#ten thousand fucking reblogs

[a-method-in-it]

I posted 10,888 times in 2022

That's 3,099 more posts than 2021!

21 posts created (0%)

10,867 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@bdigfreakingwooper

@holyfucker

@dingdongyouarewrong

@massivetittiesandwarcrimes

@citizen-zero

I tagged 630 of my posts in 2022

#method speaks - 164 posts

#but also - 15 posts

#union stuff - 13 posts

#like - 11 posts

#also - 7 posts

#honestly - 6 posts

#union 101 - 6 posts

#listen - 6 posts

#and also - 5 posts

#but yeah - 5 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#i genuinely did not realize that jordan peterson had recovered from that medically induced coma that he was put in while in russia because o

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

[Transcription in the alt text]

The song:

I. Am. DYING.

33 notes - Posted September 1, 2022

#4

a thing that I've been thinking about a lot lately, partly in the wake of the Roe v. Wade repeal: We need to do more to ensure that gender inclusive medical language doesn't wind up filtering out people, especially AFAB people, who straight up do not know the terms for certain body parts.

I am a big fan of inclusive language around medical stuff (ex: "mammograms and cervical cancer screenings" instead of "cancer screenings for women"). It's more precise, and, for people who are reasonably well-educated about their own bodies, more informative. And also, obviously, more accurate.

But the trouble comes in when people aren't reasonably well-educated about their bodies.

I think a lot of college-educated, middle-class people would be frankly astounded by the number of AFAB people who were not taught anything --- literally anything --- about their bodies and what parts they have and how things work.

There are definitely extreme cases of this in hyper-religious environments; for example, I remember reading a memoir of a girl who grew up in the FLDS cult and was never told what sex entails and found out on her wedding night when her husband, a man fifty years older than her, wanted to have sex. But even beyond the outlier cases, there are also just a lot of kids who never get a decent sex talk or anything approaching comprehensive sex ed in school.

And it's especially a problem for AFAB people, whose bodies are often treated as inherently inappropriate to talk about, even in a lot of secular environments.

So yes, "Annual pap smears are recommended for anyone with a cervix" is the most accurate and precise way to describe cervical cancer screenings. But also, there are probably millions of cis women out there (and probably even some AFAB trans men and enbys) who would see that and think "Oh, good thing I don't have whatever a cervix is so I don't have to worry about that." Even though they do!

The thing that has me thinking about this is the fact that this is only going to get worse post-Dobbs decision. A lot of local clinics that are known to provide healthcare for AFAB people are going to wind up closing in red states as they are targeted by lawmakers. And so cis women who might have previously gone there because they knew it was a women's healthcare clinic and who therefore would have been directed to the care they needed, whether they knew the terms or not...in a post-Dobbs world, honestly, I don't know what's going to happen.

I don't really have a solution for this beyond the fact that we obviously need to do a better job of educating people about human anatomy. But it's not like the GOP is going to suddenly become cool with doing that.

It's just something I think about.

34 notes - Posted October 16, 2022

#3

someday, someone who has not yet migrated off this cursed webbed site is going to write a hit netflix fantasy series where a prominent side character is B'lorbo of Mai Sho and absolutely none of us is going to be able to explain to anyone in our lives why we are on the floor scream laughing

36 notes - Posted February 15, 2022

#2

In light of Roe v. Wade being struck down, I would like to give you one concrete thing you can do to help protect some of the people in your life that you might not ever think of:

Unionize your workplace.

After the opinion leaked, a bunch of unions started negotiating language in their contracts that mandates employee health insurance must cover all types of reproductive care, including abortion, and even language about covering travel expenses if someone needs to go out of state to access reproductive care.

This will not fix things, obviously. But it is a form of harm reduction that can be incredibly powerful.

It also puts the burden of dealing with the fallout from this decision where it belongs: On the corporate fuckers who have spent years donating to right-wing politicians for the tax breaks and didn't much care what else came of it.

Let them foot the bill for it, at the very least.

Solidarity.

254 notes - Posted June 24, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I can't remember if I've plugged this here or not, but: The Federal Aviation Administration is currently taking comments about what the minimum size should be for airplane seats.

Link

Over time, airline seats have declined from an average of 18 or 19 inches to about 17 inches. Average waiting room seats are 22 inches. This presents obvious problems for...well, for a lot of people.

The FAA is specifically concerned with safety for this regulation (that's what Congress directed them to do), and not with comfort, so if you do comment, try to gear it towards safety concerns. They are particularly interested in hearing from disabled people and people over 60, apparently.

And even though this isn't about comfort, it's still the first time the agency has regulated seat size for airlines, so it's exciting and you should comment if you can.

Comments can be submitted here until November 3, 2022.

578 notes - Posted September 4, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #ten thousand fucking reblogs #and 21 original posts #i truly do not know why any of you follow me lololol #but i'm glad you like the same trash i do #also #this is a genuinely good feature #tumblr is like four for four on genuinely good features this year #what is happening? #Youtube

[dougielombax]

It can’t be…

No way.

Shit reads like a subplot from Control. (Remedy devs take note!)

Same energy at least.

TEN THOUSAND BEES!!!!!!!!!

As the shitpost foretold (unintentionally but still).

It’s a miracle! (In a twisted sort of way)

Except this time they’re already INSIDE!!!!

Fortunately the bees weren’t killed, but rather relocated to a sanctuary by beekeepers.

Thank goodness.

$20,000 dollars in damages.

I am impressed!

Feel free to reblog if you wish.

#dougie rambles #personal stuff #news #bees #save the bees #beekeepers #WTF #how does this even happen #nightmare fuel #ten thousand bees #it was foreseen #life imitates art #art imitates life #shitpost #monsters #or not #what sorcery is this #control #control 2019 #control game #remedy entertainment #tangentially #north carolina #charlotte nc #beehive #this actually happened #feel free to reblog #honeycomb #fucking hell #what

[coffeekoe]

aftg doodles cause i love the foxes

#aftg #all for the game #all for the game fanart #aftg fanart #the foxes #my art #andrew minyard #allison reynolds #nicky hemmick #renee walker #doodles #the way neil is my fave and i didn't draw him here LMAO #(its cause i have ten thousand solo neil ideas lol) #please fucking reblog my art i am dying

[greyias]

#gif #yeahhhhhh #considering going viral on this site is literal fucking hell #any OP of a post checking every single reply or reblog on a post with tens of thousands of notes #and then trying to correct almost anyone who says something they don't like #that's not a great look #ESPECIALLY BUSTING INTO THE DMs OF STRANGERS #TO TRY AND CONVINCE THEM THEY WEREN'T OVERREACTING #totally helps your case #probably should independently verify ANY information from a person doing that shit

[pa-pa-plasma]

i think you got the wrong blog there, buddy

#literally just baffled. which genocide first of all secondly how #i mean. they're blocked. as i usually do with this type of anon. so they can't answer. but still #i don't post the anons also because like. what's the point. but this one. what da hell are you talking about anon #all i post is memes & fandom shit & occasionally reblog Palestine posts. maybe it's the last one?? #like sorry to burst your bubble but your favourite blorbo country Israel is literally the one committing the genocide here #what happened on october 7th was terrible but nothing in existence can justify the killing of tens of thousands of civilians including kids #go fuck yourself tbh

[tojiscumdumpster]

⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။ knockout x renji abarai

✧ summary there’s no better way for renji to celebrate a big win than to spend the night with y/n.

✧ content warnings reader described as a black woman who uses she/pronouns. feisty!reader, chubby!reader x undergroundfighter!renji. modern au — no bleach verse. told in first POV — renji’s. mentions of stitches and bruises. usage of profanity, praise kink, cowgirl position, nipple play, facefucking — renji will finish in reader’s, squirting. terms of endearment — baby, sweetheart, angel, etc. reader and renji are in their late twenties.

✧ author’s note hello, hello. i am here with a fic that’s not jjk for once in my life, lmfao. this idea has been in my drafts since january 2023, and it was just sitting there collecting dusts on my old tumblr. but i said i was going to do more bleach characters, so here we go. first time writing renji, so if this ain’t how you see him, oops. still enjoy. also didn't really focus on the underground!fighter portion as much. but maybe i will if there's a next time. support me by liking, commenting, and reblogging this post. i would greatly appreciate it. AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS AND MINORS— DO NOT INTERACT.

I know she told me not to come by after the fight, but I needed to. 

 I won.

 I fucking won, and there’s no other way for me to celebrate winning ten thousand dollars than to be with Y/N.

 Well, that’s if she’s still not mad at me.

 Before I left for my match, we got into an argument. A huge one. She doesn’t like that I fight for a living, let alone illegal underground fighting. I mean—I get it. Seeing someone you care about constantly getting his ass beat isn’t a sight worth seeing. 

 But fighting is all I know. 

 I had a shitty childhood. Didn’t know who the hell my parents were since they gave me up at birth for adoption. Jump around in foster care homes until the mothers got sick of me and kicked me out in the streets. Survival was basically forced on me.

 Fighting is what kept me alive. For food. Clothes. A place to lay my head. Whether I lost or won, I know the reason why I’m alive today is because I’m a fighter. 

 It wasn’t until I was eighteen when I found out about the world of underground fighting. Ten years deep and I know nothing else. 

 Y/N knows this about me. She understands I didn’t have it easy and never judged me. But that doesn’t mean she agrees with my lifestyle. 

 She came to a few fights in the beginning. Eventually, she got tired of seeing me stitched up almost every weekend. 

 Shit, me too. 

 However, after tonight, I feel good about my future wins. I busted my ass in training, so now I don’t have to hear shit about anymore losses. 

 Even if right now I’m stitched up and have a black eye. I feel good.

 Great.

 Better if Y/N opens the door after keeping me waiting out in the cold for the past ten minutes. 

 I know she’s awake. She has a habit of staying up late, studying for med school. And plus, I haven’t messaged or called her yet. Despite her not showing up to my fights, she still wants an update afterwards that I made it out alive.

 “Y/N, let me in,” I say, knocking loudly on her apartment door. “You know I don’t care about making a scene.”

 After a few more obnoxious knocks, the door finally swings open and I am met with deep russet skin, tight curls, and chocolate-colored eyes that pierce an annoyed look in my direction.

 “What do you want?” She bites out. “I’m busy.”

 I smirk and hold the bag of money in the air. “I won.”

 “Congrats.” Her tone is flat and she tries to slam the door in my face, but I placed my foot to stop it from closing. “Seriously?”

 “Yes, seriously. Are you really still mad at me?” I teasingly ask. 

 “You won. I said congrats. What more do you want?”

 I shrugged. “I’m locked out of my apartment.”

 She arches a brow at me, already recognizing my bullshit ass excuse of being locked out of my apartment. 

 Y/N knows me. She knows I would do anything to be in her presence, so going back and forth in forty degree weather is pointless. 

 Her pretty brown hues travels across my face and body, examining the stitches and bruises that probably has her wondering, who the fuck treated him? 

 Me. But that’s besides the point.

 A deep sign escapes her mouth when she realizes I’m not going anywhere until she lets me in, so she opens her door wider and turns her back to me to walk further inside her apartment. 

 “Sit,” she orders, which I happily do so while chuckling to myself. 

 While Y/N goes to the bathroom (assuming she’s getting a med kit to fix my shitty patch job), I take advantage of staring at her round ass that’s barely covered in those tiny boy shorts. Every step she takes it jiggles, creating an ocean of waves I’m eager to swim in.

 I get comfortable while I wait, taking off my skully, sweater, and any other form of heavy clothing that would cause me to sweat in her heated apartment. 

 “I’m going to start charging you if you keep fucking coming to my apartment like this, Renji,” Y/N snapped, walking with the kit in her hand as expected. 

 “Outside of paying for your tuition, I can think of other ways to repay you.”

 She rolls her eyes at my suggestive comment. “Get over yourself, Abarai.”

 I let out a snort before she stands in front of me and tilt up my chin to start making work on my face. 

 She’s cute when she’s mad. Huffing and puffing while whispering slick comments under breath. But how she’s handling my face by moving it around with force rushes blood straight to my groin.

 I’m getting hard.

 Hard as shit, and it’s not helping that I’m in close proximity with her. 

 That jasmine lavender scent that circulates through my senses. Looking up at her full lips that’s coated with gloss. Then, lowering my gaze to her tits that’s big, naturally saggy, and pretty. My mouth is watering at the sight of her nipples hardening.

 And I don’t know if it’s because she feels that I’m checking her out or the coldness outside is affecting her. 

 Either way, I’ll act on it.

 Taking it upon myself, I grab the back of her thighs to pull her on my lap. As if she’s used to my antics, it doesn’t catch her off guard and she continues to clean up my wounds. 

 “You’re all bloody up with a black eye and somehow you still have the energy to be a pervert,” she retorts.

 I move one of hands to her ass, massaging comforting circles. “For you? Yeah.”

 The quiet between us was comfortable until she opted to speak again. “So… who’d you fight?”

 “Some huge motherfucker. I thought I was going to die.”

 She leans back to grab more alcohol and dabs it above my brow. “Maybe that’s what needed to have you stop fucking fighting.”

 I throw my head back to laugh, but she grabs my chin to bring my face forward. “Like you want me dead.” My hands creep beneath her cheeks to pull her closer to me and apply more pressure to my cock. “That’s what you want?”

 “That came out my mouth, Abarai?”

 “Why are you still mad at me?” 

 She scoffs. “Why am I mad that you’re practically coming to me everyday with a busted face and broken ribs?” That’s one thing I love about Y/N—her feisty personality. It turns me on so fucking much because I know when I fuck her, it’ll be a different story. 

 Continuing, she says, “I think I would be a little more satisfied if you did this professionally as opposed to underground. Underground doesn’t come with insurance, Ren.”

 “Aw, you care about me that much?” My question was supposed to be posed as a joke, but the look on her pretty face says otherwise. 

 “Fucking asshole. I don’t know why I still deal with your ass.”

 “Probably because you love me.”

 “Probably not.”

  Gripping her hips, I pull her with me and lean back into the headrest of the couch. We’re inches away from our mouths cooling and I take advantage of this proximity by basking in her sweet smelling breath and beauty. 

 Simply because Y/N exists, my cocks hardens for her. Holding her in my arms. Feeling her pussy against my erection and breasts suffocating pressed on my chest. Girlfriend or not, she’s mine.  

 And she knows it. 

 I can see how she looks at me, even when mad, that she cares and loves me. Y/N is a tough girl. I can only imagine what she’s been through. Still, she manages to soften up just for me. 

 We never made it official since she doesn’t approve of the underground shit, but that doesn’t mean I’ll ever stop asking. 

 “So when are you going to say yes to being my girlfriend?” I whisper.

 She tries breaking from my embrace, but I tighten my grip. “Renji…”

 “You feel my dick pressed against you, right? It only makes it harder when you say my name like that, Y/N.”

 “Be real with me… will you keep doing this shit forever?” Her eyes waver as she awaits my answer and I can’t help the guilt from pinging my chest. 

 “If it lessens my chance of being with you, no.”

 She searches my face for hesitance or deceit, however, she finds nothing because I meant what I said. Y/N is the only person that looks at me like I’m a human, and I wouldn’t let my obsession with fighting get in the way of our future together. 

 How she tucks her coil behind her ear and nips down on her lower lip shows me the bit of vulnerability she reserves for me.

 So—I take advantage of it. 

 In less than three seconds my lips were on hers. I take my time relishing those sweet, plump and plush, strawberry flavored lips.

 I can feel the skepticism from Y/N while kissing her, maybe because she’s trying to put on this show that she’s still mad at me. But soon, her rigid body melts into mine and returns the kiss. 

 Our heavy breaths mingle, increasing in speed the more aggressive we lock lips. She begins rolling her hips onto my cock and I let out a grunt, feeling the moisture of her pussy liquefying on me. 

 The slaps I leave on her ass are harsh, causing her to bite my bottom lip and suck it into her mouth. Y/N is so fucking aggressive it drives me nuts. She gives me a high and adrenaline not even a fight could give. 

 “Pull your dick out, Ren,” she orders through muffled moans and our kiss. 

 “Fucking bossing me around to give you cock? Not mad at me anymore?” Y/N ignores my taunt and works her hands between us to untie my sweats. I hiss at the feel of her cool hands engulfing my dick to give it a few pumps.

 She must not know what her touch does to me. She handles my cock like she owns it, and gosh, I fucking love that shit. My fingers gently tangle into her coils to deepen our kiss, but she soon gets up to strip her clothes.

 Fuck… Fuck, she’s so goddamn sexy. I’ll never get tired of her thick body, filled with soft dips and curves. I look at her, observe her like she’s an expensive piece of art hung up at a museum because that’s what I see her as. 

 Pretty pussy leaking arousal and I smirk to myself, thinking how she had all that attitude earlier while being wet for me like she didn’t want me inside of her.

 “You’re fucking beautiful. You know that?” I ask, massaging her tits and looking up at her. “You still have that attitude or are you going to come ride my cock like a good girl?”

 She gently pushes me back against the couch with her lips on mine and straddles my lap. “Depends on if you’re going to be a good boy and take this pussy.”

 “Shit, angel. I will.”

 Y/N hums while reaching around to align my cock with her sex. Two seconds later, she slowly sinks down my length until I’m buried into the hilt. That soft lingering fuck that slips past her pretty lips sounds sexy as hell and has my dick twitching in response.

 I can’t bust now. Not yet. Even if the tightness and heat of her pussy pushes me off the edge of a mountain. Her pussy is so warm, so fucking warm, fat, and wet. Gosh, I don’t ever think I can be without this pussy. 

 I throw my head back and savor this feeling, but Y/N had other plans for me. 

 “Remember to look at me when I’m riding you, Ren,” she coos. “Eyes on me, baby. I want you to see how much I love this dick inside my pussy.”

 Fucking Christ. “Tell me how much you love it while bouncing on me.”

 And she does just that. Telling me how big and girthy I am, that she’s sorry for giving me attitude and admits that she just wanted dick. But no. I want her to fuck me like she’s mad. I need that type of energy pumping through my veins after this win tonight. 

 I reassure Y/N and tell her to fuck me harder. Her pace quickens and slaps her ass fervently against my cock. I can’t stop moaning her name. The wet slippery noises coming from her pussy increases in volume and it creates a mess between us. 

 This is where I belong, deep in her pussy and feeling her walls squeeze the hell out of me. I don’t even hold her hips or waist. I relax comfortably with my arms sprawl over the top of her couch, watching how gorgeous she looks while fucking what’s hers. 

 “Oh, fuck, Renji,” she moans, tugging her lips inwards and lolling her head to the side in complete pleasure.

 Those perfect, full tits bounces in my face and I can’t help but stare and become mesmerized. Light marks that resemble tiger stripes decorated the valley of breasts. Her nipples, pebbled and straining underneath my gaze, look desperate for my touch.

 I take it upon myself to pinch them between my fingers and a soft shriek escapes her mouth, further arching her back. 

 Y/N keeps getting wetter by the second, every bounce she makes. And hearing her sticky arousal, I know and see how she’s creaming my cock.  Purposely, I sit myself on the couch, thrusting up in her a bit to feel my head hit her g spot.

 “Ren, help me little,” she begs through a whimper. “Fuck me back.”

 I caress her cheeks with the back of my head. “Yeah? You want me to help you, sweetheart?”

 “Please.”

 God, I love it when she’s needy for me like this. 

 In no time, my hands are at her waist and my thrusts meet with her jumping movements. Y/N isn't loud when it comes to her sounds of pleasure. Vocal, yes. But right now, her moans and whimpers are louder than usual. 

 It’s like she needed my dick inside of pussy just as much as I needed it. 

 I see the desire in her brown hues. I feel the heat radiating off Y/N’s skin while my fingers dig into her flesh, holding her in place to pound upwards into her pussy. 

 This is what I wanted—to fuck my girl after a well deserved win. And she’s going to congratulate me how I want. 

 My lips are at her neck leaving wet kisses and sucking her flesh until purple specks form. “Coming home to this good fucking pussy. Gosh, I love how you feel, angel. Going to fucking mean it now when you say congrats?”

 “Congratulations, baby,” she purrs, slamming harder on my cock. “You did good… so damn good, Ren.”

 I hum, dragging my tongue along her neck. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

 Y/N continues to gasps out her pleas for me to fuck harder. I comply… I comply in helping my pretty girl come and savor the look when she washes over me. My grips are firm on her waist, betting that’ll leave marks when she wakes up the next poor, and drive my cock deeper into her pussy.

 I’m in pure awe. I feel my own releasing catching up to me the more I watch her take me. This is my woman. My fucking girl. I come home to this every night after every fight to hold her in my arms and fuck her. 

 Her name from my mouth sounds like a broken record when I moan her name. This fat, gushy, slick and tight pussy has this power over me. She won’t stop fucking squeezing me, I can’t prevent my face from growing hot. It’s intense how I feel right now, and it’s all because of Y/N.

 “Good, good fucking pussy. God, you’re so fucking good to me, angel face,” I rasp, pecking her lips. “You’re going to come for me?”

 “Yes, Renji, baby. I’m going to come. Keep giving me that dick. Please don’t stop, please.”

 “Put your fingers in my mouth.” She does quick with my command. I suck on her digits and coat them well with saliva before pushing them out of my mouth. “Now rub your clit, pretty girl. I wanna see you squirt everywhere.”

 Because she’s overwhelmed with arousal, Y/N stops bouncing on my cock and allows me to fuck her while she plays with clit. Her mouth hangs gape, drool slightly coating the side of her mouth and breathing heavily. 

 My balls slap her ass. My head kisses her soft cushion repeatedly. Her velvet walls transfer warmth to my cock and the bubble that rests in the pit of my stomach is on the verge of explosion.

 I’m about to come. Hard.

 But I need her to come first.

 “Fucking come for me, Y/N. Keep playing with that pretty pussy and moan my name,” I grit out, pushing past all my thrusts. 

 “Right there, Renji. Keep fucking me right there… I’m–oh, fuck–I’m coming.”

 She’s so pretty when she comes. Dark brown porcelain complexion, slick with sweat. Eyes rolling to the back of her head. Pussy clenching and unclenching around my cock. Moaning, whimpering my name back to back. 

She’s breathless. Flawless. I have this image of her painted perfectly in my mind. Watching Y/N come, makes me come, so I make quick work to pull her off my lap. And she knows exactly what I want–to fuck my release down her throat.

 Her mouth is as warm as her pussy, and I let out hitched breaths and harsh grunts when she swallows me whole. I’m relentless when forcing her head down on my cock as I facefuck her. The gurgling noises she makes are obscene. Pornogrpahic, even. 

 And what caused my come to shoot through her mouth is seeing that she’s still massaging her clit, eventually squirting all over her wooden floors. 

 My hips stutter and I throw my head back to moan into the air. “Fuck, Y/N! That’s my fucking girl. Look at you making a mess while choking on my cock and swallowing my come.”

 Y/N takes it upon herself to wrap her lips tighter around my cock and massage my balls, ensuring every single last of my nut has released in her mouth. I take it for a while, but I soon become sensitive, practically feeling my skin being sucked off.

 “Easy now, angel,” I say through an airy chuckle. I pull my cock out and her mouth echoes a pop sound. 

 She whines a little because I’m no longer in her mouth and it causes me to smirk because it wasn’t too long ago where she acted like she hated me. 

 My hand grasps her chin and guides it upwards to meet with my eyes. “You swallowed for me, Y/N? Open up.” She nods, sticking her tongue out. “Perfect.”

 “You’re going to fuck me again?” She asks, catching her bottom lip between her teeth.”

 Gosh, this woman will be the death of me.

tags: @dejwrld @hvshinas @diamondoidxx @xxjazzxx @thegirlwonder1 @ryukenzz @maiapuhpaia @elitesanjisimp @amyrahrose @sweetpeachies @abigolemess @linastired @diorsbrando @starrygetou @niya729 (if i didn't tag you it's because tumblr wouldn't have your user pop up)

#anime x black!reader #anime x reader #bleach x black reader #bleach x reader #bleach smut #fanfic smut #renji x reader #renji x black reader #renji abarai x reader #renji abarai x black reader #bleach fanfic

[koqabear]

「 Camera Shy 」

♫: Automatic, Red Velvet // Movie Star, CIX // Color Me, JUNNY // Kitty Cat, KISS OF LIFE

“You’ve always tried to live an honest and responsible life; never spending money on anything ridiculous, scoffing at the things other people would be so willing to drop their paycheck on. But when life gets hard, you’re bound to give into your guilty pleasures, right?”

camboy!Beomgyu x fem!reader

Genre: f2l, smut, pw/minimal plot 

Word count: 14.4K (there’s like three different smut scenes here)

Warnings: gyu has a thing for glasses idk don’t question me, (mc wears glasses, not necessarily prescription), gyu is lowkey manipulative if u squint, slight possessiveness on his part? nothing toxic (i think), alcohol consumption, gyu has a tattoo.. 

smut warnings: gyu is a bit of a perv! mean dom!Beomgyu, sub!mc, masturbation (f&m), filmed sex, (consensual), dirty talk, degrading, use of toys (f&m rec.), exhibitionism, voyeurism technically, bit of a voice/hand kink? slight humiliation kink, mentions of safe words & subspace, mentions of squirting lmao, manhandling, spanking, pet names (princess, baby, etc.), fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, marking, dry humping, handcuffing, biting, unprotected sex, dumbification, dacryphilia, creampie (lmk if i should add anything!)

Notes: lemme tell you. i wrote abt the tattoo before i stumbled upon that pic, when i tell you i was just ??? barely proof-read heehee. the thought of this au hit me like a that-so-raven vision, and I literally spent the whole day making sure I could finish this. enjoy bc i love camboy aus sm. (oh and pls, do me a favor and reblog— i have an ominous feeling about what’ll happen to this fic once i post it.)

Beomgyu has always found the idea of his work a bit ridiculous. 

Day by day, he’s a normal college student— he spends his early mornings in classes, taking all the morning slots everyone was always reluctant to enroll in before he went off to work; he was known as that cute server amongst the women that visited the restaurant he worked at, able to upsell and gain tips with ease as he quickly became a favorite amongst his coworkers.

He liked the attention— of course he did, he needed to in order to thrive in the field of his actual job, his hours at the restaurant nothing but a side hustle compared to the hundreds he could make of a single stream.

Those hundreds could always breach into the thousands— but those were on especially good days, like his annual Valentine’s Day stream he always held for his lonely, single viewers. 

Beomgyu was quite the sweet talker— he got the practice from his day-to-day shifts, watching girls his age and older fawn at his words and flutter their eyes playfully. It was clear they enjoyed the attention just as much as he did, a cute smile on his face as he faked a shy laugh whenever they would compliment him.

Your hair looks really nice today. You smell amazing. Do you work out? You have a really nice voice. 

He got that last compliment a lot.

“Do I?” he would purr, a sultry smile crawling on his face each time, like a practiced action as he would tilt his head teasingly— the reaction would be positive each time, without fail, and he would always end up with a collection of napkins with scrawled phone numbers every time he would clock out— his coworkers would poke fun at him every time they watched him dump them all out apathetically. 

You weren’t into that one person? Dude, the lady at table seven was so fucking hot.

Beomgyu never really paid mind to their teasing— he could care less for the men and women that tried to butter him up during his shifts, forced to act as though their shameless flirting didn’t make his stomach twist unpleasantly— instead, he would be forced to smile, laughing sheepishly before he would slip away with one last comment. 

“I’m flattered, really— but, I have someone I’m interested in.” 

That someone was you— the pretty girl that sat across from him during his ten am lecture, finding himself spacing out every time and staring off into your direction; though you never seemed to notice, much too caught up in taking notes as he watched the way your brows would furrow, biting at your lip and adjusting your glasses as you remained focused— whether those glasses were for reading, blue light, prescription, or even decoration, he didn’t care— all he cared about was how unnecessarily attractive you looked in them. 

He thought about you more than he liked to admit— it was frustrating at first, his thoughts starting as nothing more than puppy love to something worse— it was only after you piqued his interest that he began streaming more. 

This was both a good and bad thing; good because, well, he began to climb the ranks of popularity and earn more, but bad because he would find himself thinking of you. Each. And every. Time. 

“Wish I could fuck you,” he would sigh out, his comments going too fast for him to keep up with as his eyes fluttered shut; leaning back against his headboard, he shifts, making sure everything but his lips remain out of frame before he’s back to closing his eyes, “would you let me make you feel good? God, I’d do anything just to feel you, taste you…”

As far as his audience knows, he’s speaking to them— the comments grow wild and tips flood in, all asking him to stop being a tease as they watch the way he palms himself through his sweatpants; grabbing at his length, stroking it slowly as he lets his imagination run wild. 

