#HE JUST SO HAPPENS TO ALSO FIT MY TASTES …

[royalarchivist]

Pac: I wish I had a really nice background story for my- why I'm here. But you know, Felps just crashed the ship and I'm stuck! Fit: You've got an interesting history though, Pac! I mean, look at you escaping that prison! Like, that was not easy for you to do. [...] You've told me lots of stories about yourself and Mike's adventures. You've got a very interesting backstory. Pac: Thank you Fit, thank you. I'm glad to hear that you think it's cool. Fit: I mean– the cannibalism part, that sucks, but it is– It's cool! It's cool.

People keep wondering when Pac's going to tell Fit how he lost his leg, but during their date last week, Fit implied that their characters already had this discussion! Although this could've been an OOC part of their conversation, they've referenced this specific part of Pac's lore in past streams (this is just the most explicit example we've had so far).

[ Full Subtitle Transcript ↓ ]

–

Pac: I wish I had a really nice- um, background story - background story for my- why I'm here. But you know, Felps just crashed the ship and I'm stuck!

Fit: [Chuckles] Well no- you've got an interesting history though, Pac! I mean, look at you escaping that prison! Like, that was not easy for you to do.

Pac: ...No, yeah, you're right.

Fit: You know, and you've been- you have- you've told me lots of stories about yourself and Mike's adventures, like– You've got a very interesting backstory.

Pac: Thank you Fit, thank you. I'm glad to hear that you think it's cool.

Fit: I mean, I mean– the cannibalism part, I mean, that sucks, yeah, but it is– It's cool! It's cool.

Pac: Yeah, right? Yeah- that's- that's not a good part, right? Yeah, I- ugh, yeah, it's a– [He takes a deep breath] Yeah. It's ok.

Fit: Y-yeah, yeah...

Pac: It's ok.

[randomalistic]

known this guy for 3 days and you’re already DRAWING him… wtf 2nd base already

[demaparbat-hp]

Hiya!! 👋🏼😄 How's it going? Your fashion taste for Zuko in a Modern AU seems to be artsy, or maybe "formal" is the word. That shirt he wore when he gave Sokka romantic song advice looked Versace🧐. Anyway, I was wondering how you came up with it, he always struck me more as the type that didn´t care much about fashion, so I'm curious about other´s opinions and heacanons about it. And do you have any other fashion headcanons for the rest of the GAang? Also, their music tastes. How did you come up with them? Especially Katara's! 😍

Hello! As it happens, I have a lot of Thoughts and Feelings™ about this, so I'm leaving these over here, and the rest of my ramblings down below the cut!

Let us begin with the Gaang, shall we?

SUKI always struck me as that Pretty Girl from the Gym. She is so incredibly fit it isn't even funny. She could kick anyone's ass, and we'd all thank her. She has this casual gym style that somehow always looks glorious on her, as it should! Comfy yet fashionable clothes for a nice workout or a day in town.

Her music tastes are basically any and all power songs from the eighties and nineties. (Eye of the Tiger, anyone?) She also enjoys metal via Toph, and bands like BSB, NSYNC, or Boyz II Men with Katara. My girl has a very eclectic Playlist and we all love her for it.

SOKKA is That Guy™. Loose T-shirts and shorts everywhere he goes, no matter the weather. He's stupidly into fashion but it doesn't show! At all! And everyone teases him about it. His closet is about 90% Cactus Juice merchandise, hence the "it's the quenchiest!" shirt.

His fashion and music tastes are pretty much the same. He loves poetry but isn't really into lyrics. He'll misinterpret just about anything you place in front of him. His Playlist is mostly vibes and tiktok songs he kind of enjoys. He isn't really into music...at least not as much as his sister.

AANG owns exactly one hoodie, one pair of shorts, and one beanie (THE beanie). Oh, and the crocs—don't forget the crocs. Somehow, he's always wearing the exact same outfit. Every. Single. Day. Ancient Gaang lore suggests that the day Aang goes out without his beanie, it's the end of the world.

His Playlist is the poppiest, most bizarre thing ever. Every single song is Happy by Pharrell Williams levels of happy. Yet sometimes, among the bouncy dance-to songs, you'll find the strangest of things... (He does know what Good Day by Twenty One Pilots is about. That's the reason he likes it so much, actually. And it's so weird.)

KATARA is all about sundresses and loose pants. The epitome of comfortable loveliness. Light fabrics in blue shades, careful embroidery, delicate shoes, and little to no accessories—hers is a simple, yet quite adorable, style. She just needs to add more colors to her usual palette...

She is, first and foremost, a Florence + The Machine girl. It's the Dark Goddess of the Sea vibes, to be honest. Florence Welch is her idol and yes, she will fight you about lyrics interpretation, and win. It may not seem like it, but her music tastes are also very varied.

She draws a little from each member of the Gaang, so you'll hear her humming along to Gorillaz (where did you even find out about them, Aang?), The Weeknd (I...don't think this song means what you think it means, Sokka...), and Hozier (Zuko why did you dedicate Talk to me, Zuko WHAT DID YOU MEAN BY THAT).

TOPH...ah, lovely girl. I'll summarise everything about Toph’s fashion sense in two words: comfort and rebellion. Stuffy dresses forced on her by billionaire parents? No thank you! Give her tank tops with loose shirts and short pants. Bandaids shared with Aang, bracelets from Katara, and even piercings she got in tandem with Sokka. Shoes? What even is that?

Something I love about this fandom is our collective agreement that Toph is into the dirtiest, heaviest, most ear-splitting and soul-crushing death metal of all times. Her Playlist is full of the most obscure names to ever exist, and she can and will blast through your walls with the sheer volume of her speaker.

Zuko. ZUKO.

Even in a modern AU my boy must suffer. That being said, I envision Tales from the Couch as—well, exactly what it is: an ATLA modern AU. While there is not a war to fight, and a lot of plot lines are discarded or expanded upon, much about the core story remains the same.

This is my way of saying that Zuko still goes trough his redemption arc, and it reflects on his fashion choices.

The way you described it works perfectly because of one single reason: in this AU, Zuko is an artist. He had to suppress his love for writing and drawing because of his background and the expectations Ozai had for him (taking over the family company), and a very large part of his redemption arc directly affects his relationship with art.

In the Couch equivalent of S1, Zuko has fallen out of Ozai's graces, and is desperate to protect his place in the company and the Kasai household. He's pretending to be someone he isn't and trying to live up to his Father's image of a perfect heir while still being somewhat cut-off financially, and it shows.

He's all about imposing long coats and a semi-formal style, imitating what he knows Azula and Father would respect. He's striking and sharp and dark. But no matter how he dresses or carries himself (that air of cold superiority and arrogance)—it won't help him when he needs it the most.

In S2, Zuko has hit his lowest point. He's officially disinherited and tossed away by his father, and would be out in the streets if it wasn't for Uncle Iroh. He goes from sharp, high-tailored outfits to old second-hand clothes that hang loosely on his frame. He starts smoking and cuts his hair off, forgoing the undercut for the first time in years.

But then...Father accepts him back. When Zuko returns home, it's with respect to his name and a very high position in his father's company. He's finally the perfect Kasai heir, dressed in overly expensive suits and finery, even at home... But Father forbids him from wearing Lu Ten's earring, and Zuko can no longer recognize himself without the familiar glint of gold dancing on his peripheral vision.

When Zuko leaves the Kasai name behind him and goes back to living with Uncle Iroh...he's finally at peace with who he is, and what he wants in this life. The sharp edges aren't gone (they'll always be a part of him, after all), but now they're dulled by looser clothes and softer hairstyles.

He's an artist, and for once in his life, he is determined to pursue his own ambitions. Zuko's outfits may not be designer-made anymore, but he takes what he has and makes himself look like he wants to look, like the person he wants to be.

He doesn't read fashion magazines or keeps up to the latest trends like Azula does. He's just...Zuko. And his newfound confidence makes everything he wears look like it belongs on him.

As for music...well, Ursa raised a literature boy.

He loves lyric-heavy music and natural voices, be they soothing or powerful. Dissecting song meanings and possible interpretations with Katara is one of his favorite parts of the day. They're both very passionate and strong-minded individuals, so it stands to reason that their debates can get quite...heated.

Zuko's Playlist is both incredibly eclectic and somehow very...him. There's a common thread that binds together every song and artist he likes, and he's hilariously unaware of this. To take a look into his Playlist is a higher honor reserved only for those closest to him.

In the wide spectrum of things, it is no wonder that Zuko is, first and foremost, a Hozier man. But though Andrew is his God in all aspects of this life, there's someone else that has had a huge impact on him...

Two someones, actually.

Zuko refuses to tell anyone how he got into Twenty One Pilots, but it's kind of a moot point when the beginning of his obsession is nothing compared to everything that came after. They have just about the right amount of everything that makes Zuko...well, Zuko. The poetic lyrics, the soothing or raging music, the heavy, intensely resonant themes...

Up there, in the second artwork, I placed an album cover behind each period of Zuko's life. The election of these records is intentional, as I feel like their general themes work incredibly well with Zuko's arc and growth.

Blurryface in S1. For the demons within us. For giving a name to our fears and shame.

Trench in S2. For escaping the confined walls of a depression city, and fighting to understand the depths of the map of your mind.

Scaled and Icy in the first half of S3. For returning to places you had left behind. For convincing yourself and everyone around you that you're fine, that you're perfect, even though everything is crumbling inside...

Clancy in S3. For recognizing that you can backslide, that you can have fears and shame and pain—but you're shaping yourself with each step you take. For knowing that seeking help from others is okay. Nobody learns to walk on their own.

(And, in the end, you'll always be better than the person you were yesterday. If only because you're still here. You're still alive. You're still yourself.)

.

Overall, I rambled a bit too much, don't you think?

If you made it all the way down here—thank you so much for reaching out and being interested in this crazy AU! I hope you enjoy these ideas and tell me some of your own ❤️

[foldingfittedsheets]

I’d like to entertain and enliven you now with the saga of my Slut Era.

I’ve always been a serial monogamist and my shortest long term relationships clocked in at three years. So perhaps that’s why when I finally broke it off with my ex I went insane on dating. Part of it was definitely just that between anxiety and loneliness I wanted to fill up my time.

This happened when I was living alone for the first time, no roommates, just me and my little cat Leeloo. I didn’t want to come home to an empty house so instead I set up dates.

Most of these were disastrous. I’m not everyone’s cup of tea and I had a lot more first dates than second because they’d seen enough, including the one where people aggressively complimented me.

But after a few months I had four people I was seeing simultaneously. I was up front with all of them that things were not exclusive, and they all agreed, so no infidelity took place here, just a lot of hijinks.

Here’s who was on the dating roster:

• An apprentice woodworker that we’ll call Jill. I honestly thought at 26 years old that her being 21 wasn’t a problem age gap and I quickly learned that there was a vast gulf of both maturity and life experience between us. Jill described herself as “heteroflexible” and had just dumped her first boyfriend to flirt it up with me.

• A married woman looking for a friends with benefits. We’ll call her Alice. I insisted on meeting her husband first to be sure I wasn’t part of a cheating mess and he gave me his blessing when I stayed over at her house. Years later when he and Alice had divorced I would go on to sell him and his new fiancée an engagement ring and we both realized at the end how we knew each other and it was wildly awkward. Alice was nice, but a hardcore vegan who insisted I brush my teeth if I so much as ate string cheese before I could kiss her. She was also unhappy in her marriage and was feeling out if I’d want to get serious.

• A bartender dubbed Snakebites, so called because of her signature piercings. She cooked me a steak so raw it was still mooing and some of the best asparagus I’d ever had. In our singular sexy encounter she bit my nipple and I never got over it. Really don't bite someone if you don't know their preference and work up in pressure. We weren’t terribly compatible but neither of us were willing to admit it yet. Truthfully I considered still dating her solely because I desperately wanted her bathroom. It had all black tile, black toilet, black sink, a rain shower in the corner and a jacuzzi tub. I may not have loved her but god I loved that bathroom.

And finally,

• My beloved, who I would go on to marry, who was dealing with a lot of personal stuff at the time. Obviously that meant I liked them the best of all the people I was seeing because we were both disasters at the time.

So that’s the cast of this little misadventure. Now, our story begins with Jill.

Jill was someone who heightened my anxiety. Each of the three times she came to my home she brought and left more stuff. A self help book, a ramen kit, the entire Teen Titans collection of DVDs. It was like she was trying to move in. She also liked to deride my taste in things, frequently calling me a pleb when I mentioned a band or show I liked.

She was working on a gorgeous little decorative table in her woodworking program. The main wood for the top had a beautiful dapple of knots like jaguar spots, and when she showed me a picture I exclaimed how pretty it was.

“Do you want it?”

“Oh- I mean it’s lovely, I wouldn’t mind having it, but you should sell it and make some money!”

But she was adamant. She’d give me the little side table. At about this time, Alice was starting to get awfully lovey for a FWB. I knew she wasn’t happy with her husband but I also knew we were not a good fit. Fun fact: Alice and her husband were step siblings with a pretty hefty age gap. They got together when he stumbled upon a kink photo shoot she’d done with vegetables. None of their family was happy about the relationship but they weren’t related by blood so it was fine.

So I was fending off more overt romantic advances from Alice, and feeling increasingly like I needed to break things off with Jill. Snakebites wasn’t ever initiating communication and I decided to pull a lot of plugs at once.

I ghosted Snakebites, told Alice that I thought we should cool it, and in a move worthy of a rom-com I asked my beloved if I could pretend we were exclusive to put off Jill. They agreed and I texted Jill to let her know that I was no longer single.

I was not prepared for Jill’s response. She. Was. Devastated. She flew off the handle. She’d just been waiting for the right time to tell me how she felt about me! How dare I do this to her!

What about the table?!

“You should keep the table, it’s gorgeous, you’ll be able to sell it, but I don’t expect a free table.”

Silence met me after that text. I worried and fretted and eventually headed home.

There on my doorstep. The table.

It was a small little end table, reeking of oil and polish, but very beautiful. I brought it inside. The little drawer didn’t even have a knob or guide rails. But it did have a handwritten bill proclaiming that it was costing me $500.

“I can’t afford a $500 table, Jill!” I texted.

“Well you kept saying how nice it was. I spent a lot of time on it.”

“I’m not saying it’s not worth $500” (it wasn’t, it was a tiny side table made by an apprentice) “but I can’t buy a $500 table.”

“Make me an offer.”

I stared at the little table. I did actually like it, but I worried about the repercussions of entering into this deal. Hesitantly I typed back, “$300.” I didn’t think it was worth that much but I didn’t want to insult her too badly.

This suited her for the night. But the next day she informed me she needed a new bed, and that she’d take her $300 in credit toward a new mattress. I spent the whole next day basically wrangling with her over what she wanted and eventually she spiked back up to demanding $500 for the damn table.

“Let me just give it back,” I begged. It was not the first, second, or even third time I’d asked to return the thing but this time she finally relented and gave me her address. Since she lived with her parents still I’d never been over.

I called up my beloved and said, “Hey, I need moral support, can you run an errand with me?”

They agreed which is how we loaded up a self help book, a ramen kit, the entire Teen Titans DVD collection, and the table from hell into my little car together. Jill had said to meet her at one o'clock. I intended to drop everything off at noon and be done with this madness.

But while my beloved and I were on the doorstep leaving everything I heard, “Jill? You’re home early,” through the door. Her mom opened it to peer at us in confusion.

“I was just bringing Jill’s stuff back!” I chirped in alarm.

With little tact and a lot of speed we left her with Jill’s collection of things and then I sped out of there like my tail was on fire. I handed my phone to my beloved as I zoomed away instructing them to block Jill’s number. I was free. The tabletross around my neck had been returned.

It was about a month after that when my beloved and I officially began dating exclusively. I had wrapped up all my messy dating threads and it was a relief to be in a relationship again. They went on a trip to Mexico shortly after we made it official.

So I knew they were out of town. But next morning I walked out to my car and beheld a lipstick kiss pressed to the drivers side window.

I was petrified. I had just dumped three girls at once and had an extremely messy back and forth with one of them. Did I have a stalker?!

Of the girls, Alice seemed like likeliest candidate, being of a stronger lipstick variety girl than Jill or Snakebites. We had ended things a bit stiffly, but still cordial. She just laughed when I asked if she knew anything about it. “Nope,” she said, “but good luck.”

I’d rather have walked over broken glass then text Jill, and I’d firmly ghosted Snakebites so I was scared to reopen communication to ask if she was stalking me. I had to drop it. But it haunted me, that lipstick kiss.

For months I was jumpy, wondering which of my spurned lovers had done it. And why. Was it a threat? A goodbye? I lay awake thinking about it, worrying about how everyone I’d dated knew where I lived, which car was mine.

Finally, nothing else happened and I moved on. The kiss would remain a mystery and I had to be content with that.

It was a year later when I finally started filling my mom in on my dating escapades that I finally got closure. She was hooting and laughing as I went over the table debacle. Then I paused and added, “And then this kiss showed up on my car.”

“Did you like it?”

“What? No! I’m pretty sure one of them was stalking me! Who else would leave a kiss on my car?”

My mom started bellowing with laughter. “I did!” She wheezed.

Apparently. My mother had been driving by my place. And decided that a cute little gesture would be to leave me a kiss. And then decided to never mention it to me even though she’s never done anything like that previously.

“It scared the crap out of me!” I yelled while she collapsed with helpless laughter. “I thought I had a stalker! How could I possibly have known that was you?!”

“How could I have known you’d just broken up with three girls at once?” She wheezed in rejoinder and like. Fair play.

So that’s how my mom convinced me I had a stalker and I got out of buying a $500 table.

[humanjarvis]

good heart

synopsis: zayne wonders if he’s mean. you reassure him otherwise.

tags: fluff. comfort. zayne is self-conscious and cute  pairing: zayne x reader word count: 641

a/n: surprise (not rly) first zayne fic :] it’ll be interesting seeing how i want to write him since i’m probably the most similar to him irl #neurodivergence. also posting the most depraved and fluffiest things i’ve ever written in the same week who said versatility

“Darling, have I ever been…mean to you?” Zayne asks hesitantly.

You’re cuddled on his sofa with your knees resting against him, halfheartedly watching a nature documentary. Brilliant rays of afternoon sunlight pour in through the floor-length windows, drawing most of your attention away from the grasslands and toward the trio of squirrels leaping over leaves in Zayne’s backyard. At his question, you raise your head from its place on his shoulder, squinting at him playfully. 

“Hmm,” you draw out, as if actually taking the time to consider his question. He blinks at you. “Nope! A little impassive, sometimes, sure,” you grin, poking his adorably neutral face. “But never mean.”

He forces out a weak smile at your teasing, gently lowering his gaze to your intertwined hands. 

When you don’t receive the usual politely packaged retort, you furrow your brows in worry. “Why do you ask? What’s wrong?” 

Still fixated on your interlaced fingers, Zayne clears his throat. “At the hospital today,” he starts, “one of the younger patients said I was…mean.” He bites the word out as if it tastes bad, the mere association of it with his character destabilizing his being. 

Perplexed, you unclasp your hand from his to lift his chin. “What happened?” 

“All I did was tell her that if she wants to feel better, she’ll need to take her medicine daily.” Now it’s your turn to blink at him. “Perhaps it was the tone I used, I’m not sure. I haven’t encountered this before.” 

Deep in thought, he moves to bow his head again, unconsciously avoiding your gaze out of unwarranted guilt. With a frown, you grab his face between your hands before that can happen, climbing over his lap to straddle him. 

“The Zayne I know is worried that doing his job makes him mean?” you ask, peering into his startled hazel eyes. “C’mon, Zaynie, she was probably just being stubborn. You of all people should know what it’s like to avoid taking medicine.” Lifting his top lip as if to inspect his teeth, you drive your point home when he flinches away. As his face flushes pink, you feel his cheeks warm under your hands.

“I’m aware that children…and adults…are hesitant to follow doctor’s orders at times,” he says, clearing his throat. “But I also know I'm not the most…expressive of people. I’ve gotten so used to behaving freely when I’m with you that I wasn’t monitoring my mannerisms in the pediatric ward today. I must have appeared quite intimidating to a vulnerable child. The thought made me uncomfortable. It made me wonder if…I’d ever made you feel that way as well,” he grimaces.

With a fond sigh, you tilt his face up to yours to kiss his nose. This time, his blink is slow and confused. 

“The only one you're being mean to is yourself,” you start, pinching his cheeks lightly. “No matter what’s on your face or in your voice, I know what’s in here,” you say, placing a firm palm over his chest. “You wouldn’t be Dr. Zayne without your directness. You wouldn’t be my Zaynie, either. And I happen to like both versions of him very much.” 

As you press another kiss to his nose, the corners of his full lips quirk up. “I suppose I should be nicer to him, then.”

“You’d better. Or else he’ll have to write ‘I am nice. I am kind. I have a good heart’ over and over again until he understands. Surgeons don’t have time for that.” 

“I'm sure I possess the cardiovascular fitness to work it into my schedule,” he quips. “I have a good heart, after all.”

As the joke lands, you give him an exaggerated wince, removing a hand from his smiling face to fake a retch. “Okay, maybe I was wrong. Subjecting me to that? That was a little mean.”

[adelicatebubble]

more hcs about dae ho as a father and his breeding kink please!!

kang dae-ho as a dad | sfw - nsfw | headcanons ᰔ .ᐟ

- he's shocked when you mention wanting to start a family with him

- 'a baby? with me? you're sure? you want a mini you or me running around?'

- he's wanted it so badly for a while, but he never wanted to pressure you into it

- once he knows you're both okay with it, he'll want to start trying immediately

- he's over the moon when he finds out the two of you are expecting

- he'll start researching everything from parenting books, childbirth classes, and even goes to his sisters for advice

- before even reaching your second trimester, the nursery is already set up as well as your hospital bag and a small list of baby names

- stockpiles on baby supplies; diapers, pacifiers, rattles and other cute toys, strollers, blankets. this man goes all out

- he will often crouch down to kiss your stomach and talk to the baby

- 'i think she'll have your eyes'

- 'how do you know it's a girl?'

- 'just a feeling, my love'

- he'll take care of all of your pregnancy cravings

- throughout your trimesters he's so incredibly protective of you, ensuring your safety everywhere you go

- you and the baby are his number one priority

- he wants you to depend on him, but also be independent in your own right

- he wants you to feel supported every step of the way

- reassurance is a given with him

- 'you're safe with me, i'm here alright?'

- 'whatever happens, we're in this together'

- he adores kids very much (and the thought of you with his!)

- he finds you being good with kids so attractive

- no doubt in my mind that this man is the best girl dad

- also four sisters-in-law, you two have all the support in the world

- he'll be the gentle but firm type of parent

- if you're exhausted, he'll take over for you

- 'shh~ your mom is resting, let her get some rest, yeah?'

- he's so relieved when your newborn is finally placed in his arms, he wouldn't be able to help himself smiling at you in adoration

- 'look at what we made' he smiles down at your baby lovingly

- dae-ho couldn't be any happier with the three of you

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ ˎˊ˗ nsfw under the cut

- he desperately wants to get you pregnant so he can experience having a big family again, like how he grew up with four older sisters, it's what he's used to

- even after you have your first child together, he still wants to give you more

- thoughts of you being a mother to his kids turn him on so much

- he thinks you would look so pretty pregnant

- he'll be very curious about how your milk tastes so expect him to beg to try it

- very, very passionate sex

- he has a huge breeding kink

- he can go for hours with his military stamina

- when breeding you, you'll go for multiple rounds just so that he can be sure that you're carrying his baby

- 'are you going to be able to fit another load inside you, hm?'

- he fits inside you perfectly, massaging your insides

- 'fuck baby, you take me in so well'

- 'it's like you were made for me'

- he becomes quite possessive

- 'you're all mine, every inch of you is mine.'

- he won't instantly pull out, he'll stay put for a while almost as if he's plugging you

- when he does pull out, if his cum starts to leak out he'll softly fuck it back in

- 'we can't be sure you're pregnant just yet'

[spider-stark]

SWORN RIVALS

Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!Reader

Summary - Taking up sparring with your sworn rival is likely never a good idea.

Warnings - barely edited, blood, implied fighting, suggestive language but no real smut, likely ooc given that the episode hasn't even aired yet lmao

Word Count - 1.1k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

Pain splinters throughout your hand as your knuckles collide with his jaw. He stumbles backwards—just barely managing to keep himself from falling right onto his ass. 

“You fight like a girl,” you jeer, purposefully antagonizing him. “Though I suppose that’s to be expected of a Blackwood.” 

A raspy laugh rumbles through Benjicot Blackwood’s chest—a bitter, deep sound that sets your toes curling. 

