#I actually hate being like this sometimes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jarofstyles · 3 days ago

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Teach Me?

Hello love bugs, we've got a huge one shot here. I see a lot of writing where the guy helps the girl out with inexperience, but I thought I'd like to write something where he's the one asking for help. I had a lot of fun putting this together so I hope you guys like it. I may do more but I have a lot of other stuffed planned but let me know your thoughts!

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WC- 12.3k

Warnings- mentions of insecurity, anxiety, oral, soft!Dom H, soft!Dom Y/N, switchy vibes but mostly Dom!H, Y/N pokes fun at him for being nerdy but she loves it,

"Hey..." Harry began casually, wiping his hands on a towel after washing. Her best friend had invited himself over for dinner, which meant he was going to do the dishes. It was an unspoken rule of their friendship. If you invite yourself, you clean up. But seeing as Y/N was the one who cooked nine out of ten times, it had become a normal to see him at her kitchen sink. Her eyes peeked up at him from her phone, giving him a look to continue. "Can I ask you something? It's a kinda...weird request." He scratched the back of his neck nervously, looking at her with an attempt at puppy dog eyes. He wanted something and it made her narrow her eyes.

“I’m not going to the convention with you again, Har. It’s not my scene, I told you. I’ll watch any series of movies until our brains leak out our ears but if I have to sit through panels and Q&As where they ask what the characters favorite food is again I may lose my mind.” She knew it was coming up… but apparently that wasn’t his point. Thank God.

"No! No. Adam is going with me this year. Rude. But besides that…” It made her a lot more curious as to what it could be because he did genuinely look nervous. “It's a weird question, actually." He sat down next to her on the couch, twisting his hands together. "And you can totally say no... but..." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Would you... maybe..." The hesitance had her sitting up a little straighter, raising her brow higher to urge him forward. "God..." He muttered softly, trying to find the words. "You promise not to judge?" He saw her raise an eyebrow. "I mean it. No making fun of me." He watched as she slowly nodded, waiting.

“I make fun of you for a lot of things, but if you’re asking me not to, I won’t. Are you okay?” Y/N asked softly, unused to his behavior. He was usually playful and could take any joke, so it wasn’t exactly like him to ask her not to do it.

"I'm okay." He assured her, but still had the nervous look in his eyes. "It's just... I've recently realized... kinda an embarrassing thing about myself." He shifted uncomfortably, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "I don’t think… I don’t think I’m actually making girls finish properly when I hook up with them. At least not every time. And I feel like shit about it.”

That was a surprise to her. Harry had the whole hot and nerdy thing going on, and he pulled plenty. Not that he always attempted or took them up on the offers, but he’d had a few girls he had hooked up with that she knew of. Usually he kept pretty quiet about it, but that didn’t bother her. Y/N had assumed a lot about him because… He did have some big dick energy going on. He had really nice hands too. The idea of him being unskilled in bed didn’t feel like it was right, but she was hearing him out. “What’s making you think this?” She asked curiously. “Did someone say something?”

"No, no one's ever said anything. Not to my face." His face flushed slightly pink as he shifted again, trying to get comfortable. "I just... well. Sometimes I noticed they'd tense up or seem kinda disappointed later. Like they were expecting something else. More? I dunno. And they don’t usually text me again, which is fine and all but I hate thinking I let someone down. It’s embarrassing." He avoided looking at her while he talked, staring at his fidgeting fingers instead. "I don't want to be one of those guys who only thinks about themselves. That’s the last thing I want to do." He trailed off, clearly embarrassed. So unlike him that it made her heart hurt a little bit. Harry was a happy guy and seeing him not like that was like seeing a wet puppy in the street. She had to fix it.

“Well the fact that you even care at all is really good. I know, the bar is on the floor but, unfortunately a lot of men don’t give a shit if we finish or not.” Y/N knew plenty of men- had experienced them herself- that didn’t care if it felt good for her. They wanted a quick nut and go. Harry never seemed to be the type. Honestly, he was very thorough in most things and she’d assumed that would properly bleed over to sex.

“Wanting to be better is half the battle. You don’t have to be embarrassed about it. The first time I sucked someone off I gagged really awfully, the sound made him go soft.” She laughed at her own bad time. “We all start somewhere.”

He laughed softly at her story, feeling a little more at ease knowing he wasn’t the only one. Y/N was far more experienced and open about being a little freak, so it felt better to know even she had some weirder experiences. It wasn’t just him. "Yeah, I can imagine." He chuckled, shaking his head. "Gagging on dick is not the most pleasant experience, is it?" He turned to look at her, his eyes serious again. "But, um, thanks for listening and all that. I just... I want to be good at it. For them, and for myself." He looked down at his hands again, picking at his fingernails nervously. He needed to paint them again so he would stop doing it. His pink polish was chipped. "And that's why I was wondering…” He bit his lip, his heart racing as he tried to work up the nerve to ask his best friend a very personal favor. The most personal you could probably get.

"Would you... would you maybe let me practice on you?” The silence lingered for a moment longer than he was okay with, panicking slightly as he continue. “I promise I'll listen to everything you say, and we can stop anytime you want. We don’t even have to! You can say no, obviously.” The man was babbling as he tried to untwist his tongue. “But I really trust you and I think you'd give me good feedback. Honest feedback." He looked up at her with pleading eyes, his cheeks flushed a darker pink that she hadn’t seen before- all the way up to his ears.

“Me?” That… was not at all what she had expected. To be fair she hadn’t been sure what to expect but that would probably be lower on the list. “You want to… practice eating pussy or something, on me? I just want to make sure I heard you correctly.” Because she sure as hell didn’t know if this was some sort of dream or delusion.

Harry nodded quickly, his ears turning an even deeper shade of red. "Yeah, you. I mean, if you're comfortable with it. I know it's a really fucking weird request and all, I swear I’m not trying to make anything weird with us but... you're my best friend, and I trust you. And I know you'd be honest with me." Y/N was known for being honest even if it wasn’t the most appropriate time to be. He looked at her with those big, hopeful eyes, his bottom lip worried between his teeth. "Please? I promise I'll do everything I can to make it good for you, if you let me. I just really want to get better at this."

It could fuck up the friendship. Y/N knew that, because it was every sort of cliche thing that tells you do not, under any circumstances, hook up with your best friend. But… it had been a while. Harry didn’t ask much of her besides her dinners and to go to some events with him so he wasn’t alone. He listened to her rants and brought her food when she was hungry and didn’t want to go out. He made her bed for her sometimes just because he was near and tidy like that. He swept the kitchen after dinner. He bought tickets to movies and concerts on his card and told her to pay him back whenever she could. He protected her if people acted weird at the rare chance they went out to the bar. Harry was a really fucking good friend, the best she’d ever had.

She also couldn’t lie to herself and say she didn’t think he had a spectacularly pretty mouth and even better hands. They had always been really nice. Soft, long fingers, big palm. The tattoos that trickled down… Fuck. She was going to say yes. Fuck it. “Okay. I guess we can, but I’ve got some rules.”

He blinked, surprised but trying to hide it, his heart racing faster at her surprisingly quick answer. "Rules?" He nodded, leaning forward slightly, completely focused on her words. "Of course. I mean... I'll do anything you say." That came out a bit too smooth, and they both caught the double meaning. He cleared his throat, trying to appear casual and failing miserably. "What are they?" His eyes were fixed on her, his hands folded in his lap to stop them from shaking nervously.

“I mean, I’m being a little dramatic. It’s only a few.” She laughed, leaning back on the couch. “One being we don’t tell anyone. Our friends are already weird about how much time we spend together. Two, you don’t touch me and then another woman. If you find someone else that’s completely fine, but I don’t want her germs and shit on me.” That was not something she liked at all. “If you’re practicing on me, it’s me. I won’t fuck around with other people either, but I don’t fuck with STIs and all that.” It was doubtful he would need to be reminded of that.

“I’m assuming this is going to be a couple times because the way you get good at stuff is practicing. I won’t complain if I get a few orgasms out of this.” She shrugged as if this was a normal thing to be discussing. Best friends having sex. “But the last one is you don’t make things weird after you’re all good with your skills. Don’t make stuff weird.”

"Those are..." He cleared his throat, trying to process everything she had just said. "Those are actually very reasonable rules." He nodded, making sure to emphasize each point so she know he heard her loud and clear. "One: Not telling our friends is smart. Two: Of course, no cheating. We aren’t dating but I’m a one woman type of man. My mother raised me better than that. You know she would kill me." He managed a small smile. "Three: I, uh, plan on practicing. A lot, if you let me." His eyes lingered just a moment too long on her lips, then quickly flicked away.

“Good.” Harry was efficient in most things. It’s exactly why she understood how much it probably bothered the hell out of him to not really be able to get a woman off, or so he thinks. She was just being a good friend, right? helping him out. “So walk me through what you usually do when you bring someone home. We start there. I can tell you if something you’re doing is weird.”

He swallowed nervously, trying to collect his thoughts as he shifted uncomfortably on the couch. "Well, uh... usually I'd start by kissing them, ya know? Get them a little worked up before moving down." He gestured vaguely with his hands, as if physically trailing kisses down an imaginary body. "Then I'd kinda... kiss around the area, maybe use my fingers first to make sure they're wet and all..." He trailed off, wincing as he realized how clinical it sounded when he said it out loud.

“That sounds decent, but kind of like a routine.” Harry was like that, she knew, but sex wasn’t. “Not all women are the same, though. We’re all different. You don’t experiment at all to see where her sensitive spots are? Do you keep kissing to the lips and her cunt?” The question was blunt, but she usually was.

"Well... No, actually. I kinda just do the same thing every time." He ran a hand through his hair nervously, realizing how basic that sounded compared to how she spoke about sex. "And yeah, I guess I do stop kissing once I get down there. Why?" He was listening intently, genuinely curious about her approach. For all his perceived experience with women, he was suddenly feeling very inexperienced in this one area. Something about the way she talked about sex was... different. Confident, like it was no big deal.

“Because women are sensual creatures, Harry. Sure, we have similar biological things that happen but the way we get horny is with our minds. Teasing a little. Dirty talk, if you’re good at it, ease into it. Kissing places that aren’t just the obvious.” Shifting to face him, she grabbed one of his hands and put it on her shoulder. He was definitely nervous. It was a little cute. “I’ll give you a cheat sheet for me. I really like to be kissed under my ear, over my throat. Sometimes a lick or a suck. A bite, if I’m in the mood. I like to be kissed over my stomach, tops of my breasts, inner thighs, hips. They aren’t necessarily obvious, but the exploration is nice.”

Taking his hand, she moved it to her neck and then dragged it down past her tits, down her stomach to the waistband of her joggers. “You can have a general path, but you need to be comfortable deviating from it when that’s what she responds to.”

"Fuck..." The curse slipped out quietly as his breath caught, noticing how comfortable she was with his hand on her body. His fingers lingered at her waistband, acutely aware of the sensitive skin just inches beneath. "I never really thought about it like that. I always just went straight for the pussy." He cleared his throat, realizing how crude that sounded coming out loud. "I mean..." She chuckled at his flustered state, finding it endearing. "So you're saying I should take my time? Like, really tease her out?" He moved his hand slightly, fingertips brushing the bare skin of her lower abdomen just beneath her shirt hem. "Kiss other places, see what makes her squirm?"

His gaze flickered down to where his hand rested, then back up to meet her eyes. There was a new spark of understanding there, like pieces clicking into place. "And if I find somewhere she likes? I should... explore that?"

“Yeah.” Her stomach had jumped as he moved his hand but didn’t say anything about it. “Every person is different. I’m sure you have places you like to be touched that people haven’t tried yet either. Being in tune with your body and hers, being able to read the cues that’s what could be your strength.” It was something a lot of men didn’t bother to take into consideration.

"Like, if she makes a certain noise or tenses up?" He was genuinely intrigued now, his mind racing with possibilities. "What if she pulls my hair or digs her nails into my back?" He shifted his hand lower, fingers splaying out on her stomach curiously. "Does that mean she likes it?" He was so focused on the hypotheticals that he almost missed the way his hand resting on her stomach made her stomach muscles twitch slightly beneath his palm.

“Yes, exactly that. Sometimes you’ll be able to feel her pulse if you’re holding her wrist, or.. Well, if you’ve got your hand around her throat. We’ll talk about proper choking another day, but you can see if her pulse jumps from that.” His hands were perfect for that, honestly, and she shouldn’t let her mind wander. Nope. “The noises she makes, if she pulls you further in, bucks her hips, those are all good signs. Not everyone is extremely vocal, but checking in to make sure she likes it, if she wants you to give more, it can help.

"Checking in?" He repeated, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he tried to wrap his head around the idea. "You mean like... asking her if she likes it?" He shifted his hand lower still, fingertips brushing the hem of her joggers. "Like, 'is this okay?' Or 'do you like this?'" He could see how that might be helpful, especially with quieter partners. "But wouldn't that ruin the moment?" He looked up at her, genuinely curious and seeking approval.

“You don’t have to ask in such a sterile way. You can just say something like ‘does that feel good?’ or ‘that’s nice, baby?’ and see her response. You’ve got a nice voice, Har. Use it.” She gave him the compliment easily. He did need a bit of confidence boosting, that much she could already tell. “Checking in shouldn’t ruin the moment. It’s safe, it’s a sign of a good partner. You’ll figure out how to check in in a less… abrupt way.”

"Right... fuck me." He muttered under his breath, actually feeling slightly embarrassed about how little thought he'd put into this before. "I've been a clueless fuck, haven't I?" He sighed, running his fingers along her waistband more deliberately now, testing how she responded. His heart stuttered slightly when she complimented his voice."So like..." He traced patterns on her lower stomach with his fingertips, almost unconsciously. “Feels good?” Testing out the way she had suggested.

Y/N swallowed, feeling a bit of a shift. He had seemed to be having a good time touching her stomach, the light tracing on her skin making her heat up a little bit. She wasn’t blind- Harry had most definitely gotten hotter over the years, and he was just attractive in general. Though she hadn’t allowed herself to look at him as anything but the quirky best friend he was, getting to see a different side of him was something she was intrigued by.

“Mhm.” She tilted her head slightly to the side. “See? It doesn’t have to be straight into it. Just touches like that can get a girl wet.” It was starting to get to her, weirdly enough. “Tell me about kissing. How do you usually start it?”

"Kissing..." He trailed off, his mind briefly distracted by the way her skin felt beneath his fingers. "Uh... well. I usually start with a simple peck, just to see if they're into it." His other hand came up to gently tilt her chin, exposing her neck to him. "If they seem like I have the go ahead, I'll press my lips to theirs more firmly- it’s kinda hard to explain with words." Being a little bold, he let his thumb brush over her bottom lip absently as he spoke, his gaze fixed on her mouth.

“Well if you’re going to eat me out, I don’t see why you can’t just show me.” Kissing Harry had not been something she had anticipated actually doing, really ever, but she can’t say she hadn’t thought about it. The man had an incredible mouth. Soft looking lips, deep pink, the cute little birthmark, all of it was appealing- it was just that it wasn't a possibility for her prior. “Show me how you do it with them.”

His thumb brushed her bottom lip again, his breath hitching slightly at the idea of kissing her. It was just an exercise, he reminded himself firmly. This was just a dry run, to help him figure out his technique. But as he slowly leaned in, his heart rate picked up, eyes flicking between her lips and onto her eyes. "Like... this." He whispered hoarsely, sliding his hand back into her hair to tilt her head further. His lips pressed to hers gently, just a soft brush at first to test the waters. His lips were soft and warm against hers, the kiss gentle at first. He waited for her to react, to see if she would pull away or lean into it. As she didn't, he took it as his sign to keep going, slowly increased the pressure, his lips molding to hers in a soft, sweet kiss.

Feeling emboldened when she began to press her lips back to his, Harry peppered her lips with a series of short, sweet kisses. His lips brushed against hers once, twice, three times in rapid succession, each kiss a little firmer than the last. He could feel her starting to relax into it, her lips softening beneath his own. Encouraged, he let his tongue flick out briefly, a teasing taste before pulling back slightly to gauge her reaction. She tasted like the lemon lime soda she’d had with dinner, a sweet surprise. All of this had been. He hadn’t been sure if she would say yes and if this would potentially make things weird, but thankfully Y/N seemed at least a little receptive to it. His hand remained in her hair, holding her gently as he studied her face for any signs of discomfort or approval. “Okay?”

Y/N knew he would be a good kisser, but he was playing it safe. However, even with the safety still on, she knew he had it in him. He wasn’t as shy as he had been before and that had surprised her a bit when he had gripped her to keep her in place. That had been exceptionally hot. At least to her. “Yeah. You did well.” She cleared her throat to rid herself of the rasp. “You’re playing it safe, though. Here.”

Swinging her knee over his lap, she pushed him back against the back of the couch so his posture was more relaxed. “You’re stiff. Pun not intended.” She snickered, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You’ve got to relax a little bit. I don’t know if it’s just me or you get anxious when you kiss other girls too. The thing you did holding my face still? That was hot. It’s gonna depend on the girl but you seem to have an idea on what to do.” Placing her hands on his broad shoulders, she settled her weight on top of him. Hm.. he really had been doing well at the gym. “You okay with me on your lap?”

Harry blinked in surprise, trying to catch up to the fact that she was currently in his lap. Closer than she usually got to him, voluntarily hopping on up. “Y-yes! I mean, yes, please. Go on." His voice cracked slightly at the end, betraying his nerves. He wasn’t sure if it was from the unexpected closeness or just the sudden shift in dynamic between them. Her weight felt nice on his lap, but besides a cuddle or two this was definitely the closest they’d ever been. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be nervous.”

Y/N nearly cooed. His frown was precious, really. He was precious. Sliding a hand over his jaw, she tilted his head to meet her eyes. “It’s okay to be nervous, but it’s just me. I’m not going to judge you. You asked for my help, and I’m gonna give it to you.” Slipping her fingers in his hair, she made herself familiar with touching him. They hadn’t been super touchy to begin with but she knew Harry liked physical touch. He was clingy with their other friends physically, but he had always respected that Y/N typically wasn’t the type. Now though? It was free game. “You can touch me how you want. Get familiar with me.”

Y/N wasn’t the type to truly judge if you really needed her and he knew that. Hell, that was why he had come to her in the first place- but she was intimidatingly beautiful. It set him off to be even more nervous. His mind briefly wondered if this was how he was in bed- overthinking everything- maybe that was why he didn’t get calls back.

“Shit.” He muttered softly, then snapped back to attention as she told him to touch her. He wanted to do that, he had always wanted to but Y/N only really liked to be cuddled when drunk. When she was, she would be giggly and happy, hold on to his hand and swing them back and forth, especially when he helped her get into the car. It had always made him feel special, but this? It was a privilege to touch her. Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms loosely around her, testing the waters. “Like this?” He spread his fingers out slightly on her back, his thumbs nearly brushing the bottom of her bra strap under her top.

“Yeah, that’s nice.” Leaning into him, she let her fingers run over the rims of his glasses. “These are cute. I like them.” His new glasses suited him. They were a little bit thinner than his old ones and it was a tad bit more modern. She hadn’t been lying to him when she said he had the hot n’ nerdy advantage. “You’ve got really nice hands, Har. Use them.”

He blushed slightly at the compliment on his glasses, his fingers tightening slightly on her waist possessively. "You really think?" He asked softly, tilting his head to the side to give her better access to his face. He liked when she did little things like that, adjusting his glasses or messing with his hair. Maybe it was because he felt touch starved, particularly from her, but the simple brushes of her fingers made him feel that heat in his lower stomach. It was so simple but the air felt a lot thicker than it had before. He took a deep breath, steeling his nerves to be more bold as he slowly dragged his hands over her hips.

“Mhm.” She nodded, gently running her nails over his scalp. “See? I’m not too scary.” Though she had to admit that the feeling of his big hands pawing at her and running over her hips and waist made her feel a little bit giddy. Maybe she could attribute it to the fact it really had been a while since she had been touched in a way that wasn’t friendly, but her body liked the way it felt. “You’re being polite, which is nice. But as cute as your little gentleman thing is, I know you want to grab my ass, Harry. You can do it.”

Harry's breath caught as she said that, his eyes darkening slightly behind his glasses. He had definitely been thinking about it, doubted there was anyone who saw it and didn’t want to, but he hadn't wanted to overstep. Hearing her give him permission was like a green light and he couldn't help himself. His hands squeezed her hips before slowly sliding down to grip her ass, his fingers spreading out to knead the soft flesh. "Fuck..." He muttered under his breath, his voice hoarse. "You're so soft."

His grip on her ass tightened reflexively as he pulled her more firmly against him, a low groan escaping his lips. The heat of her pressed deliciously against his hardening cock, and he couldn't help but roll his hips slightly, seeking friction. "Shit, Y/N...Sorry. I don't want to get carried away." He breathed, his face flushing darker. Here he was, rock hard with his best friend in his lap, from a little ass grab. It was embarrassing how quickly he had gotten worked up- But God, it felt good.

There was a sigh out of her mouth as she felt him start to relax and do what he wanted to do. This was closer to where she wanted him to get, but she hadn’t expected it to feel as good just being rubbed over his lap. “There you go- it’s okay.” She whispered. “That’s hot. You want to show her that you’re eager for her.” With her grip in his hair, she tugged his head back slightly to look at his pink cheek. “You’re a faster learner, I know. But you remember what I told you? Try kissing my neck. I told you the spots I like.”

His eyes fluttered shut as she tugged on his hair, his throat exposed to her. "Yeah. I can do it. S’long as you feel good, m’happy..." He whispered, his voice rougher than she had ever heard it. Leaning into her touch, he let her guide his face into her neck and followed instructions quickly to press open mouth kisses to her skin. He started at the spot just below her ear, as she had told him about, sucking gently on the soft skin. His hands continued to grab at her ass, pulling her flush against him as he kissed and sucked his way down her neck.

The kisses trailed lower, his lips hot and damp against her neck. Each press of his mouth made chills rise on her skin, his stubble lightly scratching her sensitive skin in the most delicious way. As he sucked gently on a particularly sweet spot, she couldn't help but tip her head to give him better access, a soft gasp escaping her lips. None of this had been expected, but liking his mouth on her skin hadn’t been. Maybe it really was just the fact it had been a while but… it felt better than her last hookup.

Harry was her friend and she trusted him. She felt safe, and that probably made her feel a lot more comfortable, just as it probably did for him. But having his hands all over her was something her whole body was responding to. A quick learner, he had realized how much she liked feeling the friction and did something about it. His strong hands gripped her ass harder, pulling her over his lap and letting feel the throb of him through their clothes.

