. There’s a mountain of problems surrounding you and Steve – where would a baby fit in all of that?

The silence between the two of you grows louder as each day passes. Barely any words spoken, and a certain awkwardness that was never there before – certainly never from Steve himself. Yet despite all that, every night he holds you while you sleep. And every morning, you wake up in his warm embrace. And it’s only in those moments, in the quiet of the night with the weight of his arms around you, that you can pretend everything’s okay.

And then one day, Steve walks into the room and sits next to you on the bed. You think nothing of it, barely glancing at him before going back to examining the pattern of the duvet cover.

“Omega.” Steve says, but as usual he seems so far away. And it’s almost like you don’t have the energy to acknowledge him, even when he grabs your hand and squeezes it. It’s only when he says your name – your real name – that you look up. He barely ever calls you that.

“Have you eaten today?” He asks, a frown adorning his features when you shake your head listlessly. You’d attempted to go down to the kitchen earlier, but upon hearing Bucky’s voice you’d turned and come straight back into the bedroom, heart pitter-pattering and a sinking feeling in your chest.

He takes out a wrapped deli sandwich and a bottle of water from his gym bag. His blue eyes watch you like a hawk as you slowly take a sip of water and tear off a bit of the sandwich, chewing softly. It tastes like nothing, but you figure it’s better to just keep quiet and eat it – since you’re meant to be eating for two now anyways. And just that thought sends shivers down your spine – how long can you pretend not to acknowledge the existence of the baby growing inside of you? How long before you have to tell him?

Steve clears his throat, “Look, I know things have been…” His voice trails off as he watches you tear off tiny pieces of your sandwich, staring into your lap because you just can’t seem to look at him. He shifts around, and you feel a spark of unease in the bond you share with him.

“I got you something.” He says finally, reaching into his gym bag a second time, he takes something out and throws it into your lap.

The fur looks worn out and one ear is missing, and you can see the haphazard stitches on the teddy bear’s neck that hold it together. Not the neatest thread work, but it looks strong enough despite the head which is slightly lopsided. Coal black eyes shining bright as ever, and the same blue bow tie except now it has a few more loose threads than before.

“Steve Junior…” You breathe, running your fingers over the stuffie, and his fur feels just as soft as before. He looks so old, so worn out, pieced together and stitched so precariously but it’s him. As ridiculous as it sounds – he’s just a stuffed animal after all – but it’s him and now suddenly your mouth feels dry. You bring the stuffie up to your nose and you’re bathing in Steve’s alpha scent, so potent and rich and warm.

“It took me a while to find someone who’d fix him up.” Steve breaks the silence, scratching the back of his neck. You sneak a peek up at his face to find him scanning yours, as if gauging your reaction. “A lot of his cotton stuffing was dirty so I had to replace it. But the rest of him is all him, just as he was before. I thought of just buying you a new one, but I figured you’d appreciate this more.”

You nod slowly, stroking the top of Steve Junior’s head as if you can’t get enough of it. “You gathered up all the pieces from the kitchen floor?”

“Yes.”

It’s a monosyllabic answer, but his eyes say a lot more. At least, you think they do and you wish he’d verbalise it. Instead, with a hesitancy that was never there before, Steve slowly pulls you into his lap, holding you close against his chest, where you can feel the dull thud of his heartbeat. And you let yourself be held, feeling his alpha warmth that you haven’t felt in a while now.

Warm hands cup your face and make you look up at him. And it’s his tenderness that you can’t wrap your head around. Is this the same Steve who so vehemently accused you of cheating on him just days ago? Why was it always a different emotion with Steve? Always a different mask, as if he could switch them out so easily. What were you supposed to believe?

He kisses you like someone who’s parched, and again you feel that desperation on his lips. Before, his kisses were always so confident, self-assured, taking what he needed from you and leaving you breathless and reeling in the process. Now, he’s gentle. Handling you as if you’re made of glass. And it feels so foreign to you.

You let yourself kiss him back. Steve sighs and increases his pace, tongue swiping over your bottom lip, making you gasp before he gains entrance. His hands fall down to your hips at the same moment your arms wind around his neck. It’s frenzied movement and a blur of limbs, like two people who’ve suddenly realised they can’t get enough of each other after days of no contact.

“Fuck,” Steve mutters under his breath, squeezing your hips before his hand slips down between your legs, cupping your mound in his warm grip. You pant, jerking forward, squashing Steve Junior between both your bodies. You pull away long enough to prop your stuffie up on your pillow, making sure he’s sitting upright before Steve drags you back to him.

“You need me, don’t you?” He whispers fervently against your lips, biting and nipping while the heel of his palm grinds against your clothed pussy. “Tell me you need me.”

You do need him; you’ll always need him. It’s what terrifies you the most. But you try not to think, try to lose yourself in the feeling of his lips smattering kisses all over your jaw and moving down to your neck. He slips his hand into your panties, eliciting another gasp from you, and a jerk from your hips that can’t help but want him.

You start moving against his hand, riding it while he slips a finger inside you. Your slippery pussy swallowing his digit as if you’re starved, walls so needy that they constrict around him and you moan, grabbing at his shoulders, wanting to feel more of him. Nothing’s solved, nothing’s okay – but he’s made you so addicted to his touch that, for a second, it doesn’t even seem to matter.

His hands have snaked up your shirt, palm pressing against your belly like how he always used to do before. Except now it’s different, now it makes your eyes widen and a cold panic rise in the pit of your stomach. Again, the picture plays behind your eyes: you, alone with your baby. Dark and dreary, and Steve’s nowhere to be found. He’s gone. He’s left you. Did he kiss that other omega like this?

“STOP!”

You push hard against his chest, the force of the blow surprising both of you. You scramble off him, hands shaking and you can still feel his burning kiss on your lips, and his touch on your body too. You back away slowly, shaking your head and breathing hard.

“I can’t, I–” Your eyes dart to Steve’s face, and he’s looking up at you with what looks to be concern, as if he’s just kicked an already injured puppy. Repeatedly, you shake your head, “I’m sorry, I just… I just can’t!”

Running to the bathroom, you slam the door shut and that’s when the tears spurt out and you’re sobbing and sobbing. It seems like you’re always crying – as if the self-pity will just never end – but it’s like you can’t stop. Why couldn’t you just become okay again?

Everything is okay! The omega inside you screeches. He fixed Steve Junior! It shows he cares! Everything’s okay now!

If everything was okay, then why did nothing feel fine at all?

Staring at your reflection in the mirror, you see an omega who is weak and broken. Red eyes, bitten nails, puffy face. Hair unkempt, hands shaking pathetically, clothes crumpled. Was this the omega who was meant to keep Steve happy? Was this the omega who was going to have his baby? You cradle your stomach as rivulets of tears flow down your face.

“What are we gonna do?” You whisper softly, your sobs making your words almost indecipherable. “I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to do.”

You don’t hear the thud of the footsteps, only the crash of the bathroom door as it’s thrown open, Steve striding towards you and grabbing your shoulders before you have a chance to even cower.

“What’s wrong with you?” He roars, but there’s desperation in his anger as he shakes you by the shoulders.

“I don’t know!”

“What’s it going to take to get you to go back to how you were before?”

“I DON’T KNOW!”

You flinch when he draws his hand back, wondering if this is it. If he’s finally run out of whatever patience he had up until this point and now you’re in for it. You brace yourself for the inevitable blow, taking a deep breath and willing yourself to disassociate from the pain. But you only see Steve looking at you incredulously, his hand slowly curling into a fist by his side.

“I wouldn’t hit you.”

He looks almost appalled, staring down at his own fist for a handful of tense seconds, during which you can hear the sounds of your own rapid breathing and every single beat of your heart too.

“It wouldn’t matter if you did.” You say it softly, more to yourself than to him.

As if exhausted of all his options, Steve’s grip on you loosens. Blue eyes boring into yours, reflecting the helplessness that you can also detect in your bond.

“I told you to forget about it.” His hands cup your face again, thumbs swiping away your tears. “Why can’t you just forget about that night, why can’t you just let me make you happy?”

More than anything, you wish you had an answer for him.

***

Despite talking lesser and lesser and slowly becoming strangers by day, the magnetic pull between the two of you increases at night. Where it’s dark and warm and you can pretend it’s all okay, that’s when Steve holds you and you let yourself be held by him every single night.

Which is why you wake up with a start, on the bed completely empty besides you and the newly resurrected Steve Junior. A glance at your phone tells you it’s past midnight – so, where’s Steve? Blindly, you reach out for him – but he’s not there and, despite everything, this troubles you.

He’s left you, the dark voice at the back of your head cackles. You thought you could get away with being upset with him for this long, and now he’s left you, just like he said he would if you got out of line.

You’re not even fully awake before you’re on your feet, trying to keep your dizziness at bay. It’s another symptom of your pregnancy, another reminder of the secret you’re holding inside of you, another reminder that you need to tell someone. But right now, all you can focus on is where is Steve?

You find him on the small balcony that overlooks the back of the house. Elbows resting on the railing and blonde hair looking silver in the moonlight. He looks back as if he senses you, cigarette between his lips and a cloud of smoke surrounding him before he turns his back to you once more.

Before you can change your mind and go back to bed, you venture forward to stand beside the alpha, heart thudding as it always does whenever you’re near him. After days of his hot and cold behaviour and your own depleting moods, you realise you don’t know how to act around him or what to say. A gust of cold wind blows and you shiver, but it gives you this sudden burst of courage to speak.

“You shouldn’t smoke so much.” You blurt out. It’s the only thing you can think of to say; you’ve seen Steve smoke here and there a few times, at parties or gatherings with his friends. But never at home, in the middle of the night, with two empty beer cans rolling around by his feet.

To your surprise, Steve puts the cigarette out. Dropping it to the floor and stomping on it before turning away from you to exhale the final puff of smoke. You watch as it swirls into the night air, dissipating almost immediately.

“Sharon used to say that a lot.” He remarks, and hearing his ex’s name on his tongue feels like a punch to your gut – he’s never voluntarily mentioned her before. You turn around to leave, but his next words stop you short. “It’s funny, because I never gave a fuck about what she said. Or any of the other girls I was with.” He looks at you squarely, “I cheated on all of them too. And I never thought anything of it.”

