I was made for everything I receive

'05, 🇨🇩

[whcfreak]

kim geonwoo boyfriend headcanons ꨄ︎

sfw : suggestive at the end : general : established relationship.

the type of boyfriend to genuinely love you. no mind games, it’s really obvious that you matter to him.

big on trust. he wants you to trust him as much as he trusts you. if you betray him even once, he will never forget it.

public pda: sure, but nothing extravagant. he’s okay with hand holding, soft kisses, long hugs — but make sure to make out in private, otherwise he’ll explode with embarrassment.

the type of boyfriend who has to bring you at least something small every time you go on a date. it starts with huge gifts, but when you’re dating for a while, it ends up something small you love. it’s his way of showing you how much he thinks about you.

calls you his “ lucky charm “ when you attend one of his matches.

if you appear out of nowhere at a match, this man wouldn’t stop smiling! you’re his biggest motivation.

if you’re also interested in matrial arts or generaly just like the sport, he won’t hesitate to teach you some basics!

loves to spend time with you a lot, especially when you get to be alone and do nothing. it’s really calming for him.

both big and small spoon. big spoon when he’s feeling protective or wants to comfort you - it’s a go to position, but he also adores when he gets to lay down on top of you, his head on your chest as you play with his hair or scratch his back.

feels sorry if you have to patch his injuries up, even if you insist. in his eyes, you don’t need to see him struggle.

the type of boyfriend to have his smile widen everytime someone asks about you. i feel like he’d lose himself in his thoughts while talking about how amazing you are sometimes.

his kisses might be a bit hesitant at the beginning of your relationship, because he still wants to make sure that he’s doing this right. later on, his kisses would be soft and addictive. where did he learn that..??

his mom adores you with her whole heart. you couldn’t even introduce yourself properly before his mother basically welcomed you in with her loving nature.

also, she already knows everything about you from her son.

extra points if you get along with woojin. it warms his heart how you just belong everywhere.

suggestive below !!!

in bed, he would always put your pleasure over his. wants to make sure that you’re the one satisfied, even if he didn’t recieve enough.

so so soft spoken: will talk you trough it in a way that feels like he’s reassuring himself that he’s doing okay.

his favorite position: probably any that allows him to see your face. he just finds you really pretty, especially during sex.

always a bit hesitant in the beginning, but trust me when he gets the hang of it, you will never be unsatisfied ever again.

the type to whimper, combined with heavy breathing.

his hands never leave your body, he just loves to be in contact with you.

#DIVIDERCREDITS : @/chrisssiren

my first time writing smut… ugh i’m such a geek. (⇀ˬ↼‶) also yes hello i’m not dead and i’m still able to write. although, please don’t request any smut yet, i only tried to extend my writing skills. tysm! ❤️

© WHCFREAK : reblogs are always appreciated !! check my profile for more content.

[loversmantra]

dead beat.

❝add this one to the pile.❞

synopsis. you're ripped from him. he takes you right back.

content. gojo satoru x male!reader. angst. canon-typical violence, gore and horror elements. major character death. curse!reader. some swearing. excessive use of em-dash because i love it and i refuse to let ai have it.

wc. 6.2k

message from noe. requested by @corsped-groom. i purposefully left curse!reader's design vague so you can imagine him however you want, but i was picture something like the xenomorph, the unknown from dbd, or the lickers from resident evil. anyway. this one is depressing af. blame it on the song of achilles. finally read that book and i feel like it shows a little bit in the style of writing in this one. don't read it if you value your happiness... although who am i kidding. we're jjk fans. we don't value our happiness.

The smell in the alley is the first red flag.

Metallic. Sticky like honey on the roof of his mouth. He welcomes like the old friend it is.

Blood. What else was it gonna be?

Satoru steps forward, slipping in the darkness. Not familiar — he’s got no need for stealth, usually, he’s too efficient for that. His style’s more ‘Now you see me, now you’re dead.’ But there’s no streetlights in the alley, so in the darkness he goes, eyes and ears wide open.

No traces of cursed energy except yours, so faint it must be only residuals. So you were here. It’s a start.

A big bunch of nothing, a sullen voice in the back of his head says.

A start, another, more reasonable one counters. It sounds like you. We can follow residuals. We can find him.

There’s a third voice. Louder than any other, so loud that it’s getting real hard to ignore.

It’s been too long. It’s been a few hours at most. Still too long. He would’ve never taken so long to return. He would’ve come back to lick his wounds. He would’ve called for help if he’d needed it. It’s been too long.

Satoru knows you inside out, by now. All your quirks and little habits. Like how you bite your cheek when you’re focusing on something. How you never sleep on your back because you’re scared shitless of sleep paralysis. How you make it a point to keep him in the loop when you go on missions, because you know he gets nervous when he doesn’t hear from you for too long.

It’s been too long.

There’s something in this alley. Something that makes his hair stand on end, an unpleasantly familiar shiver down his spine. Something that he’s missing, but he can’t tell what it is just yet.

Something’s wrong. No visible threat for now, but he’s learned his lesson when it comes to things he can’t see — learned it the hard way. Something’s wrong.

It’s been too long.

A moist sound. Soft and sticky under the sole of his shoe — the blood that’s been stinking up the alley. A lot of it, from what he can tell.

There’s a shape just ahead. Barely distinguishable in the darkness, but there. His mind assesses, quick as a whip. Unmoving. No immediate threat. He steps closer.

It’s a body.

𖦹

Humans are just meat that talks.

That’s what Satoru tells himself, when he looks down at the body laid before him. The girl was once a bright, living thing, full of hopes and promise. Now she’s a lump of meat on cold metal. She’s not the first or the last, and the casualness with which her body’s treated in the morgue is a painful reminder. It raises his hackles.

Add this one to the pile, right?

You knew her; he did not. You stand over her together anyway, both looking at her face silently.

You were the one who retrieved her body. For the occasion, Shoko allowed you to smoke inside. You’ve already smoked two in the hallway. You light the third one over her.

“Do we know if she had any family?” You ask quietly. As if afraid to disturb her rest.

Shoko takes a second to answer. Lights her own cigarette, pockets the lighter. Takes a deep drag.

“What was her name again?” She eventually says.

“Yumeko,” you reply. You take a drag. Shoko takes a drag. Those things will kill you, Satoru wants to joke. But you look a little too sad for that, right now. “Sawai.”

“Sawai Yumeko…” Shoko turns in her seat to type at her computer. “Found her dad. Should I leave you the honors?”

“Fuck no.”

No one says anything for a while after that. Shoko sighs, puts out her cigarette, and steps out.

“So, how’d this happen?” Satoru finally asks. His tongue was getting itchy.

“The intel was wrong.” You sound weary, but not surprised. He isn’t, either. This is commonplace. “It wasn’t a cluster of Grade Threes, it was a Grade One.”

A job for him. Or for you. But not for Yumeko. Poor kid.

Another moment of silence. Satoru’s never known what to say in those situations. Pretty ironic, considering he can’t keep his fucking mouth shut most of the time. Or is it fitting? Gojo Satoru, the guy who can’t come through when it actually matters.

He threads his fingers through yours and pulls you away from the table. Away from the body and the smell of formaldehyde. You put out your smoke as you walk out.

He knows what you’re thinking — he’s thinking it, too. How many more will have to die because the people on high can’t be bothered to do their fucking job right?

“You think they knew?” you ask when you’ve stepped outside.

He hasn’t let go of your hand. It’s starting to feel like he never will. “Oh, yeah. They knew.”

And they sent Yumeko to her death anyway. Add this one to the pile.

You won’t let go of this. Neither will he. It’ll fester and keep festering.

𖦹

He doesn’t recognize the body — it’s a relief until it isn’t. Intel said one curse user, one, and you don’t deviate from your mission. Ever.

It’s not pretty. You did a number on the guy, almost savage in the violence you’ve inflicted. Like a cornered predator that lashed out. Your residuals are all over him.

You would’ve wiped them if the job had gone right. Wouldn’t have left him in such a state in the first place.

There’s two more bodies— no, three. One is collapsed in a heap just two paces ahead in a similar pool of blood. The second is to Satoru’s right, flat on his back. This one, he recognizes. The curse user you were after. A gun rests loosely in his palm, coated in dark, flaky blood. The simple sight makes him shiver, brings back memories he’d really, really like to keep buried.

The third one is farther. Hunched against the wall, head hanging limp. Covered in blood, like the others.

Dead like the others, but different. Satoru feels it immediately. Your residuals are clustered there.

He ignores the alarm bells in the back of his head, the instinct screaming at him that this is wrong, wrong, there’s something wrong about that body—

He can see the fatal wound. An entry, on what was the temple, probably caused by a bullet. Might be an exit, too. Might not. Either way, it’s not nice to look at.

These kinds of wounds are ugly on anyone, but here it’s a whole other story.

His stomach turns. The world tilts on its axis, the ground drops from under his feet— that face, that body, it’s—

His brain simply refuses to process the information, at first. Can’t connect the dots between this lifeless lump of meat before his eyes and… and…

𖦹

“It’ll be easy. One and done. I’ll be home for dinner.”

Satoru hums skeptically, burrowing his face at the junction between your neck and shoulder. The gentle morning sun warms his back, feather light like the touch you ran up his spine to pull him from sleep.

At first he didn’t understand why you woke him early just to lounge in bed, doing nothing. Not like he dislikes doing nothing with you, the opposite really. Still, a couple of extra hours of unconsciousness before facing the world would’ve been nice. He woke up disgruntled, but settled quickly, warm and mellow with the sun and your arms around him.

It makes sense about an hour of lazing around in. When you break the news to him in the softest voice you can muster, caressing his cheek with your knuckles.

Emergency in Kyoto. Experienced sorcerer needed for a curse user hunt.

They could’ve called literally anyone. But no. They called you. It feels intentional. It’s probably intentional. You’ve been a little too open and vocal about your dislike for the higher-ups, lately — they can’t have that.

It was supposed to be just the two of you today. No interruptions, no obligations, just you and him and him and you, Netflix and chill both literal and figurative. Displeased, Satoru rolls over to his side, turning his back to you. It gets cold when he rolls into the shadow, when your arms slip from his waist.

He should’ve expected it, honestly. No, really, because after all why would he have been able to have a nice, relaxing day with his man? He can’t have nice things. Ever.

You don’t leave him in the cold for too long. You chase, shifting to press against his back, eager to leave no space at all between him and you. It makes him feel better. A little. Your arm wraps around his shoulder and you reach up to poke his cheek playfully.

“C’mon, babydoll,” you purr in his ear. Bastard. You know exactly what you’re doing. “Don’t be mad. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Hm.”

You chuckle, squeezing his cheek to force his lips into a deeper pout. “Swear. You won’t even realize I’m gone.”

“Whatever.” Satoru rolls his eyes, pushing your hand off his face. He stays silent for a moment. Then, “I just think it’s funny how you’re needed for a sudden emergency on our first day off together in, like, two months.”

You exhale a little sigh through your nose, softening. The teasing urge falls away as you press a kiss on his nape.

“Yeah,” you say lowly. “I know.”

“For each you see, there’s ten that you don’t. You know, like cockroaches. It starts with one and ends up with you gone three weeks trying to take down the whole shtick.”

“I know, Satoru,” you say again. Sharper.

He turns to brace himself on his forearms, narrowing his eyes at you. “What, ‘m I not allowed to be pissed?”

“You’re allowed to be pissed.” You roll to your back, running a hand down your face with a long-suffering sigh. “Just… please.”

Right. No, you’re right. He shouldn’t get pissy with you for something that’s completely out of your hands, especially when you’re clearly just as pissed. Even worse, because you just wanna enjoy the time you have left with him before you go. He’s horrible.

He settles back down, head nestled against your shoulder and a hand braced on your chest. He pats you gently to calm you down.

“We should go out tonight,” he murmurs to make amends. “When you get back. Himawari Ramen?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s perfect.” You lean down to kiss the crown of his head, and Satoru melts into you once more, closing his eyes. “Just what I need.”

You stay like that for a moment, basking in each other’s warmth. The morning sun warms his back.

Eventually, you have to get up. He feels you shift him off you, already half-asleep. Your lips kiss his cheek and your voice says: “Love you.”

𖦹

Most sorcerers don’t have the luxury of experiencing the five stages of grief. There’s too much death happening all the time, civilians and coworkers alike. If you want to live, you accept the death and you move on. Or at least you grieve in silence and keep doing your damn job.

It’s true for Satoru as much as anyone else. He’s been affected by deaths before, sure, felt sorry for the victim or angry that another life was snuffed unnecessarily. He’s been moved. Grieved? He’s only done that once. He’s a grief-virgin in that sense.

But of course, in his world no one is spared. He just hadn’t expected it to hit immediately.

Denial comes first.

First, his brain’s refusal to process the information it’s receiving. Your face damaged and covered in blood, the sheer wrongness of the bullet hole deforming your head grotesquely. Then, his mind’s inability to face the truth.

It can’t be. It just can’t. There’s… there’s no way, right? No way.

You said you’d be home for dinner. You said you’d be back before he knew it. You said you wanted to go out for some ramen. There’s no way you’re just… what you’ve been reduced to, what he’s seeing, it’s…

Just meat that used to talk.

He stays frozen, fingers trembling, eyes bouncing all over your body in a desperate search for life. He finds nothing, nothing but residuals of your cursed energy on your clothes, and your immediate surroundings. That can’t be, there’s no way, there’s no fucking way, there has to be something, anything.

He can’t move. Can’t think. Can’t breathe. This can’t be real. This is a nightmare. Just a nightmare, and he’s gonna wake up. And you’re gonna kiss it better, hug him and tell him you love him, and you’ll go out for ramen together and it’ll be just fine. He’ll forget about the nightmare eventually and… and…

He can’t bear to look away, but each new detail only serves to hurt him further. There’s more than just the bullet wound on your skull. Your knee is busted, there’s a dark stain on your side, one of your hands is missing—

The sight of you is gnarly, cruel in its honesty. This morning you were warm and soft. This morning you told him you loved him. Now you’re a fucking corpse left to rot in a dirty Kyoto alleyway.

Denial clings, still. Because there’s no way three lowly curse users did this to you, there’s just no way. The state you’re in, and the state you left them in — how could this happen?

His thinking becomes practical. He can’t stand to think of you as a person for too long, he needs to think about something else, needs to think about what he can do to… to fix this? Find the people responsible? He doesn’t know.

He scans the alleyway, looking for tracks, residuals that he missed, anything. He comes up empty. Either there were others responsible and they covered their tracks remarkably well, or… or maybe it’s just those three curse users.

Denial falls away and anger takes its place. Not at the people that killed you. At you directly.

How could you let this happen? You’re better than this. You’re stronger than those three curse users combined, you’re— how could you let this happen? What the hell were you even doing, to get jumped and torn apart like that? Were you admiring the view or something? Petting a stray cat? What the fuck is your problem? You were supposed to be home by dinner. You were supposed to go out for ramen with him. You swore you would. Did that mean nothing to you? Is that just the kind of guy you are — the kind that breaks his promises like that, like they’re nothing?

He feels guilty, but he also doesn’t. He means it. At least, part of him means it, all of it.

The thoughts don’t last. He’s angry because he wants you back. Nothing more than that.

He crouches beside you. The hand you have left is also spotted with blood. Do you simply have no clean skin left? He brushes your hand with his fingers all the same, wondering what the hell he did to deserve this.

Isn’t he good? Isn’t he always doing the right thing? He tries and tries and tries, he gives it all he has and what is he given in return? Resentment and adoration in equal measure. One blessing that gets torn away.

He calls your name, voice surprisingly steady.

He just wants you back. Isn’t that normal? He’d do anything to have you back. Just come back.

“Get up right now.”

You don’t move. Obviously. What does he need to do to have you back? He’ll do it. Whatever he has left to give, he’ll give it. Anything. Anything.

I love you. I love you. Please get up.

Stubbornly, you remain still, as corpses tend to be.

Please. Please. Get up. Just get up and come home.

He’s not sure how long he stays there, staring at your fingers.

Please. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. You can’t leave me. You’re all I have. I love you. You can’t die. Please don’t die.

Hoping they’ll twitch.

Don’t leave me. I love you. Don’t leave me. Don’t do this to me.

Silently begging.

I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave me. I love you. I love you. I—

At some point, he stands. He can’t leave you like this.

He reaches for his phone and calls the first person who’d be any help.

Ijichi’s voice is sharp and alert, even in the middle of the night. Up writing reports. Probably Satoru’s. Who fucking cares.

“G-gojo-san? It’s… it’s midnight—”

“Sent you my location.” He sounds so steady. So calm. Who even is he right now? “Call the Kyoto school and have them send a clean-up crew.”

“A-a clean-up crew? Why—”

Satoru hangs up. He doesn’t care to hear whatever Ijichi has to say. That call took all his energy. He feels drained, heavy. He needs to get out of here.

His feet stay glued to the ground.

He can’t leave you like this. He should wait for clean-up. Or maybe he should just… take your body himself. He doesn’t trust anyone to handle you right.

A sound in the alley tears him from his deliberating.

Sharp and wet, like a bone snapping. He hears it once. Twice. Then, just as he turns to see what the fuck is going on behind him—

Your body’s no longer collapsed against the wall. You’re standing, but…

He sees the wrongness of it immediately. It kills any hope that tried to flare in his chest, snuffs out the remaining light he had in him.

Your head is limp on your chest, still. It’s not like you’re standing; more like your body’s being held up on strings, like a puppet. All at once you drop to the ground in a heap, but something remains.

A dark shape, almost a silhouette. Darker than darkness, thick as blood, quiet like it’s not even there. Pure curse energy, he realizes instantly. Cursed spirit. Goosebumps run down the back of his neck, his mind assesses, quick as a whip—

Threat. Imminent threat.

He takes half a step back, ready to exorcise the curse, but— but then the weirdest thing—

“Satoru…”

It’s your voice, but it’s not. It’s wrong, off, distorted in the slightest way. A shiver runs down his back. It’s wrong. So wrong. It’s not you. It’s not you.

Except it is. It is you.

The curse lowers to the ground, slithers closer— he should do something, he should exorcise it, he should do anything other than just fucking stand there—

“Satoru, don’t go…”

He’s gonna throw up.

You push closer, blood and goo dripping from your still forming arms. You get close enough to touch him.

Your hand grabs his ankle, and his entire body tenses in revulsion. It’s cold, it’s holding him too tightly, it just feels wrong, but…

But it also feels like you. It’s still you. Isn’t it?

“Don’t go. Satoru, don’t go. Satoru, I love you...”

Satoru’s stomach lurches violently and he does the first thing he can think of: he slams his palms together and teleports the fuck away.

He lands hard on a wooden floor, tumbling to his knees immediately. He’s not sure where he is, can’t tell because the world just won’t stop spinning — it doesn’t matter. What matters is that he’s far, very far from that alley. Far from the bodies. Your body.

Your body.

He throws up everything his stomach has to give, shivering violently. Then, he simply rolls to his back and pants. Stares at the ceiling until the dizziness fades. Maybe it takes minutes, maybe a few hours. He simply can’t tell.

His vision evens out — his breathing doesn’t. At last he realizes where he is.

His apartment. In Tokyo. The one he shares with you.

He curls into a ball, trembling all over. Paralyzed with fear.

What did he do? What the fuck did he do to you?

𖦹

The next couple of days pass by in a blur. Satoru floats through the hours, like a passenger in his own body.

He knows he shouldn’t, but he pulls some strings and gets his hands on the report from the Kyoto crew. Reads it, again and again and again. To the point where he has it memorized. Masochism in its purest form.

Every building in an fifty-meter radius around the alley was reduced to rubble. Three civilians dead. Fifty-two injured, including thirteen in critical condition. The Kyoto sorcerers didn’t retrieve the bodies of the curse users — report states there “wasn’t enough left to retrieve.”

They found you, though. Brought you back to Tokyo.

Shoko covered your body with a thin, white sheet after the autopsy. She left him alone in the morgue, to take a breather, let him figure out what he wants to do with you.

Burn the body, don’t burn the body. In the end, it’s all the same to him. What’s this lump of meat good for? It’s not you. Just another corpse he can add to the pile.

You haven’t manifested since that first time. He can’t feel your cursed energy, and he can’t figure out why. It’s not like curses just vanish into thin air.

He can’t track you, and it makes him anxious. He can’t have you killing any more people, and if he can’t control you...

Better not to think about it. He’s great at avoiding tough topics, even in his own head.

Slowly, he reaches out. The sheet is thin, smooth to the touch.

The autopsy table’s sent flying before he has time to react.

Shit.

Satoru covers his head with his arm as you fly past him. The autopsy table hits the wall with a metallic clang!, and you grab your body midair, slamming it into the wall. Hard. Again and again and again, screeching in fury.

You’re fully manifested. On school grounds. You could not have had worse timing.

“Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue!”

You’re ripped away and sent flying to the other end of the room. You slam against the wall and crawl up to the ceiling, snarling at him. You almost sound offended.

“Whatever!” Satoru shouts back.

You try to jump past him again, but he’s ready this time, and he extends Infinity’s reach to push you back. With another indignant screech, you scuttle back up to the ceiling, pacing around like a caged tiger.