He could feel her getting heavier in his lap, her breath growing shallow as he continued his adoration of her neck. It felt amazing, yes, but he was in a bit of awe. Harry really should have known that Y/N didn’t half ass anything. She was thorough in everything she did- apparently it extended to teaching him how to please a woman. His hands roamed freely as he adjusted, taking a risk in spreading her legs wider over his lap to better fit her between his thighs.

"Am I doing okay?" He mumbled into her neck, his voice muffled. "Is this warming you up enough? Or should I be doing more?" His fingers flexed on her hips before sliding down, spreading out to rest on her thighs.

“You’re doing good.” The thickness in her throat made her voice a bit raspier, unsure how she had managed to let herself get to this point. It felt really fucking good. His hands strong and so fucking big, splaying over her thighs. The heat of them seeming to radiate through her skin and down to her bones, she wanted to lean into that touch.

God, she was touch deprived.

He had done a good job in making her panties damp and it felt almost embarrassing that a little bit of heavy petting and kissing on the neck had her pussy throbbing, but she couldn’t exactly deny it. Lightly rubbing herself against him again to get more of the friction her body was demanding, she closed her eyes and let her head lean back before she admitted it to him. “You’re making me wet.”

His whole body seemed to tense up at her whispered admission, his hands flexing on her as he took a breath. "You are?" He whispered back, his voice not able to contain his surprise. He had hoped he was doing something right- especially after all the apparent failures he’d had- but hearing that she was wet from just his touch and kisses was... something else. He wasn't used to being this effective. His ego swelled slightly, making him bolder. "Can I... touch more?" He asked hesitantly, his fingers inching higher up her thighs. "Can I feel what I’m doing to you?"

His words had her gritting his teeth. Where the fuck did that come from, and why did it made her throb? Letting out a breath through her nose, she opened her eyes to look at him. It shocked her a little, seeing his lips swollen and eyes a little hazy, glasses a tiny bit crooked. He looked disheveled in a way he usually didn’t. Of course he had always been hot but this look in particular, knowing it was caused by her specifically? It fueled her ego too.

“Y-Yeah.” She nodded, clearing her throat. “Yeah, you can. That’s what I’d tell you to do next. You have good instincts.” It was a mystery to her how Harry, who was good at almost everything, had struggled to make a girl cum- but she was the teacher now. “You can slip your hand into the waistband.”

"Fuck. Thank you." Harry muttered under his breath. He couldn't believe he was actually about to touch Y/N intimately, after all these years of being just friends… It was insane. He wasn’t unable to see how insanely fucking hot she was, that had never been an issue. He’d had a few questionable wet dreams about her- but the actual idea of ever touching her hadn’t come up until recently, and he was liking it a bit more than he probably should be for a lesson.

With trembling fingers, he slowly slipped one large hand down the front of her joggers, sliding it along her stomach until he reached the top of her panties. "Can... can I? Under them?" His breath was warm against her neck as he asked permission, albeit a bit jumbled, waiting for her nod before slowly slipping under the final piece of fabric that kept him from her most intimate place.

At her nod, he released a deep breath through his nose. His heart was racing as he slowly pushed his hand under her panties, the back of his fingers brushing against the soft, damp fabric. He could feel the heat emanating from between her legs, his own body responded accordingly. His cock was pulsing in his briefs, surely starting to make a bit of a mess. "Holy shit." Harry breathed, his voice shaking slightly as he explored her with his hand. His fingers dipped lower, feeling the slickness coating her folds. “You really are fucking soaked.” Tilting his head up with an awed smile, he met her eyes. “I did that t’you?”

“Mhm.” It felt slightly harder to breathe as she looked at his eyes, seeing the pride in his face, feeling his fingers cupping her wet pussy and giving a little squeeze. It had her inhaling sharply, fingers on his shoulder digging into his shirt. “You did. I- I want you to show me what you do when you get to this stage with the girls you hook up with.” It was taking everything in her not to rock against his hand, staying still as she tried to ground herself.

His fingers trembled slightly as he tried to mimic what he thought he had seen in porn or heard from his friends. He had forgotten what to do. Another symptom of his damn nerves taking over. He roughly spread her lips apart, his thumb pressing against her clit as his middle finger pushed inside her soaked pussy. "Shit... I'm... I'm not really sure what to do..." He admitted, his voice shaking as he started to rub her clit in slightly sporadic circles while thrusting his finger inside her. It was clumsy and a bit rough, but he was trying his best.

“Okay- alright. Stop.” Making sure to keep her voice soft and not like she was scolding him, she held his face in her hands. “You’re jumping right into it a bit too fast, Honey.” The nickname fell from her lips a bit too easily but she decided to ignore that. “You need to ease into it. Find a rhythm. Pull your fingers out.” She instructed, gently stroking over his cheekbone. It was obvious he was embarrassed from his flushed cheeks, and she didn’t want that. He wasn’t doing too badly, but he’d asked for a lesson. That’s what she was going to give him.

“Hey… Look at me.” Tilting his chin up, she gave him a soft smile. “S’okay, Har. You came to me for help. I’m gonna help you. You didn’t do anything inherently wrong.” Still, she could see he felt some type of way about it, and she knew he needed a bit more comforting. Leaning in, her lips pressed against his in a soft peck. It was more intimate than it should have been, but she was again, going to ignore that. “Hi.” Smoothing the skin under his eye, she gave him a giggle. “Okay, so… You’ve got incredible hands. They’re so nice… and I know you can be good with them. So let’s start slow, okay? Do slow circles over my clit with your thumb. Nice n’gentle.”

His shoulders had dropped slightly after her small kiss, ignoring the flutter he’d felt in his chest from it. He hadn't realized how tense he had gotten, like he had failed the test- but this was Y/N. Y/N was safe, she was kind despite how blunt she was, and she was helping him. There was no evidence of her making fun of him in her tone, simply sweet. Unusual, maybe, but it seemed like she knew what she needed.

"Okay." He mumbled softly, his cheeks slightly less red. Her compliments helped a bit- He had always had confidence issues when it came to this. "Like this?" He asked shyly, his large thumb slowly making small, loose circles over her clit. He was careful to keep his touch gentle like she asked, watching her face for any signs that he was doing it wrong again.

He felt her body tense pleasantly at his touch, a soft exhale escaping her lips. Encouraged by her response, he maintained the slow circles, his thumb brushing over her clit with deliberate gentleness. Her hips gave a tiny involuntary roll against his hand, seeking more of the pleasant friction. Harry's fingers twitched slightly, wanting to increase his pace but remembering her instruction. He resisted the urge, keeping the rhythm maddeningly slow.

“Yeah. That’s so nice.” She whispered. It was experimenting, letting him explore and get the hang of it. “Every woman is different. Some people will want it faster, some will want it rougher, but I like this to start.” She admitted, leaning into him. “Here.” Dragging the cropped top off of her body, she exposed the lacy bralette she had heard good reviews for to him. It was quite nice, holding her tits up in a way she hasn’t expected- but she’d chosen correctly today, unknowing that a man would be able to see it firsthand. “When you’re doing this, you keep kissing her. Licking. Sucking her nipples, if she’s into it.”

His eyes roamed over her bralette-clad breasts, the delicate lace contrasting with her soft, smooth skin. He felt his mouth watering, the urge to taste her growing stronger as he watched them move as she breathed- but thankfully, thank god, she had given the go ahead to touch. To taste. "Okay. I definitely can do that." He murmured, his thumb continuing its slow circles on her clit as he leaned in to press open-mouthed kisses to her collarbone.

His lips trailed lower, his kisses growing more intentional. The lace of her bralette tickled his lips as he worked his way down. He could see her nipples hardening beneath the fabric, making his mouth water. His thumb continued its steady, slow rhythm on her clit, causing her to shift slightly in his lap. It was surreal to feel her breathing, hear it so close up as he kissed over her pounding heart.

He was doing this to her. Harry was making her wet, making her squirm. The confidence the breathy moan she let out had him pushing for more. With one hand, he gently pushed the lace down to expose one breast fully, making her gasp softly. His lips immediately found her hard nipple, surrounding it completely and sucking gently.

“Oh, Jesus.” The words were pathetically, a mewl that came from the back of her throat as his hot tongue lapped over her swollen nipple. The suction was light, soft, just like his thumb on her clit- and it was enough to make her feel like she was going insane. “T-That’s really fucking nice.” She praised, raising her hand to card it through his fluffy curls. He must have just washed them, they always looked pretty when he did.

Hearing her moan like that, praising him so freely, sent a jolt straight to his cock. He hummed around her nipple, the vibrations deliberate this time. His tongue flicked over the hardened bud before he switched to sucking harder, desperate to elicit another gorgeous noise from her.

“Yeah- like that.” Rocking her hips slightly into his hand, she pulled his head closed onto her breast. It felt too good, too hot to stop. Yeah, this was a lesson, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t enjoy teaching him. “Some girls won’t get much enjoyment out of this. Their nipples aren’t sensitive to it as much. If they aren’t responsive, you can keep it moving- or a-ask them if they want you to keep going.” Her voice was higher in pitch than she had meant for it to be but it wasn’t possible for her to control that right now. “I really like it, though. So it’s doing the job. You can rub my clit a little harder- give it more pressure.”

Her words had him nearly purring around her nipple. The little thrill went up his spine as her hips rolled into his hand, knowing that now he had a decent idea of what he was doing and could feel less nervous about it. Listening to instructions like he had promised he would, Harry added more pressure to his thumb, rubbing it harder over her little bundle of nerves. It was impossible not to feel her getting slicker against his palm, her breast filled his mouth perfectly, his tongue swirling around the peak before sucking it back between his lips. Almost overstimulation for his mind, but he wanted to keep going. He was trying his best to be good with his hands- he really was- But damn. Her body was so responsive.

Y/N wanted to continue this as long as she could. She wanted to feel him get more and more confident with it, but he seemed to have a grasp on it. There would probably be… a few times where they’d get to do this, and if she was honest? If they kept this up, she was going to cum and be too sensitive for his mouth. And by the way he kissed? She wanted to feel his mouth.

“Mmmm.. Har, Honey.” She whispered, gently tugging his mouth off of her tits with a gentle tug of his hair. “Hi. Hello.” It was stupidly cute, the slightly lost look on his face. “S’okay. You were doing good. A bit too good actually. I just think that we should get to teaching you how to eat pussy. I’ll cum if you keep going.”

He blinked rapidly, a slightly dazed look on his face as he tried to process why he’d been pulled away when he’d obviously been making her feel good. It felt incredible to have her nipple in his mouth, hearing her soft noises of pleasure. The haze of lust in his mind slowly cleared at her words, realizing she was probably right, even if he selfishly wanted to keep going. "Oh..." He murmured softly, a slight blush spreading across his cheeks. "Right. Okay." He adjusted his glasses, trying to regain some semblance of focus.

“Good.” She stroked his hair back with a tender smile, pulling him to kiss her again before taking a look at his face. “I’m gonna lay back, like this.” Sliding off his lap, Y/N settled against the arm of the couch pulling a pillow to rest her head on. The position had her sitting up slightly, but gave a more relaxed vision. Hopefully that would have him feeling calmer. “And you’re gonna lay between my legs once I get these off.” Her bottoms needed to get off immediately.

When he sat back, she tugged on the waistband and squirmed to get them off, haphazardly kicking them to the floor- along with her panties. There wasn’t much hesitance in showing her body to him. Y/N liked her body, she felt proud of it, and she embraced it. There was always those nerves though, being intimate with someone new- even if it was for a lesson. Spreading her thighs, she placed a hand over her cunt and motioned for him to lay down. “Do you remember what I said, Honey? About teasing?”

He nodded slowly, trying to remember all the instructions she had given him. "Tease first..." He murmured softly, adjusting his glasses nervously as he positioned himself between her thighs. Using his elbows to keep him up a bit, he swallowed the lump in his throat as he watched her spread them wider for his body to fit between. "Kiss, lick, don't go straight for the... the main event?" He asked hesitantly, his hands resting on her inner thighs.

“Very good.” Her face lit up as he looked at her for reassurance. “It’s the little things that get me. You know? The soft brushing of fingers on the thighs, the stomach, right above my pussy…” She trailed off with a sigh. “Kiss my thighs, Har. Can you do that for me?” Taking her hand off her cunt, she properly revealed it for the first time for his eyes to see.

Harry felt the breath catch in his throat as the sight of her bare pussy caught him off guard. It wasn’t lost on him that he was very lucky to be able to experience this. Y/N was beautiful and he adored her, but there was a new appreciation in him for how kind she was being. This wasn’t something you could just ask anyone. "Fuck..." He whispered, his hands squeezing her inner thighs gently as he leaned down to press a soft kiss to the delicate skin. "Like this?" He murmured, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her sensitive skin, his lips brushing over the crease where her leg met her hip.

“Mhm.”

He could see her body relax into the touch, her thighs parting a bit more to give him better access. Her skin was so soft and warm under his lips, and he could smell her scent growing stronger the closer he got to her center. Harry took his time, pressing gentle kisses along her inner thighs, his hands brushing along the skin in a featherlight touch. He could hear her breathing growing a bit shallower, her chest rising and falling a bit faster. It emboldened him to continue, to keep teasing her like she had told him to.

"You're... you're doing so good." Y/N breathed out, one hand coming to rest in his hair as she spread her legs wider, hooking one over his shoulder. She could feel herself growing wetter with each kiss, more aroused knowing he was taking his time to learn her body. Such a good little student. "Lower. Just a bit..." she whispered, guiding his head with gentle fingers. Her other hand drifted down to her breast, plucking at her nipple as she watched him between her legs. "Kiss right above my cunt.”

Eagerly following her guidance, he moved up to press a soft kiss just above her pussy, his lips brushing against her soft curls. He could feel the heat radiating off of her, smell her arousal. It was intoxicating, and he found himself nuzzling into her a bit, his nose pressing against her. "Fuck, you smell so good..." he murmured, his voice muffled against her skin. He pressed another kiss right at the top of her slit.

“Oh fuck- that was good.” She gasped in surprise. “That’s filthy. Rubbing yourself against me but… it’s so hot. Showing how eager you are to make the person you’re gonna pleasure, it’s really sexy.” Brushing his hair out of his face, she felt the heat of his breath over her cunt. “Tell me you want to eat me out. Talk to me.”

"I do..." His voice came out huskier than he'd planned, his eyes flicking up to meet hers briefly before focusing back on her exposed pussy. "Fuck, Y/N... I really want t’taste you." Without waiting for further instruction, he used his fingers to spread her open for him and pressed a gentle kiss directly to her clit, making her gasp loudly. "You're so fucking wet… Can’t believe I did this." His finger traced down her slit slowly, as if showing instead of telling how aroused she was.

"Your cunt is fucking glistening. I can already tell your pussy is sweet..." He muttered against her skin, his tongue peeking out to give her one soft lick. Tasting her for the first time, savoring the flavor on his tongue, he was proving that fact. She was perfect to taste- a pussy like this deserved the best of the best, and he wanted her to show him exactly what she liked. Y/N moaned loudly, her hips rolling slightly, a clear indication that she liked what he was doing. "Yeah? You like that? S’good for you?" Harry asked, his voice encouraging as he licked her again, this time a bit slower, applying a bit more pressure.

“Uh-huh… Shit.” She cussed, feeling his tongue swipe up and over her clit. “D-Do what you want. Let me see where it’s going wrong because right now from my perspective, you’re doing perfectly.” Why would he even need help? Was it a ploy to fuck her? That was doubtful considering Harry really, really wasn’t like that. The worst part was that she was liking it a lot more than she was supposed to. If she was training him on how to pleasure how she liked it, it was going to be hard not to lose it.

Harry smiled slightly at her words, feeling a bit more confident in his actions. He started slowly, his tongue flicking out to lap at her gently, his fingers keeping her open for him to fully access her. He could feel her wetness spread onto his chin, and he couldn't help but push himself, wrapping his lips around her clit and sucking softly. He looked up at her, checking her face for any signs of discomfort or pleasure.

He was learning, trying to remember how she had said she liked it. His tongue swiped up again, swirling around her entrance slowly before pushing inside slightly. "Like this?" He mumbled softly, his chin wet with her juices. He kept his movements slow and unhurried, his touch soft. He was tentative, like he was scared of messing up. "Is this good?"

“I.. Normally would say that’s a bit fast to push your tongue in but fuck, that felt nice.” She giggled breathlessly. “Here…” Her fingers were careful as she took his glasses off and tossed them further down the couch so they wouldn’t get in the way- or worse, crushed. “Wanted to see those pretty eyes.” Her fingers kept the hair out of his eyes as she felt a few kisses over her mound, in the thatch of curls above her cunt. His face was slightly wet, but it was erotic. “That feels so nice. The kisses…” She hummed. “You have the instincts. Don’t think too much about it. Doing things like that- That’s good. Just make me feel good. See what I respond to.”

Harry blinked owlishly at her, surprised by the sudden loss of his glasses but pleased when he realized she liked his eyes. His face flushed slightly at the praise, his tongue darting out to lick over her clit hesitantly. "Okay. You’ll tell me if y’don’t like it, yeah?" He asked, his breath ghosting over her sensitive flesh. He leaned in, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her pussy, the sound drowning out the tv playing at a lowered volume.

She nodded slowly, watching him between her thighs. He was almost shy like this, his face buried in her pussy as he kissed around it sweetly. His lips were soft, his kisses unhurried. He spread her wider with his thumbs, his tongue poking out to give her one slow lick from bottom to top. Her hips shifted slightly, chasing the feeling. "You taste so good." He mumbled softly, his voice sending vibrations against her. “I didn’t expect you t’get so wet for me. Soaking my chin. I love it.”

His words seemed to have struck a chord in her, judging by how sharply her breath hitched and her legs involuntarily tried to press around his head. She visibly flustered, clearly flattered by his filthy compliments- and shocked. Had he always had that in him? "Harry..." She whimpered, the sound of his wet mouth against her flesh combined with his sweet, dirty words making her pulse against his tongue. "You... should be careful with that mouth." She whispered, her hand tangling in his hair again, guiding him slightly without putting any pressure.

He chuckled softly, the vibrations traveling pleasantly through her core. "Why's that?" He murmured teasingly against her skin, his tongue darting out for another long, slow lick. He could feel her practically melting under his mouth, her thighs quivering slightly. This was how it was supposed to be. Maybe it was because he didn’t feel as anxious with her, they had repor, he truly trusted her- but it felt like he had a better sense of her body and what she liked.

She’d given him clues and tips, but he was finding out on his own what she liked. It was something he was enjoying the longer he did it, feeling more eager to bury his face in her pretty pussy and never leave. Especially when he felt her hand tighten in his hair and her body shift to get more. "Worried I might make you cum too hard?" His tone was playful, a little more confident now, and that was dangerous for her. Feeling him nipp gently at her clit, soothing it with a flicker of his tongue immediately after was enough proof of that. Looking up at her he tried to see if that was okay, but the noise she let out had him feeling fairly sure it was.

"Fuck, Harry... You smartass.” The giggle turned into a pitched moan very quickly after though, her back arching as he sucked on her clit in retaliation, her hips rolling against his mouth. Harry could feel her getting closer, her pussy getting wetter. He knew the signs, she was teaching him. His hands gripped her hips tightly, holding her in place as he licked into her eagerly. She was so responsive, her body reacting to his every move. He felt powerful, in control- and it was a heady feeling.

"Jesus, your pussy is perfect." He mumbled between kisses, not caring if she could hear him. He could see her getting close- her thighs trembling, her breathing quickening, and the way her fingers were now tight in his hair. That was his goal. He wanted to make her cum so fucking bad it hurt. His cock was a mess in his trousers but he didn’t care. All he wanted was to make her cum, hard. He wanted to clean it up as he made himself messy. "Do you want my fingers inside you?" He whispered, not missing a beat with his mouth returning to his suckling. He kept the pace steady but increased the pressure just slightly, wanting to hear her response.

"Yes..." Y/N breathed out the single word, squirming helplessly against his face. His mouth felt incredible and he obviously felt better about what he was doing now, taking more risks that only worked out in her favor. "So good, honey. You’re doing so good, your mouth is perfect."

How had he been bad with these other women? All it took was a little bit of instruction with a soft voice and he was licking into her like she was his last fucking meal.

She gasped, her nails nearly digging into his scalp as he slipped one finger inside her easily. "Your fingers are so big. Holy shit..." She panted, grinding down on his hand. "More..." She begged, knowing damn well she hadn’t wanted to be this needy for it but god damn. He was a good student. A very fast learner. "Please." The woman’s voice cracked with need. "Harry, please..."

He curled his fingers slightly inside her, hitting that spot he’d read about but had never actually found on a woman before. He must be doing it right, because she was practically sobbing his name, her hips bucking against his hand. He added another finger, stretching her slowly but surely, his tongue never stopping its slow, deliberate lapping.

It was obvious what she liked, what made her feel good, and he wanted to keep doing it. Memorize it so he knew how to do it perfectly next time- or continue practicing until he had it down. His head felt fuzzy with the need to get her there, to make her feel hot under the skin like he had been clueless about before. "Look at me." he mumbled against her, his voice muffled but insistent. He wanted to see her face contort with pleasure, wanted to watch her get closer.

It felt like her entire world had narrowed down to his fingers inside her and his tongue on her clit. It really had been far too long since she’d been touched and even longer since she had been eaten out with this amount of vigor. Maybe it hadn’t ever happened prior to him, but her brain wasn’t fully working. She was so close, teetering on the edge and he just... he just kept pushing her. Adding more, curling just right, licking and sucking in a rhythm that seemed designed to drive her insane.

Y/‘ couldn’t see him fully, not with his face buried smugly between her thighs, but she managed to lift her head, her eyes finding his own as he had demanded. The intensity in his gaze, the desperate need, it was too much. “Just like that, you’re going t’make me cum. Just like that, keep it like that- fuck.” Her groan seemed angry but it was anything but. She was worked over and sulking at how good it felt. “Shit, you love eating pussy. Don’t you, Harry? Just needed s-someone to show you how they like it.”

"Fuck yeah." He breathed against her, his eyelids drooping with pleasure at her accusation. He loved this, every fucking second. The slick sounds of her arousal, the way her pussy clenched around his fingers, the taste, how she grabbed at his hair, the sounds she made, the changes in her breathing, her squirming, the way her words slurred a little bit, the pulsing against his tongue.

God. Harry fucking loved it- he just didn’t know it could be this good. Addicting.

The vibrations as he groaned happily between her lips had to be adding something extra. "Knew I'd love it. Jus’ want to be able to make you feel good."

"Cum on my face baby, okay? Just let go. I wanna taste you." He whispered hoarsely, pressing a sloppy kiss to her clit before sucking it back into his mouth. His fingers curled again and again inside her, hitting that elusive spot over and over as she dripped all over his fingers and down the back of his hand. He wanted to make her shatter, wanted to feel her cum all over his face and fingers like he had been working toward.

