summary: "you're ours," he breathed, desperate, honest, "and we're yours. Whatever you say, whatever you decide, we'll always be yours." you got a job as a new caretaker and the boys are pretty sure you are their mate.
a/n: i have been sick all week, mega flu knocked me out 😭😭 so finishing this chapter was quite difficult. hopefully you like it! 🫶
masterlist // requests: open
chapter 3. chapter 5
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To say that Yeosang was nervous was quite the understatement.
He wanted it to be good for you. He wanted a chance to get to know you beyond work and to - maybe, hopefully - have you fall in love with him in the way that he was with you. It felt like a dream and a nightmare all at once, this never ending pressure pushing against him.
He really didn’t want to screw this up.
“She won’t care,” San tried to reassure him. “She’s not like that.”
And Yeosang knew you weren’t. He knew he didn’t need to spend a lot of money or take you on a once-in-a-lifetime experience. You always seemed to smile the brightest when one of them holds your hand or remembers something you said to them. You wouldn’t care.
But there was a part of him, the worried swirling beast of comparison, that seemed determined to convince him that one bad date is all it would take to have all of this come crashing down around them.
On stage, Yeosang played into a persona, carefully crafted and displayed to fawning applause. Within his pack, they had grown and moulded around each other - mistakes had been made but Yeosang didn’t worry about losing everything, not when everyone had marked each other so thoroughly as theirs.
With you, trying to convince you to love them, it was like a lawless land.
Yeosang felt like he was stumbling, mind going blank, heart pounding out of his chest just from the way your nose wrinkled when you laughed. How could he possibly be charming enough to convince you to love him forever?
“Don’t think about forever,” Hongjoong had told him, “Just think about now. What would make you happy? What would make her happy?”
Yeosang would admit he found happiness in those moments of closeness with you. When he was slipping his jacket over your shoulders, making you smell like him, or when you would rest your head on his shoulder after a long day.
You were doing it now, on the journey back home. He had an arm around your shoulder, holding you so that the jerking of the car’s movement didn’t hurt you. This close, Yeosang could take in your scent without a care, let it overwhelm his sense and, subtly, quietly, eek his scent out to mix with yours.
You’d let him scent you properly if he asked, but that would mean he’d actually have to ask. When he tried, the words refused to escape. You always seemed to know what he needed though, asking for him, angling your head, wrapping soft fingers around his to pull him closer.
It made Yeosang’s heart ache with pinched happiness that you would let him that close.
“Sangie?” You called for his attention, “Where’d you drift off too?”
Yeosang’s ears went pink. “Nowhere. I’m here.”
You hummed contently and reached for his free hand, resting in his lap. He gave it willingly and tried not to shiver at the gentle way you touched his knuckles, the skin around his fingernails.
“You don’t have a schedule on Thursday right?” You asked.
Yeosang thought back. “No, that’s a free day.”
“No other plans?” You pushed.
“No, why?”
You smiled shyly at him. “Do you want to go to a sauna with me?”
“Sauna? With you?” Yeosang was sure he looked like a fish out of water, eyes wide, mouth gapping.
You nodded with a certain eagerness. “It’s my day off too,” you said, “I thought it would be nice to go together.”
Together. You wanted to go with him. He felt like he was going to yelp and throw up at the same time.
Instead, what he let out a squeak of surprise.
You blinked at him, confused, and he watched the veil of hesitance fall over your vision. “If you don’t want to Sangie, just say so. There’s no pressure. I won’t be mad.”
His tongue felt too heavy for how quickly he tried to reassure you. Yeosang clutched at your hand, tightened his hold on you and shook his head. “I want to go,” he said, “I really want to go.”
Your smile was so bright, teeth and gums bared. “Oh. Okay. Good. I’m looking forward to it.”
Yeosang would confess to you in the quiet of a salt room that he was terribly nervous. Worried about making mistakes. Anxious about this time together being a disappointment.
“I want you to be happy,” he said, “with me. With us. The others can be so effortlessly charming, that it sometimes feels like I’m…”
He didn’t finish. You didn’t let him. “You make me happy,” you told him, voice firm. You put your cold hands on his red cheeks, made him look at you so he understood completely what you felt. “You all do. But you, Kang Yeosang, especially.”
“Especially?” Yeosang’s voice trembled.
