#‘I need ___ to kiss right now!!!’ do you even enjoy the story. do you even enjoy these characters. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hawthorne-bias · 3 days ago

Text

moonlit silver

Four times Steve and you don’t share a New Year’s kiss, and the one time you do.

tags: steve rogers x you; 4 + 1 things; strangers to friends to lovers; fluff and angst; hurt/comfort; angst with a happy ending; slow burn; loosely canon-compliant until the ending of 'avengers: endgame' (2019); eventual happy ending.

warnings: mild angst—heartache and insecurity—present at one or two points in the story. no gendered language used for the reader.

word count: 19,912.

a/n: pictures used in header are from pinterest. dividers used here are by @saradika-graphics. mcu and its characters aren't mine. likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!! hope you'll enjoy reading this! happy new year 2025, everyone!! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

[1] December 31, 2013

The Stark Tower New Year’s Eve party is everything you imagined it would be—and more. Glittering lights cascade from the high ceilings, reflecting off the sleek glass walls and filling the room with a golden glow. Laughter and chatter echo from every corner as elegantly dressed guests mingle, glasses of champagne and colorful cocktails in hand. You’ve read about parties like this in magazines, seen them in movies, but to actually be here? It’s almost too much to believe.

You clutch your glass of sparkling cider a little tighter, feeling the fizz tickle your nose as you take a tentative sip. Non-alcoholic, because the last thing you need right now is to embarrass yourself in front of half the Stark Industries elite. Or worse, in front of Tony Stark himself. It’s your first time at one of these events—your first New Year’s Eve party of this caliber—and as the youngest, newest employee at the Stark R&D Labs, you already feel like a small fish in a very big, very glittering pond.

You’re thrilled, of course. Who wouldn’t be? This is the kind of thing most people would kill for—an invitation to the most exclusive party in the city, surrounded by some of the world’s most brilliant minds. And yet, there’s an overwhelming edge to it, a sense of being utterly out of place amidst the glitz and glamour. That’s why you’ve planted yourself in the corner of the room, tucked just far enough away from the main crowd to breathe while still close enough to soak it all in.

People-watching becomes your anchor, your way of grounding yourself in the chaos. You watch the shimmering gowns swish past, the way conversations ebb and flow, the way laughter ripples like waves through the room. It’s fascinating, observing how everyone seems so effortlessly comfortable in a setting like this. And for a while, it’s enough to distract you from your own nerves.

Until your gaze lands on him.

Steve Rogers.

You know who he is the second you see him, because how could you not? Captain America. The living legend, the man out of time, the face that’s graced history books, museums, and more than a few dreams. He’s standing across the room, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit that somehow manages to make him look even more heroic. He’s holding a glass of soda—it has to be soda—and his posture is as impeccable as you’d expect from someone who’s literally a super-soldier.

Your breath catches in your throat. For a second, all you can do is stare, because it’s not every day that you come face-to-face—well, almost—with a man like him. But then, as if sensing your gaze, he looks up. His blue eyes meet yours, and the rest of the room seems to blur into nothing.

You freeze.

And then he smiles.

It’s a polite smile, warm and genuine in the way only Steve Rogers can manage. It’s not the kind of smile that says, Hey, I caught you staring, but rather one that seems to acknowledge you, to say, Hey, it’s okay. I see you, too.

You manage to smile back, though your cheeks feel like they’re on fire. The fluttering in your chest is somewhere between exhilaration and sheer panic, and before you can embarrass yourself further, you quickly look away, staring down into your glass as if the bubbles will somehow rescue you.

You take a deep breath, willing your heart to stop racing. He’s just a person, you remind yourself. Just a very, very famous, very good-looking, very heroic person. No big deal.

Except, of course, it is a big deal, because your eyes betray you. Without thinking, they drift back to him, drawn as if by some magnetic pull. This time, though, the sight you catch makes your heart ache.

Steve’s smile is gone. In its place is a faint crease in his brow, a distant, almost wistful look that tugs at the corners of his mouth as his gaze rests on the crowd. It’s a quiet kind of sadness, the kind that doesn’t demand attention but settles into the air around him, unmistakable if you know where to look. And for some reason, it’s impossible to look away.

You hesitate, your thoughts warring with themselves. What are you supposed to do? He’s Captain America. What could you possibly say that wouldn’t sound awkward or out of place? Maybe it’s better to stay where you are, to leave him to whatever thoughts are making his shoulders slump like that.

But then you remember his smile. The way it had softened when he looked at you, even just for a moment. The way it had felt like a lifeline in a sea of glitter and noise.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, your feet are already moving.

You weave your way through the crowd, your pulse quickening with every step. By the time you reach him, you can hear your heartbeat in your ears, but it’s too late to turn back now.

“Hi,” you say, your voice bright and maybe a little too eager.

Steve blinks, clearly surprised. For a split second, you think you’ve made a mistake, that maybe you’ve overstepped. But then his eyes soften, and that smile—the one that made your heart flutter from across the room—returns.

“Hi,” he replies, his voice low and steady, and just like that, the noise of the party fades away. You’re not sure if it’s because of the way he holds your gaze or the sheer disbelief that Captain America just said hi to you, but for a moment, you feel like the room has narrowed down to just the two of you.

You scramble to find something to say, your mind racing as you realize you can’t exactly stand there staring at him forever. Finally, you manage a polite introduction, offering your name and a slightly shaky smile. He repeats it back, his voice wrapping around it in a way that makes it sound softer, like it belongs in a conversation rather than a rushed formality.

The conversation meanders from there, moving from one topic to the next, gaining momentum as the minutes pass. At first, your answers feel a little stilted, like you’re trying to remember how to sound normal under the pressure of Captain America himself standing right in front of you. But Steve makes it easier than you expect—his questions are thoughtful, his tone warm, and there’s something about the way he looks at you, like he’s genuinely interested in what you have to say, that helps chip away at your awkwardness.

“So, materials engineering,” Steve says, tilting his head slightly. “What made you choose that? I mean, it sounds fascinating, but it’s not something you hear about every day.”

You pause, trying to put your thoughts into words without overexplaining. “Well, I’ve always been interested in how things work—how you can take something as simple as, I don’t know, a piece of metal, and turn it into something incredible, like a rocket engine or an arc reactor. And Stark Industries… well, they’re the best of the best when it comes to that kind of thing.”

Steve nods, his expression thoughtful. “That makes sense. You get to build things that really matter.”

“Exactly,” you say, feeling a little thrill of excitement. “It’s challenging, but it’s also really rewarding. And, I mean… who wouldn’t want to be part of something that could change the world?”

There’s a pause, and then you add with a slightly sheepish laugh, “Though, to be honest, half the time I still feel like I’m just trying to keep up. Everyone here is so brilliant, and I’m… well, me.”

Steve’s brow furrows, and he shakes his head slightly. “You shouldn’t sell yourself short. You’re here because you deserve to be. And for what it’s worth, I think the fact that you’re willing to admit you’re still learning says a lot. It takes strength to acknowledge that.”

His words catch you off guard, and for a moment, all you can do is blink at him. There’s no trace of flattery in his tone—it’s all quiet conviction, like he genuinely believes what he’s saying. Your cheeks flush, and you duck your head slightly. “Thanks. That… that means a lot. Especially from you.”

Steve’s lips quirk into a faint smile. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

You let out a soft laugh, the sound helping to ease the fluttering in your chest. “Because you’re Steve Rogers. Captain America. It’s kind of a big deal.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, his gaze dropping for a moment. “I guess I’ll take your word for it.”

The conversation shifts, moving from your work to his experiences at the party. You ask him what it’s like being here, surrounded by so much noise and energy, and his answer is as honest as you’d expect.

“It’s… a lot,” he admits, glancing around at the glittering crowd. “I’m not used to events like this. I mean, the world’s changed a lot since my time, and Tony—well, Tony loves a good party. I’m just trying to keep up.”

You grin at that, a flicker of humor easing the tension in your chest. “Sounds like we’re in the same boat, then.”

Steve chuckles, the sound low and warm. “Maybe we are.”

The conversation flows more easily after that, the initial awkwardness replaced by something lighter, easier. You share a few stories—nothing too personal, just enough to feel like you’re starting to get to know each other. He tells you about adjusting to life in the 21st century, and you tell him about the chaos of working for Stark. He laughs when you describe the time you accidentally spilled coffee all over one of Tony’s prototypes and thought you were going to be fired on the spot, only for Tony to shrug and say, “Eh, happens to the best of us.”

“I can’t believe he didn’t give you a hard time about it,” Steve says, shaking his head with a grin.

"I too couldn't believe it," you say, your grin widening. "I was fully prepared for a lecture—or worse."

The laughter between you feels easy, warm, and for a little while, you forget about the crowd, the music, the glitz and glamour of the party. It’s just you and Steve, standing in the corner and talking like old friends.

Then, slowly, the energy in the room shifts. You notice it first in the way the music fades slightly, replaced by the sound of voices rising in unison: “Ten! Nine! Eight!”

Your conversation falters as you both glance toward the crowd. With the countdown to midnight underway, you notice a few people nearby subtly inching closer to their partners. It hits you then—the unspoken tradition of the New Year’s kiss.

Your heart jumps a little, the sudden shift in atmosphere making you hyper-aware of Steve’s presence beside you. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him glance at you, his smile a little tighter than it was a moment ago. There’s a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze, as if he’s wondering the same thing you are. Should you? Would he even want to? Do you want to?

“Seven! Six! Five!”

The tension builds, your mind racing as you try to think of what to do. Kissing Steve Rogers sounds… well, not exactly unappealing, but also terrifying. You barely know him, and besides, what if it just makes things awkward?

“Four! Three! Two!”

The moment stretches out, and you suddenly realize you need to do something—anything—before the countdown reaches zero. Acting on impulse, you turn to him with a wide, nervous grin and thrust out your hand.

“Happy New Year?” you say, your voice pitched a little too high.

Steve blinks, clearly caught off guard. Then, as if a weight has been lifted, his smile softens into something warm and genuine. He takes your hand, his grip firm but gentle, and shakes it with a quiet laugh.

“Happy New Year,” he replies, his voice low and steady.

The crowd erupts into cheers and shouts as midnight strikes, but for a moment, it feels like the noise is distant, like the two of you are in your own little bubble. His hand lingers in yours for just a second longer than expected before he lets go, and the look he gives you—soft, kind, and a little amused—makes your chest feel lighter than it has all night.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, laughing softly as you pull your hand back. “Well, that was certainly a twist on tradition.”

Steve chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Guess it’s our own version of ringing in the new year.”

You laugh, the tension relaxing as you reply, “Yeah, I suppose it is.”

You both share a smile, the moment lingering between you, and for the first time all night, you feel completely at ease. Maybe this wasn’t how you imagined your New Year’s Eve would go, but as you stand there with Steve, sharing a quiet laugh amidst the chaos, you can’t help but feel like you’ve made a friend—one who just happens to be Captain America.

[2] December 31, 2014

It’s another December 31st, and you find yourself once again at Stark’s infamous New Year’s Eve party. The scene feels familiar—people laughing, glasses clinking, the chatter of a thousand conversations filling the air. You watch Steve across the room, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you take in the way he moves through the crowd, effortlessly at ease despite the throngs of people around him.

It’s hard to believe how much has changed in just a year. The friendship you’ve built, the trust that’s grown between the two of you, and how naturally you’ve both slipped into each other’s lives. It’s like no time has passed at all, and yet everything has shifted in the most subtle, wonderful ways.

The warmth in your chest spreads as you watch him, his smile lighting up the room when he laughs with someone. There’s something about the way Steve carries himself—so grounded, so comfortable in his own skin, even among all this chaos. It's like he’s always exactly where he’s meant to be, and in his presence, everything feels just a little bit easier. You can’t help but feel a flutter in your chest as you watch him, that familiar pull of something deeper you’ve been trying not to name.

Your thoughts wander—again—like they always do when he’s near. It’s impossible not to think about how seamlessly he’s fit into your life, how he’s become this quiet, comforting constant in ways you didn’t even realize you were missing. You can’t help but marvel at the way he listens to you, not just hearing your words, but feeling the spaces between them. It’s like he’s in tune with something deeper, the things you leave unsaid, the little nuances that make up who you are. He makes you feel like you matter—like what you say and what you think is important, like you’re the only person in the world at that moment. It’s rare, this kind of attention, and it’s become something you look forward to, something you rely on without even meaning to.

And when he gets excited about something, when his voice picks up that certain edge of enthusiasm, it’s contagious. His eyes light up, full of that spark that makes you feel like you’re in on something special, like it’s just the two of you sharing a secret, one that’s meant only for you. You can tell that he’s not just excited about the thing itself, but about the idea of sharing it with you, of connecting with you on that level. There’s a kind of magic in it, something simple yet profound.

You catch the small moments too—the way your fingers brush against his, almost by accident, yet it feels like the world stops for a heartbeat. It’s so brief, so casual, but somehow, it’s enough to send a flutter through you. Your heart stutters for a split second, and you can’t help but linger on the feeling, as if there’s more to it than just a touch. It’s not something you talk about, but in those moments, it’s like you’re both saying something without words—a quiet understanding, a bond that’s growing stronger without either of you acknowledging it aloud.

Just as you’re letting your mind drift again, you catch his eyes across the room. He’s looking right at you, his smile widening when he spots you. It’s a simple moment, but it makes your stomach flip. Before you can even fully process it, he’s standing beside you, drink in hand, offering it with that easy grin you’ve come to love.

“Here you go,” he says, his voice warm and light, like it always is when he's around. “Thought you could use a refill.”

You blink, momentarily flustered from the look he gave you and the way your heart can’t seem to settle. “Thanks,” you say, taking the glass with a smile that feels just a little too wide. “You’re a lifesaver.”

He chuckles, leaning in just slightly. “I try.”

The conversation picks up, as effortlessly as it always does between you two. He asks how your week’s been, and you share a funny story about your latest experiment at work. He laughs, and you feel that flutter in your chest again, a sweet warmth spreading through you.

“So, any big New Year’s resolutions?” he asks, raising an eyebrow in that playful way he always does when he’s genuinely curious about what’s on your mind.

You think about it for a moment, smiling. “Hmm, maybe something simple—like learning how to cook without setting off the smoke alarm,” you joke, making a face. “I swear, it’s like that thing has it out for me.”

Steve grins, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he laughs. “I’m sure I could help with that. I’m not great in the kitchen, but I can definitely keep the fire extinguisher handy.”

You laugh, the sound light and easy between you. “You’d probably have to, knowing me.”

“Deal,” he says, his smile widening. “We’ll make it a team effort.”

The moment stretches, the two of you sharing an easy, comfortable silence before he suddenly tilts his head. “So, what about real resolutions? Anything big for this year?”

You tilt your head, considering it for a moment. “I think I just want to enjoy the little things more. You know, stop rushing through everything,” you say, feeling a little more thoughtful. “Maybe... take a chance on things I wouldn’t normally.”

He looks at you with an expression that’s warm, a little surprised. “I like that,” he says, voice soft but sincere. “Sounds like a good way to approach the year.”

You smile at him, feeling a little lighter than before. Maybe it’s the way his eyes linger on you, or maybe it’s just the way he makes you feel like everything will be okay. Either way, you’re happy to be here, in this moment, with him.

But as the conversation continues, you start to feel a subtle shift in the atmosphere. More and more people begin gravitating toward their partners, that quiet anticipation filling the air as the countdown to midnight draws near once again.

You glance around and something about the scene tugs at your memory—last year, the same party, the same gathering of people, all of them waiting for that one moment. You had been standing here with Steve then, too, and yet somehow, everything feels different this time. You can’t quite put your finger on why, but there’s an undeniable shift in the air.

An unexpected laugh escapes you—a little breathless, a little giddy—at the thought of how quickly the year has passed. "Can you believe it's been a whole year already? I swear it feels like we were just here."

Steve chuckles, that easy smile tugging at his lips, his eyes warm as he glances down at you. “Yeah, time really does fly, doesn’t it?” His voice is light, but there's a trace of something else there, like he’s thinking about more than just the passing year.

You catch yourself watching him a little too closely, your smile softening as you take in the way the light highlights the curve of his jaw and the easy warmth in his expression. It’s funny how much you’ve grown to cherish the little things—the way he gestures with his hands when he talks, the way his eyes seem to sparkle when he’s excited, and the quiet, steady presence that makes everything around him feel a little calmer, a little brighter. And it hits you then—how much you've come to care about this man in front of you, how much more than just friendship it feels. But you push the thought aside, choosing to keep it light as you nudge his arm playfully.

"We're here again, huh?" you say, your voice a little more vulnerable than you intended. "Once again, standing next to each other at midnight."

Steve grins, his gaze flickering from your eyes to your lips for just a split second, and you swear you see something there, something that makes your heart beat a little faster. Maybe it’s wishful thinking. After all, you’ve never exactly been great at reading people. But the way his gaze lingers on you, the way he shifts slightly closer, makes your breath catch in your throat. You tell yourself it's nothing—just your imagination—but a quiet part of you wonders if maybe, just maybe, this time is different.

Before you can overthink it, Steve clears his throat, his voice warmer than before. "Guess we’re not such bad company for each other, huh?"

You can’t help but laugh at the lighthearted way he says it. "I guess not," you reply, though the sudden rush of emotions you’re trying to suppress threatens to spill out.

But just as the moment stretches between you, something—a force, a collision—interrupts everything. You feel a sharp bump against your side, and before you can react, a slightly drunken Tony stumbles into both you and Steve, swaying on his feet like a sailor in a storm.

"Whoops, sorry, my bad," Tony slurs, a goofy grin plastered on his face. "Didn't see you two lovebirds. Whoa, Steve, you look good, buddy—almost like you're about to kiss!" he says with a wink, causing Steve to roll his eyes in amusement.

"Tony, you okay?" Steve asks with a chuckle, catching the slightly tipsy man by the shoulders as he sways. Immediately, Happy and Pepper swoop in, ushering Tony away with quick apologies, their attempts to diffuse the moment light and effortless.

You and Steve exchange a look and then both burst into laughter. As Happy and Pepper usher Tony off, you wave them off with a smile, trying to ease the tension. "No problem," you say, voice cheerful, and Steve nods in agreement, flashing a grin to show there's no hard feelings.

By the time everything settles and Tony’s antics are finally dealt with, the countdown has already hit zero. The room bursts into cheers, glasses clink, and the air feels heavy with celebration. But amidst all the noise and excitement, you and Steve are left standing there, a little awkwardly, in the middle of it all. It’s as if time has paused just for the two of you, suspended in the brief space between one year ending and the next beginning.

You catch a soft murmur from Steve, but it’s too quiet to hear. It’s nothing major, but the brief pause between you both feels oddly significant in that moment. With Tony’s sudden interruption and comment casting a brief, lingering tension between you, you both exchange a quick, slightly uncomfortable glance.

To fill the silence and ease the tension, you speak first, your voice a little too eager. “A hug?”

Almost as if on cue, Steve echoes your words, the two of you speaking in perfect sync. “A hug?”

A small, amused smile tugs at the corner of Steve’s mouth as his expression softens. You laugh, the sound light and shy, and somehow, it feels like the laughter itself is an invitation, drawing you both into the warmth of the moment. Without thinking, you step closer, your arms finding their way around him in an embrace that feels effortless, like it’s something you’ve shared a thousand times before. There’s no hesitation—just a quiet, shared comfort in being close.

The hug isn't perfect, but in this moment, you feel like it’s just right. The warmth of Steve’s arms, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the quiet peace that settles between you—everything else falls away. The noise of the party, the flashing lights, the excitement of a new year beginning—they all blur, leaving just the feeling of him against you, steady and real.

For a moment, you close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the embrace. The world feels still, like you could stay here forever. Gently, you pat Steve on the back, the soft fabric of his suit beneath your hand grounding you.

“Happy New Year, Steve,” you murmur, the words simple but full of meaning, more than just the usual greeting.

He pulls back slightly, enough to look at you, his smile warm, a touch of something unspoken in his gaze. “Happy New Year,” he says, his voice soft but sincere. And there’s something in the way he looks at you that makes you wonder if maybe this year could be different.

For a second, you linger in the space between his gaze and the soft hum of the world moving on around you, but then the moment fades, as all moments do. The celebration around you picks up again, but something remains. Something about this year, this moment, and this hug—it feels like it might be the beginning of something new.

[3] December 31, 2016

You find yourself, once again, at Tony Stark’s extravagant New Year’s Eve party. The lights are dazzling, the laughter loud, and the music pulsing, but it all feels distant. Like a performance you're watching from behind glass. Everything around you is full of life, yet the room feels strangely empty without Steve. You try to smile, to nod along, but it’s forced, fake, and you know it. A part of you aches with every minute spent here without him.

You drift through the crowd, an outsider to the merriment happening around you. You try to engage in conversations, but the words feel hollow as they leave your lips, awkward in ways they never used to be. When Steve was around, it had been so easy—he made you feel like you belonged, like you fit into the world. But tonight, it’s as if he’s taken all the light with him.

The absence is palpable, like a missing piece of your soul. It’s not just the absence of his presence; it’s the way you had come to rely on his steadiness, his warmth. With each passing minute, the weight of his absence grows heavier.

You think back to a time when everything seemed simpler, when the future wasn’t so uncertain. A few weeks ago, things were different. You can still hear the sound of his voice, that familiar calm, in your head. The phone call you had with him seems like it happened in another lifetime, before the world had shifted underfoot, before the Accords came and everything started to unravel.

You had been walking to work, the streets of New York still quiet in the early hours, when your phone buzzed with a call. The name on the screen had made your heart skip—Steve. You hadn’t heard from him in a while, and the sound of his voice on the other end felt like a lifeline.

His voice had been low, a little tired, but there was something in it that made you smile. A quiet kind of warmth that hinted at his eagerness to reconnect, to bridge the gap that had stretched between you both.

“So, how’s your family?” Steve had asked, his voice warm with curiosity.

“They’re good,” you’d answered easily, the words flowing without hesitation. “My brother’s keeping busy with work, but nothing’s really changed. Same old stuff.”

Steve had let out a quiet hum, acknowledging your words. “How's Peggy?” you had asked, your voice gentle.

He had sighed softly, the sound of it carrying all the unspoken weight of the past few weeks. “Sharon’s been keeping me updated about her… She's doing a little better than before, but… the doctors still can’t say for sure. It’s hard to tell, you know?” His voice faltered just slightly, and you felt the heaviness of his words.

A quiet pause stretched between you both, the kind that made the space between the two of you feel impossibly large and yet, somehow, painfully small.

Finally, Steve had broken the silence, his voice steady again, but you could hear the subtle shift in it, like he was trying to pull himself from a difficult moment. “Hey,” he said, and you could almost hear the lightness in his voice, like a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “What do you think about going to that new art exhibition once I get back from Europe? I think you’d really like it.”

That question had made you feel warm, even through the phone, and you had agreed instantly. You couldn’t help it. The thought of sharing something like that with him, of spending time together again—it felt like a promise. But now, that hope feels so distant, so elusive.

It’s the silence that follows, now that everything’s changed, that hurts the most.

Weeks have passed since that phone call, and since then, you’ve received nothing. No texts, no calls. Just an unbearable silence. The world has shifted in ways you could never have imagined. You never could have prepared for the anger, the sadness, the confusion that followed the announcement that Steve—your Steve—had been branded a criminal, a fugitive on the run. He, along with his friends, now carried the weight of the world’s judgment. And you, caught somewhere between betrayal and disbelief, can’t even begin to make sense of it all. One minute, everything had felt normal, full of possibility. The next, everything shattered. And with each passing day, the silence grows, becoming a constant reminder of how much has been lost.

The ache you feel in the pit of your stomach grows as you pull yourself out of that memory. You glance around the room again, but nothing looks the same. The faces are strangers, the laughter too loud, the conversations too shallow. Everything feels wrong without Steve here to make it feel right.

“Hey,” Tony’s voice interrupts your spiral, and you blink, momentarily startled. He’s standing in front of you, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. “What’s going on with you?”

You look at him, and it takes everything you have not to lash out. You want to scream at him—tell him that everything is wrong, that it’s his fault, that it’s his fault Steve isn’t here, that everything went to hell because of him. You want to shout that this stupid party doesn’t matter because Steve’s gone, because your best friend is out there, somewhere, lost in the mess of it all.

But instead, you swallow the words. You’re not angry at Tony, not really. You’re just hurting in a way that you can’t even begin to explain to anyone who doesn’t understand.

“I… I don’t feel well,” you say, your voice quieter than you intended. The words come out without thinking, and as they do, you wish you could take them back. But it’s too late now. You look at Tony, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “I think I’m going to head home.”

Tony seems to pause, his brow furrowing in a way that makes you feel like he sees right through you. But then he nods, offering a quick, almost sympathetic glance. “Alright, get some rest. You need anything, just call.”

You nod, even though the offer feels empty. You don’t need anything. You don’t need rest. You just need Steve. And you know that, no matter how much you wish it, you can’t get him back.

You make your way to the door, leaving the chaos behind you—the clinking glasses, the laughter that feels distant, like it belongs to another world. The moment you step outside, the cold night air hits you sharply, stealing your breath. It stings your skin, but it does nothing to dull the ache inside you. Nothing ever does.

As you start walking, the snow-covered streets of New York stretch out before you, the chill biting at your cheeks and seeping into your bones, each step feeling heavier than the last. It isn’t the most practical idea, considering how far you live from Stark Tower, but the thought of hailing a cab or taking the subway feels unbearable. You need the walk, the quiet crunch of snow under your boots, the dull ache in your legs—something to distract you from the hollow ache in your chest.

The city is alive with festivities, lights strung across shop windows, families and couples laughing as they pass by. You try to take it all in, really observe it, hoping maybe it’ll lift your spirits. But instead, it just makes everything worse. The cheer in the air feels mocking, a stark contrast to the heaviness you carry. You keep your head down and keep walking.

It’s only after a while that you notice something is wrong. The streets around you are unfamiliar, and when you finally look up, you realize where you’ve ended up—Times Square. The crowd is thick, bundled up in coats and scarves, their faces lit by the giant screens counting down to the New Year. Five minutes left. You groan inwardly at your own stupidity, but you can’t seem to make yourself move. The flashing numbers on the screen pull you in, trapping you in place as the memories start to flood back.

You think about the first time you spent New Year’s Eve with Steve. It was at one of Stark’s over-the-top parties, and you’d only just joined the team. You were so nervous around him, unsure of how to act. As midnight approached, you remember glancing at him and wondering—just for a second—if he’d kiss you. Everyone else around you seemed to be pairing off, and the idea of it made your stomach twist with a mix of excitement and panic. But then the moment came, and instead of a kiss, the two of you shared the most awkward, yet somehow endearing, handshake. You’d both laughed about it afterward, and it marked the start of what would become a beautiful friendship.

The next year was different. By then, things had shifted between you and Steve. There was a tension there, something unspoken but heavy, hanging in the air whenever you were near him. That New Year’s Eve, you’d felt it more than ever. You remember standing close to him, his smile softer than usual, his eyes lingering on yours just a little too long. But before anything could happen, Tony—drunk and oblivious—stumbled into the two of you, breaking the moment. You’d ended up hugging Steve instead, and though it wasn’t what you’d secretly hoped for, it felt like the beginning of something new, something deeper.

And then there was last year. You couldn’t even be in New York because your family had insisted on you coming home for the holidays. You’d promised Steve you’d spend this New Year’s Eve together to make up for it. “We’ll do something special,” he’d said, and you’d believed him. The two of you had made so many promises like that—to visit that art exhibition he’d mentioned, to grab coffee and talk about everything and nothing. But none of those promises matter now.

You feel the tears welling up before you can stop them. The countdown now reads two minutes and thirty seconds, the crowd around you growing louder, their cheers and excitement swirling into a cacophony that only amplifies the ache inside you. You press a hand to your mouth, trying to hold it all in, but it’s useless. The weight of it—the memories, the broken promises, the empty space where Steve should be—it all comes crashing down, and suddenly you’re sobbing in the middle of Times Square as the world counts down to a new year, a year without him there for you to wish Happy New Year to.

And then, you feel it—the unmistakable sensation of being watched. Your heart skips a beat, and without thinking, you turn in the direction that instinct tells you to. And there, amidst the crowd, you spot someone standing still, staring directly at you with an intensity that sends a chill down your spine. They’re wearing a thick coat, a hat pulled low, and mittens, their face entirely covered by a mask except for their eyes—two piercing blue eyes.

And in that instant, you freeze. You know that shade of blue all too well. It’s warm, inviting, strong—like a comforting embrace, resilient, and grounding in ways you can’t explain. It’s the kind of blue that feels like home, like safety, like Steve.

Your sobs still, the tears stilling on your cheeks as you focus on those eyes. Is it him? It can’t be. He’s supposed to be on the run, isn’t he? He can’t possibly be here, not in Times Square, not so close to the government that’s been hunting him down day and night. Not this close to Stark Tower, where everything is so dangerously visible. No, this has to be some daydream, some trick your mind is playing on you, some desperate projection of what you want to see.

You start to look away, to tear your gaze from those eyes—surely you’re just imagining things—but then, as if drawn by an invisible force, you see him move. The figure lifts a gloved hand, slowly pulls the edge of their mask down, and your breath catches in your throat.

There he is. It’s Steve.

Your heart lurches in your chest as the world seems to stop. He’s different—much more harried than you remember, his face a little more weathered, and there’s a scruffy beard that definitely wasn’t there the last time you saw him. His eyes are still the same, but there’s a certain weariness to him now, a deep exhaustion that you can feel even from across the street. His face is lined with stress, his cheeks hollow with fatigue, and there’s something in his posture that speaks of someone who’s been running for far too long.

But despite all of that, it’s him. Your Steve.

You let out a soft gasp, your hand flying to your mouth. How is he here? Why is he here? The shock hits you like a wave, leaving you breathless for a moment as your mind races to catch up with the reality in front of you.

Without thinking, you take a step forward, drawn to him like a magnet, desperate to close the distance between you. But just as you move, Steve raises a hand, his eyes pleading silently with you. His head shakes ever so slightly, a gesture that says, Please, not yet. You stop in your tracks, heart stuttering in your chest. Relief floods through you, but it’s mixed with a quiet uncertainty.

And then, before you can even try to stop them, the sobs return. But this time, they’re different. They’re lighter, easier, as if the heaviness that’s weighed you down for so long is finally starting to lift. Your chest feels freer, and despite the tears that streak down your cheeks, there’s something undeniably freeing about it.

A shaky smile spreads across your face, the kind of smile that sneaks up on you before you even realize it’s happening—a smile full of disbelief, of relief, of something you haven’t allowed yourself to feel for so long. You can hardly believe that this is real, that this moment, this impossible moment, is finally happening.

And then, across the crowd, you catch the faintest glimpse of Steve’s smile—small, tentative, but undeniable. It wobbles at the edges, like it might break apart if he holds it for too long, but it’s there. His eyes glisten, and it’s all you can do not to crumble completely. Your sobs intensify, raw and desperate, but they no longer feel like sorrow. No, this is something else entirely. It’s the release of weeks of tension, the unraveling of everything that’s been keeping you apart, and now you’re letting it all go.

Just as you think you might completely lose yourself in the moment, someone bumps into Steve, and in a split second, panic grips you. What if someone recognizes him? What if this is the moment everything falls apart? But Steve is quicker than you can process, his movements so practiced, so sure, that before you even realize it, his mask is up, obscuring his face. The stranger mutters an apology, unaware of the weight of what just happened, and walks away. You exhale in relief, your heart still racing but starting to settle as the shock fades.

You look at Steve, the silent communication between you clear. Please, keep the mask on, just a little longer. You can’t see his face now, but you know that familiar sheepish look—soft, almost shy, the one that always makes your chest tighten in a way you’ve never been able to explain. It’s enough. It’s more than enough. The smile that forms on your lips is warm, gentle, and it spreads through you like sunlight breaking through a dark sky. It’s impossible to stay sad when you feel it, and slowly, the weight in your chest starts to lift.