Shoko chooses that exact moment to burst into the room. Positively incredible timing on her part, too.

“Gojo, what is—”

She catches your attention, and your head snaps to her. He sees you bunch together to pounce and skids in front of her.

“No!” He points a finger at you menacingly, and crazily, it’s enough to make you back down. Like you’re a misbehaving puppy and not a seven-foot tall bloodthirsty Special Grade.

Because that’s what you are. He can tell, now that you’re fully manifested. Special Grade. His doing.

“No,” he repeats, low and firm. Great. Now he’s scolding you like you’re a pet. He’s lost it.

Behind him, Shoko clears her throat. Satoru turns halfway, to face her and still keep you in sight.

“Uh... I can explain?”

She gives him a sharp look. “You sure?”

She looks up to the ceiling. You’re pacing again, losing interest in the situation but restless with buzzing energy. Yeah, okay. He can see why she’s skeptical. Satoru rubs the back of his neck, feeling overwhelmed.

“I’m, uh. Maybe sit down?”

“I’ll stand.” Shoko reaches in her white coat’s pocket for her pack and a lighter. She stays silent for a moment. Takes the time to light her cigarette, take a drag. “...It’s him, isn’t it?”

Satoru doesn’t answer immediately. It’s one thing to know what he did — what he did to you. It’s another to have someone else say it. Be a witness to it.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, it’s him.”

They both look at you, pacing around on the ceiling, looking almost harmless in the cold light.

“I’m not gonna ask what happened,” Shoko says.

Of course she isn’t. She already knows. She’s had your body on the table, and looking at you now, it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. A curse as powerful as that? Yeah. Doesn’t take a genius.

Satoru almost thanks her for it. He’s not ready to admit it just yet. That he’s the one he put you in that state. That he’s the one who condemned you to such an existence.

“What are you gonna do?” Shoko continues.

The merciful thing would be to exorcize you, wouldn’t it? Or at least find a way to undo what he did. Let you rest in some way.

“...I dunno,” he replies, defeated.

Shoko looks around the room. Her overturned desk, the computer and files scattered on the floor. The blood you’ve left over the wall and the ceiling. And on the other side, the bloody mess against the white tile. “At least he listens to you, right?” She lets out, dry and dead.

Satoru follows her gazes. He crosses the room to inspect the damage.

There’s not much to look at. You haven’t left much of your body for him to scoop up. Guess he’s burning you after all.

He turns to look at you. “Why’d you go and do that, huh?”

You pause in your movements. Your head snaps towards him, with a crack, almost like you snapped your own neck to look at him faster.

“You were scared,” you say lowly. He can feel your voice in his chest, like a purr. “And sad. Angry.”

It stuns him for a moment. The tunnel vision you have when it comes to him.

You didn’t even recognize your own dead body. You just saw it as a threat to him.

“Well,” Shoko sighs. “Shit.”

Yeah. Satoru couldn’t have said it better.

𖦹

Another week passes without you ever manifesting. Satoru’s life goes on as normal as it can. He goes through the motions mechanically, like he did before. Only now he has no one to talk to. No one to curl up against at night. No one to brush his teeth with. He feels less and less like a person each day. Like he only existed because you were there to perceive him.

It’s the opposite now, he supposes.

At first he couldn’t figure out how you did it, simply disappearing into thin air at will. He thought you had to go somewhere. A curse like you would be attached to an object, something of significance to you while you were alive. He combed through your stuff about a thousand times, looking for the thing.

It’s nothing of yours. It’s his apartment key. The one you offered to him about six months into your relationship, just after you bought the place.

“In case you need a place to crash,” you’d said. In case you need a place to get away, was what you really meant.

It started as an occasional thing. He’d pop up for a night. Sometimes two. Then he started staying over after every date. Then he started leaving his things there. At some point he couldn’t recall the last time he’d gone to his place on the Jujutsu Tech campus.

He still hasn’t gone back to that place. The key sits untouched in his pocket. Your cursed energy is there, dormant; he couldn’t feel it because it’s too intertwined with his. He’s part of you. You’re part of him.

He barely sleeps these days, even less than before. He lies on his back and stares at the ceiling. He wonders what he’s gonna do with you.

Really, he’s just going in circles. He knows what he should do. He knows the practical, logical answer. You’re a curse. His job’s to eradicate curses. There’s only one way this can go.

But this is different. Isn’t it? You weren’t always like this, he’s the reason you’re like this. He should find a way to free you. Undo the curse. Let go of you.

Besides, doesn’t he owe it to you, who he claims to love? Shouldn’t he be merciful to the man he loves?

But Satoru’s never been merciful. Not once in his life. And he’s not about to start now, is he? Not even for you. Not when love is the whole reason you’re still here in the first place.

Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. I love you.

Who’s the real monster here, you or him?

“Satoru...”

You sensed his distress, likely, and now you’re here to protect him. Funny. He’s the scariest thing in the country.

Satoru pushes himself up to a sit, keeping his back to you. He lowers his Infinity, still. Eager to feel your touch. Your hand slips up his arm, to squeeze his shoulder. You did that when you were alive. To comfort him, without overwhelming him. Is it muscle memory? The idea that you may still be as considerate now as you were then makes him want to throw up.

“You can go back,” he murmurs. “There’s nothing here, Y/N.”

Your hand moves to the back of his neck. Your claws graze the sensitive skin. He feels the sting. You cut him.

“There’s you,” you reply.

Is it because you understand that he’s his own worst enemy right now, or did you just want to see him? He couldn’t make sense of you before — great to see he still can’t. He thought curses were simple creatures. Easy to read, easy to predict. It’s always been easy for him.

Maybe you’re just hell bent on turning the world upside down for him.

“Why don’t you come back when I’m in actual danger?”

He meant it as a tease — you haven’t shown up once while he was fighting curses, though he thought you’d be eager to help him. But you take it seriously.

“You’re never in danger,” you say accusingly. “How would I see you?”

Satoru turns to face you. “It was a joke. Jeez, don’t you curses have a sense of—”

Your grip turns harsh, and you push him to his back, pinning him. Familiar, and not.

“You just don’t want to see me!” Your voice changes, becomes less human and more other. “Just admit it!”

“I’m not playing this game with you,” Satoru grits out, struggling against your grip. It’s instinct. Curse nearby equals danger.

“You said you loved me!”

“I do!”

And just like that, you calm down as quickly as you got angry. Your grip loosens, it’s less punishing. Almost tender. Satoru’s not sure why he still hasn’t shoved you off.

“I do,” he breathes. “Of course I do.”

You lean over him, pleased. Your tongue lolls out, far longer than a human’s. It slides over his jaw, up to his ear and back to his face, to run over his lips. Satoru reaches up to grab your head and turn it away. He turns his face in the other direction, almost coy. His chest is heaving.

You push his hand off you easily and return to him. Slower, like you’re afraid to spook him. As if. You’re far from the scariest thing he’s ever seen.

You lean down and kiss him, as well as you can with that mouth full of teeth. You bite at his lips, push your tongue in his mouth. He welcomes you eagerly. He doesn’t care that he’s bleeding. He has you again. His heart is racing.

𖦹

He found the curse users that killed you.

Not the perpetrators themselves, of course, you took care of them yourself. But he tracked down the organization they belonged to.

Because there is an organization. He was right, in the end. If you hadn’t died, you’d still be in Kyoto, chipping away at it to get to the core. Far, far away from him. Maybe what happened was for the best.

The building’s deceptively mundane. Three stories, all grey concrete and big, modern glass windows. Gleaming under the setting sun. Fits the surroundings: the more modern part of Kyoto, downtown. Easily glossed over. Easily forgotten.

Technically, Satoru’s off duty right now. But a guy’s allowed to have hobbies, right? It might be a little revenge trip for him, but at the end of the day, it’s about thirty less curse users that Jujutsu society has to worry about. A win-win.

He lowers a veil, because he’s not a complete maniac. Waltzes in like he owns the place. They didn’t even put up a barrier, choosing stealth over protection. Big mistake.

The lobby’s empty.

“Hey, baby,” he murmurs, clutching his key in his pocket. “You wanna come out? Have some fun with me?”

This time you answer immediately. The pressure of your presence is crushing, even for him — the curse users are bound to come running.

You prowl on all fours, rubbing against him affectionately. “Yes, Satoru?”

“You wanna help me clear out this place?”

You face contorts. You’re trying to smile.

“Okay!” You let out cheerfully.

Satoru catches movement in the corner of his eye. The curse users are starting to spill in. Two, three, four. They see him — see you — and step back warily, arms and weapons raised in self-defense.

Good, he thinks, suddenly thirsty for blood. You should be fucking scared.

Seven. Eight. Nine. They keep coming. He sees you bunch together, prepared to pounce. Anticipation buzzes under his skin.

“It’s Gojo Satoru!” One of them shouts. “Fall ba—”

He never finishes his sentence, because in an instant you’ve leaped and ripped his head off.

It’s a slaughter, to put it plainly. It’s his first time seeing you like this, feral and hungry and horrifying in so many ways. Not so different from when you were alive. Not so different from him.

He doesn’t step in. Doesn’t intervene once. He lets you have your revenge, lets you bite and tear and rip, lets you prowl through the building to find the rest of them.

Doesn’t let a single one of them touch you. Not like they’d ever come close to exorcizing you, anyway. You overwhelm them as well as he would’ve.

The walls are slick with blood, by the time you’ve killed the last one. You are, too. You prance back to him almost happily, crawling all over the walls and the ceiling. You even bring him back an arm, like a cat showing off its hunting prize. His heart is racing.

He doesn’t call clean-up when he lowers the veil and leaves. They can fucking rot.

𖦹

TWO YEARS LATER.

After swallowing a corpse’s mummified finger and a high school principal’s handmade doll coming to life, Yuji was convinced he’d seen the weirdest jujutsu had to offer. Monsters are real and they kill people, and he can do something about it? Okay, cool. He can do that. How weirder could it get?

Clearly, much weirder. Gojo-sensei’s full of surprises.

The first years’ first official training session as a class starts out nothing out of the ordinary. Some warm-up. Then, taking turns sparring against each other. Yuji’s in the middle of beating up Fushiguro when Gojo steps on the field, waving cheerfully.

“Hey everyone! How’s it going?”

Yuji waves back, just as enthusiastic. “Going great, sensei!”

Somewhere on the floor behind him, Fushiguro grumbles. Seems like he doesn’t agree.

Gojo steps closer, hands in his pocket, and as always when he gets close, Sukuna’s hackles raise, cursed energy spiking slightly. Yuji thinks nothing of it, neither does anyone else, but this time—

This time something pops up behind Gojo-sensei. Arms, legs, until a full-blown curse is leaping in front of his teacher, screeching at him.

Yuji leaps back, and behind him he hears his classmates doing the same.

“A curse?!” Nobara lets out. “Isn’t the school supposed to be protected?”

But Gojo-sensei doesn’t look the slightest bit worried.

“Hey, hey, everyone, let’s all take it down a notch!” He pushes your head down forcefully, and you relent, rubbing against his legs and— purring? “Everything’s okay, he’s just a little riled up right now!”

“Gojo-sensei.” Yuji tilts his head incredulously. “Why are you petting the curse?”

“Hm? Oh, right.” Gojo moves to grab under your chin, shaking your head affectionately. You smile. Or at least Yuji thinks it’s a smile? Maybe? “Everyone, this is my husband, Y/N! Don’t worry, he’s totally harmless! Mostly!”

Like they’re in each other’s head, Yuji and Kugasaki turn to look at Fushiguro. Fushiguro looks away. Shrugs. Then turns his back to them completely.

“Fushiguro!” Nobara grabs the boy’s chin to forcefully turn his head. “Give us explanations!”

“Ask him explanations, not me!”

Gojo chuckles at their antics, scratching under your chin. You roll over to your back. Like... a cat.

“Don’t worry,” Gojo says lightly. Like this is completely normal and he’s wondering why everyone’s making such a fuss. “Think he might’ve just sensed Sukuna and decided to come see what’s up! He won’t hurt you. I think.”

Not too reassuring, but... Well, if Gojo says it’s fine, then it must be, right? Yuji gives a salute. “Got it, sensei! I won’t attack your curse husband!”

Behind him, Fushiguro and Kugisaki both sigh.

“You’re way too easy-going, Itadori.”

“I have a feeling this teacher is a problem...”

this one was a delight to write, honestly. it flowed really smoothly. also i genuinely had to stop myself from writing a full blown smut scene between satoru and curse!reader. anyway thanks for reading!

requests are open!

[altxrxgo1005]

one of the finer pieces of literature on this site😛🤏🏾🤏🏾🤏🏾

[mal3volentr0se]

guys I miss hobie brown.

[lobtwo]

Hehe gamby

[chunkpiboli]

WHY are there SO little of the Bloodhounds boys hereeeee!!!

like come onnnn

[grimmsbride]

⠀⠀⠀ ▒ ❀ ̭͡⠀ ❛ Promises, promises. Johnny Storm

summary. out of desperation you make a deal with the literal fiery devil. let’s see if you can keep up your end of the bargain.

tags. johnny storm is ooc (based off my interpretation of him in the game & little things i remember from the movies). reader is a healer. mentions of usual game mechanics. not proofread. smut. porn with little plot. face seating. oral sex (fem. recieving). reader is chubby/curvy & black girl coded (all are free to read ofc). attempts dirty talk. like one pet name. overstimulation. multiple orgasms. entire plot is inspired by that one luna snow & human torch comic by; CEO OF MILFS on twitter.

author’s note. trying to get back into tumblr writing with marvel rivals, i’m sorry for being so mia everyone. i hope you enjoy and as always please excuse any typos or grammar mistakes.

I’m tired.. The statement was simple running through your mind, jogging closely behind a salivating Venom and your other teammates. Being a hero was a daunting job, one you didn’t regret— but daunting nonetheless. And having to use your abilities to heal wounds was even harder; the concentration that went into it— nevermind the fact some people were just so demanding at times.

A heavy sigh escaped you, hands caressing the air to heal Venom, hearing his tongue-filled thank you shortly after. The time was ticking, only about a minute and thirty seconds left, with zero progress to the last objective. Your teammates were dropping like flies and it seemed like they took even longer to come back from recovering.

Between the match looking quite bleak and the tiredness running through your body, you wanted nothing more but to find a corner and hide; awaiting that familiar feminine voice to tell you, the team had lost.

Caught up in your thoughts, you jumped in surprise the moment something slammed into the wall beside you; concrete crumbling from the impact. You spun around, gasping as a familiar silhouette came into view.

“Johnny!” His name escaped your lips urgently, rushing over and stepping carefully over the debris. Your eyes scanned his body, noting the fact his skin was back to normal as he laid amongst the rubble. A hiss escaped, lowering to your knees and gently scooping the man closer.

You couldn’t deny the level of affection you held for the infamous Human Torch. Despite his frat boyish and overly flirty ways, you knew there was a good heart underneath all that flame.

Not that you would ever admit it anyway.

“I got you, Johnny.” You mummured, hand rising right above him and healing him, the pink glow covering his body like a comforting blanket. You watched happily as his eyebrows undid from his pained crease, watching his own gaze focus on your face.

A boyish grin crossed his features, “Hey, thanks…” He spoke, albeit strained. Though soon he coughed, a hand rising to cover his lips. “I—I think you missed a spot with your healing.

Your eyebrows pressed close, eyes scanning up and down his body for a moment. “Where?”

Like the overgrown child he was, Johnny pointed right to his lips, even making an effort to pucker them in your direction. You gave a loud groan, basically tossing him off you and back into the rubble where pained laughter escaped him.

“Be serious for once, we’re about to lose.” You huffed, slowly dragging your body to standing whilst patting your bodysuit free of rocks and debris. You glanced down at your watch spotting the fact you had forty seconds left. Forty, and your teammates progress wasn’t far at all.

You gritted your teeth, glancing down at Johnny who seemed all too comfy on a bed of rocks.

“Johnny— come on! We have to help the others.”

Johnny gave an unenthused expression, tucking his hands behind his head. “Let the time run out, we can’t do much like this anyway.”

You crossed your arms, struggling not to strangle him right then and there. “I thought the Fantastic Four always fought to the end. I wonder what Reed would think of this..”

The threat went unnoticed, Johnny seemingly tuning you out. Now with only twenty seconds left, it seemed the anxiety began to stir within you, debating on whether to leave him behind and go back to your team.

It would be best, even without some extra firepower you going back to healing would help expeditiously.

Still..

With nothing left to lose, and clenched fists, you stared down at the man with a serious expression. One he caught quickly.

“Wha—“

“If you get up right now, help, and we somehow win this; I’ll sit on your face for however long you want.”

All was silent for a moment, Johnny slowly removing his hands from behind his head, staring at you with an unreadable expression. Suddenly, the air around you was getting hot— way too hot.

A loud flame on! thundered from Johnny’s throat, skin coated in flame as he blasted from the debris and back to the fighting area. You didn’t actually expect that to work, at all. You expected some laughter and him continuing to ride the time out. Not the sudden burst of energy.

But you couldn’t complain.

You chased close behind, hands rising to heal your teammates as they came into view. Sweat trickled down your body, eyes flickering between the time and the objective. It was reaching overtime, it growing closer and closer— more stressful as the seconds passed.

Your team was pushing though, whether with the extra fire or not you couldn’t tell— nor was it a main concern right now. You just needed to keep healing, even when your eyes grew blurry and body ached; you had to keep healing.

Flame began to consume your opponents, their numbers dwindling as you pushed and pushed, the seconds draining but oh so fulfilling.

Finally you made it , the objective clearing as a triumphant you win! echoed around you.

As this reality set you couldn’t help but smile, feeling your body relax slowly. Only to tense the moment you remembered.

You made a promise. And unfortunately for you. Johnny didn’t seem like the type to forget those so easily.

. . .

You dragged the towel along your body, drying your skin completely whilst standing in the middle of your bedroom. After the match you made your way quickly to your quarters, far too excited to wash off the sweat and grime that accumulated from the battle. The water was way too soothing, you nearly extending your shower but not wishing for your skin to get pruny.

With a heavy sigh you placed your towel off to the side, sliding on some panties first before going for your night gown; a pale pink cami style night gown that hung at your ankles, silky and soft against your fresh skin.

You lowered to your bed, legs crossed as you slid some shea butter along them. Focused on smoothing the lotion evenly, you jumped the moment someone knocked on your door, eyebrows creasing in slight concern.

It was getting late, and you weren’t exactly prepared for guests nor were you in the mood to hold any ounce of conversation.

But with another knock you were rising, lips curling into a grimace as you waltzed over to the door in lazy strides. Soon enough you were infront of it, fingers locking around the knob as you turned and pulled, opening the door to reveal the one and only Johnny Storm.

He was dressed in a simple pair of sweatpants and a black tshirt, hair tousled yet still neat enough. Johnny’s gaze traced your attire, smiling to himself.

“Nice gown.”

You rolled your eyes, arms crossing. “What do you want, Johnny? I wanna some sleep after today.”

The man wore a disgruntled expression and despite your best efforts — which really weren’t any — he crept into your room, busying himself with picking up some random knick knack upon your vanity.

“So soon? What about your promise?”

You rose a single eyebrow, trying to make sense of what he said. Silently you stood, arms crossed and staring straight ahead in thought— Johnny waiting ever so patiently, his own gaze settled on your form.

Finally it hit you, like a train, all at once— the stupid promise you made in the heat of battle.

You began to sputter, instinctively shutting the door behind you in fear of what someone might hear;

“Ar—are you seriously going to hold me to that? For what I said in the heat of the moment— that wasn’t a pun.” You added quickly the moment you noticed that damned smirk creep onto his face.

Johnny placed your random item off to the side, shrugging a little as he took you in.

“I mean.. you sounded pretty serious back there..” He hummed, eyes rising from you up to the ceiling. “And I did..” The man stretched the word to really get his point across;

“Hold up my end of the bargain.” Again, Johnny shrugged as if it was no big deal, clearly enjoying the way you squirmed.

“So how about it [Name]? Looking to keep your promise?”

You couldn’t handle the way he was staring at you, your gaze quickly looking at anything but him. From your vanity to your ceiling, your eyes danced about as if the answer was written plainly in the air. You expected to be in bed by now, cuddled up under blankets and sleeping away the stress of the day.

Not being propositioned for a statement you said randomly without a single thought.

As your eyes flicked back to the man, you noticed how he stood patiently— for once. Fully waiting for your reply. Maybe even a hint of excitement resting in his eyes.

Your teeth dragged across the inside of your cheek, rising a single hand and pointing towards your bed.

“Lay down..” You tried to sound much more confident than you were letting on, but you were sure your voice wavered with each word. Though it didn’t seem to faze the man, as Johnny was more than ready to abide your command; basically running over to the bed and dropping to his back— bouncing a little from the impact.

You took in a sharp breath, bending as your hands ran across your thighs for a moment, under your dress, and hooking onto your panties. All under his watchful gaze you slid them down, the fabric bundling before landing against your floor.

Stepping out of them, you glanced up spotting the excited smile practically glued to his face. Slowly you stepped closer, approaching your bed and going knee first onto the comfy blankets. Carefully you crawled up and over him, soon standing right over his torso, collecting your night gown in both hands.

