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mariahcarreyyy · 4 months

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Can you write a lando norris x fem reader fic where they do anal (fem receiving) cause he won a race or championship or something please

+ my first smut ever go easy on me pls 🙈🙈

𝗪𝗜𝗡𝗡𝗘𝗥𝗦 𝗣𝗥𝗜𝗭𝗘, 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝗿𝗿𝗶𝘀

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

plot: after Lando wins his first grand prix race, you let him explore a new area in your sex life-- taking it from the backdoor.

wc: 2.8k { shes a long one ;) }

warning(s): smut 18+, anal fingering (fem rec.), anal sex (fem rec.), celebratory sex, the overuse of the words 'fuck' and 'baby', swearing, and mild mention of champagne.

The post-race flush on your boyfriend's face that Sunday afternoon was nothing new: his cheeks twinged were crimson and a broad smile was etched onto his face, clashing dangerously with his papaya race suit.

What was new, however, was that Lando's feet were placed neither on the third step of the podium nor the second. He stood victoriously on the top step, raising his large silver trophy above his head and beaming at the ecstatic crowd.

The Silverstone winners' green eyes meet yours in his struggle of drowning in champagne, mouthing, 'I love you.'

'I love you more,' you mouth back, no longer resisting the urge to let your proud tears escape your waterline.

Hours later, the thrill of Lando winning his first race was as strong as ever. It twirled recklessly around you and Lando's sweaty bodies and booming music. The high-end club was overflowing with Formula One drivers and media personnel. All celebrating your boyfriend's first win, no doubt.

You and Lando had been separated at some point during the night, lost in the purple and blue LED lights of the club, and you found yourself dancing with whoever had been willing to. Witnessing his girlfriend sway against the bodies of a stranger hadn't bothered him, because the two of you were aware that no one could touch you like he could—make you feel as good as he could.

Fuck, his blue jeans grew tighter against his crotch, eyes stubbornly planted on the curve of your hips and watching as they moved seductively to the beat of the music.

The hair on the nape of your neck rose, somehow aware that someone was watching you. You detach yourself from the stranger—a fairly attractive blond in his late twenties—and turn around only to be met with your boyfriend's eyes for the second time that day.

When he turns back around to face the bartender, you advance towards his seat and wrap your arms around his waist from behind.

"Hi, baby," he smiles as you rub your forehead against the crook of his neck.

Like a cat, he thinks.

"Hey," you murmur, muffled by the cotton of his black shirt. Breathing in, you think you have become drunk on the deep musk of his cologne. "Y'smell so good."

Lando tips his head back with a boastful laugh, but it falters when he feels your soft lips slowly trailing up his neck, smirking, "Yeah? You wanna take this someplace else?"

You crane your neck up, biting your bottom lip as you nod shyly. Lando doesn't need any further confirmation; he stands up, and your hands consequently fall from his tan stomach. A whine nearly escapes you at the loss of physical touch, but he's quick to interlace your hand in his.

Sometimes, you believe he can read your mind.

"Don't let go," he demands, pushing past the swarm of drunken crowds (and also leading you to rub your thighs together in hopes of relieving yourself, but you chose not to acknowledge it).

In a matter of thirty minutes, you were able to escape the suffocating atmosphere and catch a cab back to your hotel. The moment the door of the hotel room shut behind you, Lando placed both of his veiny hands on your waist, pressing your bodies together and attacking your lips.

Your body was on fire, and the pit in your stomach screamed for relief. Lando couldn't fucking stop kissing you. And even if he could, he wouldn't dare be the first to pull away.

Lando Norris was not one for alcohol, but he would get drunk off the peachy scent of your conditioner if he could.

The driver's hand stilled on your cheek to tip your head back and deepen the kiss, while the other tugged on the hem of your little black dress. You let out a pathetic whimper against his lips, and Lando takes it as permission to slip his tongue inside.

Hesitantly, you pull away, albeit not very far. You could count Lando's faint freckles, and your nose brushes against his occasionally. You meet his eyes and fight the urge to look down at your feet because he's looking at you like you hung the fucking stars in the sky. A grin breaks out on his face, and he resumes his feathery touches on your dress. "C'mon, baby, take this off f'me."

You blink dumbly at him. Lando doubles over, emitting that laugh that you love so much. That hyena-like, gigglish shriek. When it dawns on you that you might be staring a little too hard, you immediately reach for your dress, lifting it above your hips and shrugging it off your shoulder.

Lando curses softly under his breath and urgently lays his palms back on your hips. He presses your lips together again, softer and gentler, and your heart aches. Warmth consumes you as you lean into the kiss, Lando's lips impossibly soft against your own.

Lando gently taps his index finger on the crease separating your ass and thighs. You know, just from his touch, what he needs, and of course you do; there have been too many nights of you waking up together, tangled in white bedsheets, for you not to.

You jump, your lips still connected, and your head dizzy from his touch. His palms wrap beneath your legs, carrying you to bed like you weighed about as much as a feather.

And like, Lando manhandling you shouldn't make you want to ride him till he cries, but it does. It only made the need in between your thighs stronger.

Soon enough, you're splayed out on his sheets with Lando's pillowy lips sucking all over your neck, painting it with soft hues of lilac.

The fabric covering your boyfriend's body makes you jut your bottom lip out, whining, "Take it off, Lan, please."

Lando pulls away with half-lidded eyes, resting on his calves as he fumbles to free himself from the constraints of his clothes. And well, you definitely didn't lift your hips against his clothed dick at the sight of his defined abs.

Lando breathes sharply and spreads your legs to rub your pussy through your panties. You whine, trying and failing to grind up against his palm because his other hand is firm against your lower stomach.

"Mm, so good f'me, so wet." Lando moans lightly, pushing your lace to the side, and—oh fuck, he's rubbing your clit.

You thrash against his touch, gasping as you heave out, "Lan, no, please, no."

The drivers' previous lust-filled eyes are tainted with worry now. "What's wrong, baby? I do somethin'?"

You almost chuckle fondly at how fast he retracts his arm from in between your thighs (and also cry). You shake your head, lifting your hand—which had been previously gripping at the sheets—to cradle his defined cheekbones.

"No, no, baby, 'tis not that," you gulp, and his wory morphs into confusion, urging you to continue. "I just, I dunno, I know how much you wanted to fuck me from the back, so I, uh, thought we could do it tonight."

Shit.

Lando doesn't know what he expected to hear, but it was sure as fuck not that. To his own surprise, Lando somehow grows harder in the confines of his boxer. A grin adorns his face, despite the pain between his legs. "Fuck, you sure, baby? I know I jus' won a race, but that doesn't mean we have to, princess."

"I know," you reassure him, trailing your hand down to his boxers and palming at his erection. "I want to; y'looked so fucking hot on that top step."

"Yeah?" He sucks in a sharp breath, and you hum sweetly, squeezing his dick harder.

Lando's hips stutter against your touch, grinding down in an attempt to relieve his ache. Mustering up his last shred of dignity, Lando somehow manages to pull away, making you whine for what felt like the 1000th time tonight.

He chuckles, stepping off the bed to tug his boxers down and reach for the strawberry-scented lube on his nightstand that, as you both learned, all high-end hotels supplied. Lando eagerly sits in the space of your spread legs, leaning forward to place wet kisses along your collarbone till he reaches your tits.

You moan softly when he wraps his hot mouth around your nipple, and Lando goes fucking ballistic. The sound echoes in his head like a broken radio. Lando wants to take it out and store it in a guarded safe somewhere in India.

The driver alternates between each boob, flicking his tongue against one and rolling the nub of the other with his fingers. Your hand quickly finds solace in his curls, arching your back to bring him closer. When he pulls away with a kiss to your sensitive nub, you find it hard not to be hyper-aware of the thick cock resting against your thigh.

You roll your hips impatiently, and satisfaction engulfs your body when Lando reaches for the discarded lube on the bed. With a pop, he pulls the lid and squeezes a generous amount on his palm. He rubs his hands together, the friction warming the lube well.

You would be a liar if you said a swarm of erratic butterflies hadn't swarmed your stomach. Lando would make this enjoyable; you knew that, but he couldn't completely take the pain away. Taking a deep breath in, you reach for Lando's clean hand.

He intertwines them beside your hip without asking a question.

He pokes a wet finger against your rim, asking, "You ready, love?"

"Yup," popping the 'p', satisfied with yourself at how well you were hiding your nerves.

Lando pushes in, and he barely has half of his index finger inside you, but holy fuck, the sight drives him crazy. The hold on his hand tightens, and he forces his eyes away from his finger wrapped around your asshole to look at you.

"H-how're you feeling, love?" Lando stutters at the feeling of your asshole clenching around his digit. "Relax, baby, you've gotta relax f'me, please."

Tears well up on your waterline, blurring your vision of Lando kneeling in front of you. It took a few seconds, but the pain eventually subsided, and Lando took that as a sign to push deeper.

Lando tries his absolute hardest not to moan loudly, instead focusing on the heat of your ass wrapped around his index. He removes it, leaving no time for you to question him before he shoves a second finger inside.

"Oh!" You arch your back, eyebrows furrowing, when the pleasure starts bubbling in your stomach. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"Shit," Lando says, because your writhing against his fingers, begging for more, more, more, has reduced him to a man of few words. "Doin' so fucking well for me, baby."

The driver continues to fuck his fingers into your ass, twisting and curling every once in a while. Your head tilts back against the mattress, and your mouth hangs in a permanent 'o'.

"You think y'ready for m'cock, darling?"

You don't--cant-- bring yourself to answer. Your mind, you believed, had officially melted into a puddle, spilling out of your ear. Lando curls his fingers, as if nudging you on the shoulder and saying, Hey, I'm talking to you.

You screech, your eyes fluttering open to meet his gaze. His gaze, that makes you feel so delicate. His gaze, that makes your head void of any thoughts. His gaze, that you wanted on you forever.

You nod, and he carefully pulls his digits out. Lando grips the base of his cock lazily because he knows he won't be able to last long, and he'd be damned if he was about to spend one less second inside you.

Lando lines his dick up against your stretched-out rim, fingers untangling from yours, and instead rests them on the small of your waist. When Lando pushes the tip inside your hole, the pain that shoots up your spine causes your hands to fly up to your back, clawing at him to distract yourself.

"Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit," Lando repeats like a prayer.

You felt so fucking wet, so tight around his cock. Lando was sure that if he died like this—naked, sweaty, and with his cock shoved deep inside your ass—he'd die happily.

The feeling of Lando's fingers was incomparable to the sensation—and pain—of his length filling you up inch by inch. The room smells of sex, Lando's perfume, and strawberry-scented lube, and once the pain finally subsided, you realized you needed him fully inside you now.

You wrap your legs around his hips, the balls of your feet pressing against his lower back as you beg, "Please, Lan, I need you, need you to fill me up, please."

Lando swears under his breath, hands gripping at your waist so hard that you're sure you'd look in the mirror the next morning to see your hips painted a lilac and indigo blue sunset. He pushed further inside, his eyes glued to your asshole, stretching to accommodate his thickness and sucking him in, moaning loudly when you accidentally clenched around him.

"Fuck, baby, y-you're taking all of me," Lando gasps in disbelief, biting his bottom lip as his eyes roll back.

You haven't said a single thing, reduced to a whimpering mess and tear-stained cheeks. When your fingernails dig deeper into his back, Lando blinks, ripped out of his lust-haze trance.

Lando tries to focus. Really, he does. But shit, you're clenching sinfully around his cock and fluttering around it as if to say, more more more.

"Lando," you whisper just loud enough for him to hear, painting his back with crescent moons from your fingernails (you'd feel bad if it wasn't for his dick splitting you in half). "Fuck me."

Lando groans at that, wasting no time before pulling his hips back and slamming them back inside. You shrieked, and at this point, you were sure that Lando's back was bleeding from your nails' assault.

You look up at Lando through your eyelashes, jutting out your bottom lip. Your boyfriend's hips don't falter when he leans down and kisses you. It was different. It was messy and hot, and you let out a choked sob against his lips.

With wide eyes, Lando pulls away. "Are you okay, baby? 'Doin so fucking well f'me, fuck, good girl."

You moan, the praise making you impossibly more horny, and nod your head frantically, reaching for your clit between your thighs. Lando tuts, removing a hand from your pretty waist to plant your arms against the pillow above you.

"Please, Lan, I need it, need it so bad." You helplessly grind your clit against nothing.

And who the hell was Lando Norris to say no?

With the new-found pleasure of relieving clit, you are 100% sure that if you ever were to die and go to heaven, it would look like this. It would feel like this.

Lando isn't ashamed that he wouldn't last long, not when you feel this fucking good, not when he can hear your high-pitched moans and uneven breaths. With a stutter of his hips and a particularly loud groan, you already knew he was close.

"Fuck! Baby, I-I cant," he doubles over, frantically rubbing tiny circles against your clit and attacking your neck with his lips. "I'm gonna-"

You arch your back as though you're getting a fucking exorcism because, holy shit, the feeling of his hot semen filling you up is way hotter than it should be. Lando pistons his hips in and out of you through his high, and with one last cry, black spots cover your vision.

"Fuck!- oh, fuck, lan, lan, lan," you repeat his name like a prayer because he might as well be god. Your arms thrash in Lando's hold, already yearning for his touch like you always do post-sex.

Lando releases a guttural groan as he pulls his softening dick out, twitching when your asshole involuntarily clenches around him. You're still breathing so fucking loud when he collapses beside you and wraps an arm around your neck to rest your head against his chest.

Lando shifts, tugging the thick blanket around your sweaty, cum-painted bodies before you hear, "Shit! Baby, didn't mean to hold 'em that hard, does it hurt?"

You furrow your brows, following Lando's eyeline; your otherwise plain wrists were adorned with the scarlet imprint of your boyfriend's hand.

Shrugging, you scoot up and bury your forehead on the crook of his neck, mumbling, "Don't care."

Lando places a mental reminder to put some cream on it in the morning, but for now, he's happy to place small kisses on the top of your head, whispering praises and 'thank you's into your ear.

When you rub your head against him shyly at his words, Lando can't help but laugh fondly at you.

Like a cat, he thinks again.

Lemme know how you liked this story or give me some feedback in the comments or my inbox! 💬🧸

Reblogs and likes are always appreciated 💌💌

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astraystayyh · 2 months

Text

Burning in the winter wind

changbin x reader. (fake) enemies to lovers. hurt/comfort but it’s a light fluffy read!! college!au. lowkey romcom vibes (i tried 😭) wc: 4.4k)

summary : Sustaining an ankle injury during a ski retreat isn't fun. Especially when Seo Changbin volunteers to stay back to tend to you- the one man you can never get a read on.

a.n: sahar finally writing a fic that doesn’t take an emotional turn… we cheered!!!!!!!!!!!!! my 3rd fic for the winter falls collab with my writer :,) if u haven’t checked out xi’s fics yet what are u waiting for!!!!! please enjoy reading, i hope you’ll like this one too <3 i love you muah

“Are you okay?”

It is quite difficult to roll your eyes when your face is pressed against the snow, you’ve found, so much so you're sure you’re breathing in dainty snowflakes rather than the intended oxygen.

A dull pain emanates from your right ankle, the very one you just twisted while attempting to ski down a sled, making you plummet head-first into the hard ground. Despite how soft snow looks as it blankets the earth in a pristine white, it is quite incapable of cradling your fall. Instead, its snowflakes seem to liquefy, filtrating through your clothes and making a biting cold cascade down your spine.

Clearly, you are far from okay; hence, your eyes roll in a silent protest at the stranger’s questioning, though they cannot see you. If you further bury your head in the snow and do not move, would they think you are a collective hallucination and spare you the embarrassment of helping you?

“Um, should we call an ambulance?”

Clearly not.

“I'm peachy!” you throw a thumbs-up in the air, not bothering to lift your face off of the ground, you’re sure that by now the blank canvas beneath you has reluctantly molded itself to the contours of your face.

Much prettier than a snowman, you’d personally argue.

“Are you sure?” the tentative voice quips up again and you suddenly feel bad for ignoring this passerby, now stuck comforting an odd person whose limbs are not adequately crafted for skiing.

“Yeah,” you finally turn around, realizing that the pain in your ankle will not disappear, even if you choose to ignore it. “Just resting, on the snow. The view is nice from here, you know.”

The stranger backs away subtly at your words, and you chuckle inwardly.

“I got it.” Someone else speaks from your left and their voice carries a familiarity that drapes an uncomfortable weight atop your lungs. You pivot your head incredibly slowly, locking eyes with none other than Changbin.

You scoff outwardly.

“Need help?” he asks, hovering above you like a shadow.

Changbin was once your partner in a lab chemistry project, he is also the one person you now avoid most in college.

So, you do what any sensible person would in your place— you turn away, once again pressing your face into the comforting oblivion of the snow.

“I… can still see you.” His words linger, hesitating in the crisp winter wind, and you respond with a (now more effortless) roll of your eyes.

“I know.”

“Then, what are you doing?”

“If I pretend you are not here long enough, will you finally tire and leave me alone?”

“No.”

“Fine,” you huff, turning back once more. You summon the resolve to finally push your torso up from the pits of your embarrassment, before glancing down at your ankle, only to find that it has doubled in size. An angry scream bubbles up in your throat, but you will yourself to tame the fire within— if you think slightly more about your situation, you’d burst into tears right here and then.

“That needs to be treated,” Changbin states simply, his eyes also locked on your injury. You shut your eyes closed, forcing a deep breath to travel through your lungs. The oxygen you just inhaled seems only to fuel your anger more.

“I actually think it’s fine,” you put on the brightest smile on your face, yet your eyes refuse to follow the movement of your lips, making you look like a catatonic doll. You hope that’s enough to make Changbin go away.

“Who are you lying to?” he cocks an eyebrow at you.

You’re wrong. Again.

His self-assured tone further aggravates you, so you will yourself to stand up, wincing as soon as your right foot touches the floor. You bite your lip hard enough to draw out blood, the metallic taste of it coating your tongue uncomfortably.

“See, I can stand!” you say cheerfully and he crosses his arms before his chest, clearly unimpressed. “Try walking.”

“I actually wanna stay here.”

“Still as stubborn, I see,” he sighs, before bending his knees slightly. Next thing you know, you’re scooped up in his arms, your hands wrapping around his neck instantly.

“What are you doing?” you ask incredulously, eyes darting furiously over his face.

“Carrying you to the infirmary.”

“I can see that,” you say between your teeth. “I said I'm fine.”

“You clearly aren’t.”

“What are you? an ankle expert?”

“When your parents own the ski resort you kind of become one,” his eyes meet yours once, still as emotionless as they’ve always been when they gaze at you.

“Do your parents own this?” you clear your throat, surprise overtaking your tone.

“Yeah.”

“Can you tell them to upgrade my room to a suit, then?” you bat your eyelashes at him, your smile as sweet as saccharin.

“You literally buried your head in the snow two minutes ago because you wanted me gone.”

“Exactly,” you nod vigorously, “that was two minutes ago, I am a changed person now.”

“Yeah?” he smirks slightly, the corners of his mouth almost tugging upwards. “What changed?”

You shrug as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I didn't know your parents owned the resort.”

☃︎⋆꙳•❅

“It's not broken, thankfully, just sprained. You need to ice it, and not put any pressure on it. Keep your leg elevated at all times, and avoid walking at all costs.” Maria’s voice reaches your ears in waves, the pain in your ankle making it harder to grasp what she’s instructing you to do. Still, you easily understand that all your winter break plans are now officially ruined.

“But I wanna ski,” you pout at the fifty-something nurse who smiles sympathetically at you, handing you a cooling balm.

“You shouldn’t have fallen then.” Changbin deadpans before she can reply and your right eye squints in annoyance. Maria catches it and winks at you.

“You shouldn’t have fallen then,” you mimic, voice high-pitched. He simply shakes his head, a ghost of a smile appearing for a second on his lips, before disappearing promptly.

“Thank you, Maria,” he bows slightly, his voice sounding kinder when it speaks to everyone but you.

“Welcome, baby,” she squishes his cheeks before patting them gently, and you stifle a giggle at the blush sprouting on his face.

Maria leaves the room, stating that she has another patient to check up on. Your eyes remain downcast, glaring at your ankle as if it’ll scare your body back to health.

“You'll burn a hole into your skin at this rate,” he comments, his hand suddenly appearing in your line of view. You sigh in defeat before reaching for his hand, intertwining fingers as he aids you in rising. His arm becomes a secure anchor around your waist as he guides you toward the elevator. There, he inputs a code on a small panel before pressing button 44.

“That's not where my chamber’s at.”

“I know, I had them move your stuff to the penthouse,” he explains simply as your heart skips a traitorous beat.

“Actually? I was just kidding; I don't want an upgraded room.”

“I wanted to,” his eyes locked on yours, a myriad of stars seemingly swimming in his pupils. “It has easier access for you since it opens up directly in the room.”

“I'll pay you back. How much is the difference?”

He leans in, whispering a six-figure number in your ear and you feel your knees buckle underneath you.

“That much?” your face pales and he nods. “You still want to pay me back?”

A nervous chuckle leaves you as you lock eyes with the camera in the elevator, “thank you Mrs. Seo for the gift,” you bow down to the best of your capacity. “Thank you, Mr. Seo.”

The penthouse is much more spacious than your previous room, vast windows framing breathtaking vistas of pristine mountains. The sound of a crackling fireplace tames the fire within you, morphing it into a harmless ember rather than scorching flames, soothing your soul. A chandelier right above the bed casts a warm glow on the room, that softens your heart and makes you less resentful towards the snow.

“Here,” he sits you down on the edge of the bed, before heading to the mini-fridge across from the room. He takes out a packet of ice before promptly kneeling in front of you.

“It'll be a little cold,” he reassures before placing the ice on your wound. the sarcastic retort you had withers at the tip of your tongue, like a candle flame blown away by a gentle breeze; because Changbin is being gentle to you right now. his eyebrows scrunching as he makes sure not to hurt you even more, his fingers encircling just above your ankle to hold you in place. Clad in his black hoodie and joggers, the tenderness of his touch is an echo of softness from days long past.

“Thank you,” you whisper, hoping your voice would get lost in the crinkling of the wood. It doesn’t, as Changbin looks up at you, pausing his movements. “For helping me,” you add, “you didn’t have to do it.”

“It's okay. You’re not a stranger, so…” he trails off, as a buried bitterness floods your throat, akin to downing a shot of acid. You withdraw your ankle from his hold, taking the ice packet from him.

“You can go, I got it,” you smile, yet your eyes flee away from him, refusing to catch his gaze, refusing to peer into that same void that once lured you in.

“Fine. I'll come check on you later.”

As Changbin swiftly exits the penthouse, you sink into the mattress, hands pressed against your forehead, squeezing tight. to Seo Changbin, you were not a stranger. To you, he might have been everything, once.

☃︎⋆꙳•❅

You first met Changbin on the stage of your nationwide rap contest, held within the confines of your campus.

You did not know he was, but you were instantly captivated by his incendiary stage presence, and so was everyone around you, gleaming eyes turned unanimously toward him, the air ablaze with loud cheers erupting like a bubbling volcano. The question at the tip of your tongue was a natural one— “Who the fuck is this gorgeous man?”

It was as though he had sensed your inquiry, because soon after he concluded his rap with a boastful line— “They call me,” a pause, his eyes meeting yours, “Seo Changbin,” he finished, a subtle smirk painted on his lips, as if he knew that his name would become a golden trademark, one that the music world would remember for generations to come.

His gaze lingered on you, but you did not shy away from it, you’ve never been one to run away from the things you want. Instead, you smiled at him, a toothy grin that left your cheeks slightly aching afterward.

He did not return the gesture fully, but the corners of his lips did tug upwards, as he dipped his head slightly forward in thanks.

Cute.

You stayed back long enough to witness Changbin accept his well-deserved first place award, clad in his gray joggers, a snug black tank top, and atop it a deconstructed hoodie boasting enticing holes on the side, giving you a generous view of his sculpted muscles. His silver chains glimmered under the resounding flashes, and you felt a surge of pride at this stranger basking in the spotlight.

