#I forgot their name and have to look it up

[lunaandco]

guys my age

pairing: alexia putellas x ofc

summary: the new rookie looks up to alexia, yes, but it's not as innocent as she would hope to

warnings: age difference: claudia is 20 yo; power imbalance; I forgot pina's name was actually claudia, so there is two claudia's on the team, deal with it; smut, thigh riding, nipple play

masterlist

Claudia is quite pretty. Alexia never tried to actively deny that, but it bothered her that she noticed far too much. Pale skin, rather small built, brown hair cut to her chin and icy blue eyes that made her look more innocent than a girl her age should be. Claudia was too young for Alexia's taste. And yet—

She was one of the Barça B girls joining them for training for a while now, reeling from the adrenaline of the debut, cheeks lit aflame and skin shimmering with sweat. When she arrived, the first days she spent them figuring out if she should be called Claudia or Díaz, since Pina was already stabilised on the team. But Pina chose her surname, so Claudia kept her name.

Shirt off, the red and blue fabric thrown over her shoulder—her debut shirt, she would probably frame it. Alexia remembered that euphoric feeling, of the first game, of the first goal.

Claudia's volley had been the seventh goal of the day, almost irrelevant to the punctuation. But it had huge emotional impact, and Alexia was sure it would make the rounds on the Internet, it was beautiful and powerful.

Salma threw an arm over her shoulders, as they sang some Barça chants. Alexia joined quietly, as she dressed on her street clothes. Slama and Claudia had become tight at some point or another, between training sessions and media obligations from the club.

Alexia wouldn't be surprised to see them become a couple, sooner or later, women's football was full of partners that were teammates or rivals, but there was something that bothered her about it.

She waited by the car, patiently. Alexia may be one of the older, more settled players, but she understood the juvenile need to celebrate a little.

Finally, Claudia rushed to her side, after saying her good-byes to Salma. It was when they were alone like this, that Alexia felt the strangest.

Backpack slung over her shoulder, a pair of dark blue jeans and a green bomber jacket, Claudia looked her age. But her blue eyes, always shimmering with delight, turned a little bit glassier and bigger, looking at Alexia.

"Thank you for driving me," she said quietly, settling on the passenger seat. Alexia wanted to ask where her parents were, how could they have missed their daughter's debut at the highest level, but she decided against it. The last thing she needed was to delve into her mommy issues.

"Don't sweat it," Alexia replied. "It's nice to have company in the car. Drives get lonely."

After that, they were silent, as Claudia hummed the songs on the radio and Alexia focused on getting her to her apartment without checking the map. She had drove this path more than once, Claudia always being passed around by the players with cars.

"We're here," said Alexia, parking on a miraculous free spot.

"Merci, capi" said Claudia, picking her things up. Alexia ignored how the nickname made her feel. Claudia bent over to give her a goodbye kiss on the cheek, like she always did, but Alexia was shocked when she felt Claudia's lips on the corner of hers, close enough to be noticed, far away enough to claim it was a mistake.

The kiss lasted a second longer than it was proper, but it was enough for a crawling feeling to take over Alexia's stomach.

"Adéu," said Alexia, but she was talking alone, as Claudia slipped away quickly.

💙❤️

The next game was away at Germany, and the team was buzzing with excitement. Alexia kept to herself a little, claiming that she was a bit tired because a bad night sleep, and letting Irene and Marta take over the captain duties.

Claudia had been assured that she would be subbed in around the 60s mark, Pere was very excited to see what his new youngster could do. Her and Salma spent all the plane ride giggling, showing each other silly things in their phones.

Alexia watched them for a while, a bitter taste invading her.

She could feel the ghost of Claudia's lips on her, and could not stop thinking about the way she looked at her, blue eyes big and shiny, like she adored her.

It wasn't uncommon for the rookies to have admired Alexia for long, but Claudia made it feel different.

Alexia couldn't lie and say she was never endeared, but that endearment was turning into something inappropriate, that she could not allow to happen.

💙❤️

The room assignments at hotels were made at random, making sure everyone shared room with everyone, in an attempt to increase the team's chemistry. Nevertheless, it still caught Alexia by surprise when Claudia rolled her suitcase inside of her room.

Alexia hoped the stay would be uneventful, for the sake of her consciousness, but at night, when the lights were off, and sleep was hard to come by, she heard the sheets rustling in the bed nearby, as Claudia got up and crossed the distance between beds in a blink of an eye.

Alexia was laying on her side, facing Claudia, but she kept her eyes closed, thinking that if she pretended to be asleep, Claudia would leave her alone.

More rustling, this time from her bed, and soon she felt Claudia's body, accommodating against hers. Claudia's head was pressed to her shoulder, little whines leaving her throat as she tried to find a nice position.

Alexia gulped, the feeling of Claudia's bare thighs against her own was too much. But instead of pushing the girl away, Alexia threw an arm over her torso, pushing her closer to her body, and dropped a kiss to her hair, already feeling the grasps of guilt.

Claudia's whining died and was replaced by a short purring sound, before her breathing stabilised and Alexia was left alone with a sleeping teammate on her arms.

She was, oh, so fucked.

💙❤️

Alexia woke up to to her alarm clock. In her arms, Claudia groaned, pressing her forehead to Alexia's clavicle. Turning off the alarm was challenging, having Claudia in the way, but she managed.

Alexia sighed, wondering if Claudia would be able to hear her heartbeat.

"You're very comfortable," said Claudia.

It confused Alexia, how Claudia could be so normal about this, how she didn't seem to notice what she was doing could get her, them, in trouble. Like flirting with your decade older captain was not a dangerous game to play.

"Claudia..." she started, but her voice died down on her throat as Claudia looked up to her, eyes sleepy but burning with desire. She pushed up a little and drop a small, quiet kiss, this time fully on Alexia's lips. "This is not a good idea..."

Claudia hummed, eyes closing and and squirming a little. Alexia's thigh was lodged between hers, ans she let out a little sound that had Alexia tightening her grasp on Claudia.

"Capi..." She should have stopped it. She should have been the responsible, wise captain she had been trusted to be. But that silly nickname took away all her self control.

The kiss was messy. Tongue and teeth clashing, Claudia was moaning softly, as her hips started moving, using Alexia's thigh to get some friction. She was suddenly grateful they had both chosen to go to bed with only a t-shirt and panties, because now it was easier to slide her hands all over Claudia's back, up and down to hold her hips and help her move.

The noises Claudia was making, both of their shaky breaths, Alexia was glad the volume wasn't enough to make it through any walls, because she could not stop. She felt the wet patch on her thigh, and it drove her even more insane.

Her hands pulled Claudia's shirt up, so she could play and suck on her nipples. The moans got higher pitched and soon Alexia had to help Claudia with her shaky hip movements, until the rookie was coming all over her thigh.

"Alexia..." she exhaled, cheeks rosy and eyes glazed, Alexia bit her lower lip. "Ah... Let me..."

Claudia's hand travelled to her panties, she wanted to help Alexia have an orgasm too, but Alexia wasn't ready. She could not let her know how wet she actually was, how turned on she was because of their illicit kissing and humping.

"We're going to be late," she said. Claudia pouted. "I don't know about you, but I don't want to take it up with Pere."

Alexia couldn't see that Claudia agreed. If there was something she wanted more than Alexia, it was to carve her spot on the team.

"Alright." She nodded. "But later..."

"We'll see," said Alexia, trying to be as vague as possible, but it was obvious to the both of them that she would cave in sooner or later. "Vamos," she gave Claudia a light smack on her thigh, and the girl giggled as she leaped off the bed, picking up her clothes and pausing to get one more kiss before going to the shower.

Alexia sighed, as she heard the door close. She was so fucked it wasn't even funny.

[fancyfeathers]

Mother!Reader and Bruce are relaxing on a couch. (Much to her discomfort.) Daughter!Reader comes running in carrying a raccoon calling it her "Son". Mother!Reader: Sweetheart where did you get that? Bruce: ... The rest of the batfamily comes running in because what does she mean "son"?! Only for them to see Daughter!Reader holding a raccoon that is eating the bacon she didn't eat that morning at breakfast. Even worse for them, she doesn't let Damian pet her "son", and she makes Dick buy baby diapers for her "son" because her "son" can't be having accidents around the house. The paparazzi catches Daughter!Reader at a gala and soon the news crew come running over too. Gotham Daily Times: Ms. Wayne what is this new exotic pet of yours? Daughter!Reader: Ah, Wayne is not my last name, (whatever last name of theirs) is my last name. But, um, this is Wally. He likes to run really fast around me, say hi Wally. (Cut to her holding her son, Wally, up to the microphone of the reporter only for him to sniff it.) Gotham Daily Times: Well, Ms. (last name) has just confirmed a raccoon, her "son", named Wally is officially her pet. Can she out beat Bruce Wayne's son Damian Wayne in hoarding exotic animals? We shall see next time on Gotham Daily Times news channel nine. The speedsters watching from central city: Wally? Because he likes to run fast? ... Someone call Batman how does she know our identities.

Yandere Batfam w/ Wife/Mother!Darling & Daughter/Sister!Darling Masterlist

I LOVE FERAL DAUGHTER!DARLING!!!!

Love the idea of her being an absolute menace when it was just her mother raising her and Bruce having no idea what he is getting himself into with this.

Like it was when she was playing out in the garden in the morning, perhaps even the morning right after the wedding, there is no real honeymoon besides on paper at Wayne Enterprises since Bruce is still the Batman. The two of them are just getting up, after the kids have had had breakfast together and Mother!Darling is literally about to tell Bruce about her daughter’s rather… playful behavior-

“Mama! Mama! Look what I found!”

She already feels like laughing when she hears her daughter’s overeager voice and the bedroom door opens with her daughter running in with her holding something in her skirt and-

“This is my baby! I found him in the yard, I think his mama is dead…”

Her daughter holds up a baby raccoon while Bruce is half way through tying his tie.

“Can we keep him?”

“Of course, little love.”

“Dear-“

“You have something to say, Bruce?”

Well played, if Bruce was to say no now it would break her heart and set everything off on the wrong foot. When she runs out of the room she looks over at him with a knowing glance, she may have been fired into a marriage, but he will feel the consequences of his actions…

“I suppose I forgot to tell you about her… mischievous habits, you will get used to it eventually, and no, there is no taming her, do not try.”

Jason does not understand why she wants it around, it’s a raccoon in Gotham, a baby but still, but hey if it makes her happy and even slightly annoys Bruce, he is fine with it.

Dick is fine with it? He is just confused as of why, I mean if his little sister wants a pet she gets a pet, but why no a cat, dog, or even something like a ferret, but a raccoon? Alright, he’ll ask Babs if she can find any books on exotic animal care and he will take her to the pet store with Damian to pick up supplies-

What does she mean Damian can’t come? When they are little, she is terrified of him, honestly she is always terrified of him. Why would she let him anywhere near her pet when his stare makes her feel daggers. She is holding her baby raccoon away from Damian, and his pets, Alfred the Cat, Titus. Damian is pissed and very well could go whining to Bruce about it.

Then Tim is just freaked out by it, but when he is sitting the furtherest from his new sister and her new pet in the living room and everyone is suggesting names…

“How about Wally? Dick what do think?”

“Ya, he definitely reminds me of Wally.”

“Who’s Wally?”

“Don’t worry about it, lovebug.”

But then this naming choice certainly backfires when Wally West comes running (literally) to Tim about it, at first he is panicked about it but then he sees her playing with the raccoon and-

“Fuck… I hate that you’re not wrong about that.”

Though this situation only escalates over the years when she finds other animals, a husky puppy her father suggests to name Clark, a baby owl named Diana, a hummingbird named Roy, and cats named Barry and Connor.

[satsugacafe]

𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐬 | (𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 2)

➳❥ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: Kuchiki Byakuya, Hitsugaya Toshiro, Shuhei Hisagi, Aizen Sosuke, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, Coyote Starrk

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Part 1 | Part 3

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

◈ Kuchiki Byakuya — Subtle Gentleman Simp

˚₊‧꒰ა You have his entire heart and soul the moment he decides to pursue you. There’s no such thing as doubt when it comes to his affections, he is secure with his feelings towards you and will accept no criticism.

˚₊‧꒰ა He will gift you poems he personally stayed up all night writing because you’re the only person worth losing sleep over. His gestures and signs of affection will be subtle but meaningful, and he always prefers to present his gifts to you in person to observe your reactions.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Allow me to assist you. It would be my honour.” The door opened, chairs pulled out, carpet rolled, an arm out for you to take—you name it and Byakuya will see to it that it is possible. His gestures will reflect his elegant and noble upbringing. He might present you with a beautifully arranged bouquet or a new kimono made from the finest cloth.

˚₊‧꒰ა Never speaks about your relationship with others, it remains private. What transpires between you two is your business, so you will never have to hear rumours or whispers floating around. It is one of his many ways of displaying his protectiveness.

˚₊‧꒰ა When it comes to verbally expressing his love, there’s no denying that his words are raw and filled with passion and devotion. You were his everything and the centre of his life. He prefers to express them during private moments when you are invited to his estate and having tea or lunch. “You are important to me. I hope you know that.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Prefers to keep his duties as a shinigami private, not wanting to worry you with his activities that nearly cost him his life or rendered him immobile. The look on your face when you worry or tear up is something Byakuya doesn’t like at all. He believes tears or worry should never be of your concern, you should be happy and smiling always.

˚₊‧꒰ა To Byakuya, if someone were to let him know that he was a simp, he would simply shake his head, denying the terms and claiming that he was merely doing what anyone should when in love with another. Probably one of the rare times he has openly expressed his emotions.

◈ Hitsugaya Toshiro — Tsundere Simp

˚₊‧꒰ა Even with his tsundere personality, he’s mature and it shows in how he cares for you in subtle ways. He might bring you lunch because he enjoys your company but doesn’t want to outrightly say it, so he would probably resort to a lie. “It’s not like I care or anything, but I noticed you forgot your lunch, so I brought you something.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Get flustered when Matsumoto brings up his feelings, whether you’re around or not. Often, he can be found stammering and blushing like crazy, threatening to turn the entire division into an icy tundra if she didn’t shut up.

˚₊‧꒰ა Protective yet constantly in denial but downplaying his actions. “Stay behind me. It’s not because I’m worried about you, it’s just my job.” Yeah, sure right. That’s his famous excuse anytime he doesn’t want to get busted, or he did get busted.

˚₊‧꒰ა If you were ever in the same room with him, he would S T A R E at you from across the room once you weren’t aware, and if Matsumoto noticed and called him out, the entire room becomes an icy blizzard. If there’s a window, he might jump out instead.

˚₊‧꒰ა Ah yes, the jealous little icicle doesn’t appreciate when you talk about the time or activity you do with others. The entire time he’s wondering if to pay that person a visit and turn them into a popsicle. Instead, he grumbles, “Why are you spending so much time with them? That’s distracting.” As if spending time with him won’t be the same…

˚₊‧꒰ა Receive his sweet acts of kindness with a teaspoon of grumpiness to hide his embarrassment. Would offer you something and look away to hide his blush. If you tease him, he will mutter about not getting the wrong idea. At the same time, he will dish out compliments with a side of teasing to mask his softness.

◈ Shuhei Hisagi — Shy Simp

˚₊‧꒰ა If ever you need someone to spend some quality time with in peace, Hisagi is your guy. With him, the quietness isn’t awkward at all since it prevents him from saying or doing anything awkward yet enjoying your presence.

˚₊‧꒰ა He’s a bit shy and humble about his feelings, often downplaying his actions and blushing when complimented. He’ll dart his eyes around, looking anywhere but you as the redness in his face grows intensely. “It’s nothing, really. I just wanted to help.”

˚₊‧꒰ა As shy as Hisagi is, he is undeniably supportive and encouraging. Quiet yet meaningful words of encouragement, never letting anyone else say otherwise and will stand up for you. The sweetest cheerleader ever.

˚₊‧꒰ა You get the opportunity to be first in line when listening to him play his newest pieces. He would hesitate to ask if you wanted to listen, but the gleam of excitement in your eyes would melt away his fear. He would happily sit for hours playing his guitar for you.

˚₊‧꒰ა He thinks about you quite often and makes the effort to spend time with you during his breaks, be it lunch, having tea, sparring with you, or even walking you back to your room. You would also receive a few tokens from him aside from a new song, like a new obi of your favourite colour.

˚₊‧꒰ა He goes weak when you make the first move to hold his hand or trace his tattoos. Any form of physical affection makes his knees buckle, and to make it even better, call him by a nickname you made for your personal use.

˚₊‧꒰ა He’s so caring and sweet, such a cutie pie. Always looking out for your safety and well-being. If you’re scared of the dark, he won’t make fun. If you prefer your food to be a certain temperature, he’ll understand. If you have allergies, say no more.

◈ Aizen Sosuke — Manipulative and Obsessive Simp (obvious ain’t it)

˚₊‧꒰ა This man gives such a yandere aura when it comes to how obsessed he is with you and will rarely overtly act as a ‘simp’ in the traditional sense, instead positioning himself as a figure who is ‘above’ such displays, all the while secretly swooning over you.

˚₊‧꒰ა He’s always watching—not in a creepy stalkerish vibes—and carefully studying you, making mental notes. If you catch him staring, he’ll give you this bemused smile as though you’re missing the obvious.

˚₊‧꒰ა It feels as though he’s always hypnotising you each time he speaks—he’s not even purposefully doing so, it’s just Aizen, a natural at swooning anyone with his voice and charm. His words always ensnare your thoughts and sometimes hold an unsettling level of devotion. “You intrigue me, more than anyone I’ve ever met. I find it difficult to pull away from you. Not that I want to.”

˚₊‧꒰ა “Interesting I find you here on one of my evening walks. Perhaps share this time with me?” As if he didn’t coincidentally plan the encounter, and the majority of the others, to pass them off as accidents. Nothing is random with this man.

˚₊‧꒰ა Listen, this man lives to make you flustered and then act smug about it—he knows what he’s doing. Like what is the reason for standing chest to chest, hand cupping your chin, tilting your head upwards to meet his eyes, lips inches apart, just to tell you, “I’ll be heading out today, be safe.” (so we weren’t going to kiss ⚆_⚆)

˚₊‧꒰ა If you show any form of affection or interest in him, he’d pretend to be nonchalant, but his mind is racing with a thousand schemes to deepen the connection and ensure that you never stray. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. After all, I have a way of making people see things my way. But it is nice to be noticed in such a way.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Please, don’t go talking to another person and showing interest or letting them show interest (for the sake of that person). His jealousy is SO subtle but unnerving. You could feel the lasers from his eyes melting that person a thousand times over—it’s impossible to miss.

˚₊‧꒰ა “You belong with me, don’t you? I’ve always known it.” You are a part of his plan as his equal. It’s one of his ways of ensuring that you are well-protected and looked after. As twisted as his feelings might be, he has the obsessive need to have you by his side.

◈ Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez — Aggressively Seductive Simp

˚₊‧꒰ა He’s aggressive from start to end with his compliments and actions, but they’re seductive. He’ll mess up your hair, lightly push you around/manhandle to show his affections. “You’re tougher than you look. I like that.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Tends to come off as emotionally constipated because in a way he is. Knows that he’s interested in you but isn’t one for those things humans call love and doesn’t know how to properly express it. He does have his unexpected softness, like giving you a coat or blanket if you’re cold. “Here, take this. It’s not like I care or anything.”

˚₊‧꒰ა His concerns come off as aggressive but toned down. “Don’t hurt yourself brat!” “Are you crazy? Do you have a death wish or something?” “If you touch me, I’ll fight you!” “Let’s fight to see who’s stronger!” That last one was only because he wanted to be close to you.

˚₊‧꒰ა He bites. He bites but will purr if you stroke his hair and then jerks away because you caught him slipping. Silently judges but loves the attention he receives.

