#I'm cracked now but I guess that's how the light gets in | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

marvelstoriesepic · 18 days ago

Text

Different, this time

Pairing: Fuck buddy!Bucky x Reader

Summary: After the hospital visit and the doctor’s diagnosis, Bucky is plagued with guilt. He won’t touch you again until he is absolutely sure that you’re okay. Once you manage to reassure him, you both discover what it truly means to make love, rather than just fucking with suppressed feelings. And it’s overwhelming in the best way.

Word Count: 10.3k

Warnings: (18+) explicit sexual content, mdni; sickly sweet smut; oral (f receiving); fingering; soft aftercare; mentions of physical pain during sex (past); mentions of cervical bruising; slight mentions of medical scenes; panic attacks (graphic and mentioned); guilt; emotional distress; crying; themes of healing and emotional vulnerability; sad!Bucky; panicked!Bucky; sweetheart!Bucky; lots and lots of worried!Bucky

Author’s Note: Help, I might have ruined myself for any other real man with this. Y’all, this is my first time writing smut, so please be kind!! But I'm not gonna lie, I genuinely loved writing this. Soo I guess, this won’t be the last time you'll have me sharing some smut!! To make things clear, this is the second part to In too deep!! Btw, I was a bit nervous about whether I’d be able to get back into writing longer fics so smoothly, after the 2k drabble challenge, but I’d say I’ve managed lmao. I hope you enjoy ♡

Part One

Masterlist

The car is too quiet.

Outside, the streetlights flicker as if they’re forgetting how to glow.

You are in the passenger seat, watching the world blur past in smudges of gold and grey, your hands folded in your lap, afraid of what they might do if left unsupervised.

The car makes a soft and steady sound beneath you but everything inside feels tight. Too tight.

Like a breath, you haven’t taken.

Bucky hasn’t said a word since you left the hospital.

His knuckles are white on the steering wheel. White like fear. White like bone. White like guilt.

You glance over at him.

He’s staring straight ahead, eyes fixed, unmoving. His jaw is locked so tightly it looks like pain. There is a muscle twitching beneath the skin. Just beneath the hinge of his jaw, like something trying to break free.

The dashboard casts its pale light against his side profile. The soft stutter of passing streetlamps blink shadows across his hardened face.

You try to speak softly. “Bucky-”

“You sure you’re okay?” he interrupts, fast. Too fast. His voice is low but cracked, words splintering on their way out.

You nod before you realize he’s not looking. “Yes,” you say, slower. “I’m sure.” He’s asked about fifteen times in the last twenty minutes. But you think it actually should be you asking him.

The doctor told you that it was a cervical contusion in that although soft but clipped and clinical tone. Said that the bleeding would stop, that the pain would ease, that you were going to be fine - physically.

And the way Bucky flinched after that suggested he was perhaps doing worse than you.

He’s asked a few questions, asked how to treat it, asked what you might need, asked what he can do, but his voice was rough and close to giving out. He sat beside you in that too-white room, hands clenched in his lap, jaw locked as though he could grind down the guilt if he just kept his teeth pressed hard enough. He kept looking at your legs, at the blanket they gave you, as though he was waiting for the blood to start flowing again. As though he’d never trust your body not to break under him.

He listened when your doctor explained that it was moderate, but healing and there would be no lasting damage. You should just give it time and be gentle.

But Bucky didn’t hear healing.

He only heard damage.

He hadn’t said anything after that anymore. Just nodded, once. Swallowed hard. Signed the papers with a hand that shook so violently you had to cover it with yours.

You watch him now, his breath thinning.

“Buck,” you ease softly. “I’m okay. She said it’s healing, alright? I’ll be fine.”

Bucky shakes his head once. Sharp. A slice through the silence. “She said it could’ve been worse. That it could’ve-” He swallows loud, and doesn’t finish the sentence.

“But it’s not,” you remind him gently, almost wanting to reach out but not knowing if he needs that right now.

But Bucky doesn’t answer.

Then, you do reach for his arm, tenderly. Fingers brushing over his sleeve. But he flinches. Not from you. From himself. From the memory.

“Buck-”

“I should’ve noticed,” he snaps, and his voice breaks. Just a little. A fracture, clean through. “You said yes. You always say yes, and I- I should’ve seen it- I should’ve fucking known-”

His foot slips heavier on the gas.

The lane lines start to blur.

“Bucky,” you say again, firmer.

But he doesn’t answer.

His eyes dart from the windshield to the mirrors, unfocused. His shoulders have hiked up around his ears. His left hand twitches, his right one follows, tapping the wheel with restless, erratic beats.

His breathing is shallow. Too fast.

You can feel the swell of something too big inside him, pressing against his ribs, rising like floodwater. His grip on the wheel has gone rigid, too stiff for control. His shoulders are locking up.

“Bucky-”

His chest heaves harshly.

He blinks - once, twice - too slow.

His jaw is clenched so tight you can see the muscle fluttering beneath his skin. His breath is sharp, teeth grinding as he sucks in through his nose and lets it out in gasps through his mouth.

“I hurt you,” he croaks, voice undone, shredded. “I fucking hurt you- I was inside you- I didn’t even see-”

The wheel jerks. Just for a second. Enough to drift too close to the lane line.

You shoot forward in your seat. Alarm ringing in your ears.

“I-” he gasps, blinking fast. “Y/n, I can’t- I can’t- I didn’t mean- I didn’t mean to-”

Reaching over to grab the wheel, you wrap your hands about Bucky’s, forcing it steady.

“Okay, okay, I got it. I’ve got you, baby. But we have to pull over.”

Bucky is trembling now. Hands frozen. Breath ragged. A bead of sweat rolls down the side of his face, catching the glow of a red traffic light.

You guide the car gently to the side, one hand over his as you steer, the other flicking on the hazards, keeping your voice and your movements calm for the sake of Bucky’s rising panic attack even as your heart thunders in your chest.

Bucky brakes too hard and too fast, the tires stuttering on the asphalt as though they are afraid of where he’ll go if they don’t stop him. The moment the engine falls quiet, the silence screams.

And Bucky falls apart.

His head drops forward. Hands over his eyes. Whole body shaking.

He’s still in the driver’s seat but he’s not in his body. His breathing is wild. His chest is heaving in sharp and panicked pulls and you realize he’s trying to get in air but can’t. His left hand is rashly fumbling for the door handle to keep himself tethered.

“Bucky,” you whisper, already unbuckling your seat belt. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’m here.”

But he doesn’t hear you. He is stuck in some dark, echoing place inside himself and it won’t let him out.

Without hesitation, you move over the console and climb into his lap, settling gently on his thighs, facing him, your knees pressed into the edges of the seat.

Your hands come to his face, cradling it carefully - thumbs brushing over the hollow beneath his eyes, the flushed heat of his cheeks. His skin is clammy, cold.

He still can’t breathe.

You press your forehead to his. Anchor him.

His eyes squeeze together tightly.

“Hey, hey. Look at me, Buck. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

He shakes his head, choking out words you can’t make out because they all end up in a sob.

“James,” you start, and this time your voice is different. This is the sound you make when you’re scared and concerned and you need him to come back. “James. Breathe with me. You’re here with me. We’re okay.”

He shakes his head again, but it’s jerky, frantic.

“I hurt you,” he whimpers. “I hurt you. I should’ve known. I should’ve stopped-”

“No, no. Stop. Listen to me,” you whisper, voice low, brushing his tear-damp hair back from his face. “You checked in on me and I told you I was okay. I said I was fine. You trusted me, Bucky. That’s not your fault.”

He’s still trembling. Still trying to outrun the guilt in his lungs.

But you don’t move. You stroke his hair back, kiss his temples, his forehead, his nose.

His eyes finally meet yours. They are wide and wet and red, brimming with horror. He looks as though he wants to disappear inside himself.

