Request for Baelor marrying a controversially young wife who is absolutely obsessed with him and just want to fuck him every minute of every day, whenever wherever 🥵 he is determined to keep up with her and they end up getting caught in embarrassing situations by the staff and courtiers. imagine: a lady in waiting walking in on them going at it in the gardens, a poor stableboy getting an eyeful of a princess on her knees in front of the heir, Maekar having to get his eyes bleached after catching them in the small council room. poor Baelor becomes the talk of the castle and his reputation of a stern, serious princes changes forever.
ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴀʟᴋ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ | ʙᴀᴇʟᴏʀ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ
─ summary: You and Baelor get caught everywhere in his attempt to prove that he can keep up with a woman of your age.
─ pairing: Baelor Targaryen x second wife!reader
─ word count: 3k (I am just as confused as you)
─ content: 18+ MDNI | harrasment| "violence"| (a girlie has to defend herself)| filthy shameless smut | exhibitionism | voyeurism | age gap | getting caught
─ a/n: There's nothing I love more than stressing out these old men. As always thank you for reading, likes, comments, requests, and reblogs🖤
The heat of the tourney grounds pressed against your skin and made the heavy silks of your gown cling to your body in ways that felt entirely too suffocating. You had slipped away from your septa and your handmaidens near the lists, needing just a moment of air, a breath of freedom that didn't smell of sweat, horses, and steel. The Red Keep loomed in the distance, but you had wandered toward the fringe of the encampment, where the canvas tents flapped in the wind and the noise was a dull roar rather than a deafening clash.
You thought you were hidden enough. You were wrong.
The knight found you near a stack of empty wine casks. He was a large man, broad-shouldered and reeking of cheap ale and stale sweat, his doublet unlaced to reveal a stained tunic underneath. He blocked your path, his shadow falling over you, and when you tried to step around him, he moved with you.
"Now, now, little dove," he slurred, his eyes raking over you with a gaze that felt sticky and unwanted. "A pretty thing like you shouldn't be wandering all alone. A man could get the wrong idea."
"I am returning to the Keep," you said, keeping your voice steady, though your heart hammered against your ribs. You lifted your chin, trying to project the authority your father had drilled into you. "Let me pass."
"Come now, don't be haughty," he laughed, a wet, ugly sound. He reached out, his thick fingers brushing against the fabric of your sleeve. "I could show you a good time before you scurry back to your tower. I bet you've never even had a real man between those legs, have you?"
Revulsion curdled in your stomach. You tried to jerk your arm away, but his grip tightened, bruisingly hard. "Unhand me," you hissed, your shyness burning away in a flash of hot anger.
"Feisty," he grinned, showing yellowed teeth. "I like that. Makes it better when you break."
He didn't see the slap coming. You swung your hand with every ounce of strength your fear and fury could muster, connecting hard with his cheek. The sound was a sharp crack that echoed off the nearby tents. His head snapped to the side, and he stumbled back a step, more from surprise than pain.
Before he could recover, you kicked him. You aimed for his knee but caught his shin, driving the hard toe of your slipper into the bone. The knight howled, a sound of pure, undignified agony, and crumbled to the dirt, clutching his leg.
"You little bitch!" he spat, tears of pain actually gathering in his eyes as he glared up at you from the ground. "Do you know who I am? I'll have you whipped for this insolence!"
"You'll do nothing," a new voice cut through the air.
The knight froze. You looked up, your breath catching in your throat. A man stood over the drunken knight, his presence instantly commanding the space.
Baelor. The Prince.
He didn't look at you. His eyes were fixed on the heap of a man on the ground. "I suggest you leave, before I decide that a knight who cannot hold his wine has no business holding a sword either."
The knight scrambled backward, his bravado evaporating instantly in the face of royal authority. He muttered a curse, scrambled to his feet, and limped away as fast as his injured leg would carry him, not daring to look back.
Only then did Baelor turn his gaze to you. The intensity of his focus made your knees feel weak, but not from fear. He studied your face, taking in the tears in your eyes, the rapid rise and fall of your chest.
"Are you harmed?" he asked, stepping closer. Up close, he was even more striking. He was tall, with the build of a warrior who had spent a lifetime with sword and shield, tanned skin, arresting eyes, lines of experience around his eyes that only added to his handsomeness.
"I am perfectly fine," you said, perhaps a bit too quickly, smoothing your skirts with trembling hands. "He was... he was just drunk."
"He was a fool," Baelor corrected gently. He looked around the empty patch of ground. "Where are your ladies? Your guard? Tourneys are no place for young maidens to be alone."
You bit your lip, feeling embarrassment creep up your neck. "I... I slipped them. I just wanted a moment of quiet."
A corner of his mouth twitched upward. It wasn't a mocking smile — it was warm, amused. "I see. You handled yourself remarkably well. That was a formidable kick."
"I can take care of myself," you insisted, lifting your chin again, though your voice lacked its earlier bite.
"Yes," he said softly, his eyes roaming over your face with a new kind of interest. "That is apparent."
"Come. I will walk you back. I cannot in good conscience leave you here, waiting for the next drunkard to find you."
"I can find my own way."
"I have no doubt," he said, offering his arm. "But humor an old man. I would feel better knowing you reached safety."
You hesitated. You were annoyed at being treated like a child, at needing a rescue when you had clearly been winning the fight. But you looked at his arm — strong, steady, clothed in fine velvet — and then up at his face. He was incredibly handsome.
You placed your hand on his arm. "Very well, my prince."
The walk back was a slow one. At first, you were silent, stewing in your annoyance, but Baelor did not press you. He spoke of the heat, of the tourney, of the specific breed of hawks his sons were training. You found yourself looking at him more often than not, watching the way the sunlight caught the grey in his beard, the way his amber eye seemed to hold a secret fire.
By the time you reached the shadow of the castle walls, your annoyance had evaporated, replaced by a strange, fluttering sensation in your stomach. He bowed over your hand before leaving, his lips brushing your knuckles in a gesture that was formal yet lingered a fraction of a second too long.
"Take care of yourself, my lady," he murmured.
You watched him walk away, and for the first time in your life, you felt a pang of regret that a conversation was ending.
The months that followed were a blur of stolen glances, secret meetings, and a court that whispered furiously about the Prince's new infatuation. Baelor agonised over the age difference, he was old enough to be your father, but the heart, as the poets often said, rarely listened to reason.
You fell in love with his quiet strength. He fell in love with your fire, your spirit, the way you looked at him not as a prince but as a man.
The wedding was a grand affair, but the wedding night was yours alone.
You had feared a duty, a fumbling, awkward encounter performed in the dark under the sheets. Instead, Baelor had treated your body like a holy site, worshipping every inch of you with a patience and skill that made you weep. When he joined you in the bed, the insecurities about his age, about his ability to please a woman in the flower of her youth, vanished in the heat of your touch. You were insatiable, and he rose to meet you, again and again, proving that experience and endurance were worth far more than youth.
But the whispers did not stop. If anything, they grew louder. Baelor heard them all. They said ladies your age were insatiable, that you needed a stallion, not an ageing warhorse. They said it had been too many years since Baelor had proven himself in the field, and surely he was failing you in the bedchamber. He saw the way men looked at you when you walked through the gardens, old lords and young squires alike, their eyes lingering on your figure, imagining they could give you what he supposedly could not. It ate at him, a quiet, corrosive jealousy. He loved you with a ferocity that terrified him, the thought of losing you, of you looking elsewhere because he failed you, caused physical pain in his chest.
He didn't need to prove anything to you. You were insatiable, it was true, but he was the only one who could quench that thirst. You didn't look at the young squires or the handsome knights. Your eyes were only for your husband. You wanted him constantly, the feel of his rough hands, the scent of his skin, the deep gravelly sound of his voice when he lost control.
You didn't care for propriety. You didn't care if the guards heard your cries through the doors of your chambers. In fact, the thought that they knew exactly what their prince was doing to his young wife only made you wetter, made you claw at his back harder.
It started in the garden. It was a secluded corner, or so you had thought, surrounded by high hedges. The sun was high, casting dappled shadows on the grass. Baelor had been reading a report on a bench, but you had other plans. You missed him. He had been in council for three days straight, and you felt like a starving woman denied her favourite meal.
You dropped to your knees in the dirt before him, not caring about the stains on your velvet skirts. You pushed his tunic up, your mouth finding the hard line of his stomach, trailing kisses downward until you reached the laces of his breeches.
He gasped, his hand tangling in your hair, his resistance crumbling instantly as your fingers worked the leather strings. "Someone will see."
"Let them," you whispered, freeing his cock. It was thick and heavy, already hard for you. You took him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the head, tasting the salt of him.
He groaned, a sound that was half-protest, half-surrender. "You are a wicked girl," he breathed, his hips bucking up slightly.
You pulled back and turned around, dropping to your hands and knees. You looked back at him over your shoulder, your hair cascading down your back. "Fuck me, Baelor. Please."
He fell to his knees behind you, gripping your hips with bruising force. He lined himself up and slammed into you, filling you so completely that you cried out, your fingers digging into the earth.
He took you hard and fast, his hips slapping against your backside, driving you into the dirt. There was no gentleness here. You pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts, begging for more.
"Gods, you are tight," he gritted out, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "I love this cunt."
"It is yours," you moaned, your voice rising. "Only yours. Fuck me harder!"
The snap of a twig broke through the haze of your arousal. You didn't care, but Baelor froze. His head snapped up, his body tensing.
Standing ten feet away, clutching a basket of fallen flowers, was one of your maids. Her eyes were wide as saucers, her mouth open in a silent cry. She stared at the sight of her princess on her hands and knees in the dirt, being taken by the heir to the throne.
Baelor started to pull back, panic flaring in his mismatched eyes. "I told you this was a bad idea," he hissed.
"Don't stop," you commanded, your voice breathless and desperate. You pushed back onto him, taking him deep again, clenching around him to hold him there. "Don't you dare stop. She has already seen."
The maid dropped her basket. Flowers scattered everywhere. She turned and fled, her footsteps pounding away on the gravel path.
Baelor groaned, the exhibitionism clearly infecting him too. He gripped your hips harder and resumed his rhythm, even harder than before.
The stables were next. You had intended to go for a ride in the Kingswood, a leisurely afternoon escape. But as soon as you entered the dim, hay-scented building, the privacy of the high loft overwhelmed you.
Baelor was checking on his black destrier. You walked up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing your chest against his back. He smelled of leather and bergamot, a scent that made your head spin.
"I think I would rather ride my dragon than a horse," you whispered against his spine, your hand sliding down to the front of his breeches.
He turned in your arms, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss, lifting you effortlessly and setting you on a bale of hay. He shoved his breeches down just enough, and you hiked your skirts up, opening your legs for him. He stepped between your thighs, lifting your legs to wrap around his waist before impaling you on his cock in one smooth stroke. You gasped, your head falling back against the rough wood of the stall wall.
"Ride me, then," he commanded, his hands gripping your backside.
The friction was exquisite, the stretch intense. You were lost in the rhythm, so focused on the feeling of him filling you, stretching you, that you didn't hear the approach of the stable hand until you heard a sharp intake of breath.
You looked over Baelor's shoulder. The young man stood frozen in the aisle, a curry comb in his hand, his eyes locked on the sight of his prince buried inside his princess. He stood there, his cheeks flushing red, watching.
Baelor realised what was happening, felt the way you clenched around him in response to the voyeur. He chuckled darkly against your neck. "You like being watched, don't you?"
"Yes," you hissed. "I want everyone to see how well you fuck me."
He redoubled his efforts, pounding into you harder. You cried out, your orgasm building fast and hot. When it hit, you shattered, your body convulsing, your cries echoing off the stone walls. Baelor followed you moments later, burying his face in your neck as he emptied himself inside you.
The stable boy was gone when you finally came down, but the knowledge that he had stayed, that he had watched every second, lingered between you like a third presence.
The small council chamber was the ultimate transgression. Baelor sat at the head of the table, surrounded by empty chairs, preparing for the afternoon session. He looked tired, lines of fatigue etched around his eyes.
You slipped into the room, closing the heavy oak door behind you.
"You look exhausted," you said softly, walking up to his high-backed chair.
He looked up, a tired smile transforming his face. "The realm does not rest, my love."
"Rest for a moment," you murmured, climbing onto his lap. You straddled his legs, your skirts pooling around you.
He sighed, wrapping his arms around your waist, burying his face in your cleavage. "You are a distraction," he mumbled, but his hands were already wandering, sliding up your back to pull you closer.
"I want to be your distraction," you whispered, kissing his forehead, his nose, finding his lips.
The kiss was slow and sweet, but it ignited a fire that had been smouldering for days. His tongue swept into your mouth, tasting you, claiming you. His hands gripped your waist, lifting you slightly.
"You are bare," he observed with a groan, his fingers encountering nothing but soft skin and wet heat under your layers of silk. "Do you wish to kill me?"
You hummed in response.
"Turn around," he breathed.
He lifted you and turned you so your back was pressed against his chest, your legs draped over the arms of the chair. He quickly unlaced his breeches, freeing his straining erection.
You reached down, guiding him to your entrance. You were dripping wet, ready for him. He gripped your hips and pulled you down onto him, filling you in one long, smooth glide.
"Gods," you gasped, your head falling back against his shoulder. He felt so big like this, stretching you wide.
He held you still, his hips bucking up slightly, grinding deep inside you. "I could stay like this forever," he whispered in your ear, nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck.