Your smile only grew wider as Chan and Jisung ran to him, encircling him in his arms and shaking him with palpable happiness. Thunderous cheers erupted, a chorus of voices chanting 'Seo Changbin' at the top of their lungs.

His name will stay with you long after that.

“So, is he single?” you inquired casually a few days later in the university cafeteria, three cups of iced americano placed before you, Chan’s extra sweetened. The latter looked up from his phone, eyes slightly widening, before leaning in.

“You like Changbin?” he asked incredulously and you squint your eyes, moving even closer to him.

“Why? Shouldn’t I?”

“I'm just surprised because you’ve never liked any of the guys I introduced you to.”

“Because they’re all douchebags who can’t keep up with me,” you declared, tossing your hair over your shoulder as Chan smiled amusedly.

“Hey! He introduced me to you,” Jisung chimed in from your left and you rolled your eyes, patting his shoulder reassuringly. “We’re better off as friends, Ji.”

That was true, your first, and last date with Jisung, ended up with you ordering sushi and laughing at your Tinder matches at an empty parking lot. He's been one of your closest friends ever since.

“Are we?” Jisung made obnoxious kissing noises and you faked a gag, pinching his arm. Han retaliated by yelling so loudly the entirety of the cafeteria turned to look at you. Chan attempted to cover his face with his palm, a desolated look painted on his features.

“Anyways,” Jisung cleared his throat once he settled again, “he is single. But he’s not looking for anything right now.”

“Maybe he just hasn’t looked at me yet.”

Fate seemed to be on your side because Changbin did look at you after that. Your professor Kim, an unwitting cupid, paired you with him for your chemistry project, and for the following month, you found yourself meeting Changbin every day in the college laboratory, to work on the synthesis and characterization of aspirin.

Changbin was different from anyone you’ve ever taken a liking to. He did not stir violent butterflies in your stomach, nor made your palms sweat endlessly from nerves. Instead, he infused a peculiar serenity within you, enough to make you eagerly count down the minutes until your next meeting.

Contrary to the fiery persona he unleashed on stage, Changbin exuded a calming aura that held you captive each time he drew near. It was impossible to divert your gaze from him, especially when his loose curls cascaded perfectly over his dark brown eyes, ones framed by thick-rimmed black glasses. His scent, a captivating blend of pinewood and spices, lingered like a second skin on your body, trailing after him and enveloping you in its embrace, long after he was gone.

He felt like a winter wind brushing against your skin—strong enough to be felt, yet cool enough to be craved by each one of your senses.

You sensed his gaze upon you as well, felt the subtle brush of his hand against your spine when he moved around you, unnecessary yet deliberate. How he brought you hot chocolate every time you met up to warm up your icy fingers. He was sweet and caring; in a way you’d only notice if you paid attention to the things said silently.

Yet, he remained an enigma—warm on certain days, cold on others. It seemed as if he restrained himself from growing comfortable in your presence, as if you were a bad weed that’d spread through his roots if he dared approach you. Or maybe that was how he viewed himself— a delicate shell with a void inside, guarding itself against any perceived threat.

Who was Changbin, truly? What did he like and dislike? Why did he withhold his smiles, stifle his laughter, and avert his eyes after just a fleeting glance at you? Why did he draw near only to retreat each time you attempted to get close? The questions swirled in your mind, creating a tapestry of curiosity that begged to be unraveled by his hands.

“Wanna come to karaoke with me and hang out tonight?” Chan asked a week after the end of your chemistry project. You hummed non-convincingly, nose buried in your newly purchased book.

“Changbin might come too,” he sang-sung and you quickly perked up, much more interested in his plans now. He snorted at your reaction, and in response, you playfully flashed him your prettiest middle finger.

Chan's disbelief was right though. It was unusual of you to be so expectant of someone’s presence, for your gaze to flee to the door every two seconds awaiting their entrance.

Despite your high hopes, Changbin did not come that night, and as much as you tried to have fun, a sense of disappointment tainted your mood. That, and the realization that he wasn't a mere crush, but something much more to you. The man you couldn’t get a read on was already coursing through your veins when you thought he had only stopped at the surface of your skin.

Muttering a quick excuse about needing some fresh air, you left the karaoke booth, exhaling heavily, the warmth of your breath translating into silver gusts of air in the chilly night. As you descended the stairs, however, your ankle twisted on the slippery ice, and you found yourself falling, bottom-first, onto the unforgiving concrete.

An ugly sob caught in your throat as hot tears streaked down your cheeks, your palm now scraped and bloody from the impact of the fall, in a useless attempt to soften the blow.

“Let me see,” someone crouched in front of you, and you gasped softly as your eyes met Changbin's concerned gaze.

“Oh god, this is so embarrassing,” you admitted, clasping your eyes shut as he gently held your injured hand in his own, blowing air into the open cuts to soothe their burn.

“I didn't see anything,” he reassured, his tone overly sweet, and you squint your eyes at his obvious lies. “Definitely did not see you trip over nothing,” he added, a teasing smirk drawn on his lips.

“Hey!” you punched his arm playfully and he laughed, full-blown high-pitched giggles you did not think Changbin, out of everybody you knew, would be able to conjure. His eyes were squinted close, his apple cheeks raising higher as he laughed some more, and you felt an electrifying warmth flowing through your being. Suddenly, you were burning in the winter wind.

Suddenly, you wanted to confess.

“Did you just get possessed by a five-year-old girl?” you teased as his laughter quieted down, the smile refusing to leave his face, yet. His eyes softened as they found yours, a simple hum leaving his lips in reply. He applied some pressure on your ankle, checking if it is swollen, but that was the last thing you cared about. The sight of Changbin smiling so freely still running through your mind, again and again. You replayed it enough times since to make sure it was safely guarded in your memory, that the long march of time may not wear it down, graining its delicate edges.

“You should smile more,” you said softly and he looked up at you, a twinkle of gratitude gleaming in his eyes.

“Your ankle is fine. Stay here, okay? I have a first aid kit in my car.” He didn’t wait for you to reply as he jogged up to his vehicle, and you sighed, heart clenching at how affected you were by his simple touches.

“It will sting a little,” he spoke gently once he returned, before dabbing up your cut slightly with an alcohol-drenched pad. You hissed softly and he frowned, pausing in his tracks. “Okay?”

“Mm,” you nodded, a small smile playing on your lips, “Okay.”

He continued cleaning your cuts, before applying a cooling cream on it and wrapping it in a clean gauze. He hesitated for a few seconds and your breath hitched as he leaned forward, placing the faintest kiss on your palm.

“Healing kiss,” he said shyly, a blush blooming on his face and you giggled, bringing his hand to rest upon your cheek.

“I like you, Changbin,” you said truthfully, simply, even as your heart thudded in your chest. “Tell me, should I stop? I don't want to hurt myself.”

“I…” he began, his words trailing off, interrupted by Chan walking out of the karaoke booth.

“What happened? Are you okay?” he asked, worry clearly dripping from his tone and you cursed inwardly. You loved Chan but you’ve never been more annoyed to see him. Your eyes flee tentatively to Changbin as Chan takes your hand in his, inspecting it.

“Let's go inside, it’s freezing here,” Chan pulled you up and you nodded, as Changbin followed suit, before he stopped you by the door, his hand on your arm. “Come over tomorrow, please? We can talk then.”

“Sure,” you smiled and he nodded, swiping his thumb soothingly along your wrist. “Thank you,” he whispered, before walking inside.

☃︎⋆꙳•❅

The landline ringing snaps you away from that long-buried memory, as it disappears before your eyes like morning mist. You rub your forehead tiredly before answering.

“Hello?”

“Hello, I would like to inform you that we'll be coming up with food service shortly,” the sweet receptionist announces in a cheery tone, and you furrow your brow.

“I did not order anything, though.”

“It is on the house. Enjoy your food!” she explains gleefully before hanging up.

On the house meaning it is Seo Changbin's treat. You couldn't help but scoff at the array of food presented before you minutes later, including that damned hot chocolate he always used to bring you, complete with marshmallows on top and colorful sprinkles because why settle for plain when you could have rainbows in your drink.

“He remembers,” ou whisper to yourself before sighing. What was the point of him remembering now? Every bit of hope you had was dismantled two months ago, akin to a hopeful dandelion blown away by the bitter wind.

You bite your lip, contemplating for a few seconds before finally dialing Changbin’s number.

“The food will get cold. Come quickly. I won't wait for you,” you mumble before hanging up and tossing your phone away.

A few minutes later, Changbin enters your room, his cologne still following him like a second shadow. You avoid his eyes as you dig into the seafood pasta, the one he ordered for you.

“Good?” he asks, and you glance at him from the corner of your eye. "Yeah, good."

“Are you okay?” he inquires, taking a bite of the pepperoni pizza.

You knew he was asking about your ankle, and yet, in this moment, sitting on the floor of the penthouse Changbin upgraded for you, eating the food he bought after tending to your injury, you suddenly no longer cared about the state of your body. Instead, an exasperation built up in your throat, directed towards the man who had left you hanging many nights ago.

“You confuse me,” you say honestly, putting down your fork and he frowns. “I confuse you?” he repeats incredulously.

“Yes. You always confuse me and I hate it.” Sudden tears threaten to well in your eyes and you groan, burying your face in a pillow to hide it.

“I can't believe you are saying this,” he whispers, pushing away his plate and you scowl, lowering your silky shield.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You never came, y/n,” His voice, draped in heavy emotion, catches you off guard like a sudden storm in the calm of the night. “I waited and waited for you and you never came.”

“I came,” you say quietly, the hurt suddenly feeling fresh within the confines of your heart. “At the wrong time, maybe the right one, I don't know. But I came.”

“What?”

“I came to your dorm only to see you kissing a girl’s cheek and hugging her by your door. You told her you missed her and to come later once you sorted something out. Was I… What? supposed to enter and sit there to hear you reject me?” You say quickly, finally releasing the words that had long haunted you.

An incredulous laugh escapes his lips as he runs a hand through his hair, slightly pulling at its edges. “My god, that was my sister.”

“What?”

“She came over unannounced that morning. I actually told her she can't stay the night because I had someone important coming over. That someone being you,” he explains and you feel hot embarrassment flood your being, then relief. For what, exactly? Wasn’t it too late?

“How was I supposed to know?” you ask defensively and his eyes widen as he comes closer to you.

“You could’ve asked me!”

“I was embarrassed because I put my heart bare to you. I told you I liked you when I wasn't even sure you liked me back.”

“Of course, I liked you back.” His voice softens as if it were a truth known to everyone but yourself.

“Then why were you so… distant.”

“Because you scared me, you came into my life unannounced and everything changed around me,” he pauses, a shaky breath escaping him. “Because I wasn’t looking for anything but it turns out I just didn’t know to look for you yet.”

You giggle against your will at his words, shaking your head slightly. “That's exactly what I told Chan when I asked if you were single.”

“See, soulmates,” he grins, satisfied, and you feel tingles pulsate through your entire being at his words.

“Slow down Mr. Seo. We are not even dating yet.”

“Yet? So, is there still a chance?”

“I…” your phone rings and you let out a loud groan as you peek at who's calling— Chan.

“You have the actual worst timing ever dude,” Changbin nearly screams into the phone and you can clearly hear Chan’s confused voice asking “Changbin? Where is yn?”

Changbin hangs up on him without answering, before putting your phone on silent. Then his, for good measure.

“It's like he’s my archnemesis or something,” Changbin sighs and you laugh, amused by his exasperation.

“So,” he clears his throat, a bit shyly, “can we start again? Properly?”

“I don't know… I need to see if something’s still there…” you muse and he cocks an eyebrow at you, leaning even closer.

“And how will you do that?”

You throw your hands around his neck, before resting your cheek on the slate of his shoulders. He remains still for a few heartbeats, only to tighten his hold on you, his lips delicately grazing the exposed canvas of your neck.

“I knew it, you smell nice, and you are really warm,” you sigh contently, closing your eyes as a soothing peace wash over you, all the worries you harbored dissipating at his warmth.

“You smell really nice too,” he whispers and a grin lights up your face.

“I can hear you smiling,” you point out, leaning away slightly to look at him.

“I’m happy.”

“That's cute.”

“You’re cuter,” he says, nuzzling your nose with his own. “Your total for the food is 160 dollars by the way.”

“Can I pay back with my kisses?” you smile cheekily, bringing your lips a hair breadth away from his.

He’s breathless as he finally presses his mouth on yours, “Please do.”

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfic #stray kids imagine #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #stray kids angst #stray kids fluff #skz angst #skz fluff #skz au #skz fanfic #skz reactions #stray kids fanfiction #changbin x reader #changbin fluff #changbin imagines

944 notes · View notes

gilverrwrites · 4 months

Text

Section 48: Unlawful Kisses

Pairing: Sam Winchester/AFAB! Reader

GN pronouns used, but reader does have a vagina, breasts, and wears 'feminine' clothing.

Plot: While studying at for a law exam, the reader just cannot keep their eyes, or mind, off of Sam.

Rating: M/18+

This is actually an updated/re-written fic I wrote and posted on a now deleted blog roughly 10 years ago. (Damn I'm old.) If well received I might try re-doing some other fics/writing new ones, who knows!

Don't forget: You are amazing, and worthy of love.

Content: Swearing, vaginal oral/cunnilingus, body worship, nipple play, vaginal fingering, teasing, dirty talk, semi-public, naked female, clothed male, size difference, light hair pulling, light biting, fluids, consensual, dominate Sam (if you squint). Reader is kind of a perv, Sam is a tease. Reader calls the shots, but Sam is Definity in charge.

Section 47; took away privilege against self-incrimination from any person ordered to testify or produce books, p-

Your eyes darted over to Sam for probably the millionth time since he had joined you half an hour ago. You had an exam tomorrow, and you’d hauled up in the library for some last-minute cramming, but since Sam had joined you, you’d lost any and all ability to concentrate. It was hard enough trying to focus on possibly the drollest piece of text you’d ever had to read, without him being here. Without the musky cedar smell of his aftershave, without his deft fingers skimming each page, without his pursed lips filling your head with thoughts of what he might be able to do with them. Those lips…

“You okay?” His hushed voice pierced the silence as he peeked over at you. You’d been staring, again.

“Who me? Yeah, totally.” You lied, pulling your book up to cover your gradually reddening face. The space between your legs was hot, but your face was hotter. “Peachy.”

“Okay.” He shrugged, unconvinced, but returning to his own book regardless.

Section 47; took away privilege against self-incrimination from any person ordered to testify or produce books, papers, etc., and provided that any person so ordered to testify or produce would be immune from any prosecution based on evidence provided….

Movement in your peripheral distracted you. You looked over to see Sam, leaning all the way back in his chair, his toned arms stretched behind him, neck exposed, chest puffed out. The hem of his shirt had ridden up slightly, giving you the tiniest peak at his abdomen, and the trail of hair that adorned it.

Reluctantly you turned back to your studies, not wanting to be caught eyeing him up yet again, but as soon as your eyes returned to the text in front of you, he let out a sigh.

You glanced over just in time to watch his tongue dart out, wetting his finger so he could turn a page. Amazing how such a small action could make your knees weak. Shit… it’s like he was trying to distract you.

Probably feeling your eye burning into him, Sam turned to look back at you, and yet again you dived back into your textbook, hiding behind its paper walls as you tried to rid your mind of Sam and his mouth.

“Section 48; set forth venue in any prosecution for unlawful… unlawful… unlawful things I want you to do to me with those lips.”

“What?” You jumped at the sound of Sam’s voice.

“What?” You repeated back, spinning to look up at his quizzical expression.

“You said something…” His lips squeezed into a smile, his eyes raked up and down your body, and suddenly you knew how Sam must have felt under your gaze just minutes earlier. “Something about, lips doing unlawful things to you?”

“Shit.” You thought your eyes might bulge out of your head, your heart was in the pit of your stomach, and if you’d been blushing before, you must look like a traffic light now. “Did- did I say that out loud?”

“Yeah.” He confirmed, with a nod. His brows furrowed and his jaw tightened as he leaned in closer. You couldn’t resist taking a deep breath in through your nose, indulging in his scent. His hot breath against the ear sent a chill down your spine. “Were you talking about my lips?”

Your brain went into overdrive, was this it? The moment you’d been waiting for? You and Sam had always had a playful, flirty relationship, but was this the turning point? If you confessed, would he give you what you want? Could you both finally stop beating around the bush and get down and dirty together? What exactly would he do? Or would you humiliate yourself? Would he send you packing with your tail between your legs? Could you live with that rejection? Totally, it would suck but you’d get over it, right? Right.

You chanced a look at Sam's face. His eyes bore into you so intensely it made your stomach roll. You’d never seen him look so fierce before, and much like every other expression he wore, it was hot.

Trying to mimic his confidence you straightened your back, locked eyes with him, and nodded.

He smiled, and immediately you felt assured, but that didn’t stop your hair from standing on edge as he pressed into you. This time you felt the softness of his lips on the shell of your ear, and it made you squirm. “Say it.”

“I want you to do unlawful things to me with your mouth, Sam.” You responded, trying your best to sound sultry.

“Oh yeah.” He murmured, lowering his mouth to the back of your jaw, caressing your skin with each word. You wished he could read the dictionary to you in this exact position. “Like what?”

You scanned through your surroundings, checking each aisle of books to confirm your solitude. Nobody else really came this far back in the library, especially at this time of night. You were pretty certain the only other person in the building was the night librarian, who only ever ventured from her desk to make a coffee in the communal kitchen. You had little to worry about as long as you stayed vigilant. Brazen smile on your lips, you turned your attention back to Sam who seemingly had also been examining your surroundings.

Reaching up, you ran your fingers up the warm skin of his neck and threaded them into his hair. You’d always wondered if his hair was as soft as it looked, and now you finally had confirmation; yes. Yes, it was that soft.

“Like,” You hummed, gently guiding him from your neck until you were face-to-face. “I want you to kiss me, slow and gentle to start. Then har-“

He interrupted you, tenderly pressing his lips to yours, just as gently as you’d imagined. Strong hands came up to cup your face and pull you into him, deepening the kiss. Your own hands knotted into his hair as his mouth pressed harder against your own.

“Like that?” He asked, breaking away just enough so that his words were intelligible.

“Exactly like that.” You replied, surprised by the breathiness of your own voice.

“What next?” He pried, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

You could think of a thousand things you wanted him to do next, but… “Aren’t you worried someone might see us? We could get in a lot of trouble.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when, and if, we get to it.” He shrugged, amusement clear as day on his face, completely unable to refrain from grinning. “If you don’t want that to happen, you’ll have to keep really quiet. Or tell me to stop.”

You knew he was into this, both of you at the mercy of each other. The exhilaration of possibly being caught. Besides, you’d already grabbed the bull by the horns, may as well enjoy the ride.

“Well… Next, I want you to keep kissing me, on my jaw, my neck, my ches-”

Clearly, too excited to wait until you’d finished your instructions, Sam leaned in to kiss you once more. His lips never left yours as his arms looped around your waist, lifting you from your seat like you were nothing and placing you on the desk, blinding you from anyone who might stumble to your section of the library. The simultaneous actions made you lose any composure and you moaned into Sam's mouth.

He pulled back, pressing a finger to his lips and shushing you. You barely had a chance to take in his dishevelled form before he reattached himself to your jawline, rapidly tracing his lips against your smooth skin, occasionally swirling his tongue in any crevice he could find. You had to stifle a whimper when you felt his teeth nipping at your throat.

Sam’s calloused hands massaged your shoulders briefly before he hooks his fingers under the straps of your vest top, working them down your arms, along with the neckline, revealing your bra to him.

“These too?” He asks, leaning back to admire you. Still unable to rein back the smile on his face.

“Those too.” You established as he reached out both hands to cup each breast. Not wanting to be completely exposed, you elected against entirely removing your bra. You did, however, guide his hands to grip the top of its cups, folding them down to your underbust, thus exposing them completely, but allowing you a quick and easy way to pull it back up.

“Lucky me.” Sam mused, eyes glazed, his tongue darted over his lips before he dipped down to fix his mouth around your left nipple.

You sucked in a harsh breath and reached out for him. Your hands gripping into the fabric of his shirt. Unable to ignore the growing heat between your legs you started squirming, rubbing your thighs together to produce any sort of friction. Sam clearly noticed and let out a small laugh, the gust of air on your wet nipple only serving to turn you on all the more. Obviously enjoying your reaction Sam moved over to the other side. Using his fingers to play with your left nipple as he sucks on the right. Playfully he nibbles at the hardened skin before blowing on it. Both times you resist the urge to let out a groan.

“Does that feel good?” He asks, kissing his way back up your chest.

“Yes.” You reply, steering him up until he’s close enough for you to plant another kiss on his lips. With a gentle hand, he pushes you back, cutting your kiss short. You pout and he laughs, but you let him lay you down. Your back presses against your long-forgotten textbooks. You should probably check them out when you leave, just so you can wipe them down before anyone else uses them you think. The feel of Sam's fingers squeezing your tits pulls you from your train of thought.

“Should I keep kissing you here?” He asks, before dipping his hand lower, running it across your belly before hitching up your skirt. Gingerly he runs his thumb over your panties, once twice, three times before looking back up at you. “Or do you want my unlawful mouth down here?” He teased.

“Down there.” You respond without hesitation. “Down there is good!”

“I can tell.” He says as he grasps your underwear, quickly pulling them down your legs, over your feet before dandling them above you. “You’re already soaked.”

And he was right, you could see the dark stain your wetness had left against the fabric. You’d blush, but you were already half naked, and sprawled out for him in the middle of a public space. You couldn’t be any more exposed if you’d tried.

Without another word, Sam tucked your panties into his pocket and got to work. He ghosted the tips of his fingers against your folds and your toes curled. Slowly he added more and more pressure until you could feel him firmly rubbing against your clit.

“Fuck.” You whined, Sam immediately removed his hands from you entirely.

“Wh-“ You darted into a seated position only for Sam to clamp his hand over your mouth.

“Shhh.” He hissed, before grabbing you by the wrists and replacing his hand with your own. “Keep your voice down. Not a peep, okay?”

His voice was deadly serious but the look on his face betrayed him. He was loving this. You bow your head in acknowledgement and allow him to lean you back against the table. You watch impatiently as he re-surveys the area. Clearly content that you’re still alone together, he crouches down, levelling himself with you, then slowly leans in and places a kiss on your core.

Content with keeping you on edge he starts slow. His mouth barely making contact with your skin. Blood rushing, and heart thundering you can barely contain yourself. You rest your legs on his shoulders, thighs around his head, and attempt to urge him on, to pull him closer.

Sam chuckles, his breath taunting your slit.

Then without warning, he delves into you. He starts on your clit again, and you fight every urge to clench your legs around him, to cry out. You bite your knuckles instead as he works downward.

He begins darting his tongue in and out, fucking your entrance until you're dripping down his face. You glance down at him, and have to hold back another groan at what you see. Eye closed, brows knitted, Sam is totally lost, blissed out in between your legs.

One of his hands grips your thigh for purchase as he pulls his face up, returning to your clit. The other hand sneaks between your legs, and he plunges two fingers inside. Allowing you no time to adjust, he sets a fast, steady pace. His fingers keep pumping into you, as his mouth continues working over your clit.

You fight back every moan, every cry that attempts to climb out of you, biting onto your hand so hard that you're afraid you might take a chunk out of yourself.

It isn’t long before your toes begin curling again, you kick your legs around, rutting yourself against Sam's face to try and relieve the energy building up in you. Sam remains unbothered, completely serene buried in your heat. He’s like a machine, a pussy-eating God, never faltering from his pace.

Your orgasm was fast approaching, you arched your back, craning your head back. Your hips stilled, locking in place when it finally hit you. You felt like there was fire in your veins and it was all pulsing into your pussy. Your nails dug into your cheek as you silence your own screams.

