#I'm fucking stoked you don't even know
Text
Pins from @moldspace and @ultrainfinitepit that will be accompanying me to the eclipse path tomorrow. I'm so excited!!!!
#the eclipse angel getting to see itself.... priceless#enamel pins#eclipse 2024#I'm fucking stoked you don't even know
976 notes
·
View notes
Note
Since I've seen you post about Jang Hyuk several times,just wanna inform you that there's a new ongoing drama now starring Lee Joon,Kang Hanna,and him called Bloody Heart.He plays the villain there and from the looks of the first two episodes,the story will about him as much as it is about the two other protagonist so if you'd like you might wanna check that out🤗
I was aware of it, but thank you for thinking of me! :)
#jang hyuk#don't worry I know#I keep abreast of his doings since I discovered him like a year and a bit ago#I was so hoping he would grow his hair out again since it's an historical drama#but it's one of those all silly hats and court uniform deals :(#I'm not watching it live I'll wait until it's all done because I wasn't too thrilled by any of the plot synopsises they released#trust no one etc.#I want spoilers#and I'm not stoked on him playing a villain tbh- I've told you guys I'm not actually a villain fucker- we'll see how sympathetic he is#if he's troubled and tragic we will talk lmao#I'm REALLY EXCITED for the movie he has coming out this summer#he looks OUTRAGEOUSLY hot in all the set pictures and the trailer#it's the same director as The Swordsman so I'm not holding my breath for a deep story#or terribly well-developed characters#but the action will be fucking magnificent I know that#and he will look offensively sexy and impossibly cool#so like#I'm on board#it better come out on bluray so I can buy it (still angry about Tomb of the River being streaming only even tho I don't like it much)
4 notes
·
View notes
Note
hi jadey!! can i request something with steve? maybe where reader used to be in a relationship where the other person made her to do all the work ( put in the groceries, clean the house, etc.) and one day steve is taking care of some of the chores and reader freaks out cause she’s the one supposed to be doing it?? it’s just an idea, no pressure lovely! hope you’re having a good day 🫶🫶
ty gorgeous! fem!reader
Steve hums when he's busy. No pretentiousness, no shame, he sings lyrics, guitar, and occasionally drums, too. You can hear him in the kitchen singing that Van Halen song he loves, his voice twisted tight as he tries to hit a high note.
"Are you making a sandwich?" you ask hopefully, hanging your coat on the hook as you trudge in from the front door.
You're in the kitchen before Steve's collected the wits to answer you. Your jaw falls open.
"Hey, babe," he says. It's difficult to tell if the pet name is joking or serious, Steve in his pyjamas with his sleeves rolled up, his lips quirked into a funny smile as though he's pleased to see you but confused at the same time. "No? Did you want one?"
"What are you doing?"
Steve holds his games up in surrender, a cloth held in the left. "I'm wiping down the counters?"
"Why?"
"I do this every Friday before you get home."
"What?"
Steve takes the cloth to the sink to rinse it out. Bleach bubbles squeeze from the fabric. "Am I doing it wrong? This is how I always do it. Wipe the counters, vacuum, mop. Why are you back so early?"
"Steve, you don't have to clean. I… that's my job."
"Then what's mine?" he asks, turning off the faucet and dropping the wet cloth at the bottom of the basin. He wipes his hands dry with a hand towel, ushering your forward with a gesture of his index finger. "Come here…" He wraps his arms around you. "All you do lately is work." Steve kisses your cheek three quick times. "Miss you."
You blink a little, overwhelmed, still worried. "Do I not do it right? It's okay if I don't, I can–"
"Do what? The counters? No. I just figured it's my turn before the weekend starts and you go on your cleaning frenzy. Which isn't your job, by the way. I don't know why you think that."
He's light-hearted, but your silence spurns him into a more serious tone. Taking your face into one still-damp palm, he narrows his eyes until they're more brown than anything else and says, "Do you really think it's your job?"
"I'm the girl."
"And I'm so stoked about that, but…" He smiles, pulling your cheek with his thumb to encourage the same. "That's not right. Do you even like cleaning?"
"I don't have to like it, it's housework."
Steve can't seem to decide whether this is serious or not. He goes from smiling to frowning to impassive, his fingers rubbing a slovenly path down your cheek. Strands of hair like lace drift into his eyes as he ducks his head, his gaze on your chest. "It's housework for the house we both live in. I know you've been doing more of it since we moved in, and I'm really sorry. I'm lazier than you. I should've asked you about it, but now I've let you do more and you think you need to do all of it. I'm a dick."
"No, you're not."
"I'm a total dick. You think you have to clean up after me?" He brings you in for another hug. "Holy fuck, baby. I'm a grown up."
You bristle at first, but relax the longer he holds you, his words sinking in steady. He's not criticising you; Steve is apologising and self-deprecating. You slide your arms behind his back and breathe in his smell, all things boy but with the sharp smell of bleach lingering.
"I did it myself. You know, before. So that's why it feels like it's mine to do. Not your fault," you say into his chest.
Steve pulls away. "Thanks, but I'm a huge dick no matter what."
He marches you backwards and forces you back into one of the chairs at the dining table. You grab at his arms as he attempts to walk away, lifting your chin to kiss him. It distracts him for a while, the soft, slow press of his lips against yours, your hand in his hair scratching tenderly, but he can't be kept forever. Steve ends your kissing with a peck and beelines for the fridge.
"What are you doing?" you ask.
"Making you a sandwich. Dinner and a show tonight, did I forget to tell you? You can eat the best BLT in the western hemisphere and I'm gonna vacuum the crumbs from under the toaster. Perfect Friday night, right?"
#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington#steve harrington fic#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington drabble#stranger things x reader#stranger things fic#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fanfiction#stranger things#stranger things 4
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Angst with a happy ending, older Eddie, reader acting like a brat. Arguments then fluff. 18+, mdni.
🎀✨💞
Sex. Just sex. That's all you were to Eddie. Knowing it and accepting it was hard for you. So much so that you were in one hell of a mood.
And acting like a major brat. At first Eddie took it in his stride, maybe you were getting sick or you didn't sleep that good.
He usually had endless patience when it came to you. You had him wrapped around your little finger yet you didn't even know it. Not that Eddie would admit it but it was true.
Despite that your attitude was beginning to grate on him and he had enough.
Eddie loses patience. "What the fuck is wrong with you today? why are you so bitchy?" He's put up with your sullenness and attitude all day and he's tired of it.
"I'm fine" you snap, there's no way you could tell him what was really wrong. That you were completely in love with him and he only saw you as a fuck buddy.
Then that would be the end of your relationship and you didn't want it to end. You had grown attached to Eddie so quickly, you'd be heartbroken if your relationship ended.
"Obviously you're not fine if you've been in a mood all day. What the hell is wrong? Clearly I spoil you too fucking much because you're acting like a spoiled brat" tears pool in your eyes and you will them away.
"So now I'm just an annoyance to you?" You question him and he shakes his head, throwing his arms up in the air.
"I give up. You're twisting my words" you look away feeling your heart sink at his words. Maybe you should just tell him? Rip off the band aid or so to speak.
Unfortunately your mouth runs away with you before you can think about it. "You're the one who called me a brat" he rolls his eyes, folds his arms across his chest and gives you a dark look.
"Because you are! From the moment you woke up to now, all I've had is you bitching in my ear even when I asked you what is wrong, you don't answer"
Anxiety claws in your veins and you don't know what to say to salvage the situation. You shouldn't have been so moody, you know that but the argument had pretty much spiralled out of control.
"Well why don't I just leave then if I'm annoying you so much?" you snap and gather your clothes. He shrugs and his body language turns cold, colder then you've ever seen.
"Maybe you should" the tears flow freely at his tone and you kick yourself as you rush downstairs. You may have just ruined everything.
You were so scared that admitting your feelings to Eddie would mean you would lose him, and it was killing you keeping your feelings a secret.
Turns out that maybe you had just lost him anyway.
...
After the argument with Eddie you feel even worse and plan to cuddle in bed and shut off from the world just for a little bit.
Eddie had other plans. It isn't long before he's at your house, quietly letting himself in and making his way upstairs. He hated seeing you cry, it was like a punch to the gut and he was anxious to make it up to you.
He was also very keen to get to the root of the problem and why you were acting out so much today. Something was bothering you for you to act this way. He wanted to find out what it was.
Your quiet sobs reach him and it tears at his heart as he enters your room and finds you curled up on the bed. Hiding away.
Tenderly Eddie stokes your hair and you turn to face him. He wipes your tears away and sighs.
"You didn't have to come over so late. I know you're working early tomorrow" you murmur and he softens as he lays beside you.
"I'm my own boss. I make my own start time sweetheart. I had to see you. Couldn't sleep without my princess beside me could I?" He settles beside you and you smile.
"I'm sorry, I was bitchy. I didn't mean to be" he kisses your hair and nods accepting the apology.
"I'm sorry, princess. I shouldn't have yelled at you or called you a brat. Please tell me what's wrong? You're obviously anxious about something" you bite your lip and he waits for you to say.
"I'm scared" you whisper to him and he feels heartbroken at this. He never wants you to feel scared or that you can't talk to him, you can talk to him about anything.
"Princess, you can tell me anything. You never have to be scared of telling me anything" he holds you close and feels you relax. You still hide your face in his shoulder as you work up the courage to talk to him.
"I'm in love with you, I know you don't feel the same way but I just wanted you to know. It's killing me not saying anything"
Eddie is stunned. This is what got you so worked up, that you were in love with him? Did you think he'd reject you?
Jesus h Christ, did you not realise that he was so in love with you too? He'd never felt this way about anyone. It scared him how deep his feelings were but he has been planning to tell you for ages.
He just wanted it to be the right time and be romantic. Turns out he had waited too long and you were thinking he didn't love you.
That wouldn't do at all.
"I'm so in love with you. How can you not see that?" Eddie caresses your cheek and you feel all of your fears slip away. You snuggle into him and peer up with pure joy on your face.
"I love you too Eddie"
All of this angst and shit could have been avoided if you had both just spoken up sooner. Both of you make a vow that night to always communicate your feelings.
But first a lot of making up was required ;)
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson angst#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson
468 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi! Are you gonna do a Namjoon freaky edition headcanon? 👀
Hello hello! Here it is 👀
Namjoon headcanon (freaky edition)
Will talk you through it for sure. I'm talking about hellllaaaa praises and sweet poetic shit.
Sub/ soft dom. But I feel like he's very baby girl coded Ifmao and loves when you take control - especially when you're riding him. But don't get it twisted because he WILL and CAN dominate, and won't be able to stop himself from taking over.
Tongue game on 10000. Will have you shaking and squirting and is definitely a holder, you ain’t going nowhere.
Praise kink. Will definitely praise everything you do, even if it's the bare minimum
Okay so like he loves praising you, BUT I feel like he also likes to degrade with a few praises here and there. Call him a polite degrader if you will
Every part of your body is getting attention. You’re not leaving his bed untouched. His fingers will be everywhere
Takes his time with you. Definitely loves to focus on you and making sure you're pleased. He knows your body so well, and is gentle with his touch. He will want to extend his knowledge on your body so he can always be the best for you.
Size kink. He’s big so why not flaunt it
He likes to take advantage of his body size, fav position is probably missionary as he likes to cage you and compare his size to yours, or cowgirl so he can watch you struggle to take him
He can't get enough of you. I'm talking obsessed, like everything you do turns him on and gets him hard
Wants to watch you play with yourself. Will get off on watching you, and will admire you and love every second of it
Wants to experiment with you and is up for whatever you’re up for. Is down to try new kinky things (orgasm denial, sensory deprivation, toys, bondage/restraints, etc)
Not a vocal king, BUT is definitely a groan and moaner. Those grunts WILL be heard!
When he’s cummin he will babble about your pussy and how great you are
Wants to hear you beg for it. Will fuck you hard so you cry out for him, just so he can shush you by covering your mouth with his hand or lips
He needs to hear you call out his name.
Wants to fuck you to his well thought out playlist
Great aftercare. Gentle and sweet with you and will stoke your back, telling you soothing praises. + cuddles
#bts#smut#bts army#bts smut#bts x reader#kim namjoon drabble#namjoon x reader#namjoon x you#kim namjoon smut#bts namjoon#namjoon smut#kim namjoon#namjoon#bts headcanons#headcanons#headcanon#namjoon headcanons#namjoon headcanon#bts drabble#drabble#bts au fic#namjoon drabble
460 notes
·
View notes
Note
Helllooo! Request are open and I'm running over here. Can I request hdc for alejandro vargas and ghost, being jealous because there crush is a little bit touching with another men. Thank youu honey.
A/N: This is definitely an interesting one! I'd be happy to write these for you, since you specifically specified them, I'll just do them for this one. :) I hope you enjoy, darling! I'm still learning how to write for Ale, so I apologize if he's a bit OOC! Also, thank you all for over 1,000 notes on my first headcanon request! I am so, so happy you all are liking the post! ~ Hannah
ALEJANDRO VARGAS
I imagine with Alejandro, this would be a slow burn friends to lovers sort of situation. You, Alejandro, and Rudy have all been friends since you all joined up together. Alejandro has always been on the flirtier side with most people, which is why whenever he flirts with you, you don't tend to think much of it. That's just who he is, right?
Los Vaqueros had just gotten a new member, a young, handsome man in his mid-twenties. He's conventionally attractive and funny, which some of the other women definitely admire, but your thoughts are elsewhere. Unfortunately - or fortunately, if you look at it a certain way - you were assigned to show him around the base and get him up to speed.
Cut to the both of you in the mess hall on base, chattering away. Alejandro sees the both of you, and his blood boils. Who does this hijo de puta think that he is?
What really pisses him off is when the young man leans in, saying something that makes you laugh and you playfully shove him away with a coy smile. Alejandro quickly storms out, furious with the young man, but furious with himself for getting so upset.
He doesn't realize you follow him out until he feels your hand on his shoulder.
"Ale? What's wrong, hermano?" If only you knew how much he hated that nickname coming from your lips.
When he turns, one look at how concerned you are, and all his frustrations come spilling from his lips. He's just about to brush it off as him being silly when you don't respond right away before a laugh is erupting from you.
"Ale, he's not into me. He's just friendly. I thought he was flirting with me earlier, but he let me know that he's no even interested in sexual stuff. He's ace," You reassure, and suddenly, Alejandro feels ridiculously stupid. But that falls aside when you stand on your toes and brush a kiss to his cheek. "Now come on, cariño, you need to eat." His eyes follow you as you return to the mess hall, and he's stunned into silence.
Maybe he feels a little less bad about getting jealous.
SIMON "GHOST" RILEY
This man hates his jealousy. Despises it.
But, it's a part of him nonetheless, and it's something he has to live with.
I imagine it as quiet, little things around base that really gets to him: you're a medic, a really good one at that, and the men absolutely love you for how kindly you treat them all. You have patience, but you aren't afraid to bark orders at them if they're acting out of place.
"MacTavish, if you rip your stitches one more time, I'll kick your ass into next fucking week." "Captain, I don't care if you have more paperwork to do, get your ass in bed before I drag you there myself." "Hold still or I will personally strap you to this cot myself, rookie."
Your feisty nature and take-no-shit attitude is absolutely what drew him to you initially. Cue almost a year of pining on his end, and on your end, but not to his knowledge.
The final straw that ultimately cracks his resolve is a young sergeant that is trying to flirt with you while you stitch up a bullet wound on his side. It's obvious you're just being polite as you accept his compliments and hum in response at his attempts at flirting, but it still rubs Simon the wrong way.
Simon's jealousy is quiet, boiling, settling in the center of his chest. Every touch of yours against the sergeant's skin merely stokes the flames, but he does nothing, continuing to brood in the corner. He waits until you're done, shooing the young man off with a half-assed threat of harm if he ruins his stitches. That's when you finally notice him.
"Ghost, what have I told you about lurking in my med bay?" You tease softly before taking note of the hard look in his eyes. Slowly, you put two and two together, chuckling softly. "Ah, I see. C'mere, big guy."
He isn't mad. Not at all. All he can think about is that young man, who has all he doesn't: charm, good looks, youth, and the blessing of a childhood unscarred by a demon of a father. Simon isn't so lucky.
He can't stop himself as he follows your instructions, stepping into your office and taking a seat at your desk as you close the door. You sit on top of your desk and smile down at him before you hold out your hand expectantly. He furrows his brows but gives you his hand anyway, grumbling something about how he "doesn't know where your filthy mitts have been."
As soft kisses are pressed to his knuckles, however, he goes quiet. "Silly, jealous man. Can't even see that I look at you the same way you look at me. Eyes of a hawk, my ass," You tease.
He turns every shade of red beneath his damn balaclava, and you're damn certain to tease him about it as he melts back into the seat.
Hijo de puta - Son of a bitch
Hermano - Brother
Cariño - Honey; dear
TAGLIST
@floral-force
#alejandro vargas x reader#alejandro vargas#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley#cod mw2 2022#cod mw2#cod imagine#cod x reader#cod headcanons#runic writes
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Turtletaub Fic Recs ~ Part 1
This is but a small sample of the incredible One Piece fics, headcanons, and drabbles that I've read on this lovely site, so I will be adding many more lists going forward! Please enjoy, and spread the love to these writers that have given me all sorts of feels 🥰 I've dug through my list, so some of these are recent, and some are from a while ago, but they all deserve a read. Enjoy!
| Other Fic Rec Lists ~ | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |
Ace
Starvation by @wallachianblood ~ ANGST!! Only read this one if you want to hurt inside. Which is why I highly recommend! It tackles grief in such an interesting and uncomfortable way, and it's been stuck in my brain. (Please check the warnings, there's intense grief, angst, discussion death and of cannibalism in reference to romantic love and pain.)