It feels like there’s needles in your throat when you swallow, tumbling all the way down to your stomach and tearing you up from the inside out. Why is he telling you this?

“I thought it would be the same with you. You’re just an omega after all, why should I care about what you say or how you feel?” The full moon’s reflecting in his eyes, giving them an alien silver glow that makes him look like a stranger. And maybe he is a stranger, because he’s never opened up like this with you before.

“But I do.” He says it so quietly, it almost gets lost in the night air. Another gust of chilly wind has your teeth chattering, goosebumps covering your bare arms as you stand there and stare at him in only your nightgown. You don’t protest when Steve shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, smoothening the lapels and his fingers linger at your collarbone. For a split second, he leans closer, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply before sighing.

“I’ve hurt girls in the past and I’ve never cared. But you…” He turns back, looking over the balcony railing, and you wait a few beats, your mind silently urging him to finish his thought.

“I thought I could cheat on you and things would be fine after that. That I’d scare you into acting right and we’d just go back to how things were.” The words tumble out of his mouth quickly, as if he’s spitting them out before his ego catches up and swallows them back into his brain.

“Sharon warned me about you.” You blurt out.

His head whips around, faster than the frenzied winds that surround the two of you, “You spoke to her?”

“I–I didn’t believe her. I didn’t want to believe her because I liked you so much.”

“I know you did.” Steve cocks his head to the side, looking at you almost curiously. The stars dance in his eyes, and tufts of his blonde hair blow up with the strong wind, “How could you like me that much, despite everything?”

You don’t know what to say. How could you like him that much? Despite everything he’d done to you? Was it because the forced mating compelled you to feel things for him? No – your feelings were more complex than that. They’ve been there since the beginning, when he would bully you and you wished to God that he would like you. To after he mated you, and how you’d persuaded yourself that he’d changed, that he did like you now. To when he confessed to cheating, and your whole world broke down…

It's less of a realization and more of a fact: you like Steve a lot – more than Peter and more than your mother. Because you could live without Peter and you could even live without your mother. But you don’t think you could ever live without Steve.

When you don’t answer, Steve sucks in his breath and looks away again, “You’re pure, you know? The way you act, how good you are. And it… confuses me.”

You have to grip the railing hard to keep yourself rooted in reality – was Steve genuinely confiding in you?

“I’ve never second-guessed myself before.” He says after a long, long pause. As if he’s got a script pictured in his mind and he keeps mentally rewriting it and scratching things out. “But you… You make me second-guess everything.” It sounds like an accusation, but a resigned one; and you focus on his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “I shouldn’t have made you think I was going to leave you. Because I won’t. Ever. I can promise you that right now.”

You nod, tentatively taking a step towards him and he mirrors your actions, his hand reaching up to stroke your cheek. It’s instinctive when you lean into his touch, feel the rough pads of his fingers rub against the soft skin of your face. He traces your cheekbones, and he’s so gentle. You wish you could freeze this moment, because Steve’s emotions are like the changing tide. Would he be this tender tomorrow or the day after – or even two minutes from now?

“You should go back to bed.” He says abruptly, as if on cue.

Why is your heart sinking? Why do you want to stay? But you listen to him anyway, a large part of you will always listen to him, always want to be good for him. And it’s when you’re a good few steps away that you hear him clear his throat.

“Omega?”

“Yes, Steve?”

“I’m sorry. For all of it.”

A coolness spreads across your chest, like a pleasant, soothing balm that calms you from the inside out. Your heart steadies, and you feel like you can breathe again.

***

“He’s not in his room, Steve.”

“I don’t fucking care.”

“He’s our running back, we need him. Especially today.”

“Jensen can play his position. Now let’s just fucking go.”

Behind the closed door of your bedroom, you can hear Steve and Sam’s muffled voices out in the hallway. You don’t mean to eavesdrop, but the two of them seem to be growing collectively louder and louder.

The tension seems to be running high between the two of them – you’ve hardly seen them speak since the day Sam apologised to you and Steve exploded on him. But the two alphas seem even more stressed out today, with the final football match of the season against a rival college in less than a few hours.

“Jensen can’t play as good as Bucky.” Sam quips.

“Bucky’s not here.” Steve says through clenched teeth, “He’s probably out somewhere, either passed out or hungover. And we don’t have time to start a manhunt for him so let’s just go.”

The bedroom door bursts open and you freeze as Steve storms in past you. The two of you haven’t spoken since last night when he’d apologised on the balcony. Granted, he’d been busy all day prepping for the game tonight – last minute workouts and strategizing with his team. And you had about three loads of laundry to get through since you’d been neglecting things like that for the past few weeks now.

And yet the lack of contact between the two of you made you wonder whether he was already regretting his apology. Or worse – what if he was going to pretend that he never apologised at all?

If anything, Steve seems more riled up and on edge now than ever, rummaging through the already messy bedroom (you had neglected cleaning too, and it’s not like Steve himself ever cleaned). “Where the fuck is it??” He murmurs under his breath, tossing clothes out of the closet and onto the floor.

“Wh-What are you looking for?” You ask him quietly, wondering whether he can detect the awkwardness in your tone. Sure, he’d apologised – but where do the two of you stand now? In some awkward limbo between “okay” and “not okay”?

Steve sighs, stepping away from the closet and grabbing his gym bag. Slinging it over his shoulder, he makes his way over to you.

“Nothing.” He murmurs, reaching out to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. You gulp, wanting to say something, anything. Maybe wish him luck for the game? But you’re too shy, lips feeling like they’re glued together and heart beating harder than ever. Steve opens his mouth to say something else, and then–

“STEVE, LET’S GO!” Sam bellows from downstairs.

Steve leaves without another word.

You spend the day doing all the chores you’d neglected for the past few weeks. It’s crazy to you how much of a difference two words can bring about. You’d spent the past few weeks lying listlessly in bed, feeling numbingly indifferent half the time and cripplingly stressed out for the other half. And you’re still stressed – how can you not be? Pregnant within your first year of college and you still haven’t told a soul.

But it’s somewhat easier now to make a mental list of everything – washing and drying three hampers of clothes (you wonder if you can put Steve Junior in the washing machine but after seeing the precarious stitches on his neck, you conclude that handwashing him would be safer). You also venture downstairs to clean the kitchen (and it’ll never cease to shock you, what a mess three alphas can make).

It's only when you’re deep into cleaning the bedroom that the vacuum cleaner catches on something poking out from under Steve’s side of the bed. A rectangular book with a black velvet cover – it seems unassuming enough yet it piques your curiosity anyways. Maybe because it’s got Steve’s scent all over it.

You expect blank pages – Steve’s not the type to make notes – but nothing could truly prepare you for what you actually see when you open the book.

It’s you.

Over and over again. Drawn on one page, then again on the next. You flip five pages down, and there you are again. Different renditions of you on almost every single page and the book is more than half filled up. You in pencil sketches, you in watercolour; there’s one of you with a pen in hand, clearly taking notes. Another of you sitting under a tree, drinking from a juice-box, one of you on your phone, and plenty more of you studying – always wearing your oversized hoodie.

The most recent one is of you sleeping, wearing his jersey with the holes in it and Steve Junior clutched tightly in your arms. It’s with shaky breath that you trace a trembling finger over the masterful strokes, admiring the accuracy of the teddy bear’s blue bow tie – all the way down to the loose threads! And the attention to detail is astounding – your hair, your skin, the slight furrow between your brows…

It's a lot to take in. Had Steve drawn these? He must have! You didn’t even know Steve could draw like this because never once had he done it in front of you. And how long had he had this book for? There were so many drawings – was it from before you and him got together? Carefully, you close the sketchbook and place it neatly back under the bed.

Almost as if you’re in a trance, you walk around to your own side of the bed to where your little makeshift nest is. What’s left of it anyways, since you haven’t really kept up with the upkeep and right now all it consists of is your teddy bear and Steve’s jersey with the holes in it.

His lucky jersey. Was that what he’d been looking for earlier?

Steve Junior looks at you with his coal black eyes as if conveying to you exactly what you’re thinking. Thoughts racing, you stroke his fur softly, the action reminding you of the rare occasions when Steve would fall asleep before you with his face buried in the crook of your neck. When you’d card your fingers through his hair because you were too shy to do it when he was awake.

You feel the sudden urge to do it now as you hold onto his lucky jersey. The one he was looking for. The one he probably needs right now. Right?

Grabbing your phone to check the time, you find that it’s already early evening – the game would be almost over by now. Could you possibly make it in time? Would this even be worth it?

You seem to have made up your mind before you can even begin to answer any of those questions.

***

“Let her in, that’s the quarterback’s girlfriend.”

Getting into the college stadium is easier than you thought it would be. In fact, it’s surprisingly easy, as if the universe is paving a path for you straight to Steve. You thought your significance at university was that of an ant surrounded by giants – but the guys hanging by the ticket booth recognise you immediately, one of them even offering to personally take you inside.

“You should go to the box by the front, that’s where all the girlfriends hang out.”

Never in your life have you been to a college football game before – or a football game of any variety for that matter. Feeling completely out of your depth, you put all your faith into this guy you’ve just met as he guides you through the waves and waves of people. You try your hardest to swallow down your anxiety – you hate large crowds – your nails digging into your palms while your heart races, already wondering whether coming here was a mistake.

“I’m Colin, by the way.” The guy says before pausing to look up at the gigantic scoreboard, “Uh-oh. We’re still down by a few points. That’s why I was outside, couldn’t handle the pressure – even as just a spectator.”

Down by a few points? You clutch Steve’s lucky jersey harder between your fingers, wondering what exactly you thought you’d accomplish by coming here. The game was in full swing – it’s not like you could toss the jersey into the field and hope Steve would notice and pick it up.

“I just think today’s a bad day for the team,” Colin explains, “Steve seems distracted – well, that’s what my friend Jake told me. Jake’s on the team too, but he’s usually on reserve. Except he’s playing today because Bucky didn’t show up, and if you ask me–”

Colin’s voice drowns out as your nerves go into overdrive. Slowly, after ages of weaving through a very intense and rowdy crowd, the two of you make it to a cluster of seats in the front row. A bunch of cheerleaders are standing there in a group, biting their nails with frowns and looks of concern etched on their faces – the girlfriends.