The door handle rattled. You both froze. The heavy oak door pushed open and Maekar strode in, followed by the other council members. They stopped short when they saw the tableau. Baelor sat in his chair, looking completely at ease. You sat on his lap looking demure, your skirts hiding the fact that your husband was buried inside you.
"My lady," Maekar said, confused. "I... did not realise you were attending."
"Just observing."
Baelor's hand rested on your hip, possessive and heavy. "Shall we begin?"
The meeting was agony. Every shift Baelor made sent jolts of pleasure through you. Every time he coughed or cleared his throat, you felt the vibration in his chest. You sat through discussions of taxes and grain with a dripping cunt and a husband who was slowly, subtly rocking his hips, keeping himself hard inside you.
When the other lords finally filed out an hour later, you were trembling with the effort of staying quiet. Only Maekar remained. He waited for the door to close.
He looked at Baelor sharply. "Is something the matter? You seem... distracted."
Baelor shifted, and you had to bite your lip to keep from moaning. "I am perfectly fine, brother."
Maekar's eyes narrowed. He looked at you, then at Baelor, then down at the way your skirts were arranged, the way Baelor's arm was locked around your waist. The realisation dawned on his face slowly.
He stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. He looked at you both with incredulous eyes, then at his brother. "Have you no shame?"
Baelor threw his head back and laughed, a full, rich sound that made his cock twitch inside you. "I assure you, this was not my idea."
Maekar stormed out, shaking his head, muttering about madness and Targaryen blood.
Baelor kissed your neck, his laughter fading into a satisfied hum. "You, my pretty little wife," he whispered, his hand sliding up to cup your breast, "keep getting me into trouble."
"I think you like it," you breathed, finally letting yourself move, grinding down onto him.
"I do," he admitted. "I love you."
He began to move again, intent on finishing what he had started.
The whispers in the court changed. They did not call him an old man anymore. They said the prince and his young wife were mad, insatiable for each other, unable to keep their hands off one another.
Retired!Simon
Smut 18+ part two to this, filthy smut, pwp, filthy filthy filthy, age gap, overstim, FILTHY, pussy slapping, throat fucking, oral (both)
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
You text the number the moment you come home. Fuck seeming desperate or so, you'd be damned if you let the best fuck of your life get away. Fingers a bit trembly from excitement, just a simple 'hey'. You stare at the screen for a minute before putting your phone away. Like he'd reply that fast.
He must have been like forty or so, good chunk older than you. Crows feet around his eyes when he smiled - whatever one would could call the expression similiar to a semblance of a friendly intent he gave you before leaving you wrecked in the bathroom. Didn't even catch his name before he had your skirt pulled off, hand grabbing into the fat of your ass, roughly.
His touch still phantoms your body. Handling you like he's known you all his life, pushing, prodding, around the curves of a girl young enough to get questioning stares if seen together outside. Maybe you even would be desperate enough to just call him. Maybe that's excatly what he wanted, making you beg for it, knowing how those fifteen minutes were more than a quick fuck for something so young and inexperienced as you. Mean. But you like it in some way. The game of cat and mouse had long begun before you knew you were part of it.
No answer for three days and you're jumpy. Always looking at your phone, biting your lips, ignoring the achy pain in your cunt that was begging for relief. But your vibrator wasn't cutting it anymore, barely able to push you over the edge and no gratification with it. You just can see those honeyed brown eyes of his, nursing a drink in the evening while reading over your simple text, asking when you'd break.
You hope he would show up on the golf course again, maybe you'd recognise his friends and ask them a few things. Anything to give you a sense of control in whatever you had entered. It doesn't get as far, because on the fourth night your thumb has its own plans and before you know the phone rings. Once, twice, thrice. Then finally the thick, accented voice comes through, your thighs clenching, a burst of joy rushing through your body.
"Already missin' me, doll?"
He was enjoying it way too much.
"H-hey."
Butterflies in your stomach and you lightly slap yourself to get yourself together.
"Didn't reply to my text, so thought I'd call."
"Yeah? What can I do for ya?"
Smug bastard. Like he didn't know.
"Hoped I could see you again."
Your hand laid open.
"Hm. A straightforward one, aren't you, doll. Atta girl."
You hear glass clanking on the other side of the line. He did seem like a whiskey type of man.
"Whenever you want to."
Of course he'd say that.
"Right now?"
Maybe your pussy was doing the talking for you.
"That desperate f'me?"
A soft chuckle on his side.
"Alright, get your pretty ass here."
Didn't expect that to work. Maybe you weren't the only one needing this.
"Where do you live?"
"I'll send you a cab."
"T-thanks."
"One more thing."
You pause in your movement, already scurrying to get changed into something more presentable.
"Simon's the name. Remember it. Gonna be screaming it a lot tonight."
"S-simon..."
You cry out, hips trembling as his thick cock slides out slowly. A gush of slick pools around your ass but you don't nearly have enough braincells to care about the ruined bed, tears streaming down down your cheeks.
"p-please..."
His bulbous tip smacks your clit and your eyes roll back.
"Please what?"
"L-let me cum."
Of course he had been edging you all night, eating you out only to pull away once your back arched up and you were babbling his name like a prayer. His thick cock had sank in, wrecking your cunt, a thumb on your clit only giving you light strokes every now and then. Your folds were sticky, glistening, the amount of juices he had forced out of you made you want to cry. You had been so frustrated the past days, nothing feeling good and now that you were so close, he only bullied your poor cunt until she was swollen, crying all over him.
"Why should I?"
"P-please..."
His cock sinks back in and your lip wobbles. God it felt so good but it wasn't enough. Not when he was moving so slowly, hands sunk into the fat of your chest almost painfully. Your clit was throbbing from the onslaught of feelings, clenching, begging for more. You must look pathetic, lying there in that mating press, soaking through everything, your panties lying somwhere, ripped apart.
"Gotta work for it, doll."
It was burning between your legs. You were going crazy, fat drops of slick hitting the expensive rug unter your knees while he was feeling his fat cock down your tiny throat. Your eyes weren't focused anymore and you don't know if you were even breathing, dizzy enough that your head felt empty, static.
"Look at your poor throat. 's all stretched out, eh? Body too small for my cock?"
He gives you a mean thrust and you gag around him, more tears rolling out your eyes. Your hands were gripped into his muscular thighs, not knowing if to push away or endure so maybe he'd give you what you needed. Not like you'd manage to actually pull away, his hand on the back of your head, making you move up and down his length.
"Like taking older men's cock into your mouth? Making good use of every hole you got."
His words were gasoline to the fire inside you. Every time your cunt clenched, you could hear, hear the squelching that came with it, like his cock had gaped you enough over the hour he had just sat inside you and played with your body.
"Oh yeah, you love it. Dirty cunt's ruined for any other man, eh? Might as well get my name tattooed on there."
He finally pulls out, the relief of being able to properly breathe again barely important compared to finally have his cock stretching out your wall again. He makes you crawl back onto the bed and spread your legs so he could inspect the damage he's done, sinking in three fingers with no resistance.
"You'd really do anythin' for me to fuck you properly, eh?"
All you can do is whimper weakly, clenching your cunt.
His palm comes flat down, delivering a light slap onto your folds and you cry out. Again, he starts slapping your pussy, making loud plapping squelches echo off his room while you try to scurry away from the pain, screaming out his name in hopes he's stop.
"Ah, no, no running away, doll."
A hand on each leg pulling you back down.
"You want to cum?"
"Y-y-yes..."
You gargle out, feeling the knot building, hot embarrassment washing over you, knowing what was coming. He spit onto your cunt, glob of saliva running down, feeling cool against your reddened folds. Then he started again, sharp slaps against your cunt, grazing your poor clit, making you flinch every time the sharp pain burned so good against you. And the coil built up again, growing and growing, vining up your torso until you were crying out his name every time his hand made contact with your poor body.
“Here we go.”
A strong gush of liquid drenches him, your body shaking, lips opened in an attempt to scream and he starts fucking his fingers into you. A second gush comes right after, your thighs wet and slippery, your body engulfed in blazing bliss, your eyes rolling so far back, you swear you were seeing the back of your skull.
“Atta girl. C’mon, do it again.”
Another slap and more liquid just explodes out your wrecked body. He’s got you on your tummy moments later, cock slipping in and his pace picks up. Quick, brutal, like he did in the bathroom, he pummels your pink hole until you were sure she would never ever want another man inside. Strokes that hit your cervix, punched the air out of your lungs, the slickness your clit was pressed into every time his body weight slammed into you bordering on painful.
“Getting your cunt ruined by some old man. You ought to respect yourself some more, eh?”
Your thighs starts to tremble again. You let out a strained moan, fingers holding onto his wrist like he’d slow down if you did. A few more strokes and you feel him nestling his load right under your womb.
“Fuckin’ good pussy. Best one so far.”
You think he’d let you stay like that, tummy down on his dirty bed, finally giving you rest. But the moment he pulls out, he puts your limp body onto his lap, hand on your chest, groping and occasionally sinking a finger or so into you to push his seed back into you.
“You still want to cum? Still want my fingers in that dirty hole o’yours?”
You whine weakly, trying to shake your head no.
“Yeah? Alright.”
And he starts back at zero, three fingers in your cunt, brutal pace, until you were emptied all over again, his seed now spread across your lower half as all you manage is gargle out pleas of his name and some incoherently strung together syllables. The next orgasm makes you question if you were still alive. There was a constant dribble of slick running out your cunt, your clit swollen two twice its size, the firm slap of his palm felt in your entire nervous system.
The has the audacity to press a kiss against your soft lips, once he’s done. A hot towel cleaned you up and his arms carried you over to another room. You were out of it and the moment you smelled fresh sheets and a blanket was pulled over you, you enter the deepest slumber of your life.
lohen wants u to choke him content | nsfw, fem!reader, pet name used lit once, estab relationship, masochism, short drabble
“c’mon bunny, don’t be shy,” he cooed. “just imagine i’m a big, scary monster.”
lohen hovered on top of you, his face and body inches from yours. with every sigh of mockery he made, you shuddered from the intensity.
“i—i’m not gonna do that,” you rasped quietly. “choking? lohen, you’re—”
you cut yourself off. of course lohen was crazy. you had no right to act shocked.
he chuckled. every sound he made only felt like a shivering taunt. it’d make your heart bristle every single time.
with those fogged, dazed, red eyes, he stared right into you as he said, “are you scared you’ll hurt me? hah, i’m flattered.”
before you can say anything — process anything, he flipped the two of you in a secure yet winding whirl, making you now nestled on his hips, looking down at him where he was flat on his back.
his cold hands slowly, clinically rubbed up and down along your hips. as if you were just a delicate little thing. a delicate little thing that he just asked to choke him.
“do it,” he said, his voice hoarse and expectant.
you took a deep breath. looking into those bumbling, big, red eyes of his, you couldn’t bring yourself to deny any of his requests. especially when you were on top of him, feeling the faint twitching of his cock beneath you.
your hands found his torso, feeling the outline of him as they languidly traced their way to his neck. and then, once your hands gripped him firmly, and you noticed an excited flare in lohen’s eyes;
ack!
the intense, mind-numbing pressure of your fingertips disturbing his larynx caused lohen to make incessant, curdling sputtering sounds. he slightly jolted himself more flush against you, causing your breath to hitch. you softened your grip for a mere moment.
lohen coughed raggedly. “what’s wrong?” he heaved. “don’t worry, i’m enjoying it,” he purred.
you didn’t need him to say it to know that he was enjoying it. as you squeezed the flesh of him once more, you could feel his dick stirring to life in his pants. and his bulge pressed warmly against your dampened underwear.
you had no idea your childhood best friend jeon jungkook was into girls as well but a simple uncertainty regarding his dating choices lead to you being taught a steamy lesson.
genre : smut, fluff, crack, slice of life.
warnings | tags : mdni! explicit language, making out, bratty jk (muhaha), body worshipping, shy/oblivious oc, titty suck!ng, jk has a dating history, playing with pus&y, finger!ng, pillow princess oc, dirty talking, praising, lowk pwp, mutual pining, nicknames etc
word count : 2.7k+
you were lathering yourself up in a sweet vanilla scented body lotion after showering when you heard a shuffling noise from the window behind you.
you glanced back just to confirm your instinct, and to your correct anticipation, it was none other than your childhood best friend jeon jungkook, climbing into your bedroom through the window.
“you know we have this thing called a ‘door’ genius”
you muttered while closing the lid of the product and kept it back on your dresser, organising few items here and there.
“just brushing up my fire escape skills”
he shrugged and jumped on top of your queen sized bed with a big plop, squishing your plushies and pillows along, in a record time.
you on the other hand were hardly surprised by his answer because the guy had been obsessed with firemen, trucks and rescue kits since his early teens and given the amount of hot fireman posters on his walls and dating history consisting majorly of only blue collar workers, he sure knew what he liked.
“wanted to show you something by the way” he picked out his phone from the pocket of his loose jeans and scrolled down his camera roll as you went to lay down beside him after fixing the comforter over your bare legs.
“mhm go ahead” you replied.
“check this girl out, we matched last night” he whipped out a picture of a pretty girl having long brown hair and dark eyes.
“what do you think?” he handed his phone over to you.
with furrowed eyebrows and a slight confused nod, you confirmed her, “she’s pretty”
but…
“on this dating app?” you asked hesitantly.
“yeah. should i meet her tomorrow?” he looked up at you for assurance, unconsciously leaning towards the warmth of your neck.
you were used to being overly affectionate with him, and as a matter of fact it was a ritual for you guys to cuddle while scrolling reels or watching movies on weekends.
it was friendly gesture to you both (or so you thought) and nothing extraordinary.
your hand automatically flew towards his hair as you started playing with it blankly, also, scratching his scalp occasionally.
he hummed lowly at how good it felt.
however, your confusion remained intact until you decided to point out the obvious,
“koo that’s a girl, i think you meant someone else” you laughed and returned his phone back but paused for a moment to notice that he’s not reciprocating your energy back.