He’s not wearing boxers; Beomgyu knows it drives his viewers mad, able to see as a wet spot begins to form on the light material, his tip leaking furiously as his other hand tugs the hem of his sweater over his chest— his vision is hazy as he reads the requests, laughing softly as he allows his fingers to trace along his chest absentmindedly— tracing over the muscle of his abdomen, circling his nipples slowly as he reads a comment under his breath.

Stop teasing and hurry up already !! >///<

The comment has him rolling his eyes— yet his usual tippers begin to request the same thing, and his hand is slowly tugging at the tied strings of his pants as he smiles, mocking and mean as he bites his lip. 

“Hurry up? You want to command me while you’re over here throwing money at me like a whore? All just to watch me fuck myself, dreaming that it could be you?”

The comments start speeding up; it’s all a blur to him, but the sound of money coming in is enough to tell him that his usual audience is active again.

“Pathetic,” he sighs, his voice deep and grumbly as he reads over the requests that come in with the money: yes, i wish it were me there… please, can we see your cock?

“Desperate little sluts,” Beomgyu hums, tugging his waistband down and allowing his cock to spring up; it smacks against his stomach, and though the people in his comments attempt to regain his attention with dirty words and useless requests, he knows it’s all because of you— guiltily, he finds his thoughts straying the moment his hand wraps around his cock. 

His streams have a certain formula to them; the more money, the better the show. Which is exactly why he ends up kneeling in front of the camera, fucking his cock into a clear flashlight as he listens to the sounds of tips coming in left and right— but his eyes remained shut, spilling enough filth to have his audience satisfied as he allows to let his imagination run wild. 

In every stream, he cums to the thought of you; he has to bite his lip to not moan out your name like a pathetic bitch in heat, flooding his fleshlight with cum and continuing to fuck into it until his next orgasm.

In every stream, he finds himself thinking the same thought at least once— do you watch his streams?

»»»

The concept of camboys is ridiculous to you.

Why in the world would you spend all your money and emotions on a single person, when you can just go on Twitter and find the next best account that has yet to be suspended? Well, it’s not as though you find the idea of sex work appalling, but you don’t think you’d ever feel good about yourself spending a hard-earned paycheck because you were horny. 

You’re not stupid; you know sex workers make bank, and you know that there are people in the world that love emptying out their bank accounts to such workers; whether it’s due to a kink or to feed into their parasocial relationship, you’re not sure. 

You find that a good session on Twitter and your fingers usually does the trick— maybe a toy or two, if you find yourself feeling that needy. 

Today’s session quickly becomes both disappointing and humbling; every account you try to look for has either been suspended or deleted, and every video you come across is something that’s not to your taste or something you’ve seen many, many times. 

You feel weak as you come across the same account again; guiltypleasures— and he’s damn right, because you’re unable to resist the urge to click on his icon, feeling your thighs rub together with impatience as you sit back in bed— scrolling through, you’re surprised to see that he’s posted another video— without a second thought, you’re watching it. 

“Fucking pathetic,” he sighs out, the familiar growled phrase making you gulp; you never found yourself to be too attracted to men who are extremely dominating and mean, but the man on your screen is somehow able to make it work as you find yourself getting wetter, “are you touching yourself right now? Don’t you wish I was there with you?”

And shit, you think you know why he’s able to make you come back to him every time, even if he’s posted nothing new and you’re forced to rewatch old videos most of the time; maybe it’s because of his hands, delicate and thin as they wrap around his favorite pocket pussy, or maybe it’s the way he slowly fucks into the said toy; stretching it out, his tip poking out and oozing enough cum that you can hear the wet squelching sounds that come from every thrust.

Or maybe, it’s his voice, deep and breathy and addicting as he mumbles out filthy things like it’s the only thing he knew how to do; his lips are red and swollen as he groans, hissing through his teeth as you watch the way his hands tighten around his toy. 

“Shit, I’d fuck you so good,” he sighs out, hips rutting into the toy in his hands as he laughs; his head tilts, and though you’re only able to see his lips, you know his eyes are teasing as he looks into the camera, “fuck you so that you’d never want anyone else but me.”

His thrusts are picking up— you didn’t even realize the moment you began touching yourself, embarrassing whimpers and breaths falling from your lips as you keep your eyes honed in on his motions; you’re close, so close, your ministration speeding up as you fight to keep your eyes open. 

“You’d be my good little cumdump, just for me to use— right?”

The video ends shortly after.

God damn it! your mind screams, the sudden cut-off catching you so off guard that you completely ruined your orgasm; you feel insanely embarrassed by how frustrated you feel, not realizing how short the clip he posted was until now. Clicking away, you feel as though your mood is ruined as you read the contents of his tweet. 

A small clip from the stream. Watch the rest here: https://…..

Shit. Of course he would be a camboy. How did you not realize this sooner?

Honestly, if you sounded like that, you would be one too— and frustratingly enough, the brief cutoff is a damn good marketing strategy, because after a moment of thought, you’re clicking on the link.

You could just rewatch the video— you could also just go rewatch his previous videos, or even use your imagination to help you finish— but the idea of doing so is much more unpleasant than usual. (And humiliating, because you’ve found with horror that you’ve begun to memorize how his previous, equally as short, clips go.)

Your resolve begins to weaken the moment you click on his page— because of course, everything costs money— It costs to see his previous streams, costs to message him, and costs to get a fucking membership. 

Who is paying for all this?!

You, apparently— because after some serious, slightly horny-impaired thought, you decide that getting a low-tier membership wouldn’t be too bad, right?

The cost is monthly (because of course it is, this website seems to want to charge you for just looking at his page) and you wince slightly as you watch your transaction go through. 

Once you see the notification of your purchase pop up on your phone, you feel dreadfully sobered. 

Because shit, being a low-tier subscriber only gets you a part of his most recent streams— about less than half of it, you notice— only able to get full access to streams prior to this month. It’s enough for now, but you can’t help but feel as though you’ve become the very thing you’ve despised as you lay back in your bed, staring at your ceiling for a moment before you’re sighing.

You’re still horny. 

»»»

You think you can get behind the whole camboy thing. One may say you’ve been swayed, and quite honestly, you don’t think you could dispel such claims at this point.

Because it’s been a few months, and you’ve managed to stay through the whole thing. You’re surprised that you’ve begun to keep his streaming times in mind as you go about your day, ending your study sessions early or wondering if you’ll get home from work in time to watch his streams. 

You always do. Maybe it’s a deity above making sure you get your money’s worth, or maybe it’s the fact that guiltypleasures is a human too, with a normal life and better shit to do than sit in front of a camera and jerk off all day. 

The idea of following in his footsteps has crossed your mind more often than you expected; anything would be better than being a hostess at this god-awful job you have, forced to sit through the way people take out their anger on you and proceed to flirt with the servers— one of those servers being Beomgyu.

You were able to realize how popular Beomgyu was after your second shift— it didn’t take a genius to figure out why as you were left to deal with the way women of your age and older (mostly older. So many older women.) would creep up to you shyly, putting up a front of innocence as they asked you is Beomgyu here today? Could we sit in his area, please?

Seeing him rack up tips after a busy shift is always enough to have you wondering if you should switch to being a server— but then you see the way the women are treated, your stomach flipping in disgust at the way men leer and comment at them— you’ve even seen Beomgyu get cursed at plenty of times as well, shivering at the jealous partners and the way they’ve been blacklisted for threatening him. 

Tonight is one of those nights. You’ve clocked out, shrugging on your jacket and gathering your belongings when you see Beomgyu storm in through the employee entrance; you don’t think you’ve ever seen him angry, but the sight has your eyes widening as you watch the way he frowns at his uniform, cursing angrily under his breath as he approaches the break table you stand by. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, low and breathy and mean as he continues complaining, berating the customer that had the audacity to throw their drink at him— but you, in your very depraved state, remain stuck on the way he sounds, his voice far too attractive for a person who is spouting out filth.

This feels familiar. 

“Hey, you okay?” you ask softly, feeling awkward as you mentally slap yourself for your train of thought; it seems as though Beomgyu hadn’t even realized you were there, his head snapping up as he stares at you like a deer caught in headlights— his mood is immediately shifting as he sends you a sweet smile, acting as though his clothes aren’t soaked as he waves you off causally. 

“Yeah. Just some ridiculous customers,” he says, laughing softly as he grabs at a pile of napkins on the table; you wince as you watch him scrub roughly at the stains, unable to stop yourself as you jump to his aide. 

“Here, you’ll only get the stains in deeper if you do that,” you say, taking the napkin from his hands as you begin to dab at his uniform without much thought; you’re much closer than you should be to someone you’ve never really talked to, but you don’t seem to realize it as Beomgyu practically forgets to breathe from your proximity. 

Shit, how did he find himself in this situation? He might as well go back out and thank the jealous, “tough guy” boyfriend that threw his drink at Beomgyu, because he feels as though every guilty fantasy is coming back to mind as he takes in your concentrated expression, your hand placed firmly on his chest for support as the other dabs at the stains in his uniform. 

You smell so good. Even though you’ve been in the restaurant just as long as him and have been around food this whole time, he’s still able to pick up on your scent with every shaky breath he takes. 

You’re wearing your glasses, too.

Beomgyu’s mind is wandering off to dangerous places; he knows he needs to get himself under control, because the danger of him popping a boner just from how close you are is a higher probability than he’d like to admit. It seems as though you’re snapping out of your trance the moment he clears his throat, your face growing hot and slightly horrified as you jump back; Beomgyu can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips at the sight, finding your embarrassment oddly endearing. 

“Sorry, got carried away,” you say, smiling shakily as you take in the way Beomgyu practically beams at you— always a sweet, nice guy, waving you off without a problem as he laughs softly.

“No, it seems to have helped,” he says, and you can’t help but notice how oddly charismatic he is even now, during this mundane interaction that has you stuttering over your words stupidly— but to be fair, how are you supposed to give him advice on how to get the stains out when he’s looking at you with the cutest god damn puppy eyes you’ve ever seen, his brown eyes round and sparkly as he listens intently to every word you say? 

“I wouldn’t have thought to do that,” he smiles, his cheeks puffing up cutely and oh, is it weird that you want to coo at how cute he is and pinch his cheeks…? 

Definitely weird, you decide, letting out a soft laugh as he tells you that he’ll try it as soon as he gets home. 

“Speaking of which, I’ll let you go; you probably don’t want to be here longer than necessary,” Beomgyu is so kind and considerate even as you tell him it’s fine and that you didn’t have any plans after work anyway. 

“I’ll let you get back to work,” you can’t help the soft laugh that escapes you as Beomgyu asks you to wish him luck, the smile he sports coy as you follow his command without any hesitation— you take this as your chance to leave before things get awkward, but a part of you itches to go back and talk to him more. 

Beomgyu’s good, you realize as you’re exiting the building, a bewildered laugh escaping you as you realize that he managed to charm you just from that short interaction. 

You get why he’s so popular. 

»»»

Any plans to go to bed early and rest are immediately thrown out the minute your phone buzzes beside you. 

You were just about to put your laptop away— just on the verge of falling asleep, until your eyes reluctantly drifted to read the words that take over your screen— it’s a Twitter notification, the username making your eyes widen as you’re scrambling to unlock your phone and read the rest. 

guiltypleasures

had a shitty shift today, let me take it out on you? https://…….

Oh. oh, oh lord… you can feel the exhaustion lifted off in an instant; suddenly, you’re wide awake, eyes widening as you quickly copy the link of his tweet into your browser— while your mind scolds you for trying to stay up and possibly ruining your sleep schedule, the other, much more sinister part of it tells you that you’re paying for a reason. 

The stream starts in five minutes. 

While you wait anxiously in your room, your hands swiftly going to your nightstand to take out some toys— your trusty vibrator and a dildo you recently bought, all because of him— Beomgyu paces around his setup, gathering his own toys and changing into something that the viewers might like; today's ensemble is a bit more bothersome than usual, but he knows how much his viewers like when he dresses up and role plays a bit with them. 

He was tired; today's shift took a toll on him, and he’d rather be fast asleep than putting on a stream— but after looking at today's earnings, he couldn’t help but feel unsatisfied with it all, deciding on impulse that he would put on a stream to make up for his lack of tips— instead, he’ll earn tips in another way. 

“Hey,” he starts quietly, sitting back in his seat as he takes a glance at his monitor, making sure his face is out of frame. The viewer count rises and comments flood in no time, all of them freaking out about how good he looks in the suit he wears; the all-black ensemble feels stifling to him, but he knows taking it off will be worth it in the end. 

Bad day today? Let us make you feel better :( 

His top tippers are all begging for his attention, desperate and needy as always as they beg for him to get started— but he feels a lot more sluggish than usual, his gloved hands caressing his thighs slowly as he reads the comments out loud. 

“Yeah, today’s shift wasn’t that great,” he speaks, his voice deep and sultry as he allows a moment to pass, reading all the comments that beg for him to use them, “I only thought about you though. Just wanted to see you.”

There he goes again— he’s no longer talking to his audience, but to you instead, closing his eyes and imagining a world where you’re in front of him, or even on the other side of this screen, one of the many faces that lusts over the way his cock begins to harden, the bulge becoming much more apparent as he lets his mind wander.

Unbeknownst to him, you are on the other side of your screen; a shy and flustered mess as you shift in your bed, watching the comments fly by as you wonder if you should join in— not that you could, anyway, your low-tier subscription excluding you from doing such things, as ridiculous as it is. 

You’re practically devouring the man on your screen with your eyes; taking in the way he’s dressed, his pretty hands covered with leather gloves as he runs them slowly over his black trousers; stopping as they run back to his hips, a hand beginning to palm at his bulge as he spreads his legs a little wider in his chair— today's setup is a bit different, along with his attitude as he seems to sweet talk the audience more than usual. 

“Seeing you is the only good part of my day,” he sighed, his free hand trailing up his chest before it stops at his tie— he’s tugging at it, loosening it and allowing it to hang around his neck as he continues, “Can’t stop thinking about how much I want you, how I’d fuck you until all you can remember is my name.”

The offer is tempting; you groan a little as you watch him begin to slide off his blazer, throwing it to the side before he’s unbuttoning his white shirt— he’s making quick work to become undressed, you notice, untucking the material and undoing his belt as the sounds of it jingling ring out in the room. 

Yet, no one knows his name— no one knows anything about him, except the tattoo that runs across his side as he slides off his shirt, the sharp, elegant lines running all along his ribs, trailing down to his hip bones and disappearing under his pants— the rest of him remaining a mystery as you’re left to lust over a nameless, faceless stranger. 

That’s probably where the appeal comes from; you’re able to imagine anything about him, from what his face looks like to what he may do when the cameras are off; you’re free to mold him into the perfect fantasy, using him and projecting onto him as you watch him slowly unzip his pants, a hand slipping under as he begins to jerk himself off teasingly, slow as always as he waits for the requests to come in— like clockwork, your eyes fall to the end of his tattoo, taking in the cute heart that rests by his hip bone, the ending of the elaborate piece that always has you wondering what it’d be like to see in person. 

“Hmm? You want more?” he says, tilting his head slightly as he smiles; it’s mocking as always, biting into his lip as he begins to roll his hips into his hand— making a show out of it, throwing his head back and letting out a breathy moan that has you shivering.

“How about you show me just how much you want it,” he sighs out, smiling evilly as tips begin to come in left and right as a response; you find the way he’s able to manipulate the audience impressive, always able to get them to blow their money on him without hesitation. 

He leans forward, towards the screen, and you’re able to admire his lips as he reads the comments, mouthing them as the lights cast a glow on his pretty, pouty mouth, his neck tempting and begging to be marked as you watch the way he displays it so teasingly. 

“Good girl,” he laughs softly, your eyes flickering to the comment section for a moment; his top tipper has spent an egregious amount on him yet again, and you listen to the way he softly begins to fulfill her request, the rest of the audience momentarily disappearing as he begins to speak to her. 

“Always such an obedient thing for me, hmm? Tell me, what do you want to see?” 

His manipulation is seamless as he watches another tip flood in; all from the same person, the amount doubled in order to get his attention past all the others that blow a measly twenty on him, nothing compared to the three hundred that is highlighted in gold, the comment momentarily pinned for the man to read it.

I want you to fuck your favorite fleshlight and use a vibrator while you think of me. Can you moan my name please? It’s—

Her comment has your eyes widening for a second; it’s bold and demanding, and the idea of requesting such a thing from the camboy in front of you is daunting as you read her request over and over— your face feels hot and you’re already taking off your sweatpants from how needy you are, wondering if the man on your screen will accept such a request.

The first two are nothing to him— in fact, it’s more on the tamer side as he already finds himself reaching for the aforementioned toys. 

The problem lies in the last request. 

He’s not one to moan names on a live stream; he usually saves it for personal requests he gets, the videos much more personal and calculated as he gets to take his time with them— so for his top tipper to request such a thing on his livestream is a bit more difficult; especially when he spends this time thinking of you. 

But then again, it’s three hundred dollars. 

“Okay then, is that what you want? Hmm?” he teases softly, purring out her name at the end as he watches the way she tips him again; it has him laughing in amusement, sitting back in his chair before he’s crossing his arms over his chest, singing out her name with a soft lilt as he watches the way she continues to pour money at him like it’s nothing. 

Soon enough, more requests come in; all with the same amount and request, hoping that they’ll be able to hear their names fall from his lips as he slowly begins to tug down his pants, raising his hips as he’s left in nothing but his underwear, the briefs straining painfully as his cock twitches, begging to be free. 

“One at a time,” he murmurs sweetly, patronizing as he mumbles that it’s her turn now, watching the way she seems to react with every purr of her name. 

The sudden trend of requests makes his stream slightly difficult; he’s always found himself to be a lot more into them when he’s mentally moaning out your name, lips ghosting over the syllables every time he’s coming undone. Instead, he’s forced to moan out the name of a stranger as he begins to palm himself slowly, even though his mind thinks back to you and the small interaction you had today. 

He feels his cock twitch at the mere thought. It’s painfully hard and won’t stop leaking as he takes it out, not needing to use any lubricant as he begins stroking it slowly, hips jumping at the feeling of the leather against his skin— and though his lips moan another’s name, his eyes remain closed, thinking about you. 

You and your meek personality, always letting guests take out their anger on you before they’re turning around and sucking up to Beomgyu— he’s always had to resist the urge to fuck them up as a response, knowing that you think no one else notices your sullied mood and your crestfallen gaze every time they seem to get away with it. 

He’s never free to comfort you. You’re both far too busy to be around each other for longer than a few minutes, and today was like a blessing as he caught you at just the right time— he would have stayed the rest of his shift back there talking to you, if only he hadn’t been playing the part of a sweet, considerate guy. 

He thinks back to how you felt against him. How, even though your actions were innocent and you were much more focused on taking out the stain of his uniform, he still felt the warmth of your hand against his chest, delicate and smaller than his as you leaned in close enough to allow himself to get a whiff of your sweet scent.

And those glasses. 

He never thought he would find himself hung up on such an item, but the way they make your eyes look big and sparkly is practically enough to make him cum on the spot. Instead, he grabs a hold of his newest fleshlight, soft and tight, just how he imagines you would be. 

It’s perverted, but as he slides his cock into the tight sleeve, groaning slightly at how he’s barely able to push through, he imagines that it’s you. His mind begins to wonder what it would be like if you were above him right now, your thighs encasing his and your pussy leaking onto his cock as he fucked into you without abandon. 

As he turns on his vibrator, running it along his balls and letting out pathetic moans, he imagines what it would be like to use it on you while he fucked you, imagining the way your tits would bounce and your eyes would squeeze shut as he made you cum until you were unable to hold yourself up. 

On the other side of the screen, you imagine the same thing. Your legs are shaking and you’re fighting to keep your eyes open as you follow the pace he’s set, pressing your vibrator firmly against your clit and letting out weak whimpers at the sensation. You try to ignore the way he calls out the same name over and over, wondering instead what it would be like to hear your name from his lips— the sound is ringing throughout your mind the moment you imagine it, burying your face into your pillow as you increase the intensity of your toy. 

“Let me fill you up, want you dripping with my cum,” he growls out, the sloppy sounds of his thrusts only spurring you on as your thighs close around your hand, hips grinding into your dildo as you sink your teeth into your lip ruthlessly— it’s almost enough to draw blood as you watch the way he cums into his toy, hips continuing to rut into the it even long after he’s come, a white ring forming at the base as he turns the vibrator off from the overstimulation. 

“_— Shit,” Beomgyu almost slipped up for a second, proceeding to moan out his requested name repeatedly as a distraction. 

And you know you’re imagining it, but you’re briefly coming undone after that, your pussy tightening against your dildo and your legs shaking as you run your vibrator along your clit, imagining that it’s him inside you, that he’s currently spilling his load in your cunt— your mind swearing that you almost heard your name slip from his lips for a second— and it isn’t until you recover from your orgasm, the sound of another name leaving his lips repeatedly making you come to, that you realize it was your brain playing trick on you to help you get off. 

But you weren’t imagining things. 

Beomgyu hopes his audience didn’t pick up on his small mistake, but he’s relieved to see that they’re none the wiser as they continue to request to hear their name next.

“Let’s see…” he says, and you’re barely able to keep your eyes open as you watch the way he leans towards the camera again, reading requests off the monitor as he grinds his hips into his toy absentmindedly throughout it.

He’s barely getting started.

In turn, so are you. 

»»»

Beomgyu is the sweetest guy you’ve ever met. 

After your brief conversation at the restaurant, you quickly found yourself talking to him more often. 

It turned into him sitting next to you during the one class you shared, your friendship growing stronger day by day as you got to know him better. 

He acts like a puppy; he’s so sweet and kind, his voice soft and endearing every time he spoke to you— and, like a stark contrast to the flirty and outgoing guy you saw during your shifts at the restaurant, he was very shy, ever the gentleman as he always treated you with nothing but kindness. 

“Good morning,” Beomgyu hums, sitting in the seat next to yours before he’s placing down a cup of coffee, “I got this for you. I already finished mine, but I thought you might like some too.”

Sweet gestures like these were common with him; despite your insistence that he really didn’t need to, he always did it anyway, ever the charming man as he sent you a cute smile that would have you unable to say no. 

“Hey, I heard you’re friends with Yeonjun?” you ask, reluctantly accepting the drink after he insisted that you didn’t need to feel bad; your lips are curving into a small smile as you take a drink, stomach flipping at the realization that it was your usual order— you’re surprised he was able to remember it after the first time you got coffee together. 

Beomgyu nods in confirmation. You’re a bit surprised by his answer, unable to see the two be friends due to their contrasting personalities. You can tell that he’s curious as to why you’re asking as he pouts slightly— a habit he always does when he’s confused— and you’re quick to swallow down your drink and give him context.

“He’s having a party this weekend. I was wondering if you’re going?” you say, and Beomgyu feels his stomach drop slightly; not because you were going— well, not entirely, at least— but because if you were going, you’d definitely end up seeing a different side of him. And after seeing how fond you are of his puppy-like behavior, he dreads seeing your reaction to a much more reckless side of him.

“I… think so,” he says sheepishly, wondering what kind of excuse he should make to not go— but he pauses, seeing the way you pout at him, grabbing his arm desperately as you lean into him as you plead.

“You should go— pleeeasee? Yeonjun’s parties are super over the top and he always invites hella people, I don’t wanna be there alone.” 

You have this man wrapped around your finger; with one look at your face, your gaze sweet and pleading as you cutely pout at him expectantly, he finds himself agreeing, unable to fight back a smile as he watches the way you cheer triumphantly, quieting down the moment the lecture starts. 

Beomgyu will definitely have to be careful this weekend— but seeing you will be worth it, even if he’s risking the chance of potentially changing the way you’ll view him forever. 

»»»

You have yet to see Beomgyu. 

The party started hours ago, yet you’ve only been present for a few as you’ve already both greeted and lost Yeonjun, forced to mingle with people you barely know as you all hang out in his backyard— because lord knows how packed and stuffy the place would’ve been if he held it inside. 

You currently find yourself playing cup pong, teaming with the girl in your communications class as you go against two strangers— Yunjin is much friendlier and outgoing when she’s drunk, cheering you on and yelling triumphantly with every ball you get in— you’ve barely had anything to drink as a result, and Yunjin is eager to fix that as she hands you a small shot cup; you’re hesitant at first, only accepting it after she explains that it isn’t strong at all, the soju mixed in with other things as she tells you you’ll barely feel it. 

It’s not that you’re a lightweight that would get drunk off one shot, but you’d rather not get shit-faced when you have yet to find Beomgyu; your eyes scan over the place once more after you take the shot, Yunjin’s cheers falling deaf onto your ears as you allow the team in front of you have their turn. 

“Drinking already?”

Beomgyu has snuck up on you successfully— you’re flinching in surprise as you feel his hand fall gently on the small of your back, leaning in close so he’s properly able to speak to you over the music. 

Beomgyu feels as though looking at you is a sin; he’s forcing himself to keep his eyes off you, listening to the way you ramble into his ear about how happy you are to see him, your head tilting back and exposing the column of your neck to him to get him to hear you. 

“You’re not wearing your glasses,” he comments, oddly hung up on it as he watches the way your smile only widens.

“Yeah, didn’t feel like it,” you say lightheartedly, leaning back against Beomgyu and finding comfort in the position that allows the two of you to speak over the booming music.

Unbeknownst to you, he takes this moment to drink in your appearance. The white, oversized button-up you wear is left completely open as it drapes over your figure, the light blue denim shorts entirely too tempting as they ride up your thighs, much too short to even cover you properly— but of course, that’s the look you were going for, leaving your bottoms unbuttoned and folded down as you allow your bikini to peek through— the color is flattering on your skin, and Beomgyu wonders if he’ll be strong enough to resist you, eyes flickering over to the pool that’s filled with plenty of people as a distraction. 

“You wanna go in?” you ask, and Beomgyu realizes you’ve followed his line of sight, shaking his head quickly in response. You laugh, turning around briefly as you listen to the sounds of Yunjin telling you that you have to drink— you freely down the shot in the plastic cup this time, much more at ease now that Beomgyu is around— and turn back to him, pulling at his shirt slightly as you take in his attire.

“Come on, you’re definitely dressed for the part!” 

And that much was true— though he realized halfway through his drive here that doing so would not be a good idea, especially if he wanted to keep up this cute, innocent act of his.

“It’s too full right now,” he says, his excuse valid as you study the pool for a moment— only to agree, turning back to the game as you tell Beomgyu to cheer for you with a cheeky smile. 

It doesn’t take much longer for you to get tipsy— all because you made the mistake of trusting Yunjin to play properly during her turn, missing entirely and proceeding to get the two of you obliterated after she went against one of the guys on the opposite team (Jake, he later told you.)— but you’re quick to make sure to bring Beomgyu down with you, handing him every other shot you get as you tell him he’s now on your team.

What you don’t seem to realize is that Beomgyu is not a lightweight— far from it, watching with amusement as you slowly begin to get tipsy, your mouth loosening and your personality becoming much more outgoing after losing the game to Jake and his friend— three times in a row. 

“Again?” you ask, laughing at the way Yunjin yells in agreement— Beomgyu has to tug on your shirt to get you away, telling you that it’s definitely not a good idea to go again, especially with someone as uncoordinated as Yunjin. 

“Why didn’t you play with me then?” you say, leaning against him as you smile up at him prettily; he’s leading you away from the table and towards the grass, over to where a small campfire is lit, plenty of chairs scattered about as the music becomes louder in this area. 

“You don’t like games?” you ask him, stumbling to a stop and tugging at his shirt to stop with you, just so he’s able to hear you better. Coyly, you smile, your eyes twinkling mischievously as you lean in to speak to him quietly, “Don’t you wanna play with me?” 

Your words are fairly innocent— but your delivery is not, and it has Beomgyu sputtering in surprise as he wonders how he should respond to such a random advance— though he doesn’t need to in the end, watching as you break character and laugh at your own antics, perking up immediately as you listen to the song that’s playing. 

“Oh, I love this song!” 

You’re dancing carelessly to the song without a second thought, pulling Beomgyu in and laughing at the way he seems reluctant to let loose; it’s probably the alcohol in your system that’s making you act like such an idiot, leaning against him and smiling at the way he seems adamant to avoid your gaze. 

“You know, I just realized that we’re matching!” you laugh, tugging at the collar of his white button-up before you’re glancing down; it’s tucked neatly into his denim shorts, and your smile is only growing wider as you look back up at him, “we look like a couple or something.”