You gulp, glancing down at your own attire and knowing you’ll stick out like a sour thumb. All your new clothes that Steve had bought you were currently in the washing machine – leaving you with the one piece of clothing that you hadn’t worn in a long time. Your oversized hoodie.

Not that it matters right now.

“Well, there you go. Front row seats to all the action – although it’s looking pretty bleak right now, so I’d look away if I was you.” Colin grimaces, glancing at the scoreboard once more. “We’re down by five points and there isn’t much time left on the clock.”

You manage a tight smile, feeling like a tiny fish inside the Pacific Ocean. “Thank you for helping me, Colin.” You say softly.

“No worries.” Colin’s already walking away – clearly, he has no faith left in this game, “Oh, and please don’t tell Steve I spoke to you, okay? He’s probably going to be in a bad mood when – if – we lose this game, and he usually takes his anger out on Jake or me, and this’ll just make it worse, and–”

And then he’s gone, and you make your way past the cluster of cheerleaders, whispering out a soft “excuse me” every time you make eye contact with one of them. They all look you up and down, but thankfully don’t say anything as you walk over to the front, where you now have a clear view of the field.

Steve’s got his team in a huddle, yelling out instructions that you can’t hear. He’s in his blue jersey with his helmet under his arm, blonde hair fluffy and messy and his face pale yet flushed at the same time. And he does look stressed and distracted just how Colin had said. Would he be angry if his team lost? Would he be mad at you for coming? With Steve, one never really knew what to expect, and you suddenly feel extremely foolish, standing here in your ill-fitted hoodie with a jersey full of holes in your hands.

All the players take their positions for the final few minutes of the game. From your limited understanding of football, you can tell that the stakes are very high. The girl next to you can’t stop biting her nails and clutching onto her friend’s arm.

Your eyes are trained on Steve, focused only on him despite the fact that there’s ten other players wearing the same blue jersey and helmet as him. That’s when you feel the mark on your neck suddenly prickle, and Steve’s heard jerks up at that exact moment as if on cue, turning back to look directly at you.

His face is obscured by his helmet, but it makes your breath catch in your throat all the same. Like it did every time he’d strut into the lecture hall, every time you’d see him in the hallways, and those times when he’d show up to your dorm room. He’s yards away from you, but you shoot him a small smile – it’s the first time you’ve smiled at him in a long time now and you wonder if he can even see it.

The whistle blows and there’s a flurry of movement. For a handful of seconds which feel like ages, you don’t even know where the ball is. Everything’s moving so fast, and a glance up at the gigantic timer shows you there’s barely any time left. But the seconds feel like hours, the anticipation growing high not only within you but in the crowd around you. You lean forward over the rails, eyes scanning the field and you see a blur of blue with a handful of players chasing behind it.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Steve run so fast, yard after yard, as if he’s racing against the clock – which he is. And then his teammate – all the way from the other end – heaves the ball downfield. You see it soaring in the air, so quick that it’s easy to miss. And there’s mere seconds left on the clock, and there’s about four defenders surrounding Steve but he’s gotten past the goal line, and he jumps up, and –

There’s a split second of silence before the stadium erupts in cheers. You realise you’d been holding your breath, and you blink several times before you see the ball in Steve’s hands, hoisted up high. And he’s cleared the goal line, and his teammates are charging at him, whooping in the air.

“I can’t believe it!” The cheerleader next to you screeches in glee, grabbing her friend as they both jump up and down, “A touchdown! We won!”

And sure enough, the huge screen at the front flashes “touchdown!” in huge block letters, and everyone seems to be beside themselves. You exhale in relief, the cheerleaders’ infectious excitement rubbing off on you as you can’t help but smile. Steve is swarmed by his team, and they lift him up. And now you can see him more clearly, see when his eyes zero in on you.

On the shoulders of his teammates, but he’s looking directly at you. You want to give him a little wave but you feel too shy, and you wonder whether you should leave now since he’d obviously want to celebrate with his team. But, as if he somehow senses your intentions, it takes Steve about a millisecond to get back down on the ground, and then he breaks into a run – straight towards you!

You grip onto the railing in anticipation, and Steve crosses the distance in almost record time. There are people in the crowd who’ve invaded the pitch, congratulating his teammates and staring after him as he makes a beeline towards you. Wide-eyed, you stare as he gets closer and closer, his cheeks flushed pink and chest puffed out as he comes to a stop in front of you.

“You’re here.” He says, slightly out of breath.

“Y-Yeah, you’re uh–” You’re suddenly at a loss for words, but you hold up his lucky jersey as if that’s a sufficient enough explanation. Clearing your throat, you add: “Congratulations, Steve. You played really well.”

He stares at you for a moment, and then before you know what’s happening, his hands wrap around your hips, lifting you up over the barrier and into his arms. You squeak, arms instinctively winding around his neck and your legs wrap around his waist.

He kisses you, and there’s an explosion of summer sunshine behind your eyes and all around you. The scent of firewood and an intense summer day interweaves through all your senses – all you can taste, smell, breathe is him. And it’s you who pulls him closer, returning his kiss with double the enthusiasm, your lips working against his as if you’re willingly ready to be consumed in him.

Steve draws back, only to kiss you again. One peck, another peck, and then one of his hands slips up and cups your cheek, pulling your face even closer as his tongue probes against yours and he sucks sweetly on your bottom lip, leaving you breathless yet wanting even more when he suddenly pulls away.

“I love you.”

The words seem to burst out of him – and it seems like both of you stop breathing as soon as he says it. As if you’re both encased in this bubble and the people around you don’t matter and those three words are bouncing around the confines of this bubble, echoing and growing louder, embracing you like a hug.

And your whole world stops. There are hundreds of people around you but they all seem to freeze in place, and you can hear your heart thumping to the same beat as his. And his eyes are clear blue and earnest, and you can see your reflection in them. Shocked, surprised, caught off guard yet every cell in your body rapidly filling up with hope.

“Don’t say that…” You breathe, “D-Don’t say things you don’t mean.” Or else I’ll believe you.

“I mean it.” Steve presses his forehead against yours, gripping you so tightly that you feel like you can’t breathe – but in a good way. “I mean it, omega. I’m in love with you.”

He savours each word as he says it, and you feel this hot and cold feeling – rushes of it – throughout your body. Sparks in the pit of your tummy like tiny butterflies fluttering excitably, or firecrackers ready to erupt in a shower of what feels like pure happiness. You feel light, like you could float forever as his words keep repeating inside your head like a song.

Up until this moment, you’ve second-guessed almost every single word he’s said to you. But why aren’t you second-guessing this? Why is your whole body trusting and believing him, erupting in elation as he holds you close? He loves you. Steve loves you! Love! You don’t think anyone’s ever told you they’ve loved you before. Or made you feel this strange feeling; this heady mixture of wanting to laugh and wanting to cry, of feeling so overwhelmed and yet so at home, and, and and–

“Steve, I’m pregnant.”

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them. And maybe you don’t want to stop them anymore, because the relief you feel is almost instantaneous.

And Steve stares at you for the longest time, and you focus on the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes rapidly, pink lips parted slightly as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing. For one horrific second, you think he’s going to drop you and leave, and take his “I love you” back and tell you it’s over. But he holds you even tighter, and you realise you’re moving as he walks the two of you to a door off to the side, leading to the changing rooms.

Once inside, he sets you down gently on your feet and pins you against the wall, trapping you against his considerably larger frame, looking down at you with an almost foreign look on his face, as if he can’t quite grasp what you’re saying.

“You’re pregnant?” He repeats.

“Yes, I am.”

“Pregnant.” Steve says it again, more to himself than to you, cupping your face, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones lightly. “My omega. Pregnant.”

“Yes.” The more you confirm it and the more he says it, the realer it seems. But it’s crazy how much less scary the prospect of pregnancy sounds when the word is coming out of his mouth. “I took three tests; they all came out positive. My period never came–”

His lips press against yours in a heady kiss that leaves you reeling, and he’s holding you so tightly that you feel light-headed. “My girl carrying my baby, just like I said you would.” Steve whispers against your lips. A smile breaks out across his face, “Baby, you’ve made me so proud.”

Proud. He’s proud. Proud of you.

He gets down on his knees in front of you, your breath catching in your throat because he’s so big. Even on his knees, his face is level with your chest. His hands, so big and warm, trail softly down your figure – the gentlest he’s ever been. Fingers splayed out and stroking carefully over your stomach, he lifts your hoodie up and presses his face against your soft, exposed skin.

“You’re so tiny,” he breathes, almost in wonder. “So little… How’re you gonna carry my baby inside you when you’re so little?”

Your chest rises as you inhale deeply, a soft whisper of “I don’t know…” leaving your mouth.

Butterfly-light kisses trail up and down your stomach, his lips dragging against your skin, tongue peeking out to lick, nip and suck at your belly – as if he wants to devour you. You get the strong urge to card your fingers through his hair, but you’re so shy that you hesitate, jerking forward instead when the tip of his tongue probes inside your belly button.

Steve looks up, the wonder in his eyes now replaced with a familiar, devilish sparkle.

“I always knew I’d knock you up before the year was over.” He boasts cockily, one hand still firmly stroking your stomach like he’s grown addicted to the feeling. “Didn’t I say it from day one? That I was gonna fuck my baby into you? And now look at you, knocked up like the good, dutiful omega I knew you’d be under my wing.”

He sounds how he did before, the same cocky Steve. But there’s an underlying lightness to his words, this infectious excitement that’s so different from your own cold fear of being pregnant.

“You don’t think it’s too soon, Steve? I mean, I don’t think I’m ready–”

“You’re ready.” He interrupts you, words spoken between kisses against your stomach – it seems like he can’t refrain from kissing you there – “It’s an omega’s duty to have her alpha’s babies, and didn’t I say I’ve got a plan? You, me, and my baby – it’s all coming together now.”