You keep hold of his face, brushing tears away so tenderly. “It was my body. My voice. You didn’t know, and I didn’t tell you. That’s not on you. You never hurt me on purpose. I need you to hear that, Bucky.”

His chest heaves once, twice, then breaks apart with a cry. He pulls you closer, buries his face in your neck. His arms wrap around you like a man drowning.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffs again and again. “I’m so sorry.”

You close your eyes and run your fingers through his hair, slow and grounding.

“I know,” you whisper back. “I know you are. But you don’t have to be. I just need you here with me. Right now. Just breathe, Buck.”

And you guide him through it. Deep breathes. In and out. He follows.

And you hold him. As though he’s the one who’s breakable now.

****

You’ve never known silence like this.

Not the kind that’s empty. Not the kind that comes after slamming doors and burnt-out candles and sharp things unsaid. No, this silence is soft. Living. It seeps into your lungs and expands with each inhale, as though it wants to make space for something new.

Bucky is in the kitchen, stirring a spoon through a mug of tea as though it’s the most important thing in the world.

You’re sitting on his couch, knees tucked to your chest, wrapped in one of his henleys that hangs too big on you in all the right places. It’s quiet in your head for the first time in what feels like weeks.

The sky outside has folded into a kind of blue that feels more like velvet than color. The windows are cracked open, the summer breeze floating in, lazy and gold-edged, breathing over your skin like a whisper of someone who never learned to shout.

You’ve been here since late afternoon.

And everything smells like home at his place. Like Bucky. Cedar and cotton and chamomile. There’s a ticking of the wall clock he always pretends not to hate. Next to you lay the neatly folded blanket Bucky always pulls onto your lap when the AC kicks in too high.

Bucky brings you the tea like he always does and doesn’t let go of the mug until he’s sure your fingers are steady around it.

Then he sits down beside you, careful and close. His arm brushes yours and then he pulls back as though even that was too much. His eyes search yours. They always do now. As if he’s checking the weather behind your gaze before he says anything.

“You feelin’ okay?” he asks, voice rough. He probably hasn’t spoken all day before you came over.

You nod, and it’s mostly true. “I’m okay,” you say softly. “I promise.”

The TV is playing something you’re only half-watching, some indie movie with subtitles and sad music.

Bucky lets his arm drape behind your shoulders, over the back of the couch and you hear his fingers tracing the stitches in the seam of the couch. His gaze drifts to the TV but you know he’s not really watching. His eyes flick across the screen but his mind is somewhere else still. You don’t have to guess where.

That weight, that guilt, hasn’t let up.

And it’s not just the incident itself - it’s the panic he spiraled into afterward, the way you had to calm him down when you were the one who had been in pain. That’s what sits the heaviest on him, you think. That you comforted him, wrapped your arms around his trembling frame, and whispered soothing reassurances while your body was still in fresh pain.

You watch the line of his profile, the glimmer of the screen painting shadows beneath his cheekbone. He hasn’t shaved in a few days, and there is a softness in his eyes that wasn’t there when you were only fuck buddies.

You’ve talked a lot. About everything. The incident. The aftermath. Your relationship. About what it all means and what it doesn’t, about what you both want and what you both fear. The hard words are behind you now, sorted and softened. And you’re not just his maybe anymore. You’re his. Official. Quietly, fully.

And still, he treats you as though you might not be. As though you’re a snowflake he caught in his hands and he’s afraid to close his fingers.

He’s still scared. Scared of doing something wrong. Scared of missing something again. Scared of hurting you again. You feel it in the way he touches you now - fingertips like feathers on your skin, always asking with and without words if you’re okay. Always watching, always listening.

He treats you like glass now. But glass that’s already cracked.

And you’ve tried to tell him again and again that you’re fine.

But Bucky has always been hard on himself. Especially when it comes to you and your well-being.

His fingers brush your shin slightly and the contact strikes, heat blooming low in your stomach.

You shift closer and Bucky’s attention snaps to you. He watches you move, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips and then darting back up, catching himself. You’re not sure if it’s nerves or habit, that reflex to hesitate.

But he’s been hesitating for weeks.

Weeks of healing. Weeks of slow walks and softer kisses and quieter touches.

You haven’t had sex since.

You wanted to. You were ready. But Bucky wanted to wait. To be sure. To be careful. To do it right this time.

And you let him. You let him wrap you in all that caution and care. Let him fuss and hover and bring you your favorite snacks, let him hold you through the night without reaching for anything more than the sound of your breathing against his chest. You let him because it’s what he needed.

But you are fine now.

Your body doesn’t ache anymore. You’ve healed. Fully. You know this because you’ve checked. Alone. With your fingers and your breath and the soft test of space. And you’ve told him, more than once. But Bucky is stubborn with his guilt, protective.

So you’ve waited. Because you love him.

But you notice the way Bucky keeps glancing at you, his eyes catching on your thighs, the shape of your mouth, the way his shirt hangs loose on your frame every time you wear it.

You notice it right now.

Moving your feet, you place them right on Bucky’s lap and feel the shift in his thigh muscle beneath you. The way his hand on your shin stills, the way the hand behind your shoulders drifts closer, then stops, fingers curling as though they’ve touched a flame.

“Movie’s boring,” you murmur, leaning your head on his shoulder, voice lazy with comfort.

He chuckles, a little breathless, a little nervous, low in his chest. “Didn’t even know what it was.”

His eyes catch yours. He’s looking at you as though you’ve said something profound.

Your hand slips up to cup his cheek, your thumb sweeping gently across the faint stubble there. His eyes flutter shut for a moment, as though your touch still startles him, still humbles him.

“Hi,” you whisper.

He swallows. Opens his eyes. Immediately, they drop to your mouth. Then back to your eyes. And again.

“Hi,” he breathes.

You lean in first.

The kiss is gentle. Familiar. Something well-loved.

He tastes of cinnamon and hesitation. He kisses you with a kind of slowness that seems almost like another apology, another question if you’re okay.

His hand finds your waist, the other brushes the back of your neck, and they hold you so carefully you want to cry. You press closer. Push into the kiss. Let it deepen.

And for a moment, with a soft groan, he lets go.

His grip tightens. His mouth opens. His body leans into yours, chest brushing chest, thighs pressing close.

His mouth moves with yours as though it remembers exactly where it left off. Deep. Thoughtful.

You sigh against him. The movie flickers behind your closed eyelids.

Your name escapes him in a breath, his hands tighten a fraction, shaking slightly. His breath stutters, the kiss deepens, and suddenly he’s pulling away.

His brows are furrowed and he looks at you slightly panting. “What are you doing?” he asks, cautious, worried.

You blink, lips swollen, a little dazed. You answer with a small, amused tilt of your head. “I’m kissing my boyfriend.”

He flushes visibly, face burning red, but he doesn’t smile, and that line between his brows doesn’t ease. His jaw flexes. “I just- I know we’ve talked,” he starts, voice hushed, breathy. “And you say you’re okay, but I just don’t wanna rush this. You know? I don’t want to push you. Or hurt you. Or do this just because I’m-”

He shifts slightly, adjusting himself. The movement reveals the hardening outline of him in his sweatpants.

“I’m not rushing, Buck. We-”

“I am though. I didn’t mean to- but it got kinda- fast, and-” He stops. Runs a hand through his hair. His voice is tight now. “I just need to be sure, doll. I need to know you’re okay. Completely.”

You press your forehead to his, arms slipping around his neck. Your voice is a soft brush. “I am okay. Really. It’s been weeks, Bucky. Everything’s healed. The doctor said it. I said it. And I’m telling you again.”

He swallows. You feel it. That pulse in his throat working hard to steady itself. He looks at you, hard. Searching. Maybe trying to see inside you.

“I just… I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything.” A rough tremor runs through his voice.

“I don’t,” you ease quickly, shaking your head. “I want this, Bucky. And I’ve been listening to my body. I’m okay.” Leaning down, you kiss his jaw, just below his ear. He shivers. “And I trust you.”