The countdown begins, and the voices of the crowd swell around you—excited, eager, full of life. The numbers rise up, and you find yourself joining in, the rhythm of the crowd pulling you along as you say the words with them. But still, your eyes stay locked on Steve, never wavering, never moving. He, too, keeps his gaze fixed on you, as if, in this moment, there’s no one else in the world but the two of you.

The numbers grow louder now, the crowd’s shouts filling the air, but they seem distant, like they’re coming from somewhere far away. Ten... nine... eight... Each second beats in time with your heart, and your chest tightens as the moment draws closer, closer to something that’s been a long time coming, something you both can’t seem to escape. The countdown isn’t just marking the end of a year—it feels like the mark of something else, something just for the two of you.

When the countdown strikes zero, the sound of the crowd’s cheers and the bursts of fireworks blur into the background. Your heart pounds painfully in your chest, the emotions too big to contain, too overwhelming to keep inside any longer. The tears spill over, hot and quick, your breath shallow as you try to steady yourself, your hands trembling with the weight of everything you’ve been holding back. You speak the only words your overwhelmed mind can form, your voice a soft whisper that’s swallowed by the celebration around you. “Happy New Year.”

Steve blinks, and you see it then—the light of the fireworks reflecting in his eyes, the faint shimmer of unshed tears that he’s holding back, just like you. For a brief moment, everything around you vanishes. There’s no countdown, no celebration, no fireworks. There’s only the two of you, standing across from each other, and the undeniable connection that has been woven between you over the years. It’s in his eyes, in his posture, in the way the world falls away when he’s near.

After a beat, Steve gives a small nod, his expression softening, and with a final wave, he turns to walk away. You remain rooted in place, your smile fading into something quieter, more melancholic, as you watch his retreating figure. The space between you feels vast again, and for a heartbeat, you almost feel as though the distance might never close. But then, he stops. He turns back, his gaze finding yours across the crowd. You force your lips into a shaky, wobbly smile, and he waves once more. Without thinking, you return the gesture, but something shifts in his expression—his brow furrows slightly as if unsure of your smile’s sincerity. You take a deep breath, making it as genuine as you can, and he holds your gaze for a beat longer, as if weighing the moment. Finally, he gives a short nod and turns away again, walking into the sea of people.

Your smile fades once more, morphing into something more tired, the weight of everything settling heavily on your shoulders. You watch him disappear among the crowd, the distance between you widening with each step. And with a soft sigh, you whisper to the night, barely audible over the noise around you, "Happy New Year, Steve."

You say it as though you’re hoping, hoping more than anything that this year will be kind to him—and to you, too. For both of you.

[4] December 31, 2017

The low murmur of the TV fills the room, the cheerful voice of the news anchor reporting New Year’s celebrations from all over the globe. London’s fireworks glitter above the Thames, Paris’s Eiffel Tower glows with dazzling lights, and Sydney’s harbor blazes with color. It’s all so lively, so celebratory, but none of it registers. The flickering screen paints the walls in flashes of gold and blue, but your attention is elsewhere, your thoughts far too tangled to focus.

You pace the length of your living room, the floor creaking faintly beneath your restless steps. The small phone in your hand feels too fragile, too insignificant for the weight it carries. You grip it tightly, as if holding on for dear life. The glow from the screen catches your eye each time you glance at it—still dark. No missed calls. No messages. Nothing.

It’s been a year since you saw Steve in Times Square. That fleeting moment feels like a lifetime ago, a blur of hurried glances and unspoken words before he vanished again. You’d spent the first six months after that in unbearable silence, scanning every news report, every rumor, just for a shred of hope that he was okay. And then, six months ago, the phone arrived. No letter, no explanation—just a plain package dropped at your door. At first, you thought it was a mistake. It wasn’t until the phone buzzed in your hand, the screen lighting up with a video call, that you realized it wasn’t.

It was Steve. Your Steve. His face had been thinner, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion, but he’d smiled when he saw you, and in that moment, nothing else mattered.

Since then, these calls have become everything. Every beep of the phone, every vibration, every flicker of the screen—it’s all tied to him, your one connection to the man who means so much more to you than you can ever put into words. And tonight, you’re waiting for him again.

But it’s been ten minutes since the time he said he’d call, and the silence is stretching too thin. Your mind races with every possible reason. What if something’s happened? What if he’s been caught? What if this phone, this fragile lifeline, has been compromised? You squeeze the device harder, your thumb brushing over the screen. The room feels colder, the air heavier with each passing second. Your teeth tug at your bottom lip, your eyes flicking back to the clock on the wall. Time crawls painfully, each tick echoing in the stillness.

And then—finally—the phone buzzes. The sound jolts you, sharp and startling, and you nearly drop it in your rush. The number you know by heart flashes across the screen, and relief crashes into you like a wave, leaving you breathless and weak-kneed. Your fingers tremble as you swipe to answer, fumbling in your hurry, but you manage it just in time. The phone steadies in your grip as the screen connects.

And there he is—Steve.

For a moment, you can’t do anything but stare, your breath catching in your throat as the image of him fills the tiny screen. Your surroundings blur, the low hum of the TV fading into nothingness as your focus narrows entirely on him.

You absently note the setting behind him, a plain, nondescript room with gray walls and dim lighting. It tells you nothing about where he is, and yet you can’t bring yourself to care. All that matters is him, right there in front of you. Your eyes roam over his face, keenly taking in every detail, every change.

He looks worn, the kind of tired that speaks of nights spent on the run and days filled with endless battles. His hair is darker now, longer and shaggier than the last time you saw him, with unruly strands curling just above his ears. His beard is scruffier, rougher, and it only adds to the ruggedness of his appearance. There are new lines on his face—faint creases at the corners of his eyes and deeper ones around his mouth. They speak of hardships, of struggles and sacrifices, of the weight he carries every single day. But his eyes—those familiar, piercing blue eyes—still hold that quiet strength, that unyielding resolve that has always been so uniquely Steve.

Relief crashes over you like a wave, leaving you breathless and lightheaded as you realize that, despite the exhaustion, the shadows beneath his eyes, and the wear etched into his features, he’s here. He’s alive. He’s okay. And with a sudden ache in your chest, you think that he’s never looked more handsome than he does right now. This is Steve—your Steve.

Before you can say anything, he’s already speaking, his voice low and rough, tinged with guilt. “I’m sorry,” he says hurriedly, his words coming out in a rush. “I got held up. There was... something I had to deal with, and I couldn’t—”

“Shh.” You cut him off softly, raising a hand instinctively, even though he can’t see the motion. A smile tugs at your lips, tender and heartfelt, easing the tightness in your chest just a little. “It’s okay, Steve. It’s okay.” You pause, your voice lowering as your gaze softens. “How are you?”

The question seems to catch him off guard. He falters, his mouth opening slightly as he hesitates, like he doesn’t quite know how to answer. For a long moment, he just looks at you through the screen, his expression unreadable. And then, slowly, a small, soft smile spreads across his lips, one that makes your heart ache all over again.

“Good. Just finished dinner,” he says finally, though there’s a weight to his words, an unspoken truth that tells you he’s far from being 'good.' “How are you?”

Your throat tightens, and the words slip out before you can stop them, raw and honest. “I miss you.”

His smile deepens, and something flickers in his gaze—something tender and bittersweet, a shared ache that bridges the vast distance between you. His voice drops, quieter now, almost a whisper. “So do I.”

There’s a brief pause after his softly spoken words, and in the quiet that follows… the two of you simply look at each other. The moment stretches between you, warm and unhurried, as though the distance between you has melted away for these few fleeting seconds. Steve’s soft smile mirrors your own, and for once, neither of you feels the need to speak. It’s enough just to be here, together, even if it’s only through a screen.

And then, loud and clear, your stomach growls.

Your eyes widen in horror, your face flushing as Steve’s brows shoot up, his expression shifting from surprise to barely contained laughter. You freeze, mortified, before a helpless giggle bubbles out of you, shattering the quiet.

“Oh my god,” you groan, pressing a hand to your stomach as if you can will it to stop. “Sorry about that. My stomach clearly doesn’t care about timing.”

Steve’s mouth twitches, as if he’s fighting the urge to laugh. He bites his lip, his chest rising slightly as he takes in a breath. But then, unable to hold it back any longer, a warm, rich laugh bursts out of him, filling your small apartment like sunlight breaking through clouds. “You don’t have to apologize for being hungry,” he says, still chuckling. “But... tell me you’ve eaten dinner?”

You hesitate, nibbling on your bottom lip. “Well,” you begin cautiously, “I had a few crackers earlier, so technically—”

“Crackers?” he interrupts, his tone hovering between disbelief and gentle scolding. “That’s not dinner!”

You shrug defensively, your laugh light and sheepish. “What can I say? I wasn’t about to risk setting off the smoke alarm on New Year’s Eve. Can you imagine? The streets are so crowded, the fire department would probably take hours to get here.”

Steve chuckles, shaking his head as his smile softens into something warmer. “I can’t argue with that,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “But still, crackers? You deserve better than that.”

“Do I, though?” you tease, crossing your arms and arching a brow at him.

“Absolutely,” he replies, his tone firm but playful. Then, after a pause, he adds, “But then again, the firemen too deserve a break from dealing with the disasters you create every time you're alone in the kitchen.”

You gasp, feigning offense as you place a hand dramatically over your chest. “Wow. First of all, rude,” you say, though your lips twitch with suppressed laughter. “And second of all, you’re not wrong, but I feel like I shouldn’t let you get away with saying that.”

He grins, leaning closer to the camera as his eyes glint with playful mischief. “Okay, how about this,” he says, gesturing between the two of you. “Together, you and I wouldn’t be a disaster in the kitchen. I’d make sure of it.”

“Oh, would you now?” you ask, raising a skeptical brow.

“Absolutely,” he says with easy confidence. “Tell me—do you know how to make spaghetti?”

You tilt your head, pretending to consider it. “Spaghetti? I mean, I can make it,” you admit, “but it’s never pretty. Somehow, the sauce ends up everywhere, and the pasta is either overcooked or underdone. It’s a talent, really.”

“Perfect,” he says, his grin widening. “Then let’s make spaghetti together. I’ll guide you through it step by step. I promise it won’t end in disaster.”

You narrow your eyes at him, fighting a smile. “You promise?”

He places a hand over his heart, speaking very solemnly as if swearing an oath, “I promise.”

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Alright, Captain,” you say, picking up the phone and heading toward the kitchen. “Let’s make some spaghetti. But if my kitchen ends up looking like a crime scene tonight, it’s all on you.”

“Deal,” he says, his voice warm and steady. “Now, let’s get started.”

You set the phone on the counter, adjusting the angle so that Steve can see both you and the kitchen. With a soft chuckle, you tie your hair up into a messy ponytail, letting your fingers linger on the strands for a moment longer than necessary. The quiet hum of the apartment feels almost comforting as you turn back to the screen, smiling at Steve's face. "Alright, Chef Rogers," you say with a teasing grin, "Let's cook some spaghetti."

Steve leans forward just a bit, his expression lighting up with enthusiasm. "I’m ready. First, fill a pot with water. And don’t forget to salt it generously—this is important, okay? The pasta needs flavor."

“Generously, huh? Like... Grandma’s cooking salty, or ocean water salty?”

He chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Somewhere in between."

You laugh, a warm sound that fills the space between you two. There’s something so simple, so comforting about this moment. It almost feels like he’s standing there next to you, right in the kitchen with you. “Got it,” you say, tossing in a healthy pinch of salt. “Now, what?”

“Now, we wait for the water to boil. While we’re doing that, chop up some onion. You’ve got this.”

You grab the onion from the counter, the weight of it solid and familiar in your hands. You start cutting, the blade of the knife moving steadily through the onion, though your thoughts drift. There’s something about this—cooking, chatting, just being with him through the screen—that feels almost... intimate. There’s a strange sense of closeness, even though he’s miles away. You glance at the screen, where Steve’s smiling face is framed by the kitchen’s soft light.

“So,” you begin, trying to fill the silence with something more, “how’s Bucky doing?”

Steve’s smile softens, his expression turning thoughtful as he glances down for a moment. The topic of Bucky’s treatment in Wakanda is never an easy one to bring up, but you can feel the weight of it in the air between you. “He’s in good hands,” Steve says quietly, his voice steady but carrying a layer of something deeper. “The treatment’s been slow, but they’re making progress. It’s hard, though. It’s not a quick fix. But they’re doing everything they can, and I’m here for him, every step of the way. He’s not facing this alone.”

You feel a pang in your chest, and for a moment, you stop what you’re doing, letting the quiet fill the space between you. You can only imagine how much this weighs on Steve, how much he wants things to be easier for Bucky. “I can’t imagine how hard it must be,” you say softly, your voice full of empathy. “But... I think Bucky’s lucky to have you. I know you’ve both been through so much, but... he has someone who understands, someone who’s there for him no matter what.”

Steve’s gaze meets yours through the screen, his eyes filled with gratitude and a quiet strength. “I’m the lucky one,” he murmurs, a faint smile touching his lips. “It’s not easy, but having him by my side... even in the tough times... that’s everything.”

You nod slowly, finishing chopping the onion, a quiet admiration settling in your chest for the way Steve carries those he loves, even when it weighs heavily on him. “It’s clear you two are good for each other.”

Steve’s expression brightens, and the warmth in his eyes grows. “I think so,” he says, offering you a gentle smile. “We’ve got each other’s backs. It’s the only way it works.”

You smile in return before turning back to the stove, trying to focus on the task at hand. The pot is starting to bubble, and you slide the chopped onion into the pan, the sizzle making a satisfying sound. “Alright,” you say, trying to bring some lightness to your voice, “onions are in. Now what?”

“Now,” Steve says with a playful glint in his eye, “we move on to the garlic. You have garlic, right?”

You raise a clove of garlic to the camera, giving him a mock look of disbelief. “Do you think I’d ever cook without garlic? Please. This is me we’re talking about.”

Steve laughs, and it’s a warm, easy sound. "Good call. Garlic makes everything better.” He watches you carefully as you chop the garlic, offering gentle advice on technique—little tips here and there that make you feel like you’re cooking together, not just over a screen. “You’re a natural, you know?”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” you tease, your voice light as you slice through the garlic.

“So, Sam?” you ask, after a brief pause, letting the conversation drift back to the people who matter most to Steve. “How’s he doing?”

Steve smiles again, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Sam’s Sam. Always on the go. But I’ve been keeping him in check, making sure he takes some breaks. He doesn’t always listen, but... he’s starting to understand that downtime is important, too.”

You chuckle, knowing exactly what he means. “Typical Sam, huh?”

“Yeah,” Steve laughs, shaking his head. “But honestly, I think he’s been a huge help. Even if he’s restless, he’s a good influence. Keeps me grounded.”

“I get that,” you say, stirring the garlic into the onions. “Everyone needs a grounding force.”

Steve’s voice softens, the playfulness giving way to a quiet sincerity. “Exactly. It’s good to have people who… know when you need to find your balance.”

You pause, letting his words hang in the air for a moment. The sound of the garlic sizzling in the pan seems to fill the quiet between you, and your heart feels a little fuller in your chest. “And Natasha?” you ask, curious despite yourself. You know how hard she’s been working to find peace after everything, and you want to know she’s doing okay.

Steve’s smile softens, turning more tender. “Natasha’s... well, she’s Natasha. She’s tough, but even she has her moments. She’s finding her rhythm, though. I think she’s doing alright. She doesn’t talk about it much, but we’ve all got her back. She knows that.”

You nod slowly, understanding what he means. “I hope she knows she’s not alone.”

“She does,” Steve says, his tone steady and reassuring. “She’s not alone.”

You finish adding the garlic to the pan, the kitchen filling with a rich, savory scent. The pot of water is boiling now, and you drop in the pasta, letting it submerge into the hot water. “Alright,” you say, giving Steve a teasing look, “Pasta’s in. This is happening. Do you want to take credit for this, or should I just take all the glory?”

Steve chuckles, a low, warm sound. “I think I’ll be a gentleman this time and let you take all the credit.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile never leaves your face. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you mutter, stirring the pasta in the pot, “or I’d have some very choice words for you.”

Steve grins, giving you a wink. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Then, his expression softens slightly, and he says more genuinely, “But seriously, you should take the credit. You did all the hard work. I’m proud of you.”

The warmth that fills you when he says that is unlike anything you expected. You think about how there’s something so simple, so pure about this moment. Even though he’s not physically here, you feel more connected to him than you have in a long time. Cooking, talking, laughing… It feels easy, natural, like you’ve been doing this for years.

“I’m glad we’re doing this,” you say quietly, your voice softer than you meant. “Even if it’s just over a screen... it’s really nice.”

Steve’s expression mellows, the corners of his mouth curling into a small, sincere smile. “I’m glad too. Next time, I’ll be there in person, okay?”

Your heart skips a beat, and your smile widens. “I’ll hold you to that,” you whisper.

As you finish preparing the spaghetti, there’s a sense of calm settling over you, like everything is, for once, in its right place. Even though he’s far away, Steve’s presence feels so close—so tangible—that you’re not sure where the distance ends and where the connection begins. And in this moment, that’s all you need.

You sit down at the table, twirling your fork through the perfectly cooked spaghetti and taking a satisfying bite. Steve smiles when he sees your reaction through the screen. “Good, right? Told you adding enough salt makes a difference.”

“Alright, alright,” you admit with a playful roll of your eyes. “You win this round, Rogers. The spaghetti is amazing.”

He grins, leaning closer to the screen as if that brings him nearer to you. “Glad to know my cooking lessons aren’t going to waste.”

Time then seems to fly as the two of you keep talking, sharing stories, laughing, and jumping from one topic to the next. You tell him about the time you tried to bake a cake and ended up with something more like a brick. He tells you about Sam’s most recent failed attempt to teach Bucky how to use modern slang. Each story draws out laughter, softening the ache of the distance between you.

Before long, you find yourself back on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, the warm glow of your living room lamps casting a cozy light around you. The phone is propped up on the coffee table, its screen reflecting Steve’s face as he lies on his back in bed, the dim light of his room softening his sharp features. His voice, low and soothing, fills the room as he recounts another story about Bucky’s latest antics. You listen with a smile, letting the sound of his voice wrap around you like an invisible thread connecting you across the miles.

“…and then,” Steve says, his voice tinged with both exasperation and amusement, “Bucky swore he wasn’t the one who knocked over Sam’s coffee mug, even though we all saw him do it. Poor Sam looked like he’d lost a family member.”

The mental image of Sam’s overly dramatic reaction has you laughing softly, shaking your head. “I can only imagine the look on his face. Did he make one of those epic speeches about betrayal and the sanctity of his morning coffee?”

Steve chuckles, the sound warm and rich. “Oh, absolutely. He went on for a good ten minutes about trust and how his ‘prized mug’ can’t be replaced. Natasha told him to get over it, but Bucky promised to replace it. Honestly, I think Sam’s just milking it now.”

The way Steve’s voice dips when he talks about his friends makes your heart swell. There’s such affection in his words, even when he’s teasing them. But as he keeps talking, you notice a certain sleepiness creeping into his tone. His words slow, and his eyelids lower just slightly. And then, mid-sentence, he lets out a huge, unrestrained yawn that catches both of you off guard.

“Steve,” you say, your voice laced with both amusement and fondness, “you should really go to sleep. It’s late.”

But, predictably, Steve shakes his head, his stubborn streak shining through as he shifts against his pillows. “Nope. I’m not tired,” he insists, though his voice is softer now, almost dreamy.

You raise an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh, really? Because that yawn just now says otherwise.”

He waves you off with a lazy hand, though the corners of his mouth twitch in a small, tired smile. “I’m fine. I can’t let you enter the New Year alone. Only fifteen minutes left—I can hang on that long.”

You sigh, shaking your head, but there’s a certain warmth in your chest at his determination. “Steve…” you start, your tone gentle but exasperated.

“Nope,” he interrupts, a hint of playfulness in his sleepy voice. “I’m staying awake. That’s final.”

Another yawn escapes him right after, and you bite back a sigh, watching as his eyelids droop even further. It’s clear he’s fighting a losing battle, but you know better than to argue with him. Steve Rogers, ever the soldier, would dig in his heels just to prove a point, even if it’s against himself.

“Alright,” you say, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. “If you insist. But don’t blame me when you wake up tomorrow groggy and cranky.”

“I won’t,” he mumbles. “Fifteen minutes… piece of cake.”

The two of you fall into an easy rhythm again, your voices filling the quiet spaces in each other’s nights. Steve talks about the stars visible through his window and how the cold winter air seems to seep into the old walls of wherever he’s staying. You share little details about your day—mundane things that feel special simply because you’re telling him. There’s an intimacy to it, a quiet kind of magic that makes the time feel suspended.

At one point, though, you cough, and the dryness in your throat reminds you just how parched you are. “Hang tight,” you say softly, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself as you stand. “I’m just going to grab a glass of water.”

“Take your time,” Steve murmurs, his voice so soft now that you can barely hear him. Another yawn punctuates his words, and you smile to yourself as you head to the kitchen.

When you return a minute later, water in hand, you pause mid-step at the sight on your phone screen. Steve has fallen asleep. His head is tilted slightly to the side on the pillow, his face soft and peaceful in a way that tugs at your heart. One arm rests across his chest, rising and falling with the steady rhythm of his breathing, and his lips are parted just slightly, a faint trace of a smile lingering there.

You set the glass down on the coffee table and sink back into the couch, your blanket pooling around you as you lean closer to the phone. For a moment, you simply watch him, your chest swelling with warmth. He looks so different like this—unguarded, vulnerable, and completely at ease. It’s a rare sight, and you can’t help but feel a little honored to witness it.

A soft smile tugs at your lips as you take in the gentle lines of his face, the way his golden hair falls slightly across his forehead. He looks so peaceful, so unburdened, and it makes your chest ache in the best way. There’s something about this moment that feels so tender, so intimate, that it leaves you a little breathless.

All of a sudden, your gaze shifts to the clock on the wall, and you realize it’s 12:01 AM.

A soft, loving laugh escapes your lips, gentle and full of affection, as you glance back at the phone screen. Steve’s still asleep, a peaceful expression on his face, his chest rising and falling with every steady breath. He’s always been the type to push through exhaustion, but tonight, somehow, you can’t help but smile at how he managed to stay awake just long enough to make it to midnight.

“Well, you did it, Steve,” you murmur fondly, your voice quiet and tender, almost as if speaking too loudly might disturb the fragile tranquility of the moment. "You stayed awake just long enough to welcome the New Year with me, making sure I didn’t enter it alone."

Reaching for your phone, you pick it up carefully, holding it close as though it were something precious, something that needed to be handled with the utmost tenderness. A soft smile curls on your lips as your gaze lingers on the peaceful image of him. You trace your fingers lightly over the screen, mimicking the shape of his face in the most delicate of motions. It’s slow, deliberate, a gentle caress across the glass, but it feels as though it somehow bridges the miles that separate you. Your heart aches a little at the thought that this simple gesture—touching the screen—is the closest you can come to touching him, to being near him in this moment.

“Happy New Year, Steve,” you whisper, your voice barely audible in the quiet room. It feels almost sacred, speaking these words to him, as if this moment deserves reverence. “I hope this year brings you nothing but happiness—nothing but the peace and joy you’ve always given to others, the peace and joy you so deeply deserve.”

Your fingers linger just a moment longer, tracing over the screen once more before you let out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh. You set the phone down gently onto the coffee table, careful not to disturb the quiet that’s enveloped the room. You pull the blanket tighter around your shoulders, letting its warmth cocoon you as you settle back against the cushions, your heart full and content.

“Goodnight, Steve,” you murmur softly, your voice thick with a quiet affection that catches in your throat. “Sweet dreams, wherever you are. I’ll be here, always, no matter how far apart we are.”

You take one last look at his sleeping face, letting the soft glow of the screen illuminate your surroundings, your heart full, and then, with a final deep breath, you let your eyes flutter closed. As sleep gently pulls you under, a soft smile remains on your face—your thoughts filled with nothing but warmth, love, and gratitude for the man who means everything to you. The new year has just begun, and though it’s only the first moment, you already know it’s going to be a year full of hope—a year that holds the promise of something beautiful, something special.

[+1] December 31, 2023

New Year’s Eve is meant to be a celebration—a time for new beginnings, reunions, and toasting to a brighter tomorrow.

This year, it feels like the world is more than ready to embrace that promise.

Months after the Blip, humanity has been slowly but steadily rebuilding itself. The pain and emptiness of those lost years haven’t disappeared, but they’ve been woven into the resilience of those who remain. Cities that once stood eerily silent now pulse with life. Families long torn apart by grief and dust have found their way back to each other. Old lovers have reunited, and strangers have formed new bonds, as if the world collectively decided to hold onto joy and never let go.

Tonight, the streets reflect that determination. Strings of lights crisscross above the avenues, their golden glow spilling over jubilant crowds. Music pours from every corner, blending into a rhythm that makes even the coldest winter air feel warm. People laugh, shout, and hug—strangers and friends alike—caught in the electric anticipation of midnight.

But none of it touches you.

Inside your dimly lit apartment, the celebrations outside feel like they’re happening in another world—a world you no longer seem to be a part of.

This New Year doesn’t feel like a celebration. Instead, it feels like a cruel, cosmic mockery, as if the universe itself is laughing at your pain. The pain you’ve carried silently for months, letting it fester in the quiet moments when no one else is watching.

For you, this year has brought nothing but loss, and tonight is a bitter reminder of everything you’ve been forced to endure.

The Blip stole five years from the world, but for you, it felt like no more than the blink of an eye. One moment, you were here; the next, you were nothing but dust on the wind. When you returned, it was as if no time had passed. You were still mid-thought, mid-step, mid-life. But the world… the world had moved on without you.

Five years.

In those five years, the people you loved had changed. They had grown older, wiser, and wearier. Some had found joy in places you weren’t there to see. Others… weren’t there to welcome you back at all. The life you’d left behind had become a story you no longer recognized.

Except for Steve.

Steve was the one constant.

When you stumbled back into existence, disoriented and overwhelmed, he was there. His steady presence grounded you, a calm amid the chaos of your return, as if he were the only thing holding you together. He’d been through so much himself—you knew that—but he never let it show. Not when you needed him.

Steve became your anchor, your compass in a world that felt so foreign, so out of place. Even with the weight of leading the Avengers, rebuilding alliances, and helping others, he made time for you. In those moments, he wasn’t Captain America or the symbol of hope everyone saw. He was just Steve—kind, patient, and unwavering. He reminded you that you still mattered, that you still had a place in this world, even when everything around you seemed so far removed from what it once was.

And slowly, painfully, you began to hope again.

You started to believe that maybe there was still a future for you—a future, you hoped, with him.

But then he left.

When Steve volunteered to return the Infinity Stones, you hadn’t thought much of it. It was Steve, after all. He’d faced countless dangers, gone on impossible missions, and always made it back. He promised you he’d return this time too.

And you believed him.

The first few days after he left, you were optimistic. It was Steve—how could you not trust him?

But days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. And Steve didn’t come back.

At first, you convinced yourself it was just a delay. Something had gone wrong—maybe he was stuck, or there was a complication. But he would find a way, you told yourself. Steve always found a way.

Then the whispers started.

People began to talk, their voices hushed but persistent. They said Steve had gone back to the past, to Peggy Carter, to the life he’d always wanted but never had. They said he’d chosen to stay there, to leave behind the present—and everyone in it.

Including you.

You didn’t want to believe it. You told yourself it couldn’t be true. Steve wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t leave without a word, he wouldn’t leave without a goodbye—your Steve wouldn’t leave you.

Would he?

Now, months later, you’re no longer sure.

The hope you’d clung to so desperately has eroded, worn down by silence and the heavy weight of what might be the truth. And tonight, as the world outside celebrates new beginnings, you sit alone in your apartment, staring at the clock.

The room is dark, save for the dim glow of a single lamp. The air feels too still, the quiet pressing down on you like a physical weight. In the distance, fireworks explode, their muffled booms barely audible through the walls. You flinch at the sound.

Your heart aches in a way you can’t quite put into words. You tell yourself you should be grateful—you survived, after all. You’re alive. You’re here.

But the gratitude feels hollow.

What good is surviving if the world you’ve returned to feels empty? What good is a second chance if the one person who made it bearable is gone?

Your eyes blur with tears as you stare down at the untouched glass of champagne in your hand. You’d poured it hours ago, hoping you’d find it in yourself to toast to something—anything. But now, the bubbles have gone flat, and the pale golden liquid seems to mock you, its emptiness a mirror of your own.

He’s gone.

The thought slips in, quiet but sharp, as inevitable as the champagne losing its fizz. The words echo in your mind, a truth you’ve tried so hard to ignore but can’t anymore. Steve is gone. He’s not coming back. And if the whispers are true, he chose not to.

The tears spill over, hot and relentless, and you let them. What’s the point in holding them back? The ache in your chest feels unbearable, like it might consume you whole.

With a shaky sigh, you set the glass down on the coffee table. You close your eyes, trying to steady your breathing, but it doesn’t help. The pain is still there, sharp and unrelenting. It’s like the weight of it has settled into your bones, and no matter how deep you breathe or how much you try to push it down, it refuses to be ignored.

All of a sudden, the shrill ring of your phone slices through the thick silence of your apartment, startling you. Your breath catches, and for a fleeting moment, your heart leaps into your throat. Could it be—?

But when you glance at the screen, that glimmer of hope flickers out. Tony Stark.

You hesitate, wiping the tears from your cheeks with trembling fingers, before staring at the screen. Tony is your boss, yes, but tonight of all nights, you don’t feel like upholding the usual courtesies expected of you towards your employer. Talking to anyone right now feels like an impossible task—like scaling a mountain. And Tony, of all people, has an uncanny ability to see through the thinnest of excuses.

The phone suddenly stops ringing. Relief floods your chest. Problem solved. You didn’t have to do anything.

But then, just as you start to lean back into the couch, the phone rings again.

You groan audibly, running a hand through your disheveled hair. Of course, Tony would call back—he’s nothing if not persistent. Resignation settles over you, heavy and inevitable, and you swipe to answer the call.

"Hello?"

"Hey, you!" Tony’s voice comes through the line, the usual chipper sarcasm hanging in the air. "Thought you might be dodging me there for a second. Glad to see you’ve got your priorities straight."

Despite everything, a small tug at the corner of your lips betrays your heavy mood. "Hi, Tony. Happy New Year."

"Yeah, yeah, Happy New Year," he replies breezily, not missing a beat. "So, listen, are you coming to my party or what? Big bash at my place—top-tier catering, live music, the works. Pretty much everyone who’s anyone is here. And by ‘everyone,’ I mostly mean me, Pepper, and a bunch of people who can’t hold a candle to me."

You let out a slow exhale, leaning back against the couch. "I don’t think I can make it this year, Tony."

"‘Don’t think’? That’s not a ‘no,’" he quips, but there’s something in his tone now—a small undercurrent of concern that catches you off guard. "Come on, what’s the deal?"

"Okay, fine," you say with a faint sigh. "No. I’m not coming."

The other end of the line goes quiet for a beat, and you feel it—like Tony is weighing something, deciding whether to push or pull back. Finally, he speaks again, his voice softer, the playful edge gone. "Any particular reason why, or are you just too cool for the rest of us now?"

You force a small laugh, but it comes out flat, like it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. "I’m not feeling great. Probably just a cold or something. Nothing to worry about."

Another pause. He’s not buying it. You can feel his eyes narrowing, even though you’re not there.

"Okay," Tony says finally, his tone careful, a little quieter. "If you say so. But you know, Morgan’s been asking about you."

That catches you off guard. "Morgan?"

"Yeah," Tony continues, his voice softening, like he’s suddenly realizing how heavy the moment has become. "She was pretty excited to meet you tonight. Pepper and I have been telling her all about you—how you’re the brains behind half the cool stuff in the lab, how you keep things running when I’m too busy saving the world or getting into trouble. She thinks you’re some kind of superhero."

A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips, despite the ache in your chest. "She does, huh?"

"Oh, yeah," Tony says, his tone shifting back to that mock seriousness. "She’s already brainstorming codenames for you. I think she settled on something like ‘Lab Wizard,’ but don’t quote me on that."