Benn Beckman
When You Had The Chance by @fanaticsnail ~ The longing! The yearning! The "oof, why is this old man so hot?!" 🥵 Beautifully written as always, and now I have ANOTHER One Piece crush 😅
Buggy
@hey-august keeps giving us delicious lil Buggy bits that I can't get enough of! Have a taste: Breakfast, Whimpers
A Favor for the Captain ~ MORE Buggy from @hey-august that is just so stinkin' cute + hot! This two part fic is so well written, and I just adore when pathetic Buggy gets the love! 🤡💜
Corazon
A Reward From Cora by @leakyweep ~ STILL thinking about this. Short but sweet, and my Corazon, my heart, is now occupying my brain in a very different way. I would appreciate some more quiet time please 🥰
Eustass Kid
Kid by @kaizokuniichan ~ Hi, yes, this is so good! This is the fic that finally flipped me over into Kid territory. Now I'm scrambling, trying to figure out how to deal with a crush on this dumbass 🤦🏼♀️
Jinbe
Guiding Star by @discordantwritings ~ I didn't know I needed this, but I definitely did. Holy fuck, that fish man is sweet and 🥵🥵 Need me some more of this!
Mihawk
Little Game by @gingernut1314 ~ This is STUNNING. I'm late to the game, so I'm flipping stoked that I have more to read! The first chapter already killed me with how beautifully it's written, how rich the world/story is, and how interesting and lovely both Mihawk and the reader are!
Sanji
3, 2, 1 by @fanaticsnail ~ Ooh, this Sanji fic messed me up in the best way! I absolutely adored the flirty build up, the tension, the angst, and the lovely, smutty finale. Seriously, one of my fave Sanji fics, and you should give it a read!
Baby, It's Hot out Here by @lowkeycasanova ~ I LOVE perverted Sanji so much! Here's another short but sweet fic that carved a smutty little spot into my head. I bet Sanji would learn to make the tastiest popsicles just to enjoy the show 😏
I Can Teach You If You'd Like by @vinsmokc-sanji ~ Yeah, this is cute as fuck. Reminded me of working at restaurants, and having a crush on peeps that had no business being as hot as they were. SFW, and super cute, check it out!
Trafalgar Law (Can you tell I've been on a Law kick for a while?)
Pain Management by @thus-spoke-lo ~ I'm sorry, this fic still keeps me up at night. It has rooted itself into my skull, and I don't think it will ever leave. HIGHLY recommend. (Please check content warnings! This fic contains dubcon elements.)
Beset Fixation by @eelnoise ~ Yeah, Law with the feelings fucks me UP. This is so good, sexy, and emotional. 10/10
Therapist Law by @sanjisjuul ~ Um, hello?! This one has also stuck to my brain, and made me even more concerned for my mental health than I already was. Oh well 🤷🏼♀️ It's hot as fuck, highly recommend!
A New Routine, A New Man by @willowhaze26 ~ This is so satisfying, and so hot 🥵 One of the first Law fics I found, and I am grateful for this delightful work 🙏🏼🙏🏼
Hearts and Marks by @escenariosinfumables ~ This is one of the cutest fucking things I've ever read, and I need it to be canon.
Zoro
Rough by @kibblz-n-bitz ~ This is short, but filthy! Dirty talkin, dom Zoro is oh so 🥵
Ways That Zoro Wordlessly Says "I Love You" by @nina-ya ~ Such cute Zoro fluff, I adore him 😭💚 He's just a big sweetie!
| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 | ko-fi |
#fic rec list#fic recs#turtletaub fic recs#one piece fanfic#one piece x reader#x reader#trafalgar law x reader#one piece smut#smut#trafalgar law smut#sanji x reader#fic masterlist#buggy smut#fem!reader#reader insert#one piece fics#mihawk x reader#jinbe x reader#zoro smut
300 notes
·
View notes
Text
Discord 18+ - Twitter - JJK Masterlist
Pairing: Suguru Geto x Female Reader
Summary: Who knew it only took two seconds of spooning for your fiance to want more?
Story Warning: Smut, Vaginal Sex, Creampie (don't try this at home), Fluff, Smut, Thigh Fucking, Fingering, Suguru in loooooove,
Suguru art by: Ilameys (Twitter, IG, Patreon)
AN: Just a quick lil drabble fluff smut piece idk it was stuck in my head for days and i had to get it out so hope you like it. i literally don't even know what i put here. i'm in love with Suguru with my whole heart i NEED TO MARRY HIM IMMEDIATELY
It’s been a long day. You’re sitting in bed, frantically finishing up a work email after your shower. In the bathroom, you hear the water running, your fiance finishing up his own shower before you both turn in for the night. Your tired eyes skim through the email you’ve drafted for your client to send tomorrow. Everything looks up to par so you hit save, exiting your email app and moving on to check your social media apps. Next to your bed, the door to the bathroom opens, the warm steam of your fiance’s shower filling the room.
“Fuuuuuuucking shit, I’m so tired,” he sighs as he steps into the bedroom. He wraps a small towel around the ends of his long raven hair and squeezes, trying to get every bit of water out of his tresses before lying down. He knows how much you hate him going to sleep with wet hair.
“Satoru pissed off the higher ups at work today and I spent the whole day cleaning up his mess,” he complains as he crosses the room. “So pissed I missed our dinner because of it. I’m sorry again, love.”
You plug your phone into its charger and set it on your bedside table, slipping under the covers in your bed. Your fiance makes his way to your dresser, a towel draped loosely around his waist. It hangs just right, the sexy “V” of his hips holding your attention as he vents about his day. He turns to reach into his drawer, pulling out a pair of boxer briefs and putting them on before tossing his towels into the laundry hamper.
“I’m sorry, babe,” you say, holding out your hand to beckon your fiance to bed. A small smile spreads across his lips as he watches you, eyes full of adoration and he moves towards you. The bed dips with his added weight as he climbs on. He kisses you sweetly just before he lays down. His warm arms wrap around your figure as you snuggle closer to your fiance beneath the blankets, the warmth of his body pressed against your back only adding to your coziness. It’s been a long day for you both and you’re ready to just close your eyes.
However, it seems your fiance has other plans in mind.
“Suguru…” you murmur as he tightens his hold on you. “I thought you were tired.”
He hums behind you, burying his face in the crook of your neck, planting soft kisses along your skin. “I am, baby, but I haven’t seen you all day. I just missed you.” His voice is a whisper, husky and wanting and you know you won’t be getting any sleep any time soon. Suguru’s hand ghosts along the side of your body, until it rests on the curve of your hips. He squeezes gently as his lips graze the shell of your ear. His warm breath fans across your face and you melt, already feeling your body react to his touch.
Suguru grips your waist before rolling his hips up against your ass and you gasp softly, feeling how hard he already is when he’s barely touched you.
“Missed you so much today. I had to stop myself from stroking my dick in the shower thinking about you,” Suguru admits. “Wanted to wait until I could get you like this.” His confession stokes a fire in your belly, your arousal already dripping into your panties.
It’s always like this. Takes absolutely nothing for you two to get started, your natural attraction to each other pulling you together like magnets the moment you’re in the same room.
“Suguru,” you sigh, reaching back to snake your fingertips into Suguru’s damp hair as he licks your pulse point, biting gently and earning a soft gasp from you. With a smirk, he rolls his hips forward again, evidence of his arousal pressing into your ass.
“Hmm?” Suguru hums, licking, biting and sucking at your neck until you’re writhing and the sounds of you panting fill the air.
“Suguru, touch me…” You can feel how hot you are through your panties, how your arousal is beginning to soak through the fabric. And Suguru can too because when his fingers slide beneath the waistband of your clothes and to your slick folds, his mouth falls open slightly.
“I’ve barely touched you. You’re soaked, baby,” he marvels. “Shit, take these off or you’re gonna ruin them.” He slips his hand out of your shorts and tugs them down your legs until they’re low enough for you to kick them off. When you’re settled again, Suguru brings his mouth to your ear and runs his tongue along the shell. “I want you so fucking bad right now, you have no idea.”
You let out a whine that quickly turns into a moan when you feel Suguru slip his hand between your legs again. Your eyes sink closed as you breathe deeply, reveling in the feeling of Suguru’s fingertips brushing against your cunt. Suguru kisses his way up your neck, the sharp edges of his teeth grazing your skin until his lips brush against your ear once more.
“Wanna make you feel good tonight, baby,” he whispers to you, his fingers deftly finding your clit and circling the nub.
“Please, ah- Suguru, yes. Make me feel good,” you whimper.
Suguru grunts behind you. “Fuck, baby,” he groans, as he grinds against you again.
You let go of your hold on Suguru’s hair, hand finding his wrist and holding tight.
“You like that, baby?” He asks, voice rough with need.
You nod, another moan rushing past your lips when Suguru rolls his hips against your ass again and again.
“Use your words, baby.”
“Yes, shit, yes, Suguru. I love it,” you mewl, your grip tightening around his wrist.
At the sound of his name on your tongue, Suguru’s fingers slide into you. You moan, back arching on reflex as your walls clench around him. Your ass presses against Suguru’s cock and he rolls his hips forward again, moaning in return. Suguru increases his pace, his finger brushing against your center. You can feel the wetness pool between your legs, spreading between your thighs as Suguru’s hand brings you closer and closer to your peak.
Then suddenly, he stops.
Your eyes snap open as you feel Suguru pull away, your body shivering at the loss of his warmth. You hear him shuffling around behind you for a few seconds, followed by the sound of a soft thud. In the dim lighting of the room, you can’t tell what just hit the floor.
And then Suguru is back, body pressed against you again and you know. You feel the heat of his bare skin pressing against you, the thickness and length of his hard cock, sticky with precum sitting against your ass. Your heart races in anticipation of him filling you, stretching you deliciously and then fucking you until you can’t see straight.
But he doesn’t.
“Lift your leg a little for me,” he commands. And you do, spreading your legs and shuddering when you hear the smack of your soaked thighs separating. “So fucking wet,” Suguru coos as he adjusts himself to lay back on his side. “Just for me.” You feel him press his cock to your core and you shiver, waiting for him to push into you. Instead, he puts a hand on your lifted leg and pushes your legs closed.
You’re confused. He just wants to put his dick between your thighs? That’s…new.
“Suguru, what are you doing?” You ask, turning to look at him. He gives you a smug grin as he peers down at you, swiping his hand over his forehead to move sweaty strands away.
“Told you I wanted to make you feel good.” He doesn’t elaborate yet, just presses closer and shifts his hips until his length sits right between your folds, hot and heavy against your clit. “I want you to fuck yourself on my cock until you cum.”
Your core throbs with excitement. You’re happy to oblige, but –
“What about you?” You question.
Suguru leans forward, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We’ll worry about me later.”
His large hand finds your hips again and he pushes you forward slowly before he pulls you back into him. Like this, you feel every ridge and vein of Suguru’s cock slide back and forth across your clit and you gasp loudly at this new sensation. It feels incredible.
“Oh–” you breathe.
“Feel good, baby?”
“Yes…so, so good.”
Suguru rolls your hips forward and back again, moaning roughly as he kisses your jaw. The feeling is otherworldly, Suguru’s length stroking your nub just right with every roll of your hips. It’s hard to breathe as your release inches closer and closer with each thrust. The room fills with your moans and Suguru keeps pushing and pulling you into hips until the sound that emits from between your legs is downright sinful.
“You’re so wet, it’s driving me fucking insane,” he grunts, his hand coming up to grab your breast through the fabric of your shirt. He runs his thumb over the hardened bud, grinning when you gasp.
“I’m gonna…ah- gonna cum, Suguru, I’m so close.”
“Cum baby, cum on my cock. Fuck it until you cream all over it,” Suguru groans as he presses his face into the crook of your neck. He smacks your ass, earning a sharp cry from you, but the pain only adds to the delicious pleasure that shoots through your body as your release crashes over you.
Your thighs clamp down around Suguru’s cock, squeezing and trembling as your orgasm rips through you. Suguru pulls his face from your neck to watch as you lose yourself in the moment and he thinks about how damn beautiful you are when you’re all fucked out like this. So pretty when you’re a good girl and cum all over his cock when he asks you to. This is what he’s held out for. He loves to cum with you, but he loves to watch you come undone more.
Suguru loves the way your eyes close, and your mouth falls open with tiny gasps as you let the sensation wash over you. He loves the way he can feel your pussy throbbing against him as you cum. Loves the way he can feel your hole twitching, clenching around nothing, trying desperately to suck him in and –
Fuck he’s gonna cum.
The feeling shoots up his spine in a rush and it’s by sheer luck that Suguru is able to pull his hips back and push his entire length into you easily, so wet from your release. You moan loudly, the feeling of him filling you, stretching you so deliciously so intense that it rips another orgasm from you before you’ve had time to catch your breath.
And Suguru is right there with you. His mouth falls open, loud groans mixing with your cries as he bottoms out over and over, filling you with thick, hot ropes of his cum. He kisses your temple as he pumps you full, breathing sweet words to you.
“I can never get enough of you…fucking love you…can’t wait to marry you,” he grunts, pushing into you, trying to bury his cock as deep as he can. “Can’t wait to make you my wife. Can’t wait to put a ring on your finger, put a baby in you, make you mine forever.”
He moans into your hair, still fucking into you slowly, draining himself of everything he has to offer. “God, you’re so fucking tight. Greedy little cunt is sucking me in so deep. Such a good girl for me, taking all my cum. Fuck, you’re so good to me, baby.”
You can’t do anything but try to catch your breath, chest rapidly rising and falling as you come down from your release with Suguru. When you’re both able to breathe again, Suguru kisses you sweetly on your cheek as he lays back down. He wraps his arms around your form, pressing himself into your back.
“Ugh, we should shower,” you insist, feeling both your cum mixing between your thighs. It makes you shiver. “I won’t be able to sleep until I get cleaned up.”
Suguru sits up excitedly, a dumb smirk on his face. “Good. We can make a mess one more time, then.”
You laugh as your fiance climbs on top of you, settling between your legs and you can feel he’s already hard again. “Suguru…”
“Didn’t I say I could never get tired of you?” He says, brown eyes full of lust and love. And you love him, your future husband. “So yes or no?”
“Yes, always yes,” you tell him, pulling him down for a deep kiss, tongues tangling together as Suguru pushes into you one more time.
Discord 18+ - Twitter - JJK Masterlist
#jjk x reader#getou suguru x y/n#jjk x y/n#anime x reader#anime smut#jjk smut#suguru getou x reader#suguru geto fanfic#jjk fic#jjk fanfic#suguru geto x reader#suguru geto x y/n#suguru geto x you#geto suguru x reader#geto suguru x y/n#geto suguru x you#geto x you#geto x gojo#geto x reader#geto x y/n#suguru x reader#suguru x you#suguru x y/n#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen x y/n#getou x reader#getou x you#getou suguru x reader
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
OP81 | Overstimulated ♡☁︎
Summary: She wanted to try role-play but she can't take it anymore. He takes care of her after it.
Warning: oral (f receiving), overstimulation, swearing?, fluff
A/N: enjoy <3
MASTERLIST requests are open
Hands tied to the bed, her whole body trembles with desire. Her eyes are filled with tears as she starts to beg him even more.
''Oscaaar... Pleaaase..'' She whines, her body wriggling under his lick.
''I didn't tell you you can cum.'' He looked up at her from between her thighs, his eyes dark from lust. It might be one hour they were like this. Her hands tied to the bed, him between her legs. But she still didn't cum. He doesn't say that she can come.
''Please please please please!!'' She begged him, almost crying from the intense pleasure.
He doesn't answer and keep rubbing his nose against her clit, fucking her with his tongue. What a lucky girl that her boyfriend has a long tongue. He fuck her, stimulating her sweet spot at the same time. He moves away a little, pushes two fingers inside her and moves back and forth, using his other hand to rub her clit.
''You're so tight..'' He whispered to her ear, kissing her collarbone and leaving a few red marks. He plays with her nipples by nibbing it and sucking her breasts.
It was too much for her. She can't take it anymore. Even if he didn't tell her to do it, she can't help but cum brutality around his fingers. ''Oscar!!'' She moaned loudly as her whole body shook and tensed.
''What a naughty girl..'' He takes away his fingers, places his tongue against her cunt and licks her again. He tasted her sweet nectar, overstimulated her. She keeps moaning, but more in pain than in pleasure.
''Uhhg.. Osc-.. Pastry! Pastry! Pastryyy!'' Tears falling from her eyes, she has to do it. She knows he won't stop until she uses the safeword. It was because of herself if she was here now.
He immediately took a step away from her, undoing the knot that tied her to the bed and massaged her wrist red from the tie.
''Sweetheart you're ok ?'' She refound her Oscar. Her sweet Oscar who takes care of her. Her sweet Oscar who pays attention to everything he does. Her sweet Oscar who always put her pleasure before his own.
He takes her in his arms, lifting her up to make her sit against the headboard. She takes refuge in his arms, crying softly against his shoulder.
''I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..'' She blames herself. She was the one who wanted to try. It was she who suggested that they can try this 'little role-playing game'.
''Don't apologize for using this word.'' He struck her back and her hair tenderly, trying to calm her down.
They stay like this for a few minutes, her calming down.
''You want to take a bath?'' He knows how much she likes to take a bath when she's not ok.
She nodded her head, wiping the last few tears from her face. He placed one hand under her knees and lifted her up like a princess towards the bathroom. He makes her sit in the sink, filling the bathtub with hot water. He had some rose and lavender essential oil.
''You want me to tie your hair up ?'' He looked at her, with his lovely eyes that she loved more than anything. She smiles tenderly at him.
''Yes please.'' He approached her, he took his hair in hand and brushed it then tied it into an ugly bun. He peeked her cheek and lifted her up again, making her sit in the bathtub.
He sits behind her, her between his legs, her back against his chest. He keeps her close to him, gently stoking her waist and arms. He kissed her cheek again.
''I love you my princess.'' He said, kissing her hair. She nuzzles her nose into his neck, kissing his neck.