“B-But what about college? You’re graduating now but I’ve still got two more years left, and–”

“You don’t have to worry about any of that anymore.” Steve cuts you off again, standing up to his full height so you have to crane your neck to look up at him. With his shoulder pads on, he looks even bigger than usual, “Didn’t I say I’d take care of you?”

Your concerns are swallowed up by his kiss, and his hand slips down to hook under your thighs. He picks you up easily, and he’s so strong; he only needs one arm to carry you, his other hand cupping your face and pulling you in for another kiss – as if he can’t seem to get enough.

“Poor little baby omega,” He coos, laying you down on a nearby bench and climbing on top of you. You can hear the roar of the crowd close by, everyone celebrating this monumental win for the football team. You know for a fact there are people milling about near you. Steve is undeterred, however, kissing down your neck as he pushes your hoodie up to expose your chest.

“You must’ve been so stressed, huh baby?” More kisses as he unclasps your bra and pulls it off hastily, throwing it somewhere behind him as his eyes zero in on your bare breasts.

“Y-Yeah, I was.” You can’t help but sniffle, sounding small and pathetic but you can’t help it. Telling Steve about the baby feels like a huge weight has been lifted off your shoulders, the agonising stress inside your head easing bit by bit as Steve’s large hands squeeze and grope your tits roughly.

“Don’t worry, sweet girl. You don’t have to worry about anything anymore. I know your little brain is tired from thinking so much, now you just leave all the thinking to daddy, okay? All you have to focus on is being a mommy.” He buries his face in your breasts, nuzzling and inhaling your soft skin, squeezing and pushing your tits together till they hurt while you whimper beneath him.

“St-Steve, someone might – ah! – someone might see us!”

“Shhh, didn’t I just tell you not to worry about anything?” He takes your hoodie off completely, and now you’re topless and completely at your alpha’s mercy. He grins wolfishly down at you, “Now, did you know that pregnant baby omegas like yourself are meant to feed their alphas too?”

Your eyes pop open, “Wh-What?”

Steve smirks, palming your tits roughly before rubbing one of your stiff nipples between his thumb and forefinger. You’re half enamoured by the thrill of it, and half paranoid that someone’s going to walk in and see all this, but Steve doesn’t seem to care.

“You didn’t know that you’re meant to feed daddy too? God, you really are a baby, aren’t you?” He pinches your nipple before his tongue peaks out and licks around it, making it even more erect. “All pregnant omegas have to let their alphas have a taste of their milk.”

“I haven’t – ah! – I haven’t read about that anywhere!” You try not to moan.

“That’s because you’re just a baby,” Steve coos before encasing your nipple in his mouth and giving suckling on it not so gently. And the action sends thrills straight down to your core, making you gasp breathlessly and clutch onto his broad shoulders. He releases your nipple with a pop, “Now omega, are you gonna let daddy drink your little mommy milk?”

You squirm, “Y-Yes?”

He twists your nipple roughly, “Say it, then.”

“Y-Yes, you can drink it.”

Another pinch. “Say it properly.”

“Yes, you can drink my mommy milk!” You cry out.

Steve smiles, pulling your cheek condescendingly, “Good girl. Not that I would need your permission, since you’re mine after all.” He gives your nipple a feather-light kiss before encasing it between his lips again, teeth grazing against the sensitive bud.

“And address me properly, or I’ll call the whole football team and make them watch while I fuck you.” You can feel him harden at the thought, “I’ll show them exactly how I knocked you up in the first place.”

“Daddy…” you whine, “N-Not in front of anyone, please!”

Steve licks his lips as his eyes drink you in, like a carnal wolf admiring his prey. His gaze focuses on between your legs, his hangs grabbing at your thighs and spreading them apart. Lewdly, he cups your mound and you automatically buck your hips upwards, making him smirk at your neediness. Grinding the heel of his palm against your clothed pussy, you want to hide your face in embarrassment when you see the wet patch forming on your leggings.

“You’re going to be so much hornier now that you’re pregnant,” He breathes, looking at the wet spot between your legs as if he’s entranced. Suddenly, he strikes you; palm slapping against your clothed pussy while his other hand holds your legs apart. You gasp, sparks of pleasure flaring up inside you as he repeatedly slaps your clothed cunt.

“Tell me, baby omega. Who knocked you up?”

“Y-You did!” You cry out desperately, trying to clamber upwards to grab at his shoulders except he easily pins you back down. His head dips down too, straight between your legs till he’s face to face with your pussy. And you wish to God your leggings and panties weren’t in the way, but Steve doesn’t seem to care. His tongue peaks out past his pink lips, licking a stripe up your covered cunt, and you convulse, “Oh fuck!”

“Tell me how you got knocked up, baby.” Steve speaks against your pussy, and you can feel his hot breath through the thin material of your leggings. He lets out a hum before he takes the material between his lips, sucking at the wet spot and making you throb down there, “Tell me how I filled up your little baby cunt and fucked my baby into you.”

You hesitate, and earn a harsh slap to your ass that has you hissing in pain. “Say it!”

“Y-You filled up my baby cunt and knocked me up!” You cry out desperately, rubbing your pussy against his face as he continues to suck your leggings, his nose grazing against your covered folds and making you want him so badly, it hurts. “Daddy – ah! – y-you fucked your baby into me, okay? P-Please!”

It’s insane how quickly he renders you to be delirious, but after weeks of not being intimate with him, it’s like this is exactly what you need. The depravity, the filth, the fear that just about anyone could walk in at any moment. And it’s also the pride you see in his face – alpha is proud of you for getting pregnant, and that just makes you want him even more.

“You’re just a tiny little baby,” Steve sits back up, looking down at you as if you’re some ravishing creature and not just a desperate omega practically humping against him, face contorted in need for her alpha. “How’re you growing my baby inside of you, when you’re a little fucking baby yourself, huh? Daddy’s little baby.”

He peels your leggings off, leaving you in just your panties in the changing rooms where anyone could walk in at any moment. Pressing kisses against your inner thighs, getting closer and closer to your core, and you’re wiggling underneath him, thrusting up into air because you’re so needy for him.

“I’m gonna take such good care of you, baby.” He breathes, sinking down to his knees on the side of the bench and grabbing your calves to pull you to the edge of it. His face between your thighs now, you can feel his hot breath against your panty-covered core. “Gonna keep you so happy. My little wife… I’ll give you everything you deserve.”

Your heart lurches at the word “wife.” He’s never referred to you as that before, but you don’t have the time to mull upon it when Steve’s teeth enclose around your wet panties, pulling them and letting the elastic stretch before he lets go and it snaps back against your pussy, making you whimper softly. He grins, taking the sodden fabric into his mouth again, this time sucking all your slick from the material while your eyes pop at the sight, pussy clenching around air.

“I love you, baby. You’ve made me so happy today. I want to make you happy too.” His voice is dripping with sweetness – and usually you’d be questioning: is he being sincere? Does he mean it? Should I trust him? But just hearing him say it, hearing him say “I love you,” it’s like it makes you stop thinking straight, makes you not want to question him, makes you want to believe him because what do you truly have left if you don’t believe him?

And maybe – just maybe – he does mean it.

“The mother of my child,” Steve coos, blowing cool air on your hot core, and your slick is dripping down to pool underneath you on the bench as he continues to finger the material of your panties, “Aren’t you happy that you’re pregnant, baby? Aren’t you happy that you made daddy so proud?”

You bite your lip, “H-Honestly, I’m scared– ah! – I’m too young, we’re both too young. There’re so many things we have to think about and consider, and– oh! Oh my God!”

Steve chooses that moment to rip your panties in half and dip his head down, pushing back the hood of your clit and encasing the throbbing button between his lips. He sucks down hard, and you automatically raise your hips to grind up against his face, leaving it glistening with streaks of your wetness. His hand lands an open-palmed slap against your bare pussy, the sound so lewd and wet as it echoes across the changing room.

“I asked you if you’re happy for making me proud.”

You gulp, hands reaching down to grab at his blonde tufts – something you’d been itching to do all day. Slowly, you nod your head. “Y-Yeah.” You whisper, “A-Always wanna make you proud.”

“Good girl. That’s what I thought.” He goes back to your clit, spitting down on it. His saliva pools around your button and he uses his thumb to spread it, circling and rubbing it around and around till you can’t take the intensity, and hump up against his hand. “I already told you not to think about anything else, except being a mommy and making me proud.”

Steve lifts your thighs up and props them over his shoulders, and your ankles automatically lock around him, encasing his head between your legs so he’s face to face with your core. And that’s when you feel his tongue, hard and pointed, flick against your clit, once, twice, three times till you’re crying out his name, your thighs already thrashing except his tight grip keeps them pinned to his shoulders.

“Look at your little button, all swollen up and cute.” Steve spits once more, his saliva trailing down your mound to pool around your clit once more. “You missed having your daddy make you feel good, didn’t you?”

“I…I, uh – Ow!” You gasp when he slaps your ass, the sound resonating across the room and you wonder why no one has walked in yet.

“I wasn’t asking you; I was asking her.” Steve licks his lips, looking straight at your glistening folds and using his pointed finger to swipe up and down your wetness. “Look at your little baby pussy, she’s crying because she’s so happy that daddy’s here to take care of her again.” And that’s all it takes for him to bury his face in your wetness once more, enveloping your sensitive folds between his lips and suctioning harshly.

“Mm, fuck, daddy!” You whimper softly, and he reaches up to squeeze your breast possessively.

Licking and sucking his way back up to your clit, his teeth graze against your swollen bundle of nerves, making you throb like crazy as the sparks begin to build up. “So fuckin’ puffy, just for daddy, huh?” He questions, and you gasp out in agreement, your movements getting needier and more desperate as you begin to hump into his face in earnest, your fists tightening around his hair as you practically smear your pussy over his face, feeling his tongue, his teeth, his lips, his nose, even the light stubble he’s starting to grow out – all of it creating delicious friction against you.

Your body is rocked by so many different sensations: he’s practically making out with your pussy as his mouth suctions over it, lapping at your wetness like he’s starved. His tongue, so hard and pointed, fucks into your hole, his nose grazing against your clit before he licks a flat stripe up from your fuckhole up your slit, ending with a hearty suck up on your clit before biting down on the bundle of nerves not so lightly.