Panting and shaky from your orgasm, you sag against the table, letting your legs dangle either side of Sam, signalling to him that you’d climaxed, if he was even in doubt.

“How was that? Everything you had in mind?” He asked, standing up, towering over you. The lower half of his face glistened with your slick.

“Fuck Sam.” You breathed, reaching for him, needing assistance to get it back up.

The sound of footsteps startled you both, interrupting you before you could even start to compliment him. You launched off the table, stretching up to wipe Sam's mouth. Sam in turn roughly gabbed at your top and bra, yanking it back over your chest before you both bombed back into your chairs, and just in time.

The concerned face of the night shift librarian pokes out from behind a shelf. “You kids alright? I thought I heard some commotion?”

“No. We’re good.” You both said in union, suppressing laughter.

The librarian eyed you both wearily before nodding at you both. “Okay then, I’ll let you get back to your books.”

You both waited in complete silence and stillness until you deemed her footsteps far away enough.

“Sam! That was amazing.” You half whispered; half sang.

Sam in turn looked embarrassed, scratching the back of his head, averting his eyes, unable to hide the growing blush on his own cheeks. You couldn’t believe his sheepishness, as if he wasn’t tongue deep inside you just moments before.

“Thanks.” He grinned. “Do you want to come back to my place? I’d like to do that again, but actually get to hear you this time, you know?”

You glanced down at the open books strewn across the desks, and then up at the clock. It was late...

Screw it, if you didn’t have all the reading memorised by now, you weren’t gonna know it by the morning.

“Absolutely!” You exclaimed, not missing the look of triumph in Sam's eyes before you stood and started packing your notes into your bag. “But can I get my underwear back?”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Sam patted his pocket as he stood to pack his own bag. You reached your hand over to him, but instead of returning your underwear, he took your hand in his, and began leading you through the shelves. “You can have them back in the morning.”

#sam winchester #sam winchester smut #supernatural fanfiction #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester x you #sam winchester fanfiction #Sam Winchester x reader smut #gilverrwrites

478 notes · View notes

sunflowersteves · 2 years

Note

both eddie and steve fucking you

author's note || im so sorry this took me so long to do, but i hope you enjoy it!

pairing || eddie munson x steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings || angst, fluff, mean!eddie, soft!steve, edging, fingering, dom x sub, degradation, unprotected sex, creampie, punishment (light bdsm), mention of drinking, polyamorous relationship

The car seemed almost still. The only sound that punctured the air was the worn tires against the road. You looked out the window and watched the trees pass; light from the lampposts occasionally illuminated your face.

You were trying to find anything that could distract you from the burrowing shame that rushed through your chest. Although, you still found the silence too unbearable.

“Steve?”

As soon as his name leaves your mouth, Steve’s grip on the steering wheel seems insufferably tighter. He didn’t respond, leaving the two of you in the ether of silence. The absence of his voice sends chills down your spine.

Shit, yeah, you were in major trouble.

You could almost cut the tension in the air with a dull blade, and you try to sink further into the plush leather seats. Steve’s eyes fixed on the dark road in front of him, a firm and hard look caressed his face.

Your stomach twisted with guilt and sorrow—tears almost pricking your eyes.

You knew exactly why he was angry with you, and you have no doubt that Eddie is, too, back at home. You could picture the metalhead’s furrowed eyebrows and clenched fists as he circled the living room.

You had gone out with your friends, and what was supposed to be a meaningless hangout turned into going to three different bars and a club. That was all fun and games until your location was completely unknown to the entire town of Hawkins, Indiana. When Steve called to pick you up, and no one had answered, a hollow pit sunk in his stomach.

He and Eddie had thought of the worst, especially since it’s only been five months since the events of the Upside Down. What if Vecna somehow came back? What if it was something else from the Upside Down? What if you were kidnapped? What if you were hurt?

Much more gruesome scenarios ran through both of their heads as the clock continued to tick off each passing minute of your absence. They knew you were probably fine, but the swarthy depths of the unknown sunk within their darkest fears of something happening to you.

There was one rule that you, Eddie, and Steve made sure that you all had to follow, that you agreed to follow. Tell everyone where you are. Just in case another Vecna or turn of events appears, then someone can get to you—someone can be there.

Eddie's experience of being alone during Chrissy’s death had twisted inside him and left a broken shell of himself. When you, him, and Steve finally got together, the light at the end of the tunnel was finally visible. If anything had happened to you or Steve, Eddie would never forgive himself.

Eddie had finally got a hold of one of your friends, graciously telling them where you were, and man, they were pissed. You hadn’t heard Eddie or Steve that mad before, ever. You heard Eddie yelling profanities in the background while Steve growled that you needed to stay where you were, and it made you stutter into the wall phone at the wine bar.

You waited—frightened—for what was to come and how your boys would react. When Steve arrived, he never said a word. Your head hung low as you opened the car door—his nostrils flared at your friend giggling. If you weren’t leaving, you might have thought Steve was going to rip them a new one.

The car pulled up to Eddie’s driveway, Steve shifting the gear to park. He starts to aggressively open the door—a rush of frustrations clouding his mind. If you could follow the one simple fucking rule of letting your boyfriends know where you were at all times, things could be just peachy.

“Steve—” He shook his head, already opening your own door for you. As pissed as he is, he still loves you. In fact, that’s why he’s filled with such ire, to begin with.

You trail into the house behind Steve like a lost puppy who was kicked to the curb. As you walk into the living room, Eddie is standing there with a menacing stature. His face looks red, chest heaving, and shoulder muscles tense.

“I cannot believe you.” He spits—eyes engrossed in flames. Steve has a hand on his hip, but his eyes are glued to the floor. “You can’t do that to us, do you understand?”

Your head hung low for the second time tonight, nodding immediately. Your heart ached for the two boys in front of you as guilt swirled through your chest.

For hours on end, Steve and Eddie were utterly disquiet as they called around Hawkins, and no one seemed to know where you were.

Steve scoffed, “No, she doesn’t. You-you can’t just scare us like that. What if Vecna or-or another monster from the upside down had-had—” He bit his tongue before he could say killed you because he couldn’t. He couldn’t utter those two words. “Look at me.”

You stayed still and squeezed your eyes shut. You hear footsteps coming closer, amber wood, and a hint of vanilla wafted into your nose. He’s forcing you to look at him with his hand on your jaw. “Look at me, baby.”

Your eyes lock with his, and it crushes every piece inside of you. You almost couldn’t hear him from your heart pounding in your ears. “You scared the shit out of us, you know that?” His voice is soft, barely above a whisper. “I know you wanna have your fun, baby, but you need to let us know where you’re going. We–We need to know you’re safe.”

He’s looking at you so intensely that your lip starts to tremble. “I-I’m sorry, Stevie. I’m so sorry.”

Eddie frowns and stalks over to the two of you. “Sorry?” He can’t help but laugh, “Sorry doesn’t fucking cut it—”

“Eddie—” Steve tries and grabs his shoulder, but Eddie brushes it off. “No, Steve. She left us to think of the absolute worst for hours. You can’t just say you’re sorry and think it’s all okay.” He huffs.

Steve’s slightly concerned at Eddie’s outburst but quickly becomes intrigued as Eddie goes to shove you against the couch. Your mouth is slightly agape and shocked at your boyfriend’s actions. Eddie grits his teeth, “if you can’t follow some simple fucking rules, then I’m going to remind you.”

Eddie rips open your skirt, a desperate plea escaping your lips. He aggressively pulls your pink lace down your legs. Steve gasps at Eddie’s force before stalking over to the couch and taking a look at the guilt and arousal that’s written all over your face. “Oh, Eddie, She likes it.” And you did. You really did. Your body did too.

“F-Fuck, pretty girl, you’re wet? Huh?” He mocks, dipping a thick finger into your folds. You gasp, “Eddie!” You roll your head back as your hands grip the fluffy couch.

“C’mere, Steve. I need you to hold her.” Steve complies and pries open your legs, holding them in place as Eddie continues his attack. His cock felt strained in his jeans at the sight. Steve’s eyes were dark hues—watching Eddie’s fingers scissor your open. “Look at this desperate little pussy, Steve. Look at her clenchin’ around my fingers.”

You moan at the feeling of his fingers curling—reaching further through your wet spongy walls. “You’re so pretty, baby.” Steve presses kisses on your shoulder, continuing to whisper more praises into your ear. You weren’t listening, though, not when Eddie goes to slap your clit.

He gruffs, “You, pretty girl, need to fucking learn—”

You hiccup, head leaned back further against the cushions. “Eddie, please—”

“You little slut, look at you. Our baby likes to be fucked like this, huh? You like when Steve and I are mad?” You try to respond, but Steve takes your nipple into his mouth and makes your begging fall off your lips.

His tongue swirls against the bud and groans at the soft feeling of your skin. He lets go, a harsh popping noise leaving your lips. “F-Fuck, baby—”

Your brain is absolute mush, and the only thing you could even think of was Steve and Eddie. They were both talking to you—degrading you, but you could barely even hear them.

Eddie becomes almost harsher, curling his fingers as he adds a third. You whimper at the sensation, it’s almost painful, but that feeling of pleasure seems like it’s about to burst as you clench. “You gonna cum, baby? You gonna cum all over my fingers?”

You nod at Eddie, desperate to chase out your high. He’s fucking into you fast—his fingers relentless with each stroke. You feel Steve move to lick your wet slick near your thigh, your body shuttering at the sensation.

“Well, that’s too fucking bad.” Just as you feel the coil snap, Eddie releases his fingers. You whine, hips bucking into the air, and Steve almost couldn’t hold you down. You were desperate—so desperate—that it looked pitiful from you grinding into the air. “Fuckin’ look at you, pretty girl. Such a desperate little slut, aren’t you? But you can’t seem to follow a simple rule.”

Eddie makes Steve flip you over so your ass is hanging up into the air, face planted into the couch. You squirm as you watch, Eddie’s enraged eyes looking at your leaking pussy. “Only good girls get to fucking cum.”

He unbuckles his belt, making you loudly whine as his thick throbbing cock releases from his boxers. “Fuck her, Steve. Need to watch you fuck our girl.” Without warning, Steve’s cock rams into you, prompting a scream to leave your lips. “S-Steve!”

You hear him moan behind you, your arms limp and body at their full control. Steve’s cock is big—ramming into walls over and over. “S-Shit, sweet girl, you feel so fucking tight.”

“Yeah, Stevie? She feels good against your cock?” Eddie was closer now, watching Steve’s cock disappear in your dripping pussy. He whimpered as his own fingers swiped over the head of his cock. “Y-Yeah, Eddie—She—She huggin’ my cock and–and–”

Steve moans as thick ropes of his sticky cum fill your hole, and it makes you mewl. You’re close—so close as your walls clench around Steve. Eddie fakes a pout as he makes you look at him. “Awe, baby, are you gonna cum? Huh? You think you deserve it this time?”

Steve’s still riding his high, relentlessly rutting into you with his endless cum filling you up. You nod at Eddie, practically pleading to the ends of the earth for some type of release. “You can’t.” You almost scream at your boyfriends. “I told you that good girls cum, yeah?”

“Eddie, I-I can’t—”

He laughs, and if Steve wasn’t still fucking you silly, you might have snapped back. “Hold it. Fucking hold it, or I’m not gonna let you get fucked for a month.” Your mouth shuts almost immediately because you knew Eddie wasn’t joking. The fierce look in his eyes as he’s fisting his cock in his hands tells you everything.

He’s really not joking.

“Good girl.” You hold it as long as you can, you really do. Your walls are at a constant clench as Steve’s sticky cock floods your senses. “Eddie, Please!” You try again, hoping for him to let you just this once, but he’s shaking his head.

His own release is creeping up on him, pre-cum covering his head in full. He growls, “S-Steve, my pretty girl, look at you two. You’re mine.” Steve finally pulls out of you, his cum leaking against your thighs. He’s panting and mumbling absolute nonsense from his sensitive cock being completely fucked out.

Eddie bursts out a moan, the pure sight before him has his cock leaking out in thick ropes. You’re whining against the couch as you watch his cum drip down his thighs—you wished that was inside of you. He’s whispering your and Steve’s name over and over again while Steve goes to lick the cum off of Eddie’s thighs.

It was sure a sight to see, and you squirmed. “Pretty girl, ‘M sorry, but you had to be punished.”

You whimpered at Eddie’s soft voice, his anger subsiding to a low ache. “I know, Eds.”

They then join you on the couch, you being the middle of the Eddie and Steve sandwich. Things seem to have become much calmer, hazy eyes looking at one another with such adoration it was going to make your heart explode.

Steve rubbed small circles onto your forearm, and Eddie’s pinky linked with yours. Eddie isn’t sure if he could handle not being around your presence right now, and it was something that made his heart hurt.

The calm moment turned sullen as you heard a sniffle. You whip your head over toward Eddie, “Eddie, baby—” He shakes his head at you, frizzy hair tickling his cheeks. He’s then intertwining your fingers into his. “You just—you just really scared us. You really scared me.”

You squeeze his hand, reaching over to your right and intertwining Steve’s hand into yours. “If-If anything happens to you or s-steve, I-I don’t know what I’d do.” A tear falls down Eddie’s cheek, and you untie your hands with him to wipe it away. You’re so gentle with him, and it makes his heart preen to be closer toward you.

“I’m so sorry, Eddie. I really am. I didn’t know we were going out to different bars, and I know that’s no excuse.” You swipe your finger on his cheek. “I just–I'm so sorry. I love you both so much.”

Steve nods, “Next time, please tell us where you’re going, even if plans change.” Eddie hums in agreement as he presses his lips against yours. It’s a soft kiss. It's one that has your brain fuzz and your heart palpitating.

“Go give Stevie one.”

You turn, reaching over to grab Steve’s face in a gentle kiss. “I promise. I promise I’ll be better.”

For the first time tonight, your boyfriends smiled. “We love you too, sweet girl.” Steve presses a kiss to your shoulder, “We love you very much.”

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dojunie · 2 months

Text

MISDIAL; LJN [CH5] VOICEMAIL REDUX

[★]; [MISDIAL MASTERLIST] [PREVIOUS PART] [NEXT PART]

info;

lee jeno x fem!reader

college au

chaptered

very slow burn

genre; not-quite-friends to lovers, older brother mark lee, brothers best friend lee jeno, light angst, yn is a menace to society, story/character driven

warnings for this chapter; kys mention in joking manner

chapter wc: ...13K

a/n: i couldn't decide between posting this monster whole or cutting it into two parts, but two parts kind of makes the pacing weird, so here she is in all her glory! been editing this so long that i've gotten sick of looking at it so im just going to release it into the world now LOL, pls pls pls give me feedback on this chapter, im not 100% satisfied w it but i cant tell if its because it sucks or i've just been rereading it too much 🥸

current tl: @hibernatinghamster / @jenoxygen / @eaglesnotravens / @donutswithjaminthemiddle / @jvjsssnaa / @huangrenhyucks / @luvenshiti / @shiningdery / @jaeminsbebu / @aliceinwhateverland / @bebsky / @gem-gem / @jkjkseo / @jenosbliss / @pewpewpwe00 / @ti–red / @philanarose / @softbbyg0rl / @aaasteroidsky / @carelessshootanonymous / @en-boyz / @jlsavyy / @roseymerrie / @bangchanisemo / @skuezk / @jaehyuns-adorable-dimples / @ourbeautifulaffair / @jeonnyread / @jvjsssnaa / @episkeyjeno / @bockhyun / @jenojammin / @zarastrawberry / @peachie-bear / @itadaramaterasu / @alymii / @cuteejeno / @episkeyjeno / @nohunlee / @ooojisoo / @luv4jeno / @jydivrs / @pinkysinnerbaby / @jenojenoyes / @maeyoung / @axmdocs / @nctzennikki09

FORGET WHAT YOU SAID ABOUT NEVER BEING ABLE TO GET MAD AT SOMI, BECAUSE THIS TIME, YOU’RE REALLY GOING TO KILL HER.

At this exact moment in time, the Aegon Showcase is set to begin in about fifteen minutes. You’ve got half of a chocolate muffin stuffed into your mouth (courtesy of Somi sneaking a few snacks from the audience lounge, since the dancers technically weren’t supposed to be eating any of the guest refreshments), and you were about halfway through swallowing this chunk of bread when Somi said something that made you nearly choke.

For context: six and a half days have passed since you’ve last spoken to Jeno.

And you haven’t been counting, either. It just so happens that it is surprisingly easy to recall every passing minute when each one feels like it’s been put there specifically to test you.

The afternoon after the Balcony Incident, for example— a few fresh hours after you left Lee Jeno behind on that overlook with the full intention of never looking him in the eyes ever again. After a late breakfast with Somi you’d told her you weren’t feeling too well, that you’d be leaving a little earlier than planned (which, even though you’d said your pain was of the intestinal variety, wasn’t untrue; you didn’t feel well, if the widening pit in your stomach caused by that morning was anything to go by) and departed her penthouse a little after one.

You’d foolishly hoped that Jeno and his entourage would have plans literally anywhere other than Mark’s place for once, wanting to do nothing but silently mope around the apartment for a few hours once you'd gotten home, but you’d been naive.

You’d been so, so naive.

“Oh!” you’d heard. Renjun. Brown hair, big dark eyes peeking at you around the doorframe as you cradled your now-aching nose bridge. You opened the front door and crashed face first into something solid. “Hey, you. Perfect timing. Do you wanna come grocery shopping with us? Jaemin’s cooking tonight!”

“We’ll even let you ride in the cart,” Chenle chimed in from further into the hallway, grinning wickedly, but you couldn’t focus on either of them because they were both half-hidden behind what you’d smashed into with your haste to get inside. No gray flannel this time, but the same unreadable expression on his face as he, much like he did at the party last night, instinctively grabbed you to keep you from falling on your ass.

(Or his expression was unreadable. Until his eyes trained on something about your face that he didn’t like and his dark eyebrows furrowed with something akin to concern. Then you remembered you’d been crying all morning and surely looked like some sort of dried-out blowfish, eyelids puffy and swollen, so you averted your eyes and jumped out of his grip like he’d stung you.)

“Busy,” you told them quickly, “Sorry. Not today.”

Renjun pouted. Chenle squinted at you, obviously doubtful. And when Jeno finally moved out of the way, you didn’t even thank him for keeping you upright. You just kept your attention on the ground and beelined into the apartment.

Little did you know, that one word would become your mantra. Busy, busy, busy. But it wasn’t like you were completely lying, because you were busy. The Aegon showcase was in a week which meant you had practice every free hour with Somi and the others, and the last thing you needed was to get distracted by circling Jeno like some kind of sad, miserable shark. The good thing about being out of the house so often was that most of the week passed with no more Jeno-related incidents.

Thursday night ended up being the first time you’d seen him with your own eyes since you face-planted into him the previous Saturday.

You’d returned home at 10PM, sweaty and exhausted from a last minute choreo change that had, apparently, also wiped clean the memory of what Thursday nights meant in the Mark Lee household. Movie night. The tiredness you felt was so all-encompassing that upon the discovery of all seven of them sitting around the couch staring at you as you entered, there wasn’t even enough energy to feel awkward. Even then, you must not have looked as ghastly as you felt because Jaemin smiled at you like nothing was amiss, gesturing towards the dining table and the mountain of brown bags atop it.

“You’re late, Rockstar. Take-out’s gone cold.”

Jeno was sitting right next to him. Your muscles were like jelly. All of your bones hurt. Your brain felt like it was operating on nothing but fumes. (And this is what you blamed for your cowardice— the fact that you couldn’t even hold your head up to look in his direction in fear of catching his eye.)

After everyone had gone home and you had free reign of the kitchen once again, Mark hit you with a few more questions about the Aegon Comp; seemingly insignificant inquiries like how the parking situation was (which you didn’t understand the importance of, since he said he’d probably ride his bike there), and if he could sit wherever he wanted (which again, confused you, because the ticke you’d gotten him was one of the best in house). But in your state of fatigue you didn’t think to question it. All you wanted to do was eat something and go to bed, and that’s exactly what you did.

(If you’d had your wits about you maybe you’d have put two and two together. Maybe Somi’s words wouldn’t have caught you with the surprise they did. But as it stands…)

As it stands it’s Friday afternoon, the day of the Aegon Showcase, and half a chocolate muffin is stuffed into your face (technically now stuffed into your airway) as you come to the realization that your friend might secretly be trying to ruin your life.

“You really need to stop eating your food so fast,” Jiara murmurs, clapping you on the back with a little more force than necessary. “No one is going to take it from you. Smaller bites will go a long way.”

You gasp a breath when the chunk finally unsticks. Then, “You saw who in the audience lounge?”

Somi is nonplussed by your horror.

“I saw your brother out there trying to throw a skittle over a lighting fixture and still catch it in his mouth. When I was leaving with our food I think I heard a bunch of people cheer so I’d bet he managed to do it, which, when you think about how high these ceilings are, is actually pretty impressive—”

You fight the urge to grab her by her shoulders and shake her. “I’m not asking about the goddamn skittles!” you hiss. “Somi, you said you saw ‘them’ when you went out there. Them as in plural. Who is them?”

She makes a face like you should already know who. “Who else? Mark and the rest of his crew. And Donghyuck asked to bring a few more, so I guess those are who the other guys out there are. Why are you acting like you didn’t already know this? You were sitting right next to me when Donghyuck was practically begging to come!”

Your life flashes before your eyes.

Jeno’s car. The rain, pounding against the windows. Catching him looking at you in the mirror after Somi told them about the showcase, how it felt like the world outside faded away a little as some little message passed between you— when you felt like he was telling you something without saying a single word.

Then you remember it. In your distant, distant periphery, even though she’d been sitting not even a millimeter to your left when these alleged plans were discussed.

‘Yeah! I mean, I reserved like, a bajillion seats in advance because I knew I’d want to invite everyone who would even consider coming— I’ll definitely get the best row for you guys!’

“However,” she says after a beat, voice finally starting to show the tiniest bit of caution. You realize that your face has begun to contort on its own. “I am starting… to get vibes. That I maybe should have run that by you first? Would now be a bad time to let you know that I told them about the afterparty, too?”

Utter disbelief. The only reason you don’t leap on her once you fully comprehend what she’s said is because Gawon, who’d been watching this entire exchange with quiet brown eyes, puts a hand on your shoulder. She must be able to tell that you’re about to start freaking out, because her therapist-voice is fully activated when she clears her throat.

“Can I ask what's so surprising about this?” she asks carefully. “When we were telling Aegon about how many tickets we each wanted, you said you only needed one. For your brother, right?”

You thought of the ticket, the little envelope you’d held under your pillow for weeks as you fought with the idea of actually giving it to Mark. In the end, a few days ago, when you handed it to him and told him he could come watch you perform if he wanted to, he smiled so big that you felt bad for waiting so long in the first place. But you’d then quickly explained the caveat: that he was not to tell any of the others about it, because there was only one ticket and you didn’t want them hassling you about getting more. And Mark agreed.

Which is why you’d dared to assume that tonight would be safe.

“Yes,” you mutter. “The ticket was for him.”

“Which means you’re not surprised he’s here. So are his friends the problem?”

“The problem?”

You pause. That word makes it seem like their appearance here is actually detrimental to you in some way, like they’re just here to hassle or bully you or something, but that’s not really it at all. Your annoyance at them being here is rooted in the exact opposite. They’re not going to joke around and take it easy, or pat you on the back and tell you that you did well, like how they would if they’d come to watch one of their friends dance. They’re going to swarm you and coo and treat you like a five year old that just stumbled through their first ballet recital.

And as if that isn't bad enough, you realize with a start that you've actually got more to worry about than just being embarrassed by their innate need to baby you.

They, you remember yet again. Plural.

You quickly fix your doomsday-esque expression. "Uh. No, no problem, just... I'm over-exaggerating, forget it, Somi, when you said they, how many are we talking exactly?"