“You’ve got quite a mouth on you.” Forcing his chin high, he flashes his crimson-stained teeth in a wry grin, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. He muses, “But perhaps we should put it to better use, don’t you think?” 

You cut your eyes at the bawdy implication. “You’re disgusting, Ben.” 

Another chuckle as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, inadvertently smearing blood along his bottom lip. The sight is entrancing—in a morbid sort of way. It glistens like pomegranate juice and, for a mere breath, you wonder if it would taste half as sweet. 

“C’mon!” Ben’s teasing tone slices through your thoughts, forcing some sense back into you. “Don’t act like you’ve never thought of it before,” he says, waving a hand between you both, “the two of us–” 

You don’t let him finish his sentence, cutting him off with a sharp glare. “I haven’t,” you practically snarl, taking a half-step towards him. “And you shouldn’t either,” you add, “I’d much prefer to be left out of your…" you blow out an exasperated breath, "depraved fantasies!” 

“Oh, but you are my depraved fantasies, sweetheart.” Ben’s grin widens as you groan, shaking your head at him. “You're also a liar, Bracken,” he adds, “and a shitty one, at that!” 

“You can believe whatever you want, Blackwood—but that won't make it true.” 

“Just admit it,” he continues. Swinging one foot forward, he takes a lazy step towards you—then another. “That’s why you train with me, isn’t it? ‘Cause you’re so desperate for someone to put you in your place—and none of those pansies along the Red Fork are fit for the task, are they?” 

You grit your teeth, knowing that his words aren’t entirely false. 

Training with Ben hadn’t necessarily been a purposeful decision. It was something that just sort of happened. Yet, in spite of the rivalry between your families, you’re willing to admit that you do prefer training with him over the Tully or Roote boys. 

He fought you like a true opponent—unlike the others, who felt the need to pull their punches or slow their own strikes, forever treating you like a helpless maiden rather than an equal. 

In many ways, you found Ben to be more tolerable than any other boy in the Riverlands, anyway. He was fierce and tough and undeniably skilled with both blade and fists, making him your ideal sparring partner. 

You still despise him, though—if only because that is what’s expected of you by your father, the Head of House Bracken. 

“Big talk from the boy who hasn’t gotten a single hit in today,” you smugly remind him. “Perhaps if you spent as much time training as you do thinking with your cock, you might actually stand a chance at victory, Benji.” 

Less than a foot-or-so of space separates the two of you when he finally stops, his grin souring like rotted fruit. 

“Don’t call me that,” he chides, his bottom lip jutting slightly. Your brow furrows, trying to discern if he’s pouting or if it’s simply swelling from when you hit him. “Besides,” Ben continues, “have you ever considered that maybe I’m just going easy on you?” 

You don’t buy his weak attempt at goading you—though you do entertain it, asking, “And why would you do that?” 

His shoulder lifts into a languid shrug. “Maybe I like it when you push me around,” he drawls, teasing. 

Another step and he’s towering over you, his chest mere inches from yours. His scent—a blend of leather and rich sandalwood—floods your nostrils, stirring your senses and leaving you dizzy. 

“Although,” Ben’s smirk returns, laden with his usual mischief, “I think I’d like you even more if you were on your knees-” 

A scoff rips from your throat, cutting him off with a rough swat to his chest. “Oh, go fuck yourself, Blackwood!” 

“Only if you’ll watch, Bracken,” he croons, mocking you. 

Every inch of your body is suddenly humming to life, an unrelenting blaze of rage—or was it desire?—setting your nerves alight. Before you can muster a response, a comeback, his fingers have closed around one of your wrists. 

“Go on,” Ben murmurs, his voice tantalizingly low. Your breath hitches as he presses your hand to his chest, feeling his pulse beat beneath your palm. “Hit me,” he dares, louder now. “Push me.” 

You don’t speak—don’t move, as those storm-cloud eyes dip once again. “Fucking do it—” 

You cut him off, fingers curling around the scarlet fabric of his tunic—you should kill him for being so crude, for acting so utterly lascivious! 

And yet, despite all logic and reason, you tug him closer. Pulling him down to your level in one swift motion, crashing your lips together in a kiss that is anything but soft. 

On instinct, your other hand slips to the back of his neck, tangling your fingers in soft, brown hair. You feel his heartbeat stutter beneath your fist, still gripping his tunic. For no more than a breath, you worry you’ve fucked this whole thing up. 

This is wrong! You scream at yourself. Wrong wrong wrong! 

But then he moves—hooking an arm around your waist, his nails sinking into your hip in an effort to bring you closer—and you loathe just how right this feels. 

Your legs tremble as his tongue slides along your lower lip, a soft moan spilling into his mouth. You feel him grin against you—can taste the blood on his lips, the bitter sweetness dancing on your tongue as he utters, “Eager, are we?” 

Tightening your grip on his hair, he hiss slips from his teeth. “Shut up.” 

He obliges—his mouth drifting from your lips to your jaw, leaving a bloody trail of kisses in his wake. You try not to think as he finally reaches your neck, earning a soft whine as he nips at your flesh. You try to forget who he is—that you’re supposed to hate him—as he shoves his leg between yours, offering you the very friction you so desperately desired. 

“This changes nothing, Benji,” you pant. 

He bristles at the nickname, letting his teeth sink deeper into your flesh, a deep bruise already blooming along your neck. “Sure." His own breathing is frantic and uneven as he rasps, “Whatever you say..” 

Your hand falls from his chest to his breeches, fingers already fumbling with the laces when you choke out, “I still think you’re disgusting, Blackwood.”

His own touch disappears beneath your tunic, fingertips trailing along every inch of your skin until his palms finally skim along your bare breasts. He gives one a rough squeeze before flashing that stupid, bloody grin of his. 

“And you’re still a liar, Bracken.”

a/n - writing fan fic for a character that hasn't even appeared on screen yet is wild. (hbo, this better be bloody ben or else I'll riot because this is perfect casting). anyway, I don't wanna be held accountable for how terrible, short, and rushed this is (I was bored and didn't feel like putting more effort into this than necessary rn) OR how wildly ooc this will likely prove to be come Sunday.

also---turns out that writing without actually knowing the character is hard! who'd have thunk, am I right?

[xazse]

Cw: HybridNaga!SatoSugu x Female!Reader + big size difference + not proofread + obsessed!SatoSugu + Anal + fingering + rushed writing I’m sorry I’m working on bettering my writing! + weird cock anatomy

Naga!Satoru and Naga!Suguru who love their little human who happened to wander deep into the forest and now they can’t seem to let you go!

They were supposed to lead you back where you came from but after a few days they just got addicted to you, them repeatedly having to tell you: that you were definitely going home was just a little white lie so you’d get used to their company and also want to stay.

Naga!Satoru can’t keep his hands off of you, he always feels the need to be touching you, not even sexually he just needs your body heat he tells you.

Naga!Suguru who may seem standoffish with you but he loves talking about anything with you.

The Nagas love sleeping with you inbetween them, all three of you bunched in a tight hug slowly drifting off to sleep together, their huge bodies almost suffocating you multiple times thoughout the night.

The men start getting more and more relaxed with you around, eventually they get curious about you, they know a lot about each others bodies but nothing about yours, that’s not really fair now is it?

That night while you’re all laying together in your warm huddle you think they’re both asleep until you feel a warm hand sliding up the expanse of your tummy then grazing your nipple, it’s Satoru’s sharp fingers playing with your pebbled bud. You make no move to tell him to stop so he takes that and runs with it.

He grabs the fat in his hands and squeezes, he likes the feel of them within his fingers, you think you can hear him mumble how soft they are.

Another hand starts fumbling with your pants, Suguru’s awake now and fully wanting to participate. He slides them off down your legs and lets them pool around you ankles. He proceeds to feel all over your legs and inner thighs.

You guide his thick hands to your needy little cunt, basically using his own hands to rub at your clit back and forth, he doesn’t protest and lets you use him how you want. Satoru watches on eagerly still clutching and massaging your tit.

After a while you shove two of his fingers in your wet hole and push them inside of you over and over, Suguru gets the memo and does it without your help, your moans are so lewd and cute. He can’t stop looking at your face his eyes haven’t left yours you look so damn sexy like this.

He rubs the slit where his cock remains until its gradually becoming more harder, his cock looks slightly different from a human male. He strokes himself in tune with how he’s fingering you.

Your messy pussy is emitting loud slick sounds which spurs both of them men on, you have Satoru managing to fit one of his fingers inside only for him to pull it back out to taste.

“Suguru.. m-so close..” he stops his ministrations against your approval and goes to line his cock up with your hole, he presses you fully agaisnt his body as he easily slides himself inside.

You feel Satoru prying your ass apart, with small whines you can tell he’s feeling left out. It’s your first time ever having someone fuck you back there but you can’t find it in you to protest.

He’s sweet enough to gather some spit after finding out how tight you really are.

They don’t fuck you in tandem, Suguru is much more slow with the way he’s fucking your cunt, he seems to be more sensitive than Satoru. His eyebrows are knitted as he pulls his scaly body toward you, you can feel the slight twitch in his cock and you’re going crazy with the way Satoru is just hammering into you like he’s a virgin, well he is in a sense.

His first time being inside pussy is making him lose all rational “feels so fucking good, I swear” you hear Suguru’s strained voice.

The men really now won’t let you leave, the sex sessions happens almost everynight and sometimes even during the day when they’re both pent up. Just trying to relax around the cave proves to be difficult when you have Satoru wanting you to ride his cock and Suguru wanting to eat your pussy, they aren’t satisfied with one round either they feel the need to go for hours on end, only sometimes giving you time to breathe.

[kitten4sannie]

dolce and gabbana

pairing: san x guest! reader (fem)

genre: pure smut with a tiddlywink of plot

summary: san can’t seem to get you off his mind after sitting next to you during the latest D&G showcase, so he has no choice but to get you on his dick instead.

w.c: 3.3k

warnings: some alcohol use, subby until he’s not! san, dommy mommy who folds instantly when san asserts himself! reader, both reader and san mutually go after one another despite knowing one of them is MARRIED (hoes will be hoes what can i say <3), reader’s husband is a dick ofc, misogyny (from said husband), cheating, seduction, exhibitionism, mommy/daddy kink….. (i’m weak okay,,), teasing, mainly!! praise and pet names, one instance of false praise, [ the following happens inside a crowded room of ppl and possiblyy in front of reader’s husband: groping, fingering, kissing, dry humping, one neck bite, san cums untouched, ] ITS BIG BTW AND CURVED……, oral (giving/receiving), squirting, one singular pussy slap, san puts reader into a mating press on her husband’s side of the bed just for funsies, manhandling, size kink, breeding kink, creampies (sannie cums a lotttt)

a/n: as a pudding since day 1 i am in absolute shambles thanks for asking <3 and YES im very aware i posted yesterday but the fic demons cannot be silenced!!! and just fyi i’m sure san was very grateful and absolutely brimming with excitement to be at the show!! the way i wrote him here does not reflect his actual feelings towards anything,, its just a silly fic and i wrote what i wanted lol. also i wish i could tell you how many times “dolce and gabbana that’s on my titties~” played in my head while i typed this out 😭😭 (also i did not proofread this whatsoever so forgive me if there are errors) but anyways, i hope you enjoy :33

song recs: la romana by bad bunny, rover + peaches + nothing on me by kai, planet goddamn by mac miller

San knew eyes would be on him. Why wouldn’t they be? He was dressed to the nines, his hair slicked back to showcase his alluring, feline-like eyes, his sharp, angular features that could give someone a fatal cut if they looked for too long, and most importantly, he was all decked out in a sleek black custom-made top that perfectly adorned his broad shoulders and chest, one that even cinched securely around his impossibly tiny waist. Of course it did. It had been custom fit and made just for his body. Even the tailor had jokingly mentioned that Michelangelo himself must’ve sculpted him to perfection in the heavens before San was born, but San wasn’t laughing. He perfected his body through his own sheer willpower and determination alone, to be the best that he could be for his own self — and if people just so happened to drool over the results of his hard work, then that was simply a perk.

Holding his hand up to shield his eyes from the many camera flashes, he continued to make his way down the walkway, offering many of the starstruck guests a courteous, though charming smile, wondering if their wandering gazes were due to his breathtaking ensemble or what was sitting just below it. The thought tickled him. It continued to amuse him throughout the afternoon, taking picture after picture with eager guests and wealthy tycoons alike, quite pleased with himself when neither man nor woman could seem to control themselves around him, their eyes always drifting downwards to look San up and down like he were next up in an auction, their mouths pressed to their champagne flutes in an effort to quell the thirst they felt, their free hands lingering just a little too long on the small of his back when they bid farewell to him.

San relished the fact that these poor starving individuals could never get a taste of him, no matter how incredibly rich or influential they were. None of them would get a bite of the forbidden fruit without permission from God.

It was then that the show started, various eye-catching models sashaying their way across the aisle to showcase the latest D&G collection, all displaying their own unique set of features and charm. All flawless and angelic in their own right, but they were almost predictable in that way — like mannequins made solely for the rich and beautiful to gawk at. San couldn’t help but look past them, only focusing on the expensive, tailor made clothes that were framing their perfect bodies. And after a while, he almost seemed to grow bored. Of what, exactly? He wasn’t sure. Maybe it was the sheer gaudiness of it all, the lack of self awareness for things that really mattered in the modern world, and the almost nauseating amount of figurative autofellatio the beautiful people around him seemed to be fond of doing. San would’ve pondered it more when somebody near him gently patted his thigh, causing him to look down at the small manicured hand, the diamond ring around your finger glinting in the light like a warning sign.

“Are you bored like I am?” you whispered softly into his ear from beside him, giving him a quaint smile when he turned his head to face you.

San blushed, leaning slightly in your direction. “Am I that obvious?”

“No, don’t worry. None of these drones will be able to notice.” You motioned your head to the crowd around you, their phones in hand, all whispering to each other about how revolutionary the new collection was, despite it looking eerily similar to the fall one from the year before. “You could whip your cock out and no one would bat an eye.”

“Oh?” San studied your flirtatious smile, then looked down just to make sure his eyes hadn’t deceived him. Yep, the ring was still there — and it probably cost more than a year’s worth of rent. Delighted by your forwardness, San took it upon himself to tease you, reaching down to slowly unbutton his slim-fitted pants. “Well, if that’s the case…”

Your cheeks turning bright red, you reached downwards to shield his crotch from view, looking up at him with wide eyes, your faces now impossibly close. “I-i was fucking with you! Don’t actually take out your dick…”

San’s sharpened eyes flitted from your gaze to your cherry red lips, letting go of his zipper to gently take your hand in his, pressing it firmly down onto his thigh. “Yet…?” he challenged huskily, wondering if you were like all the others and would yank your hand back, scoff in disgust, and pretend as if it had never happened. It was then that San felt you squeeze your warm hand into the meat of his thigh, your fingers just barely pressing into the inseam of his pants.

“You can be a good boy and wait till the after party, can’t you?” you asked in a lower, sultrier tone, pressing your lips to his cheek to leave your mark on him, your hand moving further up his thigh, only pulling away when you felt something hard press into your palm. Smiling sweetly, you leaned in again, this time allowing your lips to brush over his. “Good things come to those who wait.”

And just like that, you turned forward to focus on the models all gathering onto the stage at once along with the designers, clapping along with the rest of the crowd when they all took a bow. You blew a kiss to one of the designers who caught it and pretended to put it in his pocket.

Still breathless from your short encounter, San nudged your thigh with his own, biting into his lip and tasting the sweetness of your lipstick. You nudged him back, glancing at him through the corner of yours eyes, licking at your own lips, like a predator would before pouncing on their prey.

San couldn’t believe he had finally met someone like you. There was a serpent in his garden — and he couldn’t wait for it to swallow him up.

-

The after party was predictable as always — strangers binge drinking and snorting powder off of your previously pristine marble tabletops, others telling embellished stories about their latest trip to their private islands, to various vague acquaintances doing god knows what in your many empty guest rooms. All of that chaos saught to entice you, and you could not, for the life of you, care about what your husband was currently cackling over with his close friends, instead focusing on the crackling wood sitting inside the fireplace you were all huddled near. When you inevitably ran out of champagne, you patted your husband’s leg so that he could remove his arm from your waist.

He looked down at you with indifference. “What is it?”

“I need more champagne, honey. I’m going to get some.”

Your husband’s face scrunched up. “Haven’t you had enough? If you drink any more, you’re going to lose your nice figure.” He looked to his friends for validation who all simply nodded along in agreement.

Your husband’s chauvinistic comments didn’t bother you anymore, just his persistent presence in your life. He was like a mosquito that was always trying to drain you, one that you could never seem to swat away. Well, nothing a little dick couldn’t fix. “That’s funny, because I seem to recall the tailor coming in this morning for an emergency visit to alter a certain suit,” you mentioned, this time pushing your husband’s arm away from you, surveying his now quiet friends with an unbothered look, before wandering off, not registering the insecurity driven ramblings that your husband was sending your way.

Once you made your way into the crowded loft, you searched your surroundings for what you were looking for, humming at the sight of the pretty boy from earlier sitting on the large plush couch in the corner, his cheeks flushed red, haphazardly holding onto a half-empty champagne flute, his attention on one of the models that had walked for your husband’s collection a few hours earlier. He was even more handsome now that you could study his captivating details, your eyes drifting over his bulky frame, from his large arms and shoulders, to his delicate waist, and down to his spread thighs, zeroing in on what was between them, knowing that the beautiful stranger was blessed in more ways than one based off what you had felt earlier.

Without hesitation, you slowly made your way across the room, your stiletto heels digging into the fur carpet below with each concentrated step, licking your red lips when the model placed one of her hands on San’s thighs and squeezed it, his suddenly submissive expression causing more knots to form within your core. You were going to make him yours.

San could barely hear the pretty model’s words over the loud music and the many overlapping voices inside the loft, not knowing what to say when she moved closer to him, clearly going in for the kill. It was then that someone stood over him, their heel nudging into his loafer. He looked up, his once hazy eyes opening wide at the sight of you standing above him with a bottle of champagne in one hand, your other hand already cradling his face. “M-miss…there you are…”

“Here I am,” you purred, running your fingers along his jaw, satisfied with the fact that your lipstick print was still visible on his tan skin.

Just about spilling the rest of his bubbly onto his lap, San gulped, slowly spreading his thighs open wider and patting one of them, giving you a silent invitation to take things further.

Humming, you lowered yourself into his lap, your plush thighs and ass pressing snuggly against his lower half. “Look at you,” you cooed softly into San’s ear, not caring to give the now fuming model any attention, lowering the cold champagne bottle in between your bodies, chuckling at the soft whimper he let out when it pressed into the exposed sections of his skin. “You’re such a good boy, saving a seat for Mommy like this. Aren’t you, baby?”

San’s throat went dry. He must’ve done something truly benevolent in a past life to deserve this. “Y-yes, I am, s-so good for you…”

“Then, be good and open your mouth,” you purred, lifting the almost empty bottle and pouring some into your mouth. San’s jaw slowly dropped, not knowing that he was already beginning to drool. You didn’t mind, clutching the sides of his heated face and pressing your parted lips onto his, transferring the sparkling alcohol to him, but not without running your tongue over his.

San brought his hands up near the sides of your ass, his fingers trembling, not knowing if he was allowed to touch you, whimpering into your mouth when you sucked the alcohol off of his tongue.

“You can touch, baby.” You reached for his wrists and brought his hands underneath the hem of your short dress, gasping when he squeezed the softness of your ass in between his ringed fingers and began to slowly guide your hips, your clothed cunt rubbing back and forth over his stiffening cock. “Mm, someone’s eager, hm? You’re a naughty one, making the main designer’s wife grind on your cock like this in front of everyone.”

“It’s…Mommy’s fault…” San murmured near your ear, rolling his own hips up into yours, making you feel every inch of his trapped throbbing cock each time he ground himself into you, biting into his lip at the sound of your breathless moans, swearing he saw your grimacing husband from over your shoulder.

“My fault, huh? Mommy should make up for it, shouldn’t she?” you sighed back onto his heated skin, pressing kiss after kiss onto his collarbones, dragging your tongue along the constellation of freckles he had on his neck, making him shudder underneath you.

“Uh-huh…” San moaned out, your hand suddenly squeezing into and sliding back and forth over his erection, your thumb repeatedly rubbing over the pronounced tip, knowing he was staining his expensive pants with sticky pre-cum. “F-fuck, I’ll cum if you keep doing that…”

“So sensitive, baby, you’re so cute…but you’re not the only one, you know? Look what you did to Mommy~” You gave his balls a gentle squeeze just to hear him whimper, before letting go, instead reaching for his hand again and leading it between your legs, moving your soaked panties to the side just in time for San to fill you up with two thick fingers.

“You’re so wet…” San groaned, unable to keep himself from adding another digit inside your slick hole, beginning to pump them in and out of you, allowing the both of you to listen to the obscene squelching sounds your cunt made each time he finger-fucked you. Something switched inside of San when you began to whine and whimper, and fuck yourself back on his fingers, your eyebrows screwed upwards, begging him for more with your teary, half-closed eyes. “So fucking wet just for me, huh? Hey, Miss, did you know your husband is standing just across the room? Think he’s hard knowing I just got his pretty little wife wetter than she’s been in her entire life?”

“B-baby, don’t tease me like that,” you whispered, not wanting the control you had over him to slip out of your grasp, grabbing onto his shoulders, accidentally causing pieces of his solid outfit to fall off and land onto the leather couch.

“It’s San, Miss, but you can call me Sannie if you wanna be a good girl for me,” he chuckled, shoving his fingers into you up to the knuckles, rolling your clit around underneath his heavy thumb. “And, I’m not teasing you, my love, he’s really watching us, and he looks like he wants to kill me.”

Just as you looked behind you to catch your husband’s displeased gaze, San began to ram his soaked digits into your spasming cunt, feeling his lips, tongue, and teeth on your neck. “O-oh my god, Sannie, oh, fuckkkk…”

Just as your warm arousal began to pour out onto his fingers and lap, San bit down into the area where your neck and collarbone connected, letting out a few stunted groans, his hips jolting up into yours, coating the insides of his designer pants with white.

“Did you just…?” you began, before San stuffed his fingers into your mouth, growing quiet and sucking your arousal off of them. He pulled them out with a pop, but you didn’t even get the chance to continue your question because you were suddenly being lifted up into the air, strong hands clutching your thighs, your legs hooked around San’s waist.

Your defeated, emasculated husband was just a blur when San carried you through the crowded room and up the stairs, not stopping until he got to the largest room at the end of the expansive hallway.

“Which side does your husband sleep on?” San asked, once he stood at the foot of the kingsized bed.

“On the right. Why do you–O-oh,” you gasped as he quickly laid you out on the right side of the bed and lifted your dress up, forcefully spreading your thighs open so that he could bury his face in your cunt, repeatedly lapping at your slit and clit over your soaked panties until he couldn’t take it, reaching up to tear your panties off with ease. “Sannie, baby boy, what’s gotten into you?”

San looked up at you with dark, dilated eyes, reaching up to his broad body to rip off the rest of his outfit, his solid muscles flexing as he closed his fingers around your waist, yanking you lower so that your cunt was closer to his face, looking like he was about to eat you alive. “Daddy’s hungry,” he simply replied, diving back into your cunt to lick and slurp up your juices, tonguing your hole just to feel you clench around him, his nose nudging your clit as he ate you out like a starved man.

Sooner or later, you began to shudder and pant, tugging at the ends of San’s sweaty hair, your thighs pressing into the sides of his head until he forcefully held them down, quickly moving his head up and down as he dragged his tongue roughly over your throbbing clit, his focused eyes never leaving yours. “S-sannie, I’m really, fuck– I’m gonna cum…!”

“Cum for Daddy,” he demanded gruffly, stuffing three fingers into your cunt and pounding them into your g-spot, lifting your ass up with his other hand so that he could catch the stream of arousal that suddenly squirted out of you, some of it inevitably soaking into the satin sheets below you. San licked your juices from his lips, going down to give your puffy cunt one last lick to savor your taste, before standing up from the bed and unbuckling his pants.

“Y-you….Did you get possessed by a demon?” you asked half-jokingly, unable to keep your thighs from trembling, wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your wrist.

His cock now directly near your face, San smiled devilishly down at you, his dimples appearing. He lazily ran a closed hand along his curved, dripping length. “And if I did? You’d still let me fuck you, wouldn’t you? Because Mommy’s a good little slut, huh?”

“What do you think?” you mused, just before running your tongue along the underside of San’s heavy cock up to the salty tip, a pleased chuckle vibrating from your throat.