Your words affect him much more than he’d like to admit— but he has no time to dwell on it, eyes looking past you and at Yeonjun, who walks straight toward the two of you with a grin stuck on his face. 

“Hey, why didn’t you tell me you were here?” Yeonjun yells, grabbing your attention as you’re turning to greet Yeonjun; you’re bubbly and seem to find everything funny as you giggle slightly, waving at him happily before you’re stepping away from Beomgyu. 

“I couldn’t find you,” Beomgyu mumbles, watching the way Yeonjun slings an arm around your shoulders casually— he feels oddly angered at the sight, unsure why it irritates him so much to see the two of you act so close. 

“Didn’t know you two were friends,” Yeonjun says, and he watches as you begin to ramble about your history with Beomgyu with a small smile— scanning your outfit, he frowns. 

“You haven’t gotten in the pool yet?” Yeonjun asks, raising a brow at your entirely dry figure; you shake your head, which only makes him tilt his head in confusion, “I thought you said that’s the only reason you were coming?”

“Well, I just haven’t gotten the chance to,” you say sheepishly, the shy smile on your face quickly turning to one of confusion the moment Yeonjun hugs you; he’s got you tight, and you’re stumbling along with him as you begin questioning what he’s doing, your eyes widening the moment you peek over his shoulder— you’re heading straight to the pool, the volume of your yells rising significantly as you begin to struggle against your friend, yelling at Beomgyu to come to your rescue. 

(It’s all for dramatic effect. Yeonjun laughs at the way you pretend to struggle against him, and he pretends he doesn’t hear your laugh of joy the moment he falls over the edge, letting go of you in time and forcing the two of you into the water.)

You’re pleasantly surprised to find that the water isn’t freezing; you personally thank Yeonjun’s heating system as you come up for air, wiping at your face and adjusting your hair as you begin to splash Yeonjun, insulting him for being such a bully. 

Your movements are immediately stopping the moment you spot Beomgyu at the edge— Yeonjun is quick to leave, sending you a small wink (the term “wink” used loosely) before he’s off to find his next target—he’s taken his shoes off and he looks more than ready to jump in, and you can’t help but laugh sweetly at his concern before you realize that you should probably take off your shoes as well.

“You okay?” He asks you, watching the way you cringe as you take off your shoes, tossing them over the edge and leaving them to dry as you swim to where he stands. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you smile, watching the way he seems hesitant to do anything— to get in or leave, you’re unsure. A second passes before an evil thought pops into your head, taking notice of your equally soaked clothes that remain stuck on your body.

“Oh. Hey, could you hold this?” you begin, shedding off your shirt before you’re bundling it into a ball, holding out the fabric for him— he crouches down, arm reaching out for your shirt— and you seize your moment, both hands grabbing onto him and tugging as hard as you can. 

And Beomgyu, in his unguarded state, falls in immediately. 

The laugh you let out is pure evil as you watch him fall in, flailing for a second before he’s coming up for air— and honestly, Beomgyu can’t even be mad, at least not when you’re laughing so hard, your face lit up as you take in the way his hair is completely flat on his head. 

“Sorry. Couldn’t help it,” you say, but you don’t look sorry at all as you swim over to your shirt that’s now sunk into the bottom of the pool. You’re diving down to get it, quick to throw it over the edge and by your shoes before you’re tugging off your shorts. You’re glancing back at Beomgyu, relieved to see he doesn’t look angry at all, when you spot something peculiar. 

“Woah, what’s that?” you ask, approaching Beomgyu eagerly as he’s quick to follow your gaze. His cheeks are on fire and his hands are quick to fly onto his ribs, turning away from your curious hands and even more curious gaze as he stutters out an excuse. 

“It’s nothing.” That’s probably one of the lamest things Beomgyu has ever said, and you’re not believing him for a second as your eyes widen at his sudden change in behavior. 

“Is it a tattoo?” you ask, trying to get a peek through the cracks of his fingers; but the water makes everything blurry, unable to get the details of it before you’re humming appreciatively. “Hmm. That’s cool— I didn’t know that was such a common spot to get tattooed.”

“Is it?” he asks, and suddenly, he doesn’t seem to want to hide it anymore. Your curious gaze and awed compliments have him smiling, raising a brow as he feels himself become more confident— the idea that you of all people would judge him seems ridiculous now.

“Who else do you know that has a tattoo here?” you’re late to process the question— only because your eyes are widening as he admits that it is a tattoo, the words flying out of your mouth before you can truly process if it’s a good idea. 

“I don’t know. I’ve just seen it online, I guess.” Of course, this could mean many things— but it means one thing to you, and you’re practically biting your tongue from the sheer terror that you inadvertently admitted to a guilty, secret pleasure of yours.

“Online?” he asks, and you try to not look suspicious as you choose to simply remain quiet and nod. 

“Yeah, like on Pinterest and stuff,” you add, hoping that it’s enough to prove your innocence (to yourself) as you watch Beomgyu nod along to your words. 

“Aren’t your clothes weighing you down?” you ask, eyeing the way he’s barely moved with a small smile, “or like, are you not wearing anything underneath?”

Most of the people here came with their swimsuits underneath— some just opted to strip to their underwear, which is why you didn’t feel alarmed to find people stripping their layers in order to jump into the pool. 

Though, now that you think about it, you feel a bit bad for forcing Beomgyu to get in without much of a warning. Your concerns are quickly soothed, however, when Beomgyu shakes his head, hands coming up to unbutton his shirt before he’s laughing softly at your words. 

“I was wearing my shorts underneath these,” he confesses, your eyes widening as you find yourself going silent— because wow, was Beomgyu always this ripped?

You feel odd as you watch him strip, sliding off his shirt as most of his torso remains underwater; he’s slowly making his way to where you stand by the edge, and you can feel your heart stopping as you take in the look in his eyes. 

Dark. Dangerous. Tempting. You think you’re imagining things as you look away, gulping heavily as you feel yourself sobering suddenly. He’s throwing his shirt in the direction that your pile of clothes lie, and you feel oddly embarrassed by the way you have to look away as he strips his bottoms off as well. 

You’re only glancing back in time to see him hover out of the pool for a second, his upper body coming out of the water as he takes a moment to lay out both your clothing properly. 

Holy shit. 

Was it common for people to have the same tattoo? It surely was, right? Those are the only things that are going through your mind as you observe Beomgyu’s tattoo, taking in the familiarity of each line as your eyes drift down to his v-line— your eyes spot the small, perfect heart that rests right at his pubic bone.

Oh god. Oh god, oh god oh god, you think, trying your best to not lose your shit and melt in a puddle of horror and embarrassment as you realize that Beomgyu has the exact tattoo as guiltypleasures.

It had to be a popular tattoo. Or maybe it was a reference to something, or a drawing a tattoo artist put out to let other people use— anything, it had to be anything else than the conclusion your mind was terrified of making, meeting Beomgyu’s gaze shyly as you realize that he’s caught you staring, hard.

“It’s pretty,” you breathe out, unsure you can trust your voice as you watch Beomgyu sink back into the pool, “Is it… a reference to something?”

Please say yes. Please say yes.

“Thanks,” he starts, leaving you on edge as he takes a moment to inspect his tattoo— running his fingertips over it, tracing over the delicate lines in a way that has you gripping onto the edge of the pool, “and no, it’s not. I designed it myself.”

You’re gonna pass out.

“Really?” you grit out, hoping he can’t pick up on the tension of your voice as you smile, albeit forced, “Like, it’s one of a kind?”

“Yup,” he grins, staring down at his tattoo with a proud look on his face, “One of a kind. My tattoo artist didn’t even post it, upon my request.”

You’re gonna cry. Maybe you’ll scream, or even sink into the pool and try to drown yourself. 

Because Choi Beomgyu, your closest friend for the past few months and the man you may or may have not been beginning to crush on, is guiltypleasures, the man you lust after every night and fucking pay to watch. 

You know they say that quiet guys are the freakiest, but this is too fucking much. 

“That’s so cool,” you say, sinking into the pool so the water is up to your mouth, hoping that you won’t blurt out any more stupidities as you stare off into the distance, attempting to let this new information settle in. 

“Hey, you okay?” he asks, and you hate how attentive Beomgyu has become— even more because everything is starting to click, his husky and deep voice a replica of your stupid camboy’s, your body reacting involuntarily to the sound of it as you simply nod softly. 

“Mhmm,” you hum out, coming out of the water a bit so you can speak, “I think those drinks from earlier fucked up my stomach— I should go home.”

“Oh,” Beomgyu says, and you feel awful for the way he’s become confused at your sudden shift in mood, “Are you sure you’ll be okay driving—?”

“I Ubered here,” you mumble, oddly embarrassed at your words, “cause I knew I’d probably drink a lot.” 

“Well then let me take you home,” he insists, ever the gentleman as you try to say that he shouldn’t, that he should just stay and enjoy the party. 

“It’s dangerous to call an Uber at this hour though,” he continues, his stupid fucking puppy eyes taking a toll on your resolve as you bite your lip, “Plus, I only really came to this party because of you.”

God, what the hell was this behavior?! This innocent, shy, and sweet Beomgyu was a complete one-eighty— scratch that— was an entirely different fucking person than the one that always talked down at you at night, spilling filth like it was in his nature and treating you like you were worthless.

It was a bit terrifying as you watched the way he remained entirely oblivious to the Earth-shattering realization, getting out of the pool and reaching out to help you out with a sweet smile. 

After a second, you take it. 

You feel so awkward as you gather your clothes; you’re jumpy and you’re sure Beomgyu has picked up on it as he eyes you from time to time, watching as you wring out your clothes as much as you can before you’re slipping on your shirt, your shorts left in your hand as you avoid Beomgyu’s eyes entirely. 

“I have a few blankets in my car— you should use those to keep yourself warm,” he says softly, looking back at you and frowning at the way you only nod with a tense smile. 

Was he wrong about you? Were you lying when you reacted positively to his tattoo? Beomgyu has no idea why something as simple as a tattoo would change the way you treat him entirely, but he’s determined to get to the bottom of this as you enter his car, entirely stiff as you wrap one of his aforementioned blankets around yourself. 

“Hey, did something happen tonight?” He asks you halfway through his drive, licking his lips nervously as he watches the way you jump in your seat, not expecting his question at all as you remain silent for a second.

“Uhm, no?” you say, though you seem unsure of your own answer as you wrap the blankets a little tighter around yourself, “I’m telling you, it was probably the drinks— I didn’t think my stomach would be so sensitive tonight.”

Your explanation is entirely plausible, but Beomgyu doesn’t believe it as he watches the way you remain tense, his car slowing to a stop as the two of you wait at the stoplight in an awkward silence. 

“You’re lying,” Beomgyu says, deciding that it’s better to just be bold instead of tiptoeing around the subject, “Is it because of my tattoo?”

Your lips press together. 

“It is,” he says, and he feels an unexpected wave of disappointment and anger wash over him, “did something that small put you off that much?”

“That’s not it,” you say, your heart pounding against your chest and your body heating up as you realize that you’ve upset him— and greatly, because you’re able to see the way his brows knit together and his hand tightens on the steering wheel as he begins to drive again. 

Did he think you were judging him? That you thought less of him because of such a small thing? 

“Then what is it?” he insists, and you’re mortified to see that you’re stuck in traffic, victim to Beomgyu’s sharp gaze that demands answers, “Cause you’ve been acting weird since I showed it to you.”

“I’ve seen it before,” you mutter quietly, sinking into your seat from the humiliation, “I recognized it. Your tattoo.”

Beomgyu pauses. Then he thinks of the many times he’s had his shirt ride up when he’s around you, from stretching to taking off his hoodie and having his undershirt get pulled up along with it.

“Okay?”

“Like. Online.”

That’s enough to leave him silent. Stupefied, even. One glance at you and your body language is enough to confirm that it’s exactly what he’s thinking, your posture so small that you look like you wish you could disappear. 

“You’ve—“ he swallows, wondering what else to say as traffic begins moving again, “like… Twitter—?”

“Your streams.” 

Fuck. Fuck, oh fuck, Beomgyu needs to get the fuck out of the car this instant, because his dick is already hardening and he can feel his brain short-circuiting at your words— you watch his streams. 

In your mind, you feel as though you’ve completely dug a hole for yourself— Beomgyu is probably horrified at your confession, but it’s not as though you knew it was him, or that you had any malicious intent, or that—!

All Beomgyu can think of is how he shouldn’t park the car in the middle of the road and fuck you stupid. 

“Did you watch them a lot?” he asks you, his voice eerily quiet and stable, and oh no he’s interrogating you right now, this is the end for you.

“Yeah,” you say, deciding to be completely transparent now that you’ve decided to tell the truth, “I’m sorry.” 

Is it possible to come untouched like this? Beomgyu might just find out, because the way your voice is so meek and shy and guilty has him biting down on his lip, his mind growing foggier and his foot pressing down on the gas pedal a little harder as he begins to weave through lanes. 

“You were a subscriber then,” he says calmly, and you feel as though he’s trying to humiliate you on purpose as you nod your head in admittance— unbeknownst to you, that’s exactly what he’s doing, enjoying the way he’s breaking you down from just a few questions with sick pleasure. 

“How much money did you spend on me then?” You’re finding his line of questioning a bit odd at this point, but you refuse to look up from your lap as you find yourself answering anyways. 

“I was just a low-tier subscriber…” you say, and it feels even more humiliating to admit that you cheaped out on him— what the hell was wrong with you?

“Low-tier? Not even a single tip?” he repeats, and you don’t seem to register the way he pouts at you until it’s far too late.

Stopping at a red light, he grabs your chin, turning your face roughly so you’re looking at him— and he’s back, the man behind the screen, except this time you can see the sheer pity that fills his gaze as he speaks to you as though you’re lower than him.

“How are you gonna make it up to me now?”

»»»

God. Fuck. Are you dreaming? You think you might pass out.

“I know, I know I said I wouldn’t stream tonight— shouldn’t you just be happy I’m here?”

Your stomach is twisted in knots and you feel small as you attempt to take in everything properly— Beomgyu’s setup, the same room you’ve seen countless times before— you’re able to see it all, from his large computer monitors, his filming camera, to his grandiose bed and the insane amount of toys he keeps on standby. 

You shift restlessly on your feet, entirely bare save for a shirt that Beomgyu let you borrow— another white button-up, the very same one that he loved to wear when he dressed up, now hanging from your figure as he allowed the two of you to freshen up the moment you got to his home. 

Nervously, you had left the shirt completely buttoned up; you watched from behind his camera as he continued to sweet talk his viewers, dressed comfortably in a sweater and sweats, his attire a complete contrast to your own. 

“You’re happy to see me? I don’t believe you,” he smiles, and you feel as though you’re back to being a faceless member of his stream as you press your thighs together, able to hear the way notifications pop up on his computer, all of them signifying a new tip. 

“You know, today’s a pretty special occasion actually,” he begins, pausing to see his comments and the reactions within them, “you’re curious? Do you wanna try something new with me?”

Yes. It’s the only thing he sees in his comments, and he lets out a soft laugh before he’s turning back to his camera.

Then, he’s looking past it.

“Come here, baby.”

You knew this was coming— you agreed to this, for crying out loud, but you still feel as though your legs are made of jello as you hesitate, biting your lip before your eyes are widening nervously, the safe word the two of you established beforehand running through your mind like a mantra you mustn’t forget. 

“Come on, you don’t want to keep them waiting, do you?” he asks, eyes flickering over to his screen, watching the way everyone seems to go haywire from his words, “See? They’re curious, they want to see you.”

You’re taking your first step towards the camera— then another, and another, until you’re walking past the setup, your back facing the camera as you make your way to where he sits at the edge of the bed, unsure of what to do as you remain frozen in front of him.

“What, are you nervous?” he asks, and he’s only able to let out a mean laugh the moment you’re nodding in response, unable to use your voice properly— that’ll change soon, he thinks, reaching for your hands and guiding them to his shoulders. 

“Don’t be,” he whispers, aiming for your thighs next as he’s tugging at them, pleased with the way you let him mold you to his desired position, your thighs on either side of his as you hover over him pathetically, “I know they’ll love you.”

Neither of your full faces can be seen— but the audience can definitely see the way he captures your lips in a harsh kiss, filled with nothing but pure need as he finally gets to feel you properly— you feel as though you’re about to run out air when he finally pulls away, laughing as he feels the way you buttoned every single button of the shirt he gave you. 

“Now why would you do that?” he whispers against your lips, and your fingers dig into his shoulders pathetically as you watch him rip it open— the viewers are going wild at the sight, tipping ridiculous amounts of money just so they can get Beomgyu to see their requests; curiously your eyes drift to his monitor.

You practically collapse at the things you read on the screen.

Finger her. Eat her out. Use a vibrator on her, tie her up, breed her until she can’t walk straight, use a dildo on her— 

The horror comes from the fact that Beomgyu is clearly considering doing all of it.

“What do you think baby?” he asks you, pressing his hand on the small of your back and forcing you to arch into him, your ass perking out and your cunt left to be entirely displayed as he trails his hand up your back, lifting your shirt along with it as he allows the viewers to get a good look at you.

“Anything that piques your interest?” he whispers, your head buried in his shoulder as you shake from the embarrassment of it all, “or…”

You jolt at the way his hand lands a sharp smack on your ass. He’s quick to soothe the area, smiling at the way he takes in the small whimper you let out, burying your face deeper into his shoulder and arching more in response. He lands another one, much more harsher than the last as his hand immediately drifts to your pussy, spreading you for the camera and watching the way you practically glisten under the light. 

“Should I decide how I get to use you for myself?”

He’s a bit surprised to find that you’re quick to nod at his second request, much too shy to even lift your head from where it rests as your fingers dig into his skin. 

He smiles, his eyes drifting back to the monitor as he begins reading over their requests. 

“Hmm, are you shy, princess?” he asks, fingers trailing along your slit, feeling the way your hole flutters at the feeling, wanting nothing more than to feel him inside as you whine quietly, nodding at his words.

“But you’re so fucking wet, and we haven’t even done anything,” slowly, his fingers slip inside— you’re both moaning at the feeling, and Beomgyu thinks that he might just be the one to cum as he feels the way you stretch around his fingers. 

“God, you’re so tight,” he groans, beginning to test out the waters by scissoring you— spreading you out for the camera, watching over your shoulder as your arousal practically leaks out; he gulps, unable to keep his eyes away from the sight as he sighs.

“Feels so soft and warm,” he mutters, placing a kiss on your temple before he’s reaching for something off-screen— the box of toys, you realize, forced to keep your face buried in his shoulder in an attempt to not show your face to his audience. 

“Just like I thought you would be,” he says, smiling against your skin as he murmurs the words into your ear— just for you to hear, not for the thousands of people who are currently watching the stream.

“Do you know what I thought about every time I went live?” he asks, sitting up and shifting so that you’re back in position, shaking your head softly as you feel his fingers begin to circle your entrance. 

“You.” the stretch you suddenly feel has you moaning pathetically, the first sound the viewers are able to hear as the comments begin to fly past— your legs are shaking at the feeling of him slowly pushing the silicone dildo into your pussy, thick and long as you squeeze your eyes shut, feeling tears prick at your eyes from how full you feel.

“I thought of you. Every time.” 

Beomgyu’s eyes are dark as his hand grabs at your ass, spreading your cheeks and showing off the way the dildo begins disappearing into your tight cunt, your arousal already beginning to drip down the toy with every slow thrust of his. 

“Wished you were there every time I would stream. I thought about fucking you the way I would fuck my toys,” his thrusts begin speeding up; you’re a moaning mess against him as you push your ass back, showcasing yourself perfectly and pushing up against the toy that he continues to ram into you— you’re jolting back into him with every thrust, your hands beginning to cramp with how hard you’re holding on to him.

“I would always moan your name too, did you ever notice?”

Your mind goes back to the time you thought you heard it— and, unexpectedly, you’re coming undone, reaching your peak as you respond with a pathetic yes…! The realization that it had all been real much more overwhelming than you thought. 

Beomgyu continues to fuck the toy into you even long after you’re done coming; you’re a whimpering, crying mess against him, the stimulation making your mind muddled as you quietly attempt to get him to stop. 

“Hmm? What do you want baby?” he asks, lips trailing down your neck and to your shoulders, where he begins to slip off your shirt so that you’re more exposed. He remains fully clothed as he begins sucking bruises into your skin, following one of his requests to mark up your pretty skin— his hair falls over his face, covering him momentarily as he begins drifting along your body carelessly.

It’s too much— yet, it’s not enough to have you using your safe word, and the fact makes Beomgyu smile as he bottoms out the toy inside you, grinding it into your pathetic pussy as he watches the way a ring of your cum begins to form around the base. 

“Come on, talk to me. We’re waiting,” you’re hesitant to speak— that much is clear, especially when you know how much traction this stream is currently getting, the sound of tips constant as you shake your head in defeat. 

“No? Okay then,” your shirt is being slipped off, leaving you naked as you wince slightly at the feeling of your garment being removed. Once again, Beomgyu is moving you around, and you’re facing the camera now as your legs are pried open by his own, the toy still stuffed inside you as you sit on Beomgyu’s lap— right on his hard cock, whining softly as you feel him begin to hold your hips down, grinding into you for some release. 

“Don’t wanna use your words? Don’t wanna say anything to me or the viewers?” he tries again, eyes narrowing at the way you remain disobedient and shake your head, laying back against him as you pant softly.

“You’re not gonna thank our viewers for wanting me to please you, you fucking whore?” his hands are swift, and before you realize what he’s doing, your hands are cuffed behind your back, the fuzzy feeling reminding you of the cuffs he uses on himself sometimes. 

“Fine. You wanna be ungrateful, stay quiet?” every sound that leaves your lips is unsure and soft, barely able to reach the microphone of the camera as Beomgyu scoffs at you. “Then stay fucking quiet. I don’t wanna hear a single word from you, understand?”

He doesn’t let you respond— of course he wouldn’t let you— but the way your mouth falls open suggests that you almost went against his command, the vibrator that he now pressed onto your clit making your legs shake with the sudden stimulation, threatening to close before Beomgyu’s own pried you back open swiftly. 

“Look at you. Like a bitch in heat, only thinking about yourself,” he growls, his other hand beginning to thrust the toy back into you at a harsh pace, listening to the sounds of your arousal and the toy smacking against your skin with a satisfied groan, “Do you have any idea how many people wish they were in your place, wish they could be getting fucked stupid instead of having to sit and watch as I do it to you?”

He pauses. Then, he turns up the intensity of the vibrator with a cruel laugh. 

“You would fucking know,” he seethes, taking in the way you writhe against him pathetically, biting at your lip to keep quiet as your hands struggle behind your back, “shit, can’t you hear how pathetic you sound? I bet you were a lot louder when you watched me, just another of my useless viewers that wish that I would fuck you— that I would even fucking acknowledge you.”

Everything that happens next is all a blur— your mind is foggy and you’re coming undone as you feel Beomgyu bite down on your neck, unable to hold back the pure keen of pleasure that rips through you, a string of unintelligible sounds flowing out of you desperately as you cream around the toy, feeling tears sting your eyes the moment Beomgyu decides to turn the intensity up again.

“Take it. I know you can,” he laughs purely because he knows that you have yet to use your safe word. It’s even worse because he’s right, the overstimulation fogging your mind and making you melt in his arms, still able to trust him even if your mind isn’t entirely there.

After a moment, the vibrator is turned off— you can hear him toss it to the side before he’s pulling the dildo out of your aching cunt, your body twitching at the sudden feeling before your cum is oozing out, dripping all over Beomgyu’s sweats and onto his sheets as he merely laughs at you. 

You’re being turned around again— you feel woozy as you cling to Beomgyu, barely capable of hovering over him as he simply looks up at you, his eyes holding that same, innocent puppy-like look that got you trapped in his clutches in the first place.

“I feel so stuffy,” he pouts, tilting his head up at you as you simply whine incoherently in response, “I know baby. Won’t you help me out?” 

It takes you a second to even register his request, your hands suddenly freed by him before you finally realize what he asked; your hands are slow and clumsy as you reach for the hem of his sweater, barely able to tug it up before he’s helping you out— your hands land on his shoulders once more for stability, your gaze falling on his chest and trailing down curiously. 

And there it is. The very tattoo that got you into this mess, though this time you’re free to gawk at it, not paying attention to the way Beomgyu realized he caught you staring until he’s grabbing your hand, placing it on his chest and trailing it down, allowing you to feel him up as he shudders slightly at the feeling.

Your fingers trace over the tattoo. All the way down, following every elaborate line until you’re stopped by the hem of his pants, hands immediately slipping under before you’re tugging them off, pulling off his boxers too as you feel him lift his hips, left just as bare as you before he smiles. 

You feel his cock poking at your entrance, painfully hard as he begins to rub it against your slit; teasing you with the tip, looking over your shoulder to see what his viewers may be saying. 

“What do you think?” He asks, pushing his tip into your cunt before he’s pulling back out. The action has you whining hopelessly, and Beomgyu has to take a second to recollect his resolve, pausing all movements in order to not come then and there.

“Should I fuck her? Does she deserve it?” He asks, looking over at you, cooing softly at the way your eyes remain glassy and fucked out, “Don’t cry. You don’t deserve to cry, not when you’ve been so ungrateful to our viewers.”

A tip catches his attention, and he’s briefly scanning over the amount and request before he’s biting back a smile.

“See? Even though you haven’t said a word to them, they still want to see me fuck you,” he says, taking your hands off his shoulders and leaving you to wobble momentarily as he places your cuffs back on. 

“Aren’t they the sweetest?”

You’re barely able to process what’s going on— all you know is that your position changes within seconds, and your face is buried into the mattress while your ass is up in the air, your legs shaky as you’re barely able to hold yourself up; luckily for you, Beomgyu is there to help, hands grabbing onto your hips before he’s making you lean back. 

His cock is poking at your entrance, and he’s already able to feel the way your cunt tries to suck him in as he passes his tip along your entrance, left entranced with the way you look under him, a complete, ruined mess as you quietly whine out to him, your voice muffled from where your face remained in his sheets.

It’s cute, really, the way you’re able to focus so hard on keeping your face hidden— if you lifted your head now, every single viewer on his screen would be able to drink up your expression as he fucked you— the thought irritates Beomgyu.

He’ll just have to make sure to fuck you until you’re too weak to move. 

“God, you’re such a brat,” he groans out, entering you slowly and feeling the way you clamp onto him dangerously; even with how wet you are, he finds it difficult to fuck you, gritting his teeth and taking a moment where he merely concentrates on not coming inside you then and there. 

“Stop fucking squeezing like that— ah— shit—,” it seems as though your pussy has him going stupid, unable to form a coherent sentence as he slowly pulls out— the whine you let out is long and lethal, so desperate and carnal that Beomgyu finds himself losing control; tightening his hold on your hips, he begins to fuck into you without a care.

“Such a good little pussy,” he grits out, watching the way your ass bounces against him with every thrust, “fuck, wish you’d let me fuck you sooner— would’ve made you mine, wouldn’t be able to get enough of you— god, fuck—!” 

The way you tighten at his words is dangerous. He’s cursing and talking down like he always does, but this time, it’s just for you. The very thought is enough to have you clenching around him again, mouth agape and drooling against his sheets as your sounds get louder. 

Another tip rings through— the same person from before, repeating the only part of their previous request that Beomgyu has yet to fulfill. 

Won’t she say thank you?

The words have him stuttering out a laugh, unable to help the way he moans in between. His thrusts slow, and he’s bottoming out inside you before his motions are nothing but a slow grind, rutting his hips into your aching pussy while he reaches for something off-screen. 

Your whines and soft complaints at the sudden change of pace are brief— because soon after a familiar buzzing sound is filling your ears, and before you can react, the same vibrator form before is pressed against your clit on the highest setting. 

“Gyuuuuu…!” you whine out, long and desperate and incoherent as Beomgyu grabs at your cuffs, using them as leverage to make you slam back into him. His thrusts are brutal and the sound of skin against skin is enough rivalry to the buzzing of the toy as he begins to use the last of his energy to fuck you to your orgasm, watching as the chat buzzes with excitement from your sudden word.

What? What’d she say?? Was that his name? omg?!

“Do you think you deserve to come?” he sneers, his voice gruff as you shake your head, knowing damn well that you haven’t been perfectly compliant to him like he wanted you to be, especially now that you may have just slipped up and let out a personal fact about him.

“Exactly,” he continues, his thrusts toning down in speed, but not intensity— he pulls out to the tip with every thrust, only to slam back into you and have you jolt forward from the harshness of his pace; the vibrator that was once relentless on your clit is now hovering mere centimeters from you, taunting you as all stimulation becomes insignificant to what it was before.