"Seven," she says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and you fight to keep your shoulders from sagging. "The three from the car, your brother, and three others I don't really know as well, but who're all just as cute."

Seven. Which means Lee Jeno will be in the audience as well. You should've already known that, fully aware that wherever Mark goes Jeno will follow, but you'd been so startled by the change in attendance that you'd momentarily forgotten that you were pointedly avoiding one of that seven.

Great.

A click echoes over the announcement system. You recognize the voice that follows as the organizer of the showcase, the cheerful woman from the promotional video, happily informing all the performers to head to their greenrooms for final warm-ups before the show.

Well. Even if you wanted to mope for longer about your predicament, your mind switches lanes to the task at hand. Somi and Gawon both titter excitedly at the update, but make sure to quickly give their final reassurances about not worrying too much about the people in the audience and using that energy to give your all on stage. They’re right of course, and you probably would have come to this conclusion on your own once you swallowed your knee-jerk reaction to gripe about everything involving your brother and his friends, but you can’t say that their enthusiasm doesn't do the heavy lifting of bringing you back to earth.

You've got a competition to rock, after all. You could worry about everything else after.

Adrenaline made the hour-long showcase go by in what seemed like fifteen seconds.

Just like that, a short chapter of your life closed with a bang; seven minutes on the stage, deafening cheers, Jiara and Guyeon pulling everyone into one big sweaty hug as soon as you were all out of the spotlight— then you blink and you’re in Gawon’s car with the windows down blasting down Gangnam on the way to Somi’s house, the girls in the seats around you singing along to the radio at the top of their lungs. The sun is setting, you’re heading to your celebratory afterparty, and what should be a picture-perfect moment is completely ruined by the fact that your mind has been in shambles for the last hour and a half. Why?

Because as you inch closer and closer to Somi’s penthouse, all you can think about is the fact that Lee Jeno is sitting up there biding his time before he can stomp your heart into a million more microscopic pieces.

What you didn’t mention about the moments after the performance was that, after rushing through changing out of your performance outfit to find your friends and get the hell out of there, you stumbled out of the greenroom to find a person. A person who was frowning out in the corridor like some sort of mopey ghost, Jeno in all his annoyingly perfect glory, caught mid-pace.

Upon seeing him your body rebooted, a hundred different emotions flashing through your system from the shock of him appearing in front of you at that moment. The only thing you had time to notice before his words ruined the rest of your afternoon was how… fidgety he was; Running his hand through his hair, rocking from foot to foot, crossing and uncrossing his arms over his chest. You’d always taken note of how still Jeno could be sometimes, not moving an inch for seemingly hours at a time, which was the main reason his current inability to stay still even caught your eye— but it was quickly overtaken by the utter despair you felt not soon after he caught sight of you and opened his mouth.

“Can we talk?” he’d asked. And he’d sounded so unsure of himself that you almost instantly crumbled to the puppy-dog eyes, before reality grabbed you by the neck and you remembered that talking to him was actually the last thing you wanted to be doing right now.

“Busy,” you’d forced out. “My friends are waiting for me outside.”

But he must’ve seen this coming because he looked nonplussed as you took a step back, his own feet matching yours stride for stride, hands coming out almost as if to calm you like one might a spooked horse.

“It won’t take longer than a few minutes,” he tried, “Five minutes, just five. I just— I really, really want to clarify a few things from Saturday. What I said on the balcony.”

He said it like there was a chance you might’ve forgotten what happened, which almost made you laugh in disbelief. Like it was possible to forget that shitshow, your first love telling you that he was kind of interested in you once upon a time, but did nothing about it because your brother came first. Though, once you fully realized that he meant he wanted to talk about that right now, the moment lost its humor.

Now? Here? You glanced up and down the hallway. Your friends weren’t around, nor were his, but you were hardly alone.

“I wasn’t being entirely—”

“You're going to the party, aren’t you?” You cut Jeno off. Very unlike you when it came to him, and with the way he blinked you had a feeling he knew that too.

“The party?”

“Somi said she invited you guys.”

“I— I wasn't sure you wanted me to come.”

“Somi invited you, Lee. Is that any way to treat your hostess? We can—” You swallowed. “Come by, and we can find a minute to talk then, but for now I really—”

“Have to go,” he finished with a small wince. “Got it.”

And once he’d metaphorically let you go, taking a step back to slip his hands in his pockets, you’d all but run away; finding Guyeon and Gawon waiting for you like they said they’d be, ready to leave and head to Alice’s house to pretty-up for the party in her gigantic flat. You were trying your best to keep up the energy when you got into the car with them, laughing along to their jokes and dancing along to the music, but you couldn’t stop thinking of what type of curbstomp Jeno was about to release on the suffering remains of your sixteen year-old feelings.

Even up until the final touches of your make-up, you were commiserating. What the hell could he possibly want to clarify?

Was he going to tell you to stop being weird around him and the others, because your mood was fucking up their vibe? To stop avoiding him so obviously, that it was as noticeable for everyone as it felt for you, that it was making it awkward for him?

Or could he mean that he was going to tell you he’d… misspoken? That he’d never really liked you the way you liked him, and didn’t want you to misunderstand— by interested in you he meant in the way all guys were interested in all girls, some lowly, surface level thing that he quickly got over when he realized his friendship with your brother could be jeopardized by it?

The last thought had stung a little more than the others, and you’d accidentally frowned so hard about it that it creased your still-setting concealer and had to wipe it all off.

After angrily redoing your base you’d forced it from your mind and got dressed, stealing a simple henley dress from Gawon’s closet upon realizing that you were not in the mood for sexy-cute like Somi had said the dress code was. Instead you opted for ‘hey, you can see my legs and that's good enough,’ and huffed your old leather jacket on top of it; the latter was sure to piss her off but she still owed you from the Mosquito Boy Incident, so she could kick rocks about it for all you cared.

You had a feeling that no matter what you wore, tonight wasn’t going to be very sexy-cute at all.

The party is just getting into the swing of things when you make it upstairs. It’s like the explosion of a birthday surprise when you and the girls walk through the door. This party is technically a celebration, and you guess a lot of these people must’ve been in the Aegon audience without you knowing it, because you’re getting congratulations and kudos and pats on the back like you’ve just won an olympic medal.

But your pride is short lived, tainted by a bolt of nerves when you think you spot someone that looks like Donghyuck in your periphery. Where Hyuck is, Jeno will be.

It turns out to only be a very tall girl with a pixie cut who winks at you when you whirl your head to her, but the stress of it doesn't ebb away. God. Is the whole night going to be like this? Walking on pins and needles until he finds you?

“You know, new girl,” A voice starts at your side, startling you further, “Your ice breaker back at that my party could’ve been that you’re a kick-ass dancer, instead of that bullshit with the mosquitos.”

Wooyoung. Your friends are suddenly nowhere to be seen when your turn to him, clearly having fucked off into the mass the second alcohol became available, so it’s just the both of you hovering over by this snack table. Though this is only the second or third time you’ve interacted with him past a greeting (you see him sometimes on campus, and he always waves at you like you’re best friends when you pass each other), you’re actually rather soothed by his presence.

“You wanted to know juicy secrets, not secret hobbies. If you asked me for an ice breaker and I told you I could dance, you would’ve kicked me out of that house.”

He laughs, a snickering sound, before eyeing two jello-shots a girl walks by with in her hands.

“Do a shot with me?” he pouts. “My friends are running late and I’m still painfully sober.”

A shot?

...Hm. A shot. Inebriation. You’re not one to like straight liquor because the burn in your throat is often more than you think the gag is worth. But if you’re looking to relax sooner rather than later… the pain might not be without its merit.

Liquid courage. Something you could definitely use right now, as skittish as you’re being. Maybe he’s onto something.

“Just one?” you pique, turning to survey the options. “Thought you were more hardcore than that, VP.”

One jello-shot quickly turns into four with Wooyoung involved, and your mouth is sweet with the taste of artificial dye by the time you actually spot Donghyuck, over by Somi’s balcony doors chatting up some pretty girl you recognize from your physical education class. The volleyball player. Xiaoting or something close, and you almost snort at the sight because she seems way out of his league. But he has a way with words that you guess you could be attractive when he wields it with flirtation in mind, instead of the intent to piss off like he always does with you.

The Smirnoff burning in your stomach must already be settling in because you only mildly bristle when you see him. Like you thought earlier: Hyuck is here, which means Jeno is here. And… and the Smirnoff must’ve already hit your brain, actually, because all of a sudden you’re feeling agitated and confrontational.

You don’t want to spend all night worrying about when he’s going to find you and drop the bomb. So what if he doesn’t like you! So what if he probably wants to forget the moment that happened out on that balcony never occurred at all? You lived your life without yearning over Jeno for years before you moved back here, so it won’t even be that hard to go cold-turkey when he says what he needs to and inevitably squashes the remainder of your heart in his fist. It’s fine. You’ll live.

You just need to rip it off like a bandaid first. And to do that?

“Hey, Woo, I think I need to go and look for somebody. You’re still down for that dance battle later?”

“I don’t play around with my challenges,” he says, grinning much too wide, “I’ll find you later, and then it’s on. Knock em’ dead, new girl.”

As bold as you suddenly are, you actually don’t want to go and interrupt whatever Donghyuck has going on just to ask him where Jeno is. So you’re on your own for a little, scanning the walls for him and the stupid clavicles poking out of his button-up, hair all windswept and eyes so dark. It’s nearly a minute of searching before you see something familiar— but it’s not exactly what you’re looking for.

Close enough, though.

It seems like Na Jaemin has actually spotted you first, since he’s already heading towards you when you spot his head of pink darting through the crowd. You don’t fuss when he musses your hair and gasps over the competition, applauding you in that sickeningly earnest way he always has, since you’re used to his preening and compliments. Not to say you’re not appreciative. It always makes your face hot when he coos over you like this. But you’ve got a mission in mind, and fretting at him over the pouting and cheek-squeezing will get you nowhere.

“Yes, thank you, I did hear you cheering over everyone else at the end, no I wasn’t hiding my swag from you on purpose, thank you, you can stop pretending to cry now. Where is Jeno?”

The idea of you looking for Lee Jeno on purpose must startle him, because there’s a second after his clear offense at you brushing him off where he registers what you’re asking for and actually looks a little concerned. “Jeno? No-Jam? Why? Did he say something to you?”

“What? No, I just need to talk to him about something. Thought he’d be hanging around you.”

Imperceptibly, Jaemin lightens.

“Oh. He’s downstairs hefting handles out of Somi’s car, because blondie forgot half the drinks in her trunk. He got volunteered by Chenle as Mr. Muscles and left with her like five minutes ago, so he should be back any minute.”

Damn it. Forlornly, you glance at the door, but there's nothing. No movement. Nada. There goes all your building bravado.

“But before he returns, young lady, should we talk about how that red tinge to your lips better be from the non-alcoholic jello-shots?”

Ah. Whoops. Not only no movement, but now you’ve gotten yourself trapped in the sights of Na Jaemin, who likes to pretend to be staunch on things like laws and teenage innocence and waiting to do things until the government says you’re allowed to. You constantly forget that you’re not yet the drinking age, because no college student handing out drinks at a party ever gives a fuck about the fact that you’re legally not quite legal yet. No other college student besides the one standing in front of you.

“You’ll stunt your growth if you drink before you’re supposed to!”

To this you glance at the cup he’s holding, clearly half full of something, and nearly go to laugh and ask him what his excuse is since he’s barely 21 himself, but then you think of something funnier. Without really thinking about it you snatch the cup from his hand and hork it down. Your eyes are locked with his the entire time so you get to see his surprise grow into shock, then expand into disbelief as you chug, and chug, and chug.

There’s a lot of… some peach flavored crap in here, burning like murder all the way down, to the point that you’re more bewildered than smug when the cup is finally drained because, “Fuck, Na, what is that shit? Are you trying to black out?”

“Language!” he hisses, genuinely startled for the first time you’ve seen in a long time, which makes you laugh, “And of course not because that wasn’t mine, you little brat! I was holding that for Somi!"

“Oh,” you reply, only mildly shifted by this news. Sorry, Som. Now you know it must be peach Schnapps. She loves Schnapps. “What, so you’re not drinking tonight at all? Are you DD?”

“No! I’m not drinking, and I’m offended that you don’t already know I hate the taste of alcohol. Mark, who may I remind you is in this room and would’ve just shit himself if he’d seen what you just did, is playing designated driver tonight! He’s…”

And as he glances towards the kitchen you follow his gaze. You’re expecting to see your brother, most likely laughing over something his friends are saying, maybe even trying to dance-battle someone if he's having a particularly good time. Instead you see your brother chatting up Jeon Soyeon.

Jeon… Soyeon. Nabi Bar, Jeon Soyeon. Who you haven’t spoken to or even seen since that awful night in Gangnam.

And you nearly gasp in terror at the sight.

Jaemin doesn't finish his sentence, and you dart your eyes to him when you realize this. He doesn’t look very pleased by what he’s seeing either, though you’re guessing for an entirely different reason than the one that’s just made you go cold.

“What?” you ask a little too quickly. The front door opens, which should be your cue to look for who’s just come in, but you can’t tear your eyes from the sight of Soyeon and Mark. What the fuck? What the fuck? “Do they know each other?”

“Know each other?” Jaemin scoffs. “Hard to quantify.”

It would be very, very bad for you if they knew each other. Very bad. If not already clear, Mark still had no clue you weren’t where you said you were on the night of Nabi Bar. If she happened to mention your involvement in that shity, shitty idea, you had no doubt that Mark would go all holier-than-thou on you in front of all these people, and that you’d probably have to dive off of the balcony to escape the reaming.

He doesn’t look particularly comfortable, near pressed up against kitchen island because Soyeon is so close to him, hand rubbing at the back of his neck in that way you’re well aware means he’s getting flustered; but you see him laugh at something she says in the next second, and it doesn’t seem like his fake laugh. Mark’s fake laugh is terrible, and even from a distance you can spot it like the flashing lights on an ambulance, a beacon of distress just the same. So he’s laughing for real, at something… Soyeon is saying?

But you hardly recall her being very funny.

“What does that mean, hard to quantify? Do they have history?”

“Something like that,” he murmurs. “Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about. Anyway, I think Jeno is—”

“You never look at anyone with any kind of attitude, and just now you rolled your eyes at her.”

“I didn’t roll my eyes. I blinked. For a long time. Something in my eye. Dusty in here.”

“Somi has this place deep cleaned twice a week.”

He stares at you like he’s begging you to drop it. You stare back, unwilling. “You know, Na, the longer you stall, the more time that all this illegal alcohol in my blood has to make me more bold and reckless and unruly. If I don’t get an answer from you I might just go over there and ask her myself. How do they know each other?”

You’re bluffing, of course— there’s no way you’re about to go over there just to see what they’re talking about when you could safely squeeze that information out of Jaemin instead. In reality, you were only pressing because you wanted to know if they were close enough for Soyeon to know you and Mark were related. If not? Then perfect! You’d forget it all and be on your merry way, reverting back to your original plan of finding Jeno, because there’d be no chance Soyeon could spill the beans.

But if Soyeon does know? You might have to leave this party a little earlier than scheduled.

“You want the whole, grown-up truth?” Jaemin finally relents.

“Might I remind you for the hundredth time that I’m only a year younger than you?”

“A year and a half,” he acquiesces with a sigh, “And Jeon Soyeon may or may not have slept with your brother to get him to do their midterm project last year.”

It comes out like he’s reading the headline from a newspaper and you made the mistake of swallowing right before he opens his mouth, choking violently on your own spit. He pats you on the back as you hack and cough before continuing.

“None of us are really sure about exactly what really happened because Mark kind of shut down after, wouldn’t tell us anything. But it was pretty clear he liked her before. She’s kinda his type, you know?”

Edgy, pretty, and fucking evil, yeah, after having to chase a few of them away in high school you’re well aware of his type! This was not what you wanted to know about when you asked if they were close! What the hell?

“He told us they’d gone all the way right before she asked him to do their entire music production project because she was too busy caring for her sick little sister. He, being the bleeding heart he is, pretty much refused to listen to us about how convenient the timing was; he even got mad when Chenle did some sleuthing and found out that Soyeon’s parents facebook, which was filled to the brim of photos of their family, didn’t have any trace of another kid in their midst besides her. Wouldn’t believe us until after the project was turned in, when he tried to meet up with her for weeks and she ghosted him every time.”

He frowns. “At the end of it, he wasn’t… It wasn’t good. He was pretty crushed.”

Now you regret chugging his drink for fun. Even before it you’d been feeling further than chill, pleasant and buzzing from your shots, well prepared for whatever hell was to arise with Jeno. Now you felt loose; too loose, fingertips tingling at your sides because of this news, heart pounding in your chest, body so warm from the alcohol that you felt like Jaemin would hiss if he’d laid a finger on your skin.

To play games with you, that’s one thing. But Soyeon has laid her hands on your brother?

“And, knowing all of that,” you say slowly, clearly, “You’re still letting him sit there and talk to her?”

“I want to kick her away,” Jaemin says flatly. “I’d be lying if I said I trust that girl as far as I can throw her. But it’s not really up to us to get involved.”

“Who is us?”

“His friends? I mean he was pretty clear when it happened that he did not want to talk about it—”

You bark a laugh, but there’s no humor to it at all. “So he can pout and gripe about the sanctity of discussing your problems with people, the embarrassing, the horrifying, but when it comes to him he gets to keep secrets? Forget how hypocritical that is, you guys are listening?”

Jaemin, finally, seems to catch the heat in your words. “Uh. He told… I mean, before you get all up in arms, she may be over there apologizing for all we know. Maybe she’s repenting.”

You both stare at her as she tips her head back in laughter, the salacious flirty kind where you’re more focused on being attractive than actually enjoying the joke, before she puts her hand on his chest in a, ‘Wow, you’re so funny, take me now,’ kind of way, leaning in to say something to him that she clearly doesn’t want anyone else to hear. Every hair on your body stands up when Mark doesn’t push her away.

He’s not seriously buying her shit again, is he?

“Jaemin, are you willing to bet your life on that?”

“What?”

“Everything you just said about Soyeon. You know that for fact?”

“Well, no, Mark didn’t actually tell us about it so I can never be sure, but… but with what we could gather, it was pretty cut and dry. Chenle actually also found out she had a boyfriend at the same time she did all that stuff with Mark. We just couldn’t bear to tell him that after the fact, so we never… Hey, where—”

You’re sober enough to make it through the throng of people without stumbling, but not sober enough to fully anticipate what you’re really about to do. The goal is just to separate them, somehow, to get that harlot away from your brother, and then you’ll go and deal with Jeno. If people greet you as you pass you don’t hear or see it; all you can grasp is her, touching him, laughing with him, cheating, lying, people-using—

“Mark,” you nearly hiss, “I need to talk to you. Now.”

Mark jumps a foot in the air when you grab him but Soyeon, for some reason, doesn’t look surprised to see you in the slightest. She does, however, raise a sharp blonde eyebrow at your tone.

“What,” Mark splutters, “Right now?”

“Yeah,” Soyeon sighs, continuing to trail her eyes up and down Mark’s face instead of looking at you, “The grown-ups are talking, sweetheart. Can’t you give us a second?”

Mark turns back to the sensual softness of her voice like a moth to a flame, and you want to smack him. “No. Not a second now, not a second later, not a second tomorrow or forever. Now, Mark.”

And that was where you made the mistake that turned this whole night sour. Only when Soyeon realizes it’s her you have a problem with, catching on from the agitation in your tone that you’re not just here to bother Mark for fun, does she slide her unreadable gaze to you.

“You know I haven’t seen you in a while, Little Lee.”

“For the better,” you mutter. “Seriously—”

“I was so surprised when Yuqi told me you two were related.”

She’s talking to Mark but looking at you, eyes squinted a little, like someone analyzing a germ under a microscope. So she does know. Great. “I couldn’t believe that this girl was the same little star you used to tell me about when I met her. She’s grown up a lot, you know? Doesn’t take after you at all, Markie.”

“Soyeon,” you say again, “Let him go.”

“Why? So you can keep throwing your tantrum? Every time you open your mouth it gets harder and harder to see the resemblance. When you’re so…”

She doesn’t need to say it, and it’s honestly probably better that she didn’t, because you would’ve leapt at her if she’d gone as far as she’d been intending to dig with that comment. You’re aware you don’t resemble Mark, physically or otherwise— in accomplishment, in talent, in patience, in perfect unmarred reputation. You’re well fucking aware.

“Soyeon,” Mark finally says, thankfully lurching a little in your direction like her evil witch's spell is finally wearing off, “I don’t think there’s any need for that, what the hell is going on? Do you two know each other?”

Soyeon opens her eyes comically wide. “You don’t know?”

And you feel Mark stop. What the hell are you doing, you want to scream. Why are you even pausing for this bullshit? Come on! But he doesn’t. He stands there and he stares at her, as if searching her face for any sign of truth, and Soyeon takes this as her cue.

“Little star is a big girl now! Her own fake ID, clinging along with her baby bottle to any club the adults want to go to, even catching her own ride home with any wasted guy that smiles in her direction! Don’t you live together? What a handful she must be if she can sneak out under your nose, Markie.”

The blood rushing in your ears makes it hard to tell if it’s only you that’s losing your hearing or if the rest of the people hanging around in the kitchen really have quieted to watch the rising altercation, but you don’t dare move your eyes from the girl to check. The baby bottle comment, outing your fake ID, all of that is rage inducing on its own— but it’s a cold, stomach twisting madness that grabs you when you latch on to the last part of what she’s just said. Catching your own ride home?

Was she referring to Yoobin?

Your fingers unfurl from Mark’s jacket.

“What do you mean, catch my own ride?”

Soyeon laughs. Under normal circumstances, it would be a pretty sound. “Did you think we didn’t see you leave? Blowing up our phones like there was some big emergency— We sent that guy out there to keep you the company you wanted so much, God, we got tired of babysitting you. You stopped calling and neither of you came back inside. What, cause your brother is here you’re going to try and soften it up now, huh? Tell us all you didn’t go home with that drunkard, when you love to tell people you’re no stranger to a bar?”

Yoobin, who grabbed you, touched you, tried to drive you home in his wasted state with clear intentions on what he wanted in return.

Yoobin, who Soyeon and Yuqi and their friends had sent, knowing you were panicked, knowing he made you uncomfortable, knowing you were looking for them.

Soyeon who stopped hearing from you and laughed it off. Soyeon who stopped hearing from you for days and didn’t bat an eye, knowing what she’d left you alone with.

Soyeon, who’s straight, pretty nose cracks under your fist in the same way Yoobin’s did, except this time you don’t run away when she screams and collapses and you realize what you’ve done. Except this time you hit her again— or you try to at least, lunging for her with your eyes ablaze, unsure what you’ll do when you get there but 100% sure it’ll hurt worse than a bloody fucking nose— but don’t quite get there, because someone has lifted you off the ground, two iron-bar arms wrapped like vices around your ribs, the worlds tightest back hug.

In your right mind you might’ve placed the sandalwood and the bergamot, or recognized the rolled up sleeves of his oversized button up, ivory and forest green, but as it stood—

As it stood, as you shouted and thrashed and fought, you only made out one thing.

Mark Lee, your own brother, helping Jeon Soyeon to her feet, two hands firm on her arms to hold her up; his surprised voice the last thing you hear before Lee Jeno hauls you out of that house.

“Wow, Soyeon. Is that true?”

(”Rockstar is going to wallop that girl,” Donghyuck mutters, staring at you like they all are from behind the pillar separating the kitchen from the living room, alerted to the worsening confrontation by a sheepish Jaemin.

“No she won’t," Jaemin tries, clearly feeling guilty, "She knows better than that.”

“She’s gone still. And I’ve never, ever seen her eyes that wide before.”

“That’s control. It’s restraint. She’s not going to hit her.”

Renjun, then, “If you really believe that then why do you look so nervous?”

“Her fist is balled up,” Jisung comments quietly.

“It’s restraint!”