“Yeah, get it wet for me…” he mumbled absentmindedly, pushing his fingers through your hair to move it out of the way. San pressed his thighs tightly against the side of the bed, thrusting shallowly into your mouth, watching fondly as you sucked and licked the beads of pre-cum that leaked from the slit.

Just when San began getting worked up, you pulled yourself off of him and sat up to rid yourself of your useless, disheveled dress. Hearing a distinct groan of approval, you reached up for the handsome stranger, licking the saltiness from your lips. “Now, you come here and show Mommy just how much Daddy wants her.”

“Yeah? I’ll show you…” San wasted no time climbing back onto the bed and folding you up into a mating press, leaning back to send a few wads of spit onto your cunt, smacking his hand against the wetness for good measure, before he plunged himself deep inside you. “In fact, I’ll make sure you never forget, baby.”

You just about screamed, not ready for San’s unusual size and shape, the curve of his cock rubbing deliciously along your tightening walls each time he pounded himself into you. “S–ann–ie…! It’s so big, fuck– so good!”

“Aww, poor baby’s never had a big cock stretching out her pretty pussy before, huh?” San cooed into your ear, pulling all the way out, just to slam himself back in, hitting your g-spot dead on, making you cry out deliriously. “You’ll never be able to go back to your husband after this. You’re gonna be begging for me to take care of you from now on….” San pressed his lips against yours, sucking on your tongue as you moaned out for him. “Want you to cum for me again, baby…Squirt on my cock, okay?”

“S-Sannie, it’s too much,” you whined out, dragging your nails down his broad back, your toes curling just as San punched your next orgasm out of you when his curved cock once again came in contact with your g-spot.

As you began to cry from the overwhelming pleasure, San licked your tears away, gently pressing his lips into your cheek and jaw, shushing you. “Don’t worry, baby. Daddy’s here for you.” He clutched you close, holding still inside you, as his cock began to twitch. “Here it comes, princess, just for you.” A hot, creamy stream of cum began to shoot out into you, completely drenching your insides with his load.

You could hardly speak at this point in time, solely concentrated on the pleasure that still had a hold on your sore body and the warmth that was filling you up to the brim, suddenly realizing that your husband really wasn’t going to be happy with you. “Y-you shouldn’t have…nnnngh….”

San continued to roll his hips into you, his eyelids fluttering, groans spilling from his throat, your cunt still milking his pulsing cock for all it had, which was a lot, to say the least. Once there was nothing left to give you, San leaned down, pressing one last kiss to your lips, not caring that you had left your lipstick all over him. “Can I ask you something, baby?”

“Y-yes, San?”

San smiled, his glossy brown eyes glistening in the light. “When you have my baby, will you have the heart to tell your poor husband that it’s actually mine?”

Panting heavily and trying to process what the handsome stranger just said, you finally came to the realization that you let someone who didn’t even know your name possibly impregnate you. Well, at least you had something to talk about over breakfast with your husband, rather than hear him go on and on about his latest collection.

“I’m not sure about that one…”

“Can I ask you one more question?”

“Hm?”

“Should I name our baby Dolce or Gabbana?”

Apply for the taglist here ⇢ ♡

© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[rosemariiaa]

~Off the Rails ( And into my head)~

𐙚- pairing: Paige x Azzi

𐙚- w/c: 5.6k

𐙚- rosie’s note: suprise + happy gameday! i was def supposed to be working on my stalker fic buttt this was too cute not to play around with, if u guys enjoy this one i’m happy to write another part <3, happy reading lovelies 💌

𐙚- themes: au, fluff, gay being gays

Azzi is pretty sure the city is trying to kill her.

Okay, maybe that’s a little dramatic, but between dodging aggressive taxi drivers, the sensory overload of Times Square, and her hotel room’s heating system making threatening noises at three in the morning, she’s convinced New York is testing her.

Which is fine. She likes a challenge (sometimes).

Her days are structured enough that she doesn’t have too much time to dwell on it. Wake up, drink expensive hotel coffee that tastes like disappointment, go to fittings, castings, brand meetings — smile, nod, pretend she isn’t internally cringing at people aggressively poking at the clothes on her body. It’s exhausting but manageable.

The castings are the worst part.

The first one seemed easy enough — a sleek downtown studio, all glass windows and marble floors. She felt okay at first, just another model in a sea of long legs and sharp cheekbones. But when it was her turn, the woman in charge — someone with wire-rimmed glasses and a voice like nails on glass — squinted at her like she wasn’t quite sure why Azzi was there at all.

“Smile,” the woman had said, and Azzi did.

“No,” she snapped, “not like that. Softer.”

Azzi tried again.

“No, softer. Relax your face.”

Azzi wasn’t sure how to relax her face when she suddenly felt like her whole body was being dissected under a microscope.

By the end, she walked out feeling like a mannequin someone had forgotten to put away properly.

“Don’t take it personally,” her agent had said over the phone. “They just want to see how you handle pressure.”

Right, Azzi thought bitterly, because nothing screams ‘grace under pressure’ like being told you’re smiling wrong.

She hated that it got to her — that her ex’s voice kept creeping into her head after things like that.

You’re too uptight, he’d say. You need to stop caring so much about what people think.

Like he wasn’t the one constantly picking at everything she did. Like he wasn’t the one who could ruin her whole day with a single passive-aggressive text.

She knew he was out of her life now — had been for months — but sometimes it still felt like she was waiting for the next thing to go wrong. Like if she let her guard down for too long, something bad was bound to happen.

Honestly, at this point, she wouldn’t mind if a woman chased her for a year or two.

Azzi immediately freezes at the thought.

Jesus Christ, you sound insane. Get it together.

(But also…she’s not wrong. It’s true.)

The only part of her routine that feels normal is the train.

For some reason, she’s taken to riding it instead of calling for a car like most models do. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t like feeling babied, or maybe it’s because she just enjoys the quiet anonymity of it. No cameras, no managers, no overly chatty PR people. Just her, her music, and a bunch of exhausted New Yorkers trying to get from point A to point B.

And then there’s her.

Tall. Athletic. Platinum blonde, but not in a fake way — it looks like it actually belongs to her, like she was born to be blindingly golden.

The first time Azzi sees her, she doesn’t think much of it. Just another stranger on the train, another person she’ll never see again.

The second time? Okay, weird coincidence.

The third?

Alright, what the hell is going on.

Azzi doesn’t mean to stare, but she’s a model — her job is literally to pay attention to details, to notice symmetry and proportion, and — oh god, is she actually justifying this to herself right now?

Still, she keeps catching herself analyzing the girl before she can stop it. The slight shift in her posture, the way she spreads her legs a little too wide like she’s claiming space (gay?), the loose sweatshirt hanging off her broad frame like she just threw it on without thinking.

And her face.

Azzi thought she was intimidating at first. The sharp jawline, the piercing blue eyes — classic I could beat you in a fight energy. But then she looked closer.

She wasn’t intimidating at all. If anything, she looked like an adorable golden retriever who was trying very hard to pretend she wasn’t.

The kind of girl who could probably bench press Azzi without breaking a sweat, but would also apologize profusely if she accidentally bumped into someone.

So, yeah. Weirdly interesting.

But Azzi isn’t a weirdo. She’s not about to obsess over some random subway stranger just because she happens to exist in her general vicinity every morning.

…Except the next day, she catches herself checking the train doors, waiting to see if she’ll walk in.

And she does.

Of course she does.

Azzi tells herself she’s just being observant. That’s all.

And then the blonde glances up, makes direct eye contact, and —

Smirks.

Not in a mean way. Not even in a particularly cocky way. Just this tiny, amused flicker of a smile. Like she knows something Azzi doesn’t.

Azzi immediately looks away. Get it together, Azzi, what is wrong with you.

The train stops. She doesn’t think — just moves, bolting out of her seat like she suddenly has somewhere incredibly important to be.

She does not look back.

Definitely not.

…Okay, maybe just a little.

—

Azzi tells herself she’s not thinking about her.

She’s not.

She’s thinking about work — about that weirdly aggressive casting director who kept telling her to “soften” her face, like Azzi’s somehow been walking around looking like an axe murderer this whole time.

She’s thinking about her schedule — her agent’s endless texts about last-minute fittings and branding meetings that always seem to run twenty minutes longer than anyone expects.

She’s thinking about dinner — the overpriced sushi place she keeps passing by but can’t quite convince herself to go into because eating alone at a fancy bar feels way too much like one of those sad girl in a movie moments.

She’s definitely not thinking about the blonde girl.

Except she kind of is.

Not on purpose! It’s just — her brain keeps circling back to her like a song stuck on repeat. Like a stray thread that Azzi can’t quite stop tugging at.

It’s just because she keeps showing up on the train, Azzi tells herself. That’s all.

New York’s massive, but the subway isn’t. People stick to patterns, routes, habits — it’s not that weird to see the same face a few times.

(But why is it always her face?)

It’s annoying, honestly — how the thought of her keeps creeping in when Azzi’s trying to focus.

Like this morning.

Azzi had been walking down 5th Avenue, mentally rehearsing her introduction for a big casting — something charming but casual — when she caught herself thinking, I bet the blonde girl’s never nervous before big things. I bet she just shows up and — boom — owns the whole room.

Or last night, when Azzi had tried watching a movie in her hotel room, only to completely zone out halfway through because she was too busy replaying that stupid smirk in her head.

What was that even about?

And God, it’s embarrassing — how her brain won’t let it go. She’s barely said two words to her! She doesn’t even know her name!

She’s just interesting, Azzi tells herself. That’s all.

And it’s true. She’s interesting the way a puzzle is — a bunch of pieces that shouldn’t really fit together, but somehow do.

Azzi hates that she notices things like that. Hates that she keeps wondering what her voice sounds like — if it’s sharp and dry like her smirk or if she’s secretly one of those people who laughs too loud without meaning to.

It’s just curiosity, Azzi thinks. Just passing time. It’s not a crush.

…Right?

—

Azzi’s morning is already off to a chaotic start.

She overslept (her phone alarm somehow managed to betray her), her hotel room’s shower took forever to heat up, and her only clean outfit is one of those weirdly fancy streetwear fits that somehow manages to look like she’s either trying way too hard or not trying at all.

So when she stumbles onto the train — hair still damp, blazer oversized enough to swallow her shoulders — she’s not exactly feeling her best.

And, of course, that’s the day the blonde girl’s already there.

Sitting in her usual spot, legs stretched out way too wide, one arm casually draped over the back of the seat like she’s been living on this train her whole life.

Azzi thinks about walking to the next car — just avoiding the whole situation altogether — but the doors are closing, and she’s already been spotted.

Too late now.

She sits across from her, tries to act normal. Looks down at her phone, pulls up Instagram like she’s definitely not thinking about the blonde girl sitting four feet away.

Except the blonde clears her throat, and Azzi glances up before she can stop herself.

“You again,” the blonde says, voice low and a little scratchy. Her mouth curls up in that familiar half-smirk. “‘M starting to think you’re following me.”

Azzi snorts — way louder than she means to — and immediately wants to disappear.

“Oh yeah,” she deadpans, “I moved to New York just to ride this train and stare at you like a creep.”

The blonde’s smile spreads wider. “Hey, you said it. Not me.”

Azzi rolls her eyes but can’t help the laugh that slips out. It’s too early for this. Too early for that smile and the way her blue eyes practically sparkle when she’s teasing.

The train jerks to a stop, and a new wave of people crowds in. One of them shuffles too close, nearly stepping on Azzi’s foot. She shifts, tucking her legs in a little.

“Here.”

Azzi looks up just in time to see the blonde motioning to the empty seat beside her — like it’s no big deal, like it’s just common sense.

“Oh,” Azzi says, too startled to play it cool. “Uh… thanks.”

She squeezes into the seat, awkwardly aware of how close their shoulders are now. The blonde smells like something fresh — clean laundry, maybe, with a hint of expensive cologne (Valentino?). It’s stupidly attractive.

Azzi stares straight ahead, willing her brain to stop overthinking.

“You always this quiet?” the blonde asks.

“Depends,” Azzi mutters. “You always this talkative to strangers?”

The blonde barks out a laugh — short and rough, like she wasn’t expecting it.

“Woww,” she drags out, still grinning. “Alright, cool. So we’re throwing insults now?”

Azzi shrugs. “Just calling it like I see it.”

The blonde hums, like she’s deciding whether or not to be offended. Then —

“Book club,” she says suddenly.

Azzi blinks. “…What?”

The blonde nods to the book tucked under Azzi’s arm — The Housemaid by Freida McFadden. “Didn’t take you for the book club type.”

“It’s actually just me, Azzi to be exact,” Azzi corrects, a little dry. “No club.”

The blonde’s head tilts like she’s intrigued. “Hmm. Pretty name.”

Azzi doesn’t register it right away — not until the blonde’s eyes flicker away like she hadn’t just casually called her pretty (well her name..but still!).

“Oh,” Azzi stammers. “Uh… thanks?”

The train starts to slow, and the blonde stands, tugging her bag over her shoulder. “See you tomorrow, pretty girl.”

Okay, now she called her pretty. Azzi freezes. Doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, just sits there like an idiot while the blonde steps off the train and disappears behind the closing doors.

Pretty girl.

See you tomorrow, pretty girl.

Azzi’s face burns all the way back to her hotel.

Later that day, Azzi’s sprawled on her hotel bed, pillow half-smothering her face.

“This is stupid,” she mutters into the fabric. “I’m being stupid.”

Because — what is she even doing?

She’s barely spoken to this girl, first “conversation” and yet here she is — half-convinced she’s developing some kind of pathetic subway crush. It’s not like her — she’s never been one of those people who fixates on strangers like they’re characters in a rom-com.

But there’s something about her.

The way she carries herself — so casual, so comfortable in her own skin. The way she always looks so put-together, like her hair’s been freshly done and her sweatshirt just happens to fall perfectly over her frame.

And okay, fine — the way she called her pretty girl.

Azzi groans into the pillow.

You’re not in high school, you freak, she tells herself. Get it together.

But later, when she’s brushing her teeth, she catches herself mumbling, “How do you even ask someone out when you’ve barely had more than one conversation?”

And she doesn’t have an answer.

Azzi leans over the sink, toothbrush still hanging from her mouth, staring herself down in the mirror like her reflection might have answers.

“Okay,” she mutters around the foam, voice muffled. “Let’s think about this.”

She spits, rinses, and braces her hands on the counter.

Pros:

first: The blonde’s obviously into her. Right? You don’t just call someone pretty girl and not mean something by it.

second: She’s funny — annoyingly funny — in that teasing way that makes Azzi want to roll her eyes and smile at the same time.

third: She’s hot. Like, objectively hot. The kind of hot that makes you stupid, apparently, because Azzi can’t seem to stop thinking about her.

fourth: They take the same train. Built-in excuses to see her without seeming desperate.

fifth: She’s probably not a serial killer. (Azzi pauses — yeah, that one’s more hopeful thinking than fact. Moving on.)

Cons:

first: What if she’s not actually into her? What if pretty girl was just something she says to random strangers like it’s her thing? Some people are just effortlessly flirty like that. (God, imagine how embarrassing that would be.)

second: Even if she is interested, what if she’s straight? Straight girls are so naturally flirty. Or worse — what if she’s got a girlfriend? (Or a boyfriend? Or a situationship? Or some weird on-again-off-again ex who’s still lurking in her life?)

third: What if she’s just messing with her? Like… some kind of elaborate joke that Azzi doesn’t get because she’s new here and clearly out of her element.

fourth: What if they do go out, and it’s terrible? Awkward silences, forced small talk, maybe the blonde’s whole flirty-train-persona is just her best material and there’s nothing else underneath.

She groans and drags her hands down her face.

“This is so dumb,” she mutters to her reflection. “You’ve had, like… one conversation. Chill.”

But her brain doesn’t let it go. Because honestly?

The cons are all just hypothetical. Possible, but not certain.

The pros…

The pros feel real.

The blonde’s smile, the warmth in her voice, the way she’d leaned in just a little closer when she called Azzi pretty girl — none of that had felt fake.

And even if it’s just a harmless crush, even if this whole thing turns out to be nothing…

What if it’s not?

What if she’s funny and charming and sweet in that slightly annoying way? What if she’s someone Azzi could actually… like?

Azzi leans closer to the mirror, narrowing her eyes at herself like she’s trying to read her own mind.

“You’re being insane,” she says flatly.

And yet… she’s still thinking about it.

And tomorrow, she knows she’s going to be checking those train doors again.

—

Azzi wakes up to the faint glow of sunlight spilling through her window. For once, she doesn’t feel like her skull is being crushed by exhaustion. She reaches for her phone on the nightstand, squinting at the screen.

Two hours until the shoot.

Nice. Enough time to shower, get ready, and maybe even clean her disaster of a hotel room.

The shower’s warm and steady, and for a moment, Azzi stands there with her eyes closed, letting the heat loosen her muscles. Her thoughts wander — first to her shoot, then to her growing laundry pile, then… well, then to her.

The blonde.

Azzi doesn’t even know her name, yet here she is, fully thinking about her in the shower like some kind of weirdo. She groans and steps out, grabbing a towel and trying to push the image of that stupid smile out of her head.

She throws on a cropped long-sleeve top and matching Fenty sweats — perks of the brand deal — then tidies her room. By the time she’s packing her purse and slipping her phone inside, she’s feeling accomplished. Productive. Grounded.

And then she promptly ruins it all by walking straight into someone.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Azzi blurts, instinctively reaching out like she can somehow fix it.

The other girl’s gripping her forehead, wincing. “It’s okay,” she mutters, voice strained. It takes Azzi half a second to recognize it — that voice. Her stomach flips before she even looks up.

No way. No way is this happening right now.

Sure enough, when the blonde pulls her glasses off with a grimace, there she is — same platinum hair, same sharp jawline, same frustratingly charming smile… except this time, her eyes are squinted in pain.

Azzi freezes. Why does she look even hotter with glasses? Focus, Azzi. You just hurt her. Stop being weird.

The blonde blinks a few times like she’s still adjusting to the light, then — somehow — smiles.

“Oh, book club,” she says brightly, still pressing her fingers to her forehead. “You staying here too? What a coincidence.” Her grin widens like she’s genuinely delighted by this.

Azzi’s eyebrows furrow. Coincidence? What was so exciting about that?

Then she feels her face warm — her whole body warm, actually — and quickly nods. “Uh, yeah. Sorry, again. Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” the blonde assures her, still smiling. “But…” She pauses, tilting her head. “I think you kinda owe me now.”

Azzi snorts before she can stop herself. “Yeah, right.”

The blonde’s face falls into an exaggerated pout. “Wow. Really? You’re just gonna assault me in public and not even try to cheer me up?”

“Oh my god,” Azzi laughs, shaking her head. “Fine. What do you want?”

The blonde taps her chin, like she’s seriously thinking about it.

“I don’t have all day, blondie,” Azzi warns, but she’s smiling now too.

The blonde lights up like that’s exactly what she was hoping for. “Sushi,�� she announces. “I skipped breakfast and i’ve also been wanting to try that new fancy sushi bar up the street.”

Azzi sighs. “Fine. But my driver’s off today, so we might have to take the train.”

“No problem,” the blonde says easily. “You can drive my car.”

Azzi stops mid-step, turning to stare at her. “Wait… you have a car?”

“Yeah.” The blonde shrugs like it’s no big deal.

“Then why have you been taking the train?”

The blonde’s smile falters for a second, like she hadn’t expected the question. But then she shrugs again, casual as ever. “I like it.”

Weird, Azzi thinks, but she decides not to press. Instead, she just gives a skeptical look. “You seriously want a stranger to drive your car?”

“You’re not a stranger,” the blonde insists. “We’ve had — what — two conversations now?” She pauses, grinning. “Well, one and a half, I guess.”

Azzi huffs a laugh. “Yeah, sure. Real deep connection we’ve got here.”

“You did just give me a concussion,” the blonde points out. “I think you’re legally responsible for me now.”

“Oh my god.” Azzi rolls her eyes, fighting a smile.

“You know,” the blonde adds, eyes glinting. “I think you have to hold my hand while we walk, though.”

Azzi turns to her, unimpressed. “You don’t have two legs?”

“Well…” The blonde drags a hand dramatically down her face. “You did ruin my eyesight, I don’t wanna be hitting poles left and right..sooo…” She trails off, shrugging innocently.

Azzi can’t help it — she laughs again, quietly, and she hates that it makes the blonde’s smile widen like she’s just won something.

“Fine,” Azzi sighs. “Let’s go.”

She grabs the blonde’s hand, warm fingers wrapping easily around hers.

It’s supposed to be casual, practical — just an excuse to get her moving — but then the blonde’s fingers slide between hers, lacing together like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Azzi swears she feels her heartbeat stutter.

She tells herself she’s imagining things — that this girl is just the type to be annoyingly comfortable with casual touch. But then she feels the blonde shift a little closer, their arms brushing as they walk.

Azzi doesn’t say anything. She’s not even sure she wants to.

And maybe she’s imagining it, but she swears she can feel the blonde’s thumb trace over her knuckles — slow, deliberate — like she’s testing the waters.

Azzi bites the inside of her cheek, fighting a smile.

Yeah… she definitely has a crush.

—

Azzi never pictured herself like this — sitting in the driver’s seat of someone else’s car, navigating unfamiliar New York streets, her hands gripping the wheel a little tighter than necessary.

She glances at the blonde in the passenger seat —wait.., she reminds herself — but then realizes… no, she’s still not actually sure of her name.

They’d had two conversations — well, one and a half as the blonde stated — and Azzi still hadn’t asked. Not that it mattered. Except now it kinda did.

It’s quiet. Not uncomfortable exactly, but still… quiet.

Azzi turns her eyes back to the road, trying to focus. This whole situation feels surreal — like some bizarre fever dream. She didn’t move to New York thinking she’d end up driving a complete stranger to a sushi bar. She came here to focus on herself — her career — to hit reset after… everything.

“You’re a pretty good driver,” the blonde says suddenly, like she’s genuinely impressed.

Azzi laughs under her breath. “I think you’re just saying that ‘cause you’re scared for your life.”

The blonde grins. “Nah. If I was scared, I’d be giving you directions like my grandma — you know, all ‘slow down, watch the curb, both hands on the wheel.’”

Azzi smiles despite herself, relaxing just a little.

“So…” the blonde draws out the word. “Why’d you move to New York?”

Azzi shrugs. “I guess it just felt like the right place for me.”

“Yeah?” The blonde leans back in her seat, stretching her legs out comfortably. “And what do you do, exactly?”

“I model,” Azzi answers. “Not full-time yet, but… working on it.”

The blonde’s eyebrows lift. “Ohhh, so you’re like one of those people who always looks good without trying?”

Azzi scoffs. “Yeah, sure. I totally woke up gorgeous this morning.”

The blonde laughs softly, then her tone shifts — still casual, but more curious. “Okay so… why’d you really move here?”

Azzi hesitates, debating how honest she wants to be. “Honestly?” she says finally. “I needed a change. And… a getaway.”

“From what?” The blonde’s head tilts. “Or who?”

Azzi exhales through her nose. “Weird ex,” she mutters.

The blonde makes a face like that’s all she needs to hear. “Understandable,” she says easily. “So… what’d your boyfriend — I mean, ex-boyfriend — do?”

Azzi’s grip tightens briefly on the steering wheel. “How do you know it was a guy?”

The blonde shrugs. “I just assumed. I mean… you don’t look gay for real.”

Azzi’s mouth falls open in mock offense. “Excuse me?”

The blonde grins like she’s been waiting for that reaction. “Whattt?”

“I take offense to that,” Azzi says, flicking her shoulder without thinking.

The blonde gasps dramatically, clutching her arm. “Oh my god — did you just hit me? I’m already injured!”

“Oh, please.” Azzi rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning now too.

“So” The blonde pauses, eyes still sparkling. “You like women?”

Azzi nods. “Yeah.” Then, narrowing her eyes playfully, “You?”

The blonde snorts like the answer’s obvious. “I thought everyone could tell.”

“Oh, they could,” Azzi quips.

The blonde lets out a laugh — loud and unrestrained — and suddenly, the tension that had been lingering between them slips right out the window. The air feels easier now, warmer somehow.

As they pull up to the sushi bar, Paige hops out first, casually rounding the car just as Azzi locks the doors. Before Azzi can even think about it, the blonde’s fingers find hers again — no warning, no hesitation. Just warm skin sliding against her palm, fingers lacing like they belong there.

Azzi glances down at their hands — Paige’s hand in hers. The blonde doesn’t say anything about it, doesn’t even look her way — just keeps walking like this is the most natural thing in the world.