Johnny stared up at you, hands going to glide across your exposed legs, awaiting your next move.

You clenched your dress, lips pursing as you spoke, “Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“Sit and find out.”

Johnny spoke far too quickly, voice devoid of his usual playfulness. You couldn’t deny his words sent a shiver down to the right places, your anxiety simply churning even more.

But, you couldn’t turn back now. Or rather, you didn’t want to. So with a careful step, you inched until you were directly standing right above his head, slowly bending your knees.

Just when you were an inch above his face, strong arms suddenly locked around your waist, quickly pulling you down the rest of the way. You couldn’t help but gasp, face flushed with warmth the moment you felt his gentle breathing right against your center.

“I—I’m not too heavy…right?”

You jumped the moment his annoyed grunt tickled against you, deciding it may be best to shut up right then and there instead of focusing on such trivial things. Rather you began to focus on his lips, and how they gently pressed against you.

Your own parted as the softest oh escaped. The feeling foreign but not at all unwanted. Your eyes fluttered closed, breathing softly as the gentle ministrations continued, Johnny purposely warming you up, slowly.

And when it seemed like you would get enough of just his lips, his tongue poked through, prodding at your lips before sliding them open with a slow lick.

You shook, clenching your night gown tight as those licks continued. His tongue was thick and long, slithering from your entrance right to your clit; paying special attention to that little bud. You were growing hot, eyebrows creasing closer as the pleasure grew. You weren’t experienced in this sort of thing; no one has ever gifted you the pleasure of cunninglingus, yet here you were; with a fellow hero nonetheless.

Your coworker, really, one whose tongue was doing wonders.

“Johnny..” His name fell from your lips in a soft moan, it etching into a groan the moment you felt a hand of his move towards your ass, a warm palm gripping a handful. There, Johnny’s rhythm sped up, his tongue twirling, creating a sloppy mess of your cunt.

Filthy sounds echoed from between your legs, a combination of your pussy and the downright sexy groans that the man was humming right into you. His fingers gripped your skin tightly, assuring you didn’t move an inch as he kept up his treatment.

Your legs began to shake, his hair tickling your thighs as your stomach tightened. A hand released your nightgown to instead grip your headboard, even leaning forward to rest your forehead against the cool wood. The pleasure was clouding your mind, hips slowly moving; grinding right down on his face— without a care if he could breathe anymore.

Johnny’s enjoyment was clear in the way his tongue went flat, gifting you a perfect surface to ride upon. The man was in pure heaven, having such a pretty thing right on his face, unable to move unless he says so. And albeit muffled because of your thick thighs, your moans were the perfectly melody to his already splendid front row seats.

The Human Torch wondered how loud he could get you with just his mouth. Maybe enough that someone bangs on the wall, begging for some peace within the night. Johnny couldn’t help but grin to himself, lips slowly circling your swollen bud, sucking eagerly.

“Fu—fuck…Johnny, Joh—johnny please!”

That’s it.. The man thought to himself, far too happy. He wish he could speak properly, muttering sweet praises and teases; wishing to mock you for being so loud yet encourage it in the safe breath. For now though, Johnny settled on humming along to your moans; the action causing the sweetest vibration.

Your hips increased in ferocity, chasing that high as the band within your stomach continued to tighten. Your eyes were going hazy, struggling to keep your voice at bay. It seemed your night gown went completely forgot, pushed up on your waist whilst your free hand went for his hair, tugging at the perfect locks; feeling the man grunt in response.

The harshest moan escaped you, hips grinding to a stop as you came; a sticky mess painting his face. Your chest rose and fell, heavy breaths escaping as your eyes shut close in an effort to relax.

Which, proved useless the moment you realized Johnny hadn’t stopped. At all. Not for a second. His tongue remained on your cunt, licking you clean of your orgasm and then some.

The pleasure bordered on torture now, quickly turning into overstimulation that had you babbling for mercy;

“J—johnny..! Ple..please I need a break..!—“ You reached for his forehead, pushing weakly at the space. The man didn’t move an inch, him even making an effort to snake a tight arm around your leg so you didn’t move off him.

Tears sprung to your eyes, using the headboard to steady yourself as tremors ran through your body. You could only sit there, paying the price for your poor choice of words in sobs and moans, the tears now streaming right down your warm cheeks.

Johnny was somehow able to peek at you, something he instantly regretted the moment he saw your features. So beautiful, face flushed, eyes glossy, and with the tiniest pout. He felt himself getting harder right in his boxers, struggling not to use a hand to stroke against the growing bulge. But the man knew if given the opportunity you would probably jump right off, so instead he settled on moving his hips uselessly in the air— hoping the friction would relieve even an ounce of tension.

“So fucking wet…I might drown.” Johnny managed to say right into your pussy, a loopy chuckle escaping him; as if drunk off your taste. But with the way his eyes were rolling back, he just might be.

“Jo..johnny, Johnny, please..”

“Fu..fuck..” The man muttered, sucking you up with such vigor as if his jaw was made of metal. “Keep.. saying my name, baby. Let me hear you.”

You obeyed his request easily, his name falling from your lips in a desperate mantra. With each call it pitched, your eyes going blurrier— possibly even rolling to the back of your skull. That familiar feeling broached your stomach, only harsher than before; a feeling that nearly scared you if it wasn’t for the pleasure that quickly washed over.

With shaky legs you were riding his face, your own a complete mess with tears, pressed against the cool wood of your headboard. Your eyes pinched closed, broken gasps and heavy moans escaping you— voice going raw the moment it all came crashing down.

Heavier than before, surely soaking Johnny completely with your mess. You struggled to breathe, eyes pinched closed as the hold on his hair and your headboard loosened.

You whined the moment you felt movement, worrying he would pick back up but pleasantly surprised to feel the man gently pushing you down to rest on his chest, hearing a sharp breath escape him.

Your head went slack, eyes opening to land on his face. Johnny was a mess, skin coated with your arousal and his saliva, marking up his lips and cheeks. Along with that, he was a little red, hair even messier than before.

Yet he still grinned easily, gliding his hands up and down your thighs, soothing you a little.

“See? I knew you could do it.”

You rolled your eyes slowly, shifting a little and moving in an attempt to crawl off. Yet you didn’t move an inch as his arms tightened, refusing to let you go.

You caught his gaze, Johnny chuckling softly at the look of confusion painting your features. His hand rose, thumb curling to your waist.

“You said for as long as I like..”

“John—“

The man gave a playful pout, head tilting up at you.

“You wanna keep your promise.. don’t you?”

[scarletttries]

Kiss It Better (Gun Woo Bloodhounds Request)

Pairing: Gun Woo (Bloodhounds) x F!Reader

Rating: Smut (Gender neutral pronouns throughout by AFAB for smut purposes)

Word Count: 4k 💘💘💘💘

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone sending in lovely messages about my Bloodhounds content! Doing all the 'write a kiss' requests for Gun Woo has completely put me back in my Bloodhounds era so I wanted to write a more substantial smut request for everyone who's right there with me :) Enjoy and let me know if you want more!

Kiss It Better

It wasn't so much a knock at the door that drove you to your feet, as much as it was one loud bang. Like someone had slumped most of their weight against the door, and wasn't going to shift until you let them in. There was only one man who so routinely showed up to your little apartment that you barely had to peek through the peephole to confirm your suspicions.

"Gun Woo!"

You answered warmly, unlatching the door and subconsciously swinging it wide enough for him to step inside even as you spoke at its threshold. You could see a bag in each of his hands, the reason he had had such trouble knocking, and a fresh pattern of bruises down his muscular arms. You frowned as your gaze followed the purple marks along his arms and up to his jaw, which immediately relaxed into a smile as your eyes met his.

"Good evening, I came to drop off your pay from Mr Oh, and my mother insisted I bring you some of her cooking in case you aren't eating well." Gun Woo bowed his head as he finished the explanation, extending both arms out towards you slowly. Your fingertips brushed over his as you took each bag from his hands, his calloused boxers' knuckles grazing against you with the slightest of sparks.

"Thank you Gun Woo, and please thank your mother for me." You replied warmly, wishing you could think of something else to say to keep him grinning at you a moment longer. As his arms drew back towards his sides you saw him flinch slightly, his eyes creasing shut for just a moment, the slightest wince flashing across his face. "Gun Woo, are you hurt?" He looked genuinely moved by your worry, quickly shaking his head in reassurance as he sighed out,

"I'm not hurt, don't worry. I just ache from training today, that's all." You had never seen the statuesque man show an ounce of discomfort, pushing through gruelling pain and conditions whenever the situation called for it, so you couldn't help but want to tend to him in the rare moment of vulnerability.

"Please will you come in? I want to help, I know what to do?" You knew Gun Woo wouldn't accept help unless you pleaded with him to, coaxing him through the door with a wave of your hand and giving him your hopeful expression. He seemed to weigh up your offer for a second, wincing in pain again as he moved to rub the back of his neck in thought and deciding the slight imposition would be worth it for not only his aching muscles, but his aching heart. The truth was Gun Woo was always volunteering to bring things to you, or finding reasons to stop by your little place. Seeing you was the highlight of his week every single week, your warm smile and welcoming home stirring up a longing inside him that he could barely contain as he took a few tentative steps through the door and cautiously removed his shoes.

He watched, full of curiosity, as you pulled one of the cushions off your couch and placed it carefully on the floor right in front of it.

"Sit. Please." You commanded sweetly, watching colour flush into Gun Woo's cheeks at being told what to do, the boxer hurrying towards you and settling cross-legged on the pillow, staring up at you in wonder. "You need to face the other way." You had to fight back a chuckle at his slight frown as he turned away from you, leaving you space to settle yourself on the sofa behind him, your legs framing his broad shoulders so you could shift yourself as close to his back as possible. "Now just relax." You sighed out softly as you lightly placed a hand on each of his shoulders, feeling him tense up immediately just as you expected. You let your hands sit motionless for a few seconds as you felt Gun Woo fight his every instinct to stay alert and tightly wound, his shoulders feeling heavy even under your light touch. But he didn't move away, or say anything to indicate you should stop, so you cautiously took it a little bit further. Using your thumbs to apply the slightest pressure you dragged your hands over his shoulders and down his back, framing his spine with your touch and being rewarded by hearing Gun Woo let out a sigh that reverberated through his whole being. You repeated the sweeping motion, adding a little more force with your fingertips this time, feeling the dense muscles slightly relax under your touch, his breath slowly easing out again as you moved. Your thumbs grazed over the back of his neck as they followed the shape of him, the man between your legs letting out a soft breathy moan at the contact that had his eyes darting open and his back bolting upright.

"You know you don't have to do this." He mumbled softly, already sounding disappointed by the thought you might take him up on the offer of stopping.

"I know Woo, but I want to. Does it feel nice?" Between the casual pet name and your fingers still brushing over his neck, Gun Woo's head was swimming. Having your hands rubbing over him felt a lot better than nice, every nerve in his body simultaneously setting alight and feeling more soothed than they had in years. He was worried if he tried to respond his voice would betray just how good you felt, so instead he settled for nodding his head and letting you continue your efforts.

Satisfied he was happy with his situation, you added a little more pressure, sweeping your hands over the full width of his shoulders, making sure to add soft circles with your thumbs as your fingers kneaded into his aching flesh. You had never touched someone so massive or so muscular, the feel of his every bulging muscle tangible even through his t-shirt, your fingers spread wide to try and soothe as much of him as possible. You heard his gentle sighs slip occasionally into soft moans as he settled into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut and lips falling open, gently parted to let out every sweet noise.

It wasn't only Gun Woo the massage was having an effect on, a tension forming inside you that made you wish you could squeeze your legs together instead of keeping your knees either side of his arms. He looked so gorgeous, finally relaxed for the first time you could remember, face at ease, his body swaying back towards you as if chasing your every touch. You couldn't imagine him letting himself be this close to anyone else, your heartbeat picking up as you let your little finger brush against the soft skin of his biceps as your hands trailed over his arms.

Gun Woo was as close to heaven as he could ever remember being, a warmth stirring in his gut he couldn't quite place, each little noise slipping through his lips without him being able to stop it. Even with his eyes closed all he could see was you, hardly able to believe this was really happening. He couldn't help but think how good your touch would feel on every part of him, how good it would feel to take your place and rub his strong hands all over you for as long as you'd let him.

You noticed just how much Gun Woo was enjoying your touch before he did, his light coloured sweatpants doing very little to obscure the substantial bulge growing between his legs. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, fighting back a whine at the thought of all of that fitting inside you, your core aching at the just the thought of climbing on top of him. Your caressing hands slowed enough for Gun Woo to come back to reality and realise what part of him had taken over throbbing the most now his muscles were relaxed. He looked up at you with wide eyes, infinitely apologetic and completely lost for words. He wished he was as charming as Woo Jin, that he could pass it off as a compliment and not make a big deal out of it. He was sure you'd like him more if he was better with his words. Luckily, you were used to how selectively he chose to speak, and had a much better response than he ever could have come up with,

"I can help with too, if you want Woo." The affectionate shortening of his name had his pulse quickening again, the slight smirk on your otherwise kind face drawing him in as you patted the sofa beside you. He used his arms to pull himself up onto the seat next to you, his muscles no longer crying out with so much else taking up his attention. He watched wide eyed as you placed one hand lightly over his, looking at him with pure sincerity, "We don't have to do anything if you don't want to, but - "

"I want to." He cut you off before he could overthink it, the words as terrifying as they were natural as they spilled from his lips, "I want to with you I mean. I just - I haven't before. I'm not sure what to do." He looked so bashful as he squeezed your hand hopefully, clinging to you in the hopes you wouldn't leave now that you knew this was all new to him. It was almost too endearing, this greek god of a man looking up at you with pleading eyes and such obvious desire growing between his thighs, your heart fluttering as you smiled and moved to straddle his lap. His thighs felt so warm and firm under yours, his chest grazing against yours with every heaving breath he took, hands hovering just beside you as if unable to cross some invisible boundary without your permission.

"You can touch me Gun Woo." You spoke softly as you wrapped your arms around his neck, trying to read how much of the expression on his face was fear and how much was lust. "Can I kiss you?"

He nodded quickly, head darting forwards to find your lips, not wanting to waste a single precious second of what was turning into the happiest night of his life. He was timid at first, each gentle peck leading to a slightly longer one, a little more pressure added each time as he got a taste for you. As one of his hands settled on the small of your back you took it a step further, scraping your nails over the back of his neck and feeling him moan into your kiss. With his lips parted your traced your tongue over his, feeling him tentatively respond by slipping his tongue between your lips, sending butterflies fluttering through your core. Thrilled by the sensation of exploring your kiss, he brought his free hand to cup your cheek, tilting your head slightly so he could be slightly more forceful, hungrily capturing your lips again and again like they might sustain him the rest of his life. His arm wrapped more tightly over your waist, pulling your hips closer to his and dragging your centre over his aching bulge. A deep groan erupted from his lips at the sensation, his head rolling back as you repeated the motion, grinding down against him with more pressure so you could feel him twitch in response. A strangled moan of your name escaped his lips and he lifted his head to watch you again, lips swollen from your kiss and eyes desperately pleading with you to use him however you liked.

You held the edge of his t-shirt and lifted it slightly, Gun Woo quickly taking the hint and tugging it over his head, flinging it aside in one smooth motion. You let your hands run down his chest, feeling his muscles flex beneath your touch, the sight of him threatening to take your quivering breath away. You rolled your hips again, this time bringing your lips to his neck, kissing and sucking as he let out needy whimpers each time your lips moved to a new spot. You tried adding a little pressure with your teeth, leaving a purple mark in the middle of chest that had him squirming in his seat. As your tongue traced over his nipple you could feel his thighs start to shake underneath you, the usually stoic man coming completely undone before you'd even gotten him fully undressed. Worried about where his body was heading, Gun Woo firmly gripped your hips, stopping your addictive movements and looking at you very seriously as he spoke,

"Can I touch you? Will you show me how?" He tripped over the words, building excitement and nerves getting the better of him as you nodded and planted another kiss squarely on his chest before climbing off his lap. You felt strangely exposed as you pulled your shorts down and let them fall to your feet, not because you thought Gun Woo was going to judge you, but because it made you realise just how wet you were from grinding against him. Your folds were glistening in the night air as you tugged your shirt over your head and let Gun Woo take in the full sight of you. His jaw hung slack as he drank in every inch of you, his lips trembling slightly as you straddled his hips again. This time the feel of his sweatpants against your sensitive pussy sent a shiver through your spine, Gun Woo watching every movement intently as he brought his hands to settle on your thighs. Waiting for your nod of encouragement, he let one hand drift higher, callous fingers tracing shapes on your inner thigh that had biting your lip in anticipation. Slowly he drew closer to your centre, one finger finally making contact with your glistening lips and slipping between them. From the slight smile on his face you thought he must have known what it meant that you were so wet already, his finger easily slipping inside you before withdrawing and tracing the outline of your folds. His every movement so was slow and curious, it was like blissful torture, each teasing moment of contact only building the anticipation fluttering inside you as he watched your face curiously for guidance. When his finger circled over your clit, you let out a needy moan, back arching slightly in a way that had your chest leaning towards him. He repeated the motion, pleased to hear the same noise slip from your lips, your chest bouncing slightly in place as your body jolted from the pleasure. He positioned his thumb over the sensitive spot, finding a steady rhythm of firm circles as two of his fingers slipped inside you.

"Right there Gun Woo!" You whined out as you felt the undeniable climb of the pressure inside you, wondering if there was anything this boy wasn't a natural at. Spurred on by hearing the way you said his name, Gun Woo pushed his fingers slightly deeper inside you massaging you walls and feeling the way your thighs started to shake in response, your pleas of encouragement dissolving quickly into panting moans. Eyes glued to the way your chest gently bounced in front of him, he latched his mouth onto one of your breasts, tongue flicking over one nipple and his free hand moved to knead and squeeze the other. It was so much delicious sensation all at once, every inch of your body sparkling with excitement as you felt the heat inside you reach its precipice, the steady rhythm of his fingers bringing you over the edge in a powerful wave of bliss that had you moaning out his name again and again. He could feel the clench of your walls around his fingers, not daring to stop or change his movements as you rode out of your pleasure, his hungry lips exploring your chest and dragging out your ecstacy, straight into another build up with no sign of slowing.

Gun Woo wished he could do this forever, feeling the reaction of your body to his touch and watching the effect he could have on you. He wanted to train at it like he did with boxing, until he was the best he could be, putting in as many hours as it took to make you feel as incredible as he felt right now. It was getting overwhelming riding his fingers as he pawed your chest, the pressure threatening to build inside you again at an almost intimidating pace.

"Woo," You whined out, the pet name only encouraging him to slip a third finger inside you and pump his wrist a little quicker, your head swimming as you tried to remember why you were going to interrupt him. Your hips rocked against his palm, grazing over his substantial bulge and pulling you back to your initial desperate need to feel him. "Gun Woo." You put your hand on his wrist and he paused his movements and withdrew his hand, frowning as needy whine spilled out of you as your building pleasure eased. "I want to feel you now." You watched the gears turn in his mind as he considered your words, at the same time slowly bringing his glistening fingers up to his lips and tentatively sucking one in a motion that almost finished you off entirely. Pleased with his action he slipped another finger between his lips, before replying, "Can I taste you more?"

You were sure you could feel yourself dripping from the question alone, thanking whatever fate had conspired to bring him to your home tonight and praying it wouldn't be the last time.

"We can try that another time." His face lit up at the suggestion of this happening again, your heart hammering at the thought of Gun Woo becoming even more of a regular visitor to your place. "But right now I want to feel you inside me." You ran your palm over the length of the outline threatening to burst through his pants, watching him squirm in response before you added, "If that's what you want."

Once again lost for words Gun Woo effortlessly lifted you from his lap and placed you back on the couch, pulling down his sweatpants which now had a wet patch glistening over his crotch, and stepping out of them to reveal himself to you. He looked almost self-conscious as you stared at his impressive length, core pulsing at the thought of feeling all of him inside you. Without thinking you licked your lips, giving Gun Woo just enough confidence to move closer, climbing over you until your back met the couch cushions, one arm framing your face as the other ran the leaking tip of his cock over your folds. He waited for you to nod again, leaning down to kiss you greedily before starting to push slightly inside you. You watched his face contort as he stopped almost immediately, eyes clenched shut, muscles tensing above you.

"Are you okay?" You asked softly, relieved when he quickly nodded, grunting out through an almost pained expression.

"You just feel so good. So soft and warm and perfect. And I -" He had to stop himself before he got carried away, and you couldn't help but feel even more turned on at how hard he was having to try not to cum the moment he entered you. You placed a cluster of soft kisses on his cheek, but otherwise stayed motionless until after a few moments he started to drive his hips forwards again. You knew it would feel different being with such a big man, but the way he filled you so completely, his body completely covering yours, it was incredible. Every sense was captivated by him form, his body engulfing yours as he drew closer. When he finally bottomed out inside you, he quickly withdrew, groaning out loud at the sensation as he pulled out of you, only to slam his hips against yours again. He had the control and strength of an athlete in his prime, every motion smooth and powerful and leaving you gasping for breath at the sheer intensity of it. Being with him was all consuming, every thought and breath crying out 'Gun Woo'. His lips couldn't get enough of yours, swallowing every whine and moan his thrusts drew from you, each noise just spurring him on to give you everything he had.