''I love you more.'' Her voice sounded sleepy. He chuckled softly.
''Don't play this little game with me. I love you even more than my sisters.''
She closed her eyes, taking advantage of this rare moment. Oscar is a busy man. He's always in the four corners of the world, and she can't always follow him everywhere. Plus, he's not someone who shows his feelings a lot. Even though she is aware that when he is alone with her, he is no longer the same. But still, hearing her favorite Australian says that he loves her more than his sisters, it's not nothing. Especially when she knows how much he loves his family, his sisters.
They stay in the bath for around twenty minutes, until the warm water begins lukewarm, then cold.
Again, he helps her to get out of it, pass her some fresh clothes and when she's brushing her teeth, her hair and tied it in braids, he changes the sheets on the bed to be more comfortable.
They then go back to the bed, but for sleep this time. She cuddles him, already hearing his little snores.
What a lovely man he can be.
#oscar piastri#oscar piastri fanfic#f1 drivers#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri smut#oscar piastri fluff#op#op81 smut#op81 fluff#f1 smut#f1 fluff#Oscar#Piastri#fluff#fluff fanfic#smut fanfiction
414 notes
·
View notes
Note
Lando Norris x Female reader when she gets sick right before a race weekend and can’t come to the race, she feels guilty and shitty but lando takes care of her and reassures her thought it’d be really cute thank u!!!!💗💗
note 💌: tysm for the request, this is my first ever request so it means so much to me so i'll try to do my best, i hope you like this anon 🫶🏻
for you | lando norris
pairing: lando norris x reader | genre: established relationship | warning: no warnings <3 | word count: 0.4k
[ BACK TO MASTERLIST ]
You pass out on the bed from very bad fever thinking on one cares about you. Slowly jerking away at the voice of your arranged husband and realize he rushed home just from the paddock because you didn't pick up your phone.
"Why do you look so pale?" He asks worried about you.
"I'm fine." You speak shortly embarassed to tell him the truth. "You should get back to the paddock, I'll be there in a minute."
"I don't give a fuck about my team, hell do i even care about my qualifying." He growls. "You nearly game me a heart attack by not answering my calls."
"I can't believe that I can't come to the race! I wanna be there, supporting you." You pout as he speaks, wanting to come to the race eventhough you were sick.
You can feel him being gentle. His tone of voice and his atitude towards you was different. Lando's hands on your forehead are warm and he's making you're drinking water.
He stokes your hair softly. "You're in bad shape...don't worry i'll make sure my team keeps you updated on the race. If i'm going to take care of you then i don't like seeing you all upset wanting to come to the race. You should be resting."
"Fineee." You roll your eyes while pouting, deciding to lean on his chest. Nuzzling your head in his chest you say in a sad voice. "I can't believe i'm missing the whole weekend just cause i'm sick."
Lando chuckles at your pouty expression but deep down you know how much he likes the way you pout. The weight of you leaning against his chest is all too real, his chest is warm against your face and his heartbeat is steady.
"I'll make sure to come back in one piece okay. And i'll put a great performance just for you." He whispers in your ear.
"You better." You say kissing his cheek. "I'll be watching the race locked here." You say sighting and giggling a bit at your joke.
He chuckles at you giggling, that's also one of the things that melts his heart. Just the sound of your laughter.
"Mhm, i know i'll win this race for you." He kisses your forehead. "I promise." He gives you a quick smile, the one that makes your heart race.
© DREAMYDRIFTS — do not repost, translate, plagiarise or claim any of my works as your own.
#lando norris#lando norris x reader#lando norris x you#lando norris imagine#lando norris scenarios#lando norris fanfic#lando norris fanfiction#mclaren#mclaren x reader#established relationship#mclaren boys
218 notes
·
View notes
Text
What the cat dragged in
Pairing: Lee Know x reader (afab, she/her)
Genre: smut, angst, strangers-to-lovers (kinda); 5+1
Summary: You followed Minho home because you had nowhere else to go. Then you kept following... all the way into his heart, but not his bed.
aka five times you and Minho don't fuck and one time you do.
Content: reader is 16yo in the first section (nothing sexual or romantic happens but there are suggestions of it), couple of references to human/sex trafficking; the gang are useless crime idiots but this is only barely relevant; interrupted foreplay; attempted car sex; unprotected piv sex; fingering; a lot of kissing tbh
Word count: 13.5k
A/N: SO this whole thing actually started HERE in JUNE (jfc, I thought I'd been thinking about this since like, October or something but, no no, a full ten months!!!!). It has drifted from that somewhat but that was its beginning and, honestly, I'm kind of stoked about this fic. I really like how it came out and it's my FIRST MINHO. It's taken me SO long to get around to my bestest evil catdad.
Huge thanks to @violetsiren90 for beta-ing! and also for reading it half-finished when I really needed some encouragment. AND for the title
*~*~*
FIRST
“Why don’t you fuck off?”
The voice came from behind you. It was low and cold and threatening. It was directed at Shindong, the man in front of you, whom you were sure was this close to offering to take you home. You whipped around to see who had uttered it.
Your immediate thought was that he was too short and too slight to be walking up with that level of aggression. Your second thought was interrupted by the spark that shot up your arm when he grabbed your hand. You’d have pulled it back, but his grip was solid and your arm didn’t budge.
“What the fuck do you want, Minho?” your companion replied, all the charm sliding off his face, replaced with a loathing, arrogant sneer.
“I want you to fuck off.”
“She yours? Might want to keep a closer eye on her; she was just about to come home with me.”
The stranger’s hand squeezed yours, so hard it started to hurt. He offered nothing in response.
Both men continued to stare at each other. Shindong had inches on Minho – both height and breadth – and you couldn’t believe your eyes when you saw him hesitating. He flicked his eyes between you and Minho.
“What if I want to fight you for her?”
“What if I told you she’s not legal?”
Shindong hesitated, moved just a fraction backwards, no longer leaning in, looming over the two of you. He rolled his eyes and gave a heartless chuckle.
“Not worth the fucking bother,” he muttered as he walked away.
Minho, still a stranger to you, still holding your hand, who hadn’t even looked your way, pulled you sharply by said hand, storming off and taking you with him. You followed him into one of the warehouse’s many dark corners. He kicked out the couple who were two clothing items shy of a citation for public indecency, and only then did he let you go. Only then did he turn his dark, flaming eyes on you.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you asked.
Shindong had been your lifeline. What did this guy think he was playing at?
Your vehemence took him off-guard, surprise flashing across his face, until his scowl returned, worse than before. You understood now why he made Shindong hesitate. His gaze was fierce, penetrating, his jaw set, his mouth a taut, grim line. You would never show your hand to anyone, but a cold droplet of fear slithered down your spine. You straightened it, rolled your shoulders back, lifted your head. You wouldn’t let him intimidate you.
“Do you know him?” he asked, voice still low, still threatening.
Not personally. Not until that evening. But people like him came with a reputation that preceded them. A reputation that you were relying upon being based in fact. A reputation that had spread all around your school and beyond, but that you had heard from a source close to the truth. It was close enough that you were able to find him here, in a part of town you’d never been to. It was close enough that you were able to pick Shindong out from this crowd. Close enough that when you approached him and he laughed at you – young, naïve, foolish, all of those things you were sure he thought – you were able to drop his cousin’s name and he suddenly took you seriously. That was what you had been hoping for. A connection was all you needed to keep you covered for a night, at least. Just one would be something.
And then this guy showed up.
“I was about to.”
Minho’s top lip curled, just a fraction, his nose barely wrinkling with the movement, but you got his meaning. Disgust. He could be as disgusted as he liked; that wasn’t your problem. Your problem was that his disgust had led him to chase away your only lead.
Or was he? Was Shindong your only option?
You changed tack. Realised that maybe you had another now. Minho, whoever the fuck he was, had approached you as if he knew you and scared off the competition. That must have been it. Despite the way he glowered at you, absolutely no interest or desire lurking behind his dark eyes, you figured you had nothing left to lose.
You relaxed a little, pouted your lips, played up to the damsel in distress he might have thought you were.
“But if he’s so awful, I guess I can only thank you,” you said, making your voice soft, your eyes a little wider. You lifted your lips in a tiny, shy smile and then put a hand to them, your thumb and index finger tugging a little on your bottom lip, hoping it made you look small, nervous, sweet.
He gave you no reaction. He continued to glare, his stance unchanged, unmoving. So you moved. You stepped towards him: shy, little bird steps, until you were so close that he moved backwards.
“Thanks for looking out for me. Your name’s Minho, right?”
His eyes tightened minutely. He didn’t reply.
“I’d like to thank you properly,” you said, sliding your body into his, pressing just one finger against his chest. You fluttered your lashes up at him.
His face changed immediately. Eyes wide, mouth dropping, and he was stumbling backwards, pressing himself against the wall.
“What the fuck are you doing? What are you, fifteen?”
Embarrassment licked your cheeks like flames and your scowl returned.
“I’m sixteen!”
“Wow, big age. My mistake. By all means, let’s fuck, Sixteen.”
His sarcasm was biting but you hadn’t given yourself up yet.
“Don’t you want to?” you asked, innocently. “You must have sent Shindong away for a reason. If not this, then what?”
He let out a sigh so aggrieved it was almost a shout. He rolled his eyes.
“Jesus Christ, where are your parents?” he asked, but it was muttered, almost under his breath and you didn’t know if you were supposed to answer. You did anyway.
“Dead.”
His lack of reaction grated. He didn’t flinch. There was no surprise, no guilt on his face. He had robbed you of Shindong and now he had robbed you of your fun: getting a reaction out of people as a poor, orphaned, little Annie was as close as you got these days. Then again, he wasn’t a well-meaning aunt or nosy teacher. He knew what this place was; he knew, or at least knew of, Shindong. Maybe your hand-grenade was, here, little more than a snap.
“And this is your great life plan? Offering sexual favours to predators?”
He gestured widely to the room behind you, and you could only assume he did not mean to include himself in that group.
Actually, it was your plan. Kind of… Insofar as you had any sort of plan at all. You would not be telling him that. You kept your mouth shut tight and jaw clenched, refusing to look down, to be the one to break the eye contact.
“You know he’s a fucking bad guy,” he said, more softly than he had said anything so far but the hard edge remained.
“And what are you, my hero?”
“Absolutely fucking not. I do not want to have anything to do with whatever mess you are making of your life, but I’m not about to let that cunt take off with a child.”
“I am not a child!” you shouted, right in his face.
He took it, impassive, unimpressed even.
“That’s exactly what a child would say.”
You wanted to hit him. You wanted to smash him in his beautifully sharp jaw, or break that perfect, delicate nose of his. You were just about not stupid enough to try. How did he even know you were young? You knew you didn’t look it; you were always getting told you looked older than you were. How did he know? Why did he care?
“Go on then,” you said, darkly. “Leave. If I’m not your fucking problem, why don’t you fuck off?”
He didn’t answer, but he didn’t move.
“Worried I’ll get murdered?”
You lifted your hands to your open mouth, eyes widened, a mockery of fear.
His face and tone were flat when he responded.
“There are things worse than death.”
Then he pushed past you and out of the door.
You took one shaky breath and walked after him before you could talk yourself out of it. You decided that, one way or another, this guy owed you and it was time to collect.
You followed him, not too closely, but not exactly hiding it, for over a mile. You wondered, at one point, if he was trying to lose you, if he was actually heading to his destination or just trying to outlast you. You’d show him. You were a long-distance runner at school; you were extremely confident you could keep up.
So confident, in fact, so determined were you not to lose him, that you were too slow to notice him slowing, to notice him stopping, to very nearly not stop yourself walking into him.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked, not turning to look at you.
“I’m walking here.”
“Stop following me.”
“I’m not following you.”
He raised his eyes skyward. He stood for a moment and you stood, too, waiting for him to continue – walking or talking, you didn’t know which. He finally turned around and looked at you, everything about him a little softer than before. Not soft, but softer.
“You can’t follow me,” he told you slowly, emphatically. “I am not looking after you. I am not your fath-“
“I don’t have a fucking father.”
He scoffed.
“Yeah, that much is very clear, Sixteen.”
“I’m not sixteen!”
He frowned.
“That’s what you told me.”
“That’s not my fucking name! Stop saying it like I’m a child. How old are you anyway?”
“Old enough to know better.”
“What does that mean?”
“Go home, Sixteen.”
“I don’t have a home.”
“Well you can’t have mine.”
He turned on his heel and continued walking, a little faster this time, increasing his pace to a jog as he crossed the road. You knew he hoped you wouldn’t be able to follow, that the flashing green man would disappear before you could make it, but you’d been underestimated before.
After another mile or so, you saw him take his phone from his pocket and put it to his ear. You couldn’t quite hear what he was saying but you thought it sounded like Japanese. Was he Japanese?
It hadn’t missed you, the knowledge that you had no knowledge of this man. You understood that you were, as far as you knew, in as much danger following him home as you had been going with Shindong. But you literally had no other options. It was follow this guy somewhere or wander around on the street all night; it was too cold to stay out. You hadn’t thought beyond that when you’d left your house earlier that day. Hadn’t thought much at all, except about getting out.
Now you were out. Mission accomplished. And you had no idea what to do next.
You almost missed him ducking into a narrow side street, but you caught the door he rushed through just before it shut. He disappeared from view through another door, off to the left of the dingy, dimly lit corridor you found yourself in. You stalked up to it – it wasn’t even fully closed – but something made you hesitate.
Suddenly the fear that you had been suppressing all night raised its head. Was this a lion’s den? A serpents’ nest? Was Minho playing some kind of long game, saving you from Shindong so you would trust him, so you would follow him here, so he could…?
“Are you going to fucking stand out there all night?” you heard a voice call from inside. It had to be Minho’s but you wouldn’t have bet on it.
You fixed your face, your scowl reappearing, and kicked the door open with excessive force.
It was just a bar. Just him, sitting on a stool with a beer in his hand, and one other guy, standing opposite, looking at you with his eyebrows raised in the way a parent does when they catch their child doing something naughty.
“You break that door, I’m going to make you pay for it,” he said, in an accent that you knew wasn’t local.
And, just like a defiant child, you slammed it shut without breaking eye contact. He turned to Minho.
“Thanks, man. You had to bring home a fucking streetrat.”
“I am not a streetrat,” you spat.
“No?” Minho chimed in. “Then where’s your home?”
“Fuck off.”
“I really wish you would.”
You sat down in a booth just off to your left and stared him down.
“She can’t stay here,” the stranger said to Minho, as if you were no longer there.
“I didn’t bring her; she just came.”
He, the newest stranger, looked between you and Minho for several seconds. He was looking at Minho when he spoke again.
“One night. That’s it. And she’s your responsibility.”
He heaved a box full of empty glass bottles into his arms and wandered away, through a different door, mumbling something about ‘strays’.
“Who was that?” you demanded as Minho continued to sip at his beer.
You realised that you hadn’t actually been introduced to him either. And he hadn’t asked for your name. You wondered if he would now.
“None of your fucking business,” he answered, finally moving from the stool to walk behind the bar.
He opened the cash register and took bags from a cubby just below it. He produced a tiny pencil from his pocket and tore off a strip of the receipt roll. He took out the cash and started to count. You watched his lips move silently as he flicked quickly through the notes, pausing to drop a stack onto the bar and write a number down. He picked up the next stack and repeated.
“Don’t even think about it,” he warned, not looking up, not even, apparently, pausing in his counting. “Even if you got your urchin mitts on it, you wouldn’t make it to the door.”
You believed him, but you weren’t planning some kind of move. You didn’t need his money. You were just watching.
You watched until all the notes and all the coins were accounted for, until they had been put into bags and those bags into a box and Minho turned to follow his friend. You stood from your seat and went after him.
There were two doors, you realised. Minho took the left. It led to an office. The other guy must’ve taken the right because the room was empty except for furniture and, in the corner, a safe. Minho dumped the box before it and turned to you.
“Turn around.”
“Worried I’ll crack the code?” you asked with your eyes rolling back in your head.
“Just turn around.”
You did as you were told without a fight because, at that point, there was nowhere else to go. You couldn’t admit defeat and walk out of there; you weren’t sure that Minho wouldn’t make you do just that. It was a knife-edge, being the obnoxious, vile brat that you were. You’d stormed past boundaries before but, well, look where it got you. You were tired and worried enough now to decide you would stop pushing your luck. It had been stretched far enough already.
There was a second of silence before you heard the beeping of the buttons pressed and the shuffling of bags, the clink of coins, the thunk of a bigger, metallic something against the walls of the safe. He didn’t tell you when he was finished, didn’t say you could turn back around. He just walked past you, out of the office, turning the light off as he went. As soon as you were out of the door, he shut and locked it.
You followed him back to the bar and he did the same thing: turned off the lights and held a door for you (not politely, not because he was being nice), following you through it and locking this one behind him, too. You walked to the end of the corridor and he gestured you down some wooden stairs that creaked as if they would break under your weight. He turned the corridor light off, too, and locked the door at the top of the steps.
This was it. You were locked in. There were at least two locks between you and escape. When Minho shoved past you to the left and opened yet another door, your stomach sank a little further. Three locked doors. He didn’t hold this one for you but he didn’t slam it in your face either, so you rolled your shoulders back, put on your game face and walked through.
You almost regretted it when you saw where it led. It was possibly the worst place you had ever seen. It wasn’t messy, but there was something dirty about the room anyway. Outdoor furniture inside; everything vaguely brown in a way that you didn’t think it had been fresh out of the box; everything tired and worn and sagging; the naked lightbulb dim and humming as it shone; the fridge, scratched and dented and shoved into a corner, also hummed, managing to sound as well as look tired. It was bleak. It was grey. It made you feel like things were crawling on you and you’d only just stepped foot in it.