“That’s right, baby. My horny fuckin’ little omega, rub your baby cunt on daddy’s face, use me to make yourself cum. Fuck! I said rub yourself on my fucking face! Harder, before I change my mind.” Steve’s teetering between nice and mean, and the heady mix of both makes you scream out and clutch his hair harder, his voice muffled and sending vibrations against your clit. “Hump on daddy’s face, baby, c’mon. Make yourself feel good, show daddy how much you missed me.”

Your orgasm is doubly intense, and for the second time in your life, your juices squirt out, streaming all over Steve’s face and coating him in your slick. And, like a man starved, he wastes no time in swiping his cheek and sucking his finger, his eyes training on your pulsating pussy as you clench and release, over and over again, thighs tightening around his face as you cry out, “Oh! Oh my, d-daddy!”

“Good baby,” He praises you, prying your legs off his shoulders, “Doesn’t it feel so good to just switch off and let your daddy do all the thinking?”

Hands and legs limp like jelly and every thought and worry slowly leaving your mind, you manage to sniffle out a soft yet ashamedly honest, “Y-Yeah.”

You’re completely limp in his arms as he picks you up by the waist, sitting down on the bench and setting you down on his lap, your back against his chest. But not before undoing his fly and pulling his dick out. It looks angry and red and somehow bigger than ever – as if it’s about to explode. You gulp – it’s been so long since he’s been inside you. Would he still fit?

Like a steel rod, his cock pokes out from between his legs, resting pretty between your own thighs that are parted by his hands. Your wetness has spread all the way from your folds to down your legs, and it’s mildly embarrassing just how needy you are for him at this moment. So needy, in fact, that you surprise yourself – your hands grabbing at his dick as if the omega inside you just can’t help it.

“Fuck,” Steve hisses, covering your hand with his own, “Look at your tiny baby hands on my daddy dick.” His tongue is lapping and sucking at his mark on your neck – his favourite spot – but his eyes are locked on the scene in front of him – you palming his dick almost hesitantly, as if you’re scared of it yet want it badly at the same time – which you do.

You swallow harshly, “P-Please.”

“Please what, sweet girl?”

You duck your head, too shy to voice your desire but his hand grips your chin and makes you look up, twisting your head back slightly so he can look into your eyes.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” Steve says softly, beguilingly with blue eyes sparkling, “I already told you I’ll give you whatever you want – you just have to tell me.”

You surge upwards to kiss him, suddenly remembering how he’d rejected your kisses the last time the two of you had had sex. But this time, he captures your lips with his, ravenously making out with you and his tongue dominates yours, licking up every crevice of your mouth like it’s his job to kiss you. Till you can’t breathe and yet you still don’t want to pull away, and it’s him who finally does.

“Or we could just sit here, and I could feel you.” Steve muses, hand gliding his dick back and forth against the soft skin of your thighs before slapping it against your pussy. You gasp and convulse, and he only chuckles as he repeats the action, and you can’t help but close your legs around his dick, as if forcing him to put it inside you.

“Alpha please!” You mewl softly.

“I guess your pregnancy hormones have made you even needier now, huh omega?” He snickers, using his hand to guide yours up and down his dick, making you jack him off. And you can feel every ridge, every vein of his thick dick as it pulses under your hand. And the omega inside you is feral, you want him so badly it’s unreal. All these weeks of no intimacy have you starved in a different way – because being mated to him means always wanting him, always yearning for him, and having no willpower against his charms.

It's with burning cheeks and tears of need welling in your eyes that you utter: “P-Please, alpha! N-Need you inside me, your knot… So bad. So bad!”

“Why? You’re already knocked up.” He’s tracing the tip of his dick against your clit, holding you down as you thrash on his lap. And you don’t understand his willpower – did he not want you as badly as you wanted him? But he continues to slap and stroke his dick against your folds, coating his length in your cream, grabbing you by the hips and grazing you on top of it, physically grinding you against his hard dick yet not putting it inside you.

“Aww, poor baby. Look at your cute little baby cunt, all drippy and leaking all over daddy. You still want my dick, baby? Still want my knot even if you’re already pregnant?”

“Yes! Yes, please!” You want to tell him not to tease you, but you know that he’s your alpha and you can’t really tell him what to do. You know you’re already submissive by nature but in his arms right now, you feel like you’re completely at his mercy, like you’d do anything for him. “N-Need you, daddy. So bad. Just… Just gotta feel you inside… P-Please!”

Steve swears, grabbing the base of his dick and lining it up against your leaking pussy. But he has to lift you up by the hips and slam you back down to get his fat, bulbous tip to finally breach your tiny hole. And oh my God – was it possible that he felt even bigger than ever before? He’s barely halfway inside you and you feel stuffed to the brim already, slippery walls convulsing and crying around his fat cock as it penetrates into you.

“What a tight fuckin’ baby cunt,” Steve grits out, squeezing your tits till it hurts, “God, fuck! Never had a pussy this tight before, baby. It’s like you were made for me.”

He’s so big, it almost feels like it’s the first time – how could you ever have gotten used to such a huge dick? And he’s big everywhere: his muscular legs which hold your entire body weight, his thick arms that hold your thrashing limbs at bay. All six foot six inches of him dwarf you completely. You feel so light, so fragile, so tiny on top of him, his dick slowly going deeper and deeper inside of you, practically ripping you in two.

“S-So big, daddy…” You moan, because it hurts yet it hurts so good, and you love the delicious friction you feel.

“Can’t even go all the way inside you, baby.” Steve say softly, as if he himself is surprised by his own girth and by how small you are. “Fuck, you’re tinier than I remember. Guess I’m too big for you. Your cute little baby cunt can’t take me in, omega.”

“Please! F-Force it in.” Something carnal takes over you then, and you’re surprised by your own words; they sound so desperate, so lust-ridden and unabashed – like you’d die if he isn’t fully inside you.

And Steve growls, pushing out of you and picking you up – and he only needs one arm to do it – before forcibly turning you around so that you’re chest to chest with him. He forces you back down on his dick, and it’s so hard and imposing as it pierces into you, and you can’t help but clamber closer to Steve, both of you gasping against each other’s lips when he finally fills you up till the hilt, and the pain is so deliciously excruciating, you feel like you’ll break in half.

“I think I may have broke your pussy, baby.” He whispers, as you marvel at how much of a tight fit it is, his dick so snugly inside you, stretching out your walls as far as they’ll go around his fat girth. You truly do feel broken, but in the best way, and you wrap your arms around his neck, wanting to be closer.

“D-Don’t care, alpha.” You don’t know what’s suddenly come over you, maybe it’s the fact that he told you he loves you, maybe it’s because you haven’t had sex with him for weeks, maybe it’s because you’ve finally told him you’re pregnant and he’s proud of you, he’s promised to take care of you. Or maybe it’s something else altogether, but your desire for him has never been this high, this intense. Even Steve looks surprised.

Slowly, he starts bouncing you up and down on his dick. And you don’t have to do any work, just sit there and let him manoeuvre you, let him control your movements like a puppeteer, like how he controls every other aspect of your life. And maybe it’s time to admit that you like it that way, maybe it’s time to stop fighting with the omega inside you. Maybe this, here with him, is where you belong.

“You like me splitting you open like this, don’t you?” He whispers against your lips, capturing them in a searing kiss that has you grabbing his face and pulling him closer. Wanting to touch him and smell him and feel him and hold him and everything in between. His dick is hitting that special spot inside of you, making you cry out with every thrust, not caring that you’re being loud and this is a public place and anyone could walk in.

“I love you so much, baby.” And there it is again, those three words once again, penetrating into your heart and tattooing themselves upon it. His hand suddenly grabs yours, holding it close and pressing kisses all over your palm and fingers – and you’re reminded of the night where you’d begged him not to leave you, and how you’d done the same thing.

“I’m never letting you go, omega.” Steve speaks between kisses, all the while his hips are a blur as they move up and down, thrusting inside you like he wants to keep the two of you connected forever. “I’m gonna make you my housewife, keep you locked up and safe so no one can ever hurt you or my baby. I’m gonna take care of you, both of you.”

And you’re nodding feverishly, whispering “okay” over and over again, grinding down to meet his thrusts, biting your lip in bliss when his hand snakes down to where you two meet, his fingers deftly rubbing your clit, heightening your pleasure as his cock continues to tear you in half.

“My omega, all mine,” He growls, balls smacking against your skin as he fucks into you, your poor fuckhole so used and abused yet you don’t even care as you drip all over him, the pleasure growing steadily inside you, coils tightening as he fucks you like only he ever could. “Won’t let anyone else touch you, speak to you, even look at you anymore. You’re my property – my little wife knocked up with my kid. Won’t let anything come between us, not again.”

Through your delirium, you manage to lock eyes with him, clutching at him desperately, and your words come out so softly, and you feel so small when you ask him, “Y-Y-You promise?”

He stalls for a second, just a second, before his thrusts resume, hitting deeper if that’s even possible. He cups your face with his warm hand, and you can smell his heady, musky scent that you’re so addicted to. His eyes sparkle earnestly, like twin blue oceans that you could drown in except the experience would be pleasant. He leans close to you, so close; “I promise, omega.”

You cum so hard, you feel like you’re going to pass out, your walls constricting around his dick, squeezing it so hard while he continues to thrust up into you. You can feel your cream leaking down his dick, staining his uniform but it’s like you can’t stop squirting around him, your slick squeezing out of your worn-out pussy as it pulsates around his hard cock.

“Steve, oh my God, oh my God, fuck!” You cry out in complete abandon, clutching onto his biceps, your nails digging through the material of his jersey.

“That’s right baby, cum on daddy’s dick like the good little girl you are,” He coaxes you, rubbing your bare back almost soothingly, while his fat dick continues to pierce in and out of you at an inhumane pace – as if he’s savouring being inside you, as if he never wants to stop. “Squeeze my fucking dick, omega. Fuck, I’m gonna keep you pregnant forever, baby. Tell me you want that; tell me you want all my fucking babies.”