He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. His voice is thick, strained. “Still. I don’t wanna rush you. Not if there’s even a part of you that’s unsure. I mean- hell, what if- what if something hurts again? I couldn’t-”

You stop him gently with a hand to his chest. “Then we stop. Just like that. And we talk. Just like we’ve been doing.”

He stares at you for a moment. And you can see how words pool behind his eyes but don’t make it to his lips.

“Okay,” he whispers then, voice coarse. “Okay. Just… don’t want you to ever feel like you have to fix me by doing this. Don’t wanna take something from you just because I’ve got issues.”

“Hey.” You shake your head, fingers in his hair now. “That’s not what this is. I want this. I want you.”

He groans, quiet and exposed, tilting his head back against the cushion. His hands grip your hips. He’s flushed, already half-hard against your thigh and visibly trying to hide it.

You smirk a little. “Let me help with that.”

His eyes widen. “Doll-”

“I feel fine, baby,” you repeat, patient, but smiling. “I promise.”

“I’m not gonna let you do something just for me.” A rasp in his voice makes his words sound slightly scratchy.

You tilt your head. “Then maybe it’s for me. Ever think of that?”

He groans softly, hands squeezing you. “I’m trying to do the right thing-”

“Then let me show you I’m okay,” you state warmly.

His eyes close. A beat. Two. Three. He breathes out, slow.

You grin, your hands tracing circles over his chest. “I’m healed. I’m ready. You’re my boyfriend. What’s the problem here?”

He laughs something broken, something between admiration and disbelief. Then he sighs, eyes soft.

“You’re really okay?”

“I am.”

Pressing a tender kiss to your temple, he whispers into your ear, voice gravel. “We’ll go slow, yeah? Real slow. And you tell me if anything hurts, or if you’re uncomfortable.”

You nod immediately and brush his cheek lovingly and soothingly at the pain that’s still lingering in the corners of his voice. “I promise.”

****

He doesn’t rush.

He doesn’t dare.

Bucky lays you down as though you’re something he’s never been allowed to hold before - as if someone plucked the stars from the sky, wrapped them in silk, and gave them to him with a whispered don’t drop this.

It’s not rushed. It’s not eager. It’s not even lustful, not exactly.

It’s love. In slow motion. In devotion. In the way he arranges your body like a painting.

The cotton sheets are warm beneath you. Bucky kneels beside you, hovering, breathing slow and tight through his nose.

His hand cups your face. And he’s looking at you as though you are light. A glowing and living thing that he’s afraid to reach for too fast, he’s afraid of casting shadows on.

His gaze is soft and dark and unblinking. You can feel how full it is, how heavy. And it warms you. Like honey across your skin. Like sunrise slowly coming alive.

You smile up at him. “Bucky.” His name sounds like an invitation. Open. Safe. As though it belongs between your lips.

“I’m here,” he says, hardly a whisper. “You sure?” he asks, his voice low. Throaty. Careful. His thumb strokes your cheek as though it’s still asking.

You nod. But it’s not enough, so you pull him closer. Whisper against his mouth. “I want you.” A breath. “I trust you.”

He exhales all at once, and it comes out as a shiver.

After a pause, he leans down, kisses your forehead first. Then the top of your nose. Then, back to your mouth - and it’s gentle. It’s so gentle. As though he’s practicing reverence. Reminding himself you’re real.

“Tell me everything,” he murmurs. His hand on your cheek, your waist, your thigh. “I wanna know what feels good. What doesn’t. I want to hear every sound you make. I want to see your face every second. I wanna be right here with you, baby. Every second. You don’t gotta be quiet with me. Not ever.”

You nod, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat. Because this is love in a language that isn’t words.

And he’s fluent in it. Fluent in you.

His fingers slide up the hem of the shirt you’re wearing - his shirt. And he pauses again.

“Can I take this off?” His voice is low. Strained. Still asking. Still making space.

You nod again. “Please.”

He swallows. You feel the tremble in his hands as he lifts the fabric slowly, cautiously, peeling away something important. He watches your face the whole time. Checks for flinches. For hesitation. For any sign that you might change your mind.

You lift your arms for him, and he helps you out of it without ever breaking eye contact.

And suddenly your chest is bare.

And Bucky hasn’t looked away from your face.

You almost laugh. Maybe you even almost cry. He’s so careful. As though he genuinely wants to memorize your expression with every inch of skin he reveals.

Only after a beat - when you don’t hide, don’t shift away - do his eyes begin to travel downward.

You watch him watching you. And it’s not hunger you see. It’s awe.

He seems to see you in full color and it makes your skin prickle with pleasurable heat.

His fingers trail down your sides, featherlight. Your ribs. Your hips. He touches you as though he’s learning you all over again.

Then his thumb glides up to brush the underside of your breast. You feel him exhale through his nose, shaky.

“God,” he whispers, rolling the words out with care. “You’re so beautiful.”

You don’t say anything. Just reach up, tangle your fingers in his hair. Pull him down to kiss you again, slow and long and open.

And he melts.

He moves over you, between your legs, still careful, still holding most of his weight off you. And he takes his time kissing you, your lips, until his mouth follows the path of his hands. Trailing across your collarbone, down to the softest parts of you. Every kiss is a question. Every breath against your skin is a vow.

When he reaches your stomach, he pauses again. Resting his forehead there like a man at prayer.

He takes another shaky breath and you soothe your hands over his dark locks, treading your fingers into his hair. Your thumb traces the back of his neck, bringing him back to the present.

He exhales. It sounds like surrender. “You gotta know how much I love you, baby.”

You do. You’ve known it since that day those few weeks ago. You know it by the way he moves. By the way he treats you. By the way he touches you. By the way he doesn’t rush.

“I love you too, Buck,” you whisper sweetly and his breath is broken against your skin.

He presses a kiss to your hipbone. Then lower.

His hands are back at your thighs now - sliding under, lifting gently. He kisses the inside of your knee, then the soft skin just above it, his breath trembling.

“You’ll tell me if anything doesn’t feel right,” he says, looking up but not taking his lips off your skin.

“I will,” you promise, getting breathless already.

“And if you want to stop-”

“I’ll tell you,” you assure him, softly, firmly.

He nods.

Then he leans forward and lays a kiss over your pubic bone. So worshipful. So loving.

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until his fingers ghost over the waistband of your underwear - and stop there.

“Still okay?” he breathes, so quiet, it almost doesn’t make it out of his mouth. But it carries so much. Every syllable wrapped in worry, wrapped in memory. He’s still afraid something will crack open inside you if he touches the wrong place, the wrong way.

You nod.

But that’s not enough.

“Say it,” he whispers, and there’s a tremor in his voice again. “I need to hear you say it.”

You reach for him. Take his face in your hands, thumbs brushing over the apples of his cheeks. His skin is warm, flushed. His eyes are already glassy.

“I’m okay, baby,” you whisper, your voice soft but sure. “I want you to do this.”

With a pained exhaled sound and fluttering lashes, he nods and goes to kiss your thigh again. Then the dip of your hip. Then right beside the soft curve of your center. You feel the warm puff of his breath against the fabric and it makes your hips twitch.

And then he hooks his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties and pulls them down. Slowly. Unwrapping something too precious to tear.

He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t let his gaze wander greedily. He watches your face, every second of it - watching for hesitation, for discomfort, for pain. But all you give him is anticipation.

When the fabric slips down your thighs, past your knees, and finally off the ends of your toes, he sets it aside so carefully it almost makes you laugh. As though it’s something important.

Then he settles between your legs again. And he just looks.

He drinks in the sight of you, as though he’s parched. As though you’re the first drop of water he’s seen in weeks. His tongue darts out, barely wetting his lips. His hands spread your thighs wider, gently. Tenderly. As though he’s parting pages in a sacred text.

