submen connoisseur.

He barely lifted his head when he heard you gasp, the lens of his mask focusing on your figure standing there with wide eyes, wearing only an oversized shirt.

“Wrong window,” he choked, then tried to hold himself up but immediately collapsed again. “Dammit,” he cursed, waiting for you to freak out any second now. 

You could have, but instead you rushed to him and knelt beside him.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” Your hands hovered helplessly over his body, trying to see how bad the damage was in the dark. “You need a hospital–”

“No!” He snapped, trying to turn away but failing miserably. “I’ll be fine, I heal quickly.”

“You still need to stop the bleeding,” you countered, folding your knees under your body so you could rest on your calves. “Listen, I can help you. I took some medical courses last year and I have a kit somewhere.”

You looked at him with pleading eyes. He’d saved the city so many times, the fucking world, it was the least you could do to give something back. 

He considered his options for a second, and to be honest he didn’t have many. His body was betraying him, and he couldn’t even get up to fix it himself like usual. 

The blood loss made him nod, and you wasted no time in getting up and finding said kit. The blood loss also made him drift in and out of consciousness as you tended to the wounds on his ribs as much as you could. 

It did not make him less cautious of you though. When you noticed the rip on his mask over a nasty gash on his neck and reached for it, his hand closed around your wrist and even half conscious, his grip was strong. 

“Please,” he whispered. Pleaded. “Keep it on.” 

The fear in his voice made you promise you would. Even if you couldn’t get to that gash properly. Even when he fell asleep on your floor and didn’t wake up for six whole hours. 

The next morning, he opened his eyes and found you sitting on your bed, still staring at him. 

His hands patted his chest, and confirmed his arachnid powers had done its job and healed him mostly. But most importantly, his mask was still in place. With no warning from E.V of it being removed. He learned that you’d spent the night making sure he was still breathing without seeing his face. 

That had been one year ago. 

After thanking you profoundly for helping him, he’d repaired your window, apologized several times, and disappeared into the apartment next door. He then considered moving into another building, but the thought was brushed away very quickly when he remembered the balance in his bank account. 

So he acted more careful instead. For a while, he only turned back home when your curtains were already closed, or he only left the apartment when you had already left for your job (because yes, he absolutely researched the hell out of you after that night.)

Then he moved to the attic of the building. Bigger space, no neighbors, no risks. No you. Or at least he thought. 

Because some nights…some delirious nights he still found your window a few stories down, and the accidental visits became less accidental. When he was too badly injured to care for himself, he came to you, even after you confessed your degree had nothing to do with medicine. 

When he noticed you understood about his equipment malfunctioning, he’d bring it for you to inspect. When he became too reckless with himself you talked his ear off about how being difficult to kill did not make him immortal.

Somewhere along the way, you became spiderman’s friend. 

Spiderman was safer. With you, spiderman was the only part of him he could let you see. Because that was the thing, you only knew the masked superhero. 

He’d spent so much time blocking away his identity, making peace with the fact that there was no longer anyone in the world who would call him Peter and know exactly who that person was. That name only belonged to the people that once knew him, and no longer existed, so he never gave it to you.

Never showed you more than a sliver of skin when his mask rode up or glimpses of his abdomen when you tended to his wounds. He always kept that barrier and you respected it, even on those nights he was too weak to stop you. Even if sometimes not knowing the color of his eyes kept you up at night. 

A promise was a promise. 

Maybe that’s why he kept coming. Why he trusted you with a certainty he couldn’t understand. Why he eventually showed you his new living quarters in the attic and let you spend time with him. Why half a year ago, he added another chair next to his desk so you could work together, or help him when he was out patrolling and needed an extra set of eyes.

“I’m officially the girl in the chair, spidey,” you joked that time as you sat next to him, spinning around in your chair.

He’d gone quiet immediately, his body tensing up enough to make you frown, but then managed a small smile and said you were. You pretended you didn’t notice him being too quiet as he worked on his inhibitor after that. 

He was wearing a hoodie, sweatpants and the mask. Always the mask that didn’t quite let you see through him. After a moment of quiet, you rolled your chair closer to his and nudged his arm playfully. 

“You know I can’t keep calling you spidey forever, right?” 

He snapped out of his trance, and the chuckle that came from under the fabric was unmistakable. 

“Why not?” He nudged your arm back, but still focused on the device he was hunched over. “I like spidey.”

You put your elbow on the desk, resting your cheek on your hand so you could lean a little closer. 

“I like it too, but it feels ridiculous after having my hands all over your body almost every night.” 

The moment the words left your lips, you realized how bad that sounded. He straightened up, turning toward you.

“Wow.” Even if you couldn’t see the smile on his face, the lenses of his mask were quite expressive sometimes. He was amused. 

“That came out very wrong,” you said immediately, before he bursted into laughter. He had been laughing more since you entered his life. “You know what I meant,” you whined, laughing too with heat flooding your cheeks. 

“I think I know,” he chuckled, making you roll your eyes. 

“I’m being serious though,” you added, a little more quietly. “You don’t have to say your real name. Just give me something.”

“Mmm…” he acted like has considering it, going back to tinkering with the piece of metal between his fingers, but then his eyes drifted to the flowers he’d bought that morning, and the name came out of his lips before he could think twice about it. “You can call me Maynard.” 

“Maynard?” You repeated, suppressing a chuckle. “You don’t sound like a Maynard. That’s like an 80 year old man’s name.”

“That’s all I can give you,” he shrugged playfully. 

You had a feeling it went deeper than that, but you’d also learned not to push it with him. 

“Alright. Maynard,” you nodded, “but don’t expect me to use that name unless you’re dying. Guess I’ll stick to spidey for now,” you chuckled, going back to your own work as he hummed in agreement. 

The conversation ended there. With him trying not to think about your hands all over his body in…different conditions. 

Peter didn’t know exactly when his gratitude became longing. He could not identify the moment the friendship, the closeness, or just your smile, shifted into something he craved everyday. 

Despite the mask and the fake name, he knew that after years of being no one to everyone, he had become someone to you. And you had become everything to him. Even if it was behind walls he’d built, you were the person who knew him better than anyone alive.

Which is why, the night he lost control of himself after an unknown dust was thrown at him in a fight, he chose not to crash land into your room. 

Peter hit the floor of the dark attic with a loud thud, as his senses went overboard. His suit was sticking to his body uncomfortably due to the sweat coating his feverish skin. The fabric was intact, with no visible wounds in his body, just that burning sensation of something running through his veins. 

And that dark part of him he’d managed to lock down with the inhibitor, trying to claw its way out. 

“What the…what the fuck is going on,” he cursed, clutching his heaving chest as he panted against the worn wood floors. “I can’t–I can’t breathe…” 

The computer’s monotone voice broke through the silence. 

“You have arrived injured. I’m letting her know–”

“NO!” He cut the AI off, “EV, don’t tell her–”

“Message already sent.”  

He glanced up at the digital clock on his desk. 2:18 am. 

He groaned, grabbing his head when a wave of migraine hit him. He knew what came after that. The black eyes. The desire to break. To take. But this time something felt different. It was like a pull, looking for something or someone…for…for you? 

Oh fuck. 

You were going to come in and you were going to see him like this. No, no–

“Spidey?” You asked from behind the door, knocking exactly twice before opening it anyways.

The air changed the exact moment you walked in, and that something inside him shifted too. It became aware that the only thing it craved to survive was in the room now. 

He needed to get to you. He needed to pin you down and– 

“Don’t!” He managed to scream, holding his hand up weakly when you scrambled toward him. 

You stopped right in your tracks, eyes wide and running all over him, searching for torn fabric, blood, or anything that would explain why he looked like every breath was painful. 

“What happened?” You frowned, when you couldn’t find any source. “Did you get hurt?” 

You instinctively stepped forward, but he waved his hand in front of him again. 

“Stop, stop, stop,” he said quickly, “don’t come any closer.” 

The harshness in his voice caught you off guard, but what sealed the deal was him dragging himself further away from you. It was barely more than a clumsy, desperate crawl, but he managed to put a decent distance between you before collapsing against the side of his thrifted couch. 

He avoided looking at you. The oversized shirt covering your body, the comfy shorts you were probably wearing, the way your hair looked messy from rolling out of bed as soon as you got EV’s warning even if you had work the next morning.

You stayed right where you were, watching him. His suit had always fit him like it was painted on his skin, but every pant made his chest rise and fall beneath the fabric so violently that you wouldn’t be surprised if it ripped at the seams. 

This reminded you too much of the changes that happened in him months ago. 

It started with a sharpened temper, then the heightened sensitivity to everything, the black covering his eyes, and moments during patrol when his reactions became simply frightening for someone who had as much strength as he did. But you were supposed to have stopped it. 

“Is it the inhibitor?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest, “is it failing?” 

“I–I don’t know…I was hit with some dust out there,” he breathed. “I think it’s tampering with it…my head is killing me. Everything is too much.”

You nodded, turning toward the workstation. 

“I will check the programming. Just hold on.” Not your best attempt at reassuring him, but he groaned in acknowledgment. 

“EV?” 

The computer woke when you touched the keyboard, illuminating the dark attic in a wash of blue light. 

“Online.”

“Please run a diagnostic on the inhibitor and any possible interference.” 

“Beginning diagnostic.” 

You waited impatiently for the results, tapping your fingers on the desk while you watched him from the corner of your eye. 

Over there, he…he was doing his best trying to breathe. 

This obviously wasn't his first time having sensory overload. When the animal tried to take over the human part of him, everything in the city became impossible to escape. Not a single movement, or sound, or simple existence within miles was unnoticed by him. 

But this time? The rest of the city had disappeared. There were no sirens in the distance, or voices coming through the walls, or every heartbeat in the building pounding in his head. 

There was only you. 

Your rapid heartbeat echoing inside him. He felt every tap of your fingers against the wood, every slight catch in your breathing each time he made another involuntary and pathetic sound from his spot on the floor. 

Your scent…God, your scent filled the entire apartment. 

The scent he found himself coming back to so often that it scared him. He didn’t want the attachment. The possibility of having someone again only to risk losing them again. 

That same scent was making every muscle in his body react in a way he didn’t understand. It made him, and the other him, wanna do things to you he had only dreamed of in his wildest fantasies. Things he wasn’t proud of, things he wouldn’t dare to say out loud, even if he looked at you through the lenses of his mask and you couldn’t see the black in his eyes. 

He pressed the back of his head against the couch harshly. 

This was wrong. So wrong. 

His senses were supposed to consume everything when the change came. Instead, they had fixed themselves entirely on you.

He could feel the heat of your body from across the room as though you were still in front of him. Could remember with sickening detail how soft your hands looked when they reached for him. Could almost feel the burn of the touch that had never landed because he stopped you. 

What if he’d let you? What if he’d felt the way your hands ran all over his body? What if you’d moved them lower, and lower, as your mouth–

“Diagnostic complete.” 

Your heads snapped toward the screen. 

“There’s no external damage affecting the integrity of the device. I detected a foreign biotoxin in the bloodstream that may be bypassing the inhibitor, activating the suppressed arachnid hormones.” 

“What biotoxin?” You frowned. 

“Unknown. No matches found in available databases.” 

Great. He thought. He had no time to take a bath with Yelena Belova to find out what the stupid dust was. 

Tiny, microscopic potato, she would say.

The screen changed, displaying a model of his nervous system. There were yellow bright lines pulsing quickly, running all the way from the base of his brain down the length of his spine. Something unknown was moving through his blood, altering the part of him he had spent months forcing into submission.

He sucked in a breath as he watched you read the screen. Your eyes were focused, and a bead of sweat made its way down the side of your forehead. 

He suddenly felt the need to lick it off. 

Wanted to run his tongue from the base of your neck to the back of your ear. Wanted to fist your hair and make your heart beat out of your chest from how good he knew he could make you feel–

“The effects remain within his enhanced tolerance. However, prolonged exposure to certain hormones can cause extreme distress without relief.” 

“What hormones?” Your voice, worried and unknowing of his thoughts only made him feel guiltier. 

It took him a second to realize what you asked, but EV threw him under the bus before he could say anything. 

“There’s a significant rise in reproductive hormones. The unknown toxin is inducing a strong mating response in him.”

Mating response. He stopped breathing. 

Your eyes slowly moved from the monitor to him, and he saw the moment your attention dropped lower to the tent of his pants. 

That suit concealed nothing on a good day. On one like this? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck–

He shifted almost immediately, but the movement only worsened the pressure, pulling a helpless groan from his throat that made your pulse jump. You looked away at once, turning back to the computer. 

“Is there a way we can…umm…stop it?” You asked hesitantly. 

“The subject is experiencing severe sexual arousal with a fixation on a nearby individual,” she explained, because fuck him if he wasn’t the unluckiest individual on earth. “Acting upon it can be a positive option to relieve sexual tension.”

He wished the floor would open beneath him, swallow him, and never ever EVER spit him back out again.  

Your pulse was absolutely hammering after that. He caught the sudden change in your scent. There was a sharp spark of surprise, nervousness, and something else beneath it that his altered senses fed on immediately.

You kept your eyes fixed on the monitor, although the data had stopped meaning anything the moment you heard fixation on a nearby individual. 

“Is that what you really feel?” You asked softly after a moment. 

His head fell forward, catching it between his gloved hands. He didn’t know how to answer without making everything worse.

Although, after what EV said, could it really be worse? 

“…Yes.” The word came out rougher than he expected. Yet still not enough for what was happening inside him. “It’s like…I can only feel you. All of you.”

Heat rose to your face once again. 

“What does that mean?” 