“W-Want your babies!” You cry out obediently, your body jelly on top of his, limbs twitching as the rushes of pleasure flush through your body. He’s using you like a fuckdoll now, an iron grip on your hips as he pounds into you as if he can’t get enough. His mouth latches onto your mark, licking and sucking possessively, and you think you might pass out from the pleasure – and he still wouldn’t stop.

You feel his dick twitch inside you, and he’s still fucking you through his own release, his seed so hot as it pours into you. Spurting hot cum, coating your insides like he’s trying to brand you, and he grips firmly onto your hair, pulling your face to his and kissing you roughly. “I love you, baby.” He whispers soft as a feather against your lips, and you don’t think you’ll ever get tired of hearing him say it, as you grind down, his thick ropes of cum mingling with your own slick, and he’s still pumping out more. As if his load is so heavy and he won’t stop until you’re completely filled up.

“Marry me.”

For the second time today, he renders you completely speechless. Third time, if you count your reaction to his book of sketches. Cupping both your cheeks and making you look at him and only him, and you don’t know what to think. First ‘I love you’ and now ‘marry me’? The alarm bells are chiming softly in the rational part of your mind – because isn’t all of this happening too fast, too suddenly, too soon?

“Marry me, omega.” Steve repeats, “Let me take you home. To Brooklyn. I’ll take care of you, give you a real home, I’ll make you so happy. And you can leave this place behind.”

Leave it behind? What did he mean by that? Your degree? There’re so many questions on your mind: Is he being serious? Does he mean it? Why is all of this coming out now? Should you believe him, believe his promises – when your own trust in him has come back to slap you in the face multiple times in the past? And what if this is all some cruel practical joke? What about your education, your scholarship? What about your mother? What about… what about… what about–

But it’s like your mind is working in overdrive to forcibly push all those thoughts out, and replace them with how he’d told you he loved you. How he’d apologised to you last night. All the sketches he made of you – those weren’t a joke, were they? They couldn’t be.

Time to surrender, the omega inside of you is beguiling as ever; time to be happy…

“Okay.” You whisper.

He breaks into a smile, like he knows you could never say no to him, and presses kisses all over your face.

There’s a quiet calm as he picks you up, taking you to the nearby bathroom and helping you clean up. You thought your head would be a screaming mess of emotions, but your thoughts are eerily quiet as you let him clean and redress you. Maybe this was all meant to be, and this is where you belonged. Maybe he meant it this time – maybe he’d take care of you and keep you happy forever. And you have the baby to think about too – maybe this was best for the baby.

He carries you back out of the bathroom, only setting you down on your feet when he’s opening the exit doors to get back out onto the field. And even then, he holds your hand tightly – so tightly, as if you’re a kite that might fly away.

Outside, everyone is still celebrating – almost as if the two of you never left. You can see Sam and the rest of the football team popping open cans of beer and pouring it all down their fronts, or shaking hands with different people, or kissing their own girlfriends. Instinctively, Steve’s grip on your hand tightens even more.

“Hey, Cap! We’re taking a team picture with the trophy. C’mon!” One of his teammates calls out before the whole team begins to assemble themselves into haphazard rows while the professional photographer tries to guide them.

You feel Steve hesitating before letting go of you, grabbing your shoulders instead.

“Don’t move, omega. I’ll be right back.”

You nod, smiling softly, “Okay, Steve. I’m right here.”

It’s like he’s searching your face for something, and you wish to God you knew what because you’d show it to him in a heartbeat. But then his face softens, he grabs the back of your neck and pulls you close, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. And then he jogs away, joining his friends and being greeted with hoots and cheers and high-fives and chants of his name. He looks like a king on top of his world, standing up front and centre. Someone thrusts the gigantic trophy in his hand, and he holds it up proudly, smiling cockily at the camera.

You take it all in, feeling a mix of emotions ranging from pride for him as well as a certain sense of imposter syndrome. He’s a king and you’re an ant – but he loves you. He told you so, he told you so, he told you so–

“HEY!”

The repeated calling of your name doesn’t register to you until it’s right up against your ear, and you feel someone grip your wrist roughly, tugging you back. You turn around in alarm, mouth dropping open when you see who it is.

“Peter! What are you doing here?”

Peter looks dishevelled, out of breath as if he’s been running around all day. His spiky hair is longer than how you remember it, with brown locks tumbling down his forehead. His cheeks are flushed and eyes bright, the remnants of his fading black eye very apparent on his face. And his hold on your wrist is tighter than ever – just like how Steve’s grip was earlier.

Heart pounding, you glance back at Steve – but he’s still busy hoisting the trophy high in the air, posing for pictures and shaking hands with different people.

“Went to your dorm – you weren’t there.” Peter huffs, trying to catch his breath as quickly as he can. “Someone said you might be here – that the entire college was here. And they weren’t wrong – I’ve been looking for you in the crowd for ages. I figured this would be the best way, since he’d be too busy playing to notice anything.”

Peter casts a quick glance at Steve too, before pulling you further away. When he doesn’t stop, you tug back.

“What’re you doing? We can’t… I can’t be speaking to you, he’ll–”

“Come on!” Peter cuts you off, an almost desperate sense of urgency in his tone as he keeps glancing back at Steve. There’s a certain panic to his demeanour, as if he’s in a hurry. “Look, this is the perfect opportunity – he’s distracted, we can just slip out and –”

“Wait, Peter–”

“No, I’m not going to wait and neither are you!” Peter hisses, yanking your arm and pulling you further and further away, off the side of the field and leading to the stairs where a sizeable crowd of people is still mingling.

“Look, I spent a whole month feeling sorry for myself for getting beaten up… For letting him get the best of me. And I barely spared a second to think of you and what you must’ve been going through.” Peter’s talking rapidly, and he never stops moving, never stops tugging you but he does keep looking over his shoulder in Steve’s direction, his palm clammy as he holds on to your wrist. “But then you called, and you sounded distressed. I knew he wasn’t treating you right, I knew I had to do something.”

You swallow harshly, taking another look back at Steve – now his teammates have hoisted him onto their shoulders again, and he’s still smiling for pictures. A million thoughts race through your head, “Peter, I have to get back, he’s gonna–”

But it’s like Peter doesn’t hear you at all, as he determinedly pulls you up the stairs behind him and towards the exit. And you do want to speak to him, of course you do! You haven’t spoken to him for more than a month, and there’s so many things you want to ask him. But, but, but…

“I’m so fucking stupid for not doing something sooner. You were my girlfriend… You are my girlfriend and I should’ve taken care of you.”

You shake your head rapidly, “Peter, please listen! I don’t want to… I don’t think this is a good id–”

“You’re never gonna have to see that sick sonofabitch again, I promise you that much. I’m doing what I should have done that day I showed up at your dorm – take you away from him.”

“Peter, no, I–”

But either it’s the roar of the people around you or his own determination, but he doesn’t seem to hear your pleas. Everything’s happening too fast, the thoughts racing around in your head and the panic bubbling in your chest. Peter is good, you know this – and you know he means well. And yet…

You feel your mark prickle hotly, and you whip around in time to see Steve’s head snap in your direction. Your eyes lock with his for one single split second, and your mark throbs in pain and you feel a certain unrest in your bond, and it feels like you can’t breathe.

The hurt that flashes through Steve’s eyes is the last thing you see before you’re yanked out the exit and swallowed up by the crowd.

Well. If you managed to make it to the end of this chapter, thank you! I really hope you enjoyed. Guys, I poured my life and soul into this... and I hope I did this chapter justice. Please, PLEASE PLEASE reblog! And give me feedback. That’s what keeps me going honestly. I would love to hear what you think. In fact, i’m nervous to know what you think! And what should we expect for the next part? All I’m gonna say is... Steve’s omega has been taken from him, if he was mean before, it’s nothing compared to what he’ll be now. ALRIGHT BYE. and thank you for all your support! Love you guys!

#chris evans #steve rogers #dark steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #dark chris evans #bucky barnes #mcu

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beyondthesefourwalls · 6 months

Text

Twin Fire Signs

Summary: When the majority of your squad intentionally leaves you drunk and alone at a bar, you resign yourself to finding your own way home and dealing with your wounded pride in peace. But then your phone rings, the name of the last person you expected to be calling you on a Friday night flashing on your screen. You know you shouldn’t answer, but too much tequila has never led to great decisions.

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 5.2K

Warnings: language, drinking

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You were drunk.

There wasn’t really any denying it now, just like there was no denying that you were alone without any of the people you came here with. It took a complete lap of the bar and waiting outside of the bathrooms for an eyebrow raising amount of time for you to accept it, but it was an inevitable conclusion now: your team, your squad, had ditched you. By the looks they had exchanged in the ready room in the tower, you were sure the invitation had only been extended as a courtesy and that none of them had expected you to actually say yes. Which was fair, because up until this point, you hadn’t. But you decided to accept on a whim, high off the adrenaline from the phenomenal flying you had just done, mixed with a lapse in judgment and a previous night of feeling particularly lonely. You had been off-brand craving social interaction. Now, you were regretting it and remembering why you preferred being alone. They had bought you a few shots, and all it took was a quick trip to the bathroom for you to come back and all of them be just…gone.

You never should have let your guard down.

There was a reason you had declined nearly every invitation from them to go out for drinks, and it wasn’t because of your desperate need to keep work separate from your private life. You knew the people on your squad were assholes, and you knew they didn’t like you all that much. You were the lone Lieutenant Junior Grade amongst a squad of Lieutenants. On top of that, the first woman of said rank to not only make it there, but be handed the trophy at the end of Top Gun.

You were good. Very good. You knew it, and so did the rest of the squad you had been assigned to when, following your win, you were transferred from Corpus Christi and stationed at Top Gun permanently two months ago. You had come in and blown them all out of the water, and none of them particularly liked it.

You should have known that something like this would happen tonight.

You tried not to let it bother you as you plopped down on a barstool. The bartender, an older man tattooed from his bald head to the tips of his fingers, slid a glass of water in front of you with a roll of his eyes. You gave what you hoped was an appreciative thank you and hiccuped as you took your first sip. After downing half the glass and a handful of bar pretzels, you fumbled with your phone, looking through several rideshare apps to see which one would get you the cheapest and quickest ride home so you could sulk in private.