“You’re so-” he swallows. “Jesus, you’re-”

But he doesn’t finish.

He lowers his mouth to you instead.

The first kiss between your legs is featherlight. Half a breath. But it makes your whole body arch, your breath stutter.

Bucky groans softly into you - a sound of both restraint and desperate, helpless desire.

“Sorry,” you pant, chest rising too fast. “I didn’t-”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he rasps, voice dark with awe. “God, that was- do it again.”

And you do. You can’t help it.

He licks you again - slower this time. Broader. Firmer. His lips move with practice, but not routine. There’s nothing careless about the way he touches you. Every movement is deliberate. As though he’s re-learning you. Learning how you feel like being his. Utterly and completely. Studying the way your body blooms beneath his mouth.

And he keeps checking in.

He doesn’t ask again with words. He does it with his eyes, every time he lifts his gaze to yours. He does it with his hand, the way he curls his fingers around your hip but doesn’t grip, the way he strokes his thumb along your skin in circles, grounding you. The way he takes hold of your hand with his other, encouraging you to squeeze him in your pleasure.

You moan. Soft and breathy.

And Bucky’s whole body reacts - you can see it in the way his hips shift against the mattress, the way he groans into you as though your pleasure is his own.

And he’s holding himself back, still. You can see it in the tight line of his shoulders, the way his hand shakes a little as it holds your thighs open. He’s painfully hard. You can feel the heat of it, see the outline pressing into the sheets, but he doesn’t move to relieve it.

Because this moment is for you.

This is your healing, your pleasure, your gift.

And god, does he worship you.

He takes his time.

He kisses you between licks, soft and open-mouthed, as though he can’t decide whether he wants to devour you or just memorize you. His tongue moves in slow, perfect circles. Then strokes up. Down. Gentle flicks, patient and watchful. Never too much, never too fast.

He listens. Learns.

Every time your breath catches, every time your hips twitch and your fingers tighten against his hand and the sheets, he adjusts. Builds on it. Builds you.

“Tell me what feels good,” he breathes against you.

“Everything,” you gasp, struggling to take in air.

“Yeah?” He kisses your clit once, then again, light and tender. “Right here?”

You nod, too dizzy to speak, sighing softly.

He hums into you. “So good, baby. You’re doing so good.”

Your hands reach down, weaving through his hair and he groans when you pull just slightly.

He’s hard and leaking and untouched, but he still doesn’t seem to care. You’re shaking beneath his mouth and that’s all he needs.

“Bucky,” you whimper, high and trembling. “I’m- close-”

“I’ve got you,” he utters, fingers tightening just slightly on your hips. “I’ve got you, baby. Let go for me.”

And you do. You let yourself fall.

Gasping, shaking, your thighs clenching around his head and Bucky holds you through it. He stays there, mouth softening against you, kissing you through every aftershock. You don’t see him watching you. Slowing his movements. Letting you come down in your own time.

And when he finally comes up, his lips are wet and his eyes wild with wonder.

“You okay?” he whispers.

You nod. Voice gone. Words gone. Heart full.

And all he does is smile. The softest smile in the world.

You continue trembling when he climbs up your body again.

His hands frame your ribs, then your face, then your hair - as if he can’t decide which part of you he wants to hold first. His mouth is damp from you. His pupils are blown. But even with the flush of his skin, the pulse in his throat, the strain pressing hard against his boxers - he doesn’t rush.

He doesn’t even reach for himself yet.

He’s just looking at you. As though you’re art. His. And he’s still trying to build sense around that.

You lift a hand to his face. Trace his cheekbone, his brow, and he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering.

“Your turn,” you whisper.

Uncertainty flashes through his eyes. “Only if you’re sure. We can stop here, baby.”

You smile warmly. “I’m aching for you, Barnes. Can’t leave me hanging here.”

His throat bobs. His cheeks burn deeper, as though you’ve spoken something too tender, too vulnerable.

But he nods.

And slowly, Bucky rises to his knees.

His fingers go to the hem of his shirt and you watch the fabric lift over his stomach, up his ribs, his chest, and then finally over his head.

And it never gets easier seeing him like this.

He’s stunning.

He is solid and sculptured and beautiful. His shoulders broad and corded with muscle, his waist lean, his skin golden in the soft bedroom light.

And still, he looks at you as if you are the masterpiece.

He hisses softly, when he frees himself out of his boxers, hard and heavy and flushed dark at the tip. He’s leaking, aching, but even now he doesn’t let that take over.

He braces above you, forehead pressed to yours, one hand sliding down to cup your face again.

“You’ll tell me,” he insists lowly, “if anything feels wrong.”

“I promise,” you respond quietly.

“And you’re sure you’re-”

“I feel perfect,” you interrupt gently. “Because of you.”

His breath hitches. You feel his body tense.

And still, he hesitates. He glances down your body, past your hot skin and the slick heat still dripping between your thighs. His fingers hover just below your navel.

“Let me- just one-” he murmurs, already sliding a hand between your legs. “Just want to make sure-”

But the moment his fingers glide through your folds, and he feels how wet you still are from his mouth, he lets out a deep, strangled groan.

His gaze jerks up to yours. Wide. Disbelieving.

“Oh,” you tease softly. “Surprised?”

He reddens deeply. Face and neck and chest. Even the tips of his ears turn pink. He twitches against your thigh.

“You really didn’t know what you were doing to me?” you whisper.

His eyes dart away for half a second - bashful. Then back to yours.

He leans in. Presses his lips to your temple. Your cheek. The corner of your mouth. A trail of kisses.

“I just wanted to take care of you,” he breathes thickly. “Didn’t even think about- fuck, baby.”

You giggle softly, stroking the back of his neck. He groans again, burying his face in your neck and staying there for a few heartbeats, clinging to you.

But his hand stays between your legs. He doesn’t dive in. Just lingers. “Still have to make sure, yeah, baby?” he whispers into your skin.

You nod, soft. “Okay.”

And then he moves. Slowly. Carefully. He pulls his head back and his eyes fall between your legs. Then back to watch you. Watch your mouth, your eye, your breath.

His fingers dip lower, about to touch you in a way that means everything. You see his throat work around a swallow.

He sinks one finger in, soothingly and dragging it out. His other hand braces beside your hip as though he needs the ground. He stops at the first knuckle.

Watching your face. Searching. Always looking for a sign of pain.

You sigh, your mouth parting on a soft moan. Not from discomfort.

From relief. From the feel of him.

Bucky’s gaze flares.

“Okay?” he whispers.

You nod. “Yeah,” you breathe out.

He pushes in a little deeper. Then again. Until the full length of his finger is buried inside you.

You whimper. Arch, just slightly. His name slips out.

And Bucky stills. Blinks. As though the sound alone managed to take his breath away.

“Oh, fuck,” he exhales in a sigh. His gaze is so focused on you. He is all you can think about.

You bite your lip, watching him with stars in your eyes.

His fingers curl a little inside you and your breath catches again, back arching. And that has him groaning under his breath, leaning forward as though he just needs to be closer, deeper.

He kisses your cheek. Your jaw. The corner of your mouth.

And with his eyes on yours, he gently and ever so cautiously slips in another finger beside the first. This time even slower.

Your body shifts to accommodate him and he feels it. Feels the way you welcome him, wrap around him. How warm you are. How soft.

His breathing stutters.

You moan again.

And still, he stops. Right at the knuckle. Eyes locked on yours.

“You okay?” he rasps, halfway there to lose his voice.

“Yes,” you manage to get out, voice almost pleading. “More, Bucky, please-”

And he gives you more. Goes deeper. Until both fingers are sheathed inside you and he’s filling you just enough to make your toes curl, just enough for his name to fall off your tongue again in a way that almost leaves Bucky gasping.

He watches you. He doesn’t blink.

He curls his fingers gently, once, and when your hips lift off the mattress just a little, when your mouth falls open and your eyes flutter shut in pleasure, he groans again. Buries his face in your shoulder. Just like before.