Don’t say anything, don’t–

“I can smell you.” Great start, idiot. He cleared his dry throat before continuing. “I can smell your shampoo…the lotion you use…the ink on your hands from your favorite pen.” 

He chose not to mention he could also smell the adrenaline on you. The heat gathering slowly beneath your skin. 

Your eyes dropped to your hands, and under the dim light of the computer, you caught the ink stains in them from your journaling session before bed. 

“I can hear your heartbeat changing every time I speak,” he added. Okay, that one slipped out.  

You swallowed. And god, he felt that in his own throat. 

The suit was suffocating him at this point. He wanted to rip it off as much as he wanted to rip off the fabric covering the goosebumps on your skin. 

“Is it only because I’m nearby?” You asked, gathering the courage to turn your chair to him.

White lenses met you across the room. He dragged in another shaky breath of oxygen made of you as he thought about his next words. He could’ve lied. He should’ve lied. But instead, chemically overwhelmed and stripped of every defense he possessed, he gave you the truth. 

“No.”

His voice was firmer this time. No hesitation in it despite the thousand red alarms pounding in his head telling him to shut up. 

“It picked you–no, I picked you for a reason,” he added. “And it’s not just me. The other…the other me wants you too.” 

His voice went lower on the last part, that told you how much it cost him to admit that. 

The silence following his confession was heavy. For a moment he wished he could read your mind. For all he could feel of you, your thoughts were unreachable. 

His own mind was a mess. The impulses didn’t feel like thoughts anymore, just his body feeding him instructions. 

Get up. Cross the room. Touch her. Breathe her in.

His palms shook with the urge to close around you. His teeth ached with the need to graze your skin. His eyes burned with the desire to see beyond fabric. 

Every part of him seemed convinced that the small distance between you was a mistake he needed to correct. That he needed to breathe you in until his lungs burned. Drag his mouth along the inside of your wrist and taste the pulse there.

He hated it.

He hated that something inside him could look at the person he cared for the most and reduce her to an answer for his pain. 

“EV, how long is this state going to last?” He asked the computer, followed by a weak cough as he clutched his side. 

“Your enhanced physiology is struggling to break down the toxin’s structure. I estimate a time between ten to twelve hours before it’s metabolized. However, neurological collapse is expected before that timeframe.”

“What?” You looked at him. “There’s no way we’re letting that happen. Maybe I can–”

“Don’t even start,” he cut you off, shaking his head profusely. 

“So what? I’m supposed to sit here betting on whether your body collapses on hour three or hour six?” 

“I’ll just pass out, big deal. I’m not putting you in danger because of this. I can handle it.”

“You’re barely handling it now. There’s no danger in trying–”

“You don’t understand what’s happening inside me right now,” he argued, raising his voice. “This other thing, the one the inhibitor controls it’s…awake. That part of me doesn’t think like I do. It doesn’t care if you're scared, or hurting–”

“You wouldn’t hurt me–”

“You don’t know that!” He snapped, his fist struck the floor next to him, hard enough to make the worn wood crack beneath his knuckles. 

The sudden noise made you flinch. He smelled the flash of fear moving through your body for only a second. 

One second enough. 

“Fuck–that is what I mean,” he cursed, covering his lenses with his hands. “I don’t…I don’t know if I’d be gentle. I can’t risk this, I can't…shit, I can’t risk you.”

The words, said with so much pain, and honesty, seemed to settle somewhere deep in your chest. 

“Okay,” you nodded, settling deeper in your chair. “But I’m not leaving you like this. I can’t risk you either.”

He shuddered a painful exhale. His head dropped to the couch again, shutting his eyes in preparation of what the next hours of torture would be. 

Except…he didn’t even last ten minutes. 

The suit was killing him, so he decided he’d be better without it. He reached desperately behind his back, clumsily undoing the zippers that tied the suit together.

He could feel your wide eyes on him as he tugged the fabric off his shoulders, peeling it off his sweaty arms. He groaned when he lifted his hips and the suit grazed his swollen crotch. In a matter of seconds that felt like eternity he managed to break free from the spandex, and threw it away somewhere in the room. He’d undressed down to his dark boxers, mask still in place, revealing the marble sculpture of his body.

You let out a shaky breath from your spot, eyes raking over a body you’d only seen partially. He was covered in wounds most of the time, but this time, he only had faint bruises from the night before decorating his chiseled abs. 

His tight muscles flexed with every rise of his chest, his bulge straining harder the more you devoured him, pressing against his pants, making him curse quietly. 

You noticed, and returned your eyes to the screen to track his vitals. 

He felt grateful that you’d given him that grace, but just you being in that room made it very hard for him to think of anything other than your existence. 

Too hard. 

Before he knew his hand drifted down the growing ache in his crotch, trying to feel some relief, but every rub he made over the fabric of his boxers sent a jolt of pain through his body instead of pleasure. 

It only made it worse when he realized you were tense at the desk, trying very hard to keep your focus on the screen and not on the whines he was letting out. 

“…I’m sorry,” he apologized instantly, breathlessly, moving his hand away. “I didn’t–”

“Don’t apologize,” you shook your head quickly, eyes still on the screen. “You…you can do whatever you need.” 

He didn’t say anything, just whined in pain again, so you took it as a chance to say it before you regretted it. 

“But my offer still stands, spidey.” 

What a polite way of saying ‘I’d let you fuck me into next week so you can control your horny arachnid hormones, spidey.’

Fucking hell. 

“I’m okay I just–God I didn’t–I didn’t think it would feel this way…” He laughed humorlessly, staring at the ceiling. “But I–I got this. Yes.”

You kept quiet, hearing him mumble to himself about a hundred times about how he had this.

“I’m okay…I’m good…it’s fine…” 

He wasn’t. 

“Fuck I don’t…I’m going to die…”

For God’s sake. 

“I think I can help.”

By the time he registered the words and looked back at you, you had already moved from your chair and shortened the distance between you, kneeling in front of him. 

His senses went from one thousand to one million. He forced his hands behind his back, trying to keep the animal from grabbing you and getting it over with. 

“What–what are you doing?” He stammered nervously, the lenses of his mask going wide. 

“Maynard,” you said quietly, ignoring the way his body tensed up at that name. “Would it make you feel better if I put my hand here?” 

You placed your hand right in the center of his chest, and your cold palm met his overheated skin. He gasped, feeling every individual fingerprint on his skin. He wanted them marked on him. Tattooed. 

His back arched from the couch, with a strangled gasp breaking from beneath the mask. The relief hit him all at once, through a simple contact that felt like salvation. 

Your hand steadied him for only a glorious second, but now that you had touched him, his body knew precisely what it had been denied.

It wanted more.

His own hand closed around yours so suddenly that you almost pulled back, but he loosened his grip the instant he realized how tightly he was holding you. 

“Sorry–”

“Don’t apologize.” You pressed harder. 

He was burning.

The heat beneath your palm scared you, but what scared you more was the violent pounding of his heart beating against your hand so so quickly. 

“Better?” You asked quietly, trying not to bite your bottom lip at the image of him crumbling under your palm. 

“So fucking better,” he said breathlessly, pressing your hand tighter against his chest. “I…dammit–”

“Breathe,” you reminded.

His head fell back against the couch. Chest rising up and down, up and down, up and down. 

Just take her, man, she’s right there–

Your free hand accidentally brushed his neck, right where the border of the mask started, snapping him right back. He grabbed your hand, not harshly, but firm enough to make your breath hitch. 

“Please.” Was all he said. 

Leave it on. 

It brought you back to that first night he’d crashed into your life. 

“I wasn’t planning on removing it,” you whispered, leaning closer. “You can keep it on. But let me help you…I really want to.”

See? She wants it. She needs it so bad. 

He hated that the other guy was right. He knew you meant what you said because he could smell the proof pooling between your thighs.

Fuck it.

In a sudden movement he reached for your waist, dragging you forward so you were straddling his lap. The bulge you landed on made you gasp, hands instinctively grabbing onto his sweaty biceps for balance when he let out a broken groan that vibrated against your core. 

His hand cupped your jaw, bringing it closer to his face, and your dilated pupils reflected on the white of his lenses. 

“I can feel that you want this,” he mumbled, tilting his head to the side. “Please, say it again…”

You shifted your hips, barely, so minimal yet he felt it travel through his whole body. He hissed, tightening the grip on your jaw. 

“I want this,” you repeated firmly, moving your head closer to his ear. “You can take whatever you need…”

You moved your hips again, more deliberate this time, pulling a broken whine from him. The toxin made every contact feel like electricity racing down his spine, straight to the heavy, aching weight of his cock under you. 

“Yes…yeah just like that…” he panted. “Just let me…”

His hands landed on your waist, moving you back and forth at a quicker pace over his bulge. You gasped at the friction, fingers digging into his shoulders, while he let out a collection of muffled words you could barely understand. 

“...M–more…” he whined, throwing his head back against the couch. “I can’t–I need…”

“What do you need? More what?” 

“More contact.”

His hands left your waist to grab the hem of your shirt. 

“Can I?” He whispered.

You nodded eagerly, gasping when his hands shifted to the collar of your shirt instead, ripping it off your body with a sharp pull. 

“Oh fuck,” he cursed when he realized there was nothing under that shirt, and saw your nipples hardening instantly under the cold air. 

He resisted the urge to bite them through the mask. 

His hands, however, wasted no time to cup your breasts with a broken whine. His thumbs played with your nipples, tugging at them as hard as he could allow himself to without hurting you. 

“Fuck you’re perfect…you’re so perfect…” he whispered, more to himself than you, pulling some soft whimpers out of you when he tugged a little harder. His hands drifted to your lower half, to the hem of the last piece keeping your body from his greedy eyes. “These too,” he said, “please, can I? I want to feel you.”

“Yes,” you nodded, already out of air. 

You didn’t even know why you tried to get off his lap to take the shorts off properly, when he just did the same as the shirt: ripped it in half where it rested on your hips, yanked it off from your body and threw the ruined pieces far away. 

You weren’t wearing anything underneath. 

“I can smell you. God, I can smell you. You’re so–oh God…”

Now he could feel your wetness drenching his boxers, dripping onto the fabric. He could almost taste it in his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to drown in it for hours. 

“Can–can I–?”

You didn’t even let him finish, you grabbed his hand and placed it right between your legs. 

Water. He found water in the middle of the dessert. 

His hand moved carefully through your wet folds once, twice, delighting in your warmth, the way you felt, the way you let out the prettiest sound he had ever heard in his miserable life. 

“Fuck…” you cursed softly, moving your hips eagerly when he kept stroking slow. Too slow. “Touch me, please.”

He obliged, fingers finding your clit in movements that had you gripping his shoulders tighter, eyes fluttering shut so beautifully he had to bite his lip to not let out a pathetic sound. 

“Been wanting this,” he mumbled. “Longer than today. Longer than tonight.”

His finger slid inside of you, making you moan when he curled it just right. 

“There were…there were nights I thought about you riding my hand,” he kept going, voice cracking as he added a second finger, stretching you more. “I’ve wanted you for so long–not just because of this shit in my blood. Because it’s you.”

Every word made you clench around his fingers. Every admission pulled another shaky moan out of your throat. You were a mess already, breathless, hips rolling down to meet the thrust of his fingers. 

“Oh my God–don’t stop, please don’t stop–”

“Not stopping, baby.” 

He kept working you open, the white lenses of the mask never leaving your face. His free hand slid up your chest, settling between your breasts. 

“I’m–I’m close,” you managed. “I’m so close–”

“Come on…you’re perfect. You’re so fucking perfect like this.”

The heel of his palm lifted to press against your clit. You were right there, right on the edge, about to come on his hand and drip down his boxers–

“Please,” he begged, unable to keep it in. “Let me fuck you after this…please. I need to be inside you. I’ve needed it for so long–just let me, after you come, please, please–”

The plea undid you.

You came with a broken cry, stopping your movements as your walls pulsed around him. The sound you made against his shoulder nearly finished him right there. 

It took you a second to just breathe again, your chest synching up with his in the search of oxygen. He kept rocking his hand slowly, not just to work you through the aftershocks, but because the friction of your pussy in his hand brought the tiniest relief to him. 

You just stayed there as the last soft waves rolled through you. 

Once you were able to see clearly again, you let out a breathless chuckle and straightened back up. 

He needed you. He needed you so badly you really thought he was going to die if you didn’t help him. 

You placed one hand on his chest as the other reached under you, slipping inside the fabric of his boxers without breaking eye contact. 

The second your bare fingers brushed him, his hips jerked hard under you. 

“You said please,” you whispered breathlessly. 

You wrapped your fingers around him and pulled him free.

His cock sprang out, heavy and flushed between your bodies, so thick and hard and painful. The head was red and shiny, with precum dripping down the vein that ran along his length. The tip brushed the skin of your stomach, leaving a warm, wet patch that made the hair on your arms go up. He could smell the small flicker of intimidation sparking inside you, but the want that followed was stronger. 

You stroked him a few times, slowly just as he’d touched you at first. 

“Oh my God, your hand–your hand–”

Another thick bead of precum welled up and spilled over your fingers. Whether it was the toxin or just his enhanced physiology, he was dripping for you.  

Flustered wasn’t enough of a word when you had his leaking cock in your hand. 

His hands slid down to your hips, gripping tighter, guiding you up as if he was about to lift you then pulling you back down immediately. 

Fuck her. Fuck her right now. 

“Please, I need–I need to feel you…” he cried out. “Let me…let me…”

You nodded just as desperately, lifting yourself up as he helped, steadying you with shaking hands until the thick head of his cock nudged against your entrance. You both exhaled hard at the same time when you started to sink down, taking him inch by inch.