You could feel him straining for control as his snaked a hand over your hip to find your sensitive button again, strumming quick brushes over your clit in time with his hips, adding yet more overwhelming sensation. Your mind was crying out for him as his scent flooded your senses, and every inch of your skin was pressed against his, so wrapped up in his strong arms and yet feeling completely in control as his pleading eyes met yours.

"I'm -" He choked out in a desperate beg, your name quickly following it as his lips crashed down on yours. As his thighs started to clench you could feel the coil inside you start to quickly tighten again, the second release you were so close to reaching on his fingers coming fast and threatening to be even more overwhelming than the first. You tried to let him know how close you were, but when you wrapped your arms around his neck and looked into his desperate eyes, the tension inside you snapped and all you could do was cling to him as your whole body shook with the pleasurable relief. The feeling of your warm, wet walls squeezing his throbbing dick was by far the best thing Gun Woo had ever felt as he spilled inside you, hammering his hips into you again and again. Each shift of his hips only dragged more pleasure out inside of you, tipping him over the edge again as a fresh wave of bliss seemed to spill out of him, cumming more than he ever had when left alone with his thoughts. Thoughts that had been so frequently of you, and yet they hadn't even begun to do justice to the incredible ecstasy he felt as he all but collapsed on top of you, completely spent and even more in love than when he arrived.

You lifted one hand to brush the hair out of Gun Woo's face, heart melting at the gentle smile that had replaced his frantic look of desperation. He leant down to kiss you again, more sweetly this time, lust giving way to love, his affections clear as you leant up and planted a kiss on the tip of his nose. He burst into a giggle at the gesture, using his leveraged position above you to pepper your face with kisses, loyally returning to your lips before too long. He was sure he would have had the best night ever even if you just kissed him tonight.

"You are amazing. Was I okay?" He breathed out in a warm laugh, unsure if the euphoria of the situation was typical of the afterglow, or if this felt as special to you as it did to him.

"You're amazing too, Gun Woo." You stroked his face in reassurance, hoping his first time with you wouldn't be the last. "Do your aches feel better now?" You teased, running your hand down the length of his spine and watching him nod fiercely, grin spread from cheek to cheek.

"I promise, I've never felt better."

***

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[liliesonthego]

Gunwoo: To kiss a scar

Summary: <takes place between season 1 & 2: no spoilers> when Gunwoo hides his scar from you one too many times, you do what you can to show him that every part of him is beautiful, strong, and worthy of love.

Pairing: Gunwoo x reader (BLOODHOUNDS)

Genre: fluff/ suggestive (they only make out a lil)

Word count: 2.2k

Authors note: finally finished season 2 and I am here to aid in the lack of bloodhounds fics :D i hope you all enjoy💙 also this turned out way longer than expected so i did not edit it because i cant be bothered I'm sorry (also if u like this pls comment im nervy hehe :D)

—

When you first saw Gunwoo, you had no idea who he was.

To you, he was just the sweet guy behind the counter helping his mother out at her café. You didn’t know he was a boxer, didn’t know he was an incredible fighter, and didn’t know anything about what he’d been through or how much he’d survived.

All you saw was his pretty smile and his bright eyes and knew you wanted to know more.

So you walked right up to the counter and waited for him to notice you.

He was tidying up some of the cups when he looked up at you and paused for a second.

Then he smiled, polite and soft, and asked, “Do you need anything else?”

“Actually,” you said bluntly, “I was wondering… are you single?”

His eyes widened as he blinked at you, genuinely not understanding what you’d just asked him. His mouth parted slightly, but nothing came out. Behind him, Woojin nudged him to break him out of his shock.

“U-um, I don’t—”

You tilted your head, still smiling. “Would you like to go on a date?”

That only made him more flustered. His cheeks turned pink, and he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

God he was so painfully cute.

Instead of making him struggle to articulate a response, you reached over and gently took the pen clipped to his apron. He watched silently as you grabbed a napkin and wrote your number on it and slid it across the counter towards him.

“Here’s my number if you’re interested,” you said. “If not, no worries.”

Then you left before you could second guess your actions.

But you caught a quick glimpse through the window as you walked away of his mom who had her hands over her mouth, smiling so wide it made you laugh, and Woojin, who was jumping up and down excitedly, and finally Gunwoo who just stood there, staring down at the napkin in his hand, wondering if that had actually happened.

It took him a while to text you.

You tried not to overthink it. Maybe he wasn’t interested. Maybe he was too nice to reject you in person. Maybe you had come on too strong—you tended to be that way.

But eventually the message came, sent by Woojin who had taken matters into his own hands unbeknownst to you.

Your first date was a little awkward. Gunwoo showed up extra early and when you'd arrived he bowed, opened the door for you, pulled out your chair, and thanked the server every single time they came by.

He was sweet, so so so sweet. But he was also incredibly nervous.

You did most of the talking that night, which neither of you minded, and he listened closely to everything you said.

The second date went better, though he was surprised you wanted one at all.

“You want to see me again?” he asked, looking genuinely confused.

You laughed. “Yes, Gunwoo. That’s usually how dating works.”

He smiled then, shy and relieved, and you had an unbelievable urge to hug him though you held yourself back.

He still had trouble opening up. You asked him questions, and sometimes he answered, for others he got quiet. You could tell there were things he wasn’t ready to talk about, so you didn’t push, instead diverting to a different topic.

And you just kept showing up, date after date.

By the fifth date, he started to relax more.

He made more eye contact, smiled more, laughed more, talked more.

You learned that he got embarrassed easily, especially when you compliment him and that he remembered little details without making a big deal out of it. You learned that he always walked on the side closest to the street and that his hands were strong but extremely gentle when they touched you. You also learned that he was an incredibly talented boxer, but that was neither here nor there.

The first time you kissed him was after your sixth date.

He walked you home like he always did side by side, close but not close enough.

His hand kept hovering near yours and you noticed the slight flex of his fingers and the way they twitched once, like he wanted to reach for you but couldn’t quite bring himself do it, so you reached for him first.

His fingers were warm, a little sweaty, and you could tell he got nervous the second he realized it. His hand loosened but you just squeezed it back to yours, not caring in the slightest.

When you got to your building, you turned to face him. He looked nervous again and you weren't sure why.

“Gunwoo,” you said quietly.

He let out a shaky breath.

“Can I just have a minute?” he asked.

You nodded. “Of course.”

And you waited for him, holding his hand, giving him all the time he needed.

Eventually he stepped closer and very slowly and carefully leaned in. His eyes flicked down to your lips, then back up to your face, almost asking if it was okay and you leaned in just enough to answer.

Then he kissed you.

It was soft, a little shaky, but so gentle and so him— it made your heart ache in the best possible way.

When he pulled back, his face was pink, his eyes wide, like he couldn’t believe he’d actually done it.

You looked at him, at his shy smile and warm eyes, and knew then that he was it for you.

Since then, your relationship with Gunwoo only grew. You started stopping by the café more often, not just to see him, but to spend time with his mom and Woojin who he'd formally introduced you to.

His mother warmed up to you quickly, always smiling when you walked in and insisting you sit down before you could even order. She always asked if you'd eaten, if you were tired, if Gunwoo was treating you well. He always got super embarrassed when she did that.

“Mom,” he’d mumble, cheeks pink.

“What?” she’d say, completely innocent. “I’m just asking.”

Woojin was worse by far. He had absolutely no shame about constantly third wheeling—which frankly you didn't mind one bit— and teasing either of you.

But you liked them. You liked seeing him with them and little by little, you started to belong too.

Gunwoo wasn’t just the sweet guy from the café anymore with a pretty smile and bright eyes. Now he was your boyfriend—but still with a pretty smile and bright eyes.

There was just one thing.

You could tell quickly that his family had gone through something. You didn’t know what, exactly. Gunwoo didn’t talk about it, and you didn’t push.

And then there was the scar as well.

You noticed it the first day you saw him, of course. It would have been impossible not to. But it never made him any less beautiful to you.

But you could tell he was incredibly insecure about it. The first few times you saw him, he’d tilt his face just enough so that the scar was turned slightly away from you in an attempt to hide it. When you walked together, he always made sure you stayed on the other side. If you sat across from him, he’d angle himself to keep it out of view.

They were silly attempts at concealing it but if it made him feel safer, you let him.

One night, you tried to bring it up but when all you were met with was silence, you changed the subject right away.

The last thing you wanted to make him feel was uncomfortable and you didn’t need to know before he was ready to tell you.

But the longer you were with him, the more you noticed the insecurity taking over.

When you kissed him and your hand came up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing near the scar, he’d gently take your wrist and move your hand away. The action made your heart ache.

You could handle not knowing what happened, you could wait as long as he needed. But you hated the thought of him hating something that was part of him, especially something on his face. Something he had to see every day.

Today you were at your apartment, free from where Woojin couldn't be around to whistle or make kissing sounds from across the room.

Gunwoo was beneath you on the couch, his back pressed against the cushions while you straddled his waist. His hands rested low on your hips, your own on his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you kissed him again and again.

You pulled his bottom lip between yours, soft and teasing, and felt him smile against your mouth. When your tongue darted out, asking for more, he denied you, turning his head just enough to make you chase him.

You pulled back and stared at him as he looked up at you with a sneaky little grin, eyes bright, lips swollen from all the kissing.

You huffed. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

His grin widened at that and you leaned down to place a kiss on the tip of his nose.

Then his cheek, then his forehead, then the other cheek. You kissed his face over and over until he started laughing, breathless and embarrassed beneath you.

“Stop,” he groaned, turning red.

“No,” you said, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I’m busy.”

“Busy?”

“Very busy.” You kissed his temple, then his flushed cheek again. “You’re so pretty.”

You got close to the scar, and before your lips could reach it, his hands raised to your cheeks.

You always forgot how strong he really was until moments like this. He guided your face back to his with ease, pulling you into another kiss before you could think too much about it.

And then his tongue finally met yours. For a second, you almost fell for the trick, almost.

You pulled back just enough to breathe.

“Gunwoo.”

His eyes opened slowly, glassy and soft from kissing, but the second he saw your face, he knew you'd realized and the smile faded.

You watched him retreat into himself a little, nervousness returning as his eyes flicked away from yours.

“I know you want to keep avoiding it,” you said softly. “And I’m not asking you to explain what happened. You don’t have to tell me anything before you’re ready.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed anxiously.

You brushed your thumb lightly along the edge of his jaw, waiting until his eyes came back to yours.

“But I know you don’t like me seeing it,” you continued. “Or touching it.”

He looked away again and your stomach fell.

“Hey,” you whispered.

He didn’t move, so you carefully touched his chin and guided his face back to yours.

“Can I?” you asked.

For a moment, he didn’t answer, then, he gave the smallest nod.

You returned to peppering kisses across his face, starting at his cheeks as his fingers tightened at your waist.

You kissed him again, a little closer to the scar this time. Your other hand slid up slowly until your fingertips hovered over the raised line on his skin.

When you touched it, he inhaled sharply and you paused immediately.

“Is this okay?” you whispered.

Gunwoo’s eyes fluttered, and for a second, you thought he might say no, but then his hands settled tighter around you.

“Yes,” he breathed.

Your fingers traced over the scar as he watched you intently.

“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” you whispered.

His eyes shut completely and finally, your lips brushed over it so featherlight he barely felt it.

Gunwoo went completely still beneath you as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, holding him close as you kissed it again.

“You’re so strong,” you whispered against his skin.

He knew what you meant, not just physically. Not just because he could fight, or because his body was powerful beneath yours.

You meant it for whatever had happened to him, whatever had left that scar, and for whatever he had faced and survived.

His arms wrapped around your body tightly, pulling you flush against him like he needed to feel every inch of you there. His face turned slightly into your neck, his breath still unsteady against your skin.

You kissed down the full length of the scar, one after another, patience and love present in every touch.

By the time you reached the end of it and pulled back to look at him, his eyes were wet, his cheeks flushed even deeper, his lips parted as he tried to find his voice to speak.

But you needed to say it again first before anything else, needed to know he heard you.

“You’re beautiful, Gunwoo.”

He was never good with words, that much you both knew, so he showed you how much the words meant to him the only way he could.

He leaned forward and kissed you hard, pouring everything he wished he could say into it.

And when your hand came up to cup his cheek, thumb resting gently over his scar, he didn’t move it away.

—

Taglist: @lilahardell @ozzysoatsolivesandpasta @coerjjkms @0wisewisdoom @jellyybelly

Comment or send an ask to be added to the taglist <3

[altxrxgo1005]

I LOVE THAT SOFT SPOKEN MAN😭🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾💗💗💗💗💖💖💖💖💖💞💞💞💞💞💞💕💕💕💕🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰💓💓💓💓😻😻😻😻💝💝💝💝

[aretiredstan]

Ovulating heavily today and remembered how dohwan’s a moaner so, here you go!

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Kim Gun-woo x Reader (f)

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: themes of violence, injury, blood, captivity, emotional distress, trauma, grief, mentions of torture/coercion, heavy emotional dependence, explicit sexual content, soft dom!gunwoo energy if you squint, possessiveness, crying during intimacy, hurt/comfort, and emotionally wrecked people using each other as home.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5k-ish

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After being used as bait by Baek-jeong, you watch Gun-woo nearly destroy himself trying to save you. What follows is one long night of grief, relief, exhaustion, and two people clinging to each other after almost losing everything.

Enjoy!

————————————————————————

Blood still stained the concrete by the time the police stormed in. The smell of sweat and rust clung heavily to the air while shouting echoed through the abandoned underground. Somewhere behind the officers, Woo-jin and Mr. Moon pushed through the chaos frantically, searching.

Searching for you. For Gun-woo.

The ropes around your wrists were finally cut by one of the policemen, but the moment freedom hit your body again, you stumbled forward immediately.

“Gun-woo-“ Your voice cracked violently.

He was still on the floor. Blood splattered across his body, his shoulder twisted unnaturally, bruises darkening across his ribs and sides. His chest rose faintly beneath the dim underground ring lights, but barely.

You had screamed yourself hoarse earlier begging him to stop fighting. To stop getting hit. To stop throwing himself back at Baek jeong over and over again.

But knowing Gun-woo, there had never been another outcome. Not when it came to you.

You collapsed beside him instantly, your shaking hands cradling his face carefully.

“Gun-woo… Gun-woo, wake up…please” No response.

Your fingers trembled through his damp hair before you pulled his head into your lap, tears falling uncontrollably onto his face as you hugged him tightly.

The entire weight of the world felt like it had collapsed directly onto your chest. And for one horrible second, you genuinely thought he died saving you.

—

The next morning smelled like antiseptic and exhaustion. Gun-woo woke slowly, pain spreading through his shoulder the moment he tried to move.

A quiet wince escaped him. Then he noticed you. Curled beside the hospital bed, still wearing the same clothes from yesterday, dried blood staining the fabric. One of your hands remained tangled tightly with his while your head rested next to both your joined hands at the edge of the mattress. You refused to leave him.

Even in sleep, your brows still looked tense. Gun-woo stared quietly for a long moment before gently brushing his fingers through your hair. The slight movement from him woke you almost instantly as your head shot upward.

The relief that crossed your face the moment you realized he was awake nearly broke him.

“Oh my God…” Your voice came out fragile and wrecked.

“Easy,” he murmured softly.

But the moment your eyes landed on the bruising across his body and the sling supporting his injured shoulder, your expression crumbled all over again.

“I’m so sorry my love… This is my fault,” you whispered shakily. “You got hurt because of me.”

Gun-woo frowned immediately. “No.”

“They used me to get to you-“

“And they would’ve found another way if it wasn’t you,” he cut in quietly. “Baek jeong was going to drag me there no matter what.”

Tears welled up in your eyes again, and Gun-woo hated seeing that. “He crossed a line,” he continued, voice rougher now. “Using you like that…”

His jaw tightened painfully. “I’d do it again.” You stared at him. “Over and over again.”

The room fell quiet afterward except for your quiet breathing. Then suddenly you broke completely.

Gun-woo barely had time to react before you buried yourself carefully against your still locked hands, sobbing quietly.

Despite the pain shooting through his body, he wrapped one arm around you immediately. And for the first time since the warehouse, Gun-woo cried too, and you felt every tremble in his breathing.

—

“I hate hospitals.”

Woo-jin looked up sharply from his chair across the room. “You literally just woke up.”

Gun-woo ignored him entirely. “They’re suffocating.”

“You got half your bones rearranged yesterday,” Woo-jin deadpanned.

“And your shoulder is severely strained,” you added instantly. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“I’m fine.” Gun woo whined, earning a scoff from Woo-jin.

“You passed out.”

“I’m awake now.”

Woo-jin stared at him in disbelief. “This idiot…”

Eventually, after enough arguing and one exhausted doctor explaining that Gun-woo could leave under strict conditions, no excessive movement, proper rest, medication, and minimal strain on the shoulder, the decision was made.

Mostly because Gun-woo was impossibly stubborn. And because none of you could safely return home anymore nor stay publicly here.

Baek jeong and his men were still out there. And now they knew exactly how important you were to Gun-woo, which painted a target directly onto your back.

—

By evening, Woo-jin dropped both of you off at Min Beom’s hotel far from the city center and lurking eyes. Rain tapped softly against the windows while he stood outside the room awkwardly.

“I’ll be with Mr. Moon tonight looking through more intel,” he explained. “Call me if anything happens.”

Then his eyes narrowed toward Gun-woo , “And you, don’t move.” Gun-woo looked offended immediately as Woo-jin scoffed, “I’m serious.”

After enough reassurances from Gun-woo that he’d stay in bed and rest properly, Woo-jin finally left. The silence afterward felt strange and heavy.

You stood there for a moment before quietly deciding to shower. You felt disgusting. Your skin still smelled faintly like blood and dust and fear. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw Gun-woo getting hit helplessly in front of you again. The memory wouldn’t leave.

So beneath the hot water, you covered your mouth with your palm and cried silently all over again. You didn’t want him hearing you, you didn’t want him hurting himself trying to check on you.

By the time you finished showering, your eyes burned badly. You wrapped a towel around yourself before realizing with exhaustion that you forgot to bring fresh clothes into the bathroom.

Perfect.

After splashing cold water against your face repeatedly to reduce the puffiness and the redness around your eyes, you finally cracked the bathroom door open carefully.

The room was dim, only the television illuminated the darkness softly. Gun-woo rested against the bed’s headboard beneath half-drawn blankets, one extra pillow supporting his injured shoulder. His damp hair fell messily across his forehead while a random episode of Peaky Blinders played on screen. The blue TV light softened every sharp edge of him.

For a second, you just stared. He was alive. You stepped into the room quietly, and Gun-woo looked up immediately, lowering the volume once he noticed you.

“You okay baby?” he asked softly.

You nodded quickly before sitting at the edge of the bed with your back facing him “Mm.”

Your voice sounded hoarse. So instead of speaking more, you focused on rubbing cream gently over the bruises littering your legs from being dragged around by Baek jeong’s men.

Gun-woo watched silently. “Baby.”

The word came out quieter and gentler than usual. His hand rested lightly against your shoulder before slowly turning you toward him, and the moment your eyes met his again, your lips trembled.

The image of him lying unconscious on that warehouse floor hit you all over again. But Gun-woo looked just as wrecked, like he was barely holding himself together too.

So before either of you could say another word, he pulled you carefully into him and kissed you, softly at first, desperately after.

Tears slipped slowly down both your faces during the kiss, neither of you bothering to hide them anymore. Gun-woo pulled back only enough to wipe beneath your eyes carefully before pressing shaky kisses against your cheeks.

You cupped his face gently and kissed both his eyes, earning the smallest broken sound from him. Then he kissed you again, longer and needier this time, like he was trying to reassure himself you were really here. You survived, and he survived too.

The kiss gradually deepened, growing heavier with every shaky breath shared between you. Gun-woo carefully repositioned you until you were straddling his lap, his back still resting against the headboard while his good hand stayed firmly around your waist, almost afraid you’d disappear if he loosened his grip.

Then he pulled back for a second, just to look at you. The soft blue glow from the television illuminated your face gently, catching against your damp skin and swollen lips, and in that moment, Gun-woo genuinely thought you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He missed you so much it physically hurt him more than any punches he had received. Even after only almost losing you for one night.

His eyes searched yours carefully, silently asking for permission, for reassurance that you wanted this too. You nodded hazily, still dazed from his kisses, before pulling yourself back into him impatiently. That was all the confirmation he needed.

Gun-woo kissed you again immediately, deeper this time, desperate and hungry in a way that made your chest tighten.

Then reality hit you again. You pulled back slightly, your hand brushing carefully against his injured shoulder.

“But… you’re hurt-”

“I don’t care,” he cut you off instantly, voice low and wrecked with emotion before kissing you again like he couldn’t stand another second away from you.

Between messy kisses and uneven breathing, his lips slowly trailed from your mouth down your neck, leaving slow lingering kisses against your skin while your fingers disappeared softly through his damp hair.