“You weren’t there the day that she knocked the socks off of Park Gyubin, right? When he tried lifting her friend’s skirt up in the cafeteria?”

“She…” Jaemin glances at Donghyuck, “She’s tried to fight men before?”

“Tried to? I thought she was going to kill him. Y/N hit him so hard he had to get his retainer refitted. She’s got a right hook like her brothers. I bruise when she hits me, you know.”

Renjun again, “Why do you sound so proud of that?”

“She… Well, no, look, look! She let go of Mark. They have to be deescalating, she—”

“Does deescalating usually involve getting closer to the object of your anger?” Jisung asks.

“She—”

“Here it comes,” Chenle announces excitedly.

And then Jeno is across the room.)

Jeno realizes before you do that you’re not going back home tonight.

His apartment looks the same. Obviously. It’s only been three weeks since you were last here. Like before, Jeno doesn’t bother with the lights, kicking his shoes off in the entryway the same way, except this time you have two shoes of your own to place next to them instead of the sad and lonely single. Three weeks ago, but it feels like it’s only been a day or two since you did this whole song and dance; following him to the bathroom, sitting on the counter as he stoops under to rummage through his first-aid bin, gritting your teeth when he rubs your knuckles with the antiseptic, smiling weakly when he apologizes for the sting.

You’d cried in his car.

When Jeno carried you out of Somi’s apartment you thought the stinging in your eyes was just discombobulated rage. But when he set you down on your feet in the elevator and you began to come down from the adrenaline high, the burning just intensified as you understood what just happened. You’d only been able to keep the tears at bay until he told you to put your seatbelt on in his passenger seat and it all became too real.

Though you’re not sober enough right now for it to feel like a problem yet, you know you’ll want to kill yourself tomorrow for allowing yourself to devolve in front of him like that no matter the circumstance. In the moment, you weren’t even entirely sure what you were crying about. Was it the craze of fury wearing off after punching Soyeon, and the jitters it left behind? Or the fact that even when Jeno was tugging you towards the elevator up there, you’d stood and waited for Mark to follow for nearly an entire minute, just for him to never come out?

You’d like to chalk it up to adrenaline and inebriation, but deep down you knew exactly what it was that had your eyes brimming with those tears.

He’d chosen Soyeon. The girl who’d lied to him, cheated with him, fucked him over for a grade and left you for dead on the streets of Gangnam, and he’d stayed in that house with her instead of coming out to check on you. And you weren’t really one to catastrophize, but how couldn’t that signal the definitive end of Mark putting up with your shit? The nail in the coffin of his patience with you?

You knew things had been rough lately with you moving in, the thread of butting heads over little things like curfews and the people you hung out with, but you hadn’t thought your relationship had deteriorated to the point that he’d ever… that he’d ever choose someone else. You’re his sister. No matter how mad he is, he’s supposed to choose you.

But he didn't. And in Lee Jeno’s passenger seat, like a giant baby, you cried about it.

In proper Y/N fashion the only thing that had chuffed you into sucking it all up and swallowing it into the depths of your soul never to be seen again, was Jeno’s building appearing on the horizon. The threat of him asking you if you’re alright and actually having to confront those feelings was terrifying enough to jar you out of your self pity.

But he hadn’t asked you about your red eyes. He hadn’t said anything, actually. He just tugged you out of the car and into the elevator. Herded you into his apartment. And tipped his head towards his bathroom just like before, except this time he was smiling. In the soft, polite kind of way that let you know he was well aware of what just transpired in his car, but was simply... letting it be.

(And you always knew Jeno was rather observant. But man, the thought behind that smile could’ve made you burst into tears all over again.)

On the counter, holding out your hand for the steps that would never come, you blinked back to the present when Jeno stopped at the healing salve. You’d been waiting for him to bust out the gauze again, already lamenting the next week of your life with the itchy fabric tight around your wrist, but all Jeno does is raise an eyebrow at you when you don’t hop off of the sink after he puts the kit away.

“What are you waiting for?” he asks.

You blink down at your hand, shiny with the balm, and then back up at him. “The rest of it.”

“The wrap? I didn’t think you needed it.”

“But that’s what you did last time I was here.”

“Because the last time you were here you didn’t know how to punch someone properly. It looked like you got her the right way this time. When I was tugging at that wrist in the elevator just now you hardly seemed to notice, when you could barely close your fist a few weeks ago.”

…Oh. Only as he mentions it do you roll your hand around in its socket, flexing your fingers under the bathroom light. Your knuckles look like shit, the newly forming bruises and angry skin, but it doesn’t actually ache like it did that night with Yoobin.

Well you’ll be damned. So straightening your wrist really does work.

“Oh,” you mumble. “I guess I don’t. Wasn’t really thinking about it.”

“Of course you weren’t. Probably thinking about what you wanted to eat, right?”

“What I— What?”

What you wanted to eat? When did you discuss that you were hungry?

“Heard your stomach grumbling in the car, so I’m assuming you haven’t eaten since before the competition. There’s a pizza place down the street that I think you’d like, a jajangmyeon shop too, but their delivery takes ages. It’s up to you.”

You stare at him, clearly not following. Jeno is relaying this to you like tonight was planned, as if it was always in the cards for you to be hanging out at his place tonight like a couple of pals, leaning against the door with his arms crossed, the perfect picture of normalcy. He thinks you’re going to be here long enough to eat? He’s not planning to have you shipped out of here in the next half hour?

But then you realize that there isn’t really another place for you to be shipped to. Mark’s apartment is… not really an option. The idea of going back there tonight almost makes your stomach roll, actually.

But if you don’t go back, that doesn’t leave much in the realm of locations to hide out at. Somi’s brother is coming home tonight, she’d squealed as much this morning, and considering how rare it is that he’s not busy in other countries you abhor the idea of intruding on their reunification. You don’t have many other friends here that you’re close enough with to just show up at their place at 10PM unannounced, not that you’d want to given that your little spat with Soyeon is probably all over everyones instagram stories right now, and is surely the only thing they’ll want to talk about.

You don’t have very many options right now. And Jeno probably knew that from the moment he decided to bring you here.

“Thinking pretty hard over there,” Jeno hums, “for what is supposed to be a two choice question. Unless you don’t want either?”

“Pizza is… fine.”

“Just fine, or actually good? I can check to see if there’s any—”

“It’s good, Lee.”

He smiles like he’s got you in the bag, and then stands up straight. “I’ll order it then.”

You nod emptily and make moves to follow him out of the bathroom, right on his tail, which is why you nearly crash into him when he whirls back around to stop you. “Oh. Almost forgot.”

“What? Forgot what?"

But you only grow more confused when Jeno speeds off towards his room without replying. There’s a creak and a shuffle, doors opening and closing before Jeno returns with a bundle of fabric bunched up in his arms.

“Can’t imagine it’ll be very comfortable to hang out in that dress all night.”

He holds out the mass; what appears to be a heather gray hoodie and black sweatpants that, even bunched up like this, still look miles too long for you. He sees you eyeing it and you fear he’s going to do something awful, like politely offer to go and get you something else as if he hasn’t already done a hundred other things for you tonight, so you quickly oblige. Once you relieve him of the pile he laughs, tells you he’s going to put the order in for the pizza, and closes the door on the way out.

You stand there unmoving for much too long, the heap of fabric clutched to your chest.

There’s so much to unpack. Being here again. The fact that he was supposed to break your heart today instead of doing all of... this. How casual he’s being about it all. The brother-slash-bestfriend shaped elephant in the room. The clothes.

But, for the sake of not collapsing under the weight of all of that turmoil, you decide to just focus on the latter; the most immediate and least heart wrenching of the bunch. His clothes. You’re going to wear his clothes.

Yet another of your old dreams coming to fruition in this apartment. Lucky you.

Jeno is laying across the long part of the couch when you exit the bathroom, footsteps making no noise because you’re padding along on top of the ankle hems. He’s dressed differently too; gone is the jeans and the ivory button up, in its place a black long sleeve and navy blue sweatpants just like yours, except his actually fit. He’s texting furiously on his phone when you round the corner, eyebrows furrowed with something like irritation before he sees your looming figure in the corner of his eye and looks up.

"I put an X-Men movie into the DVD player," he announces, squinting back down to his screen, "Couldn't think of a better time than now to finally get into it, since you'll be here to explain all the things I don't understand..."

But he trails off as he stares at his phone, eyebrows furrowing at something before he frowns and stands up. The look is gone when you shuffle towards the couch and he looks up again, smiling at you like you like nothing is wrong, before he says, "I need to make a call though. Start the movie, yeah? I'll be back before things get interesting."

You stare at him. Probably shouldn't miss the opening scene if you really want to 'get into it', you nearly say. But you've been on this earth for long enough to recognize when someone wants a little privacy.

You want to ask if it's Mark. If he's the one Jeno had been messaging back so agitatedly just now. But the fear of it not being him, Jeno instead just trying to sort something out with like, a truant project partner or something, makes you stuff it down again. It'll just make you look even more pitiful.

"Sure. Most of the intro is fan service anyway."

He opens his mouth like he's about to say something else but then his phone starts to ring and he only smiles tightly at you instead. Then he's gone down the corridor, into his bedroom, and when the ringtone finally stops you can barely hear his voice much less make out what he's saying. Hm.

A different day and you might've snuck off after him to eavesdrop just to see for yourself. But after tonight?

You simply watch him go, and then tumble onto his couch with the exhaustion of someone who's just run up and down the building a dozen times.

You don't even have the strength to reach over for the TV remote; you just lay there and revel in the softness of the cushions, and at how tired you suddenly feel. Rehearsal all morning, giving it your all on stage, the energy-leeching atmosphere of a house party, the alcohol sagging through your veins. Not to mention the emotional confusion. Crying always takes it out of you.

So it's no wonder that you forgo turning the movie on to just take a moment to breathe in the pleasantly dark living room, closing your eyes for what you intended to be a brief second, just to gather the last bits of your patience and sanity for the night ahead... only to fall victim to what happens to most people when they say they're just resting their eyes.

You fall asleep.

At least for a little while, you do. A brief, dreamless, blissful unconsciousness.

It’s so blissful in fact, that when you’re startled back to life by a knock at the front door a few minutes later— blinking the haze out of your eyes and seeing Jeno’s ceiling instead of your own, understanding with a sinking hopelessness that you’re not waking from a nightmare, that all of tonight has really happened— the dread is almost crushing when it all comes back.

But there isn't even any time to mourn. Because you realize that if someone's just knocked on the door, like the good homeowner he is, Jeno will be out here any second now to open it. He'll come out here and he'll see you and you'll be sucked right back into that nightmare, pretending like everything is fine when you both know that tonight was supposed to go so, so differently. Sitting next to each other and eating next to each other and attempting small talk for the sake of keeping things civil until you can escape this place in ten hours.

The idea almost gives you hives. You can't do it. You can't. There has to be another way. What if you make something up? A sore throat? A sudden headache?

But there's no time to think of anything fancy because in the next second Jeno's bedroom door clicks open down the hall, and panic flies up in your throat.

So you do the only think you can fathom. Before he can come around the corner and see you freaking out, you fling yourself back over and pretend to still be dead asleep.

As foolish as you immediately feel, it must work at least a little bit; you hear him come into the living room, hesitate, and then continue on past the couch on lighter steps as if worried about making too much noise. You even steady your breathing when he’s opening the door for the pizza guy— smooth inhale, smooth exhale, spaced just far enough to replicate what someone sounds like when they’ve been out for a while.

Shit. Will this actually work?

When he closes the door and the room falls to silence your heart picks up a little bit. What is he doing? Is he staring at you, trying to see if you’re faking?

Is he wondering if he should wake you up to eat? Oh, God! What if—

“Are you up?” he whispers. And you almost choke trying to swallow down the instinctual response that rises in your throat.

With surprisingly great effort, you do nothing. Say nothing. You don’t even stir. You just pray to whatever God is out there that Jeno will take the hint, eat his pizza at the kitchen island, leave you out here and go to bed. You get excited when you hear his steps again and think he’s going to pass the couch straight, but of course a second later you feel the couch dip somewhere off behind your back and you nearly curse.

“Guess not,” Jeno mumbles. "I forgot that you knock out so easily."

A few more seconds of what feels like an endless quiet, only his shuffling making sound; through your squeezed-shut eyes you see the light of the TV flicker like he’s just changed the channel, and with it you hear what must be the intro to a gameshow or something— excited chatter, ringing bells, audience cheers. But the volume is turned down so low that it feels like the show is playing in another room. Is he keeping the volume low because of you?

Is he… going to stay out here?

“So you won’t mind if I think out loud,” he says suddenly, and your eyes nearly fly open in surprise. What?

But he sounds serious. “Like a test run, almost. For what I wanted to talk about earlier at Aegon. Since I still don’t really know what the hell I’m going to say even after losing sleep over it all week, and I know you’ll try to stop me if you’re awake. I should just try it now, right?”

Try it... now?

Your fake deep-breathing almost hitches in panic when you realize what he’s getting at. Sweet God, please, no. What he wanted to talk about earlier? He wants to get into that now?

“Jaemin scolded me for springing it on you like that after your showcase, by the way. I didn’t realize that I might’ve cornered you until later and I’m sorry about that. I just really, really wanted to talk. Because I didn’t before, and everything got all…” he sighs, heavily. “I’m thankful that you told me to get lost earlier, because I think I can explain it better, like this. I can start from the beginning. I know how thorough you are about things like this.”

You hear the beep of a digital watch somewhere in his house as your face scrunches up in confusion. It's officially midnight, if the watch is making noise to denote the hour, but the realization of the time only comes second to the slow bewilderment slipping through your gloom.

From the beginning? The beginning of what? What the hell does any of that have to do with firmly rejecting you?

“Before we met, because of the way Mark talked about you, I had this idea in my head that you’d be some sort of perfect, flawless angel. That you’d be a little version of him; neat and proper and just a little bit naive, too nice for your own good. A rule follower.”

He laughs at this, a genuine laugh at the memory, and your frown deepens in embarrassment. “Then I actually laid my own eyes on you for the first time, and I realized I couldn’t have been more off.”

You remember it clearly, the first time you’d made a fool out of yourself in front of him and the rest of Mark’s friends. Fourteen years old, running inside the house after walking home from class with your own crew; you’d completely forgotten that you were supposed to bring your skateboard and a change of clothes to school because you all planned to ride around the park that day, the first warm afternoon after a mushy spring, and they said if you didn’t come back out in sixty seconds or less they’d leave you in the dust. So you stormed into the house, past the living room with all of them in it without even a glance or greeting since you hadn’t realized it wasn’t just your brother in there, hurled off your uniform in favor of your outfit staples at the time— an oversized tee that you stole from Mark, hand-me-down cargo shorts that also came from your brother’s closet, and your most cherished possessions: a Yankees baseball cap and your beat-up blue Nikes.

But you couldn’t find your skateboard and the clock was running out, so you howled down the staircase, “If you moved my skateboard again from where I put it I’m going to kill you in your sleep!” only for Mark to shout back up, “It’s a tripping hazard! It’s in the hallway closet! And aren’t you grounded right now? Where are you even going? Does mom know?”

You hadn’t replied. Just snatched the board from where he said he’d stashed it, barreled back down the stairs, and was fully preparing to toss your brother some half-assed explanation, but then you’d seen him. Seen them. Mark’s new school friends, all lounging on your living room couch, staring at you as if you’d come into the room with a bomb. Lee Jeno (who’s name you’d only later find out) appeared the most stunned by your tornado-like appearance.

You could only imagine what they were seeing. Some rowdy tomboy, technically on house arrest but running out to wreak havoc on the town regardless, threatening to kill people in their sleep for tidying up. Exaggerated, obviously, but you remember being mortified halfway to Sunday by how cute they all were and that this was their first introduction to you— and in that mortification, sprinting out of the house without telling your brother anything at all.

You’d gotten a good scolding for that later.

“And it’s going to sound kind of stupid,” Jeno continues, and if you didn’t know any better you’d think you heard the smile in his voice, “But because of that, I got this idea in my head that Mark must’ve only been seeing you through those rose-tinted glasses. The type every older brother has for every younger sister, the ones that make everything they do look cute and miraculous and perfect even if they’re clearly evil to everyone else. Not saying I thought you were secretly some sort of demon or anything either, ‘cause I know you’d roll your eyes at me right now if you could. Just that the girl I saw that day was nowhere near the delicate little thing he’d described. And I got... curious. I started wondering what you were actually like.”

Your face is getting hot again. You’ve never, ever heard him speak this much in one sitting, and the idea of him ever paying this much attention to you is mind boggling. But you don’t let yourself lean into whatever feeling of hope is whistling through your head.

So what if he made a game out of trying to separate your real traits from the things Mark got wrong about you six years ago? Sometimes you liked to make up season-long dramas about strangers you saw on campus. It doesn’t mean anything now.

You want to scrunch into a ball. You aren’t sure how much more of this monologue you can handle, even despite the consequences of rolling over and breaking the facade just to get him to stop. The heat in your face is spreading to your neck, your stomach, every inch of your skin, it’s making your stomach churn with discomfort.

“But then the next year you came to our school,” Jeno says with finality, like this is supposed to be some important distinction. “And it stopped being as casual of an interest. The months went by and at some point I stopped looking for you just to see if you were doing something Mark didn’t know about, and started looking for you just because I wanted to know what you were doing. We’d come over for movie night and while Hyuck and Jae argued for hours about what they did and didn’t want to watch, I’d be wondering if I’d get to see you. You probably won’t remember this, but one of those nights I even ordered an extra curry bowl just so I’d have an excuse to knock on your door to tell you about it. And I thought that was a normal thing to do.”

Jesus Christ. Do you remember? Of course you remember! You’d been reading at your desk with your headphones in, which meant Jeno had to come all the way into your room to get your attention— tapping the side of your earbud with two gentle fingers, laughing all crescent-eyed at you when you yelped in surprise. The sight of him in your room for the first time was like a grenade going off in your tweenaged mind; you’d had to calm down for nearly an entire minute before going downstairs to get your food.

“I thought it was just Mark rubbing off on me. He cared so much about you that I thought my sudden interest was simply overprotection by relation— that he was the reason why I couldn’t stop looking for you. ‘Cause in my mind it couldn't be anything else but brotherly. Mark was pretty clear about what he thought of the people that liked you so I knew it couldn’t be that; I wasn’t stupid enough to let myself be interested in you like that. Right?”

He laughs again, but it doesn’t sound nearly as sweet this time. “I’m rambling, huh?”

Yes, you are. You are.

“I’ll cut to the ending then,” he replies like he’s read your mind. “I realized I did in fact ‘like you like that’, at our graduation.”

And your eyes pop open. It’s completely involuntary, and if you’d been facing him you would have been screwed. But you’re still looking deep into the cushions of the black couch; wide eyes staring into a deep, dark, nothing.

“I hid behind that brotherly excuse for three years. My eyes followed you in the hallway because I wanted to make sure you were okay like Mark would’ve wanted me to. I offered to drive you home from school when he was busy because that’s what Mark would’ve asked me to do anyway. Everything I wanted to do I told myself I was doing because I was just a good friend. You know?” A beat passes before he hums to himself. “But I guess you don’t, actually. Because you liked me authentically, like you do with everything. The night of our graduation, the backyard barbecue your parents threw for us. You remember that, right?”

Duh. You’d bawled your eyes out on the front porch halfway through because only then did it fully sink in that they’d all be leaving you behind, these losers you swore you didn’t even like, before wiping your face and moodily rejoining the celebration.

“Jaemin and Donghyuck were having fun like it was their last day on earth. Even Mark didn’t seem too worried about the fact that we’d be leaving our whole lives behind in a few weeks when we drove off to SNU. I asked him if he was going to miss anything and he listed a dozen things, the friends of ours that were going to different colleges, his parents cooking, his backyard, his bedroom, his electric keyboard. And I remember feeling frozen when he didn’t mention you. In hindsight I know that it was probably because he’d still be coming back home every break, and you had a whole year of high school to finish so it wasn’t like you were going anywhere, but at the moment I felt like someone just yanked the blanket off of me. Three years of pretending and it only took one conversation for it to smash through all of that and hit me like a truck. If Mark isn’t worried about it, why the hell has the idea of leaving you here been haunting me for the last week and a half?”

Oh.

“It was then, I think. That I went, ‘Ah. So this hasn’t all been because of Mark, then,’ and everything I’d ever done under the guise of brotherly obligation popped into context all at once. And as if it wasn’t enough being in my own head, I was still in the middle of talking to Mark as I realized that not only did I like you more than I’d ever liked anyone— I was looking directly at the person who would surely strangle me to death if he ever found out that I liked you more than I’d ever liked anyone. So I pretended it never happened. I said ‘yeah, me too,’ the party ended, I went home, the summer went on, and before I knew it I was on campus and had a million other things to worry about. I saw how well you seemed to be doing when Mark would show me your Instagram posts, how much fun you were having, and I let that make me feel better about being such a coward. Over time, without you around, I convinced myself that things were better like this. That it never would have worked out anyway.”

There’s a moment of silence so utterly long that for a moment you genuinely think that this is going to be it. That he’s going to have said all of that and just… sighed, gotten up, and gone to sleep, leaving you alone to be in misery over what you’ve just heard until morning.

But that’s not it. He’s got a few more words for you. The worst of them all. A string of syllables at first, ones that instantly shatter every bit of emotional resistance you’ve built for yourself these last few days— and then a sentence that has your blood turning to ice in your veins when you realize what it means.

“But then you came back to Seoul,” Jeno started simply, “And a lot of things I thought I knew for sure don’t feel quite as concrete anymore.”

You inhaled.

You exhaled.

And tried to understand what the fuck that last part was supposed to mean.

But then before you could he continued on, his voice soft, casual, innocent. Too innocent. “Like how I used to be sure that you snored when you were sleeping,” he murmured. “Has it been so long that I've forgotten? Or are you not actually asleep, Rockstar?”

[♥︎]: and there it is, folks! please leave a like if you enjoyed! it REALLY gives me the motivation to work on this faster!

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chosoniisan · 5 months

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caught in the middle ▶︎▶︎ choso + suguru (r18)

➤ pairing: kamo choso | reader | getou suguru

➤ setting: modern, non-curse au (uni au, specifically)

➤ genre: smut!! (a little dark, just a lil')

➤ caution: threesome (ish); a splash of d*bious c*nsent (coercion); oral s*x (p & v); rough treatment

➤ summary: according to suguru (no thanks to choso), you're too inexperienced for your own good; he intends to change that

➤ authoress' notes: I was struck with the idea of choso and suguru tag teaming you, and so this was born plus I haven't written smut in so long and wanted to dust myself off. my hope is that I can make this into a lil mini series, because I'm keen to continue exploring the concept of suguru showing you & choso the ropes when it comes to the downright nasty. I'm also keen to playing into a degenerate characterization of suguru, but that's neither here nor there :')

“Remember what I said—don’t let her cum before I do.”

Would you have preferred him talking to you rather than over you?

Who knows, but what you do know is that either way you’re the last one who’s primed to contribute any sort of coherent response. And how could you when you’re currently suffering from acute choking-on-Suguru’s-girth disease of which your symptoms include aching in your jaw, saltiness clinging to your palate, and, of course, an affinity for only breathing through the mostly muffled, the utterly debauched.

But he’s only one accessory to the crime of ruining you from both ends with the other half of the blame resting on Choso’s shoulders, coupled with you resting entirely on his face. How much “persuasion” went into this arrangement is a story for later if ever, particularly when Choso’s not flattening his tongue for another pass across the seam of your lower lips, as though a consolation for drawing back at the last second.

“. . .That doesn’t seem fair to her,” he pitches in your defense, and for that he has your appreciation, even if speaking up for you brings with it the fanning of his breath, teasing of his pinked tiers where you’re most sensitive. It isn’t a perfect solution. . .or much of one at all, considering he makes a point to return to the source of intoxication, courtesy of a rogue flicker over you in that empty space—not so much with the ripple effect that sends you sputtering around Suguru and wishing he isn’t crammed so deeply in your mouth. “She always likes it when I eat her out, and I really want her to cum on me. . .”

