#Good to know I was right about some of the things I noticed

[anghimalaaynasapuso]

GYM CRUSH SIMON

sfw + nsfw. unsafe sex. womb fucking. no condom.

you never planned on becoming a late-night gym rat. it just …happened. like most things in your life, it started with good intentions and spiraled into something you weren’t entirely in control of.

you’d made a new year’s resolution to get in shape— because health, discipline, all that crap— and, in a moment of overzealous optimism, you splurged on a gym membership. a pricey one, to add. the kind that made your bank account cry, which meant quitting wasn’t an option.

there was only one problem. you were busy. between classes, assignments, and the absolute joke that was your sleep schedule, the only time you could consistently work out was well past normal human hours.

at first, the idea of hitting the gym at midnight felt… weird. like stepping into a parallel universe where only insomniacs and questionable life choices existed. but then you considered the alternative— going during peak hours and getting judged for your piss-poor form, or worse, waiting in line for machines behind a dude who was live-streaming his workout.

midnight schedule it was.

it grew on you eventually. the routine became second nature. drag yourself in after class, half-asleep, toss your bag into a locker, and start on the treadmill to wake yourself up. a slow warm-up, music blasting through your headphones, then a mostly half-hearted attempt at strength training.

the people who showed up at this hour were predictable. a few other students— dead-eyed, running on caffeine fumes. a handful of older folks, the dedicated ones who treated the gym like a sacred temple.

and then there was him.

tall. broad. built like something out of a military recruitment ad.

the first time you noticed him, you’d nearly tripped on the treadmill. one second, you were zoning out, staring at the clock, and the next— there he was. buzz cut barely visible beneath the hood of his sweatshirt, arms thick with muscle, veins running down his forearms in stark lines. tattoos peeked from under his sleeves, black ink tracing the ridges of his skin.

(the combat boots were what threw you off. who the hell wore combat boots to the gym?)

he moved through his workout with terrifying

efficiency. no wasted movements, no unnecessary pauses. heavyweights. circuits. the kind of training that looked more like preparation for war than casual fitness. he never looked winded either. no gasping for breath, no pausing to rest, just relentless, controlled effort.

you developed a— not a crush— an appreciation for him. admiration. respect. that was it. not the way his hoodie stretched across his shoulders when he adjusted his grip on the barbell. not the way his jaw clenched in concentration. not the way his fingers wrapped around the weights with an ease that made you feel woefully inadequate.

“it’s a crush,” your friend announced one evening, stabbing a straw into his juice box.

you scoffed, flipping through your notes. “it’s not.”

“it is. i’m fit too, but i don’t see you staring at me like you wanna lick salt off my abs.”

you made a disgusted noise. “jesus, shut up.”

he grinned, tipping his juice box back dramatically. “i’m just saying. the fact that you haven’t even talked to him and yet know his entire workout routine is very-"

“i do not know his entire workout routine.”

your friend raised a brow.

you sighed. “…he does back and legs on tuesdays.”

his brow lifted higher.

“…and arms on thursdays.”

silence.

“right.”

“shut up.”

you’d considered talking to him. maybe asking for tips or making some awkward joke about his frankly ridiculous choice of gym footwear. but he didn’t exactly radiate approachable.

the man looked like he’d rather be waterboarded than engage in small talk.

and you? you weren’t some plucky rom-com protagonist who could charm the brooding loner into friendship with a dazzling smile and sheer force of personality. so, you kept your distance. which was fine. totally fine.

What the hell would you even say? “hey, nice pecs, can I bury my face between them?” he’d call the police on you.

so, you stayed quiet..

until the night you made the monumentally stupid decision to start lifting weights.

in your defense, it wasn’t entirely your idea. you were perfectly content with your usual treadmill-and-machines routine. but then your friend had to go and mock you.

“you’re paying for a full gym membership,” he said, flicking a fry at your forehead, “and you’re not even using the weight room?”

“i use it,” you protested.

“you walk through it.”

okay, fine. he had a point. which was how you ended up here, standing in front of a barbell, mentally preparing yourself to lift it like you were about to perform brain surgery.

you’d done your research— watched some youtube tutorials, read some articles. you knew the basics. foot placement. core engagement. not arching your back like a possessed demon.

you took a deep breath, squared your stance, wrapped your hands around the bar, and— nothing.

the bar didn’t budge.

you frowned, adjusted your grip. another deep breath. still nothing.

okay. you could do this. just, more force. maybe a little momentum. you planted your feet, sucked in a breath, and heaved—

"y’need a spotter?"

you startle so hard you nearly fall backward, breath catching as you whip around. close— he’s close, and jesus, he’s even bigger up close. broad shoulders, thick arms crossed over his chest, pale eyes flicking between you and the barbell like he’s already making peace with witnessing an injury. his hoodie is pulled up like always, shadows cutting sharp over the edges of his jaw, but there’s something vaguely unimpressed about his expression. braced for disaster.

you swallow. "uh."

his brow lifts, expectant, as if this is some kind of trick question. "that a yes or a no?"

"i-" your brain short-circuits. every ounce of confidence you had a second ago shrivels up and dies. "i totally got this."

he exhales sharply, something between a scoff and a sigh. he shifts his weight, one foot bracing slightly forward. "sure you do.

your face heats. you turn back to the barbell, fingers tightening around the metal, and pull. it lifts— barely. your arms burn, hands already sweating, but you’re stubborn. you have it. almost.

"you’re about to smash your fucking face in," he mutters.

you falter— just for a second— but that’s all it takes. your grip slips, the weight tilting. shit, shit, shit!

he moves fast. faster than you expect. before you can even panic properly, his hands brace yours, steadying the bar with zero effort. he’s strong, fingers wrapping over yours for a brief moment before smoothly guiding the weight back onto the rack like it weighs nothing. you stumble back, arms trembling from the strain, but he doesn’t step away yet, just watches you catch your breath.

"right," he says after a beat, stepping back. "now that you’ve definitely got it, mind if i give you some actual pointers?"

you blink up at him, still processing the fact that you almost died, and this guy just saved your life like it was nothing. "you train people?"

"no. just rather not watch someone crush their skull in." which is… fair, you suppose.

you wipe your sweaty palms on your leggings, trying not to look as embarrassed as you feel. "okay. please. teach me."

you and simon— you learn his name by the third day!— slowly fall into a routine, much to his chagrin. he hadn’t expected offering to help you not splatter brain matter across the gym floor would lead to... this. a persistent presence. a shadow in his periphery.

he doesn’t know how it happened, how you managed to wedge yourself into the one place he thought was untouchable, but somehow, you did. and now, you’re there. always. not in an overbearing way. you don’t talk his ear off or force yourself on him. if anything, you’re surprisingly easy to be around. and worse— comfortable. which is fucking dangerous.

a routine starts forming. he hadn’t expected that offering to help you not crush your own skull under a barbell would lead to… this. hadn’t expected that you’d still be here, three days later, four, a week, waving at him when he walks in, bright-eyed and warm despite the ungodly hour. he tries to keep you at arm’s length, really, he does.

but you’re not loud. you don’t force yourself on him. you don’t pry or try to push past his walls— you just exist, alongside him, like it’s a natural thing in the world. you ask him questions, ease him into conversations so seamlessly that sometimes he doesn’t even notice he’s talking until he’s already halfway into answering.

"you ever listen to anything in those headphones?"

he glances at you, then down at his battered over-ear set, blinking like he’d forgotten they were even on. "sometimes."

you hum, stepping up to adjust your weights. "what kinda music?

he hesitates. "depends."

"on?"

"the day."

you narrow your eyes. "that’s not an answer."

"sure it is."

you mutter something under your breath about how “everyone in this gym is allergic to giving a straight answer,” but drop it— he notices that about you. you ask, but you never push. never press. you’re content with whatever he gives, and somehow that makes him want to give you more.

it’s little things at first. small details. he learns that you hate most protein juices but drink it anyway, that you run cold so you always wear a hoodie even when you’re sweating through it, that you hate country music and give him a long, horrified look when you learn that he doesn’t. ("not all of it," he defends, rolling his eyes. "some of it’s alright." you just shake your head at him like he’s beyond saving.)

you learn things too. that his tattoos are actually a full sleeve ("when’d you get these?" "over time." "wow, thanks, that clears so much up."), that he has an endless supply of grey hoodies and sweatpants that he refuses to explain.

"you ever heard of color?" you ask, plucking at his sleeve, and he swats your hand away. "practical," he grunts. "s’not a fuckin’ fashion show."

and then— of course— you fixate on the boots. the combat boots. “okay, but why?” you prod, nudging the toe of his boot with yours. “you know you can wear actual gym shoes, right?”

he gives you a flat look, expression unreadable under the shadow of his hood. “they’re my only pair.”

you freeze. your face twists, and there’s this flicker of genuine horror in your eyes that throws him completely off guard. “simon... are you... homeless?” your voice drops to a whisper, hesitant, like you’re afraid to even ask. his brain short-circuits. he smacks you lightly over the head, more shocked than anything.

"what the fuck- no, i'm not homeless, jesus."

you rub the spot with a pout, still eyeing him like you're not completely convinced. “well, i don’t know,” you mumble.

“you wear the same thing every day, never see you with a bag or a wallet or-”

“drop it.”

“-you don’t even buy pre-workout, simon, who does that-”

“drop it.”

some days, he comes into the gym in a mood. the kind where his head is full of static, his skin prickling with the restless need to exhaust himself into oblivion. those are the days he doesn’t want to talk. doesn’t want to be seen. and you— you notice. you don’t come up to him, don’t pester him or try to joke around like normal. instead, you just stand off to the side, watching him with this soft, wide-eyed expression like some kind of kicked puppy.

it’s unbearable.

like an itch under his skin that won’t go away. it eats at him, gnaws at the edges of his concentration, and before he can help it, he’s groaning and gesturing you over with a sharp flick of his fingers. “for fuck’s sake, just get over here already.”

you grin like you’ve won something, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet as you jog over, and he regrets it immediately.

you bring him coffee sometimes. at first, he doesn’t know how to react. he just stares at it when you shove the cup into his hands, blinking down at the little scribbled name on the side like it’s some kind of foreign object. he doesn’t even like sugary coffee, but he drinks it anyway.

the next day, guilt eats at him, so he shoves a protein shake into your hands, unwilling to meet your eyes. "s’only fair."

you squint at it, shake the bottle, listening to the liquid inside slosh around. “what’s in it?”

he scoffs. "fuckin’ cyanide."

you take an exaggerated sniff before grinning. “smells like peanut butter.”

his eye twitches. “just drink it.”

and then, somehow, that becomes a thing, too. a habit. every other day, one of you brings the other something— coffee, protein shakes, the occasional energy drink when you can tell he’s running on fumes.

one night, the gym is nearly empty. just the hum of air conditioning, the occasional clink of metal, the low buzz of some forgotten playlist over the speakers. the late hour has driven most people out, leaving only you and simon.

you’re exhausted, arms shaking, muscles burning with that deep, satisfying ache, but you’re pushing for one more rep. just one.

simon stands behind you, watching through the mirror. arms crossed, weight shifted slightly forward. tracking every movement, every shift in your stance, the way your hands tighten around the bar.

"you're on fumes," he mutters, but steps closer anyway, close enough that the heat of him presses against your back.

you roll your shoulders, shake out your wrists. “i got it.”

he exhales sharp through his nose, scoff and sigh rolled into one, but he doesn’t argue. just moves in, bracketing your sides, his presence steadying.

"alright," he murmurs, watching as you adjust your grip.

you brace yourself, pull, and the weight barely moves. your arms burn immediately, tendons screaming under the strain. your grip shifts, fingers trembling, slipping—

his hands are there. firm and certain, sliding just beneath yours, adjusting your hold without taking over. his chest nearly against your back, his breath warm against the top of your head.

"fix that grip, sweetheart."

you do, fingers locking down harder, shoulders bracing. he doesn’t let go, not fully, his palms ghosting over your forearms, steadying you just enough.

"lock it out," he says, quiet but insistent. his hands shift, one flattening against your stomach, the other hovering at your ribs, like he can feel where the tension is pulling wrong, where you need to engage. "push through. i’ve got you."

your breath stutters, something curling low in your stomach, and you force everything into that last pull, dragging the bar up, arms shaking, until you finally lock it out.

his fingers press in, just briefly, a quick squeeze at your ribs. "good."

you hold it for a second before guiding the weight back down, slow and controlled. the second it racks, your body gives, arms dead, shoulders screaming.

you stumble, just a little, and his hands are already there, catching at your waist. warm. solid. fingers pressing in just enough to steady you. they linger, just a second too long.

and then— "good girl."

barely above a murmur, just breath and heat against your skin, but it slams through you all the same.

your stomach tightens. your pulse jumps. you freeze.

you turn, still breathless, muscles trembling from exertion.

and he’s right there. solid. massive. crowding you. broad chest rising and falling, sweat clinging to the fabric stretched over muscle. too close, heat rolling off him, sinking into your skin, and making your stomach twist. up close, he’s all sharp lines and thick muscle, biceps flexing slightly as he rolls his shoulders back, tilting his head down to look at you.

"don’t-" your voice breaks. you swallow hard. "don’t do that."

simon’s brow lifts, lazy. "don’t do what, sweetheart?"

your fingers twitch at your sides. you gesture vaguely, heat curling up your spine. "that. the- the praise."

his mouth quirks, amusement flickering at the edges. "what, telling you you’re doing good?"

"yes."

he makes a sound low in his throat. "why? thought you liked it."

you try to start a defense, but he steps closer, and fuck, there’s nowhere to go.

"you did so good," he murmurs. his hand lifts, brushing over the curve of your waist. "pushed yourself real hard. took every single rep like a good girl."

your breath catches and oh, does he catch on to that.

"you like hearing that, don’t you?" his fingers curl, pressing into your hip. "knowing i’m right there, watching you, making sure you finish strong."

low, warm, approving—

"bet that’s why you pushed so hard," he continues, like he’s musing to himself. "just to hear me say it. just to make me proud."

simon’s eyes flicker to the vein in your neck. his other hand lifts, brushing a damp strand of hair away from your face, slow, almost tender.

"say it, sweetheart," he murmurs. "let me take care of you.”

“please.”

the rest of the gym is a blur. you don’t even register leaving, don’t remember how you end up outside, only that simon’s hand is wrapped tight around your wrist, dragging you through the parking lot with a single-minded purpose. the concrete expanse is empty except for simon’s truck parked just underneath a street lamp.

simon hauls you into the backseat, the door slamming shut behind him. the truck rocks with the force of it, windows already fogging, the stale scent of leather and the last remnants of his cologne in the air. the streetlights outside cast a dim glow that cuts through the darkness in thin streaks, glinting off the sweat at his temples.

his hands are on you before you can think. rough, impatient. he grabs your hips, yanks you into his lap, drags you down until you crash against him. the heat of him burns through every layer between you.

his hips roll up.

you jolt, hands flying to his shoulders, gripping tight as the thick shape of him grinds against your clit. even through the fabric, you feel everything— the ridges, the weight, the solid pressure slotting perfectly against you.

he does it again.

your breath catches, legs tensing where they straddle his thighs. you try to move, to adjust, but his hands flex, fingers digging in, keeping you pinned where he wants you.

"shh," simon hushes, arm against your skin, grip tightening as he forces you down harder, thighs flexing beneath you. "let me feel you."

his hips drag against you and you react before your brain can catch up, instinct driving you forward, grinding down, chasing the pressure.

his breath stutters, shoulders tensing as he watches you move. the friction grows slicker, hotter, the damp fabric sticking between you.

you glance down— and then you see it. his sweats, darkened, soaked where you grind against him, your arousal leaking through, making a mess of him.

"fuck-"

he exhales sharply, hands shifting, one palm smoothing down your thigh before gripping, pulling you into him.

"that’s it." he’s almost slurring his words now, his hips rolling up to meet yours. "so fuckin’ wet..."

your nails bite into his arms, your body working without thought, hips rolling, pressing down harder. the truck shifts with every movement, the worn leather seat creaking beneath you.

"fuck, baby." his lips brush your jaw. "so messy. feel that?"

you nod frantically and his cock jumps at your eagerness.

his patience snaps.

one moment you’re grinding down against him, chasing the delicious friction, and the next you're scrambling for purchase as he lifts you.

simon shoves his sweats down, and his cock springs free, slapping up against his stomach. it's thick. throbbing. the flushed tip leaking pre, smearing along the ridges of his abs, catching in the dim of the streetlights.

he’s big. not just in length— though fuck, he’s long enough to make your stomach clench— but thick, too. veins run along the shaft, disappearing beneath the flushed, ruddy skin. the head is a deep, aching red, fat and swollen, leaking so much it dribbles down, streaking along his cock, mixing with the slick mess you’ve already made on him.

the weight of him makes his cock hang low even as it twitches, pulsing with the rush of blood. it looks almost angry, the veins along the base throbbing, his whole cock flexing with each slow pump of his fist as he strokes himself, spreading the mess of precum along his length.

simon watches your expression shift, pleased. "knew you’d like that.”

he's teasing but you barely hear it. your eyes stay locked on him, pulse hammering as you take in the sheer size, the stretch you’re about to take—

he shifts his grip, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other around his cock. your hips twitch, instinct making you reach for him, trying to press forward, but he holds you back, squeezes to get your attention.

"look at that..” simon presses the head of his cock against your stomach, dragging it up, smearing wet along your skin. "gonna take all this, yeah? let me stretch that little cunt open?"

"yes- yes, please-"

"fuck." his breath shudders, his hold on you tightening. "greedy thing."

he yanks you forward, spreads your legs wider, fits himself between your thighs, grinds his cock through your slit.

the first press makes you jolt, your whole body twitching, a choked sound slipping from your throat. he groans, gripping your waist, shoving you down, rubbing your swollen clit against the head, dragging himself through your slick over and over again.

"desperate," he muses, almost cruel. "thought you could take me just like that?"

you try to answer, try to say something, but your brain doesn't work, body too busy chasing relief, hips jerking, cunt aching, a mess of whimpers spilling from your lips.

his cock is heavy against your stomach, his tip leaving a damp streak along your skin as he drags it upward. the grip he has on your waist is firm, fingers pressing deep into your flesh, keeping you still, making sure you see exactly how much of him is about to disappear inside you.

“look at that,” he murmurs, lilted by something dark and pleased. “gonna fit all this inside, yeah? stretch that little cunt open real nice for me?”

your breath shudders in your throat. the weight of him, the sheer size, sends a pulse of heat through you, thighs trembling where he holds them apart. he presses his cock higher, smearing himself over your navel, dragging slow just to watch the way your stomach flexes beneath him.

simon's fingers tighten at your hips, anchoring you in place. his eyes flick up, locking onto yours. “still want it?”

you can’t nod fast enough, hands fisting in the hard muscle of his shoulders, your pulse drumming against your ribs. “yes-”

he huffs a quiet laugh before shaking his head. then he moves, his hands shifting to your waistband. simon doesn’t take his time, doesn’t tease— just yanks your shorts down in one rough motion, shoving them past your thighs, tossing them aside like they’re nothing.

your panties are soaked through, the thin fabric clinging to your skin, darker where arousal has seeped into it. his gaze drops, and he groans, fingers flexing against your thighs.

his eyes practically shine as he reaches down, hooking two fingers into the waistband, pulling the fabric to the side instead of taking it off completely. “how long have you been sittin’ here all wet for me, huh?”

then, without warning, he lifts his cock and slaps it against your cunt. the obscene sound echoes between you.

you jolt, a sharp gasp catching in your throat. the weight of him presses down, drags over your swollen folds, smearing your slick along the length of him, leaving him just as messy as you.

simon's breath hitches, jaw going tight for a moment before he grins. “feel that?” he rocks his hips, slow and deliberate, the ridge of his head catching against your clit with every motion. “soaked for me. filthy girl.”

he keeps at it, rutting through your folds, dragging his cock against you in long, teasing glides. every lazy roll of his hips spreads more wetness between you, slick growing messier, needier, your arousal coating every inch of him.

his voice drops lower, almost awed. “you always this wet?”

you shake your head. you're not even sure why you're this wet. it’s obscene, every slow slide of him making a sticky, wet sound, the kind that makes your face burn with embarrassment.

his grip on your thighs tightens. he presses against you harder, lets his cock drag through the mess, smearing it everywhere, making it worse.

