#Does NOT look good in the middle of the night

[gf2bellamy]

hi athena!! hope youre doing very well<3 could i request reader staying at spencer’s place for the first time, she wakes up in the middle of the night to drink water or sth and gets cold im her light pajamas (its summer maybe) and wears his shirt to the kitchen, and when she does so he wakes up and sees her in his shirt and gets all flustered and blushy cause she looks so cute and pretty and it strikes him that he finally has a gf who wants him back and loves him and yeah sorry for the long description have a nice day <333

cold — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: fluff fluff fluff a/n: hiii !!<333 i hope you like this :)

You shivered as you tiptoed out of Spencer’s room. You immediately regretted your choice of pyjamas , a tanktop and shorts,  the ones you had brought with you to Spencer's apartment. The choice of clothing had seemed reasonable at first. It had been a very hot summer day after all. Yet, the temperature dropped at night, by at least 10 degrees. 

This was your first time staying over, and the evening had been nothing short of perfect. From giggling over Spencer almost dropping his food, because he was so nervous to cuddling on the couch as he read to you while brushing his fingers through your hair. 

The two of you had fallen asleep just barely an hour ago, but you’d woken up again with a dry mouth and the need for some water. Which is why you were leaning against the counter now, a cup of water in your hand. While the cold water soothed your throat, it didn't help with your body temperature. 

“Why is it so cold?” you mumbled to yourself, in the dark, rubbing your arms.

You didn't bother washing the glass, considering you were way too sleepy, and you already missed laying in Spencer’s arms. But as you walked past the couch towards Spencer’s room, his cardigan thrown over the arm of the couch caught your eye. (It was folded, of course.)

Your tank top wasn’t exactly keeping you warm, and before you could second guess yourself,  you slipped it on. It warmed you immediately. Happily you patted back to Spencer’s bedroom. Spencer hadn’t moved much, still sprawled across the mattress with one arm outstretched toward the space you’d left behind.  Once you settled under the covers, Spencer immediately pulled you into his arms.

“Where were you?” He didn't really sound awake. But he was rubbing his knuckles lazily over your spine.

 “Just got thirsty. Go back to sleep,” you whispered, feeling slightly bad for waking him up. Spencer just made a soft sleepy sound as he pulled you closer. He managed to muster the last ounce of energy to kiss your forehead, before he went back to his dreams. You fell asleep with a smile and warm, from both his cardigan and his hold.

The next morning, you were the one to wake up to an empty side of the bed. Cold sheets and a faint indentation where his body had been just 20 minutes ago. You sat up slowly , stretching with a loud yawn. Somewhere outside of the bedroom, you could hear the coffee machine hum to life too. The sound immediately put a smile on your face. You could already picture Spencer filling up the two cups of coffee, clearly wanting to wake you up with breakfast and coffee.

And that was indeed Spencer's plan. 

He slipped out of bed early, determined to surprise you with breakfast in bed.He was just pouring coffee into your favorite mug, the one with the tiny chip on the handle that you insisted made it “lucky”, when he heard your footsteps. His shoulders slumped, just slightly. So much for the surprise.

He turned, ready to greet you with a "good morning," but the words dissolved on his tongue the second he saw you.

There you were. Groggily rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

In his cardigan. 

“Morning, Spence,” you mumbled, stepping closer as you stared at the pancakes he had made. He was still blinking at you, not moving, even when you stood next to him at the counter, your cheek resting against his arm. You didn't reach for the pancakes immediately, the taste of toothpaste still lingering in your mouth. 

"You made breakfast?" you asked, pouting slightly, not in disappointment, but in that soft, overwhelmed way you did when he caught you off guard with his sweetness. The pancakes had chocolate chips on them, forming a smiley on the dough. 

You finally looked up, noticing his uncharacteristic silence. "Spence?"

His face was flushed pink all the way to the tips of his ears, his lips slightly parted as he stared at you. You stared back, watching as he blinked rapidly.

You were in his cardigan. In his apartment? Arms hugging his waist ? Looking at him with those loving eyes? That look in your eyes that was only reserved for him? 

“Morning”, he finally managed. His voice was quiet yet laced with so much sweetness, almost as sweet as the chocolate chips he had been snacking on. Your hands were still on his waist, softly rubbing his shirt. 

“Where did you just go?” you grinned, tilting your head. The oversized cardigan slipped off one shoulder, exposing the strap of your tank top beneath. Spencer's hand reached out instinctively to tug it up. His thumb lingering on your shoulder. 

"You're wearing my cardigan," he said, as if he needed to say it out loud to believe it.

You glanced down at yourself, suddenly self-conscious, and let your hands fall from his waist to adjust the sleeves. "Is-is that bad? Sorry, I was cold last night," you mumbled, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Not bad at all.” Spencer shook his head. “Not at all. If anything –” He paused, when you met his eyes. “If anything, I’d like you to just wear my clothes from now on.” 

A surprised giggle escaped you, and Spencer took advantage of the way your face lit up, cradling your cheeks in his palms as he pulled you closer. His lips pressed against your forehead and you could feel the curve of his smile against your skin. "You look so pretty I malfunctioned," he admitted as he leaned back just enough to see your reaction. "That's all."

Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his with a smile so wide it almost hurt. "Well, it's very cozy," you said, fiddling with the hem of the cardigan.

Spencer's gaze dropped to where your fingers played with the fabric before returning to your face, his expression unbearably tender. "You wear it better than me," he murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"I really do," you teased, grinning up at him.

You were joking, of course you were, but Spencer just nodded, completely serious, his eyes tracing the way his cardigan swallowed your frame. The sleeves pooled around your wrists, the collar slipping off one shoulder again, and god, he never wanted to see you in anything else.

But more than that, more than the way you looked drowning in his clothes, Spencer still couldn’t quite believe it.Believe that you loved him. Enough to stay over at his apartment. Enough to fall asleep tangled together, your head on his chest, his fingers curled in your hair.  Enough to be standing in front of him right now, bathed in morning light, his cardigan hanging off your shoulders, peeking at the pancakes with that sleepy, contented look.

He didn't notice himself zoning out again. 

“Spencer. Where did you go again?” you asked, your arm slipping around his waist while the other sneaked toward the plate, popping a few chocolate chips into your mouth. 

"Sorry," he shook his head, blinking rapidly. He needed to stop doing that, needed to stop getting so lost in the overwhelming reality of you choosing him, staying with him, loving him, but god, it was impossible when you looked like this. When you felt like this. When you were here.

You gave him another concerned look, your fingers tightening slightly at his waist before you grabbed another chocolate chip, holding it up to his lips. "You sure you're okay?"

Of course he ate it immediately but not without catching your wrist first, pressing a lingering kiss to your fingertips. The chocolate melted sweetly on his tongue, but it was nothing compared to the way you looked at him, all soft and fond and his.

"Mhm," he hummed, lips still brushing your skin. "I just love you." The words came out muffled, half-embarrassed, but so unbearably true. He was drunk on it, on you, his thoughts syrupy and slow with affection. "A lot," he added, because once wasn't enough, would never be enough.

You watched him with wide eyes. “Why do you have to be so lovely all the time?” you said, pouting now. 

Spencer couldn't help it. He gestured dramatically at you, his voice pitching higher with playful emphasis. "Look at you." As if it wasn't obvious. As if the sight of you swimming in his cardigan, your hair mussed from sleep, wasn't enough to undo him completely. "You're wearing my clothes. How am I supposed to not be lovely about you?"

"You're too sweet for your own good, Spencer Reid," you sighed, shaking your head as you leaned forward to rest your forehead against his chest. His arms came up automatically to cradle you closer, one hand splaying across your back while the other gently carded through your sleep-tangled hair. You melted further against him as his lips found your crown, pressing a series of featherlight kisses.

"Can we eat?" you finally mumbled ( after at least 15 kisses. )

Spencer chuckled, the vibration rumbling pleasantly against your cheek before he placed one last kiss to your temple and pulled away. You immediately claimed the nearest chair, swinging your legs slightly as you settled in. Spencer followed, his chair scraping closer until his knee bumped yours. He turned his whole body toward you, so he could admire you.

"Oh my god, Spencer," you cheered around a mouthful, eyes widening in genuine surprise. "You didn't burn them."

"Funny," he deadpanned, though the corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement. He took notice of the way your sleeves kept falling into the way of your fork. without hesitation, he set his own utensils down and leaned across the space between you, his fingers gently folding back the soft fabric until your wrists were free. You repaid his kindness by pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, smiling when he immediately flushed pink to the tips of his ears.

"I love you too," you murmured, realizing with a startle you hadn't said it back earlier. You'd always prided yourself on never letting those words go unanswered, not when they came from him, not when they filled you up with so much happiness, you thought you might burst with it. Spencer looked up from his plate, syrup glazing his fork mid-air. His smile was soft, knowing, the morning light catching in his lashes as he met your gaze.

"I know you do," he said simply, like it was the most obvious truth in the world.

And it was.

[dannyriccsystem]

Hello!! I absolutely love your work, and congratulations on the 1k followers <33

Could I please request Lando and the prompts 18, 26 and 50? Thank youu <3

YOU MAKE IT LOOK LIKE IT’S MAGIC.

1K SPECIAL - LN4

Comparing hand sizes + “Feel that? It’s just for you.” + “I love it when you touch me like that.” + “I want your hands on me. You won’t break me, I promise.”

SUMMARY: Teasing Lando about his large hands turns into a night filled with pleasure and sweet nothings :)

WORD COUNT: 963

WARNINGS: Smut, AFAB reader, fingering, P in V, hand kink (who else cheered)

FEATURING: Lando Norris x Reader

NOTE: This is for my girlies with hand kinks. I dedicate this to you…

YOU’RE CUDDLED UP TO YOUR BOYFRIEND, attention no longer on the movie before you, but fixated on him. His soft curls, sweet eyes, cute lips, and— Well, to put it lightly, his incredibly sexy hands. You hadn’t really paid them any mind before, but after seeing hundreds upon thousands of comments taking note of how veiny and large they were, you decided to take a peek. Indeed. They weren’t lying.

Lando kissed your scalp, nails scratching you up and down your back in a way that nearly lulled you to sleep. You hummed, pressing your cheek to his chest. Your boyfriend gave a breathy laugh through his nose as he brushed aside a particularly bothersome strand of hair.

“Tired?” He asks in a soft voice to preserve the quietness of the moment. You shake your head. “Then what’s up?”

“Just thinking…”

“About..?”

“You.” Your eyes drift down in a way that’s far from subtle. “And your tiny hands.”

“What?” He seemed offended.

“Yeah, they’re itty bitty.” Of course you’re just teasing him. It’s a lousy excuse to rile the guy up, but it works.

“No way. Come here,” He pats his lap, and you slowly move to straddle him. Lando presses his hand flat to yours, grinning when his fingers extend way past your own. You giggle.

“Alright, fine. You win.”

Lando leans in for a kiss. It’s short, but it’s sweet and it’s full of tension that neither of you move to work out. “I didn’t know it was a competition.” Your fingers lace together, smooth palms pressed together tight. He pulls your hand closer, kissing your palm sweetly.

His other hand lowers to your thigh with feather-like touches to the inside of your leg. The contact with your sensitive skin makes you shudder and bite your lip. “I like it when you touch me like that,” You breathe out. His eyes flicker to yours, and they’re full of newfound hunger.

Lando leans in, pressing kisses just below your jaw. He’s lifting you with ease, strong hands gripping at whatever skin he can. He lays you back on the couch, pushing your legs open. “Tell me to stop,” He mutters as he kisses your calf.

“Don’t,” You murmur. “I want your hands on me.”

“You sure?” He asks, but he’s already sliding your pajama bottoms and panties off, discarding them to the side.

“You’re not gonna break me, Lan.”

“I know… I just wanted to double check.”

He stares at your gleaming folds, licking his lips subconsciously. “I want your hands on me— In me.”

“I can do that.”

He stands up to kneel beside you, one hand slithering between your legs while the other cups your cheek. It’s an intimate scene. He rubs your folds in circular motions, kissing your breath away to stifle your pretty noises. You feel your legs twitch, your hands gripping the edge of the cushions for support.

Lando’s middle and ring finger slide in, teasing your hole as he presses his tongue flat to the sensitive skin of your neck. You quiver— Your whole body does. A sickenly embarrassing moan leaves your lips, making his shoulders shake with humiliating laughter.

“Feels good,” You whine, and he nods reassuringly.

“I’ll take good care of you, love.” He pushes his fingers in further, curling them to brush against your pulsing walls tantalizingly. You shudder, reaching out to grip his head of hair. Lando tuts when you slowly let go. “Be gentle.” You nod with obedience.

He withdraws his fingers, circling them around your extra sensitive clit. You squeal, biting down on your own arm to divert the sensitivity elsewhere. His hands feel so good that it almost hurts.

“Does that feel okay?” He asks quietly, almost as if he wasn’t just knuckle-deep inside your pussy. You nod, tears welling in your eyes. He wipes them nonchalantly, cooing to you, “Don’t cry, baby… You’re doing so good.” He kisses your salty tears away. “What do you want?”

“Your cock,” You whine, hips jerking against his harsh fingers that flick at your sensitive bud.

You ask him so prettily and politely that he can’t say no. He situates himself between your legs before pulling down his grey sweats. There’s a noticeable tent in his boxers that he presses to your aching folds, grinding his erection against you.

“Do you feel that?” Lando grunts, pushing your legs back to allow him more space. You nod, and he grins. “All that just for you.” He leans over, kissing you once before pulling his boxers down. His fat tip slaps against your wet entrance. Lando uses one hand to rub it against you, teasing you efficiently. But when he sees your pouty expression, he slowly pushes his way in.

You’re already clenching so hard around him— Being such a good girl. He hisses, head tossed back as he continues trekking forward. You’re a whiny, squirming mess, but he has to get through this for both of you.

Once he’s fully sheathed inside you, he stops to let you adjust. You reach out for his hands, and he intertwines both of them with yours as he begins to thrust. It’s slow, but it’s passionate.

“Fuck, Lan… Feels so good,” He nods in agreement because he can barely get any words out right now. He’s just focused on trying to make you feel good.

He has to let go of you eventually, but it’s only so he can continue to tease your swollen clit and maximize your pleasure. You throw your head back when you orgasm, your legs spasming before wrapping around him instinctively. He pulls out to come, painting your stomach sticky white.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” He mutters as he presses a kiss to your forehead, letting you rest your sleepy eyes.

[bluehourbucky]

Lunch boxes

pairing: newavenger!bucky x reader

summary: you make lunch for new avengers John almost loses his life

a/n : just a silly drabble been thinking about it for days

bucky masterlist

Bucky never knew softness until he met you. You are the epitome of softness, you think of others first and then yourself. He loves that about you its sweet but he never let's it go too far.

He knows one day he'll marry you, buy you a house in the country side all those domestic things he dreamed of. He just needs a bit more time. Bucky sees the way you look at him, with love and absolute certainty that he's your future.

There's nothing he wouldn't do for you, not when he meets your doe eyes full of hopes and dreams. And he can't wait to make them all reality.

One thing about you is that you show your love through food, lots of it, he gained a few since you two started dating. Bucky didn't even know he loved food this much ( maybe he doesn't and its only to please you but the line blurred long ago when he realised that love is you and everything you do and make).

He never intended for you to meet the other new avengers, but they somehow found their way into your shared home. You welcomed them with open arms and heart. And you charmed them from the fist second. He knew you would, all you have to do is smile and you have people falling over left and right.

They weren't used to kindness and you had so much to give and you gave it freely in abundance.

Last night was rough for them and they all needed somewhere to recharge for the hard day ahead, so what did they do? They came to a little sanctuary, that is yours and Buckys apartment.

Even if Bucky hadn't called ahead you had opened the door in the middle of the night, you didn't even seem upset that they woke you up or that he brought five more people with him.

You jumped into his arms like it didn't matter that he was all dirty and sweaty and bloody, and to you it didn't.

Your small apartment was looking even tinier with the six avengers in the living room/kitchen.

"Welcome back! I'm sorry I didnt know you were coming you must be hungry! Ah I didnt prepare anything! I'm sure we have something around here!"

Bucky told you not to fuss about it, they'll order something for tonight and be out early in the morning. It took a lot of convincing and stolen distraction kisses to make you drop it.

"Jamie it's not nice! They're guests, your work family!" He smiles and pulls you into a hug and kisses your forehead.

"You can cook some other time come on back to bed." Bucky ushered you to your room and laughed when he noticed your frown. He took a quick shower and then gave the rest of them towels and told them to figure it out how to sleep on one pull out bed. He didn't care enough he just wanted his girl.

"Good night, doll." Bucky says as he pulls you into his chest and kisses your neck. He feels you smile.

"Night Jamie."

In the morning Bucky can smell food? Its all kinds of food. He gets up and opens the bedroom door. Four figures stand behind the kitchen counter and watch you.

John is sitting on the pull out sofa, his eyes closed.

"Damn Soldier Barnes! Your wife is so talented! Look how she cooks!" Alexei says pointing at you stiring the pot and shaking the pan at the same time. You turn and your cheeks are flushed, both from the stove and the way Alexei called you Buckys wife.

"Morning love!" you look at him sheepishly, like you're caught doing a crime.

"She won't tell us what she's doing but this looks dangerous? No?" Yelena says..

"I'll be done soon I promise."

Bucky fondly laughs and walks over to you to give you a morning kiss but before he can do that an alarm sounds from your phone.

"Ah get that out of the oven! Thanks honey."

Bucky does as he's told and pulls out a huge tray of pastries out of the oven with his metal arm.

"Are we feeding an army?"

"Yes Bucky look how many of you and no one should work on an empty stomach."

Before he can say something you shush him and peck his lips.

"Okay now everything's done!"