There was no way she could even respond properly. The constant stimulation to her g-spot, his repeated sucking on her clit, the way he sloppily ate her cunt with little regard of the mess she was making on his face- the only thing he seemed to give a fuck about was making her cum. Who was she to take that from him?

Her body tensed, her back arching as she let out a long, drawn-out moan. It was a sound of pure pleasure, her entire being focused on the overwhelming sensation of him working her over. She came hard, her pussy clamping down on his fingers as she gushed all over his face and hand. Her hand was tight in his locks, tugging as a garbled moan left her mouth and she attempted to writhe. He kept her held still as he moaned loudly against her.

In fact, Harry didn’t stop. Even as she came, he kept eating her, his fingers still curled inside her as he lapped up her cum, cleaning her up. He was fucking starving for it, for the taste and the sound and the feeling of her losing control. He sucked and licked her pussy, feeling it spasming occasionally, until he was certain he had cleaned up every last drop- And her weak push of her hand against his head. Only then did he slowly pull his fingers out, his face and hand coated in her.

She was a goddess, slumped back against the cushions with a flushed, dazed expression. Harry couldn't help but kiss her inner thigh as it twitched before wiping his mouth. "Fuck, you’re amazing." The man murmured. Crawling up her body, he claimed her lips in a messy kiss, letting her taste herself. “Thank you.” It was mumbled between lazy kisses. “Thank you, Thank you.”

His hands roamed over her as he continued to kiss her sloppily, his body heavy on top of hers. He was still fully dressed, his erection painfully trapped in his pants. "Y/N... I’m sorry, but can I?" He asked softly, his fingers already working at the button of his jeans, his intent clear. "I gotta cum. Can I cum on your cunt? Please?” If he wasn’t so horny he would be embarrassed for doing this, but he was losing it. When it died down, he would definitely be embarrassed for how insane he sounded, but he couldn’t help it. Maybe the lack of blood flow to the head, it was going directly to the other.

“Shit.” Y/N laughed weakly, her body feeling like pins and needles as it came down from the orgasm. The idea was one she had considered, especially with how good he had listened- a reward. “Yeah, Honey. As a reward.” She sighed, leaning her head up further. “I wanna watch.”

He almost whined at her words, practically tearing his jeans open wide enough to pull out his stiff cock. He pushed his pants down towards his calves, staying there between her spread legs. His hand gripped his dick tightly, squeezing as he looked up at her face from his spot between her legs. "Yeah- yeah, please watch. I love being watched.” His hips moved forward unconsciously as he ran his cock over her, the head of his dick smearing pre-cum all over her cunt.

“Cute little exhibitionist.” Y/N cooed, running her hand over her stomach. “Go ahead. You’ve got such a pretty cock, but it looks like it hurts.” Her lips formed a soft pout. “Stroke yourself and cum all over that pussy, Harry.”

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." He chanted under his breath, his hand moving faster over his shaft. With his tip pressing against her clit, he ran it up and down her slit. "You're so pretty. Your cunt is beautiful- all of you, so fucking gorgeous." He complimented her, his words coming out in short gasps. It was so hot, the way her lips spread around him, how she looked all fucked out and messy from his mouth. "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum all over you, baby."

Y/N looked up at him with a soft, encouraging smile, her eyes staring into his with that tinge of desire. "Cum for me, Harry. Cum all over my pretty little pussy. I wanna see it, I wanna see you lose it." Her hand moved down to spread herself, holding herself open for him. "You've been so good, so obedient. You deserve it. Such a good student, a fast learner… You can have it. Cum on my cunt." Her voice was gentle but commanding, the perfect blend of sweet and dirty that had him right on the edge.

"Fuck, Y/N..." Harry whimpered, his eyes fluttering shut as her words pushed him over the edge. With a final thrust of his hips, he came undone. He felt the first spurt of his hot, sticky cum hit her pussy lips, coating them in his release. He groaned loudly, his body shuddering as he pumped out rope after rope of cum, covering her cunt completely. "Oh my god... Oh my god."

Even as he finished cumming, a few last spurts dribbling out to make a mess across her lower stomach, he couldn't look away from where his cum coated her pussy lips, right in her thatch curls and the surrounding skin. It was obscene, filthy, and he loved it. Y/N had made him lose his mind a bit, but he didn’t really want to find it.

Breathing heavily, he finally met her gaze with a slightly embarrassed but mostly pleased grin. "Holy fuck, that was hot." He murmured, swallowing hard. "Never done that before. Came so fucking hard..."

"Good, cause you made a mess." She giggled, watching him as his chest heaved. The sight of his stomach and abs glistened with a light sheen of sweat- his hair was ruffled and he looked like he’d had a workout instead of jerking off on her body. "You like that, I think. Making a mess." She asked softly, watching as he continued to stroke himself slowly, milking himself. Her eyes were drawn back to his dick. It really was beautiful- and really fucking big. “Where the hell were you hiding that? God damn.”

He couldn't help but chuckle at her comment, glancing down at his slowly softening dick with a smirk. "Guess I just needed the right inspiration, huh?" He teased lightly, finally releasing his grip on himself and leaning forward to rest his forearms on either side of her head, caging her in slightly. His face was mere inches from hers now, his glasses gone and his hair disheveled in the sexiest way possible. “Just need t’do this before we clean up and act normal again. Don’t yell at me.”

His mouth claimed hers slowly, lips moving softly against hers. He licked into her mouth slowly, like he was savoring her taste, his body half covering hers. His hand cupped her cheek as he deepened the kiss slowly, like he was trying to imprint himself onto her. Just as quick as it started though, it was over. She shouldn’t have been so sad about that. He pulled back slowly, his forehead resting against hers. His eyes opened slowly to find her watching him softly, their lips still wet and swollen from the kiss. He grinned slightly, licking his lips again. “See? Not so bad.”

“Yeah.” She laughed, feeling dazed. Who the fuck was this? And why did he kiss so good it made her toes curl? Who was this and what had they done to her best friend? “I think your problem isn’t that you don’t have skill. Naturally you seem to get it. I think you’ve just gotten into your own head and you think too much.” She had been a safe person and it was easier for him to lose that anxiety with her, knowing she had already agreed to teach him.

“It can be hard to perform if you’re not able to properly get into it. Your dick can be hard as nails, but your mind not being in it will be a mood killer and they’re gonna know.” The smile on her face was slightly sad but she knew it was what he had to hear. “Because honestly? I haven’t orgasmed like that in ages. All it took was a few tweaks and you had it down. Maybe you just aren’t a hookup guy. Did that feel a lot different than the other people?” Maybe he needed someone who could openly communicate. The expectation of someone just knowing wasn’t always fair.

"Yeah." He hesitated, shifting slightly to prop himself up on one elbow next to her. His other hand traced patterns on her stomach absentmindedly. "It was... different." He seemed to struggle with the words for a moment. "With those other girls, I was always nervous. Overthinking every single fucking thing. Like you said." He glanced at her face, a slight blush forming across his cheeks. "With you... it felt natural. Real. And fuck, listening to you moan like that… Where did those lungs come from?"

“You freak!” She laughed, pushing his shoulder to get him to sit up. Adjusting her bralette back over her breasts she didn’t bother with the bottoms yet, because she really needed to go clean up. Secretly she was pleased that she had been different. It was so cliche to say it, but she wanted to be different than them. She just… wasn’t quite sure why yet. Her brain hadn’t come back down to earth fully and she couldn’t be bothered to truly question it. “You won’t need many lessons on how to pleasure a woman with results like that, I’m telling you that. Good job.” Reaching out, she squished his cheeks with a soft coo before he shot her a look.

"Oi!" He laughed, swatting her hand away playfully but with a big smile on his face. "Don't treat me like a puppy. And..." He hesitated, reaching up to cup her face gently, his thumb brushing her lower lip. "Did it really feel that good? I mean." His voice dropped to a slightly embarrassed whisper. "Am I actually good at this stuff?" For someone who had just made her orgasm so hard, he suddenly seemed insecure again. Like he needed validation. "I know you don’t lie like that, but it just feels weird. Cause everyone else seemed disappointed… I thought I’d be completely awful.”

“Oh, H.” She frowned at his vulnerability. “It was really good for me. I think maybe you just need some lessons on how to let go and relax when you’re being intimate. And I’m happy to teach you that.” Brushing her hand over his stubble she gave his chin a pinch. “Trust me. I’d tell you if you needed a lot of work. It can be hard for women to cum from oral sometimes too. It’s hit or miss for me, and you had me cumming so easily so, I would say it was probably a mix of feeling safe and you having some good natural instincts you couldn’t tap into before because you were anxious and your brain was in overdrive.” Pulling him into a hug, she squeezed him lightly as she inhaled his scent. He smelled like mint and sex, with a tinge of laundry detergent. Appropriate.

“When I’m done with you, we’ll have it all squared away and figured out. Okay? Don’t think about those times. Think about the fact you’re gonna get to fuck your really hot best friend.” Standing up from the couch with a laugh and a pat to his head, she walked to the bathroom to get herself clean- and take a minute to breathe. Her chest was doing a weird thing it hadn’t before and she didn’t want to think about it. “Hey, can you order something from that cookie place to be delivered while I shower please? Use my phone, my card is already in the app. Thank youuuu.”

He watched her leave, a small smile on his face at her words. It was a relief to hear that he wasn't completely incompetent. Flopping back against the cushions, he stared at her ceiling fan as it whirred around with a content sigh.

As requested, he ordered a batch of her favorite cookies from the nearby bakery, adding a special request for extra chocolate chips with a small chuckle. She had ordered quite a few times recently, so he had tried to replicate it while adding white choc macadamia for himself. A classic, even if Y/N would wrinkle her nose for them sharing a box.

After submitting it for the delivery, he found himself humming softly, a warmth spreading through his chest at the thought of learning more from her. That had been so good, he felt so relieved that he wasn’t defective- but he did have to wonder how he was going to be this comfortable with anyone else. Y/N was easy to unwind around. It was hard to imagine him getting as comfortable with anyone else in the way he was with her.

Getting closer to her in a vulnerable and intimate way was sure to grow their friendship. He couldn’t really see it backfiring. Their friendship was too strong.

Right?

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guardianofscrewingup · 8 hours ago

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Okay, so I was in fandom during the absolutely hateful Mary Sue backlash of the early 00's, and like oh my god the shit people were okay with. Like dgmw I was young and stupid and ran in some Mary Sue hating circles but it got old after a while.

Like people were just totally cool writing these fics that were about their OCs killing the terrible canon violating Mary Sues where they'd "spork" actual fic that was probs written by teenagers.

With their own super cool and quirky and badass self-insert assassin OCs, and like there was just absolute cluelessness there as to how that might be hypocritical. And like, I liked some people there. I met some older people in fandom there that helped me be less of a lil shithead. But the things that were okay were not okay.

Me and an ex-friend ultimately wrote a fic where the characters became unwilling Mary Sues and then started to feel bad for the authors and a plot point was the authors were getting pulled in as their OCs and getting murdered by the assassins and around then we ditched that section of the fandom.

And like my god the levels of toxicity. Like literally writing your own special shiny OCs going in and killing the big bad mary sues. And like these were not all young people like me and my friend who were like 15 (and didn't really write the assassin fic). Some were grown ass adults upsetting people who were sometimes teenagers writing their beautiful Elf OCs that made Legolas fall in love with them. It was so mean-spirited.

And when people in these groups wrote their own OCs (outside of the cool self-insert assassin thing where they saw no irony) when they tried to make non-Mary Sue normal OCs, like they were just pure mayonnaise. Devoid of any and all interest. Boring backstories, no powers, super mundane and inoffensive personalities. They were so afraid of characters being Mary Sues they were completely flat in every way, where they were trying to avoid bad scores on actual Mary Sue checklists like this: https://springhole.net/writing/marysue.htm

Hating Mary Sues has always been a thing but that was a really bad time for it infiltrating the bloom of internet fandom in the early 00s and I feel like it absolutely impacted the attitudes of fandom today, especially since Mary Sue hate took a lot of hold in some of the larger fandoms of the time like Lotr and Harry Potter.

I am actually so serious I think it really messes with a childs creativity and joy to tell them to never make a mary sue OC. Like that unbridaled form of joy where you make a self insert OC who super cool and everyone loves them and they have every superpower in the world SHOULD be something a kid makes, it nourishes their ability to create things for fun and not be stifled by "oh but what if my character is too overpowered and cringey...". whatever

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lila-lou · 3 days ago

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✨The night you gave in✨

Summary: You resisted Soldier Boy for weeks. One night, you stopped—and he made sure you’d never forget what giving in felt like.

-requested-

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language

Word Count: 8290

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

The mansion was alive with chaos. Bodies tangled in hedonistic pleasure, music pulsing through the walls, the air thick with the scent of sweat, alcohol, and something darker. You had no business being here, really. This wasn’t your scene. It never was. But Soldier Boy had insisted.

“Come on, sweetheart. You’re my assistant, aren’t you? Fucking assist me”.

So here you were, navigating through the mess of superheroes indulging in excess. You had done a damn good job of keeping your distance all these weeks, resisting his persistent advances with nothing more than a scoff, a roll of your eyes, or a sharp retort.

But tonight? Tonight, something was different. Maybe it was the way he looked-his cocky grin a little less smug, his eyes a little darker, as if even he was getting tired of the chase. Or maybe it was the way the liquor burned in your throat, loosening the grip of your stubborn resolve.

You felt him before you saw him. His presence thick in the air, radiating heat and power. A heavy hand landed on your hip, pulling you back against something solid, unmovable.

“You been runnin’ from me all this time”, Soldier Boy murmured into your ear, his voice rough and edged with amusement. “But you still came when I called”.

You swallowed hard, heart hammering as his fingers trailed lower. You could still walk away. You should walk away. But when you turned, meeting those deep green eyes filled with something dark and knowing, you realized, you didn’t want to. Not today.

Still, you pushed against his chest, your hands pressing against the hard armor, but he barely moved. Just stood there, smirking down at you like he had you right where he wanted.

“It’s my damn job”, you muttered under your breath, more to yourself than him.

Ben let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating through your body with how close he was. “That why you’re pressed up against me right now, sweetheart?”. His grip on your hip tightened just slightly, enough to make your breath hitch.

Your eyes darted around the room. The debauchery continued, grunts, moans, laughter, but you felt the weight of a few stares. A handful of supes had noticed you. And you were only human.

Even if Soldier Boy was an arrogant bastard, you’d rather deal with him than be left to navigate this place alone.

One of the supes, a woman with glowing violet eyes, licked her lips as she trailed her gaze down your body. Another, some muscle-bound asshole with obsidian-black skin, was already making his way closer. You weren’t naïve. You knew what this night was about. And you knew exactly what happened to people who weren’t careful here.

Soldier Boy noticed too. His fingers flexed on your hip before sliding lower, possessive, a silent warning to anyone watching.

“That’s what I thought”, he muttered, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You’re safer with me, doll. Always have been”.

You should have hated how much that statement felt true in this moment.

“Fine”, you breathed, forcing yourself to relax into his grip.

His grin was smug, but there was something else in his eyes, something darker. He was enjoying this way too much. “Atta girl”, he murmured, guiding you through the room like he owned you.

It wasn’t that you didn’t find Ben attractive, because shit, you did.

The sharp jawline, the unruly hair, the broad shoulders that looked like they could take a missile and not budge. And the way he carried himself, cocky and self-assured, like the whole world was a joke and he was the only one in on it. It was irritating as hell, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you smirk sometimes.

You actually thought he was funny too, in that asshole kind of way. The kind that made you roll your eyes but secretly bite back a laugh.

But attraction wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that Ben wasn’t just some guy. He was a supe. And you’d never been with a supe before.

Deep down, that was what really stopped you. Not his arrogance, not his persistence, not even the fact that he was a walking, talking pain in your ass. No, it was the fear,the quiet, gnawing fear that if he didn’t pay attention, if he got too into it, if he lost control even for a second, you wouldn’t be walking out of that room in one piece.

You’d heard the stories. Everyone had. Supes who got too rough, who didn’t know their own strength, who crushed ribs with a single thrust or snapped necks just trying to chase their own pleasure. The kind of stories that got whispered behind closed doors and covered up by Vought’s PR team before the public ever got a whiff of them.

And Soldier Boy? He was worse than most.

You’d seen him fight. You’d seen what he did to people without even trying. And if he got carried away, if he forgot for even a second that you were just huma… A shiver ran down your spine, and Ben must have felt it because his grip on you shifted, steady but firm. His lips were still close to your ear, his breath warm as he spoke.

“You’re thinking too much”, he muttered.

You swallowed hard, keeping your voice even. “No. I’m just not stupid”.

He let out a low chuckle, his hand sliding to the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd. The other supes had lost interest now, either picking up new playthings or getting distracted by the chaos around them. But Ben didn’t let you go.

“You really think I’d break you?”. His voice was quieter now, more serious than you expected.

You hesitated. Yes. Maybe. I don’t fucking know.

“I think you don’t always know your own strength”, you admitted finally.

That made him pause. Just for a second.

Then, he exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “Geez, sweetheart. Give me a little credit”. His grip on you tightened—deliberate, controlled. “I might be a lot of things, but I don’t fuckin’ break my toys”.

You weren’t sure if that was supposed to be reassuring. But the way his hand lingered on your hip, firm and grounding, made it hard to care.

The noise of the party faded as Ben guided you upstairs, his grip never loosening. Not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who was leading. The hallway was dimly lit, the muffled sounds of pleasure and chaos still vibrating through the walls, but up here, it was quieter. More intentional.

He pushed open a door at the end of the hall. A private room, untouched by the mess below. Dark wood furniture, a massive bed, and a bar cart stocked with top-shelf liquor. This wasn’t some random guest room. It was his.

The door shut with a firm click.

You turned to face him, pulse thrumming in your ears. He stood in front of the door, watching you with that unreadable expression, the one that always made your stomach tighten.

“This your way of getting me alone?”, you asked, keeping your tone light, though your body was wound tight.

Ben smirked. “Worked, didn’t it?”.

He moved past you, grabbing a bottle from the bar, pouring himself a drink like he had all the time in the world. Like he hadn’t spent weeks chasing you down just for this moment.

You crossed your arms. “So, what now? You finally got me here. What’s the grand plan?”.

He took a slow sip, watching you over the rim of the glass. “That depends, sweetheart. You still think I’m gonna snap you in half?”.

Your breath caught, but you didn’t look away. “I think you’re reckless”.

His tongue flicked over his lower lip as he set the glass down with a soft clink. “I can be”. He took a step closer. “But not with you”.

You didn’t know if you believed that. Not fully. But the way he was looking at you now, like he was waiting for you to make the call, sent a different kind of shiver down your spine.

For weeks, he’d been pushing, teasing, hunting you down with that relentless charm. And now? Now he was giving you the choice.

Maybe it was the heat of the night, the tension that had been building between you, or maybe it was the fact that, deep down, you wanted to believe him.

Either way, when you finally spoke, your voice was quieter than you intended.

“Then show me”.

Ben’s smirk deepened, but his eyes darkened with something else entirely.

Ben let out a low chuckle, sitting down and leaning back against the couch, his legs spread wide, making himself comfortable. The dim lighting cast deep shadows across his face, but his eyes, those dark green eyes, never left you.

He took another slow sip from his glass, swirling the liquid before tilting his head toward the massive mirror wall in front of him.

“Strip”, he muttered, like it was nothing. Like he was asking you to pass the remote instead of something that made heat coil low in your stomach.

You let out a dry laugh, arms still crossed. “Are you fucking kidding?”.

Ben exhaled, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, do I look like I’m kidding?”.

You glanced at the mirror. It reflected everything—the couch, the bar, the massive bed in the background. And him. Relaxed, confident, waiting.

Your heartbeat kicked up a notch.

“This what you do?”, you asked, narrowing your eyes. “Make girls put on a show while you sit there like a king?”.

Ben just smirked. “No. You’re special”.

You scoffed, but the way he said it, low and easy, sent a shiver through you. He was playing a game, pushing to see if you’d bite.

And the worst part? You kind of wanted to.

“Come on”, he coaxed, voice smooth as honey. “You been running from me for weeks. I finally get you alone, and you’re just gonna stand there?”. His gaze dropped, lazily dragging over your body like he could see through your clothes. “That’s a damn shame”.

Your fingers twitched at your sides.

It wasn’t the stripping that made your breath catch—it was the watching. The fact that he wanted to sit there and just look, to make you stand in front of that mirror and see yourself the way he saw you.

Your skin burned at the thought.

Ben arched a brow, amusement flickering in his gaze. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? Scared?”.

That did it. Your chin lifted. Fuck it.

You reached for the hem of your top, gripping it tight before slowly pulling it over your head. The cool air hit your skin, but the heat in Ben’s gaze made up for it.

He didn’t say a word. Just sat there, watching. Waiting.

You swallowed hard, fingers trailing to the button of your jeans. The mirror reflected everything back at you. The rise and fall of your chest, the tension in your shoulders, the way Ben’s gaze darkened with every inch of skin you revealed.

The denim slid down your legs, pooling at your feet. You stood there, breath unsteady, heart hammering, waiting for him to say something.

Ben took his time. Finished his drink. Set the glass aside with deliberate ease. Then, finally, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, eyes locking onto yours in the mirror. “There she is”, he murmured.

A startled gasp left your lips as he grabbed the waistband of your panties and yanked you back toward him. The force knocked you off balance, sending you tumbling against his lap.

“Ben—”.

The sharp sound of fabric tearing filled the air. Your breath caught. The cool air brushed against newly exposed skin, and for a split second, all you could do was stare at yourself in the mirror, eyes wide, lips parted, heart pounding.

Ben let out a low, satisfied hum, his fingers grazing over your hip where the ruined material used to be. “These were in my way”, he muttered, completely unapologetic.

Your pulse thrummed under your skin, every nerve buzzing with anticipation.

He didn’t let you go. Instead, his hands splayed wide over your waist, rough and warm, grounding you against him. The heat of his body burned through the fabric of his suit, every inch of him solid and dangerous.

Your throat went dry.

“You should see yourself”, Ben murmured, his voice dark with amusement.

Your eyes flickered up, meeting his gaze in the mirror. He was watching you, studying the way your breath quickened, the way your skin flushed under his touch.

Cocky bastard.

“I swear, if you just ripped my underwear for no reason—”.

Ben let out a sharp laugh, fingers tightening on your waist. “For no reason?”. His grip shifted, guiding your hips down just enough for you to feel the evidence of exactly why he did it.

A small, involuntary noise caught in your throat.

“Yeah”, Ben murmured, dragging his lips against your bare shoulder, his voice dropping to something low and dangerous. “That’s what I thought”.