You half expected your feet to stick to the floor when you took a few steps forward. They didn’t but the carpet was so old and worn that you had no idea what colour it was originally; in places, you could see the floorboards clearly through the threads.
Minho pointed to the sofa.
“There,” was all he said.
Then he disappeared out of the room. You gingerly sat on the edge, wondering if you should be more concerned about your health or your safety. Maybe you were sheltered here, but you pictured a thousand and one diseases squirming on the cushions. It wasn’t fair to, because you could see that it was cleaned. The room wasn’t filthy; there were no crumbs or water rings on the coffee table; there was no rubbish littering the floor; the sink was empty and a stack of plates and bowls stood beside it, washed if not yet dried. Minho was clearly diligent.
Minho and whoever else lived here. There were too many doors leading off this room for him to be here alone.
Your curiosity was stopped in its tracks when he reappeared with a pillow and a towel. He threw the pillow wordlessly at one end of the sofa and then he raised the towel a little.
“I don’t have any blankets. Don’t get cold.”
You scoffed a laugh and were grateful that he ignored it. You weren’t indignant; you weren’t being a brat this time. You were dismayed. You couldn’t believe it. A house with no spare blankets. You were going to sleep under a towel. You glanced around you for a final time, tears pricking in your eyes, fingers at your lips, picking nervously. You weren’t going to die here, you told yourself. Probably. You were probably not going to die here and that was all you needed.
You stood up, turned off the light, tested the door handle (not sure if you wanted it to be locked or unlocked), then returned to the sofa. You took off your shoes, took your bag from your back and hugged it tightly to your chest. You lay in the dark, in a stranger’s horrible house, alone, tired, more vulnerable than you would ever admit. You cried silently, reluctantly grateful for the towel, until you fell asleep.
SECOND
“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to everyone! Happy birthday to you!”
You only got one birthday a year. The whole group of you. There wasn’t enough to stretch to everyone getting an individual birthday, an individual cake, a day off. So the middle day of the year, 2nd July, was chosen and you all had a birthday together.
One cake, one candle each, six people blowing them out. Most unsanitary, but, by now, there wasn’t much you hadn’t shared so a little spit didn’t even register.
You were too drunk by far, which was stupid really. It wasn’t even your first time drinking legally (because your real birthday wasn’t until later in the year), so there was no reason for you to behave as if you had never had a drink before. You should have learnt a little self-control.
But it was your birthdays. So you kept having one more and one more and one more. As did everyone else.
“Nineteen!” Minho called as he fell into the booth next to you.
“I thought I was Sixteen?”
He shrugged.
“You do still act like it.”
You shoved him, almost hard enough to push him off his seat completely. He shoved you back.
“Shut up, Minnie.”
He narrowed his eyes at you, plotting death for using the nickname he loathed above all others, and you sent a simpering smile back at him.
“You’re a little squirt, anyone ever tell you that?”
You rolled your eyes.
“You, literally all the time, because you are for some reason desperate to sound like the oldest grandpa in the room.”
He let out a growling sort of cry, dramatic because he’d also had too much to drink. Then he stood.
“BYE, Sixteen!”
If someone didn’t know the two of you, it would seem as if nothing had changed in the time since you met: both antagonistic, unlikable, as hard as you could make yourselves, forced together and barely tolerating it.
Those who did know you, however, knew that things were very different now. Minho had, reluctantly, taken responsibility for you and, when you had grown up just enough to realise what that had meant, you felt all your hard resolve melt.
They had very little, this ragtag bunch of kids (barely older than you) but they shared everything between them. Never quite enough to go around, money from legitimate enterprises never stretching far enough and having to be supported by money from less than legitimate means. You were a liability. In every sense. The only girl, a stranger, certainly not (at that time) a criminal. But Minho took responsibility and the others let you in.
When you had learnt to see past your own nose, you saw the myriad ways in which they took care of each other. The silent, invisible way Minho cared for his friends. For you. You hadn’t forgotten the sting of electricity you’d felt when he held your hand way back when. Before you’d even seen him, before you knew his name, before any of this. You felt it all the time now. You were a live wire for him.
No one in the group was stupid enough to refer to you as siblings or even joke that you acted like them. Your feelings for Minho were your most closely guarded secret but that didn’t mean everyone didn’t know. You were pretty sure even Minho himself knew. Not that he would ever act on it. He pretended not to notice, you thought. You had pushed close to the edge of being kicked out enough times to know that some things were still precarious. To know that he would never risk his weird family by acknowledging there was anything more than friendship between you. If it even was between you. He had given you very little reason to believe your feelings were reciprocated. So you did your best to ignore them.
They became a fact of life. Like the fact that Minho was the only one Chan trusted to count the cash (not because the others weren’t trustworthy; they just weren’t accurate). Like the fact that Chan had the final say on everything. Like the fact that he would never abuse that authority and act for anything other than the wellbeing of the entire group. It just was.
And it wasn’t like you were stupid enough to pine. You had some pride. Plenty, in fact.
You stood from the booth and sauntered to the bar where your sometime-boyfriend, Johnny, was getting another drink.
“Babe,” you whined, draping yourself over his back, hooking your chin over his shoulder.
“Babe,” he whined back, copying, mocking.
“Entertain me, I’m bored.”
“It’s your party.”
You pouted and forced him to join you on the makeshift dancefloor. You refused to notice that Minho left it as soon as you joined, his face dropping, looking only at Johnny and never once pleased about it.
*
Chan had cut off the booze supply hours ago and the sun was thinking about raising its head above the horizon, which meant that, far from being wasted and happy and giddy and passing out in your bed, your hangover was already crawling in and you were tired and irritable. Johnny had pissed you off sometime before the booze dried up and then pissed off entirely before you’d begun to sober up, so you’d spent the smallest hours of the morning making your bad mood everyone else’s problem.
Everyone except Minho. Because whilst you were always determined, at these moments, to needle him, to want to get under his skin, to want to scrape it back and spit on it, he was never there. He managed to avoid your venom and, even when he didn’t, seemed immune. He would just slow-blink at you as if he were looking through you and turn away. It boiled your blood and he knew it.
You stomped downstairs to the same shithole basement you’d walked into two years ago. Everyone else had either left or gone to bed already, you thought. You expected it to be empty. It wasn’t.
“Fuck sake, Mouse,” you spat, using your usual nickname, his preferred one (… preferred being too strong a term; it was the one he allowed you to use without retaliation). “Why are you sitting on your own like a fucking loser?”
“You know he treats you like a fucking loser?”
He turned to lean over the back of the sofa, looking tired under his eyes but energetic within them.
“Fuck off,” you returned. “As if you give a shit who I date.”
“Date? That’s what you call it?” He scoffed, deliberately, exaggeratedly, as if you wouldn’t otherwise have recognised his scorn. “He treats you like dirt.”
“You would know.”
He was on his feet and in front of you before you could blink.
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”
You’d had about enough of it, you decided at that moment. Not enough sleep, too much alcohol, and just enough of this bullshit. You grabbed the front of his T-shirt and pulled him with force towards you. You took him by the back of the neck and kissed him, hard and like you meant it. Because you did. It only took him a second to push you back, hands firm on your shoulders, holding you away from him. His face had lost his usual mask – the blank, passive, flat-eyed one that he used to stare people out with unnatural stillness – but he was still keeping you out; it was guarded, flashes in his eyes being stamped out with every blink, his jaw held tight and his mouth shut.
“That’s what I fucking mean, Minho,” you hissed.
“How dare you?” he hissed back, voice so low in his throat you almost couldn’t hear it. “You have no fucking idea.”
His blinks weren’t quick enough this time to hide all the anger burning in his eyes.
“No idea of what? What?!”
His lip curled and he let you go. He let his guard down around you more than he should have: shrugged you off and turned his back on you. You took both palms and pushed him. He tumbled forward, catching his foot on a side table, pulling it down with him as he hit the floor. Cat-like in his reflexes, he was on his feet before the table had stopped rocking. He charged straight at you and continued until you were pressed up against the door, until he was pressed up against you.
“You want a kiss?” he asked and every part of you should have been screaming yes, because you did.
You did want a kiss, but nothing about this was how you wanted it. It was a threat, not an offer. You’d been threatened with worse. You jutted your chin out a little, always standing up, never backing down.
“You going to give me one?”
His eyes flicked towards your lips, hovered there a second, like he was really thinking about it. They stayed there a little longer and doubt was picking up speed on its race to your consciousness. You thought he wouldn’t. You thought he would. You still couldn’t predict his behaviour. You thought you had him pinned and then he flipped you. You always thought you had him on the ropes, but you never really did.
You were impatient, tiring of this, doubt and insecurity and embarrassment swelling up inside you and you opened your mouth to tell him to go away, to fuck off and die, to do something vile to himself. It was at that moment that his eyes met yours again, for a split second that sent a streak of ice through your blood, and then his mouth was on yours.
You had never once looked a gift horse in the mouth, but even if you had wanted to, even if you had decided before he did it that you would push him off, return his rejection, you couldn’t possibly have done it now. His lips were soft, his hands still tight around your arms. He crowded you further against the door, your bodies pressing together as he swiped his tongue against your bottom lip, asking for entry. You gave it to him. Your hands snaked up his chest and into his hair; it was softer than you’d expected, silky. For a moment, you were disarmed by it. Soft. He never let his softness show if he could help it. Only rarely. Only when he felt safe enough to let his guard down did it ever come creeping out from its hiding place. But here it was, sprouting from the top of his head. Here it was, pressed against your lips, brushing your tongue. You felt weak at the knees.
As far as kisses go, it was the best you’d had. Fire and ice fighting: goosebumps erupting on your skin as it flushed hot, making you shiver. His mouth was warm and wet and sweet and you were desperate for more, knowing that he was kissing you just right and that you weren’t doing the same. You were too eager, too greedy, too needy. This wouldn’t be enough. Couldn’t be enough. Just his lips on yours, his tongue rolling with yours, his hands still pinning your sides. You couldn’t stop here. You had to have him. All.
You whined when he pulled back, when his grip on you loosened, and you opened your eyes expecting his to be soft and liquid, to be those sweet, round boba eyes he didn’t show enough of.
They were hard and flat. He moved away from you in one, long step and back was that impassive blankness he loved so much.
“Happy fucking birthday,” he said.
He stalked off to his bedroom and shut the door.
You stayed, glued to the front door, shaking. With anger, probably. With embarrassment, maybe. With something akin to heartbreak, but you would never admit it. The roaring in your ears, the screaming of invective at both yourself and Minho in your head so loud that you didn’t hear the sound of a key in the lock, weren’t aware that someone was trying to get in until they were shoving at the door, pushing you with it.
“What the fuck?” came a quiet whine from the other side of it as he slowly pushed you away and got the door open. “Why were you trying to keep me out?”
Jisung’s hamster cheeks were full of kimbap, the other half of the roll still in his hand, and his eyes were wide with that cute, pitiful look he carried off so perfectly.
You ignored him. You stomped into your bedroom and slammed the door as hard as you could.
THIRD
Despite having your own bedroom (graciously offered up by Changbin and very ungraciously accepted by you), privacy in the small basement flat was an issue. Which is why you were huddled in the farthest corner of it, fists stuffed in your mouth, crying as quietly as you could in the dead of night.
You lived with five men, but you had not yet found someone to date who would take the threat of them seriously. They did make threats, on occasion, when they had to. Because you had not yet found a man who could treat you as anything more than shit but you had, apparently, found the least bothered and most unfazed men in the city. The one before last had barely flinched when all five of them had battered down his door to come for you, when you had finally managed to get a message out that he was keeping you there.
You never found out what happened to him. You didn’t ask and no one told you.
This one hadn’t been that bad. That was the problem. You had thought he was nice. You had thought (as you had so many times before) that he might actually be the first to treat you right.
You were wrong. So, you were crying in the corner of your room. You didn’t always cry. In fact, you didn’t often cry. Rarely, even. It meant that, when you did, the floodgates opened and you found it hard to stop. You found it almost impossible to breathe, desperately snatching air between sobs. Your head was already pounding, your face aching. It was total and complete the way it overtook you. So much so that you didn’t notice the presence of another person until they sat down beside you.
You gasped, as much as you could amongst your shaking, shallow breaths, and were only slightly comforted that it was him. He said nothing. He pulled you towards him and held you like that until the storm had passed.
You continued to sit in silence as your tears dried on your face, as your heartrate settled and your breathing became even. He didn’t make a move to let you go and you didn’t make one either. You were tired. You were sad. You were, though you wouldn’t admit it, a little bit heartbroken. This bit of comfort was exactly what you wanted.
You didn’t want him to say anything. You didn’t want to hear it. That you’d done it again. That you’d never learn. That, somehow, you were gullible and easy to fool despite the fact that you had been hardening yourself against vulnerability of every kind since you were a child. That men just found a way to get beyond your defences—that bad men found a way. The good ones didn’t find you at all.
“His loss,” was what he said.
You lifted your head, tears still clinging to your lashes, drying on your cheeks. He had that look on his face that he saved for you: the soft, sweet one he gave you when you’d earnt it or when you needed it. The one that made your insides curdle, that even now made your heart skip a beat, that you wanted to fall into forever, that had sealed your fate so many years ago now. He blinked slowly at you, cat-like as always, and brushed your hair from your face.
You opened your mouth to speak but nothing came. Your voice was trapped in your throat because he was still looking at you like that but his eyes kept flicking down, then back up, then down again at longer and longer intervals until he closed them completely and brought his lips to yours.
You didn’t have to think twice. Didn’t have to think at all. Your body did the thinking for you. Your hands pushed into his hair and your legs pushed you up so you could slot them down either side of his hips. His hands found your waist and then the soft skin on the other side of your t-shirt.
This was nothing like the first time. You remembered it all too well: the electricity, the anger, the volcano of feelings you’d tried to suppress rumbling and threatening to erupt, to blow the lid off the equilibrium you’d found. The hunger, the desperation, your own neediness spoiling it all.
You weren’t desperate anymore, for his approval, for his love, for whatever he would give you. You wanted it all, would lay yourself on the floor and kiss his feet if he asked, with no hesitation, but you always knew he wouldn’t ask. You’d got used to that.
Except now he was kissing you – he had kissed you – and his hands were squeezing at your waist and it was slow. Controlled. Deliberate. There was nothing accidental about the way his tongue rolled over yours, the way his teeth bit at your bottom lip, the way his hands pulled you lower on his lap, pulled you closer to him until there wasn’t so much as a breath of air between you.
“Mouse,” you murmured, quietly into his mouth.
He shook his head minutely, a tiny hum swallowed by you when he pressed your lips together again. No talking. Fine. You didn’t need to talk. If he kept kissing you, kept touching you, you wouldn’t need to utter another word again. But you couldn’t stop the little gasp when he sank his teeth into the sensitive skin of your neck, the moan rising in your throat when he ran his tongue over the same spot, hurting then soothing. Like always.
It made your brain turn fuzzy, static wavering in your mind, as all your conscious thoughts turned to liquid, melting into Minho’s mouth, swallowed down by him, eaten whole.
Then the front door slammed hard.
“Guys!” Chan shouted, in a way that he never did.
You heard him pounding on doors, opening them, starting with Changbin and Hyunjin’s on the right.
You sprang apart like two north magnets, instinctively repelled by one another, just in time for Chan to burst through the door and scan the room for you, too wired, too stressed to register that it might have been weird for you to be sitting on the floor like you were, certainly not noticing your kiss-bitten lips or heavy breathing or the way Minho’s hair was ruffled like it had just had a fist in it.
“We’ve got to go,” Chan announced. “Like, right fucking now.”
FOURTH
No one wanted to up the ante. No one wanted to start getting involved with the organised crime lot. Your crime was… disorganised. It was local. It was just you doing the things you needed to, skirting around the law to survive. It wasn’t really crime, not if you squinted hard enough. Then the police raided the bar (which was illegal in pretty much every way that mattered) and you had nowhere left to go.
There was just enough of the trust your parents left you (which you got access to at 21) to secure a new apartment (one that was not underground) and a small buy-in with a group of much larger, older, more experienced criminals. There was very little else you could’ve done at that point. Or so you all told yourselves.
The apartment was an upgrade in every way but size. It was newer and above-ground which meant it stayed warm and didn’t get damp. It had windows which let the sun in. It had enough room for two sofas so everyone could sit comfortably. It had a gas hob which really only Chan and Minho cared about, but they cared a lot. It had two bathrooms with reliably hot water and good pressure. It did not get power cuts. It did not always smell musty. It was not brown and beige and grey. But it did have fewer rooms to be parcelled out between you all.
The last one had four rooms that served as bedrooms. This had three. Between six. There had been furious arguments and endless straw-pulling and no one was happy with the results. It took a few weeks but eventually things shook out as they always should have.
You shared with Minho because he was the only one who was willing. You both had reputations for being scary (in totally opposite ways: you the raging bull to his still, fathomless water); you loved to take your bad moods out on one another; he was the only one you ever willingly let see you when you were sad and small and vulnerable. Besides which, no one else would dare try to take the space at your side from him. So you shared a bedroom: two twin beds on opposite sides of the room, because Minho refused to sleep in a bunk bed and you refused to sleep together in a double. There was little room for anything else.
You complained about the sleeping arrangements almost daily. You loved the hot water and the sunlight and the not-mouldiness of the apartment, but some days, you couldn’t bear the way you couldn’t get away from Minho.
You’d thought you had it bad. This was even worse.
Four days. Four days, so far, staying (squatting) in a vile, empty, dilapidated villa apartment, staring out of a window, waiting for something to happen. Just you and Minho and one room. For four days and counting.
It was Minho’s turn to watch and he sat at the monitor, diligent, hard-working, as always, whilst you were supposed to be catching up on sleep. Instead, you were lying on what passed for a bed, tossing an apple into the air and catching it, over and over and-
“You going to stop that?” Minho asked, with his trademark tone: both light and threatening.
“Nope!”