Just like Choso’s blatant admission, so too is the embarrassment scorching through your insides, bubbling up over the expanse of your face; though you can only contemplate craning back since Suguru is enough steps ahead of you to crown his fingers through your hair. Suffice it to say, you aren’t going anywhere besides the engorged length of him, filling you up to the absolute brim. (Clearly addressing Choso’s knack for oversharing to your detriment will also have to wait for another time. And honestly, you’re not entirely sure you would have gotten through to him when he’s this overtaken by the peachy pit between your legs.)

Off the heels of abashment, you falter a bit as those pesky digits relinquish their hold on your tresses once Suguru’s commanded your compliance again. He’s silkly devious that way, tracing the pads of his fingertips across your cheek at first before his thumb presses at the corner of your lips and strains the tender flesh even further around his member. Unlike earlier, his sunglow gaze is trained wholly on you and no one else, nursing a glossy sheen atop your skin (then there’s Choso who isn’t helping your case either, wetting saliva over your folds). “Don’t you think that’s selfish of you?”

Is what Suguru says in the same moment that he’s devolved into using his hand on your face to guide you even further onto him, until he’s bobbing dangerously near the back of your throat, preluding what’s to come. Though as for the right now, he’s thoroughly effected by your oral sleeve, those last vestiges of self-constraint gradually falling to the wayside in a wash of heartthrob red laying claim to more and more of his face. “You have me to thank for this—yet you’re only concerned about getting off yourself.” His chiding has an edge of something else, which persists in obscurity as you’re beholden to a punctuated ram throwing you off kilter. “I didn’t think you were a selfish girl. . .” he trails off there, leading you along his very short leash. “Tell me I’m not wrong about you.”

You don’t tell Suguru anything—instead, you offer a semblance of a nod, accompanied by an even greater offering of slickened reverence to his cock as you work him feverishly into your mouth, skimming over the vein webbed on his underside. That sets off the chain reaction of him folding over you with a malted groan spilt from his lips, and in the meantime you rear your hips back, hoping Choso takes the hint to sympathize with your plight of not wanting to fall over the edge too soon. Because if he keeps at his previous pace, you have no doubt in your mind that you’ll be reacquainted with the sort of rapture only he knows how to indulge you in.

Surprisingly, Choso is receptive to your wordless plea even while he steers you back onto him with hands curled over your sides; the hum of a sigh inked in relief strums through him as he stitches himself back to you in earnest. Like each ticking second spent away from your heat was a second shaved from his existence. He’s measured for once with his devotion, smearing beads of your wetness to pave the way for his tongue breaching past your pleated slit and settling between your inner walls with a sinful ease. From you, there’s a whine that splinters into pieces the moment it hits the air as you’re realizing (belatedly) that you severely underestimated Choso’s proclivity for cultivating you into pure bliss.

It's too late now with his one-track mind and equally fervent ministrations, so you try to make what you can out of the situation in spite of electricity sparking over your nerves, the incessant bubbling up in your stomach already signaling the beginning of the end. And you need look no further than the weight of Suguru seeded on your tongue. Choso might be stealing a good chunk of your attention, but that doesn’t stop you from fixating on the sting at the outer edges of your lips from a tight fit or the soon-to-be mottling over your knees trying to keep yourself steady in the midst of a deterioration into downright battering. How quickly demanding bruises through Suguru like a contagion, the strain that’s cured only from your undoing by his hand, and so you’re left with no choice but to let yourself be caught up by him, in him, for the sake of him.

“You know. . .you’re not very good at this,” Suguru remarks as if he isn’t fiercely warming himself between your lips, because only he could pull himself together enough to tear into you with a breezy tinge in his wake, the proverbial salt in your wound. Sooner rather than later, his hand finds itself tangled at the back of your head, dragging you right down to the base of him, and your scramble to smother your gag reflex (and Choso in the process) through a hail of full-bodied quaking merely proves his point. “You’re lucky I’m willing to teach you how to properly suck dick, since Choso clearly isn’t giving you enough practice.”

Speaking of—it’s right then and there that Choso takes the opportunity to really spear you on his tongue.

He isn’t taking that dig too well.

Problem is. . .his displeasure is misplaced, or at least it feels that way when his fingers move to split open your folds so he can bully and prod at the spot that has you blinking back stars in collapse. A whine sets the stage for your frantic writhing atop Choso, trying your best to dislodge him for your own good, but he’s resistant to coaxing of any kind when you’re falling apart at his beck. It’s one thing to bear through an unrelenting Choso, molding you to the shape of his sticky sweet pleasure, but it’s another thing entirely to keep your head above the waters of gratification whilst swallowing down every inch of Suguru’s cock.

And he doesn’t make it any easier for you, you who’s allegedly rough around the edges in the craft of obliging a man. Breathing might as well be a luxury what with Suguru beating your throat raw with his swollen tip, and there’s no finesse in the way you fumble your tongue over him; either your efforts aren’t clumsy enough to warrant a snide affront or he’s far too consumed with chasing after his own end through you. (You’re inclined to think it’s the latter more so than the former.) Beneath the chorus of depravity suffusing the room, your heart is heavy against your ribcage, and you can only hope that Suguru acquiesces first, even if that means holding your nose to his c—

Lips seal around your clit with particular fervor.

Oh, no.

No no no no no.

A sweeping arch invites itself over your back in the same beat that you instinctively squeeze your thighs around Choso’s head, surrendering even more of yourself to his gluttony. It’s a vicious, depraved cycle because with every convulsion racking down to your bones, you’re anchored back to him gorging on you with little abandon, utterly remorseless that he’s driving you out of your mind. Ecstasy is oh so malted, tastes like a milk & honey delicacy while Choso can’t seem to decide whether to savor your pulsing clit or root through your tightly knotted, dripping wet clutch. Though it’s the bitter part of that sweetness sobering you up before you have a chance to feed into the velveted hunger that’s ravaging as it is rosied:

“You really don’t listen, do you.” His infliction isn’t the slow, too slow drag of his shaft along your tongue nor is it him relinquishing your mouth to slide along the side of your face. And neither is it the obscene tap, tapping of his ruddy cockhead against your cheek, streaking a mess of juices over the once untouched canvas of you.

Blinking bleariness from your vision and yet his moonless gaze, crackling at the edges, is clear as day—says there’s no need to wait long for true retribution.

“I guess, I’ll have to give you a lesson in obedience, too—my treat.”

#geto x reader #choso x reader #choso x you #geto suguru x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #geto smut #choso smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk

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wonbokkies · 1 year

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9:14 pm han yujin. ☆ ͏

word count: 0.4k

syn: a typical late night w/ han yujin.

wrote this bc i was feeling delusional and im in love w my (real) bf yujin 😊😊

“you didn’t have to wait for me, you know,” the boy next to you mumbled softly, his slim fingers gripping the strap of his bag while eyeing your figure that was currently leaning against the cold wall. now aware of his presence, you looked up at him, mindlessly shrugging while removing yourself from the hard surface and making your way to stand next to him, the streetlamp immediately illuminating your features. “practice ended much later than i thought.”

“but i wanted to.” you said.

“but it's late.” yujin replied. looking at the imaginary watch on your wrist, you faked a thinking expression before sending him a lopsided smile.

“not that late.” you retorted.

“it's almost 10.”

“and? the ice cream shop closes at 10:30, we have time.” you said, causing the taller boy to look at you skeptically.

“ice cream? this late?” you grinned up at him and nodded beamingly.

“what? don’t wanna get ice cream with me?” his glazed face then broke out into a panicked expression, causing you to stifle a laugh. intertwining your hand with his much larger one, you gently placed them into the right pocket of your puffer jacket, cold fingers still interlocked. the small action ignited an indescribable emotion in the boy, the apples of his cheeks hueing pink and the tips of his ears turning peachy. unconsciously rubbing the top of his hand with your thumb to create warmth, you stared up at the shy 5’9 boy beside you.

his messy, slightly sweaty locks fell around his face, allowing him to look even prettier than usual. he always looked pretty in your eyes.

tightening his grip on the sports bag slung around his shoulders, he inhaled when you slowly removed your intertwined hands from your pocket and placed a light, feathery kiss on it, your strawberry chapstick leaving a very slight print. a shy smile instantly formed in the corner of his heart shaped lips, his pretty bunny teeth peeking out.

“doesn’t matter because you’re coming anyways.” you mumbled and his smile only grew.

yujin deeply appreciated it when you waited for him after his inconsistently late soccer practices. knowing the fact that you were willing to wait alone in the cold weather just for him made a familiar feeling bloom in the pit of his chest. but he wasn’t gonna let you know that. too bad- you already did.

“what flavor are you getting?” you asked.

“strawberry.” he replied.

“again?” he smiled.

“it reminds me of you.”

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perm. tl: @nyangified

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ohnococo · 3 months

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Fight Night | CHAPTER 3 | MMA Fighter!Sukuna x Reader

“I’ve got a fight coming up, so I’ve got to stay clean for the tests over the next 6 months,” there’s a tinge of annoyance in his face, the closest to pouting you think a man like Sukuna can get, “so you’d better have fun tonight.” You don’t know what to say. You had fun every night with him, and while it had occurred to you that this was definitely not a permanent arrangement you’d thought you just wouldn’t hear from him again one day. You aren’t sure if you’d have preferred that to having an actual warning for this last hurrah, and being told about it as it’s happening. Having Sukuna’s eyes scanning your reaction during the few seconds you have to process it leaves an odd feeling in your stomach, something he’s quick to distract from as he goes back to kissing your neck, hands travelling further up your legs, pushing them apart gently. He has a last word on the matter, whispering into your ear as his palm meets your pussy and he hums happily at discovering you’d decided to forego panties. “I know I will.”

Its your last night with Sukuna, and all you can do is make the most of it.

Warnings: drinking, drug use, public sex, rough sex, vaginal sex, hand jobs, spitting, creampie, fingering, exhibitionism, sex under the influence, fem bodied reader, fuck buddy situation, overstimulation, forced orgasm

Notes: I’m really happy with this chapter, I hope you guys support and enjoy!

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

Time had passed strangely in the two months since you met Ryomen ‘The King’ Sukuna. It felt like it had flown, like you’d only just met him, but at the same time you felt like it had taken a couple of years off your life. He went hard every single time, and so did you, but at the very least you would have some stories to tell.

You’re no longer unsure like you had been the first time you arrived at the VIP section unaccompanied by Uraume. You’re expected, so you say your name and the man steps aside quickly, welcoming you warmly as if you had the same name worth brown nosing like Sukuna did. It’s weird having a taste of his power just by proximity, but it explains the loyalty of the people around him even further. You don’t let it get to your head though, always acutely aware of the way you got here, always aware of how easy it would be for someone else to get here in your place.

Right now isn’t the time for those thoughts though, nor the time for thoughts of how Sukuna never communicated in the days between telling you where to be and when, nor the time for thoughts of how that fact gave you a little pit in your stomach.

No, now was the time to make some memories on Sukuna’s dime, and on his cock.

Walking into the lounge, he’s as handsome as ever, shirt rolled up and further exposing his already unconcealable tattoos. His hair is a much more saturated shade of that peachy hue that managed to seem intimidating on him despite the otherwise pretty nature of such a colour. His thickly muscled thighs seem to be straining much harder than usual against his slacks and when you catch his eye he stretches his legs out as he lies back in his chair. Familiar faces say hello to you as you pass and you nod back in lieu of more lengthy pleasantries as the call of his lap beckons you.

He stops you in your tracks with two raised fingers before you have a chance to take your spot. He looks you up and down, appraising you for a moment through heavy lids before licking his lips and smiling. “All that, for me?”

You roll your eyes, opting to sit on the arm of his chair instead of his legs since he was starting up with you already. He won’t have it though, grabbing you by the hips and sliding you onto his lap as he locks in on your neck, kissing along the exact spots his lips had been the last time you’d seen each other the previous weekend.

“All this for a drink.” you finally reply, leaning away from his kisses and towards the table in front of his chair where your drink was awaiting, having been ordered by Uraume as soon as they spotted you speaking with the bouncer.

You lick your lips after sipping the lethal but necessary combination of Red Bull and vodka, having finally admitted to Sukuna only last week that you didn’t actually care for the taste of the Dom Perignom he’d kept on ice for your arrival at the beginning of each night out after the first. When you’d told him you’d just asked for something expensive to piss him off a little he’d had a good laugh at that.

A smile finds its way to your lips when you recall the danger in his voice when he’d told you that you didn’t want to try too hard to piss him off. ’But,’ he’d said, ’my pockets are deep when it comes to having a good time.’

The ’for a price’ part of that went unsaid. Lucky for you the price was something you were more than willing to pay.

Your reminiscing is interrupted and you nearly spill your drink as he hooks an arm around your waist, pressing your side back into him to remove any distance you’d momentarily created. He’s wasting even less time than usual, already renewing the marks on your neck with lips and tongue and teeth. You take a slow sip, tangling your other hand in his hair and tugging lightly.

He steals your lips before you have a chance to take another drink, and something on his tongue is bitter, giving you a hint at what would be helping this night along. His kiss is hot, hands squeezing at your thighs, cock already hard underneath you, and when he pulls back there’s a dangerous look in his eyes.

You don’t know what to say. You had fun every night with him, and while it had occurred to you that this was definitely not a permanent arrangement you’d thought you just wouldn’t hear from him again one day. You aren’t sure if you’d have preferred that to having an actual warning for this last hurrah, and being told about it as it’s happening. Having Sukuna’s eyes scanning your reaction during the few seconds you have to process it leaves an odd feeling in your stomach, something he’s quick to distract from as he goes back to kissing your neck, hands travelling further up your legs, pushing them apart gently.

He has a last word on the matter, whispering into your ear as his palm meets your pussy and he hums happily at discovering you’d decided to forego panties.

“I know I will.”

A stop for food is a required occurrence on these nights. You were grateful for it, honestly, but shocked the first time Sukuna had shouted the name of a place to his entourage as you filtered from one club and into smaller groups to take separate cars to your destination. You had been beginning to think he wasn’t human with the way he tanked line after line and drink after drink. But you’d always find yourself reminded that he was indeed human as you pulled up to some dive or greasy burger place at some point in the evening.

Tonight is no different, with your odd crowd settled into the hard metal outdoor seating, eating your fast food. Strangers filter in and out of the door behind you, also soaking up the copious amounts of alcohol and drugs in their stomachs during the pit stop. The night air and lack of sweaty people pushing against you doesn’t feel like too much of an oddity though, with the rhythmic reggaeton blasting from someone’s car in the parking lot reminiscent of the vibe of the club you had just been at before.

Sukuna is pounding his second cheeseburger and complaining, as he always does, that it ’isn’t even real food’.

“Yeah, is that why you look like you’re about to lick the wrapper?” You ask, playing with the straw of your Sprite. This middle-of-the-night break was never enough to sober up, just enough to make it through the rest of it. On occasion you wouldn’t even stop long enough to sit somewhere, instead watching as Sukuna ate in the back of his hired car, acting like he’d been starved for months. You figured that it probably did taste especially decadent compared to whatever diet he was forced to adopt for training.

“If you have any suggestions of where I can get a clean meal at midnight without cooking it myself, I’m all ears?” He pulls your drink from your hands, finishing half of it with a hiss as if he hadn’t been putting far worse things in his body every night you’d been with him.

“Of course you don’t cook.”

He raises his brows at you, only slightly more perturbed than amused that you were implying there were things he couldn’t do. “I don’t need to cook, that’s what Uraume is for.”

Uraume blushes at being referred to in a way that could even be slightly construed as favourable and you’re shocked to find out that they had actually been his cook all this time. Why their duties also included waiting on Sukuna hand and foot you did not know.

“If you say so…” you turn your attention to your phone, checking messages, assuring friends you were both alive and conscious, waiting for the next round to begin as you get what might be your only moment of rest from Sukuna’s very much welcome but very much relentless onslaught.

As you respond to one person, then move to respond to the next, Sukuna glances down at your screen, obviously picking out the emojis listed above the preview of his last text to you. He sneers and gestures to your screen.

“What the fuck is that?”

“This?” You wave your thumb over his messages, and he points to the name you’d given him, drawing a shrug from you. “I mean, you’re ‘The King’ or whatever.”

“And the monster thing?”

“Yeah, that’s you.”

His brows raise higher, as he tilts his head forward and gives you a look as if he were silently reprimanding you for your choice of name for him. You have to laugh, as much as he bantered with you through the night, there were occasionally moments like this that would remind you he’d gone far too long having his boots licked. Particularly if a few emojis in place of his name seemed to bother him.

Then, something changes in that look. It has your hairs standing on end and your pussy stirring.

“You want me to show you how much of a monster I can be?”

He doesn’t need you to answer that as he stands, grabbing you by the wrist to pull you up with him. He starts dragging you into the restaurant, calling over his shoulder to the group as he does, “We’re leaving in 15.”

He pulls you through the bustling restaurant, past booths packed with people in various states of inebriation, some laughing, some singing, some making out. He drags you past the counter separating the hungry crowd from the overworked employees, rushing to stuff burgers into bags as numbers were shouted out. He guides you right into the bathroom, into a stall, and has your back pressed against the now shut and locked door before you know it.

You knew you were going to get it from the way he holds you captive by your upper arms, teeth clashing with yours as you open your mouth wide to accept his kiss. He’s moving fast, almost too fast for your body to catch up. It doesn’t need to though, as he only releases you long enough to undo his belt and pants and have his cock out and ready. Then you’re back in his grasp as he hoists you up and you’re held firmly by his hands on your ass as he lines himself up. You wrap your arms around his neck, trying to rock your hips into him despite the precarious position.

The head is slipping through your wetness, gathering slick as it catches at your entrance, but slides past where he wants it nestled again. The heat of it against your tender clit only gets you wetter, groaning and enjoying that alone until his eyes are snapping up from your pussy to lock with yours.

His glare tells you all you need to know, that you won’t be cumming on that cock without him, not right now. He pins you against the stall with his body, moving one hand from your ass to line himself up properly, rocking up to his toes to fill you without a care for stretching your tight pussy far too fast. He keeps you pressed there as his hips snap against yours, putting a hand on the top of the stall to fuck you harder. Your moans are high pitched, breathy, carried by the air being squeezed from you with each harsh thrust. Sukuna has his body pressed so firmly against you that you can barely get any air in and it’s all making your head spin, heat pooling in your stomach already.

The fluorescent lights are blinding, and as you look at Sukuna with his clenched teeth, curled lip, and intense stare you wonder if he always looked quite so crazed as he fucks you. Or if it had always been hidden in the dim lighting of all the clubs and cars you’d fucked in. Every so often his lids get heavy, and his glare slips as he watches your face while you unravel completely, and you wonder if he’s close, but then he’s snapping back into that scowl.

You tighten your arms and legs around him as he brings his other hand up to grip at the stall too, hanging on as he fucks you so hard your eyes are rolling back in your head. Then, he stops. Before you have time to process anything his voice is in your ear, in your head, pulling you from the depths.

“What’s my name?”

“What?”

His hips snap hard enough against yours that you’re left gasping for air. You can’t even respond and even when he returns to his previous punishing pace you feel like you’re going to fall apart any second.

“Say my fucking name.”

“S-sukuna.” He’s fucking you so hard your voice is shaking.

“All of it.”

“Ryomen Sukuna.”

“Louder.”

You want to be worried about getting kicked out of this place, but have to just trust the crowd outside this bathroom was too loud and too rowdy for you getting your guts rearranged to be noticed. Sukuna doesn’t appreciate the hesitation though, leaning back enough to put some space between your chests, forcing you to cling to him tighter as he uses your body weight to have you bouncing into his punishing thrusts even harder.

“Louder.”

“Ryomen Sukuna!” Your volume surprises even you as you’re now able to shout and moan with abandon with his weight no longer constricting your body.

It has his cock throbbing inside of you as you hold on tight, hands clawing at his back as he fucks you till you’re tensing around him, blinding heat ripping through you as you cream on his cock. Your senses are scrambled, ears ringing, eyes screwed shut, pussy pulsing so hard you’re barely aware of Sukuna pumping you full of his cum.

His thrusts slow as he presses you back against the stall door, hands settling back onto your ass to hold you tight. He’s back to giving you those slow, languid kisses you’d come to know so well - tongue deep in your mouth, teeth bared, nose sliding across yours as he presses his everything against you. He speaks low into your mouth as you start to clench on him again, this time in discomfort, arching and pushing at him so he’ll put you down before you teeter too far into overstimulation. He doesn’t release you though, instead increasing his thrusts even as you start to squirm and whine on his cock as the feeling is so intense it almost hurts.

“You won’t forget it.”

If he expects a response to that, he won’t get it. Your attempts to push off of him only help his long deep strokes as he fucks you through that intensity and straight into another orgasm that has you clawing at his back, shoving turned to pulling him closer, whines of discomfort turned to moans of pleasure. He was right, you didn’t need to tell him that, though. Not while you were cumming again, this time on his slowly softening cock.

He’s true to his word of taking 15 minutes as he lowers you down onto your shaky legs, and holds you upright against his side on the way back out to where the rest of your night awaits.

It’s not lost on you that you’re ending the night in the same club you’d first met Sukuna in. You wonder if it’s intentional. Then, you decide not to think about it, clenching around the fingers idly thrusting into you, stirring up the last dregs of cum that hadn’t yet slipped out. Sukuna is ordering the last drinks before the bar stops serving and the man working the VIP lounge pretends not to notice how you’re slouched against Sukuna, catching your breath after another rough fuck on the very same couch you’d had your first with him on. He finishes his order as he rubs his fingers along your walls as he so often loved to do while you twitch and pant and come back into your body.

Once the server leaves, he pulls his fingers out of you, settling his sticky hand on your waist instead. He wiggles his nose, sniffling and swallowing the drip in the back of his throat. It was late now, or early, and you’d decided you were on alcohol only for the last of it since the sun would be up soon and that only meant you’d be heading home. It meant you were slowing down, of course, but you knew it was time for that anyway. You sigh and let your head lull back, resting it half on Sukuna’s shoulder and half on the back of the couch as you watch him watching the room.

It was weird that you’d gotten so used to his face tattoos. It was weird that you’d gotten so used to anything about him, actually. The size and the strength. The swollen cartilage of his ears and scarring of his brows from years of fighting. The piercings, the hair… and the surprising softness of his lips, his thick straight lashes. It has you smiling, giving yourself a little mocking laugh at how you were actually looking at this giant monster of a man and thinking he looked pretty.

He looks at you, catching your smile, and smiles back. “I’ve fought men for laughing like that.”

You roll your eyes, both annoyed and glad that he had ruined that little private moment with yourself. “Well good thing I wasn’t laughing at you then, cornball.”

He loves doing that, reminding you of who or what he is, like you don’t know. Like you haven’t experienced his strength firsthand. Not like that though. No, his touches for you were hungry, aggressive even, but always with a little hidden reminder that you had won his favour. As the server returns with shots and bottles you allow yourself to think to yourself, just for a moment, that you’d like to keep that favour.

Only for a moment though, because you knew the score. Always had. You two had these nights out, and that was it. And now that they were gone, presumably so were you. You always got that same pit in your stomach when you found yourself wondering how many other people got these wild little months in between fights with him, or if you were even the only one during all of it. You were bouncing on his cock within an hour of meeting him, and you’d done worse since, so you had to assume the worst. You had to assume he probably wouldn’t be bothered to reach out to you once he was back to fucking around after his next fight.

Despite your attempts to bury them, those same thoughts flash in your mind again, once the club is closing and Sukuna’s hand is tightening on your thigh while you settle in for the drive home. You take a breath in, then release it, letting your worries go with it. You weren’t assuming the worst, you were being realistic. And you decide that the best thing you can do for yourself right now is get off on Ryomen ‘The King’ Sukuna one last time as a proper goodbye.