And there on the counter six paper bags, each one has a name written on it, with a little doodle each different than the other.

Buckys heart grows and aches in ways he can't quite understand. You did all of this for him, for them, the people who have done horrible things, are doing horrible things.

First one to grab a bag is Alexei who then gives you a bear hug and lifts you off of the floor.

"Ah you are amazing woman! If Soldier doesn't treat you right he will have problem with me! I am very grateful!" You laugh and hug him back.

Ava just nodds and takes the bag, but in her eyes you see softness and thankfulness.

Yelena takes hers and says "Ah my favorite! Thank you! You are the best! I can't promise I won't come back for another round."

"You're always welcome" you reply and give her a hug.

"Thank you, miss. I appreciate your effort it is very kind for you to give us this food!" Bob says and stands at the door with the others.

John's the last one but he only stands up and goes to the door.

"Wait I made you one too!"

"Im not taking a children's lunch box I'll just buy something out."

The silence that came is deafening, you could hear a pin drop. Your eyes well up in tears.

And then Bucky grabs John by the throat, Yelena pulls her guns and points them at John, Ava teleports next to John and hits him and Alexi says

"I kill him now."

"Im sorry I'm sorry Im sorry I swear I didnt mean it." John starts to beg the avengers for mercy...

"Not to us stupid."

Bucky drops him to the ground and then John crawls to your feet and starts begging.

"Its fine I forgive you." you say kind of terrified and touched that they all care so much.

"You live another day, next time you make my girl cry I will kill you and then cut you into pieces and then I will burn those pieces."

John only nods and runs out the door.

Buckys eyes immediately soften as he walks over to you and grabs the last bag, it says love of my life and there's like a dozen hearts drawn. His hear melts.

"Thank you baby. I love you and I already miss you." you giggle at the hundreds of kisses Bucky gives you.

"Love you too!"

[sunday-bug]

Popping Cherry Blossoms

Pairing: 40's!Virgin!Bucky x Virgin!Girlfriend!Reader

Word Count: 2k

Content: mostly fluff, brief mentions of sex, virginity loss

Synopsis: Bucky and his girl sneak away from the Cherry Blossom Festival for some sweet alone time.

A/N: my entry for @avengers-assemble-bingo for AA Spring Bingo; inspired by the song "Hold Her While You Can" by Stephen Sanchez

Prompt/Square: "Cherry blossom festival"/1

Card Number: AAS002

This is the first time you’ve travelled with his family, and you are a bit nervous. His mom and dad are both quiet folks, but you’ve always gotten along with Rebecca. You just really want to make a good impression. The drive from Brooklyn is a little over four hours long, and thankfully the weather is decent with a nice breeze. His parents put the top down as you get into D.C. proper, and Bucky helps you secure your scarf over your hair. 

“Real nice day for this,” his dad says from the driver’s seat, looking out at the cherry blossoms in the distance. 

“It certainly is,” his mom agrees, turning toward the three of you in the backseat. Rebecca is sitting in the middle, always the chaperone. “I’m glad your folks let you come along,” she says sweetly. “And I know Bucky is ecstatic.” You look at him and see his cheeks redden at his mom’s comment. Rebecca giggles in between you both. 

“Here we are,” his dad murmurs, pulling into the hotel’s porte-cochère. Bucky opens his door and slides out, helping his sister and then you. You all stretch your legs, and Bucky sneakily brushes his knuckles up your bare arm.

“James, come help this young man with our bags,” his dad orders, nodding to the porter. Bucky smiles at you sweetly and walks to the trunk, pulling out the bags. 

His parents check in to the hotel and you are led up to your conjoined rooms. One for you and Rebecca, and the other for Bucky and his parents. Your parents agreed to this trip on one condition: separate rooms, and his parents agreed heartily. 

Your bags arrive at your respective rooms and you unpack your items into the wardrobe for your two night stay. You all plan to visit some landmarks in the area on your second day here. Becca flops down on the bed near the door, marking it as hers, which you’re glad for. You love looking out at the stars before you fall asleep. You pace the room a bit, checking your profile in the mirror and blotting your lipstick.

“You look beautiful as always,” Becca says, rolling her eyes. “He thinks you hung the moon, you know.”

You look away from the mirror and smile, smoothing your dress. “Thanks Becca.” 

A soft knock raps on the conjoining door and Bucky’s perfect head of hair peeks through. “Are you ladies decent? We’re getting ready to walk down to the festival.” You giggle and ruffle his hair. “We’ll be out in a moment.” 

You and Rebecca gather your handbags and help each other knot your scarves around your hair as the day was a bit breezy before stepping into the hallway to meet the other three. You all head down to the lobby and Bucky offers you his arm as you step onto the city sidewalk, directing you away from the street. His parents and Becca walk a few feet ahead of you, leading the way to the festival.

“My dad said we could break off once we get there and walk alone,” he says sweetly. You look up at him, the sun shining through his dark hair, and sneak a quick kiss on the cheek, wiping your lipstick off of his soft skin after. 

“Destroying the evidence?” He teases. 

“Something like that,” you chime. 

“I’m glad you could come,” he leans down to whisper into your ear.

“Me too.” 

You all walk in peace for several blocks. The sweet smell hits you before the sight of the actual trees does. The soft perfume of the pink flowers fills your nostrils and you take a deep breath in. The breeze is light enough that you take your scarf off and let the air blow through your curls. Bucky takes a breath and sighs. “They don’t smell as sweet as you,” he brushes against your hair and a shiver runs down your spine.

Becca walks back toward the two of you and hands Bucky some money. “Dad says don’t spend it all in one place and behave. Meet back at this spot in two hours.” Bucky laughs and takes the money from her before putting it in his wallet. You spy the photo he took of you at Christmas in the wallet and smile to yourself, your hand reaching up to touch the locket around your neck that contained a photo of him taken last summer. Becca skips away to join her parents and Bucky steers you across the street to walk under the blooming trees.

You walk arm in arm again, looking up at the perfect pink petals and at his profile. He catches you looking and smiles, his eyes and nose crinkling. “You’re going to be the reason I have wrinkles while I’m still young,” he jokes, kissing your forehead. 

You giggle and look down at your Oxfords. “Well, you’re the reason I have creases in my shoes.” 

“How do you reckon that?” He asks playfully. 

You stop walking and grab his hand before reaching up to kiss his lips. As you break the chaste kiss, you look down at your shoes and his eyes follow, noticing the ever-growing crease in the leather from having to stand on your tiptoes to reach his lips. Bucky chuckles and nods. 

“Then I hope you always have creases in your shoes,” he says, picking up a fallen twig of cherry blossom and handing it to you. You accept it gratefully.

“And I hope I have the privilege of seeing you with wrinkles,” you reply, smelling the flower.

“You will, doll. I promise you that.”

You keep walking down the street until you come upon a steaming cart that smells heavenly. Roman’s Roasted Nuts is printed on the side and you look up at Bucky with pleading eyes. He smirks and walks up to the cart, purchasing a small bag for you two to share. You find a park bench nearby and sit down as he opens the bag. He pulls out a pecan and offers it to you, which you gratefully accept. It’s hot, sweet, and delicious. “Thank you. I’m spoiled by you,” you giggle.

“My girl deserves it,” he says, kissing a bit of sugar from your lips. You blush at the continued PDA. 

“Bucky…” you start, holding his hand in yours.

“Yes, darling?”

“I have the key to Becca and I’s room.”

He swallows and his eyes go wide. “You do?” 

“Yes,” you whisper, taking it covertly from your cardigan pocket to show him.

“Are you sure?” He asks, rubbing your arm. You nod in response and stand up, waiting for him. “Well, we have,” you look down at your wristwatch, “one hour and thirteen minutes until we have to be back here.”

Bucky smirks at you and stands up, offering you his arm again as he looks around the crowd for a sign of his family. “They must be way down the road in the thick of it. Let’s go.”

You both rush back to the hotel, walking a little faster than necessary and not speaking much. You take your cardigan off as you get into the hotel, warmed from the walk back in the sun. Bucky takes it from you and carries it for you. The elevator operator takes you to your floor as you stand there like two kids about to get reprimanded by the principal even though you are both technically adults. Bucky takes the key from your cardigan pocket and unlocks your door slowly, sighing deeply.

“We don’t have to do this, Buck, if you don’t want to,” you assure him. He closes the door behind you both. 

“Oh, sweetheart. I want to. Trust me,” he groans, walking toward you and pulling you in for a deep kiss. He tastes like toothpaste, roasted pecans, and sugar. You open your mouth and let him explore yours with his tongue. He breaks off suddenly, his pupils blown wide. “I just want you to be sure. And I don’t want it to be… bad,” he finally admits.

“I’m sure. And I’m sure it won’t be bad, love,” you say. “Let's give ourselves some grace. We’re both new to this,” you tease gently. “I love you. I want this with you. And only you.”

“I love you so much,” he whispers, brushing his knuckles over your cheek. “Should we get undressed?”

You nod and turn around, “Unzip me.” He unzips your dress and it falls to the floor, leaving you in your slip and undergarments. He’s seen you in your slip once before by accident when he was picking you up for school and forgot to knock on your bedroom door. You watch him as you remove your slip and hose, leaving you standing in your panties and bra. His eyes travel slowly from your breasts to your waist and legs and back up again. You walk to him slowly and start to unbutton his shirt. He timidly rests his hands on your bare waist and your skin prickles as you work his shirt off and over his broad shoulders until his chest is bare. You plant a small kiss over his heart and he shivers.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, running his hands up and over your bra. You feel his arousal press into your leg and look down. He starts to unbuckle his belt and you feel the first bit of real nerves flood into your body. This is really happening. Finally, but no - not finally… right on time. He pulls his trousers down and is left in his underwear. 

“I think we’re supposed to put a towel down,” you murmur, walking quickly to the bathroom. “Rosemary in fifth period was talking about it. In case… ya know, anything happens.” Bucky just nods and watches you pull the bed covers back and lie the white towel in the center. “Should we get in bed, then?” You ask softly, playing with the clasp of your bra.

“Yes,” he stammers, watching as you unhook it and let it fall to the floor. The smallest noise escapes his throat at the sight of your bare breasts and it sends a wave of heat and pleasure to your core that you’ve never experienced at this caliber before. You’re suddenly both in bed under the covers and Bucky is hovering over you, kissing your lips and your neck desperately. 

“I love you so much, doll. I’m going to marry you someday. I promise,” he murmurs, looking in your eyes. 

“I love you, James,” you whisper. 

You both work your underwear off and lie there for a moment, staring at each other. “Should I…?” Bucky trails off, not sure what to do next. You nod, encouraging him.

“It’s okay,” you say, playing with his hair. “Go ahead.”

He maneuvers himself into the right position and pushes into you ever so slowly. 

“Oh my God,” he hisses. You bite your lip as your body accepts him with a stinging stretch. You make love for the first time together and it’s everything you thought it would be - sweet, sensual, a little awkward, and over fairly quickly. Afterwards, you lie next to each other under the covers for a few minutes and hold hands. 

“That was incredible,” he admits with a soft laugh, kissing your lips. “Did it hurt, sweetheart?” 

“It hurt a little bit, but it was nice,” you say, running your nails gently down his arm. “I’m glad we could be each other’s firsts.”

“First and last,” he corrects with a kiss to your hand. You both sit up and get dressed quickly. You check the clock on the wall and notice that you have twenty minutes to get back to the festival. Bucky picks up the towel and remakes the bed. 

“Destroying the evidence?” You ask with a giggle.

“Something like that,” he remarks.

🌸

[sadiesdoll]

hiiii! i love your writing so much 💕 i had an idea for a sevika x reader, where sevika goes to the gym quite a bit and reader decides to join her just for fun.

. ݁₊ 🪽 . ݁˖ sevika helps you stretch.

contains: semi-public sex, size kink, strength kink, praise kink, abs riding, clothed grinding, light dom!sevika, mild overstimulation

Enjoy ♡

You didn't really mean to join Sevika at the gym.

It had started out as a joke—something you'd teased her about every time she came home looking like she'd bench-pressed a whole city block. But then one night, half-curled on the couch and high off the smell of her sweat-damp collar, you mumbled something like "maybe I'll come with you sometime..." and Sevika had just raised an eyebrow and said, "Alright. Tomorrow."

And now here you are.

Standing in the middle of a mostly empty gym with way too much equipment, way too many mirrors, and absolutely no idea what the fuck anything is.

Sevika's already working on something behind you—grunting low, the heavy clank of weights echoing every time she lifts. You glance over your shoulder just in time to catch the sleeveless hell she's got going on: arms flexed, tank top damp with sweat, gray joggers hugging her hips so perfectly it should be illegal.

You blink. Then look away fast.

Focus. You're here to bond. Support your girlfriend. Try something new.

You walk up to one of the machines— something with big padded handles and complicated-looking instructions—and confidently grab one of the bars.

Then freeze.

"What does this even do...?"

"You're about to dislocate your spine, baby."

You yelp and spin around. Sevika's behind you now, all towering and smug and shimmering with sweat, towel slung around her neck like she owns the entire building.

Which... technically, she kind of does. The gym manager adores her. Let's her in after hours. Always tells her to "lock up when you're done, champ."

"I-I knew that," you lie immediately, stepping back from the machine.

Sevika snorts. "Sure you did."

And before you can blink, she's stepping behind you—hands on your hips, warm and huge and grounding-and leaning down, her breath brushing your neck as she speaks.

"Let me show you."

Your pulse spikes. She's not even trying to be sexy. That's the worst part. She's just being her—confident and unbothered and strong as fuck.

She reaches around you to grab the handles, her arms bracketing yours, her body flush against your back. You feel the ripple of her stomach muscles every time she exhales, feel the press of her thighs behind yours.

"You wanna engage your core," she murmurs, adjusting your stance with ease.

"Keep your arms loose. Don't lock your joints."

You nod, barely absorbing the words. Her hands dip lower—grazing your stomach, guiding your hips back into place.

"Right here," she says, her voice rough and low. "This is where you wanna feel it."

You whimper.

Whimper.

Out loud.

Sevika freezes for a second. Then—fucking smirks.

"Y'know," she murmurs, voice practically a purr now, "you're not really here to work out, are you?"

You try to turn around, deny it, say something—anything—but she hooks an arm around your waist and lifts you off the ground like it's nothing. Just fucking picks you up and carries you two steps over to the stretch mats like a goddamn protein-drunk caveman.

You squeak. She laughs.

"Sit down," she says. "We'll try something easier."

You drop to your knees on the mat, cheeks hot, heart racing. You're so flustered you don't even notice Sevika lowering herself down too—until she's flat on her back, arms behind her head, sweat glistening on her chest, abs flexed under her tank like they were sculpted just to ruin your life.

"C'mere."

You blink. "What?"

Sevika taps her stomach. "You wanna learn, right? Come ride."

Your jaw drops.

"I-I thought we were stretching?!"

She smirks. "We are. I'm stretching you." 

She tilts her head. "C'mon, baby. Use me.

Let me make you feel good."

You hesitate for half a second.

Then slowly, very slowly, you swing one leg over her hips, straddling her warm, solid frame. Her abs are like concrete beneath you, and the second your thighs brush them—your whole body reacts.

"Oh," you breathe.

Sevika smiles. Lazy. Hungry.

"There you go. Just like that."

Her hands slide up your thighs, slow and heavy. You rock forward. Once. Tentative.

Her abs flex on purpose.

You gasp.

"Feel that?" she murmurs. "That's all you, baby. Keep going. Take what you need."

You don't even realize how you got here.

One second you're standing on shaky legs, cheeks hot and thighs sore from Sevika's "gentle guidance" on the stretch mats—and the next?

She's flat on her back beneath you, glistening with sweat, arms folded behind her head like she knows she's your undoing.

"C'mon, baby," she murmurs, voice low and lazy. "Right here."

She taps her stomach with two fingers— right between the ridges of her rock-solid abs.

"You said you wanted to try everything."

Your mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again—like maybe words will come out if you just try hard enough.

But nope.

You're too busy staring.

The way her abs flex and ripple under the low gym lights, the way the sweat shines along her chest and drips down her neck, the way her joggers are hanging just a little too low on her hips now—

God.

"W-What if someone—"

"There's no one here," Sevika interrupts, cocky. "We're alone. Lights are off out front. Security system's armed. Doors locked."

You swallow. That should make you feel better. But all it does is make your heart pound.

You're really gonna do this.

In the gym. On Sevika's abs. While she watches.

You climb over her slowly, thighs straddling her waist, knees sinking into the mat. You're already warm between your legs-buzzing with tension from the sheer filth of the moment. The second your clothed cunt brushes against her stomach, you feel it.

The heat. The pressure. The flex.

Like her body was made for this.

Sevika's eyes drop to the spot where you hover over her, and she bites down on a groan.

"Shit," she mutters. "Look at you."

Her hands grip your hips—gentle but firm, grounding you like you might float away.

"You nervous, sweetheart?"

You nod, your skin tingling with warmth. "A little..."

"That's okay," she breathes, voice velvet-dark. "You don't have to do anything. Just sit right here. I've got you."

You let her guide you down slowly. Her abs are hot and solid beneath you—each breath she takes making them twitch, flex, pulse right against your soaked underwear.

You gasp. Your hips jolt.

Sevika grins. "Yeah. That's it. Feel that?

You're already making a mess."

You slap a hand over your mouth. She catches your wrist.

"Uh-uh. Don't hide from me, baby."

She presses your hand to her chest instead—right over her racing heart.

"Feel that? You're the reason it's beating like this."

You moan—actually moan—and Sevika's stomach tightens. The flex sends a jolt straight to your clit.

You grind. Just once. Just to feel it again.

It's heaven.

The ridges of her abs roll beneath you with every movement, perfectly shaped to catch on the exact spot that makes your legs shake.