“Want me to make you?”
You flicked your eyes over to him: he was studying the monitor seriously, but you were sure he had been looking at you.
You hadn’t spoken about that night. Partly because you hadn’t had the time. You’d jumped up from the floor of your bedroom, grabbed as much stuff as you could fit in the first bag you could find and the six of you had legged it, making it out just in time to watch the police cars roll up and trash the place.
“There was so much fucking money in that safe,” Chan had said, plaintively, staring at the sky. That was when you’d offered up yours.
You had had to find somewhere to live, and fast. You’d all had to find jobs, something to do, some way to make money that wasn’t connected to the bar. You had been passing like ships in the night, meeting only to argue about shower time and sleeping arrangements. Then Changbin had come home with a suggestion. You’d argued about that, too, but in the end, it was unanimous. Go in with the bigger boys or – well, there was no ‘or’. That was the point.
So you and Minho were working recon. You’d pulled the short straw in more ways than one. It was the longest you had spent together. Ever. Confined for days in this space.
On the first day, he refused to talk to you at all.
On the second, you made everything into an argument because at least you could get a rise out of him.
On the third, he had seemed to thaw. Something had softened and you talked, like friends, like you used to. You laughed and joked and it wasn’t so bad.
Now it was the fourth day and that ice had returned. He had frozen over, doubled-down on silence. No sooner had you had warmed up than he was giving you frostbite, chilblains. Whiplash. Those ten words were the first he’d spoken to you all day.
“No,” you answered. “I don’t want you to make me.”
You paused, wondering if the words you were considering were a sign that you were going mad, that being cooped up in this space had sent you a little doolally. The unbearable nothingness of your days passing like sludge forcing all those hidden thoughts forward, with nothing to distract you from them. The words were certainly risky, but Minho had shown his hand. He had kissed you. Like he meant it. And you knew he would’ve continued to kiss you had Chan not interrupted. He’d have continued to do a whole lot more than just kiss you.
And you were bored.
“I want you to fuck me,” you said plainly, catching the apple in front of your face and turning to look at him.
He was still studying the monitor. Nothing on his face gave anything away: surprise, disgust, lust, laughter. Nothing. You were used to that.
“We’re on a job.”
“Yeah, and it’s boring and nothing is happening and who fucking cares? I would rather have sex.”
He sighed and rolled his head to look at you.
“Really, Sixteen? Now is the time you want to bring this up?”
“Stop calling me Sixteen.”
“I always call you Sixteen.”
“You always call me Sixteen when you want to put me in my place or make me feel like a child. I’m not a fucking child anymore.”
“I know you aren’t.”
“Then why won’t you fuck me?”
He laughed and your blood began to simmer.
“There’s more that I look for than just ‘is not a child’.”
“Don’t try to act like you don’t want to.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t want to.”
“Well then, shall we?”
He smirked and the glint in his eye was new to you.
“We’re on a job.”
“Stop saying that!” you cried, stalking the three steps from your side of the room to his.
You manoeuvred yourself into his lap, blocking the monitor from his view, and took his face in your hands.
“We’re on a job and nothing is happening and nothing will continue to happen for ages yet, so why don’t we make it a little less fucking boring?”
You knew he wanted to. Could see his pupils dilate. Watched his eyes flick to your lips and your chest and back up. This might have been all he wanted: sex and nothing more. You didn’t know. Weren’t interested in having that conversation. Were convinced that it didn’t matter either way. If he only wanted sex, you would give it. Give it until it was too late and he was in too deep to come back out. Hadn’t worked before but there was a first time for everything.
But even that was beside the point. You were desperately bored and bored of being desperate for him and there was one stone that would kill both those birds.
“Mouse,” you said quietly, keeping your voice low, as you placed a kiss on his jaw, as you spread your knees a little wider, sinking lower into his lap. “Come on.”
His hands were on your thighs, neither encouraging nor discouraging, just holding tight. He didn’t respond as you continued to press kisses to his face, to his neck, grinding your hips over him slowly. You could feel his pulse beat fast, noticed the way his breathing was getting heavier, his fingers dipping deeper into your skin, until it hurt. Until he stopped pretending he was going to continue to work, stopped pretending that he could resist you.
“Fuck,” he gasped, his voice hoarse.
He gripped the hair at the back of your head and pulled you from his neck, tumbling you both to the floor. You didn’t want it to be fast, but you’d take it any way he’d give it. So when his hands pulled at your t-shirt, you let him take it off as you unclasped your bra. He didn’t give you time to fumble with the hem of his top, to discard it for him; he dipped his head straight down, swirling your nipple with his tongue, sucking it into his mouth; he rested his weight on one elbow and his other hand descended. You were grateful you had no buttons, no zips to contend with, just the loose, elasticated band of a pair of leggings that had seen better days. Minho’s fingers slipped beneath it and he circled his fingers around your clit, the fabric of your underwear dulling the sensation only slightly.
This was moving even faster than you’d expected but you’d been waiting so long already. Blood rushed to the surface of your skin and your breath began to shudder. Underwear now pushed to the side, you gasped when Minho ran a finger through your folds, shivered when he moaned at what he found there. He brought his lips back to yours but you turned away to let his name drop from your open mouth.
“Mouse...”
“Shut up,” he said firmly as he sank two fingers into your slick cunt and stole your breath with another kiss.
You couldn’t talk but you could moan. Could whine. Could whimper as his fingers moved inside you, as he ground his palm against your clit, as he made your thighs twitch and walls spasm. You tried not to lose your mind completely, to stay grounded, to stay present now that this was finally, really, actually happening. You reached your own hands down to Minho’s trousers; he hadn’t got the no-buttons, no-zips memo and your fingers fumbled with both. They shook with adrenalin as you popped the button through the hole and dragged the metal zip down. You pushed them away from you, off his hips, and had one hand in his boxers when the crackle of the walkie-talkie cut through Minho’s moan.
You both froze.
“Minho? What’s happening? Chan said they’re on the move?”
You glanced at each other, for one more frozen second, and then the world lurched into overdrive. Minho clambered to the monitor with his trousers around his ankles and, as soon as he saw the screen, started swearing viciously, tugging at his clothes and throwing your t-shirt back at you.
“What’s happening?” you asked, breathless for all the wrong reasons now.
“They’re clearing out,” Minho reported into the walkie-talkie, ignoring you but answering your question anyway. “Two loads have left, a third on its way.”
“Shit! How did you miss it? What the fuck were you doing?”
“Nothing! We lost the feed for a minute but it came back quickly and then they were already moving.”
He shot you a glance, something between panicked plea and angry admonishment. It wasn’t often he was caught on the hop, wasn’t ever. You, however, were used to being on the wrong side of things, so you re-dressed quickly and had already started packing your shit up. No matter how sideways this went, you could take two positives from it. One, you wouldn’t have to stay locked up here with Minho any longer. Two, he definitely, definitely wanted to fuck you.
FIFTH
You still hadn’t talked about it. You continued to share a bedroom, sleep there every night, wake there every morning but you had not once discussed the twice now that you had almost had sex. You were waiting for him to bring it up, even though you knew he never would. He wasn’t a coward, not ever, but if there was one word to describe him it was loyal and you knew he would protect your group with his life. And that also meant not pursuing whatever it was that was between you. Because it was a risk. It could jeopardise the stability of what you had established—what Chan had established long before you ever came into the picture.
But you were digging your heels in this time. You’d already come on too strong. Your pride was being wounded with each day that passed, with each day that he continued to pass you up. You’d crack first. You knew you would. You always did. Minho was unbreakable. You weren’t. But you wanted to pretend, for at least a little while, that you could be. That you could be impenetrable, too.
*
“Shit shit shit shit shit,” Junho repeated as he slammed into the car, instructing Minho to drive before the door was even shut.
Minho didn’t need telling twice.
“Where to?”
“Safe house,” he gasped, ragged breathing setting your teeth on edge.
You didn’t ask what had happened. What had gone wrong. That didn’t matter as much as getting out. Getting Junho out. You were disposable, still. You knew that. Even Minho. You were runts; you also still had something to make up for given what happened on your last assignment. So you travelled in silence. Junho in the back, breathing heavily; you didn’t turn around to see if he was ok. You didn’t want to know. You assumed he wasn’t but as long as you could hear him breathing, you knew he was alive.
Minho was facing forward, eyes scanning the roads ahead, reflexes allowing him to run red lights without accident – in this part of the city, no one would stop a flashy car like this for speeding, for driving recklessly. That was what they all did. His jaw was tense, eyes tight. He looked calm but you could see his little legs kicking under the water. You knew him well enough by now.
You didn’t keep your eyes on the road. You kept them on him. Felt like someone needed to be watching out for him, too – not that there was anything you could have done to be helpful anyway. There were always two in the getaway car. That was the rule and you didn’t ask why because you didn’t want to know the answer.
As a teen, you had thought you knew everything. You were old enough now to know not only that you knew nothing but also that you preferred it that way. Need to know basis. For everything. All the time.
Minho slowed, driving more carefully as the car left the city, winding across hills, negotiating turns that you’d have driven straight over, plummeting you all to a miserable death. He turned the headlights off at the mile marker he’d been told about, one that you’d already forgotten, and crawled, slower still, up to the house, blanketed in darkness, hidden by an overgrown and untended garden.
Junho grunted.
“Thanks. Wait until I give the signal then get the fuck out of here. Do not go anywhere you’ve ever met with us. Ditch the car when you can; destroy the plates.”
He didn’t wait for a response. You watched him stagger away and then waited until the light in the top right room flicked on and off and on and off again.
Minho put the car in reverse and slowly backed out. At a further mile marker, he turned the lights on. He continued to climb, driving away from the city still, until the car reached the top of the hill. The lights from the city were so bright you almost didn’t need the headlights at all. It didn’t feel a safe place to stop. Too visible.
Then Minho slowly and quietly backed the car into nook on the hillside. No doubt worn away from years of cars trying to pass each other on the narrow road, it barely contained the car, but it put it in some shadow and no one would hit you.
He turned the engine off and let his hands fall to his lap. His head tipped back against the headrest and he sighed.
“You ok?”
You asked him all the time and he never gave a serious answer because he always was. And if he wasn’t, he certainly wasn’t going to talk about it. But you asked all the same.
He nodded then turned to you.
“You?”
You laughed nervously, suddenly feeling the last twenty minutes as the adrenalin began to drain.
“Kind of feel like I could hurl.”
He laughed too and nodded again.
“I feel like I want to sleep for a thousand years but also like I could run a marathon,” you continued.
“I feel half-dead already but also fucking invincible.”
He held his hand out and it trembled. You clasped it between yours and held it tight. He smiled; from where you were sitting, it looked like a smirk, but then he turned more fully towards you and it wasn’t. It was sweet. His eyes were gleaming. Your mouth dried.
“Half-dead, huh?” And you knew you were going to say it. You always knew you would be the one with which it would raise its head. “How about a little dead? A little death, even?”
“Sixteen…”
His voice had that warning tone to it but the gleam in his eyes remained and you’d broken the seal now. Were going to push this as far as he’d let you.
“Mouse…”
You saw him waver. Absolutely, definitely, were certain that he was considering it. Until a car came over the crest of the hill and its headlights flashed in at you; at the same moment, Minho’s phone buzzed from the cup holder it had been thrown in. You jumped. He jumped. Whatever moment there had been was gone now.
Minho took his hand from your grasp and checked his phone. Then he put the car in gear.
“We’ve got to get out of here.”
*
You expected it to be quick. Expected it to be simple. It turned out to be neither. You had managed to destroy the plates and were very near clear of the car you’d now abandoned when you, once again, found trouble (‘why did it always have to be you?’ you had asked yourself fleetingly as Minho shoved you towards your own piece of shit car that had been waiting for your getaway; he had not waited for you to be fully seated or your door to be closed before he slammed a foot on the accelerator and squealed off). The two of you were screaming around corners, tearing out of the city in whichever direction provided the easiest escape. With the headlights off and the city lights streaming into the distance, you could barely see the road in front of you, had no idea how Minho was still driving straight. You trusted him with your life and it was just as well, because it was in his hands. His, yours, and potentially everyone else’s, too.
The summer sun was minutes away from popping its head above the horizon when you were finally able to return home.
You sat in silence for a few moments. You had moved beyond exhaustion into this kind of frayed, wired alertness. You felt your eyelids dropping even as your heart still hammered. Minho’s hand found yours.
“Mouse,” you said, letting the rest of it fall away unspoken.
“Yeah,” he replied but you didn’t know if that was his answer. “Just give me a minute.”
You were too tired to argue so you let silence fall again. You were almost dropping off, head just beginning to nod, when he tugged on your hand.
“Come here.”
You turned. You leant. His other hand cupped the back of your head and pulled you closer. He kissed you. Electricity crackled and a surge of energy rushed through you. It was happening again. He was kissing you. You couldn’t let this time pass by.
You scrambled in your chair, forgetting to undo your seatbelt, being pulled back by it and swearing coarsely when your lips broke from his. You clambered over the gearstick and the handbrake and fell with one foot heavily in the footwell as Minho slid his seat all the way back. You didn’t have time to care about the jarring in your knee or the bump on your head as it hit the roof. Could barely feel it. Didn’t matter.
Well, it didn’t matter until it did. Until there wasn’t really room enough for you to straddle him. Until you were pressing yourself up against the roof so there would be room for him to get his hands to his belt. Until you lost your balance and fell backwards, landing with bump on the steering wheel, which blared out into the dark dawn street.
“Fucking hell,” Minho muttered. “Get in the back.”
More willingly than you ever had, you did as you were told. He moved his seat forward again, all the way, and you watched him climb through to you, hands reaching for him. It was no less awkward. Not enough room to lie down. Still not enough height to sit. Not space enough between the back and front to kneel. It was messy and uncoordinated, grabbing for anything, taking what you could get, knocking into the window and falling off the seat, kicking and elbowing each other in a tangle.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” Minho roared, in an uncharacteristic display of frustration. “No use. Not happening.”
He sat back and sighed, trousers undone but still around his hips. He pushed his hands through his hair and you tried to settle demurely next to him, smoothing your own hair, zipping up your jeans, swallowing hard as you fought to accept that he was right. It was not happening. Not here. Not now.
You stared through the car window and were sure you could’ve punched straight through it. You wanted to. It was the window, Minho, or yourself. Couldn’t effectively punch yourself. Knew you wouldn’t dare hit your mouse. Your fingernails pressed sharply into your palm as you squeezed your fists tightly.
A hand covered yours. Gentle. You looked at Minho and there he was: your secret, soft guy. You unfurled your fingers and he linked them with his own.
“Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s just go home.”
FIRST
You tramped into the apartment, bringing your bad mood with you. Everyone was sick of it by now – you were sick of it, but you couldn’t shake it.
Minho was avoiding you. That much was clear. He had been avoiding you since you tried and failed to fuck in the car. You didn’t know why because you didn’t care. You had reached the end of your tether with the universe. Three times now. But still no cigar. You wondered – asked yourself a hundred times a day – what it was going to take to make this happen.
Frustrated didn’t even begin to cover it. You could go out and hook up with whoever you liked. You could get yourself off just fine. But it ran so much deeper than that. If you pulled at the thread, it tugged on your heartstrings, all tangled up in knots. It hurt. It pulled at something so deeply interwoven with your very being; all anyone had to do was follow it to its source and they could destroy you. All anyone had to do was cut it and they’d cut you, too.
You didn’t like that. Hated it, in fact. Hated that all this tugging and wiggling had opened up a hole and you could feel your vulnerability exposed. You could feel weakness leaking out of you, seeping from your pores, visible to the naked eye, for anyone to see.
It made you bitter. Made you angry. Made you lash out even when you shouldn’t have. Because you were always on the defensive. Even now. Especially now.
You knew the others were talking about you. About Minho. About the two of you. Knew it from the awkward silences when you walked in a room and the furtive glances and the group chat that had grown curiously quiet, leaving you to assume that there was a separate one you weren’t a part of.
You were beginning to lose your patience and you were not starting with a plentiful supply.
You lay on your bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to calm your rage. You had woken with it, just like every other day this week, and it would not leave you. You breathed slowly and carefully and tried to think of difficult and boring things.
You thought only of Minho.
Then he opened the door. He hesitated – you could feel him standing there, assessing – and then shut it, leaving you alone. As the door clicked, you felt that tug. You felt the knots tighten, so impossibly tight now that the joins weren’t even visible. You jumped up and threw yourself through the door.
“Stop fucking ignoring me!”
You hadn’t meant to shout.
Minho turned and looked at you. His stillness enraged you further. He didn’t say anything.
“Are you going to fucking say anything?!”
“What do you want me to say?”
“ANYTHING! You haven’t spoken to me for weeks! You literally walk out of rooms if I’m in them! What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“You think this is easy?”
His voice was cold and sharp as steel. His head cocked lightly to the side and his eyes narrowed, peering at you, looking inside you.
“You think I want it to be like this?-”
“I don’t know what you fucking want!”
His nostrils flared. This delighted you. He was annoyed and you loved it.
“Not once,” you continued, still shouting because you couldn’t rein it in, “have you ever fucking told me. Not once have you ever actually said what you want! That you want me. Do you? Fucking do you? Because I don’t fucking know anymore! Every time we get close, you get further away from me! I’m not a fucking yo-yo, Minho. You can’t play with me-”
“Play with you? You think I’m playing? What part of this is a game?”
His voice was rising now, too, his perfectly blank mask slipping.
“It’s never been a game, Sixteen! Not once in the entire time since we met has it been a game! How are you still not getting it? Junho almost fucking died and if he had, it would have been our fault! We all almost ended up in prison because of the fucking bar. The night we met you almost got yourself trafficked! It’s not a game! You act like life is so fucking simple! It’s not!”
“IT IS! It can be that fucking simple! Stop overthinking! Stop taking everything so fucking seriously!-”
“It is serious! That’s what you don’t get!”