˚₊‧꒰ა Loves to stand behind you and whisper in your ear with his deep ass voice but holds you by your waist so you can’t escape his grasp. He gets off on watching as you shiver. The compliments are worth making your knees buckle because they aren’t for the faint–hearted. “I don’t do this for just anyone, so consider yourself special.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Loves to admire you in your attire and asks you to do a twirl so he can see every inch of you. Grimmjow will also place his hands on your waist and make you face the mirror to stare at your beauty. Bites and licks his lips when he looks you up and down.

˚₊‧꒰ა Grimmjow’s eyes are always locked on your figure no matter where you are. You can feel his eyes roaming your body—he likes to say it’s for protection reasons. Hates to admit the truth whenever he's called out, but he’s also a jealous kitty—ready to fight any and everyone.

˚₊‧꒰ა Goes to find you every time he leaves for a mission and when he returns, he holds you close and breathes in your scent. He’ll bury his nose into your hair and press your body close to his, murmuring about how he missed your smell and you’re his.

◈ Coyote Starrk — Laid-back Simp

˚₊‧꒰ა His form of affection would be so relaxed and casual—there’s no need for him to rush or display his interest in any grand forms of affection. A pat on your head, a gentle arm around your waist or him resting his chin on your head, as he pulls you in close.

˚₊‧꒰ა Cherishes you and your company once he realised that you weren’t vaporising anytime you stood beside him and often invites you to join him for a nap or to relax. He likes the warmth you bring. “It’s nice having you around. Makes things less…lonely.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Would keep you safe from any hollows and the other Arrancar who decided to harm you. Not wanting to get into any conflicts, but only because you were important to him, he would get serious.

˚₊‧꒰ა Starrk has a way of giving you…unenthusiastic compliments though they mean well and are sincere. It’s just that his tone of delivery is nonchalant and his expression mimics boredom, however his eyes are soft.

˚₊‧꒰ა He’s not one to hover, preferring his silence and alone time, yet he always lets you know that if you ever need him, don’t hesitate to come find him and let him know. He’s always around.

˚₊‧꒰ა You have to deal with Lilinette too often whenever you’re around him. The constant teasing and poking about how soft Starrk was, or how you had him wrapped around your finger, earned her a scolding from him. She enjoys setting you two up in awkward situations just to get a laugh out of it.

˚₊‧꒰ა Occasionally, you will see his seriousness making an appearance. Mostly after a near confrontation with another hollow and you almost being severely wounded, or an argument, he would express his care and concern. “I may not show it often, but I care about you.”

©satsugacafé 2024: no permission to repost, plagiarise, copy, or translate my work onto any other platform or this one.

[thef1diary]

riddle me this: how would dirtbag danny react if you came home after a date with another guy? I can imagine him being so demeaning, pitying you since you thought you needed a safer and reliable guy, opposite of daniel basically

(also I’m the same anon from the beer chugging vid, can I be 👩🏻‍🦽anon <- that’s us after a night with dirtbag danny btw)

Nice Isn’t Enough | Dirtbag!Danny

— hi nonnie! so glad you’re back w more dirtbag!danny filth 🤭 yes you can absolutely be 👩🏻‍🦽anon, your reason made me giggle ngl

warnings: 18+, name calling, lotssss of degradation, dirty talk, thigh riding, cruel cruel danny but that’s expected atp

want more dirtbag!danny? send me an ask with your latest thoughts and click here for the rest of my blurbs/fics

You entered your apartment, kicking off your heels with a sigh, the ghost of a smile still lingering on your lips. The date had gone well enough—pleasant conversation, a sweet kiss at the door, and the comforting warmth of normalcy. But just as you let out another sigh, the calm surrounding you shattered the second you heard his voice.

“Aw, was it that bad?”

Your head snapped up. Daniel’s voice dripped with condescension, low and smug, like he’d been waiting for this moment all night. He’s sprawled across your couch—legs wide and spread, the hem of his shorts inching dangerously high on his thighs with every lazy shift of his body. One arm is draped over the backrest with a beer bottle dangling from his fingers. He doesn’t look at you immediately, his eyes fixed on the label he’s peeling off, but the smirk tugging at his lips is unmistakable.

“You didn’t even invite him in?” He finally glanced up, his honey brown eyes flicking over you from head to toe, taking in the silk dress that hugged your curves, the faint flush still blooming on your cheeks. His gaze lingered, slow and deliberate, before he raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t go as well as you thought, huh?”

Your heart stuttered for a moment—not from fear, but from the sheer audacity. You blinked, caught off guard by both his presence and the sting of his words. “What are you doing here, Daniel?” you asked, keeping your voice as steady as you can.

He leaned back into the cushions, utterly at ease in your space. “What am I doing here?” he echoed, as if the answer should be obvious. “You forgot about our plans for the night.” He shrugged, taking a lazy sip from his beer, the smirk never leaving his face. “And you’re very predictable with your extra key placement, by the way.”

Your stomach twisted. He let himself in. Like it’s nothing. Like you belonged to him—or worse, like your space does.

“I didn’t forget anything,” you lied, crossing your arms over your chest as if that can shield you from the pull of him. “Because we didn’t have plans.”

Daniel’s smirk widens as your lie hangs in the air. He knows. He somehow knows.

“Didn’t have plans, huh?” he murmured, setting the beer bottle down on the coffee table with a soft clink. He rises slowly with the kind of confidence that makes the room feel smaller. Every step he took towards you is measured, deliberate, and your breath catches in your throat despite yourself.

He stopped just a few inches away, the heat of his presence pressing into your skin, the scent of beer, leather, and something deeper—something rich, masculine, and entirely him—invading your senses.

“So,” he started, voice slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring every word. “How was it?” His gaze swept over your face again, lingering on the faint blush still warming your cheeks before noticing the smudge of lipstick from the kiss at the door. “Your little date.”

You took a breath, steadying yourself, refusing to let him rattle you. “It was fine.”

Daniel chuckled softly, a low, mocking sound. “Fine,” he echoed the word like it’s a punchline. “Of course, it was fine. I bet he was a real stand-up guy. Steady job, clean car, probably held the door for you, didn’t he?” His grin widened as he brushed his lips against your ear, “real safe.”

You don’t rise to the bait. Not yet. “He was nice.”

“Nice,” Daniel repeated, almost whispering it like it was the dirtiest word he’s ever heard. His hands found your hips, fingers curling around them, the pads of his thumbs rubbing slow, lazy circles against the silky fabric of your dress. “Sure. Nice. Polite, respectful. Asked about your day.” His voice dripped with sarcasm, each word a carefully placed jab. “Took you to some boring-ass restaurant where the biggest thrill was picking between red and white wine, right?”

Your jaw tightened, and you could feel the heat rising in your face. His smirk only widened, feeding off your barely concealed irritation.

“But tell me something,” His voice lowered, rough and edged with something darker. His grip on your hips tightened, pulling you just the slightest bit closer until the space between you is almost nonexistent. “Did he look at you like he wanted to tear this dress off you right there in the middle of dinner?”

You blinked, lips parting, but no words came.

Daniel’s eyes searched yours even though it seemed as if he already had the answer. “Did he make you feel it?” His voice is a murmur now, his lips so close to yours you can feel the ghost of his breath. “Like you couldn’t breathe unless his hands were on you?”

Your heart pounded in your chest, your breath shallow, but you stood your ground, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much his words affect you.

“Or,” he continued, tilting his head slightly, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth, “did he kiss you goodnight and send you home, like a good girl, with a pat on the head and a promise to call?”

Your hands tightened into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms to prevent yourself from giving into his kiss, but you refused to look away. “Not everyone is like you, Daniel.” The words are meant to be defiant, but they come out softer than you intended, almost a whisper.

Daniel’s smirk returned, wicked and knowing. “No,” he agreed, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze fully. “Not everyone can be.”

The air between you crackled with tension, a push and pull neither of you wanted to admit to but can’t seem to escape. His hands remain on your hips, grounding you, teasing you, as if he’s daring you to break the silence.

“Let me guess,” he murmured. “He wouldn’t even know what to do with you. Bet he touched you like you were made of glass when he kissed you.” His eyes flicked back up to yours, daring, taunting. “Think he’d fuck you like you want? Like you deserve?”

Your cheeks flushed hot, and you hated the way your body reacted to his words, to the heat in his gaze, to the way his voice wrapped around you and pulled you in.

“Daniel,” you muttered, but it's weak, barely audible.

“Am I wrong?” Daniel stepped back, just a little, his hands falling away from your hips, leaving you cold in his absence. He gives you enough space to breathe, but not enough to escape the weight of his presence.

You swallowed hard, the absence of his touch both a relief and a frustration. His words lingered in the air, hanging over you, daring you to deny them. But you don’t. You can’t.

“Well,” he murmured, his voice low and lazy, like he’s already won. “When you get bored of nice… you know how to reach me.”

He turned, ready to leave, the air between you still buzzing with unspoken tension. But before he could take too many steps away, your voice cut through the silence, soft but firm.

“Daniel. Wait.”

He paused, his back to you, shoulders tense as if he’s waiting to see if you’ll take it back. Slowly, he turned, his gaze locking onto yours.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding, every nerve in your body on edge. “You’re right.”

His brow arched, the smirk growing just a fraction. “About what?”

You hesitate, the words catching in your throat. Finally, you whispered, “Everything.”

Daniel takes a step toward you, then another, until he’s standing in front of you again. He reached out, his fingers catching your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, unreadable, the smirk on his face both infuriating and intoxicating.

“Gotta tell me more than that, sweetheart,” he drawled, his thumb brushing over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. “Praise a guy, will ya?”

You inhaled shakily, your eyes locked on his. “I don’t want nice,” you admitted softly, the words spilling out before you could second-guess them. “I don’t want to settle, or something safe and reliable. I don’t want…him.”

Daniel’s smirk deepened, a slow, knowing curve of his lips. His thumb lingers on your chin, teasingly light, but his eyes—those dark, relentless eyes—hold you in place. “Yeah?” he murmured, the mockery evident in his tone. “Guess nice didn’t quite do it for you, huh?”

You shook your head slightly, the tension between you crackling like static. “It’s not enough,” you whispered, barely recognizing your voice.

He hummed in satisfaction, tilting his head as if to study you, figuring out just how far you’re willing to go. “Thought you might come around,” he said softly. “Nice is good for a Sunday brunch with your parents. For hand-holding and little promises that don’t mean shit. But that’s not what you really want, is it?”

You don’t answer, but your silence is enough. He sees it, feels it in the way you lean in ever so slightly, drawn to the heat of him, the pull you’ve been resisting for far too long.

“Come here,” he whispered, stepping back toward the couch and guiding you with him. His hands find your hips again, pulling you down onto his lap, your knees settling on either side of him. The intimacy of the position stole your breath, but you didn't pull away.

You hover inches away from his lips, your breath mingling with his, the tension between you crackling like a live wire. His hands grip your hips, firm and possessive, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. Your heart raced, every nerve in your body screaming to close the distance, to give in.

But before you do, you pressed your hands against his chest, feeling the heat of him through the thin fabric of his shirt. “This doesn’t mean I’m in love with you,” you said sharply.

Daniel chuckled, low and mocking, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Good,” he replied, amused. “Because I’m not in love with you either.” His fingers tightened on your hips, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. “Why would I want that?” His voice is smooth, dripping with pity and condescension. “Love’s not really your thing anyway, is it? Or mine for that matter.”

Heat creeped up your cheeks, both from his words and the infuriating smirk on his face. You should push him away, should walk out, but instead, you do the exact opposite.

You kissed him.

It’s not tentative or gentle—it’s fierce, all-consuming, a kiss that feels like surrender and defiance all at once. His lips are warm, demanding, and he meets your desperation with his own, his hands moving from your hips to the small of your back, holding you tight against him.

Your dress was already rising, the fabric sliding higher as you shifted against him, your knees pressing into the couch on either side of his hips. His fingers slipped under the hem, pushing it up and over your waist with ease, leaving you bare save for the black lace of your panties.

He pulled back just enough to drink you in, his dark eyes roaming over you like you’re something he owned. Your thighs are bare and trembling against the heat of him. His gaze drops to the lace barely covering you, his smirk curling into something cruel, something wicked.

“Now,” he breathed, his voice thick with mockery, “why don’t you show me just how fucking done you are with nice?”

Before you could respond, his hand was already between your legs, rough fingers hooking under the delicate lace covering your pussy and yanking it to the side, baring you completely. The cool air hits your cunt, making you gasp, but it’s nothing compared to the way his eyes darkened as he took you in.

“Fuck,” he muttered, almost to himself, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. His fingers slide between your folds, slow and deliberate, parting you with a precision that’s designed to drive you mad. He doesn’t give you what you want—not yet. Instead, he toyed with you, dragging his fingertips through your slickness, barely brushing your clit before pulling away again, leaving you aching and desperate.

A soft, involuntary whimper escapes your lips, and he catches it, smirking like he’s already won. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice low and filthy. “Already dripping for me, huh? Guess nice really wasn’t cutting it.”

His fingers returned, this time rougher, sliding through your slick heat, spreading it over you, coating you in your own arousal. He pressed the pads of two fingers against your hole, teasing you with the barest hint of pressure before pulling back once again, making you grind your hips in frustration.

Daniel chuckled, dark and condescending, his grip on your hip tightening to keep you exactly where he wants you. “Patience, sweetheart,” he mocked, his lips curling into a cruel grin. “You want to get fucked like you deserve? You’ve gotta earn it.”

Without warning, he shifted your hips, forcing you down onto his thigh—his bare, tattooed thigh—and the heat of him against your slick folds sent a jolt of pleasure through you. He pressed you down, grinding you against him, the roughness of his skin dragging against your clit, making you gasp.

“Yeah,” he groaned, his voice pure sin. “Just like that. Go ahead—ride it. Show me how desperate you really are.”

You don’t even think—you just move, instinctively grinding down against his thigh, chasing the friction, the heat, the overwhelming need coursing through you. Each drag of your slick folds against the hard muscle of his thigh sends sparks shooting through your body, your clit throbbing with every rock of your hips. You’re a mess already, and you know it, but you don’t care. Not anymore. Pride, shame—none of it matters now. All you can focus on is the pleasure building inside you, desperate and raw.

Daniel knows it too, and he revels in it. His hands grip your hips, guiding your movements, controlling the pace as if he owns you.

“Look at you,” he sneered, voice low and dripping with disdain. His hands slid up your sides, rough and deliberate, until they reached the neckline of your dress. Without hesitation, he pulled the fabric down, exposing your bare tits to the cool air and his heated stare. His thumb brushes over one hardened nipple, making you gasp, before he pinches it roughly, just to hear the sound you make.

“Fuck,” he drawled, eyes flicking between your flushed face and your exposed chest. “Imagine if your date saw you like this—grinding on me like a desperate little slut.” His smirk deepened, cruel and knowing. “Think he’d still ask you out again? Or would he see you for what you really are? My filthy, needy little whore who can’t get off unless someone makes her earn it.”

His words cut deep, filthy and degrading, and they ignite something inside you, something dark and hungry. You can feel the heat of his thigh against you, the pressure building with every roll of your hips, and it’s maddening. He leaned in, lips brushing against your ear, his voice a harsh whisper.

“Bet he’d be fucking shocked, huh?” Daniel continued, his tone dripping with condescension. “Good girls like you aren’t supposed to act like this. But here you are—tits out, soaking my thigh, and fucking yourself like you can’t help it.” His hands tighten on your hips, forcing you down harder, grinding you deeper into him. “Such a fucking pretty mess. Keep going, sweetheart. Show me how much you love being dirty for me.”

Your movements grew frantic, driven by the overwhelming mix of sensations—the rough drag of his skin against your soaked folds, the burning heat of his thigh flexing beneath you, each hard muscle shifting and tightening as if made just to ruin you. He bounces it once, twice, sending a jolt of pleasure straight through your core, and a helpless moan tumbles from your lips, loud and shameless.

“Yeah,” Daniel groaned, watching you with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “That’s it. Let me hear how desperate you are.” His hands roam over your body, possessive and rough, sliding up to cup your tits, squeezing them in his large, calloused hands. His thumbs flicked over your nipples, rolling and pinching the sensitive peaks, making you arch your back and grind harder against him.

“Go on dates with any guy,” he murmured, lips brushing against your ear, voice taunting. “But I know you’ll always come back to me for a good fuck.”

Your breath stuttered, every nerve in your body screaming for release, and you whimpered his name. His smirk deepened, a cruel, triumphant twist of his lips.

“You’re so desperate for a good fuck, aren’t you?” he asked, his eyes dark and full of sin. “You want more, don’t you? You want my cock.” His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, pressing down lightly. “Be a good, obedient slut for me, and maybe I’ll give it to you. I know how much you love it—how much you need it filling you up.”

The promise, the filth in his words, makes a loud whine leave your lips, his name spilling repeatedly. Your hips jerk against his thigh, chasing more, needing more.

“Mm, that’s right, sweetheart,” he groaned. “Say my name. Scream it.”

His thigh flexed again, and you rode it harder, grinding down with desperation, your wetness slicking his skin. You’re close—so fucking close—and he knows it. His eyes burn with amusement and something darker as he leans in, his teeth grazing your jaw before his tongue flicks out to taste you.

“Think he stuck around outside?” Daniel’s voice is a low rumble, thick with arrogance. “He probably heard you if he did. Every little moan. Every scream.” His words sent a fresh wave of heat flooding through you, the humiliation and pleasure intertwining, tightening the coil in your pussy.

“He should’ve come inside,” he continued, biting down gently on the curve of your neck, making you gasp. “Wanted to show him how you beg for me. How you fall apart on my thigh. How you’re mine to fuck.”

Your hips bucked uncontrollably, grinding against him with frantic need. His fingers dig into your waist, guiding your every movement, every desperate thrust. He bounced his thigh again, the rough drag of his skin against your swollen clit sending you spiraling over the edge.

“Look at you,” he breathed, eyes locked on yours, watching every tremble, every shudder. “Such a pretty little slut, using me to get off. So fucking wet—so fucking needy.”

Your vision blurred, the pleasure crashing over you in waves as you cry out his name, loud and broken, just like he wanted. His hands hold you steady, his thigh flexing beneath you one last time, drawing out every shiver, every whimper, until you collapse against him, spent and trembling in his arms.

You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders, your body trembling as he dragged every last aftershock from you.

You shifted slightly, your head resting against his shoulder, heart pounding, breath shaky. He tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at him, his eyes gleaming with that familiar, cocky triumph.

“See?” he whispered, lips curling into a smirk that’s both dangerous and devastating. “You don’t need nice. You just need me.”

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip one last time, slow and deliberate, before he leaned in close, his mouth grazing your ear.

“And you’ll be back, sweetheart,” he breathed, the promise dark and certain. “Because you always come back.”

taglist: @llando4norris @monsieurbacteria6 @namgification @lilymurphy03 @sargeantdumbass @racingheartsposts @d3kstar @thedecalcomania-blog @casperlikej @khaylin27 @mlioravanfleet @mehrmonga @wobblymug @bokutos-babyowl @evasmlp @mycenterfold @uhhvictoria @kaorisakamotofan @alice-went-away @nikfigueiredo @wonnou @jointhehunt67 @gxuh @67-angelofthelordme-67 @kigieri @lilorose25

[logoleptic-since-06]

Every Corner of This House is Haunted

Pairing: Kento Nanami x Fem!Reader Content: Fem!Reader, Marriage in Crisis, Angst, Reader and Nanami are in their 30s, Not Proofread

Chapter I ■ Chapter II ■ Chapter III

“I want a divorce.”