She doesn't rush you.

She just lies there. Watching you. Letting you use her. Whispering little praises every time your hips stutter.

"Good girl..."

"Look at you, making a mess on my abs like you were made for it."

"Fuck, baby, keep going—just like that."

And God, the eye contact—the eye contact is killing you. Her head tipped back, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, lips parted just enough to show teeth every time she groans your name.

You feel her abs flex again beneath you—this time harder, on purpose—and your hips stutter.

"S-Sev..."

"Yeah, sweetheart?" Her tone is smug now. Wicked. "Gonna cum on my stomach like a needy little thing? You gonna soak me right here in the gym where anyone could see?"

You whimper. You're so close. Your puffy clit reacting to every grind. You didn't even know you could get off like this, but—

Sevika leans up suddenly on one elbow, her face right in yours.

"Be a good girl," she growls, "and cum for me."

You do.

Hard.

It hits you like a goddamn wave—legs shaking, thighs clenching, your cum dripping down your thighs, a cry tearing out of your throat as your body grinds helplessly down on her, soaking through the thin fabric between you.

Sevika's arms wrap around your waist instantly, holding you steady as you ride it out. Her lips brush your ear.

"Fuck," she whispers. "You're so fucking perfect when you lose control like that."

You bury your face in her shoulder, panting, too wrecked to speak.

She chuckles—low and smug.

Then she grabs your ass with both hands and squeezes.

"Round two," she murmurs, voice dark again, "starts when you stop shaking."

thank you so much for the request <3

[itoshiabi]

An Angel

Summary: After saving you from a speeding car, Sakura is left shaken when you call him "angel". Despite his usual coldness, he can't stop thinking about you and when fate brings you two together again, he starts falling for your warmth in a way that terrifies and captivates him.

🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤

Your favorite song was playing on repeat, drowning out the world around you as you walked, earbuds stuffed in tight. You were mouthing the lyrics, scrolling through your messages, barely watching where your feet were taking you. The city blurred past.

You didn't see the car speeding toward the crosswalk.

Didn't hear the horn.

Didn't notice the danger— until a hand grabs your wrist and yanks you backward with surprising force.

Your feet stumble. Your phone flies from your grip. You gasp as your back collides with a solid chest, and a car whooshes past where you were standing just seconds ago. Your heart is hammering.

You look up, breath caught.

The first thing you see is his hair—split evenly down the middle, black on one side, white on the other. Then his eyes—one gold, one silver. Unnatural. Hypnotic.

"Angel," you whisper, not meaning to speak aloud.

Sakura blinks down at you, still gripping your wrist. His face is unreadable.

"Huh?" he mutters, flat and a little confused. His brow twitches, not in annoyance but in genuine disbelief that you'd call him that.

You straighten quickly, pulling your arm back. Your face burns. "I—I'm sorry. I wasn't paying attention, I had my music on. You saved me. Thank you."

You avoid his eyes, rubbing the back of your neck, heart pounding for more reasons than just the car.

Haruka looks away too, fast. "Tch. Don't walk around like an idiot next time."

But his ears are a faint shade of red.

His heart, usually calm and steady, stutters.

Why does he feel like this?

Why does your voice—flustered, small—echo in his chest like it means something?

He shoves his hands into his pockets, pretending he doesn't care. But your whisper plays again in his head.

Angel.

No one has ever said something like that to him. Not about him. His appearance usually unsettles people—his eyes, his hair, his silence. He's heard people call him creepy, unsettling. He's used to it.

But now?

"Wait," you say, bending to grab your phone. "What's your name?"

He hesitates.

"Haruka. Haruka Sakura."

You repeat it under your breath like you want to remember it. "Sakura. Got it."

You glance at him again. The sunlight catches his mismatched eyes just right.

"You really do look like an angel," you say, this time softer, more certain. "And beautiful, too."

He stiffens.

His eyes widen. He just stares at you like he can't quite process what you said.

"What the hell?" he breathes making you squint your eyes with confusion.

A beat passes.

Then his face flushes crimson, all the way to his ears.

"Wh—Don't—!" He takes a small step back, voice cracking slightly. "Don't say stuff like that outta nowhere!"

You blink, surprised by how flustered he looks. Then you laugh quietly. "Sorry. I meant it, though."

Haruka quickly looks away. He can't meet your eyes. His face is hot, and his usual calm is completely wrecked. His chest feels full, too full.

This isn't normal. But something about you—the way you smile, the way you looked at him like he was something good—it lingers deep in his chest.

That night, he doesn't sleep well.

The memory replays in his head over and over. The sound of your voice. The look in your eyes. The word you called him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Beautiful. Angel.

He thinks it'll fade by morning.

It doesn't and the next day, he surprises himself.

"Hey," he mutters to Umemiya and the others as they hang around. "You guys know someone named Y/N?"

The group quiets.

Akihiko blinks. Hayato looks over, interested.

Umemiya grins. "You actually asking about someone?"

"Shut up," Haruka says sharply, eyes shifting away. "Just answer."

Akihiko tilts his head. "Name sounds familiar… Oh! Isn't she that girl who's always at that Library in the third district? Headphones on all the time, kinda spaced out?"

Umemiya snaps his fingers. "Yeah, yeah! Cute girl. Loves to read books, right? She's one of Kotoha's classmates"

Haruka stays quiet, but the tips of his fingers curl a little in his pockets.

Yeah. That's you.

He doesn't say it.

"Tch. Whatever," he mutters.

Hayato smirks. "You into her?"

"I said shut up."

The teasing fades, and the conversation drifts. But Sakura stays quiet, filing every word away in his mind.

Library of Third district. Headphones. Cute.

The next time he passes through that area, his eyes search the crowd.

And when he sees you again—headphones in, slightly swaying to your music, completely in your own world—it hits him like a punch to the chest.

The feeling.

The warmth.

The ache.

He's not sure what to do with it.

But then—

"Hey, angel boy!"

You spot him instantly. Your grin lights up your face. You walk straight over without hesitation.

He flinches like you've just said something scandalous in front of a crowd.

"You again?" he mutters, trying to sound unimpressed. His heart's already pounding.

"Yup. Destiny, maybe?" you tease.

He looks away. "Tch. Not funny."

You just smile and nod toward the vending machine he's standing beside. "You choosing something, or just giving it the evil eye?"

"They're out of the coffee I wanted," he mutters.

You gasp, dramatically. "That's tragic. Want me to make it up to you with food?”

He blinks, stunned. "What?"

"I was on my way to eat anyway. Let me treat you. You saved me, remember? Still owe you."

He stiffens.

"I didn't save you for that," he mutters. "I didn't want anything."

"I know," you say gently. "But I still want to."

A pause.

"Fine."

The restaurant is tucked between narrow streets, warm and low-lit. The smell of grilled food drifts from the kitchen.

You talk easily—nothing too deep, just soft laughter and stories that fill the air like music. You don't push. You just… exist. Kindly. Comfortably.

Haruka listens more than he speaks.

He watches, memorizing the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh. The way you lean forward when you're excited. The way you slide food toward him without a second thought.

"Try this," you say, nudging a plate over. "It's my favorite."

He eyes it. "I don't like sweet stuff."

"Good thing that one's spicy."

He hesitates. Then tries it.

"Not bad."

You beam like he just said something profound.

He looks away again.

Everything about this is unfamiliar. Strange. Good.

After eating as you guys walk out of the restaurant, it's already dark. The night is cool and still. Stars blink above, faint behind the city glow.

You brush your hair from your face. "Thanks for coming with me. I really liked it."

He shrugs. "Wasn't terrible."

You laugh. "You're getting soft."

He shifts, uncomfortable. Then, after a pause—

"That day… when the car almost hit you." His voice is low, almost hesitant. "If I hadn't shown up… what would've happened?"

You blink. "I guess I would've been hurt?"

He nods once, then falls quiet again.

Then, quietly, almost awkwardly— "Give me your number."

You blink, stunned. "Huh?"

"In case something happens again. You should… call someone. And I'm from bofurin so....."

You smile, warm. "Okay."

You take his phone, type it in, and hand it back.

"No accidents next time, though," you say. "Just call me for food."

He stares down at your name glowing on his screen.

His chest aches in a way that's soft and overwhelming all at once.

He walks away fast, hoodie up, head ducked, as if fleeing the scene of a crime.

But that night, Haruka Sakura lies awake in bed, your name still lighting up his screen.

And for the first time in forever, the weight in his chest feels a little less heavy.

He doesn't know what this is.

But he knows one thing......

He doesn't want it to end.

[theeafterparty444]

Quiet Hours

Remmick x Reader

Summary: You and Remmick were supposed to be a casual thing—no strings, no feelings, just tension and release behind closed dorm doors. But when he shows up outside your room in the middle of the night, needy and jealous, it’s clear something’s shifted. What was once just sex has turned into obsession. He doesn’t just want your body anymore—he wants you. And tonight, he’s not leaving until he’s sure you remember exactly who you belong to.

Wc: 5.7k

He shouldn't be here.

That’s the first thought in your head when you see Remmick leaning against your dorm door past 1:30 a.m.—hood up, lips red, fists in his hoodie pocket like he’s trying not to knock again.

“I didn’t know if you were coming back,” he mutters. “You were with that guy. From class.”

You raise a brow. “Are you jealous?”

He doesn’t answer. His jaw flexes.

“I just don’t like people looking at you like that. Or you looking at them.”

A beat.

“’Cause I know what you sound like when you’re under me. Know how you taste when you’re shaking. And he doesn’t.”

Your stomach clenches.

You unlock your door and say nothing.

He follows you in like gravity, like he’s trying to stay chill—but his hands are already twitching like he wants to wreck you.

The second the door shuts, he’s on you.

His mouth crashes into yours—hot, needy, a little reckless. You can taste the way he’s spiraling. His hands grip your face like he hasn’t touched you in weeks. Like you’ve been out of reach too long.

“You wore those shorts on purpose,” he pants against your lips, walking you backward. “The tiny ones. You wanted attention.”

“I wanted coffee,” you shoot back, tugging his hoodie off.

“Liar.” His lips move to your neck, biting just hard enough to make your thighs press together. “You knew I’d see.”

“Maybe I wanted your attention.”

He groans like it physically hurts.

“You’ve got it, baby. Fuck, you’ve got it.”

Your shirt is gone. Bra unclasped and flung somewhere. His hands are everywhere—palming, squeezing, thumbs rolling your nipples until you're arching under him.

“You’re already shaking,” he murmurs, voice like gravel. “Barely touched you and you’re soaked, huh?”

He drops to his knees and shoves your shorts down, mouth open and greedy.

“Holy fuck,” he whispers, eyes locked on your dripping pussy. “You’re fuckin’ dripping.”

He kisses the inside of your thigh slow—then licks one stripe up your slit that makes you gasp.

“Shit, baby,” he groans. “You taste like everything. I could live down here.”

And he proves it.

Remmick eats like it’s his last meal.

Messy, hot, tongue deep inside you while his nose presses your clit. His fingers dig into your thighs, holding you open as he moans against your pussy like it turns him on more than it does you.

“Let me hear it,” he says between sucks. “Let them fucking hear you.”

You’re panting, hips grinding into his mouth without shame.

Then he slides two fingers in, slow, and curls them just right.

You scream.

“Atta girl,” he growls, fingerfucking you steady while licking your clit like a man possessed. “Come on. Give it to me.”

You unravel—loud, legs trembling, pussy clenching around his fingers.

But he doesn’t stop.

You gasp and writhe, trying to close your thighs.

He just growls. “One more. Be a good girl and give me another.”

He sucks hard on your clit and you snap—back arching off the bed as your second orgasm hits harder, messier.

You’re panting, dazed, but he’s already stripping—shirt gone, sweats shoved down, cock heavy and red and leaking against his stomach.

“Look what you do to me,” he pants, stroking himself slow. “I could fuck anyone on this campus and all I want is you.”

You crawl back on the bed, open your legs.

“Then come take it.”

He fumbles for a condom, but hesitates.

You blink. “You good?”

“I want you raw so bad,” he groans, head falling to your shoulder. “Wanna feel every fuckin’ flutter.”

Your pussy clenches.

You reach into the drawer. “Wrap it up. If you go raw, I’m not leaving you alone again.”

He laughs, breathless. “Bet.”

He pushes in slow.

You both groan.

“You always this tight for me?” he grits, voice strangled. “Fuck—feel like your pussy’s choking me.”

You wrap your legs around him, pull him deeper.

He starts slow. Deep. Rolling his hips until you’re panting.

“Look at you,” he whispers. “So wet. So fucking full. You love this, don’t you?”

You nod, whimpering.

“Say it.”

“I love your cock,” you gasp. “I love how you fuck me, Remmick.”

He curses and fucks you harder, hands gripping your hips.

You claw at his back, dizzy with the stretch.

“I’m the only one who gets to see you like this,” he growls. “Mouth open, eyes all dumb, begging for more. This pussy’s mine.”

You nod again, barely coherent.

Then his thumb presses your clit.

“Gonna come for me again?”

You cry out.

“Come on, baby. Cream all over me. Let me feel you soak this dick.”

You shatter, clenching so hard around him he stumbles into his orgasm seconds after, grunting deep in your ear.

“Fuck—fuck—I’m coming—Jesus—”

He stays buried inside you, trembling.

You both lie there, covered in sweat and each other, breathing hard.

Then:

“I hate seeing you smile at other guys,” he whispers. “Makes me wanna fight someone.”

You laugh, breathless. “You’re insane.”

He kisses your shoulder. “I’m obsessed.”

You stroke his hair. “I know.”

A pause.

“You staying?”

He doesn’t move. “Try and make me leave.”

The End ❤︎

@001-side, here's your slightly needy Remmick.

[steddieas-shegoes]

remember to try and forget

for @steddiesongfics using 'delete ya' by djo as inspiration AND i slipped a few short bursts of lyrics in here (thanks @withacapitalp for the suggestion that got me started on this, hugging you squishing you)

rated m | 1581 words | cw: implied sexual content | tags: road trip, ex friends with benefits to lovers, temporary heartbreak, angst with a happy ending, robin is a meddling friend and we love her for it, jonathan and argyle also meddle and have a great time doing it, love confessions, getting together

also on ao3

🛣️🛣️🛣️🛣️🛣️🛣️🛣️🛣️🛣️🛣️🛣️🛣️🛣️🛣️

A summer road trip should be fine.

Just the guys.

Which includes Eddie. Of course it includes Eddie. Why wouldn’t it? He’s one of the guys.

It’s just that the road trip is gonna be in Steve’s car and he doesn’t really trust anyone else to drive it, and Eddie won the passenger seat in some bet that he’s not even sure Argyle and Jonathan knew they participated in. And he’s made it a point not to be near Eddie for a while now. Pretty much since…well, since Eddie broke his heart into a million pieces and stomped on them and pretended nothing happened.

“We should probably get on the road,” Jonathan says as he closes the trunk. “We’re already an hour behind.”

“Yeah, and whose fault is that?” Steve mutters under his breath. “Alright! Let’s go!” He says louder, claps his hands together.

If he makes it through the next four days, he can make it through the rest of his life.

Eddie slams the car door and grins through the window at him.

He may not survive the next four hours.

****

It’s okay for an hour or so. Jonathan and Argyle are keeping conversation going, moving from one subject to the next with seemingly no connecting thoughts between them. Eddie’s tapping his fingers to the music playing and throwing in random quips when Argyle says something that Steve can’t follow.

Steve’s driving, only interjecting if he knows what the hell they’re talking about.

He’s ignoring Eddie.

He doesn’t even notice how he’s wearing a new cologne, or that he has a different ring on his left middle finger, or that his thighs are parted obnoxiously so that one is almost…just barely…touching where his hand rests on the middle console.

He’s not noticing it so much that he nearly drives off the road when they touch.

“Jesus!” Eddie holds out his arms as they slide to a stop on the shoulder.

Jonathan is silent, and Argyle is patting Steve on the shoulder like he’s making sure they’re still alive.

Steve puts the car in park and gets out before anyone can ask what the hell is wrong with him.

It’s so hot, and he wonders why the hell they had to do this trip in July of all months, and he isn’t paying attention at all to know Eddie’s following right behind him.

“What the hell, Harrington?” Eddie grabs his shoulder to get him to slow down. “What’s going on with you?”

A loaded question that Steve doesn’t even want to answer. He knows exactly what’s going on with him. He also knows if he wants to enjoy this road trip, he can’t tell Eddie what’s going on.

“Nothing. I just didn’t sleep well last night,” Steve starts. It’s not a complete lie. He was nervous about the trip. “I’ll be fine.”

“Why didn’t you sleep well?” Eddie pushes, because he always pushes until someone pushes back and then he runs.

“Just didn’t,” he shrugs, rubs his hand across his face. He’s turning to go back to the car when Eddie grabs his hand and holds it. He looks down at where they touch and feels that familiar ache, the thing that’s kept him from having any good sleep for months. “Let go of me.”

Eddie does, but he doesn’t move away. Steve sees him swallow, hopes it hurts the way he’s been hurting since Eddie broke his heart.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

“You really wanna know?” Steve feels manic, like he did that night he ended up at Robin’s house, barely able to see past the blurry vision his anger and heartbreak gave him. She sat on his legs just so he wouldn’t pace a hole through her floor and made him listen to Blondie and Madonna to calm down before he was allowed to talk. Too bad she isn’t here now. “What’s wrong is that I put myself out there and got shot down again. What’s wrong is that you were okay when we were just fucking around a little but the moment I wanted more, you couldn’t even look at me. What’s wrong is that you agreed to go on this stupid road trip knowing I was coming and didn’t care that it would kill me to be close to you and not be able to do anything about it!”

His heart is racing, his breath is coming in short bursts. He doesn’t want to get back in the car.