You chuckle softly, the sound quiet but genuine. It feels almost out of place in the emptiness of your apartment. "Well, tell her I’m sorry I couldn’t make it tonight. And tell her I’ll come visit soon. Maybe next weekend?"

There’s a beat of silence, like Tony is processing the promise. Then he replies, his voice warm but with a hint of humor. "Next weekend works. But you better mean it—Morgan’s got a memory like a steel trap. You flake on her, and I promise, she’ll make you regret it."

"I’ll be there," you assure him, your voice steady this time, despite everything else.

"Good," Tony says, and you can almost hear the satisfied nod in his voice. "And hey, just… take care of yourself, okay? If you need anything—anything at all—you’ve got my number. Use it."

"Thanks, Tony," you whisper, the lump in your throat threatening to rise again.

"All right, kid. Get some rest. And don’t let the couch eat you alive."

A small, reluctant smile crosses your face. The line clicks off, and the phone slips from your hand onto the couch beside you, your body sinking back into the cushions as a long, tired sigh escapes you.

You’re just about to close your eyes when your phone buzzes again. You frown, your tired eyes shifting to the screen, already bracing for who it might be now.

Mom.

You hesitate, biting your lip. She’s probably calling to check in—something she’s been doing a lot more since you came back. It’s sweet, really, but tonight, you’re not sure you have the energy for one of her concerned check-ins. You love her, but right now, the thought of another conversation about your well-being feels like climbing a mountain you don’t have the strength for. Still, you know ignoring her would only lead to more calls—and a voicemail laden with guilt you don’t need right now.

With a reluctant sigh, you press the answer button.

"Hi, Mom," you say, trying to inject some lightness into your voice, though it feels more like an act than anything genuine.

"Finally!" she exclaims, her tone warm but tinged with frustration. "Do you have any idea how many times I’ve called you this week? I was starting to think you’d dropped off the face of the Earth again!"

"Sorry," you mutter, the guilt settling in your chest like a lead weight. "I’ve been… busy."

"Busy?" she repeats, her disbelief clear even through the phone. "Too busy to call your mother? What could you possibly be doing that’s more important than letting me know you’re alive and well? Saving the world with your superhero friends?"

Her teasing tone draws a weak chuckle out of you, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. "Something like that."

"Hmm," she hums, clearly not convinced, but she lets it slide—for now. She launches into her usual stream of updates, filling the silence with news of family members you’ve barely spoken to since the Blip. Your dad’s constant attempts to fix the car he swears is fine, your brother’s ongoing quest to find the best pizza place in town, your aunt’s latest gardening fiasco, your cousin’s engagement plans, and her ongoing battle with a new recipe she’s found online—these are the little details that usually make you smile. But tonight, they just feel like background noise. You respond when you have to—offering a polite laugh here, a murmured acknowledgment there—but your heart isn’t in it. Your gaze drifts to the window, where fireworks are starting to bloom in the distance, and a cold emptiness swells inside you.

And then, there’s a pause.

You tense, your attention snapping back to the phone. What is it with everyone pausing tonight?

"Sweetheart," she says, her voice dropping to a softer, more careful tone—the one she always uses when she knows something is off. "You miss him, don’t you? Steve?"

The question hits you like a punch, taking the breath out of your lungs. Your throat tightens, and before you can stop it, the tears start to sting at the corners of your eyes. You try to swallow the lump rising in your throat, but it’s no use.

"No," you croak, the word barely escaping your lips, but the quiver in your voice betrays you.

"Are you crying?" she asks, her concern immediate and sharp.

You sniffle, turning your head away from the phone as if that will somehow hide the tears you can’t control. "No, Mom," you snap, the words trembling, cracking. "I’m laughing."

The silence stretches on the other end, heavy and thick. You can practically feel her worry through the phone. She knows you too well.

You sigh, your shoulders sinking, the facade slipping. "It’s nothing, really. I just… I think I’m coming down with a cold. That’s all."

"A cold?" she echoes, her tone laced with skepticism. "Really? That’s all?"

"Yeah," you say quickly, brushing at your damp cheeks in a feeble attempt to stem the tide. "Just a really bad cold. Nothing to worry about."

She starts to say something—probably a gentle scolding about not taking better care of yourself—but you cut her off, words tumbling out faster than you intend. "Look, Mom, I really need to take my medicine and get some rest. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?"

There’s a pause, and you can hear her hesitation on the other end. She’s not buying it, but she’s reluctant to push. "Are you sure?" she asks, her voice low and cautious. "You don’t sound—"

"I’m fine," you interrupt, forcing as much conviction into your words as you can muster. "Promise. I’ll call you first thing in the morning. Just need some sleep."

Another pause stretches out before she sighs, her reluctance giving way to acceptance. "Okay, fine. But don’t forget, all right? And… Happy New Year, sweetheart."

"Happy New Year," you whisper, your voice barely audible, hollow as the words slip out. The weight of it lingers long after the call ends.

You lower the phone from your ear, staring at the darkened screen for a long moment, as if it might give you something—some kind of sign—that everything’s going to be okay. But it doesn’t. The silence in the room presses in on you, more suffocating than before.

With a shaky breath, you toss the phone carelessly onto the far end of the couch. You lie back against the cushions, your face buried in your hands. The tears come then, slow and quiet at first, but they grow louder, more desperate. You’ve spent too much time pretending to be fine, trying to convince everyone that you’re okay. But right now, it’s all too much. You can’t keep pretending anymore.

Curling into the corner of the couch, you wrap your arms around your knees, hugging them tightly to your chest. The tears keep coming, and you let them—feeling how the night is so new, yet everything feels broken, and you don’t know how to put the pieces back together.

You don’t even realize when exhaustion overtakes you.

One moment, you’re staring blankly at the ceiling, your tears slipping down your cheeks silently. The next, you’re drifting into a restless sleep, where memories of him blend with the dark corners of your mind. Steve’s smile, his soft laugh, the way he tilted his head when he listened to you ramble about something meaningless, the gentle touch of his fingers brushing your hair behind your ear—all of it floods your senses, warm and comforting for a moment.

But then, like a cloud passing through sunlight, the memories blur and slip away. His presence fades, slipping through your fingers like smoke, leaving behind an aching emptiness that settles deep in your chest.

It’s in that hollow stillness that the sharp, insistent sound of your doorbell slices through the fog of your sleep, dragging you back into reality. You flinch at the noise, groggy and disoriented, your body slow to respond as the ring reverberates through your apartment. For a brief, hopeful moment, you think it’s just part of the dream—some lingering echo of your subconscious that doesn’t quite know when to let go.

But then it rings again. And again.

You groan, burying your face in the couch cushions, wishing the noise would just stop. Whoever it is can wait. You don’t have the energy, the patience, or the will to deal with anyone right now—not tonight, not like this. The sadness is too heavy, the loneliness too much. You just want to be left alone.

The doorbell rings again, more urgent this time, then again, and again, as if the person on the other side refuses to take the hint. Your irritation spikes, the frustration of being dragged out of your haze only making the ache in your chest worse. Whoever it is at the door has no intention of leaving, and with each ring, your resolve to ignore them shatters a little more.

"Fine!" you snap, your voice sharper than you intend, as you push yourself up from the couch. You stumble on unsteady feet, still half-adrift in a fog of exhaustion, but the anger—small as it is—becomes a welcome distraction. You wipe at your face quickly, not caring that your cheeks are damp or that your eyes are still red from crying. Whoever is on the other side of that door is about to find out the consequences of interrupting your misery.

Your footsteps are heavy, each one like a reminder of just how tired you are, but you march toward the door with a huff. "This better be good," you mutter under your breath as you fumble with the lock. "Or so help me—"

You yank the door open, ready to unleash all the irritation and bitterness you've been bottling up for hours. But the words die in your throat the moment your eyes land on—

It's Steve.

He’s standing there, framed by the dim light from the hallway, and for a moment, your brain refuses to process the sight in front of you. He’s real, standing there like some impossible vision, but you can’t quite believe it.

He looks… different. He’s a mess—his suit, the same one he wore when he left to return the Infinity Stones, is dirty and torn in several places, streaked with mud and grime. His hair is disheveled, sticking up in uneven tufts as though he’s been running his fingers through it nonstop. There’s a faint shadow of stubble along his jawline, and his shoulders are slumped as if the weight of his journey, whatever it was, hasn’t quite let up yet.

But it’s his eyes that stop you. His eyes, those bright, unforgettable blue eyes, are looking at you like they’re seeing you for the first time in years. They’re filled with everything—relief, exhaustion, guilt, longing—and something else, something deep and raw that twists in your chest. They lock with yours, and for a moment, nothing else in the world exists except the two of you.

And then, against all the odds, he smiles.

"Hi," he says softly, his voice rough and weary, but still unmistakably Steve. The sound of it hits you like a wave, making your breath catch in your throat. You take an instinctive step back, almost as if his presence is too much to process all at once, but your feet are rooted to the spot.

Steve, here. In front of you. After everything.

Your body feels like it's falling, like you're weightless and suspended in time, as you stand there staring at him. Every nerve in your body is awake, but your mind can’t quite catch up, still reeling from the surreal sight of him standing in front of you. Your breath comes in short, frantic gasps, and your hands tremble by your sides, like you’ve forgotten how to hold yourself together. There's a part of you screaming that this can’t be real, that after everything—the pain, the grief, the endless nights spent drowning in memories of him—how could this moment, this impossibility, be true?

The tears come before you even have time to brace for them, blurring your vision, clouding everything in a haze of emotion. Your hands, as if on their own, reach out toward him, but they stop halfway, hovering in midair. Your heart races as you hesitate. It's like you're afraid—afraid that if you touch him, if you let yourself believe this moment is real, he might disappear, like some cruel mirage that was never meant to last.

So you do the only thing that feels even remotely within your control: you slam the door shut.

The sharp click of the latch sounds deafening, the finality of it echoing through the stillness of your small apartment. You stagger back, your breath hitching, your chest tight as the tears spill freely. This isn’t happening. It can’t be. Your mind races, trying to convince you that it’s just another trick your heart is playing on you, that Steve isn’t really standing out there, that none of this is real.

"No," you whisper, the word a desperate mantra, shaking your head in denial. "No, no, no. It’s not real."

Your back presses against the door as you slide to the floor, palms flat against the cool wood, like it might somehow shield you from the raw emotion threatening to overwhelm you. Your heart pounds, frantic, each beat a reminder that you don’t know how to process the collision of grief and hope that’s tearing you apart.

And then his voice comes through the door.

Soft. Quiet. Almost like he’s afraid of scaring you away.

"Hey…" His voice cracks slightly, as though he’s searching for the right words, his tone tender in a way that makes something inside of you ache with longing. "It’s me. Please, just open the door."

You collapse into yourself, your knees giving way as you curl up on the floor, pressing your head to the door as if you're trying to hold onto something, anything, to steady yourself against the overwhelming flood of emotions, but you can't. The sobs you’ve been holding back burst forward, and you bury your trembling hand against your mouth, trying to quiet the sound, but it only makes it worse. The ache in your chest is unbearable, each breath sharp and shallow.

"Please," he says again, and the sound of your name—your name, so full of care, so unmistakably Steve—hits you like a physical blow. Your heart twists, pulled between the disbelief that you’re hearing him again and the overwhelming need to believe that this is real, that he’s truly standing out there, wanting to explain, to fix things.

You shake your head without thinking, your fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt, clutching at yourself in a futile attempt to keep it all together. This can’t be happening. It just can’t.

But there’s something in his voice—steady, earnest, full of the kind of vulnerability you’ve only heard from him in moments of true sincerity—that tugs at the fraying edges of your disbelief. It’s Steve. It’s really him. And for the first time since he left, you feel like the ground beneath you isn’t so fragile, that maybe, just maybe, you can hold on long enough to hear him out.

Your feet move before you fully realize it, rising slowly as if your body isn’t quite ready to trust this new reality. You reach for the doorknob, your hand shaking, breath hitching with each passing second.

And then, with a deep, shuddering breath, you turn the knob and pull the door open.

Steve's still there, standing exactly where you left him, his figure framed by the soft glow of the hallway light. The sight of him steals the breath right out of your lungs all over again, like you’re seeing him for the first time, and your heart skips a beat. His expression is a strange mix of relief and concern, as though he’s unsure whether to take another step or wait for permission.

But even in the face of him, so undeniably real, your doubt refuses to loosen its grip. It claws at the edges of your mind, gnawing at the fragile hope that has begun to grow. What if this isn’t real? What if this is just another cruel trick your mind is playing on you? A figment of your grief, conjured from the deepest corners of your longing for him. After everything, can you trust this?

Your voice is shaky as you speak, words tumbling out before you can stop them. “How do I know you’re real? How do I know you’re not… not just a trick? A figment of my imagination?”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. His blue eyes search yours, soft and open, but something flickers behind them—understanding, maybe? And then, without a word, he moves. Slowly, deliberately, as though he’s afraid you’ll pull away if he moves too quickly, he reaches out toward you.

The air feels thick between you as his hands come up, fingers brushing lightly against your face, as though he’s afraid to touch you too forcefully, afraid to shatter the fragile moment.

But his touch—gentle and warm—grounds you in a way that’s almost impossible to describe. You’ve felt his touch before—brief moments, fleeting and soft—but this time, it’s steady. It’s real. His palms press warmly against your cheeks, his thumbs brushing softly over your skin, and it’s like the whole world settles into place with that single, intimate gesture.

“Feel this,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough with emotion, but the words clear. His eyes don’t leave yours, unwavering, as if every unspoken word between you is poured into this simple touch. “You know it’s me.”

And he’s right.

You do know.

Every doubt, every fear, crumbles beneath the weight of his touch. It’s him. It’s always been him. The way his thumbs trace the curve of your cheekbones, the steady pressure of his palms—every detail is seared into your memory. You remember the way his hand had lingered on your shoulder when he steadied you once, the warmth of his palm on your back during those fleeting embraces. You remember the tenderness in his gaze, the way he held you when words weren’t enough.

This moment is no different. His touch, the feeling of him here with you, is so impossibly real that it shatters the last remnants of doubt. It rips away the fear that’s kept you apart for so long. This is Steve. This is the man you’ve always loved, and nothing in this moment, nothing in the world, can take that truth away.

A broken sob escapes you, and before you can stop yourself, you clutch his hand, pressing it closer to your cheek as the tears spill over. The floodgates open, and all the emotions you’ve bottled up for months—grief, relief, anger, love—pour out in a torrent that you can’t control.

Steve pulls you closer, his arms tightening around you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. His breath is warm against your hair, his voice low and hoarse as he whispers, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for being late. I—I had to take care of something…unfinished business with the Red Skull. But I’m here now, and I'm so sorry—I cannot imagine what you—”

That name barely registers, the sound of it fading into the background, drowned out by the whirlwind of emotions crashing inside you. The storm inside you surges, and before you can stop yourself, the words spill out.

“Yeah, you cannot imagine!” The sharpness in your voice cuts through the air like a knife, sharper than you intend, but you can’t rein it in. Your hands press against his chest, pushing him away, creating space between you as the raw ache inside you finally breaks free. “You cannot imagine what it’s been like—wondering if I’d ever see you again, if you’d even come back. Thinking you might never come back. Thinking you…left me.”

The words spill out in a rush, each one carrying a piece of the pain you’ve buried for so long. Your voice cracks under the weight of it, and the tears come faster, hot and relentless. You don’t try to stop them. You can’t. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you retreat further, as if trying to hold the fractured pieces of yourself together.

Steve stands frozen, his arms still half-raised, like he doesn’t know whether to reach for you or step back. He opens his mouth, but no words come out for a moment. “Left you?” he finally whispers, his voice barely audible, as if the concept doesn’t even register. “Why would you think I’d leave you?”

“Because,” you say, your voice breaking with anger and hurt, “everyone thought you did. Everyone said you must have gone back to the past. To her. To Peggy.”

Steve’s face pales, and his eyes widen, his shock palpable. “What?” he whispers, as though the words don’t make sense in his mind. “What are you talking about? I didn’t—why would you think I’d—”

“Because you love her, Steve,” you cry, your voice trembling. “You’ve always loved Peggy. She was your everything. She was perfect—smart, brave, beautiful, and… she was from your time. You belonged with her, not here.” Your breath hitches, and you press a hand against your chest, as if you can hold back the ache threatening to overwhelm you. “You’ve always felt out of place in the modern world. I’ve seen it. You’ve said it yourself—this time doesn’t feel like home to you. And when you got the chance, when you had the perfect chance to go back…”

You take a shuddering breath, your voice dropping to a whisper. “Why wouldn’t you? Why wouldn’t you go back to her? The woman you’ve always loved, the life you’ve always wanted. Why wouldn’t you choose that?”

Your voice trails off, the raw vulnerability of your words hanging heavily between you. Your hands shake, and you don’t try to stop the tears streaming down your face. For a long moment, Steve doesn’t move, his gaze fixed on your face. Then, finally, he does. His hands cup your face—and you want to pull away, but you can’t. So steady, so warm—his touch grounds you in a moment where everything else feels like it’s spiraling out of control.

“Because,” he says softly, breaking the silence, “what you’re saying is true… but only in the past tense.”

His words pull you up short, your sobs hitching as you blink at him through the blur of tears. “W-What?” you stammer, your voice cracking.

Steve’s gaze is steady, his blue eyes filled with a mixture of regret and determination. “I used to love Peggy,” he says, his voice low and deliberate, as though willing you to hear every word. “I did. She was my first love. And she’ll always have a place in my story. I can’t change that. I wouldn’t want to. But that’s all it is now—a part of my past. A part of who I was… not who I am.”

You stare at him, the weight of his words sinking into your chest like stones, pressing against the jagged ache of your heart. He brushes a tear from your cheek with his thumb, his touch gentle, and you don’t pull away.

“I used to feel out of place here,” Steve continues, his voice soft but unwavering. “I used to think I’d never belong in this century. That I was just some relic of the past, stuck in a world that moved on without me. And yeah… I used to dream about going back. About what my life with Peggy could’ve been if things had been different. I thought about it all the time.”

He pauses, swallowing hard, his hands slipping down to grasp yours, holding them tightly between you. His grip is firm, grounding, as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

“But that’s not what I want anymore,” he says, his voice trembling just slightly. “It hasn’t been for a long time.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you can only stare at him, your mind reeling. “Steve, I…” you begin weakly, your voice trembling, but he doesn’t let you finish.

“Shh,” he murmurs, his voice soft but steady. His hands move to cradle your face again—gently, like you’re something fragile, something precious. His thumbs continue to trace the path of the tears that won’t stop falling. His gaze locks onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. “Please, just listen for a moment.”

You nod faintly, the movement almost imperceptible, as you struggle to ground yourself amidst the chaos in your chest.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry for being late. I should’ve been here sooner. I wanted to be here sooner, but—” He hesitates, his jaw tightening as if the words are difficult to say. “I ran into… trouble. Red Skull.”

Your heart lurches at the name, fear flickering to life in your chest. “What?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

He shakes his head quickly, as if trying to reassure you. “It’s done. It’s over. I took care of him,” he says firmly. “But because of him, I was delayed—longer than I ever wanted to be.”

His hands fall from your face, but only to take yours in his. His grip is strong, steady, grounding you in a way only he ever could. “And the entire time, all I could think about was you,” he continues, his voice raw with guilt and urgency. “How I needed to get back to you. Every second I wasn’t here, I…” He swallows hard, his voice faltering for the first time. “I kept thinking about how I needed to get back to you—how I could get back to you.”

You feel the sting of fresh tears, your heart twisting painfully. You try to speak again, but he doesn’t give you the chance.

“I know I’ve hurt you,” Steve says, his voice cracking slightly. “I know I made you think… things you never should have had to think. And I hate myself for it. I’ll take whatever you need to give me—yell at me, hit me, anything. I deserve it.” His grip on your hands tightens slightly, his gaze searching yours.

“But I can’t take this—I can’t bear the thought that you ever believed I’d leave you. That, even for a second, you could think I’d choose anything—anyone—over you.”

Your chest tightens, his words crashing over you like a wave.

“I cannot,” he says, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “I can never. Not in this life, or any other.”

The sincerity in his words, the overwhelming emotion in his gaze, leaves you breathless. Your heart aches, and yet, a tiny spark of warmth begins to bloom amidst the pain.

“Steve…” you whisper, your voice breaking.

But he shakes his head, his expression softening even as his eyes glisten. “I’m here,” he whispers. “I’m here, and I’m staying. No matter what you thought before, no matter what anyone else said… I need you to know that. I need you to believe that.”

You stare at him, frozen for a second, as the weight of his words sinks in. And then, without warning, your hands slip from his grasp, and you fling them around his neck, launching yourself into his arms like gravity itself is pulling you toward him.

Steve catches you instinctively, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist, holding you against him as if he never wants to let go. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, and that’s when it all becomes too much. You’ve cried for so long, but in this moment, the anguish and relief overwhelm you, pouring out in uncontrollable sobs that shake your entire body.

Steve doesn’t hesitate. His hands begin to move in soothing circles across your back, and he presses his lips gently to the top of your head, murmuring soft reassurances. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “I’m here. I’m right here. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

The sound of his voice only makes you cry harder, the rawness of it breaking through every defense you have left. Your grip on him tightens, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his suit as though you’re afraid he might vanish if you let go.

Steve just holds you closer, as if he’s trying to shield you from all the pain you’ve felt in his absence. His embrace is strong, steady, and so warm it feels like it’s wrapping around your soul, melting away the icy loneliness that’s gripped you for so long.

Minutes pass—maybe longer; you’re not sure. Time seems to blur as you stand there in his arms, letting yourself feel everything you’ve been holding back. Eventually, the sobs begin to subside, fading into soft hiccups, and you finally manage to pull back just enough to look at him.

Your hands settle on his shoulders as you lift your tear-streaked face, and your blurry vision clears just enough to meet his gaze. The way he’s looking at you takes your breath away. His blue eyes are full of so much emotion—love, relief, guilt, and a tenderness so profound it makes your chest ache.

“I…” Your voice cracks, and you have to swallow hard before trying again. “I thought…” You take a shaky breath, your words spilling out in a rush. “I thought you’d gone back to the past. That you’d… that you’d gone back to Peggy.”

Steve’s brows knit together, his sorrow and regret evident, but you press on, unable to stop now.

“I thought you’d married her,” you continue, your voice trembling. “That you bought a house with one of those wrap-around porches you always talked about. And… and then you two would’ve had kids. A boy and a girl, of course. A perfect little family. And you’d… you’d have finally been happy, Steve. You’d have had the life you always wanted. The life you deserved.”

Your voice cracks again on the last word, and the tears threaten to start anew. You move to lean your head against him, seeking comfort, but then you hear a soft chuckle.

Your head snaps up in confusion, your tear-streaked face twisting into a frown. “Are you laughing at me?” you ask, your voice wobbling somewhere between hurt and disbelief.

Steve shakes his head, his smile small but undeniably warm. “No,” he says gently, his eyes softening as he lifts a hand to brush a tear from your cheek. “No, sweetheart. I just think you’ve got quite the imagination.”

Your frown deepens, your cheeks flushing with indignation. “I’m serious!” you protest, though the slight wobble in your voice makes it less effective.

Steve chuckles softly, his voice low and warm, a soft rumble in his chest as he shakes his head. “I know,” he murmurs, his tone light but carrying a quiet understanding. “I know you’re being serious.”

But then, as his gaze catches yours, something shifts in the air between you. The teasing edge of his voice fades, replaced by something deeper, something tender and raw. It’s the kind of emotion that pulls at your chest and makes your heart skip a beat. He pulls you in a little closer, his hands steady and warm against your waist, his touch grounding you in the moment, steadying you as the world seems to slow.

“Hey,” he says after a moment, his voice now soft but weighted with meaning, like every word carries more than it seems. “Which of these would you like to have first?”

You blink, completely caught off guard, your breath catching in your throat. “What?” you manage to say, your voice cracking just a little, betraying the unexpected wave of emotion crashing over you.

Steve tilts his head slightly, a small but genuine, almost shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “The marriage,” he says, his voice almost a whisper, as if he’s afraid of overwhelming you. “The house. Or the kids.” His eyes hold yours for a beat, something vulnerable flickering in their depths, as if he's carefully choosing each word, like he's afraid of missing a detail, afraid to let this moment slip away. “Which one would you like first?”

You freeze, your breath stuck in your chest. For a moment, you can’t even think, let alone respond. His words hang in the air like the softest of promises, carrying the weight of everything that could be—everything that you might one day have. The world around you goes silent, the room suddenly feeling too small, the weight of his question pressing against you like a tangible force. It’s almost overwhelming, this sudden clarity of what he’s offering—what he’s suggesting.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but no words come. Your mind races, your heart thunders in your chest, trying to process the magnitude of what he’s just asked, the depth of what it means. And then, your emotions surge all at once—flooding, overwhelming, impossible to put into words. The only thing that escapes you is a small, choked laugh—wet with emotion and confusion—and then the tears start again, this time spilling freely down your cheeks.

But these tears feel different. They’re not the kind of tears you’ve shed in sorrow or fear. They feel lighter, sweeter, like a release—like something inside you has finally let go.

Steve’s expression softens even further, if that’s even possible. His gaze is filled with something tender, something protective, like he wants nothing more than to comfort you and carry you through this moment. He cups your cheek with one hand, his touch gentle as he brushes away your tears with the pad of his thumb, his other hand still secure around your waist, keeping you anchored, holding you steady.

“You’re something else, Steve,” you manage to choke out between your sobs, your voice trembling with a mix of awe, affection, and disbelief. “You’re… you’re just something else.”

A grin spreads across Steve’s face, the kind that lights up his entire being, his eyes soft with unshed tears of his own. He lets out a small, soft laugh, his voice thick with emotion as he leans his forehead against yours, closing the space until only the faintest whisper of air remains between you.

“Maybe,” he says, his voice teasing, but there’s an undeniable earnestness behind the words, “but I’m yours.”

You smile softly, your heart swelling with affection as you whisper, “Yeah, you’re mine—as I’m yours.” The words slip from your lips, the unspoken truth between you finally laid bare, and it feels as though everything in the world has settled into place. It’s a quiet admission, but one that resonates deeply, the bond between you now undeniable.

Steve’s smile deepens, a tender, knowing look in his eyes that makes your chest ache with emotion. He moves even closer, his warmth enveloping you, until the smallest sliver of space remains between your lips. His breath mingles with yours, the air thick with the electricity of this moment. When his voice comes again, it’s barely a whisper—soft, intimate, carrying the weight of everything unspoken between you: “As you’re mine.”

Without another word, your lips meet in a kiss—a kiss that is everything words can’t fully capture. At first, it’s gentle, a sweet exploration, both of you savoring the delicate moment. But soon, there’s a shift, an undeniable hunger beneath the surface. A yearning, a need to hold on to this feeling, to keep this moment suspended in time. The rest of the world falls away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of each other’s presence.

Somewhere behind you, you absently register the sound of your living room clock striking twelve, its chimes filling the air with a quiet reverberation. The noise of the celebrations outside, which you had almost forgotten about, suddenly grows louder. And you smile, a soft, contented realization dawning on you: it’s New Year’s.

Steve’s smile against your lips softly reveals that he, too, has come to the same realization.

You melt into the kiss, a quiet sigh of contentment escaping as you sink deeper into his embrace. The weight of the world—of the year, of everything you’ve endured—once again fades into the background, leaving only the tender warmth of his touch and the undeniable sweetness of his presence.

And in the quiet of your heart, you can’t help but think, Happy New Year indeed.

if you've enjoyed this fic and would like to be tagged in my future fanfics, please drop an ask into my inbox! thank you so much for reading this!! <333

[minors and ageless blogs will not be tagged in the nsfw fics, by the way! i'm sorry!!]

steve rogers masterlist || general masterlist

#steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fluff #captain america x you #captain america x reader #avengers x you #avengers x reader #steve rogers #captain america #[my posts: steve rogers]

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igbylicious · 7 hours ago

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asdjksdjksdjk ISAK!!!!!! (ฅ́˘ฅ̀)

ahhhhh pls you already said it yourself but yeah, no explanation is owed <3 above all else, it just sucks that you've been doing bad, i hate that for you :// i hope this is a sign things are improving, and that it keeps getting easier for you to do fun things and do fandom stuff the way you want to again ♡♡♡

(and if that means that i now get to kick my feet and flap my hands over a 'proper' Isak reblog™, then that is just an amazing treat as a secondary side-effect for me askjdjkds (≧◡≦)♡ (fr, big big flappy hands <3<3))

(heck, i've been kinda stumbling around too; i totally get that sometimes life forces you to put things in the backseat :// manifesting a better 2025 for us both OR ELSE!! *squares off w/ the universe* (૭ˇò_ó)૭ )

ANYway! <3

San pretending to be tired of him too hdjnfhjs<3 sillie

San was just being a lil grump for having to fight down a boner when like half of their friends were right inside uwu ♡ Wooyoung remains forever and always the MVP of this trio (´꒳`)♡

Not them actually having a moving day bingo card pffff that’s amazing

hehe the trio is all abt using some silly life hacks to put a bit of fun in Big Stressful Happenings like moving! ♡

:’))))))))))

they've both come so far together :')

Mullet woo!!!!! thank you igby for this gift :’D

i had to do it asdkjsdjksdjk this haircut has a tender death-grip on my sanity <3 originally he was gonna dye his hair red again bc Halazia-Woo-my-beloved, but then the comeback happened and ugh the mullet is just so beautiful on him :') i'm consumed by the wistful yearning to twirl & play w/ his hair forever :')

oh m y god. fuck. that’s so hot. i’m glad Reader had a peek and was able to describe this very important scene.

lbr, totally worth the 'punishment' <3 esp since she got to watch them in the end anyway hehe :3

Reader is so cute here = u= just a little silly

reader being like [surprised pikachu.jpeg] when her usual tactics to butter up the dom don't get her what she wants :o

The “crescendo” of this first round was so fucking good, with Reader and Yunho watching woosan = u= San was the perfect amount of mean and rough. He smacked Woo’s cock into orgasm?? hello???? And Woo was beautifully wrecked. Such a little mess <3

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH <3 fr i'm always SO happy when you're happy w/ how Woo gets ruined!!! (°◡°♡)

DYING for the way they talk about Woo like he isn’t there. Vague objectification vibes, which is a sure 10/10 kink for me personally.

i feel you, ngl this type of talk might be one of my top favourite things abt writing moresomes (♡ ˙ ︶ ˙ ♡)

IGBY!!! Wooyoung all but sobbing underneath Yunho as he’s trying to fit inside him, the emphasis on how small he is in comparison, ho wrecked he is 😭it’s so good

again: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! <3 the two moments of Woo having his turn w/ San & then Yunho were def two highlights for me to write asdjkskdjsdjk SERIOUSLY I'M SO EXCITED YOU ENJOYED THOSE (also true story i often use 'is Wooyoung wrecked enough to suffice as an offering to Isak?' as a mental check-point to decide if i need to amp up a sub!woo scene more asdjksdjksdjk <3)

The brief YunSan praise and kiss were so lovely = u= i bet it’s so nice for San to have that bit of verbal approval from his “mentor” even though he’s a full fledged dom of his own now!

asdjksdjksdjk i'm super stoked you liked this & the lil San roasting moments!!! imo sometimes there just needs to be space for a bit of laughter during sex :'3 and yes San can handle the teasing, but he def still deserved some validation after all that ♡ plus, Yunho knows perfectly well that his protégé has a big ol' praise kink hehe (ღ˘⌣˘ღ)

(besides, i couldn't not have a Yunsan moment! they're one of my favourite ships after all <3 (tho ironically i usually prefer my Yunho's in that ship as the biggest softest sweet pleasure doms lol))

Of course theyre watching spiderman ahahaaah <3

whiway yunho may be a hard dom in the sheets but still a total spidey nerd in the streets! (⁀ᗢ⁀)

welp time for me to get a lil a lot sappy ilu Isak and genuinely i hope nothing but good things come for you in the new year ♡ ik i'm kinda... distant within the fandom bc of my own messy stuff but pls know you're legit one of my very fave ppl here (which btw you also would've been if you never even read my stuff lol, i just love your sense of humour and the amazing vibes you & your blog bring to my dash <3 the fact that one day you came across whichever way and decided to give it a shot? yeah i consider myself real damn lucky for that one <3<3<3)

whichever way: crossed roads [yunwoosan x reader]

pairing: yunwoosan x f reader

rating: 18+

genre: smut, fluff

wc: 15k

summary: Yunho never got to have the threesome he wanted with San and Wooyoung — but he sees no reason to complain, not when he gets to have a foursome with you instead.

note: this is a oneshot sequel to my series whichever way. imo it’s prob more fun w/ context & the start will be less confusing, but this fic is like 90% sex so if you’re just here for the smut then i’m sure you’ll still have a good time ♡(>ᴗ•)

warnings: OH BOY GET READY. foursome, dom Yunho & San, sub Wooyoung & reader, m x m, triple penetration (you have three holes for a reason), bigdick San but monstercock Yunho, voyeur reader, soft cnc play, body worship, hand kink, dirty talk, subspace, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, hand-on-throat, choking, dumbification, objectification, praise & degradation kink, spanking, pussy slap, cock slap, fake sweet Yunho my beloved, reader wears a babydoll, tie as an improvised blindfold, partially clothed sex, blowjob / face fucking, cum play, footjob (reader receiving) (sorry not sorry), dacryphilia, thigh-fucking, cockwarming, vaginal/anal fingering/sex, cumshots, creampies, buttplug (for Woo), mention of fisting, lowkey marathon sex, no condom in sight, nicknames for reader (good/pretty girl, sweetheart, baby, pervert, cockslut, toy, cocksleeve), aftercare, off-screen kink negotiation

a/n: features a soft-bodied aromantic reader who uses she/her pronouns & is in an established QPR w/ Woosan. she’s called ‘little’ but like cute/demeaning, not a reflection on physical size

a/n²: anyway this fic is for the readers who love their rightful place on the fujoshi throne, but also want to be worshipped in the center of attention like the royalty they are <3

“So uh… is having sex together still on the table?”