Your back was still pressed to his chest, your breath unsteady as you watched the scene play out in the mirror. His hands roamed, slow, teasing, trailing over your thighs, your waist, before moving up to the clasp of your bra.

His fingers hooked around the band, ready to undo it. But you stopped him. Your hands flew to his wrists, gripping tight.

Ben froze.

You didn’t say anything right away, just sat there, keeping his hands at bay. Your nails pressed lightly into his skin, and for the first time tonight, he actually hesitated. A muscle ticked in his jaw. His breath was warm against your shoulder. He didn’t ask why. Not at first.

Instead, he loosened his grip, his voice dropping low. “What’s wrong?”.

Your chest felt tight. You hated this. Hated that after everything, after weeks of pushing him away and finally giving in, this was the thing stopping you. But you couldn’t shake the feeling.

You weren’t stupid. You knew what kind of women Ben was used to—bombshells with perfect curves, the kind who walked into a room and commanded attention with just a glance. Women who didn’t hesitate, didn’t overthink, didn’t sit here second-guessing themselves while wearing nothing but scraps of torn lace.

And you? You’d never felt like enough.

You kept your eyes on the mirror, avoiding his gaze. “It’s nothing”, you muttered, trying to shift out of his grip. “Forget it”.

Ben didn’t let you go.

His hands didn’t force, didn’t push, just stayed, steady and unyielding. “Nah”, he said, voice quieter now, rougher. “Not how this works”.

You swallowed hard. “It’s stupid”.

“I’ll be the judge of that”.

His reflection stared you down, his gaze dark, unreadable. The weight of his hands, the warmth of his body against yours, it was too much, but not enough.

You inhaled sharply, forcing the words out. “I just… I don’t exactly have a lot going on up top”. You let out a humorless laugh, but it sounded hollow. “Sorry if that’s disappointing”.

Ben was silent.

For a long, agonizing moment, you thought maybe he’d agree, maybe he’d laugh, brush it off, confirm every stupid insecurity that had ever sat heavy in your chest.

But then he exhaled sharply, his grip on your waist tightening just slightly, grounding you against him. His lips brushed against your neck, his breath warm as he let out a low, almost disbelieving chuckle. “That’s what you’re worried about?”.

You stiffened. “Forget it—”.

His hands moved, firm and slow, dragging up your sides, fingertips teasing the edge of your bra. Not pushing, just there, like he wanted you to feel how much he wasn’t letting this go.

Ben leaned in, voice dropping to a low murmur. “Sweetheart, I’ve been wanting to get my hands on you since the day you rolled your eyes at me”. His fingers flexed, his palms spreading over your ribs, his touch hot against your bare skin. “You think I give a shit about size?”.

Your breath caught as his hands moved again, trailing higher, stopping just beneath your chest. Waiting.

“Y’know what I like?”, he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “That I can do this”.

His palms slid up fully, fingers spanning over your chest, covering you entirely. A low, pleased hum rumbled from his throat as he squeezed just enough to make your stomach tighten.

Your face burned.

“You fit perfectly in my hands”, he muttered, almost to himself, his thumbs stroking over sensitive skin. “Bet you never thought about that, huh?”.

Your fingers curled into his forearms, not pushing him away, but not quite pulling him closer either. “Ben—”.

“I love this”, he cut you off, his voice rough with something dark and sincere. He wasn’t teasing anymore. He wasn’t just trying to get under your skin. This was real.

He let his grip linger, let you feel how much he meant it before he finally leaned back slightly, meeting your gaze in the mirror. His hands still held you, his fingers splayed like he wanted to memorize every inch of your skin.

“Don’t ever say that shit again”, he murmured, lips curling into something wicked. “Or I’ll have to remind you every damn time”.

Your breath was unsteady, your heart pounding, but this time, when he reached for your bra clasp, you didn’t stop him. You let him.

The clasp of your bra gave way with a soft snap, the fabric slipping down your arms. You shivered, not from the cold, but from the way Ben inhaled sharply behind you.

His hands didn’t move right away. He just looked. The mirror reflected everything. The slow rise and fall of your chest, the way his rough palms framed you, the heat in his darkened gaze.

“Fuck”, he muttered under his breath, his fingers flexing over your ribs.

Your body tensed on instinct, but Ben only smirked, his lips ghosting over your shoulder. “You really thought this was a problem?”.

You swallowed hard, your fingers curling into his wrists. “Ben—”.

He cut you off with a slow, deliberate squeeze, his thumbs brushing teasing circles over soft skin. His touch was warm, reverent, obsessive. “This?”, he muttered, dragging his lips down your neck, his hands still palming over you, like he was committing you to memory. “This is perfect”.

You exhaled shakily, heat blooming low in your stomach.

“Y’know what I like about small tits?”. Ben murmured, his voice dark and amused. He squeezed again, just enough to make your breath hitch. “They fit in my hands just right”.

Your skin burned.

“Doesn’t matter where I am”. His smirk deepened, his fingers kneading you slowly, possessively. “Like ‘em in my hands…”. He flicked his thumbs over your nipples, making your breath catch. “…in my mouth…”. His teeth grazed your neck, his tongue flicking out to soothe the bite.

A shudder wracked your spine.

Ben chuckled against your skin, smug as hell. “See? Perfect”.

Your head fell back against his shoulder, your body melting into his. His hands never left you, mapping over your skin like he was proving a damn point. And maybe he was. Maybe he was trying to erase every doubt, every insecurity, every stupid thought that had ever made you hesitate.

Because when Ben wanted something, he made damn sure it knew it belonged to him. And right now? You were his favorite fucking thing in the world.

Ben’s fingers pinched at your nipples just right. A slow, deliberate roll that sent a sharp jolt of pleasure straight down your spine. You gasped, your fingers tightening around his wrists, but you didn’t push him away. Didn’t want to.

He felt it. Knew it. And the bastard smirked.

“Now”, he muttered, his voice thick with amusement, his breath hot against your ear, “tell me again you’re fucking insecure”. His grip tightened, just enough to make you shudder. “Or that you think I don’t know my own damn strength”.

Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

His hands moved again, slow and confident, teasing and claiming all at once. He played you like he knew exactly what you liked, like he had all the time in the world to pull every little reaction out of you.

“You feel fragile to me?”, he pressed, his voice lower now, rougher. “You think I don’t know how to handle something precious?”.

Your heart pounded in your chest.

Ben huffed out a low, knowing laugh, his mouth brushing along the curve of your jaw. “You’re mine right now”, he murmured. “And you’re still breathing, aren’t you?”.

Your breath hitched.

“Still in one piece?”. His thumbs flicked over sensitive skin again, sending another wave of heat rolling through your body. “Still sitting pretty in my lap, letting me touch you however the fuck I want?”.

Your body answered before your mouth did, melting back against him, your hands trembling where they gripped his arms.

Ben felt it. Felt the way you caved, the way your insecurities crumbled beneath his touch, beneath the way he made you feel. He smirked against your skin, voice dark and satisfied. “Yeah”, he muttered, his lips trailing down your throat. “That’s what I thought”.

Ben let his hands linger a moment longer, squeezing just enough to make you shudder before he suddenly let go.

“Up”. His voice was rough, commanding.

Your dazed mind barely had time to process before his hands gripped your waist, lifting you like you weighed nothing, setting you on your feet in front of him. Your knees wobbled slightly, the loss of his warmth making you unsteady.

Ben leaned back against the couch, arms spreading lazily along the top as he looked up at you with dark, unreadable eyes.

“Your turn”, he muttered. He nodded toward his suit, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Undress me”.

Your pulse kicked up.

He just sat there, watching, completely at ease, like he wasn’t the one who had been chasing you down for weeks. Like this was your game to play now.

You swallowed hard, your fingers twitching at your sides.

Ben huffed out a low chuckle, tilting his head slightly. “You had all that attitude before”, he mused. “What happened to it?”. His gaze dropped, flickering over your body, slow and deliberate. “You scared to touch me?”.

Bastard.

Your fingers curled into fists before you exhaled, stepping closer, standing between his open legs. You met his gaze, refusing to let him see how much he was getting to you.

He was testing you. Fine. Two could play that game.

Your hands moved to the zipper of his suit, pulling it down slowly, savoring the way his chest rose and fell beneath your touch. You pushed the fabric aside, your palms skimming over his shoulders, dragging the heavy material down his arms.

Ben let you.

Didn’t move, didn’t help, just sat there, watching you with that smug, knowing smirk, like he was waiting to see how far you’d take it.

You tossed the suit jacket aside, your fingers moving to the hem of his undershirt next. You hesitated for half a second before gripping the fabric and peeling it upward, revealing warm, scarred skin, hard muscle that tensed beneath your touch.

His breath deepened as you pulled the shirt over his head, exposing all of him.

Your hands ghosted lower, trailing toward his belt, but before you could reach it, his fingers snapped around your wrist.

Your breath hitched. His grip wasn’t harsh, but it was firm. Deliberate. You met his gaze, heat pooling in your stomach at the way he looked up at you now, less smug, more hungry.

“You like what you see, sweetheart?”, he murmured, voice low and rough.

Your throat went dry.

Ben smirked, his grip on your wrist tightening just slightly before he pulled your hand lower, pressing it against the buckle of his belt. “Then keep going”.

Your fingers hesitated at his belt, brushing over the thick leather and cold metal buckle.

Ben’s suit was heavier than you expected, the material thick and damn near impenetrable. It had been designed for war, built to withstand anything, and right now, it felt like it was snatching him in, trapping all that raw power beneath reinforced fabric.

And you? You were about to unleash it. The thought sent a shiver through you.

Your fingers worked the belt, struggling slightly against the reinforced metal clasp. The damn thing was a box of fucking Pandora. A maze of loops, heavy-duty straps, and fastenings designed to keep everything locked in.

Ben let out a low chuckle, his voice deep and rough. “You need help, sweetheart?”.

You shot him a glare. “Shut up”.

His smirk deepened. “Cute”.

You bit your lip, focusing. With a final tug, the buckle finally gave, the belt coming undone with a satisfying snap. The weight of it made it drop heavily to the floor, the thick leather coiling at his feet.

Ben let out a slow exhale, his body relaxing slightly as the last restriction came undone.

But you weren’t finished. Your fingers moved lower, tugging at the zipper of his pants, working them open inch by inch.

You peeled the last layers away, revealing all of him, the raw strength he’d been holding back.

Ben exhaled deeply, rolling his shoulders, finally free. Then, in one swift motion, his hands shot out, gripping your hips and pulling you back onto his lap. You gasped, hands bracing against his bare chest, feeling the warmth of his skin, the way his muscles flexed beneath your fingers.

Ben smirked up at you, his grip firm, possessive. “Now”, he murmured, voice thick with something dark and starving, “let’s see if you can handle what you just let out”.

Ben’s grip on your hips was firm, unyielding, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. You barely had time to process the feeling of his bare skin against yours before your eyes drifted downward. And froze. Your breath caught in your throat.

There, pressed between your bodies, was him. Thick, heavy, straining up against his stomach, the sheer size of it making your mouth go dry.

Ben felt the way you stiffened.

His smirk curled slow and lazy, amusement flickering in his dark green eyes. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”. His voice was all gravel and heat, teasing but edged with something darker. “Didn’t think that far ahead?”.

You swallowed, words refusing to form.

Ben let out a low chuckle, his fingers tightening around your hips, dragging you just slightly closer. The motion made you feel every inch of him, heat coiling low in your stomach at the pressure of him pressing right against you.

“Cat got your tongue?”, he murmured, his lips ghosting along your jaw.

Your hands curled against his chest, your breath coming in short, uneven bursts. “I just…”. You trailed off, not trusting your own voice.

Ben huffed out a laugh, tilting his head to press a slow, open-mouthed kiss against your throat. “You just what, sweetheart?”. His teeth grazed your pulse, his grip shifting, guiding you just a little more against him. “Didn’t expect me to be packing?”.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, heat flooding through you. “I—”.

Ben smirked against your skin, his hands trailing lower, tracing the curves of your body with deliberate ease. “Relax”, he murmured, voice deep and steady. “I know what I’m doing”.

Your heart pounded, your body caught between anticipation and something dangerously close to fear.

Ben felt it. And the way his grip tightened, the way his lips dragged along your jaw with slow, teasing precision, told you he liked it. Liked knowing you were teetering on the edge. Liked knowing he was the one pushing you there.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared now”, he murmured, voice like honey and sin.

"You’re gonna hurt me", you mumbled, barely above a whisper.

Ben’s smirk faltered.

You didn’t even look up at him. Your wide eyes were glued to the sheer size of him, the reality of what you were about to do slamming into you like a freight train.

"Dead by dick", you whispered, voice laced with something between panic and genuine concern.

That did it.

Ben threw his head back and laughed. A deep, full-bodied sound that rumbled through his chest and shook through you, like you had just said the funniest damn thing in the world.

Meanwhile, you were still staring at the very real problem sitting between you.

Ben’s grip on your hips tightened as his laughter died down, amusement still gleaming in his eyes as he tilted his head, studying your expression. “That what you’re worried about, sweetheart?”. His voice was lower now, teasing but edged with something softer.

You finally ripped your gaze away to glare at him. “Are you looking at this?!”. You gestured wildly, still sitting in his lap, still feeling every inch of him pressed against you. “This—this is a lot to take in, Ben”.

His smirk returned, slow and knowing. "Yeah", he muttered, his hands sliding up your waist, tracing over your ribs. "You’re tellin’ me".

You smacked his shoulder. "Not funny".

Ben only chuckled, his grip shifting as he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against the curve of your jaw once more. “I ain’t gonna hurt you”. His voice was steady, the humor slipping into something deeper. "I know what I’m doin’".

His kisses trailed lower, slow and deliberate, his hands sliding down to squeeze your thighs. But none of it, not his touch, not the heat of his body, nothing, eased the nerves building in your chest.

Ben must have noticed, because he exhaled sharply before leaning back to look at you fully.

"Sweetheart", he murmured, his smirk softening just slightly, "I told you—I don’t break my toys".

Your stomach flipped.

His hands squeezed again, firm but reassuring. "You trust me?".

You swallowed, your fingers twitching where they rested against his shoulders. Did you?

Ben had been a pain in your ass for weeks, relentless and cocky and impossible. But he had never—not once—pushed you past what you were willing to give. And right now, despite the teasing, despite the arrogance, there was something solid in his eyes.

Something real.

You exhaled shakily, still very aware of what was pressing against you, but forced yourself to meet his gaze. “…Yeah”.

Ben’s smirk returned, but this time, it was different. Darker. Hunger flickered in his eyes, but it was controlled, his grip shifting, pulling you even closer.

“Good”, he muttered, his voice like a slow drag of whiskey. His lips brushed against yours, teasing, promising.

Ben’s grip tightened around your ribs, and before you could even think, he lifted you. Effortless. Like you weighed nothing.

A startled gasp left your lips as he pulled you up, his fingers digging into your sides, his strength undeniable. You barely had time to process how easy it was for him before he settled you just above him, his hands keeping you steady, your legs straddling his hips.

“Fuck”, he muttered under his breath, his gaze dropping between your bodies, his tongue flicking over his lips in anticipation.

Your breath came in short, uneven bursts. This was real. This was happening.

His grip on you didn’t waver, his fingers spanning over your ribs, holding you in place—like he was savoring every second before taking what he wanted.

“C’mon, sweetheart”, he murmured, his voice low, edged with something dark and starving. “Line me up”.

Your stomach flipped, nerves tangling with something hotter, heavier.

You hesitated. Just for a second.

“You got this”, he murmured, teasing but genuine. “Ain’t gonna rush you”.

His lips dragged lower, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along your throat, his patience taunting.

But you felt him. Felt every inch of him straining beneath you, hot and heavy, his body coiled tight as he waited. Waited for you.

Your hands trembled slightly as you reached between your bodies, your fingers brushing over the heat of him. Ben sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, his grip flexing on your ribs.

“There you go”, he murmured, his voice rough. His tongue flicked over his lower lip again, hunger flashing across his face.

Your fingers tightened, positioning him just right. Ben exhaled sharply, his hands tightening just enough to remind you who was in control. His gaze locked onto yours, dark and unreadable. “Now, sweetheart”, he murmured, his voice thick with anticipation, “take your time—but don’t make me wait too long”.

You sucked in a breath as you slowly, so slowly, sank down onto him.

Ben’s fingers dug into your ribs, his grip tightening just slightly, like he was forcing himself to stay still, to let you take your time. His chest rose and fell in deep, controlled breaths, but his eyes, fuck, his eyes, told a different story. Dark. Blown wide. Ravenous. He didn’t just watch, he devoured every second.

His gaze flickered between the tiny, involuntary wiggle of your breasts, the way your lips parted in a silent gasp, down to where your bodies were finally connecting.

A sharp inhale hissed through his teeth, his jaw clenching as he felt you take him in.

Fuck. Ben had almost forgotten how good a human felt. How much better it was. Way better than any supe. No unnatural strength, no engineered enhancements, just raw, real heat. Tighter. Warmer. Squeezing him in a way he hadn’t felt in decades.

A low groan rumbled in his chest, his head tilting back for just a second before his gaze snapped back to you. “Fuckin’ shit”, he muttered, his voice strained. His fingers flexed against your ribs, grounding himself, his usual cocky confidence flickering into something rougher. “You—fuck”.

Your breath hitched, your hands bracing against his chest as you took more of him, inch by inch, stretching way more than you were used to.

Ben noticed. He felt it. The way you squeezed around him, the way your body fought to adjust, the way your breath trembled against his skin.

And fuck, if that didn’t drive him insane. His eyes dragged back down, watching the way you took him in, watching himself disappear into you. His smirk wavered, his lips parting as his grip tightened.

“Takin’ me so slow”, he muttered, his voice rough. His hands flexed again, resisting the urge to help, to pull you down the rest of the way. “You scared, sweetheart?”.

Your nails bit into his skin. “You’re big, Ben—”.

A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest, but there was no teasing in it—just pure satisfaction. “Yeah”, he muttered, dragging his lips against your throat. “And you’re takin’ every inch of me”.

His breath shuddered as you slid down another inch, his head falling back, his fingers twitching against your skin. His control was hanging by a damn thread.

“Goddamn”, he groaned, his voice rough and wrecked, his lips curling against your skin. “You feel so fuckin’ good”.

His hands squeezed tighter, his chest heaving, his body fighting not to move.

Your breath came in short, uneven bursts, your body trembling as you tried to take the last few inches of him. But you couldn’t. You were already shaking around him, stretched beyond anything you’d ever taken before, your thighs burning from the slow, agonizing pace.

“You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good, sweetheart”, he murmured, his voice low and rough.

Your nails pressed into his shoulders, frustration warring with pleasure. “Ben, I—”.

“I know”, he cut you off, his hands trailing higher.

And then, without warning, he moved. Not pushing you down. Instead, he shifted his grip, his warm, calloused hands cupping your breasts, fingers splaying wide as he took his time feeling every inch of you.

A deep, satisfied hum rumbled in his throat. “Fuck”, he muttered, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive skin, teasing just enough to make you shiver. “Look at these perfect little things”.

Heat crawled up your spine. “Ben—”.

“I fucking love ‘em”, he rasped, his lips trailing over your collarbone, dragging wet kisses along the curve of your neck. “Love how they fit in my hands”.

His thumbs flicked over your nipples, slow and deliberate, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure straight through you. His mouth trailing lower, his lips ghosting over your chest. “Bet you never had someone pay ‘em enough attention, huh?”.

Your fingers curled into his hair. “Ben—”.

“Mm”. His tongue flicked over sensitive skin, teasing, savoring, worshipping. “That’s a damn shame”.

He sucked at one of your nipples, rolling the other between his fingers, a deep groan vibrating against your skin as he felt the way your body reacted.

You gasped, your thighs trembling around his hips, the sensation making your body clench tighter around him.

Ben felt it. His breath shuddered. His fingers dug into your waist. And suddenly, his patience snapped. His hands grabbed your hips, his grip firm, possessive. “No more holdin’ back”, he muttered, his voice dark with hunger. His lips curled against your skin, his eyes flickering up, dark and wild. “Let me in”.

He’d been patient. Too patient. Letting you take your time, letting you adjust. But now? Now he knew you were ready. And Ben didn’t wait for permission when he already had what he wanted.

He pulled you down the rest of the way.

A strangled gasp left your lips as the last few inches finally stretched you fully, your body molding around him, taking all of him.

Ben groaned against your skin, his hands flexing on your waist, holding you still for a moment, forcing you to feel every inch of him, completely buried inside you. “Fuck”, he muttered, his voice strained, head tilting back, his eyes fluttering shut for half a second. “That’s it, sweetheart. That’s fuckin’ it”.

Your nails bit into his shoulders, your breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps as your body struggled to adjust, full in a way that made your head spin.

Ben felt it. Felt the way your body squeezed him, hot and tight and fucking perfect. He gritted his teeth, his cocky smirk wavering as he exhaled sharply, his restraint snapping like a thread stretched too thin.

His hands moved. One slid up your back, gripping the nape of your neck, tilting your head just enough for him to claim your mouth in a rough, hungry kiss, his other hand still holding your waist, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

His hips rolled up, slow at first, teasing, taunting.

Your body shook, your fingers fisting in his hair as he pulled you down harder, making you take all of it.

Ben groaned, his smirk returning, dark and wicked against your lips. “Knew you could take it”, he muttered, his voice gravelly, dripping with satisfaction.

“You’re mine now, sweetheart”, he growled, his lips trailing down your throat, his teeth grazing over sensitive skin. “And I’m gonna ruin you”.

He gripped you tighter, and before you could react, he moved. In one fluid motion, he rolled you onto your back, pressing you into the couch, his body towering over you. He settled between your legs, his weight pinning you in place, his chest rising and falling with deep, steady breaths.

He caught your chin between his fingers, his grip firm, commanding. “Look”, he muttered, his voice dark and rough as he turned your head toward the massive mirror against the wall.

Your dazed reflection stared back at you—your body flushed, your lips swollen from his kisses, your thighs spread wide with Ben’s body pressing between them.

And him.

His broad chest, the way his muscles flexed with every movement, the raw, unrestrained power in the way he hovered over you, owning every inch of your body.

Ben grinned at the sight, his gaze flickering between the mirror and you, watching as realization dawned in your wide, lust-drunk eyes. “That’s a fuckin’ view”, he muttered, licking his lips, his grip on your jaw tightening just slightly. “See how good you look wrapped around me?”.

You swallowed hard, your breath shuddering, your body still adjusting to the fullness of him.

His hand trailed from your jaw, gliding down your throat, his fingers grazing your collarbone before finally settling over your chest. His smirk deepened.

Ben's lips trailed down your throat before settling on your chest. He took his time there, worshiping every inch of you. Kissing, sucking, dragging his tongue over sensitive skin, as though this was what he’d been chasing all along.