“just for me then?” he asks, watching the way his cock glistens, slick with everything you’ve given him. “i kind of like that.”

he lines himself up, pressing the thick, leaking tip against your aching entrance. he lets it catch there for a second, teasing, before dragging it up one last time, rubbing against your clit, watching you twitch beneath him.

then he settles back down, pressing again, the heavy weight of him poised to sink inside.

his eyes flick back to yours. “gonna let me in now, yeah?”

the first push is a mistake. he realizes it the second you tense up, sucking in a sharp breath, thighs trembling where they’re spread over his lap. his cock barely breaches you— just the tip, barely an inch— and your body locks up, refusing to take more.

simon grits his teeth, hands firm on your waist, trying to ease you down, but you’re too tight, squeezing around him like you’re trying to push him out. the head of his cock throbs where it’s barely inside you, thick and unyielding, stretching you too much, too fast.

he exhales through his nose, slow and measured, and tries again. rocks his hips, nudging deeper, letting you feel the weight of him pressing in. but you whimper, body trembling, nails biting into his skin. your walls clench down hard, resisting, and—

he stops. groans, and drops his head back against the seat.

"jesus christ." his palm drags over his face. "knew you were tight, but- fuck. you’re not gonna take me like this."

your face burns. your throat aches. frustration coils hot in your chest. "i’m sorry-"

"oh, sweetheart." simon's hands slide up your back, rough palms smoothing over your skin before he leans back, head tilting, eyes flicking over you. half amused, half exasperated. "you apologizing for having a cunt this tight?"

you sniffle, shifting in his lap, arousal sticky between your thighs. "but i wanted to-"

"you will." his voice is steady, calm, but his grip on your hips tightens. "just gotta take my time, yeah? don’t want you cryin’ when i finally get this cock in you."

you sniff again, blinking up at him, vision blurred, lips parted. "too late."

he huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "fuckin’ hell."

then his hands are moving again, trailing lower, fingers slipping between your slick folds, pressing in slow.

you jolt at the touch, a sharp, wrecked little sound catching in your throat. simon groans, watching the way you twitch in his lap.

"fuck, baby. so sensitive. all worked up and nowhere to put it, huh?"

you nod, heat crawling up your neck, hips jerking as he rubs slow, lazy circles over your clit. his fingers are thick, rough, dragging through the mess between your thighs, teasing, pressing just enough to make your breath stutter.

"s’not fair," you mumble.

"life’s not fair, sweetheart." his fingers press in again, pushing deeper. one first, stretching you open, curling inside. then another. then a third. his other hand stays on your thigh, keeping you spread, holding you open so he can watch the way you take him.

"gotta get you nice and open." his voice low and warm. "don’t want you breakin’ on me just yet."

you whimper, rocking into his hand, clenching down around his fingers. your clit throbs under his thumb, swollen and aching, every slow grind of his palm sending another shudder through you.

"shh. just let me do this for you, yeah?"

you do. trembling, gasping, grinding down, taking everything he gives until you’re loose, slick, ready.

when he pulls his fingers out, you whine, walls fluttering around nothing.

then his cock is back, pressing against your entrance, thick and hot, teasing for only a moment before he pushes in—

you take him.

the stretch is unbearable. every inch forces you open, slow and deliberate, the thick drag of him pressing deeper than anything ever has. your breath stutters, body shaking, thighs trembling where they rest over his.

"fuck, sweetheart," he groans, voice tight, hands gripping your hips, keeping you still, keeping you from pulling away. "you feel that? squeezing me so fuckin’ tight."

you do. every ridge, every vein, the slow, impossible push of him splitting you open, inch by inch, pressing deep— then he stops.

breath stuttering, you blink at him, dazed, confused, still so empty. "w-why-"

"baby," his voice is almost pained. "m’pressing right up against your cervix. can’t go any deeper."

but it’s not enough. you whimper, hips twitching, shifting to take more, to sink lower. "but i still feel empty, si.."

his jaw clenches, fingers digging into your thighs, trying to keep you still, stopping you from punching a fucking hole through your guts. "jesus, sweetheart. you don’t know what you’re askin."

"please," you breathe, eyes glassy, desperate. "si, please, want all of you-"

he groans, head dropping back against the seat, restraint hanging by a thread. "fuck."

then his grip tightens, and before you can say another word, he forces you down the rest of the way.

"oh-oh my god-" your whole body shakes, a strangled moan ripping from your throat as the thick head of his cock breaches your cervix, slipping into your womb, stuffing you full.

simon grunts, the squeeze of you making his vision blur for a second. "jesus fuckin’ christ."

the moment he bottoms out, your walls clamp down, fluttering, pulsing around him— the pleasure snaps without warning, white-hot, rolling through you all at once.

"fuck- fuck, baby." he curses, the squeeze of your cunt almost painful. his half-lidded eyes are trained on where the two of you connect, the way you gush around him, soaking his cock. "just from takin’ me all the way? filthy fuckin’ thing-"

he huffs a rough laugh, fingers flexing against your hips, appreciating the extra slick easing the way. "makes it easier, at least," he mutters, then starts to move.

it’s slow at first— just enough to let you feel it, to make you ache through the thick drag of him pulling back, just enough to let you whimper at the sheer pressure of his cock pressing against every swollen, overstimulated inch of your cunt.

but you’re already gone.

your lashes flutter, your lips part around soft, wrecked little sounds, your hips twitching even though he’s holding you down, even though you’re already stuffed so fucking full.

"look at you," he murmurs, dragging a palm up your belly, pressing down right where he’s so deep, groaning when he feels the outline of himself inside you. "fuckin’ cock-drunk already, sweetheart?"

you sob, thighs squeezing around his waist, hands grasping at him, trying to find something to hold onto as your hips jerk, rolling forward mindlessly, instinct driving you to take more, take everything.

he groans, gripping your jaw, tilting your face up so he can see all of it.

"can’t even talk, can you? too fuckin’ dumb to think straight."

"s-simon-"

"what, love? too far gone already?"

his smirk is wicked, his grip tight as he presses his hips up, spearing you open all over again.

you scream, body jerking, back arching, thighs trembling around him. "ohh- oh fuck-"

"there we go." his voice is full of praise, full of something dark and indulgent. "there’s my good girl."

he sets a slow rhythm, dragging his cock out until only the thick head is inside you before slamming all the way back in, spearing you open, making sure you feel it, making sure you take every inch.

"bloody hell," he mutterd, feeling the way your walls squeeze him, the way you shudder, the way you drip around him, slick gushing, soaking his cock, ruining his seats.

"listen to that, sweetheart," he groans, shifting his grip, spreading his knees just a little wider to pin you in place. "fuckin’ mess you’re makin."

he glances down, eyes nearly rolling at the sight— your cunt stretched wide around him, slick dripping down to his balls, pooling beneath you.

"christ, love." he has to gasp for breath. "fuckin’ leaking all over me- ruinin’ my fuckin’ truck-"

"s-simon-" you lose your train of thought, babbling incomprehensible strings of words.

"can't think?" simon's grin sharpens. "good. don’t need you thinkin."

then he fucks you properly.

[hipstersfoundmyrobot]

Over the past ten years, Danny Fenton’s life has been a whirlwind, and that’s an understatement. Nonetheless, despite being the Ghost King and a consultant for the JLD as Phantom, Danny’s life is ordinary. Or as ordinary as a halfa king could manage.

Danny remembers being 17 and feeling so helpless and overwhelmed, especially when Jazz moved away for college. He didn’t expect that to be the end of his struggles. His sister coming back for Christmas break with the Justice League in tow was not on his bingo card, nor were his parents and Vlad being tried for supervillainy or the Anti-Ecto Acts and the GIW being a hoax. However, according to Tucker, the most surprising part of their senior year was their trio graduating with near-perfect attendance and good grades.

Nowadays, life is good for Danny. While his responsibilities as the High King of the Infinite Realms and his attachment to his haunt keep him from leaving Amity Park, he has found balance. After his identity as Phantom was revealed to the town, the community rallied in support of the half-dead teenager who saw his parents go to jail. Following Jazz’s insistence, he has enrolled in an online Astronomy and Engineering degree, which he finds much easier than high school. He doesn’t even have to worry about money, being the new owner of FentonWorks and DalvCo.

All in all, life is, finally, cutting the halfa some slack, which is why he now has more free time to fill, ergo his current situation. Sam, Tucker and Jazz are debating on his computer screen about what hobby he should try.

“Danny, dude, I’m telling you, you should take programming classes. We could make our own video game and-“Tucker’s excited rant cuts off as Jazz mutes the both of them.

“After the ecto-contamination of everyone in Amity, you’ll probably find a lot of people willing to join an environmentalist group. You know my activism rubbed off on you.” Sam’s voice is almost covered by the deep sigh that escapes Tucker and Danny can’t help but smile at his best friends’ antics.

“You guys, we’re trying to figure out something Danny would like. Baby brother, what is something you’d like to do ?” Danny can’t help but miss his sister when he sees her exasperated smile at his friends’ insistence that he tries something they like.

Leaning against his desk, his face in his hand, he shrugs, a bit embarrassed. “Actually, I did have an idea but I’m not sure.” On his screen, his sister’s face is open and supportive, meanwhile, Sam and Tucker don’t seem to have noticed they were inaudible. “I, maybe, wanted to try streaming ? You guys obviously don’t have as much time to play video games with me and it’s really not the same on my own… I like the idea of finding a community of people who enjoy listening to my weird space and ghost rants without having to leave Amity. Not that the Parkers aren’t my friends but—” He pushes his hair out of his face with a sigh, looking up at the ceiling. “I guess I want to meet new people ? But I don’t actually want to meet them.”

“That sounds great, Danny.” Jazz, supportive as always, finally unmutes the two.

“Yeah dude, I’m down to help you set it all up. You’re gonna need equipment-“

“And you’re gonna need to ectoproof it too. Are you going to hide your identity ? Acting like ghosts and your powers are the norm would be so funny.”

“Right, you could ask a ghost artist to make your channel art. You clearly already have a niche thing going, you know ?” His Fraid’s excitement makes Danny feel more confident in his idea.

“What do you guys think of the name CosmicSpecter ?”

Jason has been back in Gotham for about two years. His relationship with his family is still strained but it is improving. He has a good thing going with Red Hood and his gang. However, he is still plagued by the Pit Madness, despite his best efforts he still doesn’t feel like himself. Meanwhile, everyone around him has accepted, however reluctantly, that this is who he is now, but Jason refuses to. He knows this isn’t him, but he is resigned that the foreign rage trying to control him will torment him until his (next) dying breath.

Maybe it’s fate, maybe it’s boredom, maybe it’s the scary TubeYou algorithm that has him clicking on the livestream thumbnail while tittering close to the Pit Rage. The guy has 463 subscribers and 6 current viewers and he’s halfway through a burrito when Jason joins. The light is dim, and his eyes seem to be reflecting the light. A meta, maybe ?

“Hiya ‘botched-resurrection’, nice to see a fellow undead here.” He takes a swig of a too green liquid from a soda bottle and flashes the camera with a wide smile. “We’ll go back to playing once I’m done eating. This new joint opened a few years ago, since our town isn’t under a fake government lockdown anymore, and honestly, I’m pleasantly surprised. My sister is probably relieved I’m eating something other than a burger.” The guy’s eyes widen slightly when a $20 donation comes through from one ‘jazz_hands’. “Really Jazz ? ‘Twenty whole American dollars in hopes you’ll eat healthier food one day’. There are real vegetables in here you know ? You’re being too harsh. Also stop sending me money as an excuse to embarrass me on stream.”

This is the start of the prologue I'm posting on ao3 tomorrow probably, I'll link once it's up

Streamer Danny AU, but he’s a really minor streamer. Like, he does it mainly just for his own fun and only has a few intermittent viewers.

But somehow Jason finds his channel anyway, and something about his voice is captivating. The pit rage quiets down in his presence. So he starts tuning in to basically every stream, or just putting on the VODs in the background to fall asleep to.

And on the other side, Danny takes note of this new subscriber who’s quite possibly his first truly dedicated viewer. So he starts interacting with him on stream sometimes - greeting him when he shows up in the chat, specifically asking/answering questions, etc

Needless to say, this did not help Jason’s growing semi-parasocial crush in the slightest…

[reiding-writing]

cold!reader gets a better job offer in a different department and ends up not taking it? (she’ll never admit it but she just doesn’t want to leave the team and Spencer) 💞

NO, THANKS — SPENCER REID!

you get offered the opportunity of a lifetime, but you don’t want it. you’re comfortable where you are.

spencer reid x cold!reader | 1.8k | ??? | cold!reader masterlist.

main masterlist.

a/n — i finished the valentines fic 🤭🤭

“I appreciate the offer, but my answer is no.”

Your voice is steady, devoid of hesitation, as you stare across the desk at Assistant Director Shaw. His expression doesn’t shift—no flicker of disappointment, no flash of irritation. If anything, he looks like he expected this response. Maybe he did.

A man like Shaw doesn’t come into a conversation like this without preparation. He leans back slightly, hands lacing together on the polished wood surface between you.

“Agent,” he sighs, his tone just short of exasperation. “I just need you to take a week. Think about it.”

“Doctor.” The correction is automatic. Your arms cross over your chest, the cool detachment in your posture mirroring your tone. “And there’s nothing to think about.”

Shaw tilts his head, studying you, the way a handler might assess a particularly stubborn asset. “There is, actually.” His voice is measured, persuasive without being forceful. “This is a leadership position. A brand-new BAU satellite office, built from the ground up, with you at the helm. You’d have full autonomy. Hand-pick your team. It’s an opportunity that doesn’t come around often.”

You let out a sharp breath through your nose—not quite a laugh, but close. “You know I don’t care about authority. And I already have a team.”

“And that team would want what’s best for you,” he counters smoothly, his gaze steady. “Just take the week. That’s all I’m asking.”

You don’t answer right away. You just look at him, the weight of his words pressing against something deep in your chest, something you don’t want to acknowledge. Shaw is good at this. He wouldn’t have climbed the ranks of the Bureau if he weren’t. His words are carefully chosen, strategically placed to plant a seed of doubt.

He’s waiting for you to push back. Waiting for the inevitable argument, for your reasons why this isn’t the right move for you.

The problem is, he’s not entirely wrong.

You’re not someone who shies away from change—you’ve uprooted your life before, for far less compelling reasons. And on paper, the offer is good. More than good. Full autonomy, no bureaucracy in the way, the ability to build something from scratch. A leadership role without the red tape that normally makes those positions unbearable.

It’s everything some agents would kill for.

But you don’t want it.

You don’t want the distance it would create. The shift in dynamic. The responsibility of a team that isn’t your team.

Shaw watches you, waiting. The seconds stretch between you, thick and heavy, until finally, you exhale.

“Fine,” you say, standing from your chair. “A week.”

Shaw’s lips twitch slightly—something between victory and satisfaction. “That’s all I ask.”

You don’t dignify him with a response. Instead, you turn on your heel and walk out of his office without another word, already knowing that no amount of time will change your mind.

—

You don’t intend to spend the next seven days dwelling on the offer. You’ve already made up your mind.

And yet, for some reason, you catch yourself noticing things you’d miss if you left.

The warmth of your coffee in the morning, left on your desk by JJ without a word, the way she always seems to know exactly how you take it, even when you change things up.

The way Morgan always manages to rope you into his banter, no matter how hard you try to stay detached, how his teasing is never unkind, how it always manages to pull a reluctant smirk from you even on your worst days.

The way Hotch trusts you implicitly to handle high-profile cases, his respect for you never in question, his rare nods of approval feeling more meaningful than any spoken praise.

The rare but genuine laugh that escapes Emily when you let your sarcasm slip just a bit too far, the way she nudges you after with an amused shake of her head, like she’s letting you get away with something.

The way Garcia lights up whenever you step into her lair, her effortless ability to make the job feel lighter, more bearable. The quiet moments, the in-between ones—the ones you don’t usually pay attention to, but now, for some reason, feel sharper, more defined.

And then there’s Spencer.

Spencer, who watches you like he’s trying to solve a puzzle.

He’s the first to notice your frequent absences.

“You’ve been taking a lot of calls lately,” he says casually, one afternoon when you return to the bullpen after stepping out for yet another conversation with the Director’s office.

His tone is light, but there’s something searching in his gaze, something that lingers a second too long.

“Personal matter,” you reply, dismissive. You don’t owe him—or anyone—an explanation.

But Spencer is persistent.

Morgan, never one to miss a chance to stir the pot, leans back in his chair, smirking. “What’s got you so busy, princess? New boyfriend?”

You give him a flat look. “No.”

JJ joins in, resting her chin on her hand, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “A headhunter maybe?”

Emily snaps her fingers. “She’s writing a book. That’s gotta be it,”

“Oh!” **Garcia gasps from across the room, whirling in her chair. “Are you secretly a vigilante crime fighter by night? Be honest. You’d tell me, right?”

The entire team turns to you expectantly, waiting, their amusement barely concealed. You say nothing, just sip your coffee, unbothered.

Theories continue throughout the week.

Garcia, in all her unsubtle glory, even tries to hack into your recent call logs. She fails, because you’ve anticipated her and taken countermeasures, and when she confronts you about it with a dramatic gasp of betrayal, you merely raise an eyebrow.

“I’m wounded,” she huffs, clutching her heart.

“You’ll survive,” **you deadpan.

They never guess correctly.

Spencer, though—he watches you more closely than the others. He notices the little things. The way your fingers tighten around your pen when your phone buzzes, the way your posture shifts just slightly when you decline a call. The way your expression smooths over, controlled, but never quite fast enough.

You don’t like being watched.

But you don’t tell him to stop.

—

By the time the week is up, you expect the conversation.

What you don’t expect is for it to happen in the middle of the bullpen.

The Assistant Director shows up unannounced, walking in like he owns the place, his sharp gaze sweeping the room as the usual hum of conversation and clicking keyboards grinds to a halt. Silence settles, heavy and expectant. You don’t have to look up to know that every single one of your teammates has stopped what they’re doing.

“Doctor,” **he greets, his hands in his pockets, his posture at ease in a way that feels calculated. “Have you made a decision about Seattle?”

You set your pen down, leveling him with a steady gaze.

“Yes.”

He waits.

The team waits.

You let the pause stretch, just long enough to make him think—maybe, just maybe—you’ve reconsidered.

“No, thanks.”

Silence.

Shaw’s brows lift slightly, genuine surprise flickering across his face for the first time since this conversation began. “You’re rejecting the chance to be in charge of your own team of people, hand-picked by you and built from the ground up?”

“Yes.”

He exhales, his gaze shifting briefly to the others—who are, at this point, blatantly listening despite their half-hearted attempts to look busy. Hotch stands with his arms crossed, expression unreadable. Emily and JJ exchange glances. Morgan leans back in his chair, eyebrows raised. Spencer is watching you, unmoving, unblinking.

“Understood,” Shaw finally says, his tone neutral. “If you ever change your mind—“

“I won’t.”

His lips twitch, like he’s amused despite himself. Maybe he respects your conviction. Maybe he was hoping for more of a fight. Either way, he nods. “Good luck, Doctor.”

And then he walks out, just as abruptly as he arrived.

For a long moment, no one says anything. The silence lingers, thick with the weight of what just happened.

Then—

“Wait, what?”

JJ is the first to break, whipping her head toward you. “You were offered a new position?”

“Seattle?” Spencer echoes, voice tight with disbelief. “You were offered chief of an entire new division, and you didn’t say anything?” You don’t fail to notice how he looks a little disappointed.

“More importantly, you rejected it?” Morgan leans forward, incredulous. “Why?”

Garcia makes a strangled noise from across the room, looking personally offended. “Wait, wait, wait—back up. You were offered a dream job, like ‘here’s a brand-new shiny team for you to build from scratch’ kind of deal, and you turned it down?!”

A dozen explanations flicker through your mind.

You could say you don’t want to uproot your life for an uncertain future. That leadership is more politics than profiling, and you’d rather stay in the field. That you’re comfortable where you are.

You could say all of that.

Instead, you pick up your pen, flipping open the next case file with deliberate ease.

“It wasn’t the right fit,” you say simply.

No one believes you.

Morgan lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, okay, sure.”

“Not the right fit?” Emily repeats, skeptical. “That’s all you’re giving us?”

JJ narrows her eyes. “Did Strauss block it somehow? Were there strings attached?”

“Or,” Garcia interjects, waggling her fingers dramatically, “is this one of those ‘I’m too emotionally repressed to admit I actually like it here’ situations?”

You don’t even dignify that with a response.

The theories start up again, murmurs of debate bouncing around the bullpen.

“Maybe it was a test,” Spencer muses aloud, his gaze still fixed on you. “A way to gauge her loyalty to the team,”

“Or maybe she just doesn’t want to be stuck behind a desk dealing with bureaucratic nonsense,” Emily counters.

“Or maybe she’s hiding something,” Morgan adds, giving you a pointed look.