“um and?” he frowned. “what’s wrong with that?”
“huh?” you were genuinely confused now. your best friend of 12 years, who was loud and proud gay through and through wanted to go on a date with a girl?
what exactly did you miss out on?
walking down your memory lane, you’ve never heard of any girl’s name leaving his mouth except for that one time when the sorority president who sabotaged his literature assignment, got caught.
“are you serious-serious?” you looked him in the eyes to confirm if he’s joking or not. “yes y/n i’m dead serious? what’s not clicking?” he sulked at your expression.
“but wait why? what’s wrong? you don’t like her?”
he innocently went over her profile again to re-check if he’s missing something out.
“n-no i mean” you really didn’t know how to ask him in a better way.
how was he up for dating a girl suddenly after being gay for almost all his life?
you can’t even be obvious about it since you knew how insanely quick-witted your best friend was. he would easily catch on at any implication.
it was also kind of embarrassing and problematic in this case because you’re supposed to be his BEST friend, how come you’re so oblivious?
so ultimately, you came up with something only an idiot would,
“what about jaehyun? i thought you were going out with him?”
“uh we were just friends with benefits for a little while and honestly we didn’t quite hit it off” he promptly answered “kind of a douchebag you know?” he added.
now, he fully observed your disoriented expression.
“u-um then what about aaron?” you nervously licked your lips only to taste your sweet lip balm, which did not taste as sweet anymore.
“we’re just friends—“ he sat up briefly, “—wait.. what’s going on inside your head?” jungkook scanned you up and down with his wide doe eyes, expecting direct answers but you fumbled miserably.
you felt the warmth on your cheeks rise up from being stared at so intensely. a wave of humiliation and embarrassment creeped into you slowly.
“c’mon tell me” he tilted his head to get a better look at you.
you looked back at him momentarily before refusing eye contact again.
“go ahead” he proceeded to coax you to explain yourself.
but, you played with the ends of your cotton nightdress, still unable to meet his demanding gaze.
“you go out with girls now?” you finally asked with a small voice, almost inaudible.
firstly, jungkook’s eyebrows drew in together in confusion but was followed by his signature smirk curling up on his lips. “why are you surprised? i thought you knew that i go out with girls as well” he shrugged his shoulders as if it was the most normal thing ever.
“w-what?” your eyeballs almost fell off your sockets. your best friend goes out with girls as well? correction, your GAY best friend goes out with girls as well?
“you thought i only date men?” he pushed his tongue against his cheek and laid back down again, as though he enjoyed seeing right through you.
“n-no” you absolutely hated yourself for stammering at the wrong time but you were not even present in the moment. you looked back over the past and rechecked all the calculations in your head but all the records still say your best friend is very damn gay.
“i’m bisexual y/n, i thought you i told you” he shrugged nonchalantly.
you felt the floor being swept away from your feet immediately.
“HUH?” you said a bit too loudly but jungkook just smirked and nodded, “we just don’t talk about it often i guess”
you felt like shit, you’ve been betraying jungkook for years now (or the other way round).
“how come you’re telling this to me today? you never had any ‘girl’ problems to discuss with me?” you both were inseparable since childhood and so it was obvious that you knew about each other’s relationship game.
you wanted to pat yourself on the back for finally having a good comeback.
however, he just laughed shamelessly at your face and answered, “i usually ask tae but he’s out there cruising in maui with his new girlfriend” he took your hand and put it back on his hair again.
“and moreover i didn’t wanna make that poor girl feel threatened or anything”
well, now you were officially out of comebacks and felt like a rabid loser who needs to burrow a hole and hibernate for ten years in order to recover from this humiliation ritual.
“you’re really bisexual?? but—but you only ever dated guys as far as i know”
he sighed out, “i know, i rarely go out with girls. the last time i went out with a girl was..” he paused to kiss his teeth “remember rei? that girl from my art history class? we were sort of in a messy situationship until she backed off”
now that you think of it, you actually remembered hearing her name a couple of times from jungkook last year, but you chose to ignore it because it was lowkey irrelevant given how she was seen with a different guy every week.
“i feel so stupid” you pouted while absentmindedly brushing his luscious locks but, paused indefinitely as all of a sudden you’re hit with the thought,
HE WAS ATTRACTED TO GIRLS.
guys AND girls as well.
your mind quickly went over your past and present actions which you displayed around him — like twirling around in nothing but your undergarments during sleepovers, video calling him from your shower to pick out a shampoo, changing your clothes infront of him, ignoring the intent of any sort of touch which were otherwise considered inappropriate.
“shit” you cussed yourself inside your head.
jungkook looked up again from his position to see you turning tomato red. “what’s wrong” he teased, as though he knew exactly what you were thinking about.
you were pulled out of your daze when your buffy best friend hovered on top of you, and pinned you down with his arms caging both sides of your head.
you were left breathless, as if someone pulled all the air out of your lungs at once and your mind went blank.
you didn’t know what to do.
so you whispered, “hi”
“well, hello” he laughed softly above you and you felt his minty breath hit your lips. “what’s going on inside that pretty head of yours?” he asked and all of a sudden the room felt warmer and every little word he uttered, made your head spin.
“gotta tell me y/n” he leaned down and nuzzled your neck, running his nose all over it.
if you were in this same position two days back, you would’ve experienced this under different circumstances but as of now, it sent tingles down your spine and you squirmed under his firm hold.
“i think—”
you were running out words and the indecent man on top of you brushed his full lips on your collarbone smoothly, “you always smell so good”
he knew exactly what he was doing to you and was infact enjoying it, given from the upward curving of his mouth.
“i don’t know” your words made no sense and your mind went blank when his hand travelled downward. “i think you know sweet girl” he fiddled with the hem of your nightdress and lifted it up.
you let out a breath of shock which he ignored and brushed his big hand on your thighs.
goosebumps ran across your entire body and you feel your nipples pebble up against his clothed chest, heck you were not even used to wearing a bra around him, never felt the need to.
you don’t think you ever felt this indecent and depraved in your whole entire life.
“running around in nothing but your lingerie, pressing your tits against me everytime we cuddle, kissing my face everytime i bring you groceries… i think you know exactly what you do”
jungkook licked his lips and took in your breathless form with a teasing smile. “answer me baby” he hooked his finger on the elastic corner of your underwear, pulled on it, only to let it go and slap against you.
you shivered at the effect and shook your head. you were going insane and never thought you’d get this pliant under your childhood friend.
“i think a dirty girl like you needs to be fixed hm?” he toyed with his lip piercing and smirked down at your shivering form.
you on the other hand, were unable to form a coherent sentence so nodding was your only response.
he wasted no time however to let his veiny hand travel up against your clothed breast as he grabbed one mound and palmed at the soft flesh. you flushed back against the heap of pillows and closed your eyes shut to feel his hand massage soothingly.
his thumb flicked on your perky nipple, and rolled it around with his index. pleased with your reaction, he mirrored the same action with your other boob.
“always wanted to have you like this” his sudden confession made your eyes fly open instantly but he swallowed whatever you were about to say and pressed his lips against yours, kissing you like you were the only girl on his mind.
jungkook’s moisturised lips latched against yours as he angled his head to get a better grip on you. additionally, if this wasn’t torture enough, his tongue slowly massaged its way into your mouth and played with yours.
you felt your pussy throb against his hard length which was now pressed against your thigh.
“k-kook”
you circled your hands around his neck, pulling him closer than ever. your lips eventually get used to his and you felt a tingling sensation down your spine.
your let your back arch against his muscular body and let out a whiny moan when he traced the lines of your pussy over your panties.
he felt a wet patch of your arousal sticking to the core,
“so wet for me mama” he rasped out.
you blushed heavily at his dirty words and on the other hand, one strap your nightdress already slipped off of your shoulder.
he wasted zero seconds to help tug the other one down as well.
jungkook briefly pressed his lips on yours again and pulled the flimsy material down from your chest, and proceeded to leave small kisses and nips down your throat, all the way down to your tits.
“pretty girl” he looked up at you through his dark locks and closed his wet mouth around your nipple. you arched against his tongue which was playing with your pebbled mound. you felt like exploding at the feeling of him sucking and nipping at your tits. his hand went around your waist to grab you properly as you couldn’t stop moaning.
“o-oh god” you whimpered again when he took turns at suckling on both of your tits, leaving them aching and red with need. he also busied his other hand at rubbing over the soft flesh.
“too much kookie” you lolled your head back and closed your teary eyes, drunk in pleasure.
“too much huh? can’t wait to fuck your pretty pussy and show you how i do it, bet it’s already weeping f’me like you” his dirty mouth was sending you over the roof and you could literally come right now just by looking at his handsome face. it was a new side of him which you unfortunately had never witnessed, but were thanking all of divinity presently for letting you experience it.
satisfied with your reaction, he skillfully removed your pink underwear to side and let his veiny hand toy with your pussy, circling the clit with his thumb after collecting the sticky moisture from around it.
“f—feels so good koo”
you breathe loudly as your chest heaved up and down, jungkook felt his pant tightening up even more upon seeing your wet swollen nipples begging for more attention. you looked like a goddess under him, whimpering and laying down all obedient for him to do whatever he pleases.
as though jungkook heard your body, he turned back again to envelop your fleshy tit in his warm mouth while simultaneously playing with your clit.
“what a good girl, gonna come f’me now mama?” his middle finger teased your hole and gently rubbed at the entrance only to finally push it inside. “fuck you’re so tight” jungkook felt your warm pussy squeeze his finger and he could only imagine how that would feel against his heavy cock.
“kookie please—” you drooled and sobbed at the feeling of his big hand going all over your womanhood.
his finger rolled in the depths while his thumb abused your clit simultaneously.
“i-i’m gonna cum” hot tears rolled down your cheeks and jungkook wasted no time to kiss them away, “yeah?” he inserted another one and rocked them inside your squelching pussy. your tits jiggled out of the vibrations and he whispered, “should’ve had you like this long back, now let go for me baby, let go for kookie”
your orgasm came crashing down on you like wild ocean waves hitting the shore before a storm and you let out a deep throaty moan, crying and mumbling gibberish onto the pillow as the feeling soothes down your entire body.
“s—so good”
the cooling after shocks leave you shivering against his buffy chest as he guided you through your orgasm, rubbing sweetly all over and coaxing you with kisses.
he then pulled out his fingers gently which left your pussy gaping empty and licked them clean while maintaining eye contact with you. the lewd sight itself could make you come again.
“get on your fours baby, we’re not done yet” he peppered a sweet lingering kiss on your lips and slapped your ass playfully.
• read PART : 02
★ notes by buzzyjoonie : hii everyone!!! i hope you liked reading my first ever fanfiction in here ‹𝟹 english is not my first language hence, please pardon any typos! kindly drop a like/comment and let me know if you have any suggestions.
Dennis has had a persistent fascination with bondage. He had been introduced to it by a man at a gay bar, who spoke about it so plainly and casually that it had sparked something in Dennis that hadn’t been quelled.
When Robby finds out, Dennis turns beet red and mumbles excuses about how he didn’t want it *that* much and that it was just a passing thought.
Robby, though, won’t let it go, and calls Jack, who had been into bondage since med school. Robby would know.
Jack shows up with the soft rope on a day they all had off, and dennis is horrified. He tries to tell them both that it really isn’t a big deal and that they didn’t have to do this. He argues all the way to the bed, all the way until his hands are tied together behind his back and his calves tied to his thighs.
Robby sits himself in the plush chair in the corner of the room, palming himself through his pants as Jack positions Dennis however he wants him.
Dennis, who won’t stop talking, eventually gets gagged for his behavior and the two older doctors swear they can see his brain kick down a few gears.
Jack is a wonderful fuck, Dennis and Robby both know all about it, and soon Dennis is falling apart on the man’s cock.
His eyes roll back into his head and Jack roughly grabs his face, forcing him to look him in the eyes.
“Eyes on me, pretty boy. I want to see your eyes when you come apart for me.”
Dennis struggles against the binds, crying, trying to get farther away from the direct stimulation but it’s to no avail. Jack watches carefully to make sure Dennis isn’t tapping out.
When he doesn’t, Jack leans down in Dennis’s ear and whispers, “can’t get away from me, pretty thing. You’re mine to do whatever I please with tonight. You hear me?”
Dennis just whines through his gag and throws his head back.
Robby swears it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his life.
ꗃ Summary: Every champion has its perks and gratuity, whether it'd be money, medals, trophies, fame, luxuries and other opulence you could ever name, but it's different for him. For him you are everything, you're his. Just imagine what would he feel seeing you getting touch by some insolent fan of his, that filthy and grubby fingers entangled in your hair, caressing the crown of your head, and you only let them do it? Are you aware of the consequences? You should.
ⓘ Warnings: porn with plot, description of boxing, blood and violence mentioned, possessive toji, marathon sex, bathtub sex, size kink, belly bulge, mating press, manhandling, degradation, fingering, creampie, overstimulation, breeding, cumflation, choking, dirty talk, dacryphilia, dumbification, missionary, body worship, slapping, spanking, fucking over a phone call, uses the term: cunt, pussy, somnophilia, not proofread.
Murmurs, gossips, rumors and half-baked claims. That's all you hear and all you see, whenever you go out for groceries, draped with long coats, a pair of masks and a black sunglasses, when you scroll throughout the media, hell you barely go out because of your relationship but still, it's all the same thing.