Carefully, with your help, his white shirt and grey sweatpants were discarded somewhere onto the hotel floor, your towel following soon after, as the room grew warmer quickly.

He touched you like he was trying to memorize you, like reassurance, and like relief.

Soft sounds escaped both of you as his hand explored your body slowly, squeezing gently at your waist, your breast, your thighs, pulling quiet trembling breaths from your lips every time his fingers brushed somewhere sensitive.

The moment you finally sank fully against him, another broken moan escaped Gun-woo’s throat. His head fell back against the bed slightly, eyes squeezing shut as his breathing grew heavier. You immediately buried your face shyly into his neck, trying to swallow your moan yourself.

And despite everything, despite the bruises covering his body, despite the shoulder injury, despite the exhaustion still weighing down both of you, he still held you securely against him with one arm like it was instinct. Protecting you was built into him.

Your chest tightened painfully at the realization. He almost died for you yesterday, and somehow he was still here touching you this gently.

You began moving against him slowly, your pace messy and desperate from emotion more than confidence, and Gun-woo completely lost himself in it. One of his hands tangled tightly into your still damp hair while his forehead pressed against your shoulder.

“Baby…” he breathed shakily against your skin. The sound alone nearly sent you over the edge.

Your movements became quicker, more uneven, and when you bit softly against the side of his neck, Gun-woo suddenly froze beneath you with a broken gasp.

Then both of you collapsed into each other afterward, breathing hard as the tension finally shattered into something warm and overwhelming. For the first time in a while, neither of you were scared.

Gun-woo’s chest rose and fell heavily beneath you while your body remained sprawled softly against his. After a long moment, his hand began moving gently up and down your bare back soothingly. Then he pressed a tired kiss against your forehead.

“I love you,” he whispered quietly. Your eyes burned instantly again.

Gun-woo rested his forehead against yours, exhausted but sincere in a way that made your chest ache.

“And if anyone ever tries hurting you again…” His arm tightened around you slightly.

“I’ll kill them before they get close enough to touch you.”

[talkingtoyourdino]

Speedsters Can Have Fun Too - Part 2

Characters: Dick Grayson x Speedster!MALE Reader Summary: It's been 3 weeks since Dick rutted on your thigh, humping you like it was the end of the world in your sleep. He can't even talk to you, much less look at you, but he can't ignore you forever. Warnings: SMUT! Cursing, living vibrator, prostate play, handjob, readers a little mean, mention of killing someone in dreams. A/N: FINE TAKE IT, part two...you dirty, dirty, smut filled minded people...LMAO. I didn't really like how this turned out, so I hope you do!! :) Also, I have grown from 83 followers to 131 in just 5 days. Thank you! <3

Part 1 -> Here!

Tag list (People who asked for P2/ made this happen): @barbare2, @emoidtee, @dullzumi, @four-horned-goat

It has been three weeks since Dick came silly on your thigh.

21 days.

39 showers.

47 patrols.

Yet he still can't get over it.

He groans, hands running down his face. Apology tiny and muffled as you just give him a strange look - that lopsided grin, that speedster charm you always seemed to carry doing more than just numbers to him.

Dicks been avoiding you for weeks.

You woke up in empty sheets, ruffled and untidied from how quickly he left when you finally let go of him. Like he was some kind of one night stand - one Dick wishes you two actually had.

He needed to leave before you woke up, before you saw the flush on his cheeks, before you saw the permanent mound in his boxers, before you saw the wet spot that had absolutely sullied his inner thighs. The skin slick with his cum and sweat alike.

You've been texting him ever since. Asking to meet up. Asking if he's okay. Asking if you did something wrong. Asking if he needed to talk.

And it's killing him.

The guilt is eating him alive, the shame is haunting him, the embarrassment is killing him.

And he feels like he can die from a mix of all three at any moment.

He can't even cum without a vibrator anymore, every silent night was spent alone physically - yet not mentally.

Because every night, every time he got even the slightest chance, every time he had those 10 extra minutes to himself? He would pull out the small bullet he had gotten for an ex.

Dick would usually feel embarrassment running up his ears, clouding his mind, yet it had nothing on the heat he would feel rushing towards his cock. His cheeks flushed in pink, mouth drawing open in tiny whimpers didn't even try to contain, toes curling like he was about to die. The tiny toy always buzzed excitedly on his tip, squelching filthily. The sensations wracking down his body as his toes curled, his body fuzzed, a familiar ache always rising in his abdomen as he imagined that night; fucking his hips up into his hand. The small opening weeping pre-cum, weeping desperate tears. Desperate to cum, cum for you. His cock head often preened red, turning angry at the amount of times he would overstimulate himself over, and over, and over.

The worst part?

He imagined it was you doing it.

Every night.

Every night, Dick would sit against his head board, legs spread, vibrator thrumming, back arching.

Every night, he imagined it was you making him reach his peak, you making him whine out in pleasure, you jerking him off until he couldn't take it anymore, you pumping your fist up and down his cock till he was doubled over in tears. Your hand vibrating so deliciously around his length.

He imagined it was you, using your thumb to trace carefully over his cock head and tease his frenulum; your digit slowly vibrating to match the thrum of his heart at the mere arousal of it all.

He imagined it was you, whispering filthy words into his ears. Praising him - telling him he was taking it so well- degration lacing your words at how much of a whore he was to just sit there, to just take it, to not push you away.

He imagined it was you edging him, bringing him close to euphoria before pulling your thumb away; kissing him down his neck with silent comfort.

In reality it was just him, his imagination, and his horribly fast hand stopping the toy before he could cum himself silly.

Wally must've sense something was off.

Why?

Because here you and Dick were, Wally bailing on Dick last minute because 'something came up' - you supposedly being here to meet him too.

Dick has been parent trapped...

And you're grinning, chattering at him like nothings wrong. Like you're about to spar, like you're about to use your speed normally, like he's not getting hard at the thought of just seeing you vibrate again - even in the heat of battle.

Dick's sure the amount of cold showers he's had to take has sky-rocketed his water bill exponentially. He'll have to ask Bruce for some rent money...

Dick jumps, actually jumps, when his foot his nudged - his head whipping over to look over at you. You're sitting on a bench -completely alone- in the middle of one of the Leagues many private gyms.

"Dick, dude hello?" You wave your hand in his face, sighing when he finally blinks at you - wide eyed, "Jesus, finally, I've been trying to talk to you for like - 2 minutes."

Dick's mouth goes dry. Not because he can't think of any words to say, no - he can think of a dozen. How he feels. Apologizes for everything. Telling you to fuck off. Telling you to stay. Telling you that you that everything's fine. No, his mouth goes dry because he physically can't move, he can only dryly swallow the lump in his throat.

Theres a pause. A silence. You're just staring at him. fuck, you're staring at him. With those gorgeous eyes, and those fanning lashes, and a look that makes him want to grab you hard and kiss you even harder right there and then. Your mouth is parted - worried- brows furrowed in a way that makes you look like some kind of sad puppy, and he's swooning.

"You doing okay?" You finally ask, finding that Dick was...less than talkative. A smirk stretches across your face, not missing a beat, "You look pretty dishelved for someone who's been deemed, 'Gotham's Sexiest Vigilante' by the Gotham Times."

Okay, that gets him.

A grin tugs at Dicks lips, his eyebrow tugging up, "Oh, didn't know you were keeping track of that." His elbow nudges yours, "You look at the newly deemed 'sexiest' vigilante every year they renew it?"

"I would, but it always ends up being you." You snort, shaking your head.

Dick scoffs, looking away and hoping to hell that the burning sensation that creeps up his neck isn't visible. The embarrassment, the arousal, the shame, he can't tell what's what now - maybe he likes it, and that thought scares him.

"Nah, but seriously man." You mutter, staring at him and trying to meet a gaze that was ever fleeting, "You doing okay?"

"Don't tell me my crunches looked that bad." Dick joked, not even sparing you a glance.

"Dick."

He pauses, he knows that tone. The 'I'm not taking your shit tone' you've used it since you both were in middle school, and some kid was bullying him about being an orphan.

Taking a deep breathe, he sighs, groaning gingerly, "Yes..?"

"You look more tired than Tim. You get in a fight with one of your brothers again?" A pause, "Bruce?" You lean forwards slightly to try and gain his gaze; but he looks away.

He can't look at you, he just can't.

He can't look at your arms, toned and lean, glistening and sweaty in the shitty florescent lights - each muscle flexing with every single movement. He can't look at you plush lips that pout whenever he says something teasing. He can't look you in your eyes, the same eyes that make him feel like his soul is being pulled out of his body. He can't look at you at all, your thighs especially - the way he had arched back on them, grinded on them, grinded on you? He can't look at you and not think about how he violated you. Violated your friendship.

He knows he has to say something.

"No..." Dick sighs, rubbing the back of his neck; head hanging, "No fights." A scoff leaves his lips - with it, a sad attempt at a chuckle as he waves you off, "I always look tired. It's part of my brooding, dark vigilante charm. You can take the Vigilante out of the Batcave, but not the bat out of the Vigilante. You know?"

You don't hesitate, eyes narrowing, clocking onto him faster than you could even run, "Have you been having nightmares again?"

He freezes at that, feeling his blood run cold, something frozen shooting down his spine and he feels his heart pulse. Yet, he forces his fingers to relax, forces his face to morph into something more playful, more teasing, more relaxed,

He huffs, flopping back on the bench as his arms come up to nestle onto the top of it, "Nightmares?" He waves a hand dismissively. "Pfft. Me? Nah."

Your eyebrows arch down, and he can tell you're not buying it. You're not buying it because its you.

The boy he's known since before he came Robin.

The boy he shared meals with.

The boy he'd sneak out to see every night to go on patrol, or talk shit about your mentors, or do whatever lame thing two superhero teenagers did.

The boy he's been so hopelessly in love for since 10th grade.

The boy he's been so hopelessly horny for since 11th.

And it goes the other way as well, because Dick already knows what you're thinking. The way you're eyebrows are furrowed, the way you're scanning him like he's some kind of fragile vase,

"It's-" Dick chokes up, a gutteral sigh leaving him - his body shaking slightly before he put his head in his hands, "It isn't Jason."

"It's not?" You're skeptical.

"It's not."

You quirk an eyebrow, body turned to face him now, "But it was a nightmare?"

"No, not for me at least." Dick mutters, something coiling deep in his gut and he can hear you shift in your seat; confused. And that kills him.

He doesn't want to admit how he looks forwards to sleeping every night just to have sex with you, only to wake up in a cold sweat from guilt. He doesn't want to admit how he's been hopelessly in love with you since high school, and that's why his past relationships never worked out. He doesn't want to admit that he humped your leg like it was the last act of his life, like a rapid animal that couldn't control itself.

"Dick, in case you forgot, I'm the king of nightmares. It's the reason Barry wouldn't let me officially join the Teen Titans. Because I never got enough sleep to make a full commitment." Your hand finds his shoulder, soothing, and warmth blooms throughout his whole body. For a split second Dick wants you to touch his dick, he cringes, "If you need to talk, I'm here."

Dick squeezes his eyes shut, the guilt growing in his gut with every word that flows from your mouth.

Silence.

You blinked at him for a few seconds, a small sigh leaving your lips as you don't dare pull your gaze away, "Did you dream about killing the Joker again? Dude, I told you, that's normal. Even Wally agreed." Your fingers wiggle, eyes shifting down almost reverently, "Do you know how many times I think about just taking Zoom and-"

"I've been having dreams about having sex with one of our teammates." Dick blurts out, words almost jumbling together as he feels you pause.

...

"Oh." You pause pointedly, eyes widening, "Ohhhh. Oh, holy shit..." You mutter, looking forwards blankly.

It's silent for a few moments, both of you just sitting there before you grin; nicking his shoulder with yours, "Dick...you dirty, dirty, dog."

Dick mutters curses to himself.

Oh, to hit you...or to kiss you...

"Okay so... hypothetically..." Dick mutters, elaborating, shifting nervously as his hands waggled around in front of him, "...if I said my dumb dreams were about... y'know. My teammate? Like a hot one, another guy, what would you say to that?"

Dick watches as you pinch your chin between your fingers, looking off in thought, and he geniunely thinks he stops breathing before you turn towards him.

And holy shit you look evil as fuck.

Your mouth is curled into this devious grin, your eyes hooded over with something darker than whatever prank you had planned for Garth this week.

He genuinely shudders at you with something other than arousal.

With a shit eating grin, you lean in slightly, "Is it Wally?"

Dick sputters, choking on his own spit and he coughs out; head shaking violently - like a wet dog - undignified, "Jesus- no- god, he's like my brother! How did you even get there?!"

"You guys have been spending an awful amount of time together lately." You say slowly, eyes sharp - staring at him like he's hiding some deep secret.

And he is.

And thats why he's been hanging out with Wally so much lately.

Because its better than hanging out with you.

"You have way too many friends dude, it could be an alien currently lightyears away for all I know. I'm not guessing...." Yuuko muttered, eyebrows furrowing in deep thought, - and fuck, fuck, you look so cute like that, "You did say teammate though, is it Roy? Dude is massive. Have you seen the size of his biceps?"

"It's none of the gingers." Dick deadpans.

"Not even Kory...?"

Dick wants to slam his head into a locker, "No," He sighs, staring at some random weight, "Not even Kory."

You hum in thought, fingers tapping peacefully on the bench.

And thats when it hits Dick.

You're way too calm.

You're not energetically buzzing.

You're not poking him the side.

You're not even teasing him.

His eyes slowly turn, eyebrows furrowed, eyes laced with suspicion as he looked over at you.

You've always been mischievous, tricky, finding yourself in more trouble than Wally ever could - if possible...

But more than that you were...

He can't stop himself from saying it,

"You know."

Shut up Dick.

Your eyes wander over to his, gaze all to lazy when you grin, and something churns deep in his gut.

Shut. Up. Dick.

He stands up, fast, unthinking, knocking his water bottle over by accident - not giving it a second glance. "You know." He can't look away from you, he can't.

Dick can still stop this, save this, say you saw him having a nightmare; not him rutting against you like some kind of filthy animal.

His fingers curl into fists.

"You were awake."

Dick can't breathe, he can't- he just can't.

Because you're sitting there. Knowing. Watching. Smiling.

And he doesn't even know what he's feeling.

Relief, anger, arousal, shame, embarrassment, sadness, anxiety, worry, a feeling that everythings crashing down on him? You don't look angry, are you angry? You were always so chill, even when doing something grueling and emotionally draining. He can't tell. His breathes come out in heavy pants as you stand up, mind reeling a hundred miles per a minute as you stretch. He hasn't felt like this since Jason died, since he didn't know what was coming next, since he didn't know how to move, since he didn't know what to do.

What should he do?

Walk away? Yell at you? Cry? Beg for forgiveness? Beg you to-

To do it again?

He wants to do it again.

...

He feels a hand on his shoulder and he swallows dryly, eyes wide as he can't even look at you.

"Lets go somewhere more..." You mutter, head jerking towards the door slowly despite your usual speed. Like you're going slow for him, letting him take his time. The hand that laces behind the small of his back - more guiding that pushing. More comforting than forceful, "Private."

Dick cries out, sobbing, begging - clenching on your fingers as they nuzzle against his prostate, clenching like they're the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. And fuck, even if this isn't his reality, he wants to stay here. Forever.

He wheezes, eyes tearing up as your thighs hold him open; knees hooked under his and keeping him splayed. Your chest warmth seeping into his back.

The squelching sounds are filthy.

The smell that wafts in the air is thick with sweat is disgusting.

The way his eyes roll back makes him sob in embarrassment.

The stupid storage closet your both huddled in smells of must and bleach.

It's disgusting

It's filthy.

Its so fucking good.

He whimpers, the sound ripping from his lips as your fingers start to vibrate inside of him; pulsing into each and every nerve of his prostate as he pulses around you. His muscles tensing at the foreign intrusion, pleasure running through his veins and coming out of him in drops as you practically milk him. His cock weeping in pure pleasure, and fuck- fuck he thinks he's gonna cum.

Your free hand is stroking him reverently, and no matter how much he wiggles, no matter how much he cries out, your thumb doesn't cease the vibrating pressure that you have his cockhead jailed in; his body arching when you breathe into his ear,

"Like this? Right Dicky?" You grin, all too knowing from when he cried out his little fantasies - suddenly being all too loud about all his filthy little thoughts when you started to rim him earlier- his pleads for pleasure balancing with all his dirty confessions.

All the nights he spent jerking his cock to you? All the nights he spent teasing his ever weeping head with his thumb, with his vibrator? He realizes now a toy could never replace you, fuck not ever, and he thinks you're trying extra hard to prove it.

"You're being loud," You murmur, fingers picking up their speed against his bundle of nerves - and he genuinely sees the light itself as he mews, eyes rolling back into his head. Body convulsing. A breathy chuckle hits his ears, amused, "Thought you were quiet in bed from how silent your whimpers were when you were fucking my thigh. You didn't think I wasn't awake? Didn't think I wanted to hear your pretty little noises?"

A loud moan rips from him in return, long, knowing - his head tipping back into your shoulder and his eyes roll back into his head. It feels like your pulverizing him, and your just using your fingers; the two digits pumping out of him, buzzing, vibrating, bullying that one bundle of nerves that has him reeling.

Dick's dick twitches when you run a buzzing lick up the side of his jawline , and fuck- he clenches, eyes squeezing shut at the thought of your vibrating tongue sitting so perfectly on his cock. Controlling. Teasing. Your face looking up at him with those big eyes of yours, grinning like the smug bastard you were as you had him cumming silly. Had him crying out as you prepped him to take your cock.

Shit, could your dick vibrate too?

He clenches even harder at the thought, and you groan.

"You're so pretty Dick." You pant, forehead hitting his shoulder, and he becomes acutely aware of just how hard you are. How big you are. The soft feeling of your sweats barely doing anything to hide the feeling of your steel hard cock pressing into his bare ass; he groans when his own cock throbs, "You should've just confessed faster, I could've had you like this soooo much sooner. Could've been fucking you silly since last Sunday."

Dick can barely think coherently in his haze, back arching as his hips began rolling back. A guttural groan resonating deep in his chest as you moan from the mere action, turned on that much more. His head began growing fuzzy as he began to fuck himself both ways. Down into your hand, his prostate chasing the frantic buzz of your two digits. Before fucking his hips up into your hand, your thumb, chasing its own buzz. The vibrations being sent down each pulsing vein of his weeping and throbbing cock.

Dick opens his mouth, spit drooling down his face. He barely recognizes his own voice, whimpering, whiny, "H-Hah- y-you-"

Then, you curl your fingers in.

And he looses it.

Dick can barely register the choked moan that falls from his lips.

Mouth dropping in pleasure, he can only cry out - hips juttering- and he doesn't have to stay quiet this time. He fucks himself on your fingers -fucks himself on you- practically riding them in his haze. Bliss shooting up his spine, vibrations revibrating throughout his chest and down to his curling toes, and he cries out as his eyes roll back in his head.

Thick white stripes spurt blissfully from his now pulsing dick. His own drawn out moans acting as his thanks when the vibrations don't stop, carrying him, leading him, throwing him over and beyond his edge.

And it feels so good.

So fucking good.

Just like before you don't stop, you don't stop till his hips finally stutter to an exhausted stop. Limp. Tired. Content. Till he's panting and limp in your lap. Till his thighs are quaking. Till he's twitching around your fingers. Till he's weakly looking back at you, greedily accepting the kiss you bruise into him; pressing into him. Both your tongues sloshing around greedily, finally getting what they wanted after years of wanting, yearning.

Through panted breathes, Dick suddenly found himself lowered quietly onto the floor - the gesture soft and careful. Something raw settles in his chest, something heavy when he thinks you're done with him.

Were you going to leave this whole thing here? Were you going to -again- pretend this didn't happen until he made another embarrassing display of himself? Were you going to despise him for being so lewd?

Dick shudders when he feels something hard pressed against his twitching hole, arching into it. A shaky breathe leaving him from the mere grin you're shooting down at him. His own cock twitches from how you man handle him, opening him up for you so easily so you could crawl between his legs.

"You know," You grin, hooking his leg on your shoulder with ease, "Wally says us speedsters have a refraction rate of .001 seconds." Pausing, you tilt your head at his already hardening cock; his hole squeezing in anticipation, "Be a good little Detective and help me test it out."

________

A/N- YO I WENT TO POST THIS AND TUMBLR SHUT DOWN, LMAOOOOOO. They're cockblocking you, that's crazy work. You poor horn dogs </3.

[talkingtoyourdino]

Speedsters Can Have Fun Too

Characters: Dick Grayson x Speedster!MALE Reader Summary: Dick has been in love with his Best Friend for years, almost as long as they've been sharing beds. What happens when they share a bed, and said friend starts vibrating in his sleep? Warnings: SMUT! Reader is 'asleep', accidental stimulation(?), vibrator on male genitals, humping, dry humping, grinding, cursing. A/N: Yo, I had to look at a diagram of a penis for this AND class. #PreMed. That's lowkey kinda crazy...hehe...anyways have some dick with your Dick!

Part 2 -> here!

Maybe this was punishment for all the sinful thoughts Dick has been having lately.