“Steve…”

“Don’t, Eddie. You made it clear enough that this is one-sided and I just have to get over it. I don’t need to hear it again. I just need a few minutes.” Steve probably needs a lot more than a few minutes. He wishes he could just delete Eddie from his head the way he deleted the kids’ late fees at Family Video. “Go wait in the car.”

Eddie doesn’t move. Steve doesn’t either.

He can hear Jonathan and Argyle talking by the car, but they don’t come closer.

“I agreed because I miss you. I wanted the chance to talk to you,” Eddie finally says quietly. “I wanted to say I was sorry.”

“Right. I’m sure you’re sorry that I can’t fucking drive us on our dude getaway or whatever.”

The anger bubbles up in his chest. He feels it boiling under his skin, making him shiver and shake like a volcano about to erupt.

“I’m sorry I didn’t know how to love you when you needed me to!” Eddie says much too loudly.

Argyle and Jonathan are silent now, hopefully not watching whatever is happening as Steve’s eyes widen and he finds Eddie’s heated gaze already on him. They’re glassy, tears gathering as if he has anything to cry about.

He doesn’t get to cry; He’s the one who said he didn’t want anything more from Steve.

“You didn’t even try,” Steve hears how his own voice breaks, feels ashamed that Eddie’s getting to see his pain. He wipes sweat from his forehead and a tear from his cheek. “You didn’t even try. Why wasn’t I worth trying?”

“Steve, you were. You are.” Eddie cautiously rests his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I didn’t deserve you then, I damn sure don’t deserve you now. But I do want you to know I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for leading you on and making you think I didn’t want you when I did and I do and I’m sorry for telling you that none of it mattered when it meant everything to me.”

“So you talked to Robin.”

He’d be mad at her, but he knows what probably happened. She got mad enough to confront Eddie, Eddie was terrified to piss her off more, he explained his side of things and she got mad enough to give all of Steve’s side of things. She has no filter when she’s mad. Neither does Steve, apparently.

“She talked to me first. She’s terrifying when she’s mad,” Eddie shakes his head. “But she loves you enough to tell me I’m a fuckin’ idiot. And I love you enough to tell you that I was a fuckin’ idiot.”

“Dude, what is going on?” Argyle’s asking Jonathan.

“I think they’re finally figuring out they love each other,” Jonathan answers.

“Why did you tell me you didn’t care how I felt?” Steve ignores them. “I spent every night with you for months. Every night. I kept coming back. And you let me. And you pretended like it was good and it was going somewhere and you looked at me like it meant something and I thought-“

“You thought right. I swear you did,” Eddie is cupping his face in his hands and he barely chokes back a sob. “I’ve never…had the chance to do that with someone. I never felt real love for someone, not like this. I dunno! I was dumb!”

Steve laughs. He can’t help it. It makes Eddie smile.

“You were so dumb,” he says quietly. His shirt is sticking to him, and it’s starting to become all he can focus on. They should go. They can talk when they get to their first stop in a few hours. “Are you done being dumb?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever not be dumb, but I’m gonna do my best to love you anyway,” Eddie’s voice is full of promise and hope. He wants to believe it.

“Robin was right.”

Both of them turn at Argyle’s words, brows creasing together in silent question.

He’s beaming at them as he explains, “She said you guys would figure it out if we did this!”

Steve turns back to Eddie, a hysterical laugh bubbling out of him. “Did Robin make you come on this trip?”

“Yeah. Insisted I needed time away from Hawkins. You?”

“Yeah,” he shakes his head. “Said I needed to have some time with someone other than her before I turned into a lesbian.”

Eddie snorts. “We got tricked. If she thinks I’m not inviting her to the next campaign, she’s mistaken.”

“She won’t play the nerd game.” Steve pats his shoulder. “C’mon. We have a long drive and those two will need to stop for food soon.”

“Wait.” Eddie grabs his hands tight, his face schooled back to something more serious. “This was too easy, right?”

“Oh, you aren’t done,” Steve smirks. “You’ve got a lot of making up to do. We’re getting our own room tonight at the motel. You still have some forgiveness to earn.”

[halfpsychic]

turning this into a headcanons post because im struggling to write it. pope cody x cat owner gn!reader.

° He comes over to your place like usual and is met with a ball of fur sitting on the couch. That is not usual. You hadn't warned him about a new pet.

° She was one of the cats who were at the shelter the longest. She looked so lonely. And defeated. Just looking for someone to love her. Reminded you of a certain someone…

° Just. So awkward with the cat. Tensing when she sits on his lap (even asks if you can take her off the first few times), staring at her in confusion when she meows at him. He doesn’t say anything but when you offer to let him give her a few treats, he watches her mouth just in case she bites him (she doesn’t). He knows absolutely nothing about cat behaviour and is confused why she doesn’t always like belly rubs or why she swats at him if he pets her for too long.

° It takes him sooooo long to properly warm up to her. He gets the hang of petting her pretty quick, but he’s still lost on how to play. She doesn’t fetch. He has to scramble around the floor picking up all of her toys to throw again. He can’t figure out how to move around her stick toys to entice her. The cat just stares at him like he's stupid. Then she'll turn around and chase dust floating in the air.

° He learns physical affection with her. When you’re dating, he subconsciously starts petting you when he’s next to you. It's nice, though. His hands are so big and warm, you start to see why cats love it so much.

° Doesn't coo a lot at her (at first). Silently scratches her chin and her ears.

° Pope getting confused when you call out pet names you usually call him. Walking into the living room and saying "Sweetheart, what are you doing?" to the cat and Pope responds "Watching TV," before realizing you're staring at the cat. Or coming back into your bedroom in the morning to the cat sleeping on the bed beside Pope. Leaning down carefully to not wake either of them, cooing, "You're so cute," to the cat and Pope murmurs, "Thanks," back...

° Staring contests with her from across the room.

“Pope, stop staring at her.”

“No. She has to blink first.”

° He hates how much she sheds. Always on you about brushing her to try containing the situation. Buys you lint rollers and pet fur removers so he doesn’t leave your place covered in fur. Lets you brush her so he doesn't get covered in fur.

° Once he gets used to the fact that no matter how hard he tries, he'll always end up covered in her fur, he starts getting really into grooming her. Gets all kinds of brushes and does his best to control her shedding situation. Nightly brushes while she sits in his lap, and sometimes it moves to the floor so she can roll around.

° Pope is so gentle with her. Always worried he’s going to play too rough with her by accident, but he never does. He’s aware of his strength.

° Before you know it, he’s picking her up and sitting down on your couch with her in his lap. She doesn’t mind. She likes how firm his grip can be when he pets her and how big his arms are when he holds her. Once he gets comfortable with her, he's better at playing rough. Not too rough, but he finds it amusing when she attacks his hand. He doesn't care if she bites and leaves a mark. Once in a while, he'll seek out her sharp claws and get her riled up so she attacks his hands. All in good fun, though (totally not worrisome behaviour).

° When Pope leaves, she meows at the door after him, and very often tries to run out after him. If he forgets a jacket, she’s curled up on it (and Pope is groaning when he gets it back because it is covered in her fur). That cat becomes attached quick.

° (in reference to my other work, Perverts) He can’t sneak into your place in the middle of the night anymore because she hears the door click open and runs to see who is there. And when she knows it’s Pope, she meows at him for pets or to play. It disturbs his secrecy.

° (prompt req from this list) Pope can be a busy guy so when he hasn't been around for a few days, his absence is felt by two living creatures now. Depending where you are in the relationship, she’ll meow at you constantly to play with her (which she does not engage with because you don’t do it the way he does it), she’ll gravitate towards his side of the couch, or she’ll sleep on his side of the bed, on top of his pillow (and he huffs about the fur she leaves on it later). In the beginning, he doesn't really understand how she could miss him. She's just a cat. But every time he comes over after being gone for a few days she's all over him, and soon enough it gets through his head that she does have feelings, too, and most of those feelings are about missing him.

He calls late one night. The cat is curled up in his spot on the couch, the opposite end of where you're sitting, and it's almost offensive. But you get it. You miss him, too.

Your phone rings, startling her awake for a moment, her head lifting up at the intrusion.

"The cat misses you," you say instead of a greeting.

"Yeah, I bet she does," Pope responds. "What about you?"

A soft smile creeps onto your face. No matter how many times Pope offers you his attention, it pulls you back into the shyness that overtook you in the beginning. "Yeah, I guess," you respond, attempting to be nonchalant but the need in your voice still shines through. "When are you coming home?"

Pope ignores the way his heart beats faster when you call your place home. "Tomorrow night. Promise."

"Good. She really misses you. She won't sit with me, she likes your spot on the couch better."

"Give her the phone."

"What? She's asleep."

"I want to say goodnight."

You roll your eyes but obey anyway, stretching over on the couch to put your phone by her (sleeping) ears. The volume on your phone isn't loud enough for you to hear what he has to say. It's just between him and the cat.

Bringing the phone back to your ear, you ask, "Any goodnights for me?"

"Goodnight," he replies in a soft voice. "I told her to take care of you while I'm gone."

Pope always knows just how to take your breath away. "Goodnight Andrew, I love you."

a/n: had this in my mind because i love and miss my cats and thank you @dastmalchianss for the prompt request <3. Vaguely based off of my baby…. my pretty princess…. my beautiful Lou

masterlist ko-fi

[gilbertscurls]

love that lets go — matt sturniolo

It’s the way he won’t look at you anymore that hurts the most.

Not the shouting, not the silence that followed. Not the way he shut the door with more finality than force. Not even the sound of your name left unsaid, floating somewhere between the kitchen and the bedroom—no. It’s the way Matt’s eyes skim past you now like you’re a ghost of a thought, a figment of a dream he forced himself to wake up from.

Because he saw forever in your eyes once.

And he smashed it.

It started the way all things begin—with wonder.

There was a time Matt would trace invisible lines across your skin with a kind of reverence, like your very existence defied logic. He’d stare at you like he was memorizing, terrified that if he blinked too long, you’d disappear. You used to catch him watching you when you weren’t looking, lips parted just slightly, eyes soft like dusk.

And you let yourself believe in it.

In him.

In forever.

But Matt was never good with permanence. He’d flinch when you talked about “someday.” The word always made him tighten his jaw, like it was a noose slowly pulling. You chalked it up to nerves, to fear, to all the ways trauma worms itself into soft places. You told yourself he just needed time.

But time doesn’t heal when someone’s busy cutting open the stitches.

You remember the night everything cracked. The memory lives in you like a splinter under skin—too deep to remove, too sharp to forget.

He came home late, rain soaked and silent, like the storm outside had followed him in. You reached for him, reflexive, warm. He recoiled.

“Don’t,” he said, and the word landed like a slap. Quiet. Brutal.

You asked him what was wrong. You asked him if you did something. You asked him—God, you asked him everything but the one thing that mattered.

Are you leaving me?

And he said nothing.

Until he did.

“This isn’t what I want anymore.”

There are moments you still replay, even now.

The first time he called you “home.”

The time he kissed your shoulder and said, “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

The time he held you too tightly in the middle of the night and whispered, “Don’t ever leave.”

You never planned to. That was the problem.

You believed in the version of Matt that let himself be loved. You watched him bloom in tiny ways—a held hand, a whispered promise, a smile that reached his eyes—and you thought: This is it. This is where we begin.

But Matt has always been good at starting things he doesn’t know how to finish.

He says it in pieces.

That it was too much.

That it scared him.

That he couldn't give you the life you deserve.

He says, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

But that’s not true.

Because Matt knew exactly what he was doing.

He looked at you, saw the forever you kept offering—steady and infinite—and decided it was kinder to destroy it than let it rot.

He didn’t trust himself to hold something that precious. So he smashed it before it could be taken from him. Before you could realize he wasn’t enough. Before the world could remind him that good things leave.

He saw forever.

So he broke it.

And now?

Now you live in the after.

Where songs feel like landmines.

Where your phone lights up and your heart still hopes.

Where every version of tomorrow feels duller without him in it.

You wonder if he thinks of you. If he regrets it. If the silence weighs as heavy on his chest as it does on yours.

But the truth is—Matt is the kind of person who doesn’t come back.

Not because he doesn’t care.

But because he cares too much.

And caring, for Matt, feels like drowning. So he chose the surface. He chose air. He chose safety.

He chose to leave.

You still love him.

Of course you do.

How do you stop loving someone who built a home in your ribs and then set fire to it?

How do you un-know a soul you memorized in moonlight?

You don’t.

You just carry the ashes.

And maybe, in some other life, Matt would’ve stayed.

But in this one?

He saw forever.

So he smashed it.

And left you standing in the wreckage, still calling it love.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash, @helpimateenagerinlove, @ghostlythinggoingaround, @sturmatt, @chris-hallelujah, @goingtojohnkramershouseee, @wurlibydominicfike, @shadowthesim237, @courta13, @frankdelreyy, @evansturn, @bamsblooming, @backwardshatnick, @whore4chris, @ivysturnss 

[uhuhmaries]

PART 3 (A.A.) — You'll Find A Way

Summary: The morning after the storm… He left. Do you leave? Do you… ask ‘what are we?’ after the crazy good sex last night? Does that even valid to THE Harry Styles? A surprising encounter leads to... 🤫

Warnings: NSFW, explicit sexual content, bondage, dominance/submission, jealousy, slight degradation, breeding kink, bathroom sex, definitely nasty and filthy

Series: Almost Acquaintances

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹

It’s too bright. The curtains are still cracked open, letting golden LA light spill across the couch and your bare thighs. There’s a moment where you don’t even remember where you are—just the low ache between your legs and the faint scent of cologne and sex clinging to your skin like memory.

And then it hits you. Harry Styles. His mouth. His voice in your ear. His hands on your hips. That SUV. That living room. Those goddamn curls between your thighs. You sit up too fast. Your head spins. He’s already up.

You hear something clatter faintly in the kitchen. When you turn over the back of the couch, you spot him fully dressed in an oversized tee and gray sweats, shoving something into a leather weekender bag with one hand and sipping coffee with the other. His curls are messier now—softer.

He glances over when he hears you stir.

“Morning,” he says, voice still raspy. “I didn’t wanna wake you.”

Your lips part. You pull the throw blanket tighter around your chest. “I, uh—good morning.”

God, you sound insane. And for some reason, his smirk tells you he finds it cute.

He walks over slowly, coffee mug in hand, that subtle swagger still tucked into his hips like a habit. “I’ve got a meeting downtown. I wasn’t planning on having somebody staying the night either, so this is…unexpected for both of us.”

You laugh softly, fingers brushing through your hair. “Right. Just a casual Halloween detour. Happens all the time.”

He hums. “Must be something in the fog machine.”

There’s a pause. One you don’t know how to fill. You glance at your dress, still on the floor. You don’t move to pick it up yet.

Harry sets his mug down on the coffee table and crouches slightly in front of you, resting a hand on the back of the couch right by your head. “Hey. Don’t overthink it, yeah?”

You blink. “Was I that obvious?”

“You’re chewing your lip and you keep looking for your phone like you wanna text someone and ask what this means.”

You laugh, a little too hard. “Jesus. You’re terrifying.”

“I’m just honest.”

“Uh– do you want me to leave? Be honest. I usually get out even before the sun's up on my one night stands.” You ask, eyebrows slightly frowning with concern, trying to read the vibe that is clearly unreadable.

His grin turns lazy. “Only if you don't steal anything.”

You let out a laugh and nod, “Okay. I'll chill out for now and I'll see what happens.”

He chuckles, then glances at his watch. “I’ll be back in a couple hours. Meeting shouldn’t be long. You can stay. Shower’s down the hall. Or leave if you want. No pressure, Y/N.”

And just like that, he walks slowly towards you like he’s unsure, presses a subtle– or awkward kiss to your forehead like you're a puppy and heads out the door.

You spend the next two hours overthinking everything.

You shower. You scroll. You raid the snack drawer in Harry’s kitchen and settle for something salty. Then you find his vinyl collection and slip on Santogold. Nice taste—unexpected, but also perfectly him. You curl up on his couch in silence, wet hair wrapped in a towel, the oversized shirt Harry put on before he went to bed from last night clinging to your frame. Your legs are crossed, but your thoughts aren’t. They’re pacing. So eventually, you do too.

By the time the door clicks open again, you're already fully dressed and standing in the middle of the living room, keys in hand and ready to vanish.

Harry steps inside, catching the last notes of the song playing. “Solid choice,” he says, voice warm but unreadable. “Shame you're running away.”

You turn, lips pressed in a tight line. “Didn’t want to overstay my welcome.”

He tosses his keys into a small dish by the door. “The welcome comes with no checkout time,” he says, half-grinning. “Well—unless you count me flying back to London.”

You pause. “When’s that?”

His expression flickers—just a beat, but you catch it. “Two days,” he answers. “UK leg starts Monday.”

You nod slowly, the air shifting between you. You move to grab your bag from the floor. “Then I’ll go. Let you enjoy your last bit of LA in peace. Thanks, H.”

He leans against the back of the couch, arms folding across his chest. “Right.”

You don’t kiss him goodbye. He doesn’t ask you to stay.

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹

Your apartment smells like you again—coconut lotion and comfort. You toss your bag onto the floor and collapse onto the bed, thumb dragging across your phone screen. Three missed texts light up from Isla.

ISLA: Hey hey ISLA: Are you alive??? ISLA: Spontaneous dinner at Jules’ if you’re down. Fancy-ish. Nothing dramatic.

You sigh and type back.

YOU: Sorry for ghosting. Last night got… intense. I’m in, though. Send me the address?

Jules’ place is all white walls and candlelight and far too many glasses of natural wine. You're adjusting to the energy—warm, loose, light-hearted—when Isla squeals your name across the room and pulls you into the main space.

Then you see him.