You sigh, rubbing at your temple. “Are we done psychoanalysing me, or should I clear my schedule?”

That earns a few chuckles, but the curiosity in their eyes doesn’t fade.

Spencer, though—Spencer doesn’t look like he’s speculating anymore.

His expression is quieter, more thoughtful.

Like he’s already figured out the truth.

And when his lips twitch into the faintest hint of a knowing smile, you don’t look away.

[atzhrts]

everyone going crazy over anton SAME 🫠 imagine surprising him at his parents’ house after not seeing him for 2 months and he’s just so insatiable, you having this perfect innocent persona & keeping a good figure in front of his family but his only wish would be to take you on the spot. his parents would notice him behaving differently but they would innocently believe that he is happy to finally be home. the secret groping, constant touching and need to be near you. i can see him on the family couch having you sit on his lap during the whole movie, not watching a single thing just having you in his arms (and on his huge cock). after hanging out he would fuck you so hard in his bed whispering about how much he missed you. would have to cover ur mouth & telling you to keep quiet or else everyone will notice how dirty you are… aftercare would be insane. he would bath you, dress you and just do everything. I need him so bad 😭😭😭😭😭😭

yeah my page looks like i’m the biggest anton stan ever and he’s not even in my bias line 😭😭

anton is mentally cursing you out right now, normally he’d find it so cute how you get along with his parents so well, helping his mum set the table and telling his dad what a big fan of his you are. making his brother laugh and his parents smile at him, telling him how lucky he has to have you. that is if you wouldn’t have sent him the most delicious picture of you in your new set (the one he picked out and bought for you) just minutes before you arrived. it’s torture for anton, knowing exactly what lies beneath your innocent appearance and having to sit back and pretend he’s not rock hard beneath his pants. having to pretend he’s just showing you around the kitchen, letting you pick out what you want to drink and not groping your tits over your shirt, frantically moving his eyes from the door, where anyone could just walk in back to your boobs in front of him.

it’s torture, having his mum call the two of you adorable when anton pulls you into his lap, only the two of knowing of the way his fingers drum against your clothed heat. burying his face in your neck to hide his breathy groans, anton knows how risky this is but he has absolutely no plans of stopping you from grinding over his dick.

and the rest of the night is torture as well, sweet torture. having placed a pillow between his bed frame and the wall to make sure he won’t wake the whole house up with his thrusts. anton’s hand pressed against your mouth to muffle your moans and his face hidden in the crook of your neck, teeth gently scraping against the skin to not make too much noise himself.

he knows he has to come up with some excuse why you have a hickey on your shoulder and why he had the water running at 2am, because “oh yeah we had rough sex in my childhood bedroom” won’t cut it but it was totally worth it.

[scorpioriesling]

OML so good things come it groups of three has had me in a headlock and I don’t want to escape. I have trieddddddd so very hard to find scraps of smth like it and I found nothing😔. So here I am wondering if we the people can get another Liam/Ridoc/Bodhi (or another combination of fw guys if ur feeling silly) x Reader PLEASE 🙏. If you wanna make it a part two or a whole new thing idc Ill eat whatever you give me your writing is AMAZING.

-🎀Anon

Good Things Come in Groups of Three (Round 2)

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Liam x Ridoc x Bodhi x reader

Warning(s): 18+, mdni, smut

Summary: Studying in the library late at night has your mind wandering… you can blame it on the time of night, the lack of sleep, or simply being alone. Regardless of the excuse, you can’t seem to put those 3 boys out of your mind.

SR’s Note: Thank you for your patience, queen. (; I hope this part 2 measures up to your expectations!! Also, I don’t want to spoil anything, but I do have this group of 3 + reader involved once again!! It’s only a draft right now for Kinktober… so you definitely don’t want to miss out!

Tags: @mellowmusings @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @kitsunetori @velarisdusk (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Your eyes roved over the text, trying to commit it to memory. Jesinia had done you a solid, pulling some of the best tomes for you to study before your test on Friday. Her expertise not only a scribe, but as your friend just might be what saved your grade.

If you could keep your mind from wandering, that is.

You'd caught yourself thinking, more than once, about the utterly insane predicament you'd found yourself in last week. It seemed that every time you turned a page in the textbook, images would race through your mind, each one as dirty as the last.

Liam fucking you in the shower.

Sitting atop Ridoc's face.

Bodhi's dick filling your throat.

...fuck.

You shake your head, the memory only sending more uncomfortable sensations to your core. This wasn't the time, nor the place -- nowhere, would ever be the time or place again. That was a one and done deal; one you'd be much too embarassed to repeat.

As your palms press into your eyes, you turn your attention to the wall clock, trying to make out the numbers it read.

11:57 pm.

Dammit, you hadn't wanted to be here this late. Perhaps all the reading and pouring over the material was good though, as you felt much more prepared for your upcoming exam. However, you'd failed to notice everyone emptying out of the library over the past few hours.

Your breath catches as you glance around, the dark silence of the hall sending a shiver down your spine. You were right, no one was here at this hour; it was simply you, and the stacks of books.

Book stacks you wouldn't mind being fucked against.

Okay, you really had to stop.

Glancing around once more, you slunk down into your chair a little lower, your fingers slowly leaving the table in favor of tracing along your leather pants. The pressure was getting unbearable, every moment of your past rendezvouz replaying in your mind as your panties grew wetter and wetter.

Ridoc's dick felt so good when he made you ride him.

You unzipped your leathers, your fingers slowly making their way underneath. A sigh escapes your lips as your fingertips brush your clothed clit, moving in small circles atop your panties.

Fuck... the sight of Liam jerking off to you too.

A soft whimper leaves your lips, your eyes widening into slits as you glance around one more time. You just had to make sure, certainly, that no one was in here.

Oh Gods... and Bodhi, spanking your ass-

"You do know this is a, public, space, don't you?"

Your eyes fly open, the figure standing just in the shadows of the nearby bookshelf causing your heart to race. Your hand flies from your pants as you shimmy in your chair, working to rezip.

"O-oh my Gods, uhm, oh my Gods-" you fumble, your vision blurred in embarassment as you stare down at your pants. Why wouldn't the damned zipper just fucking work, already?

Your breath hitches as a large, tanned hand moves atop yours. Your cheeks deepen in color, chest still rising and falling as the adrenaline courses through your veins.

"As your trainer," Bodhi says, his voice low. "I'd tell you to fix yourself, and send you to your dorm to finish this matter in private. Alone."

Your eyes slowly look up, meeting his darkened brown ones as he glares at you.

"But, as an interested party, I'm going to tell you to keep going."

You loose a shaky breath, his unforgiving stare a cross between anger and intrigue. You open your mouth to speak, but Bodhi's hand pushes your shoulder back against the back of the chair.

"Don't say a word, Y/N -- you got caught being a bad, bad girl." He tuts, leaning back to sit in the chair next to you. "Now, you answer to me."

You gulp, staying put as he stretches his legs out before him and gets comfortable, folding his muscled arms over his chest. He couldn’t possibly be serious!

"Keep going." He bites out, and you stare at him wide-eyed.

He scoffs. "What, now you can't hear, either? I said keep going." Your fingers fuddle with the waistband of your pants, shaking as you shove your leathers down to your knees.

"Mhm... play with that pussy, like the bad girl you fuckin' are."

Your fingers find your clit once more, the pleasure mounting in your core as Bodhi's eyes are glued to your every move. In an attempt to stifle your moan, your lip catches between your teeth, muffling the whimper. He's hovering over you in an instant, his hand braced against the back of your chair as his lips move mere inches from yours.

"Why so quiet tonight, hm?" He taunts, and you glare up at him as a wave of defiance rushes through you.

"B-because... it's a.. library." You grit out, failing to think of any other comeback. He laughs, full and unabashedly as he shakes his head low, his eyes meeting yours once more.

"You didn't seem to care that this is a library when you started playing with your cunt, though." He draws in a breath, his gaze flickering between your underwear and your face. "Bad riders don't get rewarded, Y/N... they only get punished."

Your heart races as two more figures appear from the shadows, their hungry gazes trained on you and your minstrations. A small swallow in fear is all Bodhi needs before his hands grip at your waist, hauling you atop the table and sending the books scattering to the floor.

"B-Bodhi... what-"

"Ohh, don't act like this isn't what you wanted," Ridoc sneers from beside you. He leans casually against the bookshelf, the obvious tent in his pants indication that maybe he wanted this to happen too.

"Oh, she wanted it alright," Bodhi huffs, grabbing your pants and roughly yanking them down your legs. He shucks your boots off, tossing them over his shoulder before ripping your pants over your feet. "Caught her playing with herself all alone in here."

Liam tsks, flanking the other side of the table as he watches in faux-disappointment. Had they all arranged this? Had they known you'd be in here?

"I-I..."

"Keep your mouth shut," Bodhi demands, yanking his own pants down just enough for his enormous erection to spring free. Your mouth waters at the sight; you'd forgotten how damn big he was.

"You're gonna work off this little violation, alright?" He chuckles, pulling you to the edge of the table so just your ass hung off the wood. His hand wraps around his cock, pumping it twice before sliding it against your soaking folds. You whimper, and he glares down at you.

"And... you'll be quiet if I say so, alright?" He chuckles, pressing the tip of his dick against your hole. "This is, after all, a library."

The sound threatening to erupt as he slides all the way in can only be described as nothing short of a deafening scream. He pushes himself all the way in, his pelvis flat against your thighs as you try and keep your noises at bay. Wasting no time, he yanks his cock out, only to slam back in with so much force that a small wail breaks free.

"Fuck... tight as fuck Y/N," he comments, speeding up as he fucks himself into you. "Squeezing my goddamned dick, baby."

You moan, the sound mixed with the creaking of the table beneath you. Bodhi's breaths come out in short pants above you, his gaze locked onto where his thick length is pounding into you.

"I... oh Gods," you cry out, your heaed turning to the side as you catch sight of Liam beside you. His tongue rakes across his bottom lip, his own cock hardening beneath his palm. The sight alone could make you cum, especially with the way Bodhi is pounding into you-

"Don't you dare cum," he growls, his hands bracing against your hips as he shoves you closer to him. Your gaze switches back to him as he leans over you, each stroke faster than the last as he barely pulls out anymore. "You're not cumming... not fucking yet."

You whimper as his mouth falls open above you, his eyes half-lidded as his thrusts grow sloppy. Your own impending orgasm has built up, threatening to burst any moment inside of you.

"B-Bodhi-"

"Fuck!' He shouts, your skin flush against his as his cock jumps, pumping his release inside of you. His breathing is heavy, his chest moving rapidly underneath the restraint of his zipped flight jacket. Your face twists in frustration, the heat in your lower tummy already receding as he yanks his cock out of you, a trail of clear semen following.

Sitting up on your hands, you only catch your breath for a minute before Liam saunters toward you, a cocky smile plastered on his face. His hands grip your knees, forcing your legs apart as you try and squeeze them together.

"You're not getting off that easy tonight -- I hope you've realized that."

You stare up at the gorgeous male; a dark, starved look crossing his features as he peers down at you. Your chest heaves as he slowly sits before you, only taking perch on the edge of the chair.

Goosebumps erupt across your skin as he leans forward, his lips mere inches from your glistening cunt -- and blows a stream of cool air across your skin. You clench around nothing, the sensation both extremely erotic and frustrating at the same time.

"Liam, please-"

"Ahh ahh," Bodhi tuts, leaning agaist a nearby table. "I said no mouthing off tonight, remember?"

Liam's dimple pops as he smiles, his handsome features only making you wish your cunt was pressed against his lips. You lie back down as he licks his lips once, his fingers softly trailing along the skin of your thighs. You whimper as he continues toying with you, barely able to keep your writhing at bay.

"Is this... what you want?" He says quietly, as his forefinger presses against your clit. You gasp, sitting up on your forearms to look down at his smug expression.

"Yes... oh Gods, please yes-" You grit out, as his digit slowly circles your clit. You squirm against the touch, wishing for more as he slides his finger around your sensitive bud.

"This isn't about you, though." He says, chuckling as he retracts his finger. He glances up at you before rising between your legs, his hands gripping your waist to flip you over onto your stomach. You gasp as your chest presses against the flat wood, and your stomach drops at the sight before you.

Ridoc stands on the other side of the table, his hand fisting his cock furiously as he gazes down at you.

"Open."

It's all you need to hear before widening your mouth, laying your tongue out flat just like he'd like it.

"Fuck... been waiting for this for damn near a week," he complains, slapping his length against your wet muscle. You squeak in pleasure as you feel Liam behind you, his fingers circling your pulsating opening.

"So wet, baby," he coos, as his ring and middle finger plunge into your aching pussy. He plunges them in, again and again-- the embarassing squelch of your vagina gripping his digits bringing a flush to your cheeks.

Ridoc's free hand caresses your chin, guiding his hard length to your awaiting mouth. You suck in a breath as he sinks his cock in, pushing it to the back of your throat as he groans. Gagging around him, he retracts, shoving back in moments later.

"Gods, Y/N -- you've been saving up for us, hm?" You hear the grin in Liam's voice, your cunt pulsating as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you. Unable to speak as Ridoc continues fucking your mouth, you only groan in response.

Liam curls his fingers, the tips rubbing against the sensitive spot inside -- you feel as though you'll explode. You huff out a breath, tears forming in your eyes as Ridoc continues assaulting your throat. The combined sensations are too much, your orgasm building with each minstration.

"It's a good thing you're so sexy," he laughs, patting you on the cheek with his free hand. "You've been on my mind all week, baby."

Liam retracts his fingers, and you cry out in frustration. Ridoc pulls out too, the emptiness on either end leaving you hot, bothered, and again, unreleased.

"Don't worry," Ridoc chuckles. "We still have more we want from you."

He appears on the opposite side of the table, standing where Liam just was, his open palm landing a harsh slap against the meat of your ass. You whine, only wishing he'd pleasure you more.

You don't have to beg much.

His hands clench around your hips, drawing you up onto your knees and forearms on the table. You wail again as he spanks you, clenching only when you feel his erection slapping against your cunt.

"You want me, huh?" He teases, landing another slap when you don't respond. "You want me to fuck you?"

You scream in pleasure, glancing behind you to watch as he slides his cock in.

"Yes, please Ridoc! Please fuck me-"

Your words are cut short as a hand wraps around your throat, yanking your head to look before you. Liam chuckles, his hands quickly finding your breast as he stands beside Bodhi -- who's guiding his cock to your lips.

"I told you," he grumbles. "Bad girls... have to be quiet."

He shoves his length in, choking you as he pushes down your throat. Liam pulls your hair, keeping your mouth in place as Bodhi fucks his dick down your raw throat. Ridoc pants from behind you, his girth reaching unimaginable depths inside your quaking pussy.

"You like that, huh?" Bodhi shakes his head, plunging his cock deeper in your mouth. "Like taking my cock while Ridoc fucks you?"

Another wave of pleasure racks your bones, the feeling of their dicks in two of your holes almost more than you can take. You gurgle around Bodhi's length as Ridoc's balls slap against your clit, heightening your senses even more.

"Can't... can't take much more," you garble out, and Liam's fingers pinch your nipple.

"You'll take, what we give you."

You squeak, tears threatening to spill over as you try your hardest to keep your orgasm at bay. Your walls clench around Ridoc's big cock, each thrust pushing you closer, and closer...

He cums with a gasp, hot ropes of his release splattering across your ass. He heaves as he squeezes your right buttcheek, his spent cock resting against the other. Bodhi grits his teeth before releasing as well, his seed spraying down your throat. He yanks his cock out, and Liam moves to hold your jaw as you muster a cough.

"Swallow it all," he commands, and you do as your told. Bodhi retreats, resting lazily in a chair as the aftermath of his orgasm washes over him.

If only you could feel the same.

You gulp down his salty-sweet taste, your muscles growing tired after your night of pleasure. Well... as much pleasure as you were allowed, orgasm-denial and all.

Liam pulls you off the table, holding you upright as he slowly backs you into one of the shadowed bookshelves. You groan again as he kneels before you, Bodhi and Ridoc flanking your either side.

"We've had our fun with you... do you think you deserve to cum?"

You nod your head at his sultry words, and he doesn't even look away from your glistening pussy as he speaks to the other two.

"Do you think she deserves to cum?"

Bodhi tuts while reaching for your chest, openly palming your left breast.

“I suppose she’s been quite good for us tonight.”

Liam nods in agreement, his lips pressing a single kiss against your folds. Your hips involuntarily buck in protest, a short moan coming out as Ridoc rolls your other nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Shhhh.. patience, baby.”

His voice alone could get you off, such contrast to his usually irritating tone.

Liam’s tongue flicks out, swiping across your cunt as he rolls his thumb over your clit. You squirm, your breaths coming out in quick bursts.

“L-Liam I… won’t last long-“

He chuckles, the vibration edging you further. Ridoc replaces his fingers with his mouth, leaning in to suck and mark your right breast with his teeth. You lean your head back against the shelves, the feeling of ecstasy finally within reach.

“You wanna cum, Y/N?” Bodhi’s breath skates across your skin, goosebumps arising just below your ear as he squeezes your breast partially hard.

“Such a little tease with these gorgeous things,” he continues, and you begin shaking, the feeling of the orgasm within reach.

“Oh FUCK, I’m-“

Ridoc’s hand claps over your mouth as Bodhi holds you upright. You tremble and shake atop Liam’s tongue, the pent up energy from all night finally reaching its sweet release. Liam’s hands reach around and squeeze your ass, holding you in place as you cum on his lips.

“Anybody in here?”

Your eyes widen, heartbeat quickening as you hear the male guard’s voice ring out through the otherwise empty library. Your eyes meet Bodhi’s, and he holds a single finger to his lips. Shh.

“Hello?”

The voice calls again, and the three of you stand in silence against the darkness from the shelves. After a few minutes, the entry door opens and closes once more, and you finally release a breath.

“Well… that was close,” you laugh, the first real sentence you’d uttered in hours. Surely the sunlight would be peeking through the windows anytime now…

You step toward your discarded clothes, making to grab them and put them on when a strong arm wraps around your waist, holding you tightly against a very bare, very toned chest.

“Oh come on — you didn’t think we were actually finished here, did you?”

[chanranghaeys]

🎼 complementary wavelengths

Wouldn’t falling in love with your research partner compromise the integrity of the research study? You had no idea. But if that were the case, then you were in for some major trouble.

pairing: university professor!vernon x high school teacher!fem!reader word count: 2.8k+ genre: fluff for valentine’s day! rating: g tags: non-idol au, distant college friends to ???, first love :(, they both grew up!, we stan emotionally healthy MEN in here warnings: i claim no accuracy on the academic process because i am not a teacher and no accuracy on the mathematics and scientific concepts here because i am absolutely not a mathematician or a scientist

a/n: surprise lexi @heechwe, i’m your secret cupid! a huge thanks to jupiter @ddeonghwa-s for hosting this secret cupid valentine’s event! it took A WHILE for me to churn this out but we persist and bounce back to writing! a very very special thanks to kae @ylangelegy for beta reading! and to @svtreverie, @choitcherryanne, and k for being my forever hypegirls mwa mwa

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ masterlist . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“So, Ms. Y/L/N, do you have a Valentine's date already?”

You roll your eyes for what must be the millionth time. “For the last time, this is grounds for unbecoming conduct, young lady.”

“I’m just saying!” Your student Sofia laughs. “You deserve to have a good Valentine’s Day this year.”

“Since when have you played matchmaker for me, Ms. Chwe?”

“Since we saw you crying in the school parking lot,” Sofia’s best friend Meena chimed in supportively. Come on, Ms. Y/L/N. You can’t expect us to sit around and do nothing.”

“Especially not for our favorite Maths teacher!”

You shake your head at these two high schoolers. You knew you couldn’t play favorites amongst your students, but these two and their stubbornly infectious energy sparked a little of your youth back in you. Plus, you really couldn’t blame them because they were right about that school parking lot incident.

It was after this brunch date went terribly wrong a few weeks ago. And while it was very unbecoming of a teacher for her students to find her squat and sobbing against her car, these two were like guardian angels that took you under their wings and brought you ice cream and were girl’s girls all the way—as if they weren’t almost a whole decade younger than you.

Since then, Sofia and Meena would secretly try to find you a potential Valentine’s date amongst teachers, guardians, single parents, older siblings, school staff, or anyone at this point. They were wholly invested—and not just because you were the best teacher they’ve ever had in their very subjective opinion.

From afar, you see a familiar figure leaning against his car, signature plain white tee with jeans underneath his selected outerwear of the day—this time, it was a black denim jacket with a matching Yankees cap.