“Maybe, if you’re good for me, I’ll let you come,” he begins, watching the way you can only nod eagerly against the sheets, your hands struggling against your cuffs— he’s holding your hand at the sight, fingers interlocking as he watches you grip onto his hand with both of yours tightly.

“Will you be good for me? Are you gonna listen to whatever the fuck I ask you to do?” he says, his voice hardening at the end as he looks at you expectantly— a second passes before you’re nodding again. 

“My viewers have been so patient with you. The only reason you got all this was because they wanted it— if it were up to me, I would’ve dumped my load in you already and left.” 

That’s a lie— the biggest fucking lie Beomgyu has ever told, knowing damn well that he would’ve done all this and more to you any day, entirely unprovoked. But he knows his viewers love it, and so do you, because your cunt squeezes him so tightly he’s afraid he might just come early. 

“Aren’t you grateful they loved you so much? Hmm?” you’re barely registering his words anymore. But you’re nodding nonetheless, your thighs beginning to shake from the sheer pleasure of feeling Beomgyu rut into your cunt throughout all this. 

“Tell them thank you,” he says sweetly, not giving you enough time to speak before he’s back to fucking you wildly; his pace picking up, aiming for that specific spot that leaves you dumb and drooly as he places the vibrator back on your clit— any chances of sounding sane are thrown out the window as he begins tugging on your cuffs, bouncing you back against him as the wet sounds of his thrusts ring out through the room. 

“Did you hear me—?” he asks, landing a smack to your ass before he’s soothing the area, slowing down so he can smack you again, “I said say thank you. Do you think you’re above us, pretty?”

Your first attempt to speak is a garbled mess.

“Come on, I know you can do better than that. Or— do you just wanna be a cute little cumdump for me—? Ah, let me use you every time I stream… don’t need any fucking toys when I have my pretty doll for me— right—?” His own sentences are becoming more incoherent the longer he fucks you, addicted to the way your pussy practically sucks him in deeper in response. 

“Try again,” he growls, feeling his own orgasm approaching slowly, “show me you’re not a— shit, a fucking brat, and maybe I’ll let you… ugh, let you come.”

Beomgyu swore he got rid of his habit of rambling like this long ago. But, you seem to be able to bring it out of him, his calm and collected speeches crumbling like paper in his mind as he takes in the way both your arousals are smeared over skin and dripping down your thighs, forming a ring around Beomgyu’s cock as he feels his resolve beginning to crumble— he begins to fuck you carelessly, not able to think about anything else but reaching his high as he waits for your response.

“Mmh—! ugh… fuck…” your voice is increasing in volume, the shy person from before long gone as you begin to chase your orgasm, much too afraid to lose it as you try to form a single, coherent thought.

“Thank…. thank you…” you whine out, but it’s all too slurred and quiet and pathetic to Beomgyu as he growls out a sharp what? His hand pressing down on the small of your back as he glues your hands to your skin, forced to take the way he fucks you as you moan out uncontrollably.

“Thank you..! Thank you thank you, oh, fuck—!” holy shit, you’re full on crying right now, reduced to nothing but a mess of moans and tears as you ramble on repeatedly, only able to remember those limited words as you feel Beomgyu come inside you— warm and deep, stilling for just a moment before he’s back to fucking you, his own moans becoming much more needy at the feeling of overstimulation. 

“Thank you thank you thank youuuu, fuck, fuck fuck mmh—!”  you feel stupid. You’ve definitely been fucked stupid, moaning out those stupid thank you’s like a prayer as you feel yourself slumping completely, a boneless, gooey mess as you rely on Beomgyu to hold you up.

He continues to fuck into you slowly, even after you’ve gone entirely still; he thinks you might’ve passed out, but it’s only for a minute before he sees you shifting again, burying your head into the mattress as he hears the distant sound of you sniffling. 

Beomgyu feels concerned for a second, ready to check up on you and end the stream before you’re grabbing his hand again; then you’re clenching around him, mumbling his name so sweetly while you try to press yourself against him.

You’re straight up gone, he realizes, stilling for a moment and waiting for you to use your safe word— but you don’t, and he sees you peeking subtly at his monitor before you’re burying your face back into his sheets.

“You got a new tip.”

The words are barely audible to him, but he’s quick to glance at it upon your request; he almost chokes as he sees the five-hundred dollars that have been sent to him, his eyes reading over the request a few times before he’s looking back at you.

Could you try to make her squirt ?

“It’s five hundred dollars,” you mutter, and all Beomgyu can do is let out a bewildered laugh, leaning down to place a kiss on your shoulder before he’s whispering in your ear if you’re okay to continue— the small nod you give him is enough to have his cock hardening inside you. 

Fuck, he’s gonna give you the aftercare of the century after this. 

#txt smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #beomgyu smut #txt fanfic #txt fanfiction #txt imagines #txt oneshots #txt ff #txt fluff #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu x you #beomgyu x y/n #beomgyu ff #beomgyu imagines #beomgyu oneshot

[marypsue]

There’ve been a few responses to/reblogs with tags on my post about DIY clothing embellishments that basically boil down to ‘I’d love to do this but I’m scared it’ll turn out bad/I’m not a good enough artist’. And I get it, I really do! I also want my art things to turn out nicely. But also...making it badly is sort of the point of punk DIY. 

Listen. We live in a world that would dearly love to charge you a subscription fee for breathing. The bastards are doing everything they possibly can to figure out how to turn art - stories, visual art, music, textile/fibre art, sculpture, crafts and creations of every kind - into a neat, discrete, packageable commodity, a product they can chop up into little pieces and stick behind a paywall so they can charge you for every drop of it you want to have in your life. 

The whole sneering idea that ‘everybody wants to be some kind of creator now’ and anything less than absolute mastery right out the gate is somehow shameful and embarrassing is a tool those bastards are using. It’s a way to reinforce the idea that only a set group of people can create and control art, and everybody else has to buy it. 

But art isn’t a product. Art is a fundamental human impulse. Nobody is entitled to a specific piece of art (which is where this message gets skewed into pitting people who love art against the artists who make it, while the bastards screw us all and run away with the money). But making art belongs to everybody. We make up songs and dances and stories, and paint things, and make clothes, and embellish them, and carve flowers into our furniture and our lintels and our doorframes, and make windows out of tiny pieces of coloured glass, and decorate our homes and our bodies and our lives with things we make and make up, simply for the love of beauty and of the act of creation. Grave goods from tens of thousands of years ago show that ancient hominids gave their dead wreaths of ceramic flowers, tattooed their bodies, beaded their shoes. Making things for the sake of beauty and enjoyment is one of the most ancient and human things we can do. 

The idea that we can’t, that we have to buy shit instead, because art is a product and you have to have the bestest prettiest most perfect product, is the enemy of joy. It’s the death of culture. And it means that, instead of whatever it is that you cherish and enjoy and value, you get whatever inoffensive (and to whom is it inoffensive?) bland meaningless samey-samey crap that the bastards want you to be allowed to have. What are you missing and what are you missing out on, if you don’t make or modify or decorate anything for yourself, if you don’t think you can because the product at the end won’t be polished or perfect or marketable enough? What do you lose? What do we lose? 

It is a desperately vital and necessary thing for you to make shit. For you to know that you can make shit, that you don’t have to just lie back and take whatever pablum the bastards want to force-feed you (and charge you through the nose for). That the bastards need you more than you need them. 

Become ungovernable. Be your own weirdly-endearing punk little freak. Paint on a t-shirt. Sing off-key in the shower or at karaoke night or at open mic night. Make up a story where you get to meet your favourite fictional character and you guys hug or fuck or punch each other in the face. Make art. Do it badly. Do it frequently. Do it enthusiastically. Do it for love and joy and creativity and fun and the spiteful joy of thumbing your nose at some smug motherfucker with a Swiss bank account who wants to track your heartbeat and location for the rest of your life in order to automatically pump AI-generated beats matched to your mood into your earbuds for a small monthly subscription fee of $24.99/month. It is literally the only way we are ever going to have even a chance to save art and our own lives from the bastards. 

So. Paint that t-shirt. 

(Also support artists where you can, and buy your music from Bandcamp.)

#this post brought to you by: me being so so sad about zoomers having crafts and Making Thing With Your Hands Badly stolen from them #also by me listening to a radio show on How The Sony Walkman Changed Music And Where It's Going Next #ready for the san andreas fault to open up and swallow silicon valley whole forever folks #anyway. followers i am getting down off the cafeteria table now.

[an-idyllic-novelist]

Lucifer Morningstar with Violet Evergarden!reader scenario in honor of Valentine’s Day

warning: aged up!reader [middle to late twenties], language, ooc, one-sided!Alastor x reader, possible spoilers from the first season of the 2024 show.

Hey guys, welcome to another Hazbin Hotel collaboration with @vikkirosko, starring Charlie's own goofy, duck-obsessed father, the King of Hell! Special thanks to @ladydoe8, and @illuminaresblog for their feedback so that I could write this fic in a timely manner before things got busy in the real world for me!

Just so everyone knows, the outfit depicted here is Jean’s ceremonial outfit from the game Genshin Impact, idea was courtesy of @illuminaresblog.

So with that being said, sit back, relax, and let's see what our short king is up to ~!

Reblog to support content creators! ❤️

Lucifer is someone who believes in second chances now. 

Charlie had made something that had been impossible for the last ten thousand years possible, and he wanted to support her in any way he could. Thanks to him being an amazing, resourceful father they were able to rebuild the hotel in less than four months, and Alastor didn’t show up until they were finished. Ha! Take that, asshole! 

But what has made him the happiest he has felt in a long time is the opportunity to be close to his daughter again. He was not going to ruin it by being a coward and not speak to her unless it was convenient for him. She is more precious than anything or anyone in Hell. 

Don’t get him wrong, he is very happy that his little devil found someone that made her happy, but it was kinda awkward to see them being….intimate. That’s at least one other valid reason why he’s been coming to the greenhouse more often than isolating himself away in his living space of the hotel. It wasn’t healthy, and he couldn’t keep hiding himself from Hell forever after fighting Adam in the war. And why the greenhouse instead of the lobby bar, the rooftop balcony, or the parlor? Well, you were there. The hotel’s stoic groundskeeper, and one of the people who had been supportive of Charlie’s dream when he wasn’t around. 

You always knew the right words to say to her without sounding like a jerk. 

You would help out with creating group exercises, though some of your ideas were a little extreme.

 If someone needed some assistance with work around the hotel, you were there in the blink of an eye ready to help. 

You had fought against the exorcists to protect everyone, even at the cost of losing your prosthetic arms.  

You were a lot of things that he wasn’t. And he was a tiny bit jealous about it, even when you had never intended to make him, the King of Hell, jealous. That job was exclusively reserved for the Radio Demon. 

 He did think you would look a lot cuter if you smiled more often, and he has said this to you one afternoon as he sat on a wooden bench, watching you carefully remove the weeds from the flower beds. In that moment he thought he had fucked up. The words that spilled out of his mouth had pissed you off so much that you were quiet and did not even look at him over your shoulder. He felt his apple red cheeks burn with embarrassment as he stammered out an apology, trying to make amends when your calm voice broke through the awkward silence. 

You weren’t bothered by what he said. He was stating a fact that you’ve heard many times when you were alive. You explained to him that it was…difficult to express yourself for a long time. And in Hell, you couldn’t wear your emotions on your sleeve. It made you a target. To demonstrate your point, you slapped your cheeks and pulled the corners of your mouth upwards to create a smile, albeit a forced one. 

Lucifer had a good laugh that day, and the frazzled thoughts that ran rampant in his mind came to halt. You were a funny sinner. And definitely strange, but hey, so is he! Kind of. Okay, he definitely is, but who isn’t a little odd down here?

When he realized that you weren’t easily offended like the others, conversations between the two of you had gotten…well, better. He would ask you questions about the stuff you grew, and you answered without hesitation. When you asked him about his rubber ducky creations, he babbled about his latest one and you would give him an idea on how to improve. “Perhaps instead of spitting out fire and water after the back flip, what if you did flower petals instead?” You said to him one afternoon as you hoisted a heavy pot up from the shelf, carefully placing it down on the workbench. “You can use the ones I remove when I prune the roses, if you’d like. All I ask is to not take too many of them. I am using them in an experiment to make soaps for the rooms so that Charlie doesn’t spend too much money on acquiring cleaning items.”

Lucifer immediately took you up on the offer, smiling so widely that it almost hurt his face before hurrying back to his workshop. In a matter of hours, he was cradling a brand new ducky that did release blood-red petals and golden sparkles! The ingenious part of it all is that, instead of doing a backflip, all someone needed to do was push its chest and poof, magic! It was amazing, the audience loved it and he actually liked it too!

 Lilith used to pitch ideas on his creations…at least…until she left. He still missed her. She’s Charlie’s mother, and not even he knew where she was or what she has been doing for the past seven years. He could only hope that wherever she is….she is happy.  

Instead of throwing this little gem with the rest of the ones he’d been working on since moving into the hotel, he gave this little ducky to you. A token of his gratitude, their friendship, whatever you thought the gift was! He just wanted to thank you for giving him that spark of creativity he had been looking for. 

To this day, it sat on the corner of your workbench, glowing under the red light streaming through the stained glass windows and in pristine condition. It was obvious that you treasured his little creation and it made his heart flutter in a way it hadn’t in a very long time. Before he realized it, his conversations with you shifted to memories of the past. 

He would regale the tales of Creation, how he’d tease his fellow angels and outwit them with harmless little pranks or showered their meeting assemblies with sparkles and ideas that…that they rejected in favor of order and obedience. It still hurt, that no matter how much he wanted to shower humanity with goodness and free will, it seemed like bad things had happened ever since he gave Eve the Fruit of Knowledge. 

You told him about the Great War  and how you served as a soldier in the Leidenschaftlich Army under Major Gilbert Bougainvillea. You could not remember your age, but everyone assumed you had been ten after being enlisted. You were fourteen when the war ended, and the Major had died saving your life. You never understand what his final words meant, I love you, until you yourself had perished. Not from old age or disease or famine, as most humans were known to succumb to back then. You had died protecting your friends, the people you had come to know in your line of work as an Automemory Doll, from being blown to smithereens by an anti-peace faction. Although the war had been over, men like General Merkulov could not comprehend a world without war. When the assassination attempt on the envoy failed, the bridge had been rigged to explode. Together with Benedict, you were able to remove the bombs…but when the last one you removed, the one that took great effort to remove…you lost your remaining arm, then your balance, careening off the train and into the dark waters below. That was the thing you remembered before waking up down here. 

There were days when you wondered how everyone else was doing, if Cattleya and the Lieutenant were all right, if there were still Automemory Dolls helping others with writing letters when the clients themselves were not able to read, write, or had trouble putting the words on the page. But who knew much time had passed since then? All you could hope…is that they were still able to live long, happy lives and not mourn for your death.

Because in the end, you finally understood the Major’s last words. And you would no longer need to follow orders to live. 

It made Lucifer a little sad when you finished your tale, it sort of made him wonder how you ended up down here when technically sacrificing yourself to save others should have gotten you into Heaven. You thought about that as well, drawing to the conclusion that even if you had died valiantly, it did not change the fact that you had killed many men in the war. Perhaps the blood on your hands will always be there, and you would have to live with that knowledge for eternity. Or maybe…no one really knows how to get into Heaven, as Charlie had informed everyone before, after the disastrous meeting with the Seraphim. Either way, if you were given the choice of being redeemed and going to Heaven, or remaining down here with everyone, you would choose to be here, in the Hazbin Hotel. 

Just because there is such a thing as Paradise, that didn’t mean you could not find your own. And you had found Paradise, here, with everyone. The sinners who are your family. 

Your words left him speechless. He had given humans free will, and all he had seen was the bad, never the good. But to hear your story, and how you are truly happy in a place surrounded by brimstone and the streets crawling with psychopaths, made him realize that you had used his gift as it was intended to be used. To have passion, to find love in one another than wholly dedicating your everything to the Big G. 

This revelation might have been when he was starting to realize that he was starting to see you as more than a friend or someone who believed in Charlie's dream. He followed you around like a little duckling around the hotel, occasionally leaving small gifts at your door and mentally panicking if you’d like it or not, and using his magic to help with your work in the greenhouse. Moreover…he trusted you. He had never shared any of his stories with Charlie about Heaven because he didn’t want her to be crushed like he had been. Now? Well, his little girl is thriving. Which brought Lucifer back to reality when he realized that in less than a week is his daughter’s birthday and he had no idea what to get her for a gift. The last time he had gotten her anything was when she went through her rebellious phase, and all she wanted to do was stay in her room and listen to heavy metal music all day. 

He immediately went to the greenhouse, bursting through the double doors and calling out to you in a panic. Ironically he found you in the apple orchard, standing on a ladder. You were picking the ones that were ready to be eaten and placing them in a wicker basket on the ground. When you saw him, you carefully climbed down the ladder and asked him if everything was all right. No, it wasn’t okay! He was not okay! 

He explained his dilemma to you in a rush, the words tumbling from his mouth like a tidal wave until he felt your gloved hand on his shoulder. You looked at him long and hard, leading him to the bench to sit before pouring him a glass of lemonade from a thermos. You offered it to him, and half of your sandwich. You were starting to eat more food at regular intervals and taking breaks instead of working until your task was done. You were trying to take better care of yourself; if not as part of your redemption, then at least to not worry Niffty or Charlie. 

He did take the lemonade, but gave you back the sandwich, scolding you needed to eat properly if you were continuing to skip meals periodically. You had the grace to look ashamed, carefully placing it back in the tin lunch box. You promised him that you would eat after you heard him out. 

You listened to him carefully before offering your help. If purchasing a gift for Charlie is hard for him because he is still getting to know her…then you can help him create a special letter for a special occasion. After all, you were an Automemory Doll. It was your job to write the words to connect people, to bring them closure and be remembered. Lucifer blinked in surprise, asking if it was really all right to ask you to do something that…might still bring back painful memories of your past. 

You shook your head. “If it were as painful as you believed it might be, then I would not have said something. Besides,” Your mouth curved upwards into a small smile. “Charlie deserved nothing but the best for her special day, right?”

It took all of Lucifer’s self control to not hug you right then and there. He could still make things work between him and Charlie, he can still be a good father!

Once you had eaten your lunch as you had promised, you asked him to meet you on the rooftop  in an hour. You needed to wrap everything up here in the greenhouse, eat, and grab your Remington typewriter. Charlie was still trying to figure out what to do with the space, but right now there was a table with some chairs up there. It was a good setting to write a letter without anyone overhearing the two of you. 

Lucifer wanted to start working on the gift right away, but he knew that you disliked leaving your work unfinished. So he left the greenhouse, letting you finish up. When it got closer to the time to meet up, he whipped some of your favorite tea and snacks with a flick of his wrist. Remedial creation for him! 

Once everything was set up and you had removed your gloves, the two of you got to work. 

He didn’t think writing a letter would be so difficult because he wanted to pour so much of his feelings into a single page. He was sorry that he missed her other birthdays, how he didn’t step up to be a father after Lilith left because he had been just as upset as her but didn’t have the courage to move forward, and how he wanted to make up for it all. How proud he is to have her as his daughter. 

At one point, he realized that he was staring at your skeletal fingers and how they were fluttering from one key to another before he forced himself to look at you when you asked him a question. He didn’t have time to look at your shiny hands, he had a job to do! 

Between your respectful schedules and small breaks in between, the letter was finished in a week. It was several pages long, folded neatly in a creme-colored letter with a red wax seal once he wrote his name at the bottom of the last page. He thanked you profusely for helping him, promising you anything in his power in exchange, you just had to name it. But you shook your head, saying that knowing his words in the letter will reach Charlie is more than enough. You were simply doing your job as an Automemory Doll. 

And by God you did. 

When Charlie read his letter, his gift to her on the morning of her birthday after presenting a plate full of her favorite caramel apple pancakes with maple syrup, bacon, and coffee in the kitchen, she cried. She cried and hugged him tightly, thanking him for this wonderful letter and how all she ever wanted was for him to understand her, to support her. He felt tears well up behind his eyes as he returned the embrace. It was already looking like it would be a good day. 

Later that day, the hotel staff arranged a small party for his little princess in the Ruby Ballroom. Food, drinks, music, even a small mountain of gifts. Vaggie was of course the brains behind it all, wanting Charlie to have a special day too. Everything was perfect. 

At least, until he saw you dancing with Alastor. You had changed out of your gardening clothes - a white long sleeved shirt and a green skirt with your hair pulled back in a loose ponytail - to one of your newer outfits. Or at least another one besides the white dress with the Prussian blue jacket you always wear. You actually looked more like a knight in this one than an Automemory Doll. Not that he was complaining. 

A sleeveless black buttoned up shirt under a white vest with a long turquoise tailcoat attached to it, a pair of black sleeves that covered your arms and hands, with a short blue and gold cloak attached to a white collar. The emerald brooch glowed under the ballroom’s lights. White tights embroidered with a gold-diamond dot pattern covered your legs, alongside a matching pair of knee-high boots and white gauntlets. 

In summary, you looked gorgeous and entirely out of place as you struggled to keep up with Alastor on the dance floor during the foxtrot. Polar opposites, oil and water, a pairing that doesn’t go well together. 

So being the badass fallen angel that he is, he tapped Alastor on the shoulder and asked if he could have a dance with you. The jazz music screeched to a halt  as the son of a bitch he turned to him, ears pinned against his head and eye twitching. He’s mad. Good. 

“Well, well, this is a surprise~! To think that His Majesty would want to dance when he’s so much shorter than our dear groundskeeper! What a delightful disaster~! But,” Lucifer saw Alastor’s grip on your hands tighten, causing a fleeting expression of discomfort to wash over your face. “We are not done dancing. Yet.” 

Lucifer felt his anger rise. “Listen here, you fucking prick -”

“Oh Al, there you are~!” Charlie suddenly appeared, smiling and oblivious to what was going on at the moment before she gently tugged the Radio Demon away from the dance floor. “There’s something I need to show you~!” 

Alastor did not want to be separated from you, and while he did want to keep dancing, Lucifer knew this asshole valued his pride and reputation above all else. He wouldn’t dare act of character unless it benefitted him in some way. He then turned to you, who looked more than a little relieved to not be near Alastor and…your face was red? 

He frowned. “Are you okay?”

You nodded. “Y-Yes. I’m…fine.” That caught his attention. You never stuttered. But with how you were smiling at him shyly…it wasn’t hard to let him have hope. To believe that his feelings towards you were actually reciprocated. He smiled at the thought, stretching his hand out towards you. 

“Care to dance?”

Taglist: @alastor-simp @alastorsgoldie @food-theorys-blog @nunezs-stuff @lbcreations-blog @imperfectbloodmoon @crystalrose36 @nixie-writes @isuckatwritingsobenice @tired-of-life-86 @frompeach @trecllllllll @lanxianschoenheit @22carolina08 @witch-of-writing-desk @mary-v193 @chewbrry @mmelionsblog @ladymothbeth @the-cat-queen-peasants @anielly-2010 @victheauthor @alyriaschoenheit @blumin8 @akemika75 @f4turemom @kameyo-kumo @aloenemonabee27 @doc-tooth @theuknowntravel3r @angelltheninth @solandis-does-stuff @navierkalani @deathmetalunicorn1 @star-fawn21 @sleepy-hutao @gamerxpfighter @no1sillybilly @frenchtoastmafia @candyladycry @bladeismine @bones4thecats

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin lucifer #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer #an idyllic novelist #violet evergarden!reader #character!reader #fem!reader #viviziepop #lucifer morningstar #valentines day #happy valentine's day

[silverware-drawer]

🟥 felppps-6391 🔁 cellbo

🔎 cellbo Seguir

why is my castle full of smoke

🟥 felppps-6391

'-'

🔎 cellbo Seguir

DID FOOLISH HOTBOX THE FUCKING BLOOD ROOM

🟥 felppps-6391

'-'

4 notas

🪑 what-the-muffin 🔁 kocwillrock

🦈 kocwillrock Seguir

guys whart happens if you set cocaine on fire you have one minute adn then im trying it

🪑what-the-muffin

0_0 . . .whart

💣 endcrystalenjoyer Seguir

whart

🪺 philza Seguir

whart

🔰 etoyless Seguir

whart

🦈 kocwillrock Seguir

THATS CRAZY ITS ALMOST LIKE NOBODY ASKED

#heeheeheeheehee #prank tag

26 notas

🥵 peterparkoier 🔁 its-nice-to-miku

🐦 its-nice-to-miku Seguir

culeros

🥵 peterparkoier

YESSSSS MAMOSSSSS

403 notas

🪷 quackitieeee 🔁 elmar1an4

🌻 elmar1an4 Seguir

es lunes 😏 alguien quiere ser mi novio 😜

🦠 backflipo-numero-uno Seguir

IT'S TUESDAY YOU CHEATING BITCH FUCK YOU

🌻 elmar1an4 Seguir

yes ok I am waiting in the bedroom

🦠 backflipo-numero-uno Seguir

okay give me a couple of minutes

🪷 quackitieeee

what the fuck is wrong with you guys

5 notas

🥵 peterparkoier 🔁 cellbo

🔪 cell-bites

você vai se arrepender disso nunca esquecerei o quão saborosa sua perna era

furryfury999-deactivated38192947

Umm. . . .what the fuck ??

garbage-meister-deactivated92929947

why the hell are people in the notes acting like this is real lmfao did you idiots forget that people LIE on the INTERNET

horsey-of-coursey-deactivated848291083

okay, but has nobody noticed how this lines up perfectly with that insane alcatraz breakout that was in the news last month, only this was posted first??

garbage-meister-deactivated92929947

i'm dying y'all are so fucking dumb LMFAO

🔎 cellbo Seguir

STOP TAGGING ME THIS POST IS A THOUSAND YEARS OLD I DONT EVEN KNOW WHO THIS IS

🥵 peterparkoier

ENIGMA DO MEDO 😱

899.113 notas

🥵 peterparkoier 🔁 its-nice-to-miku

🪺 philza Seguir

Get you a man with two hundred and twenty seven alt accounts that are all in constant danger of being banned for hacking

💣 tnt-cannoff-1748 Seguir

God damn, hit on by Philza Minecraft himself, never thought I'd see the day 😳

🪺 philza Seguir

Lmao nah mate but I am hitting your gym. Give me ten minutes

💣 big-daddy-bigger-breakfast Seguir

Hell yeah

589 notas

🥵 peterparkoier 🔁 4ever-420

🕓 4ever-420 🇧🇷☑️ Seguir

PHILZA

--VERIFIED PRESIDENTIAL POST--

🕓 4ever-420 🇧🇷☑️ Seguir

CARALHO BAGHERA DONT REBLOG THAT IT WAS A DRAFT I DIDNT MEAN IT TO POST

--VERIFIED PRESIDENTIAL POST--

🐥 baghz-quacks Seguir

I don't know what youre talking about forever, it was a verified presidential post ?

🪺 philza Seguir

lmfao

🕓 4ever-420 🇧🇷☑️ Seguir

HOW DO I DELETE OTHER PEOPLES POSTS

--VERIFIED PRESIDENTIAL POST--

🕓 4ever-420 🇧🇷☑️ Seguir

FUCKING CUCURUCHO GET RID OF THIS BANNER RIGHT NOW

--VERIFIED PRESIDENTIAL POST--

🥵 peterparkoier

nem fodendo 👀

3,066 notas

🥵 peterparkoier 🔁 missa-not-missing

👑 chay-chay-chefs-blade Seguir

extra pics of the cake process because lulah told me to post them o7

Link

💀 missa-not-missing Seguir

CHAYANNE YOU'RE SO TALENTED

🪺 philza Seguir

Missa :D you finally back in wifi range?

💀 missa-not-missing Seguir

YES I AM COMING HOME RIGHT NOW

Thirty minutes!!

🪺 philza Seguir

. . .you good mate? It's been hours

💀 missa-not-missing Seguir

PHILZA HELP I FELL IN A HOLE

699 notas

🚇 tubbohell 🔁 philza

🔰 etoyless Seguir

L+ratio well played gf

🪑 what-the-muffin

@kocwillrock

🦈 kocwillrock Seguir

SHUT UP GO GET KIDNAPPED

🚇 tubbohell

am I missing something since when does etoiles have a girlfriend???