In a crisp black shirt, seated casually in a circle of too-cool people—and beside him, a tall brunette in red leather. She’s laughing at something he just said, her hand on his knee.

Your stomach sinks.

“Well…” you whisper under your breath, leaning toward Isla. “This is weird.”

She follows your line of sight and winces. “Shit. Yeah, didn’t know he was coming.” Then, like a proper best friend: “You look better than her, though.”

You don’t answer. You just keep your spine straight and your expression unreadable. You’re not sure if it’s pride or pettiness that keeps you standing tall—but for tonight, it’ll do.

You let Isla drag you through small talk and wine refills. You smile when you need to, nod when expected, and flirt harmlessly with a guy wearing a pearl necklace and Doc Martens. He’s sweet, but it’s background noise. Because across the room, you feel him.

Harry.

You don’t look over—not even once. But you know he’s noticed you. You can tell in the way his laughter has quieted, in the pause that followed your entrance. In the glance he thought you wouldn’t catch when you leaned down to grab a napkin.

But you don’t break. Not a flicker of recognition. If he’s confused, you hope it haunts him.

Outside, the air is cool and smells like eucalyptus and burnt rosemary. You light a cigarette. LA nights always feel like they’re watching you. Quiet, expensive, slightly unreal.

A few minutes pass. The click of the door behind you breaks your solitude. You don’t turn around.

“Didn’t know you smoked,” comes Harry’s voice, low and cautious.

You blow out a slow stream of smoke, eyes fixed on the city lights in the distance. “You know nothing about me, Styles.” you say simply.

He stands beside you now, his body angled slightly toward yours, searching. “Didn’t think you’d be here.”

“Same,” you reply, flicking ash off the side of the railing.

A beat.

“You’re not gonna talk to me?” he asks.

“I am talking,” you say, still not looking at him. “Just not the kind of talk you want.”

He sighs, frustrated. “You really gonna pretend last night didn’t happen?”

That makes you turn, finally. You meet his eyes—calm, unreadable, sharp.

“I’m not pretending. I’m just... compartmentalizing.”

Harry drags a hand through his hair, agitated. “So that’s it?”

You take another drag, let it burn a little in your lungs. “Did you want something different?”

Silence.

Then he admits, softly, “I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

You snort. “You brought a date.”

“She’s a PR thing,” he says. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Well. Now we both know,” you say flatly.

He leans in slightly, voice lower. “Come back with me. One more night.”

You meet his gaze again, this time a little softer. “You think sex is gonna fix this weirdness?”

“No,” he replies. “But I know it’ll feel better than this silence.”

You look at him, really look. He’s in all black, collarbone peeking out of a slightly unbuttoned shirt, eyes rimmed with the same quiet exhaustion you’re feeling. He looks... guarded. Like he’s not used to this part—this chasing.

“I’ll think about it,” you say finally, then flick the cigarette into a nearby planter and walk back inside.

The music pumps louder, the bass thumping in sync with your heartbeat. The tequila shots keep coming, and somehow the vinyl is spinning Santigold’s “Santogold” again—like fate or karma decided to crash this party with you.

You laugh and dance with Isla and a cluster of girls, the lights flickering across your skin. Shots are downed, hips swaying, carefree and wild.

From the corner of your eye, you catch Harry’s gaze. He’s fixated, eyes dark and sharp, lips curling into a tight line. His date is glued to him, hands tracing his neck, lips pressing bruising kisses that once were yours.

Harry’s hands clench into fists, the restlessness in his stance impossible to hide. He’s about to pull his date away, no doubt to ‘wreck her’ in some private corner when something else crashes the scene.

Zayn Malik steps in. Late, alone, impossibly hot. The single dad on the loose, looking dangerously charming with that lazy smirk that could make anyone forget the room’s entire guest list.

You catch Zayn’s eye, grin, and lean in to flirt—just enough to make sure Harry sees.

That’s when Harry’s hand snatches your arm, yanking you hard toward the bathroom like he owns you—like you are his and only his.

Your back hits the bathroom wall with a soft thud. The music outside is muffled by the door, but Harry’s heavy breathing fills the room now—harsh, animalistic. “Hands,” he says again, tone rough, like gravel and thunder.

You lift them slowly, wrists together, and Harry unbuckles his belt with one swift pull. He loops it around your wrists, fastens it tight, and shoves your bound hands up over your head, pinning them against the wall with his own.

"You like showing off?" he growls low into your ear, voice like smoke. "Flirting with Zayn like you're not already mine?"

“We both know, I am indeed is not yours,” you reply with a half-smirk, breath catching.

Harry’s other hand wraps around your jaw. “Yeah? That just makes you a desperate slut.”

His mouth crashes against yours, all tongue and teeth. His body presses into yours, hard and hot, while he rocks his hips against your center just to feel how wet you’ve already gotten for him.

“Fucking soaked,” he mutters, running his hand between your thighs, cupping you over the fabric. “You like making me angry, don’t you? You want to see what happens when I lose it?”

You whimper at the contact. “Maybe.”

That’s all he needs. He grabs your panties and yanks them down with one hand, sliding two fingers in without warning. You gasp. He curls them inside you like he knows every inch already.

He bites down on your neck, licking the mark after. “This pussy’s not his,” he hisses, pumping faster. “It’s mine.”

His pants drop just enough to free himself, thick and already aching. You’re nearly trembling with your wrists still pinned high.

“Turn around,” he commands.

You obey, and he forces your hands flat against the cold tile, belt still tight around your wrists. He nudges your legs apart with his knee.

Then, slow and deliberate, he pushes in. Just the tip at first. A deep moan rips from your throat, and Harry growls behind you, “Yeah, take it. All of it.”

He slams in, hard enough to rattle the cheap metal toilet paper holder. The stretch, the fullness—it knocks the breath out of you, your head dropping forward.

“Fuck,” he pants. “So tight. You don’t even fight it. You want me to ruin you, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you moan, eyes fluttering.

He pulls out almost all the way and slams back in again, setting a brutal rhythm. His fingers grip your hips like bruises are the goal, pulling you back into each thrust. It’s rough, raw, but so needed.

“I’ll make sure no one else gets to see you like this,” he grits out. “Let them fucking try.”

When you tighten around him, he hisses through his teeth.

“Shit—gonna cum.”

“Inside,” you beg, head thrown back. “Please.”

He pauses, chest heaving.

“You want that? Want me to fill you up?”

“Yes,” you whimper, shaking. “I love the feeling of it.”

He lets out a shaky, almost reverent moan. “Fucking hell. You’re unreal.”

With a deep thrust, he spills inside you, groaning low and broken against your neck. The warmth floods you, and Harry stays there for a moment, breathing hard, still holding your hands above you.

Then, slowly, he eases out. He unties the belt from your wrists, lets your arms fall, turns you around, then lowers himself to his knees you, licking you clean. He sucks, licks, and moans into your core.

When he looks up at you, mouth glistening with the mess he made, his eyes are dark—stormy and unreadable. You’re right on the edge, trembling, mouth parted, seconds away from unraveling again under his tongue. But just as the pressure inside begins to crest—he pulls back.

Stands. Fixes his shirt. His belt. Not a word.

Your breath catches in disbelief, chest rising and falling, still trembling with need. He smirks as he unlocks the door. Without a glance back, he walks out—leaving you there. Flushed, soaked, still bound by your own unsatisfied desire.

Still his.

But only when he says so.

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹

📝 Author's Note:

So........ how's the weather? 😅

[sp00kymulderr]

morning, morning, love of mine

Dieter Bravo x OMC

Words: 800

Tags/warnings: references to past drug use, references to sex, married dieter and his big teddy bear husband 🥹 just something short and sweet.

Early morning shoots had never been his favourite.

Those 5am wakeup calls, the shitty canteen coffee and rushed breakfasts and too many people in his face far too early after another late night bender. He’d grumble through the whole thing, bitch to whoever was doing his hair that day, snort a line before call time and then rush to reread the pages for the day.

A few years ago he was complacent in his work. Coasting by on easy jobs that paid just enough, b-movies that went straight to streaming and sequels for long dead franchises no one cared about any more. There were always good drugs on those kind of sets, and people didn’t care what he did as long as the film got made and everyone got paid. Soulless, lifeless, lacking in art. No love, no care, nothing to be invested in on those sets.

It was easy, he didn’t have to care.

Now, though…

It’s 4:30am and Dieter is teetering on the edge of awake as light starts to brighten the room. His eyes open slowly, and he stifles a yawn. Next to him, Theo is still sleeping; his chest rising and falling, Dieter’s arm slung over him, front pressed close to back. They’d gone to bed at 9:30pm after an evening of catching up on their shows whilst they cuddled on the couch. Dieter had bemoaned being old, but he went to sleep with a smile on his face, wrapped around Theo.

Blinking slowly, Dieter half sits up propped against his pillow. He runs a hand over the stubble on his chin as he gazes down at the sleeping form besides him. Theo was...well to Dieter he was everything. Not only was he handsome to a fault with his sparkling hazel eyes and a mess of reddish brown hair, with a beard to match. He was tall and big, well, everywhere. And to top that all off he was funny, smart, successful and humble despite being the best director working. And he put up with Dieter even on the bad days. Everything Dieter needed in one big, cuddly package.

He leans down and begins to pepper Theo's face in gentle kisses, trying to rouse the other man carefully.

“Hey, husband” Dieter whispers with a smile, squeezing the larger mans soft middle. In his dreams he’d been kissing that belly.

Theo groans and turns slightly, angling his face away from Dieter’s kisses, but there’s a smile playing on his lips that makes Dieter’s own brighter.

“I thought I had a husband, not a needy puppy who licks my face every morning” Theo grumbles out in his rough, deep voice that Dieter could listen to all day long. In fact, he does.

“You got both” Dieter grins, purposefully placing one sloppy, wet kiss to the other mans cheek before finally pulling away.

“Alright, down boy” Theo mutters and both men laugh sleepily. Theo turns on to his other side to blink up at Dieter.

He looks at the clock, nearly 5am. Nearly time to start the day.

“Big day today” Dieter says softly, tone changing from playful to anxious.

“You nervous?” Theo, ever the protective husband, takes Dieters hand in his and holds it tight, thumb swiping over the skin in a calming pattern.

“No...not...not nervous, so much. Excited. Too much energy. I, uh, used to do something- take something to take the edge off a big shoot day, a first day”

Theo frowns and slowly sits himself up. He knows. He’s seen Dieter at his worst, he’s seen it all. It makes seeing him now, at his best, all the sweeter. He loved him then, loves him now.

“C’mere” The older man pulls Dieter into a crushing hug, and Dieter sighs, lets himself go limp. No other rush feels as good as this, as good as love, “You’re gonna do great”

“Well, I hear the directors a real hottie” Dieter mumbles, back to playful now he’s smushed up in his big mans embrace, “Maybe if I get too het up he’ll let me blow him in the trailer til I calm down”

“Is that so? Guess you’ll have to find out, hm?” Theo huffs out a laugh and kisses Dieter on the top of his head before letting him go, not wanting to suffocate his husband on the first day of their first movie together.

The alarm blares 5am as they’re both gazing at each other, barely hearing it as they contemplate a feeling that neither knew existed before they found the other.

“You’re gonna do great, you know” Theo says quietly. all gentle, all love.

“Promise? ” Dieter mumbles, nuzzling against Theo's cheek.

“Yeah”

For a second they’re frozen in time. The beep of the alarm forgotten. Dieter kisses Theo, and pulls back with a shaky breath.

“C’mon husband, let’s go make a movie”

[mirisss]

&Team Poly Headcanons

&Team OT9 x gn! reader

Wordcount ≈ 1.2k 

Warnings: None really, 

Please reblog and comment! 

Thank you for the request!

Cuddle Chaos

There is no such thing as personal space during movie nights. The living room transforms into a mountain of blankets, pillows, and limbs.

K is the designated movie selector (mostly safe choices), but Fuma always tries to sneak in horror just to watch Taki cling to someone, usually Yuma, who pretends to be brave but is equally terrified.

Maki always brings snacks he carefully arranged, only for Jo to immediately mess it up digging for the “good” popcorn.

You’ll be cuddled somewhere in the middle, sandwiched between Harua and Nicholas most of the time because they refuse to let you go.

Eventually, it’s a full-on cuddle pile, with someone always half-asleep on someone else’s chest, shoulder, or lap. The movie usually ends without anyone noticing because K, the last one awake, turns it off and throws another blanket over everyone.

Kiss Chaos

It always starts with something simple. You kiss K on the cheek before heading to the kitchen and then suddenly…

“Wait, why does K get one first?” Nicholas complains, arms outstretched like a child.

You kiss him too, and immediately Jo jumps in: “I want one too!”

Next thing you know, it’s a full-on kiss storm.

Yuma pulls you gently into a warm hug and presses a kiss to your forehead. EJ demands one on the nose “because it’s cute,” and Taki tries to get one while also being crushed under everyone else.

Harua is shy about asking, so he lingers until you notice him and cup his face for a soft kiss. He always goes red.

Maki ends it by pulling you in for a real kiss, just long enough to make everyone groan and shout, “HEY! No fair!”

It’s the most chaotic but love-filled mess of affection ever.

Culinary Chaos

The kitchen becomes a war zone every time more than two people are in it.

Maki and K try to lead things calmly, with emphasis on try. They delegate roles like a military operation: “Fuma, you chop vegetables. Taki, stir the sauce. Nicholas, no, put the oil down.”

EJ and Jo are the biggest disasters. Once, they tried to cut an avocado and ended up Googling “How to avocado???” (Had to bring it up but with a twist)

Yuma once mistook salt for sugar and confidently said, “It’ll even out in the oven.” It did not.

Harua is great at organizing but not much of a cook; he likes setting the table prettily, though.

You’re usually somewhere between helping and refereeing, sneaking spoonfuls of whatever’s ready and helping Jo clean up the flour “accident” (he swears it wasn’t him).

Despite the chaos, dinner always ends up tasting amazing, mostly because everyone’s laughing and eating together, and that’s what makes it perfect.

Crowd Chaos

During concerts, you’re hidden in the audience or backstage, and they know you’re there.

When you cheekily blow a kiss toward the stage, at least three of them react immediately.

Fuma misses a step in the choreo. Harua turns bright red but keeps smiling. EJ smirks at the crowd to play it off.

Nicholas mouths stop it with a grin while Taki waves like he’s waving to a fan (but it’s absolutely you).

Later, K scolds the group jokingly, “At this rate, you’re going to fall off stage from blushing so hard.”

Interview Chaos

Interviewer: “Do you all have someone at home that you miss when you are away?”

Taki: “Yeah! We have, uh, a part-. I mean, a hamster! We call it, Y/N. Wait, no”

The rest of the members scramble to cover it up, Fuma laughing loudly while K says, “It’s an inside joke. Our imaginary pet hamster.”

The fans are suspicious, especially when Nicholas adds, “Yeah, it bites,” and Harua hides behind a water bottle.

On-Stage Chaos

Nicholas loves sneaking winks or little heart hands your way during performances. He says it’s “for the fans,” but he looks directly at where you are.

Maki subtly sings certain lyrics in your direction, and K always spins toward your side of the audience when there’s a romantic line.

EJ throws smirks your way when the choreo gets intense.

Jo once pulled a flower from a prop and tossed it in your direction, making it look random. It wasn’t.

Backstage, Taki beams when you meet eyes. Harua can’t stop smiling for ten minutes straight after.

Birthday chaos

Birthdays are group missions. Everyone contributes something, a handmade gift, a letter, a (badly performed) song, or a special dinner.

K plans the schedule like a general. “Nicholas, you distract them. Harua, you’re on cake duty. Jo, don’t eat the frosting before it’s on the cake this time.”

Each member gives their own private moment with you, one-on-one time to celebrate how much you mean to them.

Taki writes little notes and hides them around the house for you to find. Jo records a silly voice message you play on loop.

Maki bakes something intricate with K’s help, while Fuma gets you a charm bracelet with little initials of the group.

EJ insists on serenading you, but gets interrupted halfway by Yuma crashing in with confetti and yelling, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BABY!!”

No matter who’s birthday it is, yours or theirs, the night always ends the same way: group cuddles, cake crumbs on shirts, laughter, and love so strong it’s almost unfair.

Anniversary chaos

Since you can’t go public, anniversaries are quiet, private, and ridiculously romantic.

One year, Nicholas recreated your first group hangout in the living room with matching clothes and playlists.

Another year, they each wrote a letter and Maki strung them into a handmade photo book.

The group keeps a secret group chat where they plan surprises together (you caught Jo looking very suspicious once and he said, “I’m… watching a cat video.”)

They do little things all week: Harua making your tea in the morning, EJ picking up your favorite snacks, Yuma letting you win at Mario Kart (probably).

At the end of it all, there’s always a whispered, “Thank you for loving all of us,” and nine pairs of arms wrapping around you tightly.

Live chaos

It started off innocent: Fuma, Jo, and EJ were casually live on Weverse, answering fan questions and showing snacks.

You, completely unaware, walked into the room behind them and said, “Babe, did you see where I put my-”

Silence

EJ’s eyes widen. Jo coughs violently into a pillow. Fuma blurts, “THAT WAS…uh. K’s voice. He’s being weird again.”

Someone (Jo) yells offscreen: “STOP MOCKING OUR VOICES, K!”

Meanwhile, you duck behind the counter in horror and crawl out like a guilty cat.

The fans immediately pick up on the voice: “That… that wasn’t any of the members??”

Comments flood the stream: “WHO WAS THAT??” “New staff?” “That sounded too soft to be K LMAO.” “Was that a girl or maybe another guy????” “They totally called someone babe?!?!”

The guys try to recover, badly. EJ starts singing, Jo opens chips, Fuma nervously mumbles about “our… vocal coach??”

They end the live early with a lot of sweating and forced laughter.