It's filthy honestly, shameful.

You've been friends since the start of his orphan days -which ouch- before Bruce had even officially adopted him. You were Bolt, the bright eyed, bushy tailed protegee of Barry Allen at the time - right besides Wally West, his other Best Friend.

The two of you grew up together, the two of you ate together, the two of you trained together, the two of you even slept together in the same bed.

Dick had always snuck into the guest room after Alfred went to bed, giggling about how slick he was, about how Bruce would never know and about how he was the best sidekick ever - Bruce confirmed five years later that Dick, was indeed, not slick.

Sharing a bed was a ritual between the two of you, natural, just another day in life. He would sleep in the same bed with you on missions, so why does he want to sleep with you now.

Dick tries to hide it.

He really does.

But the way your muscles ripple under your shirt whenever you move, the way your lashes curtain your face just perfectly, the way your chest looks -all sweaty and glistening- when you lift up your shirt to wipe your face after training, the way you manhandle thugs so easily when they try and get the jump on you - because honestly, he wishes it was him you were throwing around. And have you ever seen a speedsters thighs? Holy shit, they're huge. Toned, and sexy, and- And fuck- fuck, the way you look at him when he pins you down to the training mat, all pouty looking when your pinned under him, panting, red faced, with your shirt ridden up.

One of your drunk ex's mentioned once that you broke their bed by accident and he completely just blanked out, Donna telling him later that he had accidentally crushed the red party cup in his hand.

Dick wants to bang his head against the wall.

He's loosing it.

He's loosing his focus.

He's loosing his other interests.

He's at risk at loosing you.

Especially right now.

Because your pressed against him -warm, pliant- your chest hugging his back, your legs threaded with his. Your thigh pressed between his. The warmth of your breathe tickling his neck, arm locked around his waist like an iron chain.

And fuck him, because you're vibrating.

Like some kind of dog having a dream where it's running, you must be doing the same; because he can barely contain the whimper his lips threaten to let fall out whilst your leg acts as a living, human, vibrator. Your thigh lining along the underside of his cock, stimulating every ridge and vein, from the base to the tip.

He can't move, he just can't.

Your arm in locked around him, tight, unyielding, and the way the weakness in his legs climbs throughout his body - he knows for sure he can't escape. His brain soon becoming as compliant as his muscles as he shifts, trying to save his dignity, only to make your thigh buzz right against the mound of his tip.

A shuddering breathe leaves him, and he has to stop his back from arching, stop himself from moaning out, stop himself from grinding back onto you like some fucking hormonal teenage boy. Every shift, every time he moved, every time he even tried to make it so his cock wasn't weeping sinfully into the inside of his boxers, sullying both him and his mind -it only makes it worse. And he has to stop his hips from bucking against you -riding your thigh- when you shift in your sleep. Because your thigh is rubbing perfectly against his painfully throbbing dick, like your body already knows his down to the sweet spot next to his frenulum.

Your sleepy grumble rouses him from his heated state to just how stupid he's being.

Yet, he can only take it, his fingers curling blissfully into the sheets as his eyes squeeze themselves shut. Like if he closes them, all of this will go away. Like if he closes them, everything will go back to normal. You'll be at home, he'll be alone, and this will all be a big, bad, dream-

Does he want it to be a dream...?

The way his teeth dig into the plump of his lip almost painful from how hard he's trying to keep himself quiet. Because if you wake up, wake up to him moaning and wailing out, wake up to him rutting his hips and grinding down on your -stupidly overtoned- thigh. You'll most definately feel his cock, harder than steal, pressed against you; his balls tight and threatening to unload.

And they do.

Because you flinch, thigh driving into the thick of his crotch and Dick -and his dick- fucking looses it. Your thigh is pressed against his cock oh so perfectly, vibrating against every ridge, against every single vein. Driving against him like its supposed to be there. And he looses it.

He can't stop his body from jerking, thighs clamping around yours as his hips start up hurriedly. Rutting against your thigh like he's some filthy feral animal who can't control itself. His head throws itself back as he barely contains himself from wailing out, teeth drawing blood, and he bites down hard. Your forehead grazes the back of his head, hairs tickling his neck as he rides his high. Thick ropes and evidence of his sinful release unloading thickly into his underwear, sullying them with a wet spot he wouldn't be able to fix until morning.

And your thigh doesn't stop buzzing until it's all said and over, like it knows. It knows how lewd and wanting he was. Like it knew what he would do and how he would do it. Like it knew he would take this opportunity as it was.

Dick's panting, moans and whimpers as filthy as the drool running down his chin before his hips finally stutter to a stop. Even the biting chill of the Gotham air isn't enough to soothe the burn of embarrassment and shame creeping up his face right now, consuming his brain; just under the dazing fuzz of what seemed to be his ever lasting high.

He just dry humped his best friends thigh.

He just dry humped his sleeping best friends thigh.

Your peaceful breathing brings him back to that reality. The reality of him burning up, the reality of him just laying there, stuck till morning. Stuck with the evidence seeping through his underwear and sullying his inner thighs.

He bites the inside of his cheek, because he really was just stuck there; your arms locked around him, unless you decided to let go of him in your everlasting sleep.

How would he explain the wetspot in the morning?

How would he look at you in the face after knowing what he's done?

How would he train with you? Pin you down as this night replayed over and over again in his head.

How would he ever see you use your speed again, knowing that he used it to satisfy his own lewd-

"A-Ah-"

A breathy moan leaves his lip, sneaking past as his body arched up -tensing in arousing surprise. You started up again, moving in a slow and quiet buzz - barely felt yet prominent.

Dick groans when his cock starts up again, the soft appendage quickly hardening and coming to life as you shift against him. Dick closes his eyes, trying to use every technique Batman has ever taught him to keep his cool.

Think about dead puppies, Dick. Think about dead puppies...

He whimpers as he feels his dick begin to painfully throb from overstimulation.

It was going to be a long night.

And Dick is too preoccupied to notice how a lazy grin stretches across your face, resuming your fake slumber.

——————————-

(A/N: This picture was lowkey on my mind the whole time, lmao 😭)

[altxrxgo1005]

can’t read ANYTHING from the mha fandom bruh, it’s always some overly “dark romance” (basically r4pe) age gap yandere pedo/age regression bullshit, IT PISSES ME TF AWWWFFFF

like is it that hard to find something about the GROWN people that doesn’t have to do w reader being a student??? And I know I could find something, but the ones that have a normal plot aren’t long enough😭😭😭 like I can’t just ask for normalcy??

Almost everyone in that fandom is fucking weird🫩

…sorry just had to get it out, ignore this

[grimquil]

The past few weeks had been… odd.Sokka had always been a terrible liar, but lately he’d been trying anyway, and failing spectacularly. Whenever you stopped by his workshop — the small wooden hut he’d claimed near the edge of the Southern Water Tribe village — he would freeze mid-motion.

Tools would clatter. His face would flush. A thin sheen of sweat would appear on his brow even though the forge wasn’t that hot. He always looked like he’d been caught stealing moon peaches from Gran Gran’s kitchen.

You’d lean in the doorway and ask, casually, “Everything okay in here?”

And every single time Sokka would straighten up too fast, flash that bright, nervous grin, and say, “Yep! Totally fine. Just working on some new boomerang designs. Super secret. Top inventor stuff. You know how it is.”

He’d even started holding his breath when you got too close to his workbench, like he was terrified you’d see whatever was hidden under the leather cloth. You tried not to let it bother you. Sokka had always been passionate about his inventions. But the guilt in his eyes every time you left the workshop started to weigh on you.

By the time the sun began to set that evening, you were a little irritated. You walked out to the cliffs at the edge of the village — the special spot only the two of you knew about. The snow crunched softly under your boots as you sat on the familiar flat rock, watching the sky bleed into soft pinks and golds over the icy sea.You didn’t turn when you heard footsteps behind you.

You already knew that familiar gait.Sokka sat down right beside you, so close he was practically half in your lap. His shoulder pressed against yours, his thigh warm against your own despite the cold. For a long moment he was quiet, which was never a good sign with him. He kept fidgeting with something in his pocket.

Finally, he pulled it out.It was a pendant.Beautifully carved from dark walrus ivory and polished bone, inlaid with small pieces of deep blue lapis and silver that caught the dying sunlight.

The design was unmistakably Water Tribe, but with engraved swirls and wavr-like patterns. In the center was a small, intricately symbol, but modified. Almost like a boomerang. Stronger. More personal.Your heart did something strange in your chest.

You told yourself to calm down, but the pendant kept catching the light, demanding your attention.Sokka cleared his throat, voice unusually soft.

“I’ve been working on this for weeks,” he admitted, fingers trembling slightly as he held it up. “That’s why I was being so weird. I wanted it to be perfect. I kept messing up the carvings because my hands wouldn’t stop shaking every time I thought about doing this.”

He turned to face you fully, golden light painting his face.“I love you. Like… stupid amounts. More than I ever thought I could love anyone. You make me feel safe even when the world is falling apart. You laugh at my dumb jokes, you put up with my crazy ideas, and you make me want to be better every single day.” His voice cracked a little.

He cleared his throat.“So… will you marry me?”

The words hung in the cold air between you.You said yes.Sokka’s whole face lit up with that bright, boyish grin you loved so much. He leaned in and kissed you hard, laughing shakily against your mouth as he carefully fastened the pendant around your neck. His fingers brushed your skin with reverence.

Later that night, the fire in your shared hut crackled warmly.Sokka was underneath you, legs wrapped tight around your waist as you moved inside him. The pace was slow and deep, intimate. Every thrust drew a soft, breathy moan from his throat.

His hands gripped your back, nails lightly dragging down your skin as he pulled you closer.You were buried to the hilt, rolling your hips in long, luxurious strokes that made his thighs tremble. The pendant you now wore swayed gently with every movement, the carved bone and silver catching the firelight as it rested against your chest.Sokka’s eyes fluttered open.

His gaze locked onto the pendant.A powerful wave of pride and love washed over his face. His breath hitched. He reached up with one hand, fingers brushing reverently over the pendant where it lay against your skin — his mark on you, visible for the whole world to see.

“Spirits…” he whispered, voice rough with emotion and pleasure. “You’re really mine.”You leaned down and kissed him deeply as you kept moving, grinding against that spot inside him that made his back arch. Sokka moaned into your mouth, legs tightening around you as the pleasure built.

He looked wrecked in the best way — cheeks flushed, hair messy, lips swollen from kissing. But every few seconds his eyes would drift back to the pendant, that proud, almost possessive shine returning to his gaze.You thrust deeper, slower, savoring the way he clenched around you.

Sokka’s head fell back against the furs, a broken moan escaping him as his body started to tremble.“I’m so close—” he gasped.You kept the same devastating rhythm,he was still watching the way the pendant moved against your chest with every thrust. Sokka’s eyes stayed fixed on it until pleasure finally overwhelmed him.

He came with a choked cry, pulsing between your bodies as his walls squeezed tight around you. The sight and feeling of him pushed you over the edge right after. You buried yourself deep and came hard, filling him as he held you close, legs locked around your waist.

For a long while afterward, you stayed like that — still inside him, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other in. Sokka’s fingers kept tracing the pendant around your neck, a small, satisfied smile on his lips.

“Mine,” he whispered again, almost to himself, pressing a soft kiss just below the carved ivory.You kissed him back, slow and tender, the fire crackling beside you as snow fell gently outside.

@belladonna6-6-6 . Sorry. I lowkey thought i posted this it was in my drafts. I'll give u the honour of coming up with the title . Love ya❤️❤️

[sanlikestowrite]

The Half-Life of Us

SUMMARY: A astrobiologist and his sole surviving crewmate are trapped together in deep space, not realizing how quickly their professional boundaries are about to completely dissolve.

Warnings: Sci-Fi Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, Rough Sex, Fingering/Anal Fingering, Intensive Edging/Orgasmic Denial, Light Breath Play, Crying/Overstimulation Tears (Dacryphilia themes), Mild Degradation, Touch Starvation, Size Difference. MDNI!

Tags: Ryland Grace/Male Reader, POV Ryland Grace, Dom!Reader, Sub!Ryland Grace, Touch Starvation, Trapped in Space, Slow Burn to High Heat, Science Metaphors, Explicit, Edging, Mind Melting.

Total Word Count: ~3,200 words

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Chapter 1: The Co-Efficiency of Friction

Human skin sheds roughly forty thousand dead cells every single minute.

Yeah. Gross, I know. It was the exact kind of useless trivia Ryland used to throw at his middle schoolers back in his classroom just to watch them write “ew” in the margins of their notebooks. But out here, in the cold, endless void of the Tau Ceti system, it was the only stupid math keeping Ryland from losing his mind. Forty thousand cells a minute. Which meant the Hail Mary wasn't just a spaceship; it was a sealed metal box slowly filling up with the microscopic, physical dust of two men.

Two men. Not one.

When Ryland first crawled out of the amnesia haze of his coma, surrounded by creepy robotic arms and the mummified remains of his actual crewmates, he thought he was totally alone in the universe. But then, in the third pod, there was a heartbeat. A steady, stubborn little beep on the monitor.

You.

It took weeks of grueling physical therapy, a lot of stomach-churning space-slurry feeding tubes, and several frantic breakdowns that Ryland technically hid by locking himself in the lab to get You upright. But now, You were here. Standing in the middle of the science bay, squinting at a digital readout of the Petrova lamps, wearing nothing but a pair of issued grey sweatpants and a tank top that showed off the sharp, clean line of Your collarbone.

Oh, great, Ryland thought, his brain instantly short-circuiting. Fantastic. He's attractive. Just what I needed on a suicide mission.

"Grace," You murmured, Your voice still carrying that rough, low gravel from months of artificial sleep. You didn't even look at him, Your fingers tapping a restless rhythm against the console. "The radiation shielding on the starboard side is fluctuating by point-zero-two percent. Is that normal, or are we about to turn into glowing space meat?"

Ryland stopped washing his beaker. He didn't mean to stare, he really didn't, but his brain was currently undergoing a massive system crash.

For months on Earth, Ryland had been isolated in a sterile underground lab under Eva Stratt’s iron fist. Then came the coma. He hadn't been touched—not truly touched, with warmth and human intent—in almost a year. Every nerve ending in his body felt like a live wire waiting for a spark. And You were standing less than three feet away, smelling like the ship’s recycled water and warm, clean skin.

"Uh. Normal," Ryland squeaked. He cleared his throat frantically, trying to sound like a respectable scientist instead of a guy losing his mind over a clavicle. "Totally normal. The Astrophage is just... settling. It’s like a car engine warming up. No glowing space meat. I promise."

You finally turned your head, a faint, tired smile touching Your lips. "Good. Because I didn't survive a suicide mission to the stars just to get micro-waved."

You stepped closer. Too close. The science bay was a masterpiece of efficient, cramped engineering, which meant any movement required a delicate ballet of dodging elbows and hips. You reached past him to grab a stylus from the magnetic strip, and Your bare forearm brushed firmly against his.

It was a fraction of a second. Just a brief, heavy glide of skin against skin.

Ryland completely froze. A physical shockwave went straight up his spine, so intense his fingers twitched and he nearly dropped the glass beaker right into the sink. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. Holy moly. Touch. That was touch. A real, warm human.

"You okay, Ryland?" You asked, noticing how stiff his shoulders had gotten. You didn't move away. In fact, You tilted Your head, Your eyes scanning his face with a sudden, quiet intensity that made his skin feel tight.

"Yep! Fine! Great!" Ryland muttered, his voice way too high. He frantically wiped the beaker with a towel, over and over. "Just... thinking about data. Lots of data. Brain is full."

You let out a soft huff of laughter, but Your eyes lingered on his mouth for a heartbeat longer than necessary before You turned back to the screen. Ryland stared down at his own hands. He’s a man of science, but right now, the only hypothesis he could form was that if You touched him like that again, he was going to completely fall apart.

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Chapter 2: The Thermal Mass of Two Bodies

The problem with the Hail Mary was that everything was shared. The oxygen, the water, the terrifying burden of saving the human race—and the sleeping quarters.

There were only two operational bunks left after the equipment shift. They were stacked vertically, little more than padded shelves recessed into the bulkhead, separated by a thin privacy curtain. But tonight, the ship’s primary life-support system was running a diagnostic cycle, which meant the heating grids in the bunk area were completely dead for the next six hours.

"It's freezing," You muttered, walking into the main cabin while rubbing Your arms. Your breath formed a faint plume of mist in the dim, emergency-red lighting. "Tell me the Astrophage didn't die."

"Astrophage is fine," Ryland said, huddled on the small bench with a thick insulation blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He probably looked like a miserable space-penguin, his teeth clicking together. "The ship is just re-routing power. It’s going to be like a meat locker in here until zero-four-hundred."

You stood there, shivering, looking at the tiny bench and then at him. The blanket Ryland was holding was the only heavy-duty thermal layer outside of the EVA suits, and it was barely big enough for one person to wrap themselves in completely.

"Move over," You said suddenly.

Ryland's eyes widened. "What?"

"Move over, Grace. Basic thermodynamics," You said, stepping up to the bench and not waiting for his permission. "Two bodies generate more thermal mass than one. If we sit separately, we both freeze. If we share the blanket, we don't. Move your butt."

Oh, boy. Okay. Thermodynamics. Sure. Let's go with that, Ryland’s brain scrambled for a counter-argument—something about personal space, or the psychological boundaries of a command structure—but You were already sitting down right next to him.

The contact was immediate and total. Your thigh pressed firmly against his from hip to knee. Ryland let out a small, choked gasp as You reached out, grabbing the edges of the heavy silver blanket and pulling it over both of Your laps, tucking it in tight around Your sides.

"Jesus, you're like a furnace," You whispered, leaning Your shoulder heavily against his.

Ryland literally couldn't breathe. Every single point of contact felt like it was branded with fire. The touch-starvation he had been trying to ignore for weeks violently rushed to the surface, making his entire body tremble. He wanted to pull away out of sheer, overwhelming panic, but his instincts—the deep, primal part of him that was absolutely starving for human warmth—forced him to stay rooted to the spot.

"I—uh. High metabolism," Ryland managed to choke out. He was staring straight ahead, his arms locked tight against his chest to keep from accidentally grabbing You. "Lots of... caloric intake."

"Mmm. Keep talking," You murmured. Your head dropped, Your cheek resting softly against his shoulder. Your eyes drifted shut, exhausted from the day's repairs. "Your voice is nice. It's warm."

A giant, heavy lump formed in Ryland's throat. He looked down at the top of Your head, the messy strands of Your hair just inches from his lips. You looked so vulnerable like this, stripped of the survivalist bravado You wore during the work shifts. You were just a guy, millions of miles away from everything You had ever known, looking for comfort in the dark.

Slowly, deliberately, Ryland let his arm relax. He allowed his shoulder to sink into Yours, absorbing the heavy, comforting weight of Your body. He let out a long, trembling exhale, his eyes stinging with sudden, hot tears.

He was so goddamn lonely. And You were right here.

Ryland didn't sleep at all that night. He spent the entire six hours frozen in place, listening to the steady, rhythmic sound of Your breathing, his heart keeping time with Yours under the silver blanket, completely intoxicated by the simple, quiet magic of being held.

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Chapter 3: The Breaking Point

The tension didn't disappear when the heat came back on. It got way worse.

It was in the way Your eyes lagged on him while he worked in the lab. It was in the way Ryland's hand would shake whenever he passed You a tool, Your fingers deliberately brushing against his, lingering just a second too long. The air inside the Hail Mary became thick, charged with an invisible static electricity that had nothing to do with the ship's reactors.

The breaking point happened during a routine inspection of the fuel lines in the lower maintenance crawlspace.

It was a space less than four feet high, requiring both of them to crawl on their hands and knees amidst a maze of pulsing pipes and bundles of wiring. Ryland was in the lead, holding a diagnostic scanner, his breath echoing loudly inside the cramped metal tube.

"Okay, the primary manifold looks... wait," Ryland stopped, squinting at the screen. "That’s weird. The pressure here is higher than it should be."

"Let me see," You said from behind him.

You crawled forward, Your body moving over his until You were draped over his back, Your chest pressing firmly against Ryland's shoulder blades as You leaned over his shoulder to look at the scanner. The heat of Your torso radiated through his jumpsuit, Your breath hot and sharp against the sensitive skin of his neck.

Ryland's hand shook so violently he dropped the scanner. It clattered against the metal floor.

"Ryland?" You asked quietly.

"I can't—" Ryland choked out, his voice cracking completely. The proximity, the smell of You, the absolute weight of Your body pressing him down into the metal deck was too much. The wire finally snapped. "I can't do this, ███. I can't."

"Can't do what?"

"This!" Ryland burst out, twisting around in the cramped space until he was lying on his back, staring up at You. You were hovering directly over him, Your hands planted on either side of his head, your faces inches apart. His chest was heaving, his eyes wide and frantic. “Do you realize what you’re doing to me? You’re always close—always finding some excuse to touch me. Every glance, every brush of your hand, drives me completely insane. We’re the last two men left in the universe, ███. I should be focused on saving the world, but instead, you’re all I can think about. No matter how hard I try, my mind keeps coming back to you.”