Wooyoung looks around him expectantly. The grin on his face is cheeky, but the question completely serious.

“Woo, really?” San pinches the bridge of his nose, his cheeks still flushed, but he’s slowly recovering from the the series of curve balls thrown past him in the past minute.

Meanwhile, you are struck by the most intense feeling of deja vu, a memory echoing through your head of that fated question Wooyoung once asked you:

“Did you like the view?”

…Well. You had just been staring at Yunho’s hands. You glance at him again, his handsome face and soft tousled hair, the easygoing confidence with which he holds himself — and you can’t deny that you also like this view very much indeed.

Yunho bursts out in a surprised laugh at Wooyoung’s question, hiding his mouth behind one of those distractingly large hands. “Hey now, you aren’t saying that out of pity, are you!”

“Pity?” Wooyoung snorts, offended at the suggestion. “Come on Yunho, you know me better than that.”

“Hm, I guess you’re right, I do,” Yunho hums, contemplative. His eyes, usually bright and alive with joy, are now pinned on you with dark interest, studying your reaction to all of this.

You shiver at his intense gaze, wondering if the hard glint in Yunho’s gaze is a glimpse of what he’s like as a dom.

You’ve asked San questions about his past with Yunho, of course, but never pressed beyond what he willingly shared. Instead you buried your curiosity; you always assumed you’d never experience them as a team in the bedroom anyway, so why torture yourself with impossible fantasies?

But that is where Wooyoung is different from you; the bold, wise, Wooyoung, who knows better than to make assumptions. Who knows you can always just ask.

(Fuck, you need to thank him later.)

Now all your dormant curiosity comes flooding to the surface, giving your vivid imagination free reign. You swallow and reflexively reach up to brush your hand over your throat, wondering what it’d feel like to have those long fingers there instead.

Yunho’s eyes follow the movement, burning heat into your skin. His tongue prods the inside of his cheek, so briefly you almost miss it, then he turns to San.

“Well, how about it, San-ah?” he says, a playful grin curling around his lips. “A reunion, for old time’s sake?”

San lets out a deep, slow sigh, shaking his head in disbelief. But it’s not a ‘no’; you recognise the look in his eyes for what it is. Fluster, yes — but his embarrassment is rapidly overwhelmed by something else entirely, sharp and smouldering. You’ve often seen that look on him before, for the first time right after Wooyoung asked you how you liked the view, so long ago by now.

Seems like San likes the view too.

“Fuck, you guys are unbelievable,” he breathes with a wry chuckle, biting his lip as he looks over you, Wooyoung and Yunho. “Yeah. Why the hell not? Let’s fucking do it.”

It just doesn’t seem right, but somehow life still goes on as normal after an earth-shaking conversation like that. So there you are the next afternoon, unpacking the last boxes from the move like it’s a perfectly ordinary day.

Wooyoung is already back to work at the flower store so it’s just you and San, filling up the half-empty bookcase. Each of you are going through a pile of games; you are sorting tabletop games, while San handles the console ones.

But while life might appear to go on like normal, there are definitely a few charged looks between you and San. Like you’re sizing each other up all over again, imagining all the ways he could wreck you with the help of his old partner-in-kink. A faint buzz of anticipation tingles across your skin, your mind constantly gliding away from the stack of cardgames that you’re supposed to organise.

Not much has been set in stone yet; you couldn’t exactly hash out all the dirty details on the spot, on a balcony with the door wide open and half your friends right inside. Instead Yunho promised he’d check his work calendar and text to set a date for a proper talk tomorrow, and that was the end of it for that day.

(The end of talking about it, at least. Your thoughts had still been going a thousand miles an hour, even into the night. You did have a relaxed morning with San and Wooyoung, quietly celebrating your first breakfast in the new apartment with a big spread of food, but now those thoughts are picking up speed again.)

“So. Yunho, huh?” you finally say, trying to sound casual as you speak the unspoken between you and San.

He snorts. “Yeah. Yunho. Gotta say, didn’t have that on my bingo card for our official moving in day.”

“And what a shame too,” you shake your head with a dramatic sigh. “You came so close to winning!” (But Wooyoung had taken the victory when ‘Seonghwa knocks over a pot of paint’ gave him a full column down the middle of his card.)

“Don’t remind me!” San pouts. “All I needed was you breaking a glass or a mug, I thought I had it for sure. You really let me down there.”

“Pff what? Sorry I guess??” you say, rolling your eyes, but then give him a cheeky little grin. “What are you gonna do, punish me for not being clumsy enough?”

San raises an interested eyebrow. “Could, yeah…” he says, rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip in consideration. “Could even ask Yunho to lend me a hand, I suppose.”

A heat creeps up your neck. “A hand, huh?” you say, trying and failing to sound casual.

“Yeah, you like his hands, right?” he grins.

You let out an embarrassed groan. “Ugh, am I really that obvious?”

“Eh, to be fair, not many people who don’t likes Yunho’s hands,” San says, but his grin widens before you can rejoice too much. “But yes, yes you are. Totally obvious.”

You shoot him a heavy side-look. “Don’t get too cocky, mister ‘openly checked out my ass the day after he moved in next-door to me’!”

“What can I say, it’s a good ass!” he laughs, rosy blush colouring his cheeks. Still, San gives you a thoughtful once-over. “So, is that the kinda direction you’d like this to go in? Might be useful if we hash out some of that stuff among ourselves before we do any negotiation with Yunho.”

“Oh! Actually, about that…”

“Hm?” San encourages you, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. “What’s on your mind?”

You bite your lip. A thought had struck you yesterday, after you and the guys had gone back to work. A thought that hasn’t let go of you since then.

“Well, you trust Yunho, right? As a dominant?”

“Completely,” San says without hesitation. “Wouldn’t let him in the room with you and Wooyoung if I didn’t.”

“Then… are you okay with it if I sit the negotiation out? Leave things up to you guys?”

San frowns, a mixture of surprise and confusion. “You… don’t want a say in what’ll happen?” he says, looking at you so intently that a wave of self-consciousness washes over you.

“Yeah, kinda? It’s just— It’s been a while since I’ve been with anyone but you and Wooyoung, and there’s something exciting about an unknown factor in the bedroom, you know? Not that I’m bored with you!” you add quickly, not wanting San to get the wrong idea. He can be a little sensitive, sometimes. “But… I just like the idea of not knowing Yunho. What kind of dom he is, what things he’s into, what he will do. Does that makes sense?”

Even now, you absent-mindedly rub your thighs together, feeling yourself get worked up at the thrill of the unknown. To have no idea how San and Yunho plan to break you down into bite-sized pieces for their enjoyment, or all the ways you’ll get to watch them do the same to Wooyoung, fucking the brat out of him until even the insatiable is sated.

“Hmm, yeah, makes sense,” San nods, looking you over thoughtfully. “So you want me to talk with Yunho for you then? …You trust me that much?”

There is a softness to his question, touched to have your safety and pleasure placed into his hands — but the flicker of heat behind his eyes does not go unnoticed either. Trust is important to San, more than anything else, and you can tell this does something to him on multiple levels, some of which have nothing to do with softness.

You give him a crooked grin. “Hey. Wouldn’t let you in the room with me if I didn’t.”

San rolls his eyes at your teasing, but his lips can’t help a happy, pleased grin. “Okay, yeah I’m in,” he says, anticipation deepening his voice as his gaze wanders over your body, your skin prickling wherever his eyes go. “I’ll ask Yunho if he’s alright with it too.”

Excitement flutters in your stomach at his intense look. Maybe these cardgames can wait a while longer before putting them away…

Just as you’re about to super subtly suggest to take a break, both of your phones suddenly buzz in quick succession. Must be Wooyoung, you think, sending you a selfie from work or something — but no, it’s not Wooyoung.

The text is from Yunho; he has added you, San and Wooyoung to a new groupchat so you can discuss a date together.

“Woah, he’s quick,” you say, taken aback by Yunho’s reliability on the follow-through. When he said he’d text tomorrow, you figured he meant that in the traditional ‘I fully intend to text tomorrow but I’ll probably forget and get back to you in like a week or so’-way.

“You know what? I’ll try calling him right now,” San says, getting up on his feet. “Ask him how he feels about surprising you.”

You bite your lip as San heads to the balcony to make his call; tempted to stop him so he can help you out with this unrelenting heat building up in your core. Damn, maybe the men in your life are a little too reliable on the follow-through.

Undoubtedly they’ll be one hell of a pair… and you’ll have no idea of their plans for you and Wooyoung.

Wooyoung whistles lowly when you step into his and San’s bedroom, and he looks you over with an admiring grin. “Very nice,” he says, drinking in every detail of your sheer lace babydoll in the dimmed light. “Knew I made the right choice.”

The lace, a see-through deep purple, leaves very little to the imagination. Thin straps hold up the negligee, the cups snugly hugging your breasts. Wooyoung lingers on the plunging neckline, his fingers twitching when he notices how your nipples show through the lace. Then his eyes trail further down, to the skirt that barely covers your upper thighs.

You do a little twirl just for show; and it lifts the hemline even higher, giving Wooyoung an unobstructed glimpse of the matching panties underneath.

Usually you don’t fuss too much with lingerie, but it is a special occasion. Wooyoung even picked it out himself. He casually admitted a curiosity for seeing you dolled up in something sexy, after which you obviously had no other choice but to drag him into a store for some shopping.

(He’d been unexpectedly serious about the task, with not a single pervy comment during the whole shopping trip. Instead he perused the store with his brow deeply furrowed, committed to finding something that’d suit you perfectly — and that he did.)

“Now I get why you didn’t let me take a peek in the changing room,” Wooyoung hums, eyes dark. He steps in closer to run his hands over your sides, getting a feel of the textured lace. “Looks even better on you than it did on the rack. Well… the store rack.” He licks his lips, thumbs brushing against the underside of your breasts.

Ah, there are the pervy comments. “Lech,” you snort in amusement, but still push his hands down. San had clearly instructed you and Wooyoung to wait, and you’re not about to get into trouble just because Wooyoung can’t keep his hands to himself.

“What? I’m just being appreciative,” Wooyoung says with a wide grin, his fingers now playing with the bottom edge of the babydoll. “Don’t get to see you like this every day.”

“Hm, this isn’t a bad view either,” you admit, eyeing Wooyoung. He’s temptation itself, every inch of him seducing you to defy San’s instructions yourself.

He’s wearing black leather pants, the pair he only hoists himself into when he’s extra keen to impress, combined with an ivory white mesh shirt, oversized and clinging attractively to his shoulders. Usually Wooyoung wears another shirt underneath the mesh, but now only his tan skin peeks through the loosely woven threads. He even got a fresh haircut today — you’d been sceptical when he said he wanted ‘a mullet, kinda’, but now? Now you feel strongly compelled to write his hairdresser a passionate thankyou-note.

You didn’t think it was possible for Wooyoung to reach even higher levels of allure, but the way the long black strands curl against his neck, enough length left on the bangs to fall into his eyes… You haven’t been able to stop touching his hair all day, much to Wooyoung’s poorly-faked chagrin.

(He definitely has the worst poker face you’ve ever seen, constant smiles bullying their way onto his lips whenever you ‘nagged’ him to play with his hair.)

“So you still don’t know what’s gonna happen today, huh?” Wooyoung asks, a dangerous spark of mischief in his eyes.

“Well,” you say, tapping your bottom lip as though deep in thought, “I do have this nagging suspicion we might be having sex. Just an educated guess.”

Wooyoung lets out a breathy chuckle. His fingertips skim over your plush thighs. “Yeah. Maybe.” He runs his tongue over his teeth, looking you up-and-down like you’re a tasty morsel for his consumption. “Or maybe they’ll only let you watch. Sit back while they have their way with me.”

He tugs you a little closer, his mesh shirt brushing up against your lacy bodice. Is he trying to rile you up, or himself?

Your stomach clenches at the thought of only being a spectator. “San wouldn’t be that mean to me, that’s more his style with you,” you argue, but there is a flicker of doubt in your mind. San knows damn well how much you get out of a little voyeurism, so it’s not an impossibility. Often it’d be a source of excitement — but today you’re definitely aching for a little attention yourself.

Wooyoung ignores your objections, too caught up in his little fantasy. “Apparently Yunho is a big boy,” he breathes in your ear, raising goosebumps on your skin, “big everywhere. Sannie says I might not be able to handle him. Want to watch me prove him wrong, see how Yunho stretches me open with that monster cock?”

He giggles at your soft whine, your back involuntarily arching into him.

“Yeah, you’d like that,” Wooyoung murmurs, and presses a firm kiss on your neck. “But it’d be mean to neglect you completely, wouldn’t it? Maybe we should have some fun now, just to be sure.”

Your breath catches as his hands slip under your babydoll, squeezing the back of your thick thighs. His fingers graze against the edge of your panties, perilously close to where heat has started to pool between your legs.

“Wooyoung, no,” you say, reluctantly pushing back against his chest. “S-San told us to wait for him and Yunho.”

“Yeah, so? We can do stuff while we wait.”

Your exasperated laugh comes out as a moan when he nips at your earlobe. “Pff, come on Woo, that’s not what he meant and you know it!”

You make a noise of surprise when Wooyoung suddenly falls down to his knees. “Did he really?” Wooyoung purrs, dangerously, staring up at you with hunger burning in his eyes. “How do you know this isn’t part of today’s plan?”

Wooyoung does not give you time to think about it, pressing his face against your stomach and moaning in adoration of your curves. He mouths at your skin through the chemise, sucking at a soft stomach fold before he gives it a cheeky bite. Wooyoung has never made a secret of how much he loves your body, loves all the places he can sink his teeth into; he made that perfectly clear ever since the first time he laid his hands on you.

“F-fuck, Wooyoung…” you gasp. “I-is it? Part of their plan?”

Wooyoung just hums, continuing to worship you through the lace fabric. Nudging you to spread your legs, his mouth slowly travelling down.

It’s when his fingers brush against the damp spot on your panties that you snap back into reality. “Oh my god, it totally isn’t, right?” you laugh, tangling your fingers through his long hair to pull him away. “You’re just trying to get me into trouble, you pest!”

You playfully scold him, lightly smacking at his wandering hand.

Wooyoung pulls back reluctantly, not a trace of remorse in his wicked smile. “What can I say? Damned if I do, bored if I don’t,” he grins up at you. “But in my defence… it was part of the plan.”

He tilts his head to shoot a meaningful glance past you, at the bedroom door behind.

You turn around on reflex — and startle at the sight of San leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed, with Yunho towering right behind him.

“See? Told you,” San says to Yunho, a hint of smugness in his voice.

Yunho cocks his head as he studies the scene in front of him, interest shining in his eyes. “Yeah, you did,” he says, his gaze settling on you.

Both of them are dressed smartly, to the point of intimidating; San wears a crisp black dress shirt and black trousers to match. The top buttons of his shirt are opened, and a simple silver chain hangs around his neck with a small, rectangular tag that rests neatly on his bare chest. He’s rolling up his sleeves, drawing attention to his muscular forearms.

Yunho is also in black, decked out in a full suit. His slacks and fitted jacket have a subtle pinstripe that make him look even taller than he already is, with a dark tie and waistcoat underneath. Thick silver rings glitter on Yunho’s long fingers as he rubs his chin, his eyes burning into you.

“In front of the bed, Wooyoung. On your knees,” San orders sharply. “You had your fun, now it’s our turn.”

Wooyoung shoots you one last, brash grin. He pinches your thigh before he does as instructed, eager to let the others have their ‘fun’.

But San saunters over to you first. He has one hand stuffed in his pocket, running two fingertips over his bottom lip as he circles you, inspecting you almost casually.

“Pretty,” he finally says, coming to a stop right in front of you to rub the sheer fabric between his fingers. San’s arm flexes as he moves, his black shirt wrapped snugly around his biceps — and there is something maddening about the knowledge he needed to have it custom fitted, his shoulders too wide for most off-the-shelf dress shirts.

“Be nice to Yunho, hm?” he says, not even looking at your face, more interested in the generous exposure of cleavage. “Don’t think I won’t be keeping an eye on you just because Wooyoung’s got my cock down his throat. Best behaviour.”

“I will, Sannie,” you hum, a warm flutter in your chest at the hidden reassurance of him watching you. “I’ll behave.”

San pecks your cheek and walks past you to sit down on the bed in front of Wooyoung, legs spread as he runs his hand through Wooyoung’s long hair. Excitement sparks through you at the thought of what they’re about to do — but you’re distracted from the thought when a big, warm hand comes to rest on the small of your back.

“Come,” Yunho rasps by your ear, giving you a little push towards the bed. “Let’s get to know each other a little more.”

You follow meekly, hypnotised by the heavy gravitational pull of his aura, intense and shrouded in mystery. Everything about him is unknown, except that San trusts him implicitly; which means that you do too.

The dark sheets rustle as Yunho tugs you onto the bed with him, guiding you into his lap as he sits up against the headboard.

You settle on Yunho’s thighs, your heart thumping a little louder at the close proximity. You’ve only ever seen Yunho in casual clothes; and he’s already devastating enough like that, a walking personification of the ‘sweet boy next door’-vibe — but the fitted suit hits different.

There’s a cocky, pleased smile on Yunho’s lips at your blatant ogling. He strokes your cheek, his large palm easily cupping your face. A budding fire sparks to life under his touch, fuelled by the skitter of excited nerves at his undivided attention.

Behind you, you hear the faint wet noises of Wooyoung presumably sucking San off; San is groaning lowly, mumbling filthy encouragements to Wooyoung that you can’t quite make out. It’s more than a little distracting, your gaze threatening to drift towards them — until Yunho clasps your chin and guides you back, not as gentle as he could have been.

“Eyes on me,” Yunho warns, raising an eyebrow. He slowly rubs your leg, causing the skirt of your babydoll to bunch at your hips. “You can do that for me, can you?” His thumb digs into your inner thigh. “San told me you’re his good girl. That you listen well.”

You bite your lip at his intense gaze. The sounds behind you fade away into background noise, completely overpowered by the loudness of his thumb grazing against the lace of your panties. Your brain feels a little frazzled already.

“S-San treats me right,” you say, like you owe Yunho some kind of explanation.

Dark eyes pierce into you. “Oh? What if I don’t want to treat you right, though?” Yunho muses, reaching for your neck. “What if I want to tease you until you can’t take it anymore, and then a little more, just because I think you’ll look cute when you squirm and cry?” Ringed fingers drag over the delicate skin of your throat, like he’s testing the fit of his hand. “Would you still be good for me?”

Heat pulses through your blood, focused on where his hand rests. Your lips part to answer him, but all that comes out is a small whimper, your hips shifting in his lap through no choice of your own.

Yunho’s smile widens.

In the past, you’ve caught glimpses of something darker behind Yunho’s golden retriever brightness; but the sweet pup has now disappeared completely, leaving you face-to-face with a shadowed predator, hunger in his eyes. Ready to sink his claws into you.

“You don’t know?” he asks, tilting his head, a taunt hidden in the question. “Hm, you’re a little slow, aren’t you? Guess I’ll have to find out for myself. Let’s see if you can follow one simple instruction.”

“O-one?” You jolt when the nail of Yunho’s thumb scrapes over your panties, dangerously close to your clit.

“Just one,” Yunho hums. “San told me you like to watch him fuck Wooyoung and, well… clearly that’s true. But you’re all mine for now, and I want your full attention. You’re not allowed to look until my say-so, understand? I think you owe me that, for getting to play with them before I did.”

A flash of distress shoots through you at the thought of severing that visual line of connection with San, your trusted, familiar dominant. “But— But San—”

“I’m right here, baby,” San interrupts, his voice coming from right behind you, breath laboured. His hand brushes over the small of your back. “I’ll be here, the entire time. Told you I’d be keeping an eye out, didn’t I? Do as Yunho says.”

San’s firm tone wipes your mind blank, his order flooding through you with tingling warmth. Any illusion of control is gently taken from your hands; you are not in charge here.

“I won’t, promise,” you say, breathless already as your eyes catch Yunho’s, gleaming in dark approval. A pleasant floatiness starts to fill your head like cotton candy. “I won’t look.”

Yunho squeezes your thigh, taking in your show of submission like he’s searching for something. Whatever it is that he needs, Yunho seems to find it in the hazy smile spread across your face.

“Yeah. I’m going to kiss you now,” he says quietly, matter-of-fact; already knowing you will let him.

Despite his warning, your breath still hitches in surprise when Yunho leans forward and — instead of kissing your lips like you expected — his hot mouth presses against your neck. He cradles the back of your head, tongue darting out to taste your quickening pulse.

You whine and instinctively roll your hips into his lap, gasping a quiet “oh fuck” when you press against a sizeable bulge through Yunho’s slacks. The outline only gives you a suggestion of scale, but that is more than enough already; Wooyoung was not messing with you when he called Yunho a ‘big boy’.

Yunho huffs a laugh against your neck as you rock into him. “Needy girl,” he chides, but his hand on your thigh slides back to your ass, encouraging you to move as you please.

And what pleases you is urgency, swirling your hips in rapidly growing desperation. You moan against his mouth when Yunho’s lips finally meet yours in a series of hard, messy kisses, only spurring you on more. His cock twitches against your clothed cunt, and you’re struck with the daunting realisation that he’s not even fucking hard yet.

Behind you, Wooyoung whimpers loudly again, piercing through the fog — but this time you don’t turn around, kissing Yunho harder instead, sucking his tongue into your mouth. You grind into his lap with single-minded need, chasing sharp sparks of pleasure as Yunho matches your frantic rhythm.

Slowly, slick leaks through your panties and dirties his fancy slacks. All inhibitions gone, you push his jacket off his shoulders. Yunho temporarily breaks his hold on you to throw it aside, ignoring how the jacket lands on the floor. You fumble with his tie and the top buttons of his shirt, but eventually manage to reveal a smooth expanse of skin for you to run your hands over. Yunho groans at the touch, his head falling back.

Somewhere in a far distance you can still hear Wooyoung, his moans mingled with dirty wet squelches set in a fast, ruthless pace. You can’t help but respond to his whiny moans with your own, like a desperate call-and-answer between you, but you still don’t look away from Yunho.

“San was right,” Yunho says, eyes lidded as he smiles lazily at your resolve to obey his rule. “You are a good girl after all. So well-behaved for me, aren’t you?”

He delights at how you cry out when he grabs your waist, forcing you to stay in place. “Y-yeah, for you, only you…” you gasp, slumping in surrender of his strong grip.

“Then tell me,” he murmurs, hot breath fanning over your face, “which hole do you want my fingers to stretch out first?”

Something short-circuits in your brain at the word ‘first’. You whimper as Yunho nips at your bottom lip, gently tugging it with his teeth. The decision comes easily, driven by a desperate need for release. “Pussy, please Yunho, need you inside me…”

Yunho’s dark smile widens.

“Good,” he rasps, and boldly cups your clothed mound, “I’ve always wondered what’s so special about this pussy. Just one look at that needy hole and those two couldn’t stay away from you, could they? Always coming back for more until they couldn’t let go of you at all.”

He absent-mindedly toys with your sodden panties through his musings, rubbing his fingertips over your covered slit. You whine and arch your back, shuddering at the indirect contact.

“So sensitive,” Yunho grins. “This’ll be fun.” Finally he pulls the lace aside, and plunges his middle finger right in your drenched cunt.

Immediately Yunho sets a hard pace. He alternates between hard thrusts and delicious curls of his finger, quickly sliding in a second. The stretch has you keening; already you feel the difference between Yunho’s fingers with his thick rings compared to San or Wooyoung’s, hitting deeper inside your twitching cunt.

Yunho keeps your chin tilted up to ply your lips with languid kisses, intense and breathtaking; and a dizzying contrast with the ruthless slam of his wrist. You match his thrusts with shameless abandon, your loud moans almost enough to drown out the wet smacking sounds coming from San and Wooyoung behind you.

Your voice cracks on a strangled cry at a press of Yunho’s fingers against your g-spot, and he giggles at the discovery. “Yeah? That feels good right there?” he asks, his voice sweetly mocking as he hones in on the bundle of nerves. “Fuck, I was right; you do look cute when you squirm. Give me a little more, you can take it. Let’s get you nice and loose for me.”

Dizzy on the burn, you pant slack-jawed against Yunho’s mouth when he adds a third finger, your throbbing walls straining against the intrusion. Your toes curl with every brush of his thumb against your clit, warmth spreading through your body as the overwhelming barrage of sensations crashes over you. Your moans go up in pitch, thighs shaking — until suddenly Yunho’s fingers slow down, shifting away from that perfect angle.

“Poor thing, were you close?” Yunho coos when you sob at the receding high. Gently he strokes your hair, like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing to you. “So clumsy of me, not letting you cum. Here, let me make it up to you, hm? Yeah, that’s it.”

You arch into him with a needy whine when his free hand palms your breast, squeezing harshly. Yunho bends down to suck your nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking against the lace-covered bud. The textured fabric adds to the intensity of his attention, scraping over your skin as he sucks and bites at your tit, drenching the lace with his spittle.

He starts moving his fingers again, curling them in the exact way that had you trembling earlier, and this time he does not stop. You clutch onto his shoulders for dear life, whimpering helplessly as the sharp sparks of overstimulation set in. Your body is hypersensitive from the denial and Yunho gave you no time to come down from it, ruthlessly pushing you towards your limit.

“Too much,” you whine when a fourth finger prods at your entrance, its burn setting you aflame. “Fuck, Y-Yunho, I’m—hmn!— ‘s t-too much, ah ah ahh—”

Yunho releases your nipple from his mouth with a wet ‘pop’, looking up at you with dark, glimmering eyes. “Don’t give me that,” he chastises. “It’s not. Because when I asked San if you could handle this, he said you can. And we both know that he knows your body better than you do.” Yunho’s voice is low with a hardened edge. “So no. It’s not ‘too much’. Just be good and take one more.”

San. San said you can take it. Your brain is like mush, a dazed fog clouding your thoughts. You take it. Not your place to think about these things. It’s not too much. San said so.

You sink freely into the needling blend of pain and pleasure, surrendering yourself to it as you fuck yourself open on four of Yunho’s fingers. San was right; it’s not long before the pain fades, and the only burn left is that of pure bliss.

(There is rustling behind you, the bed sinking under added weight. San growls something inaudible, Wooyoung mewls wretchedly in response. You want to look. You don’t look.)

“See?” Yunho chuckles as you pant against his shoulder, shamelessly humping his hand. “You don’t know the first thing about what you need. Drooling on my shirt while that pretty pussy drools on my fingers. So fucking wet, what a desperate cunt you have. Fucking filthy.”

Your hips jerk when his thumb finds your clit again. The haze of pleasure coils into a tight wire, thrumming through your body. Your pace grows sloppier, erratic, but Yunho is right there, picking up the slack. His free hand kneads the nape of your neck while the other slams into you with rough snaps of his wrist. White-hot pleasure bursts in your core, flooding your system as you cry out hoarsely, your fingers clamping onto Yunho’s jacket as you clench around him with stuttered thrusts, tears brimming on your lashes.

Slowly you ride out the staggering waves, whining pitifully with every aftershock. You slump against Yunho’s chest, breathless and spent, but still moaning in dissatisfaction when his fingers slide out your cunt, stretched open beyond what you thought you could take.

Your head spins as you gasp for air — and though you and Yunho have stopped moving, the bed still creaks underneath you, with familiar whiny moans filling the bedroom. You don’t even think about it, can’t think, when you peek back over your shoulder.

Vision blurred from unshed tears, you just barely make out the forms of San and Wooyoung.

San is still mostly clothed, only his trousers undone and shirt halfway open, while Wooyoung is stark naked in contrast. San is hunched over him, grunting as he finger-fucks him hard, his free hand pinning Wooyoung’s thigh to hold him down as he jerks and cries out at the punishing pace.

He’s completely lost in the throes of pleasure, head thrown back and spine arching, his unpinned leg kicking out and spasming. His cock is hard and leaking on his stomach, his hand harshly smacked away when he reaches down for relief. San revels in his whines with a toothy grin… a grin that widens when he glances over and sees you looking at him.

“Oh baby, no.”

Your memory jolts back to life with a shock, eyes widening, but it’s too late.

A hand closes around your throat, silver rings digging into your skin, and you gasp as Yunho forces you to look at him. You whimper, fully expecting to see fury in his eyes — and are thrown completely off balance when Yunho is pouting cutely instead, an unnerving contrast to his rough hold on you.

“And you were doing so well,” he sighs. “Couldn’t help yourself, could you? What a little pervert you are, you really love watching them that much. What about me, hm?”

“I-I—” You stammer, blood rushing down your core you as his thumb slowly presses down on the side of your neck. “Yunho, ‘m so—”

Your breath goes wheezy at the pressure, all while Yunho stares you down with those big, beautiful eyes. His pout fades away, leaving nothing but cool disappointment. “I get jealous, you know,” he murmurs, leaning in to nose at your cheek, lips brushing against your jaw. “Don’t wanna share just yet. What’s a guy gotta do to keep your attention?”

You suck in a tight breath when Yunho smacks his other hand against your ass, and then again, warming the skin. You whine at every impact, reflexively arching into it. Needing more.

“Ah, so that gets your attention,” Yunho says, his eyebrows raising with interest. “You know what I think?” His fingers tighten around your neck ever so slightly. You feel dizzy, drowning in heat. “I think San has been too soft on you. A spoiled little cockslut like you gets to do whatever she wants around him, don’t you?”

You weakly shake your head ‘no’; a bald-faced lie. San is soft like whipped cream when it comes to you.

Predictably, Yunho doesn’t buy it for a second. His palm connects with your ass again, a little harder this time. “No? You really expect me to believe that?” Yunho scoffs. “I bet all it takes is one needy look from those pretty eyes and he’s right down on his knees for you.”

Wooyoung’s whines are suddenly replaced by a loud cackle of his laughter — but a smacking sound rings through the bedroom and he yelps sharply, giggling apologies to San.

San mumbles out a sulky, “Seriously, Yunho?” and you can’t help but choke out a giggle of your own. Even Yunho’s mask breaks for a split second, his cheeks lifting as he bites down a laugh.

The intense, heated atmosphere lifts for just a moment as Yunho’s grip on your throat relaxes. But the respite does not last long, his bright smile morphing into cool, mocking amusement as he looks you over.