You hummed. “You’re quiet but calm. You make me laugh when I’m starting to feel too stressed. You know how I’m feeling sometimes before I realise myself,” you explained. “It’s easy to be around you.”
Yeosang let out a shaky breath. “You make it easy too,” he said, “easy to breathe. Easy to advocate for myself. Easy to laugh and smile. You’re the first human to make me feel like that.”
“First and last, I hope,” you admitted.
Yeosang turned his head in your hands to press a sweet kiss to the palm. He was beautiful like this, you noticed, soft at the edges, unguarded. “For all eternity,” he vowed.
He kissed you there for the first time. It felt right in that moment, to angle his head and ask for permission. You gave it without second thought. Yeosang’s kisses were soft at first, a barely there stroke of hips lips against yours. The impatient whine that escaped you wasn’t something you could control, slipping into the world without realising.
Your cheeks burned and so did Yeosang, who looked at you with a shy smile.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he admitted.
You licked the taste of him from your bottom lip. “Do it again,” you instructed, already swaying closer.
He let out a chuckle of surprise by your forwardness, but obliged. After all, who was he to disagree?
-
You were…stressed.
You had been since your meeting with STC Newsroom last week. It was expected, Kyunghim had told you, for managers and caretakers to meet with studios and hosts prior to hybrid idols visiting. It was to make the day run smoothly around the heavy filming responsibilities, ensure that everything was in place.
You’d done a handful of these since you started, all being overall quite pleasant and useful. The producers were always good at helping adjust schedules or needs, and the interviewers were earnest and happy to make sure their guests were comfortable.
You couldn’t say that Lee Woobin wasn’t helpful, but you were pretty sure he found the whole conversation a waste of his time. He had smiled tightly, hummed and nodded in the right places.
When Kyunghim handed over the list of approved questions, he given it a cursory glance over. You handed over your cliff notes version of the idols needs, and he’d barely glanced at it, passing it over to his own studio manager.
It made your hackles rise. Maybe you were overreacting, you reasoned, but there was something that scratched uncomfortably at the back of your mind.
You had met people who didn’t really care for hybrids before. You had worked with vulnerable adults and children, and sometimes, the people in their lives - human and hybrid - were worse than strangers. You’d had humans call hybrids “basically animals” that “should be kept in zoos” just as you’d had hybrids call predator types “beasts without self-control” and prey types “pathetic attention seekers”.
You had the same vibes from Woobin’s distant gaze and lack of interest in the specifics. You mentioned it to Kyunghim after who hummed and relucantly agreed.
“He kind of seems like an arse,” he admitted, “but we can’t break contract for a feeling.”
“I don’t want to put the boys in a situation where they’re going to get hurt,” you murmured.
Kyunghim smiled at you fondly, squeezed your shoulder. “And we’ll make sure they won’t.”
You muttered warnings to Hongjoong and been heartbroken at the way he released a resigned sigh. “Lee Woobin wouldn’t be the first person I’ve met with strong opinions on hybrids.”
Your unhappiness must have shown on your face, lips tugged down and eyebrows furrowed. Hongjoong smoothed a finger in the space between your brows, a smile pulling across his lips. “Are you worried about us?”
“I don’t like the idea of people disrespecting you like that,” you admitted, “any of you.”
Hongjoong had kissed you then, soft and sweet, and promised they could handle it. “It’ll be fine, we’ll be fine,” he said.
But it wasn’t fine. And you knew that your boys weren’t fine either.
From the second you’d stepped into the studio together, you had been running interference - scolding startled stylists who had been using non-hybrid friendly make up; informing the PA that the requested food needed to be provided for your prey hybrids and that the music coming through the speakers was too loud for your predator hybrids hearing. Each time, you received surprised looks, followed by tight smiles and uneasy corrections.
You pinched the bridge of your nose and bit your lip to stop from snapping at the wide-eyed intern who stammered that they only had ice water, too cold for the high senses of a hybrid. Woobin’s preference, apparently.
“I can leave some out for you,” she offered hopefully.
It wasn’t her fault, you reminded yourself, as you smiled tightly and agreed. You watched her scurry off and rubbed at your temple to stave off the headache you could feel fast approaching.
Behind you, someone laughed. “You’re so hot when you take charge,” Wooyoung shot you a dangerous smile.
The boys were spread across the green room space, dressed and ready, but visibly tense, at least to you. They knew what was going on as well as you did.