Azzi doesn’t say anything either. Maybe she doesn’t want to.

Inside, the sushi bar is small and cozy — warm lighting, soft music, and the faint scent of soy sauce lingering in the air. They slide into a booth by the window, Paige stretching her legs out comfortably while Azzi flips through the menu.

“I’m just getting the spicy tuna rolls,” the blonde announces, tossing her menu aside like she’s done this a hundred times before. “Easy choice.”

Azzi snorts. “That’s boring.”

“Okay, model, what’s your go-to?” the blonde challenges, grinning.

Azzi hums thoughtfully. “Salmon sashimi… and tempura shrimp rolls. Oh, and gyoza.”

“Damn,” the blonde laughs. “Ordering the whole menu?”

“You literally said your ‘easy choice’ like you’ve never eaten anything else in your life.”

“Maybe I haven’t,” the blonde shoots back, grinning wider.

They both end up ordering a mix of everything — the blonde insists on adding edamame, claiming “you can’t not order edamame,” and Azzi doesn’t argue.

“So…” the blonde leans her elbows on the table. “You’re a model, huh?”

Azzi nods, fiddling with her chopsticks. “Trying to be.”

“I feel like I’ve seen you before,” the blonde says thoughtfully. “Are you, like… famous?”

Azzi laughs, shaking her head. “Not even close.”

“Well…” The blonde shrugs. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

Azzi smiles despite herself. “Guess so.”

“What about you?” Azzi asks, leaning back in her seat. “You just hang out on trains and get concussions for fun?”

The blonde grins. “Nah… I’m kinda retired.”

Azzi frowns. “From what?”

“Basketball,” the blonde says like it’s nothing. “I design sometimes, though — clothes, mostly.”

“You’re a designer?”

“Sometimes,” the blonde repeats, like it’s more of a side project than an identity. “I moved here ‘cause I know some people working in fashion. Some models too.” She gestures vaguely, then pauses. “Guess I know one more now.”

Azzi smiles, but there’s something tugging at the back of her mind.

“You know,” she says slowly. “I still don’t know your name.”

The blonde freezes, blinking once like she’s surprised.

“Oh,” she says, like she just realized it too. “Paige.”

Paige. The name settles in Azzi’s mind like something she’s supposed to remember — something important.

“Nice to meet you… Paige.” Azzi smiles.

“Likewise.” Paige’s smile is lazy, soft — like she’s already known Azzi for years.

Their food arrives, and the conversation drifts between light teasing and easy conversation. Paige’s smile never seems to falter — it’s so constant that Azzi wonders if her face just naturally sits like that.

The sushi plates were nearly empty now, chopsticks scattered across the table like forgotten utensils in a game of pick-up sticks. Paige was still talking — something about her old basketball days — but Azzi wasn’t really listening. Not properly, anyway.

She was too distracted.

By the way Paige’s fingers danced along her water glass. By the way she smiled — wide and easy, like she didn’t have a single thing to hide. By the way those blue eyes — god, those blue eyes — kept flicking back to her between sentences.

Azzi barely noticed her own phone screen lighting up beside her. She figured it was just a reminder or some random email.

“Wait, hold up,” Paige said suddenly, interrupting herself. “You keep checking the time — you got somewhere to be?”

Azzi blinked back into focus. “Shit,” she muttered, checking her lock screen properly for the first time. “Yeah… I’ve got a shoot soon.”

“You’re working today?” Paige’s eyebrows lifted. “Damn. Busy woman.”

Azzi snorted. “Something like that.”

“Oh, wait,” Paige said suddenly, snapping her fingers like she’d just remembered something important. “I ordered dessert.”

Azzi blinked. “Dessert?”

“Yeah.” Paige grinned. “Figured I’d earn some extra points in case you tried to knock me out again.”

Azzi huffed a laugh, shaking her head.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Paige said, leaning back with a smug smile. “But you laughed, so…”

Azzi tried to fight her smile but failed

By the time they left the restaurant, Azzi was running late.

“You sure you’ll make it in time?” Paige asked as they walked back to her car.

“Yeah,” Azzi sighed. “Just gotta take the train since my driver’s off today.”

“I can take you,” Paige offered like it was nothing.

Azzi frowned. “I thought you weren’t feeling good enough to drive?”

“I’m feeling better now,” Paige said with a grin that Azzi didn’t fully trust.

“Uh-huh,” Azzi muttered.

“Look,” Paige said, twirling her keys around her finger, “it’s for safety measures.”

Azzi shot her a look. “Safety measures?”

“Yeah,” Paige said like it was obvious. “Gotta make sure you actually make it inside.”

“You’re weird.”

“I get that a lot.”

When they reached the building, Paige stayed parked at the curb, one hand still on the wheel.

“I’ll wait ‘til you’re inside,” Paige said casually.

Azzi gave her a look. “For safety measures, right?”

Paige grinned. “Exactly.”

Azzi smiled, grabbing her bag before heading to the door.

She turned back once more before walking inside, just in time to see Paige driving off.

Azzi reached for the handle — and nothing.

She tried again — still locked.

“What the hell…”

Peering through the window, she saw dim lights and empty chairs. The place was closed.

Her phone? Dead.

“Of course,” Azzi muttered.

With a sigh, she fished out her portable charger from her bag — dead too.

“Perfect.”

Azzi paced for a second, chewing her lip before finally deciding to call her agent from the nearby payphone — something she hadn’t done since, like… middle school.

“Azzi?” her agent answered almost immediately. “Where are you?”

“I’m at the building,” Azzi said. “No one’s here.”

“Because the shoot’s postponed, remember?”

Azzi froze. “Wait… what?”

“I texted you earlier,” her agent explained. “You didn’t see it?”

Azzi closed her eyes, exhaling sharply. No, she hadn’t seen it — because she’d been too busy sitting in that sushi bar, watching some blonde idiot grin her way through stories about terrible basketball injuries and spicy tuna rolls.

“My phone died,” Azzi muttered. “I didn’t see it.”

“Well… you’re off the hook for today. Go do something fun, I guess.”

“Yeah… okay.”

They hung up, and Azzi stood there for a moment, still processing everything.

Now she was stuck outside this empty building. Paige was long gone. And the last thing Azzi felt like doing was walking all the way back to the train station.

She groaned under her breath, leaning against the cold brick wall.

This is what you get for thinking with your heart — or worse… your hormones.

With a sigh, Azzi turned toward the pay phone again, fumbling for some change in her bag. She figured calling a cab was her best bet now — walking to the train station in this heat felt like some cruel punishment she didn’t deserve.

She’d just fed a quarter into the slot when she heard the familiar rumble of an engine — low and steady, like the sound of a car that had seen some things but still ran perfectly.

Azzi turned her head — and there it was.

That same black Jeep pulling into the parking lot.

The same freakishly tall blonde stepped out, holding a small paper bag and looking around like she was lost. Paige’s eyes landed on Azzi, and she grinned, jogging over like this was just a casual meetup and not the second time she’d shown up unannounced.

“Hi there,” Paige said, all smug like she knew something Azzi didn’t.

Azzi let out a soft laugh. “What are you doing here?”

“I forgot to give you this.” Paige held up the bag. “I actually ordered the dessert for you and yeah.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, and I locked my keycard in my room, sooo…” Paige winced. “Yeah.”

Azzi snorted. “Dumb blonde things?”

“Dumb blonde things,” Paige confirmed with a grin.

“What about you?” Paige asked. “Why’re you still out here, shoot over already?”

Azzi sighed. “My phone’s dead, so I didn’t see my agent’s text. The shoot was postponed, and I was too busy listening to you talk my ear off to even notice. Then you drove off, so I was stuck here debating whether to walk to the train or just call a cab — but my driver’s off today, and it’s so hot and I—”

“Whoa, whoa.”

Paige grabbed her hands — actually grabbed her hands — and Azzi froze mid-ramble.

“Calm down,” Paige said softly, her fingers giving a gentle squeeze. “Just… breathe, kay?”

Azzi exhaled shakily, her pulse still racing for a reason that had nothing to do with the weather.

“Better?” Paige asked, her eyes searching hers.

Azzi nodded. “Yeah… better.”

Paige smiled. “Good. Now c’mon — I’ll take you back to the hotel. No problem.”

Azzi blinked. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” Paige grinned again, a little softer this time. “Besides… I owe you for the amazing sushi date.”

Date? Date. Oh..a date.

Azzi masked the nervousness with a laugh under her breath. “Yeah, fair.”

Without thinking, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Paige’s waist in a quick hug.

“Thank you.” She said.

Paige went rigid at first — like she hadn’t expected it — but then her arms lifted, curling loosely around Azzi’s shoulders.

“‘S no problem, Az,” Paige murmured, her voice lower now — softer.

Azzi froze, pulling back slightly. “Az?”

Paige’s face went pink. “Oh… uh…” She scratched the back of her neck. “I mean… I just figured… I dunno, is that okay?”

Azzi grinned. “Yeah… it’s okay.”

“Cool,” Paige said, scratching the back of her neck. “Cool, cool…”

Azzi shook her head, turning toward the car.

She wasn’t sure what was more surprising — the fact that Paige had called her Az, or the fact that Azzi kinda hoped she’d say it again.

Az.

[aur0ral1ghts]

❥ ʟᴏᴠᴇsɪᴄᴋ

ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ sʟʏᴛʜᴇʀɪɴ ʙᴏʏs ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴀᴛᴛʜᴇᴏ ᴀ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴘᴏᴛɪᴏɴ..

↴

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs; ᴋɪssɪɴɢ. ᴅʀᴜɢɢɪɴɢ. (sʟɪᴘᴘɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴘᴏᴛɪᴏɴ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴅʀɪɴᴋ) sᴡᴇᴀʀ ᴡᴏʀᴅs. ғʟᴜғғ!!

-

"This is going to be so funny!" Theodore Nott giggles uncontrollably as he pops the cork of a pink vital and pours some into a glass. "Shit, i can't wait until he comes back!" Lorenzo laughs. "Me too." Blaise agrees as Draco nods.

The Slytherin boys were pranking Mattheo. They planned a "hangout" in the common room. They all waited for a whole hour for Mattheo to get up to use the bathroom or to go to his dorm to go fetch something. Then, after what felt like forever, Mattheo excused himself to go to the bathroom. Then, once Mattheo was out of sight, Theodore took a deep breath to control his giggle fit, he took the pink vital out of his pocket, he also took out a strand of your hair that he secretly took from your hairbrush one night while visiting. He poured half the vital into the glass, and then he added the hair. Then mattheo returned. The boys trying to hold in their laughs. After a while, Mattheo took a sip of his drink. The boys are all staring at this point.

"You feeling alright?" Blaise asks. "Uh, I'm feeling fine. Maybe a little warm, but I'm fine." He says, turning red as if he had just realized something. "Do you want to..confess..anything..?" Blaise asks, trying to hold in his laugh. "Yeah..I think..I think I'm in love with Y/n." The boys eyes widen. "Why don't you go to Y/n? I bet she'll love to see you." Mattheo smirks at this. "I should do that.." Mattheo stands up, almost tumbling over a chair. He picks up the cup and takes a long sip. Theo sighs as he takes the cup away from him as he pushes Mattheo gently towards the girls' dormitory.

Mattheo walks up the stairs, his heart racing. When he wasn't under the influence of the potion, he did have feelings for y/n, very strong feelings. But he would never ever dare to confess due to him thinking she would deny and reject his feelings. He didn't want to ruin his friendship with her.

-

I sit on my desk, trying to focus on my homework, an essay for Snape that was due tomorrow. I groan as I hear a knock on the door, I stand up and walk up to it.

I grasp the knob and I see..Mattheo Riddle.

"Um, hi Mattheo? Weren't you hanging out wi-?" Then I get interrupted with Mattheo literally jumping on me, kissing my cheek. "Mattheo!?" I question, pushing him off. I feel my cheeks turn red. "Oh, uhhh, sorry!" He mumbles, looking down at the carpet. "What's up with you!?" I question crossing my arms. "Uh, i came here to confess something." He fidgets with his hands. "Uh, sure." I say, sitting on my bed, motioning him to sit next to me. He does. "So. I'm like in love with you." He says, looking at me. "You.. you do?" I reply. I feel myself blushing again. "Yeah..." He says. "Can I kiss you y/n...please."

My lips part open as I nod. I've always fantasized about him kissing me and other things. Before i have time to react, he slams his lips onto me. Roughly, he grabs my wrists and pins me onto my bed. As I gasp, I can practically feel his smirk on my lips as he runs his free hand through my hair. "Wow." I whisper. He chuckles as he uses his free hand to trace my body, as if it were a piece of art. "You're so beautiful." He says, our foreheads touching, his puppy dog eyes looking up at me. "Thank you." I say in a hushed voice. He nuzzles his face into my neck, kissing it, probably leaving a bunch of hickeys. "Wait, Mattheo, before we do anything else, I'm confused." I say, holding his shoulder. "Confused about what, love?" He asks, laying down close to me. "I dunno, you're just acting werid, like randomly confessing to me.." He doesn't say anything. "Mattheo, have you drinken anything..recently?" I ask. "Well, I took a sip of my drink before I came here."

My eyebrows raise. "What happened once you drank that? Did it taste werid?"

"It tasted sweeter than I remember, then I felt like really warm and fuzzy, and I couldn't stop thinking about you." He smiles, playing with my hair. I then realize what's happening. He's been put under a love potion. I'm guessing his friends slipt it into his drink when he wasn't looking. Luckily, I have the antidote from a previous incident. Once, Pansy got dared to drink a love potion. So I still have some antidote left.

"Mattheo, I'll be back. i need to get something from my bathroom." I say, getting up, but he holds onto me. "Don't leave me, Y/n!" He Frowns. I sigh. It's just realized how lovesick this poor guy is. "Fine, come with me then." I say, the bathroom is literally 10 feet away from my bed. "Okay!" He says, getting up, our hands intertwined.

I walk towards my bathroom, tracing my finger along the drawers until I find the drawer with the antidote. "Mattheo, do you trust me?" I ask. He nods. "Of course i do, love!" I giggle to myself. "Okay, sit on my sink, please." I smile as he sits on my sink. I hold the vital in front of him. I pop the cork. I pour the rest of the antidote down his throat. He groans in pain. "Y/n..i have a headache." He mutters as he holds my hand. "I know, but it'll go away soon." I comfort him.

Then, in a blink, he groans in pain again, "Y/n?" He asks, confused. "Oh, uh Mattheo." I mutter. "What am I doing here?!" He ask, his voice deeper. "Uh, about that." I pause. "Your friends kinda..gave you Amortentia.." I say. He looks to the side as he jumps off my sink. He heads straight to the door. "Mattheo - wait!" I shout, grabbing his hand. He groans. "Did I do anything embarrassing?" He asks, not looking back at me. "Uh, well, you may or may not have jumped onto me and kissed me." I giggle slightly. His face drops. "I didn't mean it - it was that stupid potion." He admits. "I know.."

"Look, I'm going to kill those idiots!" He yells, practically running to the door. I grab his hand again and spin him around, I kiss him. I don't know why I'm doing this, but I am. His eyes are open, but then they close, and he cups my face. "Mattheo-" I whisper. "Never mind, I'll kill them after." He smiles.

-

A/n; hope you enjoyed this! It was so fun to write and lovesick Mattheo is super cute!

[luvbinnies]

i made a promise, to distance myself

A boy who kept his feelings locked away and someone who wore their heart on their sleeve. When he walked away, it was without warning, without reason. And they refused to wait for an explanation. Now few months later, forced to work together on a project neither can escape, old wounds resurface. Silence turns into stolen glances, resentments bleeds into something dangerously familiar, and the past refuses to stay buried.

Genre: fluff, angst, exs to lovers, el oh el.

warnings: swearing, isaac newton mentioned, could be sad ig (?), i can't think of anything else

a/n: im back from the dead, recently fell under a moving car and got dumped el oh el, some parts in here are inspo by like my actual life, i have a list of all the similarities if anyone is curiosu at the end of the story. basically wake up from a dream where me and my ex got back together and wrote this.

wc: 9.6k (longest fic ever el oh el)

Jumping off a flight of stairs was probably not the best idea, but it was the only thing you could think of at the moment.

Reluctantly moving down the stairs and following the loud clunk sounds of your stupid bright neon green water bottle. Books and papers of drawings and blueprints that won't fit into your messenger bag without getting damaged. Maybe you should’ve listened to when people said getting a regular backpack was much more convenient than the bag you had now, but it was much more fashionable. 

Landing at the bottom of the staircase, take a moment to breathe and prepare yourself for having to go back up five flights of stairs to get to class. Because even though the school is one of the prestigious in the country, they refuse to have any sort of elevators to ruin their “dark academic” aesthetic of the building. 

Eyes traveling on the old cobbled stoned flooring, trying to locate a neo-coded water bottle, your mother insisted on getting since she read somewhere green is this year's lucky colour. Probably found in some ridiculous article, really got to get her off social media. 

Bright neon green slipped through your peripheral vision, turning to face the still rolling bottle and walking towards it before it makes you late for your next class. It stops in front of a pair of solid black shoes, one that looks all too familiar. The figure stops at the feeling of the ratchet bottle that wants to ruin your day even more than it already has. 

A recognizable pale hand, with a silver ring on the index,  hesitantly drops down to pick up the bottle that led you down a path to the literal pits of hell for you. Eyes not dare looking up from the ground, taking your somewhat free hand and extending out your pinky to the now stranger you have a bitter taste in your mouth everytime you come near. Once the feeling of your pinky is weighted down by the feeling of the water bottle’s hook, you take off up the stairs with energy that you didn’t think you had anymore left of, as it’s your third time climbing these stairs in the past ten minutes. 

Not a care in the world if a stranger walks by and deem you as a rude bastard who can’t even say thank you, because you can;t even say a word to the “nice stranger” who handed you your water bottle. All you can do around him now is just run and avoid. That’s what you continue to do until you reach your class, probably looking a little weird as you were also cursing at your bottle and gravity, mainly isaac newton, he’s usually the bane of all your problems lately, besides the man you used to call yours. 

—

His friends would sometimes joke to him that the world is too fast for him at times, usually when he doesn’t get a joke right away or for him zoning out, especially as it has been worse in these past few months. 

But that happened so fast, he has no idea what to do, or how to react but just to stare at your figure rushing up the stairs. Sunghoon’s jaw tightens as you fade away up the many flights of stairs. Acting like he is some contagious virus, even afraid to touch him, much less look at him. 

He would remember when their friend group was still intact and when they would all hang out, how sometimes the gang would get too overwhelming, even from the other side of the room you would catch his eye and always give him a comforting smile. And the simple eye contact with one another, while the world moves along around them. 

But he had lost that with you and it’s all his fault. 

—

Taking a little break from the assignment in front of you to angrily tap on your phone so the ads on your music app stop, knowing you aren’t really actually doing anything to get rid of them unless you become one of the apps victims and pay for music. But your stubbornness and being broke, so aggressively hitting your phone is your next best solution. 

The little silence after the ad is finally done and the next song is about to start, you can hear a mechanical pencil roll off of a desk. A quiet clatter could barely be noticed in the slight hum of the library. You didn’t hear it at first, the angry high you had because of the ad made you lock out of concentrating from your work— until you noticed the hand reaching for it making you pause.

Long pale fingers. A silver ring on the index.

You know those hands, it's your second time seeing them in… you weren’t too sure the last time you saw those hands when they were wrapped around your water bottle. All you knew was that you were seeing those hands much sooner than you needed to. 

Those hands, you remember the weight of those hands in yours, the way they used to hold your face and caress your cheek, the way they tug at your sleeves on your sweater absentmindedly. 

And you recognize the pencil.

It’s yours.

Not exactly, but you did buy that pencil. 

Something in you starts feeling nauseous, or light-headed, you couldn’t really figure out in the moment because without thinking, you reach out and yank that pencil right out of his grip. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have done that, because now that gross boy opened his mouth, but you didn’t care. 

Sunghoon blinks. “Hey did you just—”

Whenever you were bored in class you would always do fun pencil tricks and even taught him how to do some with this said pencil in your hands. 

Spinning the pencil around, inspecting it with feigned interest, not caring about the boy next to you with his mouth open like a fish staring at you. “Huh. I forgot how nice this pencil was.”

Now his mouth is close as he clenches his jaw, his  stare sharpening. “You can’t be serious.”

Finally turning your head to look at him, trying to maintain the emotions on your face. Instead of saying something you might end up regretting, in the fear of sounding cringe, you just shrug. 

“Give it back.”

“Why?” Resting your chin on your hand. “It’s mine.”

He exhales sharply, the kind of exasperated breath he used to let out when you teased for taking things too seriously. Except now there’s a little bit of an edge to everything. 

“You gave it to me.”

You tilt your head “Did I?”

You weren’t sure if he could clench his jaw any harder, but somehow he does. “Yeah. You did.”

Your grip on the pencil tightens. You can’t say you remember everything that was said the night of the break up, but you remember the way you felt, the way he left without explanation— like he couldn’t bear to stay with you any second longer. As if he couldn’t stand to hold on to something that was already slipping away. 

He didn’t even let you have a say, you didn’t get the chance to do anything, not even fight for what was yours then. 

So now you hold on to that damn pencil. 

“Well,” you say, voice light, “technically, it was mine first.”

Sunghoon lets out a humorless laugh, one you don’t recognize in this fever dream daze of nostalgia. Leaning against the table, he’s close now, closer than you could've prepared for. You hate the way your heart stumbles over itself at the lack of distance, at the way he still smells the same— like something clean and sharp, a little cologne you had bought him about a year ago for his birthday. 

His voice drops an octave. “You’re seriously pulling this shit?”

Shrugging again, simply just pulling a stare you hope doesn’t reveal how fast your heart is beating stupidly like it used to. 

He watches you for a long second, his brown eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to figure out what type of game you were playing. But then, not arguing, instead of pushing back, he just exhales softly. 

“Fine,” he mutters, “Keep it.”

And then, right before he turns away— so quiet you almost think you had imagined it—

“It suits you better anyways.”

You blink.

Before you could say anything, maybe asking what the fuck he meant by what he said, he’s already walking off. Leaving you with a mechanical pencil in your hands and this time you watching him as he walks away, with a taste of words you don’t quite understand.

—

Two year ago

Rain pitter patters against the windows, a dull hum in the background in the near-empty classroom. It’s late— too late for anyone to be here— you didn’t care, you were too stubborn. Chewing on your nail, brows furrowed in concentration as you glare at your notebook, completely oblivious to the fact that Sunghoon hasn’t turned a page in the last ten minutes. 

He should be focusing. He should be running through formulas in his head, thinking about the test tomorrow, or at the very least be pretending to be studying. Instead, he’s watching you— watching the way you puff out your cheeks when you stop understanding what you were just doing, the way you spin the pencil in your hand absentmindedly, the way you whisper to yourself while doing each exercise when you think no one’s listening.

You’re always like this– loud without meaning to be, pulling attention without even trying. 

He should’ve known sooner. That you were dangerous in the kind of way that crept up on him, slipping past his defenses before he had the chance to stop it. 

“Sunghoon.”

Your voice snaps him back to reality, he straightens, forcing his face into something neutral. “What?”

Pushing your notebook towards him, sighing dramatically. “Did you do this one yet? I don’t know if I did it correctly.”

He glances at your notebook, eyes widening a little, as to the most he could see on the page was a bunch of scribbles and some incoherent formulas and calculation. Having a hard time reading it , before shifting his chair closer. You don’t think twice about it when your shoulders brush. You never do. 

But he does.

He always does. 

“Is this your answer, at the corner?” he asks, taking your pencil without thinking, to circle the little number at the bottom of the page. Your fingers graze for a second, and he wonders if you feel the static the way he does. Probably not. You’d pull away if you did.

He attempted to go over your work, commenting on what you have written in a voice that’s much steadier than he feels. You nod along, resting your chin on your hand, eye flickering between his face and page. 

“I hate Isaac Newton and that stupid apple.” you grumble.

Sunghoon huffs a quiet laugh shaking his head. “You just overthink everything.”

You groan. “I wish that apple killed that stupid white man.” 

He watches as you bury your head in your arms on the table, tapping your forehead lightly with the end of the pencil before setting it back down. “Just stop overthinking and wishing death upon an already dead man.”

Lifting your head, you blink at him, lips parting like you want to argue, but for a brief moment, something passes between the two of you— something neither of you have a name for yet.

And then you roll your eyes, reaching for your notebook. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever, idiot.”

Sunghoon watches as you turn your pages to start a new question, completely unaware of the way his fingers twitch against his knee, resisting the urge to brush a stray strand of hair from your face.

Yeah.

He’s in trouble. 