“But I can’t let this slide,” Yunho says, smoothly putting things back on track. “You had one simple rule to follow, and you couldn’t even do that? What, did I fuck the sense out of you with just my fingers?”

You cry out when he slaps your cunt, taking a beat too long to respond for his liking.

“Well?”

“J-just felt too good, please please, Yunnie…” You weakly grasp at his rumpled shirt, fiddling with the few remaining buttons. “Didn’t mean to break the rule, I swear,” you babble, “made me feel so good, filling me up like that, I couldn’t think…”

They’re exactly the kind of pleas that would appeal to the soft gooey center hidden underneath San’s hard dominant exterior — but Yunho is unimpressed, raising an eyebrow as he watches you clumsily undo the rest of his shirt. “Couldn’t help yourself from being a dirty voyeur, is that it?”

“Y-yeah,” you pout at him. “Didn’t mean to, Yunho, please…”

He tsks. “So it’s that easy to fuck you dumb, huh? Came just once and already your head is wiped clean. Fine, if you can’t follow orders on your own,” He slides his dishevelled tie from his neck with a sharp snap of fabric, “then I’ll have to make you.”

You moan weakly when Yunho covers your eyes with his tie as an improvised blindfold, the world going dark. Your heart beats in your throat at the absence of one of your senses, while the others intensify; the heady smell of sex in the bedroom, Yunho’s arms brushing against the sides of your head. (San’s grunts, Wooyoung sobbing out his name in growing desperation. Just from the sound, you can tell he is close.)

“It’s not too tight?” Yunho checks in after he ties the knot, giving the nape of your neck an unexpectedly gentle squeeze.

You shake your head. “No, no it’s good.”

“Good,” Yunho echoes lowly. “Take your panties off.”

Seated on your knees in Yunho’s lap, with no sight to guide you, you’re forced into an awkward shuffle to slip out of the ruined lace. Yunho doesn’t lift a hand to help you — but eventually you manage to discard the panties and settle back into Yunho’s lap. You can only imagine how your cunt must be making a mess of his slacks, slick leaking into his crotch.

Your breath hitches in surprise when Yunho’s hands suddenly run up your sides, dragging along the sheer fabric of your babydoll. He makes a noise of approval when you raise your arms without a verbal prompt, and he takes off the lingerie while careful to keep the improvised blindfold in place.

Yunho’s tie is now the only scrap of fabric on you. You shudder when his hands run over bare skin, feeling exposed, unable to see his face as he takes in your nude form for the first time. But insecurity gets no chance to grab hold, not when his exploration of your body is eager and impassioned. He maps out your shape with rough squeezes, fingers digging into soft flesh, like his eyes alone can’t fully appreciate the sight of you.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he groans, and you jolt at an unexpected open-mouthed kiss on your shoulder. He huffs a laugh at your surprise, raising goosebumps as his hot breath falls against the wet patch he sucked into your skin. “Now, let’s see if this next instruction is easier for you to follow. Touch my cock. Show me you’re a good girl after all.”

You obey with almost embarrassing swiftness, blindly seeking out the bulge in his crotch with your hand. It’s an easy target to find. You start to rub Yunho through his dirtied slacks — but Yunho tuts, his teeth nipping at your shoulder in admonishment. “Not like that. Touch it.”

You hesitate for a moment, but your head has cleared enough that it does not take long to catch his meaning. It takes you a little longer to fumble with the button and zipper of his trousers, but then you’re able to tug them and the waistband of his underwear down. Satisfaction coils in your abdomen at Yunho’s moaned sigh when your fingers wrap around him. With slow strokes, you finally get a proper feel of what he’s packing, and a heated rush of gratitude shoots through you for how thoroughly Yunho stretched you open. Fuck.

He’s warm under your touch, but also a little dry. You raise up a hand to your mouth, tongue darting out to messily slather your palm and fingers with saliva. Spit smears over your chin, but you don’t care. Yunho does care, hissing a swear under his breath.

“Fuck, you’re a nasty little thing,” he mutters appreciatively, grabbing your wrist to guide you back to his cock. “Both hands now, baby. Yeah, just like that. There’s a sweet girl.”

You can’t even make your fingers meet, using one hand to slide up and down his length while focusing on the tip with the other. Even without seeing it, the thought of that fat cockhead pressing inside you is both daunting and mouth-watering. Yunho lets out a deep groan as you twist your fist and you hone in on the motion, licking your lips when his cock twitches in your hands.

His breath picks up as you jerk him off, and you’re itching to tear away the blindfold, wanting to see how his face contorts in pleasure at your hands. Images flit through your head, of his heavy lidded eyes as he bites his lip, a pretty flush creeping up his neck.

Your pace falters for a moment when suddenly Yunho’s large hands press into your thighs, his thumbs slowly inching inward. One of his thumbs parts your sticky lower lips, the other teases just above your clit. Whining, you cant your hips into him, expecting Yunho to withdraw — and so you gasp in surprise when he actually obliges you, pressing his thumb firmly against the sensitive nub.

You moan in gratitude, moving your hand quicker. “P-please, Yunho…” you whine, tilting your head forward in search of his lips, shamelessly needy.

“So eager,” Yunho giggles, noses bumping into each other as he meets your lips for a clumsy kiss. “Such a sweet thing when you just listen. That’s all you need to do for me. Don’t think, just sit there and show me what an obedient little toy you are. So good to me.”

Even blindfolded, the world spins dizzingly around you. Yunho’s thumb rubs sharp sparks of electricity through your swollen clit, and you can barely parse what he’s saying. Just enough to know you are being good, and that’s all your addled mind needs, the praise swelling hotly in your chest.

You whine, just the touch of Yunho’s cock in your hands not enough. You ache to see him, taste him, hear the wet squelch of him filling up your empty, stretched cunt.

“God, you’re so fucking cute when you’re desperate,” Yunho mumbles against your mouth, teeth grazing your bottom lip. “It really is a damn shame, I was gonna let you watch San make a mess of Wooyoung’s pretty tits, but no, you just had to get greedy. Oh, I know, sweetheart, I know,” he laughs breathlessly at your distressed whine, his thumb on your clit replaced by two fingers, teasing at your entrance. “But at least you still get to listen in on the fun. Lucky for you, Wooyoung can’t keep quiet even if he tried.”

“Could gag him,” San interjects from behind, a cocky grin folded into the suggestion. Wooyoung makes a wet, garbled noise that summons visions of his mouth stuffed with San’s fingers.

Yunho giggles darkly at the suggestion. “What’s this mean streak all of a sudden, San-ah? Trying to prove you’re not such a softie after all?”

“Don’t got a thing to prove, just ask Wooyoung,” San grunts, a sharp smack of skin on skin sounding through the bedroom, followed by a ragged gasp for air. “’Youngie, am I being soft on you?”

Wooyoung’s voice comes out hoarse. “Ngh, please, wanna cum… Sannie…”

Another smack fills the air, followed by a loud whimper as the mattress bounces underneath you. “Answer the question, Woo.”

“Mhn n-no —ah!— no! ‘S being mean, please please—” he whines, his mindless babbling searing through you.

Yunho giggles again, casually, like he isn’t sliding three fingers deep into your needy cunt. He holds them still, simply buried inside you. “Fuck, look at that mess, he’s just eating this up, isn’t he?” Yunho says, enjoying the view he’s so cruelly denying you. “What a fucking wreck. Could make him lick the dust off your boots and he’d be panting like a dog.”

Wooyoung’s whines rise in volume and pitch, dripping with blissful agony — until the noise is suddenly smothered. But San can’t silence him completely, and you quietly whine along with Wooyoung, starting to feel neglected as you gently swivel your hips to try and find some friction against Yunho’s fingers.

Instantly Yunho’s other hand connects with your ass, hard, his silver rings adding an extra bite to the impact. The pain is heavenly.

“See?” he chides, roughly groping at the sore spot as you squirm in his lap. “Not so fun when the person you’re fucking won’t pay attention to you, is it?”

You moan something that tries to be an apology but Yunho’s fingers slowly curl inside your aching cunt. He presses right against your g-spot, sending your every nerve ending on high alert, only making your body beg for more. You whine at his teasing, blindly clutching at his unbuttoned shirt in silent plea.

“Aw, there’s no need to pout,” Yunho says, that deceptive sweetness seeping back into his voice. “You’re doing so well, sweetheart, we can have some fun too. Let’s play a little game. If you can make me cum before San, then I’ll let you watch him.”

Acutely aware of San’s low groans and Wooyoung’s muffled sobs, you perk up at the opportunity. “Th-then, can I suck you off? Please?”

Yunho’s cock twitches in your hands. “Fuck, baby. I can see why San likes to spoil you so much, asking so nicely,” he grunts, filling your head with a fuzzy heat as his fingers stroke against your sweet spot. “Does your throat take cock well, pretty girl? Would you choke on it for me?”

“Yes, y-yes please, Yunho please—”

Still blindfolded, you welcome Yunho’s assistance as he helps you to settle between his thighs. Your legs are folded underneath you, your chest resting on your knees as you bend down, ass perked up. Your breath catches when Yunho’s hand returns to your throat, guiding you until something hot and sticky bumps against your cheek. Your tongue darts out, and you moan in satisfaction at the salty tang of precum.

His cockhead slides past your lips, where your mouth confirms what your hands already suspected; he is thicker than San, and every added strain to your jaw is felt at this size.

You moan at the heft of him on your tongue, taking his cock as deep as you comfortably can for the first pass. Without sight, it’s hard to judge how much of him fits in your mouth, but you try not to overthink it, simply easing yourself into a rhythm.

Yunho’s soft sighs and hissed curses burn through you, the sound mingled with Wooyoung’s muffled noises. San’s attempts to silence his moans do very little to make them less enticing, desperation dripping off every smothered whine. Still, you slowly forget the goal behind this game, distracted by the satisfying challenge of sucking Yunho off.

You take him a little deeper with every bob of your head, your hand covering what your mouth can’t manage. “A little more,” Yunho murmurs in heated encouragement. “You want me to cum, don’t you? Then work for it.”

Breathing becomes a challenge when the tip of him breaches your throat, your pharynx instinctively contracting at the intrusion. Yunho groans, his fingers tensing around your throat when you gag on his cock with a wet, lewd noise.

You faintly register a shuffling sound, weight shifting as Yunho repositions himself — and suddenly there’s an odd pressure between your thighs. Drool leaks past your stretched lips as you make a garbled noise of surprise. The ball of Yunho’s foot is pressed right against your core. He holds it still there, almost like an offer.

Experimentally, you swivel your hips into his foot. Pleasure bursts through your veins, a trickle of drool spilling down your chin as you moan at the much-needed friction. You’d been pretty worked up by Yunho earlier, and it doesn’t take much to get you back to that high. He groans at how you’re shamelessly humping against him, and he grinds the ball of his foot back into you, only spurring you on more. Your control slips away, eyes tearing up as you gag and choke on Yunho’s cock over and over again.

“F-fuck, hang on baby. Want you to look at me while I fuck that pretty mouth,” Yunho says tightly, shaky fingers releasing the tie covering your vision.

You blink away bleary tears as the dimmed bedroom light hits your eyes. Yunho throws the tie aside and cups your stuffed face, thumbs catching the tears streaming down your cheek. You glance up, moaning loudly when you see Yunho’s face.

Somehow, he looks almost exactly like you pictured him — but at the same time, the sight of him is a pale imitation of your fantasies at best. A deep flush colours his neck and ears, beautiful eyes blown and heavy-lidded, bottom lip swollen from the way he gnaws at it.

“There, that’s better,” he says, a lopsided smile gracing his lips. “Don’t wanna miss that needy look on your face. Just hit my thigh if you have to tap out, alright?”

You moan in confirmation, then Yunho puts a large hand on the back of your head, pushing himself deeper down your throat. His other hand comes to rest on your throat again, right underneath your jaw. He groans in satisfaction when the light squeeze of his fingers meets his cockhead at the back of your throat, your walls spasming around him.

Quickly Yunho sets a rough pace — rough, but still controlled; he pushes at your limits, always testing them, but never too far beyond how deep you took him before. The ball of his foot pushes against your cunt again, and you let out a garbled, wet moan at the sharply building pressure, spittle and precum forced past your lips with every obscenely loud gag of your throat.

“Oh fuck, this won’t take long,” Yunho grunts tightly. “Doing so well, what a good cocksleeve you are.”

You keen around him, light-headed from both your partially obstructed airways and his breathless praise. He’s too generous, you think; you can now see the neglected part of his dick, unwarmed by your mouth. You ache to feel him stretch out your cunt, longing to prove no inch of him will be neglected there.

But Yunho clearly does not mind. His face is contorted with sweet agony, breath picking up as he throbs in your mouth. He curses under his breath when you grind back against his foot, his jaw falling slack like your mindless rutting is getting him off as much as your warm, willing mouth is. You whimper as the coiling heat inside your abdomen overflows into intense release, flooding your system with piercing surges of pleasure, going limb in Yunho’s hold as you shake and tremble. It’s too much for him. With beautiful, ragged moans, Yunho tenses as he spills hotly down your throat, thick ropes of cum that almost make you choke all over again.

The tears prickling behind your eyes go sharp, and you give Yunho’s thigh two quick taps of your hand.

Immediately his hold on you relaxes, allowing you a dizzying pull for air as his cock slides out. You don’t let him go too far, holding him at the base while you kiss at the tip, smearing your lips with a white sheen.

“God, you’re too much,” Yunho groans, his softening cock twitching under your attentions. “C’mon, you earned your reward. Just in time to watch the end of the show.”

Yunho helps you to sit up, gathering you in his arms. First he sweetly sucks at your lips, his tongue swiping them clean of his cum, then he lets you rest against his flushed chest, rubbing a soothing hand over your back. Your jaw feels a bit sore, but you tiredly nuzzle into Yunho with a satisfied sigh, pressing a soft kiss on his sternum. He lets out a breathy laugh at the gesture, almost a little flustered.

Only then do you turn your head to look and San and Wooyoung, and this time there is no punishment; only a glorious reward.

The buttons of San’s dress shirt are completely undone — a few of them torn straight off. He has Wooyoung’s ankles thrown over one shoulder, fucking his thighs with hard thrusts, a hand splayed over Wooyoung’s mouth. San’s teeth are gritted, his tight dress shirt doing nothing to hide how his muscles flex with every slam of his pelvis against the back of Wooyoung’s legs. The wet smacking noise of San’s cock pushing between supple thighs easily overpowers Wooyoung’s weak whimpers, an angry flush to the glistening tip.

Wooyoung keens louder when he realises they have an audience, squirming against San’s hold. His cock slaps against his stomach in time with San’s thrusts, covered with crusted, dried cum. You can only guess at who came already, both of them hard and desperate.

“You can stop holding back now, San,” Yunho teases him. “She took her punishment like a good girl, just like you said she’d be. Her pretty eyes are on you now. Give her something good to look at, hm?”

San jerks his head to look at you, something wild and primal burning in his gaze. To think of his aggressive rut as ‘holding back’ feels impossible… yet he proves Yunho right all the same.

San’s hand lets go of Wooyoung’s mouth, who whines loudly when he’s released. His face is red and puffy and wet; and he sobs harder when San angles himself lower so his cock slides against Wooyoung’s with every thrust. Overwhelmed, Wooyoung’s eyes squeeze shut — but they snap back open with a cry when San harshly spanks his outer thigh.

“Look at her, Woo,” San grinds out. “Show her what a desperate wreck you are.”

Wooyoung hiccups, shakily wiping his face as he meets your eyes. The thick tears spilling down his shiny cheeks are mesmerising, causing a warmth to brew underneath your exhaustion. The heat is further stoked by Yunho’s long fingers kneading into your own thighs, like he’s contemplating the thick softness of them pressed around his own cock.

“Tell her what you want, Wooyoung,” San demands, the bed shaking underneath as he speeds up.

“W-wanna cum, mhn, need to cum so bad—”

Another smack lands on his thigh and Wooyoung cries out, his back arching pitifully. San scoffs at his whines. “Is that all? Our girl choked on Yunho’s dick so she could watch you, and that’s how you thank her? Thinking only about yourself?”

Wooyoung makes a strangled noise as he shakes his head, unable to get a word out.

“C’mon, we both know how much you get off on slutting yourself out like this,” San presses, relentless. “You fucking love it, love how much she loves it. How good you look like this, a depraved, flushed mess. Fucking gorgeous.”

The sudden praise jolts through Wooyoung, his fingers clawing at the sheets. “Y-yeah, that’s what I want—” he slurs, his tongue thick in his mouth. His long hair is sweaty and sticks to his face, throwing a shadow over his eyes as he pins his gaze back on you. “Want you to see, want you to watch me cum please, please—”

“I’m watching, Wooyoungie,” you say. You’re filled with something not unlike awe as you drink in his desperation, his unconditional surrender as he loses himself in the search of pleasure. “Watching everything San’s doing to you. So pretty.”

Right as you say that word, pretty, San smacks Wooyoung’s flushed cock. He sobs wretchedly, convulsing as the sudden pain sparks through his crossed wires. The first globule of sticky whiteness already forms at the tip before San wraps his fist around the darkened cockhead, forcing Wooyoung into a violent release. He mewls and spasms, jerking against San’s hold — but San doesn’t let up until his own breath falters, breaking on a whiny moan as he spills over Wooyoung’s thighs and still-leaking cock.

San slowly lets Wooyoung’s shaky legs down, ankles sliding from his shoulder. He’s panting hard, a sharp glint in his eyes as he admires the mess on Wooyoung’s torso, who basks in the attention of three pairs of eyes on him.

He stares up at San with a blissed-out, empty-headed smile, “So good… made me feel so good…”

Fondly, San chuckles and cups Wooyoung’s cheek.“You haven’t had enough yet, have you?” he hums, rubbing his thumb over Wooyoung’s swollen lips. “Yunho’s been looking forward to having his turn with you.”

Wooyoung nips at San’s thumb and grabs his wrist, his dark eyes glittering at Yunho as he presses a kiss against the palm of San’s hand. Anticipation crackles in the heady air, Wooyoung’s hungry gaze answering San’s question loud and clear. Never enough.

There is a brief moment of shuffling as San and Yunho swap places, but Yunho kisses the side of your head before he goes. “We’re not done yet, sweetheart,” he murmurs in your ear. “Don’t think I’m satisfied with just my fingers in that tight hole.”

Your stretched cunt clenches around nothing at the promise, but you’re not empty for long. As soon as Yunho leaves your side, San embraces you in the comfort of his strong, familiar arms.

“Come, let’s cuddle,” he mumbles, pulling you on top of him as he lays on his back.

You let San manoeuvre you to his liking, knowing better than to object against resting your weight on him. You snuggle up against San, savouring the low, content rumble in his exposed, sweaty chest.

Both of you are a bit sluggish, but San still nudges you to lift your hips before you can settle entirely. He wraps his hand around the base of his softened cock, and you moan quietly when he presses into your waiting cunt. “Fuck, Yunho opened you up real nice,” he groans at the easy slide. “So fucking wet, baby. Just keep me warm like that for a while, ‘lright?”

With a gentle hand he strokes your hair, and you relax into him with a sigh.

San’s heart beats underneath your cheek as you turn your head to see Yunho has half-helped, half-dragged Wooyoung to lay parallel to you and San. Now he slowly crawls over Wooyoung’s prone body, drawing whines from him with even the lightest touch. Wooyoung shudders when Yunho scoops up some of the white fluids on his heaving chest, then offers it to him. He sucks on Yunho’s fingers on pure instinct, not a single thought behind his dazed eyes.

Maybe Yunho had a point when he called you a pervert earlier; your inner voyeur purrs at the meals she’s being fed tonight.

But it’s a badge you wear proudly, indulging yourself without shame. Your hungry eyes take in the way Yunho’s tall form is hunched over Wooyoung. The stark difference in their height makes Wooyoung look small, helpless, moaning at every drop of his and San’s seed that Yunho feeds him. You lick your lips every time Yunho’s fingers slip back into Wooyoung’s mouth.

Meanwhile, San runs a warm hand up and down your spine. His fingertips leave gentle sparks wherever they go. “Woo looks good like this, doesn’t he?” he says, a grin in his voice. “Can’t wait to see if our babygirl really has what it takes to handle that big cock, or if it’s just empty bragging. Yunho’s not gonna take it easy on him.”

(Wooyoung whines a little louder, his hips canting up.)

Carefully, San squeezes the nape of your neck. “Yunho didn’t take it easy on you either,” he hums, his fingers brushing over the sensitive parts of your throat where Yunho choked you earlier. “You made such pretty sounds for him… Did you have fun, hm?”

San’s gentle voice envelopes you with warmth, though it’s hard to focus on his question when Yunho curls his long fingers over Wooyoung’s thighs, the shapely muscles glistening with lube and cum.

“Yeah,” you manage to sigh out with a dopey smile. “Thank you… for holding back for me.”

You rub your cheek against his firm pec in gratitude; and you can feel as well as hear San’s abashed chuckle.

“Thought you deserved a proper reward. Did your punishment so well, what a sweet girl you were for him,” he says proudly. His praise sends a twitch through your cunt, and he lets out another breathy laugh as you clench around his cock. “So easy to work you up…” he teases fondly.

You whine, but there’s no denying the fresh slick leaking against San’s pelvis. It really can’t be helped; not when San is praising you, when Yunho pushes Wooyoung’s knees up to his chest, folding him in half. He spreads Wooyoung’s asscheeks, a pleased glint in his eyes at what he finds.

“Prepped him for you, Yun-ah,” San says, his own hands mirroring Yunho’s as he grabs at your ass, his thumb grazing over your rim. He pecks your forehead sweetly, whispering “Your turn soon.”

“Fuck, San, you sure did, he’s fucking gaping,” Yunho groans, and he turns Wooyoung at just enough of an angle to show you his loosened hole, remnants of lube glistening between his cheeks. Arousal smoulders under your skin at the brief glimpse, inflamed further when Yunho slides his half-hard cock through the crack of Wooyoung’s ass.

“Please,” Wooyoung keens, hooking his arms underneath his knees to keep his legs in place while he squirms at Yunho’s fat cockhead catching on the edge. “Please just put it in, please please—”

Yunho giggles at his impatience. “Ah San, you really got lucky, getting your hands on a pair of such cute playthings,” he says, squeezing Wooyoung’s ass. “I haven’t even lubed up yet — you so eager you’d take it dry, Woo? Don’t think that’s smart, even for a trained cocksleeve like you. Be good and wait a little longer, ‘m gonna need a second to recover from your girl’s pretty mouth.”

“Y-yeah, I get that,” Wooyoung says tightly, glancing at you with watery eyes.

Yunho grins. “I bet you do. Does she suck your dick often?”

“Wooyoungie’d rather drown in her pussy, actually,” San interjects casually, giving you a buck of his hips. “If anyone’s fucking that tight throat, it’s usually me.”

You whine as you get jostled, clutching onto San’s shoulders. Light-headed at how they’re talking about you like you’re just some toy for them to play with, passed around for their pleasure.

Yunho bites his lip, grinding a little harder against Wooyoung. “At the same time?”

San lets out a pleased hum. “Sometimes, yeah,” he says, and tips your chin up with his thumb and forefinger to meet his grin. “Remember last weekend, baby? Looked so pretty sitting on Wooyoung’s face while I fucked yours. Fuck, you were so noisy… made such a mess on him…”

Your nerve-endings ignite with pleasure at San’s reminder; your garbled moans around San’s cock while Wooyoung sucked the juices from your leaking cunt, even his nose covered with the shine of your slick after you finally pulled him away. You’re so lost in a daze that you almost miss it when Yunho asks you a question.

Did you like it?

Yunho huffs a quiet laugh at your noise of disorientation. “Did you like it, baby?” he repeats, slower this time; with the charitable patience one might have for a pet that’s cute, but not all that smart. “When Wooyoung eats you out? Is he any good, sweetheart?”

Your eyes trail up Wooyoung’s body, noting the veins bulging in his flexed forearms, still dutifully holding his legs in place. When you reach his face, he is staring right back at you, mouth fallen open and his long hair in a mess, strewn on the bed, a few sweaty strands clinging to his neck.

“The best,” you sigh sweetly.

The ‘o’ of Wooyoung’s lips stretches into a wide, fucked out smile, moaning out a breathless giggle as he preens at your answer.

“High praise,” Yunho says with a teasing glint in his eyes. He grabs for the bottle of lube that San left on the bed earlier and pops the cap. “He must’ve got one hell of a silver tongue to have earned that.”

You can’t help a moan, your clit throbbing with memories of Wooyoung’s tongue flicking and suckling at you, dissolving you into a puddle.

“She likes his nose too,” San chuckles, adding more fuel to the fire. He steadily kneads at your ass, giving it the occasional smack just to admire the bounce of his hand and the jiggle of your cheeks. “Don’t you, baby?”

“F-fuck, so much,” you whine. “Feels s-so good, riding his face… Grinding on it…”

Wooyoung suddenly trembles and gasps while Yunho runs a glistening finger down that beautifully hooked slope of his nose. It only takes you a beat to realise his strong reaction is not just because of the downpouring of praise — Yunho has forced the tip of his cock past Wooyoung’s rim.

“Ah ah ah—!”

The sound is torn from Wooyoung’s throat as his body snaps taut. His legs almost drop to the side before Yunho grabs onto his thighs, large hands kneading into the tense muscles. “Fuck,” Yunho swears, jaw clenched. “Relax for me, Woo. I’ll take it slow but— fuck.”

Wooyoung pants with hard, huffy breaths, his eyes rolling back as he struggles to take the sudden intrusion. It’s subtle, but San’s hold on you tenses for a moment, until Wooyoung’s voice breaks with an obscenely loud moan, leaving no mistake that the tears springing in his eyes are the right kind.

San relaxes again, his soft amused laugh rumbling through his chest. “Time to see if our size queen has bitten off more than he can chew,” he says; a taunt mixed with genuine fascination. “…And time for us to move on too.”

Unable to look away, your eyes are glued to Wooyoung’s face, contorted with agonised pleasure, and the slow press of Yunho’s hips, giving Wooyoung time to adjust. The idea of taking Yunho in your cunt is already daunting enough, you can’t begin to comprehend the ways Wooyoung’s body is forced to stretch and yield to his outrageous size.

Utterly transfixed, you barely register how San grabs for the lube and slicks up his own fingers — but you’re snapped back into your own reality when his index finger circles your tight hole, and quickly presses in. You moan at the slight pressure on your walls; not uncomfortable but always a little odd at the start.

Meanwhile Yunho groans tightly, a thick vein protruding in his neck from the effort of holding back. “Fuck, Sannie, you weren’t kidding about his recovery time,” he grinds out, a sharp curve to his lips. “I’m barely even inside him yet and he’s getting hard again already.”

Wooyoung whines pathetically, clawing at Yunho’s thighs like he’s trying to pull him in deeper.

“Please, hah mmh, please please,” he babbles, all coherent thoughts wiped from his mind. Yunho bends over him as he pushes deeper, and Wooyoung looks tiny underneath his tall frame, sobbing with delirious pleasure.

Lazily San fingers your ass open while you watch them together, his eyes big and shiny, gleaming with curiosity. Your body is pliant and relaxed for him, the thickness of two fingers a breeze in comparison. Awestruck, you witness how Yunho finally bottoms out.

Wooyoung hiccups as he tries to catch his breath, whimpering when Yunho wipes sweaty strands of hair out of his face.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” Yunho murmurs, with none of his earlier faked sweetness. “What a champ. Not many who can take me like this, fucking incredible. Ready for me to fuck you, or do you need a moment?”

“M-move, please fuck please,” Wooyoung pleads. “Moving is better, please, hmgh—”

Slowly Yunho starts to move — and you can’t help but instinctively match his pace, squirming against San. His cock twitches in your warm cunt, almost back to full hardness already. He groans softly by your ear, smoothly pushing a third finger inside your other hole.

Soon, the noise of skin slapping against skin fills the bedroom every time Yunho buries himself to the hilt, lewdly harmonising with Wooyoung’s hitched moans. Yunho’s fingers dig harshly into his thighs to keep him in place, and you salivate at the thought of kissing Wooyoung’s resulting bruises later.

The harder Yunho fucks him, the more you hump into San, leaking around his cock. He bites down a whine, using his free hand to hold you steady. “Careful baby,” he says hoarsely, “I don’t know how many more I got in me. Let me save it for later, alright?”

Reluctantly you stop moving, targeting San with a small, needy pout instead.

He chuckles fondly, promising it’ll pay off later — but your further pouting is interrupted when Wooyoung’s moans suddenly rise in pitch.

Your eyes snap back to the others, where you see Yunho has hooked Wooyoung’s leg around his waist. This way, he’s given you full view of Wooyoung’s cock, flushed a deep dark red and oozing precum. Unintelligible curses and butchered gasps of Yunho’s name tumble clumsily off Wooyoung’s tongue, until no sound leaves his lips at all. His mouth is caught in a silent cry when Yunho bucks into him at an angle, and then again, his entire body shaking as watery strings of cum soil his stomach all over again.

Yunho only needs a few more thrusts himself before he doubles over with a loud grunt, moaning sweetly as he rides it out until he stills inside Wooyoung, hunched over his smaller form.

Burning gratitude coils in your abdomen when Yunho angles them again so you can see how Wooyoung’s hole is obscenely stretched around Yunho’s big cock. It leaves him gaping open when Yunho slowly pulls out, cum bubbling at the rim and leaking down onto the bed.

Wooyoung makes a weak noise at the emptiness, but Yunho wipes up the dribble of cum with his fingers and stuffs them back inside. Then he turns to San, wordlessly holding out his free hand.

You frown in confusion, but San seems to know exactly what Yunho is asking for. He reaches for something that’d been set aside unnoticed; and you bite your lip with a quiet moan when you realise he’s grabbed a thick buttplug. He hands it over to Yunho, who gives the toy a liberal coat of lube, then easily slides inside Wooyoung.

Wooyoung moans contently at the effortless fit, and barely fusses when Yunho helps him into a sitting position against the bed’s headboard. Wooyoung lets his head fall back, covered all over in the shine of sweat and other bodily fluids. He’s still breathing heavily, eyes lidded as he watches with exhausted interest how San guides you to get up as well, his cock sliding out of your cunt. And when San instructs you to sit on Wooyoung’s lap, you obey eagerly.

As you settle in Wooyoung’s lap, you make sure not to press your stomach against his dick. “You… that was… woah,” you sigh in admiration, gently combing your fingers through a tangle in his mussed up hair. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

He just gives you a breathless giggle, too fucked out for a verbal response — a rarity. The air between you is giddy, like you’re both high on the pleasure of having your bodies pushed to their limits. But he seeks out your pussy with his fingers, four of them effortlessly pressing inside. His own silent admiration of how Yunho stretched you out too.

You grin teasingly at Wooyoung’s ruined state, pressing a light peck on the tip of his nose. “You done for tonight? You kinda look like you might be done for tonight.”

“Fuck… definitely gonna need a minute,” Wooyoung groans, but you feel the smile on his lips when he tilts his head to catch you in a kiss. It’s a tired, heady meeting of lips, closer to an exchange of breath than an actual kiss, but you savour it all the same.

“Take your time, Wooyoung,” San assures him, interrupting the moment of affection to make sure you both drink something.

He grabs a bottle of water from the bedside table that he’d readied beforehand with liquids, a few snacks, wet wipes, all the usuals — but instead of handing you the bottle, San clasps your jaw, gently coercing your lips to part.

San pours a generous sip straight from the bottle into your mouth, careful not to spill. Your head buzzes at his tender yet forceful care, glowing with a syrupy warmth when he pats your cheek in approval after you swallow the water down.

He gives Wooyoung the same treatment, until he’s satisfied you both drank enough. He asks if either of you need anything else, and bursts into a flustered, dimpled laugh when the unanimous answer is “you finally taking the rest of those clothes off.”

He obliges, of course, shucking off his dress shirt with the ripped buttons and throwing it aside, soon followed by the rest. Tan skin and firm muscle, his cock still hard from earlier. San can’t help a tiny, flustered smile when you and Wooyoung lavish him with tired attention, nipping at the corded muscle of his shoulder, palming at the swell of his tits. Your hands bump into each other when you both reach for San’s cock, leading to another shared, giddy laugh.