Yunho rolled his shoulders and tapped his hand on a restless leg. “Only 3 hours, right?”
You squinted down at your notes. “Less than if I have anything to say about it.”
“We’ll answer the questions and go,” Seonghwa said, “super-quick.”
“And I’ll make sure that Kyunghim puts this place on the ‘do not rebook’ list,” you muttered darkly.
Within the first few minutes of arriving, after the second correction you had to make, Kyunghim had taken himself off to find the studio manager to talk about why their requests were not being met. He’d been smiling but red behind the ears, so you knew he was angry. He hadn’t come back yet and you hoped that meant he was giving that idiot a piece of his mind.
Jongho looked at you through the ends of his hair. “Deep breaths baby,” he ordered.
You shot him a wiry grin. “I’m calm. This is calm.”
Yeosang snorted in amusement.
It didn’t get better when they finally go onto the set. Kyunghim was back, expression set and watching with intense eyes. At his side was an anxious looking man with a growing bald spot, eyes flickering back and forth between everyone there, as if waiting for something to explode.
Lee Woobin himself appeared unaware - or uncaring - of any tension around him. He had entered the stage 5 minutes later than the original call, suit pressed to perfection, hair slicked back from his face and had given ATEEZ one of those fake million won grins.
He had spoken loudly when he greeted them, bowing and offering handshakes in turn. Mingi’s nose wrinkled at the overpowering smell of his cologne.
“I’ve been told you’ve had my team running around like headless rabbits,” Woobin joked.
Seonghwa flinched. Hongjoong tensed, lips tugging down at the corners. You - you were glaring daggers.
“None of our adaptions had been met,” you said firmly.
He barely looked at you, barely registered what you said. “I apologise for things not being to your liking,” Woobin said in a tone that was anything but.
Hongjoong, as the leader, swallowed his distaste and nodded his head in acknowledgement. “We understand sometimes mistakes can happen,” he replied coolly, “No harm, no foul.”
“Hongjoong, correct? The leader? Surprising, I thought prey were supposed to be meek and stuff.” Woobin laughed, looked around him as if he expected everyone to join in. A few did, mostly behind the camera, a tittering blanket of forced laughs.
“What about you giants?” He said, pointing to Yunho and Mingi, who froze under the attention. “Didn’t think to take control?”
Yunho blinked. “Um, Hongjoong is the one who started the group.”
“And a good leader,” San added firmly, eyes narrowing into slits.
“Oh of course, it’s to be expected if you can get all these predators to follow you around you know,” Woobin agreed.
It was said with a salacious wink. There had always been stereotypes about predator and prey relationships, you’d heard them back in school and remembered fighting someone on accusing your cousins of being a wrong day away from ripping the student body apart. You’d nearly been expelled for that, until Uncle Eunwoo had threatened to sue the school for discrimination.
It was one of the only times you’d seen your uncle angry.
Jongho’s jaw clenched. Red clouded your vision.
Your boys - they couldn’t say anything, professionalism and reputations dangling on the line. They had to put up with it and quietly refuse the interviews later, less it cause damage to their careers.
But you? You weren’t part of the group, a silent figure behind the camera whose job it was to look after them.
Later, you’d wonder whether you still would have been so harsh if you weren’t a strong wind away from falling in love with them. But in truth, you don’t think you would have. One look at your boys, trying to hold back their own discomfort, their own anger, and you couldn’t hold back.
They might not be able to say anything.
But you were.
“That’s enough,” you announced, loud enough that the people behind you slowed down, eyes flickering from their preparations for the recording to you.
Eyes on the set flickered to you as well, even Woobin who turned to angle his head at you, as if confused.
“That’s enough,” you repeated yourself, “Interview is cancelled.”
Not your call, not yours at all, but Kyunghim remained quiet beside you, arms folded over his chest, same pinched expression on his face as yours.
He’d been working with these boys for years and had watched them put up with a lot. He admired their strength for it, but he never wanted to put them through it if he had to. In the back of his mind, the consequences of breaking contracts and career damage danced in his head.
But that’s why he wasn’t the caretaker, you were. It was his job to keep the business side smooth, to make sure that ATEEZ was great. It was yours to make such the people inside that group were safe and secure.
So, he let you speak.
“Cancelled?” Woobin said the word like he’d never heard it before. His producer stumbled closer, stumbling over agreements and contracts. Kyunghim shot him a dark look, and you just ignored them all, eyes on your boys.