“Jesus Christ,” he exclaims roughly.

You stroke the back of his neck.

His hands still inside you, as though he needs a second to breathe.

And after a few shaky breaths, he starts moving again. Fingers stroking that spot deep inside you, slow and perfect and gentle. His lips brush your shoulder. Your collarbone. He kisses your heart, trying to memorize how it beats.

And even though you feel his swollen member against your thigh, red and ready, he doesn’t move to use it.

Because you’re not ready until he is sure you are.

Not just wet. Not just eager. Ready.

So he watches you. Watches every moan. Every gasp. Every quiver of your thighs, every arch of your spine.

Until you fall apart on his fingers.

And it’s the way you come undone under the gentlest version of his touch, that truly seems to make him need you.

He slides his fingers out slowly after he guides you through your high, like an apology, like a thank you.

And meets your eyes. They are full. His voice is low when he speaks. Hoarse.

“Okay,” he starts. “Okay. I’m gonna start slow.”

You nod, biting your lip.

And he reaches down to line himself up.

There is a pause. A beat of stillness.

You feel the head of him pressing just barely against you. His breath catches. Your breath catches.

His eyes snap to yours. “Tell me if-”

“I will,” you promise, eagerness in your tone. “Just get in, honey.”

He pushes in. The stretch is slow. So, so slow.

You feel every inch of him, and he feels it, too. His mouth falls open, eyes wide, as though the sensation shocks him. As though it’s different now to be inside you, to be with you like this, now that you wholly belong to each other.

He groans - soft, drawn-out. The sound is being dragged from deep in his chest.

You clench instinctively, and he curses under his breath, forehead dropping to yours, eyes staying on you.

“Shit, baby- fuck-”

You hold onto his shoulders. His waist. Anything you can reach. You’re both shaking.

But he doesn’t push in all the way. Not yet. He pauses halfway in, breathing ragged, eyes continuing to search your face.

You talk before he can ask. “You can keep going.”

“Promise me.”

You kiss him. Sweet and slow and sure.

“I promise.”

And so he moves - just a little more - and the moan that rips out of him is wounded, as though pleasure hurts. As though being this close to you is almost too much.

But he doesn’t let himself close his eyes. Doesn’t let them move away from your face.

And when he’s finally seated fully inside you, his hips flush against yours, you both just breathe.

Still. Connected.

He doesn’t move at first. Just holds himself there - deep inside you. Anchoring himself to the moment, to your body, to the fact that you’re okay. That you want this. That you’re here.

And he’s trying not to cry.

You can see it in the way his lashes flutter, in the glassy sheen on his cheeks that catches the light.

His forehead leans against yours, breath hot over your mouth.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers. One word. As though it contains a hundred.

“It’s okay,” you whisper back. “You’re okay.”

His eyes stay open. You don’t think he’s blinked since he pushed in.

They are pinned to yours like if he looks away for even a second something might go wrong. He’s watching your eyes for any sign of pain. And you know he won’t close his own until he knows you’re safe.

“I can feel how hard you’re holding back,” you start quietly, gently, fingers brushing the sweat-damp strands from his forehead. “You can move, Buck.”

He doesn’t. His throat bobs. Jaw flexing.

“God,” he breathes. “You feel so good- too good- but I don’t want to- fuck, baby, I don’t want to hurt you again-”

“You won’t. You say it firmly, but still with a sweet voice. Your thumb strokes the dimple in his chin. “You didn’t before. It wasn’t your fault. And it’s not going to happen again.”

He breathes in as though your words might soothe something broken in him. But still, he doesn’t move. Not until you speak again.

“I need you, Bucky.”

And something in him crumbles. Slowly, painstakingly, he pulls his hips back just an inch, then slides forward again, keeping his eyes on yours the whole time. He’s watching, reading, studying every twitch of your mouth, your brows, every flutter of your lashes, every breath you take.

“Is that-” he breathes, “-was that okay?”

You nod, voice thick. “Yes. Yes, Buck, it’s perfect.”

And he moves again.

Tiny, tender thrusts. Gentle. Devoted.

It’s not even about pleasure, it’s about closeness. About the feeling of him. The heat of his skin. The tremble in his arms as he holds himself up above you. The way he groans, low and broken, every time he slides a little deeper.

His eyes won’t leave you.

Not even when his lashes are heavy with heat and he has to force them to stay open. Not even when his mouth opens and he exhales a shaky, stuttering breath that tells you he’s feeling everything. But he fights to keep them open. To see you.

You run your fingers through his hair, trying to get him to let go. “I feel good, baby. I’m okay.”

But he just shakes his head. Leans down and kisses you. Slow. Melting. Deep.

“I want to watch you feel good,” he says huskily. “Need it. Need to make sure.”

And then he thrusts a little deeper.

It’s so painfully careful but still enough to steal your breath. You gasp, clutching his shoulders, hips rising to meet his.

His eyes roll back. His whole body shudders. “Fuck,” he groans. “Don’t do that. God, sweetheart, you’re ruining me.”

You smile through the moan that slips past your lips. “That’s kind of the point.”

He laughs, a real and broken little laugh, but it cracks at the edges. He is overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by you.

He rocks into you again. A little deeper. A little more sure. Still slow, still soft - but he’s feeling it now, letting his hips follow the rhythm you’re building together.

You cling to him.

He is panting. Tiny tremors running through his arms. His left hand slides beneath your back, holding your closer, lifting your chest to his so your hearts are touching - so he can feel every beat of you against him.

His voice is low and trembling. “Tell me again,” he pleads, strained. “Please, tell me it’s okay-”

“It’s better than okay,” you gasp, nails dragging down his back. “I’m perfect. You’re perfect. Don’t stop.”

He kisses you. Desperate now. His rhythm falters for a second, too lost in the way your mouth tastes.

Then he pulls back, just far enough to look at you. His gaze is devastated. Open. Admiring.

“I love you,” he sighs.

And your heart bursts.

You take his face in your hands, voice breaking with feeling.

“I love you too.”

And it happens slowly. Then all at once.

He watches you fall apart as though he’s never seen anything more beautiful. As though your pleasure is a sunrise he never thought he’d survive long enough to see. As though every sigh, every gasp, every whisper of his name is another stitch holding his broken heart together.

You feel him shaking. Hear him whisper things he doesn’t seem to know he’s saying. “Shit, baby, look at you- so perfect- so good- fuck, baby-”

One of his hands grips beneath your thigh, thumb stroking soothing circles into your skin. The other tangles in your hair, holding your forehead to his as though he needs the connection to stay whole.

He’s watching your face as if it’s a map. Tracing every change in expression, every whimper and moan, every flicker of ecstasy that breaks across your features.

And you can feel it building. Low and hot, coiling tight in your belly. Your body trembling, hips lifting to meet his in soft, desperate little movements. Your breaths coming fast, faster. His name spilling from your mouth, making him shudder.

“Buck- Bucky- I’m- don’t stop.”

He falters. Just once. Just enough for him to whisper. “You’re close.”

You nod, gasping.

And that’s all it takes for him to shift slightly. Just enough to hit the angle he knows drives you insane. He leans in, nose brushing your cheek, lips at your ear. “Let go for me, my sweetheart. Please. I’ve got you. Always got you.”

And your whole body locks around him, your voice breaking into something wild and soft, pleasure cursing through your veins, hot and blinding and complete.

You come with his name on your tongue.

His eyes snap shut.

That’s all it takes.

He gasps, chokes on a breath, and then he’s gone - spilling into you with a groan that sounds like heartbreak and heaven all at once. His whole body arches, hands gripping you tight, holding on for dear life, burying himself in you. As though he wants to pour every ounce of his love into you and never come back.

His mouth meets your shoulder, kissing your skin as though he has all the time in the world.

“Jesus,” he breathes. “I’ve never- fuck- never felt anything like that.”