It’s a big ask of your body. You were always worn out by this point of the night, but Sukuna had gone all out this time, spending a little less time dancing and drinking and railing lines and more time railing you. It had made you realise that he might have been holding back just how insatiable he was before, something that was nearly incomprehensible with the way he’d leave you wincing every time you moved for days.

Still, you push past the soreness that had settled in already, and there’s barely any time between you climbing onto his lap like a needy little thing and him working his fingers back into your familiar heat. The hum of electricity over your skin has it feeling just as good as the first time and you can’t be bothered to worry about what the driver can see, not anymore. You’re straddling him, head pressed against the roof of the car, holding onto his shoulders to keep from sliding around as the driver makes his way back to your home.

“One more for the road, then?”

It was a bit late to ask now, with you panting into his mouth, trying to keep your tired body balanced on his legs. You don’t know how you’re still taking him after everything tonight, even just his thick fingers, but you know you won’t regret it tomorrow when you can barely move. You never do.

The thrum of pain is much duller than the throbbing of your clit as you ride his fingers, and he curls them just right to have you seeing stars. You rest your tired head on his shoulder, unrestrained moans joining the sloppy squelch of his fingers fucking your sore, stretched out hole. Just as you’re moments from being completely lost in another orgasm, you feel his other hand move from your hip and hear the familiar sound of his zipper. You can barely keep your eyes open as you look down at him releasing his cock, shaking your head hurriedly without lifting it from his shoulder.

“‘m too sore…” it’s more of a pathetic sounding whine than you’d like, but he was making you feel so good even with the sting of your abused pussy and you were well past the point of faking composure with him.

It only makes his cock throb in his grasp. “Then use your hands.”

That, you can manage. Though it’s not exactly easy for you to sit up with how much your body was screaming at you to just lie down and pass out already. You’re nothing if not persistent though, as you grip his cock with one hand. Then, assessing just how small your hand looks holding it, you decide to grip it with two. You’d become very familiar with it by now. Its girth, its bulging veins, the little silver piercings running up the shaft… but it was something else seeing it in the light of the rising sun. You aren’t dwelling on that for long as Sukuna tenses and has it throbbing in your hands.

“Spit on it.”

You purse your lips, gathering your spit in the front of your mouth, but before you do he clarifies his order.

“Nice and slow.”

You follow without a second thought, letting the spit slowly drip from your mouth where it lands on the angry red tip of his cock and slides down.

“Again.”

Something about Sukuna puts you in the mood for following orders, so you do just that, opening your mouth and letting it fall directly from your tongue. He groans, pressing his thumb to your tongue, sliding it over until you have more drool falling from your mouth, down your chin, and onto his cock below as you look into his hungry eyes.

“It’s a shame you’re too scared to suck my cock.”

Too scared. Were it earlier in the night, when you weren’t so worn out you’d take that as challenge enough to shut him up about it, but at this point all you can do is tread water. Instead you close your lips around his thumb, sucking that instead. His cock throbs again in your hands, reminding you to get to work as you start stroking him, swirling your fingers over the head each time your hands can reach.

His thumb pressing down on your tongue hard enough to pull your mouth back open is all the warning you get as your moans are loud and loose as he starts finger fucking your pussy again. You struggle to keep up, arms burning as you try to work him as hard and fast as he was working you. As heat builds in your stomach it only gets harder, but you persist even as you start to rock into his touch, eyes shut and mouth still open and drooling around his thumb and down his hand.

“S-sukunaaaa…” you don’t care how you sound, lisping out his name the best you can as your pussy flutters around his fingers.

Suddenly, he pulls his fingers out of you, gripping both of your hips tightly. You don’t even think about the pain of it at this point, you’d been adorned with those bruises from the first night you’d met him. You’re more focused on the loss of contact, your orgasm slipping away even as you continue pumping his cock.

He leans up, purring into your ear, “Gonna cum soon…”

There’s a question in there but you’re too fucked up to to decipher it so he presses you further.

“Sure you don’t want it?”

You whine outright, squirming on his lap, “I’m so sore.”

“Are you going to waste it then?”

His cock is throbbing in your hands, and your pussy is throbbing even as the cold air hits it, exacerbating the sting. Still, you want his cock, you want his cum, and you want one last orgasm with him splitting you open wide, so you lean forward, head pressed uncomfortably into the roof of the car, and slide yourself onto him. You don’t need the help anymore, but his hands are still locked onto your hips, guiding you, dealing you short thrusts upwards even as you try to slowly sink down.

When he’s buried deep your stomach clenches, letting out a shaky breath as you try to collect yourself enough to do more than rock your swollen heat on top of him. It feels like it’s going to drive you crazy with the way its warmth soothes the sting even as the girth worsens it. The stopping, starting, and turning of the car you’re in doesn't help anything, forcing you to counterbalance to have any hope of riding the length you’d never quite managed to grow accustomed to.

You’re exhausted, and if you’re being honest with yourself you were ready to crash about an hour ago. Lucky for you Sukuna’s strength and stamina are seemingly entirely unaffected by the drinks, the drugs, and the hours of dancing. He’s taking over easily, thrusting up into you and your heavy limbs are almost a help at this point, keeping you in place even when the power of his thrusts threatens to have you bouncing up towards the roof of the cramped car.

Once your breath is hitching and you’re almost hiccuping with each desperate inhale, he slides one hand up your back, pulling you up by the back of your neck so he can watch you unravel. You know that’s what he wants, to watch you mindlessly taking him, completely unaware of what you looked or sounded like in your desperate climb to orgasm, so you press your head back into the roof of the car. He lays his head back against the headrest, watching you, teeth bared in a pleased smile as you stick your tongue past your wet lips - begging him for a kiss in your own way since you were far past words.

He pulls you down, and the kiss is surprisingly light, surprisingly quick, the tip of his tongue only lightly brushing yours. Then his grip tightens on both your hip and your neck as he pushes into those harsh thrusts, hips snapping, teeth clenched as he looks up at you.

“Cum on my cock.”

His words are the last push over your peak before you’re digging your hands into his shoulders, moaning his name as you cum on top of him clenching and gasping and sighing. He doesn’t leave your pussy taking too many more hard thrusts than you can handle before he’s pulling you down onto him, giving you those final deep thrusts while buried to the hilt before he’s filling you.

You relax into him, head resting on his shoulder, jumping lightly when his cock twitches inside of you. Eventually, it softens, and you look out the window behind, recognizing where you are, and sliding off of him. You don’t speak for the last few short minutes of the drive home, because you don’t know what to say at this point. It feels like you might ruin something if you do, so you enjoy the silence, slumped into Sukuna’s side as you had been many times before.

Like any other time before, you arrive, the driver helps you out, and he makes sure you get to your front door.

You turn and look out at Sukuna, just as you had the first night he took you home. His window is down, his arm resting on the door, watching you standing there in the doorway. You don’t know what to do, or how to end the night exactly. That final fuck hadn’t felt final enough, so you just wave, as silly as it feels. Sukuna smiles, and you can tell from the way that his head tilts back that he’s done that little amused chuckle you’d earned from him so many times. He raises two fingers slightly, without lifting his hand from where it was.

You thank the driver, you close your door, you lock it.

And decide that’s enough.

CHAPTER 4

#reminder minors and ageless blogs get blocked #there is more but this could be read as the last chapter and I’ll see how it goes #my writing #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #sukuna #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #self insert #reader insert

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ghouljams · 2 months

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I was wondering if there were any developments on alpha!goose and omega/alpha!ghost?? I’m sorry if that sounds pressury or pushy at all and if it does I APOLOGIZE FOR SOUNDING RUDE. I just think about them daily and how you described the dynamics. I’m just UGH so obsessed with your brain and what you write it’s genuinely so amazing.

On GOD I thought I was the only one who cared about that I have just quietly been writing it for myself behind the scenes. Here.

It’s the first heat Ghost’s spent like this, with someone else. He pushes you against the wall of the tub, the water sloshing over the side as he drills into you. His hips snap, chasing the desperate building need in the pit of his stomach with panting breaths. You tip your head back as best you can, your lashes fluttering as you murmur soft praises. Your words barely reach his ears, too consumed by the fire of heat to need the dirty talk. Ghost tips his head, his teeth dragging against your neck, breathing in your signature. The soft peach fuzz on his tongue makes his mouth water, and his teeth itch. You smell warm and fruity, like if he bit you the juices would drip out of his mouth.

You tug at his hair and he realizes he’s doing just that, biting. Your fingers are tight and insistent as they pull him away from your neck and the quickly reddening bruise he’s just left. Not hard enough, he thinks, dragging his tongue along the mark apologetically. He feels more animal than mam, desperate and clawing for more of every part of you. He holds his open mouth against the bite, breathing deep to try and fix his head. It only makes it worse, you smell like a dream, smell like you're his. The sweet anise of his signature mixing with your peachy warmth, a man could lose his mind like this.

He rocks into you shallowly, the way your pussy clenches and clings to his cock is almost as intoxicating as your scent. Your hiccuped moans bounce around his skull, the only thing reaching him through his heat. He must be hitting the right spot, the way you're clawing at his hips makes him think he is. Ghost moves a hand from your hip to hold your throat, feeling the vibrations of your moans like a lifeline.

If he could just stop the buzzing under his skin, the sticky sweaty feeling that claws its way over him. His hips snap against yours, he can feel the recoil of your ass, the way you push back into the hard thrust, his eyes flutter closed to enjoy it. Mind numbing. He's not so far into his heat to be fully gone, but rational thought certainly isn't his number one concern right now. You're so warm and tight around him, so wet, he can hear the slick sound of your pussy with each thrust. Your jaw bumps against his fingers, your mouth open without any sound as he grinds the tip of his cock deep against you.

He's close, and he knows you must be too, the way you've tightened around his cock. It's harder to pull out, your cunt doing its best to keep him inside, to make sure when he does come you don't lose a drop. Fuck, he wants to fill you so badly, wants you to feel as animal as he does, he wants to knock you up.

"Fuck it," Ghost grunts, before burying his teeth in the crook of your neck. He bites hard, feels something deep and primal breaking between his teeth, like a glass vial being pressed just on the edge of too hard. He holds it there and you stiffen, shaking as you come with his name on your lips. Ghost gives a final hard thrust into you and feels your cunt lock tight around his cock.

"Si-mon," you hiccup, the fluttering of your pussy milking his cock for every drop of come. He growls, risks biting deeper, breaking that glass, you just squeeze him all the tighter. Simon loosens his bite, his head starting to clear as he presses down against your heavily. You yelp and brace your hands on the tub wall to keep his weight from taking both of you down.

The needy skin crawling buzz in his body is abated for now, settled back into a sort of fuzzy heat in the back of his mind. He could fall asleep like this. Actually, he might do just that.

"No, no, Simon, wait," you reach back to pat his cheek. Simon makes a 'mmpf' noise, nosing the deep bruise he left on you, enjoying the gentle warmth of your skin, the juicy burst of your signature. You try again, patting harder with a soft whine, "Baby sit down at least."

Simon wraps his arms tight around your waist and drags you back down into the warm water. He tips his head to rest against the towels you'd set up and takes a deep breath. You settle back against him, familiar scent and weight pushing him further towards sleep. Fucking hell he hasn't slept well in days.

You reach back to scratch your blunt nails through his short cropped hair. "Good boy," you purr, and Simon grunts out half a reply.

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juustpeachy420 · 10 months

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I was passed the virtual bong by @dokurtybitz2 and since it's been awhile and I don't know who's active and who's not, if youre my follower/mutual who smokes

I'm passing to you

#virtual bong #peachys pits #me #selfie #bong babes #bong rips #glass bongs #tagged #tag me in your video!

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eichornia · 3 months

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You can read the first part here. I wanted to write a bit more about them. TW for depressive thoughts in a small part of the fic (nothing really bad, just Daniel feeling a bit down).

- Blink. Blink. Blink. The whisper of his eyelashes against the fine hair on Max's thigh. Max's fingers in his head, combing through his curls. Gentle-gentle-gentle. Sometimes Daniel can't help it. Sometimes he gets like this, all his energy dissipates and the time moves slowly, slow-slow-slow like the mountains do. His mind is quiet and he can feel everything. The way his chest rises with every breath, Max's smelling like sex, his knees hurting from kneeling for so long. A distant thought but then-

Max's voice. Near, clear, dear.

Daniel, you okay?

Yeah, Maxy, he wants to say. Peachy. Great, baby. Amazing. But his voice doesn't want to come out so he just nods and Max's skin is so soft, he has to kiss his thighs, once, twice, thrice. Max laughs and Daniel blinks, and life is rushing back. Time is getting normal, Daniel's energy is filling him again.

He looks at Max and thinks this moment here, it should be eternal.

- CHINA. He's getting better. He knows he's getting better. But days like this makes him feel like all the progress he makes is for nothing. He doesn't like this feeling, it feels like a battery that only has negative poles. When he's like this, he doesn't want to be near anyone. Doesn't want them to worry, doesn't want to be a burden. So he sits against the pit wall, headphones blocking everything except the music, angry-sad, making his eyes burn with salt. Don't cry, don't cry. He was mad earlier and he ignored Max and his wounded look and now Daniel feels silly, stupid, immature.

There's a shadow blocking the sun. The shadow has the shape of Max. The shadow talks like Max too.

I was looking for you. You shouldn't sit for so long in the sun, Daniel, it's not good. You should have an umbrella, I'll ask for one.

Daniel stretches his arm, makes grabby hands, doesn't mind if anyone is watching. Max holds his hands, makes a goofy dancing movement. Daniel doesn't want to laugh but he does because Max is always funny.

Sorry, he says. For being a cunt earlier.

It's okay, says Max.

And gets him to his feet. He sways a little into Max, enough to smell his aftershave, to see the little freckle in his lip.

Yes, I love you, he thinks. Doesn't say because it's a bit scary, this big feeling. Bigger than China, irrepressible, inevitable.

- MIAMI. They have ice cream in bed, the spoons clicking against each other when they try to take a bit at once. It's melting even in the air conditioner of the room. Vanilla kisses because it's the best flavour of ice cream ever. Max is trying to convince him the best flavour is chocolate. Max knows nothing like Jon Snow. Max blinks (slow at first, faster a second later).

Who the fuck is Jon Snow?, he asks.

And Daniel laughs and laughs until he feels he's going to puke. And then kisses Max, sticky mouth, sweet like melting vanilla.

Max kisses back, takes the ice cream, leaves it on the side table without looking.

Daniel.

His voice breaks in the middle of his name.

Yeah.

This is it, thinks Daniel. This is the feeling when you win a race. This bubbly, effervescent feeling, your whole body full of ecstasy, the sky in the tips of your fingers. You're the champion. Nothing can reach you.

This is it, thinks Daniel, lost in pleasure, full of love, high with the feeling of Max moving inside him. His fingers, sticky with love, caress Max's back. His mouth, sticky with love, says Max's name like a chant. He wants this feeling to last a lifetime.

Max, yes, baby. Just like this, just like this.

(Stay with me. Forever.)

#f1 fanfic #maxiel #max verstappen #daniel ricciardo #yes i just need them to have a good season and to be happy (together)#otp: maxiel #my fic #f1

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ddejavvu · 2 years

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Hi! I just can't get out of my head, the thought of stroking the patches of skin that peeks through the rips in Eddie's jeans and kissing them whenever I have to pick something up and so on ... can you please write something like that? Sorry if you think it's weird, hehe!

i want to kiss all of eddie's funky little nooks and crannies come here boy let me smooch your elbow pit

"Damn," Eddie hisses, tongue stuck between his lips in concentration as he paints, "Babe, can you come help me?"

There's paint on his nose, a product of smudging it onto his hand and then rubbing his nose. It's bright yellow, and makes him look a little silly, but you don't tell him. instead you smile and nod, rushing off of your side of the couch to assist him.

"'Dropped the toothpick," He supports the figurine he's painting in one hand, the other still holding the paintbrush that he's been using. It's stained with black paint and he doesn't want to wash it out yet, so you're his only hope for getting his toothpick back. He uses it to dot on designs, and there's still some paint on one end, but you're sure it won't stain the floor.

"Sure," You drop to your knees, fingers pinching the wooden stick in your hands. You take your time down there, admiring his work that he's hunched over the coffee table for, your nose nearly butting into the wet paint on the side of the character's torso.

"Get-!" Eddie splutters, yanking the mini away from you and laughing incredulously, "Don't smudge him with your nose, babe."

"Sorry," You grin sheepishly, pressing a soft kiss to the skin exposed by the rips in his jeans, right at the curve of his knee, "Just wanted to see."

By the time you settle on the couch he's perfected his amused, yet slightly concerned stare. His eyes are narrowed at you and his lips quirk up into a smile that hasn't quite broken free yet. You cock your head to the side as he watches you, "What?"

"Did you just kiss my knee?"

"it's cute," You nod, staring fondly at the patch of peachy skin, marred by black threads, "Look at it! It's peeking out."

He bends his leg, the fabric of his jeans flexing slightly and shifting on his skin. He hums thoughtfully, "I guess."

"It's not weird." You insist, a defensive quality to your voice, "I just think that all of you deserves a kiss."

You think you've won him over with your adoring statement, but he lets out a soft giggle, "It is weird. You're a kneekisser."

"I'm just a kisser! I don't focus on your knees," You huff, your cheeks heating up flusteredly, "Stop making fun of me."

"Kneekisser, kneekisser!' He chants with a fond grin, turning back to his painting, "I'm gonna tell everyone my baby's a kneekisser."

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson one-shot #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson headcanon #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson hc #eddie munson hcs #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #eddie munson dialogue #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader fanfiction

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bobateastay · 1 year

Text

keep looking - p.sh

villain!park seonghwa x gender neutral!reader

cw - journalist!reader, police detective!choi san, roommates sanhwa, slow-ish burn, murder/crime, angst, blood, implied cannibalism, uneven power dynamics(?), implied character death, probably isn't realistic don't @ me about it - nothing too explicit but overall dark-ish themes

word count: 6.6k

a/n: this work is a part of @sanjoongie's year of the villain collab! please check out the other writers' stories as well. the original version of this was a little different and this isn't all that explicit :') but thank you for letting me participate anyway and giving me the opportunity to try something new, i enjoyed working on this a lot ♡

Open-mouthed, bloody-lipped. Breathless, beautiful. Exquisite, intoxicating. Hungry. Hungry, hungry, hungry. Always so, so hungry.

No matter what or who he swallowed down, Seonghwa was always impossibly hungry. He was less of a man and more of a bottomless pit. Less of a bottomless pit and more of a black hole. Pulling and pulling, swallowing and swallowing. It was embarrassing how easily you let him pull you in.

San hadn’t told you about Seonghwa when he first moved in with him. You weren’t sure why he didn’t say anything to you and neither was San apparently, because he never explained the fact to you even though you were clearly stung by your childhood friend keeping secrets from you.

You’d only met Seonghwa by mistake, knocking on their apartment door to talk to San one evening when you’d lost your spare keys only to be greeted by an expensive-looking man with glossy lips and peachy eyeshadow dusted over his eyelids. You couldn’t put your finger on why, but you’d felt suddenly inadequate in his presence, his smile teasing while his voice was sweet. When you’d frowned over San not having told you about a new roommate moving in, he’d clicked his tongue at you like a mother hen and stepped out of the doorway.

“Stop pouting and come inside,” he’d said.

If anybody else had spoken to you that way you would have cursed at them, but something about Seonghwa’s demeanour was so commanding that you obeyed without hesitation. His smile had turned from teasing to something you couldn’t name, and you felt as though you were on the edge of your seat the whole time you were around him.

When you confronted San about him a few days later, the other had only sighed and rubbed a hand over his tired eyes.

“I’ve had a lot going on,” he’d told you over cheap, burnt coffee one day during your lunch breaks. “New case at work. It’s a miracle your lot haven’t caught on yet.”

Your lot. Journalists. You’d never understand San’s disdain for your profession. You did your best to convey the truth, the same way most of your colleagues did. If an article or two came out exposing law enforcement’s mistakes it was because they were real and had affected the public, not because you had a secret vendetta against them. Not that San seemed to understand this.

“He seems nice,” you said. The words almost sounded like a question. He had been nice after all, even if there was something about him that made your insides squeeze.

“He is,” San mumbled. “I put an ad in the newspaper” – You bit back the urge to tease him for putting an ad in the newspaper in this day and age. – “and he was the only person who answered. I thought it was the best way to find someone more sensible.”

“Makes sense,” you hummed. San smiled weakly at you. You wondered briefly what exactly his latest case was. You’d never seen him so worn down by his work, especially not when the case was so fresh.

“I’ll get back to work then. But come over one of these days, alright?” he said, standing up from his spot at the coffeeshop table. The second you stood up he wrapped you in a warm, tight hug. You tucked your face into his shoulder and he giggled, kissing the side of your head. “I’ll tell Seonghwa you said hi.”

“Okay. Take it easy, Sannie,” you hummed, before letting go of him and watching him leave to go back to work. He looked different when he was out of your reach, fitting into the grey of the city with a sad ease. You sat back down and opened your laptop to get back to your own work, pushing thoughts of Seonghwa’s enchanting smile and San’s tired eyes to the back of your mind.

You and San’s professions had rarely caused any problems between the two of you. Of course, rarely didn’t mean never. The two of you had already been through occasional spats throughout your friendship - growing up together will do that to you - but the added tension from your lines of work was something newer and more precarious. By the time you were both a few years into your established careers it became clear that you were starting to tread on thin ice.

It had never crossed your mind before that journalists and police detectives could be so at odds with each other, but as time passed it seemed to become more and more obvious why that was the case. Between the corruption and things swept under the rug on San’s side and the rushed distribution of flawed information on yours, it was hard to keep work talk civil. Still, most of the time your aversions were kept quiet and there were even times in which your professions overlapped in a way that allowed you to help each other. This new case, however, allowed for the exact opposite to happen.

“You wrote this?”

San’s voice was deep. Harsh. You hadn’t even heard him walking up to you, still standing outside your usual meeting spot when San pushed the day’s newspaper into your face, his eyes narrowed and jaw clenched. You were met with your own headline when you looked at the paper and took a deep breath to steel yourself. You should’ve known he would bring it up.

“Police’s refusal to inform the public costs three lives?” he hissed, shoving the paper into your chest and jabbing a finger against it.

“It’s not about you, San,” you said, even though it was very much about him. He was one of the main detectives on the case after all.

“It’s about all of us!”

“Well it’s not personal!” you insisted, unable to stop yourself from getting defensive. “Is it not true, anyway? That you withheld information from the public while there were three bodies going cold?”

San paled in front of you even as he gritted his teeth. It was true, no matter his feelings on the article. It hadn’t taken much digging to find out about the supposed murders that the police had tried to keep quiet for nearly a week now. People whose bodies had been peeled open, explored like caverns, whose organs had gone missing and whose limbs had been maimed. Three horrifying murders, all supposedly connected, and not a word from police. You wouldn’t have been surprised if their silence had allowed for more of them to take place. But San wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of admitting it. Not when he’d obviously been working so hard on the case.

“Don’t recite the lines of your bullshit article to me,” he muttered, and while you knew that he didn’t really mean it, that he had never thought your work was bullshit even at the worst of times, you felt your hands shake as you shoved the newspaper back at him.

“As though your department’s statement was any better,” you shot back. San stepped forward, and though the two of you were only centimetres apart you had never felt so far away from him. His hand closed around your wrist, his grip loose but still forceful, and in that second the space between the two of you grew impossibly larger. He opened his mouth to speak but was immediately cut short.

“I wouldn’t have thought it appropriate to touch a close friend like that.”

San’s eyes widened the same way yours did and you turned simultaneously to find that it wasn’t a stranger interfering with your argument. It was Seonghwa who was standing there on the pavement, a smile on his glossy lips and the corners of his eyes creased. You noted that he was not the only pedestrian looking at the two of you.