You were firm when you said, “Come on, we’re going.”
No room for argument. Yunho and Jongho stood immediately as commanded, the others following a second behind.
“Come on darling,” Woobin laughed loudly, “you’re cancelling the interview over a few jokes?”
“Not jokes. Basic disrespect,” you corrected, “why even invite hybrids on to your show if you’re going to treat them like this?”
“They’re big animals, they can take it,” he shot back.
Everyone tensed. Animals. You hated it. They hated it too. Heads ducking, eyes averting. You couldn’t breathe through your rage for them.
Kyunghim narrowed his eyes on the production manager, who withered. “You need to fix your talent,” he murmured. He looked back at the others, “back to the van. You’ve got a free schedule until 3:00.”
-
Jongho was, unfortunately, very used to issues that came with being a hybrid. Lee Woobin was not the first arsehole he’d met, and it wouldn’t be the last. It sucked but he was used to it.
What he wasn’t used to was seeing you angry. Like actually angry. He’d watched you fight it out with stylists and personal assistants, with a photographer once who refused to turn the flash off, but not like this.
The way that you had stepped into control today, demanded respect and when it wasn’t given, removed yourself - removed them - from the situation.
You had protected them and Jongho hadn’t thought it was possible to adore you more until that moment.
You had been quiet on the ride back to the dorm - Kyunghim had said they could use a break in their own home and didn’t comment when Seonghwa pulled you out with him. Inside, you bowed low in front of them.
“I’m sorry,” you muttered, “I shouldn’t have ended the shoot like that. It’s not my place and messing with the media is tricky, I don’t want anything to come back on you but that bastard,” you huffed out a breath through gritted teeth, “I couldn’t just…”
Wooyoung crouched down, angling his body so you could see him in the bow. “I told you,” he said, “you’re hot when you take charge.”
When you laughed, it was watery.
Mingi stepped forward, panicked. “Ahh, are you crying? Don’t cry.”
Jongho’s heart clenched, and his bear grumbled unhappily at the red rim around your sweet eyes and the dampness of your cheeks.
“I’m not crying because I’m sad,” you insisted, “I’m crying because I’m so mad.”
Hongjoong’s laugh came out surprised. “No making you mad, got it,” he promised. Jongho watched him slink closer, tugged you in close to his chest. He pressed his face into your neck, nuzzled the skin there for a moment, before settling his chin on your shoulder. “You don’t have to apologise beautiful,” he cooed, “you didn’t do anything wrong. In fact, it’s us who should be saying thank you.”
You shook your head firmly. “Don’t. Don’t ever thank me for standing up for you. That’s my job,” a pause and then you continued in a quieter voice, “and because I care. So much.”
It wasn’t a declaration of love, but it felt like it.
With his heart pounding in his chest, it was Jongho who asked. It slipped out without him realising, a question from the bear inside of him who just wanted to hold everyone he loved close.
“Will you den with us?”
Yeosang elbowed him firmly and San choked on a noise of surprise. Jongho doesn’t look at them though, just you - the way your damp eyes peek out from Hongjoong’s styled collar, your fingers curling into his arms, your body comfortable against the pack leader.
It might break his heart if you refused, Jongho realised belatedly, but he would understand. He wouldn’t love you any less.
But when you nodded, a quiet acceptance of crossing that line with them all, Jongho felt like he was loving you more than ever.
Hongjoong led you there, your hand securely in his. He was almost afraid to let go, afraid that you would change your mind the closer you got to the room. You didn’t though, you walked quietly beside him, expression set with surety.
There were dynamics that came into play when referring to packs and their dens, he was sure that you knew this. It was why you had been reluctant to step foot in that space, even if each of them would have been delighted to have you there from the moment they met you.
The den was like the heart of a pack, a shared space for bonding and connection. Growing up, his own had been small, filled only with his immediate family.
When ATEEZ had been formed and they’d built their own pack, it became a space where they could be themselves. Hongjoong had memories of harsh fights and tearful heartbreaks in this room. It’s what happens when a bunch of teenagers try to build a life together without much understanding of what that means.
It was different now, of course. They had their own space, but the den was for when alone was too much, when life felt like too much or when they just wanted to be together.
The door was closed and Hongjoong paused for a moment. Over your shoulder, the others had followed, silent but hopeful, blissful.