—

A few months ago

The night air is cold, but not as cold as the space between you.

Your arms are crossed. His hands are shoved into his pockets.

A street light flickers overhead. A car passes in the distance. 

Sunghoon exhales, steadying himself.

Then. before he can stop it— before he can think too hard about what he’s about to lose—

“I think we should break up.”

Silence.

The kind that swallows everything whole.

Your lips part, but no words come out. 

Your lips part, but no words come out.

The look in your eyes— confusion, disbelief, then something else, something that burns— 

“What-Why?”

He doesn’t answer. Or maybe he does, but it’s not the right thing.

It’s never the right thing.

The air is heavy, thick with things neither of you are saying.

Then, finally— your voice, quieter this time.

“Okay.”

A single step back. Then another.

And then—

Nothing. 

—

The classroom hums with chatter, students moving around and the teacher speaking about some project, but you were barely listening. Your attention is elsewhere— on your notebook, on the scratches of pen against paper, literally anything but him.

He was two rows ahead, resting his chin on his hand, half-focused on his laptop. Almost similar to you right now. Too similar. 

You don’t look at him. You don’t let yourself.

But then—

“For the project, you’ll be working in pairs.”

There is a ripple of movement through the room, students glancing around already choosing their partners. 

“I’ve assigned them to you.”

Your stomach twists. 

You sit a little straighter. Your fingers tighten around your pen. 

 The professor starts listing off names. One by one, students find their partner. You’re holding your breath, waiting for—

And then—

Your name.

And then, immediately after—

His. 

You freeze.

The room suddenly feels too small, the air too thick. 

Someone nudges your arm, murmuring something about how lucky you are since you get to work with the “hottest guy on campus”, but their voice is distant, muffled by the sound of blood rushing in your ears.

Slowly, hesitantly, you lift your gaze. 

Sunghoon had turned in his seat. 

For the first time in months, you’re looking at each other. 

And the worst part? He doesn’t even look surprised. 

—

Sunghoon doesn’t hear from you for the rest of the day. 

Not a text, not a call— nothing.

And the, at exactly 11:51 pm., an email lands in his inbox.

Subject: Project Task

From: yn@beliftuniversity.com

To: parksunghoon@beliftuniversity.com 

Attached is the project outline. I’ve divided the tasks. I’ll handle the structural analysis and concept sketches. You can do the mechanical components. Tell me when you are done. 

Sent from my phone

That’s it. No greeting. No unnecessary words. Not  even your name.

Sunghoon exhales through his nose, clicking open the file. You’ve already set up everything— titles, labels, even deadlines. You’ve practically built a wall of professionalism between you, as if you were never anything but classmates. 

And it pisses him off.

Fine. two can play this game. 

He types a reply, short and to the point.

Subject: Re: Project Tasks

Got it. 

He doesn’t hit send. 

His fingers hover over the keyboard. His jaw clenches.

Then, in a moment of stubborn impulse, he types—

You can’t avoid me forever.

And hits send before he can take it back.

—

“You know, he’s right.”

You shoot a glare over at Sunoo. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, kicking his feet up on the bench. “You can’t ignore him forever.”

“I can, actually.” you sip your matcha pointedly. “It’s called email.”

He snorts. “You sound like a middle-aged professor.”

“Good. Maybe he’ll leave me alone then.”

Sunoo raises an eyebrow. “He literally told you, ‘You can’t avoid me forever.’”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, and? I don’t care.”

The words are barely out of your mouth when Sunoo suddenly stiffens, eyes darting over your shoulder. 

“Uh—”

You don’t even have to ask. You just know.

There’s a familiar shift to the air, an awareness pressing down on your skin. 

And then, just to confirm it—

“Shit,” Sunoo mutters. “He’s down the hall.”

You don’t think. You just move.

Your hands shoot out, gripping his sleeve as you drag them down the corridor. 

“Are you serious?!” he hiss between stumbling steps.

“Shut up, shut up , shut up—”

“Please can we stop running, I don’t think he would be chasing us down for sport.”

You don’t care. You don’t turn around because you know if you do, you’ll see Sunghoon standing there, staring after you, that unreadable look on his face. 

And you are not giving him that satisfaction.

Not today. 

—

Staring at your laptop screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard, the flashing cursor blinking back at you in defiance. You’ve been avoiding this email for days— every time you think about it your stomach churns, and you mind races with excuses. 

You don’t want to deal with him. Not now. Not ever again.

The project, the meeting, the unavoidable tension. You had hoped, foolishly, that you could really just avoid Sunghoon completely— keep everything strictly professional, send email, handle the assignment without having to face him in person. But that plan was crushed the moment the email landed in your inbox, his name in bold. 

“Let’s meet in person tomorrow to go over the project. I’ll bring the drafts.”

Of course, Sunghoon had to take the initiative. You had a suspicion he’d never let you hide behind your screen forever. He was stubborn, too, in a way that always seemed to get under your skin. 

You arrived at the library, dragging your feet, already feeling the weight of the situation settle in your chest. The project was an assignment, but the real challenge was having to sit across from him, pretending that nothing had happened, pretending that the last year— no, the last months— hadn’t been a whirlwind of frustration and heartache.

But here you were, faced with reality. You walked into the library, hoping to avoid eye contact, but you couldn’t escape the familiar sight of him sitting at a table with all his papers neatly organized, a slight form on his face as he scanned the documents. 

His eyes flicked up when he saw you enter, and for a second, your heart skipped a beat. But you force yourself to remain calm. He was just a classmate now, just another part of your academic routine. Nothing more. 

You set your things down at the table across from him, pulling your laptop out with the practiced motions of someone who had done this a thousand times before. You weren;t going to make this more personal than it had to be. No small talk. No catching up. Just the project. 

“Hey,” Sunghoon greeted, his voice neutral but carrying the weight of something unsaid. He glanced at the papers in front of you and then back to you. “Are you okay with everything so far? I made some revisions to the outline.”

You didn;t look at him. Instead, you glanced at the project papers and began sorting through them, avoiding his gaze entirely. “I’ll read them over later. Just… let’s focus on getting it done.”

You felt his eyes on you, the tension palpable in the air, but you refused to acknowledge it. You had your own part to do, your own work to focus on. Nothing else mattered right now. The project was the only thing that mattered. 

—

Sunghoon sighed, and you could hear the edge of frustration creeping into his voice. “Look, I know this isn;t easy for either of us, but we’re stuck with each other for this project. We might as well get it done right.”

“I’m not here to talk,” you snapped back, the words sharp and defensive. “Just focus on your part. I’ll handle mine.”

His expression hardened , but he didn’t push it any further. He opened up his own laptop and began typing, the sound of the keyboard tapping filling the silence between the both of you. 

For a while, it was quiet— just the sound of typing, rustling of papers. But no matter how hard you tried to focus, you couldn;’t shake the nagging feeling that he was watching you. His presence was like a shadow that followed your every move you made, and you hated how it made your chest tighten. You shouldn’t feel like this. You had no reason to. This wasn’t supposed to be personal. It was just a project. 

But then, suddenly, Sunghoon spoke again, his voice quieter, almost reluctant.

“You know,” he said, voice low but insistent, “we used to work well together. Back in high school. Why are you making this harder than it has to be?”

You froze, your fingers still on the keyboard. You could feel the old pain creep up your throat, but you swallowed it down, shoving it away. No. Don’t go there.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, your voice steady but with a hint of something you don’t want to put a name to. And then, with a sigh, he turned his attention back to his laptop, typing in silence for a long time. 

—

Two year ago

 It had been a late night at the library, the kind where the air felt thick with concentration and the promise of deadlines hanging over every student in the building. You were sitting at the same table as Sunghoon, both of you buried in textbooks, trying to get ahead before the weekend.

It was supposed to be just another study session, but something felt different. Maybe it was the way the soft overhead lights cast shadows over his features or how the silence between you two wasn’t awkward but comfortable. You couldn’t help it— his face was so focused, his lips slightly pursed in concentration, and for some reason, the sight of him studying like that made your heart skip. 

“Is there something on my face?” he asked, his voice teasing but gentle.

You blinked and quickly looked away, flustered. “No … it’s just, you look… nice when you study.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. He leaned forward slightly, his voice lower than usual. “Nice, huh? That’s a first.”

You wanted to curl up and die from embarrassment, but instead you found yourself smiling despite the heat in your cheeks. Something about being with him felt so easy, so natural.

And then, before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out. “You look… pretty. When you study.”

There was a long pause, and then Sunghoon chuckled, his smile widening. “Pretty, huh? Well, that’s new.”

You couldn’t help it. You laughed too, the awkwardness melting away in the warmth of his gaze. That moment— when you both realized that maybe there was something more there— was when it all started. 

—

The silence in the library stretches again. You go back to your laptop, trying to focus on the work in front of you. But the memory of that moment, of those words you’d said so long ago, hangs in the air like a ghost.

Sunghoon’s presence is undeniable now. Every time his shoulder brushes against yours as he reaches for his drink, it feels like a jolt of electricity. You grit your teeth, forcing yourself to keep working, to ignore the way his proximity makes your heart race. 

“You know, if we just worked together instead of pretending we’re strangers, this would be a lot easier,” Sunghoon says again, his voice a little more insistent now, but still carrying that gentle tone. 

You refuse to look up, clenching your jaw. “Just finish your part. I’ll finish mine.”

“I’ve always liked how stubborn you are,” he mutters, but there’s a soft fondness behind the words. “But you’re going to make this harder than it has to be, aren’t you?”

You bite your lip, fighting the urge to snap back. But the reality is that he’s right. You are making this harder. You’re making everything harder by refusing to acknowledge how much you still feel for him.

But you can’t admit that, not now, not when the walls between you two are so high, so insurmountable. 

—

It’s late—too late for anyone to be at the library anymore. The harsh overhead lights flicker in the empty room, casting long shadows on the tables where students usually sat, buried in their books. But not you. You’re still here, alone, a stack of textbooks and papers spread out before you. The hum of the fluorescent lights fills the air, broken only by the soft tapping of your fingers on the keyboard.

You’ve been here for hours, the deadline looming closer with every passing second. Your mind is tired, but you won’t leave until you finish. It’s like a race against time. A way to distract yourself from everything else.

But then, you feel it. A presence.

You look up, and there’s Sunghoon, standing by the entrance, his gaze scanning the room. You immediately look away, pretending you hadn’t seen him. Why is he here? You weren’t supposed to see him, not tonight.

He walks toward you slowly, his footsteps soft but deliberate. You keep your eyes down, focused on the papers in front of you, but you can feel him getting closer.

“You’re still here?” Sunghoon says, his voice low, like he’s not sure what to make of the situation.

You sigh, unwilling to make this a conversation. “I’m working. Is that a problem?”

“No,” he answers quickly, but there’s a softness to his tone now. Something gentler. “Just... thought you’d left by now.”

You don’t look up, but you hear him pull out the chair opposite you. He sits down, but doesn’t speak immediately. You don’t say anything either. It’s awkward. You try to focus on the work in front of you, trying to ignore the feeling of his presence, so close but still so far away.

You keep your head down, but the longer you stay in the silence, the more you feel the walls you’ve built start to crumble, piece by piece. He doesn’t push you. Doesn’t force a conversation. He just... stays.

You try not to think too much about it. It’s just Sunghoon. Just a classmate.

But then, hours later, you’re blinking, your head feeling heavy as you try to focus on the screen in front of you. You hadn’t realized how tired you were until your eyelids started to flutter. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the exhaustion catches up with you.

You don’t even realize you’ve nodded off until you’re suddenly jerked awake, your head jerking up from the desk. The library is quiet, almost too quiet, and the light from the desk lamp casts a soft glow around the room. That’s when you notice it.

A jacket—dark, heavy, and familiar—draped over your shoulders.

You blink, still groggy from sleep, and turn to see that Sunghoon is gone, his chair empty. You try to shake the fogginess from your mind, but there’s no denying it: He left his jacket with you.

You didn’t hear him come back. Didn’t feel him approaching. But somehow, he’d slipped it onto you while you were asleep, without a sound.

You sit there for a moment, the jacket still warm against your skin. His scent clings to it, and you find yourself unable to take it off. It feels wrong to just leave it behind, but you’re not sure why it feels so important to keep it on.

You look down at your own hands, your fingers grazing the sleeve, feeling the weight of the jacket, both literally and emotionally. You’re not sure if it’s the jacket that’s weighing on you or the memories that come with it. But it’s there. And so is he.

You stay there for a few more minutes, just sitting in the quiet, knowing that it would be impossible to get anything more done tonight. You pack up your things, but you don’t take off the jacket. Instead, you walk out of the library with it on, your heart a little heavier than when you came in.

—

It was dark outside, and the bus was filled with the soft chatter of your classmates. You and Sunghoon were sitting in the same seat, your shoulders brushing as you both leaned against the window, tired from the day’s activities.

You’d always been close, never quite aware of how it felt to have someone just be there with you. But that day, there was something different about it. It was like you both had settled into this quiet rhythm—comfortable, easy.

You leaned your head against the window, gazing out at the passing lights. The bus was warm, and your eyes were starting to grow heavy from the day’s exhaustion. Without realizing it, you drifted off, your head slipping onto Sunghoon’s shoulder.

He didn’t immediately pull away, didn’t complain. He just let you sleep, his body slightly tensing at the sudden closeness, but not enough to push you away.

And when you woke up, it wasn’t awkward. You just rubbed your eyes, looked up at him, and smiled.

“You’re comfy,” you murmured.

Sunghoon chuckled softly. “You really just fell asleep on me, huh?”

You laughed, feeling a warmth in your chest. “It’s not like I did it on purpose. I didn’t even realize.”

And even though it had only been a few seconds, you both lingered in that moment, your eyes meeting briefly before he gave you a smile that made your heart flutter.

You’d brushed it off as nothing—just a friendly gesture.

—

You’re still sitting in your room, the jacket still on your shoulders. It feels like a weight, not because it’s heavy, but because of the memories it brings. The warmth lingers on your skin, but so does the uncertainty. You can’t figure out why this is bothering you so much.

Your phone buzzes on the table, pulling you from your thoughts. A new email. You don’t need to look at it to know it’s from him. Sunghoon.

The message is simple: “Still need help with the project. Let me know if you want to meet up.”

You close your eyes and let out a slow breath. You want to ignore it. Pretend you didn’t see it. But you can’t. Because part of you wants him to be there. Part of you wants him to still be the one to help you, even if you don’t want to admit it.

You stand up, pacing around the room, the jacket slipping slightly off your shoulders as you move. You pull it tighter around you, almost subconsciously.

You know you’ll have to face him again. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe sooner. Hopefully later. But right now, with his jacket still draped over you, you’re not sure if you're ready.

But for some reason, you know you’re going to have to take it off.

—

You walk into the classroom, clutching the jacket in your hands. It’s been a couple of days since you woke up to find it draped over your shoulders, Sunghoon’s jacket—a silent gesture that spoke more than words ever could. He hadn’t said anything when you first found it. It had simply been there. At first, you thought it was an accident, but the longer you held onto it, the more it felt like something else. You hadn’t returned it immediately, unsure why you kept it. But now, with the fact the two of you share a class together, it felt like the right time.

You spot him sitting by the window, alone, lost in whatever thoughts occupy his mind. He doesn’t notice you as you approach, and the moment feels strangely... intimate, even though you're still far from the comfort you once shared.

You stand in front of him, holding out the jacket, but he doesn’t immediately take it. His eyes flicker up, and for a split second, something unreadable passes between you. He reaches for the jacket, but as his fingers brush yours, it’s more of a reflex than any real desire to touch.

Before you can pull away, a voice from behind you cuts through the moment.

"Are you two... together or just friends?"

You glance over to find a couple of classmates watching you both curiously. It’s a casual question, but the curiosity in their eyes is unmistakable. Sunghoon’s hand freezes mid-motion, his fingers still hovering over the jacket. He looks back at them briefly, his gaze faltering, not quite meeting yours.

For a moment, you’re not sure what to say. You notice how Sunghoon looks at the ground, avoiding any real response. His lips press together, his hand still unsure of whether to take the jacket back or not. He’s hesitant, as always.

You, on the other hand, feel the weight of the question, but you don’t shy away from it. Not this time. You stand tall, glancing over at your classmates and meeting their gaze.

“We’re just friends,” you say, your voice steady and clear. “Nothing more.”

Sunghoon doesn’t say anything. He just takes the jacket from your hand, his fingers brushing yours again, but this time it’s almost mechanical. You turn away quickly, the moment lingering behind you like an unspoken tension.

Your classmates exchange glances, their curiosity piqued, but they don’t push further. They turn their attention to the front of the room as class starts, but the question still lingers in the air.

You sit down at your desk, feeling the eyes of your classmates on you for a moment longer than usual. You force yourself to focus, pretending it doesn’t matter, but the thought of that brief interaction, the way Sunghoon avoided the question, settles heavily in your chest.

The class continues, but your mind drifts, back to that jacket and the weight of unspoken words. You can’t help but wonder what he might’ve said if you hadn’t answered for both of you.

No, that’s what he should’ve said because you guys were not dating, he broke up with you, and now the two of you were simply forced to work together. That’s it. 

—

The autumn air was crisp, carrying the scent of fallen leaves as the two of you walked side by side down the quiet street. The school festival had just ended, and the distant hum of laughter and music still echoed behind you. Groups of students were lingering back at the event, but somehow, the two of you ended up here, together, away from it all. 

It wasn’t planned. It never was with him. It was just how things always seemed to happen.

You hugged your arms around yourself because of the cold, cursing at yourself for not bringing a bigger jacket knowing the weather but wanting to look good for the event. He walked a little ahead, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jackets, his head tilted slightly towards you as if he was waiting for you to say something. 

You had always been the talker between the both of you. The one who made friends easily, the one who never hesitated. But right now, the words sat heavy on your tongue, unspoken. 

He let out a small sigh, looking up at the sky. “It’s late.”

“You should’ve left earlier then.”

He huffed, a tiny, almost-smile tugging at his lips before he looked back ahead. “You didn’t have to leave, you know.”

You shrugged. “Didn’t feel like staying.”

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either. The festival had been fine, fun even. But then you’d seen him standing by himself, lingering near the edges of the crowd, not quite a part of it. And suddenly, the excitement of it all had dimmed. 

He kicked a small rock with the tip of his shoe, watching it tumble along the pavement. “Didn’t think you were the type to leave a party early.”

“I’m full of surprises.”

A breeze picked up, and instinctively, you crossed your arms tighter over yourself. Without a word, Sunghoon shrugged off his jacket and held it out to you.

You blinked at him. “What are you doing?”

“You’re cold.”

You scoffed. “I’m not cold.”

He didn’t say anything, just kept holding the jacket out with that blank expression of his— the one that meant he wasn;t going to argue. You hesitated for a second too long, and then, as if deciding for you, he draped it over your shoulders himself. 

You looked up at him, a retort on the tip of your tongue, but then you caught the way his fingers lingered just a second longer against your shoulder, the way he swallowed, like he wanted to say something but thought better of it. 

It was nothing.

It was everything.

Your heart did something stranger in your chest, a quiet stutter. But then he pulled away, shoving his hands back into his pockets, eyes flickering elsewhere like it was no big deal.

Like he didn’t just leave you standing there in the middle of the empty street, drowning in the scent of his cologne, trying not to overthink what had just happened. 

“Let’s go.” he said, his voice calm, steady. Like always. 

You didn’t move right away. You just watched him, this boy who always seemed out of reach.

Then you exhaled and started walking again, side by side, your steps falling in sync.

And if your hands brushed once— just once— neither of you said a word about it. 

—

After class, you head out of the room, your mind still lingering on the awkward exchange. As you walk down the hallway, you notice Sunghoon a few paces behind you, his expression neutral. You don’t turn around, but you can feel his presence. It;s the same as always, but somehow it’s different.

The hallway stretches ahead of you both, and you find yourself wondering if it’s the same for him, if he’s feeling the same weight of the unsaid words hanging in the air between you. But then you push the thought away. You can’t keep thinking about it. Not now. Not like this.

The day continues, but it doesn’t feel the same. Something has shifted again. Not a big thing, just the subtle change in the air whenever Sunghoon is around. But for now, you focus on the present. The project. The work. There’s no room for anything else. At least not yet. 

—

Sunghoon hated studying in public places. He hated the noise, the crowded spaces, the way it was impossible to concentrate. But for some reason, he was here.

With you.

The library was dimly lit, the only sounds coming from the occasional turning of pages and the soft clicking of keyboards. It was nearly empty at this hour, just the two of you tucked away in a corner, buried under textbooks and notes.

You sighed dramatically, stretching your arms over your head before slumping onto the desk. “I’m going to die here.”

Sunghoon didn’t look up from his notes. “You say that every time we study.”

“Yeah, and one day it’ll be true. And when that day comes, I hope you feel bad about it.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Dramatic.”

You turned your head to look at him, resting your cheek against your arm. The lamplight softened his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the curve of his nose, the way his lashes cast faint shadows on his skin. 

He was so pretty.

Unfairly so.

You frowned, furrowing your brows. “Do you know you’re pretty?”

That finally made him look up. He blinked at you, pen pausing mid-air. “What?”

“What?”

There was a flicker of something in his expression— surprise, amusement, something unreadable. He tilted his head slightly. “I don’t think about that kind of stuff.”

You scoff. “Oh shut up.”

Sunghoon shook his head, turning back to his notes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“Because it’s a weird question.”

“It’s not weird.” You sighed, pushing yourself up onto your elbows. “I just think it’s unfair that some people get to be smart and pretty.”

His lips twitched, like he was trying not to smile. “You’re calling me smart too?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

You hadn’t meant anything by it. It was just a passing thought, casual observation. But for some reason. Sunghoon kept stealing glances at you for the rest of the night, his fingers tapping idly against his notebook, like he was trying to figure something out. 

—

The library is quieter than usual tonight. The steady hum of air conditioning fills the space, and the dim, golden glow of the desk lamps casts long shadows on the wooden tables. It’s late— too late to still be working— but neither of you have left.

At first, you barely acknowledged each other. The project was the only thing keeping you here and even then, you refused to speak unless absolutely necessary. You typed your sections. He worked on his. Simple.

But at some point, between the furious clicking of keys and the scratching of his pen against paper, something shifted. 

The silence wasn’t as sharpe anymore. The air between you wasn’t quite so cold.

You were still stubborn, still keeping your distance, but Sunghoon had started to slip through the cracks. 

It was in the way he quietly slid your match closer when he noticed you reaching for it absentmindedly. In the way his eyes lingered a second longer than necessary whenever you furrowed your brows at the screen, lost in thought. In the way he wordlessly handed you a new pen when yours ran out of ink, his fingers brushing yours just for a second.

Little things.

Things you didn’t want to acknowledge.

Things that made it harder to pretend that you hadn’t missed this— missed him.

You force yourself to focus on the words in front of you, but your mind is elsewhere. On him. On the past. 

—

It had been a long night.

You weren’t supposed to stay out this late, but somehow, time slipped away. It was just the two of you, walking home after an evening study session, the sky stretched out in a blanket of deep navy blue. The air was crisp, autumn settling in with a quiet chill, and your footsteps echoed against the empty sidewalk.

“I can’t feel my fingers,” you muttered, shoving your hands into your hoodie pockets.

Sunghoon glanced at you, amused. “Then why didn’t you bring gloves?”

“Because I didn’t know it’d be this cold.”

“You say that every year.”

You huffed, nudging him with your shoulder. “And every year, I am caught off guard.”

He rolled his eyes but reached for your sleeve, tugging your arm towards him. Before you could react, he took one of your hands in his, tucking it into the pocket of his jacket along with his own.

The warmth of his palm against yours sent a shiver up your spine— not from the cold, but from something else. 

Something you hadn’t quite named yet.

Neither of you said anything about it. You just kept walkin, the streelights casting soft golden halos around you.

You reached your doorstep too soon. 

Sunghoon stood there, shifting on his feet, his fingers still loosely curled around yours.

You should’ve pulled away. You should’ve said goodnight. But instead, you just stood there staring at him.

The light from the porch illuminated the sharp angles of his face, the way his dark eyes softened when they met yours. His gaze flickered down— just for a second— before he quickly looked away.

You swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were. “Are you gonna keep standing there, or—”

“Shut up,” he muttered.

And then—-

He kissed you. 

It was hesitant, barely a whisper of contact. But it sent your heart into a frenzy, your breath hitching, fingers tightening around him without thinking. 

When he pulled away, his ears were red, and he wouldn’t meet your eyes. “I— I wasn’t planning to do that.”

You blinked at him, mind still catching up. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay,” you repeated, this time smiling.