His hips didn’t stop.

The deep, rolling rhythm he set was unrelenting. Slow enough to make you feel every inch of him, deep enough to knock the air from your lungs. Your legs trembled, spread wide beneath his body, your fingers tangled in his hair as he moved lower, his mouth catching one of your nipples between his lips.

Your back arched off the couch. “Ben—”.

He groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your chest as his hips rolled again, hitting a spot that made your breath catch and your vision blur.

“Yeah”, he muttered, pulling back just enough to drag his teeth lightly across your skin. “That’s it. That’s what I want”. He wanted your shaking thighs, your gasps, your complete surrender. And he got it.

Your body began to coil, tension building so fast it was nearly unbearable. Every thrust, every flick of his tongue, every growled praise in your ear pushed you closer to the edge.

The mirror reflected all of it. His broad body moving above yours, the sweat-slick curve of your stomach, your eyes half-lidded in bliss and disbelief.

You weren’t running from him anymore. You were falling into him. “Ben—oh my—”.

Your whole body locked up beneath him as the pressure finally snapped. Your climax hit hard, a wave that rocked through you with such intensity you couldn’t even find your voice. Just breathless, broken gasps as your body writhed beneath his.

Ben didn’t slow. He watched you fall apart in the mirror, his mouth still dragging hot kisses across your chest, his voice low and rough.

“Just like that, sweetheart”, he murmured, dragging his lips across your collarbone, hips still grinding deep. “You feel that?”. He thrust once, deep and slow, sending aftershocks rolling through you. “That’s what you were made for”.

Ben didn’t stop. Not after your first climax. Not after the second. He kept going. His stamina was inhuman—because, well, he was. And for the next hour… then another… he had you beneath him, stretched out across that damn couch like his personal plaything.

You lost track of time somewhere between the heat of his skin and the way he never let you fully recover. Every time your body started to come down, he found a new angle, a new rhythm, a new way to push you higher.

By the time your body started to shake from exhaustion, your mind fogged, your limbs barely responding, you could barely form words. Your head lolled to the side, cheek pressed against the warm cushion, lips parted as you tried to catch a breath that never fully came.

Ben was still above you, chest gleaming with sweat, jaw tight, eyes locked on you.

He leaned down, dragging his mouth along your collarbone before whispering against your ear with that low, cocky rumble: “Shit, sweetheart… didn’t think you’d last this long”.

You tried to glare at him, but it came out more like a whimper.

“Two hours”, he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. “And you’re still here, all fucked out and twitchy under me”.

His hand moved slowly over your chest again, he never seemed to get tired of that. Fingers splaying, palm covering one breast completely like it was molded to fit him.

He let out a low, satisfied hum. “Look at this”, he muttered, mostly to himself, brushing his thumb over your nipple, now too sensitive to do more than make your breath catch. “Fuck, I don’t know how anyone looks at these little tits and doesn’t lose their fuckin’ mind”.

You groaned softly, too tired to push him away, too drunk on the feeling to really want to.

“These days, girls always got these big, overinflated knockers”, Ben said with a lazy grin, clearly riding a post-orgasm high of his own. “Fake, heavy… all show, no fun”.

His other hand moved in, cupping the other breast, giving both the kind of reverent attention that made your overstimulated body spark again despite the exhaustion.

“But you?”, he said, voice dipping low, rough with affection wrapped in his usual arrogance. “You fit right in my hands. Cute, soft, fuckin’ perfect”.

You whimpered, cheeks burning, eyes barely able to stay open, but your body still arched for him, still craved the contact.

He chuckled darkly, leaning down again to brush a kiss between your breasts, his stubble scraping lightly against your skin. “Tiny tits”, he murmured, “but you took me like a fuckin’ warrior”.

His eyes met yours, lazy and smug but with something real beneath the heat. “You got no idea what you do to me, do you?”.

You wanted to say something, anything, but your voice had long since given out.

Ben just smirked. Pressed another kiss to your chest. Then one to your jaw. And pulled you tighter against him like you were the prize he’d been fighting for.

Ben let you rest against him for a while. Your body wrecked, boneless, your skin slick and glowing from every place he’d touched. His breathing was calm. Yours was ragged.

Eventually, you stirred just enough to shift, your cheek brushing against his shoulder. For a second, the silence between you almost felt… peaceful.

But Ben wasn’t built for peace. “Damn”, he muttered, more to himself than to you. “Didn’t think you had that in you”.

His hand slipped from your waist and dragged through his hair, still damp with sweat. He looked down at you. Not with softness, but with a kind of impressed detachment. Like a soldier admiring the aftermath of a well-executed mission. “Guess you’re more than just a mouthy little assistant after all”.

There it was—him.

You didn’t respond. Couldn’t, really. You were half-asleep, still trying to figure out if your legs remembered how to work.

Ben stood, stretching with a grunt, his muscles rolling beneath his skin. He didn’t help you up. Didn’t ask how you were feeling. He just grabbed the nearest towel from the dresser, wiped himself down like he’d just finished a workout, then reached for what was left of his gear.

“You’ll be fine”, he said, voice flat now, all business. “Just don’t pass out here. That’d be embarrassing for both of us”.

You rolled your eyes, dragging in a shaky breath as you tried to push yourself upright. Every muscle in your body screamed in protest, your legs barely responding, like they weren’t entirely convinced the night was over.

“Yeah, yeah…”, you muttered, voice hoarse. “I’ll be out of your way in a sec”.

You stood—or tried to. Your knees buckled almost immediately, the room tilting on its axis as your balance gave out.

Before you could hit the floor, his strong arm snapped out and caught you by the waist, hauling you up with the same ease he’d thrown you around for the last two hours.

You blinked up at him, caught somewhere between embarrassment and disbelief.

Ben just raised an eyebrow, smirking down at you like it was all part of the show. “Geez”, he muttered. “Didn’t think I actually rearranged your spine”.

You glared, weakly. “Asshole”.

He helped you steady yourself, but only just long enough to make sure you weren’t about to faceplant into the carpet, then let go like it never happened.

Ben grabbed his last piece of gear and headed for the door. But just before he stepped out, he turned slightly, looking at you over his shoulder. “That mouth of yours better be just as sharp tomorrow”, he said, the corner of his lip curling. “Wouldn’t want you getting soft on me now”.

Then he was gone. No goodbye. No look back.

Just the silence of the room, the ache in your bones, and the echo of his boots down the hall, leaving you with nothing but a ruined couch, shaky legs, and the knowledge that whatever just happened?

It was very Soldier Boy. And it was never happening again…Probably.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373 @shanimallina87 @ascarriel @deanwinchesters67impala @thebiggerbear @quietgirll75 @barnes70stark @kellyls04 @spxideyver @ralilda @americanvenom13 @ozwriterchick @lmg14

#jensen ackles #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy fanfiction #the boys soldier boy #ben x you #ben x reader #soldier boy #soldier boy the boys #soldier boy smut #soldier boy x female reader #the boys smut #the boys

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passionwillow · 22 hours ago

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I’m here to beggggg you for more obsessive! Jack 😫. The thought of this man being insanely protective over you just does something to me. He needs to have your location, know who you’re going to hang out with (if he even lets you go by yourself), measures how short your dress is with his fingers, and makes it known that you’re his & he’s yours so there’s no chance anybody can think the opposite. He raises your standards so high to the point there’s no chance you’ll find better. He cares for you so much that you wonder how you even survived before meeting him, how you even survived without his love. He mesmerizes every little thing about you, he knows when you’re overwhelmed, knows how you like your coffee, knows your dinner favorites

Possessive Jack is a necessity. 😩 I finished season 5 of YOU so I may be taking some ideas from there.. PLEASE don't actually let a man treat you this way, this is just fiction and for fun.

Jack made sure he had your location months ago. He swore it was just so he could make sure you got home safe, but he's always checking where you are. Out with friends? At that bar? It's a sketchy area, just making sure you're safe.

He isn't a fan of most of your friends (especially the guy ones). "Who are you going out with? I'll come along, babe. No, it's okay. I wanna make sure you're safe."

He hates when you wear short skirts or low cut tops out. "Showing off what's mine, baby? I don't think so. Go put on those jeans I bought you. That's a good girl."

Always marking you. Even when it can't be seen. Hickies on your neck, his teeth and lips bruising your sensitive skin as you squirm and moan, his hands keeping you pinned to the wall. Hand prints on your ass, smirking as you cry and moan with each smack. "That's a good girl, look at that. All fucking mine."

But he takes such good care of you, it makes him being overbearing so worth it. He can read you like a billboard. You're in a good mood, you're upset, you're stressed, you're mad, you're horny. He can take one look at you when you wake up and know.

He knows everything about you, down to your coffee order. How you like your showers, your dinner, your drinks. How you play with the pages of your books when you read, that sore spot on your shoulder you always need rubbed out. That little squeal you make when he pinches your clit, how you go breathless when he curls his fingers just right.

You're stressed about work? Sit down and talk to him, he's waiting with open arms to help you. You had a good day? Sit down. He already has dinner ready and can't wait to hear. You're stressed out? Sit and let him hold you, he'll give you some advice.

He doesn't try to be a sugar daddy, but sometimes he may as well be. Any money troubles? Let him take care of it. Matter of face, just give him your bills. He'll take care of everything for you. He doesn't want you worrying your pretty little head over it.

He's your biggest supporter, always pushing you to be better and try new things. Wanna go back to school? Tell him where, he'll make sure it's covered. Wanna learn something new, an instrument or new line of work? You'd be amazing no matter what you do.

No one could ever love you better, take better care of you, support you more, be more loving and protective. He's all you need. ❤️

#the pitt hbo max #the pitt hbo #the pitt #the pitt max #jack abbot x plussized reader #dr jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #toxic!jack abbot #dr abbot

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ckret2 · 2 days ago

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i come to you today with another samurai jack AU. quick recap of where this AU diverges from canon:

("hey i haven't seen the show and idk what's going on" okay, watch this from 9:56)

Every once in a while somebody goes "do we really KNOW Aku (as a separate entity from the space blob) is inherently evil? or did he just immediately turn evil due to the fact that his very first interaction was his creator telling him he meant to kill him? how would things have gone differently if that hadn't happened?" and I went okay, sure, let's roll with that.

AU where the emperor DIDN'T immediately give Aku a motive to hate humanity and just sort of claims him. that's his son now.

and that's Jack's brother now.

listen, I've made jokes in two different posts about Jack & Aku having the same birthday and y'all should have interpreted that as a threat.

Aku is NOT allowed to name himself Literally The Word "Evil." He gets named Kage. And being called Literally The Word "Shadow" is edgy enough to satisfy him so he goes with it.

Since Jack never gets named "Jack," he's going by his real name. which in this au is Hikari, because adoptive twins named Light and Shadow feels like the kind of corny symbolism this show would jump all over.

it's also an actual phrase: 光と影 (hikari to kage, "light and shadow") meaning "rise and fall; ups and downs; shame and glory; bright side and dark side; light and shadow"

I wonder a lot about the fact that Aku's just, like, created as an adult. We know he's capable of developing and changing—he does during the course of the show—so like, he hasn't been static since he was born. What was he pre-loaded with, then, and what came later?

what if he looks adult to human eyes, but mentally he's just a young child that can already talk & fight. "Guy tells baby he was trying to kill him; baby throws a tantrum and decides to take over the world"—that feels like a perfectly proportionate emotional reaction for an actual newborn less than five minutes old for whom this is not only the worst thing to ever happen to him, but the ONLY thing to ever happen to him.

This isn't how I interpret Aku by default; but it IS how I'm interpreting him in this AU so that he can mentally keep pace with Jack and so that he has to "grow up" even though he already looks grown. Sure, this means that at a week old he's saying stuff like "if that odious daimyo visits Father again today, I will rip his body asunder and send his charred skull back to his grieving children" but he's also saying stuff like "why does my brother get a blanket but I don't? 🥺"

"oh," you say, "so this is like a nice soft AU where nothing bad happens?"

NO. It's an AU about a demon tree child under constant pressure to make himself smaller & less threatening so everyone stops fearing him, and he's never quite small enough or unthreatening enough unless he's literally disguised as something other than himself—and sometimes not even then.

It's about the less favored son who can never seem to do anything right enough to gain his father's approval. Sometimes he almost thinks his father hates him. But that can't be true, right? After all, his father went out into the wilderness with a potion and some hocus-pocus to make him on purpose, and why would he have done that if he didn't want him? Surely there isn't some other secret reason his father made him that he doesn't know about. Is he just not living up to his father's expectations? Is he too much trouble?

At least his brother loves him unconditionally.

#samurai jack #aku #(heck this is the part where i need to come up with another au name so I can tag it)#kage and hikari au #fanart #my art

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serenisastar · 22 hours ago

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Awww this is cute

1.) i feel like being a lizard or something would be so cool actually because I’d just get to crawl around all day in the sun

2.) if I’m in a hurry I just wear my go to baggy jeans that I wear anyway and probably the shirt I went to sleep in 😬 (as long as I only wore it that night and it hasn’t been like a week)

3.) i think I’d be a mermaid because I just love the sea and the beach so much

4.) my style changes so much based on the say sometimes I dress really girly/cunty and sometimes its more grunge or like a little boy but I always like to have LOADS of jewellery on

5.) reguluar milk sorry 🫣

6.) cereal first it’s the only right way to do it

7.) if I had to kill someone I’d just shoot them in the head like sorry if you think im boring but that makes me uncomfortable (no hate to op i just don’t like questions like that)

npt: @pleadingmantis @parapetowki @mesers-prongs @stupidstrawberrystars @shipspainfulships ik there’s more so if ur my mutual feel free to reply anyway

yk what I'll also do this get to know your mutuals cuz I thought bout it for a bit and I think I have to or I'll explode

get to know your mutuals♡

if you could be any animal which one would you choose to be? (can be fictional) (and you can explain why if you want to)

what would you choose when you're in a hurry and have nothing to wear?

are you a witch, vampire, fairy, dryad, siren or a mermaid and why do you think so?

what is your style?

regular milk or plant based milk?

which one do you put first milk or cereal?

fav way to kill someone? (idgaf if you never thought of it now you have to think of something and make it at least a bit cool I'm begging)

and I'll go first cuz I can

girl I wrote kinda a lot in these answers but I just had to brag about my fav way of killing people🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️ and okay maybe it's kinda stupid that I'm also doing this game even tho I made it for others but who cares?

I can't choose but either a phoenix or a wolf cuz the allegory of both of these animals absolutely stole my heart

anything in my wardrobe that looks good (and it's almost always not adequate for the cold weather, I literally can wear a mini skirt when it's like 2°C outside and there are times when I am wearing a mini skirt and a crop top when it is 0°C and even when it was -3°C I don't care)

something in between vampire and a dryad cuz I feel like I would be a good vampire I don't know how to describe it but I just know and that's it and also a dryad cuz when I think of them they give me rather a messy and chaotic vibe which is def how I act and overall express myself so I'd say that I'm sometimes both sometimes one and sometimes the other

I'm goth so my style is overall gothic and / or cunty

regular but only 1,5% fat

CEREAL

sooo this is my fav way, first - pepper spray in the face so they can't see and therefore they can't run away, second - start scratching their legs with a pocket knife as hard as possible and try to find an aorta and cut there (making it even harder to run away), third - stick the same knife into all of their fingers (why not), fourth - knock out their teeth with a knuckle duster and finally - when they open their mouth trying to catch a breath from the blood and saliva running into their throat pour fluoroantimonic acid into their mouth and it's done! and I'll add that fluoroantimonic acid is called the most corrosive acid in the world ans if it touches the skin it causes huge damage and if poured into someones throat it'll burn the insides and kill. I think I'm really creative cuz I came up with this when I was writing one of my books and now I'm obsessed

tags: @n1eprzytomnadesperacja @niketas-s @r4tkisses @dawkacynizmu @gothicm0rph @slowacki006

and with question 7 rn I'm mostly thinking about one bbg ( @dawkacynizmu I'm looking at you ) cuz a bit after I came up with this question I thought that you might have an interesting answer

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mocha1004 · 2 days ago

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Just a Joke (frat boy!leon x fem nerd!reader)

WARNING: smut (mdni!), dubcon, bullying, p in v, degradation (heavy), humiliation kink, virginity loss

Summary: Leon Kennedy has always made your life a living hell. Tripping you in class, mocking you at every turn, and making you feel small at every opportunity. But when he starts showing you an unexpected kindness, you let your guard down, believing he might be different...

Notes: the one we’ve all been waiting for. based on these posts (here and here) i’ve been working on this for a while!! i hope you enjoy it. take care and please never get into this situation irl ily <333

You always knew Leon Kennedy was cruel. It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t a secret. It was the kind of cruelty that lived in every smirk he threw your way across campus, in every whispered jab that made your throat tighten and your fists clench helplessly at your sides.

It started small.

He'd sit behind you in lectures and flick paper balls at the back of your head, snickering when you jumped.

"Hey, nerd." he'd drawl, when you passed by his table at the cafeteria, "You spill food on yourself again or is that just how you look?" You always looked down, clutching your tray tighter, cheeks burning so hot you thought you might pass out. But Leon never let you go. Not when you dropped your books rushing to class. Not when you wore that ugly, oversized sweater because you were too scared to show any skin. Not when you tripped, because, of course, he stuck a lazy foot out in the aisle, and landed hard on your knees, glasses skidding across the floor.

The laughter was deafening. Leon sauntered over, crouched down right next to you where you were scrambling to find your glasses, and casually picked them up, held them just out of reach.

"You really can't do anything right, can you?" he said, cocking his head in mock sympathy. "Pathetic."

You reached out, trembling, but he tossed your glasses down on the floor, not hard enough to break them, no, just hard enough to make you crawl. His friends howled with laughter. Leon just watched, a lazy smile curling on his lips.

"Don’t worry, sweetheart" he added as you frantically wiped your foggy lenses on your sleeve, "You’ll get used to being on your knees eventually."

You hated him. You hated the way your stomach twisted every time he looked at you. You hated that somewhere, deep down, some stupid, masochistic part of you liked the attention.

And then, One day... Leon changed.

No warning. No explanation. It happened when another frat boy made a gross joke about you during a party you hadn't even been invited to. A joke about your sweater. About what you might be hiding underneath it. Leon had been lounging on the couch, beer in hand, smirking lazily at nothing. And then, out of nowhere, he snapped.

"Watch your fucking mouth." Leon barked, standing up so fast the other guy backed off with both hands raised. You heard about it through whispers the next day. That Leon Kennedy, the guy who tormented you without mercy, had defended you. After that, he was...different.

He picked up your books when you dropped them, without a word. He held doors open for you, leaning casually against the frame, watching you shuffle by with wide, suspicious eyes. One afternoon, when you tripped over your own feet rushing to class, he caught you. Steady, firm hands on your waist.

"Careful, babe" he murmured, close enough that you felt his breath on your skin. "Wouldn’t want you hurting yourself." You stared up at him, heart hammering, heat crawling up your neck. Leon’s blue eyes locked on yours, and for one insane moment, you thought maybe, maybe, he actually liked you. Maybe he wasn't just messing with you.

It had been building up for weeks.

You wanted to believe that Leon was starting to see you differently. The little things: the way his eyes softened when you were around, the way he carried your books so effortlessly, the way he made sure no one messed with you in class. He was sweet... sometimes. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

Just maybe, you hoped that tonight, after he walked you back from class, after he’d been teasing you with that damn smile of his, was going to be different. Maybe tonight you’d kiss him. Maybe tonight he’d see you as more than the loser nerd he’d spent months mocking. You couldn't stop thinking about him.

The way his body felt so close to yours when he walked you to your dorm. The way his hand grazed your back, sending little shocks of heat through your chest. Everything about him was like a drug. You could feel yourself getting addicted.

You stopped by your door, fumbling for your keys, heart racing, your face flushed and uncomfortably warm. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe you were dreaming. "Thanks for walking me back" you said, barely above a whisper, glancing up at him. "It…it was really nice of you." Leon leaned against the wall, his eyes glinting with something that made your pulse jump. "Of course." he said, voice smooth as velvet, almost too calm. "I mean, what kind of guy would I be if I let a little thing like you walk all alone, right?" You nodded, biting your lip, trying to steady your breathing.

Then, before you could think better of it, you took a step forward, so close now, your heart almost in your throat. "Leon" you said in a shaky voice, your hands twitching at your sides. "I-I wanted to tell you..." Your breath caught in your chest. You had no idea what you were doing, but your body was pulling you toward him, something desperate inside you urging you to close the gap. He smirked at you, eyes narrowing slightly, watching you fumble. "What is it, sweetheart?" he said, his voice a low growl. "You’ve got something to say?" You swallowed, heart hammering, too afraid to back down now.

You leaned in, your lips trembling, and closed your eyes. It was a stupid move, but you couldn’t help it. Your body was already betraying you, too far gone to turn back. You pressed your lips against his, clumsy, hesitant, not quite sure if you were even doing it right. The kiss was soft at first, unsure. Gentle. But then, Leon’s lips didn’t soften back. He let out a low chuckle, pulling away just enough to breathe.

"Aww." he teased, voice dripping with mock sympathy. "You really thought you could do that?" You froze, heat crawling up your neck, humiliated. "What?" you stammered, barely able to breathe. He stepped back, holding you at arm’s length, his grin widening. "You think someone like me would go for someone like you?" he asked, his words cutting through the space between you like ice. "God, you're so easy."

Your breath hitched. Your stomach twisted in a painful knot, like you’d just been sucker-punched. You tried to backpedal, your chest tightening as you pulled your hands away from him. "No, I didn’t—"

"Yeah, you did." Leon interrupted, stepping closer to you, pinning you against the door with his body, the weight of him forcing you to look up at him, feeling small. "You thought just because I picked up your stupid books and walked you home like some nice guy means you get a piece of me?" You tried to turn your head away, but Leon grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. His thumb rubbed over your bottom lip slowly, deliberately.

"No one wants you. Not really."

He stepped closer, his voice lowering, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath on your face.

"It was just a joke.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, your heart pounding painfully in your chest. "Please... Leon" you whispered, desperate, but he just shook his head with that same mocking grin. "Don't beg." he whispered, leaning down to your ear. "Makes you look pathetic." He stepped back, his eyes flashing with something dark and cruel.

"You should’ve known better." he said, a sneer tugging at his lips. "You’re nothing but a joke to me. Don’t you forget it”. You stood there for a long time, your body frozen, fighting the overwhelming urge to break down. But you wouldn't cry for him. Not after this. You’d never cry for him.

"Aw, don’t cry, sweetheart." he cooed cruelly, grabbing your chin to force you to look at him. "You wanted attention so bad, might as well give you what you’re begging for." Before you could protest, Leon spun you around and shoved you face-first against the door. Your heart hammered in your chest. You could feel him, hot, heavy, hard, grinding against your ass.