The silence that followed was deafening, save for the low, rhythmic hum of the ship’s engines. Ryland immediately regretted it. Stupid, stupid, stupid, he thought, wanting to dissolve into the floorboards. He just confessed to his crewmate. Now it’s going to be weird forever. Brilliant job, Grace.

But You didn't look shocked at all. Your eyes darkened, a heavy, intense heat flaring in Your gaze that made Ryland's breath catch in his throat.

“You think you’re the only one?” You whispered, your voice dropping into a low, steady tone that made the air between you feel heavier. Your gaze held his firmly as you stepped just a little closer, enough for the space between you to tighten. “Ryland… I’ve been watching you for weeks. The way you move around the lab, the way you talk about science—like it’s the only thing that matters.” Your breath hitched slightly, honesty slipping through the control in your voice. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I honestly thought I was going crazy.”

Before Ryland could even process the words, You leaned down, closing the distance between them.

The kiss wasn't gentle. It was a collision of months of suppressed terror, loneliness, and raw, burning lust. Your lips slammed into his, hard and demanding, parting his mouth instantly. Ryland let out a loud, needy groan, his hands flying up to grip Your shoulders, his fingers digging deep into the fabric of Your shirt as he pulled You down onto him.

The taste of You was intoxicating. Your tongue slid into his mouth, claiming the wet space with a fierce, possessive hunger that made his hips buck involuntarily against Yours. The friction of your bodies rubbing together in the tight, hot crawlspace was a sensory explosion. Ryland’s mind went entirely blank, his intellect completely melting away under the onslaught of Your mouth.

You pulled back just an inch, Your lips slick, Your breath coming in ragged gasps as You stared down at him. "The lab," You muttered against his skin, Your thumb tracing his jawline with a fierce, trembling grip. "Now."

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Chapter 4: The Chemistry of Displacement

The transition from the maintenance shaft to the lab counter was a blur of friction and oxygen deprivation. Ryland’s brain, normally a finely tuned instrument of logic and sequence, was failing him. It was short-circuiting under the sheer volume of tactile data.

You. Your hands. Your weight.

When You shoved him back against the edge of the primary examination table, the cold stainless steel bit into his lower back through his jumpsuit, creating a jarring, freezing contrast to the blistering heat of Your body wedged between his thighs. You reached down, Your fingers hooking into the front zipper of his uniform and tearing it down with a sharp, heavy snap.

"Jumpsuit off, Grace," You ordered, Your voice dropping into a low, quiet authority that Ryland had never heard before. It wasn't the voice of a co-astronaut; it was the voice of someone taking absolute territory. "Hands at your sides. Don’t move."

Ryland's breath hitched, a frantic, high-pitched whimper escaping his throat. He wanted to argue—he was the primary science officer, for heaven's sake—but his arms felt like lead. The touch-starvation he had been harboring for a year had turned into a physical dependency the second Your bare chest pressed against his. His eyelids fluttered closed, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

"Look at me," You commanded, Your palm coming down in a firm, heavy slap against his clothed thigh. The sharp crack echoed through the sterile bay, sending a jolt of pure electricity straight to his groin. "I didn't say you could close your eyes, Grace."

Ryland’s eyes snapped open, his pupils completely blown out, reflecting the emergency red lighting of the bay. He was flushed a deep, brilliant crimson from his chest to his ears. “I’m looking,” he gasped out, his voice cracking with a vulnerability that embarrassed him. “I’m looking. Please...”

You didn't rush. You reached over, grabbing a tube of medical-grade conductive gel from the lab supply rack. Ryland watched in a daze of anticipation as You flipped the cap with Your thumb and squeezed a generous, thick pooling of the clear fluid over Your fingers.

When Your wet, gel-slicked fingertips first touched the tight, un-stretched skin of his entrance, Ryland violently bucked off the table.

“Ah—wait! Wait, that’s—”

“Easy,” You said, Your voice calm but completely unyielding as Your free hand pinned his hip flat against the steel with inescapable force. “You’re too tight, Ryland. If I don’t take my time opening you up, I’ll end up hurting you.” Your hands stayed steady at his hips, grounding him as You leaned in slightly. “Breathe... and relax for me.”

Ryland bit his lip so hard he tasted copper, his knuckles turning white as he clawed at the edges of the metal table for purchase. You pushed one finger inside, testing the resistance, and Ryland let out a ragged, choked sob. It was an overwhelming, invasive fullness. His internal walls convulsed around You, desperately fighting the intrusion, but Your touch was patient and firm. You began to stroke inward, Your thumb pressing against his perineum, deliberately seeking out the hyper-sensitive bundle of nerves inside.

Anatomy, Ryland’s brain scrambled, trying to cling to clinical facts to stay sane. The prostate gland. Approximately two to three centimeters inside. Surrounded by smooth muscle. Oh, great, he was doing biochemistry during a hookup, brilliant—

Then Your finger hooked upward, striking the exact spot, and all scientific thought dissolved into a high, broken wail.

“There it is,” You whispered darkly, watching the way Ryland’s head tossed back, his throat arching elegantly as fresh tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. “You like that, don’t you, Grace? You’re already slick.”

You added a second finger, then a third, stretching him with a slow, agonizingly thorough rhythm that turned his insides to molten liquid. Ryland was weeping openly now, completely undone by the preparatory torture. His lower body was entirely loose, weeping precum onto his own stomach, primed and completely hollowed out for You.

By the time You withdrew Your fingers with a wet, heavy slide, Ryland was shaking from head to toe, completely dependent on Your hands to keep him from sliding off the table.

You didn't give him a moment to recover. You lined Your thick, rigid length against his dripping entrance. Ryland stared down at the sheer scale of You, his breath completely stalling in his lungs. You were thick-veined, heavy, and stretching him open visually before You even entered.

With a slow, deliberate lean of Your hips, You began to sink inside.

“Oh, God… ███—!” Ryland shrieked, a desperate, breathless cry tearing from his lungs as his body was forced to accommodate Your massive girth. It felt like being split open from the inside out, an impossible, suffocating fullness that buried deeper and deeper until You bottomed out, Your hips locking hard against his.

Ryland let out a long, trembling sob, his eyes wide and glazed with a mixture of shock and sheer, unadulterated ecstasy. You were so deep he could feel the throb of Your pulse against his internal walls.

“You took all of it,” You muttered, Your chest rising and falling as You secured Your grip around his waist, holding him firmly against the table. “Now we’re staying right here until you’re completely ruined, got it?”

You didn't rush the climax. For the next forty-five minutes, You subjected Ryland to a brutal, agonizingly prolonged demonstration of human stamina. You locked into a slow, heavy, punishing pace—withdrawing until almost the crowning tip left his hole, only to plunge back in to the hilt, deliberately crushing his prostate with every single stroke. The lab filled with the explicit, wet sounds of Your coupling. Ryland was completely reduced, a sobbing, whining mess under Your weight.

Every time he felt the explosive wave of a climax building in his lower stomach, the desperation became too much to bear.

“Ah... nn-nh, no, please…” Ryland whimpered, his voice dissolving into a broken, high-pitched whine of pure sensory frustration. It wasn't a shout, but a pathetic, breathless plea, completely ruined by the heat. “Don’t stop… ███, please, I’m right there… let me, please let me…”

Beneath You, Ryland's hips bucked frantically in tiny, useless twitches, his internal walls constricting in a desperate, weeping search for friction. He was teetering on the razor-thin edge of a helpless climax, his chest heaving as a soft sob caught in his throat.

But You weren't about to let him off that easily.

With a low growl, You suddenly halted Your rhythm. You buried Your massive length to the hilt, pinning Ryland flat against the desk to freeze him completely in place.

"Ah, ah, puppy," You purred darkly against his ear, Your hot breath making him shudder. "Who told you that you could cum?"

Ryland let out a tortured, wet whimper, his entire body shaking as the sudden lack of movement left him stranded and agonizingly close at the absolute peak. He tried to squirm against Your thickness, a quiet, desperate sob spilling past his lips. But You locked him down, reaching around to wrap Your fingers securely around the base of Ryland's rigid, leaking length—completely blocking his release.

Ryland’s eyelids fluttered open, his blue eyes completely drowned in tears of sheer overstimulation. He looked at Your dominant, unyielding expression and completely fractured. “███,” he wept, his fingers clawing at Your shoulders, pulling You down into a messy, wet kiss. “I’m all yours. M-Move… please, please… move.”

You stopped him once. You stopped him twice. You stopped him a third time, stretching the encounter out for nearly an hour until Ryland’s mind was completely blank, his intellect entirely burned away by the kinky, agonizing denial. He was nothing but a weeping, trembling instrument for Your pleasure.

Only when his internal walls were violently spasming around You in an involuntary, desperate rhythm did You finally release Your grip on his length. You picked up the pace to a blinding, savage blur, hammering into him one final time, driving Ryland over the edge into a messy, cataclysmic release that left him squealing.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈⸝⸝

Epilogue: The Equilibrium of Rest

Two hours later, the science bay was quiet again.

The sterile lights had been dimmed back to a soft, ambient glow. The data screens were still blinking silently in the background, tracking the course of the Hail Mary through the infinite dark, but for the first time since the mission began, the ship didn't feel like a tomb.

Ryland was lying curled on his side on the narrow examination bench, his head resting securely on Your bare chest. His jumpsuit was loosely pulled back up to his waist, his skin still flushed, breathing in slow, exhausted drafts. Your arm was wrapped securely around his shoulders, Your fingers mindlessly tracing small, soothing circles into the bare skin of his back.

Oh, wow, Ryland thought, his brain finally functioning at a normal, non-panicked baseline. We actually did that. I just got completely unmade by my crewmate on a sterile lab counter. Very professional, Grace.

But as he felt the steady, heavy thump of Your heartbeat beneath his cheek, the lingering spark of anxiety completely evaporated. The suffocating loneliness that had been weighing down on his chest for months was just... gone. Replaced by a profound, heavy warmth.

"Hey," You murmured quietly, Your voice a low rumble against his ear that made his stomach do a pleasant little flip.

Ryland shifted slightly, a soft, content sigh leaving his lips as he snuggled closer into Your side, his nose pressing into the crook of Your neck. "Hmm?"

"You're not overthinking the physics of what just happened, are you?"

Ryland let out a faint, sleepy chuckle, his fingers reaching out to lightly trace the line of Your jaw. "Actually," he whispered, a tired, dorky smile touching his lips. "I was just doing the math on our proximity. And I think the co-efficiency of friction between us is... absolutely perfect."

You smiled, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to his forehead. Out here, in the cold, unyielding void of space, the universe was vast and terrifying. But inside the tiny metal walls of the Hail Mary, tucked securely in each other's arms, You both had found exactly what You needed to survive.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Hey, Writer San here. I’m pretty new to writing on Tumblr, so this is one of my first attempts at a fanfic. I really hope you enjoyed reading it and that it was to your liking…

If you have any thoughts, feedback, criticism, or even some suggestions, I’d genuinely appreciate it. Don’t be shy. Please.

Thanks so much for taking the time to read this. Bye-bye!♥︎

[altxrxgo1005]

haven’t watched the movie or read the book, but AAAHHAHA

[butter-scout]

SWEET DEAL

Hong Woo-jin x f. reader x Kim Gun-woo

genre: little plot for full smut.

wc: 4.5k

warnings: EXPLICIT sex content, boyfriend!woo-jin, virgin!gun-woo, switch!reader (yeah, we are topping gun-woo), drinking, swearing, threesome, a bit of choking, hickeys, oral sex (receiving and giving), praise kink (a bit), double penetration, unprotected sex.

synopsis: When Gun-woo finally wins the world champion title alongside his trainer Woo-jin, the three of you decide to celebrate at home. What starts as an ordinary night of drinking transforms when your boyfriend, loosened by alcohol, reveals an unusual desire: to give Gun-woo — who has never had a sexual experience — a special first time.

a/n: thank you a lot everyone for hyping me!! this is the sluttiest thing i've ever written in my life so i hope you enjoy!! SUB GUNWOO CAMPAING AHEAD also yeah, i'm reposting this since i've changed accounts

taglist: @princessmorwen @pinkmelodies @ghvstile @loonytunesmith @cyberzpace @jeonmochi99-blog @dkstar @cherryrkiveblog @flawlessreids @eckst4ci @eumppappaluvr08 @fasito0wo @mgcmind @imhaechanshoe @zuwizy

Agreeing to drink with Woo-jin had been a terrible idea.

You were only opening the second bottle of Black Label, and the trainer was already smiling wider than usual. You couldn't understand his fixation on celebrating things with alcohol when his tolerance was practically nonexistent. In the end, it always fell to you to sort things out and carry your almost-unconscious boyfriend home.

Tonight, though, things were different. This time, Gun-woo was also at the table, and all three of you had opted to stay at home. Well, it made total sense for the other man to be there—after all, he was celebrating his hard-earned title. But deep down, you also wanted someone responsible to help you keep an eye on Woo-jin.

"You two are so boring." Woo-jin murmured, bringing his glass toward you and waiting for you to fill it.

You exchanged a brief look with Gun-woo, who just smiled silently. In a quick motion, you filled Woo-jin's glass with a bit of the golden liquid—as expensive as its color suggested.

"You complain so much. We're celebrating just like you wanted, aren't we?"

"What kind of celebration is this where only I drink?" Woo-jin grumbled before taking a short sip of the burning liquor. He couldn't control his wince.

"But I am drinking." And in fact, you were. You were even refilling your own glass.

"Nah. You don't count, jagiya." The trainer took another sip, fighting back the urge to complain about the alcohol scorching his throat. You could hold your liquor much better than he could, and it bruised his pride. "I'm talking about our champion here." Woo-jin now directed his gaze at Gun-woo. "You could at least toast today."

"You know I don't drink, hyung." The boxer replied calmly. He was used to this conversation. Whenever possible, his best friend tried to convince him to venture a little, and he always refused.

"I know, I know. But… argh, you two know how to frustrate me so easily. Today was supposed to be different for a change. But no! Let's be responsible as always. What's the fun in being responsible?" Woo-jin was already starting to pout. His frustration intensified by the alcohol.

"The fun part is not having to drag your unconscious body around." You didn't think too much before answering, ignoring whether it would bother him or not. Hearing a low laugh, you got confirmation that Gun-woo had been thinking the same thing.

"Great. Now you're both conspiring against me!"

"If conspiring against you means worrying about your well-being, then yes. We're guilty." You rolled your eyes. When you looked down, your own glass was already empty. How could you drink so much while your boyfriend couldn't handle anything at all?

Gun-woo nodded with his warm, affectionate eyes.

Woo-jin, seeing he wouldn't get anywhere, just sighed. He knew how lucky he was to have people so concerned and loyal to him. And as much as he wanted to cut loose on certain nights for pure fun like in his teenage days, he now had to accept that life wasn't his anymore. Now, he had a real family.

"If you won't drink with me, you could at least let me choose something else, then." Woo-jin finally pushed away the glass he had emptied with great difficulty. There was a third bottle left to open, but he didn't even look at it. The trainer's tone suddenly became so serious that you furrowed your brows.

The table fell silent as you and Gun-woo stared at each other for a brief moment. Predictable as he was, Woo-jin liked to make sure you two never got too comfortable. The new champion was the first to break the silence.

"What else, hyung?"

"Have you ever had sex, Gun-woo?" Woo-jin asked directly, bluntly, almost as if you weren't sitting at the same table.

Your eyes widened instantly. That topic was definitely inappropriate to have in front of you. Not that you thought it was wrong for guys to talk about it—especially two close friends like them. But the idea that your boyfriend so carelessly ignored your presence left you disconcerted. Gun-woo thought the same thing, because he immediately looked at you in panic.

"Hyung!"

"Ah, just say it. She won't judge. Right, jagiya?" Woo-jin slowly pulled you into a game you didn't fully understand. His eyes never left you.

"N-No." Woo-jin broke into a smile at your response, and you couldn't help but feel a shiver. Whatever he was thinking, it was already getting to you.

"See? No one's judging." The trainer said in a gentle tone, almost as if he hadn't just asked something invasive. "So? Have you or haven't you?"

An awkward silence. Gun-woo looked at you, looked at Woo-jin, looked at every possible place in the room. You were confident he would take that answer to the grave.

"No." Gun-woo's voice came out so low that for a brief second you thought you'd imagined it. But his face gave away his answer—his cheeks flushed red, his gaze fixed on his glass that had never once been filled with whiskey.

"Good, good." Woo-jin murmured. You could almost see tiny gears turning in your boyfriend's head, as if he was processing the best way to voice his idea. "Would you like to?"

Again, silence. Yeah, you were determined to gag Woo-jin and drag him to the room you shared. He had already lost touch with reality. This time, since Gun-woo didn't dare respond, Woo-jin continued—but now with his eyes fixed on you.

"Would you do it with us, jagiya?"

"Huh?" You felt as if your eyes had jumped out of your face and your heart had leaped out of your mouth. What kind of question was that? Gun-woo looked at you equally surprised, searching your face for some prior planning regarding that proposal, but finding the same confusion in you.

"I've been thinking about this calmly... And you're right. Celebrating something like this with alcohol is too trivial. We should have a unique experience to match a unique title." Woo-jin explained as if he were commenting on the most insignificant thing to say. "So? What do you say?"

"You're clearly drunk." You said bluntly, and Gun-woo nodded his head repeatedly in agreement.

"Maybe a little, but I'm serious. Can't a guy want to give his best friend a good memory? Besides..." The trainer slowly looked at you as if testing you. No, he definitely was. "This would be something special, don't you think? The two of us teaching him the ropes... I think we can be good teachers, jagiya." He provoked you in a way that made the tips of your ears burn. "But of course, only with your consent."

More silence. This was so awkward. And Woo-jin loved that he was causing so much discomfort. You could clearly see it by the way he looked at you and then at the other boxer. He enjoyed the feeling of planting a seemingly wrong idea—one that, honestly, within an agreement, wasn't a big deal at all.

"So?" He provoked again.

"Hyung, really, you don't have to...!" Gun-woo tried to save you from answering.

"It's okay." You finally agreed. Not because you felt pressured into it. Actually, the idea of helping Gun-woo have his first sexual experience wasn't unpleasant to you. And if it was something your boyfriend also wanted, there was no reason to refuse. "But only if... only if Gun-woo wants it too."

The champion just stared at the two of you in pure shyness, as if standing before the most delicious and dangerous dessert in the universe.

"I want to."

[...]

At Woo-jin's suggestion, the three of you moved to the sofa. There was enough space for three people, but not so much that anyone could stretch out carelessly. Perfect. Your body was pressed between the two men—your back nestled against Woo-jin's broad, warm chest while you faced a very hesitant Gun-woo. Not that you were doing much better.

You felt your boyfriend's warm hands wrap around your waist, his chin settling into the curve of your neck, right by your ear.

"What's with this shyness, jagiya? You should be helping, not just staring at him like that. Your beauty alone is enough to intimidate a confident guy like me, you know?" He smiled against your skin, and you felt it perfectly.

"Not everyone knows what to do in a situation like this." You murmured back. Gun-woo stared at the two of you without saying a word, clearly waiting for some guidance.

"The way you start, silly." The trainer said, placing a soft kiss on your neck. "Go on. I don't want him to just sit there watching."

Hesitantly, you leaned toward the shy face of the boxer in front of you, giving him room to pull back if he had changed his mind—but he didn't. He just stared at you with curiosity. Looking closer, something in you studied the champion's gentle features for the first time. You had never stopped to calmly analyze how Gun-woo carried kindness even in the way his face was shaped. Of course, you had always perceived him as a decent person, but you had never paid him proper attention, because your attention was entirely dedicated to Woo-jin.

"Has no one ever wanted to?" You couldn't hold back the words as you studied the man in front of you. It made no sense that this would be his first time due to lack of options.

"I never accepted." The boxer replied, confirming your thought.

"Why?"

Gun-woo bit his lower lip, seeming to try to process the best way to answer that. His gaze was a little distant.

"I don't really know what I'm doing, and I didn't want to be judged for it. I also didn't want anyone to look at me differently because of it. Like I'm childish for not knowing. I'd rather focus on boxing—that's where I know my footing."

Oh, you understood the feeling of ignorance well. And you understood even better how it feels to be treated in an infantilizing way about something you don't know. It made perfect sense for Gun-woo to avoid that subject in that manner.

But here he was, silently staring at you and occasionally exchanging glances with your boyfriend behind you. Gun-woo trusted you both that much. And that was enough.

The first contact with his lips was gentle. You weren't sure if he had ever kissed anyone before, but right now that didn't make the slightest difference. The touch was just enough for you to feel his soft, hesitant lips.

"This won't do, jagiya." You heard Woo-jin's voice murmur as he slowly shifted from his spot on the sofa behind you to get closer to your shoulder. "Give him a proper kiss."

"Do you want to see your girlfriend kissing another guy that badly, you fucking weirdo?" You hissed, feeling humiliated that the kiss had been judged so poorly.

"Depends. Would my girlfriend rather see me kissing another guy?" He replied with a laugh, leaving you and Gun-woo wide-eyed for a brief moment. But honestly, you knew him well enough to believe he would actually do it.