“Are you sure?” he asked again. He didn’t want to push you further than you were comfortable with. Even if you knew how important this moment was, you couldn’t feel it the way they did, deep in their bones.
You looked at him with steady eyes. “I’ve never been so sure before,” you admitted.
“It doesn’t mean you have to be ours,” Hongjoong wanted to assure, even if the words hurt him to say. “You can still change your mind.”
And then you smile at him, soft and warm with something that he hopes he isn’t reading as love. “Joongie,” you sighed. You squeezed his fingers in yours. “Let me in.”
-
When Woobin of STC Newsroom is fired and its announcement is splashed across every news article you come across, you don’t make a big deal out of it.
You do smile wider for the rest of the day though.
-
“Let me show you.”
You tried not to flush as Wooyoung cooed in your ear, body against your back, skilful hands slipping over yours to guide them in the proper way of chopping carrots. Woo was an aware it was an excuse, any reason he had to get physically closer to you, to feel your smooth skin under his fingertips or hook his chin over your shoulder.
He liked how responsive you were to him, to all of them really. No matter how often they held your hand, hugged you close, nuzzled into your scent gland - your scent bloomed, your skin pinked and your lips curled into a shy smile. It was maddening how cute you were sometimes.
Even now, you were leaning back into him, letting him guide your actually quite skilled hands as if you hadn’t been cooking for yourself your whole adult life. You knew that, he knew that and yet you still let him lead you. You still murmured thank you for his ‘help’ and still offered him a sweet look under your eyelashes.
God, Wooyoung really was obsessed.
That was why he hadn’t been ashamed to admit to you that he had paid for the others dinner just so he could have the chance to be alone with you.
“I just want to cook with you,” he’d said and flashed you a winning smile.
“And we’re going to put Woo’s money to good use,” Yeosang teased before they had all left.
You had laughed and Wooyoung was convinced that he’d spend however much just to get that to himself for a little while.
It wasn’t that he was upset that you were part of the pack. Quite the contrary, it made him purr and croon happily at the thought. But he got time along with the others - whether it was at work or at home. Often, a daily schedule would send them out in pairs or small groups to complete obligations.
Sometimes, on a solo schedule, they got you alone but most of the time, you were working for all of them. If you were with Wooyoung for five minutes, you’d spent the next hour flittering around between his other members.
He understood that. You cared about all of them, both professionally and personally, but when he was feeling particularly clingy, you were the only one he couldn’t cling to.
Until now, of course.
“Okay, add the carrots into the pan,” he ordered and supported your elbow as you scrapped the cut carrots into the bottom of the plan.
You were making stir fry pork. Simple, easy enough to do together. Your favourite he knew, and delighted in how you’d brightened when he informed you of the plan.
You couldn’t keep your eyes off the panther. You knew Wooyoung liked to cook and definitely had some skill in the kitchen but it was different to know than to see. This Woo was in control, each move he took purposeful and poised.
It didn’t help that he kept reaching for you, looking at you with bright eyes and an easy smile. Your skin tingled from where he had touched you and begged for him to brush his hand on you again.
He would soon enough, urging you closer to the pan and keeping you between his arms. It was the most ineffective way of cooking and yet you would do it every time.
“Try it,” Wooyoung asked, picking up a piece of pork with his chopsticks, “tell me the seasonings right.”
And then he watched you with such intensity as you tried it that you couldn’t taste a single thing at all.
He’d set the table out with candles, each light flickering around you both as you ate. The low light made his eyes wider, softer. It was strange to know that while he was bathed wonderfully in the low light, he could see you like you were standing in the sun.
And god, did Woo find you pretty.
He kept looking at you between mouthfuls, between laughs and stories, between brushes of legs against each other. And when the meal was over, he pressed in close beside you, fingers slipping along the curve of your jaw so he could take you in better.
“That was good,” you told him, “compliments to the chef.”
He laughed. “It’s because of my sous chef,” he winked. You knew you were flushed and that only made Wooyoung grin more, pleased with himself.
“I’ll cook for you again,” he said.
“Promise?”
“Pretty I’ll cook for you every day if you keep looking at me like that,” Wooyoung murmured.
You felt breathless, chest tight in the best way. “Like what?”
Like I’m yours, Wooyoung thought but he doesn’t say it aloud. Not yet. It still felt too heavy to say to you, like it might shatter you. So he held it close, ducked his head and said it with the press of his lips.