He was close now, had been inching closer and closer, and he was looking down at you, his eyes black as pitch, his jaw tight, his breath struggling through clenched teeth.
“You don’t get it and you never have.”
His voice was quiet, back to that steel that sent a chill down your spine.
“Everywhere you go, I look out for you. Everywhere you are, I am responsible for you. It’s been nine fucking years, Sixteen, and you are everywhere I go.”
Your vision tunnelled, stomach fell to your feet. You had to look away and hated yourself for it. You never flinched. You never backed down. You were never the first to retreat. Except for him. You couldn’t bear to look in his eyes, to see what loathing and disdain they held for you. Your embarrassment was on your cheeks already and pricking in your eyes.
Then his nose nudged yours and he took more steps forward. He pushed you slowly against the wall and you cursed yourself for retreating to it.
“You are in my life and in my bedroom and in my fucking head,” he whispered. “All the time. All the fucking time. And I haven’t been able to do shit about it because you are my job. You are mine to protect. Everyone knows it. Everyone knows I would burn this place to the ground for you. I would scorch the earth. I would drain the sea. For you. Don’t you get it? When it comes to you, I’m a fucking liability.”
You risked it. A glance. Lifted your eyes for less than a second but you had to do it again. Had to stop there, be sure you were really seeing what you thought you were.
Soft, round, liquid eyes. An openness in his face that he hadn’t let you into before. His mouth was still a grim line, turned down at the corners so slightly, had it been anyone but you, it would have gone unnoticed.
“Mouse...”
You tried to whisper but could barely manage that, his name creeping out on a hoarse gasp.
He moved his face closer to yours, lips almost touching.
“Don’t you get it?” he repeated.
You got it. Because everything he said was true for you, too. You’d started out as a liability, for sure, but you had continued to be one because Minho was your north star. Not Chan. Not the group. Not whatever sense of purpose you might have derived from the life you had cobbled together. If he said jump, you wouldn’t ask a thing. You would jump. You’d been following him since day one and, then, it might have been desperation, a lack of options. Now... well, there was still desperation: a desperate need for him, a desperate desire to be wanted by him, kissed by him, touched by him. You had other options. Options you would never take, not as long as he existed. You would stop existing before you ever thought of leaving him.
You nodded, feeling more like a foolish, vulnerable 16-year-old than you had when you were foolish and vulnerable and 16.
He sighed, breath sweet with the pudding he could never resist, and you were closing your eyes, tilting your chin up, expecting him to give in.
He turned away. You watched him, mouth agape in disbelief, as he pushed his hands through his hair.
“FOR FUCK’S SAKE!” you screamed, bringing your hands down on his back in something that was half-shove, half-slap.
He had whipped around before you could lower your arms and you found your wrists caught in his hands.
“You don’t fucking stop, do you?” he hissed.
“Why would I stop?! I don’t want to stop, Minho! And nor do you! You can’t say you don’t! Because I KNOW. I KNOW you want it. I know you want me. And I’m fucking throwing myself at you. Take me! TAKE ME!”
His eyes were hard and dark. His fingers pushed so tightly into your wrists that you could feel your pulse against them. He was breathing heavily, nostrils flaring but lips shut tight, pressed together in a thin line.
“Take. Me,” you repeated, level and firm, not sure if he would, but sure that, if he didn’t, things would never be the same again.
You couldn’t do this a fourth time. Couldn’t put yourself in his hands, have him take you, and then... Not. And then stop. And then act as if you didn’t exist. That thread between you, tied up in your heartstrings, was taut, stretched, at its limit. And so were you.
The pause was painful. Excruciatingly long. Adrenalin coursed through you, making you hot, making you shake, making your heart beat so hard against your ribs you thought they might break. Thought your heart might break. Hadn’t been willing to admit how fragile it was but it felt like venetian glass now. You could already feel the cracks forming, the web extending, the shards-
He kissed you. Pulled you roughly towards him by your wrists and kissed you. Put his hands on your hips, then slid them under your top, and still kissed you. He was kissing you. It took a few seconds to slip back into your body, to feel it, the soft petal of his lips against yours, the sharp bite of his teeth, the wet warmth of his tongue. You forgot your shattering heart and grabbed his T-shirt, using it to pull him closer, to drag him into your shared bedroom.
Not that he needed dragging. You stumbled over each other’s feet as you tried to kiss and walk and grope all at once. You tumbled backwards onto his bed and took the brief separation as an opportunity to lose your top, to unclasp your bra. Your hands were in the waistband of your joggers when Minho climbed over you, topless now too, breathless as he mirrored your actions, pushing his trousers and his boxers over his hips. He huffed a frustrated sigh as you giggled, as he stood back up to take them all the way off, to kick them off his ankles and take yours away, too.
He didn’t give you time for admiration, for appraisal. He lay his body over you and his lips pressed against yours, quickly, firmly, before trailing them across your jaw and down your neck. He was every bit as vicious as you thought he would be, teeth nipping at your sensitive skin, sinking into your soft flesh. You wanted him to mark you, wanted the proof of it to last. You scraped your nails down his back and he hissed when you broke the skin. Hissed but didn’t complain. Hissed and moved his mouth lower, swirling his tongue around your nipple, sinking his teeth into that, too.
When you tugged on his hair, he pulled off, looked at you, his face an open question. You shook your head.
“It’s fine,” you panted. “I like it. I just want to pull your hair.”
He laughed and clamped his teeth over your breast again, harder this time, so you keened and your back arched into him. You twisted his roots in your fist and he moaned, eyes flicking up to yours as he kissed across the valley of your chest.
“Do that again.”
“Fuck,” you gasped, tipping your head back, doing as he had asked and tugging hard.
The ache you felt for him had ballooned inside you, taken up all your hollow spaces. There was your flushed skin and your fluttering heart, your rushing blood and your deep, persistent ache for Minho. Nothing more. Nothing less.
“Mouse,” you whispered, voice tight with desire. “Touch me, please.”
You never asked. You didn’t beg. If you liked a guy, you let them do what they wanted with you, and if you didn’t, you took what you wanted. It was always one-sided.
But this wasn’t. It was Minho. It was the fathomless depth in his eyes as he lay his mouth all over you. It was the slip of his fingers through your soaked folds as he sucked sweet bruises against your neck. It was the sound of a moan caught in his throat when you wrapped your fingers around his hard, leaking length. It was mutual. It was reciprocated.
It was burning you up, hotter and sweeter than you’d ever felt before. His fingers sinking into your core made you shudder with delight. The twitch in his cock as you brushed your thumb over his head made your mouth water. The sound of his mumbled sweet nothings pressed against your skin, whispered in your ear, licked straight into your mouth, made you dizzy.
“So soft,” he said. “So wet... Fuck, you’re so fucking beautiful... I’ve wanted this for so long... Wanted you...”
He used your name, your real one, the one he didn’t learn (didn’t ask for) for months after you met. You returned the favour, ‘Minho’ tripping from your lips, until he shook his head.
“Mouse,” he murmured, mouth still pressed against yours. “‘Mouse’ is yours.”
“Mouse,” you echoed and he nodded before kissing you so that you could say nothing at all.
*
You barely spoke, couldn’t catch your breath enough to form the words, couldn’t engage your faculties to find any to say. Minho spoke, though, more than you had ever heard him speak: praise and exclamation and remembrance and, yes, even admonition, but it was all so sweet, syrupy, dripping from his tongue like honey. You’d never heard him speak like this before, never had him melt in your hands or in your mouth, never felt him as easy and pliable as this.
It wasn’t just his body. It wasn’t just the perfect smoothness of his warm, soft skin. It wasn’t just the stretch, the fullness, he made inside you, the insistent rhythm of his hips thrusting his cock tightly into your slick, waiting warmth. It wasn’t just his wet, sugary mouth, at your lips, at your jaw, at your clavicle. It wasn’t just all these things he was doing to you, all the things you were doing to him.
It was his open eyes, round and shining and fluttering closed as your walls clenched around him. It was the tenderness in them, the depth he was letting you see, for more than just seconds at a time. It was the gentle tracing of your face with his fingers, even as he fucked into you, even as his teeth drew blood beneath your skin. It was Minho, the entirety of him. Yours. Finally yours. Finally giving in to you, giving himself to you.
You got it. You had said you did and you had, but now, beneath him in his bed as he loved you, you actually understood the magnitude of it. His feelings for you. Yours for him. Held back behind a dam for so many years and now, the dam had broken. Now came the deluge that would flood the world, could drown everyone in it.
To hell with them, you thought. To hell with anyone else. You found what you needed almost a decade ago. He found you. You found each other, somehow, by some miracle.
When the pleasure swelled up in your core, toes curling, back breaking, you cried out with all the breath you had in your lungs, felt tears sting in your eyes, and the following inhale wobbled and shook. Minho paused, pressed his forehead against yours, kissed you lightly, didn’t have to ask the question out loud.
You nodded and kissed him again, then again, each time hungrier than the last. You didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want to feel anything but this, but him. He moved slower now, though, hips rolling smoothly, lips not leaving yours, even when he spoke, even when he murmured how fucking good you felt, how much better than he’d imagined, how hard he was trying not to come, how he didn’t want this to end.
You couldn’t take it. Thought you really would cry, thought you would collapse entirely under his weight, under the weight of everything you’d been carrying around, all these feelings: all this love and fear and frustration. He pushed you to the edge again without even trying, your red thread thoroughly tangled, inseparable now, and pulling a greater ecstasy from you than you had ever known.
He couldn’t hold out either, his final, sharp thrusts filling you with his sticky release. You held him there, as close as he could be. He kissed you, so light it was barely there, his fingers grazing your face as he pushed the hair from your brow.
“Mouse,” you choked, tears threatening your waterline.
He kissed you again, that little butterfly kiss; you’d never seen him be this gentle.
“Sixteen,” he whispered and, for possibly the first time, it didn’t sound like disdain, didn’t come accompanied by a smirk or an eye-roll; it was hushed and secret and just for you.
As it had always been.
*
You lay on his chest, bodies pressed together in the small, single bed, as they would have been even if the bed were bigger.
“I want some water,” he said, lips against your forehead before he manoeuvred himself out from underneath you. “Want a drink?”
You nodded and he smiled down at you as he fetched clean underwear and pulled a T-shirt over his head.
You watched him go, watched him open the door, and then heard the sound of party poppers, whoops, and applause.
The apartment was empty. Had been empty when you entered your bedroom. In the midst of everything, you had failed to notice the gang return home. They had not failed to notice you and Minho.
“Fucking finally!”
“You mean, they finally fucked?”
Laughter resounded from the living room. Minho turned around, closed the door, and climbed back into bed without a word.
#skz fanfic#skz smut#skz x reader#lee know x reader#lee know smut#lino x reader#lino fic#lino smut#minho x reader#lee minho#minho fanfic#kpop fanfic#kpop smut#lee minho fanfic
299 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Journey of Dr. Santana Fabrega
There's nothing quite like your bro slobberin' over your sweaty feet while tokin' on a hookah. Let me just tell you- everybody's happy. I'm stoked to be stoned and minty fresh, and he's happy to taste my ripe size 12's. Who isn't the happiest? The folks. Sure, I dropped out of college, sure I started focusing one hundred percent on my art, sure I have a parade of guys out of my little basement lair... but I never got why they had to be such fuckin' buzzkills.
Ever since they joined that church when I was at uni, my parents have been sucked into the Evangelical cult. Not the whole lifting your hands up to Jesus & speaking in tongues sort of church, by the way. Man, they're out there with picket signs at sex clinics, bannin' books at the high school, all that crazy fuckin' Christian Nation bullshit. They're my parents, so I love 'em and whatever. But fuck, those psychos really fucked 'em up. So now, their crusade is "curing" me of my gayness. Didn't really matter that I'm pan, they don't really know the difference. They don't really care about the difference, though. Not straight, not right.
So when they caught me the other day with Sam cleanin' my dick in the basement, it was World War 3. Man, a Nuclear Bomb would have less energy than my mom's hysterical shrieking. It's Florida, so it's nothing the neighbors haven't heard before. But, shit. I thought my eardrums were gonna pop. They stomped off upstairs, bein' all 'we are going to talk about this later, Santiago.' So, I let Sammy finish up, I pulled on some shorts and I went upstairs to face the fire while he snuck out the basement window. Fuck, I wished I were him.
The 'family meeting' went about as well as you'd expect. Threats of burning in hell for all eternity, demands that I find the Lord, etc. Apparently he doesn't like a lot of things about me: my weed, my tattoos, my sexuality, my piercings, my hair for some reason? I don't know man, I just tuned out after a while. What I did catch, though, they were sending me to substance abuse counseling. Couldn't help but laugh, and that sent dad through the fuckin' roof.
"Doctor Fabrega is going to teach you some manners, young man. Make you a Godly man, like you should be." Yada yada yada. He should have known better than to give me the doc's name. After the ass reaming, I made my way back downstairs to the computer. It took five minutes of research to find this Doctor Fabrega. Turns out he's a Christian Therapist, but that wasn't what was most interesting. Down in his specializations, buried beneath substance abuse & cognitive behavioral therapy was a word that caught my eye: licensed Hypnotherapist.
I knew exactly what kind of bullshit they were tryin' to pull on me. But when I was enrolled at U Miami, my major was Psychology. Not only that, but I still happened to have access to the university library. Oops.
I texted Sammy, knowing I was gonna be up all night doing research, and that my dick would need some appropriate attention under the desk. I was gonna show this motherfucker just how sick it really is to be like me.
---
The waiting room was bullshit. Cold white walls, bright wood floors... It looked straight out of an IKEA ad. I'd already been there for like 20 minutes past my appointment time, giving me just enough time to scroll through the last chapter on my phone. I hear the receptionist call out my name, and I head toward the office. Just as bullshit as the waiting room. It's like the guy wants to live in a psych ward- no color anywhere. At least get a blacklight or something.
"Santiago Rivera. Welcome, I'm Dr. Fabrega." The guy was hot as fuck, not gonna lie. Looked like he was straight out of Sao Paulo- even with the fancy suit you can't hide muscle like that. "Please, sit. It's so good to meet you." His voice was so weird. Speaking every word with like, perfect diction. You know those AI voices that talk that way? That's what it was like, as if he were trying so hard to hide an accent underneath.
"Just call me Santi, doc." I plopped down on the leather chair, might have put my feet up on his coffee table (don't recall), and he just looked at me like he was looking in a microscope. No idea what the deal was. He walked over to the couch and sat down with my file and started to drone on.
"Alright, Santi, it says here that your parents are pretty concerned about your behavior lately. You're 23 years old and a college dropout, you take illicit drugs, you have no job, and you're having unnatural thoughts. That's quite the list, bud." He was so fuckin smug, that sort of punchable glibness that only comes from a particular kind of self righteousness. Like Jesus himself came down and kissed them.
"So, first off. I did drop out of college, because I couldn't afford it. Second, I sure the fuck do smoke green because it's a) fun, and b) prescribed to me by my real doctor. Third, I do have a job. I do graphic design and graffiti art and I pay my own bills with it. And last off, yup: I fucked him." He sat there, somehow shocked that I told him how it was right off the bat. I'm not playing his little game, and that made him angry.
"I see. So you have no remorse for any of this? I believe your parents are very right to be concerned about where your life is headed."
"Fascinating, considering I'm moving out at the end of the month and they won't need to deal with my life. So. You married?" He was thrown off by that, just as I'd hoped. Right out of the blue. Knocks them off kilter for a second. An easy question to answer, so they usually do.
"Uh, well, no I'm not married. Is that your concern in all this?" Man, I couldn't help but laugh. He's trying to be sarcastic?
"Where did ya go to school for... whatever this is." This made him close my file, he even put it on the table and crossed his arms.
"I went to Liberty University, top of my class in their Doctor of Psychology program. You, it seems didn't make it that far, so you might not know what 'this' is." Oooh, he's big mad. I thought, let's push it. I did what most of my guys love, but would piss him off, I kicked off the Vans. Made sure I wore my skating shoes that day, the super ripe ones with the same damp socks. When they came off, those puppies let their presence be known.
"Sounds boring. Boring then, boring now. I got accepted into the Art Institute in Savannah, so I'll be headed that way soon. Be legit soon, then you wouldn't have anything to say. How's your sex life?" He thought he was so tough, not flinching at the musk, nor my question. But I knew both hit him right where I wanted. The question to make him mad, the stink to get him hot.
"Santiago, I think we should continue with our session. You can put your shoes back on and we can try some exercises to help you think a bit more clearly." I crossed my ankles, wriggling my toes a bit.
"I think they need some air. Are you gonna try and hypnotize me now? Or is that the last ditch effort when everything else fails?" He leaned back in his seat, the grimace growing stronger. "That stuff is not that hard to master. A couple days really and you got it down."
"Is that so?" He ground his teeth as he spat out his words. "It seems you know all there is to know, then." Time to hit it home.
"You know what, let's put money on it, doc. Hundred bucks says I can put you under." I got him, his eyebrow shifted just enough for me to see.
"This isn't a casino, Santiago. I don't bet money on client's health." I couldn't help but smirk. He left an opening I couldn't pass up.
"Aight, no money then. If I put you under, I get the bragging rights. If I don't, I'll play your stupid games. Win-win for you, nothing to lose but your dignity." Hook, line and sinker; he leaned in, grabbing the remote on the table next to him. He tapped a button, and the shades started to come down.
"Well then, Mr. Rivera. I wish you luck."
The room got dark. Really fuckin' dark. Fabrega hit another button on the remote, and a cool blue washed over the room. Gotta say, tight LED system. I kicked my shoes off the table, and scooted my chair forward. Showtime.