Sunghoon exhaled, sometimes easing his shoulders.

“You;re still holding my hand.” you pointed out. 

He let go immediately, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Shut up.”

But you could see the way the corners of his lips twitched upwards. 

—

You stare at the screen in front of you, but the words are a blur. The memory lingers, making your chest feel tight.

Sunghoon shifts besides you stretching out his arms. His sleeves push up slightly, revealing the faint outline of veins along his forearms. You look away quickly, annoyed with yourself. 

This is ridiculous.

You don’t care. You don’t.

“Take a break,” he says, voice low.

You exhale, rubbing at your temples. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

You shoot him a glare, but he’s already looking back at his screen, unaffected. Typical. 

Silence settles between you again, but it’s different now. He’s too close, the air between you too charged. 

And then—

“Do you still hate me?”

Your breath catches. The question is quiet, but it feels deafening.

You turn to him, meeting his gaze for the first time in what feels like hours. His eyes are steady, but there’s something else there— something raw, something careful. 

You open your mouth, but no words come out.

He swallows. “ you won’t even look at me.”

You force yourself to scoff, to roll your eyes. “I look at you all the time.”

“Not like before.”

That makes you freeze.

Because he’s right. 

Before— before everything— you had looked at him like he held the universe in his hands. And maybe, in some ways, he had.

But that was then.

And now—

Now you don’t know what to do with this version of him, this version of you.

The air is thick with something you don’t want to name. 

And before you can think better of it, before you can stop yourself—

You kiss him. 

It's reckless, desperate, a collision of past and present, of things left unsaid and things you don’t want to admit.

His lips part slightly in surprise, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans in, his fingers grazing your jaw, like he’s afraid to break the moment.

And maybe you are too. 

But then—

Reality crashed back in.

Your eyes widen, and you pull away abruptly, breathless, heart hammering.

Sunghoon blinks, still processing, “Wait—”

But you’re already pushing away from the table, standing up too quickly, your chair scraping against the floor.

“I have to go,” you say, voice unsteady.

And before he can stop you, before he can say anything else—

You turn and walk away.

Leaving him sitting there, watching you go.

Again. 

—

Avoidance has always been your best defense.

You mastered it after the breakup, convincing yourself that if you could just stay out of Sunghoon’s orbit, then none of it— none of the pain, none of the unanswered questions, none of him— could touch you.

But ever since that kiss, it’s been impossible to keep up the act.

You stop sitting in your usual spots in the library. You change your walking routes between classes. You leave early to avoid any chance of running into him. Your emails about the project become even shorter, even more detached.

And still— it doesn’t feel like enough

Because the problem isn’t just him.

It’s you.

It’s the way your mind keeps replaying that night in the library, the way your lips still burn with the memory of his, the way your chest aches everytime you think about how you didn’t pull away immediately.

You shouldn’t have let it happen.

You shouldn’t have wanted it to.

But worst of all— you shouldn’t still want it now.

You tell yourself this over and over again. But nine of it matters when you turn the corner one evening, only to find yourself face-to-face with the one person you’ve been trying so hard to avoid. 

Sunghoon.

Waiting for you.

Like he knew.

“You’re avoiding me again,” he says, his voice eerily calm.

You grip your bag tighter and look away. “I’m busy.”

“Liar.”

The word lands heavier than it should.

You take a step back, but he matches it, blocking your way. His eyes search yours, and you can feel how tired he is— tired of the silence, of the pretending, of whatever this is. 

“Do you hate me that much?” His voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it, something sharp and desperate. 

You exhale hardly. “Sunghoon—”

“Just answer me,” he pressed, jaw clenched. “Do you hate me?”

The words catch in your throat. 

You should say yes. You should give him the finality he seems to be looking for. 

But you can’t. 

And maybe he sees it— maybe he sees the way you falter, the way your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag— because his expression shifts.

And then—

The door beside you suddenly swings open. A group of students spills out, laughing and chatting, shoving past both of you. 

You barely register it before someone crashes into you from behind, sending you stumbling backwards—

Right into the supply closet.

And of course— because the universe must hate you— the force of it slams Sunghoon into the tiny space as well. 

And before either of you can react— click.

The door locks

Silence.

Then—

“You have got to be kidding me,” you hiss. 

Sunghoon tries the handle, but it doesn’t budge. He exhales sharply, resting his forehead against the door for a second before turning back to you. 

“Great.”

You let out a bitter laugh, crossing your arms. “What, you think I planned this?”

“No, but it’s convenient, isn’t it?” He glares at you, frustration bleeding into every word. “You’re always running away, and now you can’t.”

Your pulse spikes. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he mutters. “You left the night. You’ve been avoiding me ever since. You won’t even talk to me—”

“Because there’s nothing to say!” you snap.

“Bullshit!” His voice rises, his patience unraveling. “Don’t act like you don’t care. You kissed me, and then you ran away like it meant nothing.”

You freeze.

Because he’s right.

It wasn’t nothing.

But admitting that? Giving him that satisfaction? You can’t.

So you do what you do best. 

You push back

“You don’t get to act like you’re the victim here, Sunghoon,” you say, voice colder now. “Not when you broke up with me.”

Something flickers across his face.

“And not just that,” you continue, the weight of everything you’ve bottled up finally breaking through. “You left me without any warning. You didn’t talk to me about what was wrong. You didn’t even try. You just decided one day that it was over and that was it.”

—

It had been an ordinary afternoon. You remember it oo well— how he wouldn’t look at you, how his hands trembled slightly as he shoved them into his pockets.

And then—

“I think we should break up.”

The words hit you like a slap.

You laughed at first, thinking it was some sort of joke. But then you saw the way he avoided your gaze. The way his fingers curled into fists.

“Why?” Your voice had cracked. “What happened? Did I do something?”

He had only shaken his head. “It’s just…. I don’t think this is going to work.”

“What—”

“I am not sure I am what you really need.”

It was the last thing you expected to hear.

But it was the only explanation he ever gave you.

That's what started it, why you just started running away from him. 

—

“You thought it wouldn’t work?” you glare at him now, eye burning. “What the hell does that even mean?”

Sunghoon pressed his lips together, like he regretted saying it. But it’s too late.

“You didn’t even give us a chance,” you continue, voice rising. “You just decided that it wasn’t going to work out for the both of us.” 

“I wasn’t sure if I was what you really needed.”

Your breath catches. “Sunghoon—”

“You’re always surrounded by people. You make friends so easily. I wasn’t like that, I am not like that.” His voice is quiet now. “I feel like I was always holding you back.”

You shake your head, feeling something sharp and painful twist in your chest. “That’s what you thought?” You let out another bitter laugh. “You know, I thought that’s what brought us together. That we were so different. That worked because of that.”

Sunghoon looks at you then, something unreadable in his expression. 

“There were two people in our relationship, you and me. You made that decision that we don’t work well, for the both of us.” you say, voice shaking. “And now you think it’s going to work now just because you want it to?”

He doesn’t answer. 

And you hate how much that silence still hurts.

You exhale shakily, turning away. “I don’t trust you., Sunghoon.”

His jaw clenches. “I know.”

“And I don’t trust myself to let this happen again. Because if you could leave that easily once, what makes you think I believe you won’t do it again?”

This time, he doesn’t try to deny it. 

Because he knows.

Because he did leave. 

And you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to forgive him for that. You hated yourself for never being able to hate him at all. 

The only sound in the tiny space is the faint buzz of the overhead light—

And the deafening weight of everything left unsaid. 

The supply closet is cold, but the tension in the air is suffocating. When the door finally swings open, neither of you move right away. Sunghoon steps back first, his jaw clenched, like he’s holding back something he’ll never say. You follow a second later, not looking at him as you walk away.

After that, things are different.

You don’t avoid him anymore. Not really. You still exchange emails about the project, still sit across from each other in the library, still in the same space without outright hostility. But the sharpness between you dulls— replaced by something softer, something sadder. 

One night, long after the library should’ve closed, you look up from your notes to see Sunghoon staring at you. He doesn’t look away this time. Neither do you. For a moment, the world stills. 

Then you blink, and the moment is gone.

—

The project ends.

So does your reason to stay in each other’s orbits.

You expect things to go back to normal, whether normal is supposed to be. You expect distance to creep back in, the silence to settle. 

But somehow, Sunghoon lingers. 

He doesn’t force conversation, doesn’t push. But you catch him in the corners of your vision— watching, waiting, hesitation. As if he’s waiting for you to decide what happens next.

—

Then one evening, you run into him.

It’s late. The air is cold, thick with the scent of winter. Sunghoon is standing outside the campus gates, hands shoved into his pockets, the street lights casting long shadows around him. He notices you before you can turn away.

“Hey,” he says, voice quiet.

You hesitate. Then, “Hey.”

There’s so much unsaid between you, so much left unfinished. 

A part of you wonders— is this it? The last conversation before you both fade from each other’s lives completely?

Sunghoon opens his mouth, like he wants to say something more, but you shake your head, stopping him. 

“It’s okay.” you say. “You don’t have to.”

His throat bobs as he swallows. He nods.

The streetlamps flicker above you. A car passes, its headlights flashing between you like a border, a final dividing line. 

You should say something else. You should tell him you’ll see him around, that you’ll stay in touch, that you’ll find your way back to him someday.

But you don’t.

Instead you step back, offering a small, almost imperceptible smile.

“Take care, okay?”

For a second, you think he won’t respond. But then, finally— softly— he nods.

“You too.”

You turn around first. You don’t look back.

Sunghoon watches you walk away, his hands still in his pockets, his lips parts like he wants to stop you— but he never does.

The night swallows the both of you whole.

And just like that, it’s over. 

—

The city hums in silence in the distance, but here, on the rooftop, it’s quiet/ the two of you sit side by side, legs dangling over the edge, the skyline stretching endlessly before you. The night is warm, the stars barely visible through the glow of streetlights. 

“You’re gonna fall,” Sunghoon murmurs, eyeing the way you lean forwards slightly, hands bracing against the ledge. 

You grin, tilting your head towards him. “You’d catch me.”

He doesn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth twitches, like he wants to smile but won’t let himself.

A soft breeze ruffles his hair. You reach out before you can stop yourself, fingers brushing through the strand, smoothing them down. Sunghoon stills at the touch, but he doesn’t pull away. 

“You do that a lot,” he says after a moment.

“What?” 

“Touch my hair.”

You blink, your hand dropping back to your lap. “Does it bother you?”

He exhales, looking away, down at the glittering streets below. “No.”

That’s all he says. But in the way his fingers clench slightly against his knee, in the way his shoulders stay tense even as the night air cools his skin— you realize something.

Sunghoon likes it.

He likes being close to you.

The thought makes your chest feel warm, something soft and fluttering settling behind your ribs. You don’t say anything about it, don’t tease or push. Instead, you lean back on your palms staring up at the sky. 

“Feels like we could stay here forever,” you murmur.

Sunghoon glances at you, his expression unreadable.

Then, so quietly you almost don’t hear it—

“Yeah.” 

-

author's note: basically everything in here thats inpso from irl with my actaully ex. the water bottle incident but it was in a classroom. us actually having fucking class with each other the next semester. me running away constantly every time i see him now. me buying him a pencil as a present and him still using it (i really want to steal it back). him asking me if i hate him cuz i keep running away and even dragged a friend as i run away from him. him saying "i dont think it's going to work out" and thinking becuase im very outgoing and him being a big introvert was something that would lead to us breaking up, haha but it was just him and him not communicating with me about his feelings. el oh el.

[foxy-eva]

Love Potion

Summary: Spencer learns that alcohol makes his girlfriend very affectionate (and maybe a little too honest) 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Content Warnings: (16+ for sexual content) drinking alcohol (Reader is tipsy), love confession, suggestiveness, heavy kissing, mild embarrassment

Word count: 1.2k

Masterlist

Spencer thought he knew what would be expecting him when he agreed to pick you up from girl's night. He was wrong. 

He should have known by your barely decipherable text message that you might have had a little too much fun tonight. What really gave it away though was your high-pitch scream once you saw your gorgeous boyfriend enter the bar you texted him from earlier. 

"Spencer!!" You yelled while reaching out your arms for him. "I missed you!"

You almost knocked him over once he was within reach which prompted your friends to break out in a fit of laughter. 

"Hi pretty girl," Spencer chuckled. "Having fun?"

You pressed a quick peck on his lips and giggled, "Yeah, now that you're here!" 

"I thought you wanted me to drive you home?" 

"Exactly," you agreed. "That's where the fun part starts."

A very obvious rosy shade spread over Spencer's cheeks while your all female audience began making raunchy comments. Before you had a chance to explain to them in detail what you wanted to happen once you got home, your boyfriend was quick to place his arm around your waist to lead you to his car. 

"You're so beautiful, do you know that?" You slurred while Spencer made sure you were buckled up in the passenger seat. 

"You tell me quite frequently, actually."

"Because it's true! Derek is so right for calling you pretty boy. You're the prettiest of aaall the boys in the world." 

Spencer smiled at you before he started the car. "Yeah? Well, just for the record, I think you’re the most beautiful girl in the world.”

His words made you needy for more than just sweet talk. 

“Take me home before I start taking my clothes off right here,” you cooed. 

Spencer took his eyes off the road to look at you for a moment. A not-so-innocent smirk was spread over your cheeks and you noticed the rosy color on his face turning a shade darker. 

“You're going to be the end of me,” Spencer groaned.

A few suggestive comments from you later your flustered boyfriend turned into the parking lot at your apartment. You were barely inside your apartment when you swung your arms around his neck to find his mouth in a hasty kiss. Both of you almost tumbled over but Spencer managed to keep you upright with his arms around your waist. 

The taste of ethanol on your tongue was almost as intoxicating as your actions and Spencer had trouble not to give into your pleas right then and there in your hallway. It was obvious that he tried to hold back but his body gave away how much he enjoyed your enthusiasm.  

“Slow down,” he breathed against your lips, “You’re drunk.” 

“I’m just a little tipsy,” you reassured him as you pressed your body against his. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

Spencer answered you with some curse words that you had never heard from him before. The pace of your actions were too much for him to grasp and suddenly he wasn’t sure if you were the only inebriated one there. Like a besotted fool he followed you to the couch where you climbed into his lap like a queen sitting down on a throne. 

“What are you doing to me?” He purred as you kissed down his neck.

“You’re smart, I’m sure you can figure it out,” you snickered before biting down on his pulse point. 

You felt his throat vibrate against your lips as a deep groan fell from his mouth. It wasn’t the first time you got to experience him that way but you were aware that the alcohol in your bloodstream made you more affectionate than usual. 

It also made your tongue loose but you realized that too late. 

“I love you, Spencer,” you whispered when your lips brushed over his ear. 

“Wh… What?”

His response wasn’t what you expected. You sat up straight to be able to look into his eyes. The gold of his irises radiated a warmth unlike anything you had ever experienced. It took you a moment to find your words again. 

“I know we’ve only been dating for a few weeks and that I haven’t said it before, but it’s true!” You began rambling in a way you usually expected from Spencer. Your lips found his in another, more chaste kiss before you repeated, “I love you.” 

It was as if Spencer had forgotten how to form words. He just stared at you with wide eyes and the sweetest smile forming on his face. 

After a few moments of silence you wondered, “Are you not gonna say it?” 

He shook his head. “I’ll tell you when I can be sure you’ll remember it the next morning.” 

That was enough for you for now. You got up from your boyfriend’s lap to lead him into your bedroom. He followed without hesitation, already suspecting that whatever you had in mind wouldn’t actually be happening. 

And he was right. The moment you lay down in your bed with Spencer’s arms securely wrapped around you, you dozed off. He gently kissed your cheek before placing the blanket over your body. 

“Goodnight, sleepy girl.”

When you woke up the next morning it took just a few seconds for you to realize that you had enough alcohol to spill the truth but not enough to forget about it. It didn’t surprise you that you didn’t find Spencer sleeping beside you, certain that you must have scared him off after your cocktails had somehow turned into love potions. 

The morning shower helped to clear your head but that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. The longer you thought about it, the more embarrassed you got about not keeping your mouth in control after just a little bit of liquid courage. 

It took you by surprise to find your boyfriend sitting on your couch when you stumbled out of the bedroom. 

“You’re still here!” You squeaked and he began chuckling. 

“Where else would I be?” 

You sat down beside him and took the coffee mug out of his hand to take a sip. 

He leaned towards you to place a soft kiss on your cheek. “How are you feeling?”

You felt your face heat up when you thought about what you said last night. “Mortified.”

The amusement in his voice wasn’t lost on you when he nonchalantly asked, “And why is that?” 

You placed the coffee mug on the table to bury your face in your hands, whining, “You know why!”

Spencer placed his hands on yours to move them away from your face while he chuckled, “Oh you mean the fact that you told me you’re hopelessly in love with me?” 

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t use those exact words!”

He kept teasing you as he pulled you into his arms, “Are you questioning my eidetic memory?”

“If your memory is so perfect, you should remember what you told me then,” you reminded him before his mouth met yours. 

“I do remember,” he mumbled against your lips. 

“Yeah?” You breathed between kisses. 

He pulled back to lock eyes with you. His hand gently brushed over your cheek before he finally whispered, “I love you, too.” 

Please like, reblog and leave a comment! I need your lovely words to stay motivated to write more stories!

Taglist: @nomajdetective @reidsbookclub @gspenc @samuel-de-champagne-problems @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @malindacath @luredwithpretzels @reidselle @alexxavicry @frickin-bats @spencersprettyslut @sebs-oxygen @happymangospot @cynbx @melifluorei-d @hotchandspencearedilfs @kobaltdragon @castiels-majestic-wings @emiliaserpe @thenerdthatwrites @velvetthunder93 @cncoxlifeline @saturnstringz @missabsey @spencerslove @guacam011y @whoopdy-doo @hugyourlungs @reiderwriter @enamoradax @hales-17 @loaksulluyswife @ecneremili @xserenax-13 @grumpyy-bearr @purpledsky @super-nerd22

[agustdtown1]

FOREVER GRATEFUL | JJK

PAIRING: jeon jungkook x fem!reader.

SUMMARY: jeon jungkook was a man like no other, one that cared for you and your sinful needs more than he should, and for that you will forever be grateful.

WC: 5.6k

WARNINGS: age gap, jungkook’s older than reader (although there’s no mention of a specific age), their relationship is not the healthiest but they manage, jk’s line of work is not specified but it is hinted that it’s illegal, small (very small) mention of blood, pet names (doll, princess, pretty girl…), it is hinted —and mentioned, that reader doesn’t have much experience about sex, smut, pwp (porn with plot because I got carried away, but only here and there), restraining, blindfolding, unprotected sex (be better), fingering, light choking, biting, marking, name calling (slut, dumb), jk cumming inside reader, i kinda rushed the end so it’s not that good tbh. 18+ only!

A/N: so… this is my first time writing for the boys since I created my account, I hope this is not as bad as I think it is and that you can enjoy your reading. Lmk what you think and also, english is not my first language so if there’s any grammar/spelling mistakes pls just ignore them <3!

masterlist

“Stay still.”

A husky voice rang into your ears, making a feeling as warm as the sun start to spread through your whole body; an electrifying sensation running through your veins, while goosebumps found solace on your skin. His voice has always been your favorite sound. The raspiness and low register adorning the man’s voice often got you weak in the knees, whenever he would whisper to you or call your name. And this time was no different, however, it seemed to have a stronger power over you. As magnetic as the voice of a siren, pulling the unlucky sailors out of the safety of their boats and into the depths of the cold water of the ocean; ready to devour them in such a frenzy that the last thing you could hear from the poor men was the start of a plea that would forever be unfinished.

Regardless of the difference between scenarios, the comparison seemed to be fitting. Jeon Jungkook was often described as magnetic, with the words alluring and charming following not so far behind. It would explain why you were found in such an interesting predicament at the moment.

A chill breeze brushing over your warm, bare skin, snapped you out of your wandering thoughts. The indication was short and simple. Discard your clothes from the very first moment you walk into the room and wait for him in bed. And so, your body, as many times before, was left completely exposed to Junkook’s hungry eyes; moreover, his eagerness to devour you was crystal clear, not daring to hide his fervent desire of having another taste of your sweet body. Watching you like a predator would to its prey.

His hands were tingling with excitement, for the future adventure both of you would go through, in a matter of minutes. Tonight, like many others, was dedicated solely to you, to your enjoyment; for you to, once again, discover a part of yourself that has yet to see the morning sun and yet to taste the deliciousness of the unknown. A new experience, a new journey, a brand new feeling for you to replay over and over again in your head, during those painfully lonely nights, when you could only find calmness in the feather-like touch of your fingers, running through your needy and greedy body.

Jungkook, however, knew exactly what he was doing by making you wait until your breaking point, waiting for a whine to fall from your precious lips, or for your desperate hand to reach out to him, whatever happens first, but in a silent plea for even a sliver of his attention. He had memorized every gesture, every reaction, every movement you would do, and it entertained the man more than it should.

“You’re tense.” Jungkook pointed out, easing the knots in your shoulders with his skillful hands. “What’s gotten you this aggravated, princess?”

It was the mocking tone, the graceful touch, or even his inviting eyes; whatever it was, it served as a decisive factor to push yourself forward and wrap your arms around his empty neck, like a snake would with its prey; hard and firm.

Desperate hands were first, then.

“You.” An answer was uttered, yet there was a lack of reaction from the man in front of you.

“Could’ve fooled me.” Jungkook taunted, acknowledging the power he had over you. “But don’t think I have forgotten the order I gave you.”

It left you confused for a good second, before his strong hands reached out for yours, stripping himself off from your needy touch.

“Stay still.” Jeon ordered once again, smirking once you obeyed.

You knew better than to challenge him, knowing that your safest option was to follow his instructions with no objection, if you wanted to get your awaited reward, that is.

Who would have thought that you’d be so accustomed to this routine. If asked, then give. If given, then be grateful for it.

The older man has improved your sex life in a matter of a few months, introducing your inexperienced self to the wonders of healthy and eccentric intercourse. Jungkook has proven to you many times in the span of a few months that your negative expectations of sex were granted by your poorly skilled sexual partners. Never once experiencing a dull moment since you were left in the dangerous hands of Jeon Jungkook.

If asked, then give. If given, be grateful.

Just like a believer would with whatever God sets in their path. Just like a kid would when a gift was left under the Christmas tree. You were grateful. It was easy to be. For it was gratefulness that had been installed within you from the moment yours and Jungkook’s paths have crossed.

Nonetheless, as grateful as you were, the hesitation in the back of your head didn’t seem to want to leave. The more Jungkook gave you, the more you wondered if you deserved it. But it reasoned with you that the true cause for your indecisiveness was the premise under which your relationship with the tattooed man had developed.

They don’t make men like him anymore, it’s what your friend had told you when she first introduced you to him, and it scared you. It frightened you that your only option to survive in such a cruel world was to cling to a man that was yet to explain what his line of work was. But then again, you didn’t want to know.

If Jungkook came back from work, looking unkempt and exhausted it was none of your business. That blood stain has always been on his shirt for all you knew. His sketchy friends have never once disrespected you, and that was enough for the time being. If he has broken the law, you don't need to know.

You would never know.

If asked, then give. If given, be grateful. If grateful, show it.

That’s a matter in which you could actually participate. In fact, it’s the way you were taught to be for the past few months.

You earn what you’re given, so show manners and be thankful.

Don’t question, just take. A mindset that has gotten you to where you were right now. In the bedroom of, by far, the most dangerous man in all Korea. Yet, not once has your well-being been threatened, and for that you're grateful.

And you're about to show it.

“You deserve it.” Jungkook reminded you before straying away to roam through his drawers.

The anticipation was killing you. Your eager eyes couldn’t see past his bare and muscular back facing you. Jeon thrived on the way your lustful gaze would always settle on his body, hence the lack of a shirt. Only a low waisted pair of jeans, that allowed you to see the hem of his Calvin Klein underwear, were preventing you from seeing his firm thighs.

You enjoyed the view, more than you probably should. How his muscles flexed when he moved, and the way his toned back shone under the dim light of the room.

It was such a delectable sight for your painfully sore eyes.

“You ready?” The question snapped you out of your thoughts, making you notice how close he was now.

“Yes.” You answered with light hesitation.

Your major enemy showing up once again: indecisiveness. But that wouldn’t stop you from giving yourself to the man in front of you. Not this time.

“Yes, what?” Jeon insisted. “Don’t forget your manners.”

“Yes, sir, I’m ready.” It fell naturally from your lips.

A satisfied smirk appeared on his face.

“Good girl.”

The dark haired man reached out for your wrists, placing a delicate kiss on both of them before tying them with a silky tie of his, and forcing your wandering hands to stay still once and for all.