Your eyes scanned the screen of your phone, softened yet saddened, reading articles and headlines of your lover's success and immediate bad remarks,Toji Fushiguro.
In the care of his home as it was yours as well, spacious condominium and multiple rest houses, the comfortable humming of the air-conditioning set a cozy atmosphere within the room, there hanged and displayed his awards, medals, trophies and championship belts, but there was your picture with him sat beside of all his hard-earned opulences, glimmering brighter than any of it.
You met Toji even before he started to pursue boxing, you were his first. His beloved, The one that softened his brute and hardened heart. You remembered, no, you reminisced the times.
There you sat in the golden hour, sunset bleeds, seeping through the window as the curtain danced in the breeze, the crisp of the pages when anyone flips it, the incoherent murmurs of the students sets you to mood, though you pondered as you gently glided your pen on the paper. He stared at your form for hours, you felt it, the burning holes on your back. Toji Fushiguro.. he was a complex character in your book though harmless most especially to you, unconsciously you guys became friends, mutuals, the way his gaze dripped into your form like he's carving the every crevice of you into his memory, immortalizing you. even when the teachers are calling for him he wouldn't budge, he bugged you, the large pad of his palm pats your head tenderly, will tease you, he shares his lunch with you even when he's not that blessed financially, Toji noticed that you don't eat so he reminds you so, You were top of the class afterall, you kept studying until the sun is down, Someone that was definitely not on his level, You were classmates, high-school sweethearts if you may.
Toji's definitely not the one to start a fight.. well not until you came into his life. Not only that you were top of the class, you also get people to cling on you, and he didn't like it, not one bit.
Though he does understand why people would cling on you, you were smart, pretty, and handsome, that's literally it, what's there to not like? Though one thing that he didn't like about you is that you're too kind.
You let people touch the places that he caressed, you let people touch the every fiber of you ever so carelessly. Toji felt his stomach churned as his jaw locked, teeth gritting at the sight.
His patience finally ran out, he felt something inside of him ignited when he saw you, cornered at the corridor with some lousy student who reeked cigarettes and failed hook-ups, you look extremely uncomfortable and scared, pressing your textbooks in your chest, avoiding eye contact, pushing the man away as the he forced his way to kiss you as he slithered his hands on the small of your back.
Then it collided.
A clean punch, straight to the face.
The man flew to the ground with a thud, he was knocked-out.
OH MY GOD, HE KILLED HI—
You screamed internally as your mouth agape in shock, dropping your textbooks on the ground with a thud, eyes widening when you saw Toji clasps your wrist gently, telling you to follow him.
“ Calm down, pretty. He's not dead. ”
You heard his voice, deep and gravelly, you listened. You then noticed the texture of his hand gripping your wrist, it was large, the pad of his palm were rough, you also felt the line of his scars, yet they were warm and clean.
Toji led you to a place, part of the campus that you've never been to, It was quite hidden after all. It was full of wild flowers and grasses, trees standing tall, shielding the grassy pasture from the sunlight, the atmosphere were calming, as the cold wind greeted you.
“ How did you know of this place..? ”
You asked in wonder, as you saw Toji already sat down, leaning his back beneath a tree, patting to the ground beside him for you to sit.
“ Let's just say that I like to explore. ”
“ And go skip classes? How adventurous. ”
“ Wow. I just saved your ass and this is what you're going to pay me back? ”
You giggled at the dry sentiment, eyes crinkled into a crescent like shape, blinking only see Toji's gaze upon you, you breath hitched as you stayed silent.
Toji liked you, whether you believe it or not, he was smitten even. But the question is how? Yes your overwhelming good qualities is there but there's just something about you that he couldn't get enough. He never found it on anyone else he ever encountered.
Toji remembered the day he met you. He was utterly miserable and battered with gashes and bruises, his hair was a storm from the brutal training he experienced, he sat down on a swing at some random playground and there was you, who offered him some water and a towel with your name initials sewed, wafting the fabric conditioner and a light conversation, treated him like a human in need, the way your eyes held such gentle gaze, your fingers treading to his entangled inky black strands, Toji never felt so safe from someone who's your size.
He bit his lip, as he tasted the metallic taste of blood from his freshly opened scar on his lip. His family was quite famous when it comes to sports and enterprises, The reign of prodigies, The Zenin family, but he rebelled against them, changed his last name, he gained freedom, though under one condition, he'd pursue boxing and win championships.
You noticed the forming scar on his lips, it bled out, abruptly standing up to buy some medicine or antiseptic cream some of sorts only to feel a warm yet rough palm grasping your frigid arm from the temperature, looking down to see Toji's gunmetal irises, almost in a pleading way, pleading you to not leave him alone.
“ Stay. ”
The arena roared like thunder, while the broadcasters gossiped, and joked through the mic, echoing throughout the stadium, sharing their insights about the possible outcome of the fight.
The fans shouted his name, chanting it like some prayer, they cheered for him like he already won, he saw signs and a tons flirtatious messages and innuendos.
It is not a surprise that Toji has down bad fans and a few stalkers in the span of his boxing career, he's big, broad shoulders that can easily tower over someone, slender waist, rippling mounds of muscles across his arms and thighs down to his strong legs.
To be honest, Toji never really cared about some obsessive fans and stalkers bothering him, because in reality, they wouldn't even try to get close, because they can't, Toji is already capable of handling himself to some minor inconveniences and danger of the disrespectful fans, Yes they could post some of his thirst traps online for clout or something, they don't matter to him, they could dwell on his past for all he care, make insane headlines about him but one thing that the publicity could never touch is his lover, you.
Toji's refined and smooth skin glistened beneath the gleaming lights, his sweat dripping down his chin down to his chest, his dark strands sticking in to his forehead, sharp eyes, his pinkish, plump lips forming a thin line as his scar parted, smirking from the sight of his opponent, as he pounded his gloved fist together— bouncing off his feet, to warm up.
Whenever he was in a match, he would think of you, waiting for him at the backstage, sitting prettily as you watch him through the big screen, wearing his olympic jacket draping over your small figure, so when he wins, he would hang his gold medal adorning your neck as it shines.
He snapped out of his trance when heard his coach yell at him, signaling him and giving him instructions, Toji merely hummed as his adjusted his black mouth guard and head guard in place, answering his coach, muffled.
“ Do you hear me, Fushiguro? ”
“ Loud n’ clear, boss. ”
You shuffled at Toji's temporary quarters, fixing and tidying up his mess as you guys will go home together, stuffing his clothes and other necessities in his duffel bag, you hummed, hearing your lover's PR team scramble on their feet as the fight finally starts, leaving you alone, you were contemplating if you're going to the manager's office, there hanged the enormous screen to watch.
After you finished tidying up, you went to your own bag, prada. It was gifted by Toji on Valentine's Day, reaching inside to get your so called essentials, mask, sunglasses and a cap, to cover your image, unlike Toji, you would actually like to entertain fans though he never lets you, he never did, though you understand why.
You went your way to the manager's office room, the air conditioning hits your face gently, sitting down at some chair.
The match finally started as you sat down.
You watched Toji swung his fist with accuracy and impact, as it collided to his opponent's cheek, tilting his head guard to the side, you winced.
“ Yikes—! That will sent me to coma, immediately. . .”
After a few rounds, the tension is getting too high, hot even. Everything's on the flow until the bastard opponent purposely spat on Toji's foot, just to anger him, spoiling his mood, only for Toji to land a final blow on him that took a tooth from him in the process, knocking him out, he must've seen stars.
You barely contained yourself from laughing, remember.. you need to stay behaved, you watched through the screen as the referee finally took Toji's bulging arms up, declaring his victory, you squealed from your seat in glee.
You stood up from your seat, turning off the television, making your way out only to bump into someone.
“ Are you Toji Fushiguro's manager, can I please get his autograph? Is he here?! ”
Your eyes widened at the sight, you scanned his appearance, he was tall, his body was quite toned as well, greyish hair, tanned, lime eyes, he was wearing a backstage pass, though he might've got it wrong, it was a fan, you never met a fan before. Wait, why is he here..?
“ Oh.. I think you've mistaken me for someone else, though Toji isn't here yet, this is the manager room as you can see, kindly get out please. ”
You politely dismissed the fan, only for him to clasp your hand together, you gasp.
“ Uhm, Sir.. I think this is not a great ide— ”
“ Would you please accompany me to the backstage? ”
This. . .This man is really stubborn and quite irritating.
“But this is the back stage, you just got the specific venue wrong. Dumbass.”
You internally thought, as you retreat one of you arm from his grip, you gave him the look.
“ Fine, follow me. ”
“ Woah, you're really kind...”
“ Quiet. ”
You led him to backstage room, only to found the PR team already tidying up the place, some of the staff greeted you.
“ This is the backstage, you may sit right over there.. ”
You pointed at the chair beside the coffee table, only to feel a hand patting your head rather harshly, messing your hair in the process, with one hand pinching your cheek even with the mask on.
“ You're really kind y'know that, though what's your name and why are you wearing a mask, are you sick? You're quite cute too. ”
Once again your eyes widened as you mouth agape, as the staff froze on what they're doing and tried to warn the man as if he was asking for his early death (he is).
You tried to tell him to stop but your words only go into his ear and comes out to the other side, you also tried smack his hands away, the staff also tried to help, but it was too late, you felt it from a mile away.
He's here.
And he saw it, the way that the man is holding you.
Oh you fucked up.
Your legs felt like jelly, they're shaking as you take it, your chest heaved, whimpering as you drooled into his broad chest,
“ What'd I tell ya about meeting my fans, hmm. . .? You dumb boy. ”
His words slurred into your head as you felt his long and think fingers, pump in and out of you covered in slick, his other hand smacked the globe of your ass, watching it jiggled in friction as you let out a wonton moan.
“ Fuuck— look at you, clenching your cute little cunt on my fingers. ”
You merely buried your face into his neck, arms scratching his back, the cold surface of the gold medal pressed up against his broad chest, it was hanging on your neck, muffled whimpers was heard, feeling his long fingers curling inside your gummy walls.
“ Nghh— m'sorry. . . won't do it again! ”
You lift your head to apologize, tears filling your eyes, only to choke on your own saliva, you felt his fingers protruding and bullying your prostate dead on, rubbing against your walls, as you writhed and shake uncontrollably.
“ NGHH— ”
Toji pushed his thick fingers in and out of your creamy hole, slick dripping and coating the globe your ass, making obscene sounds, slippery and wet delicious noises, your thighs throbbed.
“ Such a greedy slut, aren't you, doll? ”
You bucked your hips, grinding down into his fingers, straddling his strong arm, locked, you felt Toji's hands gripping your legs together, lifting it up to your head, pulling his fingers out of your tight fucking hole, dipping his head down to suck your creamy hole, his slick tongue licking the stripe of your ass, slipping his long tongue in your warm walls, frothy spit dribbling down his chin down to his neck, glistening, your felt his plump lips ghosting just righton top of your tight ring, his scar, feeling heat in your tummy.
Toji pushed apart your legs, going for your lips, kissing you sloppily, you tasted the slick, feeling his large hand slithering in your neck choking you in the process, you whimpered.
“ I'm gonna fuck you so hard the only thing that your mouth will babble is my fat fucking cock. ”
His gravelly voice ranged through the heavy tension, the smell of sex reeked on the air, his pearly whites peaking, a quirk of his lips, smirking as he looked down at your form, his glimmering gunmetal irises stared sharply, helplessly.
You can't stop twitching and moaning uncontrollably, you bit your lips, almost bleeding out, pretty little tears rolling down your cheeks, as your eyebrows knitted together.
“ P-please you're too— deeeep. . .”
Toji held your wrist together, upwards, his other arm held down your hips, your weight dipping down into the mattress, he merely dismissed your complaints, angling his hips, hitting the bundle of nerves, his thick, veiny cock abusing your prostate, the creamy and bubbly loads of his cum made an obscene white ring on your rim, dripping down the globe of your ass.
“ Shut up and take it— you dumb boy. ”
You drool into your pillow, like some cheap whore, you yearn— no, chase for it, the coiling heat inside of your tummy, your consciousness almost blearing out from the sheer impact of Toji's thrust.
His thrust was brutal and passionate, he fucks it deeper inside, Toji watched his cock go in and out of your tight cunt, the creamy and frothy cum coating his shaft, deliciously.
Toji groaned, almost whimpering when he felt you clenched around his dick.
“ Are you trying to snap my dick in half, Doll? ”
Toji then gathered your legs together, your thighs collided, lifting your legs over your head, gripping it tightly, he sloooowly— pulled out his cock, the thick and veiny shaft, almost pulsing.
He then slip it back in a heartbeat almost knocking out the air out of you, you felt so full, so filled, you let out a silent scream.
“ Sooo big— too muchhh nghh. . .”
You babbled, trembling, knees weak, you felt him in your tummy, Toji noticed, as he pressed down the forming bulge below your bellybutton, rubbing it, you moaned and whimpered loudly, you tried to remove his palm, your tongue lolling out like a slut.
“ Look honey, Daddy's sooo— deep inside of your boy pussy. . .”
Toji's brutal thrust was consistent, the bed kept creaking, hitting the headboard on rhythm, he trained for endurance, plenty of stamina, he wasn't close to done, even after multiple orgasms, he could go for days— weeks, even.
Plap, Plap, Plap!