Later, you all agree: new rule, check the schedule board before entering the room.

But in the group chat that night, they’re teasing you nonstop: “Your debut as the 10th member was iconic,” – Nicholas “I’ll make your mic prettier next time,” – Yuma “So when’s your fan meet?” – Jo

Let’s just say that a poly relationship with &Team is nothing short of chaos, but it’s full of love, a lot of love, perhaps more than one can handle. 

[worshipmyruin]

i loved your pre-crash van headcanons! do you have any post-crash (in the wilderness) ones?

yes!!^^ ty for my first request <33

Van Palmer Wilderness (season 1) Headcanons <33

(nsfw under the cut)

sfw

Van palmer who thinks about you when she’s about to die in the crash :( desperately searching for you afterwards, even if you’re together (or not) she’s still clinging onto you like some Koala. She’s never letting go again. She pulls you away from the wreckage and gives you the quickest, most emotional kiss you've ever had. And it means the world to you.

Van who is the most spiteful person you know. Especially when it came to Jackie and her abandonment. You tell her it was survival, she brushes it off. “It was fucking Jackie, that’s what it was.”

the first night, Van clings onto you like second skin. It just hurts her to even think of you leaving her at all. She tells you stories, trying to distract you from the impending doom unleashed on all of you.

Van who holds your hand during the séance, freaked the fuck out when Lottie starts speaking French and instinctively pushes you behind her, protecting you from what? She doesn't quite know. She just needs you safe.

The only sense of normality you both have is each other, and Van won't lose you out there. Ever.

Van who knows she's in love with you because you killed a fucking wolf to save her life, and that's the most romantic thing anyone has done, like, ever.

Carrying her body all the way from the attack to the cabin, soaked in her blood and your own tears, whispering to her how she's gonna be fine. Because she will be. She can't leave you.

You being snippy with everyone around you during the tense atmosphere of the cabin when anyone says something remotely negative. "Don't fucking say that." Van can definitely here you, and it's enough encouragement for her to have a half mangled grin. Even in pain, she still loves how mean you can get.

after the attack, she's cold and cut off. No attempts to even engage with you. Barely gives you a second look. You know it's because you're hurting but it hurts you too. Seeing her all brooding against a tree.

Eventually having enough of it and just sitting down next to her. No words, no eye contact, just solidarity and truth.

"Why are you here?" "Because I love you, Van."

Laura lee's death really impacted Van. You were her crutch, metaphorically and literally. The way she'd sobbed into your shoulder, you didn't even realise they were close. Such different people being childhood best friends was hard to imagine, but you held her through it.

Doomcoming!Van being soooo clingy. Constantly clutching onto your arm like she'll drop dead if she's not latched onto you. It's cute, really.

Van who constantly blushes from your compliments. Sure, she's used to you calling her handsome and cute and all that, but when she feels like she's a freak? A face carved with her past? It's just what she needs, and she loves you for it.

Coming out to everyone at doomcoming! Just full on dragging her into the middle, softly clasping her face with your hands, her mask askew and her face so perfect. Lips parted, practically staring at you. You look around at all your friends before placing the softest kiss on Van's lips, one that makes her heart stop for a good minute.

"Did you just-?" "I did. What? You got a problem, Palmer?"

her life, at that point, seems like a fucked up horror movie with a sub-plot of you. Her heart beats for you, and each time she comes close to death it really does seem like she's living for you.

The aftermath of doomcoming... grumpy Van on another level. Just sooo fucked up from shrooms she barely remembers what happened, what she does remember is the way you held her. The way your eyes just filled with awe when she took off her mask.

Van who admires the way you hold yourself together around everyone, the way you take leadership. And it's sure as hell shown when Jackie dies.

nsfw

Van who is so sexually frustrated because there is 0 privacy in the wilderness. She's practically staring at you the whole time, imaging your axe-clutched hands wrapped around her neck, or your wood wielding thighs clutching her head closer to your cunt. She needs you, and it's getting bad.

Van who finds the lake and does that goofy grin, not just because they've found water, but because she's gonna see you practically naked in the lake. She's going absolutely feral when she sees you rip off your clothes and run into the water to join her.

Van lifting you up in her hands which coincidentally fall on your ass! Funny that. If anyone sees she just plays it off as an accident. "My hand slipped! I swear!"

ughhhh, Van who drools at the sight of your hardened nipples through your thin bra. It's not like Van to stare (lie), but when they're just staring at her. It's taking everything in her to not push you up against a rock and hump you till she cums all over your leg :)

FINALLY GETTING PRIVACY!!!

Van subtly suggesting you should take her with you when you go hunting just for fun! Sweet, innocent fun!

yeah, right.

you're two steps into the crash site before you're being pushed down onto one of the chairs, straddled with Van's lips crowding yours, desperately grasping at your tits.

"Take your shirt off. Been too long..."

And that SMIRK she does... Such a fucking nerd. Your nerd.

you willingly oblige, because if Van Palmer told you to take off your shirt, who are you to deny her?

She's hungry in more ways than one, and that's definitely shown in the way her tongue laps circles around your nipples, slowly bringing them to harden before pulling back with a soft pop.

Immediately grinding against each other, zipping each others jeans down and somehow ending up on the floor.

Van who lovessss when you get all dominant on her. She'll whimper and beg for you to let her touch you. When you deny her she whines about how 'good you are' and how she 'needs to fuck you so bad.'

Van who moans when you pin her arms down, denying her everything she wants. Those big eyes staring up at you, ginger hair stuck to her forehead, her boxers sticking uncomfortably to her.

TEASING VAN OVER HER BOXERS!!!

slowly licking a strip down the fold of her cunt, feeling how wet she is through the fabric. Sucking lightly to taste as much as her as you can without letting her cummmmmm.

if there's one thing I know about Vanessa Anne Palmer, it's that she's LOUD. She's the main reason you could barely do anything, there's no way (even in semi-privacy) that Van would be able to keep herself quiet. Even if she was going down on YOU.

rough fingers pumping in and out of you while her boxers are stuffed in your mouth to shut you up about how pathetic she is.

Van = turned on when you're mean.

eating her out on doomcoming because you've just gotta show her how beautiful she is, utterly spoiling her that night to show how much you still, and will always, love her.

yada yada yada, Van fucking you in the attic while all the others are sleeping downstairs. Creaking of the floorboards from the sheer amount of force Van is using to make you feel good.

Keep coming with requests <3

[cheynovak]

The one that got away

Summary: Jensens POV.

Jensen is secretly in love with danneels best friend but does everything not to show her. Because he knows Danneel likes him.

Warning: Cheating, light bullying

First I want to start off by saying that this is a work of fiction. In no ways do I mean to harm or disrespect the Ackles family and their friends. I don't know what is happening in their life nor do I know their thoughts. By no means is this story implying I do.

Enjoy!

---

I wasn’t exactly thrilled when I heard we’d be carpooling. Nothing against Y/N—not really. She was sweet, sharp-witted, a bit too honest sometimes—but Danneel insisted.

“Just try it, Jen. She lives like, ten minutes from you. It’s dumb not to.”

I grumbled but said fine. I didn’t want to drive alone every morning anyway, not in Santa Cruz traffic and especially not before sunrise. Plus, I figured it’d be good for Danneel. She adored Y/N. Said they’d been best friends since middle school, when Danneel still wore braces and thought eyeliner was a personality trait.

So yeah. That’s how it started. Me and Y/N. In the car, five days a week.

First week? I was cold. Not because I didn’t like her—but because I liked her too much.

Her voice had that confident, gravelly warmth like she'd smoked a pack of reds but hadn’t. Her laugh was unfiltered. She’d crack open a Diet Coke at 7 AM and argue with me about music, politics, the best way to cook eggs. And I was gone.

But here’s the thing. Danneel liked me. Like, liked me-liked me.

And I’m not a jerk. I’m not the guy who betrays the friend code. Especially not when it’s Danneel. She’s talented, funny, and I cared about her. Not romantically, not like that—but enough to want her happy.

And Y/N…

She was just there. Always around. Always offering me gum or adjusting my collar on set or laughing too loud at some dumb thing I said when I wasn’t even trying to be funny.

I started acting like a jackass, because I didn’t know what else to do.

---

PRESENT DAY – Y/N’s apartment

She invited us over. Said she was hosting a “low-key game night, drinks, maybe cards or some dumb group game.”

“Cool,” I’d muttered. “Who’s coming?”

“Just us. You, me, Danneel... and Liam.”

Liam. That guy.

He was tall, like jared tall, wore that art-school beanie like it was surgically attached to his head. I hated him immediately.

Y/N opened the door wearing a black tank top tucked into high-waisted jeans, hair up in that lazy twist she always said “took no effort.” Bullshit. She looked like she walked out of a Levi’s commercial.

“Hey!” she beamed. “You guys want margaritas or something?”

I shrugged. “Got whiskey?”

She squinted at me. “What is this, a Clint Eastwood movie?”

I smirked. She always got that one wrinkle between her brows when she teased me. I wanted to trace it with my thumb.

Danneel giggled next to me, and I snapped out of it. “Margaritas are fine."

The night passed in flashes.

Liam sat too close. Y/N laughed at his stories, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. Still, it made something dark and ugly twist in my chest.

“You always dress like this when you’re trying to impress someone?” I muttered under my breath when we ended up alone in the kitchen.

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You just... don’t usually wear lipstick. It’s new.”

“Wow,” she said flatly. “Thanks for noticing, Jensen. Wouldn’t want to accidentally be attractive around you."

I winced. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Sure you didn’t,” she said, walking away.

Danneel found me sulking ten minutes later. “You good?”

“Peachy,” I said.

---

FLASHBACK – CAMPFIRE, 3 WEEKS AGO

Santa Cruz gets cold at night, even in summer. We were out in Big Basin, camping in this little site Y/N found online. I don’t even like camping. But she asked. Danneel begged. So I went.

I remember the fire crackling, smoke curling up to a velvet sky. Danneel sat beside me, knees curled up, clutching a mug of wine.

Y/N sat across from me. The flames lit her face gold. Her eyes caught the firelight, glowing amber like a secret.

She was talking to Liam —about old horror movies. Something about The Thing being better than Alien. I didn’t hear a damn word.

I just stared.

God, I thought. You don’t even know, do you? You don’t even have a clue what you do to me.

Danneel nudged my arm. “You cold?”

I forced a smile. “Nah.”

She looked at me, soft and hopeful. I didn’t meet her eyes.

Because Y/N shifted then, tucked her hair behind her ear and laughed—loud, free, unashamed. And I was a goner.

I liked her. I really liked her

And she didn’t have a clue.

---

PRESENT DAY – Y/N’s Apartment

After the warm welcome I sat like a statue on the couch, drink in hand, pretending not to watch Liam inch closer to Y/N every five minutes like a dog who thought he had a shot.

Danneel leaned into me more and more, practically in my lap now. She was nervous, I could tell. Her voice was higher than usual, laughing at everything. Her hand rested on my thigh. I didn’t move it. Didn’t encourage it, either. Just… let it sit there like it didn’t make my skin crawl with guilt

Y/N looked across the room at me, her cheeks flushed from the wine. She was relaxed, smiling. Like this was a good night. Like nothing was wrong.

She had no clue what she was doing to me.

“Oh my god, Y/N, do you remember this?” Danneel said, cracking open a photo album from high school. “Look at this one of Y/N with the pink streaks in her hair. You looked like Avril Lavigne’s chaotic twin.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I was fifteen.”

“Fifteen going on ‘arrested for indecent exposure,’” I said, sipping from my drink. “That skirt should’ve come with a parental advisory sticker.”

Liam laughed too loud. Asshole.

“Oh come on, she was expressing herself,” he said, nudging her shoulder. “I think it’s badass.”

“Of course you do,” I muttered. “You probably have a Pinterest board of young women in crop tops holding books they’ve never read.”

Y/N blinked. “Wow. That’s... unnecessarily rude.”

Danneel giggled beside me, nervously. “Jensen’s just cranky because someone’s more interesting than he is tonight.”

“Interesting,” I said. “Sure. That’s what we’re calling guys who talks nothing but sports and movies... interesting.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed. “What is your problem tonight?”

“I don’t have a problem,” I said, shrugging. “I’m just enjoying the show. You know, watching everyone fall over themselves pretending they’re not trying to sleep with each other.”

Danneel stiffened beside me. Y/N’s smile dropped. Liam, oblivious, raised his glass.

“To honesty, I guess?”

Y/N shook her head. “Okay, I think we’ve had enough of Jensen’s comedy hour.”

“I need another drink,” I said, standing too fast. My glass was still half full, but I needed the distance.

The kitchen lights were too bright. I stared down into the sink like it had answers. My hand gripped the edge of the counter just a little too tightly.

The slap of footsteps behind me was fast. Sharp. I didn’t need to look to know who it was.

“You seriously want to tell me what the hell that was?” Y/N’s voice cracked through the room like a whip.

I sighed, not turning around. “Wasn’t in the mood for trip down memory lane hosted by you and Beanie Jesus.”

“You were being an asshole. To everyone. But mostly me. And Danneel, who by the way, did nothing to deserve that!”

I turned to face her. Her arms were crossed tight, chest rising and falling with frustration. She looked furious—and gorgeous.

“You think I don’t notice when you pull that crap?” she snapped. “You were vicious, Jensen. Why? So you can mark territory be the bigger alpha?”

I stepped closer. “Watch it.”

“No. I won’t watch it,” she said. “You embarrassed Danneel in front of Liam, you insulted me like I was some high school slut with no self-awareness, and you made Liam feel like he was intruding just by breathing near me.”

“Maybe he was,” I growled.

She blinked, stunned. “Excuse me?”

I stepped closer, the anger bubbling over, boiling past the edges. “You’re sitting there acting like this is some little tea party when Danneel’s practically in my lap and Liam is drooling all over your arm. And I’m supposed to just what? Smile through it? Pretend I like it?”

“Yes!” she shouted. “Because Danneel likes you, Jensen! And if you had two brain cells to rub together, you’d realize that tonight was for her. She needed this. She wanted to spend time with you. And you’re too busy acting like a goddamn teenager—”

“I’m not the one who’s blind here, Y/N!”

“What?!”

“You think I’m being cruel because I’m an asshole,” I said, voice low and shaking, "Because I hate Danneel and Liam in one room? No Y/N for all I care they jump eachother tonight!"

She froze.

But I didn’t stop.

“I’ve been holding it in every day. Every stupid car ride. Every set lunch. Every time I watched you laugh with someone else and act like I was just background noise.” My voice cracked. “And yeah—I’ve been a dick. Because it’s easier to be angry than admit that I can’t stop thinking about you.”

She opened her mouth—some clever comeback, maybe—but I didn’t let her speak.

I kissed her.

Hard.

Fierce.

Like it was the last thing I’d ever do.

Her mouth was soft, warm—but she didn’t kiss me back. She stood there, still, frozen against me like I’d crossed a line I couldn’t uncross.

Reality came crashing in like cold water.

I pulled away fast, breathing hard.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, backing up like I’d touched fire. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t say a word.

I grabbed my keys off the counter, heart pounding.

“Tell Danneel... whatever you want. That I’m a bastard. That I got sick. I'm sorry.”

I turned on my heel and left the apartment without another word.

---

FLASH FORWARD.

I wasn’t prepared.

Not for the sound of her laugh echoing down the corridor, not for the way her silhouette caught the edge of the studio light, haloed in gold

Y/N.

Just standing there like no time had passed.

My whole body locked up.

“Hey, Jensen,” someone called behind me, but it was like the rest of the room dimmed.

She turned slowly, a coffee cup in hand, scanning the room—and then her eyes landed on mine.

I hadn’t seen her in seven years.

Seven years since Y/N walked away from 10 Inch Hero. 5 since I married Danneel. Since I convinced myself I could erase the part of my heart that used to beat for her.

She froze when she saw me. Her lips parted slightly, shock flooding her expression, but she didn’t look away.

Neither did I.

---

We were both quiet when we finally spoke. Small talk, at first.

She told me she’d moved around a lot. Got into special effects for a while, then makeup again. Told me she was freelancing. That she got out of a … difficult relationship. That word hung in the air like smoke.

I told her I was married to Danneel. She nodded once, like it stung more than she wanted it to.

“You look good, I knew she'd make you happy." she said, finally. But with a bitter smile.

“You look…” My voice caught. I tried to keep it neutral. Failed. “Better than I would have ever deserved.”

She laughed, but it was quieter now. Sadder.

---

It was raining by the time we wrapped for the day. Vancouver skies pouring like they knew exactly how dramatic this shit needed to be.

“You have a ride?” I asked her.

She shrugged. “Ride share bailed. I was gonna call another.”

“I’ll drive you,” I said before I could think twice.

She hesitated. “You sure?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Of course, for old times sake."

She sat beside me in the passenger seat, hugging her coat tighter. Streetlights flickered across her face, painting her in warm and cold alternately.

We didn’t say much. Music hummed softly from the radio. She was still so her. Soft around the edges but sharp where it counted. Tired now, though. Like she’d been carrying too much for too long.

She sighed and looked out the window. “You know I thought about you a lot. About that night."

My hands tightened on the wheel.

“Sorry I didn’t reach out,” she continued. “Because what would’ve been the point, right? In the end.... You got married. You were happy.”

I didn’t respond. Because I didn’t know if I had been.

“I thought you got over it,” she said quietly.

If she only knew.

The rain had slowed to a mist. I pulled up by her curb. She unbuckled her seatbelt and looked at me. "Thanks for the ride,” she said, voice low.

“Anytime,” I murmured, eyes fixed on her. Her fingers hovered over the handle, then paused. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“For what?” I asked.

“For… everything I didn’t understand back then. For not seeing it sooner. For waiting until now to talk to you.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Don’t.”