342 notas

🪑 what-the-muffin 🔁 what-the-muffin

🦈 kocwillrock Seguir

HOW IS HE GOOD AT EVERYTHING ITS FUDGING BEANBAG TOSS

🪑 what-the-muffin

hey foolish what does étoiles use when it rains

🪑 what-the-muffin

. . .a cucumbrella 0_0

🪑 what-the-muffin

foolish

🪑 what-the-muffin

foolish

🪑 what-the-muffin

foolish

🕓 4ever-420 ☑️🇧🇷 Seguir

Hi bad :D

-- VERIFIED PRESIDENTIAL POST --

🪑 what-the-muffin

Hi forever :D

🪑 what-the-muffin

foolish

🪑 what-the-muffin

foolish

🪑 what-the-muffin

foolish

🪑 what-the-muffin

foolish

666 notas

🥵 peterparkoier 🔁 ⚠️ pactriggerwarning

🦄 ayyyyypierre Seguir

If you want free GEGGS come to the GEGG factory under the statue of GEGG

🎼 wilbur-soot-official ☑️

i fucking hate gegg

🔎 cellbo Seguir

???

🔎 cellbo Seguir

this is the only thing he's ever posted?!??!??????

⚽ doctor-ovo Seguir

kkkkkkkkkkkkkk

🪪 elquackity ☑️

TU IN INFERNO PECCATORES ET IMBECILES SERA TU TUAM TUAM MISERERE CAELUM IGNEM PLUET ET SANGUIS TUUM IGNIS SIT NON ESSE TE VENIAT ARBITRIO TEMPESTATEM VENIAT ET NUNQUAM TE STULTI OMNES LUDIBRIBUS TUA RETUSUS OVIS ET RETUSUS FERRARIA ERIS OMNES MORTUUM ESSE ACTUTUM USQUAM VALE ET EGO NON REQUIRO

🧪 aquimicaehloka Seguir

what the hell

#qsmp #long post #also i stole a bunch of the usernames from @flunkett and @chewydolls dont want to forget to credit them #i dont even know if this is funny but these posts make me very happy for some reason #and they are very fun to make. #silverware lore #cuesumblur #tw unreality #silverware's cuesumblur

[jen-with-a-pen]

Dancing in the Kitchen

summary: After the worst night imaginable, your best friend helps you when you need him most. What you don't realize is just how much you've always needed him. or: Tony Dumps you. Steve picks you up and puts you back together.

parings: protective!best friend!Steve Rogers x best friend!f!Reader

word count: 4.9k

warnings: fluff, angst, self-doubt and insecurity, verbally abusive relationship elements, insults + language/name calling, reader cusses and so does Steve bc he can, no smut!, wearing Steve's clothes (very little to no description about reader's body so do with that what you will), intense feelings, confessions, crying, anxiety, best friends to lovers, intimate touch, VERY SLIGHT possessiveness, protectiveness, not Tony Stark friendly, cap quartet mention

a/n: these characters are out of college! It's set in their early-mid 20s following graduating and I thought it'd be a little more relatable (also since I'm not in college anymore I wanted this specific fic concept to be more relatable. self-indulgence and stuff). the cap quartet rent a house together. there might be more shenanigans in the future involving them. maybe. who knows? enjoy <3

If I've missed any tags, please let me know!

gif by @annislittleshopofhorrors | dividers by @saradika-graphics | warning banner by me ♥

my ao3 | my masterlist Read this fic HERE on ao3! ♥Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥

Everything was cold. 

Everything was ruined.

Everything was a fucking nightmare.

Dark clouds shrouded the night sky, hiding helpful moonlight. Rain pelted at you from above, mixing with fresh tears, drenching you to the bone as cold water collected on your skin and soaked through your dress. Your hands morphed into balled fists at your sides as you shook with rage, heartbreak, and the innate need to punch something.

You couldn’t wrap your pounding head around the events of the night; everything blurred together after ten o’clock. It was like a cruel joke, one where you waited an eternity for the punchline, begging for it not to be real no matter how hard you screwed your eyes shut and prayed. 

You didn’t want to believe it, yet there you were.

It sure as hell wasn’t the first time you found yourself standing at the backdoor of Steve Roger’s house on the cusp of a breakdown– and a breakup– warring with your own body to simply knock on the fucking door. Hell, Steve was already expecting you. He knew something was wrong the second you called; there wasn’t a warning text, just you, asking in a choked-up whisper if he was home. His response spilled out in a rushed ‘yes’ before you could explain further. A ‘no questions asked’ request, something not uncommon in your friendship. Steve, since day one, was one of your main sources of comfort within a thousand mile radius. 

Now, he was your only source of comfort within a thousand mile radius. 

Remnants of the phone call from Tony only minutes earlier echoed in your eardrums like a bad case of tinnitus. Annoying, repetitive. His hoarse, drunken slurry of vicious words clawed at the inside of your skull. Another fight. Another screaming match. Another forgotten birthday– this time, it included meeting your family. You’d planned it for months prior, making sure Tony knew not to forget it.

Your insides were twisting in knots as you waited at the restaurant awkwardly with your parents, brother, and an empty seat next to you. After an hour, eight failed calls and fifteen texts later, Tony finally picked up. Delight revived the few butterflies left in your stomach, only to be crushed, turning them into weighted dread as loud club music obliterated your ear drum as he shouted at you. 

“You bitch!” he spat. “Why the ever-loving f-fuck are y’blowin’ up my phone for?!”

You didn’t have time to process what he was saying before he’d already reloaded and shot you with more.

“What the hell is sooooo important? Huh? Y-you stupid bitch! You fuckin’ knew I’m busy t’night!”

You tore the phone away. Even at arm’s length, you, and the rest of your family, could hear every single thing he spewed at you. A couple from the table next to yours stopped mid-bite to turn and throw rude looks at you and your family.

“Tony, please, I–” 

“‘Tony please’– just shut up!” he mocked. “Just shut the fuck up! I don’t fuckin’ care what you gotta– what you have t’say! I can’t f–fuckin’ stand you anymore!”

Hurt and hunger morphed into churning waves of anxiety and embarrassment. Your throat was closing. Tears began stinging your eyes. You looked between your parents in shame, meeting their stunned looks filled with pity and disappointment. Your brother refused to look anywhere but the spot on his plate where he played with his food, sadness and second-hand embarrassment plaguing his face.

Yelling, jeering, and chanting echoed out of your phone. Tony didn’t stop. 

“Y’know what? I’m not doin’ this anymore,” he slurred, gulping some unknown liquid down, swallowing, gagging. More cheering. “We– we’re fuckin’ done. You’re out. I’m done.”

The other line fumbled. You winced as you heard Tony wet his lips, preparing the final blow. His breathing became heavy, ragged, hard enough you could smell the liquor through the phone.

“Fuckin’ cunt.” 

Click.

You loathed yourself for tolerating him; the endless cycle of poisoning you, providing the antidote, and taking it away when it seemed to get better. The whiplash from his unpredictable moods and personal attacks on you hurt as bad as it felt when he’d come around with endless apologies– accompanied by flowers, cuddles, and kisses– to heal each wound he was responsible for. 

This time, though, the stab was fatal. This time, you bled out; it’d been akin to getting gutted and hung helplessly in front of your fucking family. 

A sob snuck its way up your throat. You choked it down, willing your fist to reach up and knock on the door. You didn’t understand why this was next to impossible. Steve was your best friend. It wasn’t like he was a stranger. It wasn’t like he’d chastise you or yell at you or tell you to fuck off. Yet, there was a fear, deep down, feeding on the anxiety and self-doubt in the pit of your stomach, telling you the opposite; it whispered to you, telling you to run back to your car, scream into the steering wheel, and speed off to disappear from everything and everyone for just a little longer. It’d only be until you got your head on straight, until you figured out what to do with the apartment and your classes and your stuff and–

Knock. knock. knock.

In the blur of a million thoughts racing through your mind, you automatically reached up and weakly knocked, body tensing every muscle as you waited.

The door swung open, revealing one extremely concerned Steve Rogers.

Steve panted, a result from sprinting down the stairs from his upstairs bedroom in an attempt to open the back door by your first knock. Acutely aware of his jaw hanging from its hinges, Steve’s soft baby blues bore into you, scanning you up and down, stunned at you and your dress and how desperate you looked. 

Time stopped the second you saw him; it was difficult to describe, but everything magnetizing between the two of you was different. You felt different– different in the way he was familiar and somehow new at the same time. Steve felt different– different in the way you were single for the first time in two years and he was single since… forever ago.

This time was unlike the million other times.

You both stared. Your lips quivered, his parted in disbelief. Both your minds instantly went blank, unable to think of anything to say, to do. So, the sky thought for you. It opened its floodgates, releasing a torrential downpour as you stood inches from warmth, from comfort.

“Steve,” you croaked, reaching for him. 

It was then, everything came crashing down. 

You crumbled to the ground in a heap, knees buckling while your hand and arms braced for impact with the ground. Steve quickly abandoned his tight grip on the doorframe, catching you, helping you inside. Lungs gasped for air as heavy sobs poured from your chest and tears flowed steadily down your face. You pawed at Steve’s arm hooked around you as he stumbled back into the house, kicking the door closed and collapsing onto the kitchen floor with you in tow. He immediately pulled you closer and hugged you tightly against his chest. You heaved, crying out from the painful pit in your heart, digging your fingers into his flesh, hard enough to bruise. You buried your face into his t-shirt and bawled.

All of it– the rage, the hurt, the mess of balled-up emotions from the last two fucking years– came unraveled. Hands twisted into Steve’s t-shirt, balling the fabric and pulling it taut enough to rip. 

Steve didn’t shout. He didn’t complain. He didn’t utter a single word as he leaned against the kitchen cabinets, rocking you gently, squeezing you harder as his chest rose and fell rhythmically against your pounding skull, silently coaxing you to follow his breathing. Blubbering in his lap, stringing words together became futile as thoughts became unrecognizable. Another wave of panic and anxiety crashed over you. Steve’s mumbled shushes softened you; the deep timbre and honeyed bass of his voice and vibrations in his chest grounded you, welcoming you to safety. To home. 

“Shh… don’t worry, I got you. I have you. You’re okay,” he muttered, running a hand gently up and down your back.

“I–he–bu–” you fumbled, lip quivering as another sob overtook you. Rage clawed at the walls in the chasm of your chest. You screamed. Guttural, pained. Again. And again.

“Shh… it’s okay, let it out. You’re okay. You’re safe here,” he soothed, rocking you, adding in a lowered octave, “I’m here.”

“T–Tony,” you hiccuped, fists twisting more of Steve’s t-shirt. “He–he–”

“What, angel? What about Tony?” 

“He–he c–called me n–names a–and,” you shook your head violently, “he b-broke up with me. For real, this time.”

Steve cupped your cheek, softly wiping away fresh tears with calloused fingertips. While you continued to cry in his arms, his focus turned to the back door you tumbled through. Inside, he seethed; his rage nearly boiled over at the thought of anyone doing this to you, let alone Tony fucking Stark. Out of all the things you’d told him over the last couple years– all the threats, the cruel jokes and abandonment and insults– tonight was the ultimate cherry on top. It validated every time Tony’s actions made Steve think vengeful thoughts on what he’d do if he ever got five minutes with the douchebag. Just five minutes. Alone. 

He shook the thought away, looking back down to you. The last thing he wanted was for you to see him upset, let alone remotely think you were the cause of it. He’d promised himself that the first time you met.

Tony was going to fucking pay for what he’d done to you every single second for the last two years. And on your birthday, for chrissake. 

“What–” Steve swallowed the excess rage in his chest. “What kind of names, sweetie?”

You softened, sniffling, refusing to look at him. “He called me a b–bitch, a–and,” you bit your tongue, “a… cunt.”

The moment the word left your lips, Steve fought every last nerve in him not to put you to bed, get in his car, and go teach Tony a lesson on some fucking manners. Hell, even the idea of taking Bucky and Sam crossed his mind. 

He pushed the thought away, focusing back on you. You needed him. You came to him for help. No one else but him. 

Steve slid his hand off your back and placed it under your chin, thumb and forefinger gently coaxing you to look at him. Big blue eyes swam with concern and worry. In the dark of the kitchen, they seemed brighter than ever– a beacon guiding you back from the hurricane in your head.

In an instant, everything in your head went quiet. No more muffled echoes from the phone call. No more sobs readying to burst out your chest. No more caring about how swollen and puffy your eyes were, or the drying combination of mascara and tear stains running down your cheeks and neck. Your sopping wet dress that drenched the floor, and Steve, was pushed to the back of your brain, the cold no longer leaking into your bones as he brought you back down from the ledge.

All you saw was Steve. All you smelled, all you could feel, was Steve. 

Steve swallowed. His jaw slacked, tongue jutting out to wet his lips, slowly drinking you in for as long as he was able. 

And honestly? You couldn’t care enough to stop him. It’d been so long since someone looked at you the way Steve did.

Had he always looked at you like that?

“Listen to me. You are none of those things. Not even close,” he whispered, hoping you believed him. 

You nodded lightly. “I–I know, but it hurts,” your voice cracked again, eyes drifting away from him. 

“Hey, look at me,” he tugged at your chin, “you will never be anything like he says you are. Ever. Okay?”

You stared at him. A small smile pulled at the corners of your lips as you placed a hand on his, taking it from your chin to your chest. Warmth bloomed as it rested against your damp skin. 

“‘Kay.” Barely a whisper. Enough for only him to hear.

He paused, gaze holding steady on you, lips twitching at the corners. 

“Let’s get you up ‘n out of that thing, yeah?” He nodded to your dress. “You gotta be freezing.”

Gently, he lifted you off his lap, rising from the kitchen floor and pulling you up on your feet. Your legs felt like a wobbly blend of jelly and nerves that forced you to lean onto Steve for support. He anticipated this, catching you and gripping your shoulders. You didn’t say a word. Instead, you clung to him as he guided you through the living room and up the stairs to his bedroom. You passed by Sam and Bucky’s rooms, both empty for the night, just like Natasha’s downstairs. 

As Steve rifled through his drawers and closet, your focus wandered to his messy desk: the lamp cast a soft, warm glow across the room, sitting next to history books and sketchbooks stacked high on top of one another; pencils and dirtied paint brushes littered the surface, products of his latest art assignment. His bed was half-made, dark green covers on one side neatly tucked in while the opposite was thrown aside, exposing gray pinstripe sheets. The walls were covered with scattered art– some his, others his favorite artists’– posters and pictures of family, friends, and some local bands. You bit back a smile. Memories of the shows you both went to over the last few years played like a highlight reel in your mind. You never regretted it; you never passed up a single invite, even after the time Tony locked you out for a whole weekend. 

“Here, these are clean,” he handed you a neatly folded pile of his clothes before adding, “I promise.”

A fuller smile broke across your face. The first of the entire night.

“Uh huh, sure, I believe you,” you joked sarcastically. He feigned hurt, scoffing at your false accusation.

“I did the sniff test, if that makes you feel any better.”

You giggled, taking the clothes from him and turning to head to the bathroom.

“I’ll be down in the kitchen,” he called after you. “You, um, you want something to drink?”

You paused, turning to look at him from the bathroom doorway halfway down the hall. From where he stood, the saturated pink creeping up his neck and reaching his face was more visible than the light on his desk. You couldn’t help but hold in a snicker and flash him a relieved smile, thankful.

“Coffee would be a godsend, right now.”

Steve smiled, saluting you. “Coming right up.”

You headed into the bathroom, tossing the clothes onto the counter, slumping against the door the second you shut and locked it. Finally relaxing, you realized how much tension was pent up in your tired shoulders– which, in turn, prompted the realization you were holding your breath the entire time in Steve’s room. 

Brushing the self-induced lightheadedness, you slipped the ruined dress off your body and hung it up on the shower rod. You hated the color, the texture, but wore it anyway. For Tony. On your birthday.

You cursed yourself, pulling your bra off next– a pushup that held your rib cage hostage the entire night. Just how Tony likes it. 

Or, liked it.

You silently prayed Steve included some Bailey’s in your coffee. 

Pulling on Steve’s sweatshirt, the scent of him enveloped you instantly. You couldn’t help but nuzzle into the neck of it, filling your lungs with the familiarity of Steve. He was a quiet, sunny Sunday morning and freshly brewed coffee. He was a nice night in watching your favorite movies and playing cards. 

Your head was swimming, swirling, caught up in the entirety of your best friend. He was yours just as much as you were his. Through Tony, through other guys you’d subjected yourself to the last few years, none of them compared to Steve. 

You tugged the sweatpants on, catching sight of yourself in the mirror and realizing the runny makeup staining your face. You snorted at how fucking ridiculous you looked, remembering the caked-on layers you’d put on for the evening. Again, just for Tony. The snort turned into a giggle, utterly grateful for Steve not making fun of how you looked and for ignoring the mascara stains on his poor t-shirt from earlier.

But, again, it was Steve. He’d never make fun of you. Ever.

Butterflies– the ones you’d thought were long gone months prior– stuttered suddenly, alive and fluttering in your stomach. 

You instantly recognized the feeling: it was the same you had the day you met Steve.

The same feeling you’d get on roller coasters, or reading an exceptionally good romance novel. Giddiness, dizziness. It was as if you were spinning while the room stood still. Your head felt light, high on helium. Your skin burned. Meeting your own gaze in the mirror, you scanned yourself, the question ‘is this happening right now?’ running on a loop at the forefront of your mind. 

Bzzt.

You jumped at the buzz of a text. With the trance broken, you took into account your shaking hands and the bumping tempo of your heart. Turning on the sink, you made sure the water was as cold as possible before cupping some in your hands and splashing your face. Refreshing. Needed. You rubbed the rest of the runny wakeup off your skin, stuffing your face into the fluffy hand towel and silently promising to get the boys a new one. Picking up your phone, teeth chewed on cheek to hold in your smile at the sight of Steve’s name on the screen.

⍟ Steve: You doing OK? Coffees ready 

You looked at yourself in the mirror.

“You got this,” you told your reflection. “He’s only your best friend.”

The butterflies continued to multiply, bumping against one another, fluttering and escaping out into your chest and your limbs. 

“Fuck.”

You opened the door. 

⋆˙ઇଓ⋆⭒˚｡⋆

“I was beginning to think you climbed out the window up there,” Steve quipped upon seeing you round the corner into the kitchen. He couldn’t help the stupid grin spreading across his face when he saw you in his clothes. You looked more relaxed, more comfortable.

More like you. 

You noticed he changed, too, donning a heather-gray t-shirt that clung to his torso in all the right ways– ways you hadn’t noticed before.

You mentally scolded yourself.

“A–Almost. But I’d never pass up a cup of world-famous Rogers Roast.”

“Wow, world-famous? I would’ve preferred universally-renowned, but I’ll take it.” He held a mug out to you, one faded with a ‘I ❤ New York’ logo– the one you’d gotten for him during your senior-year college internship. “Made it just how you like it.” 

He paused as you took a sip. You could feel his eyes on you, watching you, biting his lip in anticipation as you drank. The coffee tasted like liquid gold, warm and comforting and all-around delicious. You didn’t care if you burnt your tongue. This was what you needed. 

He was what you needed. 

Was he?

You looked back up at Steve. His cheeks flushed as he pressed his lips together, entranced with the mug in your hands, eyes ever-so-slightly flitting from it to your lips and back again. 

“Thank you, Stevie.” 

“You’re welcome, angel.”

You pinched yourself, then took another sip.

Silence fell, comfortable and calm, as you both nursed your drinks, checking your phones and letting time pass. You didn’t care to check the clock. 

Steve cleared his throat and set his phone down. 

“So, um,” he began. “What else did you have planned for your birthday?” 

His voice was low, tender, careful with the question so as not to upset you. He was curious, however, and determined to see exactly how much Tony fucked up your night.

And your life.

“Oh,” you swallowed, chewing your lip in an attempt to remember what you’d originally planned.

“He was, ah, gonna take me dancing. After dinner, after he,” you took an unsteady breath, “after he met my family. It was the one thing he told me he'd let me do after dinner.” You shook your head, adding under your breath, “besides him.”

Tension seeped into the space between you both. You didn’t want to meet Steve’s stare; it was the one you’d always see whenever you told him about Tony, one filled with anger so palpable it made his arms flex subconsciously, one he thought he hid well enough so you never saw, but you always did. Without looking up, you already knew his jaw was clenched and his shoulders were stiff and his eyes bored a hole into the wall behind you. Butterflies started to somersault, crashing into the waves of worry and anxiety. 

“Why?”

You looked up. Blue eyes. Stormy, swirling, stubborn.

“What?”

“Why did you stay with him?” Steve asked steadily, voice barely above a whisper. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

You paused. “Because he wouldn’t let me leave.”

“I could’ve helped you. We could’ve helped you,” he gestured vaguely to the rest of the house.

Your teeth tore into your bottom lip. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

“I–” Steve sighed and carded a hand through his dirty blond hair, frustrated, trying to keep his promise while also appealing to you and balancing the fragile tightrope you two stood on. “I care about you, angel. I care about you so fuckin’ much. I just wanna know why. Why he was– why you were–”

“I–” Don’t fucking cry. “I was trapped. Every time I tried to leave, he’d tie me down more. It… it wasn’t as easy as you fucking think, Steve. Rose-colored glasses, wool over my eyes, wolf in sheep's clothing, that sorta thing, ya know? These last couple years, I… I don’t know why tonight was it, and I don’t know how I was able to get out, and I just… I don’t fucking know. I don’t. I–” 

You felt tears again. 

“I– Angel, I wasn’t trying to–”

“No, I know,” you cut him off, setting down your mug to rub your face in your hands. “I know. But I need you to understand that I– God, my fucking brain feels so scrambled. I just feel so confused, I feel like I’m going insane right now. Fuck!” 

You tried to calm down, taking deep breaths to feed your strained lungs, holding on to each before exhaling. In, hold, out, repeat. 

The room was spinning again, whirling around like a sick carnival ride as your center of gravity began to give.

As you braced the counter, strong hands and warm, muscular arms engulfed you, lifting you back from the countertop and guiding you into the middle of the kitchen. Steve pressed into you until you relented, reaching your arms around him and pulling him closer. The tension in your shoulders melted, migrating to your chest where your heart surged the moment he touched you, where it pounded against your sternum, threatening to break out of its marrow cage. You inhaled him, savoring him, feeling him all around you.

Slowly, delicately, Steve unwrapped from you. He was careful with every touch, as if he would shatter you– even though he had no problem with putting you back together again. He’d done it a million times before, and he’d do it a million times again.

He’d do it all again for you. 

Steve carefully slid your hands from around his center, placing one onto his shoulder, then– nervously and ever-so-slowly– he held your other hand out, sliding down your forearm and entwining his fingers into yours. His free hand fell softly onto your waist, fingers absently and lightly kneading the fabric and skin underneath his palm.

“May I have this dance?” he whispered.

You looked up from the floor to Steve, speechless. You nodded.

Then, he started to sway. He guided you both, rocking side to side to an unheard rhythm and subtly spinning in unison under the soft glow of the kitchen light.

He smiled softly, boyish and genuine, with admiration and tenderness in his eyes. Something gentle and kind, something about the feeling and the familiarity of it– of him– sank into you the longer you looked at him. Your focus shifted around the features of his chiseled face. You recognized the light freckles stippled across his nose and cheeks leftover from the summer; the scar on his earlobe from the night Natasha drunkenly dared you to pierce his ear and failed; the faint worry lines sculpted into his forehead he inherited from his father; the soft, full pink of his lips that innocently parted when you caught him staring at you.

It was the feeling that felt foreign to you; the one missing from your life after the last two years. But, it wasn’t missing. It had been right in front of you the entire time stealing glances, accidental touches, and irreplaceable memories.

Steve had been there. 

Steve had been the one looking at you like that for the last two years. 

He wasn’t missing. He was just waiting his turn. 

And, judging by the realization that washed over your face, his waiting was over. 

Steve's smile widened as he squeezed your waist, wordlessly confirming the thoughts running rampant in your head. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed the ghost of a cry, blinking away tears forming in the corners of his vision. 

Your lips trembled as you smiled back. Slowly, you snaked your hand from his shoulder to his cheek and cupped his face. He leaned into your touch instantly, stubble and skin rubbed against your palm as he kissed it lightly. The press of his lips sent a spark coursing through your veins, electrifying your body and the air around you. The two of you continued to sway while the kitchen spun faster, a blurred whirlwind while you both remained in focus.

“When?” you asked, voice barely audible.

“Since the day I met you.”

“Why didn’t you–”

Steve shrugged. “I wanted to get to know you first. Didn’t wanna be some random dude who just wanted you for your number. You seemed too special to rush into something. Still are,” he sighed. “I wanted to be your friend first, but before I could muster up some courage, Tony swept you out from under me.” 

Guilt crawled up your throat. “I– I’m sorry, Stevie.”

He stepped away from you, twirling you, then dragged you back to him. You could’ve sworn your heart stopped beating. 

“No, baby, you don’t have anything to be sorry for. I promise. I–” his voice broke. “I wanted you to be happy. I want you to be happy. I just– I wish I did more for you. I should’ve done more for you.”

He tilted his head to the ceiling trying to stop his tears from falling, but you pulled him right back down to you. 

“Steve,” you started, keeping on his baby blues while your own voice struggled to remain steady, “you’ve done more for me than anyone else in the entire world. Hell, in my entire life. I just lost the last two years of my life suffering with someone I thought I loved. Who I thought loved me.”

You brought your other hand to his face. “You did all you could. I just… I thought it was gonna get better, you know? I thought, I hoped– God, I even fucking prayed– that he’d get better, but he didn’t. Nothing did. And I couldn’t find a way out. It’s like he conditioned me to believe he was the only one I had, like, he was the only one who’d ever save me.”

Steve frowned, but nodded in understanding. 

“I’m glad you came to me. Not just tonight, but every night. It was like reassuring me that I didn’t totally lose you, or like I never totally lost you.”

“You’ll never lose me, Stevie.”

His face, red-hot underneath your touch, moved closer to yours. You couldn’t tell if you were pulling or he was pushing. His hands gripped your waist the tighter you held his face, the two of you crashing into one another in slow-motion. The light above you grew brighter, the humming of the appliances was getting louder, the room spun at an infinitely unfathomable speed. 

You crashed together. 

Soft lips– softer than either of you could’ve ever pictured feeling– fit together like the perfect puzzle pieces. Neither of you moved, staying locked together until your hands slipped around his neck, pulling him closer and smashing his nose into your cheek. His grip became bruising as his fingers kneaded into your waist, steadying himself with your hips. You felt another surge of electricity as his tongue jutted out, parting your lips and swiping along the bottom before retreating back behind his.

He tipped you backwards on your heel, smirking against your lips as you flinched and grabbed onto the collar of his shirt. 

Setting you upright, he pulled away from the kiss and whispered, “I’ll never let you go.”

“Never?” 

“Ever.”

You kissed him again, and the butterflies went wild. 

#dancing in the kitchen #jen writes #fluff #angst #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x f!reader #captain america x reader #college!au #modern!au #college!steve #modern!steve #modern!steve rogers #steve rogers fluff #captain america x f!reader #curvy!reader #best friend!steve rogers #best friend! reader #cap quartet au #chris evans #chris evans characters #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers onshot #steve rogers imagine #protective!steve rogers #slightly posessive!steve rogers

[shadowkoo]

Ten out of Ten

→ Summary: For the past three years, Kim Taehyung has made it his mission to annoy you relentlessly on campus, finding every possible way to drive you up the wall during your shared classes. However, as you both enter your senior year, something strange happens. Taehyung begins to sense a shift in his energy, realizing he might just have some secret feelings for you. What unfolds when you make this earth-shattering discovery too?

↠ kth x f.reader | 8.6k words | 18+ ↠ genre: smut, humor, college au, enemies to lovers, fratboy!bangtan

→ Warnings: explicit & unprotected sex, consensual drunk sex, shower sex, ‘revenge’ sex (all fun and games), alcohol consumption, party crashed by police, dirty talk, soft kissing, rough kissing, hard dom!taehyung, soft dom!taehyung, grinding, fingering, sloppy oral sex, cock swallowing, choking on tae’s cock, throat fucking, slight praising, begging, sense of ownership, size kink, taehyung has a huge dong, belly bulge, reader gets dicked down almost too good (if that’s a thing), breast & nipple play, riding, reversal, biting, teasing, cockwarming, creampie, cum play, cum eating, cum stuffing, spanking, choking ft. tae’s beautiful hands, pussy slapping, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, multiple sex scenes

→ Author note: Inspired by this popular post!! If you’d like to read this on ao3 instead it’s been crossposted here! As always, all likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated <3

“This is wrong. This is so wrong.” He moans after pushing you up against his closed bedroom door, “Are you sure? Are you drunk?” You roll your eyes.