“Do you trust me?” Jungkook gently asked.

“No, sir, I don’t.”

It was the only correct answer, and both you and Jungkook knew it.

The moment he earned your trust would be the moment he’d have to leave you behind, to fend for yourself and for you to learn how to navigate through the dark corners of your unlucky life.

Trusting him means leaving your guard down, leaving your guard down means being vulnerable, and Jungkook knew better than to be vulnerable, especially in the type of life he lived in. He didn’t want you to make that mistake, and if it meant giving you reasons to doubt him, then so be it.

“Are you gonna do as I say?” Jeon inquired.

“I will.”

“Good.” He leaned down to steal a harsh kiss from you. “You have no idea how bad I’m going to ruin you tonight.”

A slight shiver ran down your spine, knowing too well that his words were far from being an empty promise.

His tattooed hands descended on your bare body, ever so delicate, ever so tender. A stark contrast to what his real intentions were, and it left you craving more of it. Your insatiable desire for being thoroughly worshiped by his lips, his hands, all of him. It was never enough, and it will never be.

Like a stray dog in need of being fed, you needed his touch to be satisfied. Luckily for you, Jungkook was always a man to deliver everything you asked for, even if not verbally.

His eyes, never swerving from your body, took in all the reactions you gave him; from the way your lips formed a perfect o-shape, freeing the most delicious sounds, to how your back arched oh so naturally when his already trained fingers made their way towards the south part of your body. The place where he would get baptized every night, like a strong believer. Ending his thirst with the holy liquid you would suffice him with, not once asking for anything in return, but thankful of his merciful goddess showing appreciation for his dedication.

The only thing is, you weren’t a goddess and he wasn’t a believer. And the whole scenario was way more dirty in reality than what you’d often fantasize.

“Such a pretty doll.” Jungkook brought you back into reality with his husky voice, “Always so responsive.”

His middle finger traveled down to reach your entrance, teasing you with his light touch. Waiting for your reaction, waiting for you to beg. But just like he knew you so well, it was easy for you to tell when he wanted something from you. So rather than give Jungkook what he wanted, you settled for playing a game that would get you in a situation where not even God would help you.

You moved your hips ever so lightly, testing how far you could go without the tattooed man reminding you who’s in charge. Chasing his touch was easy, attaining it was a whole different story. And it was proven to you that tonight the ball was not in your court, when all you got was a chuckle from the man, while he retrieved his hand and leaned down to be face to face with you.

“Have you not learned anything yet, princess?” His dark voice made you tremble in your spot. “Or have you forgotten how things work around here, hm?”

Unwilling to answer, the only response he got from you was a strained whine, yet Jeon could see the desperation in your eyes, the fervent desire to be ruined by him, to be left defenseless and at his complete mercy. Your body wasn’t yours anymore; it stopped being yours the moment he set his eyes on you.

Jeon Jungkook owned you, that much was obvious. And as terrifying as it was, the fact was equally thrilling.

“How badly do you want me?” He tried again, with a question that drove you crazy. “Be good for me and say the words, princess.”

Wasn’t it evident? People often thought that you were too harsh to deal with, too rude, too much to handle. It didn’t offend you, nor did it crack your heart whenever someone would complain about your hot temper and crude attitude. However, at this precise moment, you were giving the man in front of you exactly what he was asking for, albeit not verbally, but your body was working on its own accord. For every light touch, Jeon would get a shiver, squirming, even a plea from your eyes. Any reaction that was in the books, you were already serving it for him.

Nonetheless, it seemed like you weren’t compliant enough for the older man.

“So bad.” You opted to respond instead, finally giving in. “I need you, I want you. Please, sir.”

It was like music to his ears. Your delightful voice, flying through the room as if it were the sweetest melody. Not even the singing of an angel would achieve the reaction that you were pulling from Jungkook right now. Just listening to you beg for him, that’s all Jeon ever wanted.

“You are being so good and polite, baby.” He praised you. “I’ll give you what you need, but…” The dark haired man drifted off, pulling out a blindfold from the back of his jeans. “I’m afraid we’ll do it my way.”

Terrifying, as looking into the depths of a deserted forest, but it was sinful enough for you to crave it. It was exciting regardless of what the whole ordeal entailed. Therefore, when the tall man approached you, with a silky blindfold resting on his hands, you were ready to follow his orders with no objections.

In a matter of seconds you were deprived of Junkook’s hard features, leaving you with a view of pure darkness, and causing your body to start squirming and moving around due to the anticipation. It was difficult to find calmness in such a stressful moment, but you managed. However, Jeon decided to start toying with you, taking advantage of the fact that you were unaware of your surroundings. And so his fingers commenced a trip down the tender flesh of your neck, rapidly traveling down your collarbones and lightly gracing your nipples, only for later on to pinch both of your buds in a harsh manner, one that ripped a strained gasp out of your mouth.

A sardonic smile took place on his face, however, you couldn’t see it. His free hand traveled up to push your cheeks together, enjoying how plump your lips looked and not being able to resist the urge to bite them.

Your breath hitched in your throat when you felt his teeth sinking in the flesh of your lips, along with the way his fingers were kneading every inch of your body.

“Relax and stay still.” Jeon ordered. “I know you’ll love this.”

His soothing voice was helping you to calm down, but it wasn’t enough. The sensations that were running through your body and the lack of proper touch left you in an unbearable agony. You craved to feel him closer, for his skin touching yours, for his breath mixing with yours while your bodies were intertwined in a passionate race to free both of your souls. What he was giving you wasn’t enough, but then again, when has it been?

A greedy little thing, that’s what Jungkook has always called you. And rightfully so, because you longed for him in ways no one else had done, and it scared him. Jeon was afraid you might be too attached to him, moreover, to your own idea of him. The way you would reach for his hand, almost as second nature, when you were out and about, or how your eyes always gravitated towards his figure whenever he stepped into a room. That terrified him. Because it meant you were addicted to him in the same way he was to you, and that could only mean trouble in the long run.

Tonight, however, was not about his fears and insecurities. Tonight was meant to be for you; to supply you with the utmost pleasure you were able to handle, and even if you couldn’t, Jungkook was willing to give you more than what you asked for. So rather than letting his mind wander to places he wasn’t fond of, the man decided to grant you what you were desperately looking for.

His slender fingers slid into your warm hole, filling you up as best as possible. Moving in ways that would haunt you forever, as a reminder that no one —not even yourself, will be able to touch you and treat you like he could.

“There you go…” He muttered, so close to your ear that made you shiver. “Is that enough for my little slut?”

His husky voice echoed through every corner of the room, pulling a light gasp out of you. It wasn’t strange for you to hear him say such lewd things or call you such unspeakable names, but every single time he did, it awakened a wild sensation within you.

Answering to his question you shook your head no, adamant to get more of him, and desperately wanting to be filled to the brim with something more than his fingers.

“More…” You begged. “Please, more.”

His fingers were avidly moving, pumping in and out of your velvety walls at a steady pace. His touch seemed to be enhanced and it felt much more than any other time. Whether it was because you couldn’t see nor could you touch anything, or because of his skillful movements, you couldn’t tell. Nevertheless, there was no complaint. It felt terribly good.

“Yes, please don’t stop.”

Your whiny voice was making Jungkook experience unspeakable things. He was eager to have you, eager to touch you, eager to have a taste of you. But more importantly, so desperate to fuck you. In the same way he awakened a wild side of you with his dark stare, you drove him absolutely crazy with the little noises you made. Furthermore, having you underneath him, moaning his name while squirming in pleasure, and feeling pure bliss due to how good he made you feel, was boosting his ego.

Jeon Jungkook was a man that always strived to be praised, even for the little and insignificant things. So to say he was thrilled and satisfied by the way you were chanting his name like a sinful prayer, along with how your body was responding insanely good to his touch, would be an enormous understatement.

He was on the verge of losing control and claiming you in such an animalistic way, that would leave anyone who happened to be near his room, concerned for your well-being.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you look like this?” It was a question that didn’t need an answer.

Jungkook was entranced by the way you were reacting to his touch, watching your skin coated in goosebumps and how your legs would try to wrap around his waist to pull him closer, in need of him. It has always amazed him how innocent and clueless you looked and acted on the daily, yet somehow you knew what to do to make him act up, to drive him crazy. It was as if you were just pretending to know nothing just to tease him, just to make him never leave you, but deep down Jungkook knew you were sincere.

Your life has been tough, to say the least, and he knew you were in need of guidance, in need of someone to hold your hand and walk you through the crude stages of life. Jeon has never told you, but part of the reason why he took interest in you was due to his protective instinct. The older man knew you needed protection, from who or what? It wasn’t clear, but he instantly knew he was the right one to do it.

Oddly enough, there was no one better than the most dangerous man in South Korea to keep you safe.

But the way you would act so innocently drove him crazy.

Even when you tried to act confident, there was this sprinkle of hesitation every time you did something —indecisiveness striking again. And it was difficult to ignore it, moreover, it was difficult to hide it. The man could see right through your weak act, and spot your nervousness from miles away.

Even when you sucked him off in his office after a tiring meeting, he knew you were slightly scared to do such a thing.

Someone pretending to be clueless wouldn’t act as eager and clumsy as you did back then, although there has been some improvement since that time. Your teeth wouldn’t make an appearance anymore, you would use the right amount of saliva to make it messy but still look appealing for Jeon. The man loved how now you use more of your tongue to tease his tip and how far he could go into your throat. But none of that would’ve been attained without his help.

If given, be grateful. If grateful, show it.

It all goes back to the same predicament: you often showing your thankfulness for every little thing Jungkook has done for you.

He saved you, in the same way that a human would take an injured bird into their home to help it heal. Only for the person to cage it after the bird it’s back on its feet. Whereas Jeon Jungkook saved you from your previous way of living, he also owned you, preventing you from leaving his side.

Your broken moan snapped the dark haired man back into reality. His eyes were glazed with lust, looking right down on you and your tempting body.

“Are you close yet, doll?”

He knew you were. Jungkook could feel you clenching on his fingers, but he wanted to hear it from you.

“Yes, I’m so close.” You whined.

Your hands were moving so much, trying to break free from the tie that was preventing you from touching him. Jeon silently enjoyed it, he enjoyed how addicted to him you were, that it was a torture for you to not touch him in any way. You were so accustomed to feeling him, every single inch, that being restrained felt like pure hell.

“Please… More, faster…” You once again begged, and this time Jungkook couldn’t handle it.

Ignoring your protests, he pulled his fingers out, rapidly stripping off the rest of his clothes to position himself in between your legs. Because yes, he was on the verge of losing control before, but now his racional side flew out the window, and so he couldn’t wait a second longer to be wrapped in the warmth of your walls, ready to take him in.

“My sweet girl, don’t be impatient.” Jungkook cooed at you. “I’ll give you something better.”

Without further ado, he thrusted into you with a hard pump. It ripped a moan out of you, making you tug at the tie even more. You were beyond annoyed that you couldn’t touch him nor could you see his beautiful figure while he fucked you, although it enhanced the rest of your senses.

You could hear his little noises more clearly, feel his touch even better than you usually would, and taste him so much more in every kiss he gave you. It was truly a blessing and a curse.

“You’re so tight, Y/n.” Jungkook gritted through his teeth, preventing himself from moving manically just yet.

Jeon could see the struggle in your face, the way you were clenching on his dick so hard that it was almost impossible for him to move. No matter how many times he’s fucked you, you would never get accustomed to his size. But in reality, the actual problem was that the man hasn’t done exactly that in a while.

Truth be told, there was a reason for your eagerness, for your desperation. For your ambition to have more of him. Jungkook has been neglecting you the past couple of days, perhaps not on purpose, but his line of work has required him to travel to the other side of the world for a whole week. And now that he was back you were ready to trap him in your limbs for as long as you could have him.

“I haven’t fucked you in a while that your pussy is already forgetting how my cock feels, huh?” He acknowledged the situation. “Maybe I’ll have to remind this tight cunt who owns it.”

Without a warning, he gave a hard thrust once again, bottoming out. You wanted to tell him that you didn’t forget how big his dick was or how good it felt. Many nights you fantasized about his fat cock pounding into you while the only thing you could use to pleasure yourself was your fingers. It was such a sad comparison, especially because it proved that what he once told you was completely true.

No one will be ever able to satisfy your carnal needs in the same way that he does. No one will be able to make you come undone with their touch. You could only daydream about Jungkook rocking into you hard and rough, during those lonely nights when the only thing you could use was your small fingers.

Luckily for you, now you have it, the real thing. Now you could feel the tip of his cock hitting every right spot the more the thrusted into you. His veiny member slamming over and over into your throbbing cunt, crying for more of him.

“So fucking greedy. My dirty slut can never get enough of me, huh?” Jungkook groaned, “Look at you, already a mess and I’ve barely done anything, sweetheart.”

It was such a true statement. Even if there was no way for you to look at yourself, you were sure of your disheveled appearance. Sweat was coating your skin, making your messy hair stick to your forehead and nape, your lips were now swollen and shiny due to the wet kisses Jeon has shared with you.

But it has always been like this. Jeon always knew what to do, what to say, how to touch you to turn you into a babbling and whiny mess, one who could only chant his name and ask for more, like the little ambitious and greedy girl you were. Regardless of the way you would sometimes demand more of his attention, more of his touch, he loved it. The tattooed man loved how ruined you looked at the end of your rendezvous, staring at your tear stained cheeks and swollen lips. Jungkook was always fascinated by how fucked out you were once he was done with everything, it was his favorite look on you.

“You like this, don’t you? Being used like a fuck toy, not being able to do anything to fight me.” The older man let out a dark chuckle, while one of his hands crept up to wrap itself around your throat. “So defenseless and needy, letting me do anything to you.”

The more he talked the closer you got. You knew it was a matter of time for you to cum. And you couldn’t be more thankful for that.

Jungkook kept rocking into you at a rapid and harsh pace, fucking your brains out while calling you names that he knew would pull a reaction out of you.

“My dumb baby, taking me so well.” He praised you. “You always know how to take my cock, willing to let me fuck this pretty pussy however I want.”

You could only nod, gasping for air and moving your hips to meet his thrusts as best as possible. It was like a race to see which one would finish first, although it was clear that the man ramming into you would not relent until you were crying and shaking underneath him.

“Fuck, you drive me crazy.” He confessed, leaning down to kiss your soft lips.

His free hand traveled down in between your legs to place his skilled thumb over your clit. His movements were like a bucket of cold water poured over your burning skin. It calmed the building fire in between your legs, just as much as it fueled your already approaching orgasm.

“You feel so amazing around my dick.” Jeon hissed over your lips, hypnotized by the way his aching cock would get lost into your soaked cunt.

“Oh god…” You moaned. “Please don’t stop, I’m so fucking close.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” A promise, far from being empty.

It was clear that Jeon was getting close as well by the way he so desperately was pounding into you, moaning lowly and leaning down to bite your neck.

His lips and teeth were doing wonders on your skin, marking you up with his bites and sucking on your flesh as well. Jungkook was devouring you, tasting you, ruining you as he promised.

“Holy shit…” He said in a raspy voice. “You’re all mine, aren’t you? Only I can make you feel like this.”

“Yes, yes, yes…” You chanted back, but it wasn’t enough for him.

“Come on, tell me, pretty girl.” He requested. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours. I’m all yours.” You slurred your words out.

It only encouraged the man to fuck you harder, meaner, faster… Exactly how you liked it. Jungkook was aware of it, he knew you like the palm of his hand, and although it was concerning how much he knew about you, it also came in handy in moments like this.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum.” Jungkook alerted you, snapping both of you from your wandering thoughts.

“Cum, inside me.” You croaked out, biting on your bottom lip.

It was a risky request, something that you might regret in the future, not only because you weren’t on any contraception, but it entailed being connected to him in such an intimate way, one that neither of you were ready for.

“Are you sure?” He asked with a soft tone, yet you could hear the agitation in his voice. “Are you okay with… oh fuck, with me cumming in you?”

“Yes, yes, please. Just do it, fill me up, please.” You struggled to say. “I need to feel your cum deep inside me.”

Jungkook felt like dying with the lewd words you were spewing.

You were drunk on the ecstasy of the whole experience. Not being able to look at your surroundings, being restrained, the way Jeon was pistoning into you, hitting spots that no one has ever been able to reach before; the sinful words spilling from his lips, his hand still wrapped around your neck, albeit more loosely now. Everything was clouding your mind and leaving you in such a lax state, that prevented you from forming any coherent thought.

Regardless, your consensual words were all he needed to let go, shooting his hot cum inside of your greedy pussy.

“Oh god…” Jungkook moaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

His orgasm triggered yours, throwing you over the edge in a matter of seconds, right after he came. Your whimpers were loud and high pitched, your body was burning and trembling, and you were sure the light makeup you were previously wearing was smudged by now.

You were panting, trying your best to calm your agitated breathing. Jungkook was still inside of you, with his face hidden in your neck, breathing as heavily as you were. Both still intertwined in a mess of sweaty limbs.

After a few minutes where both of you recovered from the intense orgasms you just had, Jeon finally pulled out, separating himself from you. His hands flew up to free yours, making you whine softly; he placed a soft kiss on both of your wrists, making sure the tie didn’t hurt you. The blindfold came off next, and it took a few seconds for your eyes to get used to the dim light after seeing pure darkness.

“How was it?”

A simple question, one that, in the ears of an oblivious listener, would mean nothing. An inquiry that held more significance and concern than a simple are you okay?; it was subtle but it spoke volumes the way Jeon Jungkook would still feel the need to protect you, even from himself.

He never voiced his worries properly, trying to play it cool but secretly concerned that he might have hurt you in any way. The man never learnt how to correctly communicate with others, but he would be damned if he didn’t express how much he cared for you in other ways.

“Amazing…” Was your response, albeit in a hoarse voice.

Your throat was slightly aggravated, feeling terribly dry after attempting to voice the pleasure and enjoyment from the experience, through the small space there was left from Jungkook’s hard grip on it. However, it didn’t stop you from answering his concerns.

Amazing, fascinating.

It was the only way to describe it, your mind was too foggy to think of a proper answer, but by the way he was smirking you could tell he was satisfied with your response.

“Good.” He nodded. “Don’t move, I’ll bring a towel to clean you up and a bottle of water.”

Before he could step out of the room your weak voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Wait…” You called for him.

If asked, then give; if given, be grateful. If grateful, show it.

“Thank you.” A small whisper was all it took for the man to walk back at you, leaning down to place a tender kiss on your forehead.

“Get some rest, I’ll be right back.”

You were left alone in the big room, spread out on the mattress while your mind was trying to comprehend all the events that just happened. Your heart was filled with questions, but you knew better than to ponder over those inquiries.

Jeon Jungkook was a man like no other, one that cared for you more than he should, and for that you will be forever grateful.

[puckinghischier]

Dogtooth

jack hughes x fem!reader

WARNING - SMUT!!! minors, DNI. 18+. oral!female receiving, face riding

summary: just a lil jack thot inspired by the song dogtooth by tyler, the creator

notes: this is just a repost of the little jack blurb i posted last night, i just wanted to reformat it so it’d fit in my masterlist better. but!! this is probably my favorite jack thing i’ve ever written and i’m obsessed with this song so, hope you enjoy!! 🫶🏼🫶🏼

[2.3k]

dogtooth by tyler, the creator?? that song is soooooo jack coded.

it’s the right kind of cocky but also the perfect amount of loving his woman, which is exactly how i picture jack to be in a relationship.

he’s a pretty private guy, not enjoying being in the media too much and revealing a ton about his personal life. he hates media because he doesn’t like the feeling of people assuming they know everything about him. but his girl? she knows everything about this man and he basks in the fact she knows him better than anyone else.

and when he’s down for someone? oh he’s down baddddd. i mean, pining level shit. he always wants to be around her. always calling her. always texting her. he just wants her attention 24/7, no matter what he has to do to get it.

he loves to pleasure his girl. and that’s it, really. he loves any second he can spend making her feel good, any way she wants. he doesn’t even care about the reciprocation (though he does love when she returns the favor) because knowing he’s the one to satisfy her needs is enough to put him on cloud nine all by itself.

and the second jack hears this song for the first time? oh he’s got big plans for it. (and you)

you’d be sitting on the couch, waiting on jack to get home from a mid-day skate. he sent you a text telling you he was leaving the rink around thirty minutes ago, expecting him to walk through the door any second.

no sooner than the thought entered your mind, you heard the lock click, signaling his arrival. calling out a greeting, you’re met with silence. you turn your body to see why he’s ignoring you, noticing the small white ear buds stuck in each ear.

he sets his bag down at the door, no doubt filled with his sweat soiled clothes he wants you to wash. waiting on him to look up and acknowledge you, you lay your head on the plush cushions resting against the back of the couch. you watch him, never missing an opportunity to admire how pretty he is.

finally, he looks up and meets your gaze, smiling at your love-filled eyes. he pops one headphone out while walking towards you, rolling it around in his hand.

“hey, sweets,” he leans down to place a small kiss on your waiting lips.

you savor the taste of his lips, always loving their soft feel.

“tried to say hi when you walked in, but guess you couldn’t hear me,” you gesture to the one earbud still lodged in one of his ears.

he gives you a small, apologetic look. “sorry, found a new song i really like. think you will too, actually. made me think about you.”

grabbing his phone from his pocket with his free hand, the one that’s holding the small bluetooth device brushes your hair away from your own ear, comfortably resting the earbud there.

“here’s the thing though….i want you to ride my face while we listen,” he just casually tells you, not even looking up at your face, still fiddling with his phone.

you perk up, surprised at his casualness. “i- what?”

“you heard me, before i press play i want you to ride my face.”

said face in question is dead serious, not an ounce of mischief to be found.

“you…literally just walked through the front door. what happened to asking each other about our days? or discussing what we’re gonna eat for dinner?” you ask him, not knowing how to react to the sudden proposal.

he rolls his eyes playfully. “is this your way of telling me you don’t want to? because you don’t have to. just think it’d really add to the experience, s’all” he shrugs.

you still don’t know how to react to the pure casualness of it all. by the way he’s acting you’d think he’s suggesting watching a movie, not having you ride his face in the middle of the living room.

“i didn’t say i didn’t want to. it’s just a little wild for that to be one of the first things out of your mouth when you get home.”

jack snickers at your words, walking around the large sectional to occupy the spot next to you.

“not really. not for me, at least. been thinking about it all day,” he plops down beside of you, making himself comfortable.

his words shoot excitement down to your core. he’s been thinking about it all day?

before you can think of a response, you feel shuffling next to you on the plush couch. you look over to see jack laying flat on his back, head only slightly raised to look over at you expectantly.

“so, you gonna get rid of those shorts or what?” he asks, referencing your thin, cotton pajama bottoms.

“i swear to god, if i wasn’t turned on right now i’d slap you,” you grumble, standing and removing all clothing below your waist.

jack laughs a real, out loud, laugh this time, prideful in the fact that you’ve never really been able to (or wanted to) resist any of his offers.

he burrows his body further into the couch, making sure he’s in the middle of the large surface, ensuring there’s room for your knees to rest on either side of his head.

you climb to hover over his body, looking down at his hungry eyes that are glued to your bare pussy, following every movement of your body from that landmark.

“shirt off or on?” you ask him, sitting on his toned abdomen.

“off. wanna be able to play with your boobs, please,” he flicks his eyes up to your face, an innocent smile on his own as he bats his eyelashes.

“of course you do,” you remove your (his) t-shirt from your body, now completely bare as you sit on top of him.

“swear they get bigger every time i see them,” he says in awe, bringing a hand up to massage one of your full breasts. you moan as he kneads the flesh, stomach turning flips in anticipation of what’s about to take place.

“gonna press play so we can get started or you just gonna play with my tits all night?” you huff out, loving the feeling but growing needier by the second.

it takes jack a second to register what you’re saying, too lost in the feeling of the heavy skin in his hand.

“oh! yeah, almost forgot,” he reaches up to the back of the couch where he left his phone, picking it up long enough to press play.

you scoot yourself farther up his body, resting your eager core right above his chin. all you’d have to do is relax your thighs the slightest amount to make contact with his mouth. 

suddenly you hear a smooth beat ring out in one ear, assuming jack’s hearing the same.

the second you hear the lyrics “she could ride my face i don’t want nothing in return” pour out of the earbud, jack inched his face up, licking a long, deep stripe through your folds.

you allow yourself to relax, sliding your slick pussy back and forth gently, not wanting to rush.

jack’s nose brushes your clit with every movement. you sigh at the feeling, not realizing how much you needed the friction until now.

the melody in your ear continues, but none of the lyrics are registering anymore. the feeling of jack’s tongue working through you takes every ounce of your attention.