You were debating if the extra ten bucks for a ride that would show up five minutes quicker was worth it when your screen switched over to an incoming call. Your eyes widened in shock at the name staring up at you.

Lieutenant Seresin

Oh no. Oh no.

It was almost 10pm on a Friday night and Hangman was calling you. And you were drunk. He hadn’t come out with you all tonight, but that wasn’t uncommon. If you were an outcast in one regard, he was an outcast in another. Your squad wanted little to do with you, but they worshiped him. But instead of humoring them, he spent the majority of his time with the special squadron he was also assigned to, who were spread out amongst other teams on base.

You didn’t think that he'd said two words to you that weren’t criticism or a challenge since that day. So why the hell was he calling you now?

You considered not answering and letting the call go to voicemail. You stared at the name for so long weighing your options that the screen darkened as the vibrations stopped. You heaved out a sigh of relief, only to squeak in surprise when the phone started vibrating again.

You tried to take a deep breath when you answered, a slightly high pitched “Hello?” being offered. You winced when it was quickly followed by a hiccup, and then another.

“Are you drunk?”

Fuck.

“Um. Yes.”

You winced at your answer. Being blunt was one of your many character flaws, but you probably could have tried to have a little more tact, considering who you were talking to.

“Are you still at Lumpys?”

“Yes,” you answered automatically, but your brows furrowed as your alcohol soaked brain processed his words. “Wait. How did you know that?”

“Are you okay?” he asked, completely ignoring your question. The bar was so loud around you that you had a bit of trouble hearing him, but that last tequila shot must have done you in, because you could hear annoyance, certainly, but you thought maybe you heard concern, too. You took a gulp of your water to try and clear your mind, because there was no way.

You must have taken too long to respond because he snapped out your name, your first name, and you almost gasped at the sound of it. You don’t think he’s ever actually said your name before; the deep timber of his voice sent a shiver down your spine.

Oh no.

Now was not the time for your thoughts to run away from you into that territory.

“I’m drunk,” you said dumbly.

You could practically feel the pause on the other end before he let out a sigh of your call sign that sounded almost angry.

“Are you safe?” he asked, since you hadn’t directly answered his question on being okay. You took in your surroundings with a long glance, your normal ability to clock everything delayed.

Lumpys wasn’t the nicest place. You had never even heard of it before tonight. It was dark and loud and smokey despite the laws prohibiting it in California. It definitely wasn’t a military bar, that was for sure. You wondered for the first time why the rest of the squad had chosen this spot when the Hard Deck was so close to base, as well as two or three other bars that were frequented by uniforms not of the biker variety. You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat when you realized that maybe they had done that on purpose, because you were coming with them and they knew they wouldn’t stick around. From the end of the bar, the bartender glanced at the water in front of you to see if a refill was needed before rolling his eyes again and looking away as he cleaned glasses.

“Well,” you drew out, pushing down the unwanted emotions suddenly hitting you. “I can’t decide if the bartender is a giant tattooed teddy bear or a gang enforcer. Could go either way, honestly.”

He cursed on the other end and you thought maybe you heard the sound of a vehicle starting. You weren’t really sure, thinking maybe the loudness of the bar was making you hear things, but then his next words affirmed it.

“Don’t move. I’ll come get you.”

Your eyes widened and you sat up straighter in the barstool you had been slumped over in. “Wait, what?”

“I’m coming to get you.”

“No, no, you don’t have to do that. I was about to get an Uber or something-”

He said your first name again, and it set butterflies loose in your stomach that you tried desperately to catch and put back in the box they came from. His voice lowered into something gentle, a tone you hadn’t heard in weeks from the fellow aviator. “Just hang tight. I’ll be there in 20, maybe less.”

You thought about arguing with him and insisting that that wasn’t necessary and you could make your way home just fine by yourself. Even if you were sober, you’d have been in charge of finding your own way home tonight. Quarterback had given you a ride from base after work, and you had assumed you’d be able to catch a ride back, too. But he was long gone with the rest of your squad.

“I…okay,” you finally said, accepting your fate.

He hung up without a goodbye, and you were sure if this was a regular phone call, you’d roll your eyes at how rude the gesture was. But all you could focus on at this point was the sound of your name in his voice and the fact that he was apparently coming to get you.

You were fucked.

You chugged your water, some of it spilling down your chin in the process. When you set the glass down it was with a little too much force right as the bartender walked by. You winced at the annoyed look he shot you.

“Sorry,” you mumbled. He refilled your water with a glare and without a word, moving onto other customers before you could say anything else. You took another gulp of it with a grimace and then set your head in your hand, taking in a deep breath.

Your team leader, Hangman, Jake, would be picking you up from the bar, because the rest of your squad had abandoned you after you had taken a few too many shots.

The same one who you had more respect for than anyone else, who you’ve also maybe harbored a crush on since you came to Top Gun, and who had barely looked at you since you almost kissed four weeks ago.

Great.

Lieutenant Jake “Hangman” Seresin was a legend in the small population of aviators in the US Navy. He was truly the 1% of the 1%. You tried to model a lot of your own career and techniques after him. It helped that you seemed to be similar on an instinctual level, and you had the same indifferent attitudes. Standoffish, as some would say. You both knew you were good, too good to be true in a lot of ways. You had earned the right to have the attitude.

You had been thrilled to be assigned to the same squad as him. You were excited to learn as much as you could from him, to befriend him. And that’s what it had been, at first. The two of you flew together well, and it translated on the ground. He noticed the similarities too, and didn’t hesitate with sharing notes and advice with you. He was so passionate and intelligent about what he did, and that’s what drew you to him first. He knew what he was doing and wasn’t ashamed of it, and that had attracted you more than anything. His good looks certainly didn’t hurt, though.

You had taken to spending time together between hops, and eventually, started talking about more than just flying. It turned out you had a lot in common outside of the Navy, too. He was so easy to talk to. But then almost a month ago, you had been alone in the rec room, talking about the previous night's Cowboys game, of all things, when he had suddenly stepped into your personal space.

His eyes had been dark and intense, and you could feel the heat emanating from his body. The intoxicating combination of his cologne and the smell of jet fuel that you had started associating with him had been even more palpable that close together. You thought he was going to kiss you, to finally give into the tension you thought had been building, and you wanted him to. But then just as quickly as he stepped forward, he had pulled away, leaving you hanging and confused.

And you’ve been that way ever since.

After that moment, things had been different between you. He barely spared you a second glance when you were on the ground and criticized everything you did when you were in the cockpit. You had tried to speak with him, to understand what the fuck had happened, but Jake Seresin was just as good at evading on the ground as he was in the air. So you buried your feelings as deep as you could inside of yourself and tried to mark him off as just another asshole who wasn’t worth your time.

But damn if the alcohol and the way he said your name and sounded something like concerned didn’t have your heart racing and you questioning everything.

A little over fifteen minutes and another glass of water later, a shiver ran through your body. You turned your head right as the door to the bar swung open, eyes meeting the unmistakable figure of the aviator occupying your mind. He wasn’t donning his usual khaki uniform or flight suit that you were used to seeing him in — snug jeans hugged his legs and a white shirt clung to his chest, and you realized it was the first time you’d seen him so casual. Your lips parted slightly as you watched him look around. He stood in the entrance, scanning the room with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw. Your heart skipped a beat when his eyes finally locked onto you.

You raised your hand in a pitiful, unneeded wave, and in the dimly lit bar, you swore you saw some of the tension leave his shoulders. He started making his way through the crowd to you immediately. You watched him with wary, cautious eyes.

“You alright?” he asked. His demeanor remained stoic, but those intense green eyes that you had admired for so long seemed to hold a blend of concern and something else you couldn't quite decipher. From this close up, you could see the way they flicked up and down your body as if assessing for himself your current state.

“Yeah,” you said softly, feeling flushed under his scrutiny. “I’m fine.”

He gave a slight nod, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he turned to the bar. Without a word, he pulled out his wallet and slipped his credit card from the leather. Your eyes widened.

“Wait, Hangman, no.”

You scrambled for your wallet in your tiny small crossbody bag, but before you could get the zipper opened, your self-appointed savior waved you off and handed his card to the approaching bartender. You watched in defeat as the card was swiped and handed back and his signature scrawled on the receipt all in what looked like one smooth motion. Why had you not thought to pay your tab before he had shown up? You were never going to live this down.

“Finish your water and we’ll go,” he told you as he slipped his wallet back into his back pocket.

“It’s my third glass since you called me. If I finish it I can’t be held responsible for your upholstery.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as soon as the words left your mouth. You rubbed at your temples with a groan, your face twisted into a disbelieving grimace. “Please tell me I didn’t just say that.”

To your surprise, Hangman let out a chuckle. Your eyes popped open in shock. His laughter was a rare occurrence in your presence these days, and the butterflies in your stomach fluttered wildly at the sound. Damnit.

"You did," he replied with a faint smirk, his stoic demeanor cracking just a bit. You groaned, and the blonde laughed again before he glanced around the bar, his expression settling back into something more serious. “Are you ready?”

You slid off the barstool, feeling slightly unbalanced on your feet. When you stumbled, he reached out to steady you. You sucked in a breath. It was a simple touch, but it sent a jolt of electricity through your body. For a moment, the two of you just…stared. It was almost reminiscent of that day. But then a bottle broke from a few feet away, shattering the moment — whatever it was — right along with it. Hangman cleared his throat and dropped his hand back to his side.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you home.” You thought maybe you saw the faintest hint of red creeping up on his neck before he turned away, and your mind struggled to rationalize it.

Once you were outside, the cool night air hit you, and it was a welcome relief. You breathed in deeply as you followed behind him to where his large black truck was parked. You knew from one of your conversations before that he had boughten it last year when he was stationed in California after only ever leasing vehicles before. It was a way for him to establish roots now that he was given the opportunity to settle in one place.

The lights flashed as he unlocked it, opening the passenger door and motioning for you to get in. You hesitated for a moment, wondering if this was really how your night was going. You chanced a glance at the man holding the door open and he raised an eyebrow, clearly wondering what the hold up was. You could have laughed at the irony. It took you a second to realize that you had.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, and you felt the heat of embarrassment in your face.