Neither have you.

Because this wasn’t just fucking. This wasn’t the kind of sex you’ve been having for so long.

This was something else.

This was love, laid bare. No games. No fear. No walls. Just skin and breath and heartbeats and truth.

He stays inside you. Doesn’t dare move. Not yet.

His face is tucked into your neck, breath hot and trembling.

You card your fingers through his hair, kissing the shell of his ear, the slope of his shoulder. “You okay?”

He nods. A slow, solemn little nod. Then pulls back just enough to look at you.

And the look in his eyes is too much.

As though he’s never going to recover from this. He doesn’t want to.

He brushes his fingers down your cheek and kisses you leisurely.

“I love you,” he says again, still searching for air. “More than anything.”

You whisper it back. Because you do.

Bucky keeps hovering above you even though he already brought you home. The way he presses his lips to your temple and cradles your jaw in his palm as though you’re the last delicate thing in the world.

You breathe him in. He breathes you in. His forehead rests against yours, sticky with sweat, the kind of closeness that makes time irrelevant.

“You okay?” he whispers quietly. His voice cracks right down the middle.

You nod, throat too tight for words, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t take the nod as final. His eyes scan your face as though he is trying to read between the lines of skin and breath and silence.

“I’m serious, doll,” he murmurs, a little firmer now. “You tell me if something feels off. Anything. If you’re sore, or-” he pauses, swallows a cough, “or if it hurt. Even just a little.”

Your hand finds the curve of his jaw, thumb brushing over the edge of his cheekbone, damp with sweat and tenderness. “I’m okay,” you reassure him sweetly. “I promise, baby. I feel good.”

His brows twitch. He wants to believe you.

“I mean it,” you add, lips brushing against his. “I feel more than good. I feel amazing.”

That finally does something to him. His shoulders drop. His hands tremble a little less. But even still, his gaze keeps drifting downward - to where your bodies meet, joined in the slowest, softest way you ever have. Searching for signs of pain that your mouth hasn’t admitted yet.

And then, quietly, with a softness you’re still surprised at - he slides out of you and down the bed. Down your body.

You blink. “Buck?”

“I just wanna check,” he says, already reaching for a soft towel. “Not tryna be weird, just-” his throat bobs. “Just need to know you didn’t start bleeding again.”

You open your mouth, not able to say anything.

Taking hold of your hand, he kisses the back of it before continuing. Every movement is careful, tender, hands working as though he’s handling silk. He wipes you down with warm water, his brow furrowed with a worry so profound it makes your chest ache. He doesn’t rush, not once. His eyes move up to yours every few seconds, silently asking for consent all over again.

“Still okay?” he inquires quietly as he folds the towel, already looking like he wants to run a warm bath and wrap you in a blanket of cloud and honey and safety.

“Still okay,” you nod, voice thick with emotion.

“Good.” He exhales for the first time in what feels like minutes. “Good. You tell me the second that changes. I mean it. I’ll pull the moon out of the damn sky if it hurts you again.”

You smile watery. He kisses your thigh.

And then he lifts you, scoops you into his arms with a care that feels so incredibly intimate. Carrying you to the bathroom, he is holding you so close that your heart forgets what it’s like to feel anything but safe.

With a kiss to your shoulder and your forehead, he sets you down on the edge of the tub.

He draws the bath. He adds your favorite bubbles. Lavender and eucalyptus steam curling through the air, filled with comfort.

He tests the temperature and while it fills, he kneels between your legs, rests his cheek on your thigh, and places more kisses into the bend of your knee, your hip, your ribs.

“D’you feel it?” he asks then, quietly. Almost nervous. Voice low and hoarse.

You run your fingers through his hair. He melts under your touch.

You think you know what he’s talking about.

Because all those times you slept with each other before, it was fast, frantic, bodies tangled and pressed into stolen hours, trying to pretend it didn’t matter.

It never felt like being held in a way that spoke louder than words. Never felt like being chosen in the silence after the fact. Never felt like someone saying I love you without needing to say it.

But tonight, it did.

“Yeah,” you answer, just as silent. “It never felt like that before.”

He lifts his head. Eyes soft. “That a good thing?”

“A very good thing,” you answer, almost teasingly, grinning.

And Bucky’s smile comes wide and real. His hands move up and down your shins. He leans in. Kisses your knee. Eyes on yours.

And when he guides you into the water, hands warm at your waist, his eyes track you constantly, scanning your face, your body. Watching. Worry never leaving, but love, too - love stretched wide across every inch of his face.

He joins you once you’re settled, pulling you into his lap, your back to his chest, water lapping around your waists. His arms wind around you, tightening comfortably, his heartbeat thudding against your back.

He kisses your shoulder. Rests his head in the crook of your neck.

The bath water cradles you as though it knows how hard your body worked tonight, how loved it was, how careful the man at your side has been, every moment before and after.

Your knees are tucked to your chest, curled in his lap, spine pressed to his sternum. His arms are heavy around your waist, long fingers spread wide and warm beneath the surface of the water. One palm pressed flat over your stomach, the other stroking a gentle line up and down your thigh, so painstaking, as though he never wants to stop touching you. He holds you as though you are his heart made tangible.

You breathe together. Quiet. Slow.

The ache between your legs is not painful. It’s soft. A memory of something beautiful.

You feel Bucky’s heartbeat thump against your spine. He kisses your neck. Again and again.

Then - so quiet, so gentle, almost afraid - he asks again. “Are you still okay?”

And it shouldn’t be much. It’s just a check-in. One of a hundred he’s made tonight. The softness in his voice, the worry gathered beneath his breath - it should feel comforting.

But instead, your chest caves in.

Your throat locks up.

You blink once, twice, and suddenly you can’t see. Everything blurs.

Because he means it. He really, truly means it.

Because he loves you. So goddamn much. And he’s holding you as if you matter more than air and he touches you as if you are a living poem and you can still feel him inside you, loving you - and your heart can’t hold all of it. It’s too much. It spills over.

Because he’s been so careful. His hands were so tender and his mouth so full of praise and his eyes tracked you the way the earth tracks the sun. Because even now, when it’s over, when the candle he lit up before getting into the tub flickers low, and the air smells of eucalyptus and his thighs are soaked through with warm water, he still won’t stop caring.

And it hits you. All of it. Everything. The past weeks. The pain. The panic when you tried to scrub away the evidence alone in the very same bathroom you’re in right now and bolt out of his apartment. The way he broke through the door just to get to you, how he wiped you off with hands that trembled but never once let you go.

The guilt he carried. The way he flinched for days when you touched him back. The softness he offered even when he had none for himself.

And now this.

This perfect, intimate thing you just shared. This feeling of being held in a way no one ever held you before. It’s all too much. The bath, his arms, the way he holds your ribcage as though he’s matching your breath. The most amazing sex you’ve ever had. The way he whispered into your shoulder as he moved inside you with so much care.

You want to answer him. Want to tell him you’re okay. But nothing comes out.

You can only inhale sharply, the sound catching in your throat.

And Bucky stills. Goes completely stiff.

You don’t speak. You can’t. Your overflowing heart won’t let you.

Bucky shifts behind you. “Baby?” His voice is quiet. But not calm. Never calm, when it comes to your silence.

And you stay silent. Turning your head away.

His arms tighten and you feel him trying to look around at your face. “Hey, hey. Honey. What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Are you- did I- did something hurt again? Are you hurting? Something feel wrong?”

You shake your head, but his voice is shaking harder.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” he croaks in a whisper, his fingers coming to cup your jaw, about to tilt your head, but you don’t want him to see the tears forming, don’t want him to panic. He is frantic, not sure what he’s afraid of more - your pain or your silence. “C’mon, baby, please talk to me. I- did I do something? Did I hurt you and you didn’t wanna say? Are you bleedin’?”

You can feel him check the water for any signs of red and you hate yourself for not getting your voice out of your throat. But the only thing coming up is a choked breath.