Wooyoung had kissed you before, from teasing peaks to the kind of kiss that left you bruised and dizzy. This one though, it was like an enigma - the press of his lips against yours was firm but the way he moved you was soft. He lead the kiss with purpose and certainty, urging you to fall with him; to let your brain slip away and just be with him.
And you did. Your mind felt fuzzy, a comfortable haze setting over you, and all you could focus on was the way he pulled you closer, the way you melted under him.
“You’re good at that,” Wooyoung murmured against your lips.
You grinned. “All thanks to my sous kisser.”
A joke, a terrible one admittedly, but it makes Wooyoung huff a breathy laugh and take another kiss from you.
“Let’s make a deal,” he said, “you be my sous chef, I’ll be your sous kisser.”
“I think I can manage that,” you agreed, and tugged at the strands of hair at the nape of his neck.
He groaned, a delightfully wicked sound, and pressed his lips firmly to yours. “You know what we should do next?”
Your mind was definitely on one thing. “What?”
The kiss he gave you was deeper, wetter, a hypnotising slide of lips that had you physically melting into his arms. When he pulled back, hot breath fanned across your swollen lips. Woo’s eyes were blown, dark and predatory, as he smirked and nudged your nose with his own.
“We should have dessert before the others get back,” he declared and then pulled away. The heated space between you flooded with cold air and you grumbled, swaying back into him. He caught you with a chuckle, fingers flexing over your hips.
“Tease,” you scolded.
He laughed as he stood, tugging you after him. You stumbled on your sock clad feet. “Come on,” he urged, “I’ll even let you feed me.”
Wooyoung fed you in the end, each offered bite like a type of foreplay. Later, curled up on the sofa, he whispered into your hairline how he didn’t want to rush anything.
“I know what you mean to me,” he announced, raw and honest, “I’ve already made up my mind. You’re still deciding. That’s fine. I don’t need to rush. I’ll wait for you.”
“I don’t think I’m deciding anymore,” you offered the confession back, so quiet, ripped from your chest without your consent by the softness and truth in his words. You angled your head up to press a kiss to his jaw and Wooyoung’s grip on you tightened.
“Don’t say anything now jagiya,” he said, “be certain. Because if you let us hold on, we aren’t going to let you go.”
a/n: there's only another 3 chapters left of my current plan for this story. feels strange to more than half of way done now. comments, reblogs and likes are appreciated greatly.
omg i had just recently lost my pencil case in my school's music room, and when i found it TWO WEEKS later, it turned out someone STOLE ALL of my stationary 😣
Demisexual!ghost who, before he met reader, had literally no interest or experience with sex.
Which leads to you two sitting in bed, an animated movie playing on your shitty laptop while he kisses you for the hundredth time that night. He's been obsessed ever since you kissed him three days ago.
"Mmh, hold still, love." Ghost huffs, pushing you against the matress so he can kiss you more. It's then that you feel it rubbing against your thigh, pulling back to see ghost sporting an obvious tent.
"Oh, hey, si." You interrupt, kissing his nose because it always makes ghost pause. You nod down to his bulge that he's been subconsciously rubbing against you "you wanna try something new? I could jerk you off."
"Fuckin' hell, love. You can't say that..." ghost groans, tucking his heated face against your neck. Still, he shoves his sweatpants and boxers down enough to free his cock. "...please?"
You smile, brush your hand over his nape while your other wanders lower. A sharp gasp escapes ghost when you wrap your hand around his dick. It's big, weighty in your hands, and you mentally note to buy a bigger dildo if you want that to be comfortable.
Just holding it has ghost twitching in your hands, bucking his hips instinctively in search for friction. It's, god it's heavenly. Feeling your touch on his skin, your breath on his neck. Ghost is overwhelmed by it, by his affection and desire for you "please– please, love? I can't–"
"Shhh, it's okay, si. Feel how you need to feel." You soothe, adjusting your grip and smearing precum on your hand. Just that move has ghost groaning, so fucking vocal.
You aren't shocked when a few moments later he's whining and spilling into your palm. Except, when you go to move you hand away, ghost grabs your wrist "wait– wait, i– keep going? Please? It feels good."
Ghost ends up crying into your neck while you wring orgasm after orgasm out of him. Learning what feels good, what he likes and what he loves. It's so..warm, intimate. Falling apart in your hands.
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