He was big. Almost too much. The burn of it made your breath hitch, but the way he cursed under his breath multiple times, completely at your mercy, made you keep going until he was buried balls deep.

You sat there for a moment, breathing heavily, and so full of him. 

When the initial sting faded away, you started moving. He let you set the pace as you adjusted, holding back his need of thrusting up. His fingers dug on your skin, not lifting just holding you, but the more that you moved, the more that control started to waver. 

He could feel it coming. The change. 

You kept moaning, bouncing on top of him, completely unaware of his self restraint crumbling away. 

His grip slowly tightened when his eyes began turning completely black under his mask. That careful, pathetic boy who’d been begging disappeared beneath something more…primal. 

Fuck. Whatever had been holding him back finally snapped.

The next thing he knew, his hands slid under your thighs with sudden strength. He lifted you up in one motion until only the thick head of him remained inside you, held you there for a second as the last part of him tried to remember how to be gentle–then snapped his hips up hard.

That first thrust pulled a sharp moan out of you, but there was no chance to adjust this time. He set a relentless pace almost immediately, using pure strength to bounce you on his cock while he drove up to meet every drop of your body, buried so deep it stole your breath every time he bottomed out. 

“Oh my–May…Maynard–” the name you barely used on him slipped out in the middle of the frenzy, but his hand reached behind your head to pull your hair back slightly as he kept thrusting up. 

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped, his voice so different from just minutes earlier. “It’s Peter. Call me Peter when I’m inside you.” 

He didn’t even give you time to process, still lifting and dropping you onto his cock at the exact hard rhythm he wanted. The only one that satisfied the need inside of him. Your hands instinctively reached for the edge of the arm of the couch he was leaning against, fingers digging into the worn fabric as he hit that spot inside you over and over again. 

“Of fuck…Peter–fuck…yes…”

“That’s better,” he approved. “I was right, you’re so so perfect…taking every inch like you need it as bad as I do…”

A desperate sound slipped out of you at the praise, he could feel your walls clenching tight around him as your body went for that second orgasm, your eyes were fluttering shut, almost there–

“Nuh–uh,” he denied immediately, stopping mid thrust, holding you pressed against him as you gasped, surprised and confused. 

“What–what happened? I was about to–”

“I want you to hold it for me. I know you can.”

That twisted part of him enjoyed the slow realization on your face. 

Even if you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew the same spiderman he’d been without the inhibitor, was the one with your body at his mercy now. 

Good. 

He stayed buried to the hilt for a moment, breathing hard behind the mask. When your breathing finally slowed down and accepted that the high never came, he stood up. Still inside you, he walked you to the bed in the corner of the room. 

His bed.

He pulled out with a wet sound that made both of you groan, then laid you down roughly near the edge of the mattress. He kneeled down, strong hands hooking behind your knees and dragging your legs over his shoulders, folding you open for him completely.

“Look at the ceiling,” he ordered. “Don’t look at me.”

You obeyed, staring up at the wood beams high above you while he tugged the bottom of the mask just high enough to free his mouth. 

Peter leaned down and pressed a few soft kisses to your swollen folds. He wasn’t necessarily eating you out, just giving a few loud smooches that felt good enough to make you grip the sheets. 

“M’sorry, you were so perfect there…” he mumbled condescendingly against your most sensitive spots. “But I need you to hold on a little longer. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?” 

You nodded, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. Maybe too eager. Maybe too pathetic. Just like he’d been. Had he pumped that toxin into you? 

Either way, you didn’t care. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like this version of him. 

He laughed right over your clit when you moaned loudly, after he moved his tongue in a slow, torturous swipe over it. 

“Was back there too much?” He cooed. “Maybe I just need to stretch you more...”

Two fingers slid inside you, so easily, but the sudden stretch still dragged a whine out of your throat. He curled them immediately, finding the spot that made your hips jerk. 

“Peter…” 

“Huh?” He acted coy, pumping his fingers with a rhythm that kept you right on the edge without letting you tip over. He added a third finger, making your back arch from the mattress. “Keep holding it in.”

Every shake of your body fed the stupid toxin inside him. Having you like this…really trying to keep your body from coming apart because he said so. 

God. He was never going back. 

“You just took my cock. I think you can take three fingers with no problem.” 

He kept the same relentless pace, chuckling when your body started twitching again. 

“Shhh, you’re perfect, absolutely perfect…”

“Peter…” you called out again, hand dropping the sheet to find his shoulder instead. “I need…need…”

“Need what?”

“Need you inside me…please I won’t–I won’t hold for much longer just–fuck me.”

He stopped altogether, a smirk you couldn’t see stretching the corner of his mouth. He pulled his fingers out with a wet pop, licking them clean before tugging his mask back in place and standing up. 

“Yeah?” 

Your legs dangled off the edge of the bed for a moment before his hands gripped your hips and turned you over. He moved you higher up the bed, grabbing one of the pillows, and shoving it under your hips, tilting your lower body up for him. 

He then climbed onto the bed behind you and knelt between your spread thighs, the mattress dipping under his weight as one hand stroked down the length of your spine. 

But something made him stop. 

“This fucking mask–” he cursed under his breath. “It’s suffocating me.”

The sweat on his forehead had pooled under the mask, making it so sticky over his eyebrows that it was affecting the lenses he was trying to see you through. 

“I need you to be a good girl for me,” he added breathlessly, yet still commanding enough. “Keep your head on the mattress. Ass up. Don’t turn around.”

You nodded. Too eagerly again. Couldn’t care any less again. 

He didn’t think twice, just yanked the mask off and tossed it aside. It landed near you, making you bury half your face on the sheets as if staring at the mask alone would be disobeying his commands. 

The sound he made when the cool air hit his face was pure relief. He swiped the sweat off with his forearm, finally seeing you clearly. Face down. Eyes squeezed shut. Already clutching the sheets. 

“You look so pretty like this,” he mumbled. “All spread out for me…waiting.”

“Peter…” you whined, lifting your ass slightly from the pillow. 

“I know, I know. You’re okay.” He couldn’t keep the smirk away when he added, “you said please.”

He reached between you, guiding the thick head of his cock between your thighs until it nudged against your entrance. You were still soft and ready and perfect. 

Peter pushed in slowly, letting you feel every inch as he sank deep and deep and deeper. 

He braced one hand beside your head and kept the other on your hip, pushing you into the mattress as his thighs hit the back of yours. Slap. Slap. Slap. The position left almost no space between your bodies, with Peter pressing his chest against your back. 

“Fuck…you feel so good like this…so pretty taking me.”

He kept going, making the mattress creak and the base of the bed hit the brick wall repeatedly. Your desperate moans ran through his body like electricity, making something inside him crack open again. 

What? What is–

The moment his rhythm stuttered, he shook his head, trying to clear it. Beads of sweat flew from his hair to your back. 

“God–you…you’re making me–” The roughness of his thrusts slowed down immediately, inhaling a sharp intake of air as he felt the change again. “I can’t, I can’t…”

He lifted his gaze to the window behind the bed and noticed his eyes had turned back to its original color. 

“Oh my god,” he gasped, stopping altogether. He straightened up, still kneeling and inside you, but panicking. “I’m…I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened I–“

“Peter!” You cut him off, pushing yourself back, closer to him, without turning around. “Shut up and fuck me.”

The order left your mouth breathless, pushing back against him even more to make the point clear. His hands twitched when they gripped your hips again. 

“Okay, okay…” he panted, groaning when you dropped back on the bed and his cock almost left the warmth of your pussy. “I’m sorry–if I was too rough, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

He picked up the pace again, but the words tumbling out of him now were pure pleading Peter again. 

“Don’t turn around–don’t turn around–fuck, fuck…” slap, slap, slap. “You can come now. Please. Please, I want to feel it–you’d come apart so pretty on me, I know you would…pleasepleaseplease–”

His final permission and the desperate way he said it made you crash harder than the first time, crying out into the mattress. The second he felt you coming around him, he knew he couldn’t last much longer either.

“Can I–inside…please, can I??…let me fill you up–”

“Yes–inside, Peter, do it inside me…” 

He buried himself to the hilt with a strained groan and finally came. The orgasm tearing out of him was harder and longer than anything he’d ever felt, holding you there, filling you up. 

You gasped against the sheets, breathless, as the waves of cum seemed to go on forever, flooding you with warm and thick ropes in every spurt as he emptied himself inside you. 

“Thank you…thank you…” His forehead dropped between your shoulder blades, sending broken gasps against your skin as he kept coming. “You are so perfect–fuck…so perfect…thank you…”

The pollen wrung him dry until he could barely breathe, and even then he kept rolling his hips weakly, chasing the last of it while he slowly softened inside you. 

When it finally eased, the pain, the need, the hunger…he pulled out slowly with a whine, and half collapsed over you. His arms held most of his weight as he planked above you, but you could feel every ridge of his muscles brushing your sweaty skin. 

Peter’s eyes fluttered shut, feeling exhausted and aching in the best way, almost lulled by the sounds of your agitated breaths. 

You both felt the warm trail of liquid leaking out between your bodies and neither of you moved or said anything for a while. He could’ve stayed like that forever, really. With your naked body under him, no masks, no barriers, just your swollen pussy leaking out his seed–

“Successful ejaculation brought down the arachnid hormone levels immediately. Inhibitor working within regular parameters now. Congratulations, Peter.” 

EV’s monotone voice cut through the silence. 

It took two seconds of shock before you both broke into breathless laughter. His teeth grazed your back as your bodies vibrated in sync from the amusement and overall flustering after everything that happened. 

“Thank you, EV,” Peter muttered. 

“You’re welcome. I gathered data and the released semen volume exceeds standard parameters by two hundred and twenty six percent due to the high hormonal concentration. Hydration, clean up and rest are advised.”

“For fucks sake…” Peter cursed under his breath. 

“Oh god…” you mumbled against the sheets. 

That was your call back to reality. 

Peter felt you move under him, reaching blindly to the side until your hand found the mask. You lifted it over your shoulder, offering it to him without looking. 

“I don’t want to,” he said, too quickly, then cleared his throat. “I…I don’t want to put it back on.” 

“Then I’ll close my eyes,” you offered instead. 

“No–I mean…you don’t have to. I don’t want to wear it around you anymore. Not after…all of this,” he admitted sheepishly. 

“But you told me to not turn around,” you reminded him, dropping the mask on the mattress again. “And that was you, not the darker you.”

He chuckled, nodding even if you couldn’t see him yet. 

“Yeah, because if I saw your face while I was balls deep inside you I would’ve busted before you came.”

There it was. He said it. No turning back now. 

At least it got a chuckle from you too. 

“Listen I…I meant everything I said. Everything. The wanting, the nights I thought about you,” he confessed. “I don’t want you to feel like I just used you when…when there was always a reason why I needed you like oxygen tonight.”

Your breath hitched, and his hand found your waist, pulling you closer to him, and when you didn’t push away…he exhaled in relief behind you. 

“So maybe…you can turn around now. If–if you want to. Know the real me.”

“I would really like that,” you whispered without hesitation. 

You tried lifting yourself up to turn around, but he did most of the job, moving away the pillow he had placed under you and helping you roll onto your back. You closed your eyes, at least until you were facing him completely, and took a deep breath. Holding onto his biceps for moral support, you finally opened them again. 

Seeing his face for the first time felt so intimate, even after everything you just did. 

There he was. The same guy who just fucked you into next week, looking more shy and boyish than you could’ve ever imagined. 

Brown eyes. Dark, curly hair sticking to his forehead. A nervous smile tugging at the corner of his gorgeous mouth. 

So young. So earnest. So yours. 

Not spidey anymore. Just Peter. 

Your Peter. 

Thank you so much for reading 🤍 I used to write Peter so much back in the day (shoutout to my starktonyx era) and I’ve missed him dearly.

Feedback is always appreciated 🕷️

Divider by @andromeda-graphics

The ride home is quiet in the best way.

Soobin’s hand never leaves you once you’re in the backseat. Even half-asleep, he keeps you tucked into his side like instinct, fingers warm over your thigh while the city lights smear across the windows. His head tips against yours every few minutes whenever the car slows down, sleepy little apologies falling from his lips each time.

“Sorry,” he murmurs after bumping your shoulder again.

“You’re literally fine.”

“M’heavy.”

“You are enormous, actually.”

His tired laugh rumbles low in his chest, warm through the quiet interior of the car. For a second he just looks at you with those heavy-lidded drunk eyes, dimples appearing slowly like his face is too sleepy to fully smile.

Then his eyebrows lift. “That’s what sh—”

“Babe,” you cut him off immediately, already laughing in disbelief as you shove lightly at his chest. “Stop. You’ve been watching way too many episodes of The Office.”

Soobin’s grin spreads wider instantly, all pleased with himself for getting a reaction out of you. It looks especially ridiculous on him right now—slumped bonelessly against the seat, cheeks pink from alcohol, hair falling over his forehead while he fights to keep his eyes open.

“I’m practicing my English, jagiya,” he says with exaggerated seriousness, words slightly slurred around the edges.

His laugh comes softer this time, quieter, until it dissolves into a sleepy sigh when he drops his head onto your shoulder again. One of his large hands slides lazily over your thigh, thumb brushing back and forth absentmindedly beneath the fabric of your jeans while the city lights flicker across his flushed face.

By the time you finally make it home, he’s visibly running on fumes.

The second the apartment door shuts behind you, the silence wraps around both of you instantly—warm, familiar, private. Shoes abandoned by the entrance, your bag dropped onto the console table, the faint scent of laundry detergent and vanilla from the candle you forgot to blow out earlier lingering in the air.

Soobin exhales deeply like he’s been holding himself together all night. Then the man just… melts. His forehead drops onto your shoulder dramatically, arms sliding around your waist from behind.