But you can't, you weren't built for it, but he was willing to shape your body, he will train you to take his dick, to take his heavy loads, he wanted to breed you until you're so full of his creamy cum, his seed, he wanted to see his hole full of hot cum, dripping down your ass, plugging it back in with his fingers.
Your stomach was covered in cum and slick, your cock ached from so much cumming, your chest heaved, your body was covered in sweat, the bed was also covered in slick, sweat and cum that dripped out of you.
Toji then glided his fingers, combing his hair into a slick back, few of his inky dark strands sticked onto his forehead, huffing gently, he then slipped his strong arms on your back, lifting you, as your head lulled down into his shoulder, wrapping your arms around him for support, straddling his waist with your legs.
Toji immediately got the memo, securing your form against his warm body, he leaned in to kiss the crown of your head softly.
“ Doing so good for me, aren't you my angel? ”
You melted, burying your head deeply into his neck, your arms slithering around his neck, lifting your head to kiss his jaw, tenderly, in return.
Toji's eyes widened, as it softened, grinning softly, kissing the tip of your nose down to your swollen lips.
“ Two can play that game. . . ”
His rough voice ranged throughout your ears, you felt his steady heartbeat with yours, your smooth and soft tummy against his toned stomach.
He then walked his way into the bathroom, there sat a pristine bathtub, the shower was surrounded with glass, the light, almost dimmed, illuminated with serenity, Toji sat you down on the stool, as he prepared the bathtub, turning on the warm water combined with cold.
Your legs were still wobbly, the aching feeling in your back was still lingering, you almost winced.
Toji lifted you once again, dipping his foot first to test the water's temperature, now dipping his whole body in with you in his arms, the water sloshing and engulfing your tired body, his strong thick thighs down to his legs surrounding your sides, you leaned onto his chest.
Toji grabbed the bottle of shampoo, pouring it into his palm, lavender.
He glided the liquid into your scalp, meticulous fingers entangling the knots of your hair, he also got your favorite body wash, gliding it over your supple skin, the foamy and bubbly soap, glistening all over your body, you massaged your neck, shoulders, arms, down to your back, and stomach, grabbing the shower head and rinsing you.
After a while, you decided.
“ Baby, can I wash you as well. . ? ”
You timidly asked your lover, playing with the water beneath you.
Toji's eyes widened, as he grinned, his hand slithering up to your jaw, tilting it to face him, he kissed your jaw to your lips, his tender gaze drowning you, sweetly.
“ Aren't you a sweetheart? ”
Your eyes softened at his gesture, you made your way, facing him, you knelt down, it was wobbly, you tried to grip onto the sides of the tub for balance, you almost slipped, yelping until you felt warm hands kneading and pressing up to your hips.
“ Careful now, wouldn't want you to drown and hit your head, angel. ”
“ Shut it. . .”
His rough and gravelly voice was heard, you blushed profusely, you took the bottle of shampoo, gliding it to his scalp, pulling his dark hair into a slick back, you stole a sweet kiss on his forehead, you also used your favorite body wash, gliding it over his refined arms, and his toned body, his scars, you felt his gunmetal irises stared at you, he's gorgeous.
Toji merely stared at your form, taking good care of him, the tender touches, the way you kissed his forehead, tracing his scars that he once hated, you loved them, and he learned to love it as well, he felt the coiling heat on his stomach, he didn't flinch, when he felt your fingertips ghosted above his tip, he felt blood rushed to his cock, fuck.
Once you were done, you leaned onto his broad chest, until you felt it.
He was still hard.
“ You think we're done yet? Nuh uh. . . ”
Your eyes widened, looking beneath the water, only to see the crown of his bulbous tip poking between your thighs.
Toji then slipped his hands to caress your stomach down to your neglected cock, his other hand fingering your creamy and warm cunt, you mewled into your palm.
He lined himself up, guiding his cock to your entrance. Thick, hard, veined— he thrusted upwards, hitting your sweet spot, you drooled, pushing it deeper.
He knelt down in the tub, standing up, lifting you up, with your knees up to your head, folding you in half, as he lined up his shaft to your slick hole, thrusting inside, hitting your prostate, you moaned and whimpered profusely, your toes curled.
He fucked you in long, steady strokes, pushing deep with each thrust, making sure you felt every inch, every vein of his dick. The girth of him inside you was torment, your cock spurt out thin sheen of cum. head tipped back, neck full of fresh bruises, mouth drooling, his shaft was coated in creamy cum from the previous loads of cum he fucked into you earlier, it dripped out, making wet squelching noises when he thrusted in and out, he filled you to the brim just like a creampie.
“ Fuuuck— you're so fucking tight. ”
Toji cursed, buried himself deep, and came inside you—hot, thick spurts of his creamy load that made your thighs spasmed.
“ No matter how many times I fucked this pussy, it's still so fucking tight. ”
He pulled out only to thrust back in with a deep, filthy squelch, and you moaned—a raw, high-pitched moan that echoed in the room, he gripped your thighs tighter, he pushed you down to his shaft pushing the cum deeper, fast, you saw the tip of his cock bulging in your tummy.
“ NGHH— s-slow down. . ! ”
You whine. He grabs your hips and slams in again, fucking you with the weight of his cock, his heat, his heavy balls slapping against your ass.
“Fuuuck— fuck— take it— ”
He snarls, his rough and gravelly voice gets you intoxicated, you're too cock-drunk to even comprehend, slamming in and staying there as his cock throbs. And pulses, his every vein dragging along your velvety walls, he painted it white.
Toji’s voice is low, his breath hot against your ear, and his cock is buried deep inside you, pulsing with each heavy and fast grind of his hips, clinging to him as he starts to thrust, brutal and deep, it hits your prostate, making your cock spurt out loads of smooth cum dripping down your shaft, you moaned loudly, the remaining energy in your body leaving.
You passed out after you came, consciousness leaving your system, you felt your ears ringing, and Toji's inaudible voice.
You woke up, in your room, it was dimmed, dark curtains surrounded the glass windows, the coldness of the room hits your body, your hair and body was warm and dry, except your hole.
Your bleary sight is finally vivid, your eyes widened, you saw Toji still thrusting inside of you, you whimpered when your mind finally functions.
“ Well look who's finally awake. . . ”
He kissed your lips, with your mouth open, almost in instinct, slipping his warm pink tongue inside, he grips your thighs, pushing them up, folding you until you’re fully exposed under him. His cock hits that spot that makes you gurgle in the process, choking in your saliva, your hole feels so raw.
“ Did you sleep well, angel? You passed out. ”
“ Ngh— how long was I asleep. . ? ”
You barely nodded as you asked, your voice was hoarse and gravelly, with your swollen lips and eyes.
“ Almost for five hours. . .”
Your mouth agape, your eyes widened in fraction, you gripped onto his biceps.
“ Baby, what about your training. . ! Mr. Shiu w-would be so livid! ”
Toji merely dismissed you, thrusting his cock in and out of you, the cum is overflowing from the amount of loads that he dumped inside of your boycunt, he pressed down the bulge in your tummy, his canines peaking once again.
“ Training can wait, angel, I'm not done breeding you yet. . . ”
He starts thrusting harder, faster. His heavy balls still filled with his seed, he's so pent up from the days that he didn't get to fuck you because of those stupid trainings, from the times that he'd get so horny, wet dreams about you bouncing up and down his dick with his cum dripping down his shaft from your sopping wet cunt, his balls slap your ass with every thrust, creamy squelches, looong deliberate thrust dragged along your hole, like some cheap fleshlight, his personal cum dump.
Plap, Plap, Plap!
You can only moan and whimper as you take it all, you felt something vibrate on the bed, it was Toji's phone with an unfamiliar number displayed on the screen, Toji noticed as he smirked,he accepted the call and put it on speaker, you stared curiously at him, he stared at you with his phone on his ear, you heard a quite familiar voice, annoying even.
“ Hello, Mr. Fushiguro? Again I apologize for what happened yesterday, It wasn't my intention to discover your lover, and harass him at that, your management told me to apologize to you and your lover, I signed the contract that I wouldn't reveal these events on the public eye, may I please apologize to him, If I may. . ? ”
“ Why of course? here he is. . . ”
Your eyes widened as you finally get what he was planning, you frowned at him, Toji merely smiled at you, mocking you, you flushed when he put the phone beside your ear, your hands weren't exactly available right now as it was restrained by his vice grip.
“ Ah, hello, I would like to apologize to you as well, as I said, it wasn't my intention to harass you, I was just so excited to see Mr. Fushiguro, and I didn't know that he has a lover, you were quite a beauty, I can see why he's so protective of you. . . ”
Toji gritted his teeth and jaw, he felt something inside of him, possessiveness and jealousy, his eyebrows knitted in irritation, that made him thrust upward inside of you, deep and hard, you tried to muffle your noises as you bit your lips, he gripped your hips down with his other hand onto the mattress, but you still tried to answer.
“ Y-yes. . . It's a-all good now— mhnghh— ”
“You like this. You like being used and stuffed full to the brim while that bastard hears us, don’t you? What a whore. . . ”
Toji leaned in to your other ear, he whispered with his hot breath fanning in the surface of your ear, every time his hips slam into yours, you feel the slap of his skin, the obscene slick of his cock grinding inside you, you really tried to muffle your moans but the heavy and squelching noises says it anyways.
“ O-oh, Is that so? I'm glad then. . . Though are you alright? you seem to be distracted. ”
“ No worries, I-i just pulled a muscle—! ”
He pressed his hips flush to yours, his cock still twitching inside your soaked hole, he then grabbed the phone back to him.
“ Alright, that's enough. bye, sayonara or whatever. ”
“ Ah— Goodbye— ”
Turning off the phone and tossed it on the side, he stared down at you, watching his thick shaft still piercing you for almost a day now.
“ Haaaah. . .ngh—Tojiiiii—”
He thrust in, hard, You jolted, a delicious moan spilling from your lips as he grinds his hips deeper, refusing to pull out, you’re shifted on your back, legs trembling while you're folded in half, gripping the sheets, while his cock pulses deep inside you—raw, hot, wet and creamy.
“ Such a good boy you are. ”
He breathes, and panted, his voice rough and almost hoarse, while he caressed your hips tenderly.
“ Took me so well and letting me fuck you dumb and fill you up just like you deserve. . .”
You merely nodded profusely, accepting your fate, because you're so sure that he wasn't done yet.
ꗃ Inspired by: @dabisbratz, check out their works! they're actually the holy grail for male readers omggg ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ ) !!
Older Mentor!Leon Kennedy x DSO Agent!Reader Slowburn 🪻🌻🥀
❌18+ MDNI❌
Summary: You are stuck in the deepest pits of the hell that is the friendzone. He's your co-worker, your mentor, 13 years older, and, to top it all off, you met when you were a teenager. Nothing could ever change the fact that Leon Kennedy saw you as a kid—not even your one-sided feelings you've had for him for nearly a decade... Or so it seems.
CW: Leon is 38 and reader is 25. They've met when she was 16, so do with that what you will. I obviously do not condone any of what happens in my fiction to be imitated IRL by anyone, but just to make it clear as a heads up: Leon has never felt any romantic attraction to reader while she was a minor (or even many years after that).
Note: Angst, fluff, and eventual smut. This is a slowburn and we're gonna make them work for it y'all. Also this is very RE core when it comes to stereotypical sci-fi action horror.
[“Grandpa?” Leon scoffs in mock offense as he takes the weapon, reloading it with a nonchalant precision that only comes with fifteen or so odd years of experience.
“Well, you insist on still calling me ‘kid,’ so, I shall retaliate. Just so you can feel how annoying it gets.”
“Yeah, except I’m not a grandpa. You, on the other hand, are a kid,” he smirks—way too smug—and then proceeds to walk past you...]
"Roost, Raven One here. I’m at the specified location. Come in.”
“...”
“Roost, this is Raven One. Over.”
“...”
“Roost? …Shit.”
The radio clicks when you turn it off, useless now that you’ve concluded there was truly no signal.
‘No wonder she couldn't reach him’, you think to yourself, readjusting your shoulder harness one more time before continuing to advance through the dark hallways of the underground facility. Some kind of abandoned military base from the time of God knows which war—your brain is too fried to try and figure it out.
It’s been a long day. Your cat woke you up way too early to feed him, you burned your toast for breakfast, missed your metro stop, and then proceeded to have the longest most tedious day of filing reports and answering emails. That was the life of a DSO agent outside of trauma-inducing missions: even more trauma in the form of clunky keyboards and multicolored paper clips.
But right before you were ready to call it a day and finally head home to enjoy some takeout and pass out on the couch, dear old Hunnigan came in with an emergency request—well, more like an order—telling you you need to join your favorite person in the world on his tedious mission after he’d gone MIA.
Leon S. Kennedy.
The one person you’re sure you’d sacrifice just about anything for just to keep around. Your DSO partner, your colleague, your mentor, your friend.
Hunnigan was breaking protocol—Leon wasn't gone for nearly long enough to deploy another agent to get him, and if he was, a team would be sent out rather than a lone person. But she had a hunch that things went to shit, and when Hunnigan has a hunch, you listen.
Especially when it’s about him. You don't take risks when it comes to him.
When you later arrived at the location of the last ping of his whereabouts, geared up with weapons you’re not cleared to take out, you were surprised to find two familiar faces who were coincidentally deployed to the same facility by a different group: the BSAA.
“Jill? Is that you?” you had asked confused when light caught the silhouette of Jill Valentine surrounded by still-warm bodies of fallen guards, blood staining her clothes. You would've been scared shitless if you didn't know and trust her already.
Jill’s eyes widened in surprise as she called out your name, “did Leon manage to call you?”