"Alright, Santana, I want you to just take deep breaths." He squirmed at my use of his first name, one last dig before I brain fucked him. He took his deep breaths one at a time, slowly getting deeper and deeper. "As I count down from one to ten, each number will bring you closer and closer to relaxation. Picture a long tunnel, at the end, a bright white light. With every number, you take a step forward to the light, do you understand?"
He nodded, it was an induction I'd made up this morning. I started from 10, telling him his first step he could feel the tingling relaxation in the tips of his fingers, slowly crawling up his hands and forearms. 9. Another step, the tingling creeps up his big muscly arms and shoulders. 8. One more step, the tingling is pushing up his neck and throat, reaching his tongue and teeth. 7. The tingling bursts into his head, a paradoxical rush of relaxation, a fog of dissonance washes over his brain as thoughts collide and crash about. 6. The tingling washes down his spine, flowing through his nerves into every part of his body. His body feels electric, a painless jolt running throughout him. I watched as he tensed up, his big muscles contracting and bunching him up. It was working.
We get to 5, starting at the crown of his head, the volts decrease, turning lugubrious and liquified like molasses sloshing about in his head. 4. The light is so close he can feel the heat, but his body is cooled as the syrupy fluid flows down over him like a waterfall, pooling in his big feet as it fills every crevice. 3. It feels as if he's trudging through mud toward the light, his legs feeling wobbly and gelatinous. 2. So close, his whole body feels like a massless blob, inching toward the final drop into the cavernous light. 1. He crawls toward the ledge, plummeting down into the endless void of bright white light. There, he will sit as I have a little bit of fun.
"Alright, Santana. Can you hear me in there?" Fabrega nods, expressionless. Fuck, that was maybe a 80/20 chance I was gonna fuck this shit up so bad. But I guess God really is on my side here. "Whenever I ask a question, you will answer truthfully. Whatever I say you will incorporate into your life. Now, Santana, what do you do when you're not at work?" His lips moved slowly and replied in monotone.
"I go to the gym, I go to the golf course, I hire my date, and I go home." Ooooh shit. He's giving my friends on the corners a decent living, good for him. Hardly a Godly thing to do. Either way, it was a perfect place to start.
"You love going to the gym, don't you, Santana?" He nodded. "You love gettin' all sweaty don't you?" His head began to shake, his expression furrowing a bit in disgust. "No, Santana. You love getting all sweaty. The feeling of those cool droplets on your hot muscles during a hard workout? Doesn't it feel good?" He pauses, before reluctantly nodding. Ahh I love gettin my fingers in his brain, never ceases to please. "You love that funk that comes off your sweat, Santana. You love sniffin your pits, your big feet, your balls... That musk means you're workin' hard. Keeping in shape. Staying virile. Isn't that right?" He nodded, squirming in the chair. I watched his body try to reject the instructions, try to rebel, but just one repetition had his back to stillness.
"You don't even like golf, do you?" He nodded, I didn't even need to manipulate him. "You much prefer hitting the beach, don't you? Seein' all the guys and gals starin' at your glorious bod... You love it, don't you?" He nodded, the side of his lip curling ever so slightly. "You love bringing out the speedo, letting the goods hang low, letting the buns bulge... you know they all wanna see it anyway..." He nodded again, it was like taking candy from a baby. The guy had the mental fortitude of a frog.
"You like fucking, too. You can have any girl or guy on the street with a single wink." He nodded, and I couldn't help but watch as his groin started to bulge. "Yeah, boy. You love taking that horse cock and plowing it into some ass... plowing it into some pussy... fucking their pretty little mouths..." Drool started to drip from the corner of his lip, and a little wet spot quickly appeared on his pants. "You're a freak, aren't you, Santana? You like fuckin' in the car, in the sauna, at the gym, under the desk... gushing gallons into them while you shove your sneaker on their face." He was moaning, slowly grinding against the open air. Can't lie, I was gropin' myself a bit just watching him.
"Now, Santana. I'm going to bring you back to your office, but when I do, you are going to be super laid back and chill with Santi during your sessions. If he says the word 'sniff' you will return to this space, return to an open mind, just as we have done here today. Do you understand?" He nodded one final time before I began his emergence. Counting back from one to ten, I watched as he slowly came back to the real world, and with one snap, he blinked his eyes and wiped his brow.
"Well, doc. I got the bragging rights." Fabrega pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he had a headache. Time to see if it had all paid off.
"Uhh... yeah... Santi. You got me there..." Perfect. He pulled his hand away from his nose, clicking the shades back up to their little hole. It didn't take long until he saw the wet patch on his bulbous package. He chuckled under his breath. "You'll have to excuse the mess, Santi... I have hyperspermia, so sometimes it all just flows out." Hot- and totally unprofessional. Just how I like 'em. I leaned back in my chair, smirkin' the whole way.
"Damn, doc. Firehose down there. Gonna have to show me sometime." He smirked and waved me off.
"I don't fraternize with clients, Santi. Oh, look at the time. I'm late for my 5:30. Alright, I'll see you next week." He stood up, extending his hand, his whole demeanor entirely changed. I slipped my Vans back on, spitting on my hand before gripping his. He shuddered a bit, sure. But we were gonna get real close, real quick.
---
The next few days flew by. My folks were so excited to see that I was looking forward to seeing Dr. Fabrega, and I loved knowing what they didn't. I was excited to see if Dr. Fabrega was gonna be Santana. So when I finally got back in for my appointment, I didn't need to wait long at all. Only five minutes and the door swung open, the receptionist completely flustered. The anticipation was killing me. She sat down behind her computer with tunnel vision and I walked into the office.
At first, I thought it was empty. He wasn't sitting at his desk, on the couch... but as I heard huffing from the balcony, I knew where to find him. I walked up to the sliding glass door, and turned outside to see one hell of a sight.
It was Santana. Nothing on but his whitie-tighties and his damp socks doing pushups on the bench. Fuck, those muscles were glistening in the light, his underwear with damp patches on his ass and bulge. His clothes sat in a pile near his head: jeans, a Miami Heat jersey, some sick dunks I wanted to steal... far from the stuffy suit he had on just the week before. He finally noticed me, and smiled.
"Santi! Hey! Just finishing up my lunch workout. Thought I'd get a session in today on the balcony. Damn, the fresh air is good for exercise!" I smirked. It was night and day. So far, gone was the bible thumping hypocrite, and here was what was underneath. If anything I was doing him a service.
"Shit, Santana! You're looking prime today. You gonna funk out our session today, or?" I punched him in the shoulder, and he giggled like a kid.
"It's eau naturale, my friend. Natural water. That's what it smells like." He slipped on his jeans and his big fuckin' sneakers, tossing the jersey over his head while we walked in. He trailed some deliciously ripe musk, and I couldn't help but savor a bit of it. We plopped down on our seats, and just started shootin' shit. I bitched about the parents, he bitched about his receptionist, I told him about Sammy suckin' my dick clean, and he told me about the threesome with a gym bro and his girlfriend. He was coming along beautifully. Though, I thought to myself, how's about a round two?
"Dude, by the way, those kicks are fuckin' tight." I pointed to the dunks, which he smugly kicked up onto the coffee table, showing them off.
"Thanks, man. They're the lifting shoes. My work boots, heh." I reached out, grabbing ahold of his foot, and yanked it off. He chuckled like a fuckin' idiot while I looked at 'em. Size 13, nice and big- and the smell wafting out of there... Fuck, man.
"Damn, dude you never wash your socks? These stink!" I playfully tossed the shoe at him, and just as he started to brush off the comment, I said my magic word. "Sniff it." Like a flipped lightswitch, his expression turned numb, slowly bringing the shoe to his nose and inhaling his own musk. I clapped my hands, rubbing them together: let's do a little more programming.
"Santana, You're a pretty chill guy, you know that?" He nodded. "You smoke, don't you? You know, the good shit?" Deep in his mind, he had to know it was me talking at this point, so I was talking to him like a bro. Establishes trust, ya know? He shook his head no. "Ahh, come on man. You love kickin' back and toking on that reefer after a long workout." Santana chuckled a bit, before nodding, still nose deep in his sneaker. "Yeah, you love smokin' out your bros, your babes... when you're not shootin' tequila!" He full out laughed on that one, nodding along. The sneaker slowly dropped from his hand, and he laid back in his chair.
"How old are you, Santana?"
"28." Shit, he was only a few years older than me. I mean, he looked young. But hell, you wouldn't have known it from the way he acted.
"Where are you from?"
"Rio de Janeiro." Interesting. I clocked the accent. I was pretty proud of myself.
"Why do you try so hard to hide it? The way you talk, the way you dress, the way you act... You act like you're from Ohio." Another chuckle, I should have had a Netflix special. "You're gonna embrace that Brazilian pride, bro. Don't hide it for some mayo drinking buzzkills!" He furrowed his brow, nodding intently. This one was for his own fuckin' good. Be proud of that shit! "You should get some ink to really embrace it. Nothin' sexier than a tatted up stud, am I right?" He nodded again, his bulge once more springing to life. I smirked, simply wanting to know a little something somethin'.
"Do you think Santi is hot?" He sat there for a second, before slowly smiling and nodding. I didn't even need to program that one. Aww, big old himbo. "You're not afraid to let him know, are ya? I mean if you tell his crazy fuckin' parents that he's cured... He wouldn't be your patient anymore... Right?" His bulge twitched again, and he smirked devilishly as he nodded. "You like it when he's all up in your brain, don't you? You like it when he gets his dick deep in there and mind fucks you into a chill, laid back stud. Don't ya?" The dampness grew and his breath got heavy. He nodded, drooling down the sides of his cheeks. "Yeah, you wanna let him in completely, don't ya? Make you like him?" Moans grew, and his thrusting in the air quickened pace. "You wanna be best bros with him, don't ya? Bros with benefits... hangin' out, smokin' weed, hittin' the clubs, swappin' spit... swappin' cum... swappin' subs..." He started fuckin' howl. He was beggin' to splurge. "When I tell you, you will cum. And when you do, everything we talked about will be your truth. Now... Cum."
His eyes opened, still moaning loudly. He gripped onto his jeans, pulling down the waistband and underwear, that big old uncut donkey dick flopping out before shooting his load all over himself. Volley after volley. He wasn't kidding about the hyperspermia: maybe four double shots of his spunk sprayed like a geyser into the air. The 8th Natural Wonder of the World. He laid back and chuckled, throwing his arms behind his head.
"Fuck, brother!" The thickest accent flowed of those lips, deliciously thick. "After today, that'll be down your throat, cara." He pointed at me, hopping to his feet and shoving his python back into his pants. "So, I'll write your discharge papers, it'll get the pais off your back. Act the part until you're out, and just go live." Fuck yeah, we high fived, and I ruffled that sweaty mullet of his. "Hey, come over tonight. I got some friends comin' over... if you and Sammy wanna join." He winked and slapped my back. Damn, I did good.
"I'll be there, man! You save me a round so I can show you how to clean this dick." I groped my bulge, smirking as his bit his lip and winked. I've created a monster.
---
"Ei, sexy! Come get a toke before it's gone!" Such a demanding little bitch, I love him. I slipped his filled condom off my cock, the kinky fucker insisted, and I happily complied. If I'm being real, this psycho has taught me things! I flushed it down the toilet, and swung the bathroom door open to see him lounging on his bed, toking away at the blunt I packed.
"Hey you fuckin' hog, don't you smoke it all!" He chuckled dumbly, reaching over to hand me the blunt, taking the opportunity to snatch my wrist and pull me forward into a kiss. Fuck those lips were so good, pressed against mine or around my cock. "Isn't Carrie coming over soon? You gonna be able to get off so quick?" I pushed away, taking my puff.
"Ahh, plenty to go around, eh?" He groped that musky bulge that I had a feeling Sammy would be huffing later. "Ey, bring me my pants. We can go get a shot before she gets here." Heh, the last month or so crashing with him has been fuckin' sick. The folks think I'm rooming with some guy from the church, when really I'm gooning with my therapist every night in his bed. Savannah is letting me take online courses, I'll have my B.A. in a couple of years, and I'm already getting some gallery hits. Santana is gonna be my armcandy for the opening, and I told him to forget his deodorant. Fuck he’s perfect. But a thought had crept in my head the other day. One last program, one final idea planted in his head... Though, at this point, there was no need to put him under. I'd just ask him.
"Hey, so I gotta go to Georgia to finish up some paperwork at the school. It got me thinking... I'm followin' my dream. What about you?" I tossed him his pants and passed the blunt, taking a deep whiff of those ripe dunks before throwing them his way too.
"I could go back to the practice, though I think the bible thumpers would lose their minds, heh."
"Well... What we did for eachother... What if you did it for others?" I slowly got down to my knees, a smirk crawling across my face. "What if you could help those poor... misguided young men change their lives?" I crawled toward him, spreading his legs wide as I tossed his legs over my shoulders. "Wouldn't that be so... so... fun?" I slowly pulled down his musky briefs, releasing his monstrous cock again, the musky hooded beast slapping me on my cheek. "Then, we could have so... many... new.. friends..." I pulled down his slimy hood and wrapped my lips around his tip. I should have known better. His hand grabbed the back of my head, slamming it down onto his spear, my nose buried in his bush as he thrust back and forth into my mouth.
"Unff... Yeah, brother... Oh yeah... That sounds like a good... unhhhhh... good idea." Grunting, slapping, moaning, slurping... it all rang out in his room, until he gushed another thick load down my throat. "You wanna join me?" And in that moment, I smiled. It was the best idea he'd had yet.
#original#hypnosis#mind control#himbo#bisexual#transformation#male hypnosis#male transformation#stoner#cannabis#musk#footplay#switch#male reprogramming
239 notes
·
View notes
Text
Reasons why Bring on the Monsters from The Lightning Theif musical is an amazing song:
1.) "There's gonna be a fight. There still might be a war. For a moment, we've got danger on the run." Talk about setting the tone. We're in the clear as of today, but something is coming. Something bad.
2.) "Feeling ready🌊" "Feeling stoked🦉" "Feeling quesy🐐". Love how they gave Annabeth the 'feeling stoked' line. Because, of course, she's waiting in the wings, ready to kick ass when need. But it's also hilarious that the actress playing Annabeth is Kristen Stokes. So, I just imagine the writers gave her that line to mess with her.
3.) "Bring on the monsters. Bring on the real world." Like, yeah. They physically spent the majority of this musical in the real world, but they were disconnected from it. The three of them singing this line is a declaration of unity between their human and godly side. They are neither here nor there, not bound to one world, but exist in both.
4.) "They'll be times when your faith is shaken." Yes, your faith in the gods will be on the brink of breaking at any given moment. But so will the faith in yourself. But sometimes, being a demigod means doing it scared. But you won't go it alone.
5.) "Gotta know where the real fight lies when it's time to rise and stand your ground." Annabeth and Clarisse singing about knowing which battles are worth fighting and when is utterly amazing. Because not only are they both children of war gods, but they also canonically struggled with being strong-willed and prideful. It's like even though were at odds at the beginning of the musical, they aren't as different as they first appear.
6.) "No, I'm never gonna once have it easy. I'll make mistakes, but my own, and it frees me." In TLT, Book!Sally says something along the lines of: 'If my life is going to mean anything, I have to live it myself.' This is as applicable to a demigod as it is to a mortal. And it's bittersweet because not every demigod gets the chance to choose. Or rather, they don't choose wisely because they're so spiteful when it comes time. But sometimes, you gotta let the anger fade and move forward.
7.) "I'll be back next summer. You'll see me again. I'll be back next summer. I'll survive 'till then." There's something about this line that makes me want to cry. Percy started this musical saying he didn't want to be a half-blood, essentially rejecting the idea of a demigod, but ends the musical declaring his eventual return. He isn't saying goodbye, but a see you later. Which just tugs at my heart strings knowing we'll never get a second musical, but it's okay because Percy's essence extends beyond the Broadway medium. Whether it be a book, musical, movie, or graphic novel, Percy will always be back.
8.) Also, if you listen to the instrumental of this song, the guitar riff at the very end is playing the same melody of 'I didn't wanna to be a half-blood' underneath Percy's declaration of unwavering loyalty to demigods. And it broke me like a bone.
You guys remember these? That's great because I didn't. It just occurred to me that I never finished my analysis of the TLT musical, and I thought I'd get on that. Anyway, this song is fucking incredible, and I want a SOM musical. But I digress.
#if you're an og you'll remember this era of @demigods-posts#but yeah i still have a few songs to cover#simply for my own fulfillment#percy jackon and the olympians#pjo text post#pjo#the lightning theif#the lightning theif musical#tlt musical adaptation#tlt shitposting#tlt musical#tlt commentary#tlt musical commentary#percy jackson#annabeth chase#grover underwood#clarisse la rue#silena beauregard#chiron
218 notes
·
View notes
Note
I come to share an idea with you in case luck is on my side and you interested to expand it-
I can't stop thinking about the MC who has a crush on Lucifer but somehow ends up moaning his name while making out with Mephisto 🤔🫢 (I don't think MC and Mephisto have a romantic relationship yet, maybe it's more like ons or something similar???)
To be honest, your name somehow popped to my mind when I thought of this idea 😆 Maybe because I read your smut fic too much lol—
Anyway, thanks for reading and I hope you have a fantastic day 🤍
give me time, I'll change your mind
pairing: mephistopheles x gn!reader
content: nsfw. smut. friends (frenemies?) with benefits. jealousy, teasing, cursing, degradation, slut-shaming. reader has unresolved feelings for lucifer (one-sided).
word count: 1.3k
Groans and whimpered curses spill effortlessly from your lips as long, dexterous fingers graze the spot inside you that makes you tremble. Your body feels like a livewire, overwhelmed by the barest touch of leather against your bare skin and little nips of teeth against your throat. He nudges your head back for better access and you tip your head back with a sigh. It feels so good and your mind is lost in a blissful daze of his creation.
You don't realize something is wrong until there's a sharp intake of breath, and the gloved hand stretching you open suddenly grows still. Mephisto lifts his head from where he was trailing kisses along the curve of your neck, and he narrows his eyes angrily at you.