“Home,” he mumbles into your neck, voice rough with exhaustion.

You laugh softly, prying his hands loose enough to turn around. His cheeks are still pink from the alcohol, fluffy hair falling into his eyes, lips slightly swollen from unconsciously biting at them all night. He looks unfairly good standing there all sleepy and oversized in his wrinkled button-up.

“You need water.”

“M’kay.” He says it immediately, obedient and soft, eyes already drifting shut again like agreeing to the task was enough to complete it.

He does not move an inch.

You stare at him for a second from where you’re standing while he remains exactly where he is—tall body slumped against the wall, shoes half-kicked off, blinking slowly at absolutely nothing.

“Soobin baby.”

“Hm?” His head lifts just enough to acknowledge you, sleepy gaze finally finding yours.

“The water?”

“Right.”

Still doesn’t move.

You snort, stepping around him toward the kitchen, immediately hearing his socked feet dragging after you. The kitchen light spills soft gold across the countertops while you fill two glasses. Behind you, Soobin leans heavily against the island watching you with hooded eyes, completely silent.

You slide his water toward him. He takes two obedient sips before abandoning the glass entirely the second you step between his legs to put yours down beside the sink.

Immediately, his hands settle on your hips. Warm, heavy, like they belong there.

“You know,” he says slowly after a moment, voice warm with sleep and alcohol, “I think Beomgyu was trying to hit on that staff tonight.”

You glance up at him. “What?”

“Mhm.” His thumbs drag lazily against your sides. “That funny one. Soram-ssi.” He squints slightly like he’s replaying the memory in real time. “He kept filling her drink everytime she was finishing.”

You laugh instantly. “Poor Gyu.”

Soobin hums in agreement, cheek pressing briefly against your head before he looks at your eyes again. “He's the worst at flirting.”

“He’s still trying to recover from his trainee-days heartbreak,” you tease softly, reaching up to smooth his messy fringe away from his forehead. “That boy sees one cute girl and immediately starts planning the wedding.”

A sleepy grin spreads across Soobin’s face. “He really does.”

“He’s probably writing sad lyrics about her already.”

His laughter comes out quieter this time, dissolved into a tired sigh as his arms tighten around your waist instinctively, pulling you a little closer between his knees. The kitchen falls comfortably silent again for a few seconds except for the low hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of traffic outside your apartment windows.

Then, completely unprompted, Soobin murmurs against your shirt:

“I’m glad I don’t have to flirt anymore.”

Your expression softens immediately. “Oh?”

“Mmm.” His eyes drift shut for a second. “Too much work.” A pause. “You already like me.”

The smugness in his sleepy voice makes you laugh again, but the sound catches somewhere in your chest when he continues. “Still can’t believe it sometimes,” he admits quietly. His smile turns soft at that. Really soft. The kind that always catches you off guard after all these years together.

He pulls you a little closer until your knees press between his, face getting closer for a second before he looks at you again. His expression shifts slightly then—slower, warmer. Charged.

“You wore that perfume on purpose tonight,” he murmurs.

Your breath catches a little. “What perfume?”

“That one.” His nose brushes your jaw when he leans closer. “The one that I told you I really really really really liked last time.”

“So dramatic.”

“M’serious.” His voice drops lower on the last word, making the room suddenly feels smaller.

You try to look away first, but his hand slides up your side, fingertips disappearing beneath the hem of your shirt just enough to touch warm skin. Lazy, absentminded, possessive.

“Soob,” you whisper, mostly because he keeps staring at your mouth.

“Hm?” His answer comes automatically, eyes half-lidded and fixed on your lips while his thumbs continue their slow lazy circles against your waist beneath your shirt.

“You were literally falling asleep five minutes ago.” You try to sound unimpressed, but it’s difficult when he’s looking at you like that. “Are you trying to get in my pants because this is the first time you’ve been able to sleep in since promotions started?”

The corner of his mouth twitches immediately. You narrow your eyes slightly when he leans forward again like he’s about to kiss you instead of answer properly.

“Don’t you have a schedule tomorrow morning?” you ask, pressing a hand lightly against his chest before he can fully close the distance. “Something about getting drunk on live broadcast all over again?”

That finally makes him laugh, a soft, sleepy sound that vibrates warm against your palm.

“That’s next week,” he mumbles, words brushing against your skin because he’s still trying to sneak closer between every sentence. “Tomorrow we’re off.”

“Convenient, right?” You side eye him.

“It’s true.” His nose nudges your jaw affectionately. “Stop pretending I didn’t send you my whole schedule last night, jagi.”

You blink and then narrow your eyes harder. “You sent me seventeen screenshots and a voice note where you forgot what day it was halfway through.”

“I was tired.”

“You said—and I quote—‘Thursday is either dance practice or dentist.’”

Soobin immediately starts laughing again, shoulders shaking this time.

“That could’ve been accurate.” His dimples deepen when you try—and fail—not to smile back at him. The expression on his face softens instantly at the sight of it, drunk affection settling over his features so openly it nearly melts you on the spot.

Then, quieter this time, his hands sliding a little lower against your waist:

“So can I focus on you now?”

The way he says it—low, sleepy, sincere—sends heat straight down your spine. You laugh under your breath, but it dies quickly when he pulls you flush against him between his knees, burying his face briefly against your chest with a tired groan.

“Missed you all night,” he mumbles.

You run your fingers through his hair slowly, feeling Soobin practically melt beneath your touch. His nose brushes lazily against the warm skin just above your collarbone, lips following a second later in slow absentminded kisses that feel more affectionate than intentional at first. Like he’s kissing you because he missed the feeling of it.

You feel his breathing change before he speaks again. “Hate sleeping alone,” he murmurs softly against your skin, confessing. “Couldn’t sleep properly last week,” he admits after a moment, words slower now, almost drowsy. “Kept waking up.”

You tilt his face up gently until his eyes meet yours again. They look glassy with exhaustion, pink-cheeked and soft under the kitchen lights, all the bravado from dinner gone now that it’s just the two of you.

“You should’ve called me,” you whisper.

“Mmm.” His thumb strokes beneath your shirt absentmindedly. “Didn’t wanna wake you.”

You feel the exact moment his attention shifts from sleepy affection into something slower and deeper. His hand slides further beneath your shirt, broad palm flattening against your side while he leans in again, mouth brushing your neck with more intention this time. Not teasing anymore. Not distracted.

His lips press slowly beneath your jaw, warm and slightly parted, and the quiet sound he makes against your skin nearly melts your knees on the spot.

“Soob…” you breathe.

He hums softly in response, still kissing your neck like he’s half-asleep and addicted to the feeling of you under his mouth. His other hand tightens on your hip when you shift closer between his legs instinctively.

He murmurs quietly against your skin, voice rougher now. “Missed this.”

His mouth drifts lower while he speaks, kisses getting slower and wetter now, lingering long enough to leave warmth blooming across your skin. One of his hands slips around your back, fingertips spreading against the base of your spine before pulling you fully flush against him.

You can feel how deeply he exhales at that.

The second you kiss him back properly, something in him changes, his grip tightens sharply at your waist. A low sound catches in his throat before he kisses you again, deeper this time. The kiss turns deep instantly — slow, wet, filthy in that way only years of knowing each other can make it.

“Missed your mouth,” he breathes against your lips, voice gravelly and thick with soju and need. He kisses you again before you can answer, tilting his head to get the perfect angle. He’s so tall that even when bending his torso he still towers over you, shoulders curved forward like he wants to wrap his entire frame around you.

The sound that leaves him when your fingers tug lightly at his hair nearly makes your knees give out.

“Bin…” you breathe against his mouth, already a little dizzy from the way he keeps pulling you closer every few seconds like he’s unconsciously trying to climb inside your space.

“Hm?”

You laugh softly despite yourself, chest rising unevenly while he keeps kissing the corner of your mouth, your jaw, anywhere he can reach without letting you go for more than a second.

“I didn’t shave today,” you murmur between breaths, trying and failing to sound serious. “Tone it down a little, Choi.”

Soobin pauses.

“Be fucking serious.”

You burst into laughter immediately, but it gets swallowed halfway when he crowds back into your space again, huge hands gripping your waist tighter.

“Do you genuinely think I give a fuck right now?” he mutters against your lips before kissing you again, slower this time but somehow even filthier. “I’m trying to get into my girlfriend’s pants because it’s been, like, a whole week since I saw her.”

“Whole week,” you repeat weakly.

“A tragic week.”

His voice drops lower at the last part, words vibrating against your skin while his mouth drifts back down your neck again. You can feel him smiling faintly against you when your fingers tighten instinctively in his hair.

“Do you know how hard it was sleeping alone after FaceTiming you every night?” he murmurs. “You’d answer looking all comfy in bed on purpose.”

“I literally wear pajamas.”

“Tiny pajamas.”

“They’re shorts.”

“They’re evil.”

You laugh breathlessly again, but it dissolves into a shaky exhale when his hands slide beneath your shirt more fully this time, palms warm against your bare skin while he kisses slowly beneath your jaw. Then his grip tightens suddenly.

“Jump,” he murmurs.

You blink, breathless. “What?”

“C’mon.” His hands slide down beneath your thighs already, sleepy impatience slipping into his voice. “Jump, baby.”

You laugh softly, but wrap your arms around his shoulders anyway. The second you hop up, Soobin catches you effortlessly with a quiet grunt, hands locking beneath your thighs while your legs instinctively wrap around his waist.

And immediately—

“Oh my God,” you choke out, laughing against his shoulder. Because now you can fully feel him. Hard. Very hard.

Pressed directly against you beneath his jeans.

Soobin freezes for half a second as your laughter gets worse.

“Binnie,” you gasp, trying to breathe through your cackling. “You're so hard, baby.”

“Shut up,” he mutters instantly, voice deep and embarrassed against your neck while he starts walking anyway. That only makes you laugh harder.

“You were acting all sleepy five minutes ago and now this!”

“Baby,” he groans warningly, squeezing the back of your thigh hard enough to make you jolt a little. “Please.”

You’re still giggling when he carries you out of the kitchen, one large hand supporting you easily while the other keeps sliding up and down your thigh absentmindedly. His face stays buried against your neck the entire walk down the hallway like he’s trying to hide both his expression and his dignity.

“You think this is funny?” he mutters.

“Yes. You literally told me to jump.”

“Because I missed my girlfriend.”

“You missed having sex.”

“That too.”

You laugh again under your breath, arms still looped loosely around his shoulders while he carries you down the hallway. The apartment is quiet except for your giggling and the soft sound of his socked feet against the floor, his hands warm beneath your thighs as he holds you effortlessly against him.

Soobin nodges your bedroom door open with his shoulder.

The room is dim except for the soft amber glow from the lamp near the bed, your half-folded laundry still abandoned on the chair from two days ago and one of Soobin’s hoodies draped over the edge exactly where he left it two weeks ago.

The second he reaches the bed, he lets himself fall forward with you still attached to him.

You squeal, laughing as the mattress dips beneath both your weights, but before you can fully collapse backward, Soobin catches himself with one arm and carefully lowers you onto the middle of the bed instead.

Then he finally straightens up between your legs, hands still resting on your thighs for a second like he doesn’t quite want to let go yet.

Then his eyes drift downward. “Fuck,” he mutters quietly to himself. You follow his gaze instantly and burst into laughter again because his jeans look genuinely painful now.

“Oh, you are suffering.”

“Jagi,” he groans, dragging both hands down his face. “Please have mercy on me.”

Still muttering under his breath, Soobin reaches for the button of his jeans, fingers slightly clumsy from the alcohol while he starts undoing them with a tired sigh. You push yourself upright against the pillows to watch him, entirely too entertained by the situation.

And shameless.

Your eyes drag slowly over him while he struggles with the button for a second, broad shoulders still stretching that button up distractingly well, hair messy from your hands, cheeks flushed pink all the way to the tips of his ears.

God.

The second his eyes flick back up toward you, you pull your shirt over your head in one smooth motion.

Soobin freezes.

Actually freezes.

His half-open jeans suddenly seem completely forgotten while his gaze drops instantly to your chest, the expression on his face shifting from sleepy amusement into something visibly heavier.

“Fucking hell,” he breathes.

The words come out rough, almost reverent. Soobin’s hands drop away from his half-undone jeans like he’s completely forgotten they exist.

He’s on you in a second.

Big hands slide under your thighs, gripping hard as he pulls you down the bed so you’re flat on your back. You yelp at the sudden shift, a surprised little sound that melts into a laugh — which he immediately swallows with his mouth.

The kiss is messy and desperate from the start.

Soobin groans low in his throat the moment your lips meet, tilting his head to slot your mouths together deeper. His tongue pushes past your lips without hesitation, hot and slick, sliding against yours in slow, filthy strokes. He kisses like he’s starving — wet, open-mouthed, a little clumsy from the alcohol but so familiar he still knows exactly how to wreck you. His tongue curls around yours, sucking lightly before he licks deeper, exploring like he’s trying to map every inch of your mouth.

You moan into him and he answers with a wrecked sound of his own, one large hand cupping the back of your neck to keep you right where he wants you while the other palms the buttons of your jeans.

He manhandles you again — suddenly flipping you so you’re straddling his lap, your knees sinking into the bed on either side of his hips. You yelp against his mouth at the easy strength, the way his big hands grip your behind and yank you flush against him. The sound only makes him kiss you harder.

Soobin’s breath is hot and ragged between kisses. While his mouth devours you, his hands are busy — shrugging off his button-up in one impatient motion, shoulders rolling as the fabric slides down his arms and drops somewhere behind him.