“Stop trying to talk me out of this,” you whisper while leaving wet kisses along his jawline. You’ve waited too long. There’s no way in hell you’re stopping now. Lifting your head up and looking into his eyes, you continue, “I didn’t drink that much. I want this. I want you.”

He groans and presses his lips into yours yet again. “I swear this wasn’t my intention,” he says after pulling back.

You kiss him hard, but your quick attempt to shut him up doesn’t work.

“I promise it wasn’t,” he blurts, “I was just being honest, you know the rules of the game.” He pulls you close again as his lips flutter around your neck, causing an airy sigh to escape from your parted ones.

“No more talking. Please.” You pull his face back up and let his lips harshly reattach to yours. He proceeds to kiss you, slowing down when you try to speed things up.

“I just need you to know that I didn’t plan for this to happen,” he repeats.

“Taehyung!” You whine as your eyes tell him to stop worrying about it, “Shut up and kiss me.”

“I need to hear you say it. I need to make sure I’m not dreaming.”

You pull back slightly from his embrace to tug your shirt off, “Tae please,“ you beg between kisses, the slick from your heat seeping through your thin underwear, "Just fuck me already.”

Earlier that day…

“Taehyung! You asshole!” you holler while chasing after the guy who’s currently running along the sidewalk with your history paper in hand.

You finally catch up to him by the fountain that sits at the campus’s center, watching him nervously as he jokes around, holding the most important five thousand words you’ve ever written.

“I will kill you if you get a single drop of water on that! It’s due in ten minutes!” you threaten as he tosses the stapled paper between his hands. “Taehyung, please. I was up all night writing this. It’s worth forty percent of my grade,” you beg, really hoping he’ll take a step down before anything bad happens.

“Quit freaking out, I’m not going-” his words are short-lived as a gust of wind steals the paper from his loose grip. You both watch, completely horrified, as it flutters through the air in slow motion and falls directly down into the clear water.

“Oh no. No no no. Oh my god. I swear to god that wasn’t supposed to happen! I was just teasing!” Taehyung panics as he jumps through the fountain, slipping and thoroughly soaking himself further as rushes over to your sunken assignment. He wipes away the water on his face and retrieves the soggy paper lying on the vibrant tile below. Drops of ink run off the paper, smearing the barely legible words even more.

You feel as though you've momentarily forgotten how to breathe.

“Okay. It’s okay,” you say to yourself, trying to calm down, “Everything’s fine. It’s fine. I can just head back to the library and reprint it, I’d rather be a few minutes late for class than get a zero on this.”

“Uh, hmmm, yeah…” Taehyung clears his throat nervously, scratching the back of his neck while doing so. “About that…”

“Don’t say it,” you threaten anxiously. You internally beg that what you assume he’s going to say next is not true. It can’t be. You will it not to be.

“The library closed twenty minutes ago. It always closes early on Thursdays and Fridays,” He says sheepishly with a face full of remorse, though you doubt he actually feels it.

“Great,” you huff, “That’s just fucking great.” The calmness dissipates as rage takes over your body. “I honestly cannot believe you sometimes. Will you ever grow the fuck up? We’re not freshmen anymore! You can’t just dick around like this. Wrecking each others’ projects was funny three years ago when our grades didn’t matter but we can’t keep doing this. Just-” you take a deep breath to regain some of your calmness, “Get. The fuck. Away from me.” You rip your destroyed paper out of his hands and storm off in the direction of the building where your class is held.

Maybe that was a little rude. Actually, no, it wasn’t. He deserved it. He ruined your history paper. Intentionally, too.

“I’m coming with you, I’ll explain what happened,” Taehyung persists, somehow keeping up with your angry stomps as you head to class.

“Quit following me, I’m screwed enough as it is,” you grumble, knowing that he’s trudging along behind you even without turning around to confirm it.

His footsteps slow once you reach the outside of the history department.

Maybe he finally got the message.

“Ahhh, Miss Y/N. You’re late,” your professor says as you enter the quiet classroom and try to make your way to your empty assigned seat. He stops you before you can sit, “Do you have your paper ready to turn in?”

You shamefully drop what’s left of your paper into your professors’ hands.

“Is this your submission?” he asks, holding it up with his fingers, watching as the remaining water droplets fall to the floor. Your classmates snicker as they watch the scene in front of them unfold.

Yet, just as you're about to respond, the classroom door violently swings open, instantly capturing everyone's attention in unison.

“It’s my fault,” Taehyung pants after barging in.

“Excuse me, sir, who are you? And why are you dripping in my lecture?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” you quietly seethe.

“I considered heading to my class but I just felt too bad,” he says to you before turning to your professor. “It’s my fault her paper is soaked, I mean look at me. I am too. After an unfortunate turn of events - events that neither of us anticipated - it fell in the fountain and so did I. But you can see that…because I’m wet. Wet like water wet, not like the other kind of wet. That would be weird, considering… But probably more awkward than anything though. If I’m being honest. You know, my mother taught me that honesty is the best policy. So that’s what I’m doing here. Being honest…about me…and her paper, being, uh, you know, wet…”

It's unclear who is more astonished, you or your professor. Is this really happening right now? You’ve never heard Taehyung ramble like this. If you weren’t so stunned or feeling secondhand embarrassment for him, you would’ve probably laughed hysterically.

The older man gives Taehyung a once over, his eyes peering over his reading glasses as they travel up and down the damp clothes stuck to the twenty-something’s figure. Displeased, he turns to look at the disintegrating mess of your so-called paper that’s stuck between his fingers.

“Haha, yeah…so uh, I’m gonna go now,” Taehyung says as he finger guns to the door before anyone else can get a word in, “I hope this is resolved. And um, I’m going to make sure I never sign up for one of your classes, Mr. uh, I don’t know your name. But that doesn’t matter. Trust me when I say you won’t ever have to see me again.” And with that, he exits the class with the same amount of speed as he entered.

Your professor shakes his head in disbelief. “Email me your paper once you get seated and I’ll only dock you ten percent off from your original grade, as long as you promise that won’t ever happen again.”

“Deal.”

“He did what?” your roommate’s voice echoes from inside her bedroom as she makes her way into the kitchen where you’re reheating leftovers for dinner.

“I know! I could’ve killed him. I don’t know what it is lately, but he’s been irritating me more than usual. The way he just went on and on, rambling like a complete idiot. Ugh!” you mutter while waiting for the microwave to beep. The whole situation still has you mildly irate.

Sana gives you a pointed look.

“What?” you squint your eyes at her, “What does that face mean?”

“When are you two going to realize that you’re like, in love with each other? It’s always Taehyung did this or you did that. FYI, we’re all tired of hearing about it. Girl, I adore you and your little rants most of the time, but it’s exhausting listening to you two complain about each other literally all the time. We’re in the same friend group and it’s just so obvious to us all that you guys like each other, but are just stubbornly ignoring the facts that are so obviously right in front of you.”

“I’m going to pretend like you didn’t just say that. Dinner is done,” you say, brushing aside what you just heard. It’s too crazy to even think about.

You liking Taehyung? Taehyung liking you? Absolutely not. No way! That’s ridiculous, that’s just…almost crazy enough to be true.

The thought surprises you.

Sure, Taehyung is nice to look at. You’ve never questioned his attractiveness. But you drew the line a long time ago, knowing better than to allow yourself to grow any form of attachment to the guy who prefers to drive you batshit crazy.

It’s just easier that way. Yeah, sure, playing around and pissing each other off gives you some kind of satisfaction, but you don’t need him in your life. He isn’t that significant.

Or is he?

The more you think about it, the harder a time you have imagining your life without the messy-haired asshole who you’ve somehow grown to…love?

“Whatever, give me a bowl,” Sana says, pulling you from your thoughts before you’re able to dwell on the ‘L’ word very much. “I’m starving. And we need to eat quickly so we have enough time to get ready.”

“Oh, fuck me sideways,” you moan, annoyed with yourself for forgetting, “It’s Thursday.”

Sana’s boyfriend’s fraternity hosts a party every other Thursday night. There’s no way you’re getting out of it either, seeing as you promised her two weekends ago you’d go to the next since you bailed.

“Uh-uh! Don’t even start,” Sana warns. “You’re coming tonight whether you want to or not!”

A frat party is the worst kind of party in your opinion. Memories of the last one you attended float around your mind; wannabee rappers holding their phones by your ear so you can hear their ‘latest diss track’, girls arguing over a guy who doesn’t deserve either in your opinion, drunk couples practically fucking on the couch.

Oh, don’t forget about the pick me girl begging for attention or that guy who gets so fucking obnoxious and is willing to start a fistfight with anyone within an arm's distance. And lastly, the typical fuckboy that will say anything to get you into his bed. Yeah, frat parties are so not your thing.

But you promised Sana, and she’d hold it against you until the end of time if you didn’t go tonight.

You made a plan anyway. Show up, say hi to a few friends, have a few drinks, and disappear before anyone can notice you’ve made a run for it. Fingers crossed that you can pull it off.

The party is in full swing when you arrive, or so you are assuming since you had to step over someone passed out on the lawn on your way toward the front steps. The door is wide open, and Sana immediately spots her boyfriend Joon from across the room. His face lights up when he notices her waving dramatically and makes his way over to you two.

“She actually came? In the flesh? Y/N, is that really you?” Namjoon teases, obviously not expecting you to make an appearance.

“Hi, Joon. Good to see you too.”

“I was surprised, she didn’t even put up a fight about it tonight.” Sana giggles as soon as Joon pulls her into his arms for a sloppy kiss. You look away and scan the room, searching through the crowd of familiar yet vague faces.

“Sana! Get a room, girl!” one of them hollers, cheering her on as she shoves her tongue down her boyfriend’s throat.

She pulls back and flips off Yoongi, the culprit and one of Joon’s frat brothers, and walks further into the house, scanning the audience for tonight.

“Hey, think you could bring some of your single friends over? Preferably a random group of them with one specific person we all have in our mind. She needs to go home with a guy tonight,” she says to Yoongi as he walks over with drinks in hand for you and Sana.

Everyone seems to understand what she’s saying, other than you, who of course is oblivious yet again as to who they’re referencing.

“I heard you had a rough day,” Yoongi says, handing you one of the plastic cups with a sideways grin as you give Sana an agitated look after smacking her on the arm. But she doesn’t seem to acknowledge either and instead, smirks at Yoongi’s remark. “I have a certain person in mind. Let me see if I can find where he ran off too.”

Joon laughs knowing all too well what happened, "We’ll do our best, see you in a few.”

"Oh my god, Sana! I can’t believe you sometimes,” you whine after the guys are out of earshot.

"What? It’s not like I’m wrong! You need a good time tonight just to relax. You don’t have any Friday classes anyway so have some fun.” She shrugs her shoulders and walks away to say hi to some of her other girlfriends.

While she’s gone and the guys are hunting, you spot Taehyung leaning up against a bookshelf filled with novels you bet haven’t been touched in decades. You try your hardest to weave your way through the crowded area before he can notice you, but unfortunately, your eyes lock with his just as you’re squeezing through a group of girls you’ve never seen before. Freshmen, probably.

“What are you doing here?” you question, not even attempting to hide the annoyed tone in your voice when you feel his presence behind you.

“What do you mean, ’What am I doing here?’ I live here. What are you doing here? I thought you hated these sorts of things.”

"You live here?” you ask, ignoring his question as your head whips around. “I didn’t know you were in the same fraternity as Namjoon.”

“I didn’t know you didn’t know. Sorry?” He laughs as you take the last sip of your mystery drink. “Need another? I’m heading to the kitchen.”

“Uh, whatever you’re having,” you say. Alcohol is alcohol.

“Sure thing. Oh hey, Sana! Where’s Joon?” Taehyung asks, acknowledging that your sidekick returned, but without her significant other.

“Hey Tae, he’s in the Blue Room. Which is where I must drag you to,” she smiles devilishly, grabbing your arm to pull you away. Though unbeknownst to her, you would gladly go anywhere that’s away from Taehyung right now.

“Ahhh, is it already time?” he wonders out loud. “I’ll meet you there,” he says and leaves for the kitchen to grab drinks.

As you’re being pulled away, the only thought parading through your mind is how much you want to rip his head off for the stunt he pulled earlier, but also the multiple ways you can get your revenge on him for costing you ten percent on a paper that would have otherwise been an A+.

Sana pulls you into the second living room, the Blue Room as it’s ‘famously’ known for its somewhat derogatory, yet exclusive, activities. If you could call them that.

Only those invited are allowed to enter. You’re not sure why, but the guys take their rule pretty seriously.

You recognize nearly all of the people already in here, the majority being Namjoon’s frat brothers;

Seokjin; the one that’s always surrounded by both girls and guys. His presence easily fills the room and even without saying a single word he demands their attention.

Yoongi; the one that loves to start shit and can smell drama and sexual tension from a mile away. He knows how to push the right buttons to hear precisely what he wants.

Hoseok; the one who is always smirking about something that no one else seems to know. Not really a gossiper, but definitely knows everything about everyone.

Namjoon; the guy who everyone respects but still teases for being totally whipped for Sana. He’s a softie but can still kick anyone’s ass in mere seconds.

Jimin; the sweet one with a dark side you never want to get on. You’ve heard stories that will haunt you for a while.

And finally, Jungkook; the one who never knows what’s going on but is having a great time regardless. A happy dork who can make you laugh no matter what.

Somehow Taehyung fits into this group too, but you don’t know exactly where he stands yet.

The rest of the room consists of girls you’ve seen around campus and guys attempting to gain Seokjin’s total attention but would probably never get it. Although there are a handful of faces you haven’t seen before, which is refreshing.

It looks like everyone is getting ready to play Ten out of Ten, which is basically a drinking game to initiate party hookups, a ‘how much do you like me’ sort of thing.

To play, everyone in the room writes their name on a little piece of paper and it gets thrown into a bowl. The bowl then gets passed around and each person draws a name out of the bowl, but can’t look at the name until it’s their turn. One person starts and says the name on the paper they pulled and then rates the person a number out of ten if they would sleep with them or not. So then the person whose name was called would go next, and say who they have and rate them. Like a chain game, and you just have to say a number out of ten if you would bang them or not. It’s not really supposed to be a drinking game but somehow it’s become a tradition to take a shot after you say your rating, and especially if someone says ten out of ten - then everyone takes a shot.

Sana grabs two slips of paper and hands one to you. You write your name and hand the pen to her. ‘So much for a couple of drinks and dipping,’ you say internally, realizing that the game will last a while with this many participants. Hopefully, Taehyung remembers your drink. You’re going to need it.

You sigh and sit on the arm of the chair Sana is in as you wait for the game to start.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Taehyung walking towards you with, thank god, a rather large cup in his hand.

“I hope this satisfies your alcoholic needs,” he jokes, “I made it the same way as mine, but with a little less alcohol since I didn’t want to fuck you up a lot."

You take it from him and raise the cup to your mouth. The scent is strong, and your eyes twitch after taking a small sip. He laughs at your quiet sputtering.

“I’ll be good after it hits me. Thanks.”

"Yeah, sure. No problem. And sorry about earlier, again. I know you’ll get me back soon enough and it will be well deserved,” He grins before walking over to sit next to Jungkook.

“Alright, alright.” Jimin starts as he walks around the room with the bowl in his hands, letting everyone grab a piece of paper while he goes over the rules for the newbies invited. The bowl makes its way around the room, and everyone tosses in theirs before Jimin shakes it up and starts letting people pull out a folded piece of paper.

Once everyone has one, he sets the bowl aside, “Everyone ready?”

“Wait, I didn’t get one,” Taehyung says looking around, somewhat confused and a little suspicious. Something’s going on. He just doesn’t know what exactly.

“Oh I didn’t know you were back already, this is the last one,” Jimin says, handing him a name slip, failing to hide the evil grin on his face. “Okay, let’s get this started!”

About ten minutes into the game, you are already feeling the buzz. Whatever Taehyung gave you is pretty damn good now that you’re drunk enough to not taste the alcohol. Meaning, you’re drinking more than you’re paying attention to the game.

Needless to say, you’re a little spaced out until you hear someone say your name. You look up and make eye contact with Taehyung from across the room.

He chuckles awkwardly and sits up. “Of course,” he mutters under his breath, not-so-silently cursing Jimin at the same time.

Taehyung has my name?

“Oh, please go on. We can’t wait to hear what you have to share,” Joon grins as Taehyung responds with a death glare.

The room goes silent in anticipation of what he’s going to say, especially your shared friends. They’re watching very intently as Taehyung takes a swig of his drink and curses again.

“Ten out of ten would bang,” he announces, pausing for a quick moment to take a shot along with everyone else, but you. You’re too awe and unable to do anything but gawk at him as he continues.

“But also ten out of ten would care for you afterward, ten out of ten would let you stay over, ten out of ten would tuck you in, ten out of ten would cuddle the shit outta you in bed, ten out of ten would make sure you fall asleep okay, and ten out of ten would make you breakfast in the morning.”

You’re sure you look crazy with your eyes popping out and your jaw nearly on the floor. Everyone else’s reaction pretty much mirrors yours. Everyone except Sana who is squealing like crazy next to you. A few of the girls glare at you as the guys whoop and holler.

You’re unsure how you feel about what just happened. If it even happened. Or if you somehow hallucinated the whole thing.

Did Taehyung just confess? Does that even count as a confession? Or was he just playing along with the game? Did the room get smaller? Why the hell is it so hot in here?

You take a deep breath, remembering that everyone’s eyes are still on you since it’s your turn, and yet you’re frozen in your spot.

Do they expect you to say something before you take your turn? Do you even want to say anything? Maybe he was joking, maybe you could laugh it off. Or maybe he meant it… What if he meant it?

You fiddle with the piece of paper between your fingers before deciding to unfold it and get on with it so you can get the hell out of this small room.

“Um. Woojin, six out of ten,” you spit out as quickly as you can and immediately get up to leave. You don’t even know where you are going, just following where your feet are taking you.

You have two options; you can either leave and face the wrath of Sana when she comes home - if she comes home - or you can hide somewhere until you can come up with a better plan while you attempt to sober up. The latter is what your subconscious goes with as your body stumbles upstairs to find an unoccupied bedroom to hide out in.

The first one was not locked but definitely should have been. Thankfully you didn’t see too much of the two who you found in a compromising position, and thankfully they probably won’t remember the incident in the morning either.

Fortunately, the next room you barge into is free. After shutting the door, you lean up against it and close your eyes while you focus on your breathing. Your heart is still racing as you try to not think about what happened downstairs.

Feeling calmed down enough, you open your eyes and look around. The first thing that catches your eye is the band posters that cover the wall. Everything from Sinatra and Dean Martin, to The Doors and The Rolling Stones, to Bad Omens and Bring Me The Horizon.

Whoever this room belongs to has good taste. For being a boy's room, it’s pretty clean too. Yeah, there are clothes spewn here and there, but it isn’t any worse than the state that you left your own room in.

Sighing, you sit on the edge of the bed and cover your face with your hands.

What now?

"Yeah, sorry to ruin your moment or whatever, but my room is off-limits. If you’re gonna puke or pass out I’d rather you find somewhere else to do it.”

You lift your head to see the one and only person you did not expect to see in your current confused state standing in the doorway. “Taehyung.”

“Oh,” he says, “It’s you. How did you know this was my room?”

“I didn’t. I was hiding.” Shit, you weren’t supposed to say that.

“Oh…” he says again, shutting his door so the noise of the party lessens. He walks over to sit next to you on the bed, "I was looking for you. After you, uh, ran out.” He hesitates to see if you say anything. You don’t.

“Look,” he begins, “I don’t want to make things awkward. I know we’re friends. Sort of. When we’re not trying to murder each other and all that. But I’ve been into you for a while now and I just can’t hide it any longer. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to take you out sometime."

Once again, you’re gawking.

"Oh god, are you gonna puke or something?” His eyes are panicky as he looks around the room for something you can use in case you do.

“No! No, I just, ahh…” It’s now or never, “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I am.”

"And did you mean what you said earlier?” You say, referring to his confession in The Blue Room. You try to hide how hard your heart is pounding inside your chest. Just as you would have to hide how hurt you’re going to be when he says the inevitable.

“Well…” He trails off, and you prepare for the worst.

He wasn’t serious, it was some kind of joke, you misheard him, there was another person with your name in the room-

“Hello? Are you sure you’re not going to puke? You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine, was it a lie, just for the game?” you say leaning towards his body, his inevitably doing the same. “Or were you being honest?”

“I was being one hundred percent honest. And I still am. I like you, a lot. As hard as that is for me to admit.” His hand grazes yours and rests on top of it. He was half expecting you to pull away and run out of the room but is more than happy to realize that isn’t the case. Maybe you feel something too. His eyes burn into yours as he awaits your response.

It’s hard for you to admit your feelings as well. If you weren’t both so perfectly stubborn and bull-headed, you might have made this conclusion a long time ago.

You hate to admit that. You hate being wrong.

But Taehyung doesn’t feel wrong to you. His hand on yours feels so…right.

"Good,” you sigh in relief, finally giving in to your heart. You lean in closer and lightly brush your lips against his, pulling back to gauge his reaction.

Taehyung’s breath hitches. The moment you pull away he hastily stands up and moves to his door, his back pressed flat against the wooden surface while the angel and devil on his shoulders argue.

Fuck, he wants you. But he knows you’ve been drinking. And he would never put you in this position and knows how much he would hate himself if you woke up the next day regretting your drunk self’s impulsive decision.

“Don’t do that to me, fuck. I won’t be able to resist. I want to take you out first. You deserve to be taken out on a date first,” he says, running his hands through his hair. You get up and walk towards him. “Several dates. Shit.”

“You still can. But, you know, after you fuck me*.*” Feeling confident, you take another step closer to him. And then another. Until you are pressed up against his chest, listening to his heartbeat as your lips hover over his neck. Finally, his hand grabs the side of your face, pulling you in before he unleashes his lips onto yours. Teeth, tongue, and all.

“This is wrong. This is so wrong.” He moans after pushing you up against his closed bedroom door, “Are you sure? Are you drunk?” You roll your eyes.

“Stop trying to talk me out of this,” you whisper while leaving wet kisses along his jawline. You’ve waited too long. There’s no way in hell you’re stopping now. Lifting your head and looking into his eyes, you continue, “I didn’t drink that much. I want this. I want you.”

He groans and presses his lips into yours yet again. “I swear this wasn’t my intention,” he says after pulling back.

You kiss him hard, but your quick attempt to shut him up doesn’t work.

“I promise it wasn’t,” he blurts, “I was just being honest, you know the rules of the game.” He pulls you close again as his lips flutter around your neck, causing an airy sigh to escape from your parted ones.

“No more talking. Please.” You pull his face back up and let his lips harshly reattach to yours. He proceeds to kiss you, slowing down when you try to speed things up.

“I just need you to know that I didn’t plan for this to happen,” he repeats.

“Taehyung!” You whine as your eyes tell him to stop worrying about it, “Shut up and kiss me.”

“I need to hear you say it. I need to make sure I’m not dreaming.”

You pull back slightly from his embrace to tug your shirt off, “Tae please,“ you beg between kisses, the slick from your heat seeping through your thin underwear, "Just fuck me already.”

And just like that, the switch in his mind flips.

Taehyung wastes no time lifting you, bringing your clothed center up against his. You moan into his mouth feeling his hardness pressing into you through his jeans.

Your senses tingle, from the way his hands are holding your jaw, how his scent encompasses you, the roughness of hips grinding against yours, and finally - from the way his kisses deepen with urgency as he carries you back over to his unmade bed.

Once there, he leans you down gently before hovering over your body, letting his hands run along your hips as they make their way to the front of your pants. His fingers tease the skin alongside the waistline of your checkered jeans as he frantically works to undo them, pulling them and your panties off simultaneously.

Your eyes meet as his hand slides slowly up the inside of your legs, right up to your center. One of your hands covers your mouth as his fingers weave their way through your dewy folds, and dive deep into your core.

He grins wolfishly as they curl with each small thrust into you, and soft mewls pour out from your parted mouth. “That’s it, let me hear you,” he praises as his fingers continue their divine torture.

“Oh my god, Tae,” you cry out, reaching for him as his fingers quicken. “Closer. I need you closer to me,” you pant, grabbing his shirt in the process and ripping it open, giggling unapologetically as you hear the small buttons hit the floor.

His lips close around your earlobe, sucking slightly as his fingers continue gliding in and out of you, “You owe me a new shirt.”

“Consider it payback for the fountain.”

“Payback, shmayback,” he grins while pressing his thumb up against your clit, pulling a gasp from you.

“Oh shut up already and put your mouth somewhere it matters,” you say slyly while non-so-subtly pushing his head down your torso until he understands your intention.

“Yes, ma’am,” he breathes before tasting you. His tongue sliding between your folds is nearly enough to send you spiraling. And as if it isn’t enough already, Taehyung reinserts two fingers into your heat as he laps at your delicate clit, bringing you closer and closer with each lick.

The taste of your sweet center has his rock-hard member twitching in anticipation, but he refuses to rush this. He wants nothing more than for you to come all over his face.

He deserves it.

You deserve it.

Soon enough you’re shaking from your very core as the waves rip through your body. Taehyung presses your hips down as he takes all your body has to offer him.

“Holy shit,” you pant, that was undeniably one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had.

He releases your center with a loud smacking sound and leaves delicate kisses on the inside of each of your thighs, admiring the goosebumps he causes on your velvety soft skin, before moving upward to reattach his lips to yours in a sweet, yet needy, embrace.

Taehyung wraps his arms around you to unclasp your bra while you catch your breath, giving special attention to the soft mounds now held in his hands. Your fingers twist through his hair as his tongue decides to flick one of your nipples before covering it entirely with his mouth. He swirls his tongue around them slowly and gently biting down just enough to hold the hardened nub between his teeth.

“Mmm, I want you,” he whispers, working to undo his own pants this time.

You breathe heavily, “I want-,” the rest of the words caught in your throat as you take in his length. You never expected him to be lacking in that area, but he definitely is larger than what you had anticipated.

“Like what you see?” he smirks, rather enjoying how you gape at him.

“Yes.”

Taehyung swallows hard; your honesty turns him on even more, if that’s possible.

“First things first,” he says, pulling away to grab a condom from his nightstand. You stop him.

“No, I want to feel you. All of you.”

He looks at you quizzically.

“I have an IUD, there’s nothing to worry about. Unless this is your way of telling me you’ve got…something?”

His eyes burn into yours, and he growls “No condom then,” quickly shutting down your question.

Grabbing your hips and holding them in place, Taehyung runs the head of his cock through your damp folds, then slaps your center with his throbbing tip, teasing you once more before he sinks deep into you without another thought.

Watching the way your lower stomach fills out as he pushes all the way into you only adds fuel to his fire. Right now, in this single instant, he owns you. And he’s going to make sure you know it.

Your fingernails dig into his biceps while he stretches you out in the most perfect way, gasping when he quickly removes himself and slams back into you.

“Oh fuck,” he moans, “You feel so good baby, so much better than I could have ever dreamed.”

You wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him in deeper if it’s even possible. Taehyung shifts his weights and thrusts into you at a new angle, one that practically makes you see stars.

“Right there, yes. Yes!”

Biting into his shoulder when it becomes almost too much, you use your legs and push on his chest to flip him over so you’re on top, riding him at your own naughty pace.

Taehyung’s hands rest on your hips as you glide on top of him. His thrown-back head and mouthful of colorful words should be enough to prove how much he’s loving this, how much he’s loving you.

But as much as he adores watching your beautiful face twisting and turning with pleasure from below, and your perfect tits bouncing with each swift movement of your hips, he needs to be in charge right now before he loses his mind this early into the long night that awaits you both.

Whipping you around, he hovers over top of your backside and pulls your ass up against him. “Tell me you’ve never had better,” he demands while wrapping an arm around your waist as he pounds into you again from the new position. “Tell me how much you’ve needed me and my cock,” he growls into your ear with one hand moving up towards your neck.

Words are impossible at this point, your head is spinning with too many thoughts of how wonderful you feel and how hot he is in bed.

“Tell me!” he says again, gripping your neck tighter, his long fingers wrapping around your jawline.

“N-no one’s cock is better than yours,” you gasp, his pace picking with your obedience to answer just how he wanted. “No one’s,” you repeat, your eyes rolling back into your head as your insides start to coil.

He releases his hand from your neck and you forget about its whereabouts until there’s a sharp sting on your ass, that’s when you realize the sound that echoes through the room is from his hand cracking against your cheeks. “Mmm, again,” you beg, loving the after effects his spanks have on your body.