You sighed, rolling your eyes, leaving Woo-jin to his own madness for a while longer. Your hands approached the boxer's face and held him by the cheeks. This time, you didn't hold back, invading his mouth with your tongue. Gun-woo let out a sigh, but you quickly swallowed it, pushing your tongue even deeper.

With some difficulty, you slowly felt him return your boldness. Gun-woo's hands went hesitantly down your back, but soon you felt them tighten around your waist. That hadn't been his doing, of course. When you looked, Woo-jin had already interfered again, adjusting the placement of his friend's hands on your back to bring them closer to your body.

"You can't be afraid to try things, Gun-woo." Woo-jin commented with a sideways smile. After making sure his friend's hands were firmly on your waist, he moved his own and placed them confidently on your breasts. The touch was familiar even over all the clothing. Your body shivered at every small callus on his hands. "Otherwise, you'll never learn the right spots."

You got distracted for a brief second, and that was answer enough for both boxers. For Woo-jin, it was just confirmation of how he knew how to make you feel good and safe, no matter the situation. For Gun-woo, it was a kind of encouragement to move forward—something entirely new and equally addictive.

It was the champion who attacked your mouth this time. Gun-woo kissed you with almost desperation, and perhaps even a touch of envy toward Woo-jin, because he already knew exactly how to get to you. However, that shy desperation—something entirely the champion's own—was enough to leave you just as flustered as your boyfriend did. Even without practice, Gun-woo already had equal power over you.

Your hands hurriedly invaded his white shirt, not holding back the hunger your fingers had to know every piece of that ownerless skin. Gun-woo made no move to stop you, only kissing you more intensely.

Woo-jin finally seemed satisfied with something that night, watching as Gun-woo slowly shed his shyness onto the floor. In response, the trainer licked the back of your neck, finishing with a lazy hickey. Woo-jin didn't stop there—he also slipped one hand inside your shirt and went back to touching your breasts, squeezing them without much care.

"No bra, jagiya? Were you waiting to surprise me, hm?" Woo-jin teased, making you blush by announcing the act out loud.

You didn't even have time to respond before he pulled your shirt up, bunching the fabric and exposing your breasts to Gun-woo. The sight left him breathless. For someone as proper as he was, it was possible that this was the first time Gun-woo had ever encountered the real sight of breasts. He definitely wasn't the type to consume pornography.

Of course, being handled by two men was already enough to get you aroused, but if it were up to Woo-jin, he would have an active role in the process. Releasing a mischievous smile, your boyfriend—still behind you—pinched one of your nipples between his fingers until you let out the first moan of the night. The sound was enough to leave Gun-woo even more desperate.

"Excuse me." The champion murmured with quick politeness before pulling off his own shirt, tossing it into some corner of the room. In his eyes, if you were exposed like that, he should also put his own body on the line. His gentleness, which at another time you might have found refreshing, now struck you as exciting.

Following his friend, Woo-jin carelessly pulled off his own T-shirt, resulting in the three of you naked from the waist up. For a moment, you felt like you were dreaming. You never expected to one day find yourself pressed between the muscular bodies of the two friends—all at the same time.

"You seem to be enjoying this a little too much." Woo-jin whispered right into your ear. "If I'd known, I would have suggested it sooner."

You almost snorted at the comment, but you didn't deny it. Your silly boyfriend was right this time. You were enjoying it way more than you'd imagined. Your gaze was focused in the direction of Woo-jin's voice, so it took a few seconds for you to turn your attention back to Gun-woo's face. He was staring at you in silence, but in his eyes there was clear jealousy of the scene—he wanted more of your attention.

You smiled, loving to see that wounded side of Gun-woo, and didn't hesitate to reward him, sitting down on his lap. His not-at-all-discreet erection was already visible through his sweatpants, and the champion couldn't hold back a moan when he felt the weight of your body on him. That moan deeply stirred something in you. There was something about it that set you on fire, and you wanted nothing more than to provoke Gun-woo until he gave in more and more.

"Gun-woo-ya." You whispered as you looked down at him, spotting a perfect prey for your hungry mouth. The boxer quickly lifted his face at your call. "Suck."

You pulled his silky hair roughly, shoving his face against your breasts without waiting for him to understand the situation. As one boxer reacts, the other doesn't fall behind, going back to playing with your nape and then trailing kisses and bites down your spine.

"And there's my bossy girl." Woo-jin murmured against your bare back, that playful tone always accompanying his actions. It excited him to see you display your dominance. What could he do if he was such a loser who loved to appreciate his woman in every way?

As for that, Gun-woo was also becoming a great devotee. This wasn't how he had imagined his first time would be, but honestly, he wouldn't want it to change at all. Having someone guide him like that, even a little roughly, was something he didn't know he needed until now. The champion, in a show of approval, sucked your breasts thirstily. The way his mouth clumsily swallowed everything made his inexperience clear, but Gun-woo compensated with how much he desired you and how he alternated hickeys with desperate licks on your hard nipple.

You didn't hold back your moans under the ministrations of the two men. As Woo-jin punished your back with marks, Gun-woo delivered submissive pleasure to you, so obsessed with your breasts that he could barely breathe. If he caught his breath, it wasn't long before he dove his face back into the softness of your chest. You could slowly feel how that union made you wetter and wetter. It was as if the alcohol was taking effect now, and your mind was floating.

"Take this off already, go on." Kissing your back, Woo-jin's fingers were impolite as they slowly lowered your shorts. You didn't refuse, only lifting yourself briefly from Gun-woo's lap so he could remove that piece of clothing from your body. When you sat back down, the champion moaned against your breasts. Your weight now only in your panties drove him crazy.

"Gun-woo-ya." You murmured again, and this time you didn't even need to pull his hair. Quickly, he stopped attacking your breasts to look at you, waiting for the next order. That silent man only made you hungrier and hungrier. "I want to teach you how to eat pussy. Do you want to learn?" Gun-woo just nodded desperately. "Lean back, oppa."

Woojin smiled at your attitude as he squeezed himself into the corner, giving you the space you needed to lie down in front of Gun-woo. Seeing you like that was enough to get his own cock hard, and that soon gave the trainer ideas. "Jagiya, maybe it's better if I teach. You can use your little mouth for something else."

Your boyfriend didn't need to elaborate further for you to understand his intention. He positioned himself on his knees over your face and quickly lowered his sweatpants until his hard cock sprang out. Woo-jin looked at you and then at Gun-woo, who was watching the scene with barely concealed envy. For some reason, seeing you like that—just for him and in front of another man—inflated the trainer's ego even more. He didn't even let you breathe before shoving his cock all the way into your mouth, and you felt it hit the back of your throat. You almost choked.

"That's it... just like that, jagi. Show our guest why you deserve to have your pussy eaten by him."

Woo-jin's movements weren't fast, but they were precise. With him positioned above you, he hit deep, torturing your throat. In fact, you didn't really need to suck him at all. He did all the work with your tight, warm throat, letting out undisguised moans. It was dirty, but you couldn't help getting even wetter as you were used that way, all while receiving Gun-woo's hungry gaze.

"Gun-woo." Woo-jin called the other man. "Learning to fuck a girl doesn't start with the dick. You always have to make sure she's comfortable enough to receive you." It was almost a funny scene—the way he taught not about boxing, but about sex, and about you. All while punishing your cheeks. "And maybe you'll do it just because you like it in the future. I at least like it a lot."

You were about to say something, but Woo-jin slammed his cock back to the back of your throat, now holding your neck in place, almost cutting off your air. The feeling of watching you struggle for breath was intoxicating. He wouldn't last much longer in that position, so he was quick. "Go on, take off her panties."

Gun-woo didn't ask questions. He was simply too desperate to have another piece of you. The boxer then pulled your panties down to your heels. The sight was enough to make his cock even harder. You were so wet that the fabric came away soaked. Woo-jin then removed his hand from your throat and slowly pulled his cock out of your mouth. You were all drooly and out of breath, your eyes even a little distant.

Seeing you like that was like a silent command. Gun-woo also wanted to leave you that way—because of him and for him. The champion then brought his face to your wet intimacy and began to lick. Even though he didn't know what he was doing, just the willingness to do it was enough to leave your legs wobbly.

Even without strength, you pulled his hair again, and he grunted happily against your pussy. He alternated between long licks and desperate circles. You pulled more and more until he finally found your clit. Gun-woo felt the exact moment he found it because your breathing faltered again. And like a man lost in a desert, he claimed your moisture like a devotee.

You already felt your body growing light when Woo-jin again thrust his cock into your throat. You were now being stimulated from both sides. At some point, control completely left your hands. Soon, it was no surprise when you collapsed in tremors, squeezing Gun-woo's face with your thighs and scratching Woo-jin's waist. He didn't come in your mouth, even though he was already at his limit.

In fact, Woo-jin pulled you into his lap, ignoring your reaction. "Let's make it special, jagi." He murmured, looking at your tired face. With one arm, he held your body against his. You didn't know what he was planning, but honestly, you no longer cared. You were drunk with pleasure between those men and would do anything at this point.

The answer to your question came when you felt the trainer's thick fingers exposing your pussy to Gun-woo. You had your back to him, so you didn't know exactly how he was analyzing the proposal. "Come on, both of us together."

"Hyung." You could hear the desperation in Gun-woo's voice. Even without seeing him, you knew that idea had shaken him. "Won't she feel pain?"

Woo-jin looked at you again, as if asking silently. He smiled at you as if provoking you to answer and say you wanted that experience as much as he did. But you didn't say anything. There was still a bit of your pride left, and how he loved your stubbornness.

"We'll just be careful. Don't worry, she'll tell me if it's too much." Woo-jin finally answered, still looking at you. Silently, he reminded you to use the safe word if it became too much. His concern for you always affected you. No one had ever cared that much about your well-being like him did. "Now go. You first, champs."

Your stomach tightened in anticipation. You were unsure if you could even handle both men that way. So, you just hugged Woo-jin's shoulders in response, resting your face there. Gun-woo hesitated when he saw you act that way, but Woo-jin just nodded at him. The trainer only tightened his grip on your back.

You closed your eyes when you felt Gun-woo's cock invade you. The champion entered slowly, holding your waist with both hands. He let out a relieved moan when he felt he had buried himself all the way inside you, his head even falling back. Woo-jin just watched, biting his lower lip.

"Can I keep going?" Gun-woo, always the gentleman, asked as he was fully inside you. You just nodded against Woo-jin's shoulder, and your small confirmation was enough for him.

The champion was clearly worried about hurting you, so he controlled his hip movements as much as possible, not going beyond what he thought was enough. If you weren't so exhausted by the two of them, you would have ordered him to go faster and harder, not to be so afraid of you, but you were falling apart even at the controlled pace that had been set. Just when you seemed to be getting used to it, Woo-jin also pushed inside you.

You let out a scream at the double intrusion, and out of minimal respect for your destroyed body, Woo-jin paused the movement for a moment. Both men were equally affected by being inside you simultaneously. You were receiving them so tightly that it seemed impossible. But it was possible, and Woo-jin began to move again to ensure it lasted as long as possible.

The movement of both hips against yours was cruel even without trying. Feeling both cocks pulsing inside you was almost enough to make you come again. "Good girl." Woo-jin whispered when he saw that you were slowly sustaining the pleasure and pain.

The interposition of bodies didn't last much longer. None of you three could handle that intense, wet friction for so long. Increasing the rhythm, you felt Woo-jin nearing his peak. And Gun-woo responded, unable to hold back any longer in front of the trainer, now thrusting into you more violently—though he would apologize many times afterward.

"Fuck, I'm going to come, jagi." Woo-jin announced, knowing the effect those words had on you. "You're too damn hot."

"I think I..." Gun-woo closed his eyes, feeling the wave of pleasure reaching its climax. "I think I am too."

You couldn't even respond before both men came inside you, their hands holding you in place. Out of breath, you also came hard, squeezing their cocks in small waves until you finally came back to yourself. Slowly, the two boys withdrew from inside you, letting cum drip out of you. That sensation was beyond anything you had ever experienced. Sleeping with two men had never been in your plans.

The three of you lingered a while on that sofa before finally being able to say something about what had happened.

"Thank you, jagiya. I won't forget this anytime soon." Woo-jin said as he placed a kiss on the top of your head.

"Neither will I." Gun-woo lost his shyness for a moment, feeling it was important to make it clear that the experience had been equally satisfying for him.

"Maybe I want to drink a little more after this." You replied wearily, hearing the laughter of the two men in response. The experience really had been unique.

[liliesonthego]

Woojin: Good girl

Summary: You've shown interest in boxing in the past and your friend offers to give you a little lesson that doesn't last very long...

Pairing: Woojin x Friend!reader

Genre: Fluff, Suggestive

Warnings: Praise kink, they make out, reader feels his boner

Word count: 1.3k

Authors note: MY BABYYY WOOJINNN :')) I did a mix of fluff and suggestive because the pole was pretty even but if you have any ideas or suggestions feel free to send them in!! Also i feel like this had to have been done before but I mean what can we expect trainer!woojin is so freaking hot i love him... okay enjoy hehe <3 likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated:p

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"Does it always smell this bad in here?"

Woojin sat cross-legged on the mat in front of you, head tilted as he took an exaggerated sniff of the musty gym air. “Hmm, I don’t smell anything,” he replied.

You curled your lip in disgust. “Never mind.”

He chuckled under his breath and reached for the roll of hand wrap as you extended your right hand toward him. 

His palm was strong and callused against your hand, and the moment your skin met his, a faint flush crept up the back of his neck. 

You watched him closely from above as he began looping the wrap around your wrist and between your fingers, the brush of his fingertips sending tiny sparks up your arm.

“I love this hair on you,” you said quietly after minutes of silent observation.

Woojin’s eyes lifted to yours, the brown in his eyes lighter this close and suddenly shy. The corners of his mouth lifted, genuine and shy.

“You’re the only one who told me not to cut it.”

You pouted. “Well, your long hair was so pretty.”

His blush deepened and spread across both cheeks. He ducked his head, pretending to focus on the wrap, but you still caught the way his ears went pink and the silly little grimace he made to play it off. You couldn’t help your grin; the contrast between his usual loud, ridiculous persona and this flustered version of him made you giddy.

When he finished wrapping both hands, he helped slide the gloves on, then he stood, offering you a hand up.

“Alright, rookie. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Inside the ring, Woojin demonstrated the basics, starting with the proper stance. You mirrored him, suddenly nervous under his assessing gaze, and he tilted his head before shaking it and moving around your figure until he was behind you.

His hands settled lightly on your shoulders first, then your hips, adjusting your stance with gentle but firm pressure. Every intimate point of contact sent your heart in a frenzy. He was so close you could smell the faint trace of his cologne over the overpowering scent of the gym.

“Feet like this,” he murmured, tapping your ankle with his foot. “Shoulders relaxed. Good. Now jab like this.” 

He sounded different from what you were used to, more serious. His voice was low as he rattled out instructions, and you felt your own skin begin to burn. 

You tested the jab a few times in the air with both fists before he slid his own mitts on, gesturing for you to punch his raised arm.

You did exactly as he showed you. His hand barely moved, but the solid thud of impact made his eyes widen.

“Whoa—okay, that had power.” Surprise colored his tone, quickly melting into a bright, proud laugh. “Again. Harder.”

You worked harder than you had in a while, desperate to impress him. Sweat began to bead at your temples, sliding down your neck as your breathing picked up.

Each time your glove connected, he screamed out words of encouragement, acting as if you’d just knocked out a heavyweight.

“That’s it! Again—good girl.”

The words caught you by surprise as you stumbled, your balance vanishing. Your cheeks burned hot and you turned away quickly, gloves on your knees while you tried to catch your breath.

“What happened?” he asked, stepping closer, voice filled with confusion.

You heaved in another breath and turned back toward him, immediately regretting it when you saw just how good he really looked. His sweat-damp hair stuck to his forehead, his tank clinging to his chest,  his muscles on full display. You had to look away again.

“You can’t just say that…”

He blinked before slowly realizing what you meant. “Say what? Good girl?”

Your face burned hotter. You groaned his name into the padding of your gloves, mortified.

Woojin laughed, bright and delighted, clearly enjoying every second of your suffering. “I’m only asking a question."

You huffed, ripped the gloves off with shaking hands, and made a break for the ropes. He was after you in an instant, long legs eating up the short distance. What started as an attempt to escape turned into a ridiculous fight—him grabbing at your waist while you swatted at him with half-hearted slaps, both of you laughing and breathless. The struggle lasted maybe ten seconds before he caught you properly, strong arms gripping around your middle and hauling your back flush against his chest.

“Woojin,” you breathed.

He hummed, the sound vibrating against your spine. “Are you done fighting me?”

Your breath shook. “Y-yes.”

You could practically hear the smirk in his voice as he dipped his head, his lips brushing the side of your neck. “Good girl.”

Your knees buckled; only the strength of his arms kept you upright. He kissed your neck fully with slow, open-mouthed brushes, followed by the scrape of his teeth and the soft press of his tongue.

One of his hands splayed wide across your waist, then slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, palm hot against your lower belly as he pulled you even tighter against him. The hardness that pressed against your lower back made your next exhale come out as a whimper.

“Woojin—”

He groaned against your shoulder, the sound echoing in the quiet gym, and you twisted in his arms to face him. You didn't expect him to look so wrecked—eyes wide and dark, lips parted, expression so open and desperate it stole your breath. This strong, ridiculous man looked like he was about ready to do anything you asked of him.

A rush of want and power surged through you. You cupped his chin and tugged it down, his lips meeting yours. 

The first brush was soft, almost careful, both of you testing the waters. Then something in him—his patience—snapped. He devoured your lips, all the intensity you had only ever seen him unleash in the ring suddenly focused entirely on you. 

His hands were everywhere—sliding up your back, gripping your waist, threading through your hair. When your tongue slipped past his lips, he made a broken sound and hauled you up, hands under your thighs until your legs locked around his waist. 

You cupped his flushed cheeks and kissed him harder, tasting the salt of his sweat and the faint mint of the gum he’d been chewing earlier.

He pressed you back until the ropes of the ring dug into your skin so he could kiss you even deeper.

The heavy clang of the gym door opening barely registered to you until Gunwoo's voice disturbed the silence.

“Mom, I’ll call you back.”

You whipped your head around to look at him, your legs sliding down Woojin’s body until your feet met the floor. The three of you stared at one another as you and Woojin caught your breaths, each of you waiting for the other to break the silence. 

Gunwoo eventually did with a delighted smile when he looked straight at Woojin and said, “You finally told her you like her.”

Woojin’s eyes almost bulged out of their sockets. He shook his head frantically, making a slicing motion across his throat, and Gunwoo’s smile dropped as he realized his mistake.

You turned to Woojin with a satisfied grin, but his murderous eyes remained locked on his best friend.

Before he could speak, you cleared your throat, still flushed and breathless. “Well, I’ll leave you boys to it. I’m gonna go home and shower.”

Woojin’s hand shot out, catching your wrist. He pouted—lower lip jutting out as his big, round eyes finally met yours. “Where are you going…?”

“...home,” you repeated, patting his chest with your free hand. “...to shower. And get out of this smelly gym. Bye!”

You flashed him one last mischievous smile, gathered your things, and slipped out of the gym. The door swung shut behind you, but not before you heard Gunwoo’s sheepish voice.

“How was I supposed to know you didn’t say anything… You were kissing each other.”

Woojin groaned loudly, the sound followed by an exaggerated mocking of Gunwoo’s disappointed tone, and you were almost 100% certain that he he rolled his eyes right after.

—

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[gyihaven]

𓏵‧₊˚ ┊ KIM GUNWOO, AS YOUR BOYFRIEND ゛ ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆

❤︎ so overly protective. he’s not overbearing and he’ll never try to be that way but he’s always on the phone with you. texting, calling, or keeping track of where you are and if you’re safe or not. bad guys always find him.

❤︎ “princess? I didn’t mean to wake you but.. need you”

❤︎ his large strong hands are always on your waist or thighs. it’s just his thing, he loves those parts of your body the absolute most. if you ask him? he’d shrug his shoulders. not being able to answer. for some reason he loves your waist and how perfect it is. his hand fits perfectly on that spot and your thighs are so warm.

❤︎ “why are you so pretty, hm? my sweet pretty girl.”

❤︎ adores when you show up to watch him work out or practice. let’s say he’s in the ring! just for practice but it’s a bit of a rough practice. actually hitting and using a lot of new techniques. when he’s able to turn and look at you? he’s put back in the zone. you ground him.

❤︎ “I love you. I love you so much.. I can’t lose you.”

❤︎ insanely touching and LOVES cuddles. he’s so into cuddles that even when you’re cooking or baking he’s in the kitchen with his arms around you, swaying back and forth. humming softly or just talking to you about whatever it is that he wants to talk about. he loves it.

❤︎ “do you believe in fairytales? want to talk about it?”

❤︎ big on kissing. so big on kissing. kisses you so so much because he believes that’s how you show how much you love a person. his kisses are soft and very emotional. other times? it’s a bit more hot, wet, and a little needy. he wants you. needs you. all the time.

[altxrxgo1005]

I haven’t read kdrama fanfiction in literally forever, this is so embarrassing😭😭😭 but I lob him so bad