You feel the heat of his bare chest instantly, flushed pink and burning against your skin. His broad shoulders flex under your hands as he reaches between your bodies, fingers working open the button of your pants with surprising focus for how drunk he is. The zipper comes down next. He doesn’t even break the kiss while he does it — just keeps licking into your mouth, tongue slow and teasing now, like he’s savoring every little whimper he pulls from you.

“Lift,” he rasps against your lips, voice so deep and hoarse it vibrates through you.

You obey without thinking. The second you lift your hips, Soobin’s hands slide beneath the waistband of your pants, dragging them down your legs with impatient roughness. He groans quietly into your mouth the moment your skin brushes his bare chest again.

“Fuck,” he breathes, forehead dropping briefly against yours like he needs a second to collect himself. “Missed this so bad.”

Your hands slide instinctively over his shoulders while he finishes pulling your pants off completely, tossing them somewhere onto the floor without looking. The movement shifts him closer between your legs, enough that you can feel the heat of him again through the thin fabric still separating you both.

You reach down between both your bodies this time, fingers hooking into the waistband of his jeans where they’re still hanging half-open around his hips. You end up brushing your fingers on him.

His entire body reacts instantly.

A sharp inhale. Shoulders tightening beneath your palms. His head dropping briefly onto your shoulder with a low groan that sounds almost pained.

You push his jeans down properly this time, slow enough to make him visibly suffer through it. His forehead stays buried against your neck while he shifts just enough to kick them off the rest of the way along with his socks, one of his large hands gripping your thigh hard the entire time like grounding himself.

The second they’re finally gone, he exhales deeply against your skin.

“Better?” you whisper, unable to stop smiling.

“No,” he says immediately, lifting his head just enough to look at you with drunk ruined eyes. “Worse, actually.”

You laugh softly against his mouth, but the sound dissolves quickly when he flips your bodies and kisses you again.

Your fingers slip through his hair while he goes back to kissing you, mouths parting and meeting again in soft wet presses that grow deeper every few seconds. Somewhere between one kiss and the next, he shifts higher onto the mattress, nudging you backward against the pillows while his broad body settles naturally between your legs like muscle memory.

Years together. Years of this. You can feel it in every touch.

His hand drifts down your side slowly, fingertips grazing your thigh before disappearing briefly off the edge of the mattress. At first you barely notice what he’s doing because he never stops kissing you, but then you hear the soft sound of your left nightstand drawer sliding open.

You break into a breathless laugh against his lips immediately. “Seriously?”

“Mhm,” he hums without shame, still kissing you between words while blindly reaching into the drawer beside the bed. “Know this room better than my own.”

You snort softly, but the laugh catches when his hand finally finds what he’s looking for and he pulls back just enough to glance at the condom in his fingers with sleepy satisfaction.

“There we go,” he murmurs.

Soobin tosses the condom onto the pillow beside your head, then finally lets the drawer click shut. His eyes drag down your body like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again — black lace bra, tiny matching panties, skin already flushed from his hands and mouth. A low, appreciative groan rumbles out of his chest.

“Look at you…” he rasps, voice wrecked. “Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”

Before you can tease him for his corniness, he moves.

Big hands slide under your thighs and he yanks you down the bed in one smooth, powerful motion. You yelp as your back slides against the sheets, but the sound cuts off into a gasp when Soobin settles fully on top of you. He’s so tall and broad he blocks out the low lamplight, caging you in completely. His flushed chest presses against your lace-covered breasts, hot skin against delicate fabric.

He doesn’t give you time to adjust.

With a low grunt, he hooks one of your legs over his hip, then the other, spreading you open beneath him. The manhandling is effortless — years of experience and that quiet strength letting him move you exactly how he wants. He rolls his hips forward and presses right against your core.

The thick, heavy outline of his member in his black boxers slides perfectly against your lace-covered heat, pulsing hot and hard. You moan loudly at the contact, back arching off the bed.

“Goddamn—”

He laughs a little at that and you realize he didn't do it on purpose, which makes everything worse.

He kisses you again, deeper this time, tongue sliding hot and wet against yours while his hips keep rolling in these devastating, lazy circles. Every thrust makes his clothed dick drag right over your most sensitive part, the thin layers between you doing almost nothing to dull the sensation. He’s so big between your legs, the weight of him, the heat, the way he pulses and twitches against your warmth — it makes your already tipsy brain spin.

Soobin groans into the kiss, the sound vibrating through both of you. One of his hands grips your behind, squeezing the soft flesh as he grinds harder, fitting himself even more perfectly against you. The other hand slides up your back instead, fingers finding the clasp of your bra with practiced ease. Even half-drunk and hazy, he undoes it one-handed in a single smooth motion — years of knowing your curves making it effortless.

He pulls the lace away slowly, letting it fall somewhere off the side of the bed, and immediately palms your bare breast, warm and heavy, thumb brushing over your hardened nipple as he keeps grinding against you.

“My pretty girlfriend,” he murmurs hotly against your neck between kisses, voice raspy and full of affection. “So fucking perfect.”

"Bin—"

“So lucky to have you,” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours, breath warm and uneven. “Love you so bad, baby… you have no idea.”

His words are slurred at the edges from the alcohol, but they’re so sincere they make your chest ache.

His shoulders shake slightly while he drops his face into your neck again, one large hand spreading across your waist like he needs something to hold onto.

Then, muffled against your skin:

“I’m so fucking hard, Jesus Christ,” he groans. “Feelin' like in our first time again.”

You burst into laughter instantly.

“I’m serious,” he mutters, lifting his head just enough for you to see the genuinely offended look on his flushed face.

Still laughing softly under your breath, your hand slides between both your bodies before he can stop you, palming him through his boxers deliberately this time.

The reaction is immediate, Soobin’s entire body jerks.

“Fuck—”

The curse tears out of him rough and low while his forehead drops heavily onto your shoulder again, fingers digging into your waist hard enough to leave crescents. You can physically feel the way his breathing stutters when your palm strokes over him once more.

“Oh, you weren’t exaggerating,” you tease breathlessly.

“Baby,” he groans warningly, voice wrecked already.

But you keep touching him anyway. Slow. Curious. Mean.

The second you shift your hips experimentally against him too, Soobin completely loses whatever remained of his drunken patience. A broken sound leaves him instantly.

His hands fly to your hips, holding you still for half a second like he physically can’t process the sensation before another shaky exhale punches out of him against your neck.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters again, sounding genuinely tortured now. “Do not start that unless you wanna kill me.” You laugh softly into his hair, but the sound catches when he suddenly looks up at you again. Completely gone.

All of him focused entirely on you now.

Soobin’s eyes are dark, glassy, and completely locked on your face. His breathing is heavy, chest rising and falling against yours as one of his big hands slides slowly down your body. He cups your breast for a second, then keeps going, fingertips tracing over your stomach until they hook gently under the waistband of your lace panties.

His voice comes out low and raspy, almost shy despite how hard he is against your thigh.

“Can I?” he whispers, eyes flicking up to yours.

You nod, biting your lip.

Soobin doesn’t waste time. He sits back on his knees just enough to peel your panties down your legs, lifting your hips with one hand like it’s nothing. The cool air hits your soaked core and you shiver. He groans softly at the sight of you, completely bare now, then quickly shoves his own boxers down and kicks them off.

The second his cock springs free — thick, flushed dark pink, and painfully hard — it slaps against his stomach. He’s so big it still makes your stomach tighten even after years together. The moment his bare skin presses against yours again, both of you shiver hard.

“Fuck…” Soobin breathes, lowering himself back on top of you. The heat of his cock slides right against you, hot and heavy, pulsing against your wetness. He groans at the same time you do, forehead dropping to yours.

“It’s been a while, baby,” he murmurs, almost apologetic, voice rough. “Can it be my fingers?”

Even drunk and desperate, he’s careful.

"Fuck, yes." You nod.

One large hand slips between your bodies, warm and sure. Soobin doesn’t rush. His fingers glide slowly through your folds, parting them gently, spreading the slickness that’s already accumulated there. The first touch is feather-light — just the pad of his thumb brushing over your clit in a slow, lazy circle.

You inhale sharply.

He gathers a little more of your wetness with two fingers, then brings it back up, using it to properly moisturize your clit, making the glide smoother, slicker. It’s so familiar, so practiced — the way he knows exactly how you like it after years together. His thumb stays there, rubbing slow, steady circles while the rest of his hand just rests warmly against your pussy, not pushing yet.

Soobin watches your face the entire time, that lazy, dimpled grin tugging at his lips even though his eyes are dark and heavy with lust.

“Fuck…” you breathe, biting down hard on your lower lip as a shiver runs through you.

His grin widens, dimples deepening. “You like this, right baby?” he murmurs, voice low and raspy, sweet in that devastating way only he can manage when he’s drunk and turned on. “Feel good?”

You nod quickly, unable to speak at first. Your hand flies up to grip his shoulder, nails digging into the flushed skin as your hips twitch. He keeps the rhythm slow and consistent — perfect little circles that make heat pool low in your stomach. Every time his thumb passes over the sensitive bundle of nerves, your thighs tremble around his waist.

Soobin leans down and kisses the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, still grinning against your skin.

Another soft circle, then he gathers more of your wetness again, making everything even slicker, warmer. Only then does he finally slide two knuckles down to your entrance. He teases the tip of the finger just inside, barely breaching you, before pulling back and rubbing your clit again — keeping you on edge, making everything wetter, hotter.

You whimper, gripping his shoulder harder. “Soob—”

“I know, baby,” he coos sweetly, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “Just prepping a bit, 'most done.”

He finally pushes one finger in slowly, all the way to the last knuckle, curling it gently while his thumb never stops its lazy circles on your clit. The intrusion is perfect, familiar, and so fucking good. A broken “fuck” slips out of you again as your back arches slightly off the bed.

Soobin chuckles softly, the sound warm and fond. His flushed chest presses closer to yours as he watches every little expression on your face — the way your brows furrow, the way your teeth sink into your lip, the way your eyes flutter.

Your boyfriend praises you quietly, adding a second finger on the next stroke, stretching you open so easily.

His fingers move in and out in long, slow pumps, curling just right against that spot inside you while his thumb keeps working your clit in those steady, mind-melting circles. He’s completely focused on you — grinning, flushed, whispering sweet little things between soft kisses to your neck and mouth, completely lost in the way you fall apart under his hand.

Soobin curls his fingers inside you one last time, pressing firmly against that spot that makes your toes curl, before he slowly slides them out. The sudden emptiness makes you whine in protest.

He watches your face with a soft, apologetic smile, his own breathing ragged. His cock is throbbing visibly against your thigh, flushed dark and leaking steadily.

“Sorry, jagi, I'm just…” he murmurs, voice thick and raspy. “Really in a rush right now—” He glances down between your bodies, brows slightly furrowed even through the haze of alcohol.

He leans down and kisses your forehead, then your lips, sweet and slow.

“In the morning I’ll take my time with you properly, eat you out for as long as you want, make you come on my tongue first… but right now—” His hips twitch involuntarily, cock sliding against your slick folds. “I feel like I’m gonna lose my goddamn mind.”

You let out a breathless laugh that turns into a curse when his cock lightly drags through your warmth. While he’s still chuckling softly, he reaches down and wraps his long fingers around him, using your wetness to stroke himself slowly. The wet sound is filthy in the quiet room. He groans deep in his chest, eyes fluttering for a second as he pumps himself a few times, spreading your slick all over his length.

The sight makes heat flare through you. The ache between your legs is suddenly unbearable, making you needy for something inside you right now.

Your hand fumbles blindly on the pillow beside your head where you remember him tossing the condom. Fingers brush the foil packet and you snatch it up immediately.

Soobin’s eyes widen slightly when he sees it in your hand, but he doesn’t stop stroking himself, thumb brushing over the leaking tip.

You tear the wrapper open with your teeth — a practiced, familiar motion after years together — and pull out the condom. He shifts back just enough to give you room, still hovering over you, flushed chest rising and falling fast.

You sit up a little, reaching for him. He helps guide your hands, one of his big palms covering yours as you roll the condom down his thick length together. It’s smooth, natural, the same little dance you’ve done countless times. He lets out a shaky breath when you reach the base, giving him one firm stroke for good measure.

“Fuck,” he breathes, half-laughing, half-groaning as he presses you back down into the mattress.

Soobin hovers over you, breathing heavy, the tip of his cock nudging against your entrance. Even in his drunk, urgent state, the careful boyfriend in him wins.

He reaches over to the side of the bed and grabs one of the extra pillows. As he leans, his heavy cock bobs forward and drags right over your swollen clit.

Both of you freeze for half a second, then burst into soft, breathless giggles.

“Shit—” he laughs quietly, shoulders shaking. “Sorry.”

He tucks the pillow under your hips with practiced ease, lifting you gently like he’s done a hundred times before. The new angle immediately makes you feel more open for him.

Soobin settles back between your thighs, one hand on your waist, the other wrapping around his cock again. You reach down at the same time, your fingers overlapping his as you both line him up together. The head of his cock presses against your slick entrance, hot and thick.

He leans down and kisses your bare shoulder softly, lips lingering there.

“You sure you don’t want prone tonight?” he asks gently against your skin, voice raspy but sweet. “I know it’s your favorite, I can fuck you deep like that if you want.”

You shake your head, a breathy whine slipping out as you spread your legs wider for him. “No… want you like this,” you murmur, guiding the tip of him just inside you. “Want to see you, Binnie— fuck...”

You try to pull him in with one impatient roll of your hips. A sharp, needy whine escapes you instantly. He’s so big, and it’s been two whole weeks — the stretch is intense, almost too much even though you’re basically soaked right now.

Soobin freezes right away, concern flashing across his flushed face.