“Talk to me.” He talks fast, swallowing words, swallowing breaths. “Please, baby. You have to tell me. You’re scaring me.”

He can’t see you like this. Not with your face turned away, not with your chest shaking in silence. So he moves, carefully but with uncoordinated and frantic hands, guiding you to turn in his arms until you’re straddling him in the water, your body trembling with the force of emotion you hadn’t braced yourself for.

You try to speak, but all that comes out is a wet hiccup of a breath and a soft, unsteady sob - not from pain, not from fear, just from everything. Your chest stings with it. Tears fall. Two, three, falling down your cheeks.

And Bucky panics. “No, baby, no, please don’t cry. Fuck, I don’t-”

He’s sitting up straighter now, water sloshing around you both, almost lapping over the tub. His face crumbles. His hands scramble, checking your sides, your arms, trying to study every inch of you, to figure out what’s wrong here, where it hurts, what he missed.

“Shit, shit, I knew it! Baby I knew we should’ve waited. I shouldn’t have- fuck- I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry- please talk to me-”

“No,” you finally manage, voice cracking, catching his hands and trying to squeeze the quiver out of them. “No, no, Bucky- I’m okay, I’m okay.”

But his eyes are wide, a glossy sheen already there and you would like to kick yourself. The guilt is already spinning in those pretty blue depths, the fear and dread all bubbling and building and ready to crescendo into another panic attack.

You press your forehead to his. You breathe in, slow. You breathe out. Your hands move to cup his cheeks. “It’s not that,” you breathe, and your voice is wet and cracked and soaked in love. “It’s not- Baby, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

His breath is uneven, hectic. He doesn’t blink.

You kiss his lips. A soft, barely-there brush. “I’m just overwhelmed.”

His brow furrows. His hands pull you closer to his chest, but his eyes stay locked on yours.

“I’m okay,” you whisper. “I’m not in pain. I promise. It’s just-” You break off with another hiccup of a laugh-sob. “You’re being so wonderful. And it’s been so much. In the best way.”

Bucky stills. Eyes blinking fast, jaw tight with the restraint of a man trying not to fall apart.

You pull back to look at him clearly. “I just-” you try to laugh, but it’s mostly just a breath shivering on the edge of something enormous. “I love you. So much. And it just- hit me. How much. I’ve never felt like this before. And it was just a lot, all at once.”

Bucky stares at you as though you split the earth open beneath him.

And then his hands are everywhere. On your cheeks. On your back. In your hair. Holding your face, trying to keep you in this moment with him. As though this is the most important moment in his life.

“God.” He chokes on a breath, and his lips land on your forehead, your nose, your eyelids, kissing your tears away. “You- you’re crying because you love me?”

You nod against him, laugh through your tears.

He exhales and his whole body sags with it.

“Shit,” he breathes, voice wavering. “You’re gonna kill me, baby.”

He presses you even tighter into his chest, cradling the back of your head. “Fuck, you scared me. I thought I hurt you again. I thought- thought I messed it all up again.”

“You didn’t,” you whisper, shaking your head. “You didn’t. Not even close.”

He is breathing harder than before, but the panic is softening now, bleeding out into the warmth of your body against his.

“I just love you so much,” you repeat, voice just a small breath. “And I didn’t expect it to feel like this. This… intense.”

He nods against you. Kisses your temple. Then your cheek. Then your wet lashes. “Yeah,” he exhales and there is a sheen to his voice, as though it passed through his own unspilled tears on the way out. “I know what you mean.”

You bury yourself against him, cheek to his chest, and his arms curl tight around your back. He rocks you just slightly, water lapping quietly against the porcelain, even now wanting to soothe you, hold you through it, make sense of all the things your tears said before your voice could.

His touch never stops. Always checking. Always there. One hand rubbing soft circles into your hip. The other brushing your damp hair back behind your ear.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” you apologize eventually, brushing your nose against his cheek.

His laugh is soft and shattered, something frail, but there’s relief in it. Adoration. “Don’t apologize, sweetheart. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

You tilt your face up. Find his lips. It’s not a kiss that needs anything. It’s not even a kiss that asks. It’s just gentle. Soothing. Comforting. Sweet. Home.

“I’m more than okay,” you whisper softly.

And his eyes are shining.

He presses a kiss into your hair, then another. Then three more in a row because he can’t help himself. And he tells you he loves you, because he can’t help himself.

And he doesn’t let go. Not for a long time.

He won’t let you move. Not until the water cools. Not until the stars settle outside the bathroom window.

He won’t let you reach for a cloth or dry yourself off or even think about standing without him.

He refuses to let you go through one more thing alone.

“To love at all is to be vulnerable.”

- C. S. Lewis

3K notes · View notes

persefolli · 7 months ago

Text

𝐓𝐨 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭, 𝐓𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨��𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐮𝐭𝐬 𝐚 𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖, 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐡, 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐂𝐨𝐝𝐞, 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐀𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐌𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐬, 𝐀𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐓𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐜-𝐃𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐬, 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐧

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞

Annoyance filled your body as Stu sat on the couch laughing dramatically and talking loudly to his friends. You didn’t like going to the parties Stu hosted because he paid no attention to you. He only cared about his stupid friends and impressing him, leaving you to baby a drunk Stu at the end of the night.

“Baby, go grab us a coupla beers okay?”

“Stu this is the third time-”

“Please?” He poked out his bottom lip. “This is the last time. I'll give you 20 bucks.”

You squint your eyes. “50.”

“Okay fuck. 50.”

You got up from the couch and squeezed past a few people to get to the garage. The room was humid and eerie, so you quickly clicked on the light and walked down the wooden stairs to get to the fridge. Bending over, you looked for the brand of beers Stu liked.

Behind you, the lights were cut off.

“Fuck.” You cursed but still didn't make any urgent moves. You picked up four beers and closed the door. You jumped seeing a person in a ghostface mask and cloak on by the garage entrance.

“Stu. Is that you?”

The person shook their head. “Okay well…maybe you shouldn't wear that around Sidney.”

The person slowly walked down the stairs, backing you away from the garage stairs. “This isn't fucking funny. Back the fuck up.”

The figure drew a knife and you gasped as he slashed it at you. You dropped the beer bottles and around the garage, throwing storage bins down to block their path to you. Quickly, you tried to dash to the garage door but got tackled down by the person. You screamed but your mouth was quickly covered by the perpetrator. Reaching up, you gripped the mask and slid it off, exposing your boyfriend's best friend.

“Billy?!” You gasped in fear.

Billy groaned and kept a tight grip on your wrists to stop you from moving any more.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“What does it look like?”

Realization dawned on your face, he was more than serious about trying to kill you. “You killed all those people….”

“Not just me.” He stated.

You shook your head in confusion.

“Stu. Y/n. You’re sleeping with my partner in crime.”

You felt a surge of anger and kicked Billy in the groin, causing him to groan and write on the floor in pain. “Are you fucking sick?!”

“You knew I was sick baby.” He chuckled whilst on the ground.

“How would your best friend feel if he found out you tried to kill his girlfriend?!”

“Who do you think sent me?”

Your heart dropped. Stu sent Billy to kill you? Why?

“He knows?”

“Nah.” Billy leans his head against the ground. “He’s just a little…ya know.”

You crossed your arms and shook your head, looking down at Billy. “And you were actually gonna do it.” Your voice cracked and Billy looked at you with a somber expression.

“I was....I'm supposed to. I haven't decided on it yet.”

“You-”

“Hey!” He interrupted. “I decided not to…just to give you a good scare. But now that you know….killing you would benefit me more.” He shrugged. “If I kill you now…Stu won’t be mad. You can’t tell Sidney about us, and no one would know I'm the killer……but I do enjoy your company…a lot more than I should.” He stood up and dusted himself off. “You know I slowed down on the killings after we started fucking you know.” He approached you slowly. “So I guess that means you do benefit me in some way.”