The silence after you utter those words pierces through your mind, making you second guess your comment. You don’t want to repeat them, afraid the next time you say the words, you won’t even mean it. Kento simply continues driving, pretending like you never spoke. Anxiety blooms in your chest, so tightening you almost feel as though you can’t breathe.

Once you reach your apartment building and get on the elevator, you give into your nerves.

“Kento,” you call.

He looks up from his phone. “Hm?”

You push back the tears that are so desperate to come out of your eyes. “You heard me.” Your voice is barely a whisper. The elevator rings and he steps out into your penthouse. 

“Kento!” you finally shout.

He turns around with a stern expression masking his face. “What?”

“Please.”

“You’re being ridiculous. There’s no need for you to say something like that.”

Letting out an exasperated scoff, you hear your voice break as you speak. “You cannot possibly be saying that, Kento, when you damn fucking well know we haven’t even talked in ages.”

“Yes, we have,” he claims calmly.

“No, Kento, we haven’t. And see this is the issue– you don’t even realise we may be drifting apart.”

“We aren’t drifting apart.”

“Stop invalidating me like that!” you snap. “You think you’re so mature and you know every fucking thing when in reality you’ve grown emotionally unavailable. You only talk about work, we never go out on dates, and when was the last time you kissed me Kento?”

His demeanour shifts slightly, which makes you wonder if he realises his faults.

“We are both busy, my love.”

“Too busy to even see each other?”

He sighs. “You’re right. I have been neglecting you.” He comes forwards and touches your arms. “How about you give me a chance? Let me take you out on a date tomorrow.”

You look into his eyes, the same ones you fell in love with so many years ago, the ones that feel like an ocean you can happily drown in. He pulls you into a hug and you melt, his arms both your greatest kryptonite and strongest warrior. How could you ever leave him?

“I’m sorry, my love,” he says, his voice as soft as ever. “I’ll make it right, I promise. Be ready at 7pm tomorrow, okay?”

–

The next day rolls in in a matter of moments. As Kento sits behind his desk at his office with his thoughts laminated with guilt, his mind replays the moments you said you wanted a divorce. He had felt his life flash before his eyes, like someone ripped his heart apart from his ribcage. Had he been so blinded by ambition and competence that he forgot to consider the feelings of the reason he breathes?

“Sir?” the voice of his assistant breaks him away from his thoughts.

“Yes?”

“The clients are here, the meeting can start now.”

–

Hours pass in the meeting, but eventually, the deal is finalized. Kento returns to his cabin and relaxes into his chair, satisfied with himself. Stretching out his arms, he finally peeks into his phone that seems to be flooded with notifications from you. Why would you send him so many–

Oh.

Fuck.

He checks the time. It’s 9:42 PM. The meeting had taken longer than it should have. But worst of all, he had forgotten about the plans with you. With shaking hands, he sprints out of his office, maniacally driving to your place.

He stumbles out of the elevator. “Y/N,” he calls out. “I’m so sorry for being late, my love, I was occupied with very important clients.” He goes up to your bedroom and opens the door, expecting to find you there.

“Y/N?” he calls out again when he doesn’t. His heart almost leaps out of his chest as he hysterically moves around the house, shouting out your name and calling your phone. All to only be responded with nothing. 

You were gone.

A/N: Sorry, I was feeling a little silly. 🤭

[holylulusworld]

His Bride (1)

Summary: Your life gets turned upside down.

Pairing: Vampire!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader; John Walker x fem!Reader (for now)

Warnings: nightmares, angst, awful boyfriend, daydreaming, vampire Bucky, mind-manipulation, nasty boyfriend, arguments, mentions of cheating

Catch up here: His Bride (Prologue)

His Bride Masterlist

Another sleepless night led to another day filled with workload. You yawn and rub your tired eyes. Tonight, it was not the mysterious shadow following you that kept you awake. It was the fact that John didn’t come home.

He ran late before, but never slept at his office. In the back of your mind, you know he’s hiding things from you. Maybe he’s even looking for someone new.

You don’t know, and honestly, you’re too tired to think about your indifferent boyfriend and his attitude. If you mess things up at your job, you’ll get fired, and that's the last thing you want.

Even though you’re working overtime most days, you love your job. You pretend that there’s no other reason than work for you to stay late. Not a certain someone with blue eyes.

“Working late again?” It’s like you magically summoned your boss by thinking of him. He stands next to your desk, furrowing his brows in worry. “You’re overworking yourself, Y/N. I need my employees healthy and well-rested. Don’t make me use my dominant voice and tell you to go home.”

His voice drops lower, and you can’t stop the whimper escaping your lips. Bucky cocks a brow at your reaction. He puts his hands on his hips and waits for your response.

“Mr. Barnes, I only wanted to finish that document,” you hastily say, as if you did something wrong. “I’ll be on my way in a minute.”

“No, you won’t. I know you well, Y/N,” he chuckles and places his hand flat on your desk. “How about this? I order dinner for us, and you join me at my office. We can take care of the papers tomorrow.”

You nod and turn to shut the laptop off. Bucky is gone without making a noise again. You’re always amazed how he can move so fast you don’t hear him come or leave.

“Y/N, are you coming?” He calls for you. You get lost in your daydreams again and need to focus on his voice before your mind drifts away again.

“Just a minute, Mr. Barnes,” you say, and slowly get up from your seat. “Do you want me to order the food?”

“I already did,” he casually says. Bucky holds the door for you open, subtly sniffing at your hair when you walk past him. You don’t recognize his eyes turning red for a second. “I called your favorite Italian restaurant. They’ll be here to deliver our food.”

Bucky places his hand on the small of your back to guide you toward the couch at his office. His hand barely touches you, but the simplest brush of his fingertips sets your skin on fire. He offers you to sit on the comfortable couch with him, saying your name in a way that makes you weak in the knees.

“You know about my favorite restaurant?” You wonder aloud, struggling to bare your feelings in front of your boss. “How do you know?” John can’t remember your favorite dish, and your boss knows your favorite restaurant.

“You talked to Coleen some months ago. I think the restaurant just opened when you told her about it. You were excited to have dinner there with your boyfriend.”

Your features sadden at that memory. Bucky is right. You were excited and over the moon when you got a reservation at the restaurant for you and John. You bought a new dress and dolled up for John, only for him to not show.

He forgot about your date night and the reservation. John never apologized that you sat at the restaurant and had to eat alone. Later you walked home while rain mercilessly poured down on you.

Cliché, right? Sometimes you feel like you ended up in an awful movie. Sadly, it’s not the romantic kind of rom-com. Rather, a twisted version of a romantic dream.

“Why the sad face?” Bucky asks, his voice warm and soothing. “I thought you liked their food. I can order whatever you want, păpușă (doll). Just name it.”

“I like their food,” you murmur, afraid to speak louder and give away the sadness in your voice. “John didn’t make it for dinner. I ate alone but enjoyed their food very much.”

“Păpuşă (doll),” he whispers lowly, and you feel your mind slip away once again. You hush his name, and he cups the back of your neck. “If you were mine, I’d never leave you alone or hurt you. He doesn’t know what he has in you, Y/N.”

“He doesn’t know what he has,” you repeat Bucky’s words like in a trance. You sigh, and your body goes lax. Bucky is fast to catch you and bring you in his arms. He pats your hair and whispers your name, something you wouldn’t understand in Romanian.

“Bucky,” you babble mindlessly. The shadow is back. It’s dragging you deeper into the abyss, and you lose control over your mind and body.

“Soon, my love. We only need to get rid of your unfaithful fiancé. I’d love to rip his head off his neck, but I’m a gentleman and wouldn’t want to bring grief over you.”

“I must stay; you have excellent taste, Y/N.” You blink at Bucky as he lifts a fork to his lips. He barely touches the food, but that’s not what bothers you.

Everything feels like a blur since you stepped into Bucky’s office. You remember sitting on the couch and getting sad over the missed date night. After that, nothing.

Your mind is blank. Now you sit here, a plate filled with pasta in front of you, and you don’t remember a thing. “You should try it. I know you felt a little dizzy, but you need food, Y/N.”

“Food… right.” You grab the fork next to your plate to take a bite. The taste makes you moan loudly. It’s the best pasta you ever ate. Maybe even the best food you had in your life. “Wow, this is even better than I remember.”

“Maybe it’s the charming company,” Bucky says. You chuckle, but your cheeks heat up. Maybe it is his company. Around him, everything seems to be so easy. “You don’t have to say a thing. I was trying to be funny.”

“I know,” you hastily reply, unsure if he was joking. You glance at Bucky and lick your lips. He barely touched his food but watched you enjoy it. “Uh—not that you’re not charming!” You stammer, realizing your mistake. “You are but—uh…”

“Y/N,” he places his hand on your shoulder and tells you to breathe. “Relax. You don’t have to tell me what I want to hear. I’m not that kind of man.”

Watching him with curiosity, you wonder if your boss has secrets he tries to hide too. You are a master at hiding your sadness or how you feel around your boss. He can never know you’d commit any sin to be with him…

After dinner with your boss, you decided to not wait for John to come home tonight. You’re still tired and don’t want to waste more time waiting for your fiancé.

Snuggled into your pillow, you close your eyes and recall dinner with Bucky. You remember his eyes, focused on you, and his full plate when you left. He probably wasn’t hungry tonight.

“Soon, my love,” Bucky murmurs while gently stroking your hair. “He’ll lose you to a better man. A man who knows how to treat you right. You don’t have to wait much longer.”

He kisses your neck. Bucky fights his instinct. He tries to keep himself from tasting you in more than one way. “I must leave now. Sunrise is close, and I don’t want you to be scared of me.”

Bucky slips out of your window like a shadow fleeing the sun. He’ll return tomorrow night and every other night to keep you safe…

Tags in reblog.

[jaeyunluvbot]

goodnight n go

genre/tags 𝟅𝟈 vernon x fem!reader, kind of secret romance, college au

word count 𝟅𝟈 7.1k

NOT PROOFREAD

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The campus library hums with quiet activity: the scratch of pens, the faint tapping of keyboards, and whispers barely above a murmur. You’re in your usual corner, earbuds in and pretending you’re too absorbed in your screen to notice the commotion around you.

But you do notice. How could you not?

A burst of laughter draws your attention to the table just a few feet away. Of course, he’s there. Vernon Chwe.

He leans back in his chair, all lazy confidence, a backwards cap perched on his head like it’s an extension of his body. His hoodie looks soft, worn, perfectly slouchy, and it’s infuriating how good he looks without even trying. You force yourself to stare at your screen, typing nonsense just to look busy. He’s not even your enemy—not directly. But Vernon is part of Mingyu’s crowd, and that’s enough to keep him firmly on your ignore at all costs list.

You still remember how Jennie looked after her breakup with Mingyu—eyes puffy, voice breaking on every other word. She hasn’t explicitly told you to steer clear of Vernon, but loyalty doesn’t need to be spoken. Besides, you have no interest in frat boys who probably spend more time planning parties than studying.

“Hey, Y/N!”

You freeze. His voice cuts through the library like it has no regard for social norms—or the very clear quiet zone sign on the wall.

You don’t look up. Maybe if you pretend you didn’t hear him—

“Y/N,” he says again, louder this time. A few heads turn in mild irritation. You want to sink into the floor.

Reluctantly, you pull out an earbud and glare at him. “What?” you hiss.

He holds up a battered blue binder. Your binder. Your name is scrawled across the front in black Sharpie, unmistakable.

“I think you forgot this after class,” he says, his tone casual, almost playful.

You stomp over and snatch it from his hands. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” he replies, grinning like you just made his day. “Oh, and nice presentation today in Dr. Kim’s class. You really knew your stuff.”

Your chest tightens, and not in the way you’d like to admit. Compliments shouldn’t feel like this—not from him, anyway. You shrug, keeping your voice neutral. “Thanks.”

You turn to leave, eager to put as much distance between yourself and his stupidly charming face as possible.

“You know,” he calls after you, his voice light, teasing, “I’m not as bad as you think I am.”

You stop mid-step. Slowly, you glance back at him. “What are you talking about?”

He leans back in his chair, his grin widening. “I mean, you don’t have to avoid me so much. I’m not the one who broke Jennie’s heart.”

Heat floods your cheeks—half embarrassment, half fury. “I’m not avoiding you,” you snap, even though the words feel like a lie.

“Sure you’re not,” he says, his tone maddeningly smug. “See you around, Y/N.”

You hate the way his voice lingers in your head long after you’ve stomped back to your seat.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The house is packed, music thumping so loud you can feel it in your chest. You’re clutching a red solo cup—not because you’re particularly in the mood to drink, but because it gives you something to do with your hands. Jennie’s off somewhere, probably gossiping with Irene and Seulgi, leaving you to hover near the snacks, pretending you’re not awkwardly alone in the middle of a frat house.

You don’t even know why you came.

Actually, that’s a lie—you know exactly why. Jennie had heard NCT was throwing the party, and you didn’t want to spend another Friday night alone in your dorm. But now, as you watch the endless crowd of people, you’re questioning your life choices.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

You don’t have to look up to know who it is.

Vernon Chwe.

His voice is casual, but when you glance at him, he’s smiling, almost like he’s been waiting for this moment. He’s ditched the usual hoodie for a plain black t-shirt and jeans, his hair falling messily over his forehead. It’s ridiculous how effortlessly good he looks.

“Didn’t think I’d see you either,” you reply, your tone sharper than intended.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Why’s that?”

“I didn’t think frat parties were your thing.”

“Really? I live here.”

Your face heats up at your own stupidity. He just laughs, shaking his head. “Relax, I’m kidding. I don’t live here, but I might as well with how often I’m around. The brothers in NCT are friends of my frat”

You roll your eyes. “Of course they are.”

There’s a beat of silence, just long enough to feel awkward. You glance at the door, contemplating an escape, but before you can bolt, Vernon leans a little closer.

“You look like you’re having a terrible time,” he says, his voice low enough that it feels like a secret between the two of you.

“I’m fine,” you lie.

“Come on,” he insists. “I saw you glaring at the chips like they personally offended you.”

You almost laugh despite yourself. “Maybe they did.”

He grins, taking a sip from his own cup. “Tell you what—let’s make it less terrible. There’s a quieter spot upstairs. Wanna come?”

Every sensible part of you screams no. This is exactly what you’ve been trying to avoid. But something about the way he’s looking at you, his smile soft and unassuming, makes you hesitate. Against your better judgment, you nod.

Vernon leads you to a room at the end of the hall, far enough from the party that the music feels like background noise. There’s an old couch in the corner, and he flops down, patting the seat next to him.

You hesitate, but sit down anyway, keeping a safe distance.

“See? Much better,” he says, leaning back and stretching his arms across the top of the couch.

“You didn’t bring me here to murder me, did you?” you joke, crossing your arms.

He snorts. “If I wanted to murder you, I wouldn’t have picked a frat party. Too many witnesses.”

“Good point.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. It’s not the awkward silence you expected. It’s…comfortable.

“So,” he says, breaking the quiet, “why do you hate me?”

Your head snaps toward him. “I don’t hate you.”

“Really? Could’ve fooled me.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off.

“It’s fine,” he says, shrugging. “I get it. Jennie’s your friend, and Mingyu’s my friend. Guilty by association.”

You don’t know how to respond to that.

“I just think it’s kind of unfair,” he adds, his voice quieter now. “You don’t even know me.”

Something in his tone catches you off guard—he sounds almost…vulnerable.

You glance at him, and for the first time, you let yourself really look. He’s not grinning or teasing. He’s just sitting there, waiting for you to say something.

You glance at him, and for the first time, you let yourself really look. He’s not grinning or teasing. He’s just sitting there, waiting for you to say something.

“I guess…I never gave you a chance,” you admit, the words feeling heavier than they should.

He smiles, but it’s small and almost shy. “Well, I’m glad we’re fixing that now.”

You’re not sure why your chest feels so tight, or why your heart is beating so fast. All you know is that Vernon Chwe might be a problem—a very, very big problem.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

You’ve never been one to lose track of time, especially not at a party. But as you sit on the worn couch in that quiet upstairs room, hours pass like minutes.

Vernon has a way of talking that catches you off guard. He’s not loud or overbearing like you imagined a frat boy would be. Instead, his words are thoughtful, his voice calm, like he’s actually listening and not just waiting for his turn to speak.

Somehow, the conversation flows from harmless small talk—classes, shared professors, and how the campus coffee shop is ridiculously overpriced—to deeper things.

“You know, when I found out you were friends with Jennie I was surprised,” he says, leaning forward, elbows on his knees.

“Oh, really?” You arch a brow, leaning back into the couch.

“Yeah. You don’t have that… sorority vibe, you know?”

“And what vibe do I have, exactly?”

He grins, his eyes flickering to yours for a moment before he looks away. “You seem like you’ve got it all together, but there’s a lot more going on under the surface. Like, you’re the type of person who stays up all night overthinking things.”

Your stomach flips at how accurate that is. You cover it with a laugh. “What, did you take a psychology class or something?”

“Nah,” he says, still smiling. “I’m just good at reading people.”

“Then why didn’t you read that I don’t like you?”

It’s meant to be a jab, but it comes out softer than you intended.

He shrugs. “Because I don’t think that’s true.”

You scoff, but he doesn’t back down. His gaze lingers on you, not in an intimidating way, but like he’s trying to figure out how you work.

“Okay, fine,” you say, breaking the tension. “Maybe I didn’t like you before.”

“But now?” he asks, his tone teasing but his eyes serious.

You roll your eyes. “You’re…less annoying than I thought you’d be.”

“Wow, high praise,” he says, grinning.

You can’t help but smile back.

At some point, the conversation shifts to childhood memories. You tell him about the time you broke your mom’s favorite vase and tried to blame it on your cousin, only for your little brother to rat you out. He laughs, and it’s this deep, genuine sound that makes your chest feel warm.

In return, he tells you about the time he got his head stuck between the bars of a park fence and how Mingyu had to call their RA to get him out.

“I don’t know what’s worse,” you say, laughing, “the fact that you got stuck or the fact that you had to call for help.”

“Hey, I was, like, eight,” he says, pretending to be offended. “Cut me some slack.”

“Sure, sure,” you say, wiping a tear from your eye.

Before you realize it, the music from downstairs starts to fade, the party winding down. You check your phone—it’s past midnight.

“I should probably get going,” you say, though you don’t really want to.

“Yeah,” he says, standing up and stretching. “Me too.”

As you head downstairs together, the air between you feels different. Lighter. For the first time, you don’t feel the need to keep your guard up around him.

When you reach the bottom of the stairs, he turns to you, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “This was…nice.”

You nod. “Yeah, it was.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to say something else, but instead, he just smiles. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Vernon.”

As you walk home, your thoughts race. You still don’t know what to make of him, but one thing’s for sure—he’s not at all what you expected.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The next morning, you stumble out of bed and drag yourself downstairs to the kitchen, still in your pajamas. Your mind is hazy, last night’s events with Vernon replaying on a constant loop. You’re still trying to piece together how you ended up talking to him for hours, completely forgetting you were supposed to dislike him.

As you enter the kitchen, the lively chatter of your sorority sisters fills the air. Jennie, Irene, Seulgi, and Chaeyoung are crowded around the table, coffee mugs and half-eaten bagels scattered in front of them.

“Finally! Sleeping Beauty decided to join us,” Jennie teases, raising her mug in your direction.

“Morning,” you mumble, grabbing a mug for yourself and pouring some coffee.

“So, where did you disappear to last night?” Chaeyoung asks, looking at you curiously.

You nearly drop the coffee pot. “Uh, what do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Irene says, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “One minute you were with us, the next you vanished into thin air.”

“Yeah,” Jennie chimes in, narrowing her eyes at you. “You didn’t even say goodbye.”

Your brain scrambles for an excuse. “I, uh… I left early. I had a headache.” You force a casual shrug, praying they won’t press further.