You've noticed him for a while now, dropping by a few days a week. You've thought about approaching him several times as well, but you always stopped this impulse. However, today was different.

“Sofia, would you mind calling over your brother here for a second?”

“What is this about?” Sofia had her eyebrow raised. Despite her age, it was hard not to take her seriously given that you were both standing at the same height.

“You know what this is about. He told me that you gave him my email address.”

A look of understanding lit in Sofia’s eyes. “Ah, that thing. Yeah, gimme a second.”

Meena stayed behind to continue the line of questioning. “So what’s that thing?”

“It’s a post-grad thing of sorts. Don’t mind it, you have enough schoolwork on your head to be thinking about this.”

She just chuckled in return. “Ms. Y/L/N, may I remind you that Sofia’s brother is single, handsome, respectful, decent, and smart. You can see why I personally have a vested interest in this thing already.”

“Meena.”

She heard your tone shift and straightened herself. It was a subtle reminder that she was still your student and that you were still her teacher.

“I’m just stating facts,” she said with a shrug and a quieter tone.

Sofia’s distant voice calling out for her friend caught both of your attention. At the same time, you see the figure in black and white walking toward you in his confident and deliberate strides.

“I’ll go ahead Ms. Y/L/N. See you tomorrow! And good luck on the thing,” Meena said with a smile and a wave. When she passes the figure, she does a slight bow out of respect, which he reciprocates. This exchange quirks up the corner of your lips. You recall what Meena said earlier, and it prods at you with an irk of frustration.

It frustrates you that she’s right.

When he finally stood before you with a smile, a flood of memories came crashing back. Suddenly, you’re back on your college campus standing underneath your favorite tree, a girl in front of a boy.

“I got your email, Professor Chwe. It’s been a while.”

“It has been a while Ms. Y/L/N.”

You chuckle at your monikers. Who knew two scruffy college students would turn out to be respectful academicians? “Formalities aside, it’s so nice to hear from you again Vernon.”

“Likewise.”

“I see the teaching gig in university hasn’t changed your sense of casual style.”

Vernon looks you up and down in your sensible collared button-up and slacks ensemble. You completely ignore the growing flutters in your stomach. “I can see that this high school has changed yours.”

“Well, you gotta do what you gotta do. The kids actually like my sense of style, mind you.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed Sofia starting to wear blazers all of a sudden. I never thought that it’d be you I’d blame for that.”

You feel something in your chest, a sudden churn and an unexpected leap. As a teacher, you’ve mastered your emotions enough to mask your face into one that wouldn’t give everything away. But these primal emotions were almost too much to bear.

Is this what it really feels like to face your first love after so many years apart?

“Anyway,” you continue as a means to deflect before anything else gives away your true feelings. “You emailed me about your dissertation? You really didn’t give much away. And you know you could’ve just sent me a message.”

“Oh, yeah!” Vernon nods vigorously in emphasis of your statement. “I need someone good in applied mathematics.”

“And you need me for that because?”

He blinks at you. “Because you are good at applied mathematics. I want your help for my musicology dissertation.”

You let out a sigh of disbelief. “Vernon, I—”

“And don’t you dare say you’re not good,” he insists with his finger pointed at you. “I’ve read your research papers. I don’t even know why you stay teaching in high school. You could’ve been tenured by now. Or on a sabbatical like me.”

He’s read my research papers? So he’s been following my work? You shake your head to clear these unnecessary thoughts, which are immediately replaced by a sense of uncertainty. “I don’t know, I’m pretty busy these coming months…”

You really didn’t know why you were avoiding it. This was the perfect academic opportunity and you had no idea why you were avoiding it.

Okay, scratch that. You knew exactly why—because of him.

“No problem, we’ll be able to pace the progress. Besides,” he continued, “you’ve always been my study buddy. I know we’ll be really good partners for this one.”

With one sentence, he has almost reduced you to a blushing schoolgirl with a huge crush.

Oh wait, weren’t you one already?

But still, you couldn’t resist stoking the flame that had been sparked inside you. So you ask, “Why me? Were there no other worthy research partners in your esteemed university?”

“Nope. I choose you,” he answered with a lopsided smirk. “I think you’ll understand why when you hear what my dissertation is about.”

“What is it about?”

“Do you wanna go out for coffee?”

“What?”

“What?” Vernon said in more of a statement than a question.

“What does coffee have anything to do with this?”

“Unless you want to keep standing here with your students watching us, I think it’s better if we continue this discussion somewhere else.”

You peer over his shoulder to see Sofia and Meena watching the two of you from the car like hawks, ready to catch any significant interaction that might give away what you two were talking about. When you met their line of sight, they were ready to bring their phones up to feign their disinterest.

“There’s a cafe on the next street over. If you’d like to go there…”

“Nice,” he said cooly, his voice low and sure.

He lifted his phone to his ear. From your peripheral vision, you see his sister raise her own phone in response. It was almost comical how you could see their silent reactions from across the courtyard, with Meena vibrating with excitement and slapping the other girl’s arm as you hear Sofia’s voice trying to sound calm through the speaker of Vernon’s phone. You see them hurriedly lowering the car window and lifting their thumbs up toward your direction.

They seem to think they have finally succeeded. You wouldn’t give them that benefit yet.

When he hung up, Vernon addressed your confused look. “Sofia’s been annoying me about getting the car anyway, so they can have it. Let’s walk?”

It was silent at first. The early afternoon sun cooperated with the cool breeze, setting the atmosphere for a nice leisurely walk. Students and office workers were milling around the nearby commercial strip, with the sounds and conversations all mingling in the background.

It had been years since you last spent time together like this, in an environment not too different from this one. After your study sessions in the library, you two walked together to your shared classes, which by some stroke of luck always seemed to happen for at least one class every semester until you graduated.

You both hung in different circles. He hung around with his fellow music majors in band practices and the college’s musicians organization, while you spent the majority of your time with your mathematics batchmates in the library or the school quad, catching up on problem sets and homework before you needed to make it to your choir’s rehearsals at night.

But when you ended up as seatmates in your first semester, you made a comment on the Bach piece he was listening to, how Bach was actually a pretty mathematical composer. He asked you how you knew that.

You said, “I take mathematics. I needed a cool fun fact for introductions.”

From that moment on, Vernon took it upon himself to make you appreciate how mathematical Bach’s pieces were. Music became your common language amongst everything else in the background, and the rest was history.

“Okay,” you began, “You know that we haven’t really spoken to each other since graduation. So…why choose me? Not that I’m complaining, though! I’m just…shocked, I guess. And confused. Because if you’ve read my research, you’d know that it’s been years since I published anything.”

Throughout your rambling, Vernon simply looked at you. When you finally stop, you notice the clear brown of them looking straight into you. It had been years, but they were the same eyes that looked at you, that listened intently when you were explaining a complex math concept.

It had been years, but that almost unblinking gaze of his still made your heart do unexplainable leaps in your chest.

You broke away from the intensity of his gaze. He took this as a cue to answer your question. “I was looking for research papers to help me form my framework. Then I stumbled on your computations of metered wavelengths and frequencies, and their relation to different kinds of sound.”

That paper. “Oh.”

His lips turned up in the corners when he continued. “I suddenly remembered how we randomly theorized this during one of our study sessions. I couldn’t believe you actually turned it into your master's thesis.”

“You still remember that?”

“Of course. I never thought I’d find someone so in tune with me and my random theories.”

“If you’ve read the paper, you’ll know that it wasn’t a random theory at all. You might just have discovered the makings of a postulate as a college sophomore.”

“It wouldn’t have been possible without your mind making sense of it. You really are the brightest of your batch.”

You scoff at the remark. “We’re not in college anymore, Vernon. There are a lot of other bright minds out there.”

“None quite like yours, I’m sure.”

You reach the cafe and order in—a decaf iced americano for you, and a hot chocolate for him. As soon as you two get seated, he finally launches into an animated discussion of his dissertation topic about discovering the medical applications of using the various sound wavelengths from certain types and compositions of music to aid in both the operation and healing process of a person, with the goal of identifying a singular formula to determine the right wavelength for each medical situation. He had his medical experts, all he needed was his mathematician.

It was a lot to digest, to say the least.

But by the end of it all, you were in awe of both Vernon and his mind. He is smart. He’d always been smart, but it felt like the confines of university and immaturity bounded his full potential. Now that he’s seen and explored the world of academia, he was able to finally showcase how bright of a mind he really is.

“Can I tell you something?” You set down your coffee and leaned forward.

As if second nature, he mirrored your action to the tee. “Shoot.”

“I’m proud of you. Really. You used to be this mysteriously awkward guy in college who just played around with guitars and 808s. But I always knew you’d put that big brain of yours to good use.”

He opens his mouth as if in reply, but stops midway and just smiles and scrunches his nose. After a beat, he nods with a look of quiet decision. “Can I tell you something, then?” He asks, worrying his thumb with his other hand as he looks at you. You nod in response.

“It was you that inspired me to be this version of myself. Because you can’t only be smart, you also have to work hard. None of my friends back then had that mindset, then came you.”

“What are study buddies for, yeah?” You raise your fist in front of you. He looks at it and smiles his trademark gummy smile. In return, he bumps his own fist into yours, reminiscent of how you two would check in on each other during extended hours in the library finishing a project or a paper. A fist bump to make the heads bump, you two used to say.

Instead of lowering his fist after, he holds it there flush against yours. “Would it be weird for me to say that it’s honestly more than that?”

“What do you mean?”

He took in a deep breath and let out an exhale just as deep. “When I read your papers, I remembered everything we went through in uni and I just…kinda fell in love with your brain again, I guess. Even until now, you—and your work—inspired me to just do it. Then you started popping up everywhere in my life again and…I remembered how I did kinda fall in love with everything else about you. I was just too young and chicken to see it before.”

It took you a whole minute to find your voice again because how could he be this nonchalant? “You’re really just here dropping all these truth bombs without any warning, huh?”

“Like you said, we’re not in college anymore. I’d rather say it now than never.” Vernon’s smile is a shy one, hidden behind his hot chocolate cup. You can’t believe it took a dissertation paper for anyone’s feelings to be revealed—much less his.

As your mind reels with Vernon’s revelation, you scramble your brains to come up with a lighthearted retort. “So are you still kinda in love with me? Just so I know what and how we’re working on this project.”

He chuckles. “I don’t think you’re doing any better. Don’t think I don’t see you staring whenever I fetch Sofia from school.”

You gape at his reply. “How do you even know where to look for me?”

“You’re her last teacher of the day and you both leave the school at the same time. I told you. You just came barging into my life again unannounced, and it wasn’t even your fault. You just sort of…fell in there.”

A smug look took over your features, one you really couldn’t help after hearing all that he had to say. “Vernon Chwe, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were so down bad for me.”

“For that whip-smart brain and that adorable smile, maybe—theoretically—astronomically and catastrophically down bad even.”

You fight the heat rising to your cheeks—and fail. After a cough to hide your growing embarrassment, you say, “I think we’re done for the day.”

“Sure. So. Same time tomorrow?”

You were about to answer when you suddenly realized, “Vernon, it’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow. Don’t you have any other plans?”

He shakes his head and looks you straight in the eye as he says, “Just you. If you say yes.”

Wouldn’t falling further in love with your research partner compromise the integrity of the study? You had no idea. But if that were the case, then you were in for some major trouble.

[muniimyg]

𐙚₊˚⊹ boxer!jungkook (2) ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

series m.list // taglist closed

boxer jk x neuro doctor oc

post match vibes

warning: mentions of stitches, needle, and blood

note: 2/5 parts for this mini series! thanks for the love w pt1! mwah

//

jungkook sits on the edge of the ever-so-familiar hospital bed.

his legs are spread, hands draped over his knees, and he fights the urge to shut his eyes as the overhead light casts sharp shadows over the planes of his face.

he can feel it—his blood dripping down the sides of his face. the fresh cut on his forehead stark against his skin and the throbbing almost makes him feel like shit. jungkook takes a deep breath and stays still as you prep the needle. though the sterile scent of disinfectant settles between you, jungkook is doing his absolute best to memorize the way you smell.

you smell so freaking good.

"i thought you said you were good at boxing."

your voice is light, but the weight of it presses against his ribs. he grins, dimples threatening to form despite the sting above his brow.

"i am."

"so i'm stitching you up because?"

his gaze flickers to you, dark and intent. "i've been lacking the motivation."

"to win?"

"to focus,” he confesses. “how long has it been, doc? 3 months? shit. haven’t been myself since then. every day i hoped someone would beat the shit out of me so i could have an excuse to see you.”

"so you got yourself beaten up just to see me? is that supposed to impress me?" you ask him unamused.

he shakes his head. "no, but my dedication to seeing you again is."

"do you ever take no for an answer?"

"did you even really say no to me, though?"

the air stills.

then, you exhale through your nose. pretending to be unimpressed at him before pressing the needle to his skin. as you wait for his reaction, you run through different comebacks.

but you're out of time. in fact, you barely had any.

jungkook doesn’t flinch.

it truly does impress you because this shot is a bitch. yet, you notice how his fingers curl into a fist against the sheets.

"it's okay if it hurts," you murmur. "it's not supposed to be painless."

his jaw flexes. 

"i can handle hits. stitches? easy."

"i never said you couldn't handle it. i said it's okay if it hurts."

jungkook isn’t sure what it is… but silence drapes over the room. like a heavy mist or early moving fog.

it’s thick and weighted. 

jungkook swallows. his throat feels dry. his mind races. 

all his life, pain has been an afterthought—background noise to the only thing that’s ever mattered; winning. to jungkook, if he isn’t bruised, battered, and bleeding by the end of a fight, he hasn’t fought hard enough. pain isn’t something to be acknowledged and dwelled on. it’s a consequence. a transaction. 

but now, here you are… speaking about it so simply and coated in acceptance and warmth. then, there’s also your motherfucking gaze. 

so soft. 

so kind. 

so present. 

all of these things mixed together make his stomach twist. he doesn’t know how to act. he does’t know what to say. he doesn’t know what to feel.

he wonders if this is what pain really feels like—not the kind he’s trained to endure, but the kind that sneaks up on you, curling around your ribs when you least expect it. he wonders if it’s because he’s spent so long numbing himself to it… or if it’s because, for the first time, he’s realized something worse than losing a fight…

losing the chance to keep seeing you.

because holy fuck. 

where have you been his entire life? 

seriously.

jungkook clears his throat, stretching out his fingers, forcing the tension from his knuckles. "so, doc," he starts, a smirk playing at his lips, "do you date doctors?"

you blink. "pardon me?"

"you don’t date patients, right? well, everyone is a patient at some point, but not everyone is a doctor. so, do you only date doctors?"

you almost laugh. 

almost.

"you just got seven stitches on your forehead and you're concerned about whether or not i date doctors?"

jungkook shrugs before dropping the most nonchalant information about himself; "i have a degree in nutrition, you know. used to specialize in sports nutrition. just wanted to give boxing a shot—"

"wow. i didn't know that. that’s really cool." you say, genuinely intrigued, "what school did you go to—"

"i won't quit boxing... at least, not yet... but if i ever do, just know that i can be a doctor too… if that’s who you date and shit."

“and shit?”

“and shit.”

this time, you do laugh. 

it’s so pretty. 

the sound of it and the sight of it—mesmerizing. 

it catches jungkook off guard. his eyes flickering over your face, lingering a second too long. he looks at you… he really looks at you and it’s like he just won the best thing in the world. like he’s a kid who won BINGO in his class for the first time and got to choose the scented eraser as his prize. 

he watches you and thinks; to have you is to win. 

you’re the only victory he wants. 

as he shifts forward to hop off the bed, your hands move on instinct, catching him before he can fully rise. your fingers press lightly against the firm muscle of his forearm, his skin warm beneath your touch. he stills at the contact, his gaze flicking down to where your hands steady him, then back up to your face.

for a beat, neither of you move.

the air shifts—thickens—his breath slowing as he watches you, unreadable. your pulse kicks up, just slightly, just enough for you to notice. but then jungkook smirks, lazy and knowing, the tension splintering just as quickly as it built.

"careful, doc," he murmurs, voice lower now, laced with something teasing, something else. "if you keep holding onto me like that, i might start thinking you care."

"you shouldn’t be jumping off like that so fast—"

"okay. whatever you say. hey, look at me," he says, voice quieter now, more deliberate. your fingers still against his arm. "i'm not bad looking, right? i have an education. i follow my passion, and it's going well—"

"again," you interject, "i just gave you seven stitches."

"again," he repeats, "i just needed a reason to see you."

"you requested me and refused to be treated by namjoon," you point out.

"exactly," jungkook smirks.

you bite your bottom lip, catching yourself before you react. suddenly, you’re aware of how close you are—his warmth pressing into your space, the scent of sweat and antiseptic clinging to him. his eyes are locked on yours, waiting, watching.

"___—"

"doctor ___," you correct, stepping back, straightening your coat, severing whatever was hanging between you.

"doctor ___..." he tests the words on his tongue, then nods. "i’d really appreciate it if you could reconsider the whole... only dating a doctor thing. honestly? i don’t mind school. i just don’t want to go back and be old by the time i get to your level… but if that’s really the only way you’ll go out with me—"

rolling your eyes, you brush off your coat, turning toward the door—just like last time. pushing it open, you pause before you step through. taking one final glance at him, you titl your head ever so slightly. 

jungkook mirrors you. 

"no, mr. jeon," you say, voice laced with amusement. "i do not just date doctors. in fact, i avoid dating them."

then, the door swings shut behind you.

jungkook exhales, pressing his tongue against his cheek, shaking his head as he lets out a breathless chuckle.

hope. 

that’s what this feels like.

he’s had victories before, ones that have left him bruised and battered, ones that have left him undefeated. but this? this is something else entirely. something he’s willing to lose for. something he knows, in the deepest part of his chest, he can’t afford to.

not this time.

not when it’s you.

[jungwnies]

ENHYPEN | valentines day

୨ৎ : featuring : enhypen (heeseung, jay, jake, sunghoon, sunoo, jungwon, & ni-ki) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested or not) : spending valentines day with your en- boyfriend ୨ৎ : pairing : bf!en- x gn!reader

୨ৎ : genre : romance & fluff ୨ৎ : tws : slight suggestive for some members ୨ৎ : word count : 4181

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : happy valentines day to everyone! <3 (i can't like, riki's is definitely my favorite...)

이희승 ʚ・lee heeseung

the first thing you felt on valentine's morning was warmth.

not from the sun filtering through the curtains, but from the arms wrapped tightly around you, keeping you from moving. and then, his voice. low, groggy, and already laced with teasing.

“morning, baby,” heeseung mumbled, lips brushing against the side of your neck.

you groaned, turning your face into the pillow. “too early, hee.”

“it’s never too early,” he murmured, pressing slow, lazy kisses along your skin. “especially not on valentine’s day.”

you huffed, already feeling heat creep up your neck. heeseung always started the morning like this—shameless, suggestive, and completely in love with making you flustered.

“you’re impossible.”

“i prefer irresistible,” he grinned, rolling onto his side so he could look at you properly. his hair was tousled from sleep, his eyes still heavy-lidded but filled with mischief. “and you love me for it.”

you sighed dramatically, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. “unfortunately.”

heeseung let out a soft chuckle before leaning in, voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“happy valentine’s day,” he murmured, lips brushing against yours.

and just like that, the day officially began.

by the time you finally got out of bed, heeseung had already slipped into sweetest boyfriend mode.

breakfast was set up with all your favorites, music played softly in the background, and, most importantly, his phone was nowhere in sight.

“no gaming today?” you teased as you sat down.

he scoffed, popping a strawberry into his mouth. “nope. i’m in full boyfriend mode.”

you raised an eyebrow. “that so?”

“mhm.” he leaned forward, propping his chin on his hand, eyes locked on you. “and i take my job very seriously.”

the rest of the day was effortless. a walk through the city, his hand finding yours every chance he got. him sneaking pictures of you when you weren’t looking, then pretending he wasn’t just caught. constant teasing, constant laughter, and an absurd amount of flirting.

“babe, you look so good today.”

“i look the same as i always do.”

“exactly. which means you look good every day.”

you rolled your eyes, pretending not to enjoy it. but he saw right through you. he always did.

that night, he took you to a rooftop restaurant, the city glowing beneath you. for once, he was quiet, his usual playfulness replaced with something softer.

you reached for his hand. “what’s on your mind?”

heeseung exhaled, rubbing slow circles on your palm with his thumb. “just thinking about how lucky i am.”

your breath hitched at the sincerity in his voice.