"Tch. A fucking virgin too." he muttered, palming your hips. "I can smell it on you. Bet you touch yourself every night thinking about me, huh?" You whimpered, ashamed, but you didn't fight him. Leon yanked your skirt up, shoving your panties aside. You gasped, feeling the head of his cock pressing against you, huge and merciless. "You’re gonna take it." he growled low into your ear. "You’re gonna take all of it, even if you cry. Especially if you cry." And he slammed inside you with one brutal thrust.

You choked on a sob, clawing at the door for purchase. It hurt, god, it hurt, but Leon just shushed you mockingly, hips pistoning in deep, grinding against the tender, aching stretch. "Tight little pussy" he groaned, fucking into you harder, "Clinging to me like you were made for it. Maybe you were. Fucking nerd, just waiting to get ruined by someone better." Tears blurred your vision, your glasses long forgotten somewhere on the floor. Leon gripped your hair and yanked your head back, forcing you to take every savage thrust.

"You wanted this, didn’t you?" he sneered. "Bet you were dreaming about getting your stupid little virgin cunt stuffed full. Bet you came to class soaking wet just from looking at me." You sobbed, but the worst part was, you could feel it: the slick heat building between your legs, the traitorous clenching of your body around him. Leon felt it too.

"Fuck." he groaned, biting down on your neck hard enough to leave bruises. "You're loving it, you dirty little bitch. Gonna make you cum on my cock. Gonna make you so fucking messy you’ll never be able to pretend you're better than this." His hand slid down between your legs, two fingers rubbing mercilessly over your swollen clit. You shook your head desperately, no, no, you didn’t want to cum for him. But Leon’s low, taunting whisper broke you. "That's it, baby. Cum for me. Show me how fucking desperate you are."

Your body betrayed you, back arching, toes curling, as your orgasm crashed over you, hot and overwhelming. Leon fucked you right through it, laughing breathlessly against your ear. "Knew it. Fucking knew it. All it took was a real man to wreck you." With a final deep thrust, Leon groaned and came inside you, thick spurts of heat flooding your raw, sore cunt. He pulled out after a moment, watching his cum drip out of you with a satisfied smirk.

"Better clean up before someone sees you like this" he said lazily, tucking himself back into his jeans. You slid to the floor, dazed, humiliated, utterly broken. Leon crouched in front of you, flicking your forgotten glasses at you.

"See you in class, nerd" he said, winking, before walking away, whistling like nothing had ever happened.

#mocha's love letters #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #resident evil

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tinaascended · 2 days ago

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⎯⎯ DEAN WINCHESTER'S FAVORITE SEX POSITIONS

everything written down is according to his birth chart. explained in details + mini scenarios :) if you want to read sam's version, click here

“he drives like he fucks—reckless, rough, and with both hands gripping tight.”

BRIEF EXPLANATION OF HIS BIRTH CHART:

✧. sun in aquarius – rebellious, unpredictable, magnetic

craves freedom and authenticity.

turns him on when you’re unique, bold, or a little quirky.

has a quiet intensity- doesn’t fall easily, but when he does, it’s deep and rare.

sexually: curious, experimental, loves surprises and breaking the rules.

✧ moon in sagittarius – fiery, adventurous, wild-hearted

emotionally restless, hates feeling trapped.

needs fun, playfulness, and lighthearted energy in relationships.

sexually: loves spontaneous, passionate encounters. he’s a dirty talker, big on thrill and adrenaline.

✧ ascendant in leo – bold, charismatic, protective

makes an immediate impression- commanding, warm, cocky charm

classic “alpha energy” but with a heart of gold under it

makes him seem confident, flirtatious, and in control even when he’s struggling underneath

sexually: likes being admired, enjoys performance, thrives on attention and praise

✧ mercury in aquarius – sharp, witty, forward-thinking

communicates through sarcasm, dark humor, and honesty.

gets off on someone who’s mentally quick and confident.

sexually: loves teasing banter, roleplay, or “mind games” that keep him on edge.

✧ venus in pisces – romantic, dreamy, soft beneath the armor

deeply emotional in love but hides it well.

needs to feel chosen, worshipped, needed.

sexually: sensual, giving, wants to feel emotionally fused. he melts when you’re soft with him after he’s rough.

✧ mars in capricorn – dominant, disciplined, controlled

powerful drive, needs to be in control physically.

expresses desire through slow, deliberate, sometimes possessive energy.

seexually: he’s a pusher. loves edging, control, restraint, but always delivers. one of the most intense placements for stamina.

THE POSITIONS:

✧･ﾟcowgirl (because he loves when you take control)

i mean, we all knew this.

sun in aquarius - he secretly loves when you surprise him or flip the script. moon in sagittarius - he likes a little fun, a little freedom, a partner who can ride him like she knows she owns him. plus? venus in pisces wants to be wanted. watching you climb on top? It shows him you crave him. that’s a turn-on all on its own.

control, but given, not taken. he loves letting you ride him. not just for the view (though let’s be honest, he’s feral for it), but because it shows you want him just as badly.

he’s cocky about it. grinning up at you with those hands behind his head like he’s in heaven. “go on, sweetheart. show me how bad you want it.” but the second you start rolling your hips, tossing your head back? gone. fists gripping your thighs, biting his lip, groaning like he’s trying not to beg. and when you lean down to kiss him mid-ride? he holds your face like you’re everything.

his leo rising loves the performance. the eye contact, the moaning, the way you take what you want while he lays back and worships every second. his venus in pisces craves connection. having you on top means he can watch every expression on your face, feel your hands on his chest, trace your body with his eyes like he’s memorizing it. and mars in capricorn? he’ll grip your hips and let you take the lead for as long as you want. but the second you start to fall apart? he’ll take over. flip you, thrust deep, and finish what you started.

⋆˙�� your hands are planted on his chest, thighs burning as you roll your hips slow, teasing. dean watches you, gaze dark, jaw clenched.

“fuck, baby,” he pants, hands sliding up your sides. “you look so good like this. all mine.” you grind a little harder, and his hands tighten. “keep that up and I’m not gonna last.”

you smirk, but before you can answer, he grabs your hips, thrusts up, and groans, “actually- screw it. I wanna see you fall apart first.⋆˙⟡

✧･ﾟdoggystyle (but not just for roughness)

dean’s mars in capricorn makes him dominant, focused, and deeply into the rhythm and control of sex. his leo rising makes him obsessed with the view, the power, and the performance of it all. venus in pisces? that’s where the hidden tenderness comes in, because even when it’s rough, he’s connected. and he never stops watching your reactions like they’re his lifeline.

this position gives him visual overload- your back arched, your ass bouncing, your hair a mess, it hits every damn nerve in his body. he's in total control- he can grip your hips, your throat, your shoulders, he can hold you still and pull you back into every deep, punishing thrust. emotional distance with emotional depth- from behind, it looks rough, detached, but dean? he’ll be muttering soft praise under every growl. he feels every bit of it.

he starts with firm but slow thrusts, watching how your body reacts, listening for the sounds you make. then he picks up the pace, gets more desperate, maybe one hand tangled in your hair, the other on your hip. he loves grabbing a fistful of your ass, leaning over your back to growl in your ear, his chest flush against you just for a second. if he really loses control? one hand slides under to rub you, because making you come from behind is his personal obsession.

⋆˙⟡ you’re on your hands and knees, breath heavy, sheets rumpled. dean’s behind you, one hand gripping your hip tight, the other tracing the dip of your spine.

“goddamn, sweetheart,” he groans. “this view should be illegal.”

his hips snap forward, slow and deep, making your arms shake. He leans down, mouth at your ear. “you feel that?” he whispers, voice gravel. “that’s me owning every inch of you.”

you whimper, and that’s it. he pulls back and slams into you harder, setting a rhythm that has you crying out, your hand grabbing at the sheets. dean’s groaning your name now, voice raw. “touch yourself, baby. I wanna feel you come around me like this.” ⋆˙⟡

✧･ﾟmissionary with his hands pinning yours

mars in capricorn gives him that slow, controlled dominance. when his hands are pinning yours? that’s him saying “i’m in charge, but i’m not hurting you. i’m here. i’m not going anywhere.” venus in pisces craves closeness. eye contact, connection, feeling you breathe against him. this position gives him full access to all of that. leo rising adds just the right amount of possessiveness. When he pins you down, it’s not just to dominate, it’s to remind you that you’re his, and he’s going to ruin you gently.

you’re flat on your back, your arms stretched above your head. dean’s body is pressed to yours, chest to chest, every inch of him heavy and grounding. his hands lock around your wrists, fingers laced if he’s feeling tender, palms firm if he’s feeling filthy. he looks into your eyes the whole time. and if you try to look away? he leans in and says, “no. eyes on me.”

he gets to watch every reaction, the little gasps, the lip bites, the way your eyes flutter. he loves the vulnerability, not just yours, but his own. you’re beneath him, but he’s bared too. there’s nowhere to hide when it’s this close. he can whisper to you the entire time, sweet nothings, filthy praise, promises he’ll make with every thrust.

⋆˙⟡ dean hovers over you, eyes dark, lips parted. your wrists are pinned above your head, his fingers strong and warm against your skin.

“you trust me?” he murmurs, voice low. you nod.

“good.” he kisses you. soft, slow. then pulls back, rocking his hips into yours. deep. unhurried. devastating.

“don’t move those hands,” he whispers, gaze locked to yours. “I wanna see you take it just like this.”

he grinds into you, his grip tightening every time your body arches. you moan his name and he smiles, leaning down, nose brushing yours. “that’s it, baby. let me see you fall apart.”⋆˙⟡

✧･ﾟlap sex / chair sex

control meets worship. dean loves to watch you. having you in his lap while he’s seated? he gets to feel everything, direct every movement, and watch your face. up close and personal. his leo rising thrives off the view, the confidence in you taking control. but also loves when you surrender to his grip. mars in capricorn brings the physical intensity. his hands will roam, grip, guide. he’ll lift you into every grind and keep the rhythm with bruising precision. venus in pisces softens it just enough. he’ll kiss your chest, your neck, your jaw. even when he’s losing control, there’s this underlying reverence, like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

he’s sitting back, legs spread, arms flexing as he grabs your hips. you’re straddling him, facing him. or sometimes, you’re facing away- reverse cowgirl style on the chair, his hands on your thighs and ass, growling in your ear about how good you look. he talks the entire time. encouraging, praising, groaning: “that’s it, baby. ride me. take your time"; "you feel that? that’s what you do to me.”

he'll do it anywhere. motel chairs. those ugly ones with the stiff seats? doesn’t matter. he’s pulling you into his lap in 0.5 seconds. the impala. front seat reclined, you climbing over him, all breathy moans and fogged-up windows. kitchen chair. He’s already sitting there, legs wide, looking up at you with that smirk like, “what are you waiting for?”

⋆˙⟡ he’s sitting on a motel chair, legs spread, hands gripping your thighs as you sink onto him with a shuddering breath. his eyes are locked to yours, mouth parted, a little dazed by the feeling of you wrapped around him.

“fuck, sweetheart,” he groans, pulling you closer, guiding your hips. you rock slowly, his hands sliding up your back under your shirt, fingers splaying across your skin. he kisses your chest, your throat, your jaw. with every slow grind, he exhales against your skin.

“you feel so good,” he murmurs. “take your time. we’ve got all night.” your foreheads press together. his breath catches as you clench around him and ride a little harder. he holds your hips tighter, barely hanging on. “god damn… you’re gonna kill me like this.”⋆˙⟡

✧･ﾟ spooning

but from behind or face-to-face?

the answer is both, but for very different moods.

from behind (traditional spooning – his favorite for intimacy & control):

this is dean’s default. it’s everything he craves in one position. he gets to hold you, thrust into you deeply, and watch you squirm while he whispers filth into your ear. it gives him full access. to your chest, your throat, your thighs. and he can wrap himself around you completely. it’s possessive without being aggressive. he doesn’t need to look you in the eye to feel completely connected. his mars in capricorn loves the control this position gives, and his venus in pisces adores the closeness.

⋆˙⟡ you’re barely awake, body heavy in the sheets, when you feel him behind you, warm, solid, breathing slow and steady. dean shifts, arm tightening around your waist, and without a word, he slides his hand down, finding the heat between your thighs. “you’re always so warm for me,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep and want.

you arch into him, and he groans, pulling your hips back just enough to push into you in one long, unhurried thrust. “goddamn, baby,” he whispers, forehead pressed against the back of your neck. “just like that. let me stay in you.”

his hips move slow and deep, one hand gripping your thigh, the other under your shirt, fingertips tracing lazy patterns on your stomach. your whimpers grow softer, breath catching with each stroke. he kisses the shell of your ear. “you’re mine like this. every part of you.”⋆˙⟡

face to face (the ultra-soft, post-confession or early-morning version):

rare, but precious. this is not his default, but when he initiates it, you know it means something. this version is full eye contact. kisses. breathy moans into each other’s mouths. he strokes your hair, presses his forehead to yours, maybe even says things he wouldn’t dare in any other moment.

he lets you see all of him. the desire, the tenderness, the love he doesn’t know how to name. it’s intimate as hell, and he only does this when his walls are completely down.

⋆˙⟡ the room is quiet. no motel noise, no hunting talk. just the hum of the night and dean’s eyes watching yours. you’re facing him, legs tangled, your bare chest pressed to his. he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, thumb brushing your jaw like he can’t believe you’re real.

“c’mere,” he whispers, guiding you closer, his forehead resting against yours as he slides inside you slowly. the pace is almost too soft. not lazy. intentional. like he’s trying to memorize how you feel.

his hand cups your cheek, thumb tracing the corner of your mouth. “stay with me, yeah? just like this,” he says with a small smile that cracks into something more vulnerable.

you wrap your leg over his hip, pulling him deeper, and he exhales sharply against your lips. “you break me, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “and I fuckin’ love it." he stays like that, thrusting slow and tender, kissing you between every movement, holding you like he’d never let go. ⋆˙⟡

so, which would he prefer?

from behind. because it lets him have you, protect you, ruin you, and hold you all at once. but face-to-face? that’s the one he saves for the nights when he’s too in love to hide it.

✧･ﾟ oral (but... he's a receiver)

dean loves getting head. not just because it feels good, but because it feeds his ego (leo rising). it gives him a sense of being worshipped (venus in pisces wants to be wanted). it lets him let go for a second, which is rare for him.

he leans back in a chair, one hand gripping your hair, mouth slightly open, those dean noises coming out of him- half moan, half growl. his eyes lock onto yours while he watches you go down on him, and you’ll see that cocky little smirk curl at the corner of his mouth, even while he’s falling apart.

but when he’s giving? it’s filthy worship. even if he prefers receiving, when he’s in the mood to go down on you, he’s ravenous about it. he’s not just doing it for you. he’s doing it because he loves tasting you. watching you squirm. hearing you beg.

so, he has an oral fixation- but in a very dean way. he loves receiving because it makes him feel needed, powerful, worshipped. he loves giving when he’s feeling possessive or when he needs to ground himself in your body. and he definitely has a thing for your mouth on him, especially if you tease him a little first, make him beg a bit. That’s when he gets obsessed.

⋆˙⟡ dean’s leaning back against the headboard, legs spread wide, hands behind his head like he’s relaxing, but his jaw’s already tight, watching you kneel between his thighs with that soft little smirk.

you press a kiss to his hipbone, slow and teasing. his breath hitches, but he keeps the smirk, trying to play it cool. “gonna take your time, huh?” he mutters, voice rough. “that’s real cute.”

but when your mouth finally wraps around him, warm and wet and slow, his cock twitches, and all that bravado cracks. his hands leave the headboard in a heartbeat, one threading into your hair, the other gripping the sheets like he’s hanging on for dear life. “shit- fuck, baby…”

you don’t stop. you hollow your cheeks and look up at him, and it wrecks him. his head tips back against the wall, mouth open, a low groan dragging from his throat. he tries to pull back control.

“y-yeah, just like that. jesus christ. don’t stop. please-” but his voice falters when you swirl your tongue just under the head, slow and mean.

now he’s panting. ⋆˙⟡

MASTERLIST

I JUST SERVED BREAKFAST, LUNCH AND DINNER + SWEET TREAT. you're welcome.

#tina's works ⊹₊⟡⋆#supernatural #spn #spn fanfic #supernatural fic #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester x reader #spnedit

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baphometsss · 3 days ago

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I really think that the draw to Solas for me was in his loneliness and the eccentricity solitude fosters. He says himself that he has basically no friends who are not spirits. In Veilguard this is only reinforced when he says it took him centuries to build a rapport with members of the rebellion. Sometimes it just hits me how lonely he was.

I also think it's interesting that, if the Inquisitor romances Blackwall, Solas tells him that he's glad he's found some happiness despite everything. And when Blackwall asks him if he has found someone, Solas says 'no, I find my peace elsewhere'... he's really not all that romantically inclined. One of the reasons I hate most solavellan fic is that people tend to write him as this super experienced fuckboy when the text tells us over and over again that he doesn't form bonds with living people very easily. I get that some people find the idea of being with someone who has thousands of years of experience sexy, but the text tells us repeatedly that he isn't especially invested in relationships with non-spirits, who are non-sexual, so he probably isn't as experienced as people think. I won't get into it too much bc I've already spoken about it, but he never properly learned to bond as a person and not as a spirit. So prior to DAI, he simply doesn't, and we can infer--especially given that he's described as never having been in love before--that he hasn't pursued romance a great deal in his life.

This is probably fed by my own bullshit (it's definitely fed by my own bullshit), but I think I had a hard time figuring out how to romance him bc they would only allow you to romance him with a female elf due to time constraints. This is despite him saying repeatedly that he loves Lavellan's spirit. When you're trans or nonbinary, it's hard to explain how exciting that is; to have characters who say explicitly that they do not define others by their bodies. It's very cool on its own, but for nb players in particular it's especially important. If you struggle with how you're perceived physically, it's nice to be able to make a character who is loved for who they actually are and not for what they look like. To have someone who sees them for who they are and not for what others want them to be. It's something people like me crave and I think this is why I'm so pro-queer Solas, pro-Solas doesn't give a shit about how on fleek your Lavellan's eyebrows are, etc. The physical doesn't factor in to why he loves. He simply loves others for their character, and although he often lets his first impressions colour his views of entire people, he is still willing to listen and learn if you give him a chance to be Wisdom and not Pride. We literally see him begin to question his own convictions re: the Dalish during the balcony scene. Contrary to popular fandom belief, he actually admits to being wrong all the time.

Idk man I just really like having a Lavellan that is an outsider all their life and isn't understood even by their own Clan, only to find her kindred spirit in Fen'harel, the adversary of her people. I'm obsessed with the fact that Solas fell in love for the first time with a mortal, who exists because of his mistake, who he loves enough to throw away his plans and only doesn't follow through because of his guilt. I need to write more fic jsdkdfhkjsg

#solavellan #solas #lavellan #nonbinary lavellan

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better-setterv2 · 2 days ago

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𝒜𝒸𝒸𝒾𝒹𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈

Authors Note: Hey everyone! This is my very first post on Tumblr. I’m still figuring out how everything works on here, so apologies if the formatting’s a bit off. If you have any feedback, let me know. Thanks so much for reading and I hope you enjoy! P.S I honestly hate this...Lots of love xx

Summary: Reader gets added into the f1 group-chat by mistake

Warning: none

MASTERLIST

Pt1, Pt2

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ

You never meant to end up in that group chat.

One minute you were scrolling through your messages and the next, a swarm of notifications flooded in. GIFs, memes and inside jokes that made no sense from a group chat named GridBanterGC 🏁. Apparently, someone named MadMax had meant to add someone else. You were the wrong number. The usernames presented were even more confusing; HoneyBadger, SmoothOperator, Pastry and a lot more.

[MadMax has added unknown user to GridBanterGC🏁]

MadMax: don’t worry guys I finally added Alex

Norrified: Are you sure? Because that is not Alex’s number man

SmootherOperator: that isn’t even close to Alex’s number HAHAHA

Pastry: Who did you even add?

User: um…hello?

Hulk: what have you done Max?

Baguetteboi: Uh...hi there. What’s your name?

User: Why would I tell randoms my name? Do you guys even have brain cells?

MrSaturday: Fair. As a matter of fact we do have brain cells! Well, some of us.

But before you could press leave chat, a message caught your attention.

Hammertime: Do I even bother asking what happened? Ignore them newbie, feel free to leave or stay. I promise we don’t bite.

You smiled as you read his message, feeling a warm connection despite not knowing who Hammertime actually was.

MadMax: Sorry guys I didn’t mean to add them. Bloody fat thumbs…

HoneyBadger: How do you even stuff up that bad?

User: You’re telling me you dragged me into this stupid group-chat with idiotic names accidentally?

Pastry: Exactly.

User: You can easily just block me, problem solved. Honestly what are you guys, 14 year olds who don’t think?

Hulk: we just got roasted…by a random in like 5 seconds

Hammertime: Leave the newbie alone. Anyway, don’t mind them. You’ll get used to the chaos. If you need a break, hit me up or I can tell these wildlings to stop harassing you.

You felt a small flutter in your chest at the message, wondering what kind of person he was behind the screen.

You didn’t know much about Hammertime just his kindness and the way he made you feel welcome. But there was something about him that was starting to intrigue you more than the others.

The conversation shifted to random memes and more lighthearted jokes, but you kept finding yourself glancing at Hammetime’s name whenever he spoke, the soft mystery he exuded pulling you in.

You set your phone down with a soft sigh, wondering how long it would take to figure out who those people are behind the screen.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡

The next day, the group chat was its usual chaotic self. You sometimes commenting throughout. But this time, there was something different.

You didn’t just see the jokes and memes, you saw Hammertime’s messages first. He was calm, cool, collected and somehow in the mess of it all, you found yourself looking forward to his next message.

But what really caught you off guard was a message from Hammertime that afternoon.

Hammertime: Funny how someone can show up by accident and still end up being the best part of the day unlike the rest of you

You blinked at the message, unsure how to respond. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, but for once you didn’t know what to say.

You typed back and erased your reply twice before finally settling on;

User: Is that your way of saying you’re glad I’m here?

Seconds passed. Then a minute. Your phone buzzed again.

Hammertime: Maybe. Don’t let it go to your head though.

SmootherOperator: stop flirting you two, that’s my job

You laughed quietly, pulling your knees to your chest as you sat curled up on your couch. There was something different about him or whoever he was. Polite, thoughtful, with this quiet sort of charm that didn’t try too hard.

You didn’t even know his real name, but somehow that didn’t seem to matter. You smiled to yourself, heart fluttering just a bit. You didn’t know who Hammertime really was…but maybe you didn’t need to. Not yet.