“Really?” Jennie asks, her voice skeptical.

“Yup. Didn’t want to ruin the vibe for anyone, so I just went home,” you say quickly, pouring yourself some coffee and taking a long sip to avoid their gazes.

Thankfully, Seulgi changes the subject. “Honestly, I don’t blame you. Those frat boys were so obnoxious.”

“Right?” Irene says, rolling her eyes. “Especially Mingyu’s friends. They’re the worst.”

You freeze, your stomach twisting.

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Jennie groans. “Mingyu’s bad enough on his own, but all of them together? They’re insufferable.”

You stare down at your mug of coffee.

“Who even invited them anyway?” Chaeyoung adds.

“Probably Jaehyun,” Jennie mutters. “I think he’s like, friends with Mingyu or something.”

You sit in silence, staring into your mug as their voices swirl around you. They have no idea what you were doing last night—who you were talking to—and guilt settles heavily in your chest.

But why should you feel guilty? It’s not like you did anything wrong.

Still, you can’t help but think about Vernon’s laugh, his surprisingly thoughtful responses, and the way his eyes lit up when he talked about his favorite movies. He didn’t seem like the person they’re describing.

“Y/N?” Jennie’s voice pulls you back to reality.

“What?”

“Are you coming with us to brunch later?”

“Oh. Uh, maybe. I’ll see how I’m feeling,” you say, your voice distant.

Jennie nods, not entirely convinced, but doesn’t push. As the conversation shifts, you force yourself to focus on anything other than Vernon.

But no matter how hard you try, you can’t stop thinking about him, a fact that has guilt eating you alive from the inside.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

A few days pass, and despite your best efforts to keep Vernon out of your head, he somehow keeps finding ways to slip back in. It doesn’t help that he texts you memes or random thoughts like, "Do you think penguins get cold?" throughout the day, making you smile when you shouldn’t.

You try to bury the guilt. You really do. But when Vernon suggests sneaking into your sorority house for a movie night—because his frat is too loud, and “your room probably smells better than mine”—you can’t seem to say no.

“Fine,” you whisper-yell into the phone. “But if we get caught, I’m blaming you.”

“I can live with that,” he replies with a laugh.

A couple of hours later, Vernon is sprawled on the rug in your room, munching on chips he insisted on bringing while you sit cross-legged on your bed, watching Shrek 2. You hate how easy it is to be around him, how natural it feels to laugh with him like this.

“You know,” he says, turning to look at you, “for someone who supposedly hates me, you’re pretty bad at showing it.”

You roll your eyes, throwing a pillow at him. “Shut up and watch the movie.”

But just as he’s about to throw a chip back at you, there’s a knock at the door.

“Y/N?” Jennie’s voice cuts through the playful atmosphere like a knife.

Your heart leaps into your throat. You practically leap off the bed, gesturing frantically for Vernon to hide. He scrambles behind your bed just as you crack the door open, trying to look as casual as possible.

“Hey, Jen,” you say, forcing a smile.

“Are you coming to dinner with us?” she asks, peering into your room suspiciously.

“Oh, uh… maybe later,” you stammer. “I’m just… talking to my mom.”

Jennie raises an eyebrow. “Your mom?”

“Yeah, she called, and we’ve just been catching up,” you say quickly, holding up your phone for emphasis.

“Okay,” Jennie says slowly, clearly unconvinced. She glances behind you, as if she can sense something is off. “You sure everything’s okay?”

“Yep, totally fine!” you say, practically shoving the door closed. “Have fun at dinner!”

You shut the door and lean against it, your heart pounding.

From behind the desk, Vernon’s muffled laughter bubbles up. “Your mom, seriously?”

“Shut up!” you hiss, glaring at him.

He emerges from his hiding spot, grinning like an idiot. “That was smooth. Really convincing.”

“Ugh, I can’t believe this,” you mutter, flopping onto your bed. “This is all your fault.”

“My fault?” he says, sitting cross-legged on the rug again. “You’re the one who let me in.”

You throw another pillow at him, which he easily catches.

“Just admit you like me,” he teases, leaning back on his hands with that stupid, cocky grin.

You grab another pillow, ready to hurl it, but his words hit a little too close to home. Your grip loosens, and the pillow falls to your lap as your cheeks flush.

“See? You can’t even deny it,” he says, his voice softer now, his teasing tone giving way to something more genuine.

You hate that he’s right. But admitting it? That’s a whole other thing.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

It’s been a whirlwind of late-night sneaking, secret hangouts, and way too much Vernon. Not that you’d admit you enjoy it.

Vernon has gotten way too comfortable invading your life. He texts you constantly, calls when you’re least expecting it, and—when he’s feeling particularly bold—throws in a casual, “Miss me yet?” with a winky face. You hate that the answer is always yes.

To make matters worse, Jennie has been clinging to you like never before. She’s always suggesting lunch dates or study sessions, and you can’t say no without feeling like the worst friend in the world.

Balancing both is exhausting. It feels like you’re living two lives: one where you’re Jennie’s loyal best friend, and one where you’re Vernon’s… whatever you are.

One afternoon, when the stress feels like it’s going to eat you alive, you knock on Chaeyoung’s door, desperate for advice. She’s lounging on her bed with a sketchpad when you walk in, looking up with a raised eyebrow.

“What’s with the dramatic entrance?” she asks.

“I need help,” you say, collapsing into her beanbag chair.

“Uh-oh. Is this about Jennie or Vernon?”

Your head snaps up. “How did you—?”

Chaeyoung shrugs. “It’s obvious. You’ve been weirdly busy lately, but you look way too happy for it to just be school. Plus, Vernon keeps staring at you in class.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “I’m doomed.”

“Okay, spill,” Chaeyoung says, setting her sketchpad aside.

You tell her everything—how Vernon wormed his way into your life, how he’s not the annoying frat boy you thought he’d be, how you actually like spending time with him.

“But Jennie,” you say, throwing your hands up. “She’d kill me if she found out. And I don’t even know what this is with Vernon. It’s not like we’re dating, but…”

“But you want to,” Chaeyoung finishes for you.

You hesitate, then nod. “Yeah. I think I do.”

Chaeyoung leans back, thoughtful. “Well, Vernon didn’t do anything to Jennie. That was all Mingyu.”

“I know,” you say quickly. “But it’s not that simple. She hates Vernon by association. If she knew I was hanging out with him…”

“She’d be pissed,” Chaeyoung finishes with a sigh.

“Exactly,” you mutter, slumping further into the beanbag.

Chaeyoung looks at you sympathetically. “Okay, but hear me out. Do you really think this is sustainable? Sneaking around, lying to Jennie, sneaking Vernon into the house… You’re gonna crack eventually.”

You don’t want to admit she’s right, but you know she is. The thought of coming clean terrifies you, though. What if Jennie takes it the wrong way? What if she gets mad and it ruins your friendship?

“I just… I don’t know how to tell her,” you admit quietly.

“Well,” Chaeyoung says, smirking a little, “if Vernon is as crazy about you as he seems, maybe it’s worth taking the risk.”

Her words stick with you longer than you’d like. But are you brave enough to actually act on them?

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

This time, your sorority is the one hosting a party, the kind of event where you can already feel your exhaustion just from the noise and the amount of people packed into your sorority house. It’s loud and flashy, with your sisters dancing and laughing, and—against all expectations—Jennie has begrudgingly invited the Seventeen frat. You know why she did it. Drinks, snacks, and the usual frat chaos that she’s come to rely on for a good time.

But you? You’re stuck. You’ve spent most of the night glued to Jennie’s side, unable to sneak away, unable to make any excuse to disappear into the crowd where you could catch a glimpse of Vernon. The tension in the air is thick, and you can’t avoid the prickle of guilt as you glance across the room and catch sight of him. His eyes meet yours for a second, and you can almost feel the way his smile falters. He tries to move closer, but Jennie’s hand tugs you away, her chatter drowning out everything else.

“Come on, let’s dance,” Jennie says, pulling you into the middle of the room, and you can’t help but notice how she deliberately blocks Vernon from your line of sight.

You nod and force a smile. You hate this. You hate the way you’re pretending, the way you’re avoiding him, as though everything that’s been between you suddenly doesn’t matter. But Jennie doesn’t know, and you can’t risk it. Not when she’s this protective of you. You’d never hear the end of it.

Vernon, on the other hand, doesn’t let it slide. As the night stretches on, you can see him trying to talk to you. A quick chat, maybe a dance, a little smile. Each time, you have to turn away, pretending you don’t feel the pull in your chest. He’s not buying it.

Finally, he steps back, his lips curling into a sharp smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Okay, cool,” he mutters, the hurt clear in his tone. “I see how it is.” He turns away, disappearing into the crowd.

Jennie notices. “Haha, that’s weird. Why is he only talking to you?” she asks, a tinge of knowing in her voice.

You force a laugh, hoping it doesn’t sound as fake as it feels. “Yeah, definitely. I don’t know why he was talking to me either.”

The words burn in your mouth, and you want to kick yourself. It’s all a lie. A lie you’ve been feeding to Jennie, to yourself, to everyone. But the guilt is too much, and you just need to get through tonight.

When the party dies down, and you finally find an excuse to leave, you head upstairs, your heart heavy with a mix of guilt and regret. You barely get your door closed before you pull out your phone and start typing to Vernon.

Hey… I’m sorry for earlier. I didn’t mean to be weird. I just didn’t know what to do.

You wait, staring at the screen, hoping for the buzz of a reply. But it never comes. A few minutes pass, then thirty, then an hour. Your thumb hovers over the screen, ready to type again, but no new message comes in.

Finally, you give up, tossing your phone aside and heading into the bathroom. You turn the shower on, trying to wash away the anxiety that’s coiling in your stomach. It doesn’t work.

You curl into bed, the sheets cold against your skin, but nothing can stop your thoughts from swirling. You feel horrible for betraying Jennie, for lying to her. But then there’s Vernon, and you can’t help but feel like you’ve betrayed him too. What’s worse is you can’t even tell Jennie the truth because it would hurt her, and you can’t risk that. You feel like you’re suffocating under the weight of it all.

The knock on your door comes hours later, and when you open it, Jennie is standing there, still in her outfit from the party, her expression soft.

“Hey,” she says, her voice quiet. “Can I come in?”

You nod silently, stepping aside to let her in.

“I know something’s up,” she says, sitting on your bed. “You’ve been acting weird all night. You can tell me, you know. I’m your friend.”

You stand there for a moment, fighting back the tears that are threatening to spill. You want to tell her. You want to be honest. But the truth feels impossible to say.

“I can’t,” you say, shaking your head. “I just… I feel awful. I don’t know what to do.”

Jennie sighs, looking at you with a mixture of sympathy and understanding. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to go through it alone. But it sounds like you need some time to figure things out. Just know I’m here if you need me, okay?”

You give a shaky nod.

Jennie stands and pats your shoulder gently. “If you need to talk, I’m here. But take your time. Just don’t keep it all in too long, okay?”

You whisper, “I just don’t know what to do.”

“I know,” she says softly, offering you a small, knowing smile. “But you’ll figure it out.”

As she walks out, you close the door behind her, burying your face in your hands. The guilt is suffocating, but you also know that Jennie is right. You have a lot to figure out—and soon.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Everyone is packing up, signaling the end of another lecture. You grab your things quickly, your thoughts racing. This is it. You can’t keep avoiding him, and you can’t let things stay awkward between you and Vernon any longer. You know he’s been hurt, and you can’t just let it fester.

As you walk out of class, you spot him talking to a few of his friends, his back turned to you. You hesitate for a second, wondering if you should just leave it for another day, but then you square your shoulders and head toward him.

“Vernon,” you call, and his shoulders stiffen before he turns around to face you. The moment his eyes meet yours, you see the flicker of wariness in them, the same hesitation that you’ve been feeling.

“Hey,” he greets you, his voice neutral but with a hint of something else. He’s not mad, but it’s clear he’s still hurt.

You bite your lip, knowing this is going to be a bit of a confrontation. “Can we talk?”

His gaze flickers to his friends, who are still hanging around, laughing and joking. He looks back at you, eyes narrowed slightly. “What about?”

You take a deep breath. “I just… I want to apologize for what happened at the party. I shouldn’t have ignored you like that.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “You’re serious?” He laughs dryly, a little incredulity in his tone. “After everything, now you want to apologize?”

You can tell he’s holding back, trying not to sound too hurt or too bitter, but you know him well enough by now to catch it. You step closer, lowering your voice so only he can hear. “Yeah, I’m serious. I messed up, okay? But can we talk about it, like, without everyone else around?”

Vernon hesitates, glancing at his friends again, who are still chatting, not paying much attention to either of you. He seems reluctant to leave them, but then he sighs and looks back at you. “I’m not sure what we’re gonna talk about that’s so urgent, but fine. Let’s go.”

You lead the way to the small café off-campus, the one where you both have shared stolen moments before. It’s always been a place for you to get away from everything and everyone. Just the two of you. You can’t help but hope this conversation will get you back to where you were before everything got so messy.

When you get there, Vernon still seems distant. He orders a coffee and takes a seat at one of the far booths, clearly not thrilled about being there, but you don’t let it stop you. You sit across from him, feeling the weight of the silence pressing down between you.

“So?” Vernon asks after a beat, his voice softer, more vulnerable than before.

You swallow hard, the guilt rushing back in full force. “I didn’t know how to handle it. I thought if I just ignored everything, it would be easier. I didn’t want to hurt Jennie, and I didn’t want you to think I was picking sides or something.”

Vernon leans back in the booth, clearly not convinced, but willing to listen. “And now? Now you’re ready to make it right?”

You nod, your eyes meeting his. “I don’t want to keep avoiding you. I never should have ignored you, Vernon. I care about you. I’m just… trying to figure things out.”

He stares at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to gauge whether or not you mean it. Finally, he lets out a breath and looks away, taking a sip of his coffee. “You know, I didn’t expect it to be like this. I didn’t expect you to pretend I didn’t exist, Y/N.”

The words sting, but you know he’s right. You were too afraid of what it could mean to let yourself be real with him. You glance down at your hands, suddenly feeling the weight of everything you’ve been holding back. “I know. And I’m sorry for that. But I’m here now. I’m not running away anymore.”

Vernon doesn’t answer right away. He just stares at you, as if weighing your words. Then, slowly, he gives you a small nod. “Okay. I’ll take that.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Thank you.”

He looks at you, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “But you still owe me something.”

You raise an eyebrow, confused. “What do you mean?”

His grin widens, the playfulness in his tone returning. “A little honesty. You can’t just tell me that you’re not running away and expect me to believe that everything’s all good now. I want to know why you were so damn scared of me.”

Your cheeks heat up, and you look away, embarrassed. “Vernon, stop.”

He chuckles, clearly enjoying teasing you. “Come on. Just admit it. You like me.”

You groan and shake your head, trying to hold back a smile. “Oh my God, you’re impossible.”

He leans forward, eyes glinting with mischief. “Just admit it, Y/N. I know you like me, at least a little.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no denying the flutter in your stomach. “Fine, I like you a tiny bit. Happy now?”

Vernon’s grin softens, and he sits back in his seat, clearly satisfied. “Much better.”

There’s a shift in the air between you two, something lighter, more comfortable. You both know things aren’t perfect yet, but you’ve crossed a bridge, and it feels like a good step forward.

For the first time in a while, you’re not dreading what’s to come. You’re just here with him. And, for now, that’s enough.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The cold of winter had been relentless lately, and you’ve been spending most of your time bundled up in layers of blankets, trying to stay warm while surviving the stress of exam season. Between your studies, your sorority obligations, and the pressure of keeping everything balanced, you’ve barely had time for anything else.

But tonight, when you were in the middle of reviewing your notes, your phone buzzed with a message from Vernon.

Vernon: Yo, I’m locked out of the frat house. Can I crash at yours?

You bite your lip, glancing over your shoulder to make sure no one is around. Technically, you’re not allowed to have overnight guests, but you can’t help but feel for him. The cold night air must be unbearable, and you know Vernon well enough to know he won’t ask for help unless he really needs it.

You: I’m not supposed to have anyone here, but I’ll make an exception for you this time.

Vernon: Thanks. I swear I’ll be out of your hair by morning. Promise.

A few minutes later, Vernon’s at your door, his face a little red from the cold, looking as casual as ever in his hoodie and jeans. You step aside to let him in.

“You’re lucky I’m a softie for you,” you tease, but the warmth you’re offering him is genuine as he steps inside.

“I know. I owe you one,” Vernon replies, smiling that crooked smile of his that always manages to make your heart skip.

You show him to your room, where you pull out the air mattress you keep tucked away in the corner for emergencies like this. “I’ve got this, but it’s not the most comfortable thing in the world. You’re welcome to it.” You hand him a pillow and a blanket.

He frowns slightly, eyeing the air mattress. “It’ll do.” He flops down on it with a huff, and you return to your side of the room, trying to focus on your notes again.

But the chill in the room isn’t just from the weather. The heating’s been out in the house for the past few days, and no amount of blankets seems to be helping. After a few minutes of shivering under your own covers, you turn to Vernon on the floor.

“You’re probably freezing down there,” you say, already feeling guilty.

He shrugs, but you can tell from his expression that he’s cold.

“I don’t want you getting sick,” you continue. “You can join me in the bed, if you want. It’ll be warmer with both of us.”

Vernon looks at you for a beat, hesitating, but ultimately nods. “Ok. But no funny business.”

“Of course,” you say, trying to hide your grin, but your heart is already racing a little.

He slides into the bed next to you, and you both lie there, staring up at the ceiling, neither of you speaking for a long while. The silence is oddly comfortable, but it’s also loaded—with so many unsaid things.

The two of you just lay there, listening to the sounds of the night, the quiet of your room feeling oddly intimate with him so close.

Finally, Vernon breaks the silence with a sigh, his voice just above a whisper. “You know… we’d be great together.”

You snap your head toward him, caught completely off guard. “What?”

His eyes are already on you, his expression serious. “I’m tired of always having to say goodnight and go. I like you, and I want to be with you.”

Your heart does a flip in your chest. You stare at him, your mind scrambling to make sense of his words, unsure of how to respond.

“What?” you repeat, because you can’t think of anything else to say. Your voice is shaky, a mixture of disbelief and something else you can’t quite name.

Vernon sighs, his eyes softening as he looks at you. “You heard me.”

He shifts closer, his hand brushing against yours under the covers. There’s a vulnerability in his gaze that makes you feel like your heart might just fall out of your chest.

“I’m tired of pretending,” he adds quietly. “I can’t keep doing this—acting like I don’t want more than just late-night talks and goodbyes.”

You feel your chest tighten, a swirl of emotions crashing into you all at once. You want to say something, but words feel inadequate, too small for the way you’re feeling right now.

Instead, you just stare at him, your breath catching in your throat. He’s close now, so close that you can feel the heat from his body, and his eyes are filled with an intensity that you didn’t know he could have.

You open your mouth, but the words get stuck. What is there to say when everything between you feels so... complicated? So dangerous? You can’t let this happen. Not now.

But before you can respond, Vernon speaks again. “You don’t have to say anything. I just—” He pauses, shaking his head slightly, like he’s unsure of how to finish his thought. “I just needed you to know.”

Your heart is racing. You want to pull away, but something about the way he’s looking at you keeps you rooted to the spot. There’s no denying it anymore—there’s something between you and Vernon. Something real.

But the reality of your situation sinks in like a stone in your stomach. You can’t let it happen. Not now, not like this.

“I—Vernon…” You trail off, unable to finish. It’s like your brain is in a fog, fighting against your heart’s instincts.

Vernon’s hand brushes against yours again, his fingers almost touching yours. “I’m not asking for anything right now. I just want to be close to you. And I want you to know how I feel.”