She turned toward me fully—and suddenly she looked like that girl by the campfire again, the one I couldn’t stop staring at.

I opened her door, we got out, but for some reason she stayed with her back against the car.

“I still dream about you,” I said out loud like a love sick puppy. But it was the truth.

I didn’t have time to react before she leaned in and kissed me. It wasn’t hesitant this time.

It was years of silence and heartbreak colliding in one motion. Her hand came to my jaw. My fingers tangled in her coat before I could stop myself.

When she pulled away, we both stayed there—foreheads almost touching, breath mingling in the quiet.

“You don’t have to come in,” she whispered. "But I have Margaritas." I smiled I rather have a whiskey.

---

The door shut behind me with a soft click.

I should’ve walked away. I should’ve said I’m married and meant it like a vow, not a sentence.

But I didn’t.

Because the second I looked at her standing in the soft amber glow of her hallway light, hair damp from the rain, lips parted, eyes on me…

I knew.

I’d never stop wanting her.

It was like time folded in on itself. One step inside her apartment and I wasn’t married, or broken, or scared—I was just a man who’d spent years pretending he didn’t love her.

And she was looking at me like she knew. Like she’d always known.

She stood there silent, nervous. My coat was still clinging to me, rain still drying on my sleeves. And yet, all I could feel was the heat between us.

"You shouldn't be here." She said without remorse.

"Want me to leave?" I said while walking closer.

"No."

---

We barely made it to the bedroom. Clothes were slow to come off—not rushed, not frantic—just reverent. Like every kiss was memorizing, every brush of her fingertips rewriting the years I lost.

My lips found her shoulder, her jaw, her collarbone. I kissed her like I was trying to undo the damage I’d done. And she kissed me like she’d never stopped waiting.

It wasn’t desperate. It was deliberate.

The kind of lovemaking that said I missed you, I needed you, and I’m still yours without ever speaking a word.

We took our time. Again and again.

And when it was done, we didn’t move. My arm stayed around her waist, her fingers resting on my chest, tracing lines like she was trying to sketch my heartbeat into her memory.

---

The sun slipped through the curtains like it was trying not to wake us.

I opened my eyes to find her still tucked beneath my arm, her cheek against my chest. The air was warm with quiet, thick with what came next.

She stretched a little, then looked up at me. "Morning."

After a long peaceful silence she asked.

“What now?” she whispered.

The question landed like a weight on my chest.

I stared at the ceiling, heart racing.

What now?

What now, when I’m still married?

What now, when I’ve wanted you for years and now that I finally have you, I don’t want to let go?

What now, when I don’t know if Danneel deserves to be hurt, but you don’t deserve to be lied to anymore?

I turned to her. My voice was hoarse. “I don’t want to lie to you.”

“I’m not asking you to,” she said gently. “But I need to know… if this was just last night or once or—”

I cut her off. “No. It wasn’t just last night. It’s never been with you.”

She exhaled, a shaky little breath. Her eyes searched mine.

“I want to be with you,” I said. “I know it’s going to be messy, she is... your friend, and I don’t have all the answers. But if you’re okay with it—if you want this too—I’m not walking away again.”

She blinked, stunned. “You’d really… leave her?”

“For you?” I said, brushing her hair back, hand trembling.

“I think I’ve been trying to be yours since the day I met you.”

---

Taglist:

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[namism]

first shot (2) | koby

➳ categories: modern au, established relationship ➳ warnings: nsfw (top koby, virgin koby, bottom reader, afab reader, koby has wild fantasies, making out, fingering, oral, penetration) ➳ word count: 7k

➳ summary: You're Koby's first at everything, so naturally, he has the wildest fantasies about you.

➳ PART ONE | PART TWO | FANART (please everyone HAS to see this. credits to @mibso) ➳ cross-posted on ao3

When you wake up, Koby is sprawled on the floor.

He's in an inconvenient position: legs entangled with the sheets, pillow a few inches away from his head. He's sleeping on his side with his arms and legs stretched out, and in all honesty, it's a ridiculous sight. But this is what he gets for turning down the offer to sleep on your bed the night before, leaving him with a stack of blankets and a couple of pillows on the ground.

You quietly hop off your bed and crouch beside him. His clothes are ruffled and his hair is thrashed around like a mess, both evident signs of a good night's sleep. But his breathing is somewhat uneven, his eyebrows are creased together, and he's forming a scowled look that should never come by when you're asleep. As you watch him, his fingers twitch and his lips part open.

Suddenly, he gasps.

You're taken aback. It was a soft light sound, something you would have missed if you weren't paying close attention, but the morning silence was on your side and you heard it perfectly. And what you heard almost sounded... sexual. Like your boyfriend is currently dreaming of something that he shouldn't be dreaming.

"Please... please do it."

You don't know what to make of the next few seconds. Before you know it, Koby lets out a few other sounds, ones inherently obscene, while his face contorts between expressions. As he does, you watch him intently, frozen and unknowing what to do.

When he moans your name softly, that's when you smile.

So he's thinking of you. Great. This is your first time witnessing him fidget while dreaming and it's not pure by any means. The soft sounds that pass through his lips prove just that. You wonder whether Koby thinks of you like this on the regular or he was just unluckily caught him in the middle of a wet dream, but whichever one it is, you're glad to have witnessed it.

With every passing second, his breathing becomes even more uneven. His face blushes pink. You look down at his torso, hot and stiff, until you see him printed on his pajamas.

"It's okay. You can give it to me anytime."

And just like that, you remember what happened last night. The urge to throw yourself at him for the first time bare naked still sits at the pit of your stomach. It's still there, and it's carnal, especially now that you're witnessing him wriggle on your floor to the thought of you.

You want to do it. Now, without holding back. It's easy for you to get yourself wet when you're in the presence of your boyfriend and his obvious morning wood, and the last time you offered to blow him out of pure sexual desire, he told you that anytime was okay. But you're rethinking your decision now, and is it really worth a shot?

Koby rolls on his back and you can see him even clearer. He's hard and poking through the fabric like he wants you to do it, like he's calling your name. And he literally does as he vocalizes another moan, more akin to a whimper, this time around.

Your name sounds good when he says it that way. It's breathless, it's airy, and it rolls off his tongue just right. You're tempted to bite the bait, just do what your heart says it wants to do, but your brain takes over and you shake your head. Frustratedly. Koby is a virgin and you aren't exactly a world expert at sex. He gave you permission, but you possibly can't blow him when you're fucking nervous. He's going to freak out, and chances are, you will, too.

So maybe you should give it time.

And you do, because you slip out of your room right after that, leaving Koby to wake up minutes later with a huge problem in his pants.

A week later, Koby is invited to Helmeppo's bougie birthday party, which ends up being hosted at a nightclub that his father owns.

"We own many clubs. This is one of the two in this city," he told Koby once, and the pink-haired man never forgot about it since then. Koby never went to clubs (he always found them overstimulating), and Helmeppo knew that. So when he showed signs of refusal, his best friend assured him with an arm slung across his shoulder that he could bring a plus one.

That leads to where you are now. You're in the best clubbing fit you can muster because Koby decided he can't do this thing alone. It's his first time going to one—"I don't blame you, there's a first for everything," you said to him—and if he was going to spend the night with someone other than his friends, it would be you. Also, having you there saves him the trouble of explaining his whereabouts. He knows for a fact that some girlfriends don't appreciate their boyfriends going out to wherever without a warning, and while you're not exactly like that, he'd rather let you know.

Since Helmeppo is the star of the night, he's busy entertaining the many guests he's invited over that he ends up leaving Koby alone with you. "Wouldn't want to interrupt your night anyway," he says to you both. The club has been sectioned off so that his guests stay at the balcony, but he gives you permission to wander as you please.

With that, you end up tugging Koby to the dance floor below. You tease him when the music transitions to a famous pop song, clenching his hands with yours and busting out a flirtatious twirl on your heel. Koby just watches, more amazed than ashamed that he doesn't dance as well as you do, until he's smiling like a dork because his heart is just full of you.

When you're back at the balcony, he's sipping on a strawberry mojito. Since he realized that he can drink whatever alcohol he likes without spending a dime, he ordered a drink with an ABV that he can tolerate. Thank you, Helmeppo.

"It's not as bad as I expected," says Koby through a long sip of his drink. Really, he's telling the truth. Everything in the area just seems so rich and bougie, like everyone who walks by knows that he doesn't belong there at all. So he was expecting much worse when he arrived, but it's been normal so far, which he's thankful for.

You sip on a cute mocktail you saw the bartender serving earlier. "Ditto. I don't go out either, but I was expecting worse. Just a bit overstimulating, though." Case in point, the DJ raises the volume of an EDM track he's mixing with a 2000's classic, and you wince at the sound.

Moments later, Hibari swings by with Grus and a guy you haven't seen before, his pink hair and glasses piquing your interest. Pointing a thumb behind her shoulder, she says to Koby, "It's Helmeppo. We got an emergency."

Koby glances at you. You let him wander off with the group as you proceed to the bar below after a few words of safety. When you squeeze past sweaty bodies and make it to the bar, you're welcomed by an unwanted guest.

"Hey, I'm Drake."

As soon as you sit down on a bar stool, you're greeted by a man a couple of years older than you. He has gelled red-brown hair and cerulean blue eyes and he dons a navy blue jacket with a pair of matching skinny jeans. He offers you his hand, but you stare at it blankly.

Mentally, you sigh. Clearly, you're about to be hit on, which you aren't in the mood for, but you don't want to be discourteous since you're Helmeppo's guest and it wouldn't reflect well on his family business if you start an altercation. So you suck it up and shake his hand while you patiently wait for your drink to arrive. "Drake", as he claims to be called, sits on the stool beside you and tries his luck to get into your pants.

"Could I get you something to drink?" he asks.

You look at him. You can't start a fight, but you can play nice. "You own the place?"

"Nah, just a regular. I know the place and the people, so I'm pretty sure you're new." A red buzzer sounds instantly in your head. He's a regular? No. Objectively not your type. "We have a tradition around here to buy newcomers a drink, so I think I should get you something nice."

Talk about alarming. You aren't the smartest person in the world, but you weren't born yesterday. This is the oldest trick in the book and you aren't liking it one bit. Where the heck is Koby?

Unconsciously, you look back up at the balcony where you should see your boyfriend with Helmeppo, but you see him cozying up with a blond girl in a ponytail. A blond girl who you know. Your eyebrows knit together.

Hibari?

Directing your attention back to Drake, you take a mental note of what you just saw and offer the guy across you a tight-lipped smile. "Thanks... but I'm good."

"Alright then," he says. Just when you think it's over, he hops off the stool, turns around, and leans his weight on the counter so that he's showing off his wide shoulders and height. "You from around here though?"

You groan internally. Forget about expecting worse—this experience by far is the worst. You don't go out often, but you didn't think nightclubbers were terrible at reading the room. You wonder just how spineless you look to these people.

"Nope, just traveling. Tourist," you lie through your teeth.

"Ah, cool, so do you—"

Suddenly, the bartender pushes an alcohol free mocktail toward your way. You heave a sigh of relief and plunge a metallic straw through your drink. Drake chuckles deeply, pushing his hands down his pockets.

"Guess you didn't it at all."

"Yep." As you take a long sip, you turn around and see Koby approaching the bar, his pink hair almost glowing like a halo from a distance. He's drowning in a sea of strangers, but his eyes are trained on you and only you. For a moment, what you saw at the balcony didn't matter. "Looks like my boyfriend's here, too."

"Boyfriend?" Drake mumbles under his breath. He looks at what—who—you're looking at and nods to himself bitterly. "Figures."

The moment Koby reaches you, his body is tensed. He immediately looks at Drake, but politely looks away and allows you to entangle his arm with yours.

"Enjoy the night," you tell the guy before you pull Koby into the dancing crowd, your hand over your open glass to avoid spillage. As you sway to the rhythm of the music, Koby leans close to you and snatches the glass from your hands.

"Who was that?" he asks. He tries to sneak another look at the guy, but he glances away the moment he realizes that he's still looking.

"Some guy who wanted to buy me a drink," you tell him.

Your boyfriend's face twists into panic. He looks down at the glass in his hands. "What?! He didn't actually buy you one, did he?"

You shake your head. "Of course not! I turned him down and watched the bartender make it." Koby exhales deeply. You embrace him. "Hey, I've been drinking mocktails all evening, so you can count on me to make sober decisions. I should be looking after you. Are you drunk?"

"I had a glass of mojito," he confesses.

"Are you tipsy?"

He shakes his head. "No. I couldn't taste the alcohol."

Elbowing him gently, you tease, "Manning up, I see. Never knew you could tolerate alcohol like that."

He laughs. "I don't. I just didn't drink much."

The night flies by quickly. Before you know it, the clock strikes two in the morning as reminded by your preset alarm going off in the effort to snap you back to reality. The club hasn't died down one bit, but Helmeppo and his friends have. Much of his guests have dispersed through the venue with the birthday boy himself snoozing away with a bottle of Jack on the VIP couches, while you and Koby are awake and sober next to him. When you show the first signs of restlessness, Koby takes the initiative to call the night over and leaves Helmeppo under Grus' trusty care.

The next thing you know, you're in a taxi en route to your apartment. Koby is beside you fighting off his exhaustion. The campus has closed thanks to its curfew policy, so he can't sneak back into his dorm even if he tries. Thankfully, you're there to help.

Back at your apartment, you're changing out of your clothes when Koby's phone rings. He looks away from you.

"Who's calling?" you ask.

"Helmeppo," he says. "Let me take it."

The caller turns out to be Hibari. She apparently lost her phone somewhere in the club and didn't realize it was missing until she was about to leave, so she fetched for Helmeppo's phone and contacted him. Koby helps her ring it a few times until she finds it stuck in between the sofa cushions a few minutes later.

"What was that about?" you chime from behind. Koby spins around to see you in just your bra and sweatpants. He instinctively looks away until he realizes that he doesn't need to.

"Hibari lost her phone so she called with Helmeppo's," he explains, but you don't look pleased. Flashbacks flicker through your head in an instant and you feel your suspicions bubble in your stomach. "Is there... something wrong?"

"Really?" Koby blinks. Uh oh. That doesn't sound good. "She called you?"

Koby is starting to get nervous. "H-Hibari?"

"She was snuggling up to you back at the club." Your eyes narrow at him. "Don't you remember?"

Instead of sweating profusely, Koby just stands there, confused. He doesn't remember Hibari doing that and as far as he knows, he was sober the whole night, so he couldn't have possibly snuggled with another girl fully conscious. But he also couldn't have noticed it, which might be a problem.

"I-I don't remember. I'm sorry," he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "If it makes you feel better, Hibari has a boyfriend so I know she wouldn't try anything on me."

Your eyes light up. "She does?"

Koby nods. He tells you that the boyfriend in question was at Helmeppo's party earlier that evening.

"Oh my god— no way. You're telling me her boyfriend was that guy? Pink hair and glasses?"

"Yeah. Forgot his name though. You might have mistaken him for me," he says. He thinks you're done getting jealous, but you still look perturbed. "Are... are you okay?"

"Well, I know it wasn't you who I saw with her, but I can't stop thinking of the fact that her boyfriend looks like my boyfriend."

Koby laughs.

"What?"

Hugging him tightly, you lean your head on his chest. "Her boyfriend has pink hair. Light pink, like yours. He wears glasses. Circular ones, like yours. Plus, he's around the same height as you. All he's lacking is your green bandana and he'd totally look like a discount version of you!"

Koby can't help but laugh. You have a point. He sees the resemblance between him and Hibari's boyfriend, but he wishes you aren't too mad about it. Hibari used to like him but he rejected her immediately. And while you aren't apprehensive about the thought of them sharing classes and hanging out with the same people, you still have your worries whenever she gets too close.

"She even called you just to look for her phone when there are, like, a hundred other strangers at the club who can help her look for it." You frown. "I want to bet that she still wants you."

Koby shakes his head. He rubs a comforting hand on your back, careful to avoid your bra strap. "I-I guess so, but I would run to you and only you. I never liked her anyway."

You look up at him. Koby looks down. You're fully leaning on him now, all your weight supported by his body.

"You only like me?"

"I only love you," he corrects. He ruffles your head, and just to solidify that thought, he leans down further to kiss you.

With that, you kiss him back. Koby responds to it quickly. His lips move in sync with yours as his eyes flutter close. The kiss is slow, sweet, and gentle, but as you keep it that way, he can't help but recall last week's events, the last time you kissed him at your apartment. When you were on top of him. When you were driving him crazy on your fourth month together. Now that you're in his arms again, he wonders what could've happened that night had your mother not interrupted, and if you could possibly continue where you both left off tonight.

You stay in his arms for a while until you're standing again and kissing back with more intention. When Koby doesn't expect it, you back him into a wall and flip your positions over so that he's got you cornered.

"I'm tired of just kissing you," you mumble in between his lips. "I want more of you."

Koby blushes furiously, his ears turning pink in a matter of seconds. He keeps kissing you through your whispered wishes, giving you all that he can. Then suddenly, he remembers that you're nothing but stripped of your top. Temptation takes over him in that moment and he sneaks a quick peek at your bra—it's still hooked, unfortunately, but he sees your breasts just enough to have his mind spiraling.

In the middle of his lustrous thoughts, however, you ask, "You aren't drunk, are you?"

"Huh?" he whispers. He kisses you again. "No. Just tired."

"Okay. Good." You encircle your arms around his neck. "Then"—you sigh deeply—"then you can feel me just the way you want, right?"

You latch your lips on his neck and you pepper his exposed skin with slow sensual kisses. Koby tenses, his lungs collapse, and suddenly, he's breathless. When your hands move to hold his, he understands what you want.

"Touch me, please," you ask him sweetly, "please do."