“Nothing,” you muttered, and you turned away before you could say or do anything else to make a fool out of yourself.

The leather seats were comfortable when you clumsily climbed in, and the interior of the car was immaculate, crisp and clean just like you often thought he was. It didn’t surprise you a bit. Hangman settled into the driver's seat, and you couldn't help but steal glances at him as he started the engine. He handed you his phone to put your address in and as country music played quietly over the speakers, he put the truck in drive.

You didn’t know what to say, and Hangman seemed content with the quiet. You watched him from the corner of your eye as he drove, the muscles in his arms flexing with every turn of the wheel. You couldn’t help but wonder what those arms would feel like around you, holding you against him. It was a dangerous thought, and you shook it off before it could take root.

You closed your eyes and leant your head back against the seat as you let the wind from the open windows cool your skin. The effects of the alcohol were slowly wearing off, leaving your mind clearer, but no less confused. Being in his presence like this was still throwing you for a loop.

Why had he dropped everything and shown up for you tonight, after doing everything professionally possible to avoid you for the last month? Why had he ignored you to begin with?

Why did you even care?

Neither of you spoke the entire way, and all the questions in your head were like a stoking fire that was rapidly sparking by the time he turned into your apartment complex. Instead of dropping you off in front of your building, he pulled into one of the visitors spots and put the truck in park. He didn’t kill the engine, though, and you wondered if that meant something.

For a moment, you both just sat there, staring straight ahead. You could feel the tension between you, slowly but surely simmering. You knew the smart thing to do would be to get out of the truck. Thank him for coming to get you and go inside, and then come Monday morning, go back to the same routine. You knew you were capable of it — you had mastered the art of indifference years ago.

“Think you’ll make it upstairs?” he asked, disrupting the silence. You frowned at his choice of words, feeling just the tiniest bit offended. You knew how it looked, being drunk and alone. But he was the one who took it upon himself to show up. He had no right to judge you. You couldn’t help the scoff you let out.

“You didn’t have to come get me, you know. You didn’t have to call at all.”

His eyes widened before they squeezed shut, and it was almost like he realized the tone of what he said. You shook your head with a sigh, suddenly so unbelievably tired.

“Thanks for the ride,” you mumbled. You unbuckled your seatbelt and leant down to grab your purse from the floor. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

Hangman’s hand shot out and grabbed your wrist before you could open the door. You turned to look at him and found him staring at you intently, his green eyes dark and brooding.

“Wait,” he said, his voice urgent and rough. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

He said your name in such a way that you knew nothing would follow it, the blonde at a loss for words for once in his life.

"How did you know where I was?" you blurted out, the words escaping before you could censor them. But the question had been plaguing you since he called, so you didn’t backtrack. You felt like you had a right to know.

You could see the tension in his jaw before he spoke. “Quarterback.”

You raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Quarterback told you where I was?”

“Yes.”

“Did he call you, or….?”

Hangman let out a long sigh, tilting his head back to rest against the seat. “The squad was at the Hard Deck like they normally are, being obnoxious —”

“Like they normally are?” you couldn’t help but interrupt. He cracked a half smile, the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes as he dipped his chin in agreement. Your shared tolerance level for the other members of your squad was something you had discussed at length before.

“Like they usually are. I asked them where you were, since you were the only one not there and I had heard you tell them yes earlier. He told me they left you at Lumpy’s. They thought it was funny.”

You nodded slowly, processing the information. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t sting, just a little bit, that they went as far as going somewhere out of the ordinary just so they could leave you there and make you the punchline of a joke. You let your eyes close and sulked in the feeling for a brief moment. You didn’t need these people. You didn’t even particularly like them, outside of being in the air. But damn. You swallowed thickly and shook your head, as if to completely dislodge the feeling. You supposed them ditching you wasn’t necessarily surprising. You knew how they felt about you, just as they knew your opinions, too. What you were surprised about was that Hangman had bothered to ask about your whereabouts in the first place. It was almost like he cared. Almost.

“So why’d you come?” you asked, still trying to understand. “I could have gotten an Uber.”

For a long moment, he just stared, and you looked right back. His expression was hard to decipher. The streetlights outside cast shifting patterns of light and shadow across his face, and you felt like he was seeing right through you. Still, he said nothing. The silence stretched on, tension growing thick in the air. You couldn’t stand it.

You were about to ask him again, to demand an answer, when he finally spoke. His voice was low and measured, a hint of anger looping through the words, and you shivered at the tone of it.

“They had no right to leave you there like that. I couldn’t — I had to know you were okay.”

You stared at him, feeling something deep and aching stir inside you. You didn't know what to say, didn't know how to react. Everything was suddenly so much more complicated than it had been before.

“Jake…” you whispered, and you don’t know if it was the way you used his first name over his callsign or if he was just finally ready to get it off of his chest, but it was like the single syllable finally cracked the floodgates open.

“I was seeing somebody,” he said. You sucked in a deep breath at the words, a soft “oh” falling from your lips. He continued on before you could think to say anything else. “For a while. Almost a year. She’s exactly what I always pictured I wanted, you know? She travels a lot, but we were figuring it out. But we were serious.”

A beat passed, and you cleared your throat in the silence of the truck. You almost felt awkward when you asked, “Were?”

He nodded, clenching his jaw, before laughing in a way that sounded more self-deprecating than you had ever heard from him. “I’m a lot of things, darlin. But I’m not a cheater, physical or otherwise. It wouldn’t have been so easy for me to catch feelings for someone else if she and I were meant to be together. And the way I had started to feel…”

He cut himself off with a shake of his head, gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned ghostly white. You processed the words slowly, mulling over them over and over again as you tried to figure out the implications behind them.

“About me?” you dared yourself to ask, your heart beating hard in your chest and damn near holding your breath after you did.

He met your gaze head on, his green eyes blazing with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. “Yeah,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “About you. I think I’ve been feeling this way for a while now, but it wasn’t until that day in the ready room that I realized I couldn’t keep denying it anymore. I care about you more than I should.”

The weight of his words was heavy, and you felt a flush start to creep up your neck. It was like all the air had been sucked out of the truck, leaving the two of you suspended in a moment that felt both infinite and fleeting. You didn't know what to say, didn't even know exactly what you were feeling right now. You never thought he would feel the same way that you did, to the point where he had apparently broken up with a girlfriend you had no idea about. But then he hadn’t said anything, hadn’t acted.

You had no idea what any of this meant.

You opened your mouth to speak, to ask him, but before you could get a word out, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. You gasped against his mouth, but his lips were warm and firm and you couldn’t help the way you relaxed into it. It wasn’t more than a press of your lips together, neither of you moving to deepen it, but it left you dizzy like it was the most intense kiss of your life.

When you pulled back, you were both breathing heavier, your foreheads pressed together.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice thick with something that felt emotional. “I shouldn't have...not yet. But I had to know what it felt like.”

You swallowed, focusing on one word.“Yet?”

Hangman, Jake, nodded, and the silence stretched on for a long moment. You were still reeling from his kiss, the emotion, your own confusion over your feelings and what it all might mean. Then he sighed, loud and deep. From this close, you could smell the peppermint from the gum he always chewed on his breath. He pulled away so he could look into your eyes and cupped your cheek. The smile he gave you was tinged with sadness and longing, and the strangest mix of hope. You knew before he said anything that nothing would be happening tonight.

“I’m not…I’m not ready yet,” he said softly. Even though you knew something of the sort was coming, there was a flash of disappointment. He must have read it on your face, because he was quick to try and reassure you. “It’s not you. It’s just…I just ended it with her. And I’m still confused as hell over what I feel for you. I think you both deserve more than me rushing into something without figuring that out. Please understand.”

You nodded, even though you weren't entirely sure if you did. You wanted him, that much was clear. But you also didn't want to be someone's rebound. You wanted something real, something meaningful. And you were willing to wait for that. You just hoped he was too.

“Okay," you whispered, taking a deep breath. "I understand.”

He smiled at you again, a small, sad curve of his lips, before leaning in to press his forehead against yours. "Thank you," he murmured, his breath ghosting over your lips. "You're amazing, you know that?"

You wanted him to kiss you again. You ached for it, almost. But you knew if you closed the distance that you’d be going back on everything he had just asked for and the understanding you had promised him you had. So instead, you swallowed thickly and pulled away from him all together. He seemed to understand the distance you were creating and released another deep breath, clearing his throat.

"Thank you," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "For coming to get me."

He nodded, and the two of you fell into silence again. There was something in his eyes that made you think he wasn't done yet. "Can I walk you up to your door?" he asked, his voice laced with a hint of desperation.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if it was a good idea. But at the same time, you didn't want this moment to end, either, even if it was just a few more minutes. "Sure," you finally said.

The two of you got out of the truck and made your way up to your apartment, the silence between you heavy. He was walking so close that you could feel the body heat radiating from him, and you were starting to feel hot all over. When you reached your door, you turned to face him, unsure of what to say. You drew your bottom lip between your teeth as you stared.

"Thank you again," you said softly.

He nodded, his eyes searching yours for a moment before he let out a deep breath. "Of course,” he said, before leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. Your skin tingled when he pulled away. “I'll see you Monday?" he asked, his voice uncertain.

You nodded. "Yeah, I'll see you then."

He stepped away, staring for just a moment longer before he whispered out a goodnight and turned and walked back down the hallway. You watched him go, a strange mix of emotions swirling inside of you. You didn't know what was going to happen between the two of you, but you thought maybe you were ready to find out. You turned to your door and pulled out your keys, taking a deep breath before unlocking it and stepping inside.

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Main Masterlist

Notes: More of The Blonde One™️needed to be added to my masterlist. I hope you enjoyed whatever this was lol. Likes/comments/reblogs are the best encouragement!

Thanks to @roosterforme @mak-32 @thedroneranger for the help! And to Mak for the prettiest banner that finally gets to see the light of day😍

#alli writes #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x oc #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #hangman x you #jake seresin imagine #hangman imagine #hangman x reader #top gun fanfiction #tgm fanfiction #tgm fic #jake hangman x reader #hangman x oc #hangman x y/n #jake seresin x female reader

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