For a moment, all you can do is lie there, lost in the weight of his words. You don’t know what to say, but you know that the longer you stay in this moment, the harder it’s going to be to walk away from whatever this is between you.

All you can do is look at him, and in the silence of the room, let his confession hang in the air.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The weight of the secret has been hanging over you for so long, and you've finally had enough of pretending. You’ve been running from this, trying to keep your two lives separate, but the pressure is starting to get unbearable. You know you can’t hide it anymore, not from Jennie—especially not now.

You find her in the living room of your sorority house, sitting on the couch scrolling through her phone. The warmth of the fire crackling in the background is a sharp contrast to the cold you’ve been carrying in your chest for weeks. You take a deep breath and sit next to her, your heart racing with anticipation.

“Hey, Jen?”

She looks up, a soft smile forming on her lips. “What’s up?”

“I—I need to tell you something,” you start, your words tripping over each other. “About... Vernon. And me.”

Jennie quirks an eyebrow, her smile widening. “Finally,” she says with a knowing look.

You blink, completely caught off guard. “Wait, what?”

Jennie laughs softly, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “I was wondering when you’d come clean.”

You stare at her, dumbfounded. “You knew?”

Her laugh grows louder as she shakes her head. “You’re really not the best liar, you know. I could tell something was up, and you weren’t exactly subtle about it.”

“I—" You cut yourself off, unable to form a coherent thought as the realization hits you. “So, that whole time you—?”

Jennie shrugs nonchalantly. “Yeah, I kept bringing up how much I hated his friend group because I wanted to see how long it would take you to crack. Honestly, I’m surprised it took this long.”

Your mouth drops open in shock, but then, something inside you relaxes. You laugh, feeling the tension inside of you dissolve for the first time in ages. “I can’t believe you knew this whole time and didn’t say anything!”

Jennie smirks, her eyes softening. “You needed to figure it out on your own. And hey, you did. So I’m happy for you.”

You feel lighter, like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. All the guilt, the secrets, the tension—all gone in an instant. Jennie is happy for you, and you didn’t have to hide anymore.

With a deep breath, you pull out your phone and send Vernon a quick text:

You: Come over. We need to talk.

The moment your finger leaves the send button, you can’t help but feel a rush of excitement mixed with nerves. Jennie notices your expression and gives you a soft, knowing smile.

“You’re doing the right thing,” she says, her voice gentle but firm. “Go after what you want.”

The doorbell rings a short while later, and you almost jump out of your skin. Jennie watches you go with a teasing smile, and you roll your eyes before heading to the door.

When you open it, Vernon’s standing there, a little unsure, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. His eyes search yours, as if he’s waiting for you to say something.

You pull him up the stairs once again, except this time, you don’t have to hide or worry about someone finding out. It’s strangely freeing.

“Hey,” you say softly, stepping aside so he can come in. “I, uh… I’ve been thinking a lot about us, and about everything.”

He steps inside your room, looking at you with a mixture of curiosity and hope in his eyes. And for a moment, you just stand there, the space between you two thick with unspoken words.

You take a deep breath, your nerves getting the best of you for just a second. “Vernon, I—I didn’t want to keep lying to myself anymore. Or to you. I told Jennie about us.”

Vernon’s eyes widen slightly, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“I’ve been hiding how I feel for so long,” you continue, stepping closer to him, “and it’s stupid. I don’t want to keep pretending. I like you. I really like you.”

A smile starts to tug at the corners of Vernon’s lips, and without thinking, you rush to add, “I’m not expecting anything, but I just—”

Before you can finish, Vernon cuts you off, closing the gap between you and pulling you into a kiss that feels like the weight of everything falling away. All the confusion, the guilt, the fear—it all melts as his lips find yours, soft and warm.

When he pulls back, his eyes are shining. “You don’t have to say anything more. I already know.”

You smile, your heart beating wildly. This is it. This is what you’ve been wanting, and now you’re finally getting it.

He pulls you into another kiss, deeper this time, and you can feel everything shifting between you two—like the world is finally falling into place.

The kiss is everything you’ve been wanting and more, full of tenderness and passion, but also full of understanding. You’ve both been waiting for this moment for a long time, and now it’s finally here.

When you break away, your foreheads rest against each other, both of you smiling like you’ve just found something precious.

“I think this is the start of something good,” Vernon murmurs, his voice full of certainty.

You nod, your heart full. “Yeah, I think it is.”

And for the first time in a long while, you feel truly happy, knowing that you’ve let go of your fears and embraced what you really want.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

author's note 𝟅𝟈 i love vernon and i love this song

masterlist.

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom.

Signs

They were subtle. You needed to pay close attention to see them. Most people didn’t, but that was not important. The pair that mattered, when it came to perceiving these signs, had learned to read them as others read the newspaper.

***

It started not long after they met at Barts. They walked down Baker Street from the tube station. Sherlock’s expression soured when he saw the black door.

“What is it?” John asked, already fine-tuned to his flatmate’s moods. 

They tended to have a ripple effect on how the rest of the day went.

“My brother is here,” Sherlocks said darkly.

“How do you know that?” John asked and looked up to see if anyone was standing by the window upstairs. 

Nothing.

“Look. Observe!” Sherlock demanded.

“Oh,” John said after a few seconds. “The knocker is straight.”

“Good man,” Sherlock praised. “I always keep it askew to know when he’s here. He can’t stand to see anything out of place.”

“So, he always straightens it before he comes in,” John finished with a chuckle.

“Indeed,” Sherlock beamed. “Knew you’d get there.”

***

A cup of cold tea at the table beside his chair, or on the kitchen table, was another sign. Even if Sherlock forgot he’d asked for tea or said he wanted a cuppa when John asked him, John always provided them without fail. He never complained that Sherlock forgot. 

It’s alright. I know you’re busy, but I want you to know that I’ll make as many cups as you’ll like. Because I care.

***

Hot baths when the weather was damp and cold, and they’d been out solving crimes for far too long. Without even asking, Sherlock filled the tub with scolding hot water for John.

Here, I’m proving that I’m not a sociopath. I would be lost without you. Now, let this bath heal your old wound so you’ll be fit to follow on my heels when a new adventure comes our way.

***

After a while, a sinister ploy almost forced them apart.

“Run, Sherlock! Save yourself. I’m a soldier. You’re not. Run, for Christ’s sake. Save that brilliant brain of yours!”

Eyes locked. An entire conversation took place over a span of seconds.

I’m not going anywhere. I will go to hell and back with you, John Watson.

“Told you you had a heart, Sherlock,” a sing-song voice echoed through the tiled room.

***

Frantic movements, thoughts of a loved one’s demise if you weren’t quick enough made hands tremble, heart racing, tears flowing. Finally, the parka with the bomb was torn off John and flung across the floor.

“Are you alright? Did he hurt you? Answer me, John!”

Hands roaming over a body he’d barely touched before.

“Fine, Sherlock. Not hurt, just a bit shaken. Stop it! Breathe, Sherlock.”

A hug, so tight it made it hard to breathe for both of them.

“I thought I’d lost you.”

“People will talk.” 

“I don’t care!”

A tentative kiss, turning desperate.

I have loved you for so long. Please, don’t let this scare you. I need you in my life. To function. To thrive. To feel whole.

***

At a crime scene. Deciding on the next cause of action. A nod, eyes meeting, a ghost of a smile showing off a dimple.

Ready? Always. Follow me, then. Right beside you.

***

The ripple effect of their extraordinary relationship reached far and wide. Every newspaper in the country at first. They told the story of a consulting detective and his loyal blogger, his doctor, his soldier. It didn’t feel right to say one name without the other anymore. They were an item now, in every capacity of the word. 

When there was a crime unsolvable to the police, the tall and handsome detective appeared like a whirlwind. By his side, the unassuming blogger, doctor, soldier radiated calmness. But by now everyone knew that hidden behind that collected façade, was a man ready to run after the mad detective, protecting him from harm’s way, kill if necessary.

News travel fast, and before long the entire world had heard of the great Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson. A pair every criminal feared, and yet some of them always thought they could outwit them with their ingenious scheme. To date, no one has been successful in their endeavours.

--------------------------------------------------------------

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(Tell me if you want to be tagged or removed from the list)

[mage-ical-character-person]

Great God Grove spoilers

Something about Cobigail almost losing the only person left who knew her when she was mortal to a blood sacrifice in her name, all because no one bothered to talk to her for 20 years and they all forgot what it was they were supposed to be doing. She doesn’t WANT a blood sacrifice!

And something about how the fact that Cobigail is the second youngest god, having ascended three rifts ago.

Something about how 10-ish years after Inspekta ascended everyone just… stopped interacting with her? And she still views him as part of the family? It’s so sweet? She’s so sweet?? The embodiment of perfection and I love her???

To her I think he’s like the baby sibling that soaks up all of the attention due to being cute and new at everything. And gets away with being a troublemaker for the same reasons. Click Clack calls Inspekta a toddler and refers to him going mad with power and almost causing the apocalypse as a “tantrum” in the final confrontation. And yeah it’s an insult it’s Clicky trying to be funny but also by immortal god standards that’s probably exactly what this looks like.

Do you think Inspekta watching her be forgotten, left behind like that, fueled his insecurities? That it wasn’t enough to be a god, being a god doesn’t exempt her from being forgotten, doesn’t exempt HIM from being forgotten.

And then to add insult to injury…

The very next rift after Inspekta ascends… they’re already electing a new god. They don’t usually do that! And everyone loves King. No wonder Inspekta’s so scared of being left behind, feeling like he’s being replaced.

anyway

I love her so much. Ma’am the apocalypse is happening. Ma’am.

[devonpink]

A Thanksgiving Story

Arrogant, ignorant, and stupid, no three words could better describe my dad. I didn't always see him like that, though. Growing up, we were best buds—I admired and looked up to him as a role model. I truly felt like I could tell him anything, I could trust him. So, you could imagine my shock when after coming out as gay to him, he turned on me. He ignited into a homophobic rage, disowning me as his son. He couldn't stand the sight of me. The unpleasant feeling was mutual and I moved out as quickly as possible.

For almost a decade, there was nothing but radio silence between us. Until one day, I randomly got an email from him, inviting me to a one-on-one Thanksgiving. I read it over and over, completely stunned. As mad and hurt as I still felt, I knew I'd regret not accepting his olive branch. So, I accepted.

A few days later, in the early afternoon of Thanksgiving, I drove over to my dad's place, my childhood home. As nervous as I was, driving up the old driveway and parking in my old spot felt good. As I stepped out of my car, I was reminded of how sweltering it was for November, even for Florida. As much as dressing up sounded fun, wearing a white tank top, dark tan loose shorts, and flip-flops only made sense. My balls would have melted in a pair of underwear, so I freeballed.

My heart was racing, as I flip-flopped to the front door. I was expecting the worst but hoping for the best. I could smell the turkey cooking through the front door as I knocked, its mouth-watering scent calming me slightly. A few seconds later, my dad opened the door. Unsurprisingly, he was exactly as I had left him: bulky beyond belief, obviously my leaving had no effect on his serious workout routine. Then again, maybe he exercised to escape the pain, I know I did that. He was wearing nearly the same thing, the only difference being his loose shorts were black. His pit stains were just as bad as mine—like father, like son, I guess. To my relief, his nervous expression pleasantly told me was just as anxious as I was.

Stepping inside, I got a good whiff of him as I passed him, that oh-so-familiar scent of cologne failing to mask the intense pit reek. The house, like my father's manly stench, was exactly how I'd remembered it, nothing had changed—it was nice. As my dad led me to the kitchen, with his back to me, I gave my hairy sweaty pits a sniff. They reeked, even worse than my dad's. Unlike him, I'd forgotten to put on deodorant or cologne. We both stunk, in slightly different ways, but that similarity was comforting—like father, like son.

I was expecting things to be insanely awkward, but it was like the good old days. We sat out on the porch, drinking beer and shooting the shit as we waited for the turkey to finish cooking on the barbecue. I forgot how much I loved talking with him, for an arrogant douch bag, he sure could make me laugh. Neither of us had brought up my leaving yet, I assume to not break the good flow we had going. In truth, I didn't want to bring it up. It felt good to pretend everything was as it was in the old days.

When the turkey was done, we brought it inside and gobbled it down like too starving beasts. Obviously, our nerves had calmed down quite a bit. Everything was fantastic, I forgot how good of a cook my dad is. We didn't say much to each other while eating, too distracted by our hunger to converse—like father, like son. Before we dove into dessert, he offered me another beer. As much as the pumpkin pie was calling my name, I couldn't decline.

Instead of the usual beer we were drinking, he brought a brand I'd never seen before, "Obedience." I didn't question why he only brought out a single can, I was too distracted by the pumpkin pie to care. I cracked it open and swigged it down, anxious to get to the pie. However, after I finished, I felt funny. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I felt different. I silently stared at my dad, watching an evil grin form across his face.

My dad spoke, dropping his nice-guy demeanor. "Now listen up, boy. It's time we finally get to the point of our happy reunion." My heart was racing, I knew something terrible was about to happen. Flashbacks of before I left flooded my mind. Strangely, as much as I wanted to move, I couldn't. My body was frozen like it was waiting for something. "Take another swig of your beer, down every last drop." What happened next shocked me to my core, my body moved on its own! It was like I was a bystander in my own body, only able to watch. I robotically brought the can up to my mouth and downed every last drop, doing exactly what he commanded. At that moment, I horrifily knew exactly why it was called, "Obedience," and why he only brought out a single can of it.

"Belch, boy. Like a man." My dad arrogantly commanded, knowing I'd helplessly comply.

"bbbbbbBBBBUUUUUUURRRRRRRPPPPPPpppppppppp!!!" Just as he commanded, the biggest manliest belch came out of me. I hated how good it felt to obey him, an obvious effect of the beer.

"Belch again, boy. Except this time, additionally, let out all that stress and worry. Also, uncross your legs and manspread! Sit like a man!" He commanded.

I wanted to resist but was helpless to his commands. "bbbbBBBBBBBuuuUUUUUUrrrPPPPPPPPPpppppp!!!" Like he commanded, all stress and worry had left my body. I then uncrossed my legs and manspreaded, just like my dad. Sitting that way felt so much better.

My dad laughed, like a cocky bastard. "Such a good and obedient son I have." I wanted to get up, scream, anything but just sit there. Except I couldn't move. No matter how hard I tried, I simply couldn't move. "Now, let's get to the good stuff," My dad excitedly proclaimed, unnerving me even more. "Let out all the useless liberalism! Become a rigid conservative, just like dear old dad! Like father, like son! Belch, boy!"

I tried as hard as I could to keep it down, but it was useless. "BBBBBBUUUUURRRRRRRPPPPPPpppppppp!!!! With that, all liberalism and open-mindedness had left me. My mind was assaulted and reprogrammed to believe all sorts of small-minded conservative ideas and beliefs. It was overwhelming, yet electrifying. With conservatism comes stupidity, so my mind had become completely moldable, exactly what he wanted.

"Real men vote red, don't they, boy?" My dad asked, every word dripping with superiority.

"Sir, yes, Sir! Real men Vote-BBBBBBBbbbuuurrrrPPPPPPPPpppp!!!" Before I could finish, another manly burp escaped from me, making my dad bust out laughing. I couldn't help but laugh too, being more stupider now. It felt good to make my dad laugh. I felt like… a good son.

"Now, before we continue, I want to make sure you have no remaining resistance. So, let it all out! Give yourself to me completely! Belch, boy!" My dad commanded.

"BbbbbuuuuuuuUUUUUURRRRPPPPppppppp!" I did as he commanded, like a good son. It felt good, right, to obey him. Why would I want to resist him? He's my dad! He made me, I must obey him!

My dad was grinning like a king, as he should. "Belch again, boy! Belch as loud as you can!"

"BBBBBBBBBBBBUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!" I was more than happy to obey.

"Fuck yeah, son! You sound just like your old man!" My dad enthusiastically congratulated me.

Having him praise me felt good, so fucking good. More, I wanted so much more!

My dad then got serious, obviously, this next one would be important. "Belch, boy, and erase all gayness from yourself. Become the straight man I've always wanted you to be! No man wants a faggot for a son! Blech, boy! Belch and become straight!!!"

"BBBBBBBBBBBBUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!" Like a good son, I obeyed. "BBBBBBBBBBBBUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!" And just like that, all my gayness was gone. I'm now as straight as a freshly bought nail. I like women, only women, like a normal man. Who'd want to be fag, anyway? Fags are sick freaks!! Thank god I'm not one of them anymore. Thank god I'm straight, just like my dad! Like father, like son!

We celebrated my much-needed transformation over two massive slices of pumpkin pie. Afterward, we returned to the porch and smoked cigars, some of his finest. I feel so much better now that I'm following in my dad's footsteps. I want to be exactly like him, in every single way. I want to be completely interchangeable with him. He gave me a matching pair of sunglasses and a red cap, to protect me from the blistering sun. I obviously wore my cap backward to match him. I'm so thankful for my dad. Without him, I'd be lost.

[iannmin]

Every Season After | j.yh 정윤호

pairing + genre,, childhood!bestfriend!yunho x reader, fluff, childhood best friends to lovers, slight angst if you squint, each timestamp represents a memory (written in a linear timeline)

a/n,, just had a sudden burst of urge to write this :) & i wanted to try something new hehe

“Because of you, i laugh a little harder, cry a little less, and smile a lot more.”

୨୧ ‘ masterlist ‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

DECEMBER 5 2005 ⋆₊˚

5:30PM, Winter. By mid-afternoon, the light, once bold and golden, softened into a pale silvery haze and the shadows began to stretch lazily across the snow-blanketed playground. The air grew sharper, filled with the familiar yet unsettling tang of frost that promised to linger long after the sun has disappeared. By the time you look up again from making snow ducks, yet another day has gone by with the apartment street-lamps flickering to life. Everybody has gone home now. It was just you and another boy. He was crouched near his army of snow ducks, wearing a thick navy parka dusted with flecks of snow. Even with his rosy cheeks and reddened fingertips, he was carefully adjusting the wing of a snow duck. You eyed his every move, but he must have felt it. “Still here?” He said, without looking up. You flinched, ears reddening, “I-I didn’t mean to stare!” He put down his duck maker and walked over, boots crunching loudly against the packed snow. Reaching out a hand, he said “I’m Yunho, I’m turning six this year, let’s become friends” After the brief and awkward exchange of names, there you were, kneeling beside him, scooping up fresh snow, transforming the playground into a battleground. And on that very night, the snow ducks stood as silent witnesses to the beginning of something new — a friendship forged in the harsh December winter.

APRIL 17 2008 ⋆₊˚

2:14PM, Spring. The Spring season had just begun. The rain came down in relentless sheets, pounding against the school roof, turning the courtyard into a mirror of rippling puddles. While everybody padded off under their multi-coloured umbrellas, you stood there squatting at the front gate, clutching your bag to your chest. Your umbrella. You'd forgotten it. Again. You were nine back then, so instead of running in the rain, your hands tightened against the grip on your bag, vision blurring - not just from the rain, but from the hot sting of tears welling up at the prospect of not being able to make it home. "Forgot something, didn't you?" the sudden voice made you jump, turning to see yunho standing there, his slightly taller frame partially blocking the rain. His dark hair was damp from the drizzle, and he wore his usual dimple smile. "I-I..." your voice wavered, you didn't know why the tears were threatening to spill over. He stepped closer, his free hand reaching out to tilt the umbrella over the both of you. "Hey, it's okay. You don't have to cry over something like this, I've got you." Both of you walked side by side, the small umbrella forcing you closer together. He held it high enough to shield you, though his shoulder was starting to get wet. "You're getting soaked, Yunho." He shrugged, "I'll live. What matters is getting you home dry."