“i know i joke around a lot,” he continued, his eyes locked onto yours. “but i never want you to think i don’t take us seriously. you mean everything to me.”

your chest tightened, warmth spreading through you like a slow burn. “you’re such a sap,” you whispered, smiling.

“only for you, baby.”

you lifted his hand to your lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles.

heeseung groaned, running his free hand down his face. “you know what that does to me.”

you tilted your head innocently. “what?”

his fingers tightened around yours as he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make your breath hitch.

“lucky for you,” he murmured, “we still have the rest of the night.”

박종성 ʚ・park jongseong

the first thing you noticed when you woke up was the scent of fresh flowers. roses, lilies, and orchids were carefully arranged on the nightstand beside you. a small card rested against the vase, jay’s familiar handwriting standing out against the crisp white paper.

"good morning, love. happy valentine’s day. take your time waking up. breakfast is waiting when you are ready. see you soon. yours, jay."

you smiled as warmth spread through your chest. the sound of waves outside the villa reminded you of where you were. cebu, philippines. a place you had planned to visit together, not as a surprise, but as the perfect valentine’s getaway. and knowing jay, he had planned everything down to the last detail.

by the time you stepped outside onto the villa’s terrace, the salty breeze wrapped around you, carrying the sound of gentle waves lapping against the shore. jay stood by the breakfast table, dressed casually in a linen shirt and shorts. his sunglasses were lazily perched on his head, and when he saw you, his lips curled into a satisfied smile.

“there you are,” he said, setting his coffee down. “i was going to come wake you up myself.”

you crossed your arms, tilting your head. “you would have been dragged into bed with me.”

his laugh was low and amused. “you say that like it would be a problem.”

rolling your eyes, you settled into the chair he pulled out for you. the table was filled with fresh fruit, warm pastries, and local delicacies. jay reached for a mango slice and held it up to your lips with a smirk.

“eat,” he instructed.

you took a bite, humming in approval as the sweet flavor melted on your tongue. “this is amazing.”

he grinned, watching you. “i know. only the best for my favorite person.”

after breakfast, jay led you to a private boat waiting to take you to a hidden lagoon. the ride was smooth, the ocean stretching endlessly around you. he kept close, his fingers brushing yours, his presence steady and warm.

at one point, he leaned in with a teasing grin. “wouldn’t this be a perfect place for a kiss?”

you raised an eyebrow. “are you asking or telling?”

he smirked before pulling you in, pressing his lips against yours in a slow, lingering kiss. when he pulled away, he looked entirely too pleased with himself.

the day passed effortlessly. snorkeling in crystal-clear water, exploring caves, and chasing each other through the shallow surf. jay made sure you were never too far from him, always finding an excuse to hold your hand, wrap an arm around your waist, or press a kiss to your temple when he thought you were too distracted to catch him.

as the sun dipped below the horizon, jay brought you back to the villa, though instead of heading inside, he led you to a secluded setup on the beach. a small dining table sat in the sand, surrounded by glowing lanterns and plush cushions. the waves provided a soothing soundtrack as candlelight flickered in the breeze.

“you did all this?” you asked, eyes wide.

jay smiled, taking your hand as he guided you to sit. “you deserve a perfect night.”

dinner was slow and intimate, filled with quiet laughter and soft touches. jay stole food from your plate more times than necessary, but you let it slide, especially when he would reach for your hand right after, lacing his fingers with yours as if he needed to be close to you.

“you really went all out,” you said, watching him as he poured you another glass of wine.

he met your gaze, something softer settling in his eyes. “of course i did. it’s you.”

your breath caught at the weight behind his words.

he smiled, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “i’m already thinking about next year.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “we haven’t even finished tonight.”

his fingers traced along the back of your hand. “that’s the best part.”

the sound of the ocean filled the space between you as the night stretched on. jay pulled you into his arms, holding you close as the waves kissed the shore. he pressed his forehead against yours, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“stay here with me. no plans. just us.”

you nodded, resting against him as the stars glowed above. in that moment, nothing else mattered except being here, in his arms, exactly where you were meant to be.

심재윤 ʚ・sim jaeyun

jake had asked you to be his valentine a week ago.

it was the kind of thing that made your heart flutter. he could have assumed, could have just surprised you on the day, but no. he had asked properly, standing in front of you with that warm, boyish smile and hopeful eyes.

“i mean, i know we’re together,” he had said, rubbing the back of his neck, “but i still wanted to ask. so… will you be my valentine?”

like you could ever say no to him.

valentine’s day arrived with jake at your door, holding a bouquet of flowers and a bright smile.

“happy valentine’s day,” he said, eyes shining as he handed them to you. “and before you say anything, yes, there’s more.”

you laughed, letting him inside as he placed a carefully wrapped gift bag on the table. his excitement was contagious, the way he bounced slightly on his feet, waiting for you to open it.

inside, you found your favorite snacks, little things that reminded you of him, and a small box tucked neatly at the bottom. you glanced up at him, and he simply grinned.

“open it,” he urged, practically buzzing with anticipation.

lifting the lid, you found a delicate bracelet resting inside. it was simple but beautiful, something timeless that you could wear every day. your fingers brushed over it before looking back up at jake, who was watching you nervously.

“i wanted to get you something you could keep forever,” he said softly. “something to remind you that i’ll always be here.”

your heart squeezed at his words. he was always like this, always so thoughtful in the ways he loved you.

you smiled, eyes soft. “jake, this is perfect.”

relief washed over his face before he took the bracelet from the box, reaching for your wrist. as he clasped it carefully, his fingers lingered against your skin.

“there,” he said, his voice quieter now. “now you have a piece of me with you all the time.”

you looked down at the bracelet, then back at him, warmth spreading through your chest.

“i don’t need a bracelet to remind me of you,” you murmured. “you’re kind of hard to forget.”

jake laughed, cheeks tinged pink. “that’s good, because i plan on being around for a long time.”

you didn’t doubt that for a second.

the rest of the evening was spent wrapped in the warmth of each other. he had planned a cozy night in, just the two of you, eating your favorite food and watching a movie that neither of you paid much attention to. at some point, you ended up curled against him, his arm draped around you as his fingers traced light circles on your arm.

“you know,” he murmured, resting his chin on top of your head, “i don’t think one day is enough to show you how much i love you.”

you tilted your head up to meet his gaze. “no?”

he shook his head, smiling softly. “no. so let’s make every day feel like this.”

and as you sat there, completely wrapped up in him, you realized there was nothing else you would ever need.

because jake would always be yours.

박성훈 ʚ・park sunghoon

sunghoon had never really cared about valentine’s day.

it had always been just another date on the calendar, a day where couples exchanged gifts and grand gestures, something he had never personally been part of. until now.

until you.

which was exactly why he had been fidgeting with the sleeves of his sweater for the past five minutes, trying to act normal as you sat beside him on the couch, completely unaware of the way his heart was racing.

earlier that day, sunghoon had shown up at your place, carrying a bag filled with snacks, takeout from your favorite restaurant, and a small, neatly wrapped gift. he had spent too much time picking it out, pacing through the store until he found something he hoped you would love.

when you opened the door, he hesitated for a second before finally speaking. “happy valentine’s day.”

you smiled, stepping aside to let him in. “happy valentine’s day, hoon.”

he cleared his throat, glancing down at the bag in his hands. “i, um… i got you something. it’s not much, but…”

before he could finish, you took the bag from him, peeking inside with a soft expression. “you got my favorite food?”

he shrugged, shifting on his feet. “yeah, well… i know you like it, so…”

your heart melted at the small gesture. “that’s really sweet, hoon.”

his ears turned slightly pink, but he tried to brush it off. “it’s nothing.”

now, with dinner finished and the two of you curled up on the couch, sunghoon felt his usual hesitation slip away. it had taken him some time to get used to being affectionate, but when it was just the two of you, away from the eyes of the world, he didn’t have to hold back.

he leaned into your side, resting his head against your shoulder with a soft sigh. his fingers played absentmindedly with the hem of your sleeve as he mumbled, “this is nice.”

you smiled, tilting your head slightly to look at him. “yeah? i didn’t take you for a valentine’s day person.”

he huffed, pretending to be indifferent. “i wasn’t. but now… i think i get why people like it.”

you reached up, brushing a hand through his hair gently. he closed his eyes at the touch, relaxing into you.

after a moment, he sat up slightly and reached for the small box he had placed on the table earlier. he handed it to you, avoiding your gaze as he muttered, “i also got you this. it’s not a big deal or anything, but…”

curious, you opened the box to find a delicate necklace resting inside, simple yet beautiful.

you looked at him, touched by the gesture. “hoon, this is perfect.”

he let out a breath he had been holding. “yeah?”

you nodded. “yeah.”

a small, relieved smile tugged at his lips before he reached out, carefully taking the necklace from the box. “let me put it on you.”

as his fingers brushed against your skin while clasping it around your neck, he hesitated for just a second before wrapping his arms around you from behind, pulling you into a warm embrace. his chin rested against your shoulder, his voice softer now.

“thanks for spending today with me,” he murmured. “it… means a lot.”

you turned slightly, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “i wouldn’t want to spend it with anyone else.”

sunghoon let out a content sigh, holding you even closer.

maybe valentine’s day wasn’t so bad after all.

김선우 ʚ・kim sunoo

the moment you opened your door, you were greeted by the sight of sunoo holding the biggest heart-shaped balloon you had ever seen.

“happy valentine’s day!” he exclaimed, grinning brightly as he bounced on his feet. in his other hand, he held a small gift bag decorated with pastel hearts, and tucked under his arm was a pink plushie in the shape of a bunny.

you blinked, already feeling your heart melt. “sunoo… this is adorable.”

“i know,” he said proudly, stepping inside. “but wait, there’s more! we have a very special valentine’s date planned, so hurry and put on something cute.”

you laughed at his excitement but nodded. “okay, okay, give me five minutes.”

“five minutes?” he pouted, dramatically placing a hand over his heart. “that’s like… forever.”

rolling your eyes fondly, you leaned up and kissed his cheek before hurrying to get ready.

a short while later, you found yourself at the cutest little café, one that sunoo had clearly put a lot of thought into choosing. everything was decorated for valentine’s day, from the heart-shaped pastries to the soft pink fairy lights strung across the ceiling.

sunoo clapped his hands together excitedly. “isn’t this place perfect?”

you nodded, already in love with the cozy atmosphere. “you really know how to plan the cutest dates.”

he gave you a smug little smile, resting his chin in his hand. “of course, i do. i have to impress my valentine, after all.”

your heart did a little flip at the way he was looking at you.

when the desserts arrived, sunoo’s entire face lit up. “look at this!” he pointed excitedly at the heart-shaped strawberry shortcake. “it’s almost too cute to eat.”

you grinned. “almost.”

sunoo giggled as he picked up his fork, cutting a small bite before holding it up to your lips. “say ahh~”

you rolled your eyes playfully but let him feed you, the sweetness of the cake nothing compared to the boy in front of you.

“good?” he asked, eyes sparkling.

you nodded, swallowing. “delicious.”

he beamed, taking a bite for himself before humming in approval. “this is the best valentine’s ever.”

“you say that like you’ve had so many,” you teased.

he huffed dramatically. “i haven’t, but this one is special.” his voice softened slightly as he looked at you. “because it’s with you.”

your heart melted on the spot.

sunoo, of course, noticed your reaction and giggled. “did i make you shy? cute.”

you groaned, covering your face as he laughed, reaching over to hold your hand across the table.

after stuffing yourselves with sweets, the two of you walked hand in hand through the city, stopping to look at window displays and snapping cute photos together. sunoo was as affectionate as ever, squeezing your hand and swinging it slightly as he walked.

“i hope today was fun for you,” he said after a while, glancing at you with a small smile.

you squeezed his hand back. “it was perfect.”

he sighed dramatically. “ugh, now i have to make next year even better.”

you laughed. “i have no doubt you’ll manage.”

sunoo grinned, pulling you into a warm hug. “good. because i plan on being your valentine for a long time.”

as you stood there wrapped in his arms, the soft glow of the city lights around you, you couldn’t imagine anything sweeter.

양정원 ʚ・yang jungwon

jungwon had planned a simple valentine’s day. nothing too extravagant, just the two of you spending time together. but the second you teased him about being so romantic, he immediately started denying it.

“i just thought it would be nice,” he mumbled, adjusting his scarf as the two of you walked toward seoul tower. “it’s not that big of a deal.”

you smirked. “not a big deal? you literally packed a picnic, booked the perfect spot, and even picked a matching color scheme for our outfits.”

his ears turned pink. “that was an accident.”

“oh? so you just accidentally coordinated us?”

he sighed, clearly regretting every choice he made that led to this moment.

by the time you reached the top of seoul tower, the city stretched below you, lights flickering like tiny stars. jungwon had set up a small picnic on a bench near the railing, complete with snacks and hot drinks to keep you warm.

you nudged him as you sat down. “look at you, mr. romantic.”

jungwon groaned, burying his face in his hands. “i knew i shouldn’t have told you my plan.”

you laughed, leaning against him. “i’m just teasing. this is really sweet.”

he peeked at you through his fingers, his pout still visible. “you’re having fun, though, right?”

you smiled, nodding. “of course. especially because i get to watch you get all shy.”

he huffed, picking up a snack and handing it to you. “eat your food and stop bullying me.”

you grinned but took the snack, feeling warmth spread through your chest.

after finishing the picnic, you both walked over to the love locks, looking at the countless messages couples had written before attaching them to the railing.

jungwon hesitated before pulling out a small lock from his pocket. he looked down at it, then at you, clearing his throat. “i thought… maybe we could put one here too.”

your teasing grin softened as you watched him fidget slightly, his fingers playing with the lock. he had probably debated whether this was too much, but the way he looked at you, eyes filled with quiet affection, made your heart melt.

taking the marker from him, you scribbled both your names on the lock, along with a small doodle. when you handed it back, jungwon smiled before clicking it onto the railing.

“there,” he said, stepping back. “now it’s official.”

you leaned in closer. “does this mean we’re locked in forever?”

jungwon turned red so fast you thought he might explode. “i— i mean— that’s not—”

you laughed, watching him trip over his words. “you’re so cute when you’re flustered.”

he groaned, covering his face again. “you are never letting this go, are you?”

“not a chance.”

despite his embarrassment, he grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers as you both stood there, looking out over the city. his grip tightened slightly as he whispered, “i wouldn’t want to spend today with anyone else.”

for once, you let him have his moment.

then, after a few seconds, you smirked. “so does that mean you do want to be locked in forever?”

“oh my god.”

西村力 ʚ・nishimura riki

spending valentine’s day with riki meant two things.

one, there was zero chance of having a boring day.

two, there was a very high chance of getting lost at least once.

“i know exactly where we’re going,” riki said confidently as he led you through the bustling streets of tokyo.

“you said that ten minutes ago,” you replied, raising an eyebrow.

he waved you off. “that was before i adjusted the route.”

“you mean before you got distracted by that street performer and forgot where we were?”

“… that is completely unrelated.”

you sighed dramatically but followed him anyway, smiling at the way he seemed completely at home in the city. despite the questionable navigation skills, there was something comforting about being with him, watching the way his eyes lit up every time he pointed out a place he loved.

after wandering around for a while (totally not because he lost track of the map again), riki finally took you to a cozy food stall tucked in an alleyway.

“this place has the best takoyaki,” he declared, grabbing a pair of chopsticks before handing you a piece. “try it.”

you took a bite, humming at the flavor. “okay, you were right. this is amazing.”

riki smirked, clearly pleased with himself. “told you. i have exquisite taste.”

you rolled your eyes. “says the guy who still eats instant ramen with chocolate milk.”

“that happened once,” he argued.

“it happened twice.”

“that’s still barely a pattern.”

shaking your head, you handed him a piece of your food. “here, since you’re my tour guide today, i’ll share.”

he grinned before taking the bite straight from your chopsticks. “wow,” he said, dramatically placing a hand over his heart. “you’re really spoiling me today.”

“don’t get used to it.”

he snorted but nudged your foot under the table anyway, his way of silently saying thank you.

after eating, riki dragged you through different parts of the city, showing you everything from his favorite arcades to the best hidden photo booths. at one point, he stopped in front of a small shop and turned to you with a sheepish grin.

“wait here,” he said before disappearing inside.

a few minutes later, he came back holding a small keychain in the shape of a lucky cat. he held it out to you with a nervous scratch at the back of his neck.

“it’s kinda dumb, but i saw it and thought of you,” he admitted. “you’re like my lucky charm, you know?”

your heart did a full flip.

“riki…” you took the keychain, turning it over in your fingers before looking up at him. “this is actually really sweet.”

he grinned. “i am pretty thoughtful.”

“you’re also a menace.”

“yeah, but i’m your menace.”

you groaned, but he just laughed, throwing an arm around your shoulders as he pulled you along.

by the time the day ended, you found yourselves sitting on a bench near the river, watching the city lights flicker across the water.

riki sighed, stretching his legs out before leaning back on his hands. “this was fun.”

you nodded, leaning your head against his shoulder. “it really was.”

there was a moment of comfortable silence before he spoke again, his voice quieter this time.

“i’m really glad i got to spend today with you,” he murmured. “i know i joke around a lot, but… you being here means a lot to me.”

you smiled, squeezing his hand. “i wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

he stayed quiet for a second, then smirked. “even when i got us lost?”

you groaned. “don’t remind me.”

he laughed, tilting his head against yours. “okay, okay, next time i’ll actually follow the map.”

you glanced up at him. “promise?”

he pretended to think before grinning. “nope.”

shaking your head, you let out a sigh, but secretly, you wouldn’t change a thing.

lost or not, as long as you were with riki, it was exactly where you wanted to be.

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[loverofwomenswrongs]

TWO, THOUGH

****** Pairing: Billie Eilish x singer!fem!reader Words: 0.8K

****** [So, sabrina carpenter's songs are reader's in this]

Showing her music to people had always been nerve-wracking for Y/n—especially when that person was Billie Eilish. Her girlfriend. A singer. A songwriter. Someone who wrote her own songs with her brother and whose opinion meant everything to Y/n.

Billie had always been honest with her, which she appreciated. But that didn’t make it any less terrifying.

So when Y/n, curled up in bed with Billie, casually mentioned that she wanted to show her some new songs from the album she was working on, Billie lit up instantly.

“Right now?!” she asked, already halfway to pulling Y/n out of bed.

“Baby,” Y/n groaned, laughing as she held onto the blanket. “Can’t you wait at least eight more hours?”

Billie huffed dramatically before snuggling closer into Y/n’s chest. “Alriiiight,” she mumbled. “But first thing in the morning.”

“Anything you want, love.” Y/n kissed the top of her head, and just like that, they drifted into sleep.

—

That’s how they ended up at the studio by 9 a.m. sharp.

Billie, still buzzing with excitement, practically dragged Y/n inside, her eyes gleaming. Meanwhile, Y/n watched her with so much adoration that it made Billie’s cheeks turn pink.

Noticing this, Y/n laughed and leaned in to peck her cheek. “I love making you blush. You look so cute.”

“I’ll show you cute,” Billie huffed, pretending to be offended.

“Oh no, I’m so scared,” Y/n teased, pushing open the door. She barely caught Billie muttering something under her breath—something along the lines of you should be. And if she didn’t have to shake certain thoughts out of her head at that moment, she’d be lying.

Once inside, Billie made herself comfortable on the couch while Y/n set up the session—connecting the speakers, preparing the tracks, and grabbing the wireless keyboard. When everything was ready, she walked over and settled herself between Billie’s legs, leaning back against her chest as Billie wrapped her arms around her waist.

“Ready?” Y/n asked, though her voice betrayed her nerves.

Billie could tell. So instead of answering right away, she kissed Y/n’s shoulder, tightening her grip around her. “Don’t be nervous, baby. I know I’m gonna love them.”

“I know,” Y/n exhaled, tilting her head slightly. “But I always get anxious when showing you my music. I don’t know if it’s because this isn’t exactly your usual style, or if it’s just because I care about your opinion so much… Maybe both? I just—” She sighed. “I just want to make you proud.”

Billie pressed another soft kiss to her skin, then another, knowing it would help ease the tension in Y/n’s shoulders. “I’m already proud of you,” she murmured. “And I’ll always love anything you do.”

Y/n let out a small, relieved breath. “Okay,” she nodded. “So, I have four songs to show you—Juno, Slim Pickings, Good Graces, and Sharpest Tool.”

Billie grinned. “Let’s do it. They already sound amazing.”

—

After about twenty minutes, all the songs had played through. Y/n took a deep breath before turning to face Billie, eager—but also terrified—to hear her thoughts. She had insisted on letting Billie listen to them all in one go, though that hadn’t stopped her girlfriend from making the occasional excited comment:

"Oh, that vocal run—""Babe, these lyrics are insane.""That guitar? Absolutely unreal."