“god, fuck! jack, best idea ever,” you moan out, picking up your pace slightly.

jack groans, letting his tongue still for a moment, allowing you to work yourself over it as you please.

fighting through the bliss radiating throughout your body, you try to focus on the lyrics at least a little bit. the chorus starts repeating, but the lyrics that follow make your head fuzzy in the best way.

“she could ride my face i don’t want nothin’ in return, except for some her time and all her love, that’s my concern” is what you focus on, the words squeezing your heart and your cunt.

jack smirks into your pussy when he hears you moan, knowing exactly which lyrics elicited the reaction from your body. you’ve always been the type to get off on the sweet nothings he whispers in your ear while he fucks into you, so he knew that line in particular would be especially helpful while his mouth is otherwise occupied.

your pace increases again as the song continues on, already halfway to your release.

jack brings his hands up to hold you still, your hole mere centimeters from his waiting tongue. he guides you to lower yourself onto the muscle, encouraging a slight bobbing motion of your body.

with every depression of your cunt onto his tongue, your clit bumps onto the tip of his nose. the pressure is a delicious form of teasing, the sensation gone nearly as soon as it’s felt each time.

“please, touch me. need you to touch me, jack. so so close,” you pant out, feeling the familiar swirl of your climax forming already.

jack grunts in response, the vibrations sending waves all throughout your body and you’re convinced you can feel it in your toes.

his hands leave your hips, traveling up your body until they find your sensitive buds, pinching and playing with each pink, taut nipple.

you jolt a bit, the motion causing your clit to slam against his nose this time. you cry out at all of the various sensations all at once. full with his tongue, rough hands on your tits, and round nose scraping against your clit.

the pure stimulation of it all forces your orgasm out of you, slamming into your body with the force of a train.

“fuck!” you scream, quickly shooting a hand out to grip the back of the couch, trying to stop yourself from collapsing on jack’s face completely.

you can barely hear the words “she can ride my face i don’t want nothin’ in return, and will i ever fall in love again? i can’t confirm,” ring through your ear, the soundtrack to your release, literally.

jack continues to work his tongue in and out of your hole while you shake and convulse above him, having to chase your entrance as you move. he continues to knead your sensitive breasts, each squeeze sending small volts through your already spent nerves.

he can feel your release dripping onto his cheeks, chin, and nose. he tries to lap up as much as he can, not wanting to miss a drop of your liquid pleasure.

your taste alone was enough to form the wet spot on his grey sweats, not embarrassed in the slightest he’s literally leaking from how turned on he is. but when he looks up at you above him, skin damp and eyes half rolled into the back of your head, mixed with the feeling of your body tightening around his tongue so harshly he can’t even pull it out, he blows his load right then and there.

he can feel the last flutters of your walls around his tongue, not stopping his movements until you pull back, having half a mind to keep going and work another orgasm out of your sensitive state. he moans through his own unprompted release, the only thing keeping him from following his sudden impulse to overstimulate you.

once the tired muscles in your thighs stop shaking, and your breath evens out, you can hear the fading of the music in your ear, signaling the end of the song. you push up slightly on your knees, detaching yourself from jack’s mouth as he chases your now swollen cunt, a small whine escaping him at the action.

“jack…the song’s over,” you manage the words somehow, in awe that he made you come in only a single song’s length.

“i can hit replay,” he rushes out, already reaching to grab his phone again.

you squeak out a slightly panicked “no,” while shaking your head, worried if he started again you might actually explode. you let yourself relax fully, scooting back so you can rest yourself on his lower abdomen once again, but the feeling of something wet stops you.

jerking back up, you turn and look down, spotting the large, wet stain on his sweatpants. you can’t stop staring at it, wondering if you’re really looking at what you think you’re looking at.

“jack…did you…” you trail off, turning back around to look at him.

he smirks as he leans himself up on his elbows. “sure did, sweets. you have no clue how much i enjoyed that.”

you laugh at his pride filled face. “pretty sure i do, seeing as i just sat on the evidence.”

he simply shrugs, patting your bare ass lightly to signal you to stand. you swing your legs over his body, standing and bending over to pick up your discarded underwear and slide it back up your legs.

“so….about that dinner conversation,” you ask him as he stands, suddenly way hungrier than you were when he first got home.

it’s his turn to laugh at you, walking over and removing the now silent earbud from your ear.

“whatever you want is fine with me. i already ate,” he gives you a kiss on the forehead then turns to walk towards the bedroom.

“oh…not even right, you dick,” you huff, following it with telling him you’re ordering his least favorite take out, a punishment for his sass.

making your way to the kitchen to dig through the different take out menus, you hear jack shout your name once again.

“i was thinking, how do you feel about that being our wedding song?” he asks, poking his now shirtless, but clean sweats clad, figure out of the bedroom door.

“jack!” you shout, scolding him as his loud cackle rings out around you, causing your own amused smile to break out on your face.

[dilf-docs]

hii i just read ur eddie x young reader. And i LOVE ITTTT

Can u please do something similar but with young neighbor reader? Where the reader moves in an apartment beside eddie . They meet each one day and they hit it off? (nsfw )

(Ignore this if u don’t like the idea or u can change it)

Knockin' On Heaven's Door

eddie brock x younger fem!reader

summary: you're what people call a ray of sunshine, probably the most likeable person in the planet. so why is this hot idiot next door so mean to you?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (you know this blog lives by its name), smut, sunshine!reader x grumpy!eddie (cause his ass just got dumped lol), enemies to lovers (one-sided), kinda mean!eddie, power goes out so they get freaky in the dark, use of pet names, p. in v.(use protection guys pls!!! don't be like this dumbasses fucking raw in the dark), oral (m. receiving), creampie, no venom :(

word count: 4,069 words (it's almost midnight again, me thinks I've forever messed up my sleep schedule cause ain't no way inspo only grows as per my eyebags lol)

side note: got my first request on tumblr!! (insert scarlett johanson dancing in marriage story gif). i love looove the neighbours trope so much (hey! if i had a hot older neighbour i would be doing the most to interact with them, bet); hope this lives up to ur expectations even if i tweaked a few things! also, this happens after eddie gets dumped by anne and moves out of the house lol so he's angry, moppy, horny and dry. what if i make this a series tho, would you like that? requests are open!

You're what people call a ray of sunshine. Ever since you managed to talk, all that comes out of you is happiness: the first sound to come out of your mouth was a laugh, your first word was smile, you have Love as your second name, you made friends on real time record, the profession you chose was that of a patissier and the first ink to grace your skin was a little heart tattoo.

Okay, maybe you've made it your whole personality to be likeable. So what? It's not your fault you light up every place you go, that people love you effortlesly and that life seems to smile your way.

It's the way the cookie crumbles, a fitting phrase for a pastry chef like you. Your friends often joked about it: you, a sweet person, baking little sweet goods to make other's lives sweeter.

And you loved it: your life, your job, your family, friends, cat and little apartment in San Francisco.

There was just one thing missing: because no matter how sweet you made other's peoples worlds by existing, no one was there to make it for you.

Alright, you had enough love and just loved love for the sake of it. Sometimes, a tidbit of romance through your screen or through the couple-d lives of your friends sufficed such desire, but its a lie to say you haven't dreamed of your own.

So when Johanna, the girl who lives across you, comes rushing with the newest gossip: "hot new neighbour moving next door!", there's something that tells you it might be time.

"You have to see him" she emphasizes, "a total eye candy"

That ignites the curiosity inside you, and after some weeks hearing through your walls grunts next door and a constant shuffle of things originally packed in boxes, you find yourself knocking on his door, tray of cookies in your hands.

Yes, you did bake them for him. After all, your chocolate chip cookies are a killer! People do lines to get them at your aunt's cafeteria, just to taste the warm soft dough, the chocolate melting on their mouths. You do this for every other new neighbour that comes around, it's just how you are! But the cookie choice is totally intentional though.

The door flinges open, and for the very first time in years, you find yourself at loss for words; speechless.

The stranger before you is a face you'll never forget. Handsome, of course, but there is something alluring in his beauty, one you can't exactly name, but comes along in a pair of thick lips, brown warm eyes and ink sprinkled across strong arms. Your heart hammers in your chest, and it takes all in you to not drop the tray in your chest right here and now.

"Hey!" you find your voice again. Clearing your throat, you proceed. "You're our new neighbour, right? I'm y/n, I live next door. Thought you'd like something sweet to eat after all that effort" you push the tray to the front, "I made this myself!"

He just stares back, blinking. You think he may be confused by your random act, but it's quite normal to do so with newbies. You love welcoming acts!

The awkward stiffness he radiates doesn't deter you away, though. "This are for you" you insist, "or just take one, if you don't want them all..."

"I hate chocolate" he finally says, with such a scowl on his face, you'd think you killed his entire family.

Oh! He hates chocolate? Who hates chocolate?!

You suddenly feel small and stupid. Without much else to say, you don't know how to proceed. You have your way with words, but no one has ever rejected you in the cold open before. It's left you baffled.

Then, a light bulb goes on in your head.

"Wait, I know you!" he quirks an eyebrow. "You're that reporter from TV, Eddie Brock" you gush, "I love helping others, but what you do is amazing... you're, like on other level, giving a voice to those who don't have one"

You admired him; he was someone who was brave and cared.

"Not anymore" and then the door slams in your face.

It takes you a while to process there, standing in the eerie silence of the empty hall, that Eddie Brock may be the very first person in the world who doesn't like you.

In the end, you'd given the batch of cookies to the homeless people living around your building. Even if it made you feel good, the pang in your chest didn't go away. You simply couldn't forget about the incident (because of pride and embarrasment in equal parts), plus, the fact that he lived next door and you couldn't go on about your day without hearing him pace around his apartment, made the task of forgetting about it difficult.

So in the following days you've avoided him, which has been pretty easy so far, since he barely leaves his apartment and you're busy with work and stuff.

It's friday night, and with the next week's groceries in hand, you take the elevator. The door's about to close when it opens again. You can't believe it: after successfuly evading him for five days, Eddie Brock is trapped with you inside the reduced space; you shouldn't been lazy and taken the stairs instead.

"'Night" he mutters, and you swear you've gone deaf because you barely hear so. You don't know what to do, so you just stand there, clutching your tote bag a little too hard. It could be an accident: he's too drunk out of his mind and doesn't know it's you.

It's not like he's been so nice, but after his asshole-ish move last time you saw each other, you don't expect basic courtesy towards you either.

You get a whiff of his scent, mixed with traces of whiskey. It's unfair how intoxicating it feels―how it's got you wanting more of what isn't yours.

God knows it's been long enough since you've wanted a man this bad.

It's not until the elevator dings again that you realize you've been holding your breath the entire time.

"Bye, pretty"

He casually exits out into your same floor never looking back, without realizing the effect his words have on you, hope slowly making its way through the creaks of your open heart.

Okay, maybe it's your fault for raising such high stakes based on two words and a silly little drunk interaction. Maybe you deserve it: because you've become a bit obsessed with the fact that Eddie hates you, but after yesterday, you've already traced a truce in your mind.

Even Johanna has told you to be cool about it. "It's time someone didn't like you" she joked, but you didn't find it funny. She insisted it's not important, but to you it is! How can he not like you? Maybe if he had a valid reason, you'd stop insisting, despite the let down. But he doesn't have one! And you've been nothing but kind! You think too much about it because it doesn't make any damn sense: you're loosing your mind and your friend just laughs.

The only reason you haven't talked to him again, is because work load has catched up to you.

But now you're here, out on the street, and the first person you see is him: on top of his bike, ready to go out.

"Nice!" you chirp. It may not be a top brand, but the black vehicle is as cool as its owner: the leather jacket, worn out jeans and beat up look is an insane combination that may or may not have you drooling.

"Huh?" he looks back at you, and you swear your cheeks reddened in embarrasment at his deadpan expresion.

"Nice bike, I mean" you nervously laugh, fiddling with a loose string of your sweater. "I love seeing them, but I don't think I'll ever ride one. I get scared too easily, you know?"

He puts his helmet on, "Alright"

Not even a thanks or an attempt of a small talk; what an idiot. Didn't he talk to you last time? Called you pretty? Why is he acting so curt right now?

"Hey, what is your pro-"

Your question doesn't get to be finished, because the engine roars and he's out of there, leaving you confused inside a cloud of smoke, the trail leaving with your last sparks of hope.

It's one of those nights where you just want to lay down and let sleep take control of your body. As soon as you get in your comfy pajamas and sink in the mattress, a noise erupts through the air. Startled, you raise on your feet, the slumber long gone.

Fuck. This hasn't been your week, has it?

The noise comes from outside, and you know who it is: the guy who lives in the corner, right next to the window; he who brings too many women home and plays his guitar a little too loud. It's late an he isn't getting the memo, clearly.

You swing your door open, ready to give him a piece of mind (and perhaps dump your accumulated stress from the week), until you realize you aren't the only one outside on the hall. It's Eddie, and he looks just as pissed as you do.

"Can't sleep?" he asks in a mocking tone, all while avoiding your eyes, rather focused on the common enemy's door.

"What do you think?" you reply, equaling his tone.

You both agree in silence, walking to his door. After some knocking, the guy opens his door: less thrilled when he sees Eddie and more complaint when he sees you.

"Sure, sweetheart. I'll keep it down" and winks. The nerve of this guy. Even Eddie is frowning, surely annoyed at his lack of etiquette. "You can knock anytime, noise or not".

The door closes, but it's Brock who did it, not guitar guy. You're too tired to ask, and after picking what's left of your dignity around him, you decide it's best to walk back to your apartment.

"You know what's funny?" you stop your tracks, laughing, but it's devoid of amusement, "I lost my sleep".

He just stares back, and you're tired of the way conversations have to run by your side, for the very first time. You keep on walking, but as soon as your hand touches your doorknob, he speaks up:

"Goodnight" a small truce, you think. But you're not falling this time.

So you do the right think: walk inside without saying a word, and just like him, never looking back.

You wake up agitated in the middle of the night. It's raining: not just a normal rain but a huge storm. You look over at your alarm, noticing its characteristically red numbers are as pitch black as the sky above you. It's also thundering, and God, do you hate noises and thunder.

You jump again at another one cutting through the sky, and decide it's for the best to just stay awake until it's time to wake up. According to your phone, you have about three hours until morning rises. That's enough time to watch a movie or two. Even to pet your cat, which is laying next to your bed, clearly unbothered―unlike his owner.

But there's a problem: when you try to turn the switch, no lights go on. Your incredulous laugh ecos in the room.

Not only a storm, but also a fucking black out.

Scare slowly creeps up, and the shivers you feel are definitely not only because of the temperature drop.

So you grab your phone and head out, without clearly thinking and obviously in panic, because the first thing you do is knock on your neighbour's door.

Eddie's.

"Oh!" it takes a while for him to answer his door, but when he does, his phone's flashlight burns your eyes. "Sorry" he apologizes, and you don't know if it's for that or the fact he didn't answer; maybe for everything too, "didn't hear the knocking with all the thunder".

You say it's fine, that you're just checking to see if you're not the only one without light.

He flicks a nearby switch to no avail, "I'm afraid everyone in the whole building too"

Eddie probably notices your frightened state, the way you shiver like a lost puppy, and feels sorry.

"Wanna come inside?" he offers, hands inside his grey sweater's pockets.

For the very first time since you met him, he looks at you, but really looks at you: eyes roaming over your body, an all too familiar feeling painted across his brown orbs.

You realize a bit late what you're wearing: a teensy short and top, a set of pajamas that happens to be your most comfortable. Favorite too. Appropiate for this emergency meeting? Maybe not.

"You want me to?" you asked, confused. "I thought you hated me"

The only sound across the hall is the droplets of rain outside, some tapping in the window next to you and his apartment.

He looks rather embarrased, "I don't".

"Then you're just an idiot" you counter back, and he doesn't fight you about it.

"Fair" he says, "I can make some coffee?"

Maybe he's pretty convincing or you're a people pleaser, but as soon as he proposes, you're caving in just like that.

"Fine, but you better let me bring my cat"

Truth is, Muffin plays hard to get, but now he's resting in Eddie's lap―purring, as you two sip quietly on your coffee. Traitor.

"I used to have a cat" he says, cutting through the silence.

"Oh!" you leave your mug on his table, next to the candle; the only source of light in the room, "didn't think of you as a cat person".

"Tecnically, it belongs to my fiancée. Sorry, ex-fiancée" he makes a pause, "bet that cat doesn't miss me".

"I didn't know you had a, uh-" you're not sure how to proceed, so you trail off. Muffin jumps from Eddie's lap to the kitchen, lost in the dark.

"Yeah, I had a fiancée, cat, house, and job. Then I lost everything" he dry chuckles, humorlessly, "guess that's why I'm so bitter"

"I'm sorry" you say on the most sincere tone you can muster. Eddie wonders how can you be so kind and forgiving, especially after he's been nothing but an asshole to you.

"Doesn't mean I should've been a douchebag for no reason. You didn't deserve it" he apologizes, embarrased.

You stay in silence for some more time but then he says: "Not an excuse, but it's been real bad days"

The candlelight is so flickering, you don't know if he's seen your eyes, but by the way he gulps, you think he did.

"Maybe... I could offer a helping hand"

Why had you said that? Are you out of your mind? You barely know the guy, who, by the way, had been a jackass to you like, five minutes ago. But he's hot! And you love to help!

Jesus, talk about dignity and boundaries.

"Y-you would?" he stammers, but the way his hand travels to your lap reveals nothing but security.

He's not asking if you've gone insane or what exactly you mean by that: he's just asking if you would do it.

Would you help?

"Don't you know, Eddie?" your voice drops a sultry octave, "I love to help".

You lean close enough for him to smell the cinammon scent of your skin. Soon, he's leaning too, playing along even against his better judgment. It's too soon, but he's so drawn into you and can't resist it no more; ever since he met you.

His cock twitches in his pants, "help me, then"

It happens too fast, one second you're sipping on your coffee, looking like the most warm and softhearted person in the world and now you're on your knees, deep into his carpet, tugging at his belt with your teeth, a hunger he hasn't seen before in your eyes and filthy needy mouth.

Sex with Anne was sweet and normal. Vainilla. You smell like it too, but there's a difference: you have the appetite of a siren.

Using your hands, you remove the leather your teeth had beggin with, moving them to tug his ripped jeans down, pulling the zipper too in the process. You keep using your mouth, now to get rid of his boxers, where the outline is tight over his cock. Eddie finds himself so aroused to the point he feels hot, even if there's a storm outside and the candle barely provides warmth.

"You sure have a mouth" he mumbles in ecstasy, drunk in the sight of your glimmering lips, coated in saliva. He's dripping too: everywhere.

His cock bounces out, almost hitting you in the face.

"Look at you" you coo, "already dripping for me. What a pretty cock you've got, Mr. Brock"

Fuck, he's going to hell after this. But you can't corrupt what's already corrupted.

"Then you better show me what you mean"

You lick the tip, already leaking with precum. He tenses momentarily, and then stiffle a moan when you take his balls into your mouth, a similar sound coming from you. You suck lightly at them, running your tongue along the sensitive skin.

His hips buckle into your face, and you have to chuckle at the fact it's probably the first time he's ever has his dick sucked this good.

"Don't stop" he huffs.

You obey, tongue tracing along the underside of his cock until you're back at his tip. Eddie's still inside his drunk haze when he feels you taking all of him inside your mouth in one single movement.

"Fuck-!" he chokes out, the thunder outside shutting the vulgar sounds coming out of his plush lips. "Think you can take more?"

His large hand touches the back of your head and pushes it forward with force. His cock presses deeper into your throat, tip hitting the back of it. You feel yourself gag, but the wet spot that's starting to form in your panties says otherwise.

He twists your hair tightly, holding you in place as he fucks your throat with his cock. You feel tears, and Eddie thinks he's never had a prettier sight than you: glossy eyes, looking up to him as you take all his cock.

"I know you can, baby" he presses, "help me like you said you would, yeah?"

His fat cock is blocking your air supply, but the subtle motivation and praise in his eyes is enough to keep you going, thought your throat ends up bulging from the size of his cock, stretching out to accommodate his size.

You said you would help, right? And even if you always do it for the altruist reward, something about being used in such a vulgar and rough way has your chest and panties feeling warm.

Brock groans, body sweating and muscles tense. He yanks you up by your hair, chasing the orgasm like an animal, every movement feeling almost primal.

"Stay there" he feels it coming, "don't move".

You gurgle something, spit rushing down your chin and dripping onto your chest.

"It's almost over, sweetheart" his eyes roll back, head resting on the coach he'd barely used until now, where he's fucking you in the mouth, "I knew that filthy mouth of yours could take me"

You open your mouth wider, anticipating. Tension releases: and he's pounding out his orgasm in your throat, hips banging into your face. You swallow it all, even if you can't taste it since he was so deep in you. He pulls out, a string of spit connecting his tip with your lips.

"Thanks" his voice comes out rough, "you do know how to help those in need"

You wipe your chin with your hand, voice hoarse, "I suppose"

There's some silence afterwards, and now Eddie is cursing he doesn't know what else to say.

"Power is still out" he speaks, "we've got some hours left until the sun rises again"

"So what's your idea?" you giggle, "tell scary stories in the dark?"

You both laugh, but you stop and deadpan. "Please don't, I get scared very easily" and you pout those pretty lips of yours out. How can you be such an adorable but greedy girl? It's hard to believe you're the same person.

"Not that" he swallows thickly. Why is he doing this? Was a blowjob (a fantastic blowjob, by the way) by a young insatiable thing like you enough to make him go mad? "I want to help you too".

Before you protest, he's pulling you and sealing your lips with a hot kiss. His tongue slips into your mouth, playing with it. He pulls out, biting your lower lip.

"Eddie" you whine, "b-bed, now"

He's supposed to be older and smarter, so why is his resolve melting away this quickly? Following your orders immediately, your back bouncing on the soft mattress of his bed. As soon as you lay, his lips trail kisses down your throat.

"God, you smell so good" you giggle, "bet this pussy will taste as sweet, huh?"

His cold fingertips grace the fabric of your tiny shorts and the touch gives you goosebumps, "look at you" he tugs your panties, nudging at your cunt. "So soaked... is this for me, baby?"

"Yes, Eddie" the way you say his name is enough to make even the strongest man fold, his dick jolting in response. "Take it"

Both of you remove your clothes in such a hurry, you hope you haven't damaged your favorite pair of pajamas.

"Let me see her" he demands, so you spread your legs, revealing your dripping pussy.

When you kiss again, the underlying carnal desire is mutual, saliva connecting in a silver thread as you both gasp for aire. Your hands wander across his chest, fingers playing with his tensing muscles.

"I promise to reward her, okay?" he lines his cock up with your entrance, the fat tip nudging against you, sticky with precum.

You're desperate with anticipation, practically begging, "please do".

He pushes inside you fully, balls slaping against your sticky clit hard. He’s so deep, pushing against your cervix and stretching you out with each thrust, making even the task of breathing painful and laborious.

Brock feels like he's ruined you, yet you look rather content. You've been used to giving; your kindness of a caretaker nature. You're used to giving your all and not receiving, so with every new thrust against you, his hips slamming, you know you'll never feel this pleasure again with anyone else, the delicious sense hitting you in waves that make you feel dizzy. So, in a way, he has ruined you.

"That desperate for me to fill you?" there's no answer, but the sound of rain and skin clapping against skin.

"Yes, give it to me” you sob, "Eddie, please!"

"Focus on taking it" he guides you. It may make him a pervert, but he isn't changing the sheets any time soon; they'll be covered in you and he'll smell them everytime he gets inside them. "I'm gonna cum"

You moan, lightly tugging at the strands of damp hazel hair. He chokes out a husky groan, heat pooling on his stomach.

Eddie's dick twitches inside you, cum filling your eager insides with the biggest load you’ve ever felt. Your pussy clenches, spasming, wrapping tighter around his length in a needy way, your high coming almost at the same time.

Both your breathes come out in ragged pants. He nuzzles against your neck, skins equally damped.

"Fuck"

As soon as those words leave his mouth, the power returns. You should go now, as this is the reason you stayed, but none of you make the move to leave.

"Stay?" he pleads, "It's still raining outside"

How can you say no to those brown puppy eyes? Does he think he can fuck you this good and then make you leave?

"Alright" you swear he smiles, and it's the prettiest smile you've seen in your life. Could you fall this easily in love? "But turn off the lights: I have work tomorrow and need some sleep"

"Whatever you say, baby" he nips at your lower lip, "you know I love to help"

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif (unknown pinterest source)