"I'm knuckle-deep inside your greedy little hole and you can't remember my name, pet?"
Your mouth falls open in mortification when you realize what you've done.
This isn't the first time you've gone to him for relief. He accepted your casual physical arrangement and you both agreed discretion was best. He obliged when you were in the mood, even though more often lately he was the one that initiated first.
He was always careful about coming up with flimsy excuses for you to stay behind after class and help him with the school paper. He fucked you across any available surface in the newspaper club office—bent over the arm of the sofa, against the door, flat on your back against his desk. He was generous with his attention without asking why you chose him, and maybe that was his mistake.
What would you tell him if he did? That he was a handsome distraction, someone to satisfy your needs while you tried to unravel your complicated feelings for the Avatar of Pride?
"I'm sorry, I—I don't know why..."
You're a terrible liar, and he doesn't fall for your blubbering excuses. His expression is cold, calculating, and he's piecing together the little secrets you've kept from him all this time.
"How many others do you turn to for a quick fuck because you can't have your precious Lucifer?" He practically spits his name like a curse as he pulls his fingers from your body with an obscene squelch. He continues stoking around your entrance lazily, taunting you so you don't forget that you were nearly begging for him to fuck your brains out—until you ruined it, that is.
His tongue is sharp and his words drip with scorn. He's trying to hurt you for hurting him. "Tell me, little human. Was I the only one willing to touch you? Was I your last resort, pet? Lucky me." He chuckles but it's a bitter sound, and he bares his fangs when his lips curl into a cold smile.
You're rendered speechless, mouth opening and closing uselessly when you struggle to think of something to say.
How could you be so stupid?
Stray tears trickle from the corner of your eyes when you blink. You can't even imagine how pathetic you must look in his eyes: your lips quivering pitifully as more tears threaten to fall, your legs spread wide on the desk where he stands between them, your pants and underwear tugged down to your ankles from earlier when he was too eager to undress you properly.
He startles you when his fingers press against your entrance and slide back in effortlessly. He adds another and begins stretching you again around his fingers, but it's different now than it was before. His movements are faster now, roughened by his frustration and some primal instinct to claim you. He had you first. Perhaps he just needs to remind you of what you can have with him instead of whatever fantasy you've imagined with Lucifer, that pompous prick—he doesn't deserve you.
Desire pools deep in your belly and you bite your lip to stifle your moans as he strokes you in all the right places. It feels wrong to enjoy this when you insulted him so cruelly. You feel guilty because you still want him—no one's ever touched you the way he has. You have a feeling that he knows that too, even if you won't admit it.
He leans forward and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth; he licks at a stray tear clinging to your cheek before he pulls away. "Don't worry, pet. I'll still take care of you, even if no one else will."
There's a soft zip and a metallic clink as he undoes his belt with his free hand. Once he frees his cock, he moves lightning quick—his fingers slip from your body so he can grip your waist with both his hands. He drags you forward until the only thing keeping you from falling off the edge of the desk is his hips pressed against yours.
You barely manage to grip the edge of the desk to brace yourself before he thrusts inside you with one deep stroke. He gives you a moment to adjust to the stretch, panting lightly while he watches you squirm on his cock. His hair falls carelessly over his face and sticks to the light sheen of sweat trickling down his temples.
It feels like the calm before the storm: he looks fierce but determined. "Let's see if you can still moan his name by the time I'm done with you," he sneers, groaning deep in his chest when he pulls back, teasing your entrance with the fat tip of his cock. He slams back inside, fucking you like he's trying to tear you asunder with the rough, punishing pace of his thrusts. His filthy praise about how well you take him and how perfect you feel around his cock puts you back together again.
The desk rattles underneath you and the desperate, feral noises you're both making can probably be heard down the hall, but he doesn't stop until you come on his cock with a broken cry. He fucks you through your release and hisses when you clench around him, and he finally grunts as he empties himself into you.
After he catches his breath, he groans quietly as his softening cock slips from your body. He tucks himself away, fastening his belt while he stares at the tantalizing sight of his cum trickling from your hole. Usually he fetches a damp cloth for you to clean yourself with, but he doesn't do that tonight. He helps you off the desk and slides your clothes back into place. His hands are surprisingly gentle and you realize he's not trying to mock you—there's something possessive in his gaze instead. Your underwear and pants are sticky from the mess he's made of you, and he can already see little wet spots forming where it soaks into the fabric.
By the time he leads you outside where his chauffeur is waiting, it's as if nothing unusual happened between you tonight. His car pulls up at the House of Lamentation to drop you off, and like all the times before, watches to make sure you make it inside safely. You feel the weight of his gaze on your back until you close the door behind you.
The others must be busy because no one comes to your room to bother you, and you're grateful that you don't have to make excuses for your wrinkled appearance and musky smell. You take a warm bath before bed to soothe the dull ache between your legs. The lingering scent of his sweat and cologne on your skin has faded by the time you put on your pajamas, and you leave your D.D.D. on your desk so you're not tempted to call him. You toss and turn, mind racing with memories of what happened tonight and the fleeting sense of uncertainty and anticipation about what to expect when you see him tomorrow.
Eventually you fall into a restless sleep, but the crimson eyes you normally dream about are murky-green instead.
read more: mephistopheles masterlist | obey me! masterlist
#obey me#obey me mephistopheles#obey me x reader#omswd x reader#obey me mephisto x reader#mephistopheles x reader#obey me smut#omswd smut#mephistopheles smut#obey me mephisto x mc#mephistopheles x mc#obey me mephisto x you#mephistopheles x you#obey me fanfic#x reader#gn!reader
594 notes
·
View notes
Text
pro hero iida. big hunky pro hero iida. with curve to his legs and just a little bit of a tummy, coming home to you, his pretty housewife and flipping your skirt up while you're on the couch on your tummy, reading a book. you make a noise of surprise, but you don't even have the time to say anything before he's pulling your panties down, nearly ripping them off in his haste.
(tw dubcon, unadulterated horny i couldn't stop thinking of big hunky iida battering my cervix in prone)
"have to... haveta be in you," he rasps, and you hear his hands unzipping his pants. "d'ya need to be prepped? i don't think— i don't think you need it."
and you can't even stop him before his fingers are kneading the flesh of your ass, pulling the pudge apart. you're not that wet right now, but with each brash and careless stroke of his fingers, your core is tightening. "tenya," you try to reason. "what's wrong?"
he hisses, and you feel his wet, blunt cockhead against your thigh. "just— i need to feel you. you're my wife, right?" he crowds his body against your back, his chest flush against your skin. "be a good wife and take it for me, okay?"
and he pushes in, the tight squeeze of your thighs knocked together by his knees making the both of you groan. you can't complain; he's knocking every last breath out of your lungs as he forces his cock into your ill-prepped hole. it hurts, stings even, but you bury your cries into the pillow and let him fuck you. he's grunting, moaning in your ear, all the sweat and the tenderness of his evidently stressful day leaving him in every stoke he delivers to your poor pussy.
"'m not gonna last long," he whispers. "don't have a, a condom either—"
"it's okay," you whisper back, your words twisting into a deep moan as your cheek presses against the couch cushions. "tenya, it's— fuck, it's okay."
it hurts. he's fucking you, rutting into you like a man starved, like an animal. your pussy wraps around him, gripping him as he slides out, and making the lewdest sounds as he fucks back in. "yeah?" he mumbles against your ear, his cockhead kissing your cervix. "you like this?"
it's hard not to. had not to fall in love with this version of tenya, who lets his rigid composure break, and his needs come through. only you get to see this, only his wife, in the privacy of his home, into the ungodly hours of the night. he's so rough, so unlike himself, so unlike ingenium.
you love it.
love the way he's holding your hip in one hand, gripping the sheets in the other. love the bruises you know are gonna form under his touch. love the way he's losing his mind, losing himself as he fucks you, chasing his own orgasm.
love the way he spills into you with a groan, biting your shoulder to muffle his cries as he thrusts harder, deeper into you. you feel his cum, warm and thick inside you, your tight pussy milking his obscene cock.
"fuck, fuck," he mutters. tenya's cock isn't getting any softer, you realise. "you didn't cum, did you? fuck. i need to— need to make you cum on my cock, okay?"
"t-tenya—"
"quiet." he commands you, his hips drawing back and then pushing back to slam against your ass. you cry out, biting your lip to muffle the sound. "i'm not done with you yet."
#not back just wanted to post#iida x reader#iida smut#iida tenya x reader#iida tenya smut#okay bye again#writing tag#.top
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
━ 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐑-𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑
˗ˏˋ main masterlist ˎˊ˗
pairing(s) — counselor!JACK HUGHES x counselor!reader
word count — 1.4k
note — i was (and still am) super proud of how i executed this concept, and i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoy re-reading it!
recommended viewing — friday the 13th (1980), fear street: 1978 (2021)
bingo squares and additional content warnings below the cut.
bingo squares — sex in water, risky location/exhibitionism, and fear play
additional content warnings — a few jokes about death/dying and murder, rather short n tame ("vanilla") barely-there spice from me???, jack being a little shithead (and a little switchy omg), a smidge of angst, and spoopy ending... (kevin heimbach hive rise!)
“Y’know, for someone who is so paranoid about being caught, you sure scream like you aren’t.”
The lake smacks Jack Hughes’ chest just moments before the true expulsion of annoyance. The succinct burst of emotion is pre-packaged into a lame wave. One that only stokes his predisposition for button-pushing—hers being a personal favorite target of his.
“Y'know, for someone so desperate to get laid, you sure do everything to guarantee the only thing you'll be fucking is your hand."
Jack's jaw unhinges as if making ample room for whatever semi-clever perverted retort is bound to manifest, but it slams shut prematurely. His only response is a strained whimper accompanying an audible gulp.
Wide eyes bulging, his gaze never leaves the woody shore at your back.
"J-Jack, I'm serious. Cut it out. Right now."
Your blunt, conduct code-mandated nails slice their way through the sunburnt skin of his shoulders—the much-deserved consequence of brushing off the sunscreen you offered him prior to his afternoon shift at the canoes.
He hisses, mostly out of irritation, but keeps otherwise mum.
Unwittingly, further panic stirs in your gut at that, sending your tense face into his waiting chest.
"I-It's not funny—it never was. And it's absolutely not now, e-either. Please, Jack. Just, just knock it off, o-okay?"
"Or what, babe?"
His husky voice carries across the water and the trees rustle in response.
You loathe the way that innocuous noise shoves you deeper into his embrace, clutching onto his lithe, toned form like he isn't the instigator of your palpable distress.
"Stop pretending you see him, or I'll... I'll... —"
Any threat you could've come up with would've been hollow at best, you both know it. Even if you weren't strung out from a full day of covert teasing and stolen glances, your fear of what might lurk in the shadowy depths between you and the dock would be more than enough to keep you firmly planted.
Jack set himself up with yet another perfectly easy jump-scare, but as you helplessly cling to him like a soggy kitten at the mere implication of danger, he's presented with a better, more delicious opportunity to burrow under your thin skin.
Oh, how he lives to make you squirm.
Soft lips lower to your ear, "Is that really what you want? Because I don't think the lake's the only reason my dick is soaked."
"I-I don't know what you're talking about, Hughes."
You try and avoid his X-ray vision, but it doesn't matter. It hardly ever does.
"Really? Well, allow me to enlighten you, hm?"
His tone has you rolling your eyes even though he can't see them.
Jack holds you tighter, sharply bucking his hips until you whine, before he whispers, "I think you like when I scare you—or, at least, your pussy does. The poor thing, gushin' and squeezin' whenever you jump for me. Every damn time, babe. I damn near thought you'd squirted last time I got ya that good."
You grumble because he's right. Only about your physical reaction, of course. Definitely not the other things.
You definitely did not enjoy being scared shitless, and you definitely did not squirt when he pretended something—or someone—was pulling him under. You'd be damned if your first time doing that came at the hand of such juvenile flippancy.
"Quit talking and fuck me, Hughes. We don't have all night; Alice still isn't over the nightmares."
Every year, there was always one of those campers, and, this year, Alice was that one. A kid so freaked out by local legend that you have to wonder how their parent or guardian managed to get them up here in the first place. Or, why anyone thought sending them up into the mountains for the summer was a good idea to begin with.
It never takes long for the nightmares to start. Especially once the inaugural midnight bonfire passes and the sightings start making the rounds. Wind-carried screams, a flash of metal, the too-thick drip off of the leaves, torn flesh...
Everything in graphic detail, and every detail insomnia fodder at its peak.
If a camper lucked out, they had a counselor they could attach themselves to in the wee hours of the morning as they shook through waves of fear. Alice weaseled her way into your bunk every night this past week, bottom lip trembling as tears streamed down her face, always rambling about the same thing: a silent killer in a cheap mask wielding long, menacing blade.
Nightly, while you've donned a brave face, it's been as genuine as the plastic allegedly worn by the personified cautionary tale. Because, once upon a time, you had been that camper, too—and Jack had a front-row seat to your adolescent terror.
To this day, he finds your ardent belief in the legend a point of amusement.
He won't be laughing, though, when Alice finds your bunk empty and runs crying to the supervisor cabin, thinking you'd been the latest victim—the first in thirty years.
If you're going down, you're dragging jack hughes down with you. He can explain to your parents why you're home two months early—and unemployed.
His forehead falls to your shoulder, wafts of damp hair tickling the bare skin as he groans. Jack never bothers masking his ire. "That snot-nosed third grader is the last thing I want to think about when I'm balls-deep. Total boner-killer, babe."
"Jason Vorhees is the last thing I want to think about right now, but you never seem to care about that, do you?" you growl.
Your ankles tighten around his waist at just the thought of the camp's very own boogeyman.
If you were smart, you'd stop hooking up with the one person dead-set on sending you to an early grave all for a laugh.
The apparent inevitability of your trysts wasn't for a lack of options. No, every year there was plenty. But every year, Jack Hughes was the only peer you snuck out for.
After that many midnights, you would think his recycled material would lose its edge. Unfortunately for you, that's yet to happen.
You tug on a fistful of hair at the nape of his neck. He nips at your throat in retaliation; you don't have the confidence to tell him you like that, too.
"Fine, fine," he laments, eyes pinched shut and wincing. "Truce?"
"Truce," you nod and relinquish your tight grip. "Now, make me cum."
"Yes, ma'am."
"See? I told you it was fine. No wandering campers, no prying Visors," Jack hums, an arm looped around your shoulders. "And no hockey masks or machetes, either."
Your soft, grudging giggle harmonizes with the cicadas.
When you reach your cabin, he pecks your damp temple. "You should trust me more often."
You knew once you caved to the lake idea, he'd never let it go, but you'd be remiss if you said it didn't turn you on just as much as it did him. That, however, doesn't mean you're eager for an encore any time soon.
Next summer, perhaps. If he played his cards right.
"Yeah, right," you snort while eclipsing the two meager steps with him on your heels.
His ego is beginning to rub you the wrong way as your post-orgasm bliss fades. Still, you can't resist pulling him closer now that no one else is around.
Kiss-swollen lips ghosting over his, you whisper, "Over my dead body."
His eyes go dark; a rare flicker of concern. "Don't say shit like that, babe, you'll jinx it... And i've still got so much planned for your body."
"Well, it's a good thing you've got an entire summer, isn't it?"
"Only because you won't let me touch you outside of Camp Nightwing," jack huffs, mostly under his breath. His jaw is too tight, but his voice is louder, "Just think of what i could do with the other nine months."
He doesn't bother disguising the bitterness weighing on his voice or his conscience, and that alone is enough to make you skittish. It hurts to swallow, and the mounting nausea certainly isn't helping, but it's a necessary evil to rid yourself of the lump clawing up your throat.
Jack Hughes talks a big game, but that's all it'll ever be. A game.
You won't make the same mistake twice.
"Get lost before you wake my campers, Hughes." You wave your hand dismissively as you take a step back—and out of his magnetic field. "We've got a big day tomorrow."
He drops the complaint as easily as he championed it.
"I'm going, I'm going." Jack raises his hands in surrender, laughing as he backs away from the porch. "Wouldn't want to rob the little boogers of their last moments of peace before my reigning Color War champs kick their asses—for the fifth consecutive year."
Your reluctant affection glimmers in the moonlight as you shake your head. "I hate you so much."
"No, you don't!" Jack calls over his towel-clad shoulder.
You're still smiling when the screen door smacks the dilapidated wooden frame.
As his jubilant footsteps fade down the path and you settle in your bunk, a large shadow slips between the moon and the cabin's front window.
patrons gained access to this work on OCT 13, 2023 as one of their benefits. learn how you can acquire early bird privileges and access to another 200+ posts HERE!
⤑ to my inbox 💌
⬸ to the catalog
⬸ to the event masterlist 🕷️
All of the stories and fantasies written or discussed on this blog by the owner or by followers are purely fictional and are not intended to offend any parties.
©2023 holy-pucks, all rights reserved. I do not give consent for any of my work to be copied, re-posted, or translated here, on Tumblr, or on any other platform. Reproduction of any content from this blog is considered plagiarism.
#jack hughes#jack hughes x reader#jack hughes fluff#jack hughes imagine#jack hughes x you#jack hughes fic#jack hughes blurb#nj devils#new jersey devils#jack hughes x y/n#jack hughes smut#hockey rpf#my work#*ೃ༄ by holy-pucks#nhl fic#nhl fanfiction#nhl rpf#hockey x reader#nhl players#nhl angst#nhl hockey#nhl imagine#nhl#hockeyblr#ice hockey#hockey writing#nhl blurb#nhl smut#hockey imagine#nhl imagines
207 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
ayushijain0726
Ayushi Jain
seanceresource
Seance Resources
gumalog
グマログ
f4llsliker4in
OLIVER
qaq44
萝莉幼女资源+电报qaq44