Now, with the final notes fading into silence, Y/n hesitated. She busied herself with playing with Billie’s rings, avoiding direct eye contact. “So… what do you think?”

Billie, however, wasn’t having that. Gently, she took Y/n’s chin between her fingers, tilting her face up until their eyes met.

“I cannot believe you were so nervous to show me these,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief. “They were amazing. You are amazing.”

Y/n’s entire face lit up. “You actually liked them?”

Billie huffed, feigning exasperation. “Yes! How many times do I have to tell you? Like I said before, I love everything you do. Always.” She tucked a strand of hair behind Y/n’s ear. “Wanna know my favorite one?”

“Obviously,” Y/n said, grinning as she shifted back into Billie’s arms, tilting her head slightly to still see those familiar blue eyes.

“Juno,” Billie answered without hesitation.

That caught Y/n off guard. She didn’t know what she had been expecting, but it definitely wasn’t that. “Wait—really? Why?”

Billie smirked, her fingers tracing slow circles on Y/n’s waist. “I mean, I loved all of them. But now you’ve officially put the idea of a mini you in my head, and I’m afraid there’s no going back.”

Y/n’s eyes widened as she let out an amused laugh. “Billie.”

“Give me one. Right now.”

Y/n died laughing, shaking her head at her girlfriend’s ridiculous—and very on-brand—impulsiveness. She decided to play along. “Okay, see, I love that you think that, but for some reason, I don’t think we can exactly make that happen right now.”

“Oh, I know it won’t work,” Billie admitted easily. “But we can still try.”

Before Y/n could protest, Billie was already pressing slow, lingering kisses along her neck, her lips warm and soft. Y/n sighed, instinctively tilting her head to give her more space.

“Yeah,” she murmured, her breath hitching slightly. “That… we can definitely do.”

[yamumsyadadd]

no goodbye?

you get the shock of your life when you see your fiancée is leaving through instagram.

It had been a week from hell. Working night shifts was something that never got easier, no matter how many times you had to do it. 

You’d barely had time to breathe, the final shift of your rotation had been absolutely insanity. For the entire week, you’d be missing your fiancé. Keira trained during the day, played usually on the weekends and slept at night time like a normal person. 

When you weren’t doing nights, your routine was down pat. Dates nights the day after their game, because that was Keira cheat day and you could enjoy whatever you wanted together. Dinner always followed her nutrition plan, mainly because you could’ve be bothered making separate meals. Everyday and every night would end and start the same way: cuddled up under the blankets together. 

For two and a half years, that’s how it had worked. But recently, it stopped working. During the summer, a trip away to Iceland during the Olympics was booked. It was there that Keira proposed, but also asked if you’d join her in moving back to England when her contract expired in the summer of 2025, right before the euros. 

It wasn’t until you were almost home that you finally went on instagram. The news was heartbreaking: Keira Walsh set to travel to London for a fitness test with Chelsea. 

Your heart sank. Surely it wasn’t the truth, this wasn’t the plan. Keira never said anything. Yes, you’d barely seen each other this week but surely if it was true she would’ve stopped you for a minute to tell you. 

When you finally walked through the door of your apartment, the rumours were true. Keira had her back to you when you entered the bedroom, the room was disheveled. Clothes, books and shoes were thrown everywhere. 

“The rumours are true?” You crossed your arms and leaned against the doorframe. 

“You scared me.” Keira turned around, dropping the clothes she had in her hand. 

“You’re leaving.” It wasn’t a question. 

“I was going to tell you but-“

“But what? What about the plan we made?”

“That’s not fair. You know I’m struggling, I told you last year I wanted to leave. This hasn’t been a secret. I need to do this.” 

“And what about me Keira? I already gave in my resignation, we bought an apartment together in London, we had plans!” You felt like she wasn’t listening, that you didn’t matter. 

“I know I moved our timeline up a little. But we can make it work? Do long distance for a few months and then-“

“And then nothing.” 

“Y/n…don’t say that.” 

“Do you not realise that you never said anything to me. I found out you were moving to Chelsea through an instagram post Keira. You are supposed to be my fiancée, you’re supposed to tell me these things not some account on instagram.” 

“I was going to tell you but you have been working so much!” She yelled. 

“So what you were just going to leave and hope I didn’t notice?” 

“No. I was going to tell you, tonight. I love you, so much. But I can’t stay here any longer. We can do the distance, it’s only for a little while. Please.” Keira begged, it was the one thing she rarely did. 

Your heart was broken, your head was confused. On one hand, you loved her. So incredibly much, and if being long distance for sixish months was what was needed, then you would do it. But on the other hand, she was leaving. Moving to a different country, and you had to find out through an instagram post. 

“I need time Kei. You didn’t tell me. I learnt about you leaving online. Not from you.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry.” 

“I don’t know if that’s good enough.” You left the room, unable to deal with your fiancée or the packing. 

As you sat in the lounge room the last two and a half years played on repeat. You met at the club, during the summer you had taken the role that was offered, the club needed a nurse just for a few weeks. At first, she was shy, she’d just moved from England to Spain, didn’t speak the language and only knew her ex. 

Originally you didn’t want a relationship, friendship maybe but certainly not a relationship. But that quickly changed the more time you spent with her. She wasn’t shy, she was funny, loud, mischievous and she loved deeply. 

You wished you could say it was picture perfect, that all your dreams with a partner were coming true but that simply wasn’t the case. Keira was leaving, without you, without telling you. Apart of you knew these things moved quickly but the other part was truly hurt by Keira’s actions. 

“Babe?” Keira’s voice cut through your mind, you looked up at her. Her eyes were red and cheeks were wet, mirroring your own. “I fucked up. I don’t know why I didn’t tell you. Maybe I was scared or that you would be disappointed but instead I hurt you. I am so so sorry for that. I truly didn’t mean for it to turn out like this.” 

“What do you want to do Kei? Because right now, I just want to cry and yell at you.” 

“You can yell, you can cry. I accept that I fucked up massively and maybe you don’t trust me anymore, but I don’t want us to end up. If thats something you want, I’ll be sad but I’ll respect that.” 

“I don’t think I want us to end. I just-“ you took a deep breath, needing to calm yourself down so you could properly articulate yourself, “I need you to know that this hurt me, so incredibly much Keira. You signed a contract, which means you went to London. You were packing your bags when I got home. You broke apart of my trust.” 

“What does this mean?” Keira asked shyly, hoping you weren’t about to break up with her. 

“We take some time. We have to be apart anyway, if we can manage to trust each other for then next few months, if you promise not to lie to me again or to keep things from me and if I am feeling that you have been putting effort in, then I will come to London.” 

We sat there in silence for a little while. Both fully taking in the events of the night. From when you first started dating Keira, you knew you wanted to marry her. You’d been warned by your friends about how footballers can be but not your Keira. Usually she always asked your opinion first, cared what you had to say about anything and everything. 

The following day was spent close to tears for the both of us. Aitana, Ellie and Kika came to say their goodbyes early in the morning. Keira was leaving just before lunch and then it would be just you. 

You would be left alone, in the home you two created together. It had been a while since you genuinely had to be without each other. International breaks were one thing, but living in separate countries was another. 

“I love you. So much. I’ll be back soon, and I’ll call you tonight okay?” You mumbled your goodbyes and I love yous into her neck, not wanting everyone to see the tears that were pouring out of your eyes. 

True to her word, she did call you that night. The transfer was going ahead officially. The next few months were spent going back and forth to London. You more than her due to having a more flexible schedule. Dates were over FaceTime and more often than not you’d fall asleep with each other on the phone. 

“I officially gave my resignation today.” You told her on one of your FaceTime dates. 

“You what?” 

“My resignation? Remember we agreed I’d come before the euros?” You were slightly confused since this had been the original plan. 

“You’re actually coming? You aren’t joking?” 

“No babe I’m not joking. I’ll be there at the start of June!” 

“Oh my god. I can’t wait. Honestly, it’s so hard being away from you.” 

The logistics of the move were sorted pretty quickly that night. You both agreed that hiring movers and packers was the best idea, meaning the stress would be minimal. Finding a job wouldn’t be hard, but you were happy to spend the summer as a WAG first and then deal with it later. 

Sometimes, when you love someone they can take advantage of that. Keira was often at fault of that, but so were you. In the winter break of 2025, you celebrated your marriage to her. Surrounded by your friends, her teammates, current and past. It reminded you of how loved you were, how much Keira loved you and you loved her. 

It was definitely a hard transition, moving from Spain to England, especially because of the weather. But those raining, wintery days were spent wrapped up in your wife’s arms, your baby bump growing each day. 

[bitchinbarzal]

Yacht | N Hischier

summary: a tweet about nico’s off season escapades hurts you.

-

The first time Nico calls, you don’t answer.

The second time, you silence your phone.

By the third, you block his number.

It’s not that you owe him anything — you weren’t exclusive, weren’t serious, weren’t anything more than stolen nights and tangled sheets before he left for Switzerland.

That was the unspoken agreement. No promises. No expectations. Just something fun while it lasted.

And yet, when you see the tweet — Nico Hischier spotted on a yacht in Ibiza with a mystery woman — something inside you cracks.

You stare at the photo attached, your stomach twisting. His back is turned to the camera, but you’d recognize him anywhere—the sharp lines of his shoulders, the curve of his neck. He’s leaning close to a brunette in a bikini, her hand pressed to his chest like she belongs there.

Like he’s hers.

It shouldn’t bother you. It really, really shouldn’t.

But it does.

So you do the only thing that makes sense: you stop answering his calls. Stop replying to his texts. Stop giving him any piece of you at all.

And when John asks you out in late July, you say yes.

It’s easy with John. Simple.

There are no blurred lines, no unspoken rules, no waiting around for the other shoe to drop. He shows up when he says he will, texts you good morning and goodnight. He doesn’t make you feel like an option, like something temporary.

Most days, that’s enough.

And then September comes.

You know Nico is back in New Jersey before you even see him. He’s hard to avoid when his face is plastered all over social media — first day back on the ice, first media availability, first preseason game on the horizon.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. That he doesn’t matter.

But when you spot him across the room at a Devils event, looking right at you, you realize you’ve been lying to yourself.

His gaze doesn’t waver, even when John leans in to murmur something in your ear. You barely register what he says, pulse roaring in your ears.

Nico looks different. Not physically — he’s still tall, still impossibly handsome, still the same person you spent so many nights tangled up with. But there’s something else, something in the way his jaw tightens, the way his hands clench into fists at his sides.

And then he’s walking toward you.

“Can we talk?” His voice is lower than you remember, rougher.

John tenses beside you, but doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you, waiting.

You could say no.

Should say no.

But you don’t.

“Yeah,” you say, pulling your hand from John’s. “Give me a minute?”

John hesitates, then nods.

Nico leads you away from the crowd, into a quieter corner of the venue. He shoves his hands into his pockets, exhaling sharply.

“You’re ignoring me,” he says, accusation laced into every syllable.

You fold your arms over your chest. “You’re just now figuring that out?”

His brows furrow. “I don’t get it, why?”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously.” His frustration simmers just beneath the surface. “I come back, and suddenly you’re acting like I don’t exist. I called you—”

“And I didn’t answer.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” He exhales through his nose. “I just don’t get what I did.”

Your stomach twists. You shouldn’t care enough to explain, but the words bubble up before you can stop them.

“You were in Ibiza,” you say flatly.

Nico blinks. “What?”

“You were in Ibiza,” you repeat, voice sharper now. “On a yacht. With some girl.”

Realization flickers across his face, followed quickly by something else — guilt, maybe?

“That’s what this is about?”

You scoff. “Are you actually surprised?”

“You ghosted me for months over a tweet?” He shakes his head. “Jesus, you could’ve asked me instead of shutting me out.”

“Why would I need to ask?” You cross your arms tighter over your chest. “We weren’t exclusive, remember? You didn’t owe me anything, I didn’t owe you anything. That was the deal.” You force yourself to meet his gaze. “So I didn’t ask. I just… moved on.”

His jaw tightens. “With Marino?”

You don’t look back toward John, but you don’t need to. “Yeah.”

Nico lets out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “So that’s it? You’re just done?”

“What else is there to say?”

“Maybe that you actually gave a shit” he snaps “Because if you didn’t, you wouldn’t have been so quick to cut me off. You wouldn’t be looking at me like that right now.”

Your breath catches.

You don’t know what he means by that, but you don’t ask. You don’t want to ask.

Because maybe he’s right. Maybe you cared more than you should’ve. Maybe you still do.

But that doesn’t change anything.

You inhale deeply. “I’m happy with John.”

Nico flinches, just barely. “Right.” He nods, slow and deliberate, like he’s convincing himself to believe it “If that’s what you want.”

You swallow. “It is.”

He watches you for a long moment, searching your face for something — doubt, hesitation, anything.

You don’t give it to him.

Finally, he nods. “Okay.”

You don’t say anything else. You just turn and walk back to John, ignoring the way your heart clenches in your chest.

Ignoring the way Nico’s eyes burn into your back the whole way.

Ignoring the nagging, unbearable thought that maybe, you didn’t move on at all.

[axvwriter]

I felt a bit stressed answering this one as I feel like I answered one based on old behavior that I'm not sure I'd still do plus for a good amount of them felt uncertain how to pick as I wasn't sure that was really my answer. Then with it showing me how it perceived that response, some didn't feel quite right.

Though I guess this sounds accurate enough? I don't really know since I've only had three crushes in my life, all at ages where I wasn't allowed to date, and I don't currently feel ready to date so I'm not certain about how I'd go about some things. I did notice there's a link under the results to see all the options. I'm going to browse through that real quick and see if any of them feel more accurate to me.

I feel like two or three almost match me, though I'm not sure if they're a better match. Might as well just stick to the fun of what I got.

WOAAHHH💖💖💖 HERE Love Pawsona~

tagging: @hagi-clvnk @haroksan @fanfictionsworld @devotedlyluckyarbiter @wintersoldier-barnes @scint1llat3 @part-sadist @karamatsuboy-aj @lallopsyou @skibidibabygirl @teighveepao @jovieinramshackle @quartztwst @skriblee-ksk @alli-ily @liyuviq @cheerleaderman @bananahkim @viperbunnies and anyone who wants to try it!!💕💕

[catiroll]

A Dance for Two °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Synopsis: When your daughter wants to attend the Daddy-Daughter Ball, Sevika reluctantly agrees to take her. What begins as a simple favor turns into something far more meaningful than either of you expected.

Warning: nothin rlly

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ The tiny bow on Mira’s dress had come undone again.

You knelt in front of her, fingers carefully retying it, making sure it was straight. She stood perfectly still, her small hands gripping the soft folds of her dress, eyes locked on your movements with unusual intensity. Normally, she would have been talking—about the colors, the music, the way her shoes made soft clicks against the floor—but tonight, she was quieter than usual.

You noticed.

You always noticed.

“There,” you said, adjusting the bow one last time before pulling back. “Perfect.”

Mira didn’t respond right away. She turned slightly, lifting her dress in her little fingers and watching how the fabric shimmered under the warm glow of the lanterns. You could see the wheels in her mind turning, but she hadn’t yet found the words she wanted.

Then, finally—softly, hesitantly—she asked, “Mama… do I get to go even if I don’t got a daddy?”

Your hands stilled.

It wasn’t the first time she had asked about fathers. It wasn’t even the first time she had noticed she didn’t have one. But it was the first time she had linked it to something she might be missing out on—something other kids had and she didn’t.

Your chest tightened, and you forced a small smile as you tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “Of course you get to go, sweetheart. You don’t need a daddy to dance.”

Mira nodded slowly, but her grip on her dress remained tight. “The other girls said their daddies are taking them.”

Your throat constricted.

Before you could say anything, she looked up at you, something hopeful flickering in her wide eyes. “Could Auntie Vik take me?”

You blinked, caught off guard.

Sevika.

It wasn’t that the idea was bad—far from it. It was just… unexpected.

Sevika didn’t do things like this. She wasn’t soft, wasn’t gentle—not in the ways most people would recognize. But Mira saw her differently.

You saw it too, sometimes.

Sevika was the one who let Mira sit on her shoulders to reach the top shelf. The one who wordlessly passed her a piece of whatever she was eating, even if Mira never asked. The one who grumbled endlessly about how ‘kids were too much trouble’—only to let Mira fall asleep curled up in her lap minutes later.

Maybe… just maybe, this could work.

“You want me to do what?”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Sevika stared at you from across the table, one brow arched, her metal fingers drumming against the worn wooden surface. You’d just finished explaining the situation, and judging by her expression, she was either irritated or amused. Maybe both.

“Take Mira to the Daddy-Daughter Ball,” you repeated, this time a little slower, as if that would somehow make it sound like less of a ridiculous request.

Sevika let out a dry, humorless laugh. “You do realize I don’t fit either of those words, right?”

You sighed, crossing your arms. “You’re not an idiot, Sev. You know that’s not what this is about.”

She leaned back, exhaling through her nose. “Kid needs a dance partner? Take her yourself.”

“She doesn’t want that.” You hesitated. “She wants you.”

That got her.

Her fingers stilled against the table. Her jaw clenched—just slightly—but enough for you to notice.

“I don’t know how to do this shit,” she muttered, looking away. “Dancing. Balls. Dressing up like some… proper person.”

You took a step closer, lowering your voice. “She doesn’t care about any of that. She just wants someone who makes her feel safe.”

Sevika scoffed, shaking her head, but you saw the tension in her shoulders, the flicker of something you couldn’t quite place in her eyes.

“You’re good with her, Sev,” you continued, softer this time. “Better than you think.”

Silence.

Then, finally, a long exhale.

“Fine,” she muttered, rubbing her temple like she was already regretting it. “But you owe me.”

A slow grin spread across your lips as you reached up, fingers lightly brushing her jaw. “Oh, I’ll make it up to you.”

She shot you a look, but there was something warmer in her expression now, something less guarded.

She was going to do it.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ When Sevika arrived at the door that evening, Mira gasped so dramatically you thought she might faint.

“Auntie Vik!” she squealed, practically vibrating with excitement. “You look so pretty!”

Sevika grimaced.

She stood stiffly, dressed in a deep navy vest over a crisp black shirt, looking like she had been physically forced into it. Her usual rough edges hadn’t disappeared—the scars on her hands, the imposing metal arm, the ever-present air of someone who had seen too much—but there was something undeniably striking about her like this.

Sevika scowled, shifting uncomfortably under your gaze. “Don’t start.”

You only smiled, stepping forward to adjust her tie, fingers lingering just a second too long. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She held your gaze for a beat longer than necessary before clearing her throat and looking away.

Mira grabbed her much larger hand and started tugging her toward the door. “C’mon, we’re gonna be late!”

Sevika sent you a desperate, help me look.

You just waved. “Have fun!”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ The ball was something out of a storybook—glittering chandeliers, soft melodies, rows of little girls spinning in their dresses.

Mira fit right in.

Sevika… not so much.

She was stiff at first, clearly uncomfortable under the warm glow of the ballroom. But Mira didn’t seem to notice. She grabbed Sevika’s hands, practically dragging her onto the dance floor, and demanded to be twirled.

And—surprisingly—Sevika did.

Not gracefully, not skillfully, but in a way that made Mira laugh, bright and loud and full. Sevika let her stand on her feet to waltz, rolling her eyes but not pushing her away. When the music shifted to something livelier, Mira pulled her toward the other children, insisting Sevika had to play tag.

And she did.

She let Mira sit on her shoulders to ‘catch’ the other kids, smirked when she won, and even—reluctantly—let her place a tiny, flower-shaped sticker on her metal arm as a ‘prize.’

It was a perfect night.

But then, near the end of the evening, as the last slow dance played, Mira—sleepy, warm, and utterly content—rested her head against Sevika’s shoulder and murmured, “I wish you were my daddy.”

Sevika froze.

Your breath caught.

Mira didn’t say it with sadness. There was no longing in her voice, no ache for something she felt she was missing. It was just a statement. Simple. Honest.

Sevika swallowed hard.

She could’ve brushed it off. Could’ve ignored it, changed the subject, made a joke.

But she didn’t.

Instead, after a long pause, she murmured back, “You don’t need a daddy, kid. You’ve got your mom.” A beat of hesitation. “And you’ve got me.”

Mira didn’t say anything else. Just snuggled in a little closer.

And Sevika held her a little tighter.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ When they arrived home, Mira was fast asleep in Sevika’s arms.

You expected her to pass the little girl off and leave. Instead, she carried Mira inside, walking straight to her room and tucking her in without a word.