You glance at Yunho, wondering if he is amenable to obliging you as well — and see he’s been discreetly cleaning himself up while San took care of you and Wooyoung. Yunho lets out a little embarrassed laugh when he realises you’re watching him wipe his softened dick. But you’re not laughing anymore, remembering his words from before.

“Don’t think I’m satisfied with just my fingers in that tight hole.”

You swallow tightly, biting your lip in anticipation.

Seeing your reaction, Yunho’s embarrassment quickly fades into a slow smile. Even without your asking, he treats you to the unhurried discarding of his clothes; not built like a brick wall the way San is, but fit and lean, moving his long limbs with a controlled grace that sparks a flutter in your stomach.

He crawls back onto the bed to join you and the others, and you hum a soft moan as his chest presses against your back, arms encircling your waist. Four fingers slip back inside you and Yunho gives them a careful wiggle, like he’s checking if you’re still ready for him.

You gasp at the tight press of Yunho’s fingers with their thick rings, your head falling back on his shoulder.

Just like that, the quiet lull in the bedroom dissipates, replaced by the wet squelch of Yunho slowly sliding his long fingers in and out of your sopping hole, coaxing your body to remember the stretch of them. A whine falls past your lips while San and Wooyoung watch in rapt attention, their eyes burning into you.

Wooyoung’s dark gaze is pinned on the heave of your chest as you gyrate in his lap, rolling your hips into Yunho’s hand, pushing back into his cock. Yunho surges forward with a groan, mouthing at your neck while he grinds against your ass. You whimper when Wooyoung bends forward to latch onto a pert nipple, licking thick, hot stripes as he laps at your tits.

San takes it all in with a light flush on his cheeks, unable to look away from your stuffed cunt. It’s obscene how easily Yunho’s fingers fit now, wet and slippery. “Fuck, Yunho, I bet you could fit your whole fist in there if we really took our time with her,” San groans softly, nothing but awe dripping from his voice.

You sob desperately at the idea, clenching around Yunho — but underneath the excitement, there is a weak jolt of anxiety. Your weeping cunt is burning, pushed to new limits, and suddenly every nerve ending in your body remembers; you had no say in what’d happen tonight, all power relinquished to San.

“Mh, I— I don’t— dunno if I can, ah, ah—!” you slur out, mewling when Wooyoung picks exactly this moment to suck harshly at your nipple. He whines happily as your hand flies to his hair, yanking at the black strands.

San’s hand joins yours to pull a squirmy Wooyoung away. “Breathe baby, deep breaths,” he says, sweetly kissing a fresh tearstreak on your cheek. “You don’t have to. Already doing so well, taking so much for us.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Yunho hums, rubbing his nose against your other cheek. He takes out his fingers and gives your slicked folds a gentle squeeze. “We’ll be careful with you. A pretty thing like you needs taking care of, don’t you? Gonna stuff you full, just the way you need. God, I can’t wait to feel you clench around my cock…”

You whimper, feeling hazy from their praise. Allowing you to slide back into that fuzzy safety of subspace, no thoughts of your own; Yunho and San know what’s best for you.

“T-then do it,” you moan. “Stuff me full, please.”

Yunho lets out a soft, delighted giggle at your eagerness. “We will, don’t you worry. San, lets see if your little troublemaker can get it back up again.”

The little troublemaker in question perks up, and then hisses when San reaches between you and Wooyoung to slick up his hand with your arousal before wrapping his fingers around Wooyoung’s worn-out cock. “F-fuck, Sannie,” he gasps, his body reflexively trying to jerk away, but pinned in place by you on his lap.

Yunho nuzzles your shoulder while he watches in approval how Wooyoung’s dick plumps back up. “Doing such a good job, San-ah…” he says with a pleased smile. “Look at you, almost can’t believe you’re the same guy as that timid rookie I took under my wing. You know just what your submissives need and always give it to them, don’t you? What a good boy you are.”

San whines at the praise, stroking Wooyoung a little faster. His eyes widen in surprise when Yunho clasps his chin, but he gladly melts into the offered kiss. It’s brief but intense, San’s tongue sucked into Yunho’s mouth, a thin trail of saliva connecting them when Yunho pulls away again, leaving San panting.

“Good boy,” Yunho smiles again, brushing his thumb over San’s flushed cheek. “Time for the next part.”

Yunho helps you to turn around, sitting reverse cowgirl on Wooyoung’s lap. Even in your dazed state, you quickly realise where this is going when San slicks up Wooyoung’s cock with a coat of lube. So you’re ready and relaxed when his cockhead prods between your asscheeks, lifting your hips to help San guide him inside, your jaw falling slack as you slowly lower yourself down.

Wooyoung groans a muffled swear against your shoulder once you’re fully seated on him, tightly circling his arms around your waist. Thankfully San prepped you well — but your nerves still momentarily spike back to life when Yunho bears down on you, swallowing your mouth in a deep kiss as he lines himself up. You whine against his lips, scrambling to grab onto something as his thick cock rubs through your sticky folds, then starts to push inside. One of your hands finds Wooyoung’s wrist, nails digging into his skin, while the other delves into Yunho’s hair.

Just by himself, Yunho would already be enough to overwhelm you; but buried alongside Wooyoung, their cocks pressing against each other through the thin barrier of your inner walls, you are drowning, completely overcome before he’s even fully sheathed inside you.

“Hngh, f-fuck, Yunho, hm can’t— too much, please—” you gasp out, but this time Yunho is less receptive to your pleas.

He tuts, unyielding. “This again? Sannie, what do you think?”

San cups your cheek, intently looking you over as you nuzzle pitifully into his palm — but when he speaks, his tone is cool and dismissive. “She’s fine.”

You sob weakly as Yunho sinks deeper, unyielding, but safe-wording is the farthest thing from your mind. Your head falls back against Wooyoung’s shoulder, mouth agape and spit dribbling down your chin. There is a bliss to being pushed like this, all control stripped away from you. Your cunt greedily sucks Yunho in, gushing around him, your body so wired you almost think you could cum just like this. Almost.

San observes you with feline curiosity, tilting his head as he seems to realise the same. “See, you like it,” he says smugly, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Isn’t that right? No, no don’t be like that,” he teases when you let out a strangled moan. “You should tell them. Let them know, baby, say you like it.”

“L-like it…” you whimper, panting for breath when Yunho’s cock is finally nested inside your snug cunt, walls twitching around him. “Like having your cocks fill me up, feels so full…”

“Not full enough yet,” San says, quirking his eyebrows. “You got one hole left that needs to get stuffed. Hold her for me, Yunho.”

He shifts on the bed to reposition himself, and you don’t have time to process his words before Yunho’s large hand suddenly wraps around your throat again. It’s not tight enough to obstruct your airway, but your brain is instantly light-headed all the same, and you’re helpless to do anything except let him guide your mouth to San’s waiting cock.

With every inch of him going down your throat, you sink deeper into that fuzzy heat, your entire sense of self melting away until there is nothing left but that blissful pressure, filling you up from the inside. Static buzzes through you, and San grunts at how you moan gutturally around his cock

“You like this too, baby?” he asks with a mocking lilt, knowing damn well you can’t tell him.

But you still try your best, muffled moans escaping past his thick girth. You cry out louder when Wooyoung suddenly makes himself known again, angling for your attention by palming your chest. He plucks at your hard nipples, his teeth grazing against the nape of your neck as he lavishes you with open-mouthed kisses. His lips brush against the tips of Yunho’s fingers, who gives your throat a light squeeze, just to hear you whine.

Then, Yunho begins to move.

He starts off with slow, deep rolls of his hips, testing how he pushes you back on Wooyoung’s cock, how you almost gag around San. He bucks a little harder, and then you do gag, your throat convulsing around San’s fat cockhead, tears springing in your eyes.

Still mocking you, San coos at the sight. He brushes your tears away as they fall, but a low groan escapes him when he feels at your stuffed cheeks. You whimper, trying to curve your tongue around the vein on the underside of his cock — but Yunho fucks you harder now. Jostled by his rough thrusts, you’re forced to feel every inch of every cock that’s shoved inside your body, until you’re losing yourself in them, seizing up as wet heat pulses through your core, a dam bursting with delirious ecstasy, overloading your senses.

Their sweet moans fill your ears as you clench and spasm around them with intense release, low grunts and high whines, their arms holding you upright as the high passes through you, your body starting to sag.

It takes you a moment, still coming down to earth, to realise Wooyoung is clinging onto you desperately, his fingers digging into your sides. He whines and trembles, a faint buzzing reaching your ears. Confusion fights through your pleasure-addled brain — until you see the small remote in San’s hand, and a memory makes its way through of Yunho putting a buttplug in Wooyoung’s used hole. A vibrating plug, as it turns out.

“F-fuck,” Wooyoung grinds out, his sweat-slicked forehead pressed against your shoulder as his nails leave crescents in the soft meat of your waist. “I— I—”

“Gonna cum, Woo?” San asks, looking unimpressed, but the words come out tightly. He runs his hand through Wooyoung’s hair, forcing his head back. “Hold back, as long as you can. Understood?”

Wooyoung’s answer is nothing but a strangled sob, but it’s enough for San. He releases Wooyoung’s hair, cupping the back of your head instead, making sure he always stays good and deep in your mouth even while Yunho brutally fucks into you.

You’re burning, barely come down from your last orgasm when you feel the next one creeping up on you. Wooyoung is on the brink, San throbbing inside you, while Yunho never lets up on his punishing pace, a vein popped in his neck from the exertion of pistoning that obscenely big cock into your sopping cunt.

Sweat beads down Yunho’s temple, and a faint wish flits through your mind to suck at that bulging vein in his neck — but his hand is still firm around your throat while San uses it for his own pleasure, and the wish fades away.

“Touch her, Wooyoungie,” Yunho grunts. “Touch her clit. Wanna feel her cum again while we stuff her full.”

Wooyoung mewls weakly, but obeys with a shaky hand. The touch is directionless, weak swipes without clear purpose, but you’re on the edge in a second, not needing much at this point — and neither does San. His low moans choke up into a whine when you keen around him, sticky heat bursting on your tongue as he curses, almost doubling over. Wooyoung follows him in seconds, like San’s release was the permission he needed to finally let go, biting into your shoulder while he shudders and spills deep inside you.

Wooyoung pinches your clit just as Yunho hits right against that sweet spot, and you topple over again, toes curling, arching into him, a soundless cry reverberating around San’s cock as pleasure ripples through your body. Yunho swears hoarsely as you clamp down on him, pulling him over with you. It’s slightly weaker than the last one but the release lingers, quaking through you and elongated by every spurt of seed that the three men give you.

The buzzing of the buttplug stops in the wake of silence that follows, and San unceremoniously drops the remote onto the bed, his sweaty chest rising and falling with every heavy breath. Gently he frees your mouth, and you let out a weak cough at the sudden free pull of air. The lower half of your face is absolutely drenched with spittle and now, unable to swallow it all down, a trickle of cum leaks past the corner of your lips — just like it dribbles past Yunho and Wooyoung’s cocks, every hole leaking.

Wooyoung slumps against you, his arms still around your waist, and his weight forces you to slump into Yunho in turn. Yunho chuckles tiredly, helped by San to stay upright under your combined weights while they let you catch your breath. Pressed between their solid bodies, you can’t even tell whose hand runs over your arm, sighing contently. Exhausted to complete satisfaction.

Afterwards, San and Yunho both took a shower while you shared a long bath with Wooyoung; and now you’re bundled up in a soft bathrobe and San’s strong arms, curled up against him on the couch. He’s dozing off behind you, his chin nodding onto your shoulder, his drowsiness undeterred by the movie that’s playing on the TV.

(It’s Yunho’s favourite way to wind down after a long scene, so here you are, watching Into the Spider-Verse together.)

On the other end of the couch, Wooyoung is nestled comfortably between Yunho’s legs. The two of them frequently burst out into giggles, either from a joke in the movie or one shared between them. The atmosphere is easy, bright, all pieces slotted into place. You can’t help a smile, snuggling deeper against San, watching Yunho and Wooyoung’s antics, a simple thought settling warmly in your stomach as the four of you fit into this comfortable space together. This feels good.

#whiway #q

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mauvecherie-writes · 23 hours ago

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ru’s 💌: this is a test run! An idea I had brewing. I will build up around this scene as it will be a coming story in the new year. everything I had planned to post over the Christmas break, I’m hoping to post it all before the end of January. Love you all 🩷.

current title: tell me lies (could possibly change in the future)

w.c: 2.39K

warning: NSFW 18+, explicit sexual content described, cheating, morally grey characters. NOT EDITED

You were wondering how you ended up with your legs on his shoulders as he dug deeper into you. He was hitting your spot over, and over until you created a puddle beneath your flesh.

Your skin was drenched in sweat as lust drove your bodies to move in perfect tandem. He was touching all of the right spots in the most perfect of ways.

How you ended up with his hand around your neck as he whispered the dirtiest things in your ear, you’ll never truly understand but you were enjoying it.

“Baby…” You gasped as your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he sucked on your neck, his free curls brushing against your skin.

“Talk to me, sweetheart.” He lifted his head from your neck and looked down at you. The curls framing his angelic face despite the lustful wickedness glazing his eyes. You tugged at his growing goatee and pulled him down for a kiss.

“Why are you fucking me like this?” You looked into his eyes as you spoke against his lips.

“Because you wanted keep to playing games with me knowing how I feel about you. This is just the beginning of your punishment, YN.”

You gasped out loud as the memory of that fateful night took a hold of you. You had been trying to forget about the way he handled you, folded you and kissed you. It was the devil on your shoulder that led you to temptation in your darkest moments.

A moment of weakness. You told yourself.

A very bad argument with your fiancé led you into the arms of the worst possible person to find comfort in, his best friend.

The very friend who you knew had feelings for you.

He was saying all of the right words, doing the rights things. It was just a moment of weakness you self soothed.

It was never going to happen again.

The stress was wearing you thin as you pondered over how you were going to move on from this. Your fiancé, Zander was out of the country on a contract building a new resort for the company he worked for. You were missing him and Zander was missing you too but for some reason did not want you flying out to see him even for a weekend. It frustrated you to no end how much he was resisting your presence.

You were angry and you needed to vent. The only person who seemed to be in reach was Lewis. Zander’s best friend. The very friend who you knew liked you in more than a platonic way but chose to reserve his feelings.

And now that friend knew you intimately and so passionately that you were afraid of the feelings that he evoked out of you that night. You made noises that you never knew you could make, you said things that you had never said, made you do things you’d never done before.

“Yessss, suck that dick baby.“ Lewis groaned as he moved your hair out of the way. “You look perfect just like this.”

You snatched the bottle of wine in front of you and poured the rest of the beverage into your glass. You downed half of it as fast as you could, trying to blur the memories of that night away.

They had consumed you. Overwhelmed you and had you so lost that you had to call in sick for the past few days.

It wasn’t guilt that you felt. No - there was no guilt in your actions. The feeling was the heavy burden of shame. The shame of how much you enjoyed it. How much you loved the way he used you for his pleasure. The pure shame of how much you wanted to do it again.

And that made you afraid.

As you sat on your couch, the thoughts of that night took hold once more. The difference in how each man handled you had never been more stark. Zander loved treating you like you were fragile, a treasure to be cherished - as much as you liked the way he loved on you, sometimes you wanted things a little rougher. A little more degrading and Zander never wanted to do those things.

But Lewis did.

He pulled, he slapped, he spat, he choked. He did it all. And you fucking loved it. Because he knew you could handle it. He knew you could take it all and give it back.

No. NO!

You needed to stop this. Reminiscing on the memories of one night that could not happen again was not good for you. You had already wasted enough time and you could not do this anymore.

With the last sip of your wine, you stood up from your couch and began to keep your hands busy. You cleaned the kitchen and began to cook. You got so lost in the preparation that you almost didn’t hear the doorbell ring.

You whipped your head and looked at the security feed of the front door. Your breathing dropped as it dawned onto you who was standing there. You slowly washed your hands as you watched him press the intercom.

“I know you’re in there, sweetheart. I can smell your cooking.” His smooth and rich voice melted you through the speakers.

You wiped your hands and pressed on the microphone button on the security screen. “Go away, Lewis. I don’t want to talk.”

“Then you can listen to what I have to say.”

You took a deep breath as you tried to weigh in your options. You had been avoiding his calls and texts for close to three weeks now, thinking it would help but in his absence, your imposed solitude caused your heart to yearn for more than it should.

How greedy of you.

“You can’t keep avoiding me YN. We’re going to need to at least be on the same page before Zander comes back.”

He was right. You needed to be aligned in the timelines of things, you thought.

That thought led you to opening your door. His presence was immediately felt as he crowded your space. The longer he looked down at you, the more the last of your resolve melted. Before he even came knocking, you knew that when facing Lewis, you were weak.

“You’re only here to talk right? And then you’ll go?” You licked your lips as you watched his draw into a smirk.

“If talking is all that you want to do then that’s all that we’ll do, sweetheart.” The saying of his preferred nickname for you caused your stomach to clench.

You took a deep breath and moved aside to let him through. Closing the door behind you was a seal of fate. Another bad decision being made.

You just couldn’t help yourself.

The both of you ended up in the kitchen, a plate of lentil curry in front of him half eaten with his whiskey glass sitting empty on the island counter.

“Are we going to talk about what happened?” He finally spoke up. Your hip leaned into the side of the kitchen counter as you tried to figure out what to say.

“There’s no need for us to get our story straight right? It’s just going to be a one time thing.”

“YN…”

“No, Lewis. Let’s be good people. It was a moment of weakness in the heat of the moment. And as good as it was, it can’t happen again.”

“And why not?” Lewis asked as he stood up and crossed the island towards you. “You loved it as much as I did.”

“Because I am your best friend’s fiancé!” You exclaimed as you rubbed against your forehead. “That should mean something to you!”

“But it doesn’t! You think him being my friend was going to stop me when you were right there in my arms practically begging me.”

You ignored the last part of his statement. “Maybe your conscious should! You don’t do this type of stuff. I don’t do this.” You exhausted as you tired to place some distance between your bodies. However, Lewis grabbed your wrist and pulled you back into him. You gasped as you braced yourself on his chest, your fingers curling to grab onto the fabric of his sweatshirt.

“You think now, that I’ve had a taste of you that I’ll just stop and walk away?” He expressed as he raised his eyebrow as he licked his lips at the sight of your softly rising chest and parted lips.

“You had all night to do what you wanted with me and you did. We didn’t stop until the morning … that should have satisfied you.”

“But it didn’t. You left me wanting more of you. You left me craving. You left me a greedy man , YN.”

“Kill that greed. You can’t want more. Not with me.” You whispered as you felt his hands begin to travel up the length of your back and push you closer to him. A sigh left your lips as his head dipped around and kissed the nape of your neck.

“I need more of you.” He murmured as he shifted your positions so that your back was pressed against the island with his arms on either side of your body, trapping you in.

“Tell me that you don’t think about us.” He forced you to look into his eyes by angling you upwards by the tip of your chin. His eyes held the same desire that they held that fateful night. You unconsciously licked your lips as you felt the heat of his stare.

“I don’t.” You lied, shaking your head as if to get rid of the memories fogging your thoughts. As if to detect your lies, Lewis smirked.

“I do.” He admitted. “I think about the way that you felt beneath me. The way you felt so good wrapped around me. The way you said my name.”

“Lewis..” You whimpered.

“Fuck.” He groaned. “You said it just like that.” His hands squeezed your hips in response.

“We can’t.” You mumbled as your eyes closed, embracing his hold. He chuckled and the sound rang wonderfully in your ears. He knew that you were not going to put up a fight. You had come to terms with the reality that you wanted more of this, more of him.

“Why not?” He whispered into your ear as he began to place soft kisses onto your skin. “Humour me.”

“It’s going to hurt Zander if he finds out.” You gasped as he sucked harder on your skin.

“Then let’s make sure that he doesn’t find out.”

“The wedding is in two months.” You further argued.

“You won’t make it down that aisle.” He spoke with conviction.

“Why not?” You frowned as you pushed him away from your neck to meet his eyes.

Deviance was all you could see swirling within the whirls of brown. There was more that you could see. The longing that had been lying dormant until now pushing towards the surface.

“That night you met Zander, it was me that you saw first and our eyes locked and it felt like forever. Do you remember?” You nodded your head in agreement. “You captured me then and you’ve let go since. My biggest regret was letting Zander approach you and letting things get this far. I thought it was too late for me and that I wouldn’t be able to stop him.” His confession caused your heart to beat faster. Realisations dawning onto you as you confronted the feelings within that you had long buried.

“That night we shared together gave me my opening. I won’t let that opening close YN. You know that there’s something undeniable between us. That’s why you don’t fight me. That’s why you won’t walk down that aisle.”

“How can you be so sure?” You questioned. You held his gaze as he picked you up and placed you on top of the counter with his body wedged in between your legs.

Your heart was thumping in your chest as you stared down at his lips. Time seemed to have frozen around you, the only sound being heard was the humming of the fridge along with your heavy breathing.

“I’m sure because I’m in between your legs right now. Your head is leaning forward, silently begging for me to kiss you. Your body is answering the questions your mind and heart already know.”

Lewis didn’t move any further, he was waiting for you, waiting for you to make the final move.

You leaned forward. He did the same.

The distance between you disappeared and when your lips were a hair’s breadth away, you stopped.

“This stays between us until I can end things with him.”

Lewis softly smiled. “No one will ever know.” He muttered against your lips.

You then shut your eyes and pressed your mouth against his. His lips were as soft as you remembered and your moans blended together into a tune, a blissful symphony to be caged within your memories. Your heart pounded in your chest as he slid his tongue between the seam of your lips and into your mouth.

A noise left you as you exhaled, your hands went around his neck as the kiss deepened. Your tongues twisted and twirled, a dance to the sounds you expelled. Your pussy clenched, trembling with need as he thrusted his hips forward, rubbing himself against you.

Lewis cradled your face in his hands as you hungered for the taste of his tongue before meshing your lips once more.

“One rule.” You said as you pulled away.

“What’s that, sweetheart?”

“We’ll never use the master bedroom here.”

Lewis groaned as he rolled his eyes. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“We’re already crossing a massive line by doing this. The sanctity of that room is one I don’t want to cross.” He chuckled at your justification as he carried you in his arms to the guest room that he often used.

“Don’t worry, we’ll have our own master bedroom soon and I’ll fuck you on every inch of it.”

You giggled at his optimism. Your attraction was magnetic and it was explosive. The rational part of you knew that this, what was happening, would crash and burn. But the irrational part of your mind was stuck in the moment with him and you wanted it all.

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gingerteawrites · 3 days ago

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Limelight - Gojo Satoru

Content: You knew Gojo belonged in the limelight. Away from you most of the time, but you didn’t mind. That was until he lands perhaps the biggest role of his career, and suddenly the shouts of the world feel like they were enough to rip you apart.

actor!Gojo x female reader, Jealousy, insecurity, angsssssssssst, fluffy.

Word count: 3.5K words

A/N: Hello my darling readers, I hope you’re spending great holidays. I am so very excited to bring you this new story. I really wanted to get it out today so unfortunately I did not have time to thoroughly proofread it. Still, I hope you enjoy.

Divider by: @v6que

Satoru Gojo was popular. Not just in school or among his peers. No, there was plenty of that when he was younger. The man was one of the rising stars in the acting scene. Stealing the public’s heart in roles as fearless hitmen, cocky space rangers, and even earnest soldiers.

And somehow Satoru Gojo was also your boyfriend. Yours. You had not even known who he was when you first met. Busy typing away at your laptop in a cafe, you were surprised at the boldness with which he approached you. And even more at how quickly he clung to you. But that was something you quickly grew accustomed to.

You grew accustomed to him talking your ears off whenever given the chance. Accustomed to his need to be close to you any opportunity he had. To the feeling of domesticity that set comfortably between the two of you.

Gojo wanted to scream about your relationship from the top of the world. You were his pride and joy after all. His one and only true love. Fans had started noticing how much happier he seemed on sets and in interviews after you started dating.

[There’s now way this man is single.]

[Ugh whoever they are, I’m so jealous!!!]

[Y’all think that someone has to be in a relationship to be happy? Smh.]

[It has to be another celeb right? Famous people only date each other.]

But this was all speculations. Speculations because the limelight scared you. You remember how the light in his crystal eyes had dimmed a bit when you told him you did not want to go public. An unintentional pout settled on his lips, and he grabbed both of your cheeks.

“But sweetheart, why?” Weren’t you as proud of him as he was of you? He wanted to take you to red carpets. To show you to the world. “My agent knows already, we don’t even need to make the announcement a big deal…”

“I know, Satoru,” your eyes were downcast. It hurt you to say no to him, especially on something like this. “But I don’t think I’m ready for all of that.”

His grip on your face loosened, and your eyes returned to his. He nodded lightly, plastering his regular smile back on his face, but you recognized the slight sadness behind his eyes. He did not want to pressure you into anything, but it broke his heart regardless.

“I’m sorry, baby,” you drew closer on the couch of your small apartment. Where he had grown to spend his days, his own lavish penthouse left untouched most of the time. Your hand took one of his from where it rested loosely on your cheek. “I’m just… You know how ruthless the media can be. I- I’m not built for that. At least not yet,”

“You don’t have to apologize, sweets,” he squeezed your hand in his, then bringing it to his lips for a light kiss. “You set the pace, okay? I don’t ever want to do anything that you’re not comfortable with.”

And so your secret relationship with Satoru Gojo continued. You enjoyed having him in your little corner of the world, away from the limelight. You came to love the way he clung to you. The way he found an escape in you. Every movie premiere you would show up with a sign to cheer him up, heart fluttering at the sly wink he shone your way while the other fangirls swooned at the action they thought directed at them.

Loving Gojo from the sidelines felt comfortable. He was yours to hold in the comfort of your own place. In the privacy of your hearts, the sentiments bloomed. Untouched, unobserved. And you told yourself you didn’t mind the boundless thirst about him online. The way every woman and even men pursued him relentlessly. Because he was yours. Yours only.

------------------------------------★★--------------------------------------

Gojo had been auditioning for the lead role in a new adaptation of Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet”. Ever passionate about his craft, he talked to you at length about wanting the role. His need to expand beyond the typical “playboy” he often played.

“I feel like I’m being type-casted,” he pouted against your chest, and you slipped your fingers through his undercut.

“You’re the most talented person I know. There’s no doubt you’ll get the role,”

He burst into your small apartment with his spare key a few weeks later, scaring you into a fall from your couch. After making sure you were alright accompanied by a flurry of apologies, he pulled you tightly against his chest.

“I got it, sweets! I got the role!” He rambled excitedly against your hair, his joy permeating into your own skin. Celebration that evening consisted of a home-cooked dinner that was made through kisses and impromptu dance sessions in the kitchen.

To your boyfriend, this was better than any party his management could throw. Or any lavish gifts he could receive from the industry. To have you celebrate his wins, big and small meant the world. You meant the world.

------------------------------------★★--------------------------------------

Yuki Tsukumo was an unconventional choice for female lead. Even with your limited knowledge of pop culture, you knew that the woman was usually cast in the roles of fearless femme-fatales. She was the personification of sexy, so much that even you had giggled over one of the photos Satoru showed you. But she wanted to expand her repertoire, Satoru explained, and she was very well connected.

Filming had commenced. And while in the past, Gojo would make time to visit and go on small incognito dates with you, the time together seemed to all but vanish. You texted him after you knew his work day was over.

[Hey baby, I hope today wasn’t too tiring. Do you want to come over for food? Or I can come to your place. Help you practice your lines and all] You chewed on your bottom lip, hoping to not come across as too needy. But it had been a full week without seeing Satoru, and your heart started to ache.

Long minutes passed before the screen lit up, three little dots indicating Satoru’s typing.

[I am so sorry sweetheart, I can’t tonight :((]

[I’m at dinner with Yuki, the director insisted on us needing to build chemistry. I’ll let you know as soon as I’m done, alright?] The words made your heart twitch with something unfamiliar, but you shook it away. This was normal, right? They were in a romance movie, so they needed to get to know each other. You typed your reply fast, putting the phone away.

[No worries, see you later :))]

[Later then. Miss u bebe]

Yuki cleared her throat across from Satoru, and he finally looked up from his phone.

“It’s not polite to be on your phone when someone is sitting across from you,” she picked up a glass of red wine, swirling it delicately before taking a sip.

“Haha, sorry” Gojo replied sheepishly, turning to his lock screen with a picture of both of you smiling over ice cream.

Yuki did not miss a beat, and leaned closer. “Who is that?”

He frowned, dropping the phone in the pocket of his bomber jacket. “No one.”

You did not receive any other text from your boyfriend that night.

------------------------------------★★--------------------------------------

Months trudged by, dragging on laboriously. And you held on. Held on so tightly to Satoru, whose time felt like less and less yours. You never expected to be the center of his world, despite his whispered sweet words. Despite the adoration held in his eyes when he looked at you and told you that you were. You did not want to make him feel guilty for the little time you now spent together. For the way you were slowly being pushed out of his life by his obligations. So you kept quiet. Bottled all your insecurities and sadness and shoved them in the chest of your heart.

As soon as announcements of the movie were released, complete with posters of Satoru looking at Yuki like she was the pearl of his eye and her arms laying languidly over his neck, the internet was lit on fire.

[Omg him in a fully romantic role?? Guys we’re not surviving this one]

[Just from the pictures and trailers their chemistry is OFF THE CHARTS]

[Yuki get in liiiiiiiiiiiine]

The craze exploded even more when paparazzi started posting pictures of them together at dinners, with other cast members but often time alone. The headlines, bold and red always found their way to you.

[THE NEW IT COUPLE!?]

Gojo scoffed at the headline, laying across your lap during one of the rare evenings he could spare.

“All the gossip about this is getting so fucking annoying,” he changed the channel on the tv with an eye roll.

“I know right,” your reply came out weak even to your own ears, and he looked up, noticing you bite the inside of your cheek. He sat up, tilting his head.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” You looked at him, forcing a smile on your lips. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” you chuckled. “I’m just a bit tired. Work and everything,”

A frown settled over his features, and he reached for your hand. “I’m sorry, I’ve been so busy lately.” he squeezed, hoping to convey his regret but you shook your head.

“It’s alright, Satoru, really,” the words left a bitter taste in your mouth. Because in the depths of your soul you knew it wasn’t. It did not feel alright. But it was his job. Who were you to pull him away from his dreams?

“When all of this is done let’s go on a trip, yeah?” His rosy lips were pulled into a smile and he drew closer, kissing your cheeks and nose. “Let’s go relax on a beach somewhere.”

You smiled and nodded. When all of this was over.

------------------------------------★★--------------------------------------

Tonight was the long anticipated premiere. After what felt like an eternity of lone days, between Satoru’s trips and countless interviews. And what you now recognized was pernicious jealousy and self-doubt, you were finally at the finish line. Things were finally going to calm down.

The red carpet was decked out, and it was with great difficulty that you found your place in the fan zone, behind a firm railing. There were so many people, even more than usual. A part of your heart felt nothing but joy at that realization. Satoru was getting the recognition he deserved. That was wonderful.

But this joy was slowly drowned by the words that left the awaiting fangirls and boys surrounding you.

“Omg their chemistry is out of this world!!”

“Did you see how he looked at her during last week’s interview?”

“I’m SO jealous!”

“They look so good together too. I couldn’t imagine a better match!”

The grip on your cardboard sign that read CONGRATULATIONS MY ROMEO faltered slightly. The words cut deeper than expected. After months of reading them online, on headlines and in papers, you thought you had learned to block them out, but you were lying to yourself. The same way you lied to Satoru those times he asked if you were okay. Okay with the growing rift. Okay with him not being yours in the eyes of the world. Except, it was your fault. You were the one who wanted things to be like this.

A violent cheer erupted around you, pulling you out of your thoughts and your eyes onto the red carpet. There they were, emerging from the same car. He held his hand out for her, and she grabbed it, standing to reveal her full splendor. Blonde hair immaculately tumbling down her shoulders, red dress hugging her perfect body. The camera shutters moved almost too fast for you to register. The way he held he waist and how they smiled at each other. You wanted to tell yourself he was a good actor, that was all. He’s acting. He’s acting.