OCTOBER 23 2012 ⋆₊˚

8:16PM, Autumn. You were both 13 now. By then, Yunho had grown a head taller than you and you no longer could tease him about his height. "Happy birthday, dummy." You grinned, holding out a small, slightly crumpled box wrapped in bright blue paper. Yunho blinked, staring at the box in your hands. "I saved up. I know how much you wanted it, so...yeah." Yunho took the box and tore into the wrapping, his clumsy fingers fumbling with the tape. Inside was a red baseball cap, one he'd been eyeing in the baseball store for weeks. For a moment, Yunho was speechless. "This is... really cool, holy shit you're the best!" You lit the candle, his face glowing in the flickering light, softening the sharp lines he was starting to grow into. "Now make a wish, birthday boy." He closed his eyes for a moment, then blew out the candle in one breath. "What'd you wish for, hm?" You teased, nudging his arm. "Can't tell you," he said, leaning back on his hands. "But... I think it already came true."

JUNE 26 2015 ⋆₊˚

4:26PM, Summer. You’ve just gotten the news of Yunho’s successful audition. There’s a burst of hurt in your chest, dazzling and gnawing. You know you should be happy for him for pursuing his dreams but your face burns and so do your eyes, knot thick in your throat. Before you know it, you are slipping off your shoes in front of his doorstep, fighting the internal battle to will back tears. yunho’s brows shoot up when he opens the door to your face crumpling. One look at his face was enough to send the water crashing down. Had it not been Yunho, you’d feel like an attention seeker, but you held him tight, so tight against your chest as if you were afraid of him slipping away from your grip. Without question, he swept you up into his arms, huge warm hand running up and down your back. How much has he grown? Was his hands always this big? Were you always this small? He kept you there for a long moment, before peeling himself off of you to look at your face. Your breath was still hitching unevenly, coming in shallow, jagged gasps that caught painfully in your throat. Each inhale was sharp and shaky, as though you were trying to draw air through a tangled knot in your chest. You stared at him red-eyed, snot running from your nose. He looked you straight in the eye, mumbling “I will never ever leave you. I’ll be back in no time. Pinky-promise?” and that made you feel a whole lot better.

DECEMBER 5 2018 ⋆₊˚

5:30PM, Winter. Three years had passed since then. It might have been the nostalgic faint scent of frost lingering in the air or even the all too familiar row of wooden benches that got you squatting at the edge of the playground, cold biting at your cheeks. But there it was. Your eyes landed on an abandoned yellow snow duck maker in the middle of the playground and it was enough to send memories rushing back into your head. Every detail was painful, really — the spot under the slide where Yunho used to make his snow ducks with you, the echo of laughter that once filled the air, and the way your heart had felt so much at ease. A lump formed in your throat, tightening again with each passing second. Your chest ached and your vision blurred just like it once did on an April afternoon back in 2008. Your lips quivered, tears threatening to break through again. You hated how weak you were.

“You’re always crying”

You looked up and your breath hitched. There he was. Yunho. His face was the same yet completely different — the soft plump boyish roundness now replaced by sharper angles. The way he carried himself changed too,, his lanky frame filled out, movements steady and confident, no longer the awkward shuffle of the boy you remembered. Yet, all it took was his smile to catch the faint glimpse of the boy you used to know — that damn dimple.

Your heart froze for a moment before it began to race uncontrollably. "Yunho..." You blinked, as if your mind was trying to reconcile the boy from your memories with the man standing before you. "You're really just gonna squat there and cry in front of me?" he teased, stepping closer. "Some things never change."

You hastily wiped off the stinging tears in your eyes, too embarrassed to face him, sniffling. "I wasn't crying" you muttered defensively, though your shaky voice and tear-stained cheeks said otherwise. He squatted beside you, tilting his head to meet your eyes. “Miss me?” he asked, his voice dropping to a low murmur. You nodded, too overwhelmed to speak, your chest tightening as the weight of his presence filled the air between you.

"Then kiss me." he whispered.

Your breath hitched again, the world narrowing until it was just the two of you, the snowy evening wrapping around you just like that same day you’ve met him for the first time. And before you could think, before you could second-guess, your heart answered for you.

[mingi-s-dimples]

Sparring Partners - Jongho

KINKTOBER DAY 25, REQ. BY anon

~"Jongho+ virginity+ he's experienced, but reader is a virgin"

pairing: jongho x fem!reader

genre: 18+, some soft moments

summary: you and jongho, sparring partners since forever. tho, something shifted in the air the night you decided to stay over schedule and workout..

wc: 6k

warnings: sparring partners, play fight/controlled fight mentioned, reader is a virgin, lots of teasing, making out, penetration, eating out, multiple orgasms, some fluff at the end, they cuddle, unprotected (boo use protection irl!), unedited, for sure forgot something.

Author's Note: I had to okay... i had to add boxing in one of my fics 😞😞😞 fun fact I have a black belt in taekwondo but haven't practiced in years because of my knee 😩 fuck inexperienced fightersss. anywayss sorry for the delay ml i hope you like it !!!

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent in any way the reality of the member.

The gym echoed with the sharp sounds of punches hitting the heavy bag and sneakers squeaking against the mat. It was late evening, and the training space was nearly empty, save for a few stragglers winding down their routines. You tightened the laces on your gloves, adjusting the wraps underneath, and rolled your shoulders to loosen up. This was your sanctuary—a place where you could lose yourself in the rhythm of training and momentarily forget the chaos of life outside.

And then there was Jongho.

“Ready to get knocked on your ass again?” his voice rang out from behind you.

You groaned inwardly but didn’t bother turning around. “You’ve got jokes today, huh?”

He walked past you, his presence annoyingly commanding. Dressed in his usual black tank top and joggers, he looked every bit the confident fighter you’d always known. Jongho had been your best friend since high school, but lately, your relationship had taken a turn. The constant teasing, the competitive jabs—it all felt heavier, charged with something neither of you dared to name.

“Come on,” he said, stretching his arms overhead, his muscles flexing in a way that shouldn’t have been distracting. “I’m just keeping you on your toes. If you want to get better, you’ve got to keep up with me.”

You rolled your eyes but followed him to the sparring ring. “You’re so full of yourself. Just because you’ve got a little more experience doesn’t mean I can’t hold my own.”

Jongho smirked, leaning casually against the ropes as you climbed in. “A little more experience? Sweetheart, I could train you in my sleep.”

The nickname stung, but you masked it with a glare. “If you’re so confident, maybe I’ll surprise you tonight.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Alright. Show me what you’ve got.”

The banter was a familiar dance, but beneath the surface, it prickled at your pride. Jongho had always been ahead of you—in life, in love, in the ring. You couldn’t deny his skill or his charm, but his cockiness got under your skin. Tonight, though, you were determined to prove yourself.

The two of you squared up, circling each other in the ring. You kept your stance low, your fists raised, and your eyes locked on his. He moved with a relaxed confidence, his footwork fluid and precise.

“Don’t overthink it,” he said, his tone lighter now. “You always hesitate before throwing a punch.”

“I don’t hesitate,” you shot back, aiming a quick jab at his midsection.

He dodged effortlessly, his lips quirking into a grin. “Yes, you do.”

Your frustration grew as you continued sparring. No matter how hard you tried, Jongho always seemed to anticipate your moves, countering with ease. He wasn’t even breaking a sweat while you were already feeling the strain.

“Is that all you’ve got?” he taunted, blocking your punch and pushing you back with a light shove.

You stumbled but caught yourself, narrowing your eyes. “Shut up and fight me properly.”

His expression shifted slightly, a flicker of something serious passing through his eyes. “Alright, then.”

In a blur of movement, Jongho closed the distance between you, his punches coming faster and harder. You managed to block most of them, but his sheer power was overwhelming. Before you knew it, he had you pinned against the ropes, his hands gripping your wrists to immobilize you.

“Gotcha,” he said, his voice low and smug.

Your heart pounded—not just from the exertion, but from the closeness of him. His face was inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin. You tried to ignore the way your body reacted, the way your stomach fluttered in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

“Let go,” you said, your voice shakier than you’d intended.

“Not until you admit I’m better,” he teased, though his grip loosened slightly.

You glared at him, but the intensity of his gaze made it hard to hold. His dark eyes seemed to search yours, as if he was looking for something beyond your usual banter. For a moment, neither of you moved, the charged silence stretching between you.

And then he let go, stepping back with a smirk. “We’ll call it a draw.”

“Like hell we will,” you muttered, shaking off the strange tension as you moved to reset your stance.

But the truth was, you couldn’t shake it. Something had shifted in that moment, and it lingered in the air between you.

---

You stayed at the gym longer than usual, working the heavy bag long after Jongho had left. Or at least, you thought he’d left.

When you finally peeled off your gloves and headed to the locker room, you found him sitting on one of the benches, scrolling through his phone.

“Why are you still here?” you asked, startled.

He looked up, his expression unreadable. “Waiting for you.”

Your brow furrowed. “Why?”

He shrugged, standing and walking toward you. “Because you’ve been off all night, and I’m not letting you leave until you tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing’s going on,” you said, brushing past him to grab your water bottle.

“Bullshit,” he said, his tone sharper now. “You’ve been pissed at me for weeks, and I don’t even know why. Did I do something, or are you just in a bad mood?”

His bluntness caught you off guard, and you turned to face him, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “You’re just—ugh, you’re so infuriating sometimes! You act like you’re better than me at everything, like I’m some kind of joke to you.”

Jongho blinked, clearly taken aback. “Is that what you think?”

“Yeah, it is,” you said, your voice rising. “You’re always teasing me, always showing off. I get it—you’re more experienced, more skilled, whatever. You don’t have to rub it in my face all the time.”

He stared at you for a moment, his jaw tightening. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Then what are you doing?” you demanded, crossing your arms.

Jongho took a step closer, his voice softer now. “I’m trying to push you because I know how good you can be. I don’t want you to settle for anything less than your best. If I tease you, it’s because I care, not because I think you’re a joke.”

His words caught you off guard, and you felt your anger deflate slightly. “You… care?”

“Of course I care,” he said, his gaze steady. “You’re my best friend. And if I’ve been an ass about it, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was getting to you like this.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten, and you looked away, suddenly feeling vulnerable. “It’s not just that,” you admitted quietly. “It’s… everything. I feel like I’m always trying to catch up to you, like I’ll never be on your level. And it’s exhausting.”

Jongho’s expression softened, and he reached out to gently tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes. “You’re already on my level, whether you see it or not. And for what it’s worth… I’ve always admired how hard you work. You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

The warmth in his gaze made your breath hitch, and for a moment, you felt like the world had stopped. There was something different in the way he was looking at you now—something deeper, more intense.

“Jongho…” you started, but you didn’t know what to say.

He stepped even closer, his hand still resting lightly on your chin. “You don’t have to prove anything to me. You’re enough just as you are.”

The words were like a balm to your insecurities, and you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes. Before you could overthink it, you leaned into him, resting your forehead against his chest.

He hesitated for only a moment before wrapping his arms around you, holding you close. The steady beat of his heart against your ear was oddly soothing, and you let yourself relax into his embrace.

“I’m sorry if I’ve been too hard on you,” he murmured. “I just want you to see what I see.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him. “And what do you see?”

Jongho’s gaze flicked to your lips for the briefest moment before returning to your eyes. “Someone incredible,” he said simply.

The air between you was thick with unspoken tension, and for the first time, you didn’t shy away from it. You let yourself feel the weight of his words, the intensity of his gaze, and the steady warmth of his hands on your waist.

You weren’t sure who moved first, but before you knew it, your lips were brushing against his. It was tentative at first, as if testing the waters, but the moment he responded, the kiss deepened, growing more urgent and passionate.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together.

“Jongho,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “I’ve got you,” he said, his voice low and reassuring. “Trust me.”

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you could.

Jongho’s thumb lingered on your cheek, the touch searing into your skin, while his other hand slid with maddening ease to your waist, his fingers curling around you with a firm possessiveness that made your breath catch. The heat of his hands burned through the thin fabric separating you, and the way his eyes locked onto yours—dark, hungry, unrelenting—made the rest of the world fall away.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured, the rough timbre of his voice sending a delicious shiver down your spine. His lips tilted into a slow, knowing smirk. “Don’t tell me I make you nervous.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but the words died on your lips when he leaned in, his lips brushing over yours with a teasing lightness. “Come here,” he growled, his voice thick with command, leaving no room for argument.

When his mouth claimed yours again, it wasn’t gentle. It was consuming—deep, insistent, as though he were tasting something he’d craved for far too long. His hands tightened on your waist, tugging you against him as a soft gasp escaped you, only for him to swallow it with another hungry kiss.

He broke away just enough to breathe, his forehead pressing against yours as his thumb traced over your lower lip, swollen from his kisses. “Look at you,” he teased, his tone playful but laced with a dangerous edge. “So quiet now. Where’s all that attitude from earlier? You had so much to say before.”

The heat rushing to your face made your cheeks burn, but you forced yourself to glare at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you crumble. “I—I hate you,” you muttered, the stammer in your voice betraying your conviction.

A low, rich laugh rumbled from his chest as his grip on your waist shifted, his fingers skimming the curve of your hip. “Hate me?” he repeated, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth in a featherlight tease. “Funny. Doesn’t feel like hate when you’re clinging to me like this.”

“I’m not—” you started, but his hands slid higher, his thumbs grazing the bare skin just beneath your ribs.

“Not what?” he cut in, his smirk widening. His voice dropped lower, the teasing note darkening into something more carnal. “Not shaking? Not holding onto me like I’m the only thing keeping you standing? Not pressing those pretty little legs together, trying to pretend I’m not getting to you?”

Your breath hitched sharply, and the way his gaze dipped to your thighs—still pressed tightly together—made your stomach twist in a way that was both mortifying and electrifying.

“Jongho,” you warned, though your voice came out more like a whimper than you’d have liked.

“Oh, don’t stop now,” he purred, leaning closer until his lips brushed the shell of your ear. “You’re cute when you’re flustered. Almost makes me want to keep going. See how far I can push you before you beg me to stop—or beg me not to.”

“Y-You’re insufferable,” you bit out, your hands finding his chest as you tried to push him away.

But Jongho held his ground easily, his grip on your waist unrelenting. “And yet, you’re still here,” he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement as his hands flexed against your sides.

His words left you scrambling for control, but the way his hands moved—his thumbs brushing slow, lazy circles over your hips—was unraveling you with every passing second.

“You’re too cocky,” you managed to snap, though it came out breathier than you’d hoped.

“Too cocky?” he echoed, his brow quirking as his smirk deepened. He tilted his head, his lips barely grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear. “No. Not cocky. Just confident. Because I know exactly what I’m doing.”

The heat of his breath against your skin made your knees buckle slightly, and your hands fisted into the fabric of his shirt to keep yourself steady. He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through you in a way that made your stomach flip.

“You don’t have to hide it,” he said, pulling back enough to meet your gaze, his eyes softer now but no less intense. “You’re not used to this, are you?”

Your silence was answer enough, and his smile softened, though the teasing glint in his eyes remained. “You’ve never let anyone get this close before, have you?”

You hesitated, your throat tight as you finally shook your head. “No,” you whispered. “I haven’t.”

His grip on your waist tightened slightly, grounding you. “Good,” he said, his voice dipping low as he leaned in again, his lips brushing against your temple in a surprisingly gentle kiss. “That means I get to be your first.”

The way he said it—possessive, certain—made your heart stutter. You looked up at him, a flush spreading across your face, and he grinned, his confidence as intoxicating as it was infuriating.

“You’ve got me,” he said, his gaze flicking to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “And I’ve got you. So let’s not pretend you don’t want me to solve that little problem of yours.”

Your breath caught as his gaze flicked pointedly to your legs before returning to your face, his smirk widening at the way you squirmed.

“Jongho,” you choked out, your face burning, but he only laughed again, his fingers curling into your waist as he pulled you closer.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice like velvet. “I’ve got all the time in the world. And I’m not going anywhere.”

The promise in his tone made your chest tighten, your nerves and anticipation tangling together into something you couldn’t quite name. Whatever was happening between you, one thing was clear—Jongho wasn’t about to let you run away from it. From him.

The air around you felt impossibly thick, every fiber of your being hyperaware of Jongho’s piercing gaze and the tantalizing weight of his hands on your waist. His question lingered between you, heavy with intent, and when you finally found your voice, it came out softer than you expected, almost a whisper.

“Your place,” you said, your cheeks burning at your own boldness.

Jongho’s grin widened, a mix of excitement and triumph flashing across his face. Without warning, his arms shifted, and he scooped you up with startling ease, your legs dangling as his strong grip supported your weight effortlessly.

“Jongho!” you squeaked, instinctively wrapping your arms around his neck to steady yourself. “What are you doing?”

“Taking you to my place,” he said, his voice brimming with confidence and amusement. “You didn’t expect me to let you walk after saying something like that, did you?”

You gave him a halfhearted glare, though your lips betrayed you with a small smile. “I have legs, you know. Perfectly good ones.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk playful as he carried you toward his car. “Oh, I’m aware. But this is faster. Plus, I kind of like holding you like this.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, secretly enjoying the way his strong arms felt around you. He set you down only when he reached his car, opening the door for you with an exaggerated flourish.

“Your chariot awaits,” he teased.

You climbed in, shaking your head at his antics. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you’re still here,” he countered, flashing you a cheeky grin before closing the door and rounding the car to slide into the driver’s seat.

As he started the engine, the hum of the car barely masked the charged silence between you. Jongho’s right hand drifted to your thigh, his fingers splaying possessively over the fabric of your jeans. The touch was casual in a way that felt anything but casual, and the heat of his palm seared through the material, sending a shiver up your spine.

Your legs instinctively shifted, pressing together slightly, and Jongho let out a low chuckle, the sound warm and teasing.

“Something wrong?” he asked, his tone dripping with amusement.

“No,” you said quickly, though the way your voice wavered betrayed you.

“Mm-hmm,” he hummed, clearly unconvinced. His thumb stroked a slow, deliberate circle against your thigh, and you bit your lip, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much his touch affected you.

Your resolve faltered, however, when your gaze darted to his lap. Your breath caught at the sight: the unmistakable outline of his arousal straining against his sweatpants, a bold and unapologetic testament to the effect you had on him.

Your eyes widened, and you quickly averted your gaze, your face burning as you looked out the window.

Jongho caught your reaction immediately and laughed, the sound rich and full of self-assurance. “See something you like?”

“Shut up,” you muttered, crossing your arms and pointedly refusing to look at him.

“You’re adorable,” he said, his tone warm and teasing as he pulled into his apartment building’s parking garage.

When he parked the car and stepped out, he walked around to your side, opening the door for you with a mischievous grin. “Come on, sweetheart. Don’t be shy now.”

You rolled your eyes but let him help you out of the car, his hand lingering on your lower back as he guided you toward the elevator. The ride up was quiet but thick with anticipation, the air between you crackling with unspoken tension.

When the elevator doors opened to reveal his apartment, your breath caught. The space was sleek and modern, a small penthouse with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking view of the city skyline. The warm glow of the ambient lighting cast a soft, inviting hue over the stylish furniture and minimalist decor.

“Wow,” you said softly, stepping inside as Jongho closed the door behind you.

“Like it?” he asked, his voice low and smooth as he leaned against the door, his eyes never leaving you.

“It’s… beautiful,” you admitted, your gaze sweeping over the space before returning to him.

“Not as beautiful as you,” he said, his tone teasing but with a sincerity that made your cheeks heat.

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could speak, Jongho took a step closer, his gaze darkening as he reached for you. His hands found your waist again, pulling you flush against him, and the intensity in his eyes made your breath hitch.

“Now,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as his hands began to wander, “let’s pick up where we left off, shall we?”