When she turned back to you, there was something in her eyes—something raw, something hesitant.

“She called me her dad,” Sevika said, voice gruff, but there was something thick in it, something heavy. “Can you believe that?”

You smiled softly, reaching up to touch her cheek. “She loves you.”

Sevika exhaled sharply. “She’s a little brat.” But her voice cracked, just slightly.

You kissed her.

And when you whispered, “Stay?”

She hesitated.

Then—finally—she sighed and muttered, “Yeah. Okay.”

And just like that, she was home.

Masterlist

A/N: i havent made one in so long my bad sorry yall but here we go we got sevika with a duaghter cuz lowkey i can never see her with a son. have a good day wherever u aree

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for inkwell behind the cut; "Billy adopts Conner and it actually goes pretty good!" (( chrono || non-chrono ))

But also, Lynn almost definitely needs to sleep if he’s really stayed awake for four whole days. Or even, like, just mostly stayed awake. Maybe Kryptonians don’t need much sleep, but Billy’s definitely heard Superman at least mention sleeping before and Lynn’s still technically a newborn, and babies need a lot of sleep, right? And so do teenagers, actually, he’s pretty sure, ‘cuz he always hears about them sleeping a lot, so like . . . 

“Your head doesn’t hurt or anything, right?” Billy asks, and Lynn stays tense in his arms, but also keeps his grip on his sweater, so Billy’s not really sure, like . . . how to take that, or whatever. “Did you get hit in it too bad at Cadmus?” 

“. . . I don’t know,” Lynn says, still stiff. Which makes sense, Billy guesses, because–“It hurt a couple times, I guess. I don’t know what’s–’too bad’.” 

“How long did it hurt for?” Billy asks, his frown deepening a little more. “Do you feel, like–dizzy or lightheaded? Or, um–cottony? Like things are maybe a little, like, not connecting?” 

“Six to twelve seconds. And, uh–no,” Lynn says. “Nothing like that.” 

“Okay,” Billy says, and relaxes a little. Lynn’s pupils are both the same size and he didn’t act sleepy or out of it ‘til now, and Kid Flash and his parents apparently didn’t notice anything like that either, so . . . probably it’s fine? He thinks? Like, he’s definitely gonna google some stuff that the wisdom of Solomon is maybe a few thousand years behind on, medically-speaking and all, and also obviously keep an extra-close eye on Lynn for the next couple days just in case, but he’s almost sure it’s fine. 

Just–as long as he keeps an extra-close eye on Lynn, anyway. He does know concussion symptoms can show up a few days later, so–yeah, definitely he’s gonna keep an eye on him. Six to twelve seconds isn’t very long for something to hurt, though, so he’s pretty sure he’s just being paranoid? 

But also he’s definitely gonna be paranoid about possible head injuries, so yeah, that’s kinda just gonna have to be a thing, Billy figures. Like that one’s just unavoidable. 

“You probably do need to sleep,” he says. “Like I don’t know how much Kryptonians have to, but if you’re getting wobbly that kinda, you know, implies you need to? Or at least need to pretty soon?” 

“. . . oh,” Lynn says. “Uh. Right.” 

Billy feels kind of guilty about saying that, because I slept for four months is a pretty blatant sign of Lynn definitely being at least a little bit leery about the idea of going to sleep on purpose, but like–well, it's gonna be worse if Lynn stresses himself out about it for too long first, he figures. And he's not gonna be a very good dad if he lets Lynn stress himself out worrying about stuff that’s, like–irrational? Which, he doesn’t wanna say that’s an irrational thing to worry about, because if Lynn’s worried he’s got good reasons to be, just–like–

[greengoblinswifey]

Possession

pairing— fratboy!nicholas chavez x fem!reader

summary— After a week of ignoring Nicholas due to jealousy over his newfound attention on campus, you finally confront him at his frat’s party when another girl flirts with him, leading you step in and assert your claim over him making his dominant side come out to reassert control. Based on this request.

warnings— jealously, possessiveness, choking, praise kink, degradation, fingering, marking/hickey, oral(m), begging, edging, rough unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare, L bombs.

The first time you told Nick his glasses made him look hot, he was apprehensive. That being said, you fucked the confidence into him and made sure he knew exactly how attractive he was with those frames and lenses. Smug thing that he was, he wore them more often after that—especially around you.

What you didn’t expect, though, was for half the girls on campus to suddenly start noticing too.

At first, it was harmless. A passing compliment here, a doe eyed glance there. But then it was giggles from girls in his lectures, flirty comments from sorority girls you barely knew, and one too many whispers about how “Nick Chavez looks so good in those frames.”

And yeah, he was yours, but your brain needed a second (or ten) to reboot before you ended up saying something that would get you labeled as crazy.

It got worse when you were walking across campus with him one afternoon, his hand resting low on your back, when some girl you vaguely recognized from class slowed as she passed.

“I love your glasses, Nicholas,” she said, all sweet and flirty, her eyes lingering just a little too long.

He barely glanced at her, his arm tightening around you. “Thanks,” he said flatly, his attention never leaving you. But it didn’t matter. The damage was done.

Your jaw clenched as you stared straight ahead, anger prickling beneath your skin.

He must have noticed the shift in your mood because his fingers pressed a little firmer into your back. “You good?”

“Fine,” you muttered.

Nick hummed like he didn’t believe you, but he didn’t press it. Instead, he just pulled you in closer, his grip possessive as he continued walking.

You, on the other hand, weren’t fine. At all.

So you avoided him. Not in a dramatic, block his number way—but in a I need to cool off before I lose it way. You skipped out on dinners and lunches, ignored his texts, and kept your distance for a few days until the jealousy simmered down.

Or at least, that was the plan.

Your friends had other ideas. They dragged you to his frat’s party, insisting you “needed a distraction” completely ignoring the fact that the last place you wanted to be was his place, his party, where he was undoubtedly the center of attention.

And sure enough, the second you spotted him across the room, your mood soured all over again.

Nicholas stood by the bar area, laughing at something some random girl was saying, his stupid glasses perched on his stupidly handsome face, and the final straw? Her hand on his arm.

Fuck that.

Before you even realized you were moving, you crossed the room, slapping the girl’s hand away without so much as a second thought.

“Nah,” you said, voice sharp as you inserted yourself between them. “Hands off.”

Nicholas barely had time to react before you turned to him, arms crossing over your chest as you shot him a look.

“What?” he asked, eyes flicking between you and the girl, clearly trying to figure out what just happened.

You rolled your eyes. Big mistake.

His jaw ticked, and the next thing you knew, his hand wrapped around your wrist—not rough, not aggressive, but firm enough to let you know who was calling the shots

“Come here.”

You barely had time to protest before he was pulling you upstairs, weaving through the crowd until you were in his room, the bass from the party thrumming through the walls.

He shut the door behind you, arms crossing as he leveled you with a look. “Alright, what’s going on with you?”

You scoffed, folding your arms right back. “Nothing.”

“Yeah?” He stepped closer, eyes narrowing slightly. “So you just went full mine mode downstairs for nothing?”

Heat rose to your face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Nick let out a slow breath, like he was trying to be patient. “You’ve been avoiding me all week, and now you’re out here swatting hands and rolling your eyes at me? Just tell me what’s up.”

You huffed, looking anywhere but at him. “It’s dumb.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He took another step forward. “Tell me.”

You swallowed, shifting on your feet before finally mumbling, “I don’t like all the attention you’ve been getting.”

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “You jealous?”

Your head snapped up. “No.”

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Lying to me now?”

“M’not lying.”

His eyes darkened just a bit, and before you could react, his fingers tilted your chin up, forcing your gaze to meet his. Not rough, not harsh, just firm.

“Look at me,” he said, voice lower now.

You did.

His thumb brushed over your jaw, and for a moment, all you could focus on was the way his touch sent a shiver down your spine.

“You have nothing to worry about,” he murmured, eyes searching yours. “No one else matters. Got it?”

Your breath hitched. You wanted to stay mad, to hold on to the attitude that had fueled you all week, but it was slipping through your fingers fast.

Especially when his lips ghosted over yours, teasing, waiting for you to close the distance.

And just like that, you forgot why you were mad in the first place.

After he took your breath away in an all consuming kiss, his grip on your chin tightened just slightly, his thumb dragged slowly over your jaw.

“You think ignoring me for days and rolling your eyes at me is cute, huh?” he murmured. “Think you can walk around with all that attitude and not deal with me?”

Your breath hitched, but you refused to back down, tilting your chin up in defiance. “Maybe.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head like you were testing every bit of his patience. Then, in one swift motion, his hand slid from your jaw to your throat, firm, thumb pressing lightly against the pulse point beneath your skin.

Your knees nearly buckled.

His eyes darkened, gaze flickering between yours as he took in your reaction. “Yeah?” he asked, voice dangerously low. “Still got something smart to say?”

You swallowed hard, but your throat barely moved under the weight of his palm. His grip wasn’t rough, he didn’t need to be. The sheer authority in his hold, the way he commanded your attention with nothing more than his touch, was enough to leave you breathless.

“Nothing?” he pressed.

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

Nick smirked. “That’s what I fucking thought.”

His mouth was on yours before you could even process it, slow and consuming, like he was reminding you exactly who he was. His fingers flexed slightly against your throat as his tongue traced your lips, and when you opened for him, he took his time, deepening the kiss until your head was spinning.

You clutched at his shoulders, needing something to hold onto as he took you apart piece by piece.

When he finally pulled back, his lips hovered over yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You done acting up now?”

You didn’t answer, too caught up in the way his fingers were still resting against your throat, his thumb pressing teasing pressure just beneath your jaw.

He hummed, dragging his nose along your cheek before whispering, “You know you’re mine, yeah?”

Your breath came short, chest rising and falling against his.

“And you know I’m yours,” he continued, voice smooth and steady. “Always.”

The words settled deep in your chest, grounding you in a way you didn’t realize you needed. But before you could respond, he was guiding you backward until the backs of your knees hit the bed, and you had no choice but to sit.

He stayed standing, towering over you, his fingers tracing lightly down your throat before trailing along your tits, then lower. His touch was slow, a deliberate reminder that he was the one fully in control now.

“You been walking around with all this attitude for days,” he mused, tilting his head. “Ignoring me, rolling your eyes, swatting hands.” His fingers skimmed over your thigh, just under the hem of your skirt. “For what, baby?”

Your breath caught in your throat.

He clicked his tongue, eyes flickering back to yours. “You already know no one else gets to touch me. You already know no one else matters.”

His fingers slid higher to make your stomach tighten, but not enough to satisfy. His control was infuriating.

“You got all in your head over nothing.” He leaned in, lips grazing your ear. “And now you don’t even remember why you were mad, do you?”

You clenched your jaw, refusing to let him be right, but he saw straight through you.

Nick chuckled, fingers caressing your inner thigh. “That’s what I thought.”

His other hand still rested lightly at your throat, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he murmured.

Your breathing was uneven, your body tense with anticipation, but you did as he said, your gaze locked onto his. The intensity in his stare sent a shiver down your spine, his dominance leaving you dizzy.

His fingers dragged the softest touch along your inner thigh, making your breath hitch.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured.

You swallowed hard, pride keeping your lips pressed together.

He just chuckled. “C'mon, baby. You had plenty to say before. Now’s not the time to get shy.”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, grip tightening as his fingers traced circles on your clothed clit—but still, still, he wasn’t giving you enough.

“Nick,” you breathed.

He raised a brow. “That’s not asking, sweetheart.”

You clenched your jaw, the ache inside you growing unbearable.

“Please,” you whispered.

His grip on your throat flexed just slightly. “Louder.”

You bit your lip, eyes flickering away for just a second, but his fingers pressed to bring your gaze snapping back to his.

“Eyes on me,” he warned, voice firm.

Your breath came short, chest rising and falling fast. “Please, Nick,” you said again, this time stronger, your body practically begging for relief.

He smirked, satisfied. “Good girl.”

And then he gave you what you wanted.

Your head tipped back against the mattress, a gasp slipping past your lips as he ripped your underwear and dipped two fingers into your pussy but his grip at your throat guided you back to him. “No,” he murmured. “Keep fucking looking at me, baby. Wanna see that pretty face while I take care of you.”

His fingers thrusted slowly, deeply, curling and finding that sweet spot inside you that made you writhe and moan. His thumb focused on your clit adding even more pleasure that made your breathing quicken. Your fingers dug into his wrist, body tensing, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter until you were right on the edge. But he wasn’t done with you yet.

"You want me to make you cum?” His voice was all control, all power.

Your breath hitched, body trembling. “Yes,” you choked out.

He hummed, dragging his lips over your cheek, his fingers never stopping, only thrusting faster. “Ask me nicely.”

You whimpered, your pride long gone, your only thought was him—his fingers, his mouth, his voice. “Please, Nicholas. Please make me cum,” you pleaded, your voice breaking.

His fingers pressed just right, flexing against the spot he knew all too well, and he murmured against your skin, “That’s my girl.”

Your body gave in, pleasure crashing over you as he fingered you through every second of it keeping you right where he wanted you.

As the high faded, your breath came in ragged gasps, your body melting against his. He finally loosened his grip, letting his fingers trail from your throat to your jaw, his touch now soft, soothing.

“See?” he murmured, brushing his lips over yours. “No reason to be jealous, baby.” His fingers traced up your thigh before pulling away, but his smirk remained. “These fingers?” He lifted them between you, wiggling his fingers just a little. “They're yours. They’ve only ever been inside you.”

You let out a shaky breath, still recovering, but Nick just grinned, pressing a slow, deep kiss to your lips.

“And next time,” he added, “you wanna act up? Just remember who I belong to.”

He didn’t give you a moment to catch your breath. Before you could even blink, he had your white top in his fists, fabric stretching, then—rip.

A gasp slipped from your lips, your naked tits exposed to the cool air for two seconds before his mouth was on you, hot and starved. His lips dragged down, his tongue tracing on your nipples.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, a whimper escaping as he sucked a mark against your tits. Red. He smirked against you. “Needy little whore, aren’t you?”

You squirmed, hands gripping at his shoulders as he trailed even lower, his fingers hooking into your skirt and hiking it up with ease.

“Nick,” you breathed, your whole body thrumming with anticipation.

“What do you want, baby?”

Your face burned, the words getting stuck in your throat, but you were too far gone, too desperate to care. “I- I need your mouth,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Nick chuckled, his hand squeezing your thigh. “Not tonight, sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling back to meet your eyes. “Not after ignoring me all week.” His grip tightened just slightly, keeping you grounded beneath him. “You wanna act like you don’t need me? Like you can walk around rolling your eyes, pouting, staying away from me?” He tilted his head. “Gotta make it up to me first.”

Your breath hitched. “How?”

He leaned in, lips grazing your ear. “Get on your knees.”

A shiver ran down your spine, heat curling low in your stomach.

His voice dropped even lower, coaxing. “C’mon, baby. Be good for me.”

There wasn’t a single ounce of hesitation in your body. You slid off the bed, sinking down before him, eager, desperate to please.

He smirked, watching you, eyes dark with satisfaction. He cupped your jaw, tilting your chin up so you had to look at him.

“Yeah,” he murmured, dragging his thumb over your bottom lip. “That’s my girl.”

You did exactly what he asked, eager, desperate to please, your hands gripping his thighs as pulled his sweats and boxers down. He was hard leaking from the tip and you immediately you worked him over, taking in every sound he tried to suppress.

You took him deep into your throat, moving your head while you stroked what couldn’t fit. You looked up at him all teary eyed, your mascara ruined.

Nick’s jaw was clenched, his head tipped back against the wall, and even though he was doing his best to hold back, you could feel the way his cock throbbed, how his fingers flexed in your curls, the way his breath came short and sharp.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his grip tightening. “You—” His voice broke, and that alone sent a surge of pride through you.

You knew he was close. You could feel it in the way his cock twitched in your mouth, in the way he fought to keep control, how he tried—tried—not to let go of his control completely.

But then, just as he was about to cum, his hands tightened in your curls and pulled you up.

A breathless gasp left your lips as you stumbled to your feet, but before you could even process it, his hand wrapped around your wrist, and his voice came low and firm.

“Get on the fucking bed.”

Your stomach dropped. You did as you were told, barely able to breathe as you crawled backward onto the mattress, your pulse hammering in your ears.

Nick followed, his presence overwhelming as he caged you in, hands bracketing either side of your hips. His eyes flickered over your face, sharp and knowing, drinking in your confusion, the lingering desperation in your expression.

“B-but,” Your voice was shaky, words laced with uncertainty. “Why didn’t you cum?”

He cut you off with a smirk, his hand dragging slowly up your thigh. “You don’t deserve my cum.”

Your breath hitched.

He tilted his head, his fingers tracing mindless patterns against your bare skin. His grip then tightened, making you gasp. “You really think you should rewarded?”

His other hand came up, fingers gripping your chin, forcing your gaze to stay on his.

“You wanna act like a brat?” His lips brushed against yours. “Then you’ll be treated like one.”

You swallowed hard, your breath unsteady, pussy aching for more—but he just smirked, brushing a soft kiss to your mouth before pulling away, leaving you needy and wanting.

“Next time,” he murmured, “maybe you’ll think twice before ignoring me.”

He didn’t give you a second to whine. His hands were firm as he grabbed your thighs, pressing them back, spreading you out beneath him with ease. Your breath caught in your throat, the position leaving you feeling exposed, but there wasn’t a single part of you that wanted to stop him.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his grip tightening to make you squirm. “All needy and wet now, huh?” Acted like you didn’t want me all week, and now look where you are.”

Heat flushed through your body, embarrassment mixing with the undeniable ache he’d built inside you. You needed him so bad. This side of him had you desperate.

He chuckled, dragging a slow hand up your thigh. “So much attitude. So much back talk.” His fingers gripped harder, making you gasp. “But now? Now you’re just a sweet little whore, waiting for me to touch you.”

A whimper slipped from your lips, your hands curling into the sheets, and he smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

He moved slow at first, almost teasing, dragging his cock slowly inside your walls, before his grip tightened, and he set a pace that had your breath stuttering. His hands held your legs back firmly, keeping you in place, his focus locked onto your face, watching every reaction like he was committing it to memory. The way you trembled, the way you bit your lip, the way your fingers fisted the sheets, he took it all in, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips.

“Where’s all that attitude now, huh?” he murmured,. “Not so tough anymore, are you?”

A moan tore from your lips, your back arching as your pussy fluttered around his thick cock, but Nick just tsked, his hand sliding up your body, fingers wrapping gently but firmly around your throat, tilting your chin up to keep your eyes on him.

“Nuh-uh,” he murmured. “Keep your eyes on me.”

It built fast, the pleasure curling in your stomach, your breaths growing shallow, your pussy clenching around his shaft as you reached the edge. As it gripped him, you could feel the veins on his cock pulsating, teasing you, just begging you to cum. Your fingers dug into his arms, back arching as you felt yourself teeter—

And then he stopped.

A strangled whimper caught in your throat as your eyes snapped open, your head lifting in disbelief.

He just sat back, smug, his breathing even as he watched you, his fingers dragging over your jaw with amusement.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your brain struggling to catch up. “Wh—why did you stop?”

He tilted his head, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. “Because you don’t deserve to fucking cum”

Your stomach dropped. Nicholas leaned in, his grip tightening. “You really thought I was gonna let you cum on my dick just like that after the way you acted?” He ran his thumb across your bottom lip, watching you closely. “Nah, sweetheart.”

Your breath hitched, frustration and need clawing at your insides, but he just pressed a soft kiss to your pouty lips before pulling away entirely, leaving you wrecked, wanting, and desperate for more.

“Maybe next time,” he murmured, smirking as he sat back. “If I feel like making you cum.”

Then, he moved you, positioning you on your stomach, his hands firm as he guided you to arch your back. His breath was warm against your ear as he whispered, “You’re mine, and I’m not gonna be gentle.”

Despite his words, there was an undeniable tenderness in the way he held you, in the way he guided you slowly onto his awaiting cock, as if he wanted to remind you that he would never hurt you, no matter how intense things got.

He moved fast, pounding into your pussy with a steady rhythm that had your mind foggy. Each stroke was harsh, his body pressing into yours, pinning you down onto the bed, making your pussy feel every inch of his dick. He was determined, focused on making both of you feel everything.

He moaned softly as he felt your pussy tighten around him, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. He could feel you getting close, the way your pussy twitched, your body shaking beneath him.

“Beg for it,” he whispered, his voice commanding, but the affection in his tone was still there. “Beg me, and I’ll let you cum.”