Seonghwa’s smile was different from the one you’d encountered at San’s apartment the last few times you’d visited. It wasn’t teasing or courteous, nor was it friendly. It was strained. Cold. It was more telling of his temperament than a frown would’ve been. San let go of your wrist, embarrassed.

“I didn’t mean to- I wasn’t-”

“But you were, weren’t you?” Seonghwa asked. The tone of his voice made your blood run cold and your heart skip a beat at the same time. San scowled and snatched the newspaper back from you.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled to you, not unlike a small child who had just been scolded by his mother in front of his friends. You weren’t sure what to make of the apology, not when it was so inauthentic. Instead of replying, you turned to Seonghwa.

“I can defend myself,” you told him. Seonghwa’s smile turned softer, and when he looked at you you found yourself feeling stripped bare beneath his gaze.

“I’m sure. I was just looking out for a friend,” he said. At this, San scoffed.

“Friend?” he asked, raising a brow at Seonghwa. More out of spite toward what San had said than out of affection for Seonghwa, you hummed in confirmation.

“Yeah. Friend,” you emphasised.

San’s frown turned into something closer to a pout, his brows drawing together to form a furrow in the middle. He looked down at the paper in his hands, eyes moving over the headline over and over, as though he might find a word or two in there that would dispute the claim that you and Seonghwa were friends. Eventually he gave up, handing the newspaper to you and shuddering like a bird trying to straighten out its ruffled feathers.

“I’m going to head back to work. We can see each other tomorrow instead,” San mumbled, and you could find it in yourself to nod back and do nothing more. He glanced into the coffeeshop where the two of you usually shared lunch and turned away to head back to his job, but not without shooting Seonghwa a glare first. You sighed softly and watched him blend back into his life as a cop who couldn’t stand seeing his best friend’s comments on his work. The cold space between you both grew just a little bit wider.

“Hey,” Seonghwa murmured, pulling you out of your own head. He reached out with one arm, slowly, so that you would have enough time to reject him. When you stayed still he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and squeezed you gently, fingers kneading into your shoulder while you both looked down at the newspaper in your hands. He stopped after a while, sliding his hand down to your waist. Something about the way he touched you made you relax rather than tense up the way you expected yourself to do. “Come on, let me buy you coffee.”

“Oh, there’s no need,” you replied, folding up the newspaper and meeting his eyes.

“I insist,” he pushed. His hand squeezed your waist tight before he let go of you entirely. The moment his touch was gone you found yourself feeling cold and vulnerable. You resisted the urge to reach out for another hug and instead held the newspaper close to your chest. Seonghwa laughed, a sound that should’ve been sweet but instead sounded like an upbeat song twisted into a minor key. “For what it’s worth, I thought the article was good. Well-worded.”

It was your turn to laugh a bitter laugh.

“Thanks,” you sighed. You met his eyes and allowed yourself to fall into them. “Coffee sounds good.”

You never asked yourself why Seonghwa had arrived at the exact moment San had grabbed your wrist. All you did was smile when he placed a gentle hand on the small of your back, and hoped that he wouldn’t notice the way your grip tightened on the newspaper in your hands.

Just as you’d predicted, the murders grew in number. Three jumped to five and five turned to six. The public was appalled, the police were scrambling to handle the fallout of their silence concerning the first three murders, and every news outlet was fighting to connect the dots and figure out the case before anybody else did.

There were close to no connections between the victims. Spread far and wide across the city, it was hard to tell where the next body would be found and which area officers should be guarding. Three women and three men had been found so far, four killed methodically and almost surgically while the other two were killed brutally, bones smashed and abdomens torn open. At first there was doubt as to whether they could have been committed by the same person, but the way all six crimes coincided made it hard to believe that they belonged to different perpetrators.

Pathologists determined that the victims had been cut open while they were still alive. The murders were close to being vivisections, perverse and calculated in nature. It was just as horrifying as it was intriguing, perfect for triggering the shameful part of human nature that caused humans to stop and stare at car crashes, greedy for the tragedy missing from their own lives. It was always fun to be a spectator when you suffered no consequences after all.

You were working on a new article on the case, mind racing to piece together every new scrap of information that was being handed out to journalists and the public alike, when there was a knock at your front door. You figured that it would be San, coming to talk about your articles or perhaps even apologise, but when you opened the door it wasn’t just your best friend standing in the doorway.

“Hey,” San exhaled, as though he’d been holding his breath since the last time he saw you. Beside him, Seonghwa smiled at you.

“Hi doll,” he greeted. You ignored the way San seemed to almost bristle at the pet name that Seonghwa used and instead focused on swallowing down the butterflies fluttering in your throat. When neither you nor San spoke, Seonghwa continued. “We brought some food we cooked. Can we come in?”

Only then did you notice the bags Seonghwa was holding and the box of chocolates in San’s hands. San smiled tentatively as he held them out to you, waiting for you to accept his proposal for a truce. While part of you wanted to keep being bitter, you weren’t strong enough to turn San down. You never had been. You took the box of chocolates from him and snorted when he pulled you into a hug, holding onto you with something close to desperation.

“I’m sorry. I should never have grabbed you like that,” he mumbled. He was right, but you didn’t feel like pressing the subject any further. You kissed his temple and pulled back from the hug.

“It’s alright,” you reassured him, stepping aside to let them both into your apartment.

You didn’t mention out loud the look on Seonghwa’s face as he stepped inside and shut the door behind him. He was tight-lipped, his jaw hard as stone and his brow bones an icy cliff that gave way to frozen eyes. Even so, he must have noticed the way you looked at him, because his features thawed once San was out of earshot and he glanced at you as though he’d never frozen over to begin with.

“It’s good to see you again,” he said.

“It’s good to see you too,” you replied, breathless for a reason you couldn’t name. At this, Seonghwa grinned. You found yourself even more winded than before.

After you’d eaten, San volunteered to stay in the kitchen and do the dishes while you and Seonghwa retreated into the room you used for your work. He looked over the notes and news clippings you had tacked onto the wall, eyes drawn to the images you’d obtained from pathologists and morgues of what the various bodies looked like. His expression was different from those you’d seen so far. He remained quiet while he looked over everything, his perfectly manicured fingers trailing over the images.

“Who do you think did it?” he asked, looking at you. It wasn’t curiosity that was in his features but something else entirely. Something like a high school teacher asking a question that had a painfully obvious answer. You stepped closer to him so that both of you were looking down at the same picture and chewed on your bottom lip.

“A lot of people at work have been saying that it might be a surgeon or an ex-surgeon,” you started, resting your fingertip atop a particularly gruesome picture. “But I thought it might be something different. Like a hunter, maybe. I think that someone who hunts would have more of a capacity for violent murders but they’d know enough to dissect the bodies as well.”

“The word would be vivisect. It was done when they were alive, right?” Seonghwa corrected. Despite his expression just a moment ago his voice was smooth and nowhere near chiding. He placed his fingertip beside yours. His skin was well kept and his cuticles were perfect, but there was something brownish and dark gathered beneath his nail. “I think you’re almost right.”

“Yeah?” you asked, shifting your fingertip only for his to follow. You did it once again, amused by the game of cat and mouse. Not once did you lift your eyes to look at him. You preferred this. The warmth of him standing next to you, his perfect hand and stained fingernail chasing after your finger. You felt him turn his head slightly and shivered when his breath hit your ear.

“It’d have to be both,” he said simply, as though he knew he was right. “An ex-surgeon has no need to murder and a hunter has no need to meticulously take apart. But together?”

His free hand moved to rest on your back, fingers tracing your spine. You finally turned your head to look at him, confused both by him and by the warmth that filled your belly at the sound of his voice. A warmth that was far too close to arousal for your liking. He smiled at you with those glossy lips that always unnerved you and held your gaze with dark, bottomless eyes.

“Think of it like a butcher,” he said.

“Butchers kill animals for people to eat,” you replied, glancing between his face and the image of the body still beneath both your fingertips. “There’s no evidence of cannibalism.”

“Well there have been so many missing organs. Do you think it’s an organ trafficker instead? Someone keeping trophies?” he asked. You chewed on your bottom lip again, teeth playing with the flesh until it became soft enough for you to tear a chunk away and swallow it. You looked back at your spread of information, eyes roaming over it all while Seonghwa’s fingers roamed over your back.

“I don’t know,” you admitted with a sigh. “San’s team hasn’t figured that much out yet.”

“Forget San’s team,” Seonghwa hummed, pressing his hand flat between your shoulder blades. The touch felt safe and loving and, as his blunt fingernails pressed into your skin through the fabric of your shirt, hungry. “You have enough to figure it out. You’ll get there before them.”

Your eyebrows drew together in confusion, your mind struggling to understand what he could possibly mean. But before you could get far San was calling out that he was done with the dishes and that he was putting water to boil for tea. You barely got another glimpse of Seonghwa’s nail and the substance caked beneath it before he was pulling away from you and gesturing for you to follow.

“Think about it later,” he commanded.

Not for the first time, you followed his instructions in a heartbeat.

The bodies continued to pile up. The police continued to struggle. The journalists continued to milk money out of the story. The public began to scream of incompetence and carelessness and corruption. The skin beneath San’s eyes grew dark and the collage of images and writings on your wall grew to occupy an alarming amount of space, like something out of a tacky cop TV show. Through it all, the only thing that remained the same was Seonghwa.

Seonghwa and his perfectly planned outfits, Seonghwa and his carefully applied makeup, Seonghwa and his guarding touches and teasing smiles and minor key laughter. His presence was just as eerie as it was grounding and soon enough you found yourself unlocking the door to San’s apartment not to see your childhood friend but instead to see his roommate. And while San began to shoot you bitter looks each time his department was mentioned in one of your articles, Seonghwa only seemed to grow prouder and prouder, eager to discuss your thoughts and to provide new context and theories that you never would have thought of by yourself.

This was the case when you let yourself into their apartment early one Saturday morning. You were expecting to find San getting ready to leave for work but it seemed that he wasn’t home. You were toeing off your shoes and hanging up your jacket when Seonghwa emerged from his room, eyelids heavy from sleep but the eyes beneath them just as sharp and alert as they always were.

“He’s still at the station. Didn’t come home last night,” Seonghwa explained.

It was odd to see him bare faced after seeing him in makeup all of this time, but he looked just as pretty and alluring now as he did when his lashes were curled and his lips were painted. You nodded in response to him and walked further into the apartment, making your way to the kitchen to put the kettle to boil.

“This case is really doing him in,” you sighed softly. You thought of San’s worn out face and his irate reactions to the headlines in the newspapers. In all the years you’d known San you’d never seen him so beat down. It was all foreign to you. “Twelve bodies and not a clue as to who’s behind them all. Stuff like that doesn’t even happen nowadays.”

Seonghwa hummed as he followed you, standing beside the counter and watching you. When you’d first met him you’d shrunk beneath his gaze, shying away from his analytical eyes and trying to pull out of his magnetic field. Now, you turned to look at him and found yourself relieved to be close to him. Pulling away wasn’t even a thought in your mind.

“What about you?” he asked. “You’ve been working with it but you don’t seem beat down at all.”

“Well I’ve had you to keep me afloat,” you replied, not thinking twice about the words. The corners of Seonghwa’s lips twitched upwards and you felt your face heat up.

“I’m enough to keep you afloat?” he asked. While he was only teasing you, the words had enough truth to them to make you face away from him, unwilling to let him notice how your heartbeat had suddenly picked up its pace or how your stomach was suddenly tying in knots. But Seonghwa would have none of that. Though you couldn’t see him, you could hear his footsteps as he came closer to you. When he rested a hand on your hip from where he stood behind you, your nerves melted. You shut your eyes and felt lips pressing against your temple for a heartbeat or two. “You’re closer than you think.”

The words were spoken right up against your ear and the grip on your hip grew tighter. Hungrier. You sucked in a sharp breath and turned to look Seonghwa in the eye. Your noses brushed and the roar of the boiling kettle grew louder and louder until you couldn’t hear your heartbeat rushing in your ears. You wanted to ask him something, anything, to try and understand why he had so much faith in you. Why his touch always felt so protective. Why his smiles always made it seem like he was telling a joke that was too complex for anyone but him to understand. Why he was so good to you when he was so indifferent to his own roommate. But then the kettle clicked at the same moment as the front door’s lock clicked and you were startled out of your train of thought. As though he could read your mind, Seonghwa gently took hold of your jaw and looked between your eyes and your lips, looking like he was arguing with himself. Finally, he let go.

“Hold that thought,” he told you, and stepped away from you. The air of the apartment was cold around you as it took Seonghwa’s place and you found yourself speechless. You were left staring at his face, his expression neutral once again, and found yourself wanting something more. Found yourself hungry.

“Good morning,” San greeted from the doorway of the kitchen, breaking off into a yawn as he waved at you. “I didn’t know you were coming over.”

“Yeah, I just,” you paused to steel yourself, using every ounce of concentration in your body to avoid looking at Seonghwa sitting at the kitchen table. “I thought we could go out and get breakfast together. I didn’t know you were working overnight.”

“It was a last minute thing,” San sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“New body?” you asked, trying to be sympathetic. San seemed to appreciate the gentle tone because he smiled at you more genuinely than he had done in weeks.

“New body,” he confirmed. “I don’t know what to do. If we could just get an idea of what this person looks like I’m sure we’d figure it out. Someone like this… I think all it’d take is one look at them and we’d know.”

You didn’t miss the way Seonghwa’s face twitched at this. He was amused. You weren’t sure why. You didn’t ask either.

“I’m sorry Sannie. Go get some rest, it’ll be good to look at it with fresh eyes,” you said, which only drew another sigh from San. He turned and left anyway, leaving only you and Seonghwa in the kitchen. When you both made eye contact, he drummed his fingers against the kitchen table. You noted the filth caked beneath his nails again but this time you didn’t dwell on it. You turned and picked up the kettle, making mugs of tea for all three of you. Seonghwa kept you silent company, and the moment of closeness from earlier went unmentioned.

Seonghwa didn’t leave you hungry for long.

For the first time you invited him over alone, not bothering to invite San as well when you knew that he was unbelievably busy. Seonghwa came over the same as usual, all smiles and mundane chit chat and eagerness to hear about your days and what you’d been doing lately. He even let you show him your growing board of images and clippings, eyes never leaving your lips while you told him about all of the new evidence and what it said about the old evidence. He looked at the new images on your desk and picked one up, rubbing his thumb over the picture of somebody’s empty abdominal cavity.

“I didn’t know journalists investigated this much,” he murmured, setting the picture back down.

“Not all of us do,” you replied with a shrug. “But this is what we all study and work for. A big story. They don’t come often, we should do our best with them.”

Seonghwa grunted in response. You turned to look at him, wondering if you’d said something wrong. But then he turned his head to look at you and you felt your heart practically come to a standstill in your chest. His eyes became strangely focused the same way they did when he looked at the gory pictures you had printed out and stuck up for analysis.

“You’re brave, you know that?” he asked. When you raised an eyebrow in question, he raised one in return. “Don’t you think it’s dangerous to meddle with the affairs of someone who’s so willing to maim and kill? Do you think they aren’t reading all of this? Watching what you’re doing?”

For the first time since the murders had started, you felt a pang of ice cold fear in your chest.

“No, I… I didn’t think of it like that,” you whispered, looking at your wall through a new lens. Maybe Seonghwa was right. Maybe all you were doing was making yourself a target without even coming closer to an answer for the case. Seonghwa grunted once again.

“You have to look closer, and never think that they’re not looking back at you,” he said. Before you could even register what he was doing he pushed aside the papers on your desk so that there was a clear space in the middle. He guided you to sit down with the intoxicating touch that you were starting to become more and more familiar with and you followed. You followed again when he stepped forward to stand between your legs and leaned in so that his nose brushed against yours. You looked at his hands and, after weeks of fleeting glances and trying to figure it out, you understood what was stuck beneath his nails. “Look at me. Are you looking at me?”

You looked away from his hands, the icy fear in your chest melting into the warmth of attraction in your stomach, until you couldn’t tell what was horror and what was desire. In the end, both feelings fostered an aching hunger deep in your belly.

“Yes,” you breathed. “I’m looking.”

Seonghwa lifted a hand, allowed you to stare at the blood beneath his nails before he held your jaw and gave it a calculated squeeze.

“I’m looking back at you,” he said, words ghosting over your lips.

When he kissed you it was hungry. You felt as though your stomach had opened up into a black hole. His teeth dug into your bottom lip and you let them, even when the pain of it became sharp enough to make you wince. You let him kiss and bite and lick even when the skin broke and the kiss began to taste of metal and flesh. His nails dug into your skin as he pushed his hands up beneath your shirt, no doubt leaving behind indents in the shape of crescent moons, and his breaths came out heavy and unsteady.

“Keep looking,” he demanded, voice rough and unlike anything you’d heard from his lips before. “I’m looking right back at you.”

The crimes only seemed to escalate after that. In tune with them, the hunger you felt around Seonghwa escalated each time you saw him. You wanted more from him, but he only ever gave you half of that. He pressed you against his kitchen counter and bit into your skin, teeth digging in hard enough that you were sure he’d break past it and make you bleed the same way he did to your lips. But he never did bite that hard. You were starting to learn that Seonghwa was a master of self-control, even though the number of murders in the city only seemed to climb. While you still had no real reason to believe that he had anything to do with them, you couldn’t keep yourself from trying to connect the two dots.

You barely saw San anymore. Instead you sat with your legs over Seonghwa’s lap while you told him about the latest autopsy report and he clued you in on what you weren’t looking at closely enough. He pushed a hand beneath your shirt and traced each of your organs as you described what had happened to those of the victims. Some of them had been removed with the utmost care, while some of them had been torn out with the same aggression a five-year-old would use to tear the limbs off of their Barbie dolls. Seonghwa seemed to enjoy listening to you describe that sort of aggression, and if that was suspicious to you in any way, shape or form, you kept that suspicion to yourself. You never posed any questions, just kept looking closer. Each time you did, you found that Seonghwa was looking right back at you.

It was late one evening when there was a furious knocking on your front door. You were half-asleep already, sitting in front of the TV with a book in hand, and you stumbled when you got up to answer the door. Unlike weeks ago, it was Seonghwa who you were expecting to see at this time, not your childhood friend. But it was San’s face that greeted you, not his roommate’s.

“Hey Sannie,” you mumbled through your drowsiness. When he didn’t immediately reply, you blinked at him, slowly zoning in on the anger and discomfort in his eyes. You stepped out of the doorway but he made no move to come inside, instead shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably.

“You know something,” he said. A statement, not a question.

“What do you mean?”

“Your articles are different. The speculation isn’t speculation anymore,” he said. This managed to wake you up.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you said, but the words were only half true.

“I know how you write. I’ve read your articles for years,” San continued, his discomfort becoming more and more obvious. “All this stuff about the killer being a surgeon and a hunter? Speculating that they’re a cannibal? That the killings are like the work of a butcher? You’re not guessing. You’re writing things that you know for sure.”

You froze. You hadn’t even noticed the tone in your articles shifting. You realised suddenly that you might have written about something you weren’t supposed to know, something that hadn’t been revealed to the public yet. Your blood ran cold. You couldn’t even remember how much of Seonghwa’s words had weaved their way into your own.

“Are they things that you know for sure?” you asked, unable to keep the shake out of your voice. Something akin to disappointment, maybe even betrayal, passed over San’s face.

“You have to tell us why you know these things. You have to tell us or else they’re going to make you,” he said quietly.

“Don’t you trust me?” you asked.

“It’s not about trust. This is my job,” San said. He paused for a moment, looking as though he might regret what he was going to say. But he said it anyway. “If I have to throw you under the bus I will. If I have to arrest you or take you to court to solve this case, I will. It doesn’t matter if it wasn’t you.”

You weren’t sure what to say to that. It doesn’t matter if it wasn’t you. He didn’t even care who he was sacrificing, not if it would get this case off of his back. He didn’t really care about solving it. He cared only about washing his hands of the matter. The two of you did nothing except look at each other for a long while, and that gap that had surfaced when you wrote your first article about the case appeared again, wider and deeper than it had ever been. You wondered for a second if you would turn San in for something he hadn’t done, but it took only a second and not any longer for you to dismiss the idea. Of course you wouldn’t. Who would do something like that?

You shut the door and locked it. You stood there until you finally heard San’s footsteps retreating, finalising the divide in your friendship.

“You can’t tell me anymore than you already have,” you told Seonghwa days later, taking down your scraps of paper and pictures of evidence and packing them all up into a shoebox. Seonghwa watched from the doorway of the room, his expression stiff enough that you couldn’t tell whether he was pleased or displeased.

“You don’t want to look anymore?” he asked. You glanced at him, felt your cheeks turn hot as he looked at you.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” you mumbled. “San’s going to turn me in if I say anything else.”

“What makes you think he’d be able to?”

This time when you looked at Seonghwa he looked something close to livid.

“What makes you think anyone can hurt you anymore? That they could do anything to you that you don’t want them to do?”

You tried not to think about what the words implied when there was dry blood beneath his nails and a dark look in his eyes. You pushed the last of the pictures into the box and set it down on top of your desk. You sealed it shut with copious amounts of tape, working silently even as Seonghwa came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. Finally, you were done, but you stayed still as Seonghwa pulled you closer to him, nosing at the back of your neck.

“Keep looking, okay?” he whispered. “I’ll keep looking back.”

Pulling and pulling, swallowing and swallowing. It was all Seonghwa knew how to do. Not for the first time, you let yourself be pulled in and swallowed down. Only this time, you were finally aware of it.

It didn’t take long for another body to be found. Only that this time, you knew first. You knew before the emergency service operators did, before the police did, before any other journalist did. You knew first, and you kept looking and looking and looking while it looked back all the while.

This was the first time you’d seen somebody die and it was the first time you’d seen somebody kill. It was also the first time you’d seen somebody open-mouthed and bloody-lipped. Breathless, beautiful. Exquisite, intoxicating. Hungry. Hungry, hungry, hungry.

Hungry even when he pulled you close and kissed you with blood in his mouth and all over his face and beneath his nails. He swallowed down flesh and you kept looking. He tore open skin and you kept looking. He got blood on his peachy eyeshadow and you kept looking. The shameful part of your human nature wouldn’t let you pull your eyes away.

“C’mere doll.”

His voice was magnetic and he knew it. You moved closer to him, shuffling alongside the body beginning to turn cold beside you both on the bed. Seonghwa’s hands slid beneath your underwear, squeezing your ass tight enough to make you gasp. He stained your skin with blood and grinned at you. He leaned forward to kiss your neck and this time his teeth broke the skin. He lapped up the blood that surfaced, kissed at the wound like a mother kissing her child’s scraped knee.

“Are you still looking?” he asked, sounding something like tires crunching on gravel.

“Yes,” you replied, kissing at his iron-coated lips. He hummed, satisfied. If he wanted to eat you whole you would have let him in that moment, spellbound by his touch and gaze the same way you had been when you first met him. But for the first time since you’d laid eyes on him he was satisfied, less of a blackhole and more of a bottomless pit. Less of a bottomless pit and more of a man.

“Good. Don’t take your eyes off me.”

Even as the case spiralled, even as dry blood began to accumulate beneath your fingernails, even when your best friend’s name appeared in your headlines, you did exactly as he said. The fear subsided into curiosity, and curiosity subsided into admiration, and admiration inevitably subsided into hunger. Through each and every body and through each and every bump in the case, your eyes never left his. And he kept looking

right

back

at you.

taglist: @i-luvsang @peanutpmingib @sannierio @lokai-fi @w-iill @cutie-wooyo @xirenex @sanjoongie @talkbykhalid @itsjustwinter

taglist form here

#ateez x reader #park seonghwa x reader #ateez fanfic #park seonghwa fanfic #choi san fanfic #ateez imagines #park seonghwa imagines #ateez fic #park seonghwa fic #yandere ateez #yandere seonghwa #not rlly but idk what else to describe it as

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