Jongho’s fingers curled gently around your waist as he gazed down at you, the flickering tension between you growing heavier by the second. His lips quirked into a teasing smile, but his eyes were dark, brimming with intensity. Slowly, deliberately, he reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged it over his head, discarding it on the nearby couch.

The sight made your breath hitch. You’d seen him shirtless before—during practices, workouts, even casual moments at the beach—but this was different. Under the warm lighting of his apartment, with the weight of his gaze on you and the air thick with unspoken promises, it felt different. It felt intimate. The sharp lines of his abs, the broad planes of his chest, the faint sheen of his skin—all of it made your pulse quicken and your stomach flip.

You gulped audibly, your throat dry as you struggled to find something—anything—to say.

Jongho noticed immediately, his smirk deepening. “Like what you see?” he teased, stepping closer, his confidence radiating off him in waves.

You rolled your eyes, trying to regain some composure. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“And yet, you can’t stop staring,” he countered, his voice low and warm as he reached for you again.

You huffed, but your resolve crumbled when he gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering for a moment before they drifted down, grazing the collar of your blouse. He hesitated, his dark eyes locking onto yours, silently asking for permission.

You nodded, barely able to muster the courage to meet his gaze.

Jongho’s hands moved with deliberate care, unbuttoning your blouse one piece at a time. The cool air brushed against your skin as the fabric fell away, leaving you standing there in nothing but your bra and jeans. His eyes traced every inch of you, his gaze appreciative but never lewd, and the weight of his attention made your skin burn.

“You’re stunning,” he said softly, his voice carrying none of the teasing from before.

Your cheeks flushed, and you looked away, mumbling, “Stop saying things like that.”

“I’m just telling the truth,” he replied, his hands moving to your waistband now. He paused again, waiting for your nod before he gently worked the denim down your legs, leaving you standing there in your underwear.

You felt vulnerable, exposed, but the way Jongho looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered—chased away any lingering insecurities.

“Your turn,” you said, your voice shaking slightly as you gestured to his sweatpants.

He chuckled but obliged, hooking his thumbs into the waistband and sliding them down in one smooth motion. Your eyes darted down briefly, catching a glimpse of the tight fabric of his boxers and the unmistakable evidence of his arousal straining against them.

You quickly looked away, your face burning as you muttered, “Jongho!”

“What?” he asked, feigning innocence as he stepped closer, his smirk returning. “You told me to take them off.”

“You’re impossible,” you groaned, trying to cover your face, but Jongho caught your wrists gently, pulling your hands away.

“Don’t hide from me,” he said softly, his tone shifting again to something more tender. “Not now.”

Before you could respond, he bent slightly, hooking one arm under your legs and the other around your back.

“Jongho, no!” you protested, squirming as he lifted you effortlessly into his arms.

“Yes,” he said with a grin, holding you securely against his chest. “I like carrying you. You should just get used to it.”

You huffed, crossing your arms as he carried you toward his bedroom, though you couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at your lips.

The bedroom was just as sleek and modern as the rest of his apartment, the neutral tones and soft lighting creating a cozy, intimate atmosphere. Jongho set you down gently on the edge of the bed, his hands lingering on your waist as he knelt slightly to meet your gaze.

“Comfortable?” he asked, his voice low and full of warmth.

You nodded, your heart racing as he leaned in, his lips brushing softly against yours in a kiss that promised so much more. The anticipation in the air was palpable, and for the first time, you felt ready to let go of your hesitation and trust him completely.

As he softly pushed you on your back and made you lay comfortably on the crisp, black linen, he leaned back and took in the sight.

Jongho's gaze lingered, a mix of admiration and unguarded desire as he took you in. His voice broke the charged silence, low and steady. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, the sincerity in his tone sending a warm flush across your skin.

Before you could find the words to respond, he moved, placing one knee on the bed beside you. His eyes flickered downward, catching the faint evidence of your arousal through the delicate fabric of your panties. A smirk curled at the corner of his lips, a combination of satisfaction and mischief playing on his face.

The boldness of his gaze sent a jolt of self-consciousness through you, and you instinctively brought your hands to cover yourself. “Don’t hide from me,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm as he gently pushed your hands aside.

Your breath hitched as his hands found your thighs, the warmth of his palms igniting your nerves. His touch was confident but patient, his fingers brushing over your skin in a way that left your mind spinning. When he tugged at your panties, you froze for a moment, caught between flustered shyness and the undeniable pull of trust and longing.

With one smooth motion, he slipped the fabric down, the cool air grazing your now bare skin. His eyes darkened as they roamed over you, his expression a mixture of awe and restraint. “Perfect,” he whispered, more to himself than to you, and you felt your cheeks burn under the weight of his attention.

Your heart pounded as his gaze returned to yours, the intensity making you feel as though he could see every vulnerable thought running through your mind. “I’ve got you,” he reassured, leaning in closer, his lips brushing against your knee as his hands caressed the sensitive skin of your thighs.

Jongho’s lips were soft against your skin, each kiss deliberate and slow, as though he were savoring every moment. When his lips reached your inner thighs, he paused, lifting his gaze to meet yours, seeking your reassurance. There was a quiet confidence in his eyes, but also a deep tenderness, as if he were attuned to every subtle shift in your body.

"Everything okay? Want me to.. go on?" he whispered, his voice barely above a breath, the question hanging between you two.

You nodded, your heart racing, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest. Without waiting for another word, his kisses deepened, trailing slowly toward your cunt. His lips moved with purpose, but not hurriedly—each press against your skin made your breath catch, your body shuddering in response. His hands glided up your thighs, fingers brushing with a tenderness that was almost too much to bear, yet every touch sent sparks through your entire being.

As his lips reached as close as possible to your folds, you couldn’t stop the way your body arched toward him, the quiet gasp escaping your lips. Your hands found their way to his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands, pulling him closer as though you couldn’t get enough of him, yet at the same time, you didn’t want him to rush.

Jongho didn’t hurry, though. His movements were measured, gentle but deliberate, as he worked his way deeper, tongue feeling and tasting every sweet spot of yours It made your pulse race. The weight of his attention—every brush of his tongue—was intoxicating, and the way his hands caressed your skin made you feel utterly consumed by the moment, the intensity building with every second.

Jongho’s hands gripped your hips gently but firmly, pulling you closer to him as his

lips and tongue deepened.

A soft moan escaped your lips, the heat building in your body as his motion of eating you out became more precise, more intentional. Every time he sucked on your clit, the pressure seemed to intensify, and your breath quickened, your body arching slightly, reacting to his touch in ways you hadn’t expected.

"Jongho..." you whispered, your voice a mixture of breathlessness and need, the feeling of his lips trailing against your skin making your belly tighten, your heart racing. "I-I’m close..."

His eyes flickered up at you, a silent reassurance in his gaze as he adjusted his position, his hands holding you closer still. He seemed to read the tension in your body, knowing exactly how to eat you out to push you further into the edge of your orgasm. You couldn’t contain the quiet gasps that escaped with every press of his lips against you.

The room felt charged, your body humming in tune with his, each movement from him sending you deeper into a state of blissful surrender. Your hands tightened against his shoulders, holding him close, as your body responded—heat pooling in your chest, your belly tightening, the anticipation growing within you.

Finally, your high washed over you, hard and overwhelming, a shudder running through you as you let go completely, a quiet whimper of satisfaction slipping past your lips. Jongho, his face still soft with the same tenderness, held you closely, as if to cradle you in that moment, his presence grounding you completely. His smile, slow and satisfied, told you that he, too, was content, savoring every second of the connection you shared.

Jongho’s fingers gently cupped your face, his gaze tender yet filled with a quiet intensity. He brushed a strand of hair from your forehead, his touch lingering on your skin, his eyes following the movement as if memorizing every detail of you.

“You’re amazing,” he murmured, his voice a mix of awe and desire. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so perfect.”

He leaned in just enough to press a soft kiss to your temple, his lips lingering as he breathed you in, savoring the feeling of being so close to you. His thumb traced along your jawline, the movement slow and deliberate, each touch sending a shiver of warmth through your body.

When he shifted slightly, his body hovering just above you, his hand went for his briefs, a small stain of precum visible on them. He took them off and then leaned against you. His chest brushed against yours, the contact enough to make your breath catch, a deep sense of longing and anticipation filling the space between you two.

Jongho looked down at you for a moment, his expression a mix of intensity and restraint. His hand gently cupped the back of your neck, and he whispered, his voice hushed but filled with raw emotion, “Are you sure you’re ready for this? We can take it slow if you need to.”

His gaze never left yours, his eyes soft with concern yet burning with a quiet intensity, as if seeking your reassurance before moving forward. You could feel the weight of his question hanging in the air, the tension between you thick and undeniable.

With a slight shift, he pulled back just enough to allow you a moment to decide. The room was thick with unspoken words, with trust and desire intertwining in a dance as old as time. Jongho’s hand rested gently on your hip, his fingers lightly tracing the curve of your waist, as though waiting for your answer—waiting for you to lead him, or guide him, in this shared moment of intimacy.

You didn't have enough confidence to answer to him verbally, but as you lowered yourself on the bed under him, squirming impatiently, he took the hint. But still, he didn't to nothing yet.

“Say it. Use your words, sweetie” he tapped you on your knee.

“Y-yes.. p-please, Jongho..” you said, voice barely above a whisper and breathy. He took that as a yes and leaned in, right hand resting on your hips and left hand lazily stroking his own cock before guiding it to your hole. He looked up at you again then inserted the tip in, your back arching softly.

He started to softly thrust at first, testing the waters. When he felt and also saw you get accustomed to his size, he became a little bit faster and more focused, hands holding yours above your head. He leaned in and as he thrusted into you, he let his forehead rest against yours.

The tension in the air was electric, each of Jongho's movements sending ripples through you, pushing you closer to the edge. Your breaths came in quick, uneven gasps, each one punctuated by a soft whimper or moan that seemed to fuel him further. His hands stayed steady on yours, grounding you even as your body arched beneath him, seeking release.

“That's it,” Jongho murmured, his voice rich with approval, the corners of his lips curling into a small smile as he watched you. “Let me hear you. Don’t hold back.”

The heat inside you reached its peak, and with one more motion, the second orgasm, more powerful, more intense, crashed over you. Your body trembled as you caught your high, a cry spilling from your lips, louder than you expected, raw and unrestrained. Jongho didn’t falter, his steady hold on you keeping you tethered to the moment as your breaths turned into soft, trembling gasps.

“There you go,” he whispered, his tone low and soothing as he guided you through it, his fingers tightening slightly on your waist to ground you. “So beautiful like this, letting yourself feel everything. I’m so proud of you.”

Your body shivered as the aftershocks rippled through you, your hands clutching at his shoulders for support. But just as you began to relax into the warmth of the moment, Jongho leaned closer, his forehead pressing gently against yours. His voice was soft but tinged with a teasing edge.

“Sweetheart,” he said, his lips brushing against your ear, “I haven’t caught mine yet.” His words were both playful and filled with a quiet intensity that sent another shiver down your spine.

“Can you handle a little more for me?” he asked, his voice low and coaxing as his hands shifted to hold you firmly in place.

Your eyes widened slightly, your body still sensitive, but you nodded, unable to form the words. A soft, breathy sound escaped you as he began to move again, his pace slow but deliberate, the overstimulation making you whimper softly with each motion.

“You’re so good for me,” Jongho murmured, his voice full of quiet praise as he kept his steady rhythm, watching you with an intensity that made your heart race. “Just a little more, okay? You’re doing so well.”

The overstimulation had you trembling beneath him, your hands clutching at his arms as you whimpered, the sound half protest and half surrender. Jongho’s gaze never left you, his brow furrowing slightly in concentration as his pace quickened just enough to push himself closer to his high.

When he finally reached his orgasm, a low, satisfied groan rumbled from his chest, his grip on you tightening briefly before he stilled, his breaths coming in deep, steadying exhales. His hands loosened their hold, smoothing over your hips and waist in soothing strokes as he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“You were perfect,” he murmured, his voice warm and full of praise as he shifted slightly to let you rest more comfortably beneath him. “Thank you for trusting me. Are you okay?”

His hands cradled your face as he looked down at you, his expression soft and full of care, waiting for your response. Even in the aftermath, his priority was you—ensuring you felt safe, cherished, and wholly understood.

“Yes..” you answered his question, head dizzy and body tired from all the motion.

“Was I good enough to you?” he continued, lying besides you and holding you close.

“Oh Jongho.. of course” you smiled at him, your answer bringing a smirk of satisfaction on his face.

His smirk softened into something tender as he reached up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, his thumb grazing your cheek with a touch so light it felt like a whisper. The room was quiet now, the air warm and heavy with the comfort of shared intimacy. He drew you closer, tucking your head beneath his chin as his arms enveloped you, strong and steady.

“Rest now,” he murmured, his voice a soothing lullaby as he traced lazy circles along your back. You could feel his heartbeat against your cheek, its steady rhythm grounding you, anchoring you to the present moment.

NETWORKS:

@blossomnet

@illusionnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

[uncleeater]

Keeping Warm - LN4 🍋 (1/12)

Warnings: Smut under the cut, some cursing, lando being a perv, fem!pronouns, fem!anatomy

A/N: My first ever fic! i hope yall like it, gimme some feedback on what to improov upon in the comments pls :3

Word Count: 882

It was -5°C outside, cold covering everything it could, inconsiderate of broken heaters and electricity-dependent 20 year olds. So, you and Lando, pretty much. "Dammit, my phones almost dead." Lando softly whines, phone in hand as he walked out of the bedroom, "You wouldn't happen to have a spare power bank, would you?" The snow storm had blown out all the power for the city, leaving everything electronic screwed until the storm blew over. This included phones, chargers, microwaves, ovens, fridges, and the such.

You glance up from your book, watching your boyfriend flop down onto the bed in front of you. "No dice. My turn for a question: Have you found any extra blankets?"

He moves his head to the side, jokingly glaring at you. "Oh, because I'm your little slave that's only here to provide warmth. I forgot, sorry."

It's your turn to glare. You loved your boyfriend, but he was a bit dramatic at times. Times = always. "Slut is the preferred term, but That works too."

"....Wellllllll..." Lando looks at you with an evil grin, "What if your slut had a new way to keep you warm?"

"But my book!" You groan as it's snatched from your hands

"C'mon, baby," Lando coaxed, sliding off of the couch and sitting down in front of you, "not even for your poor, sad, lonely, desperate, hopeless boyfriend?"

"Wow, not dramatic at all" You retort, putting your computer to the side and looking down at him

"Cmon. the heaters broken, we don't have a fire place, and we've already used all the blankets. Name a better way to keep warm."

Lando grab your knees, spreading them apart and kissing up your thighs. His eyes flick up to yours, clouded with lust as he gets closer to your core.

"Lan." You hum softly

"Yeah?" He muses in return, peppering kisses up and down your thighs, teasingly switching to the other each time he gets close to your core. He knew what he was doing, and was planning on milking it for as long as possible.

"...If, and that's a strong if, I let you get what you want, then do you promise to let me do my work later?" You say quietly, looking down at the beautiful boy between your thighs

"Mhm...promise baby, I promise..." Lando's words are slurred slightly, his lips prioritizing kisses more than words at the moment

You shift on the couch slightly, hooking your thumbs under your waistband. Lando looks up at you, moving a hand from your thigh to grab onto your shorts. he slides his fingers around next to yours, tugging your shorts and panties down to your knees. His eyes roam over the newly exposed skin, hands unhooking your bottom layers from around your leg.

"You okay with this?" Lando checks with you, looking up at you

"Yes, I am. You?" You smile down at him

"More ready than I've ever been." He breathes, his hands moving your thighs apart. His lips ghost against your thighs, rushing to your core. He briefly hesitates before his tongue slowly licks up and down your cunt a few times. His lips wrap around your clit, rolling it in his mouth gently.

"Ah..." You gasp, one of your thighs lifting up in attempt to move your cunt closer to Lando. His hand reaches up and grabs it, using it to pull you against him. Your back was against the couch, legs thrown over Lando's shoulders. Your wet cunt was perfectly level with his face as he sat on the floor, right in front of the couch.

He detaches his lips from you, letting go of one of your thighs. He brings his hand up to his mouth, licking two fingers wet. He slides his fingers up and down your folds, spreading the spit-and-slick mixture around. Once he deems you wet enough, he slips two fingers into your heat.

"Oh, fuck!" You cry out, back arching at the new sensation. Lando grins, tongue going back to thrashing around your clit. As he makes out with your cunt, his free hand grips your thigh and pulls it against him to stop you from slipping away.

He loved you like this. He loved you always, but this was a special side of you that was just for him. Only he could make you feel this way and that was practically enough for him to cum on the spot. Or make you cum on the spot.

His index finger pulls out, giving just enough room for his tongue to replace it. His tongue undulates inside you as his middle finger pumps in and out. His eyes dreamily close as feels his tongue begin to be constricted. Realizing that you were about to cum, he gives a few last good sucks to your cunt.

With a final wave of pleasure, you sink into your orgasm. Heat from your core presses down and then explodes all over your body. You become numb to everything except how Lando drinks up your soul.

As the waves die down, you become aware of everything around you. Lando moves over to the side of you, crossing his arms underneath his head as it lays on the sofa cushion on your right. He grins, looking you up and down.

"Warm enough now?"

[lesbikaiser]

hi hiiiii can i pls request reo losing the NNN? istg my purple haired rich boy needs more love >< thank u sm!!

hiii hiii my lovely! im glad to be feeding reo stans, he deserves it and so do y'all!

i almost forgot that nnn posts are supposed to be made in november and started writing this one like three days ago or so, i really hope you like it ><

mikage reo who engages in no nut november because he needs to prove you wrong. how dare you say he wouldn't make it to the end because he's used to "getting anything he wants." not that you're wrong though, but what does that even mean? he can't see any connections between having purchasing power and... cumming?

well, he could not see it, not until now. but it's as clear as day for him now that he's knuckles deep inside you, having your pretty body sprawled on his lap as you moan so perfectly against his chest, desperately riding his fingers like your life depends on it as you try and chase your high. it makes all sense in his head now, because watching you makes him so hard, throbbing dick bulging his shorts and the pre-cum leaking from his tip leaving a wet spot on his boxers. god, he would pay any amount of money to be let cum right now.

shit, it's been not even a week since you challenged him.

"reo– oh, reo! reo, reo, reo–! " it does nothing to help him how you call out for him so sweetly, his name like a mantra on your tongue, clammy hands gripping onto his shirt for dear life as your walls clamp down on his fingers, slick all over his palm and lap as your cute, needy cunt makes a mess on him, the way you look up at his face with big, doe eyes and fat tears pricking the corner of them really turns him on, his cock jumping and twitching at the sight.

he wants to fuck you so bad.