Taehyung doesn’t have to be told twice and marks you again, softly massaging the area where his red handprint remains afterward.

Your heated breaths blend as your bodies dance together on the edge, waiting to fall into perfect bliss. He flips you over one last time, wanting to face you as you come undone around him.

Taehyung leans over and nuzzles into your neck, letting his senses take over his body as he pulls you closer and closer toward white, hot pleasure.

“Oh my god!” you scream as the coil deep inside you finally snaps, sending electric sparks through your body.

Taehyung could have died and gone to heaven feeling your insides spasm and clench around him. He grits his teeth as he pumps his seed deep inside you.

His body weight falls on top of yours, energy totally spent.

You find yourself drifting off to the sound of his breathing that matches yours, and fall into a light slumber with your bodies still entwined.

The sound of sirens abruptly awakens you. Rubbing your heavy eyelids, the room flashes between red and blue as the police car lights shine through Taehyung’s second-story windows. You try to sit up but are pulled down by a heavy arm.

“Mmmm,” Taehyung mutters beside you, “Party’s crashed, it’ll quiet down again in a sec once everyone’s out.” His raspy voice tickles your neck and his hand slides down your side, resting on your hip.

A loud crashing sound followed by mumbling voices and footsteps moving outside his door wakes Taehyung up more.

“Everyone out besides residents. Time to go home!” an officer yells in the distance, and more footsteps echo as the house empties.

He sits up and listens, falling back down into bed next to you when he hears the familiar sound of the squad car door closing and driving off to find the next college party to bust.

Thinking it’s probably time to leave yourself, you reach for your shirt that’s hanging from the desk chair near his bed.

“What are you doing?”

“Isn’t it time for me to go?”

“No.” He leans on a bent arm, the other reaching for you to pull you back into his warm embrace. “Do you want to go?”

“No,” you breathe.

“Then stay,” he whispers before kissing you again.

The rest of your late night together is soft and sensual, filled with loving gazes, slow movements, and shallow panting as you lay together as one.

You find yourself getting lost in his touch, every nerve in your body blazes with pure passion this time.

Taehyung whispers your name and wraps your hands in his, pulling them up above your head.

Each roll of his hips draws silky moans from your parted lips. Heat radiates from where hands gently grip your thighs as you writhe beneath him.

You claw at his back, completely and utterly lost in the pleasure as you take the plunge into another mind-blowing orgasm.

He loves how your body reacts to his touch. He loves how you squeeze around his cock, quivering uncontrollably around him as he finds his own wonderful release.

He pushes into you once more before letting himself go. Your head swirls as he fills you with his seed, while your heart pounds to the same rhythm as his.

Taehyung’s pace slows as you tremble around him, he finds it hard to quit thrusting. He doesn’t want to forget this, doesn’t want to waste a moment where he’s not buried deep inside you.

You feel the same way, feeling full in more ways than one, and your heart flutters when you make this realization. Taehyung completes you.

Once his breath returns to its normal rate, he pulls out slowly and watches in admiration as his seed leaks out from your center, dripping between your folds.

He freezes with his eyes glued to the mess he created inside of you, wanting to burn this image into his memory forever.

Taehyung gives in to his sudden urge and uses the pad of his thumb to massage your sensitive heat. Sensually, he pushes the remaining cream back into you, wanting it to stay inside you forever.

He eventually lays back down and pulls you on top of him, the exhaustion starting to set in. His lips leave precious kisses along your cheeks, jawline, and neck before attaching to yours. He sighs contently and rests his hands on the curve of your lower back, satisfied with the way your body conforms perfectly against his.

You lay there, enjoying the blissful moment until you take in what just happened. You have no regrets, Taehyung was everything. But your head is still spinning as thoughts like ‘what does this mean’ and ‘where do we stand now’ float through your brain.

Your heart rate picks up as you start to feel a small sense of panic take over. You need to clear your head and clean yourself properly. A shower. That’ll help.

You’re sweaty, sticky, and still covered in a combination of yours and his cum, yet Taehyung refused to let you roll off of him, "Stay, you’re warm.”

“I’m gross, and I could use a shower,” you say, glancing at him, “if that’s okay…”

“Yeah, absolutely,” he nods as you move off of him. He gets up, presumably grabbing you some clothes. He digs around in his dresser before pulling out a pair of clean sweatpants and a t-shirt. “Here, and there’s the bathroom.” He says pointing to the door that’s to the left of the bed, “Make sure you lock the other door, it’s attached to Yoongi’s room. I’ll join you in a few.” There’s a sudden skip in your heart as you watch him slip his jeans back on and lean down to kiss your cheek. Biting down a creeping smile, you give him one final wave before leaving his room.

Taehyung heads downstairs to grab a glass of water. The party is long over now after the bust and he steps around empty cups scattered down the steps.

As he makes the turn into the kitchen and reaches for a glass, to say that he was surprised to be greeted by Jimin and his know-it-all face would be a straight-faced lie. Exhaling, he closes the cabinet door.

“Don’t even say it,” Taehyung warns. He has more important things to listen to than Jimin’s ‘I told you so’s’.

"Say what? I have no idea what you mean…” he smirks. “Okay I lied, I told you! I totally told you she was into you. You’re welcome by the way.”

It takes Taehyung a few seconds to comprehend where his friend is going with that.

“Oh my god! I should have known. You purposely gave me her piece of paper during the game!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Don’t you have someone waiting?”

“You think you’re so sneaky, don’t you?”

He grins coyly, “Maybe just a little bit.”

Feeling the sunshine’s warmth on your skin wakes you up at daybreak. You stretch and snuggle back into the cozy bed. Taehyung is still snoring softly beside you, unbothered by the sound of the birds awakening.

You admire his face as he sleeps, while memories of your steamy shower late last night drift through your mind. He took extra care of you, washing your body head to toe, massaging your scalp as he shampooed your hair, and leaving warm kissing on your skin after drying you off. Of course, that was all after he held you against the glass wall of his shower and did more sinful things to your writhing body. Shuddering as you remember the filthy things he whispered to you while doing those things.

You ignore the heat pooling between your legs from the recollections of Taehyung’s long fingers and where he put them, among other things, and internally groan instead realizing you need to make your escape now before the rest of the house wakes. Before you’re caught.

And if Sana stayed over too, you’ll never hear the end of it.

The walk of shame is not something people typically look forward to, especially when you’re leaving a frat house of all places. It’s a double-shame kind of moment.

You have one leg over him and are almost able to touch the floor to make your great escape.

Taehyung peeks between his barely parted eyelashes and smiles slyly at how unaware you are. His arms close around you quickly just as your foot skims the floor, immediately pulling you against him so your face is only a mere couple of inches away from his.

“And where, pray tell, do you think you’re going?” he says with a gruff morning voice that sends another wave of heat to your center. Your cheeks flush pink as you squirm, feeling his morning wood along your thigh.

"Oh, um. Hi-”

“Oh don’t do that.”

“Do what?” you ask as you try to wiggle out of his arms, but his iron grip doesn’t allow for that.

“Acting all shy. Nuh-uh. Not allowed. Not after last night,” he announces, tugging you in for a quick kiss while his fingers tickle your side, which causes you to wriggle against him even more.

He lets out a groan and his hips involuntarily buck up into yours. That’s when you really feel him.

It’s your turn to grin wolfishly. “Oh, sorry about that,” you taunt as you press your center down onto him again and circle slowly before sitting up on your knees, leaving him between your legs wanting more contact, needing more of you.

“Fuck, you can’t just grind on me and then stop, baby. Please keep going,” he begs as he juts his hips up looking for some kind of friction.

Taehyung stills and moans uncontrollably as you palm his hardening length through the fabric of his sweatpants, and it’s nearly enough to make him see stars when you reach inside to feel him.

His voice shudders when you pull him out from the waistband of his pants. Your pointer finger glides along his satiny skin, across the vein popped out from your touch, and up to his tip to wipe the small, white dribble away.

“Ready so soon? Thought you’d be spent after last night,” you tease, knowing very well he’ll pounce on you at any moment once given the okay. He watches in awe as you bring your finger up to your lips to lick it clean.

“Mmmm,” you hum, “maybe I should take another taste first…” You bend down to lick along his length this time.

“Oh god,” he grunts, his husky voice full of desire.

Taehyung thanks the universe for not coming undone the second your sweet mouth encompasses his length. He pushes the hair out of your face so he can watch you bob up and down, your hands covering the lower part of his shaft that won’t fit in your mouth.

You press down into him as far as your body lets you, swallowing his hugeness with pride.

His hand grips your hair to your head still as he moves inside you. Slowly at first, not wanting to hurt you, but picking up the pace nonetheless, loving how you choke around him.

He pulls out of your mouth and you gasp for air, drool dripping uncontrollably from your swollen lips.

“Open,” he rasps, holding back until he’s able to place his throbbing head on your tongue and shoots his release into your throat with a loud moan.

His body trembles as the tip of your tongue dances along the underside of his head. He gasps when your lips close around him and you work to suck the rest out of him.

His whole body shudders when you release him, the pain of being overstimulated mixing deliciously with the pleasure you make him feel. He lets out one last breath before collapsing beside you, totally drained.

You lay in bed as the sun rises up high in the sky, holding each other as you talk quietly about whatever crosses your minds, laughing every so often when one of you disagrees with the other, all while you wait to regain the energy to start your day officially.

Meaning it’s nearly noon by the time you crawl out of bed.

“C’mon, I’ll make us something to eat. You like french toast?”

The boys on the sofa ignore you as you walk behind them on your way to the kitchen with Taehyung, or so you think they do.

“Oh yeah, just like that Tae. Oooh,” Yoongi teases once you’re out of the living room, using a girly voice that is supposed to mock yours.

“Fuck, keep going, baby.” Jimin tries to imitate Taehyung but does so very poorly. Still, the overly smug look on his face taunts you childishly.

Taehyung grabs something out of the fruit bowl and whips it at them. “Go fuck yourself with that damn banana Jimin,” he hollers, muttering curses under his breath.

Awkwardly, Jimin picks up the banana that hits him in the back of the head and frowns, “Way to ruin bananas for me. Thanks.”

“As if that’s gonna stop you,” Seokjin laughs as he comes down the steps, joining the conversation. Jimin scowls. Namjoon loses it on the recliner, laughing so hard he’s not making a single sound, which in turn causes everyone to laugh with him.

“Don’t mind them, they’ve clearly lost too many brain cells,” he tells you after lifting you onto the counter next to his workstation. He turns to grab the ingredients he needs out of the fridge, and you realize with a sense of adoration, you could get used to this.

©shadowkoo 2023. All rights reserved.

#kvanity #kim taehyung #taehyung #taehyung x reader #kth x reader #taehyung x you #kth x you #fratboy!taehyung #taehyung smut #taehyung e2l #taehyung au #taehyung oneshot #kth oneshot #kth fanfic #taehyung fanfic #taehyung fic #kth fic #v oneshot #v fic #v fanfic #v smut #bts oneshot #bts smut #bts fic #bts fanfic

[pinkaditty]

Could we have some after-sex headcannons with Rook and MC? I feel like he's the type of guy to bathe in the afterglow

okok anon i know it's been like ten thousand years since i received this ask but please know i never forgot abt you and i love you for submitting an ask <3

cw: mention of sex, implied sexual encounters, implied and mentioned threesome, penetrative mention, and i think that's all!

a/n: woooooo answering asks!!! i will answer others in the coming weeks i PROMISE i see your asks and i will deliver! <3 my reqs are open so please feel free to ask me anything!!! :)

MINORS DNI AS USUAL! PLEASE RESPECT MY BOUNDARY! PLEASE!

first off anon you're TOTALLY RIGHT Rook 1000% bathes in the afterglow and just lays there for a moment after his orgasm bc he always makes sure he's last, prioritizing your orgasm.

sometimes he doesn't even need to get off, fully satisfied after he's made you finish however many times you requested or he felt like doing

definitely is an aftercare person, but he's not immediate with it. he takes his time, slow and steady with it.

he'll kiss you a few times on your forehead, cheeks, nose, and chin, thanking you for the enjoyable time and experience

he'll hold you close too, regardless of how naked the two of you are. he's going to squeeze you flush against him.and y'all will just lay there for like. half an hour or something. he won't deprive you of aftercare too long.

then he'll get up for a while, and though you miss his warmth, he's running a warm bath for you so it won't be long.

once it's filled to the brim of warm water and all the right skin products to create the perfect bubble bath, he either walks you or carries you to the bath and gently places you in there.

no, he's not joining you, at least not immediately. he's bathing you. literally stroking his hands across every nook and cranny of your skin and I mean everywhere. Literally.

once he's bathed you, he might join you, happy to cuddle you in the warm water and wash your hair or have you bathe him in return.

maybe another round lol

after the bath, he picks you up out of there, dries you off, helps you with your hair before taking you back to his room and sitting you on a comfortable stool while he washes the sheets ofc and then makes his bed and puts you right back in the comfort of his sheets

bottom line he DOES NOT let you lift a finger lol like he's not gonna! not at all! even if he got his back blown out via pegging or fucking or what have you… he will not let you lift a finger. he's servicing you and that's that.

ok i want to entertain the possibility of Vil being present lol sooooo…

if you all had a threesome Vil is also helping pamper you except he absolutely joins you in the bath and the two of you wash each other as Rook helps wash your hair

Vil also is probably the fastest recovering and definitely will initiate a second round in the bath should he have both yours and Rook’s consent

he'll also go and run the bath if Rook is still cuddling you

he's just slightly more busybody not really his fault he'll still love to cuddle you

also after the bath he'll make sure to take you step by step through his skincare routine

maybe he'll practice makeup with you and Rook if you have the energy

if not he'll just cuddle with the two of you and either rest and enjoy each other's company or watch one of his father's movies or something like that

very pleasant experience either way

a/n: lol i might do this for other characters too bc this was kinda fun?? also im sorry if this like isn't up to par 😭😭 i am thinking about redoing it to be honestttt but just lmk if you'd like a redo im happy to oblige!

ofc as usual shameless bit that I love love loooooove reblogs, comments, and asks!! please let me know what you thought! I love to cater to you!

#minors dni #twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland smut #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst smut #twst wonderland #twst rook #twst vil #vil schoenheit #vil x reader #vil shoenheit x reader #vil twst #vil twisted wonderland #rook hunt #rook x reader #rook twst #rook hunt x reader #rook hunt twisted wonderland #rook hunt smut #rook hunt x mc #vil schoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit smut #vil schoenheit twst #vil schoenheit x yuu #vil schoenheit x mc

[sugar-petals]

𝖘𝖚𝖇!NCT ; { 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚍 | 18+}

[ # 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚜. ] domme/sub. oral sex. kinks. toys. breath play. semi-public sex.

⟨ AUTHOR’S NOTE. ❌ here’s to a 9-part hc, this time it’s the neos! 5k words total — at this point, i might just name my blog oral fixation central instead of pretty boy central. i picked members who i thought would suit the scenario best, from power bottoms to innocent subs: pick your preference from the little ‘feat’ list below ⬇︎ and if you like what i do: interact and/or reblog ♥︎ enjoy! x

[ + PAIRINGS.] crop top!mark, shy!taeyong, poly soft sub!shotaro, hard sub!yuta, experienced!jungwoo, tease!yangyang, trophy bf!xiaojun, service sub!johnny, pro!ten x femdom!reader respectively

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⇢ MARK 마크 - All about the eye contact while hugging your thighs. You’re comfortably reclined, playing with his soft flowy bangs. His shampoo smells so. Fricking. Good. He’s kneeling there, ass up, one hell of a sight. Why have one nice thing when you could have two at once? Mark eating your cake, you can check out his cake — and spank it later — it’s a win-win. Mark is the kind of guy who blurts out a thousand thoughts per minute, but when he eats you out, the laser focus he’s known for when rapping returns to its full glory. As if he could read your wants and wishes out of your gaze. If you want clit kisses, you get them. Still, Mark often confuses himself in typical style („Hold on, hold on! The towel goes here below, wait, I got it wrong!“), but! He is not confused by you. It’s more about figuring out his technique. Was more cautious at the beginning already, however not because he thought you were unapproachable or mysterious. Mark loves you very much and thinks you’re beyond hilarious. Which is why eating you out is constantly interrupted by mutual laughing fits, no surprise there. His tunnel vision can only last for so long! You make your boyfriend cry tears by making funny faces. He’s caught off guard. It’s good to lighten the mood. Being funnier than Mark is hard to pull off, which makes it even more rewarding to make his face glow from heat, thigh squeezing, and grinning. One hand on his cheek if you can reach, the other at the back of his neck. Mark has the softest peach fuzz on his nape, so satisfying to stroke. What starts out hasty or confused turns into comfy relaxation and trust, Mark knows how much it soothes you.

One scenario became his and your definite favorite. Mark got his driving license, parked in front of your home, honked, and had the audacity to sit there behind the steering wheel with a purple crop top on such a fine evening. Horny and intrigued immediately, all you did was stare during your drive to the take-out spot you like so very much. His hair had gotten pretty long, it was so cute. But Mark’s body was just as inviting, you wanted to touch and ravage and wreck him so damn badly. Mark barely made it halfway through the city that you asked him to drive off the main street. Innocent mind he is, your baby assumed you knew a shortcut through the traffic. Mark winds up stopping the car incredulously somewhere close to an empty laundromat store, this area of the city was fast asleep and abandoned. When you whispered you wanted to fuck him, Mark’s jaw simply dropped. A perfect exercise for what was about to— come. Perfectly sat on his face, you were deepthroating a whiny Mark laying on the backseat seven minutes later, sucking him off in a proper rhythm, seamless, with Mark nipping and dipping his way into your heart from behind. Mark was ready to die fulfilled by getting crushed. He came down your throat so fast, you had to wait until you could ride him hard: A perfect opportunity to enjoy some more chaotic rapper tongue action before, and moaning out loud when you came on his face. Since you were only getting started but Mark was dizzy with love, you took matters into your own hands and went for the ride of your lives.

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⇢ TAEYONG 태용 - Insecure and shifty-eyed at first, both hands trembling in the pockets of his grey hoodie. Leader Taeyong mode: Disengage. Listening well is his guideline here, he relies on bits of praise and your instructions („More to the left — yes… feels good“) to know what works. Sub training is the word. Since he’s more of an intuitive lover who prefers not to jump right into it, Taeyong will build the scenario rather carefully with your orders in mind. Morning, noon, or night, doesn’t matter. The time spent gearing up, arranging his room with the right lights and a movie to watch first, the mood at the moment, that’s time well-spent. Impressionable Taeyong is a perfectionist of staging something in every sense of the word. His tendency for theatrics and hot as fuck eyebrow expressions extends to licking you up when his new mixtape plays. Even when he’s fucked-out from the day, he still reserves this energy for his one and only. Getting better and to the point as he progresses is always the bar. The hoodie stays on. The inhibitions come off. Once he gets going and the playlist switches to Baekhyun, Taeyong sucks your clit like it’s your birthday. You reach the point of no return in one minute flat no matter how slow or fast he goes. Your sweet sloppy sub is well aware where the most sensitive nerve endings are and caters to your every throbbing, pulsing, and twitching of the legs. And if you’re insatiable, horny at 7 in the morning again, Taeyong will drop everything he does and climbs back into your bed to play with your wetness at the tips of his fingers, sucking them rigorously like the true cumslut he is. The scent of his crisp aftershave will make you cum in no time, he smells so fucking good and masculine. This handsome man’s all yours.

Recently figured out how mommy cums as soon as he moans her name. So, he has to use it diligently, not too early, not excessively. You help him place his hands on the outer point of your hips, use his bubbling spit as lube, and show your boo how to angle his glorious jaw. Sooner or later, he almost looks like he’s posing in an expensive photoshoot, that’s how physical he is. Subspace is always just around the corner, so you make a habit of reassuring him that he sucks you off right, that you love this way of pleasure, that he’s good at it. Which is no lie. His tongue is flexible and versatile, to say the very least. And his room isn’t the only place where your little encounter goes down. Taeyong once drove you out to see his old school — you both just wanted to revisit the empty building for some memories. Taeyong got nostalgic, plus he loves to show you forgotten aspects of his life that few other people know. The sports facilities in particular. But eventually, you pressed Taeyong against a locker, heavily made out, and within a blink of his pretty doe eyes, his head was between your legs on an old bench. Your dirty talk was off the fucking charts. The pet names you were peppering him with, too. Three minutes after you hit the peak, Taeyong gladly heard the janitor’s keys click in a close-by room, so you just wound up hiding behind some trees of the school’s baseball field. Out of breath, the two of you. Jeez, did he dress you in record time, and jumped up, and showed you the door out. Those reflexes. While you wait for the janitor to leave, a very amused Taeyong shows you pictures of himself when he was enrolled on his phone… as if he didn’t swallow your every drop just minutes earlier. Yeah, he’s fascinating.

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⇢ SHOTARO 쇼타로 - Kissy lips, kissy face. Squeals with absolute joy when you offer him to have a go — don’t underestimate how much he worships your body. And how much he loves sex, long as it’s not too rough. Shotaro doesn’t like hard subbing, gentle femdom sounds more like it. He won’t risk anything… yet. Wait one or two years and he might as well be super freaky. Until then, no experiments, Yuta’s kinky influence has not corrupted him, but he won’t stop to take a breather either. The perfect mix of commitment and flirt, batting his puppy eyes at you constantly with a very careful mouth at work. Shotaro’s friendly impression is not going to be blown away all of a sudden, that’s not even reserved for moaning his soul out when you peg him. The only time the sweet smile wanes is when your baby feels like you’re not into it — before you even voice it to him. Shotaro is concerned concerned. „Wait! Should I do it differently?“ is the panicked response, and you cool him down for a solid minute with head pats. Making mistakes is what he fears most: Looking pathetic, degraded, embarrassed and unskilled. Needless to say, he’s not the type of submissive who likes humiliation, more points to soft subbing. You say, you’re Shotaro. How could you go wrong. You couldn’t look awful if you tried. Although `going with the flow´ is a washed-out phrase that’s far too simple as a motto, a little bit of calm and laissez-faire really works for him. Not interrupting himself, not checking if absolutely everything is done right, but going ahead and just working his tongue to get some feedback later.

Where he clearly excels is a polyamorous dynamic, romantic and/or sexual: Hear me out. Naturally, he needs no experience with it. He fits right into the mix, acting as a mediator and mood-maker between three parties. Three is good, although four or five is too much for Shotaro to handle, even if the pairs kind of split into couple units within one room. Like two here, three there, or something like that. It’s better to focus and galvanize all the attention on you without distractions or further chaos that would just make the situation uncomfortable. So, three it is. Not a gangbang, just a triad, and if it’s two girls he’ll pleasure at once, he’s right at home. Shotaro is so amicable, his winning smile could put anyone at ease. As I said, despite his lack of experience, he’s a natural. One girl gets to relish his gentle fingers circling and rubbing, the other girl will see his mouth do wonders at the same time. Actually, Shotaro is more confident with a third party around, it’s puzzling. Until you remember he’s part of frickin’ NCT: Their collective buzzing hive mind has likely programmed every member to be good at poly should they choose to try it — don’t ask why, just enjoy. Being around so many people made Shotaro a little awkward in a one-on-one setting, which doesn’t diminish his affection for his main partner, mind you. But you can definitely tell he thrives on poly dynamics, it feels like protection to him. Shotaro’s number one prowess of being able to please will come through immediately, and he’ll do anything to set up the room as romantically as possible. Scented candles, warm blankets, music. Everyone feels secure, and it’s a night you’ll ask to repeat soon. He’s the absolute sweetest, I know.

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⇢ YUTA 유타 - Enjoys you spitting on him beforehand. Properly. Degradingly, with no hesitation, anywhere across his face. Wastes no time submitting to your sadistic, tormenting deeds. Any viable spot in your living space will serve as a theatre for a great scene. Even the cold basement: You, facing any wall standing, Yuta chained and squatted between your legs to eat his meal from behind-below, begging to be crushed, suffocated. Rest assured you’ll feel warmed up in just two minutes. Nastiest groans between loud slurping noises ever. Moves his head side to side a whole lot. Other people around? „Don’t care“ — Yuta wants everyone to know he pleasures your clit superbly well. Likes, wants, craves the aid of ultra-fancy battery toys. Where’s the excitement, the literal buzz? He’s not happy if you don’t get one hell of a show, whipped cream included (yes, his secret weapon). And, you know… him wearing a red rope harness, even thin heels, hard to balance on as the extra challenge. Dressed for the occasion. Always knows, observes, notices when you love it and when you don’t, or if you think some technique is just eh, mediocre, maybe „time for an upgrade“. The upgrade is more tongue-flicking, by the way. Mister Quick & Sloppy knows what’s good. Yuta shows up carrying a little vibrator collection 70% of the time, some very handy electrical friends that he’s gonna use one after the other while you can just relax. Why just one toy when you could have even more sensations? Alternating with his energetic tongue, it’s an interesting method mix, freaky and experimental. So much more intense, and new. They didn’t lie when they said Yuta had vibes. The things he’s smuggled through crowded hotel lobbies with a stone-cold face just to get you off. And: The toys he ordered online, where Taeyong picked up the package, so Yuta lied it was just another boring game he bought to pass the time.

Looks at you very intensely with his head between your legs, and you wink back by habit. It actually flusters him profusely. Don’t underestimate Yuta’s ability to become extremely shy, this man has such a soft spot for his domme. Especially after she destroyed him totally… he loves it, going past his limits all the time. A cane is all you need to break him, only to get all the head you want with Yuta crying. Hard and mischievous shell, soft and whimpery core. One of the best pleasers, knows you inside out. Yuta has his intricately detailed knowledge about the ladies down. Plus his power bottom tendencies equal the amounts of sheer masochism he possesses: Mercilessly smack him across the face between streaks of sucking, right after he catches a breath, and he will be yours. Yuta will plead you to do it again and again. Never cared about shallow orgasms, wants to make you cum for real, it’s the same with him wanting to scream. Wishes there was a way for you to choke him out while he’s doing down on you, but your hands would reach him awkwardly, preferring to pull on his hair anyway: So he just clamps down on his own neck with one hand, circling your nipples with his spit-covered fingers using the other hand, that fucking perv. That Yuta is crazy you already know, but that he likes to pile on several sex techniques at once is a revelation. That he has the skills to do it is not. Sex god. Your nasty boy deserves to be ruined.

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⇢ JUNGWOO 정우 - Prince of chapstick, he feels super smooth. The face, the same. So soft. The prettiest. Prettiest boy to ever pretty. Long as it’s a chill environment and it’s mostly vanilla, he’s down for anything, your goofy sweetheart. Don’t laugh, you could even put on a random Sunday soccer match on his laptop. If there’s no intense penalty shootout and it’s a little monotonous, both teams equally strong so nothing really happens, that’s perfect as a relaxing backdrop with all the occasional commentary and fan chants, volume turned down by 80%. It would sound weird with any other guy, but Jungwoo makes it work. It could be any sports event, in fact. Ice hockey, billiards, whatever. Or music. Or him wearing a silky jersey himself while he goes down on you, his sporty side is such a turn-on. But no stress, no edge, just being sweet together and flirting a lot. He’s cute and hot and kind at once — the amount of facial expressions you’ll see is astounding. Likes the occasional deeper dive if you know what I mean, though not as in, ambushing you with crazy tongue twisters and whatnot. Deliberate is the word. Is not content staying all too superficial or messy, it has to be rhythmical and make sense, making you comfortable. You thought he would be chaotic, but Jungwoo knows exactly what to do, how to dip, so you don’t worry. Except that you’re an immensely possessive domme behind a generous exterior — with eagle eyes, for that matter.

Since your lil’ pup acts like he has done it before a couple times, and Jungwoo confirms he has experience, you feel a bit jealous and even go on bantering. „Enjoyed it?“ Yes, even if you wish you weren’t, you’re jelly. Jungwoo reacts with a sheepish and embarrassed face, he doesn’t want to spill the beans. What’s done is done, he protects the privacy of his exes, evades questions. You eventually calm yourself to take it easy, it’s none of your biz, although saying his past is his past doesn’t really work as a catchphrase for you: You have to make it crystal clear, have him close in, make him say „I am“ when you ask „are you mine, then?“ Despite his seductive come-hither gaze being a masterclass and his humor being outrageous, Jungwoo is a surprisingly patient lover, hating to just rush it or be inaccurate with his plush tongue. You can feel his adoration. And he’s upbeat. A reassuring smile makes your day, it helps you rid yourself off the stress. Every word you say is appreciated. He hates when someone walks all over their partner, it just isn’t right to him. Listening is more important. Jungwoo hates you being pent up, hates you worried or preoccupied. At work, he can deal with himself. At home, he will vent quickly when there’s a bigger problem, but he’d rather tune into you first. He’d do anything to make you feel like you got rid of your problems, he’s your escapist fantasy turned real. Jungwoo has no problem being considered just that. In fact, he wants it, knowing you can take it out on him in gentle ways: Hands in his soft blonde hair, swaying your hips, cumming when he kisses you.