For now, the mystery was enough.

#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #x reader #lewis hamilton #lh44 #f1 x reader #f1 drivers #f1 smau #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 #lh44 x reader

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wbbobsesserr · 2 days ago

Text

ᯓ sweet spot — chapter three

pairing: paige bueckers & azzi fudd

wc: 2.6k

paige laid on her stomach, face half-buried in her pillow, phone in hand. the screenshot of azzi’s private profile stared back at her like it was daring her to do something.

she wasn’t doing anything, though. she had decided that.

until nika texted again.

nika: i bet she’d accept it

paige: i bet i’d implode

nika: stop being so dramatic. it’s not that deep

paige groaned dramatically, flipping onto her back. she tapped her screen off, then on again. back to azzi’s account. still private. still untouched.

she wondered what kind of stuff azzi posted on there. stories? rants? screenshots of text convos with her boyfriend? paige tried her best not to flinch at that last one.

azzi had mentioned him so casually. “my boyfriend.”

like it wasn’t a knife to her goddamn chest.

it naturally got brought up again the following day, when paige was shooting around early, headphones in, trying to look chill. emphasis on trying. she caught herself glancing toward the doors every five seconds like some romcom loser.

then she saw azzi walk in, hoodie on, hair pulled back, yawning like she hadn’t slept. paige’s heartbeat tripled.

azzi waved when she noticed her— just a small one. paige waved back. cool. normal.

totally not weird.

then nika appeared, completely ruining the illusion of calm.

“so,” she whispered, bumping shoulders with paige mid-dribble, “you follow her yet?”

“jesus, nika.”

“she posts the funniest shit. like crying selfies, bad song lyrics,” she laughed. “it’s like a whole different side of her.”

paige blinked once. “you followed her?”

“duh. we’re friends.”

paige hated how jealous that made her.

“she hasn’t posted about noah in a while, though,” nika added, almost too casually. “that’s all i’m saying.”

paige said nothing. just stared at the rim and tried not to read into that.

the blonde laid in bed, lights off, hoodie on, thumb hovering over her screen again. she couldn’t stop thinking about azzi yawning that morning. or the way she’d smiled yesterday. or nika’s dumb snarky comment.

without giving it another thought, she hit the follow button.

instant regret.

she tossed her phone across the bed like it caught on fire. then crawled under her blanket and pulled it over her head.

her phone buzzed twenty seconds later.

follow accepted.

paige peeked out from the blanket. her heartbeat might’ve actually stopped.

azzi had accepted her request.

paige unlocked her phone with trembling fingers and opened the profile.

the first post was a close-up of azzi’s face, clearly crying but also clearly laughing. the caption read: “i swear this was about a group project and not a man. probably.”

paige nearly dropped her phone all over again.

she scrolled, curiosity growing.

more chaos. rants. song lyrics. selfies of her and with some friends. a mirror pic with the caption: “am i cute or do i just have anxiety?”

and then, finally, a pretty sunset over some beach in california. captioned: “miss this sometimes.”

the post was from one week ago.

paige didn’t like anything. didn’t comment. didn’t breathe.

she just stared.

and she knew— knew— that she was so, so royally fucked. because azzi was so impossibly beautiful that there was no other way to be.

paige scrolled back to the sunset post. the caption hit harder than she wanted to admit. she knew what that kind of homesickness felt like— how it crept in during the quiet moments, curling into her ribs like smoke.

she stared at the photo for a long time, thumb tapping the edge of her phone like a metronome. the caption was simple— miss this sometimes— but paige felt it in her chest.

the picture wasn’t even anything dramatic. just a hazy sunset over rooftops and a caption typed too fast. no filters, no nothing. just a soft sort of sadness, and something unspoken.

before she could talk herself out of it, she opened azzi’s dms. clicked her name.

typed. deleted. typed again.

paige: just saw ur post about missing california. i get that. sometimes it hits out of nowhere, and then it’s all u can think about. if u ever wanna chill or smth, i’m here

she sent it. then quickly added:

paige: just thought id say that

immediate regret flooded her. not because she didn’t mean it— god, she meant it— but because it felt personal, a little vulnerable.

she turned off her phone and tossed it to the foot of the bed like it burned her. a few minutes later, she turned it back on. no response.

then suddenly— three dots.

azzi: that’s actually really nice to hear right now. it’s been a weird week. sometimes it feels like i’m walking around in someone else’s life. thank u for saying that

paige exhaled. her heartbeat sped.

paige: no problem. really. i mean it

another pause.

azzi: honestly? i wouldn’t mind hanging out

paige: i got u. wanna come over? paige: i’ve got snacks and a bunch of shitty netflix recs from nika that i’ve been putting off

azzi: deal. i’ll be over soon

around thirty minutes later, azzi— in sweatpants and an oversized hoodie—knocked on paige’s door like they’d done this a hundred times before.

paige flung it open, trying not to look like she’d been pacing for the past ten minutes.

“hey,” azzi said quietly. “thanks for inviting me over.”

paige smiled. “yeah, sure.”

they sat on the floor with a shared blanket between them and a bowl of popcorn that neither of them touched much. the movie played in the background, but neither of them watched it.

instead, they talked.

not about basketball. not about school. just… stuff. small stuff. azzi mentioned a diner she used to go to back home, how they served pancakes all day. paige talked about her favorite childhood memories from when she lived in minnesota.

at some point, azzi leaned her head against the wall, eyes half-lidded.

“i don’t miss california,” she said. “not really. it’s more like i miss who i was there. before everything got so complicated.”

paige didn’t answer right away. she just nodded in understanding, watching the soft flicker of light play across azzi’s face.

“yeah,” she said quietly. “i know what you mean.”

the popcorn went cold. the movie ended. but neither of them moved.

it wasn’t a date. it wasn’t anything like that.

but it mattered.

and paige knew she wasn’t going to forget it anytime soon.

after that night, azzi started hanging out in paige’s room a lot.

it wasn’t like they planned it. it just sort of happened. a post-practice cooldown turned into ice cream. then it became watching film together. then music. then nothing at all. just existing. together. paige definitely wasn’t complaining. except… she was, internally. constantly. because being near azzi and not being able to kiss her was basically slow, romantic torture.

azzi would curl up on paige’s bed, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, brown curls framing her face in a way paige adored, legs tucked under her. paige would sit at her desk pretending to do homework while her entire brain short-circuited from the proximity.

tonight, azzi had her head on paige’s shoulder while they watched love & basketball on her laptop.

“this movie’s so dramatic,” azzi mumbled, half-asleep, “but i love it.”

“same,” paige whispered, very aware of how azzi’s cheek was resting against her collarbone. “you’re the q to my monica.”

azzi laughed gently. “that makes you the love interest.”

i’d like to be. paige didn’t say it. but the words pressed up against her throat. instead, she said, “you doing okay?”

azzi was quiet for a second.

then: “honestly, i don’t know.”

paige looked down. azzi was staring straight ahead, lashes long, voice soft. “i talked to noah yesterday,” she said. “he got mad i couldn’t facetime right after class. it’s just… hard, lately. the distance. everything.”

paige felt something clench in her chest. she hated that he made azzi feel like this. that he could.

“you don’t deserve that,” she said, firm and direct.

azzi shrugged. “he’s just stressed. i get it.”

paige didn’t. but she kept that to herself.

there was a pause. then azzi nudged paige’s side gently.

then.

“you’re so sweet, you know that?”

paige scoffed, blushing hard. “me? no. you’re literally… like, the kindest person i’ve ever met.”

azzi smiled, eyes soft. “that’s not true. you’re not like how everyone thinks you are.”

paige shook her head, was silent for a moment. “you have no idea what you do to me.”

azzi tilted her head. “what do i do to you?”

paige blinked. shit.

“uh— nothing,” she said too fast. “i mean— like— not nothing, but not—”

azzi was smiling now. “are you nervous?”

paige buried her face in her hands. “you cannot just ask that.”

azzi laughed and bumped her shoulder. “you’re adorable.”

she’s going to kill me, paige thought. this is how i die. at the hands of sweetness.

later that night, paige was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. she hadn’t stopped replaying every word since azzi left.

fuck it. she gave up trying to sleep and texted her.

paige: u make it back to ur dorm okay?

azzi replied instantly.

azzi: yup. thank u again for letting me hang in ur room. i swear its cozier than mine

paige: that’s bc its been blessed by ur presence paige: scientifically proven

azzi: lol ur too much azzi: fr tho ur such a good friend. its been nice having u around lately

paige’s fingers hovered.

fucking friend. paige tried her best not to roll her eyes.

paige: always here for u. friend or otherwise

azzi didn’t reply for a minute.

then—

azzi: goodnight paige azzi: sleep well <3

paige turned off her phone and curled deeper into the covers.

she wasn’t going to sleep. not with that stupid little heart pounding in her head.

it was a rare night off, and coach had ordered team dinner at this little family-owned italian place downtown. long tables, red-checkered tablecloths, warm lighting. the whole team packed in tight, plates of pasta being passed around, laughter echoing off the walls.

paige sat at the end of the table, half-listening to nika’s story about a tinder date gone rogue, when she felt it— azzi sliding into the empty chair beside her. her breath caught. she hoped nobody noticed.

“you look nice,” azzi said quietly, nudging paige’s knee under the table.

paige blinked. “sorry— what?”

azzi grinned. “didn’t think the team dinner dress code included looking like a low-key goddess, but here we are.”

paige laughed a little too loud and immediately looked down at her outfit. she was in jeans and a black zip-up. casual. nothing special.

but azzi was looking at her like she was wearing dior.

“you’re one to talk,” paige mumbled, hoping the restaurant lighting masked how pink her ears had gone. “you could wear a trash bag and still look perfect.”

azzi’s grin widened as she sipped her lemonade. “so dramatic.”

“you started it.”

they smiled at each other for a beat too long.

that’s when kennedy— one of paige’s flings she’d forgotten all about until this moment— walked up out of nowhere, and immediately leaned in.

“so, paige,” she said, twirling her straw in the drink she was holding. “you dating anyone?”

azzi blinked.

paige flinched like she’d been slapped. “uh… no. not really.”

kennedy smirked. “crazy. someone like you? i just assumed.”

across the table, azzi was quiet. still smiling, but not quite the same.

paige tried to steer the conversation away, suddenly hyperaware of azzi’s leg brushing against hers under the table. she didn’t dare to move.

halfway through dinner, paige reached for the bread basket, and so did azzi. their fingers touched.

azzi didn’t pull away. neither did she.

“you’re warm,” she whispered.

paige looked at her, heart in her throat. “so are you.”

they froze like that for a second, hands still barely touching.

azzi opened her mouth to say something, but—

nika’s voice cut in from the other side of the table. “hey azzi, what’s your dog’s name again? the one in your story?”

azzi blinked, pulling her hand back. “oh— stewie. she’s tiny and thinks she owns my parent’s house.”

paige stared at the empty space between them like it had just betrayed her.

only a few hours later, however, paige— comfortably positioned on her bed— typed out a message.

paige: u were gonna say something earlier. what was it?

she stared at the text.

deleted it.

she tried again.

paige: i like when u sit next to me

fuck no. she’d never send that. not in a million years.

she deleted that too.

in the end, she sent nothing. just stared at the ceiling and thought about how good azzi looked tonight— pearl earrings, soft smile, words lingering behind her teeth.

almost.

the gym was nearly empty.

most of the team had left after practice, but paige lingered, shooting free throws in silence. her earbuds were in, but no music played— just a shield, something to make it feel like the world was further away than it was.

she didn't hear the door open.

but she did feel the presence.

“didn’t think anyone else would still be here,” came a voice she knew like the back of her hand.

azzi.

paige turned, saw her in gray joggers and a uconn hoodie, hair pulled back, cheeks still flushed from practice. paige pulled out one earbud and tried to act casual, even though her heart was now sprinting.

“you caught me trying to live out my late-night kobe fantasy,” paige said, grinning.

azzi smiled, walking toward her. “mind if i join?”

paige tossed her the ball. “only if you promise not to show me up.”

azzi smirked and drained a three like she wasn’t casually pulling on the strings of paige’s heart.

they played for a while— just light shooting, taking turns. no talking. just the sound of bouncing rubber and squeaking sneakers. paige was too busy watching the way azzi moved, like everything she did was effortless. beautiful, even when sweaty.

at one point, azzi missed a shot and groaned. “ugh. that one was for pride.”

paige grabbed the rebound and passed it back. “guess your pride’s mine now.”

azzi raised an eyebrow. “is that how it works?”

“yeah,” paige said, stepping closer. “you lose a shot, you owe me something.”

azzi’s lips curled. “what do i owe you, then?”

paige paused. she hadn’t thought that far ahead.

“dinner,” she said before she could stop herself. “like, i dunno. team dinner. or— if you want— just us.”

azzi’s smile faltered, just a fraction. “paige…”

paige knew that tone. that soft, sad, hesitant tone. her stomach twisted. “it doesn’t have to be a thing,” she said quickly. “i just like being around you.”

azzi dribbled once, staring down at the ball.

then: “i like being around you too.”

paige took a breath, let it out slowly.

azzi looked up again, something unreadable in her eyes. “noah called me earlier. said he might fly out next month.”

“oh,” paige said. her voice came out flat. she hated that it did.

azzi stepped forward. “i don’t know what i’m doing. with him. with any of it.”

paige didn’t move.

“you don’t have to figure it out right now,” she said, softer this time. “i’m not asking for anything.”

azzi nodded. “i know.”

a beat passed.

then, quietly: “but sometimes i wish i met you first.”

the world felt like it tilted on its axis. her heartbeat was definitely thudding at an abnormal, mildly concerning rate.

paige opened her mouth. closed it, unsure what to say.

azzi looked at her like she regretted saying it, but didn’t take it back. she simply said, “let’s get out of here, yeah?”

paige nodded.

she didn’t say it out loud, but in her head, she screamed:

fuck noah. i’m right here. i’m all you need. you’re all i need. i would never treat you like he does.

those words stayed put in paige’s brain, never leaving once. because god, did she mean them. every single word, every letter.

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #paige x azzi #pazzi #pazzi fics #uconn wbb

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blissfulflw · 2 days ago

Text

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𝑇𝑢𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢

Pairing- Huh Yunjin x fem reader

Genre- angst, smut, fluff

Word count- 6487

Warnings- 18+ interactions only, mild angst, eventual smut, college au, switch yunjin, switch reader, slow burn, mutual pining, NSFW

Requested: @lascvitae

A/N: Uhhh yeah this is a mixture of most of the genres but I’d say it’s mostly fluff. Enemies to lovers though and yunjin 😍

You’ve always hated how effortless she made it look.

Huh Yunjin, standing under the dull fluorescent lights of Studio 3B, barefoot on the worn wooden floor, her mouth curled into that annoyingly confident smirk. Her honeyed voice dripped through the room like warm syrup, even during warm-ups. You’d been trying to ignore her since the semester started, but that wasn’t really possible when she was assigned as your duet partner for the senior showcase.

And of course, she loved it.

You adjust your posture, trying not to roll your eyes as she finishes her vocal run and looks over at you, mock-bowing.

“Your turn, Y/N,” she says, her tone maddeningly sweet. “Try not to be too impressive.”

You arch a brow, stepping up to the mark on the floor. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t want to overshadow you.”

She laughs—low, amused. “Cute.”

You don’t like the way your stomach flips at the sound.

The two of you had been neck-and-neck since freshman year—both scholarship students, both hailed as prodigies by your professors, both just different enough in style that people could argue endlessly about who was better. Yunjin had stage charisma in spades, a magnetic presence that demanded attention. You had precision and control. She flirted with the audience. You dominated them.

And you couldn’t stand each other. Or at least, that’s the story you both kept telling.

Your voice rings out in the practice room, clean and exact, every note pinned in place like a scalpel. You don’t miss the way Yunjin glances over mid-phrase, her eyes narrowing with something unreadable. Not jealousy—no, it’s more curious than that. Like she’s trying to figure you out.

The song ends in silence.

She claps slowly. “God, you’re such a teacher’s pet.”

You scoff. “Better than being all style, no discipline.”

Her gaze sharpens, and for a second, you think she might actually snap back. But then she smirks, stepping closer—too close. You catch a hint of her perfume: warm vanilla and something floral, soft but insistent. It suits her in a way you don’t want to acknowledge.

“We’ll see whose style they remember,” she says, voice low, just for you.

It’s the kind of thing she does often. She lives for these little games. Testing you. Pushing buttons. Sometimes it feels like the two of you speak in a language made entirely of tension—subtle digs, too-long glances, standing a little too close when you both lean over the same music sheet.

It’s been like this for months.

The door to the practice room creaks open, and Professor Choi pokes her head in.

“How’s it going in here?”

“Wonderfully,” Yunjin answers before you can speak. “We’re learning so much from each other.”

You flash a tight smile. “So much.”

Choi nods, clearly buying it. “Good. The duet arrangement looks great on paper. Can’t wait to see how it plays on stage. Keep working on your harmony blend—it still needs tightening.”

“Yes, Professor,” you say.

When the door shuts again, Yunjin turns to you, a lopsided grin tugging at her lips.

“You hate this as much as I do, right?” she asks.

You blink. “The duet?”

“This… pairing.” She waves a hand between the two of you. “Us.”

You should say yes. You do hate it. The extra hours, the constant bickering, the way she looks at you like she’s always one second away from saying something unforgivable—or worse, something true.

But instead, you say, “It’s tolerable.”

She laughs again, really laughs this time, and sits on the edge of the upright piano. Her legs swing idly, the hem of her sweatshirt riding up just enough to show a sliver of skin where it meets her high-waisted shorts. You force your gaze to stay on her face.

“Tolerable,” she repeats, shaking her head. “Coming from you, that’s practically a love letter.”

You glare. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I don’t need to. I’ve heard the way you sing when I’m watching.”

That silences you.

The air between you shifts—heavier now. Charged.

Yunjin doesn’t look away. “You think I don’t notice? The way you only loosen up when we’re alone? You only get that look in your eye when it’s just me in the room.”

You hate that she’s right. That part of you does sing differently when she’s there. That even when she’s infuriating, even when you want to scream, there’s something magnetic about her. Something that draws your voice—and your attention—toward her like a tide you can’t fight.

“I think you overestimate your importance,” you say, but your voice comes out softer than you intended.

“Do I?” she asks, tilting her head.

The silence stretches again.

You clear your throat and take a step back. “Let’s run the bridge again.”

Yunjin doesn’t move.

“Or,” she says slowly, “we could admit what’s actually going on here.”

You cross your arms. “What’s that?”

She hops down from the piano, walking over to you—slowly, deliberately. “This. Us. The weird tension. The way we keep pretending we hate each other when we both know it’s just…”

She doesn’t finish the sentence.

You can’t tell if it’s arrogance or vulnerability in her eyes, but it makes your pulse skip all the same. You could end it right now. You could laugh it off, tell her she’s full of herself, walk out of this practice room and never look back.

Instead, you say, “You really want to go there?”

Yunjin smiles like she’s been waiting for this all semester. “Don’t you?”

You’ve never been great at knowing when to walk away.

Which is probably why you’re still standing here, five feet from Yunjin, heart thudding in your chest like it’s trying to beat its way out.

Her eyes are steady on yours, open in a way they usually aren’t—no teasing, no ego, just something bare. Something that looks a lot like honesty.

And that’s the problem.

You’re not sure what would be easier to ignore: if this was all a game to her, or if it really wasn’t.

“Why now?” you ask finally, voice quieter than before. “Why say something tonight?”

She shrugs, but there’s tension in her shoulders. “Maybe I got tired of pretending. Maybe I wanted to see if you’d stop pretending, too.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. She’s too close. The studio’s too small. The lights overhead hum like they’re daring you to move.

“I wasn’t pretending,” you lie.

Yunjin smiles, slow and devastating. “Liar.”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Because if you open your mouth, you’re not sure what will come out—anger, desire, a confession you’ve buried under layers of competition and restraint.

She takes a step closer. You don’t move.

“You really don’t feel it?” she asks, her voice a little husky now. “Not even a little?”

You could say no.

You should say no.

But your body answers before your mouth does. The air between you tightens, thick with whatever this thing is that’s been simmering since sophomore year—glances that lingered too long, notes left on music stands, the way your names always came up in the same breath.

She notices your hesitation. You see it in the way her eyes flick down to your lips, then back up. Her voice softens.

“I don’t hate you, Y/N.”

Your stomach twists.

“I know,” you whisper. “That’s what makes it worse.”

Her breath catches. Just barely, but enough.

Neither of you speaks for a long moment. Somewhere down the hall, you hear a laugh echo through the music building—some other late-night rehearsal, some other pair of students who probably aren’t standing three inches apart and trying not to shatter.

You swallow. “We should… we should focus on the showcase.”

Her brow arches. “You mean the thing where we stand on stage and pretend we’re in love?”

Your face heats. “It’s a duet.”

“It’s a confession,” she says. “That’s what that song is. You know it as well as I do.”

She’s not wrong. The piece you’re doing—“Stay With Me”—is all longing and barely-contained emotion, written in spiraling harmonies that fall together like puzzle pieces. Your professor had called it ambitious. You’d called it reckless. Yunjin had called it fun.

And when you rehearsed it alone, you always imagined her voice against yours. Not out of choice. Instinct.

You turn away from her now, pacing to the other side of the room. The silence sits heavy on your shoulders.

“This is a bad idea,” you murmur.

“Why?”

“Because…” You stop. “Because if we start this, it’s not going to be just one kiss in a practice room.”

Yunjin’s voice is behind you now, quiet. “I don’t want it to be.”

You close your eyes.

God.

You shouldn’t want this. She’s your rival, your biggest distraction, the only person on campus who makes you question if you’re good enough. She gets under your skin, into your thoughts, behind your defenses.

But maybe that’s exactly why your hands ache to touch her.

Maybe that’s why when you turn around, you’re already stepping forward again.

You stop just in front of her. Close enough to feel the heat between your bodies. She’s looking up at you, lips parted, eyes darker than usual under the low lights.

“I hate that I want you,” you say.

She exhales, almost like a laugh—but it’s shaky. “Then we’re even.”

You don’t remember who moves first. Maybe it’s both of you.

But suddenly her mouth is on yours.

It’s not soft. It’s not polite.

It’s months of tension breaking all at once—teeth, breath, hands tangled in hair and the sound of something finally giving in. Her fingers dig into your waist as your lips part, and the kiss deepens into something messy, urgent, real. You gasp against her mouth, and she takes the opportunity to slide her tongue over yours, confident and slow.

It’s infuriating.

It’s perfect.

Your back hits the wall with a soft thud. Yunjin presses into you, her thigh slotting between yours, one hand cupping the side of your neck like she’s trying to memorize the shape of your pulse.

You’re dizzy.