“Breathe, baby,” he says softly, voice steady and comforting. One big hand strokes your side. “I already told you to not do that. It can hurt you, jagi.”

He gently takes your left leg and hooks your ankle over his broad shoulder as he's talking, opening you up even more. The new position makes you both moan quietly. He leans forward, folding you nicely under him, and lines himself up again with your help.

“That’s it,” he whispers, pressing a slow kiss to your knee. His eyes stay locked on yours the whole time — drunk, adoring, and a little worried even as his cock throbs against your entrance. He waits, patient, until you relax and nod.

Only then does he start pushing in — slow, careful, and so fucking thick. Soobin’s breath catches as the head of his cock slowly sinks into you, stretching you open inch by inch. He’s so thick that even after the improvised prep, your mouth falls open in a silent moan. The pillow under your hips and your leg hooked over his shoulder make the angle devastatingly deep.

“Shit,” he groans, voice raspy and strained. His eyes flutter shut for a second before he forces them open again, watching your face carefully. “Squeezing me too tight... Just breathe, honey.”

You nod shakily, fingers digging into his broad shoulders as he keeps pressing forward, slow and steady. Halfway in, you let out a broken whimper. The stretch burns in the best way, that perfect mix of too much and not enough.

He gives you another moment, then rocks forward again, sinking the rest of the way in until his hips are flush against yours. A deep, relieved groan rumbles out of his chest when he bottoms out. You can feel him throbbing inside you, so full and heavy it makes your head spin.

“Oh my god, baby…” you moan, back arching off the bed.

He stays there for a few seconds, buried to the hilt, forehead pressed to yours while both of you just breathe through it. His flushed chest is pressed against your breasts, skin burning hot. One of his big hands strokes your hips soothingly, the other holding your thigh against his shoulder.

Soobin’s breath hitches. His grip on your thigh tightens almost possessively as he slowly folds you further underneath him — pushing your leg higher, pressing your knee closer to your chest. The new angle forces him even deeper, and a broken moan slips out of you.

Before you can catch your breath, his other hand slides up your back, fingers threading firmly into your hair. He grips the strands near your nape with surprising strength, tugging just hard enough to tilt your head back against the pillow. His long fingers curl tight at the base of your skull, holding you right where he wants you.

Your eyes roll back instantly.

“S— fuck—” The word comes out shaky, almost slurred. The alcohol in your system basically all gone now.

He lets out a low, satisfied groan at your reaction, lips brushing your jaw.

“You like that?” he rasps, voice deep and rough.

He doesn’t wait for an answer.

He starts moving.

A deep, deliberate roll of his hips that makes you feel every thick inch dragging inside you. With your leg folded high and his strong grip on your nape and hair, you’re completely pinned under him, helpless in the best way. Soobin pulls out almost all the way, then sinks back in with a wet slap, setting a steady, filthy rhythm.

Your hands fly around desperately, not knowing where to hold on. You fist the sheets first, twisting them hard as he bottoms out again, a broken moan tearing from your throat. On the next thrust you reach for the pillow above your head, gripping it tight, but nothing feels steady enough.

Soobin notices. His grip in your hair tightens just a fraction as he leans closer, chest pressed flush to yours, lips against your ear.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, voice wrecked.

On the next deep thrust you finally settle — one hand flying up to wrap around the thick bicep of the arm that’s gripping your nape. Your fingers dig into the firm muscle there, nails biting into his flushed skin as he drives into you again and again. Your other hand slides across his broad back, scratching down the length of it hard enough to leave marks.

Soobin hisses through his teeth, a shaky groan following right after.

He keeps that steady, punishing rhythm — pulling out slow, then slamming back in deep, the wet slap of skin on skin loud in the quiet room. Every thrust forces a helpless sound out of you. Your nails rake down his back again as he grinds against your walls, and his grip on your hair tightens in response, keeping you right there with him.

Soobin keeps that deep, steady rhythm for a few more thrusts, then suddenly slows. He reaches up, grabs your hand that’s clawing at his bicep, and guides it to the back of his head.

You know exactly what that means.

Your fingers thread through the fluffy strands at the back of his neck and grip tight. The second you tug, you feel your boyfriend's hips stuttering.

He starts giving you shallow, experimental thrusts — little rolls of his hips that let him search for that perfect angle. Not pulling out much, just grinding and adjusting, like he was trying to find momentum or something else your drunken fucked out brain couldn't wrap around it yet. His brows were furrowed in concentration, flushed cheeks glowing under the low light, drunk eyes locked on your face like he’s studying every reaction.

You tug his hair again and his breath catches.

“Fuck—” he murmurs, voice raspy.

He then angles his hips a little higher and gives another shallow thrust.

Your whole body jolts.

A sharp, broken moan rips out of you as he finally hits it — that sweet spot deep inside that makes your toes curl and your vision blur. Soobin’s face lights up instantly, a bright, satisfied grin breaking across his flushed face, dimples deep.

“Fucking finally” he whispers triumphantly, almost giddy even while buried inside you. “Found it.” You want to laugh at his ridiculousness but you're too busy moaning his name out loud.

Soobin doesn’t waste a second. He shifts his weight, one big hand reaching down to fix the pillow under your hips, pushing it a little higher so the angle is even better. Then he hooks your leg more securely over his shoulder, folding you open wider for him.

Now that he’s locked onto your sweet spot, the man turns into a beast so he can focus completely.

His thrusts stay deep but become more targeted — slow, powerful drags that grind right against that patch of warmth on every stroke. The hand that was before gripping your hair, now grips the bed behind your head. The wet, filthy sound of him moving inside you fills the room as he keeps that perfect rhythm, never losing it once he’s found it.

You can only nod and moan, fingers tightening desperately in his skin and back. Every precise thrust makes your eyes roll back again. Soobin groans at the feeling of you pulling his hair, hips snapping a little harder as he chases your pleasure.

He adjusts the angle of your leg one more time, pressing your thigh closer to your chest, and the new depth makes you cry out. Soobin smiles against your neck — proud, drunk, and completely lost in you — while he keeps fucking you with those devastating, focused strokes.

Soobin keeps that perfect rhythm for a few more deep strokes, then suddenly slows again. You're about to curse him out when he gently lowers your leg from his shoulder, letting it wrap around his waist instead. You whine at the loss of the stretch, but the sound turns into a gasp when he slides his long arm underneath your lower back.

“Come here, baby,” he murmurs, voice rough.

With one smooth, powerful motion he pulls your hips up and glues your bodies completely together. Your chests press flush, sweat-slick skin sliding against skin. His arm stays locked around your waist like a steel band, holding you so tightly there’s almost no space left between you. Every breath you take, he feels.

The new angle makes him sink even deeper.

You both moan loudly at the first thrust.

“Fuck— Soobin,” you whimper, legs instinctively circling his narrow hips, heels digging into the back of his thighs to pull him closer. Your arms wrap around his neck, fingers threading back into his hair at the nape like you knew he loved. "This is new, baby—"

“Better, right?” he rasps against your ear, voice wrecked. “Dreamt of this last night and wanted to try with you so bad.”

Soobin groans, deep and broken, burying his face in the crook of your neck for a second. One of his arms is still banded tightly around your waist, holding your entire body glued to his. The other arm is braced beside your head, forearm flexing hard as his hand grips the sheets in a white-knuckled fist.

"Woke up so hard and leaking all over my bed, jagi, just thinking about you like this."

Soobin looks devastating like this.

Broad shoulders curled over you, flushed chest pressed to yours, the muscles in his arm standing out as he holds himself up just enough not to crush you. His messy hair falls over his forehead, cheeks and neck still that pretty, deep pink from the alcohol and exertion. Every time he rolls his hips, the flex of his back and shoulders is mesmerizing.

He starts moving again — slower, but heavier, grinding strokes that press him right against your sweet spot with almost no space to pull out. Because he’s holding you so tightly, every thrust makes your bodies slide together, your clit rubbing against his pelvis on every roll. The wet, intimate sound of him moving inside you is filthy and constant.

You cling to him harder, legs locked around his hips, arms tight around his neck like you’re afraid he’ll disappear. Your nails scratch lightly at his scalp and the back of his shoulders.

Soobin lets out a shaky breath right against your neck.

Your moans mix together, breathy and desperate. He keeps that tight, glued-together rhythm — hips rolling in deep, filthy circles, barely pulling out before pressing back in, keeping you full and pressed against him the whole time.

His flexed arm beside your head tightens, knuckles white on the sheets as he fights to keep control.

He turns his head just enough to kiss you — messy, open-mouthed, and needy — while still holding your entire body flush against his, fucking you deep and slow in that perfect, intimate grind.

You’re getting closer.

Every deep, grinding roll of his hips pushes you higher, that tight coil in your stomach winding impossibly tighter. You can’t stop the needy sounds spilling from your lips. Your legs tighten around his waist, heels digging into his back as you pull him even deeper.

Soobin feels it — the way you start clenching around him, the way your breathing turns into short, desperate whimpers.

He grins.

That devastating, dimpled smile spreads across his flushed face, eyes half-lidded and sparkling with drunk affection even as he keeps fucking you slow and deep.

Your lips press messily against his mouth first, then trail across his jaw, sucking lightly at the sharp line there. Soobin’s grin widens, dimples carving deep into his cheeks as he tilts his head to give you more access. You kiss down the flushed column of his neck, open-mouthed and wet, tasting the salt on his skin and the faint scent of his cologne still clinging to him.

Every time your lips or tongue touch him, he lets out a soft, pleased hum, hips never losing their rhythm.

“Fuck… keep doing that,” he breathes, dimples still on full display. His arm around your waist squeezes you tighter, pressing your bodies impossibly closer as he grinds into you. “Love when you kiss me like you can’t get enough.”

You whimper against his neck and bite down gently right below his ear. Soobin’s breath stutters, the arm braced beside your head flexing hard, knuckles white on the sheets.

His arm around your waist holds you even closer, almost lifting your hips off the bed as he drives into you with those perfect, deep grinds. Your arms stay locked around his neck, fingers tugging at his hair while the heat inside you starts to blow up.

“Soobin—” you whimper against his flushed neck, voice shaking.

“I know, baby. I can feel it,” he murmurs, that dimpled grin still tugging at his lips even as his own breathing turns ragged. “You’re getting tighter.”

You bury your face in his neck, kissing and panting against his skin, desperate little moans spilling out with every roll of his hips. Your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling hard, and Soobin groans deeply, the sound vibrating against your lips.

“That’s it… let go for me,” he whispers hotly, voice raspy and sweet. “I’ve got it.”

The coil snaps without warning.

Your orgasm crashes over you hard. A broken cry tears from your throat as your whole body seizes up, thighs clamping tight around your boyfriend's waist. You clench around him in pulsing waves, so intensely that your vision whites out for a second. Your back arches hard against him, pressing your chest even tighter to his as pleasure floods every nerve.

Soobin’s dimples disappear as his mouth falls open in a wrecked moan, but he doesn’t stop moving. He keeps grinding deep and steady through your orgasm, drawing it out, letting you ride every wave.

Your nails dig into his back and scalp as you shake in his arms, whimpering and moaning his name like a prayer. The arm around your waist holds you impossibly closer, almost lifting you completely off the bed while he keeps fucking you through it, slow and deep, making sure you feel every single second.

You’re still trembling, thighs shaking around his waist, when Soobin’s thrusts start getting a little more desperate, his breathing turning ragged against your neck.

“Baby… I’m so close,” he groans, voice wrecked. “Fuck, I’m gonna come—”

Still overstimulated and sensitive, you push at his shoulder and then gently but firmly shove his face away from your neck. Soobin blinks, confused for half a second, dimples still faintly visible as he tries to understand.

Before he can ask, you push him harder, rolling him onto his back.

He gets it instantly.

A surprised, breathy laugh escapes him as he wraps both big arms around you and pulls you with him, never once letting you disconnect. In one smooth motion he flips you so you’re straddling his lap, him still buried deep inside you.

“Shit— okay, like this?” he rasps, eyes wide and dark with lust.

You don’t answer with words. You brace your hands on his flushed chest and start riding him.

Soobin’s head falls back against the pillow with a broken moan, eyes rolling for a second as you sink down on him again and again. The new position lets you take him even deeper, and the way your walls flutter around his oversensitive cock makes him look like he’s about to lose his mind.

“Good fuck, jagi—” His voice cracks. His hands fly to your hips, gripping hard, fingers digging into your skin as you roll your hips in deep, filthy circles.

Soobin looks completely gone underneath you.

Cheeks burning red, neck and chest flushed dark pink, messy hair sticking to his forehead, mouth open in a constant stream of shaky moans. His abs flex every time you sink down on him, and those pretty dimples keep flashing whenever he tries (and fails) to smile through the overwhelming pleasure.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he whines, voice raspy and high. “So fucking tight— slow down a little, Y/N, I’m— shit—”

But you don’t slow down. You ride him harder, bouncing on his cock with wet, obscene sounds filling the room. Soobin’s grip on your hips tightens almost painfully as his thighs start trembling underneath you.

His head presses back into the pillow, eyes squeezed shut for a moment before they fly open again, locked on where you two are connected.

“Look at you… riding me so good,” he pants, half-lost in it. “My pretty girl using me after she came all over my cock… fuck, I love you. I love you so much—”

You slap your hand over his mouth, fingers pressing firmly against his lips.

Soobin’s eyes widen instantly, a muffled, surprised sound vibrating against your palm. You don’t let him recover — you grind down harder, faster, rolling your hips in tight, filthy circles that make his cock drag perfectly against your walls.