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⇢ YANGYANG 양양 - Eating you out as his signature move? Well, well. Yes and no. Because seemingly, he does anything but: At first. It’s 99% endless teasing everywhere else on your body. Until, completely on edge, you guide his shoulders and have him get to work. With permission, of course, knowing he enjoys it. You wouldn’t hurt this cutie at all costs, though he likes his head controlled by you like this to begin with. So don’t worry too much, he isn’t made of cotton candy, even if his hair color sometimes suggests that. Ironically, it’s the other way around. He wants to taste your cotton candy. With your hands around his temples, holding him in place. Which makes for a sexy POV from both of your positions. Yangyang is working hard, why is he still so immensely eager, how much energy does he even have? It’s admirable how he can tease your body for so long with ghosting kisses and suggestive eye contact. Yangyang being the master of stamina might come as a surprise, but you know how it goes with Libra men. Pleasers till the end of time. That’s exactly why he indulges you so much in prep. Edging is his thing, though you tend to take back control by cussing him out for licking your ankles like a maniac. „What are you, a deprived Victorian man? You sexy fucking sucker, you, God damn…“ Insults make him squeal and laugh, and soon he’s back to the main event, anyway.

Now seriously, why does the cutie trail off so much? Which, granted, makes you even hornier. Propped onto your couch, Yangyang is humming and licking your thighs with that seductive, way too infuriating grin. Even munching on them when he’s extra cocky, up until you say you’ll fucking spank his soul out if he keeps on smiling like a devil. You’ll mark him up at full capacity, slap his butt, pinch his nose, swear you’ll tickle him until he taps out. But kinky Yangyang is not stopped by any threat of punishment whatsoever. What are you gonna do, smack his ass and hope he stops nibbling on your legs for good? If anything, he gets even more riled up and ready to stimulate you even more. Shit, your body’s on fire from all the attention it gets. So, good luck with this sheer untamable brat. He kisses your belly, sucks on your chest at random. Your fingers, too. The neck. The entire palette. Even the fucking ears. Yuta would be proud of Yangyang’s utter depravity. Little did you know it’s all a tastemaker. In your world, he’s increasing the suspense. In his world, he’s courting you, paying attention to all body parts, showing off what he can do with his lips. Oral sex? Nope, kissing first! Holy fuck, he’s absolutely fucking peppering you. You thought Yangyang was too intimidated to go down on you and delayed it, turns out you misunderstood. Guy is just the king of foreplay. And out of all head squad members? Surprise! His oral fixation is the most unruly and developed.

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⇢ XIAOJUN 샤오쥔 - Okay, prepare yourselves. Xiaojun is a little extra with those kind of things, to say the least. Not kinky, just particular. In fact, he is the type to use his whole damn face. Yep. Very deliberately, slow-mo, so you can see and feel everything. Yes, chin and all. His entire technique would appear lazy, uncoordinated and weird to an outsider, but from your perspective, he’s just nasty, he’s giving it his all: Which is exactly what you like. Xiaojun knows that you’re obsessed with the beauty of his otherwordly features from outer space, and he’s always generous with it — „I’m yours, that’s why“. So why not give it a shot, his mouth can only do so much! Does Xiaojun look down on anyone who sticks to the basics? Probably not, he’s too busy in his own relationship. Being perfect, being hot, being all you need, he goes the extra mile for everything. And that happens to include cunnilingus. The cheekbones, the nose, the forehead, even… You get to feel it, too, not just the lips doing their thing. He’s brave, he’s naughty, he’s sensual all at once. Wants you all over him, after all. Slathered up in your wetness, is this Xiaojun’s new makeup routine? It sure looks like it. The man is glowing for all the right reasons. 

There is a bit of vanity in his style. He’s your designated trophy boyfriend, after all. Gotta look and act the part, doesn’t he. Swipe his hair back while he licks you, put up mirrors for sexy time, doll himself up beforehand with soft and pretty clothes, even a few necklaces. No mediocre. Xiaojun is like Narcissus between your legs, but really, he’s just conscious of how he comes across: And who can blame him. That’s not a boyfriend. That’s a masterpiece. Xiaojun doesn’t need beauty standards, they need him! Few people can handle his awesomeness. Knowing you want his body, his fucking soul, he is all the more eager to satisfy your heated desires with no regard to form: Come as you are. Your PJs, work or uni clothes, naked, near-naked, whatever. He’s the one to look at. Xiaojun puts great emphasis in slow-paced presentation that matches some tender music in the background. It could go on for hours if you wanted. Dejun could do the juiciest and unusual things while a ballad is playing in the background, but you’re into it. Because it’s not torturously done, but well aware that you think he’s stunningly handsome, so he’ll indulge you. Looks good in any position, as one would expect. Enjoys it if you sit on him lots because he likes to be below, this overpowering angle. The same idea applies here: Torturously slow is the key. You’re a strict and controlled domme, that suits him the very best.

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⇢ JOHNNY 쟈니 - Sassy, sassy boy. Talks a lot at the beginning, 100k words friends to lovers. Is this Youtube? Johnny needs to know exactly what you want and how he can achieve it. Fair enough, he wants the juicy intel, all of your boundaries and soft limits, your ideas, your sweet spots, your no-gos and best ways to make you comfortable. And hey, that’s a smart and normal thing to do: He just does it all at once, like an essay. Wow. You can tell he thought about everything and wondered about everything. A caring boyfriend, if you think of it. The whole shebang is kind of cute. Johnny has no business being ignorant; nor does he like to disappoint his girlfriend. He already caught your attention with his tight shirt, in fact, he distracted you while you were going through your phone, so now he, um, takes responsibility for his banging body being so hot. „Do you want any snacks before, something to drink? Probably some water, right. Wait a minute, I’ll get it for you. Do you want warm water or cold water? Okay, cold, right. With a slice of lemon or without? Should we turn on the TV or some music? Which blanket do you prefer today, the lighter one or the heavy-duty?“

On it goes, it’s the service sub in him. This is like fucking Hotel Johnny Seo. He wants to be like a personal butler to you, except that said butler has some impressive dancer glutes and no suit on. Johnny really does leave nothing to chance and you appreciate it: Circumspect, as ever, and it’s important to be comfy before getting down to business. Johnny knows it always makes a difference when you’re warm and hydrated, so he keeps on asking questions to make sure it’s all set. But once he is engrossed, lips on your labia… the opposite is true. Why does he stop talking out of literal nowhere, what on earth is going on. Johnny’s dead silent, focused, in a different mindset. Unrecognizable. He barely even moves his body, even if there’s a lot to move indeed. God, is he fucking tall — a bit difficult to drape and position himself on the sheets, but he’ll manage. Kind of folding himself in half will do the trick. You already blew his literal back out with your strap the day before, so his spine’s like jelly anyway: Bending, not a problem. Once he kneels properly, it’s all tunnel vision. Although to be fair, he moans every now and then — which is very stimulating, to say the very least. Puts his spectacular lips to good use and, if he’s honest, wants to be „nothing but a sex toy“ (his words, verbatim!) that you can bend around to your delights. You were kind of confused by what he meant, so Johnny explained it. The point is that you can adjust him however you like and he’s there to give you a good time.

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⇢ ten 텐 - Red alert, the final boss is here. Let's make tonight your birthday. Ten’s piping hot sexual style puts any existing man, no matter how experienced, to a literal devastating shame. Because he has what? The flavor. It’s exceedingly difficult to put his energy into fitting words. Similar to Yuta, he flaunts some seriously rapid flicking tongue movements, but knows when to slow it down for a minute: Nuance! It’s exactly what does the trick. Despite his quick and accurate manner, he won’t overstimulate or overtake you. Overtaking in a sense of, being faster than the pleasure can arrive, which is a mistake he knows is frequently committed. Ten knows that going too hard doesn’t feel good, so he refrains from going on for a second round right away especially. „Fifteen minutes rest is due,“ is what he’ll say, laying down face to face on his side with you. Presenting his cute puffy lips, and also for a chance to look him in the eyes properly. Those cat eyes. They’re magnetic. After enough tension builds and you’re impatient, Ten dives off between your thighs again. Patience (with stamina) is a virtue and he has it. Paired with the most graphic dirty talk you’ve ever heard, Ten is fully in his element, hands in the right places, hair falling the right way, lips promptly sucking you up. If you know his Instagram, you know which bedroom eyes will await you. On the majority of days, Ten is the type who will crawl up to you from the edge of the bed like a feline. You don’t know what’s first to touch. Grab his ass? Cup his face? Pinch his waist? Fuck it, just do everything at once.

Not a fan of 69, he’ll dedicate himself fully to you. Twisting himself around is his job on stage, but he’s remarkably still once chest down in bed. Or the edge of the bathtub, whatever you fancy. Few angles are too awkward for ten. Talk about bathroom sex: He’s probably the only person on earth who mastered giving head in the shower. Even without a mat or towel under his knees, which is crazy. He stays stable as if by sheer magic, the floor being painfully hard and slippery doesn’t bother him, though you insist he use at least a small towel to kneel on when it’s not spontaneous oral. Ten is only focused on his task, nothing else fazes him. He trusts you with the temperature control, and if he’s getting waterboarded from above with the shower on? Then he’s getting waterboarded. Ten won’t care. He’s the goat, he knows he can breathe somehow, and he doesn’t want you getting cold — „just turn the valve, honey“. You often take precautions and turn on the bathroom heating way before, but Ten insists on his ways and can clearly see your goosebumps. Your right leg over your shoulder, your boyfriend eats you out from below with the water stream trailing right over his face. The divine baptism! You can squeeze, grind, and fuck his face stupid in the most erratic thrusts on the bathroom carpet ten minutes later for a solid round two. He wants to be completely at your mercy, laying there on his back, dripping wet long dark hair, getting you off hands-free. This guy lets you do anything. Any-fucking-thing. Ten is a legend.

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// FINAL NOTE. leave some feedback if you liked it 🍒 and for more content like this, browse my rec blog’s specifically dedicated sub!nct tag. have fun! 🙌

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similar posts: multi version /// bts version /// exo version

© 2017-2023 sugar-petals. all rights reserved. no reposts allowed. all depictions are fictional and for entertainment purposes only.

#nct smut #nct x reader #nct 127 smut #nct scenario #wayv smut #sub!nct #taeyong smut #mark lee smut #yuta smut #yangyang smut #ten smut #johnny smut #shotaro smut #jungwoo smut #xiaojun smut #nct scenarios #nct au #nct #dom!reader #nct imagines #flashing tw #mdni

[megamindsecretlair]

Break My Heart

Pairing: Javier Pena x Black!Fem!reader

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. You are in charge of your own reading experience. There is smut! PWP, PIV, size kink, kinda toxic, spanking, pet names. Non-inclusive language. Somes sentences are intentional AAVE. Apologies if I missed some.

Summary: You intended to spend New Year's Eve alone, per usual. But Javi's pestering convinced you to have a few drinks with the team. You want to remain strong and resist him but you aren't sure for how long.

Word Count: 3,421k

A/N: Ahhh, my first Pedro fic. This was intimidating! Even after watching more of the show. Be gentle, I'm sensitive 'bout it LOL. This was still fun and so hot and lordt, I need him so badly. Likes are always awesome. Please considering commenting and reblogging to help support writers!

Taglist: @nerdieforpedro @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @browngirldominion @thecookiebratz

“You’re coming to the bar with us, right?” 

You looked up from your desk to see Javi hovering over you, entirely too close. He knows you hate that. He’s always crowding into your space. Leaning too close, leaning that sinful ass on your desk, or bending down to turn those puppy brown eyes on you. 

He smelled like cigarettes and sweat. A combination that shouldn’t be so hot, but here you were. 

“No,” you said with a smile. 

“Come on, you’re hurting my feelings,” he said. He had a sleepy way of talking that immediately turned your thoughts dirty. Thinking of what he must sound like first thing in the morning. But that line of thinking was dangerous. You just hadn’t had a good fucking in a while. 

“Aww, you don’t have any feelings, Javi,” you said. You gave him an extra sugary smile and he huffed a laugh and looked around the office. He leaned his ass against your desk and you sighed loudly for his benefit. 

The office was noisy, filled with agents running around chasing down leads. With your complexion, you were relegated to the office. You were an agent in name only and it pissed you off. The higher ups thought that they could stick you in the ass end of South America and you’d quit.

Joke was on them. You loved the food here and there wasn’t a person alive that could get you to quit being an agent. 

“Maybe I’d have some feelings if you finally agreed to go out with me,” Javi said. 

You wrinkled your nose. You’d happily climb on Peña if he wasn’t such a slut. Not that you were in the market for commitment. The last thing you needed was to get caught up with someone, especially at work, when you were still trying to prove yourself to the agency. 

“I wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole, Javi,” you said.

Javier only licked his lips and smiled. His fingers played with a cigarette but all of his attention was on you. “So, what, I need to find an eleven foot pole?” 

You rolled your eyes and fought off your smirk. You didn’t need to encourage him. “What favor do you want this time, Javi?” You asked. 

“I want you to finally say yes! We’ve been working together for years and you won’t even give me the time of day,” he said. 

“Why would I do that?” You asked. Fuck it, the numbers were starting to swim in your head anyway. If Javi was good for anything, it was a distraction. You sat back in your seat and prepared yourself for the Javi show. 

He smirked and turned those puppy eyes up to a thousand. “You know we’d be good together,” he said. His voice even got deeper. 

You weren’t entirely immune to Javier Peña. There were more than a few times that you caught yourself staring at his ass. Or that damn black shirt that clung to him in all the right places. Your favorite time was when he got back to the office from chasing a lead all day. The way he got so flustered and sweaty. The way his hair would plaster to his head and he’d settle into the office with a deep sigh and a soft curse. 

You looked away from him so he wouldn’t see the downright lust in your eyes. No, you were not immune to Javier Peña but everyone knew his vices. You were not trying to be another notch on his belt. 

Your eyes roamed to the desk in front of you. In their infinite wisdom, the higher ups also put you in front of Javi and Murphy’s office. They thought it was real hilarious to wave the lonely Black woman in front of Javi the slut. They were itchin’ to ditch you. That also meant that no one else sat around here. The empty desk in front of you was a dumping ground for random files, donuts, or supplies.

There were times when people left random food there for anyone to snack on. Like now, there was a jar of pickles on the desk abandoned and swimming in pickle juice. You smirked and looked at Javi. 

“Javi, there is no way on the green earth that I would entertain this,” you said.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” He asked. 

“Because you’re a pickle,” you said and smirked. 

He laughed and shook his head. “What?” 

“A pickle! You’re like…community pickle,” you said. You waved your hand for him to catch your drift. He just stared at you, patient, focused. It was unnerving to be on the other side of that look. 

Your throat dried and you had the sudden urge to disappear. To leave that sight line. But you forged on. Maybe he’d get insulted and move on. “See that jar? You’re like those pickles. You’re on every burger, every sandwich, readily available,” you said.

Javier tilted his head. “Are you calling me a slut?” 

“Your word, not mine,” you said.

“I didn’t take you for someone who listens to rumors,” Javi said. 

You laughed. “Rumors? Javi, you scream it loud and clear for anyone to hear,” you said. 

Javi waved your comment off. He looked around the office and then slid closer. You leaned back, scooting your chair back. He wore a denim shirt, open at the collar, and his tanned skin showed through. You brought your eyes back to his, though that wasn’t any better. He was a danger to your sanity.

“Come on. Have a drink with me,” he said. 

You sighed and rubbed your head. “We already tried this, Javi,” you said. 

“When?” He asked, sounding offended. 

“Hmm, ‘bout six months after I got here. You asked me out, I said not on your life. We did that surveillance job together and you wore me down. Said let’s meet up and we never did,” you said.

Javi held his hand to his heart. “You’re killing me, princesa. I wouldn’t do that to you,” he said. 

A shiver ran through you and you hated it. You had to be strong around this man, though you really, really didn’t want to. “I’m not mad, Javi, it’s just in your nature.” You stood up and placed your hand on his shoulder. It was a huge mistake, but you pretended to be nonchalant. You tapped his shoulder and walked around him. 

You went to the wall of file cabinets and dug through for the next set of numbers you needed anyway. Javi followed you, getting even closer. He leaned against a cabinet and smiled. 

“I think you’re just scared,” he said.

“Scared of what?” You asked.

“Getting close to us. To me,” he said. His eyes dropped to your mouth. You almost couldn’t believe his audacity. 

You couldn’t help licking your lips and his eyes flicked up to yours. “If I go…”

“Yes!” 

“If I go, you’re buying all of my drinks and you’re keeping your hands to yourself. Got it?” You asked. 

“Scout’s honor,” he said.

“You’ve never been a fuckin’ Boy Scout,” you said.

Javi shrugged and smirked. “You never asked,” he said. He walked backwards, looking at you with that satisfied, smug smile on his face. “See you tonight!” 

Why not, it was New Year’s after all. 

Later that night, you were nervously walking up to the bar. It was a bar friendly enough to Americans. The air was balmy but comfortable and you opted for a short purple dress and short heels. Your purse swung on your shoulder and you mentally prepared yourself to see Javi off the clock.

You knew that other people would be there and you weren’t expecting any funny business, but it was still nerve wracking. You made a career of being ice cold because that was all anyone expected of you. The minute you laughed or - goodness forbid - showed a personality, the guys suddenly remembered that you were a woman. 

You walked inside to a raucous mix of Spanish and English. The words hit you even over the loud music, drinks clinking, and general rowdiness of the bar. You found your group easy enough. They took up an entire corner of the bar. Murphy saw you first. The huge white boy stuck out even more than you did but he seemed to make it work, despite not knowing a lick of Spanish.

He waved you over and you approached the table. Some of the other guys looked you over. Look it over, boys. You inwardly smiled. You knew that you had a great figure that you hid under ugly and boring business suits. It was rare that you got to go out in something pretty for once, so you might have spruced things up more than usual. 

Javi turned to see you, his eyes roaming over your outfit, and you felt the tips of your ears burn. You sat down, immediately swiping Javi’s beer and taking a sip. He let you, still not having said a word.

“Find this place okay?” Murphy asked.

You nodded. “Surprised to see you out too!” You had to yell over the noise but he heard you. 

“Only to show my face. Gonna head home and celebrate with the missus,” he said.

You nodded. You turned your attention to Javi who still hadn’t said anything. “Mad I stole your drink, Javi?” 

Like waking from a stupor, Javi shook his head. “Who knew there was a girl under there,” he said.

You shoved him and rolled your eyes but laughed along with the table. “I’m surprised you can recognize one with her clothes on,” you said.

The guys at the table erupted into laughter. Javi’s personal activities were a well-known fact by this point. Javi waved everyone off.

“Since we’re laughing, we might as well laugh about the prank on poor Murphy,” Javi said.

Your eyes rounded as Javi betrayed you to Murphy. Murphy’s jaw dropped as he looked at you. “That was you?”

“That was all Javi’s idea!” 

“You stand there and accuse me, but where were you at the time?” Oh, he sounded so innocent and wounded.

You tried to kick him under the table but he moved his leg at the last moment. “I was…” You tried to think of a good excuse for your whereabouts as you hid Murphy’s things while Javi kept him distracted. It was an innocent prank, but it had Murphy in a panic.

Everyone snickered and laughed while Murphy hunted and stalked around the office. It was a team effort and you tried to convey that without words while you looked at Javi.

“Wow, real nice,” Murphy said with a smile.

At least he was a sport about it. You glared at Javi but he only smirked. Ass. But it was the icebreaker you needed. The other guys warmed up to you and began to tell you wild stories about their hunt for the elusive Pablo Escobar. It seemed like no matter what they tried, Pablo already bought his way several steps ahead. 

You listened as they told you the sanitized version of some of the skirmishes they got into. How they found people connected to Pablo but each one was too scared to speak. How they were trying to work with the local police but Pablo had more than half of them on the payroll. 

It made you sick that someone could just pay their way to the top like that. It wasn’t lost on any of you that one wrong move and it was your ass. 

True to his word, Javi kept his hands to himself for the most part. He bought you drink after drink, until you finally had to stop and drink some water before you ended up stumbling home. No thank you. You did not need the hangover in the morning, celebrating the new year or not. 

Javi did other things. He shifted in his seat and always managed to brush against your bare leg. He would turn his whole body towards you when you were speaking and then turn completely around when you weren’t. He was driving you nuts and you wanted to smack him.

“What is your deal?” You whispered to him while the other guys were preoccupied with Murphy leaving. 

“You!” He said.

“Me?!” You smacked his arm. He rubbed his legs and took a deep swig of his beer. 

“Wearing that!” He hissed.

“What are you talking about?” Murphy was making his way around the table, saying goodbye individually. Any minute, he would make it to your side. 

“I just want to…rip that damn dress off. You tell me to keep my hands to myself and you come in wearing that,” he said. 

You reared back as if he’d slapped you. Javi had dabbled in harmless flirting since you met him. It was just how he interacted with women. Truly, you didn’t hold it against him. But the way he was acting right now…it was a mistake coming here.

Because of the drinks you had, the atmosphere, the celebratory mood…you suddenly couldn’t remember why you were fighting this man so hard. 

“It’s just a dress, Javi,” you breathed. Your heartbeat sped up in your chest, thumping in your chest painfully. Your hands shook and you rubbed the tips of your fingers together. 

“Like hell…” Javi started. Murphy made his way to the end of the table, shaking Javi’s hand and giving you a hug. 

“See you in the office.”

You smiled at Murphy but you had no way of remembering what you said. Your eyes were on Javi. His eyes were on you. 

“I’ll be back, bathroom,” you said. You scooped up your purse from the table and disappeared down the short hallway towards the bathrooms. The dim lights were actually a blessing.

You didn’t want to think about how you looked at the moment. You didn’t want to see if you looked as needy as you felt. You didn’t want your dirty thoughts projected all over your face for anyone to pick up on. 

You were careful. You were smart. You avoided Peña like the plague and you didn’t need to be here right now. 

A knocking on the door tore you from your spirling thoughts. “A second!” 

The knocking continued obnoxiously and you finally had to approach the door and open it a crack. “I said–” 

Javi pushed into the room, closing and locking the door behind him. “Javi!” 

Javi slammed his lips against yours, groaning once you made contact. You melted instantly, wrapping your hands around his shoulders and molding your body against his. He groaned low in his throat and pulled up your dress. His fingers dragged along your thighs and you sighed.

You were chasing relief. Your skin was feverish. The wet heat of the night did not mix well with the cheap beer you consumed. You felt like you were crawling out of your skin with a red hot need. Need for Javier fucking Peña of all people. 

“Tell me to stop, princesa,” he groaned against your lips.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare,” you moaned. His thick fingers were working magic on you, dagging along your skin and igniting a fire in your veins. His fingers found your panties and he yanked them down, nearly snapping the flimsy fabric. You kicked them off to the side, not caring where they ended up.  

Your hands worked furiously to unbuckle his belt, unbutton his jeans, and slide that zipper down. Your hands reached in eagerly, palming him, and he groaned. His lips descended on your neck, biting and licking away the gathering sweat.

You shoved his pants down low enough to free that dangerous dick you heard so much about. He was long and thick, easily backing up his claims. You see why he had so much sex. He was practically built for it. Sculpted for it. He was forged by the gods to hand deliver pleasure.

His hands squeezed your hips, slipping down to your ass to grab and pinch and yank closer to his body. He lifted your leg  and placed it over his hip. He rubbed the tip of his dick through your slick folds. He moaned and bit your neck.

“Fuck, princesa. Have you been sitting there wet for me?” His voice was so deep and dark and filthy in this dim bathroom. 

“Whole time,” you said, licking his lips and pulling him by the hair for another kiss. For a taste of those lips soaked in beer and cigarettes and something uniquely spicy and all Javi.

He groaned and finally shoved in roughly. Your head fell back against the wall as you cried out. He was so big and it had been so long and fuck, he felt so good. Why did you deny yourself this? Why would you do that? 

You panted in his ear as he slid out and then shoved back in. He was fucking you. There was nothing sweet about how hard he gripped your thighs, how roughly he fucked into you, or how loudly he groaned against your chest. He licked the top of your breasts, the part exposed from the cleavage of your dress. 

Javi sped up as if he couldn’t help himself. As if he needed to keep going, needed to stake his claim. He lifted your leg higher, spreading you wider, as he continued to pound into your pussy. 

“Oh fuck, Javi,” you moaned.

“Say it again, princesa. Again,” he moaned. 

“Javi, Javi,” you moaned as he pounded into you so fiercely, you were seeing stars as you came. Flooding his dick with your arousal. Filling up the tiny room with shrieks and screams. It was drowned out by the ruckus of the bar. Noise exploded as you assumed it finally turned midnight. 

This was a hell of a way to ring in the new year. 

“Love feelin’ this pussy, princesa,” Javi moaned. He slipped out and you cried out, needing him back inside. He kissed your cheek and smirked. “I wanna see that ass.” 

He flipped you over. He shoved you against the low sink to your right. Your hands gripped the porcelain as he thrust back inside. You bit your lip and moaned lewdly. You didn’t give a fuck who heard. 

Javi smacked your ass once, twice, three times as he continued to rut inside of you. You looked up at the dirty mirror and looked at his gorgeous, focused face as he pounded you into oblivion. 

“Fuck, fuck, right there, Javi,” you moaned. You brought your hand back to dig into his hair. You gripped his fine brown hair and pulled. Javi groaned and licked the shell of your ear, nibbling on it while his hips slapped into yours. 

“Javi, I’m–”

“Shh, shh, let me feel it,” he whispered in your ear. You finally exploded once more, cumming with a sharp vengeance that robbed you of all breath. Javi thrusted two more times before joining you, moaning as he unloaded inside of you. 

His cum stuffed you and he thrusted at least once more time with a groan. He dropped against you, kissing the back of your neck and shoulder. Your legs were noodles. Your thighs shook as you calmed down from such a rough fucking.

Screwing Javi was absolutely everything you imagined and it sucked. It was like tasting paradise knowing you’ll never return. It was cruel and you hung your head thinking about what everyone was going to say.

Something like this? Office fodder. And once they got a hold of it, they were not going to let you live it down. They would give him hi-fives and they would judge the hell out of you. Although with his dick still inside you, you couldn’t bring yourself to care too much.

Javi softened and slipped out of you. You cleaned yourselves up in silence. It was like that wild, crazy and burning need was finally sated. You could think straight for once, see more clearly and breathe easier. 

Javi zipped himself back up and you retrieved your panties, stuffing them into your purse. Javi sidled up to you, pulling your hips until you were too close. 

“You don’t have to do this, Javi,” you said. 

Javi nuzzled your neck and placed a soft kiss there. “Maybe I want to do it,” he said.

“You know this was the first and only time, right?” There was enough light to see him smirk. 

“We just gettin’ started, princesa,” he said with a wink.

The Secret Javier Pena Files - not sure if there will be more, but never say never.

#Megaminds Secret Files #The Secret Javier Pena Files #Javier Pena x Black!reader #Javier Pena x Fem!reader #Javier Pena x Black reader #x Black reader #Javier Pena x Fem reader #Javier Pena narcos #Javier Pena x reader #Javier Pena x you #Narcos fanfic #Narcos fan fic #Narcos fan fiction #Narcos fanfiction #Pickled Pena #Pickled Pena challenge #pickledpena #pickledpena potluck #pickled pena potluck

[bogleech]

The tumblr idea that privately DMing someone is somehow MORE aggressive/loaded that publicly arguing with them is SO WEIRD. Especially when you're a larger blog so if you publicly reply to them there's a decent chance that they'll get hate anons (which you will also be blamed for). The culture on this site is so fucked up sometimes

For real, if I'm DMing someone to disagree with them it is specifically because I am trying to be nice and give them a chance to talk about it instead of exposing them to tens of thousands of my followers with a reblog. And even if you're a tiny blog with almost no followers you never know what's going to go viral or get boosted by a more popular blog, even a bot blog that you accidentally set off. Coming at people in public is the asshole thing to do. Everyone should always DM first if they think the conversation is even slightly controversial and they wouldn't want to start a dogpile. All the way back to the days of private webforums, a complaint about someone in front of any number of strangers was assumed to be a deliberately ultra-hostile gesture.