“No, but Hunnigan said he’s gone MIA and sent me to his last ping. I’m not exactly here on official terms… What are you doing here? What’s going on?”
“Well, look who joined the party,” a voice rang out behind Jill as Chris Redfield came in through a metal door.
“Chris? I take it you two are on a mission? What happened to Leon? Where is he?” you fired up questions as you already started to feel worry settle in your veins.
“He was supposed to go after Adams—the one responsible for this clusterfuck of BOW hell—while we were supposed to take out the incubating tanks. But that was hours ago and he’s made no contact since. Signal seems to be jammed around here,” Chris replied grimly, all traces of humor gone from his tone.
“We couldn't get through to reach the lab yet with all the bullshit we’ve encountered in this place, but destroying those tanks is still the priority if we don't want things to get even worse,” Jill added with an almost apologetic tone before placing a comforting hand on your shoulder, “hey… I’m sure he’s fine, he won't be taken down that easy. But since you're here to find him, just promise you won't do anything too reckless. And find us as soon as you can, I’m begging.”
Your jaw clenched in determination as you nodded, “I’ll meet you as soon as I’m able to locate him. You stay safe too.”
“Start with the west wing through that hallway. We haven't cleared that area yet and I’d guess that's where you’d find him,” Chris gestured to the corridor on your left, and that is all you needed to hear before you left them to go on your search.
You recall Chris's directions and Jill's reassurances as you keep the grip on your gun steady. Walking with quick, measured, steps you try to keep yourself from being detected by roaming guards. Lucky for you they are few and far between, probably thanks to the two agents giving them a hard time and keeping them busy.
You search through the west wing, going through door after door, and ,after subduing a standing guard near a set of double doors silently, you find what looks like prison cells.
Ah. Typical.
As you shine your flashlight through each cell, heart racing from adrenaline, you find yourself hoping—praying—that if you do find him here, he’s somehow still okay.
And the universe delivers, because when the LED’s beam reveals a familiar silhouette in the far end cell, you hear yourself let out a sigh of relief at the sight of him, all limbs attached, and breathing. Bound, gagged, and unconscious on the floor, but breathing.
You direct the light’s direction upwards to see the hinges more clearly and notice bulky rusted door pins. It’s a wonder he’s being kept in such an old place, it means all you have to do is jam away those pins and get the door to unhinge, you’ll just have to use some brutal force and hope no one’s nearby to hear it.
With your trusted knife and more than a little elbow grease, you manage to complete the task, but not without scraping your arm on the rusty door in the process. You’ll have to get a tetanus shot. Again.
The ruckus of the metal gate being pushed and prodded somehow did not wake Leon who’s still unconscious when you come to crouch beside him, removing the cloth gagging him. Your heart aches at the sight of the bruises on his cheeks, and even more so when you lift his eyelids to find pinpoint pupils, a sign of opioid sedation.
You don't waste anymore time. You take out the naloxone from the small medical pouch stripped to your hip, and you hastily bring it to his left nostril and press the plunger, releasing the mist into his airways. “Come on, Leon…” you plead.
A second later, his body jerks when he takes in a sharp gasp, eyes flying open as he’s jolted back into consciousness.
Gently grabbing his head to steady him, you speak softly to his confused state, “hey, hey, it’s me. You’re okay. I’m here.”
It takes him a minute before your words and his surroundings register, blinking rapidly as his breathing evens out.
“What the hell are you doing here, kid?” he asks in a gruff tone as he sits up with a grunt.
You sigh. Because of course that's the first thing he asks.
“I’m here to save your ass, you know, like the capable agent and colleague I am?” you huff before circling around him to cut off the restraints on his wrists.
“You’re not supposed to be here. Did Ingrid send you?”
“Yes, because you’ve been MIA for hours, and clearly she was right to send me. You were overdosing."
Leon tsks stubbornly, “Chris and Jill are here, they would've gotten me out eventually. You didn't have to come.”
You stand up with another huff after freeing him and cross your arms as you look down at him with an exasperated look, “you know a thank you would be nice.”
“It’s not that I’m not grateful, it's that I know you probably broke protocol to get here and put yourself in danger. But fine. Thanks, kiddo.”
You purse your lips and look away, feeling the familiar frustration rising whenever he insists on treating you like some kind of fragile, clueless child. You hate that he still sees you the same as he did nine years ago when you first met. You were sixteen, a powerless teenager—a kid—and he has continued treating you like one nearly a decade later.
Noticing your scowling expression, Leon softens his tone when he extends a hand with a warm smile, “help me up?”
Rolling your eyes, you take his gloved hand in yours and pull him up to a standing position. However, you both quickly realize that may have been too soon post overdose reversal when he stumbles into you and your back hits the wall with his weight pressing on your body.
“Shit… Are you okay?” you ask worried, trying to deliberately ignore the way your heart skips a beat at the proximity, your hands reflexively moving to his biceps to help support him.
Leon’s breath tickles your neck before he pulls back enough to look down at you, one hand on the wall, the other on your shoulder, “yeah, sorry, just need a minute.”
You’re unable to maintain eye contact, feeling like your heart might stop, or you might do something stupid like look down at his lips and lean in for a kiss—
Get it together.
Leon catches your fleeting gaze, a ghost of an amused smile on his face when he squeezes your shoulder, “I am okay,” he murmurs reassuringly.
“I know."
Your answer is curt, even if you do relax a little bit at his reassurance. You know why he is reassuring you. He thinks you're nervous because you're worried for him—which you are—but you're mostly nervous because you've been in love with him since the day he saved you.
There isn't a day that passes by when you don't remember it. That afternoon, when you came home from high school, expecting to find your depressed dad lounging on the couch with a drink like he always did, everything changed when you instead heard groaning noises coming from the upper floor.
You had walked up the stairs with careful footsteps, calling out to your father with a shaky voice and your mind running a thousand miles a minute trying to figure out what the noise was. Nothing would have prepared you to find his standing corpse in the corner.
Unbeknownst to you, your father had turned into a cannibalistic monster after he didn't take the medication that kept his transformation at bay for the previous six years. Since he kept you in the dark about his military work and what he’d endured in Penamstan, you had no idea you’d ever come home to this one day.
It happened so fast, but you remember every second. One moment he was standing there, all gurgling noises and rotting flesh, and the next he lunged after you as soon as you called out a weak ‘dad?’
You never ran as fast as you did that day, your untrained legs carrying you through the house and back down the stairs, tripping on the last step with a thud but quickly scrambling back up for the front door and yanking it open.
He had been right on your tail, way too fast for something that’s supposed to be dead. You recall how your life flashed before your eyes—literally—when he grabbed the back of your hoodie as you got out on the front porch, pulling you for what you could have only guessed would be a generous bite to your neck.
That’s when a bullet whizzed past your head and hit him right between the eyes, sending your zombified father sprawling on the floor—actually dead this time.
And then, you looked up and your eyes met his.
Leon.
It was spring 2006, Leon was investigating the ex Mad Dogs unit members after deducing Jason was about to execute a bioterrorist attack. He thought questioning them would give him more information about Jason and his infection with a possibly mutated T-Virus.
Leon had quickly come to find out all the men of the defunct unit were dead by suicide, except for Jason and your father. So when he came to your home that day to talk to the latter, he came prepared to deal with the worst.
Unfortunately, his intuition proved to be right when just as he parked his car by the driveway and stepped out, a screaming girl came running out into the front yard with an infected closing in her.
Leon’s limbs moved on pure muscle memory when he withdrew his gun and shot the zombie right in the head, and then watched with a tense jaw as its blood splattered on the pavement, brains spilling on the floor.
That was the first time he felt grateful to having lost his parents as a kid. Because as harrowing as hearing the gunshots of the men that took their lives that night through the thin walls of his bedroom was, he’d still prefer that to having them turn into zombies who try to eat him, and then watch as they get put down like rabid dogs.
When you had fallen to your knees in sheer shock and horror, Leon did not hesitate to crouch by your side to tell you ‘you’re gonna be okay’. He couldn't help offering some kind of reassurance, even if he was aware of how hollow the words sounded to a girl who’d just lost her father in the most gruesome of ways possible.
But you believed him as you met his ice blues, his eyes so full of care you had no choice but to cling to his every word, and continued to do so ever since.
Another squeeze to your shoulder brings you back to the present moment, still leaning on the wall with him leaning on you.
“Don’t tell me I’m too heavy for you,” he quirks an eyebrow with a playful smile.
“Damn right, you’re too freaking heavy,” you respond in a grumble, poking his side—still not meeting his eyes.
“That means I need to train your ass some more, then. We can't have you slacking off, rookie,” he flicks your forehead with the hand that was on the wall.
You immediately scoff and shove him—carefully—off you, “I’m not a rookie anymore!”
Leon chuckles, swaying lightly before he finally regains a steady balance on his feet, “you’ll always be a rookie to me.”
“Yeah, you’ve made that clear enough,” you grumble under your breath before handing him a spare handgun, “come on, grandpa, we need to find Jill and Chris.”
“Grandpa?” Leon scoffs in mock offense as he takes the weapon, reloading it with a nonchalant precision that only comes with fifteen or so odd years of experience.
“Well, you insist on still calling me ‘kid,’ so, I shall retaliate. Just so you can feel how annoying it gets.”
“Yeah, except I’m not a grandpa. You, on the other hand, are a kid,” he smirks—way too smug—and then proceeds to walk past you, gun held firmly as he prepares to lead the way.
Tags: smut, explicit sex, unprotected sex/creampie, no condoms mentioned, fingering, clitoral stimulation, penetrative sex, multiple orgasms, masturbation, mutual masturbation, voyeurism/exhibitionism, light dom/sub dynamics, praise kink, size kink, impulsive friends-to-lovers intimacy, misassumption of sexual orientation, brief hentai porn mention, strong language/swearing during sex, morning-after cuddling and kissing, emotional aftercare/check-ins
Word count: 6.2k
Summary: For years, you were certain your best friend Chan was gay—too kind, too gorgeous, too perfectly unattached to women. You shared keys, late nights, and every detail of your dating disasters, never noticing the way he always chose you first. One frustrated night alone with a new toy goes spectacularly wrong… until Chan lets himself in and accidentally catches you at your most vulnerable. What starts as an mortifying interruption quickly turns into a hands-on lesson you never knew you needed—and suddenly every assumption you had about him (and about yourself) comes crashing down in the hottest way possible.
🎄: This fic was requested by @peach-nyoung
This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!
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You had known Chan for what felt like forever, since those awkward college days when you’d both been fumbling through late-night study sessions and cheap ramen dinners. He was the kind of friend who slipped into your life so seamlessly that you couldn’t quite remember a time without him. He lived two blocks away, in his modern high-rise with sleek lines and floor-to-ceiling windows that made everything feel a little more polished, a little less lived-in, he was your constant.
You had a key to his place, tucked into your wallet like a lucky charm, and he had one to yours, a cozy, slightly cluttered apartment with its mismatched furniture and endless stacks of vinyl records. Sleepovers were routine: crashing on each other’s couches after movie marathons or bad days, no questions asked, no boundaries crossed. It was easy, effortless, the way best friends should be.
Chan himself was a walking contradiction, or at least that’s how you saw him in those quiet, introspective moments when you let your mind wander. He was undeniably sexy; broad shoulders that filled out his shirts just right, a jawline sharp enough to cut glass, and those dimples that flashed when he laughed, pulling you in like a secret. His hair was always a bit tousled, as if he’d just rolled out of bed, and his eyes held this quiet intensity that made people stare. You’d seen it happen countless times: heads turning in coffee shops, lingering glances at parties. He attracted everyone; men, women, anyone with a pulse, but from what you’d observed, it was always the handsome boys who caught his eye. You’d been around for a few of those fleeting encounters, overhearing snippets of conversation or catching him mid-laugh with some charming guy at a bar.
His closest friend besides you was Han, unapologetically gay and head-over-heels for his boyfriend Minho, and the way Chan fit into their world so naturally only confirmed what you’d assumed. He was gay, through and through, always too kind, too attentive, too green a flag to be anything else. Straight men didn’t carry themselves with that effortless grace, that quiet confidence that never veered into arrogance.
You never pried into his love life, though. It wasn’t your place. But yours? Oh, you rambled endlessly about your dates, your flings, the highs and lows of it all, assuming he was your gay bestie, the perfect sounding board. He listened with that patient smile, offering advice that was always spot-on, never judgmental.
“Sounds like he wasn’t worth your time,” he’d say, or “You deserve someone who makes you feel alive.”
And you’d nod, feeling seen, even if a tiny part of you wondered why he never shared his own stories. Not that it mattered. But you weren’t blind though, In the privacy of your thoughts, you’d admit he was one of the sexiest men you’d ever laid eyes on, a fact that simmered low in your mind like background heat, never boiling over into anything more.
Lately, though, things had shifted just a touch. It had been two months since Chan had shown up unannounced at your place, his sneakers kicked off by the door, raiding your fridge like he owned it. You hadn’t thought much of it, life got busy, runs turned into routines, and you both had your own orbits. But in that quiet space, your curiosity had turned inward. Your girlfriends had been on you about it for weeks:
“Girl, you need to try some toys. You’ve never made yourself cum? That’s criminal.” You’d laughed it off at first, but the seed was planted. You’d never been one for self-exploration like that, relationships had always been about the other person, the chase, the connection. But alone in your apartment, with the city lights flickering through your windows, the idea took root. What would it feel like to chase your own pleasure, to unravel without an audience?