His breath hitches sharply through his nose. You can feel the hot, desperate puffs of air against your skin as he’s forced to breathe only through his nose, eyes rolling back slightly.

“Mmm—!” The sound is choked behind your hand, needy and broken. His eyebrows furrow, that pretty flushed face looking completely wrecked as you ride him without mercy.

You lean forward, putting more weight on your hand, keeping his mouth covered while you bounce and grind faster. The wet sounds between your bodies get louder, messier. Soobin’s hands fly to your hips, gripping so hard you know you’ll have bruises tomorrow, but he doesn’t stop you. He can’t.

He starts thrusting up desperately to meet you, hips snapping off the bed in short, frantic strokes. His thighs tremble underneath you. Every time you slam down, he drives up, burying himself as deep as possible.

You feel him throbbing violently inside you.

His eyes squeeze shut, then fly open again — glassy, drunk, and completely gone. Harsh breaths keep punching through his nose against your palm as he fucks up into you with everything he has left, muffled whimpers and groans vibrating against your fingers.

A few more hard, sloppy movements and he breaks.

Soobin’s whole body seizes up beneath you. His back arches sharply off the bed, a loud, broken moan tearing through your hand as he comes hard. You feel every thick pulse of his cock as he spills into the condom, hips jerking uncontrollably while he keeps thrusting up into you through his orgasm, chasing every last second of pleasure.

His eyes stay locked on where you're both connected the entire time — wide, desperate, and so full of lust and love it makes your stomach flip.

When the last powerful spasm finally fades, his body collapses back onto the mattress, chest heaving. You slowly lift your hand from his mouth. He immediately sucks in a deep, shaky breath, lips parted and shiny.

“Jesus” he rasps, voice completely shot. His hands slide up your back, pulling you down onto his chest as he pants against your neck. "You're so fucking hot."

His hands slide up your back immediately, pulling you down onto his chest while both of you try to catch your breath. His heartbeat is still hammering wildly beneath your cheek, skin damp and burning hot against yours. You can barely move without feeling the aftershocks still rolling through both your bodies.

For a long moment neither of you says anything.

The room is filled only with uneven breathing and the occasional twitch of Soobin’s thighs underneath you whenever you shift slightly.

Then:

A weak little laugh escapes him.

You lift your head just enough to look at him. His hair is sticking everywhere now, cheeks completely flushed, lips swollen, eyes glassy and half-closed from exhaustion and alcohol.

You whisper. "Are you still drunk?"

“Debatable.”

You snort softly.

Soobin groans when you move to sit up properly, arms immediately tightening around your waist to keep you exactly where you are.

“No,” he mumbles.

“I can feel you in my lungs, baby. Is getting uncomfy for me.”

“Stay there.”

“Soobin, we need to breathe.”

“We are breathing.”

Barely.

You laugh quietly again, fingers brushing damp hair away from his forehead while his eyes drift shut under your touch almost instantly.

Drunk Soobin after sex is always devastatingly soft. Especially tonight.

“You’re so warm,” he murmurs sleepily against your shoulder. “Feels nice.” A lazy smile tugs at his lips before he suddenly starts laughing under his breath again.

“What?” You look up at him.

“I can’t believe you did that again.”

Your face heats immediately because you know exactly what he means. “You liked it last time.”

“Liked it?” He looks genuinely offended, eyes finally opening properly to stare up at you. “Baby, I begged you to do it again for like three months straight.”

You burst into laughter.

“I’m serious!” he insists, dimples appearing despite how exhausted he looks. “You can’t just do stuff like that and expect me to be normal afterward.”

The memory alone visibly affects him again because his hands squeeze your hips instinctively while he groans dramatically into the pillow.

“Oh my God,” you laugh. “You’re still hard?”

“A little,” he mutters with zero shame. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m drunk and in love with you.”

The honesty in his voice makes your chest ache a little. He notices immediately, because of course he does after all these years. His expression softens. Then quieter now, thumb rubbing slowly along your waist beneath the sheets.

“I hate your idol stamina sometimes,” you mumble, voice muffled against his chest while your fingers lazily trace over the warm skin of his stomach. “I’m really sleepy, Soob. Can't go another round.”

His entire expression melts instantly.

“Aww,” he coos quietly, drunk affection taking over his face so fast it makes you laugh weakly. “My baby’s tired.”

“You literally ruined me.”

“Mhm.” His hand slides slowly up and down your back beneath the sheets, soothing and absentminded. “You did kinda start fighting for your life there at the end.”

You groan immediately and shove weakly at his chest.

“Shut up.”

His laugh rumbles warmly underneath your cheek. The room feels smaller and warmer, filled only with your shared breathing and quiet giggles. Soobin’s arms stay wrapped around you like he has no intention of ever letting go, his big hand still rubbing slow circles on your back.

After a minute, he sighs deeply, the sound content and sleepy.

“Okay… I should probably deal with this,” he mumbles, glancing down between your bodies where he’s still buried inside you, the condom now full.

You hum in agreement but don’t move. Neither does he for a few seconds. He just holds you tighter, pressing one last lazy kiss to your forehead.

With a soft groan, Soobin gently starts to pull out. You both hiss at the sensitivity — you from being overstimulated, him from how raw he feels. The moment he slips free, you immediately miss the fullness, letting out a tiny whine.

Soobin chuckles softly at the sound.

“'Can't go another round',” he mocks you, voice hoarse.

He carefully rolls you onto your side beside him, then sits up with visible effort. His tall frame sways a little as he swings his long legs off the bed. The lamplight catches on his flushed skin, the red still blooming beautifully across his neck and chest, sweat making his broad shoulders glisten.

You watch him lazily from the pillows as he peels the condom off with a tired grimace, ties it, and pads across the room on slightly unsteady legs. Even drunk and fucked-out, he’s graceful in that quiet, giant-boy way — tall, broad back flexing as he tosses the condom into the small trash bin near your desk.

He comes back immediately, crawling onto the bed like a big, clingy cat and collapsing half on top of you again. His head lands on your chest with a dramatic sigh, one arm slung heavily over your waist, leg tangled between yours.

“Done,” he mumbles against your skin, already sounding half-asleep. “Can we stay like this forever now?”

You thread your fingers through his messy hair, smiling.

“Yeah, Soob. Forever sounds good.”

He nuzzles closer, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss right over your heart. His voice is barely a whisper now, warm and sleepy.

“Love you… so much. Thank you for letting me have you.”

You kiss the top of his head, heart full.

“Always, baby. Now sleep.”

Soobin hums happily, already drifting off with his flushed cheek squished against you, dimples still faintly visible even in sleep.

author's note — had so much fun writing this mwahahahah

you kiss him there gently and whisper, "how was work?" against his skin. he shivers when you breath tickles his neck. a sigh comes out as his eyes flutter a little because of your hands that start to roam his body, running them along his sides slowly.

"it-it was fine," he breathes out. he licks his lips with a swallow before continuing on about his day. "i had to train a new coworker today." his spine bows as you slide your hands under his shirt and graze his warm skin, brushing past a pert nipple. soobin can't hold back the moan that bubbles up and slips past his lips, eyes falling completely shut.

you hum as you nip up his neck and make tingles go down his spine. "and how was that?" soobin choked on his words, finding it hard to respond with you touching all over him. he could feel his cock jump in his work pants and goosebumps spread through him when you lick the vein on his neck.

"good, she caught on pretty well to the rules and what not." he managed to get out and you pause, pulling your hands and mouth away from him. soobin pried his eyes open and twisted his body in your direction, you were sat back on your legs with a tiny frown on your face.

"she?" you ask, looking down at the bed-sheets.

soobin cocked his head to the side and knitted his brows together before hesitantly replying, "yeah… she."

you could feel your eyes narrowing and your lips press into a thin line as soobin confirms that you didn't mishear what he said. your fist clench in your lap, your nails digging into the palm of your hand.

"she was actually a real help today." he continues as if to mock you and he eyes your reactions. he flits them between your fists and your jaw that was tightly clenched. "is there something wrong with that?"

you took a deep breath, containing yourself before lifting your head up to look at him. your met with soobin's oblivious face, his eyes wide and innocent compared to his words. his lips were in a small pout as he searched your face for answers. you could tell he had no clue what you were upset about and that only frustrated you further.

"no, nothing's wrong with that." you sigh, turning your head to the side. this was always the case with soobin, he was too kind for his on good. yet you felt silly for being so insecure, you were sure that it was nothing else besides a coworker training a new-comer. but you just couldn't shake that feeling off…

"well, it's obviously something. you're practically seething…" he fully turns to face you, sitting in front of you on the bed. he angles his face into your view and you shut your eyes, blocking him from your sight. soobin pouts deeper, reaching a hand out and shaking your shoulder. "are you actually not going to tell me what's wrong?"

when he's met with silence he starts again, "did i do something wrong?" he watches as you puff your cheeks and continue to ignore him. he wracks his brain through the short conversation now that his brain was clearer and hopes to find where it went wrong.

he smirks when he makes an observation, gently shoving your shoulder. "hey, are you jealous?" he asks and laughs when you crack your eyes open to glare at him. his smile that greets you only makes you angrier, how could he be so happy when you were visibly upset.

"i'm not jealous…" you mumble, crossing your arms in front of your chest. soobin laughs harder, his eyes crinkling and his dimples making an appearance. did he show her that part of him too while he trained her?

"come on, there's no reason for you to be jealous. she's just a coworker." he tries to reassure between his chuckles, resting a hand on your thigh and squeezing it. you smack his hand away and hop off the bed, soobin's eyes and body follow as you move.

"is this a joke to you?" your serious tone make soobin sober up, his laughter dying down, but his smile remains as he reads your emotions.

"w-well no, i just don't understand the problem." he admits.

"of course you don't, you never do." you huff with an eye roll, starting to pace back and forth in front of the bed.

he scoffs at that and his voice raises just a tad, "then explain it to me." he breathing starts to pick up as the anger gets to him. he hated when you would get so cryptic when it came to these things and it drives him nuts.

you whirl around and walk up to where he sat, standing in between his legs. soobin ignores the way that his breath hitches when he has tilt his head back to look up at you.

"you still wouldn't get it, i've it explained multiple times. you never get it!" you exasperate, your hand landing on his shoulder and gripping onto it tightly to contain yourself.

soobin feels the skin under your hand prickle and the feeling spreads through his body and down to his cock. he doesn't understand why and his face burns a little in embarrassment, ashamed that he was getting turned on while arguing. to distract himself he does the only thing he could think of-

"then make me get it!!" he spits out louder than he intended, his anger pushing through the strange arousal he just felt. his eyes were wide when he realized his mistake, he really didn't mean to shout, but by then it was too late. he didn't have a chance to get out his apologies.

your hand flew into his hair, sliding into the strands before tugging. you pull his head back, so his neck is craning up at you. soobin moaned loudly, he wasn't even aware he could moan in such a way. it was high-pitched and almost whiny, his lips parting and eyes flitting.

your eyes lock for a moment, your breaths tangling together as you both pant in anger. his eyes drop to your mouth once, breaking the tension. you smash your mouth against his into a heavy kiss. it wasn't like the usual kisses that you shared, it had more emotion behind it and soobin could feel himself melt into it, his body going lax as you take control of it. you waste no time prying his mouth open, slipping your tongue into his mouth and exploring every corner.

shocks are sent to his cock that was semi-hard as you don't let him lean back for air. you only tug him closer by his hair, and earn a sweet whine that flows into your mouth. you climb into his lap, his hands wrapping around your waist as your other hand gently wraps around his throat.

soobin gasps when you squeeze just a tad, leaning back to look at him. his disheveled blonde hair, face flushed, eyes glossy as he looked at you, mouth parted and searching for yours again. you've never seen him look so submissive, almost pathetic…sure he's usually like this and likes when you take control but this was different.

"i think you enjoy making me jealous," you accuse him, and he dumbly shakes his head. his fingers grip your shirt tightly as he blinks up at you slowly. he looked like was waiting for something. "do you like making me jealous?"

soobin moans while shaking his head again a little faster, his hips raising up against you. his eyes trail to your lips and he leans in, whining you as pull away when they almost touch. he couldn't contain his heart that was racing and his cock that was throbbing in his pants.

"why must you be so nice to everybody?" you mumble to yourself before pressing your lips to his again, you didn't even know soobin was listening. your hips start to drag against his as you sloppily kiss and swap saliva.

"i'm yours," he whispers when you pull back.

you slide your hand down from his neck and to his chest, pushing him down against the bed with a choked moan in surprise. he can't explain the reason that made his dick jump and doesn't have time to think on it as you unzip his pants a reach a hand into his boxers.

there's precum covering the tip as you pull his dick from his work pants. you were shocked at how much there was as you circled his tip with your thumb before spreading it down his length. you take him into your hand, squeezing tightly and start to jerk him at a quick pace that soobin can't keep up with.

your other hand slides up his shirt, his body writhing under you as you run your fingertips up until you reach his chest. you pinch a nipple between your fingers, something soobin has always been a fan of. soobin arches off the bed and into the touch with a high-pitched moan as you pinch harder, his hands fisting the sheets under him.

soobin felt dizzy, lightheaded almost. the slight pain from your hand on his chest and the pleasure coming from his dick were fighting for control and he didn't know which to lean into. it was both too much and not enough at the same time.

deep down there was a part of him that liked when you were a little rough with him. sometimes he would say the things he knew would push you just right and make you put your hands on him and he would revel in it. he would turn it into a personal game that he would play. he didn't know that it ran this deep though, that he could get this much pleasure from it.

"so pretty," you murmured, abandoning his chest and squeezing his cheeks and making you look at him with his eyes that were half-lidded. you push your thumb against his plump lips and soobin moaned against it, his tongue poking out to lick it.