You could barely form words, your body craving release and only focused on his cock moving in and out of you from behind but all you could manage was an urgent, breathless plea. “Please, Nick, p-please.”

His grip on your waist tightened, his voice full of authority. “Apologize for the way you acted earlier. Tell me you’re sorry for ignoring me.”

You nodded quickly, your voice shaking as you whispered, “I’m sorry, Nick. I didn’t mean to be like that. Please make me cum.”

At your words, his pace quickened, a groan escaping his lips as he pressed his cock deeper, harder. If it wasn’t for the faint music, the whole frat party would’ve heard and wondered if he was murdering you. You could feel the tension building, everything inside you tightening, and with his final thrust, he made you cum, just as you felt the release you were desperate for.

A week of no contact in every aspect. A week of not having his dick inside you came crashing down and you cried out. Your pussy clamped around him, soaking him with your cream and juices as your entire body convulsed from the pure intensity of it all. Your fists grabbed the sheets, holding on to something—anything, as your release washed over you.

And then, moments later, he followed, his own moan escaping as he spilled inside you, every drop, not a single going to waste and he collapsed beside you, pulling you close into his arms.

“I’m yours, always,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face as he held you, gently tracing his fingers over your skin.

In that moment, everything was calm, the tension between you two finally dissolving.

He softly kissed your forehead, his breath still a little heavy, but there was a warmth to his touch, a reassurance that made you feel safe and cared for after everything.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he murmured, his voice sincere as he gently stroked your hair. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like you weren’t important or that those compliments mattered. I know I kinda messed up, but I care about you too much to hurt you.”

You melted into his embrace, your own voice shaking as you responded, “I’m sorry too, I shouldn’t have let my jealousy get the best of me. I know you’re mine, but I just—I couldn’t help how I felt.”

He smiled softly, his hand brushing your cheek, his thumb caressing your skin gently. “I understand, baby. I get it now. I should’ve reassured you sooner, I just didn’t want to make things awkward. You’re everything to me.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words sink in. You hadn’t realized how much you needed to hear him say it, but now that he had, you could breathe again.

“I love you so much,” he whispered, a little breathless, his forehead resting against yours.

You smiled, feeling that knot in your chest loosen. “I love you too, Nick.”

You kissed again, slow and deep this time, savoring the closeness and the quiet understanding between you. There was just the comfort of knowing you were both in this together, learning and growing with each other.

After everything, the bond you shared only felt stronger, and in that moment, it was all that mattered.

‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

Tags: @blackynsupremacy @hoffmansgirl @emluvsuxo @hopefully-saturn @chavezhoe @jennieonline @girldisrupted @nicholaschavezslut69

[osamucide]

⊹ THE FIRST TASTE

LET IT BEGIN, HEAVEN CANNOT WAIT FOREVER . . . ft. Osamu Dazai

wc: ~3.6k

cw: NSFW CONTENT—MDNI (I BLOCK AGELESS+BLANK BLOGS), ada+masc!reader, reader has a tongue piercing, pet names (pretty boy and cutie for u), romantic and sexual tension, established flirtationship->new relationship?, a lil alcohol, making out, oral fixation/finger sucking, oral sex (Dazai receiving), cum eating (Dazai lol), patheticzai makes a spectacle of your shyness even though he can't just ask for what he wants good thing u have telepathy with him /j

reid: trade w my sweet friend @rossithepixie / @selfindulgentpixies who masterminded some beautiful osareid art for me <3 (if u havent seen it yet dw i will be reblogging it a million more times but also check out rossi's work neow cause he's super talented). thank you for trusting me with this rossi—it was such a blast to do a little lovesick dazai desperately chasing ur cute lil self into a corner (i listened to fiona apple's song with the same title a lot while i wrote this—is it obvious? lol). i hope u enjoy so much <3

It’s a cute little habit of yours. Unconscious, he knows, but that makes it no less cute. No less dangerous. 

Everyone notices you do it—Atsushi pointed out the jewelry poking from your mouth with awe when he first caught you fidgeting with it (“People can have piercings there? That’s so cool”)—but Osamu highly doubts anyone finds it nearly as charming, as endearing as he himself does. After all, he’s the one consistently wheeling over next to you on his chair to fold his arms under his chin on your desk and admire you unashamedly while you tie a loose end around a sentence in whatever report you’re writing before even thinking about turning your attention to him. 

So diligent. 

That’s another cute thing about you. You've been a star worker, really, since you started. In the months since you got hired, your reports have been nothing but thorough and on time; even your first steps into fieldwork as a detective have been spotless, practiced, as if you already know this work like the back of your hand. You’re personable yet serious, easygoing and dedicated all at the same time, continually proving your worth as a voice of reason and contribution around the meeting table as well as a supportive, kind, all-around more than pleasant coworker on and off of crime scenes. Not to mention, your ability’s nothing to scoff at.

You’re a true asset to the Armed Detective Agency. 

Which is why Kunikida’s glaring Osamu down again, threatening him silently with an HR department that unfortunately doesn’t exist—because, yes, you are for all intents and purposes perfect for this workplace and the blond man will simply not have you driven off by his partner’s insufferable tendencies. 

Even Kunikida’s wrath, however, is scarcely known to deter Osamu Dazai, and that is why, when he notices you doing it again—toying with the metal bar through your tongue in an absentminded display of your oh-so-coveted concentration on and application to your task, he scoots himself right over, rowing on his heels, brushing admonishing stares like he might dust off his shoulder and settling next to you, chin in his palm, feet knocking into yours beneath your desk. 

As expected, you don’t turn to him immediately. All the better. Gives him a few seconds more to admire you, your parted lips, the glint of the metal and your pretty teeth against the natural light streaming into the office on this lovely day, made all the lovelier by the vision of your adorable expression.

But when you do, it’s melt-worthy. 

“Hi, Osamu,” you mumble, turning your eyes to him and tucking your tongue back in to offer him that sweet but aware, workplace-appropriate smile that makes him grin even further. You’d have to be naive not to know he wants to strip you of that professionalism, but you make sure to give him time of day in only the most graceful way when you’re both at the office; for as charming as he is, and for as much as you must shyly admit you find him endearing just the same, you don’t turn a blind eye to his cunning nature. 

And like so many things, it’s a bit of a game that he enjoys—seeing what he can do to crack that competence of yours. 

But today he’s restless, so he punches low from the jump. 

“Hi, pretty boy,” he purrs, gaze searing into you. Signature. 

And just like he hopes, your brow raises and you look away, pursing your lips to mask your reaction to his antics. He usually toys with you a little longer before he brandishes the pet name he knows all too well gets your cheeks glowing pink in an instant—and that’s exactly what they do. Your coyness can’t hide that. 

“Eager today, are we?” you fill the silence with the lighthearted accusation, busying yourself on your keyboard so as to fight off the squirming you’re sensing will be futile to escape this afternoon.

“Yup.” When he pops the p, he nudges your ankle with his own. 

But in your busying, the tip of your tongue flicks out again, and Osamu’s seemingly-aimless display of fluster-inducing attention surges toward its goal, which he’s been contemplating for a few days now, actually: getting you out of this stuffy office (or the all-too public nearby bar you’ve started frequenting with him after hours, strictly as friends it seems—if friends tangle their fingers together after a few cocktails and then don’t make mention of it the next day, anyway) and into his dorm, which he actually tidied up because he calculated with most near-certainty there couldn’t possibly exist a world in which you’d turn down such an invitation. So he hopes, anyway. For as player as he acts, the way you make him feel sows seeds of doubt in him and his usual methods of seduction. You know full well how sincerely captivated he is by you… right? You must. You have to. 

“You know,” he continues, “I was wondering…” 

Mincing his words is never part of his plans. Unless, of course, it’ll draw a desired outcome closer than being direct will. But now, Osamu finds himself almost hesitating, with no prior inclination to do so; he’s wondering, not thinking, like he seems to do so much when you’re near him, and he doesn't know if you fully realize it, but you might have more control over… whatever this is between you than he does.

You tilt your head, still turned to your screen, as if it begins to occur to you. 

“...Drinks at my place?” he spits out—pointedly dropping the “double suicide?” intonation so it’s clear he’s serious—before he can give any more indication that he’s slipping.

When you look to him again, Osamu’s filled the space of his doubt with that low-lidded grin once more.

“Tonight?” 

“Tonight? Oh—” You clear your throat in a way that sounds oddly affirmative, as if you’re trying to keep it from bubbling out too soon. You’re so assured in everything else you do around here, so Osamu, ever the contrarian, regains his balance on the premise of your shyness. When you go to confirm, you’ve all but lost your teasing lilt. The flush on your face doesn’t miss him. “Yeah, that’d be nice, Osamu.” 

Nice. If he didn’t have an image to upkeep, he’d leap up and fistpump the air like a cartoon character. Perhaps, if he were more in tune with his hand-to-god emotions, he’d crumble to the floor in a ball wondering what the hell he’s getting himself into.

He doesn’t do this. He doesn’t clean his dorm, much less invite romantic prospects over to it. You’re new territory in the way he feels freshly determined not to mess up, so he keeps himself composed behind that smile. “When are you out of here?” 

“I can be out of here whenever you’re out of here,” you mumble, your lips pressed into a smirk you won’t let unfurl fully. He wishes you would. He’ll get you to. If he had it his way, he’d whisk you out of here now, clock be damned, and pop open that red dessert wine he picked up specifically for the event in which you would land on his uncomfortable little couch with your tongue lingering in, hopefully, closer proximity to his own. He’s seen you tipsy; you don’t suppress that air of sheepish enthrallment so much when you are, and he’s impatient for it. He needs more of you.

But it’s three in the afternoon, and Kunikida’s abruptly dragging Osamu by the collar of his shirt like a puppy on a leash to roll him back over to his own damn desk, muttering something about how if he had any decency he’d leave you the hell alone and if he wasn’t going to contribute anything of worth to the Agency’s productivity yield, the least he could do was not disturb those who are. 

This makes you chuckle fully as you shake your head. Osamu eats it up—and he doesn’t hide it, eyeing you with something most akin to yearning in his gaze. You have such an effortless knack for putting hearts in his eyes in a way he’s not used to. 

The rest of his shift dawdles by; as a way to pass the time, Osamu volunteers himself to run out and pick up the Thai takeout for those who will be clocking out later than he hopes he will. Kunikida so graciously (read: reluctantly and irritatedly) let him order on his card, so he claimed it as repayment; really, he needed to get out of his desk chair. 

He feels insane watching you play with that piercing of yours, his stack of unfinished reports (or, pre-construction paper planes) serving as no distraction. 

He delivers your spring rolls to you with a wink. He eats his pad thai and fools around on his desktop. He watches the sun streak down the window.

He actually considers getting some work done. It’s nearly torture.

He gets up to leave the second the clock strikes eight. If he was bad at focusing on work before, you’ve ruined him. 

The implication’s all too clear when you’re stepping into the evening air behind him. You don’t mind—it’s evident in your reserved but knowing smile, the one he so terribly wants to unravel. 

His place is threadbare, but cozy. You curl yourself up on one of the two couch cushions while Osamu sets two empty glasses and a bottle on the low table before you—he’s eager, too, for the wine; he’s aching to dispel both your timidity and his anxiety that it feeds. Maybe it’s just that he can’t seem to handle himself positively spiraling over you while you remain enchantingly reticent, quiet in the desire he knows flows between you both. Usually, he’s the one with all the self-control. Tonight he’s counting on you missing the tremble in his fingers as he pours. 

“Kunikida’s such a hardass, isn’t he?” he muses while he tucks a glass into your hand and draws himself up onto the couch, facing you, leaving a respectful but still considerably involved distance between you. Your knee almost touches his. “Berating me for something as little as asking such a cutie to come over for drinks. It’d be more criminal not to, I think.” 

You chuckle at his dramatics, taking a sip. It’s sweet, red. You remind him, “We are coworkers, Osamu.” 

He cocks his head, drinking deeper than you do, with a thoughtful look on his gorgeous face. He hums and reminds you, “We’re not just coworkers.” 

Your chuckle becomes a giggle—one less dubious than the short, amused headshakes you save for the office—and with your next question, he knows he’s pulling you in. You’ve been dancing around each other long enough; he’s warm, trying not to overflow when you speak—you finally sound ready to acknowledge what’s been turning him into a mess for you when you hum and press skittishly. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging. 

“What else are we then, hm?” 

Your bashfulness reads so seamlessly as effortless wooing—he wonders if you’re so purely humble, or actually a mastermind of coquetry. The way you keep yourself veiled, thinly enough to keep him pining for more of you but staunchly too so that he constantly doubts whether the cat or the mouse has the upper hand, turns him to mush—absolute pathetic mush—and he answers a question with a question. You’ve got him going against all sorts of personal philosophy. 

“What else do you wanna be?” 

The answer gets lost between shifting hands, closing space, conversation and jokes that relax further and further as you both stabilize into one another over the following hour or so. A couple more glasses of wine are poured, drank, tasted—at some point in the blackening night you end up astride his lap in the dim lamplight with your glass in triumphant hand, tucking his hair behind his ear while he cups your face, simpers out another remark that makes you blush and wave him away; Osamu looks at you with something you can only construe through your buzz as pure want. Coming down from laughter that screws your eyes shut—he’s never short on humor, which is one of the things you think you love—love? about him, you say it aloud, tell him you do in fact love that about him and if he was all pure want a moment before, now he’s pure shock. 

But he plays it off in his way; you watch the intricate way he takes no more than a half-second to collect himself, just tipsy enough to get snagged on the words love that about you that the half-second seems a feature-length film to you—one you would watch over, over, over again. 

Osamu slides four fingers on one side of your jaw, thumb on the other—holding your chin gently but firmly in place so he can bore like fire into you.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asks, half sincere, half flirtatious. Your gaze scatters momentarily beneath his; you take a second, copy his recovery.  

You hesitate before you say, “I think I have some idea,” fully sincere, fully flirtatious. When you pinch your bottom lip between your teeth—not an unconscious habit but an intentional move in this game—he thinks this is what middle school boys must feel like the first time they get close to their crush. It sickens him so sweetly, like he’s swallowed a lump of sugar. He wants more. 

Your breath coils around his between your noses, between your mouths. The wine in your glass sloshes and settles.  

“Can I tell you what drives me crazy?” he breathes. 

You nod like you’ve been waiting lifetimes to know. 

He answers not with words but a touch to your lip—a stroke back and forth that leaves you parting for him. He leaves feather-light fingerprints on the sharp of your front teeth, pushing, slowly, forward until the hot muscle in your mouth cradles his thumb and he’s touching that devil-sent piercing of yours, the ball all at once cool and warm as it twirls to evade him.

“This,” he whispers, chasing the metal back and forth. “This drives me crazy.” 

You don’t respond with anything but suction, a soft bob of your head like you understand, and a hmm.

Osamu thinks he might implode beneath you. 

His attention has hardly ever felt so streamlined as when you search his face, circle his thumb, wet it for him to retract and drag down your chin while you draw your brow together like you miss it—his eyes are all yours, wide and waiting and holding the answers to all the questions drifting around, surrounding both of you. 

The kiss is searing as he pulls you into him—or, hardly has to, rather, as your eyes flutter shut and you lean to meet him, five of your fingers matching his grip but on his shoulder while you suffocate that mingled breath so it becomes mingled spit, mingled tongues. He worms himself past your lips, into you—he almost moans when the tip of his own tongue brushes across the jewelry sitting on the pad of your tongue like a pearl in an oyster. He’s finally cracking you open. It makes him smile wickedly into you. 

Your arms locking around his neck leave him rolling into you hotly, asking for you with anything but words which escape him again now—so uncharacteristic, but he’s lucky you’re both too entangled to notice, for words aren’t necessary right now; he’s ushering your wine glass out of your hand, setting his, too, onto the table so you can wind your fingers in his hair and tug, prompting the sweetest gasps that you echo back into him while he guides your hips across him. The fervor either of you holds is indistinguishable from the other; you grind, he grips you, the harder he grips you the harder you grind and vice versa until he’s biting down the column of your neck toward absolution. 

He mutters your name through an umph; you pick his lips back up the second he goes for air, and he goes for your tongue. When you pull back to observe him, mirroring you in kiss-puffiness and staccato breath, he’s wild between your eyes and your lips. 

“That’s all for you,” he tells you when he grabs your wrist and guides you to palm his cock before you hit him with another question for the ages—one that will not receive a verbal answer but a noise from his throat he swears he’s never heard himself make before.

“Wanna feel it?” 

God, has he ever wanted anything more in his life? The erection he’s built up just from kissing you, moving you against him, is all the evidence either of you need. 

Regardless, Osamu’s nodding fervently, chocolate locks swaying. 

So, you take your turn kissing down him until you’re pooled at his feet, between his knees, with devoted fingers undoing the button on his pants; the task at hand, so sweetly and circularly, has your tongue poking out in concentration as you work his waistband down. Osamu twitches at the sight—he doesn’t mean to mutter you’re so fucking adorable but he does, he does. It’s your turn to grin wickedly as you take his cock out, your turn to tease with your thumb on his drooling tip, your turn to explore with your mouth. 

You’ve had the reins all this time, really—from the first day you sat at your desk, making that attentive face. He must be the luckiest sucker in the world to have ended up here, with your shining eyes watching him fall apart as your honeyed lips guide him toward sweet devastation. 

The first stripe you lick up his underside sends Osamu’s head flying back, jaw falling slack on the end of a breathy “fuck!”

And he feels every stride of your tongue piercing when you wrap your lips around his tip and swirl. 

The sounds you draw from Osamu’s open mouth are like song; diligent in this task as you are every other one, it’s hardly a minute before he’s tangling his fingers in your hair, crooning your name between broken praises that come naturally as you hold him, lick him, look up at him with eyes that he thinks could turn him to stone—if only you had been evil, that is, but realistically, you can’t be anything other than an angel. 

“Pretty boy, you—” 

At that name, you groan. Take him further. 

And through how good it feels, he laughs. 

“Oh, you like that? Huh?” He could pull you off him if he wanted a response, but you’re too heavenly to interrupt—anyway, he already knows how you feel about pretty boy. 

You hum around him—another sensation that sends him reeling with oh, god on his lips. 

“That’s it… Feels s’good on me. Unh—yeah, like that…” 

Indirectivity and grandeur has always been something Osamu considers himself a professional in—everything you do throws him for a loop and the way you bob up and down does him no favors. He whines in the way he does when he’s already going to finish all too quickly, but the fact that it’s you bringing him to his end—his cute coworker he’s been pining after since your first day on the job, the one that’s inspired such foreign feelings of wonder in his long-gone-cold heart—has him unreservedly bucking his hips into your mouth as you rake your nails down his thighs, ardent in this undertaking, bobbing frantically like all you’ve ever wanted was to have him noisy and messy underneath you like this. 

“‘m gonna—oh, fuck!” 

But he doesn’t have to tell you; you feel him, spasming on your tongue against the otherworldly friction your jewelry provides—his true downfall, that thing, and the image of you formed around it—you pursue his climax like a predator pursuing prey, pulling away to give him that false sense of security as you rise to your feet, pounce back over him and kiss him so intensely while you handle him, jerk him to orgasm between your bodies; Osamu’s hoarse, aching as he humps the hole you make with your fist and chants yes, yes, yes, please! into your mouth, tasting metal, never wanting it to leave.

He settles into soft panting as you draw your fingers up; he’s beginning to speak— “You’re so—” but you’re cutting him off so he can suck your fingers, taste himself and the way you’ve shattered him so beautifully. And he does, he laps like a man possessed, obsessed with the flavor of himself if only it’s leaving your skin, before you let him continue. “You’re incredible. You and that piercing.” 

You huff out a laugh, but it’s true. He’s convinced you’re a dream in every sense of the word—how did he get so lucky, no—how did the earth get so lucky to have you dropped upon it, right here in Yokohama, doing such scandalous things with that godly mouth of yours? 

“I try,” you quip with a half-shrug, smiling softly, kissing him just so. 

“Do you, now?” Osamu Dazai, who so often loses those good things before he can really grasp them, takes note of another new sensation—unwavering resolve, in the amorous sense—and concludes that if he can help it, this dream will not slip away so quickly. He can’t possibly send you back up to heaven.

He grabs your hips, pulls you onto him. 

Everything you are—all hard working, handsome face, sweet disposition, and tongue ring—he’s wanted it for so long; it would be nonsensical, a tragedy, to let the same evening air you stumbled in on steal you away again.

This is a dilemma he doesn’t have a solution to; not immediately. 

But he speaks anyway, smirking and toying with the button on your pants, overwhelming your frame to put your back to the cushions—turn you into a mess for him.

“Your turn, pretty boy.”