You’d ordered a vibrator discreetly, a sleek little thing that arrived in plain packaging, and tucked it away until the moment felt right. Tonight was that moment. The air in your bedroom was thick with anticipation, the silk robe you’d slipped into earlier now feeling like a second skin, soft and teasing against your body. You dimmed the lights, letting the glow from your laptop screen cast shadows across the room. You put on some Hentai; it was your guilty pleasure, the exaggerated animations pulling you in faster than anything else, stirring that heat low in your belly. You hit play, the sounds filling the space: soft gasps, exaggerated pleas, the kind of fantasy that made your pulse quicken.
Settling back against the pillows, you untied the robe slowly, deliberately, letting the fabric peel open like an invitation. Cool air kissed your skin, raising goosebumps along your breasts, your stomach, the curve of your hips. You bit your lip, a mix of nerves and excitement twisting inside you as you reached for the vibrator. It hummed to life in your hand, a low vibration that sent a shiver up your arm.
You didn’t know the first thing about this… your friends’ advice echoed vaguely: start slow, find what feels good. But as you pressed it against yourself, tentative at first, then with more intent, frustration crept in. It wasn’t clicking, not the way you’d hoped. The rhythm felt off, your mind wandering despite the hentai playing out on screen, those illustrated bodies twisting in ecstasy that seemed so far from your grasp. You shifted, spreading your legs wider, arching your back slightly as you tried to focus, to build some momentum. Your breaths came shorter, a soft whimper escaping your lips as you chased that elusive spark, the tension coiling tighter but never quite snapping.
Unbeknownst to you, your phone sat silent on the nightstand, set to Do Not Disturb, oblivious to the barrage of calls lighting up the screen. Chan had been trying to reach you, at first casually, then with growing worry when you didn’t pick up. He was out on his evening run, sweat-dampened shirt clinging to his chest, earbuds blasting a playlist to match his steady pace. But concern gnawed at him, pulling him off course. Your building was just two blocks away, after all. It was nothing to swing by, use his key, check in. That’s what friends did.
The door clicked open quietly as he let himself in, kicking off his shoes out of habit, his breathing still a little ragged from the run.
“Hey, it’s me,” he called out softly, not wanting to startle you if you were home. But the apartment felt still, the only sound a faint, muffled hum from down the hall.
He paused, wiping sweat from his brow, his mind racing through worst-case scenarios—were you okay? Had something happened? He moved toward your bedroom, the door slightly ajar, and pushed it open without a second thought.
And there you were.
Time seemed to fracture in that instant, the world narrowing to the sliver of space between you and the doorway. Chan froze, his hand still on the knob, his wide frame silhouetted against the hallway light like some unintended intruder in a dream you hadn’t meant to share. His chest rose and fell in shallow bursts, the sweat from his run glistening on his skin, making the thin fabric of his tank top cling in ways that accentuated the hard lines of his muscles, the kind of detail your mind latched onto even as heat flooded your cheeks. You didn’t move, couldn’t, your body splayed open on the bed, robe fallen away like forgotten silk, the vibrator still humming faintly in your hand, its vibration a traitorous echo in the sudden silence.
His eyes; those dark, intense eyes that you’d always thought held secrets, widened just a fraction, a flicker of shock rippling across his features before he schooled them into something unreadable. But you saw it, that raw, unguarded moment: the way his gaze dipped involuntarily, tracing the curve of your exposed breast, the arch of your hip, the vulnerability of your spread thighs. It wasn’t leering, nor crude, but there was hunger there, a spark that ignited low in your gut despite the mortification clawing at you. He’d seen you like this; intimate, frustrated, chasing something alone and the air thickened with it, charged like the calm before a storm.
Chan swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tore his eyes away, fixing them on the floor, the wall, anywhere but you.
“Shit,” he muttered, voice rougher than you’d ever heard it, laced with an edge that sent a shiver down your spine. It wasn’t disgust; no, it was something deeper, more tangled; regret for barging in, maybe, or surprise at the heat that mirrored your own. His hand flexed on the door, knuckles whitening, as if debating whether to bolt or step closer.
You could feel the tension coiling in him, the way his body leaned forward just a touch, betraying the pull he fought against. He’d always been so composed, your steady best friend, the one who listened to your rambles about lovers without a hint of jealousy or want. But now, in this suspended breath, you wondered if you’d misread him all along. Was that flush creeping up his neck from the run, or something else?
You shifted then, finally, pulling the robe closed with trembling fingers, the vibrator silenced with a click that echoed too loudly. Your heart hammered, a mix of embarrassment and an unexpected thrill…had he really just seen you like that? And why did the thought of his eyes on you make your skin tingle, heat pooling anew despite the interruption?
“Chan,” you breathed, your voice a whisper that broke the spell, pulling his gaze back to yours. There was no judgment in it, only a quiet storm brewing, questions unspoken hanging between you like smoke.
He took a step back, rubbing the back of his neck, his dimples absent, replaced by a tight line of his mouth.
“I… I called. You didn’t answer. I got worried.” His words tumbled out, excuses wrapped in concern, but his eyes betrayed him again, flicking down for the briefest second before snapping away. The room felt smaller, the distance between you electric, as if one wrong move could bridge it in ways neither of you had anticipated.
Your face burned hotter than you thought possible, a wildfire spreading from your cheeks down your neck as you clutched the edges of your silk robe, pulling it tighter around yourself like it could shield you from the raw exposure humming in the air. You tried to speak, anything to break the suffocating silence, but the words tangled in your throat, coming out in fractured stutters.
“I—I didn’t… Ch-Chan, I’m s-sorry, you weren’t supposed to—” Your voice cracked, barely above a whisper, and you curled inward, drawing your knees up to your chest on the bed, hugging them as if they could anchor you against the embarrassment crashing over you in waves.
But beneath the mortification, something darker and unexpected stirred. Your body, still thrumming from the interrupted attempt, reacted to him in a way the hentai never could. Watching Chan’s face; those chaotic emotions flickering across his usually steady features, shock giving way to something raw and unguarded, lifted a veil you hadn’t even known was there.
For years you’d slotted him neatly into the role of gay best friend, safe and sexless in your mind. Yet now, seeing the flush on his skin, the way his eyes darkened as they briefly met yours before darting away, you looked at him anew. He wasn’t just handsome; he was magnetic, potent, and the realization sent a fresh pulse of heat between your thighs, making you shift uncomfortably against the sheets.
Chan cleared his throat, the sound rough, and took a half-step back toward the door. “I—I should go,” he said quickly, ever the green flag, trying to salvage the moment with kindness. “Pretend I was never here. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“No, wait—” The words burst out of you before you could stop them, desperate and unfiltered. “I was… I was trying to do it for the first time. Like, really trying. And it… it wasn’t working.” You buried your face against your knees for a second, the confession hanging heavy in the air, making your skin prickle with fresh shame.
Why had you said that? But you couldn’t take it back now, so you forced yourself to look up, voice smaller. “It just… wasn’t working at all.”
He froze mid-turn, his hand still on the doorknob, mouth parting as if to speak but no words coming. Slowly, he let go of the door and faced you fully again, his gaze dropping to where you sat huddled on the bed, robe clutched tight, looking small and undone. Silence stretched between you, thick and electric, until something shifted in his expression; hesitation warring with concern, and beneath it, that same unreadable heat you’d glimpsed earlier.
Then he did the unthinkable.
His voice came low, tentative, almost swallowed by the quiet room, but it hit you like a spark to dry tinder.
“Can I… can I see what you’re doing wrong?” The words were careful, edged with disbelief as if he couldn’t believe he’d said them aloud. His face was flushed deep red, ears burning, but he didn’t look away this time. He took one small, deliberate step into the room, lingering just inside the threshold, body tense like he was giving you every chance to shut this down.
Your breath caught. Your mind screamed that this was insane—your best friend, the one you’d assumed was gay, asking to watch you touch yourself? But your body betrayed you utterly. A sharp, involuntary pulse throbbed between your legs at the mere suggestion, foreign and dizzying, like a door you hadn’t known existed had swung wide open. You should say no. You should laugh it off, tell him to leave. Instead, you found your grip on the robe loosening, your knees uncurling just slightly as a strange, hazy obedience took over.
Chan noticed. His shoulders eased a fraction, the tension in his stance softening as he watched you visibly relax, or at least stop fighting the pull. His eyes, dark and intent, stayed fixed on you, no longer fleeing.
Emboldened by the shift in the air, by the way he looked at you now, like you were something he’d been denying himself for longer than you could fathom, you let the robe fall open again, slower this time. Not all at once, but enough to bare the smooth plane of your lower body, thighs parting shyly as you reached for the vibrator on the sheets.
A subconscious performance crept in, your movements languid, almost teasing, as if testing the waters of this new, charged space between you. You switched it on, the low hum filling the room again, and pressed it where you had before, repeating the same frustrated motions—circling, pressing, chasing that elusive rhythm—your breath hitching softly, eyes flicking up to meet his.
He watched, unmoving at first, but you saw the way his chest rose faster, the way his fingers flexed at his sides. The room felt smaller, warmer, every second stretching into eternity.
Then his voice cut through, deeper than you’d ever heard it, gravel-rough and commanding in a way that sent a shiver racing down your spine. “Stop.”
You froze, the vibrator still buzzing against you, eyes wide as they locked on his.
“Try with your fingers first,” he said, the words low and steady despite the flush still staining his cheeks. And then—God—he took another step closer, closing some of the distance between the door and your bed, his gaze never leaving your body.
Your heart raced in a dizzying cocktail of confusion, shock, and an arousal so potent it bordered on delirium, as if you’d stumbled into a dream where boundaries blurred and desires you hadn’t named came alive. Without a second thought, you obeyed his command, setting the vibrator aside entirely, its hum silenced like an afterthought. Your fingers trembling but eager, slid down your body, parting your thighs wider under his unwavering gaze.
Chan’s eyes locked onto the intimate dance of your hand, tracing every tentative stroke along the slick folds of your pussy, circling the sensitive swell of your clit with a hesitancy born of inexperience. Self-consciousness burned in your chest, making you hyper-aware of every inch of exposed skin, every shallow breath that escaped your lips, but it only fueled the fire. This felt like devouring the forbidden fruit; sweet, sinful, and utterly intoxicating, your best friend watching you unravel, peeling back layers you’d kept hidden even from yourself.
The first moan slipped out unbidden, a soft, breathy sound that hung in the air like a confession. It was involuntary, pulled from you as your fingers found a fleeting rhythm, and the effect on Chan was electric. His eyes darkened further, a spark igniting behind them as if that single noise had shattered whatever restraint he’d been clinging to. It was like he awoke, the composed facade cracking to reveal something primal beneath. He leaned forward slightly, his voice emerging soft yet laced with an undeniable dominance that sent shivers cascading down your spine.
“That’s it,” he murmured, the words a gentle command. “Slow down a little—feel it, don’t rush.”
He edged closer then, the mattress dipping under his weight as he sat at the foot of the bed, his presence a magnetic pull that drew you in without conscious effort. You shifted toward him, your body moving on instinct, knees parting further as if inviting him into this sacred space. Your eyes stayed glued to his face, those sharp features softened by arousal, dimples hidden behind a focused intensity as he watched you intently, your fingers rolling and pinching your clit under his guidance.
“Circle it lighter,” he directed, his tone steady but deepening, “build it up. You’re doing so good—look at how wet you are already.” It felt better, undeniably, his words weaving through your mind like threads of silk, heightening every sensation, coaxing sparks of pleasure that had eluded you before. But still, it wasn’t quite enough; the edge remained just out of reach, a frustrating tease that left you whimpering softly, hips twitching in search of more.
Chan’s breath hitched audibly, his gaze dropping to where your fingers worked, and when you dared to glance down, you saw the unmistakable tent straining against his gym shorts, massive and insistent, a visual testament to the effect you were having on him. The sight sent a fresh wave of heat surging through you, your core clenching in response. His voice turned huskier then, thick with arousal that mirrored your own, rough around the edges like velvet dragged over gravel.
“Let me help,” he whispered, the words hanging heavy, a question wrapped in inevitability.
Before you could process, before doubt could creep in, his hand reached out, long fingers, warm and sure, brushing yours aside with a gentleness that belied the fire in his eyes. The moment he touched you, every nerve in your body ignited, a electric jolt that arched your back and drew a gasp from your throat. It was forbidden, this shift from spectator to participant, your assumed-gay best friend now exploring you with an intimacy that shattered all your preconceptions. But God, it was hot… so achingly good, his skin against yours sending ripples of pleasure outward like waves from a stone dropped in still water.
He took over slowly, deliberately, his touch a masterclass in restraint and tease. First, he traced the outer edges of your folds with the pads of his fingers, gathering the leaking juices that betrayed your arousal, spreading them with languid strokes that made you slicker, needier.
“Feel that?” he murmured, his voice a low rumble close enough to feel his breath fan across your thigh.
“You’re so responsive, listen to how your body wants this.” He circled your clit then, not directly at first, but around it, building pressure in widening spirals that had your hips lifting off the bed, seeking more. Your moans grew louder, unrestrained now, filling the room as he rubbed with just the right firmness, alternating between feather-light flicks that teased the sensitive bud and firmer presses that made stars burst behind your eyelids. He played with you like he knew your body better than you did, dipping lower to collect more of your essence, slicking his fingers before returning to your clit, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger with a precision that drew out whimpers you couldn’t contain.