"please," he croaked, voice muffled behind your finger as he pushed his chest out.

your card your fingers through his hair gently, massaging his scalp before gripping it and tugging his head back. soobin whines, his cock twitching in your hand and his eyes rolling back in pleasure.

"please what?"

he needily whimpers, his face burning as he replies. "please touch my chest again."

you oblige with a hum, letting go of his hair and paying attention to his chest. softly dragging your fingers over it and then suddenly pinching them. soobin could feel his entire body quiver and the familiar bubbling in his stomach, too quick for him to stop it.

"ngh," soobin moans, his orgasm crashing into him without warning. warm cum spurts from his cock and hits his chest as he thrusts up into your hand.

before he has a chance to relax, you start to relentlessly stroke him. he shouts as your hands send him into overstimulation and you relish in the feeling of making him squirm beneath you. his weak and shaky hands fly to yours and try to, not really, pry them off his cock.

he can't get any words out, the only sounds coming out were choked moans and whimpers as you don't stop moving your hand up and down. it hurts, but it hurts so good, it's the only reason he hasn't outright told you stop. he enjoys it. it's everything he's wanted and he didn't even know it until now.

he's so gone that he didn't notice when you stopped touching him and started to strip out of your pajamas. you climbed back into his lap and hovered over his cock. he looks down and watches you tease the tip, sliding it between your folds. his hips involuntarily pushing up, wanting to be inside you couldn't find the words to express that to you.

"keep still," you command him as you hold his hips down. he whines but nods his head doesn't attempt to move again, he didn't want this to end. he would listen to every word you said if it meant he could keep feeling this floatiness he was experiencing.

he loudly gasps when you slide down onto him in one quick motion, all the way to the hilt. his eyes roll back and he bites down on his lip hard.

you tsk, "you're gonna hurt yourself doing that." pressing your thumb on his bottom lip and prying his mouth open. you stick your finger into his mouth and soobin leaps into action before you say anything, sucking and moaning around it.

he stares at you as he does, hoping his eyes convey what he wants to say. he fucking loves this, how rough your being with him, treating him like a toy. he wanted to tell you but his brain was foggy and his mouth isn't working the way he wants, he just wants to keep feeling good.

"you know, you're so fucking hot like this…" you purr, removing your finger from soobin's mouth, much to his distaste. you caress his flushed face and pat his cheek, rubbing under his eye. he moans when you do, and you pause.

"oh?" you do it again, with a little more force and soobin keens. a broken whimper comes out and his cock twitches inside of you. you laugh and soobin whines in embarrassment, his hands coming up to cover his face.

you grab him by the wrist, and pin them above his head. soobin's eyelids go heavy as you grip onto his skin, somewhere in the back of his mind he hopes it leaves a mark so he can remember this.

"be a good boy and don't move them, hm?" he nods, watching your movements as you lean back, dragging your hands down his body. you make sure to press a nipple on the way, soobin arching into the touch with a hiss. you rest your hands on his stomach before you start to bounce on his cock.

soobin's eyes go cross-eyed as you relentlessly use him, swiveling your hips without mercy. he lets out continuous gasps and moans but his hands never stray from their position. he just holds them clenched tight, fingernails digging into his palms. he's a complete puddle under you, his brain is sludge as he revels in the pleasure.

"is it good binnie," you coo at him. "am i being a real help like she was, hm?" you repeat his words back to him.

"'s good, it's so good-" is all he manages to get out, his words slurring together as his mouth hangs open on his sounds.

you lean down, crashing your lips against his for a heated kiss. "open," you mumble. and he obediently listens, sticking out his tongue as you grab his jaw. you spit into his mouth and he watches the string land on his tongue with a moan. he eagerly swallows it while staring at you lovingly when you let him go, hitting his cheek lightly in praise. he could've cum at that moment if he had permission to.

you fuck him unforgivingly, grinding your hips down in a way that's pleasurable for the both of you. soobin slowly thrusting upwards to meet your hips, forgetting all about your demand as he chases his release that was building up quickly.

"cum, please - ngh can i cum~" he cries, his eyes wet with the threat of tears from how fucking good he felt. god he was so close, but he wanted to be good - he can be good.

you giggle, reaching into his hair and tugging it again. soobin hisses in pain but his cock throbs at the same time. "already?" you tease. he nods with a pouty whine, looking up at you with his shiny eyes.

"i'm going to countdown from five, okay?" he nods again, blinking hazily and a tear runs down his face. he looks so pretty when he's fucked out like this. "be a good boy and hold it until then." soobin brightens up, his face practically glowing at the praise. he nods eagerly, his body vibrating beneath you as he anticipates his orgasm.

"five,"

you claw your fingers up his sides.

"four,"

you run them over his nipples, soobin squeaks.

"three,"

you drag them up to his neck, soobin tilts his head back to allow your more access. slowly, you apply pressure and he lets out a soft gasp and moan.

"two,"

soobin mumbles something you couldn't catch. you ask him to repeat himself and he gets shy before he says, "hit me again, please…" you laugh, making him turn red but who are you deny this beautiful boy that was taking everything you gave so well.

"one," at the same time, you slap his face with some force behind it. soobin feels like he's losing his mind when his orgasm hits him. his whole body convulses as the stinging in his cheek intensifies, his dick twitching endlessly as he fills you with cum.

his mind goes blank as he feels so fucking good, his body tingles and he feels lighter than he ever has. his eyes fluttering and he doesn't even try to contain his sounds. a mixture of moans and cries, the tears finally sliding down his face.

"good boy, such a good boy," you mumble praises as he rides through it, stroking his sore scalp gently and peppering tiny kisses all over his flushed face.

he breathes heavily as he finally calms down, his arms stiff from holding above his head for so long. he slowly moves them to wrap around your waist with a dopey smile. with the little strength he had in his weak arms, he pulls you down on top of him. he nuzzles into your neck, with a content sigh.

you still had lots to talk about but for now he wanted to bask in this euphoric feeling of being so close to you, your body on his. it was heavenly.

© lucidwntrr est. 2025 - please do not steal, repost, or copy !

From: [email protected] Subject: email? really?

Dear Gojo Satoru,  Clearly you can’t take a hint. Let me spell it out for you. I. Am. Busy. Leave. Me. Alone. Unhappily,  Your girlfriend P.S. Do not call yourself ‘big-dicked daddy.’ It upsets me greatly.

From: [email protected] Subject: keep being mean to me please im close

Dear adorable goth baby,  You’re so hot when you’re being mean. I already know you’re frowning in that cute way that makes me want to smother you in kisses and you’re rolling your eyes so hard NGH! I already said I’m sorry.  Please give me another chance. I’m so damn bored I started playing spin the bottle alone in my room. I made out with that picture of you sleeping with drool down your chin. Picture You was even getting handsy. ‘Down girl!’ I said. ‘Bad!’ Stay tight,  Toru (not Gojo Satoru, that’s like a slur coming from you, very triggering stuff) P.S. I am your big-dicked daddy tho I’m confused?

From: [email protected] Subject: shut up

Satoru,  I gave you multiple chances when I asked you to stop and give me at least 5 hours to study before we go out for dinner and I entertain you, you giant freaking child. But no, you just had to hound me with your dick, like I was supposed to be dickmatised and persuaded to drop everything at your beck and call.  Fuck, I’m getting mad all over again.  Stop emailing me. You’re gonna see me at 7pm for our date anyways. You can last 4 more hours. Yours not for long,  Girl who just wants to pass

From: [email protected] Subject: my bad bro

Sweetiepie :( I’m sorry.  I thought it was gonna motivate you to work hard. Pwease forgive me. Pwease? Towu is vewy vewy sowwy.  In fact, I’m so so so sorry, I’ll pay for dinner tonight. Scout’s honour. Asking for mercy and forgiveness,  Your boyfriend no matter what

From: [email protected] Subject: dinner? that the best you can offer?

You always pay for dinner. Last time I offered, you damn near wrestled me in the middle of the restaurant so you could get your card out first. We’re still banned from there, remember? Btw, you were never a Scout, don’t play with me.

From: [email protected] Subject: you gotta address me and sign off!

Dear love of my life who doesn’t understand how email etiquette works,  Of course I always pay for dinner — you’re broke and your family is destitute, I remind you lovingly. But even if you were as rich as me, or even richer (which isn’t possible, not to flex), I would still pay every single time. It’s the least I can do for reparations for the violence committed by my gender against yours. Plus, that restaurant sucked anyway — the owner is problematic towards immigrants and the servers don’t even know if the meat is locally and ethically sourced, like hello??? In the big 2025?!? How’s studying going? Do you need a snack or a smoothie to boost you?  I can drop by. Promise I won’t linger. I just didn’t see a purchase on my card for breakfast or lunch. Please don’t starve. If I can’t watch your ass jiggle when I hit it from the back, I’m gonna be devastated.  Yours most sincerely,  Satoru P.S. You have to be a Scout to say Scout’s Honour? Crazyyyyyy

From: [email protected] Subject: so fucking bossy omg

Dear Satoru (happy now?), Please don’t remind me of my family’s shortcomings. You know I like to pretend I came from a normal background. And stop being more woke than me. It’s hot. Studying’s fine, I guess. I think I forgot how to study. I’ve missed a lot of content too. If a certain someone hadn’t been clinging to me so tightly every morning, maybe I wouldn’t be so behind. God, you make my life so hard.  A smoothie and pastry would be lovely, actually. I can’t be bothered leaving my room to get some food. Just drop it off outside and disappear by the time I open the door — if I see even a glimmer of white hair, I’m going to freak.  Thanks. Love begrudgingly, A girl who’s gonna fail her exam

From: [email protected] Subject: you're not gonna fail

Dear cutie,  I don’t cling to you that hard. You’re dramatic. I wonder where you got that from. And last I checked, we have a safeword you can use anytime to get me away from between your legs if you really wanted to get to class. But I like our game where you pretend you’re not just as obsessed with me as I am with you (I know you get all hot and bothered when I reference Marx, dirty girl) Food’s outside babe. The line was stupid long and I ran into Fushiguro — remember the guy I told you has the highest body count on campus? He’s in a relationship now and he’s so pussywhipped lmaoooo Couldn’t be me. Hoping you’ll stuff your face and get all the brain power you need,  Satoru

From: [email protected] Subject: not impressed

I told you to disappear before I could see you.  You didn’t have to kiss me and hump my leg you animal. My neighbours were NOT happy with the pornographic noises you made, asshole.  Yeah, I remember Toji. Cool dude. Always wearing gym wear no matter the weather and for some reason hates you. Don’t make fun of him for being loyal and loving to his girlfriend. You’re probably so much worse. I envy his girlfriend. She probably doesn’t have to put up with a yapper who spams her with dick pics. Thank you for the food though. Very appreciated. What I didn’t appreciate, however, was the number and the smiley face on my drink. I already told you, if someone tries to hit on you, bark at them and tell them you have a girlfriend you worship endlessly. 

From: [email protected] Subject: EMAIL. ETIQUETTE. COME ON.

Look: Dear angry girlfriend I do in fact worship endlessly and beyond,  I’m sorry I didn’t follow your exact orders but I desperately needed a kiss from my girl. If I don’t get my daily dose, I wilt, like a rose. You know this.  And disrespectfully, f your neighbours. It wasn’t anything they hadn't heard from us before. Sensitive ears ahhh About Fushiguro — he does not hate me. Why does everyone say that?  We’re actually besties. We’re like dumb and dumber, but dumber is him obvi. Plus, once he gets some shots in him, he’s super in love with me. I get more over the clothes action from him than from you lol You never need to thank me for feeding you. I fear that’s like bare minimum. Get those standards up girl. Oh and sorry about the drink. I didn’t even notice. Leave it outside your door and I’ll get you a new one. I’ll even make a scene and call the manager over. Maybe I’ll buy the store and get everyone fired. Just give me the word babe. Yours forever,  Satoru 

From: [email protected] Subject: YOU ARE EXHAUSTING

Dear my sweetest, most frustrating boyfriend, Fine, I’ll forgive the kiss (I might have needed it too). And yeah, f my neighbours because the guy on my left loves playing Doctor Who Season 8 on repeat and on full volume every night like clockwork. It’s not even the best season! Forget about the drink. Just don’t ever go back there again. Number and smiley face aside, the drink is abysmal and tastes like bog water. Pastry is great though. 10/10 You’d really make a scene for me? Yours occasionally,  No longer starving girlfriend

From: [email protected] Subject: awww I knew you loved me really

Dear the Morticia to my Gomez,  I’d make a scene for you at the drop of a hat. I’d serenade you in malls, on campus, in a Michelin star restaurant, and in a lecture. Heck, I’d yell ‘BOMB’ in an airport if you asked me to – just maybe not an airport we frequent. There’s quite literally nothing I wouldn’t do for you. If you didn’t know that already, then I’m not as great of a boyfriend as I thought I was. I will remedy that immediately, my goddess eternal. Obsessedly yours,  Your husband in every way but legally (we can fix that)

From: [email protected] Subject: ugh

Dear Toru,  Stop being sweet. It’s disgusting. Come inside already. I’m done pretending I’m getting anything from the textbooks. I’m only giving myself a headache.

From: [email protected] Subject: woahhhh

You can tell I’m outside???

From: [email protected] Subject: you're loud as hell

I can hear you giggling at my emails, Satoru. You’re probably sitting on the floor, leaning against my door. 

From: [email protected] Subject: just got shivers

Damnnnn are you sure you’re not a witch?

From: [email protected] Subject: well?

Are you coming in or what?

From: [email protected] Subject: yippeeeee

Okay okay, yes I am. LOVE YOU BABY <3