At your behest, his hands slither around your waist only for you to move them further down your backside. Koby does what you say and roams his hands around your hips, then your ass when you force his hands lower. His face erupts into flames, so he feels you through your sweatpants reluctantly as he tries to make sense of the situation. But you pull him closer, and he feels himself press on your lower stomach. Koby moans, quiet but loud enough for you to hear, and once he turns into a mess—your mess—his hands are moving on their own, squeezing and caressing your ass until you're satisfied.

Your hands trace his arms until you're sliding them down his torso. You press one hand on the hem of his pants, and when he doesn't object, you palm him confidently. He gasps. You trace his dick with a sole finger and he squirms further, reacting with a harder squeeze on your ass.

You kiss him up his neck, a playful smirk dancing on your lips, and you wonder what he's thinking of. Somehow in some way, swiping Koby of his virginity is a pleasant thought, one that turns you on and drives you crazy. You want to see him begging for you and making pleasant noises in your ear all because he feels good and you feel good around him. It's a thought that you've always wanted to come true, and something tells you it's happening tonight.

You gently bite his earlobe. Koby gasps again, high-pitched and embarrassed, but he loves it. He's breathless and barely thinking when you whisper into his ear, "Do you want me around you?" like it's a normal question to ask. Yet he tries with all his might to process it correctly, so he ends up saying "Yes," in a desperately shaky tone.

"Touch me first then," you reply, which he initially doesn't understand until you take his hand and guide them down your stomach, past the string of your sweats, and into your underwear. You lead his cautious fingers around your pants and let him feel you up, touch your pussy through the fabric, until he's moving his fingers on his own.

His face is fully flushed now, but he's nothing but satisfied. He teases your folds through your underwear and feels the heat of your cunt on his fingers, then he boldly decides to think fuck it and sweeps your panties to the side. He coats his fingers with your slick—hot, wet, and smooth—and rubs your lips with them, spreading your folds wider so he can slip in later on. Koby thinks back to his wet dreams where he imagined doing this to you over and over again and wonders if he's doing a good job now. He wants to ask, but his voice betrays him because he's pathetically scared of it. Yet you notice his conflicted emotions, and eventually pulling him closer, you whisper, "You feel good, keep going," which gives him the assurance that he's been waiting for.

Koby twists his wrists inside you and teases you rhythmically until he rakes your sweats. "Bed," you whisper, and together, you make a beeline for your bedroom where you strip for him, tugging your sweatpants and panties down your legs and unclasping your bra. Koby watches you from the edge of the bed with lust, takes in the sight of your tits and growing wetness, and decides to get rid of his shirt. You pull him on top of you and spread your legs wide for him. Koby brings his fingers back to your pussy, this time with much access, and observes your wetness while he plays with you.

When you're wet enough, he pushes his middle finger in your pussy and it slides in smoothly. "Is this okay?"

"Add another one," you beg through a moan, "please."

It doesn't take much to listen to you. Koby slides his ring finger next, and with two of them inside you, he moves them around, first at a slow safe pace, then second at a faster rhythmic pace that coaxes a low moan out of you. Koby knows he's doing well when your hands begin to claw at his bare chest, red and hot with sex flush, so he decides to quicken the pump of his fingers.

With every push inside you, he watches your pussy blossom for him. You take him so nicely, so wetly, so smoothly and with ease. Koby wishes it's his dick and he twitches in his pants, but he ignores it because if he ponders on it, if he thinks too hard, he's going to cum without you even touching him. And that would simply take the fun away.

Watching you stain his fingers lures Koby to fuck you faster, and with every moan, you buck your hips into his hand. He experimentally presses his other hand down on your lower stomach, adds some pressure that you find out you love, and boldly dives into you. You yelp as his tongue meets your pussy and flicks rapidly through your folds, collecting your wetness and tasting you without shame. Your hands fly to his hair, and you tug on it with his every lick. Koby whines into you but he doesn't stop. Instead he continues to eat you out like he'd always desired, his noises muffled in between your legs.

Shifting around the bed, he lays down on his chest and leans back into you. When you're close, Koby moves his lips to your clit and sucks on it. You throw your head back onto your pillows at the contact, and almost immediately, your legs close around his head. As you ride his tongue, Koby keeps your legs open with a strong hand on your thigh, but you respond with the placement of a loving hand on his cheek.

"I love that thing that you do," you encourage him. He looks up with glossy eyes. "Do it again."

"You mean this?" He flicks his tongue again on your clit and you moan. Really loudly, really sexually, and it's salacious enough that has him wondering how good he's doing just for you. When you nod vigorously, Koby takes it as a sign to repeat it again and again, with his fingers still pushing themselves into you but deeper than before.

He's so lost into you. Koby believes that he can probably do this to you everyday because you're just so amazing. Without even noticing it, he grinds down on your bed. He lets friction do its thing with his clothed dick and rocks himself back and forth in your sheets. He ruins himself the more he thinks about you, and when you moan his name desperately—"Koby, Koby, ugh, please"—he cums hard in his pants, so hard that he's whining and clawing at your body like crazy.

You finish on his tongue a few moments later, but you ride out your high until you're breathing normally. Koby does so, too, with his hips coming to a stop on the sheets. You look down at him. When he moves, he winces at the disgusting wetness in his pants, but he's too filled with pleasure to even care.

He falls on his side. He no longer has the energy to lift himself up or do anything else, so when you crawl next to him, all he does is look at you with hooded eyes. You're still naked, your nipples perked up and your pussy dripping with his spit, and it does look like you want to do more, but your gaze softens at him and he melts.

Unexpectedly, you rake your hands through his hair, kind of like a soft apology for tugging on them too much, and kiss him. You taste yourself in his lips, but you don't care. Your love overpowers whatever disgust you have for the mix of fluids on your tongues, because in that moment, in the quiet seconds you both spend just panting aloud, Koby is all you see and all you care about.

"Thank you," he hears you mumble in his ear, "I enjoyed that."

And suddenly, he's blushing again. Koby is too tired to find out whether or not he said "you're welcome" or "I love you", but whichever it is, you respond to it with a cute kissable smile that doesn't leave your face until you're pulling him into the bathroom to get changed.

Koby spends ten sleepy minutes in the bathroom before dressing himself and flopping on your bed.

He tries his hardest to stay awake, but before he knows it, he falls asleep quickly.

The next day, Koby is sitting on your couch. He's on his phone, watching a series of Instagram Reels that he can't seem to put down, while you're making breakfast for two.

When he woke up that morning, he decided he would cook for you because he felt bad for dozing off while you showered. To his dismay, you woke up the moment he did and got to your kitchen first. After fighting over the pan for three solid minutes, Koby gave up and let you do your thing.

And because you're doing your thing, you don't want to be disturbed. With that, Koby scrolls through Instagram, observing you from his peripheral vision and only looking up when he gets bored.

You serve him breakfast some time later. When you call him, Koby tucks his phone in his back pocket and rounds your island to pick a fork from the drawer. You cooked him an easy meal, something he can finish to keep himself full during this slow morning. And because he's thankful, he plants a soft kiss on your forehead.

"How romantic," you tease. You drop the spatula on the counter and charge at him with a kiss, but he gasps. Dramatically.

"Oh?" You back away. "Did I just hear some gasping?"

"No," he denies quickly. But there it goes again, only this time it's much louder and... sexual. Very sexual. "Um... I don't know why I did— shit."

Your eyebrows raise. "Koby."

"I can explain— fuck."

All of a sudden, his lower body feels weak. His knees shake and buckle. Koby leans forward on the counter with one hand across his stomach to support himself, and when a wave of emotions course through his body again, his head falls forward.

You place a hand on his shoulder. He squeezes his eyes close. Whatever he's feeling, it's strange. It's weird. But he doesn't want it to stop, because whatever is making him feel that way, feels undeniably good.

When he opens his eyes, that's when he realizes... he wasn't awake the entire time.

He'd been dreaming it all.

And he knows he was dreaming because all of a sudden, you're giggling softly.

This time, you're not in your kitchen. You're not in his dream. But you're in real life.

Koby looks around the room. When he feels some weight on his legs, he looks down, and to his surprise, you're on your knees before him. You're straddling his legs and your back is arched sensually as your head is tilted to the side. When he looks past you, he realizes that you're in nothing but a shirt, your bare ass out in the open for him to see.

And your mouth... well, to put it simply, your mouth is on him. On his dick. On his painfully hard dick that you managed to pull out of his pants while he was comfortably asleep. And as you slick him up with your wet tongue, your hand plays with him in a teasing manner, one that drives Koby crazy.

You're giving him head. But Koby doesn't register it in his mind because he doesn't believe that this is real life, and what is more realistic to him is the dream he just had, where you cooked him a loving meal before he started moaning for no fucking reason. Even when he shakes himself awake and adjusts his eyes to the morning light filtering through the curtains, he doesn't believe it.

So through his shock he asks, "W-what— what are you doing?"

You flatten your tongue on his dick. He groans softly. When he reacts, you decide to run your tongue up his shaft before responding, "Giving you head." He doesn't blink, doesn't even move. But you pump him a few times and you have him wrapped around your finger. "Do you like it like that?"

"I-I— ngh." Koby decides that he's in hell's paradise because his temptations are getting the best of him. He wants to grab onto something, maybe your shoulders or your head, but he's rethinking his decisions. You giggle. No, this can't be real. "Is this real?"

"Very much so, baby," you say, and as if to prove a point, you take his tip in between your lips. Koby whimpers. Blood rushes to his dick, he feels himself stiffen, and he closes his eyes shut because damn, your mouth feels good.

"How long have you been awake for?" he asks.

"Just a few minutes ago. I know you were dreaming of me." Koby blushes. That confirms it. "You were hard in your sleep."

"Y-yeah, I was," he confesses, "but I didn't—hah, shit—I didn't know you wake up early like this."

You giggle. "I mean"—you take his cock in for a few seconds before releasing him—"you were more exhausted than I was last night."

He nods weakly. Right. Last night. Last night when he first fucked you with his fingers for the first time before falling asleep like a baby. He should be ashamed for being more tired than you were, but his heart was about to leap out of his chest and he was too overwhelmed then. "O-kay."

"I figured I should give you a real orgasm to pay you back. And, you know, take care of you during a hard morning," you say with a grin on your lips. Koby watches you devilishly hit your face with his dick like the videos he's watched and imagined you two mimicking. His head falls back on the pillow. "Will you let me do that now, baby?"

As expected, he weakly nods and lets you. Koby relaxes his body on your bed, leaving his sleepy mind to deal with you and see where it goes from there. With his approval, you pull off his shorts before taking him in again. This time, you go deeper, allowing him to sink in your throat until you've taken all of him. Koby watches you through heavy eyelids, and when you bob your head up and down, he whines.

On the other hand, you're thrilled. Waking your boyfriend up like this was something you had been planning since you caught him in the middle of a wet dream. You knew that Koby wouldn't wake even if you slid on top of him because he was evidently tired from last night, so you did just that, undressing him with your teeth and pumping him in your fist as soon as you see his cock poking through his pants.

As you work on his dick, you find out that he likes to be stroked and played with. You start with his balls, just fondling them with your hands. He rocks his hips into you until he creates a rhythm that he loves. Holding him again, you watch him fuck himself in your hand, just sliding between your fist like he belongs there, and when your mouth drools salaciously, you suck on his tip to lick the drops of pre-cum that leak out of him.

He's leaking too much by the time you move your head at a faster pace. Koby's eyes shut close in response to the ecstasy, and when he's being too loud, he brings an arm to cover his face. He can feel himself getting close, evident by his tensed muscles under his shirt, but he tries not to cum because he doesn't want your mouth off of him just yet—this is the best his cock had ever felt, and your mouth is far more effective than his hand. He doesn't want you gone there. He wants you on him forever.

But before he cums, you stop. Koby loses the string of dirty memories and his muscles loosen at the snap of a finger. He whines beautifully in your ear and raises his hips instinctively toward your mouth again, but you throw an unopened condom packet on his stomach.

"I want you to cum in me," you say as you shift around the bed, crawling seductively up his torso. Koby is alarmed by your request, but he picks up the condom, tears it quickly, and decides that, yeah, he can most certainly cum inside you... as long as you account for protection, of course. Which technically means that he won't be finishing raw, but he guesses you like that dirty talk, like to pretend that it's real until he can actually cum inside you one day.

Koby reaches for his cock with the open condom packet in the other hand, but he feels jittery all of a sudden. He's about to lose his virginity after a night of fingering you for the first time. That's fucking amazing, if he says so himself. But he doesn't like where this is going because he woke up just six minutes ago and he hasn't done anything to you yet. Something needs to be done.

"I want to... I want to eat you out," he suggests nervously, which is fair for a guy who hasn't done it before. You rake your fingers through your hair as if to think. When you fall to his side, Koby gets his go signal.

"Come eat me out then," you challenge, spreading your legs the same way you did last night. You feel a slight ache from your sore muscles, but they're anything but displeasure.

Anxiously, Koby slithers in between your legs and places his hands on the back of your knees. Just like last night, you're wet, if not wetter than before. Koby glances at you, and when he sees your smile of approval, he dives into your pussy like a man starved, licking you up desperately and tasting you through your pulsing hole.

His clothes are off the next moment. Your nails dig into his shoulders as he brings his fingers to your legs. He pulls back, kisses the inside of your thighs, then uses his fingers to knead you in a circular motion. He pumps one finger, two fingers, and when you ooze for him, he licks you clean.

Koby has his way with you until his cock is hard and red again and practically begging for release. But he contains it, doesn't want to ruin the moment, because he's more concerned about making you feel good. He continues with his ministrations on your pussy until your legs begin to quiver around him, and when you're shrieking from the wave of pleasure, Koby pulls back to watch you make a mess on the bed.

Your wetness drips from the hole where his fingers were just in, but you recover quickly. You crawl toward Koby, pump him a few times, and watch him leak.

"You're hard again," you point out. Koby watches your hand on him and tries not to cum right then and there.

"Yeah— um, I-I kinda want to... you know."

"Fuck me already?" you finish with a giggle. He sighs.

"Yes," he agrees obediently. "I want to fuck you."

"Mm-hmm. Me too." Still holding onto him, you reach for the abandoned condom on the bed. You unravel the rubber and roll it down his dick, not before swiping the opportunity to throat him down beforehand. "You ready?"

Koby pats your head comfortingly. "If you are."

As you fall back on the bed, you pull Koby with you. He's hovering on top of you with one hand on his dick and the other to support himself. He brings his dick to your legs, realizes that he's about to actually fuck you, and gulps hard before pushing himself in.

He shakes. You encircle his neck. "It's okay, baby, just put in," you encourage, which drives him to push himself in you deeper, although slowly like he's afraid of hurting you.

He's deep inside you before you know it, taking deep breaths because you're wet and tight around him and he doesn't know how to properly act. But Koby decides to wait for you to adjust before he thrusts himself inside and out, from which he gradually picks up the pace until it's enjoyable.

Eventually, he feels the need to cum again. His head falls forward and he presses his body against yours. Your legs envelop his waist. His hands come up to your hair and gives it a nice gentle tug with every thrust that excites him, then when he can't handle it anymore, he laces his fingers with yours. You feel your stomach knot, but in the attempt to delay it, you clash your lips with Koby's and whine into his drooling mouth.

He slows down, but he rocks his hips into you, which you meet with your own thrusts. You hum at the sound of skin on skin and let your free hand grip his bicep. When he pulls away, you turn on your side and raise one leg for him, which he gladly keeps in the air as he continues thrusting with more access.

Koby keeps his hands busy while he fucks himself inside you. He leans forward so that you're basically splitting, and with heavy breaths, he fondles your tits. He squeezes them when he hits a spot, but strokes them to your liking otherwise. Your hands grip his as he does so, like you're guiding him while he plays with you, and direct him to your sensitive nipples.

Soon enough, he's lapping on your breasts and sucking your nipples dry. Moaning into your hand, you grind down on his dick until the pressure builds at the pit of your stomach. You claw at Koby's chest to chase your orgasm, but he does the unthinkable and flips you on your hands and knees, and continues to piston into you from behind.

He pulls your hair from the back, earning a sensitive, "oh— ohhh, Koby—" that riles him up more than ever. When he hears you mewl his name far too many times, he knows that you—and he—are about to snap, which doesn't take long because he's hitting your g-spot so good.

He milks himself dry inside you moments later, his eyes shutting close as he cums harder than ever before. You follow him soon afterward, your ass meeting his slowed thrusts, until your breathing calms and you fall to the bed in front of you.

Looking over your shoulder, you observe your boyfriend intently. He's tired, his whole face is flushed, and he's shaking if you look close enough. You prop yourself up on weak hands just as he ties off the condom. He shoots it in the trash can by your desk and meets you at the edge of your bed.

"Hm?" he mumbles. You smirk.

"Sleepyhead." He pouts.

Collapsing on the space beside you, he says, "That was tiring, okay?"

You lean against him. "I know, but you made it fun for something considered as your first. Thank you."

Koby melts when you snuggle beside him and place your head right where his heart beats. You poke fun at him a little more after that, bringing up his cute whines and dirty wet dreams, before you spend some minutes in comfortable silence.

Koby is going to need at least a week to process everything that happened this morning, but he doesn't mind it. As long as it's you that he's thinking of, he wouldn't have any complaints at all.

-

OKAY THAT'S THE END OF IT!! i have yet to proofread a second time but i'm very glad that this is done because i have 30 other drafts waiting to be finished and i can officially say that i contributed to the koby fandom with pure fucking filth :D

will i be writing a part 3? most likely not because i have no ideas left and the conflict (virgin sexless koby) has been "solved" T-T but anyway thanks again to @mibso for the partial idea (which you can read here) and for drawing that koby fanart that drove me crazy. very sorry as well that this turned out to be 11,000 words long, i have no excuse for that other than being horny. so yeah. my bad