“Shh, breathe through it,” he coached, his free hand resting on your inner thigh, thumb stroking soothing circles even as his other hand drove you higher. “Let it build, I’m right here, I’ve got you.” The tension coiled tighter, your body trembling under his ministrations, moans escalating into desperate pleas as he stimulated every inch, rubbing your folds open, playing with the pooling juices until you were drenched, the wet sounds mingling with your cries. It was exquisite torture, the slow burn of his touch unraveling you thread by thread, making you forget the shock, the confusion, lost in the haze of how right it felt.
And just when you thought it couldn’t get any better, when the pleasure hovered on the brink, intoxicating but not quite tipping over, his movements shifted. A single long finger, slick from your arousal, pressed at your entrance, teasing the soaked heat before sinking in slowly, inch by deliberate inch. The stretch was perfect, filling you in a way your own fingers never could, curling just so to brush against that spot inside that made your vision blur and a loud, keening moan tear from your lips.
“Chan—” His name tore from your lips in a broken cry as that single long finger fully seated inside you, your walls fluttering and clenching greedily around the intrusion. The raw and desperate sound of it, seemed to hit him like a physical blow.
“Holy fuck!” A low, ragged curse escaped him, something filthy and reverent under his breath, his jaw clenching so tight you could see the muscle jump. You felt the tremor in his hand, the way he held himself perfectly still for a heartbeat, as if one wrong move would unravel whatever thin thread of control he was clinging to.
But you were already too far gone to care about restraint. The emptiness you’d chased for so long was suddenly filled, stretched, owned by him, and it wasn’t enough.
“Please,” you whimpered shamelessly, hips rocking up to meet the slow, deliberate pump of his finger. “More—Chan, please, I need more.”
His eyes snapped to yours, dark and blazing, and the intensity of his stare sent goosebumps racing across your skin. He looked wrecked, his pupils blown wide, lips parted, silently pleading for something you couldn’t yet name. Without a word, he slid a second finger alongside the first, the added thickness making you gasp as he stretched you open further, curling them just right to drag against that devastating spot inside. Your hand flew to his forearm, nails digging into the flexed muscle there for anchor as he picked up the pace, thrusting deeper, faster, the wet sounds of your arousal obscene in the quiet room.
You were climbing, spiraling, so close and then, cruelly, he slowed. His fingers stilled, then withdrew entirely, leaving you empty and aching. A broken whine escaped you, hips chasing his hand on instinct.
“Do exactly what I did,” he said, voice low and rough, though it shook at the edges. “Finish yourself. Show me you can.”
It was like he’d yanked you both back from the edge, reminding both you and himself why this had started: to help you, not to lose control. You wanted to protest, to pull him back, but the command in his tone rooted itself in you. Whimpering, you obeyed, one hand sliding down to pump two fingers into your soaked heat the way he had; slow at first, then deeper and curling while the other returned to your clit, rubbing in those firm, perfect circles he’d shown you.
He didn’t move away. He stayed right there, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him, his eyes never leaving your face, your body.
“That’s it,” he murmured, voice velvet and gravel. “Just like that—fuck, you’re so beautiful. Keep going, let it build. You’re so close, I can feel it.”
And this time, you got it right. The pleasure coiled tight and hot, then snapped, your orgasm crashing over you in relentless waves that bowed your back and tore his name from your throat again and again. Your forehead fell against his shoulder as you shuddered through it, breath coming in ragged gasps, his low praises—“Good girl, just like that, let it take you”—vibrating against your skin.
When the aftershocks finally ebbed, you stayed there, face tucked into the curve of his neck, inhaling the salt-sweat scent of him. That’s when you felt it, really felt it… the massive, straining bulge pressing against his gym shorts, the damp spot darkening the fabric where he’d leaked through. He was huge, impossibly so, and the realization sent a fresh pulse of heat through your spent body.
Without thinking, you tilted your head up and pressed your lips to his.
Chan froze for half a second, a sharp curse spilling against your mouth—“Fuck”—before he surged forward, kissing you back twice as hard, twice as hungry. His hand cupped your jaw, tilting your head to deepen it, tongue sliding against yours in a way that made you moan into him. The kiss turned filthy fast; teeth and desperation, years of unspoken something igniting all at once. He kept swearing under his breath between kisses, the words muffled against your lips, turning you on all over again.
Your hand drifted down, cupping the thick length of him through the fabric. He jolted like he’d been shocked, fingers wrapping gently but firmly around your wrist to still you.
“You don’t have to,” he rasped, voice wrecked, forehead pressed to yours. “I don’t want us to do anything stupid or anything you’ll regret.”
You looked up at him, chest heaving, and asked the only question that mattered.
“Do you want me, Channie?”
Something fractured behind his eyes. The dam broke.
He kissed you again hard, swallowing the soft laugh that escaped you as you added, breathlessly, “Let’s worry about the questions later.”
The words hung between you like a match struck in the dark and Chan’s restraint snapped with an audible groan. He crushed his mouth to yours again, the kiss no longer exploratory but devouring, years of quiet tension pouring out in the slant of his lips, the sweep of his tongue. You tasted salt and heat and something uniquely him, and it made you dizzy. His hands; those careful, talented hands, slid up your thighs, pushing the silk robe fully open until it pooled beneath you like spilled ink, leaving you bare to the cool air and to him.
He pulled back only far enough to look at you, eyes dark with want, chest heaving. “Tell me to stop,” he rasped, voice shredded, “and I will. Anytime.” But his thumb was already tracing the inside of your knee, a silent plea for the opposite.
You answered by arching into him, fingers curling into the damp fabric of his tank top. “Don’t stop.”
That was all it took.
Chan surged forward, guiding you back against the pillows with a gentleness that contrasted the urgency in his kiss. He peeled his tank top off in one fluid motion, tossing it aside, and the sight of him; broad shoulders, defined chest glistening with the remnants of his run, the cut of muscle disappearing into low-slung shorts, stole what little breath you had left. You reached for him, palms skating over warm skin, feeling the tremor that ran through him at your touch.
He settled between your thighs, the heavy weight of his arousal pressing against you through the thin barrier of his shorts. A slow roll of his hips dragged the length of him along your slick folds, and you both moaned at the contact. His forehead dropped to yours, breath ragged.
“You feel—” He broke off with a curse as you lifted your hips to meet him again, chasing the friction.
Impatient now, you tugged at the waistband of his shorts. He helped you, rising just enough to shove them down and kick them off, and then he was bare against you, hot skin on skin, the thick, leaking length of him sliding along your stomach as he lowered himself again. You wrapped your hand around him instinctively, marveling at the size, the velvet heat, the way he jerked and swore into your neck when your fingers tightened experimentally.
“Later,” he growled against your throat, nipping the skin there. “I need to be inside you now.”
He reached between you, guiding himself to your entrance, the broad head nudging through your wetness in a slow, deliberate press. You gasped at the stretch, it was much much more than his fingers, fuller and perfect… and your nails dug into his shoulders. He stilled instantly, letting you adjust, peppering soft kisses along your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.
“Breathe,” he whispered, voice trembling with the effort of holding back. “I’ve got you.”
When you rocked up against him, taking him deeper, he exhaled shakily and pushed forward in one smooth glide until he was seated fully inside you. The sensation was overwhelming, yet intimate in a way that went beyond bodies, like every unspoken moment between you had led to this. He stayed buried for a long moment, forehead pressed to yours, both of you breathing each other in.
Then he started to move.
Slow at first; long, deep strokes that dragged over every sensitive spot inside you, drawing soft cries from your throat. His hand slipped between you again, thumb finding your clit with devastating accuracy, circling in time with his thrusts. The rhythm built gradually, unhurried but relentless, pleasure winding tighter and tighter with every roll of his hips.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, urging him deeper. He obliged, pace quickening, the slap of skin on skin mingling with your shared gasps and moans. His mouth found yours again, swallowing every sound you made, kissing you like he couldn’t get close enough.
“Chan—” you whimpered against his lips, feeling the edge approaching fast. “I’m—”
“I know,” he panted, voice rough and reverent. “Let go. I’m right here.”
The coil snapped, and you came undone around him; walls pulsing, back arching, his name a broken prayer on your tongue. He followed moments later, burying himself deep with a guttural groan, spilling inside you in hot pulses that left you both trembling.
For a long minute, neither of you moved. He stayed inside you, arms braced on either side of your head, breathing hard against your neck. Eventually he softened, slipping out gently, but he didn’t go far, just shifted to lie beside you, pulling you into his chest. You curled into him instinctively, ear over his racing heart, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your spine.
The room was quiet except for your slowing breaths and the distant hum of the city outside. Questions lingered in the air; about assumptions, about labels, about what this meant, but for now they stayed unspoken. You pressed a soft kiss to his collarbone instead, feeling his arms tighten around you.
But tonight, there was only the warmth of his body against yours, the lingering ache of pleasure, and the quiet certainty that whatever came next, you’d face it together.
——
Morning light filtered softly through the half-drawn blinds, painting pale gold stripes across the tangled sheets and the bare skin of Chan’s back. You’d been awake for almost an hour, staring at the ceiling, then at him, then back at the ceiling again, as if the plaster might offer some explanation for how everything had shifted overnight. His arm was still slung heavily across your waist, his body curled behind yours, and you could feel him still thick, half-hard even in sleep, nestled warm and heavy between your thighs where he’d stayed most of the night. Every small shift sent a quiet, delicious ache through you, a reminder that last night had been real. Mind-blowing, earth-tilting, assumption-shattering real.
You turned your head carefully on the pillow to look at him. He was beautiful like this…peaceful, unguarded, lips slightly parted as he breathed out the softest little snore. Those full lips you’d kissed a hundred times last night in the dark, now soft and inviting in daylight. You couldn’t stop yourself. You leaned in and brushed your mouth against his, feather-light, just once.
He stirred immediately, a quiet hum in his throat. His eyes fluttered open, confusion flickering for half a second before recognition flooded in. A slow, sleepy smile curved his mouth as he registered you, and then his hand slid up your back, pulling you closer.
“Morning,” he murmured, voice gravel-rough with sleep, and kissed you properly, lazy but deep, like he’d been dreaming about doing exactly this. Your brain short-circuited all over again, warmth pooling low in your belly as his tongue teased yours, slow and unhurried. When he finally pulled back, you were both breathing a little harder, foreheads still touching.
He searched your face, the smile fading into something softer, more careful. “Hey… you okay?” His thumb stroked along your cheek. “No regrets?”
You shook your head without hesitation, fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “None. Not even a little.”
Relief flashed across his features, and he pressed another quick kiss to your lips, like he couldn’t help himself. Then you took a breath, the question that had been circling your mind all morning finally spilling out.
“Channie… I thought you were gay.” You bit your lip, half-laughing at how ridiculous it sounded now. “Did I, like… break you?”
He blinked once, twice, then burst into genuine deep laughter, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made his dimples appear. He rolled onto his back, dragging a hand over his face, still chuckling.
“Why would you even think that?”
You propped yourself up on an elbow, suddenly feeling a little sheepish.
“I mean… Han and Minho are literally your closest friends besides me, and they’re together. You’re always hanging out with them. And I’ve never once seen you with a girl. Ever. You never talk about hooking up with anyone, never bring anyone around, never even mention crushes. Every gender on the planet throws themselves at you, and you just… smile and move on. It added up in my head.”
He turned his head to look at you, amusement still dancing in his eyes. “That’s pure coincidence, babe.” The pet name slipped out so naturally it made your heart skip. “I’ve had girls over. Plenty. Parties, hookups, whatever. Just never anything serious enough to turn into conversation. I didn’t think you needed the play-by-play.”
You raised an eyebrow. “And Han and Minho?”
“I love those idiots,” he said fondly. “And I don’t give a damn who they date. My little sister’s pan, actually she came out years ago. So yeah, I’m an ally. Always have been. Doesn’t mean I’m in the community myself.”
You groaned, dropping your face into the pillow beside him. “I feel so stupid.”
He laughed again, softer this time, and tugged you until you were half-draped over his chest. “You’re not stupid. You just never asked.” His fingers threaded through your hair, soothing. “And honestly? I kind of liked that you didn’t. You’d come over all flustered about some guy who ghosted you or whatever, and you’d ramble for an hour, and I’d just sit there thinking how cute you were when you got worked up. I never wanted to interrupt that.”
You lifted your head, cheeks warm. “So all this time…”
“All this time,” he confirmed, eyes steady on yours, “I’ve been into girls. Into you, if we’re being honest. But every time I got close to someone, they’d get weird about how much time I spent with you. How I’d drop everything if you needed me. Apparently that’s a red flag.” He shrugged, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “So I stopped trying for anything serious. Friends-with-benefits, one-night stands—easy, no strings. I didn’t mind. I had you anyway.”
The words settled between you, heavy and sweet. You’d been the reason without even knowing it.
You leaned down and kissed him again, softer this time, pouring everything you couldn’t quite say into it. When you pulled back, his eyes were darker, that familiar heat flickering back to life.
“So,” you whispered against his lips, “now that we’ve cleared that up… what do we do about it?”
Chan’s smile turned slow and devastating. He rolled you gently beneath him, settling between your thighs like he belonged there.
“I’ve got a few ideas,” he murmured, and kissed you until talking was no longer an option.
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Authors note: MERRY CHRISTMAS FINE SHYTS!!! 😍🤩❤️🎄🎄
You didn’t think I was gonna let the year end without dropping something in December, did you? 🌝 I do have one more lined up before the end of the year still so stay tuned! Drop a comment too if you wanna be added to the new taglist! And to my new followers… ✨Hiiiii ✨ I promise I’m not always this tardy with uploads but my first book is finished yaaay!! Its going through the editors right now before i publish! I’m actually so excited about it! Anywho, if you made it to this point, follow me and check out my masterlist for more of these!!