But damn, was he good at it. Acting like they belonged. Your heart shattered when she placed a kiss on his cheek, and his response was an even wider smile. The cheers grew even more frantic. You felt the railing rattle. Herald of your world collapsing.

They look so good together

Who else could he even be with?

He can do so much better than you

You waited for him to look your way like he always did. For a smile. For a little glance. But… nothing. He walked with her at his side past you and the flurry of screaming fans. All that was left to look at was the movie poster. The way he looked at her and how her hands draped over his body.

Who were you to pull him away from this world?

Who were you to stand between him and her?

------------------------------------★★--------------------------------------

[Hi bebe, are u okay?]

[You haven’t picked up any of my calls]

[It’s alright if you’re busy but please at least text back]

[I’m worried]

[Y/N?]

A few days had passed since the movie premiere and Satoru checked his phone for the nth time. Usually you were there to support him at those events, but everything had gone too fast that night. Had you even been there? Or did you get buried in the crowd somewhere. He only remembers you texting later that evening that you were feeling unwell and was going away to your parents’ for the weekend.

[Wait for me, I’ll drive you] he typed quickly, hearing his name getting yelled to leave for some after party after the screening ended.

[It’s alright, I know you’re busy] That was the last text from you.

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair as he read the messages again. No, something was wrong. Terribly wrong and he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he figured out what it was. You weren’t the type for silent treatment.

He pulled a hoodie over his head and grabbed his keys from the kitchen counter, heading for the door.

The drive to your place was mired with spiraling thoughts. What did he do wrong? He knew that his recent schedules did not allow for you two to spend as much time as you usually did. But you had said it was okay. He asked, and you said it was fine.

He pulled into the parking lot of your building a bit more recklessly than usual, and headed upstairs. As soon as he inserted his spare key into the lock, he whispered an apology under his breath. You had given him permission to come even when you weren’t there. But it did not help him feeling like this was an invasion of privacy

*Clack clack*

The door opened with a small creak. He had promised to oil them when he first noticed. That was months ago.

Satoru slipped into your small living room, immediately noting the cold. You were not here. He took off his shoes and trudged quietly through the apartment. He eventually pushed into your small bedroom, the warm scent from the diffuser almost deceiving him into thinking he would find you laying down for a nap.

He did not even know why he was still here, you clearly had gone to your parents’ home like you had said. Or somewhere else. He sighed, you wouldn’t like about that. He was spiraling again.

He was about to leave when the noticed a small notebook at the edge of your bed. He had seen it before, with its brown leather covering and flower embroidered onto the cover.

“Her journal,” he mumbled. Suddenly his hands itched for the the book. Explanations about this situation were bound to be in there, right? But it felt so wrong. And the feeling only intensified when his fingers grazed the cover. Taunting him when he flipped open the pages to the latest entry, dating the night of the premiere. But slowly replaced by a piercing ache as he read through your writing from the last few months.

------------------------------------★★--------------------------------------

You rose from your bed with a pounding head ache. Yeah, this was what you got for crying yourself to sleep and barely eating anything. Your old room had been converted into some sort of storage, and you almost tripped over a box at your feet in an attempt to stand.

Your parents were worried sick, but you dodged all of their questions. What were you even going to say?

I’m dying of jealousy over my super famous actor boyfriend and his co-star?

The words sounded silly to your own ears. You stared at your phone wearily, laid facing down on your dresser and groaned.

Eventually you would have to talk to Satoru. But not now. Not when your heart felt so fragile. As if your entire being would collapse if forced to face the fact that Satoru could not be yours.

After listening to make sure your parents had left the house, you trudged downstairs in search of something to eat. Your stomach grumbled uncomfortably as you whipped the fridge door open. You groaned at what you saw. Being an ingredients household could not be worse at the moment.

A knock at the front door resounded when you had finally settled on making a quick omelet. You sighed and left your eggs for the door. The earlier this person was gone, the sooner you could start. It was probably some sort of delivery anyways.

Without checking the peephole, you swung the door open and was faced with Satoru, towering over you. A seething Satoru. Your first instinct was to close the door, but he blocked it with a strong arm, fully walking into the living room and shutting it behind him.

“Y/N,” his voice held none of the anger that his features carried. Instead he sounded hurt.

“Satoru, I-,” you panicked. You were not ready for this. Not now. “Why are you here?”

He walked closer and you took a step back. “Why am I here?” he chuckled, but there was no trace of amusement whatsoever. “I should ask why my girlfriend is running away from me.”

You bit your lip, looking up at him. You noticed his disheveled hair, his red eyes. Had he been sleeping well? How long had he driven to even get here? You had only mentioned your parents’ address in passing.

“I’m not running,” you spoke quietly.

“I don’t know if you’re trying to lie to yourself or me with that,” he scoffed, finally grabbing a hold of your hand. He dug into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out the leather-bound notebook, dropping it into your open hand.

Your eyes widened, and you looked up at him, suddenly angered.

“You read it!?” your fingers closed over the book, yanking it closer to your body.

“I did,” it was time for his voice to raise. “Because you wouldn’t tell me anything. Why didn’t you tell me anything, Y/N?” his shoulders were slumped, and you felt a lump form in your throat. This was not the moment to cry. Not now. You steeled your resolve.

“Satoru, maybe…” his eyes found yours and your guts twisted nervously. “Maybe we should end this,” you concluded.

He inhaled shakily, fists balled tightly, “Really, Y/N?”

You sniffled now, tears filling your lash line. “Clearly you and Yuki make such a good couple-”

“Good couple my ass! Y/N I love you. YOU. Not her, she’s just work,” his hand raked through his hair. “She’s an obligation. But you have my heart. Not her, sweet, you.”

Satoru fell to his knees in front of you, reaching for your hands again. “I’m sorry that I was not there,” his voice was thick with emotion. “I’m sorry that I caused you to feel like you weren’t enough. Like you weren’t deserving of my time. I’m sorry for not considering your feelings more carefully in all of this publicity thing.” He pulled your free hand to his lips, whispering against it. “But please talk to me, Y/N. I promise to do better, just please.”

The words sent a flurry of emotions through you. You knew you should have said something. But that one insecure part of yourself told you that you didn’t deserve to cause trouble. You loved him. How else would it have hurt so much if you didn’t? And you had told yourself that leaving would be good for him too. You would be out of the way.

But now Satoru was here at your feet. Begging for you. Despite your insecurities and fears and ugliness that he must have read through your journal, he was still here. Asking for you to remain his. Offering himself to you anew. Your finally broke, falling to your knees, now face to face with the man.

“I’m sorry, Satoru,” you choked out, tears spilling from your eyes. “I was- I was scared, and I thought it would be easier if I was out of the way. You deserve so much.”

He shook his head fervently, hand finding your cheek “I want you. That is all, Y/N,” his voice was still shaky. “Losing you is the last thing I want. You’re more important to me than this job.”

You shook your head in return, “Being an actor is your life’s work, Satoru. I can’t stand in the way,”

“You’re not standing in the way, Y/N. If it wasn’t for your support I probably would have stopped.” He was frustrated. “On those nights when it all felt too much, you were there. You are the one who keeps me going in this, don’t you see?” His eyes held yours with such sincerity that your heart threatened collapse.

You let him pull you into his warm embrace, and finally wrapped your arms around his middle, crying freely into his shoulder.

“I won’t let anything or anyone come between us, Y/N. But I need you with me on this. Please” he whispered against your cheek.

You needed to fight for this together.

Reblogs and comments are much appreciated(❁´◡`❁)

#jjk #jjk x reader #gingerteawrites #jujutsu kaisen #gojo headcanons #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #jujutsu gojo #satoru #jujustu kaisen #jjk satoru #gojou satoru x reader #gojo #jjk imagines #jjk angst #jjk fluff

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marauder-misprint · 15 hours ago

Text

Date

Series Masterlist

Sirius Black x Fem!Slytherin!reader

2k words

cw: fluff, mention of Walburga's A+ parenting

Dorcas watches as you pace around your dorm. You look ready for your Hogsmeade date with Sirius. Mentally? You’re a mix of freaking out and angry. You aren’t sure why you’re freaking out but you know why you’re angry. Regulus. You knew you shouldn’t be too mad at him. It was just one date and then Sirius would be in his debt for some unnamed favor. But it was going to be a wasted day. This was a sentiment you repeatedly reminded Dorcas. She was waiting for you to get out of your own head so the two of you could meet your dates outside the Great Hall.

“Is it too late to fall mysteriously ill?” you ask, pausing your pacing momentarily.

“Yes,” Dorcas answers curtly. “And we really should get going. They’ll be waiting for us.”

“Marlene is always waiting on you. We’re in the dungeons, remember?”

“Yes, I’m aware. But Black doesn’t need to be waiting on you.”

You make a sound that says he does.

“He doesn’t. Come on.”

Dorcas grabs your hand and pulls you toward the door. Pandora, Barty, Evan and Regulus are all sitting in the common room. You send Regulus a death glare as Dorcas continues to drag you out of the Slytherin Dungeons. You swear you can hear Barty and Evan’s laughter through the common room door after it closes behind you.

“So sorry we’re late,” Dorcas says, finally releasing your hand outside of the Great Hall. She kisses Marlene’s cheek. “Someone,” she gives you a pointed look, “was dragging her feet.”

You roll your eyes before giving Sirius an unapologetic look. He just smiles and throws an arm over your shoulder.

“Nervous for our date, are you?” he asks cheekily. He knows it’s not nerves.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you grumble.

Sirius steers you out of the castle and to the path to Hogsmeade. Dorcas and Marlene linger back, letting Sirius put some distance between them. The girls had been recruited to ensure that you at least got to Hogsmeade with Sirius. It wasn’t exactly a secret that you yelled at Regulus for saying ‘yes’ to his brother.

“So, what do you usually do in Hogsmeade?” Sirius asks.

You shrug. “Aren’t we just going to Honeydukes and Broomsticks?”

“If that’s all you want to do. That was just supposed to get you here”

“Here,” you repeat. “Under your arm, is that where you want me?”

“It’s a nice place to have you.”

“What a line, Black…”

“What?” he asks, cocking his head slightly. “It’s the truth. I wasn’t lying when I said that I enjoy myself when I’m around you.”

You snort a laugh as you pull out from under his arm. “Name someone you don’t enjoy yourself around.”

“My parents.”

The immediateness of the answer throws you off guard. As does the answer itself. You had heard some of the horror stories from Regulus, but you didn’t know how deep it went. Regulus seemed… fine.

“Yeah? That was a quick answer. Want to elaborate?”

“Are we getting into the deep stuff right away?” he asks with a raised eyebrow. “We haven’t even made it to Hogsmeade yet!”

“Just curious how bad your parents actually are. Regulus only opens up so much about them.”

If you had been looking at Sirius, you would’ve seen his face go stoney. It was one thing to talk about his parents and childhood with the Marauders; it was going to be another to discuss it with you. You knew Regulus. You were friends with him, and in Slytherin with him.

“There’s more than one reason I ran away over the summer. There’s only so much a person can take.”

“So much of what?”

“The abuse.”

You expect him to leave it at that and finish the walk to Hogsmeade in silence. But he doesn’t.

“The yelling. The curses. The bigotry. The goddamn blood purity mindset. I had to get out of there. And I’m not leaving him behind, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m going to get him out of there too.”

“I wasn’t going to-”

“It was just so spur of the moment this summer. I just snapped. I needed to breathe. And now that I can, I can help him get out.”

“Sirius-”

“I didn’t want to leave Regulus behind. He’s my brother. I hated leaving him in that house. And-”

“Sirius!” This time you interrupt him. “Are you okay?”

You reach up and wipe a tear off his cheek. He isn’t sure when he started crying. He stops walking and wipes the rest of his face on his sleeve. He chuckles but it sounds wrong. It sounds sad.

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m good. I’m fine.” He pauses to take a deep breath. “Very cheerful way to start this date, huh?”

“‘Fraid that’s my fault, isn’t it? I asked you to elaborate.”

“And how could you know about Walburga and Orion?”

“You said it was deep stuff. I should’ve left it…”

Sirius shakes his head as you approach the small bridge to Hogsmeade.

“Just don’t go treating me and Reg differently now that you know. He’d hate it.”

“People walk on eggshells around you?” you ask softly.

“It flips a switch and suddenly I’m back to being a child who needs taking care of.”

You laugh. “Well, you may be a child, but you certainly don’t need taking care of.”

“Oh, if you want to see a child…” Sirius says, a happier look returning to his face, “then we should start at Honeydukes.”

“Lead the way, Black,” you say rather nonchalantly.

He grabs your hand and pulls you through the village toward the sweets shop. Once inside, you understood fully what he meant. He flits around the store like a hummingbird, never at one stand for too long, but soon enough, he has his arms full of candy. You followed him around and picked out your own treats. As promised, he buys everything you picked out.

“Black family fortune,” he says casually as he hands several galleons to the shopkeeper.

“Would you mind if we went to Scrivenshaft’s?” you ask Sirius.

“Anywhere you want to go, we’re going.”

You smile and this time you lead him to the store. He holds your bag of candy as you wander the quill shop. He diligently follows you and listens to you ramble on about the pros and cons of different quills, which tip types you preferred and which feathers you thought were the prettiest. After you picked a gorgeous set that came with a fresh ink pot, Sirius insists on paying again.

“You’ll be using them to write to me over Christmas. It’s the least I can do.”

You roll your eyes but oblige him. Could you really complain about not having to spend your own money? Sirius saw it as a win that you didn’t retort with something about not writing to him. Maybe you were warming up to the idea of him. Maybe he was converting you to a Sirius Person.

Once you leave that store, you and Sirius make your way to the Three Broomsticks. Your conversation is lighthearted and teasing. He asks about your family, which is quite different from his. You tell him about your mother’s disdain for pets. You talk about what careers you’re thinking about for after Hogwarts. You talk about his life at the Potters’.

“So James’ parents… They don’t mind Padfoot?” you ask with your butterbeer in hand.

“As long as I clean up after him,” Sirius says, which he tells himself isn’t a complete lie.

Effie and Monty didn’t really know about the animagus forms of the teenages in their home. Any mess the boys made in their animagus forms could easily be a mess they made in their human forms. They never got too irritated with the boys as long as they helped clean up. The Potters liked animals but thought pets required too much time and energy. And James had never asked for one growing up. Sirius was certain that if James had, the Potters would have had a pet.

“There is one thing I’d like to know,” Sirius says semi-cautiously as you work through your third butterbeer.

“Shoot.”

“Do you think I’m attractive?”

You choke on the butterbeer you had just sipped as he asked his question. Your mug slams into the table loudly. You’re coughing. All Sirius can do is look at you concerned.

“Excuse… me?” you manage to rasp between coughs.

“Regulus said…” Sirius says quietly as if regretting bringing it up.

You squeeze your eyes and take a cautious sip of your drink in an attempt to soothe your burning throat.

“You’re asking if I think…” you say after a moment.

“If you think I’m attractive. Pretty. Handsome. Dashing. Ravishing?”

“You’re quite forward, you know that?”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You shake your head in disbelief. Embarrassment floods your features as you realize that he might interpret that as you saying he wasn’t attractive.

“I don’t want to feed your ego,” you say quickly. Then you sigh defeatedly. “Yes, you’re attractive, Sirius. I don’t think you need me to tell you that though.”

“Oh, but it’s so nice to hear it coming from you.”

“I’m sure it is.” You pause as a deep blush covers your face. “Regulus told you?”

Sirius laughs. “Yeah. He said that you think I’m pretty and then threatened to murder me if I hurt you.”

“How nice of him to warn you.”

“Let’s be honest. He didn’t need to threaten me. It was understood when you made me get his permission.”

“I wouldn’t call it permission. He just had to think it’d be a good idea. Which I’m unsure if he actually thinks it is.”

“It’s permission,” Sirius asserts. “If he had said no, we wouldn’t be here.”

You hum. “And what a shame that would be.”

“It would be,” he says solemnly with a nod. “This has been a lot of fun. Genuinely.”

“It wasn’t as horrible as I was expecting.”

“I told you it wouldn’t be.”

You roll your eyes. “You could still ruin it.”

“Hmm, don’t think I will though. I like being right.”

“As do I.”

“You’ll just have to be wrong this time, darling.”

You raise your mug in a toast and take a drink. Sirius mirrors you. He asks you about an essay Professor Flitwick assigned earlier in the week and the conversation begins to flow into light topics again. After you finish your mugs of butterbeer, Sirius pays and you head out of the pub. He walks you back to the castle and you’re half expecting him to try to kiss you. You know his reputation. He doesn’t until you’re at the Grand Staircase and about to split ways, but it isn’t in the way you were expecting.

“Good night, lovely,” he says before he gently presses his lips to your knuckles. “I truly had a lovely time tonight.”

Then he drops your hand and turns toward Gryffindor Tower. You’re left to stand in utter shock for a moment. Then you turn and slowly walk to the dungeons. Once back at the dungeons, you avoid all of your friends. They watch in slight confusion as you book it to your dorm rather than collapsing on the couch to complain to Regulus. You essentially go straight to bed and close the curtains around you. Your head is spinning. You hadn’t hated the date with Sirius. It was pleasant and, god forbid, fun. You couldn’t figure out if it was just friendly fun or something more though.

Regulus’ intention of you figuring out how you felt about his brother on this date didn’t go quite as planned. If anything, you were more confused about your feelings for him than before. And you had to debate with yourself if you wanted a second date with Sirius to figure it out or if you should just tell everyone it was fine and you survived and that was it. You knew which was your gut was leaning, but you didn’t want to accept it.

tags: @2dloveshp, @yearninglustfully, @made-for-oliverwood, @ilovejamespottersomuch, @hisparentsgallerryy, @itsseaberri, @corawithfanfiction, @devilslittlehelper, @jllyunn, @barnes70stark,

tags: @crowleythesexydemon, @flow33didontsmoke, @navs-bhat, @louweenier, @l0g0phobe,

@ellouisa17, @theendofthematerialgworl, @marina468, @bmyva1entine, @ravisinghs-wife

my brain hurts and I'm blaming the stress from visiting my parents for Christmas

#marauders #marauders fic #marauder-misprint #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black fluff #slow burn #slytherin!reader

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twrk11 · 17 hours ago

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NSFW Jabberwock member headcanons + small explanation | 18+ minors dni

A/N : Hello!!! I’ve been quite busy, I have a few things in the works. Sorry it’s been a hot minute! I’ll try to be more active and post , for now have this <3 + sorry it’s kinda short </3

Content: Haru Sagara x reader, Towa Otonashi x reader, Ren Shiranami x reader. Readers gender not specified (Though breeding is brought up). Intercourse, masturbation, just generally what they’re like during sex.

words: 842

Read under the cut!!

Haru Sagara -

-Starting out strong, I firmly believe he has a breeding kink. Though.. He doesn’t actually want a kid. Primally, yes. Logically, no. He has too much on his plate! Besides he’s spending so much money on the anamolous animals, so the actual act of impregnating you will have to wait! (Even though he desperately wants to fill you until his cum oozes out of you).

-I think during sex he loves to touch you. I feel that he’d be very verrrryy handsy, rubbing on your stomach, chest, hips, thighs, anything he can really grab onto. You’re in missionary? He’s hugging you with his body pinning yours. He’s fucking you from behind? Same thing. He loves any position he’s able to hug you while rutting into your holes.

-While he does LOVE to hold you and hug you during sex, he does absolutely adore when you ride him. He’s a tired man, he has so much to do! He’s exhausted and needs to save his energy.. so seeing you bounce up and down on his cock makes him and his dick happy. Oh, but you best believe he has his hands all over your hips, thighs, waist, anything they can really hold.

-Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m sure he enjoys foreplay and long sessions. But, harping back on the fact he’s busy, he really enjoys quickies. When he doesn’t have the time to go all out and have a night where you can each savor each other(which is pretty often.), he loves a good quick fuck.

-Probably a switch!!

Towa Otonashi-

-I imagine Towa would be a mixed bag. He’s probably interested in a couple things. He’s definitely read or seen sex scenes in the romantic media he consumes. And because of that.. there’s a wide range of what he’s seen. He surely would ADORE more romantic, loving sex.

-Adding onto that thought of him enjoying romantic intimacy, he’d be a bit like Haru with wanting to hug you. I’m sure any position that allows you both to be as close as possible makes him very aroused.

-As well as that, he’d love to kiss you while thrusting into you right where it feels best.

-He really does find delight in making you feel good. He puts your pleasure FIRST, he wants to be the best lover he possibly can be. Because after all, you are soulmates!

-He’s most likely a switch, whatever makes you most happy he’d love to do whatever it takes.

-If you’re interested in more rough, and carnal lovemaking, he will do it! He’s read and watched plenty of smut, though he probably would be a bit nervous to hurt you too bad. He loves you after all. Definitely enjoys more sensual intercourse.

-He does however love pinning you down and restraining you, feeling overall stronger than you. During the story he seemed to enjoy the fact that you were weaker than him.

-He does like when you’re desperate and needy. In the game he does seem to enjoy being needed by you!

Ren Shiranami-

-Unlike the others, I doubt Ren would be handsy. Infact- it would definitely take a while before he’d feel comfortable fucking you.

-That does not stop him from masturbating to you however.

-He’d probably save any voice note he could and any pictures you’ve posted, and when he can he’ll rub one out. Of course with the door and window padlocked - and he’d pray Haru wouldn’t pick the lock.

-While playing his games, he’d definitely choose a character that looks most like you or acts like you and immediately makes them his favorite. (He loves when there’s fan service for them or whenever someone makes nsfw art of them, and strokes his dick while imagining it’s you.)

-Though when he does finally feel ready for sex with you, in the mood, and is accustomed to doing so, he’d love teasing you. He’s so rude in every other situation, of course he’s gonna be mean during sex!

-He’d edge you sooooo much, he would take forever to let you cum. (Although.. not too long depending on what Haru is doing. Doesn’t want to risk him walking in on this! He’s embarrassed he’s doing something ‘normies’ do.)

-Probably likes degrading you.

-Though I will say, anything during sex he’s very embarrassed to do. Degrading you, teasing you, it’s really gonna be hard for him to jump that hurdle. So do expect that it’s gonna take a while before he has sex with you, and even then it’ll be awkward when you do until it comes more naturally.

-Ontop of that, adding on that he’s not handsy, and hesitant. He’d like any position that makes it so you and him don’t touch too much. Just your ass and his hips touching are enough for him.

-Probably dominant, he needs to be in control of how much contact is made and since it’s so new to him and most likely makes him nervous he needs to be able to go at his pace.

#tokyo debunker towa #tokyo debunker x reader #tokyo debunker #haru sagara #ren shiranami #towa otonashi #towa otonashi x reader #haru sagara x reader #tokyo debunker ren #tokyo debunker haru #smut #tokyo debunker smut #headcanon #gender neutral reader #breeding k1nk

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trevengersprincess · 2 days ago

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ℳ𝓎 𝒽ℯ𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝓎ℯ𝒶𝓇𝓃𝓈 𝒻ℴ𝓇 ℴ𝓊𝓇 ℯ𝒸𝓁𝒾𝓅𝓈ℯ

c.w: fluff. cute shit, f!reader

a/n: thought about doing this series for a while. I hope this is something new to look forward to and that you guys might like. these poems or lines are from my favorite poetry books. just starting off small for now with two books, hopefully I can expand more

w.c: 652

Standing on the other side of the hallway was him, the boy you adored. Although, he doesn't know you. You don't know him much. You've heard so much about him. He's in a gang, strong, there for his friends. He sounds absolutely perfect. His laugh makes you want to laugh, even if you don't know what you are laughing about. His smile is contagious, brightening up even your darkest days. He is the sun, your sunlight. You both live in different worlds. Both at the edge of the world but still don't meet. Even though he doesn't know, he is the reason you are here.

Seeing even just a glimpse of him in your day, it makes your heart flutter like no other. No one has ever made you feel this way before. You didn't believe in things like love at first sight. Just fairy tales and stories for children to believe in such things. You didn't think it was actually true until you saw him. His soft hair, his gorgeous eyes, ones you can get lost in forever, his smile, his laugh, him. Everything reminds you of him, but you're too scared to say anything to him. You admire him from afar, thinking it's better this way. Until he catches you looking at him.

"You've been staring at me for a while. Is something wrong?" He says once he's right in front of you. Your cheeks flush a rosy red, looking down at the desk you are in. You can't seem to find the right words to say, which makes him continue. "What's your name?"

"Y-Y/N..." You respond as you look at him. He repeats your name, and you almost melt at how your name falls from his lips. Your face flushes red at his next words.

"Y/N...Starting today, we are friends, okay?" You are too baffled to say anything and he leaves, claiming to see you again soon.

Who would've thought it would lead you to where you two are now. At the end of the pier, sitting and watching the moon cast its light on the water. It's reflection highlighting his beautiful features. He had asked you to come out, wanting to ask you something important.

"Y/N...Be my girlfriend, yeah?" Your heart almost stops at his words. Did you hear that correctly? He was asking you to be his girlfriend. Oh, how you longed for this day, and it was truly happening.

"Y-Yeah...I-I'd like that..." You say, moving closer to him. He wraps his arm around your shoulders, continuing to stare out at the water. Both of you enjoying each other's company and the comfortable silence.

"Y/N, how long have you liked me?" He asks you, looking down at you as you look up at him.

"...For a while now. Ever since I first saw you in the hallways of our school." You answered honestly which makes him hum softly.

"And what was your first thought about me?" He asked, curious as it must've been a long time you had harbored your feelings.

"It may sound cheesy or..."too much" but it reminded me of a poem. It goes, 'We are standing at the edge of the world, and yet, we still do not meet. You are soaked in daylight, and I, am covered in night. My heart yearns for our eclipse.'" You say, blushing. His eyes soften at your words, cupping your face as he looks into your eyes.

"Well, your heart doesn't need to yearn anymore. Our eclipse is happening right now, and it will never end." He says before leaning down and kissing your lips softly.

You never expected this to happen. But you know, you would never change it in every timeline no matter how much people offer you. You could never trade your love for Manjiro, even if they offered you all the money in the world.

taglist: @reiners-milkbiddies @nyxe9206 @yourefavsakura @mikeys-bike-slut

wanna join the taglist? click here to go to the post and join! link

#𝒮𝓊𝓃ℛ𝒶𝓎☀️ 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉ℯ𝓈 #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev #mikey my love 🥺❤️#manjiro sano #tokrev

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holland2004 · 2 days ago

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The Christmas Cook-Off Surprise

The holiday season had come and gone in a whirlwind of festive cheer, chaos, and, of course, the Sidemen’s infamous Christmas Cook-Off video. The video had been filmed the week before Christmas, and it had already become legendary in the Sidemen community—filled with laughs, food disasters, and a lot of yelling. As always, it was a massive success, with millions tuning in to watch the group attempt to cook… and fail spectacularly.

Lily had joined in on the fun, even though she wasn’t known for her culinary skills. Her contributions had mostly involved more chaos than actual cooking, much to the amusement of the boys. The video had wrapped up earlier in the day, and now, as the evening settled in, the group was heading their separate ways.

Lily, however, wasn’t going straight home.

She’d recently sold her car after a minor accident, and now, she was temporarily carless. Thankfully, she had someone she could rely on. Ruben.

The two had been seeing each other for just over a year, but they didn’t live together anymore. Lily had her own place, and so did Ruben. Their relationship had always been low-key, but they managed to carve out enough time to be together despite their busy schedules.

After filming, Lily had messaged Ruben, letting him know she was all set to head home but didn’t have a ride. To her surprise, he didn’t hesitate. He told her he was on his way to pick her up, and she couldn’t help but smile at the thought of seeing him after a long, chaotic day.

As the Sidemen wrapped up the final bits of the shoot, Lily made her way out of the studio, feeling exhausted but happy from the laughter-filled day. The brisk December air hit her as she stepped outside, and she pulled her coat tighter around her.

A few minutes later, a sleek black car rolled into the parking lot, pulling up beside her. She immediately recognized the car, and sure enough, the door opened, and Ruben stepped out, looking as handsome as ever in a simple white hoodie, jeans, and a black jacket.

“Hey, love,” Ruben greeted with a warm smile, closing the door behind him. His eyes were soft, filled with affection, and his presence felt like an instant comfort after the hectic day with the boys.

Lily smiled back, walking over to him. “Hey, babe,” she replied, her voice a mix of relief and excitement. She had missed him today, even though it had only been a few hours.

He leaned in and kissed her forehead, a gesture that always made her feel at ease. “You alright? How’d the cook-off go?”

Lily chuckled, shaking her head. “It was… a disaster. I think I might’ve burned something. But that’s normal, right?” she teased, winking at him.

Ruben grinned. “You and the Sidemen in a kitchen? It was bound to be a mess. I can’t wait to see it.”

Lily laughed and climbed into the passenger seat. “You’ll see it soon enough. But I think we’re all gonna need a lot of takeout after that.”

As Ruben drove out of the lot, they fell into a comfortable conversation, sharing stories from the day. Despite all the craziness of the video, the real joy was in the quiet moments like this—just the two of them, enjoying each other’s company after a long day.

“So,” Ruben began, his eyes still focused on the road, “How do you feel about Christmas this year? You doing anything special?”

Lily paused, thinking for a moment. “I think I’m going to spend Christmas Eve with my family,” she said softly. “But Christmas Day, I’m just going to keep it low-key. I might invite the boys over, maybe a little gathering, nothing too big. What about you?”

Ruben gave her a side glance, his expression softening. “I’m with you, wherever you want to be. It’s been a busy year, but I’m happy to just relax and spend time with you.”

Lily’s heart melted at his words. It was one of those moments where everything felt right, where the world around them seemed to disappear. “I’m glad. It’s been a hectic year for both of us, hasn’t it?”

Ruben nodded, turning onto a quieter street. “Yeah, but we’ve made it through. And we’ll get through whatever comes next.”

As they drove, the quiet hum of the engine and the glow of the streetlights outside filled the air. They reached her place not long after, the evening sky darkening as they pulled up to the front. Ruben parked, and for a moment, neither of them moved.

Lily turned to him, a playful glint in her eyes. “Well, thanks for the ride, Mr. Footballer. You always come to the rescue.”

Ruben smiled, reaching over to ruffle her hair. “Anytime. You know that. And besides, I’d take any excuse to see you.”

Lily chuckled. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” she teased, unbuckling her seatbelt.

Ruben laughed softly. “I know. It’s a tough life.”

She opened the door but then paused, looking back at him with a warm smile. “Hey, are we still on for dinner tomorrow night? I was thinking we could do something simple—maybe make some of the leftovers from the cook-off. I think I can salvage the food after all."

Ruben grinned. "Sounds perfect. And I’ll bring the wine. Maybe we’ll even have a real dinner for once.”

Lily chuckled, shaking her head. “It’s a date then."

Before she got out, Ruben reached over and took her hand, squeezing it gently. "See you tomorrow, yeah?"

Lily nodded, her smile never fading. "Tomorrow."

As she closed the door and headed inside, she felt a wave of contentment wash over her. It didn’t matter how crazy her day had been, or how chaotic life could get sometimes. With Ruben by her side, she knew that no matter what, they could handle anything together.

And tomorrow? It would be a simple dinner, but with him, it was always enough.