"gonna cum, reo–reo! please don't stop, reo..." your voice is high-pitched, thighs trembling around his wrist as your moans only get higher, needier, mixing with the squelching sound your pussy makes every time he plunges his fingers into your hole, reaching so deep and hitting your g-spot repeatedly.

why did he agree to finger you, again? surely he wouldn't be able to watch you falling apart for him without letting it get to him, he knows how much control you have over his body, so why is he doing it? did he really think he could take it?

but how could he ever say no to you when you asked him so prettily to 'please make you cum', with that sweet voice of yours? of course, that's why he agreed. he loves to spoil you.

he watches the way your greedy cunt swallows his fingers in, gripping onto them whenever he slightly pulls out to shove back into you, he can see the way they shine with your arousal, you're so damn wet, he bets he could easily slip his dick into that cute pussy of yours, he could be fucking and creampie-ing you right now and you could be moaning so louder, he would fuck you till you get too dumb to speak, only babbles coming from those pretty lips of yours, too fucked out to even think straight, the only thing in your head being his name...

he can feel his balls tightening at the thought, his body heating up and dick oozing more pre-cum from the tip, his boner is very obvious now and he knows you're too lost in pleasure when you don't notice how his cock is literally poking against your inner thigh, otherwise you'd have already teased him for being so hard when all he's doing is finger fuck you.

but how can he help it? you're definitely a sight to see, tits spilling from your small tank top with the way you arch your back, hips moving back and forth against reo's hand and your own fingers grabbing at anything they can – be it his sleeves, collar or just his shirt at all. he can feel your toes curling atop his thighs, and the outline of your nipples is very clear on the fabric of your clothing when you push your chest towards reo, lips parting to let out the prettiest moans.

he's mesmerized by the shape of your mouth, how your lips are a shade darker than usual because of the way you've been biting onto them, slightly swollen and so inviting, he feels like it's been ages since he last kissed you even though it was just a few minutes ago, he wants to feel your tongue against his, taste your spit mixed with his own. and it's like you've read his mind when you lean against him, arms draping over his shoulders as one of your hands fist his hair, the other caressing his nape so affectionately, he can practically see the heart-shaped orbs in your eyes as you stare at him, noses touching before you press your lips against his.

your tongue nudges his bottom lip before delving itself into his mouth, sliding against his own as you kiss him messily, spit running down both of your chins and your needy whimpers being swallowed by reo, teeth clashing a little due to how sloppy the kiss is.

he can't hold back a groan when you press your body further against his, unconsciously humping your thigh on his over-sensitive dick, his arm looping around your waist to bring you closer to him as his fingers work at a furious pace now, slick gushing out of your cunt and spilling everywhere, staining both of your clothes and it makes you roll your eyes when he curls his digits inside you, soft, warm palm touching your denied clit pushing you over the edge.

"mmph–! " your orgasm hits you like a train, electric waves shooting through your veins making your whole body writhe in reo's grasp, head thrown back and mouth agape with no sound coming out before you lean forward, resting your head on your boyfriend's shoulder as he helps you ride out your high, hand on your hair caressing your strands. you whine at the sudden emptiness in your insides when he pulls his fingers out of your sensitive cunt, slurred words leaving your lips. "love you, reo..."

you say it at the same time he pushes his digits into his mouth, tasting the residues of your cum on them, and that's his last straw. how you whisper so drunkenly against his ear, followed by a wet kiss on his neck and a cute whimper, your taste is so good on his tongue it makes him roll his eyes back, his dick twitches uncontrollably inside his shorts, load bursting on his boxers and soaking everything. he cums untouched, moaning pathetically onto your hair as his orgasm washes over him, not as strong as yours but enough to make his mind blank for a second.

you're too lost in reo's scent to notice anything, basking in the afterglow of your climax and breathing in his cologne, not really seeing the moment he comes down from his high and regains his senses. you giggle when he flips you both over, pinning your spent body down to the couch as his knees force your legs apart. a dumb smile stretches your cheeks when you bring his face closer to yours, arms still around his neck as you kiss him again.

this time though, it's him who shoves his tongue past your lips, licking at your mouth and stealing your breath as he devours you, you whine when your brain registers the taste of your cum, one of reo's hands gripping your thigh as the other pull his shorts down along with his underwear. it's only when you feel his slicked tip nudging your sensitive little clit that you open your eyes, breaking the kiss as you look confused at him. gazing down, you notice his shaft covered in an opaque, white liquid, as it sticks to your folds now that he's sliding his dick through them.

"reo?" the look on your face is priceless. the way your brows knit together, eyes slightly wide and a pout on your lips as you stare at his smirk, voice small when you call out his name. "did you– you came just from fingering me?"

he slaps his tip against your clit, smirk only getting wider when you yelp his name, hips writhing in his hold. "r–reo! what're you doing?" he doesn't even spare a glare at you, aligning his dick with your entrance as he watches your hole fluttering and clenching around his cockhead, desperate to be filled.

"it's already over for me, isn't it? so why not indulge in my wishes anyway? after all, i do get everything i want..." his purple eyes finally lock with yours, they're darker than usual and carry a hungriness you rarely see in them, you can tell how pent-up reo is from not being allowed to cum for the past days.

"and right now, my love, i wanna fuck that perfect pussy of yours."

[weasleysbliss]

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬, 𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 | 𝐭𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐨 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞

pairing: tom riddle x slytherin!reader

summary: each week, y/n finds a new anonymous letter waiting for her everywhere she goes—poetic, mysterious, and increasingly intense. as the notes grow more captivating and unsettling, y/n becomes determined to uncover the writer’s identity. one day, she discovers it’s tom riddle. now, y/n must decide how to handle the dangerous boy who’s been watching her from the shadows.

warnings: slight cursing, small mention of smut

word count: 1.8k

➽────────────────❥

You sighed in exhaustion, using your remaining stamina to climb the stairs to your dorm room. As you reached the door, you unlocked it with your wand. Finally, you could rest, you thought. You glanced over at your bed—it had never looked more comfier.

You huffed, still remembering you had to shower. Placing your tote bag on your desk, you caught sight of a piece of paper in the corner of your eye. "I probably forgot to throw this out," you thought. But just as you were about to toss it into the trash, something stopped you, and you unfolded the note instead.

The note read, “You don’t notice me, but I see you. You are intriguing—more than anyone here. You have my attention, Y/N.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion and annoyance. "What twit is fucking around with me?" you muttered, raising your voice slightly as you slammed the note back on the table. You didn’t throw it out, though. Something told you not to.

Despite the irritation from the note, you carried on with your night and eventually fell into a restless slumber.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

A week passes with no new notes in sight—not that you’ve given it much thought. The first one had slipped from your mind soon after you received it.

You were in your Charms classroom, half-listening to Professor Flitwick as his voice reminded you of those ambient sounds that help you fall asleep. You were about to doze off any second.

"Turn to page 416 in your textbooks," Flitwick instructed. You clicked your tongue under your breath.

You pulled your textbook from your bag and began flipping through the pages until you reached page 416. And there it was. A note. Without thinking, assuming it was the same as the last one, you unfolded it.

"You read by the fire every evening. Do you ever wonder if someone is looking back?"

no. fucking. way.

Fear gripped you as you read the note. Someone is watching me? Panic rushed through your mind. Am I being stalked? Too many unsettling thoughts swirled in your head.

The class wasn’t even over, but you couldn’t stay another minute without spiraling into overthinking. In a hurry, you grabbed your tote bag and the note, then stormed out of the classroom. You heard Professor Flitwick call your name, but you didn’t bother turning around.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The week after the Charms class incident, you began to expect the notes to appear wherever you went. But now, you found yourself paying close attention to anyone who might seem suspicious or could be the culprit behind this note fiasco.

Unfortunately, no one was able to catch your attention. This was a guessing game, and you were terribly losing. Not one person you could suspect.

You had classes with most of your fellow Slytherins, excluding females—Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, and Tom Riddle. But there’s no way any of them could be behind this, right?

Usually, you and your friends would hang out after school—whether it was catching up, gossiping, or filling each other in on the latest boy drama. Standing in the circle with your friends, you listened to them, but you made sure to stay alert, keeping an eye on your surroundings.

You still weren’t going to give up.

On this particularly chilly day, you were lucky enough to remember your jacket. Your hands were starting to freeze as the cold air bit at them. You stuffed your hands into the pockets, hoping for some warmth, but instead, you felt something—paper.

You pulled it out. Another note.

Excusing yourself from your friends, you claimed you had to go back to your dorm to start your pile of assignments. On your way there, you unfurled the note once again.

"You deserve admiration from someone who sees your true potential. I could give you the world—or take it from anyone who gets in my way."

Frustration bubbled inside you, eating away at your patience. You still had no idea who was behind these notes.

Once you reached your dorm, you tossed the note aside and began searching for the other two you’d hidden around the room.

To your luck, you found the other two. You laid all three notes side by side, carefully examining each one as you read them over again.

"Whoever this is, they must be really slick around me," you muttered under your breath, your annoyance growing with each passing second.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Another week passed, and you were expecting a note once again. You silently hoped this would be the last one.

You were walking swiftly down the hallway, your hair swaying with each step. You noticed Tom Riddle approaching, but as he passed, he suddenly stopped.

"Something's waiting for you on your bed," he said. Before you could respond, he turned and disappeared into the crowd, vanishing in less than a second.

Your expression froze, a mixture of confusion and worry spreading across your face. How does he know something’s waiting for me in my dorm? Did he get inside? How? Or does he know someone who put something there? Is it another note? What is it?

You shook the thoughts from your mind and quickened your pace towards your dorm. Anticipation surged through you—you had to find out what it was.

Once you reached your dorm, your eyes immediately went to what Tom had mentioned—your bed. There, lying on the bed, was a note. You snatched it up and opened it without a second thought.

"If you’re bold enough, meet me at the Astronomy Tower at midnight. Let’s see if you’re worthy of the attention you’ve earned." Tom’s name was signed at the bottom.

It was Tom Riddle who had been writing to you all this time. He was the same person who had snuck into your dorm and secretly placed the notes in your textbook and jacket.

You had to admit, Tom was undeniably attractive. His masculine features were striking, and you couldn't help but notice how handsome he was. Despite his looks, one thing about Tom—he always got what he wanted.

You had a small crush on him back in your third year, but it never lasted long—you never thought he’d reciprocate those feelings.

Now, though, what awaited you tonight was all you could think about.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

11:50 PM. Ten minutes until midnight. That gave you just enough time to make your way to the Astronomy Tower. You left your dorm room, silently praying this whole thing wouldn’t end up a disaster—and hoping you wouldn’t get caught by a professor for being out so late.

Your nerves were getting the best of you. Usually, it wasn’t an issue when it came to boys—after all, you were the one who flustered them most of the time. But this was different.

It was Tom Riddle. He was unlike any other Slytherin guy you’d met—more charming, reserved, and undeniably alluring.

As you made your way to the Astronomy Tower, your mind raced, running through different scenarios of how this whole situation could unfold.

You didn’t realize how much time had passed while your mind scrambled, but when you glanced up, the clock had already struck 12:00 AM. Thankfully, you were just in time. With one final step, you reached the top of the Astronomy Tower.

And there he was—the man himself, Tom Riddle. His back was faced to you as he gazed out at the night sky, waiting for your arrival.

You didn't even get a chance to make yourself known at the scene, because he already had. He felt your presence behind him, and turned to face you. Your eyes locked with his deep, dark ones.

"You came," he said, his voice smooth, a touch of satisfaction lacing his words.

"You wanted me to," you replied, your tone sharper than you intended. After all the trouble with the letters, it felt impossible to hold back. "What do you want from me, Tom?"

He took a step closer, his expression unreadable. "I thought I made it clear. I don’t want anything from you—I want you."

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words sinking in. "And if I don’t want to be part of... whatever this is?"

Tom’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smirk, though his gaze softened. "I don’t think you’d be here if you didn’t. You’re curious, drawn to me, just as I am to you. Admit it."

You hesitated, every warning in your head screaming to turn and leave, but your feet stayed rooted in place. "You don't know me, Tom," you said, putting sharp emphasis on the word 'don’t'.

"Oh, but I do," he spoke, still stepping closer. His voice dropped, sending a shiver down your spine. "I’ve watched you, studied you. You’re clever, gorgeous, ambitious, and so much stronger than you give yourself credit for. You could be extraordinary—we could be extraordinary together."

The weight of his words wrapped around you like a spell, leaving you dizzy and unsure. "What if I don’t want that kind of power?" you whispered, barely trusting yourself to speak.

Tom leaned in, his voice low and filled with something almost tender. "Then I’ll prove to you why you do."

His hand brushed yours, and you didn’t pull away. Instead, you met his gaze, the intensity there making your heart race. "I haven’t decided yet," you admitted softly.

"Then let me give you something to think about," he murmured. His fingers tilted your chin up, and for a moment, he paused, his dark eyes searching yours. When you didn’t move, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was both gentle and inarguably commanding.

The kiss was so intoxicating it almost felt like you were floating. His lips were astonishingly soft, almost unreal in their tenderness. They perfectly aligned with yours as you both explored each other’s mouths. His hands gently slid up your skirt, fingers tracing your smooth skin. The combination of his touch and the kiss sent waves of sensation through you, making it impossible to want to pull away from either.

It ended as quickly as it began, leaving you breathless.

His hands remained under your skirt, his palms hugging your curves as if they were made for you. His fingers trailed lower to your already-soaked cunt, grazing your sweet spot. He knew that touching you in a sensitive place would manipulate you into wanting him more—hence why he did it. Heat rushed to your cheeks, and a soft, involuntary whimper escaped your lips at his teasing touch.

"You're already mine," he murmured, his voice low and sultry. "But I could show you so much more—if you let me." His hand came out of your skirt, and made it's way to your waist. He ended with a passionate kiss to your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a small bite that made you wince—though the sensation only fueled your desire.

"I’ll wait for your answer, darling." he said, his voice smooth as silk. With one final, lingering glance—seductive and full of promise—he turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving you alone in the cold night air. Your heart raced, and your mind was a blur, overwhelmed with thoughts of him and a deep, undeniable desire.

Needless to say, he undoubtedly won a chance with you.

He was yours, in secret.

[yzzaqczec]

Beneath the moons glow

Idea: @sametsyun

Once, there was Y/N, a divine being created by the gods to watch over the moon. She was an angel with a silvery glow, her presence a soft luminescence among the vastness of the cosmos. The moon was her kingdom—silent, serene, and lonely. She spent her days attending wishes of the mortals below them. Their hopes whispered up to her through the night, which sounded all the more silent with them, till she heard their promises of the soul.

Except that one who came often was making her heart beat with something which she could not identify.

Lucifer, that was his name and was a fallen angel driven from Heaven long ago. Every time he would come to her place, that always would carry the promise of more than words: the excitement of seeing what the visitor may bring - small things- a bunch of ducks, flowers in star shape, anything whimsical and sweet. Y/N in turn gave the man her wishes for trivial things, moments of glee, for laughter. Alone no longer was Y/N in the company of her visitor. The days turned to months, and the months grew into years. A quiet affection for each other blossomed.

Their bonding grew in the silent nights that were lit by the moon. Lucifer never asked for anything extravagant, and Y/N would always find herself wanting to provide him with whatever he desired. She had fallen in love with him, although she did not know what to call it. Love? She never dared to ask, but she knew he was of the same thought. He smiled every time he saw her his smile shines brighter than the stars in the sky. She would do anything for him, and so did he seem.

Then one day, Lucifer just stopped coming.

Initially, Y/N thought it was just nothing. "Why haven't you come by? I wait for you each night, when the stars shine bright and the moon protects us both. Was this something I did?" she silently asked the empty moon.

Days became weeks, then weeks turned into months, all without him. She still waited, lonely and clueless. She searched the heavens for him, but he was nowhere to be found. She could not help but wonder whether something had happened, whether she perhaps had done something wrong. "Had I failed him in some way? Did he no longer want me to grant his wishes?" Her heart felt heavy as the cycles of the moon increased, and she began to feel a deep sadness that no star could chase away. The only solace was the fact that one day, he would return, and everything would be okay.

One day, Lucifer showed up. His smile was as broad as ever, but something was different. It did not feel the same. The warmth that once seemed to emanate from his presence was now gone, replaced by an emptiness that cut deeper than she could have imagined.

"Y/N" he greeted, the name slipping from his lips like a familiar song, but with a hollow tone. He handed her a small, delicate gift wrapped in glistening paper, but there was no joy behind his eyes.

Y/N heart skipped, her hopes rising for a moment. "It’s been a long time," she said softly. "I’ve missed you."

Lucifer's eyes flickered briefly, then he quickly covered it with a chuckle. "I've been busy. But I've come to ask for a wish."

Her heart leapt, and she smiled. This was it, she thought. "Maybe this is the moment we return to what we had before. Maybe it'll be like it once was." But his words shattered that fragile hope.

He asked for something that felt wrong, something that was against the very rules she had been bound to since her creation. It was a wish that involved breaking celestial laws. She hesitated. "This. This is too much. I can't grant this, Lucifer." But his eyes, those eyes she had trusted for so long, looked at her with something she couldn't place.

"You think I forgot you? You think I stopped caring? No, Y/N. I couldn't forget you. But the moment I walked away from the moon, I knew I'd lost something I couldn't get back," he said, his voice laced with guilt.

She felt the weight of his words, but despite her doubt, she couldn't refuse him. Her heart—"I would do anything for him,"—knew no better. With trembling hands, she granted the wish, though it was wrong, something that she knew she should not do.

What she did not know was the price with which it came.

Lucifer's trial soon followed, and Y/N was left dazed. She had been summoned to the heavenly court, where the angels looked at her with judgment in their eyes. Lucifer stood at the center of the courtroom, his head lowered in shame. And beside him stood Lilith—the one who had been with him all along, the one he had truly wanted all this time.

Her heart cracked, shards of trust and affection shattering. "You think I wanted to leave you? You think I wanted to stop visiting the moon? No. but I had no choice. Sometimes the price of freedom is heavier than you think," Lucifer had said, but his betrayal stung just the same.

As the angels questioned her, "What had you done, Y/N? What wish did you grant him?" this truth struck her like thunder—she was the one that helped him bring Lilith back.

Lucifer, in a moment of panic, pointed his finger at her. "She did it. It was her who granted me the wish."

The words cut deeper than any betrayal she could have thought of. "So this was it. All that I had given to him, all the love I thought we shared. it was nothing."

Lucifer and Lilith were punished and sent down to Hell to stay there forever. However, Y/N was not shown any mercy; however, the punishment she received was a lighter one. They said she didn't know what the wish would do. Nevertheless, she was sent out of Heaven, a beautiful home lost to her for good. She remained there, on the moon, her heart a heavy aching weight in her chest.

"You were my haven. my escape from everything. I never thought that I would ever bring about such pain in you. I thought that I was capable of handling all of this, but it was just too much," Lucifer's words echoed in her head as she looked out to the vast emptiness that the moon surface seemed to offer.

There was her on the bleak, snow cold desert landscape alone, when before she a green bunny that he'd given her years earlier stirred to life, tears fallen into its little soft frame on whose green jade-eyes sparkle lit after these final tears until she saw not alone again. Small creature nuzzled by it and she found this instant comfort.

“I thought I was doing what was right for myself, for Lilith. But now I realize I’ve lost more than I could ever gain. You were everything I needed. and I let you go,” Lucifer's voice, tinged with regret, haunted her every moment.

Years passed, eons even. The moon, once dark and empty, started changing. Lights shimmered, festivals sprang up, and laughter filled the air. It had become a place for celebration, joy, and fun, but Y/N heart still ached with pain for the love she had lost.

Her search for Lucifer never ended. She tried everything: every spell, every ritual, every prayer. But nothing seemed to work. "If you're out there, Lucifer, do you ever wonder about me? Do you ever miss the moon? Or has the Hell beneath your feet become too heavy?" she whispered, looking to the heavens, but nothing came.

One day, she realized that despite everything, she had never truly stopped loving him. "You’ll always be a part of me, Lucifer. Whether you forgive me or not, you’ll always have a place in my heart. I just wish I could show you that before it was too late."

And so, with lights and laughter still burning all around, Y/N made a promise to find him again. No matter the time it took or how long the distance was; she would find her way back to him.

And perhaps, just maybe, the stars will finally align.

---

Will post the pt2 next week:>

OKAY TOTALLY RUSHED THIS

I did not proofread this so mb if there are some mistakes, I totally added chang'e instead of y/n in some of these😭

Idea from!! @sametsyun

https://www.tumblr.com/sametsyun/742930833875353600/i-have-a-fanfic-idea-alright-you-guys-know-that?source=share

TYSM I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO THINK OF AN IDEA(⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)