You drag your fingers up under the hem of her sweatshirt, finding skin—warm, smooth, hers. She shivers under your touch, and it sparks something hot and reckless in your chest.

When she pulls back, it’s only by an inch, her forehead resting against yours.

“God,” she murmurs. “You drive me crazy.”

You smile, breathless. “Right back at you.”

Her thumb strokes under your jaw, tender in a way that makes your stomach flip.

Then she glances around the room, biting her lip.

“Studio’s locked,” she says. “And no one’s coming in this late.”

Your heart skips. “Yunjin—”

“I’m not rushing you.” Her voice drops to a murmur. “But I need to know… do you want this?”

You look at her—really look at her. Not the rival. Not the performer.

Just Yunjin. Soft mouth, flushed cheeks, eyes wide and open and waiting.

You nod.

And she exhales like you just gave her air.

_____

The studio is quiet except for your breathing—shaky, uneven. You don’t remember the moment you wrapped your arms around her again, only that her mouth is on yours now with a need that’s no longer teasing.

This is real. This is happening.

You taste her sigh when you pull her closer, her fingers slipping under your shirt like she’s been waiting all semester to touch you. Her hands are warm, callused at the tips—guitarist’s fingers—and the way they spread over your waist makes your breath hitch.

“Still okay?” she whispers between kisses, voice rough against your mouth.

You nod quickly. “Yeah. Yes.”

“Tell me if you’re not.”

“I will.”

She kisses you again, slower this time, her tongue grazing yours with a confidence that makes your knees wobble. There’s no spotlight now, no audience—just the two of you in a dim practice room, your bodies pressed close, your nerves singing louder than any aria.

She pulls back just enough to look at you. Her pupils are blown wide, cheeks flushed, lips swollen.

“You’re beautiful when you’re pissed off,” she murmurs, thumbing at your lower lip.

“You’re insufferable when you’re turned on,” you shoot back, but your voice is breathless and way too fond.

She grins and takes your hand, leading you toward the piano bench. She sits first, legs spread slightly, and tugs you into her lap like you weigh nothing. You settle there, straddling her thighs, and the moment your hips press down, both of you gasp.

She’s warm beneath you—solid. Her hands grip your hips like she doesn’t know what to touch first.

“Fuck,” she breathes. “You feel…”

You roll your hips, slow and experimental, and her breath catches. Your hands move to her shoulders for balance, but you can’t resist brushing her hair behind her ear, fingers grazing her cheek. She leans into the touch without thinking.

It’s vulnerable. It’s intimate.

It makes your heart ache.

Her hands slide up your shirt again, and this time, she pushes it higher. “Can I—?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

You help her pull it off. The cold air hits your skin, but then her hands are there, warm and careful, and your head tips back as her lips trail down your neck.

Every kiss is slow, deliberate. Like she’s memorizing you. Her fingers find the clasp of your bra, and she pauses.

You nod again. “Go ahead.”

It unhooks easily, and she lets it slide down your arms before tossing it aside. The second her mouth replaces her hands, you moan—quiet and sharp—eyes fluttering closed.

She sucks softly at the swell of your breast before her tongue circles your nipple, teasing and gentle, then firmer when you arch into her. You clutch at her shoulders, trying not to grind against her thigh, but she notices.

“Don’t hold back,” she murmurs, voice low. “Let me feel you.”

You do. You move your hips, slow at first, letting the friction build. Her thigh tenses beneath you, giving just enough pressure that your breath stutters. Her mouth moves between your breasts, worshipping you with lips and tongue and the occasional nip of teeth.

“Yunjin—”

“Yeah?” She looks up at you, eyes hazy with lust.

“I want…” You swallow. “More.”

She grins. “You’re gonna have to be a little more specific, baby.”

The nickname sends a pulse straight between your legs.

You lean in, your mouth brushing her ear. “I want you to touch me.”

She swears under her breath and lifts you just enough to guide you onto the bench beside her, then kneels in front of you, hands tugging at the waistband of your leggings. She looks up, eyes searching.

“Still good?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

She slides them down, dragging your underwear with them, and your legs tremble slightly when the cool air hits you. Her hands glide up your thighs, soothing and slow.

“You’re so wet,” she murmurs, voice thick with awe. “Is that all for me?”

You nod, cheeks burning.

Her fingers stroke gently between your folds, spreading your slick, teasing at your entrance before she draws slow, lazy circles over your clit.

Your head falls back against the wall, a gasp escaping your lips. “Fuck—”

She leans in and kisses the inside of your thigh, then again higher, closer. Her mouth hovers, and you feel her breath before anything else.

“Can I taste you?” she asks, voice a whisper like it’s sacred.

Your fingers thread through her hair.

“Yes. Please.”

She moans like it’s her name on your tongue and finally leans in.

The first lick is slow, deliberate, and you feel it in your bones. She groans softly against you, burying her face between your legs, tongue working you open, slow and steady.

You clutch at the edge of the bench with one hand and her hair with the other, hips lifting to meet her mouth. She moans like she lives for this—for your sounds, your taste, the way you shake when her tongue flicks over your clit just right.

“Yunjin—god—don’t stop—”

She doesn’t. She moves faster, more focused, her fingers joining in—one sliding into you with careful pressure that makes your eyes roll back. Then another, curling perfectly, her tongue never breaking rhythm.

You come fast—hard. The pressure snaps and your whole body arches, mouth open in a soundless cry, thighs trembling as she works you through it, licking and kissing and murmuring praise against your skin.

When you finally collapse back, chest heaving, she pulls away, face flushed, lips slick, and absolutely smug.

“You look wrecked,” she says softly.

“Shut up,” you pant, grabbing her hand to pull her up.

But you’re smiling.

You push her back gently, switching positions until she’s seated on the bench. You climb into her lap again, kissing her hard. You can taste yourself on her tongue, and something about that makes you moan into her mouth.

“Your turn,” you whisper.

She laughs against your lips. “Y/N, you don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

You drop to your knees before she can protest again, and her jaw slackens when you tug at her shorts.

“Fuck,” she breathes, head falling back as you kiss up her thighs.

You don’t tease long. She’s soaked already, and when your tongue finally touches her, she lets out the kind of sound that makes you want to ruin her.

You start slow, tracing patterns, finding what makes her hips jerk, what makes her moan your name like it’s a song she’s been rehearsing in secret.

Her hand tangles in your hair, guiding you, grounding herself.

“Oh my god—just like that—”

You glance up to watch her come undone, never stopping, your fingers sliding into her as her thighs tighten around your shoulders.

She comes with a broken whimper, her body shuddering against the keys behind her.

You stay there, pressing soft kisses to her inner thigh while she catches her breath, laughing breathlessly.

“That was…” She can’t finish the sentence.

You grin, wiping your mouth before climbing back into her lap.

“You okay?”

She pulls you in, forehead against yours. “Better than okay.”

You sit like that for a long time, tangled together, the room still humming with the echo of everything you just shared.

There’s no audience. No rivalry.

Just her.

And you.

_____

The silence is thick.

You don’t know how much time has passed since the two of you collapsed onto the bench, your bodies entwined, your breath still mingling in the air between you. Yunjin hasn’t said much, her forehead pressed against yours, her hands slowly tracing the lines of your arm like she’s trying to memorize the feel of your skin.

You stay like that for a while, letting the warmth between you settle, but something hangs in the air—a question neither of you is asking aloud yet.

She’s the first to break the stillness.

“You good?” she murmurs, her voice softer than you’ve ever heard it.

You nod. You are good. You feel lighter, your body relaxed in a way it hasn’t been in weeks. There’s a gentle pressure on your chest, but it’s not anxiety. It’s more like a shift, a turning point you didn’t quite expect.

“I’m fine,” you reply, swallowing thickly. “Are you?”

Yunjin doesn’t immediately answer. Instead, she gently brushes a strand of hair from your face, her fingers lingering on your cheek in a soft, almost reverent touch.

Then, she smiles. It’s small, private—a stark contrast to the usual cocky, teasing grin she’s always quick to give.

“I’ve never been better.”

You both chuckle softly, the atmosphere between you a little lighter now. But the smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and you notice it. You want to ask if she’s really okay, but it feels like too much—like a question that doesn’t fit the moment.

Instead, you slip your hand into hers, squeezing it lightly.

“I’m glad it was you,” you murmur.

Her eyes flick up to meet yours, warmth flickering in them.

“Same.”

There’s something unspoken between you, something deeper than the rivalry, deeper than the desire that had pulled you together in the first place. It’s like an understanding, the kind of unvoiced connection that only comes when two people let down their walls completely.

You help each other gather yourselves—pulling up your clothes, smoothing out your shirts, the intimacy of it almost surreal after everything. There’s no awkwardness, no rushing. Just… the steady rhythm of shared quiet.

Yunjin stands up first, reaching for the sheet music on the piano. Her movements are slow, deliberate. She runs a hand through her hair, looking up at you as if she’s trying to read the air between you both.

“Wanna finish that duet?” she asks, her voice still low, as if testing the waters.

You can’t help the smile that pulls at your lips. “Yeah. Let’s finish it.”

The next few hours are spent lost in music, the tension between you both simmering under the surface, woven into every note you sing and every chord Yunjin plays. It’s impossible to ignore the way her presence has shifted in your mind. She’s still Yunjin, still the talented, cocky singer with a smile that could break your concentration—but now, there’s something else. Something more vulnerable.

You run through the duet again, the harmonies blending in a way that feels effortless now, like you’ve always known how to fit together.

The sound is rawer this time, something deeper behind the notes. It’s no longer a mere performance for an audience. It feels personal—too personal. Every look you share, every shared breath between lines, has an intensity you can’t shake.

You’re acutely aware of the way her fingers hover just above the piano keys, how her breath catches when you hit a high note just a little too beautifully. And the way she glances at you—almost shyly—when you hold the last note of the bridge a little longer than you should.

“Let’s take it from the top,” you suggest, your voice hoarse, unsure if you’re ready to break the spell you’ve created between you.

Yunjin nods, her lips pressing together tightly. When she starts playing again, there’s a familiar rhythm, but everything feels different. The chemistry you shared in the practice room has bled into your music—sharper, more electric, raw in a way that neither of you anticipated.

You sing your part perfectly, hitting the notes with ease, but there’s something new. Something that makes you focus just a little more on how she moves beside you, how her breath matches yours, how her eyes track yours a little longer than they should.

And then, without thinking, you find yourself leaning into the moment, pulling closer to her as you sing the final line.

“Stay with me,” you whisper, the words almost an invitation, your eyes locked on hers.

She doesn’t pull away. Instead, her fingers still on the piano, and her gaze darkens—just enough for you to notice. You’re dangerously close to crossing a line again, but you don’t care. Neither does she.

She closes her eyes for a moment, breathing in the last note before finally looking at you again.

“You really want to finish this?” she asks, voice thick with something unspoken.

Your heart beats faster. “I think we both know we can’t stop now.”

Yunjin stands abruptly, crossing the room to grab her water bottle. You don’t know if she’s avoiding your gaze or just needing a moment to breathe. You want to say something, but the words get caught in your throat.

When she turns back to you, she seems calmer—more collected, like the rawness from earlier has faded, but only slightly. The fire is still there, just a little buried.

“Good thing we still have time to work on the choreography,” she says, her smile a little too wide, a little too knowing.

You raise an eyebrow. “Choreography?”

“You didn’t think I was just going to let you get away with singing, did you?” she teases, tossing you a mischievous look.

The tension snaps back into place, the rivalry you both used to have returning as if it never left. But there’s something else now. Something that wasn’t there before. A different kind of edge to your exchanges.

“Lead the way,” you say, standing up and grabbing the sheet music.

The two of you start to move through the choreography. It’s awkward at first—more than a little hesitant—but you both find your rhythm eventually, and it’s in those moments, when you’re spinning in sync with her or when she takes your hand to twirl you, that it all feels right. Like you were meant to be here, together, both in music and… in everything else.

She catches your eye once more during a particularly intricate move, and for just a second, it’s like you’re the only two people in the world.

You know the next step is inevitable. You can feel it in the way she looks at you, the way her movements become smoother, more intimate. You can feel it in your own body, in the way you move toward her when the song ends, in the way your heart races in time with the music.

And when you both stop, panting, standing close enough to feel the heat of each other’s breath, you know that things have changed forever.

There’s no going back now.

_____

The showcase is just a week away.

The thought hangs over you both like a cloud, but there’s something different about this week—something you didn’t expect. The normal rhythm of rehearsal, the sharp notes and careful practice, is mixed with something more. The lingering touch after a duet, the stolen glances, the almost-accidental brushes of hands.

You know you should be focused. You both have to be perfect for the showcase. But it’s harder than it ever was before.

It’s Thursday evening, and you’re both sitting on the edge of the practice room, exhausted but unwilling to leave. Your fingers still hum with the vibrations of your performance; the piano keys still echo in your mind. You both sing in harmony so naturally now that it feels like second nature.

But there’s something else now. Something that keeps drawing you together, pulling you closer even when you try to focus on the music, on the sheet you’ve yet to memorize.

Yunjin hasn’t said much since the last practice. She’s quieter than usual, less teasing, as if the silence between you both speaks louder than anything she could say. Her eyes flicker to you occasionally, but she quickly looks away, like she’s afraid to let you catch her staring.

You watch her for a moment. She’s not the type to shy away from eye contact, usually.

“Yunjin,” you start, the sound of your voice breaking the silence like a crack of thunder, “you’ve been acting different. What’s going on?”

She doesn’t immediately answer, but you notice the slight tightness in her jaw. She’s holding something back—something you can’t quite place.

She takes a deep breath and looks at you finally. “I’m fine. Just… thinking.”

You know better than to leave it at that. “Thinking about what?”

Her lips curl into something of a smirk, but it’s not the playful, cocky grin she normally gives. There’s something guarded in it—almost as if she’s trying to protect herself.

“About the showcase, obviously,” she says. “I want it to go well.”

It’s not just that, you know. She’s hiding something—something that makes the air between you feel charged, like the calm before a storm.

You lean forward, crossing your arms, not letting it go. “You’re not fine. I can tell.”

Her eyes narrow for a moment, a flash of irritation crossing her face before it fades away again. “I’m just… frustrated,” she admits softly, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “I’ve been thinking about everything lately. About you. About… us.”

Your heart skips a beat. The air suddenly feels heavier, thick with the weight of her words.

“About us?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, almost as if you don’t want to say the words aloud.

She nods, but it’s slow, hesitant. “I don’t know what we’re doing anymore, Y/N. This—” She motions between the two of you, her eyes flicking nervously to the floor before meeting your gaze. “It’s not just music anymore. It’s more. And I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

The vulnerability in her voice is enough to make your chest tighten. For the first time since you met her, you see her uncertainty, the cracks in her usual confidence. It’s disarming. You didn’t think Yunjin ever doubted herself.

“Yunjin…” You move closer to her, your hand resting on the back of the couch, just inches from hers. The proximity feels too much and yet not enough. “You don’t have to have it all figured out right now.”

Her laugh is bitter, but it doesn’t carry the usual bite. “I should, though, right? You and I—this duet—it feels like it’s too much sometimes. I don’t want to screw this up. The showcase, or… whatever this is between us.” She gestures vaguely between the two of you again. “I’ve been down this road before, and it doesn’t end well.”

You pause, letting her words sink in, understanding the weight of her fear. She’s afraid of vulnerability. Afraid of making this real and letting it slip through her fingers, just like everything else.

“I don’t want to screw it up either,” you confess softly. “But I don’t regret what we’ve shared. Not for a second.”

You reach for her hand, this time letting your fingers brush hers. She doesn’t pull away.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promise, your voice steady and sincere.

Her eyes soften at that. “I don’t know if I can promise the same,” she says quietly, but she doesn’t pull her hand away either. Instead, she threads her fingers with yours, a subtle, but meaningful gesture.

The moment lingers between you two, both of you unsure of what comes next but unwilling to let go.

The next day, you both return to the studio. You start your practice where you left off, running through the duet once again. This time, though, things are different. There’s no longer just the music—it’s everything. Every note you hit, every pause between lyrics, every look exchanged across the room, feels like a thread in an intricate web you’re both tangled in.

You can’t seem to look away from her. It’s the way she plays the piano, her fingers flying over the keys with effortless grace. It’s the way her voice blends perfectly with yours, a harmony that sounds almost too perfect to be real.

But there’s something else now. You’re more aware of the space between you, the way her gaze lingers on your lips, the way she adjusts her position when you move too close. Every touch, every look, feels charged.

When you finish the duet for the umpteenth time, Yunjin slams her hands down on the piano keys, breaking the tension with a frustrated exhale.

“This is ridiculous,” she mutters, pacing. “We can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what?” you ask, heart in your throat, unsure of where this is headed.

She turns to face you, her hands on her hips. “This—this chemistry. It’s ruining everything. We can’t keep pretending it’s only about the performance anymore. We both know it’s more.”

You swallow hard. “Then what do we do?”

Her gaze softens, and for a moment, she looks almost lost—a side of her you’ve never seen. “I don’t know, Y/N. I really don’t know.”

There’s a beat of silence. You both stand there, caught in the tension of unspoken feelings, until Yunjin takes a step toward you. Her hands find their way to your shoulders, her thumbs brushing over the skin there, a comforting pressure.

“I’m scared,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper.

You don’t say anything, just reach up to rest your hand over hers. Her skin is warm, and in that moment, everything feels more fragile than it has before.

“Me too,” you murmur. “But I think that’s okay.”

She looks at you for a long moment before leaning down to kiss you—soft, slow, with a tenderness that both confuses and comforts you. The kiss isn’t desperate. It’s more of an unspoken promise, a shared vulnerability.

When she pulls back, her forehead rests against yours, and you both breathe the same air.

“Let’s get through this showcase first,” she says, her voice quiet but firm. “And then we’ll figure it out.”

You nod, your heart thudding heavily in your chest.

“Together,” you whisper.

Yunjin smiles, that same confident, crooked grin you know all too well. But now, it’s different. It’s softer. And maybe that’s enough.

_____

The night of the showcase arrives faster than either of you anticipated. The tension that’s been building between the two of you feels almost unbearable as you stand backstage, waiting for your turn. You can hear the muffled sounds of applause, the hum of excited chatter from the audience, and the delicate clinking of glasses from the reception outside. The room is full of energy, but you can’t seem to focus on anything other than Yunjin beside you.

Her hands are shaking slightly as she adjusts her outfit, the familiar grin from earlier replaced by something more guarded, more intense. You know she’s nervous—hell, you’re both nervous—but there’s something else in her eyes now. A quiet determination.

“You ready?” she asks, voice steady despite the way her heart is likely pounding.

You nod. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but she reaches out to grab your hand, squeezing it tightly. The warmth of her touch grounds you, steadying the fluttering in your chest. There’s no turning back now. The performance is a few minutes away, and you’ve both worked so hard to get here.

This is it.

The two of you stand side by side in the wings, waiting for your cue. The spotlight glows, and your heart races. You glance at Yunjin, whose eyes flicker to meet yours. There’s an unspoken promise in that look—no matter what happens, you’re in this together.

The announcer calls your names, and before you know it, you’re walking out onto the stage. The soft murmur of the audience fades, replaced by the deafening thrum of your pulse. You take your place, the spotlight warm against your skin. Yunjin sits at the piano, her fingers brushing the keys lightly in preparation. She’s calm, but her eyes flick to you, searching, as if she’s waiting for your signal.

You give her a small nod, and she begins the introduction.

The music starts—soft, delicate, and slow. It feels almost surreal, like you’re suspended in time. Every note she plays resonates in your chest, sending a ripple of warmth through your entire body. As your voice begins to rise, the world around you disappears. It’s just the two of you now, standing together in this fragile, beautiful moment.

Your harmonies blend effortlessly, your voices entwining in the way they always do. But tonight, it’s different. The intimacy of the performance feels heightened, more personal. Every line you sing to her feels like a promise, every word a confession you’ve never fully said aloud.

You’re not just performing anymore.

You’re feeling. Every note carries with it the weight of your connection, the silent words between you that have been building over the past few weeks. You’re singing not just for the audience, but for each other—for everything you’ve shared, for everything you’re still unsure of.

When the song reaches its peak, you share a look—barely noticeable to anyone else, but to the two of you, it means everything. There’s a moment where your voices seem to melt together, where you don’t need to speak to understand each other. It’s as if the entire world has folded away, leaving only the two of you in this perfect harmony.

You can feel her. Her presence, her breath, the slight tremor in her hands as they glide over the piano keys. You’re drawn to her in a way that feels unstoppable. And for the first time, it doesn’t matter. There’s no rivalry, no tension—just the raw emotion of what you’ve built together.

The final note rings out, long and sustained. It lingers in the air, hanging there like a delicate thread between you. The moment feels suspended in time, both of you frozen in place as the audience erupts into applause.

The sound crashes around you, overwhelming. But it’s different this time. It’s not the applause you care about, but the shared breath between you and Yunjin. She’s looking at you, her eyes wide, her lips parted slightly in a mix of awe and something deeper—something more vulnerable than she’s ever let on.

You don’t know how long you stand there, basking in the sound of the crowd, but eventually, you both bow, and the applause grows louder. The music ends, but the bond between you two is only beginning to deepen.

_____

Backstage, the energy is electric. Your heart is still pounding from the performance, the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You can’t help the wide grin that spreads across your face.

“Yunjin,” you breathe, catching her attention as you both slip backstage. “We did it. That was—”

In a rare moment of softness, Yunjin smiles, her expression more open than it’s ever been. “Yeah. We did.”

You both laugh, the nervousness from before slowly evaporating into something lighter, something freer. But as the laughter fades, the air between you shifts again. You both know what’s coming, even if neither of you wants to admit it.

“So,” you start, your voice a little hesitant, “what now?”

Her eyes soften as she steps closer, the playful edge in her demeanor still present but tempered with something else.

“I don’t know. But I think we should see where this goes,” she says, her voice low, genuine.

You don’t know what “this” is, but somehow, you don’t need to. For the first time, you feel like everything is falling into place. Whatever happens next, you’re not going to face it alone.

“I’m with you,” you whisper, your voice steady now, full of certainty.

Yunjin’s gaze holds yours for a long moment, as if she’s trying to measure your sincerity. Finally, she nods, her expression softening.

“I’m glad.”

Before you can respond, she pulls you into a tight hug, and you feel the weight of everything that’s passed between you both settle around you. It’s not a grand gesture, but it’s everything. In her arms, everything feels right.

“I’m proud of us,” she says softly against your ear.

You smile, your heart full. “Me too.”

As she pulls away, she gives you one last look—one filled with the promise of something more. No more pretending, no more running. Just honesty, vulnerability, and whatever comes next.

And when she takes your hand once more, you know that this—whatever it is—will be the start of something real.

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