#ruben dias #rubendiasxreader #football #footballers #premier league #ruben dias x reader #soccer #x reader #sidemen #man city #mcfc #christmas #holidays #social media

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iwritenarrativesandstuff · 6 months ago

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literally the easiest way to make someone care about a character and make them feel well-rounded beyond basic traits like personality, sexuality, ethnicity, etc, is to give them an actual character arc, and it’s shocking how many people do not seem to fully realize this

you cannot just cram a bunch of tropes. tropes are not the main event, they are tools to tell the story you wish to tell. emotional impact comes from the lead up, so you can’t just jump ahead and expect the payoff to work. “I want this character to just ___ already!” but they’re not there yet. that’s where the arc comes in - how do they get there?

and! most importantly, and this is something I really want people to think about when writing - the most important relationship your character should have, always, is with the world and society around them. defining your character purely through their interactions with other characters are, I find, how a lot of female characters end up feeling flat or not engaging with the themes as much as the male characters, and also how queer and non-white characters wind up as devices for other characters’ development instead of being more fleshed out

#storyrambles #sorry maybe this comes across a bit passive-aggressive but agh fandom drives me crazy sometimes #I’ve seen some stuff concerning dbda and it’s just #‘why didn’t Edwin just sleep with the cat king’ oh my god. did you watch the show. his repression is literally the crux of his arc #‘I’m fixing the end of the show so that they end up together!’ but they’re not there yet. there’s nothing to fix?#‘they better ___ in season 2 or im gonna be mad about it’ how about we let the story play out. how about we calm down and enjoy the story.#‘I need ___ to kiss right now!!!’ do you even enjoy the story. do you even enjoy these characters.#what is their arc. tell me right now. because I don’t think you actually know.#and I’ve seen lots of posts kind of like this but it’s wild with this show in particular because it’s canonically a queer show #so there is no fear of being led along or of no payoff. what are you freaking out about???#gah. sorry. it just frustrates me.#the most interesting character dynamic will always be - to me anyways - the way they interact with the world around them #and the way society has shaped them and they shape society in turn #and relationships with other characters are reflections of the mentality they have received and adapted from society #just like in real life lol #random thoughts

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mintmatcha · 18 days ago

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tiktok reader universe

contains mentions of sexual assault. cisfem reader.

There's still times when Bakugo can tell your mind wanders during sex. The focus drains from your eyes, your grip goes limp, and your smile slips just a bit. You always come back to him if he says something, but... sometimes he lets it happen, lets you drift away. Maybe the distance is needed.

Even after all this time, you still never sleep over after sex. Tonight, you're a bit more impatient than usual, fixing your hair and wiping your brow right after he pulls away.

"I was offered a job today," you say casually.

"Yeah?" Bakugo loops an arm around the empty pillow that could be yours, if only you'd lean back into it. "With who?"

Instead, he's left to study the curve of your spine as you throw your legs over the side of the bed. He loves the story your body tells, with its scars and marks. Even the acne pocks are a reminder you were once just a teenager, just like he was. His own scars have puckered with age, still the same raging pink they were when they first healed.

"Someone with way too much money-" you say. -"who likes what I've done for your image and thinks I can fix theirs."

"And can you?"

You shoot him a grin from over your shoulder. "Is that even a question?"

Truthfully, Bakugo thinks you could do anything if you wanted to. You could lean over and rip his heart from his chest with just your fucking teeth-- and you'd make it look easy. He'd maybe even thank you. He'd definitely let it happen again.

Bakugo gives up on luring you back. "Well, when do you start?"

Your head tilts.

"I don't," you say."I didn't take the job."

Bakugo sits up straighter.

"I didn't want to leave you."

The statement sits warm in his chest, then quickly cools.

"Well, maybe you should have."

That makes you turn. You cock your head the other way, expression neutral, but still gracing him with a closed lip grin. The stare lasts for a long while before you crawl back under the covers and return to his side. Your lips find the side of his neck and your hands grip back to him, hot, heavy, breathless in that way you think he likes. A hum builds in your throat, a rolling, performative sound.

"Pull your cock out," you demand, right into the shell of his ear. "If this is the last time, I want another round."

"What?"

He doesn't have time to react before you're gripping his half hard cock, jerking it up gently. It's still wet with you and buzzing with sensitivity, so much so that he can't help but enjoy it, enjoy you-

"If you're about to break up with me, I want to at least cum one more time."

He loses the remnants of his erection.

"That's not what I fucking meant." Bakugo tries to meet your eye, but you just keep kissing at him, gripping at him. "Just-- stop stroking my cock for a second and be fucking serious."

You freeze, but keep your hand on him.

"I don't wanna work together," Bakugo reaches for your hand. The free one. "I just want to date."

You don't respond.

"I want to take you places and have you meet my parents and-"

God. this is so unlike him. When did he lose his teeth? Did you pull them straight from his skull and hang them from your neck like jewels?

"I want you to sleep over." He means it. "Like a real fucking couple."

The ceiling fan hums with an uneven hitch, catching in the same spot each time. It's an easy fix, but he's been ignoring it for so long that it's almost blended into the tapestry of his home. Click-click-click-click-click: now it's deafening, overwhelming the silence you're choosing to sit in. Just as he's about to open his mouth, you look away from his body and meet his eye. There's no sharp edge to your eyes.

"'tsuki."

You say it like a mother about to comfort a child, with a rounded curve to your tone that he's never heard before. You're trying to dull the blow, but it does nothing. It's a fucking knife to the gut.

"I'm serious. I'm really serious." He points with his whole arm towards the bathroom. "I've had a fucking toothbrush ready for you for weeks now. It's right there, in the fucking package."

You withdraw, smile long gone. The air between you two, trapped under the covers, goes cold.

"The girlfriend thing." You are unrecognizable without your Mona Lisa grin and he's obsessed with it. He wants to consume these rare moments, chew on them until he's full of you and only you, despite how it makes his stomach turn. "It was never real. You know that."

You cover your bare tits with one arm, but leave your pussy exposed. It feels like a reflex more than an actual concern.

"I'm not meant to be a girlfriend. You don't want me as a girlfriend."

Bakugo's quick to close the distance between you, but he pauses when you full body flinch. Your quirk activates for a moment - you glitter out of existence and then immediately back in- like it's unwittingly done. It's another incredibly un-you moment, but one that he doesn't want to drink in.

"I do." He keeps his voice as delicate as he can. "I do. I fucking do."

"I don't know how to do the things you need. I don't know how to be a girlfriend," you say. The corners of your smile return and he can see the wall coming back up. The arch of your back, the way your hand suddenly cups your tit: you turn yourself into someone else, someone's who's happy to be here, in an instant. "I can make myself girlfriend shaped. I can open my mouth and let you fuck it. I can pose for a picture. I can make your friends jealous."

Oh, and that distant look comes back to your face. The dilation of your eye is just... wrong, even as you smile.

"But I'm just something that's girlfriend shaped," you say. "I'm an illusion, a creature, a tool, a hole-"

"Don't ever say that shit again."

It rips out of him too roughly. "A hole? That's-- why would you say that?"

It all seems to hit you slowly, as if you're processing your own words. Like it never occured to you that you were saying something foul.

"Because-" you try to explain yourself.

"You're just a girl," Bakugo doesn't let you finish the thought. He can't. Not when you're above him like that, so guarded and yet so vulnerable, neither predator nor prey. "I hate to break your fucking illusion or whatever, but you aren't this fucking lumbering beast or huntress or, or, or, I dunno, whatever the commission has tricked you into believing."

He tries to meet your eye, but you're ducking away from it.

"You're just a girl." He lets his hands fall back to his lap. The pinky that doesn't work twitches, kicking with it's old muscle memory. The scar tissue itches under it's own tautness. "Underneath it all. You're just a girl."

The mattress creaks under your weight as you shift back. Now, your eyes are incredibly focused, almost pinpricks. You watch him with an unreadable expression, one slowly inching more towards horror with every moment.

"You think I can't see you, but I can." Bakugo stays where he is. "And I think you want to be seen."

Everything moves slowly. You blink a couple times, with this meek nod, swallowing thickly as you listen. Then, you get off of the bed and head towards the door. All of your clothes are still scattered on the bedroom floor, your panties at the foot of the bed.

"Wait." Bakugo scrambles to get to his feet. "Don't- fucking wait."

He says your name, once, twice, three times, and gets no response. Panic and regret swirl in his skull, so violent he almost goes lightheaded. By the time he reaches the hall, you're gone, and he thinks you've activated your quirk to escape him. It's the nightmare he's always had around you, the one where you disappear into the night the second he gets too close.

And then the bathroom light flicks on. With a careful trepidation, Bakugo inches down towards the door, afraid the break the illusion. Maybe, if he moves too fast, you'll really scatter off into the night, a deer under his headlights.

But when he slides into the frame, you're just standing there, holding a familiar little tube.

"This it?" You hold the package in your hand. "My toothbrush?"

"Yeah."

With your thumbs, you crack into the packaging and carefully peel the toothbrush out. You run the head under the faucet, then turn it off.

"Toothpaste?"

Bakugo pulls out the top drawer. With a sullen nod, you take the toothpaste and unscrew the top. Bakugo watches you, both of you completely naked, both of you completely silent. It surprises him how unsexual it feels to be here, postcoital, still sweaty, watching you brush your teeth. After the moment settles, he steps over and grabs his own brush.

You're just a girl, he thinks as he brushes his teeth next to you. He likes that you're just a girl next to him.

The both of you finish up, then you silently pad back to the room. Bakugo follows, a healthy distance, but close enough the he watches you shrug on his sweatshirt before dipping under the covers. Your head rests on your pillow.

Bakugo finds his space on the other side of the bed and you lay there, in the dim overhead lighting.

"It's hard for me," you say.

"Sleeping?"

"Yeah."

Bakugo turns on to his side and almost reaches out. Almost. Instead, he goes back and turns off the light. When he returns, you're nothing but a dark lump beside him.

"That's okay," he says, "You can sleep however the hell you want."

Your silhouette stays still.

"Sometimes I wake up crying," you say. "Or kicking, or just remembering something I shouldn't."

"Remembering what?"

The click of the fan overtakes everything again as you lay there, pulling in even breaths. A moment passes, then another and another. You're silent for too long, long enough that he thinks you've fallen asleep. Just as he's about to give up, you sigh out a winding breath.

"He was a hero," you whisper. "I felt special when he paid attention to me."

A chill he can't place creeps up his spine. He wants to ask what that means, why you're telling him this, but nothing comes out when he opens his mouth. He has to swallow, then cleae his throat.

"Did-?" His voice crackles. "Did someone hurt you?"

Again, you're silent.

"Who?" This time, when you don't respond, he presses. "Fucking who?"

"Someone who retired a long, long time ago."

"Give me a name and I'll fucking-"

"Katsuki."

"Someone raped you."

He had to say it out loud and dispel the mystery behind it. It's selfish, brash, but he needed it- just as he needs this hand around you, holding, cradling-

"That's what happens when you're just a girl." You clutch at his forearm with a want that isn't present in your voice. "People hurt you."

The bite of your nails surprises him.

"It's safer to be something else."

It's his turn to be quiet.

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kitten4sannie · 3 months ago

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pairing: werewolf! mingi x hunter! reader (fem)

genre: fluff, romance, smut

summary: you seemingly end up biting off more than you can chew upon discovering that the beast you hunted down for dinner is not what it seems.

w.c: 4.5k (more plot than smut this time hehe)

warnings: needy soft dom! mingi, sub! reader, pet names + praise only (shocking ik), pheromones mentioned, possessiveness, kissing, groping, tit play, spit + drool bc wolf mingi is a messy boy <3, mingi eats out reader like she’s his last meal 🫶🏼, SIZE KINK,,, feral unprotected sex, knotting <333, bulge kink/cum inflation, breeding kink ofc

a/n: IT’S FICTOBER TIME BITCH LETS FUCKING GOOO 🗣️ i am fashionably late ~ but i have come here to humbly offer you lovestruck werewolf mingi 🐺 <3 this is the softest my fictober stories will get btw lol it’s gonna be depravity from here on out ^^ oh and i’m sorry if this fic seems disjointed in any way,, i have a lot on my mind these days but regardless i hope you enjoy ~~

pssst: thank you so, so much for 5.5k followers !! it’s honestly insane to me and i still can’t fathom it hehe but the support and love means so very much to me <333

song rec: say - keshi

fictober 2024

You knew better than to hunt at night, but your rumbling stomach begged to differ. The evening air was frigid, sitting heavily inside your lungs each time you regrettably breathed it in, your hefty pelt only doing so much to keep you safe from the powerful winds that continually blew through the vast forest around you. You pulled the hood of your pelt down for a moment, the familiar sounds of wildlife finally making their way to your now exposed ears, though a freezing breeze made its mark on the soft flesh of your rosy cheeks and nose. You bit into your chapped bottom lip, surveying your surroundings for something you’d be able to feast on once you were back inside the safety of your cabin, thanking the gods for the decent visibility you had from the full moon above.

The longer you sat there in silence, your body never growing acclimated to the fierce winter temperatures, you began to fall susceptible to exhaustion, the kind that had sunk its way deep into your bones in the same way your loneliness had for years at a time, feeling so heavy you retired from your once rigid stance and slumped down against the oak tree behind you. A few winks of sleep couldn’t possibly hurt you, not when you were quick to rise and fight if need be, your trusty bow and arrow at your side, as well as a pocket knife always sitting in its holster at your hip. You would be up as soon as you had the strength to open up your eyes and go on.

You eventually woke up to the sound of howling. It had been so distinctly powerful that it was most likely produced by a large wolf, perhaps the leader of a pack. It was then that the culprit of the noise stalked past a few nearby trees and bushes, its dark shaggy coat leaving it virtually impossible to see due to the way it blended in so seamlessly. Leaving abnormally big paw prints behind in the ground below, it slowly paced back and forth in front of you, still quite a distance away from you, but getting closer and closer with each step it made, its large brown eyes piercing right through yours and seemingly gazing upon your soul, deeply fixated on your presence.

It was much larger than any wolf you had seen in your entire lifetime, more akin to a dire wolf, which you had only seen in books, as it had been extinct for hundreds of years before, yet it was…so familiar. Still trapped inside the limbo of the dream you were initially having and your reality, you weren’t completely sure if what was happening before you was actually real. Not only that, but you had the sudden urge to be at the mercy of the wolf, even if it meant that you’d end up with your throat between the beautiful creature’s ragged teeth. However, you weren’t going to roll the dice with death, not when you’ve seen past loved ones get their lives snuffed out by a predator half the size of the one that was suddenly eagerly making its way towards you.

Just before the wolf could reach you, your bow was drawn, the feathered arrow slicing into the cold skin of your cheek as it sailed through the air and lodged itself into the creature’s shoulder, your eyes shut tight all the while. What you expected to hear were the familiar pained whines of a canine but you instead were exposed to the lower pitched groans of a man, causing you to freeze, your eyes opening back up, now widened like marbles. The last thing you were expecting to see was another human, not when you lived alone in the woods for so long, and especially not a man that was stark naked and cowering in pain, with tears in his glistening eyes, looking at you as though you had betrayed him.

You dropped your bow in favor of being at the strange man’s side, surveying his wound, realizing you were so exhausted and hungry, you must’ve simply imagined the wolf. “I-i thought…” you whispered, mostly to yourself, your voice trailing off, almost surprised to hear it after not using it for so long.

“Is that your way of saying hello?” The man hissed in pain when you touched the site of his wound, pushing your hand away from the broken shard of wood that was still lodged inside his bare shoulder.

“I thought you were…going to kill me…” You reached down and tore off a portion of your thick linen blouse, about to wrap it around the man’s wound when you blocked you with his forearm. “I saw a wolf…”

“Do I look like a wolf?” he pouted, reaching over to hold his shoulder in pain.

“I’m sorry, I–…Please, let me help you. I need to apply pressure,” you reasoned, your face contorted with growing regret and concern.

Studying your body language, the man cautiously let go of his arm and allowed you to wrap the torn linen around the wound site, biting into his lip all the while, letting out a few pained grunts. “Hurts…”

“I know, I’m almost done, I promise…” you whispered softly near him, taking a second to share a look with the man, apologizing once again with your softened gaze and upturned brows.

Once you were done, he leaned forward slightly into your personal space to study you, his eyes widened once again, this time with curiosity and admiration, already trusting you despite remnants of your arrow still left inside him.

You bit into your lip, letting out a small breath, which turned into condensation as soon as it left your mouth. “I didn’t think anyone else lived in this forest…Where did you come from?”

Afraid that you would find his true identity to be far too much for you to handle, he thought it would be better to hide it. “Some would call me a nomad…I’m here, there, everywhere, really.”

You nodded at his words, noticing once again that he lacked clothes when you were finally able to pull your attention away from his hypnotizing likeness, never having been drawn to someone like this before. It was then that you averted your eyes with diligence, your once cold cheeks growing warmer the more he stared at you. It took all your strength to return his gaze for just a moment. “Do nomads usually wander around the woods without proper clothing?”

“Well–” The werewolf’s vision went dark for a second, as your pelt was thrown onto him. He pulled it down just enough to continue admiring the human he had been watching from a distance for so long, blowing a few strands of dark shaggy hair out of his sight. “I’m Mingi, by the way. What’s your name?”

“Y-Y/N,” you answered sheepishly, not sure why the strange man was so keenly interested in you, especially after you just shot him with an arrow.

“Y/N,” he repeated lovingly, enjoying the way it sounded, slowly sitting up until little white dots began to dance around his vision. “I don’t feel so good.” When Mingi fell forward into your arms, he couldn’t help but smile. You smelled so pretty, just like he had imagined. Warm like cinnamon, smoky like the fire you always kept burning inside your cabin, sweet like flowers in a garden he would roll around in when no one was around. You smelled like home.

It took most of your strength helping the injured man back to your cabin, immediately laying him down in your bed and pulling your warm blankets up over him. To beat the freezing temperature inside your cabin, you quickly tossed a few pieces of wood in the fireplace and lit it up. You stayed crouched near the controlled flames for a little while to make sure the fire stayed alive, until your company let out a soft groan of pain. Now at his side, you pulled the pelt from his shoulders and frowned at the extent of the damage you caused, tears pricking at your eyes. “You’re still bleeding, Mingi…I’m so sorry…I need to stitch you up.”

Just as you stood up, Mingi reached up to hold onto the corner of your torn blouse, blinking hazily up at you, a few beads of sweat cascading along his straining neck. “Please, don’t worry about me, love. You’re the one who needs rest.”

“Nonsense.” You shook your head, pulling away to find your sewing kit, your cheeks hot to the touch. Once you found it inside one of your drawers, along with a sleep shirt that had belonged to a previous loved one, you returned to Mingi’s side. “Now, stay still, okay?”

“I’ll do whatever you need from me.” Mingi slowly sat up and rested his back against the headboard, watching with interest as you expertly sewed his wound closed, quite fond of the way you took care of him, and of how close you were to him, your hand resting on his chest for stability as you worked. Before you could pull your hand away from his body, he placed his over yours, unintentionally allowing you to feel his rapid heartbeat. “Thank you for this. Anyone else would’ve left me for the wolves.”

Biting into your lip, you couldn’t help but take into account the way his hand completely enveloped yours, truly forgetting just how important physical touch and connection with others was until this very moment, now that his warm skin was pressing into yours. “I-it’s nothing, really…”

“No, it’s not just nothing,” Mingi pouted, slowly bringing your hand up against his cheek to gently nuzzle into it. He couldn’t believe he had gotten this close to you, the special human he had been head over paws for ever since he had seen you for the first time. “It’s everything. You saved me.”

It was almost as if this stranger had escaped one of the novels you read over and over, seeming too good to be true. “It was the least I could do after I hurt you…”

It was when Mingi began to look at you for too long, with that unwavering longing in his eyes, that you cleared your throat and stood up, announcing, “I think I’ll make us some nice, warm soup. How does that sound?”

It took everything in Mingi not to let out a few celebratory howls, instead nodding his head eagerly, his shaggy brown hair bouncing. “I’ve always wanted to try your food. I can smell it from outside sometimes and it always makes my stomach rumble.”

You began to expertly chop up vegetables, stopping mid slice when you digested Mingi’s interesting choice of words. “So you know of me?”

“I-i do,” he nodded shyly, despite your back being turned away from him.

“Have you been watching me, Mingi?” you asked after a few more minutes of silence, your knife now slicing into the last few potatoes you had pulled from your garden before winter began.

“….Admiring you,” he gently corrected, knowing his big fluffy ears would be splayed out in embarrassment if they were there.

Just as you began to pour the cut up vegetables into the pot of boiling broth, you blushed and jolted suddenly from the implications of the handsome stranger’s words. Your elbow knocked into the side of your cleaver, causing it to slip off the edge of the wood counter. Before you could blink, Mingi had already caught the handle of the cleaver, slowly standing up by your side, officially displaying the sheer size difference between the two of you.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, love…” Mingi set the cleaver back down onto the counter, reaching over to touch your hand with a gentleness you hadn’t experienced before.

The speed and quickness of Mingi’s reaction was incomprehensible; you were still reeling from it. Now he stood beside you, his size and stature more akin to a beast in human form than a simple man. Not only that, but the hand that was overlapping yours felt hot to the touch, like Mingi had a furnace burning away inside of him. You had heard stories of shapeshifters that lived in dense forests much like the one you called home. They had been around for centuries, living amongst themselves, never interacting with humans, able to take the form of beasts at will. You glanced out your window, peering up at the bright orb looming over you. It was a full moon, after all — but did myths like that really exist in the real world?

“Mingi…are you…?” Your words began to die inside your mouth as soon as the puzzle pieces began to fall into place inside your mind. You couldn’t deny the connection you felt with Mingi, knowing that your total isolation played a part in your desire to let him in. It clouded your mind. You were growing so tired, you almost didn’t seem to mind if he wasn’t strictly human.

Mingi smiled softly down at you, one of his canine teeth poking out past his plump lips, leaning himself down a bit to shorten the distance between you. He waited eagerly for you to finish your question, tilting his head to the side, having to blow his hair out of the way.

“Are you hungry?” you finally asked, lowering the flame on the stove so that the soup could settle now that it was ready to serve.

Mingi’s lips formed a silent ‘o’, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. He thought you might’ve been on the same page about your mutual attraction, but he was beginning to suspect that his obsession with you was one sided. It’s not like you had imprinted on him; it was the other way around. Silly wolf.

Before Mingi could cry about it, he tasted something so delicious, he couldn’t help but let out an enthusiastic ‘mmm!’. You had slipped a soup spoon into his open mouth, allowing him to try the first homemade meal he’s ever had in his life, one that you had made for the both of you to share together within the sanctity of your cabin, away from the bitter isolation of the forest. He was a silly wolf, after all, because this, this was love.

“Good?” you gauged softly, your eyebrows upturned with sheepish anticipation.

“Good! Ahhh~” Mingi licked his lips and opened up again, savoring the warm, comforting feeling inside his stomach once you fed him another bite. “I’ve never had something this delicious before.”

“Oh, stop,” you blushed, pouring some soup into a bowl and handing it to Mingi, shocked to see him bring it up to his mouth and gulp it down. “Oh, you weren’t lying…were you?”

Mingi’s brown eyes were round, shiny like marbles, filled with unwavering sincerity. “Everything tastes better when you’re with the one you love…”

You almost choked on your own soup, finding it hard to breathe all of a sudden. “D-did I hear that right…?”

Mingi was a romantic at heart. He couldn’t help it, especially when the moon was so big and bright, glowing with everlasting light. She was reminding him to be brave. “Y/N, do you believe in love at first sight?”

Your heart thumped away inside your chest, a steady reminder that you were alive, and not alone for the first time in a long time. “I think I might…Is that crazy?”

Mingi brought his hand up to his face to hide the way it scrunched up with pure joy, his cheeks rosy and full of warmth. “If it is, then I must be too.”

“Where…have you been all this time? I’ve been waiting…for someone like you…” You slowly reached up to pull his hand down, bringing it to your own face, pressing your cold cheek into his large palm. “For someone to keep me warm.”

He had been there all this time; you just hadn’t seen him yet. But now, you would see all of him. Without thinking, Mingi brought his other hand to your face, gently cupping your cheeks and bringing himself down so that he could press his lips onto yours. It took everything in him to pull away just enough to whisper, “I’m here now. Is that…better?”

For the first time, you felt like you could let your guard down, not be the lonely, hardened hunter you had to be. Now that you were safe, you could take a rest. “Better,” you whispered back, wrapping your arms around Mingi’s neck just in time to lay against his chest, losing the strength to stay awake.

You woke up to the sensation of something intensely warm wrapped around you from behind, someone’s lips idly pressed to the nape of your neck, what felt like fluffy ears twitching near your hair, the soft fur tickling your exposed skin. The air around you was hot and heavy like you were stuck inside an oven, an enticing aroma of spiced cinnamon and woody musk clouding your senses. Your eyelids fluttered open, first noticing two strong arms locked around your middle, realizing Mingi was holding you close to him, his heated chest pressing into your back.

Overcome by the memories of earlier, the forgotten intimacy of being touched and held by someone, the intense pheromones you were practically doused in, and the want, the need to be truly seen by Mingi, despite having just met a few hours ago, you attempted to turn around to face him, only to have him tighten his grip just enough to keep you still. “M-mingi, I want to look at you…I’m not mad, I just–”

“Do you know what you’re getting into, love?” he whispered in a gravelly voice into your ear, sounding like he had just woken up out of a deep sleep, sending a rush of goosebumps across your skin with just his words. “I’m not…what you think I am.”

You sheepishly pushed back against Mingi, hearing him let out a soft groan, knowing he was just as satisfied with the way your body felt against his. “I already know, Mingi…I trust you. I’m not scared.” You felt his grip loosen up around your waist, opting to cement his hands around your waist.

His lips were now pressing directly onto the shell of your ear, making you shiver. “Do you know what I am, Y/N? Do you wish to see?”

“I do…”

It was then that Mingi climbed on top of you, his broad naked body keeping the glowing orange light of the fire from reaching you, the pelt you had offered him earlier falling into a pile on the side of the bed. Filled with a sense of lustful wonder, you studied Mingi, your half-closed eyes trailing along his tan skin, noticing how his wound had already healed completely, unable to ignore the arousing addition of his elongated canine teeth and the way his tongue ran across them. “You’re a…werewolf…”

Mingi’s fluffy wolf ears twitched slightly, listening closely to the way your breath hitched. “Most would be scared of me, but you…you like this.”

You swallowed harshly, still finding it very difficult to breathe in the air around you, Mingi’s dominating presence further encouraging you to submit. “Will you eat me?”

Mingi let out a small puff of air through his nose, the corners of his mouth curling up into an amused smile, lowering himself further onto you, knowing his heavy cock was pressing into your heat through your linen trousers. His lips ghosted along your jaw, the bushy end of his tail gliding back and forth along one of your ankles, replicating the light strokes of a paintbrush. “Only in the way that would have you begging for more.” The small moan that escaped your throat didn’t go unnoticed by Mingi. He nosed at your neck, resisting the urge to lick and bite at it. “Though, i won’t do anything without your permission, love.”

You cupped your hands around his heated face, your insides feeling as if they had been set ablaze. “Do with me what you will, Mingi. I insist.”

When Mingi’s lips parted, you pressed yours onto them with a fervor you didn’t realize you possessed. The kiss grew more and more intense, the two of you holding onto one another as though you were afraid it all would end too soon, taking turns licking into each other’s willing mouths, breathing in each other’s air when you grew dizzy.

Growing frustrated with the lack of skin on skin contact, Mingi pushed his large hands up past the hem of your woolen top and slid it off of you, admiring the soft curves of your exposed breasts, before his desperation kicked in and he nuzzled his face against them, sighing onto your skin. “Beautiful…” He dragged his tongue up in between your tits, grabbing one while he sucked desperately on the other, a low growl erupting from his throat.

“Mingi,” you moaned out, your back arching, only encouraging him to see what other pretty noises he could get you to make, gasping when his sharp teeth teased your sensitive nipples.

He licked over them to ease the sudden bout of pain, unable to keep himself from sucking one of them into his mouth, apologizing with his upturned eyebrows and his big, round eyes.

You simply couldn’t take it anymore. You needed him to make a mess of your aching cunt, feeling your wetness stick to the thin linen material of your pants as you kicked them off. “Mingi, more, please, need more…”

The werewolf knew what you needed when your fingers slid into his soft hair, leaving kisses along your bare body as he moved down south, getting himself comfortable between your spread thighs. “You want me to eat you up, yeah?” He spread your pussy open with his thumbs, nosing at it to inhale your flowery scent, quite aware that it bumped into your clit when he gave your slit an experimental lick, just enough to collect your essence on his tongue. “My beloved needs me to ravage her?”

“Yes, plea–oh, my god,” you reacted whinily, your thighs involuntarily pressing into the sides of his head just as he dove in, which he grabbed onto, pushing them up and out of his way, his lips and tongue already working in tandem to drive you to a place of pleasure you’ve never been before.

Mingi devoured your cunt in true animalistic fashion, licking and slurping up your juices as soon as it spilled out of you, just to spit it it back onto your slit and drink it all down, eventually plugging you up with his large tongue to feel you throb, unable to keep himself from fucking you with it until you began to cry out his name in between unintelligible words, your fingers tugging on his hair.

So good, it’s so good, nnnghh, i’m–” You cut yourself off once your impending orgasm took over your body, barely able to register Mingi rubbing soft circles into your shaking thighs and leaving kisses across your inner thigh and on your sensitive clit. You were finally brought back to earth when Mingi’s arousal coated tongue slipped into your mouth, his heated body pressing heavily into yours, gasping into his mouth as soon as Mingi began to desperately rut against you, doing your best to swallow his drool. It was when he whimpered that you broke the desperate kiss, asking softly, “What is it, dear? Tell me what you need.”

“Need you, need to be inside you,” Mingi exhaled against your jaw, letting out a few shaky breaths, unable to keep himself from sinking his claws into your sheets, clearly at his limit. “Can I…? Please?”

“Have your way with me, Mingi,” you granted his wish, welcoming him with open arms, just as he folded you up into a mating press and began to pound himself into you.

Mingi knew that such an intimate position would almost guarantee that you would home his pups after the very first knot. It drove him crazy. He couldn’t help but fuck into you as hard and fast as he could, emitting a animalistic grunt or growl with each thrust he made into your dripping cunt, a few drops of drool escaping past his plump lips and landing on your flushed, sweat-ridden face. “You’re mine now, love. My mate. I’m going to breed you.”

“Y–ours…!” you could barely enunciate, not when he kept punching the air out of your petite body when his oversized one came in contact with yours, his heavy cock continually slipping back into your willing hole with so much ease, it was clear that you were made for him.

“Mine. My pretty little mate, all for me.” It was then that Mingi bit down into your neck, hard enough that he could leave his mark on you, a white hot streak of pleasure shooting through your spine as he did so.

It felt so good, you could’ve swore you were already cumming, dragging your nails down his broad back, your eyes disappearing underneath your fluttering eyelashes. The werewolf didn’t seem to get tired, no matter how many times you came undone, his large hands still tugging on your hips, forcefully guiding you back onto his cock as though you were a simple doll, at least until you felt a new sensation, something stretching you open even further. “Haaah, it’s so big…”

“That’s my knot, love. Will you take it, Y/N?” he panted into your ear, licking and nibbling at it as his husky voice finally penetrated your hazy mind.

“Yes, give it to me, please, Min…”

He hummed against your skin, running his hands along the soft edges of your heated body. “I’ll breed you full…so full of my cum, you’ll be carrying my pups by the next full moon.”

Something about what Mingi said altered the state of your mind on a primal level, your thighs automatically hooking around the werewolf’s waist, your arms around his neck to hold him impossibly close. You wouldn’t be alone anymore. You had a “mate,” like Mingi had lovingly coined the phrase. You would be his, and he was yours, and something so simple made you feel safe.

“Yes, please.”

It wasn’t the heavy knot that stretched you wide and locked you in that brought tears to your eyes, but the sudden, hot, seemingly endless rush of cum that flooded your womb that made you cry. Mingi rubbed gentle circles over the small pouch that joined the prominent bulge his cock made inside your abdomen. “You did so well, love, so good for me,” he cooed at you, giving your cheek a few loving licks. “You were made for me.”

“I was just thinking that,” you sighed softly, running your fingers through his matted, sweaty hair, loving how it felt to have him still stay inside you, keeping all his love from pouring out. It just felt right. Being here with Mingi felt right, like you had always been waiting for him to fall into your life.

“That’s because you’re my other half.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, before resting his against yours. “It was destined.”

“For me to shoot you with an arrow?” you joked, reaching up to gently play with one of his furry ears.

Mingi nuzzled into your touch, wanting to stay with you in that moment, that warm bed, that cozy little cabin that kept you both safe for as long as he could. “I would get shot a million times over, if it meant that I could meet you again.”

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