You placed your hands on your head and groaned. This was deeper than a sadistic prick going around town killing teenagers, these were your friends, your lovers doing this for the fun of it.

“If I let you go. You need to disappear for a bit.”

“What?”

“Listen.” He grabbed your arm tightly. “I can’t let you back in there…Stu needs to think you’re dead and gone. And you can’t go home either because Tatum or Sid might visit.”

“So where the fuck do I go you dipshit?!”

Billy looked to the doggie door that was on the garage door. “You hide out in my backseat and I drive you to my place, yeah?”

“I’m not sitting in your backseat for hours!” You bickered back at him.

“It’s either that or the knife!” He said harshly.

You weighed your options and sighed deeply. You went over to the dog door and looked back at him, angrily before getting on your hands and knees and start to crawl through.

Billy walked over to the door and clicked the garage button, making the mechanisms hum. You screamed loudly and pulled yourself back, looking at Billy and whimpering. He was laughing and clicked the button again, causing the garage door to go back down, leaving the two of you in the empty garage with the echoes of his laughter. “It's not funny!” You snapped, feeling yourself tear up.

“Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.”

You crawled out the door and avoided detection from any of the partygoers. You found Billy’s car and tugged on the back door, opening it and getting in the backseat as he told you.

There was no way to trust he wasn’t leading you to your death, but here you were.

Hours passed and you sat in the backseat, wondering why you didn’t just call for help, why you didn’t just snitch on Billy and Stu and end this town’s horror. As every hour passed the less you wanted to be entrapped in the car. The urge to get out and scream for help increased.

One more hour passed before Billy finally got in the front seat, dumping the ghost mask and suit in the back seat near you and starting the car. He said nothing as he pulled away from Stu’s home, and it made you nervous. You watched him through the rearview mirror, studying his frustrated face. He locked eyes with you in the mirror, and began talking. “He didn’t even care, you know. He got off on the fact you’ll be found in a ditch soon.”

You looked out the window, watching the trees and fields pass by. “Why did he wanna kill me?” You asked again.

“Tatum is his type so he needed a way to get with her without fucking up the friendship dynamic.”

“So his solution was to kill me!”

“I just made all that up.” Billy scoffed. “So fucking gullible. That’s probably why, you're such a dumbass. How the fuck would I know why he wants you dead. He just does.”

You leaned against the back seat, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You weren’t the nicest to Stu at times, and you certainly weren;t the perfect girlfriend…cheating on him…stuff like that, but you didn’t think it would end up in a murder plot against you.

“Stop that.” Billy scolded. “You’re no saint and neither am I….but you don’t deserve this…for once.”

You wiped your eyes and nodded. “How was the rest of the party? Did anyone notice me gone.”

“The girls yeah.” He turned onto a highway. “But I fucked Sid’s brains out so i’m sure that’ll have her distracted for a while.”

You smiled softly, “Finally.”

The two of you made it to Billy’s home, which was lightless and dark, due to the fact his parents weren’t there. He led you to the garage, where he spent most of his time, or so he said. None of you had actually been to his place, so seeing his abode felt very intimate. He let you into the garage and you saw a decorated room with a bed, posters, and sketches everywhere. You walked over to the drawers and the vinyl stacks he had. Billy huffed and sat on the mattress.

“This is not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?” He asked.

“I don’t know…you don’t take me as an artist. Not a person who draws anyways.”

He grunts and stares at the ceiling. You took off your jacket and shoes, getting into the bed next to him. You laid on his chest and watched as he pondered. “Why do you sleep in the garage and not that beautiful house out there?”

“That's not home.” He says. “A home…has a family in it. And it’s warm, and…rustic. Nothing in there has been used, it's cold, and no one is ever there. Barely.”

“You could make it a home.”

“Don’t need all that space. And I need privacy.”

You looked around, this did seem like a ‘Billy hideout’ by definition.

“Not even a crinkle in the sheets. We have a housekeeper that comes and cleans nothing.”

Things had been really rough for Billy after his mother left, and you knew almost nothing about it. Pillowtalk didn’t really exist with Billy, it did, but it wasn't the share-your-deepest-darkest-secrets-and-profess-your-love kind of pillow talk.

“Billy-”

“I killed Sidney’s mom a year ago.”

You sat up quickly and looked at him in horror. “What?!”

Sidney was almost inconsolable after the death of her mother, and Billy, along with you and the rest of the friend group comforted her, making sure she would never have to go through anything alone again. You slept over at Sidneys for four months after the death of her mother.

“Her mom was a whore.”

“Billy thats not-”

“If she hadn’t fucked my dad….”

You placed your hand over Billy’s lips, which caused him to furrow his eyebrows. “You’re getting yourself riled up.”

Billy took a deep breath and slapped your hand from his mouth. “If she hadn’t fucked my dad we wouldn’t be in this predicament would we?”

“Why didn’t you take revenge on…I don't know, your dad?!”

Billy’s eyes relaxed and he smirked. “Why would I do that?”

You groaned and shook your head. “I think you’re the mad one.”

“I’m sorry? Did I not just save your life from your crazy boyfriend.”

“And I ended up with an even crazier son of a bitch.”

Billy was quick to grab your throat and pin you under him, causing you to gasp and grab his wrist in fear. You looked at him in horror as he tightened his grip. He was going to strangle you.

“Billy no!” You choked out. Billy squeezed tighter and tighter until he leaned down and pressed a harsh kiss to your lips. He released his grip and you coughed under him, crying softly as the heat of the moment ended. “You’re so easy to scare.” He used his thumb to wipe your tears.

You hic’ed and tried to push him away from you. “It’s not funny.”

“Hey, hey, hey, I'm sorry.” He placed another kiss on your cheek.

Billy got up from the bed and went over to his vinyl stacks, he dug through them for a bit before putting on some relaxing music. You didn’t know the band or genre, but you were too frozen in shock to care. You heard his belt unbuckle and shifting before he got back into bed with you.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” He caressed your cheek. “You just need to learn when to shut the fuck up okay?”

You nodded, and he placed another kiss on your lips. You didn’t reciprocate. He kept kissing your lips, then your neck, then your cheek, then your collar bone.

“I won’t stop til you forgive me.”

You felt his hands go under your arms, causing a giggle to emit from your throat.

“See? You can't even stay mad.”

“I am mad!” You giggled as he continued to tickle you. “Stop! You’re cheating.”

He continued tickling you until you sat up and shoved him. The two of you panted as the fight was over, and you scanned him, noting how he was only in his boxers now. He tilted his head and you groaned.

“Billy no.”

“Cmon, it's been a long night.”

“Billy you just fucked Sidney.”

“You think I came from that?” He scoffed.

You shook your head, “You are hell on earth.” You moved to take off your shirt, and Billy wasted no time grabbing you by your waist and pulling you onto his lap. He leaned against his headboard and peppered kisses on your chest as he unclasped your bra. Throwing your bra onto the garage floor he redirected himself to your tits, kissing and sucking on your nipples, causing you to writhe and moan.

Your noises made a beeline right to his dick, causing him to pull you down onto his hardening member. You held his head and groaned as he sucked on your breasts, taking his time to stimulate you.

His hands trailed down your waist and began tugging at your shorts. You used your right hand to unbutton your jean shorts and shifted away from him to slide them off. He grunted from the loss of contact. He was right on your wavelength, sliding off your panties right after the shorts and throwing them aside. Billy pulled you right back into his lap, moaning as he latched onto your lips.

“You're so needy tonight.” You said between breaths.

“I just need to come.” He pulled you back to kiss him. You began rocking your hips, creating friction between the both of you. He pulled away and looked down, watching how you wettened a spot on his boxers. He hummed and guided your hips, mumbling and panting as pleasure filled his body.

“Get up.” He said.

You rolled to your side and he quickly yanked down his boxers, springing excitedly in front of you.

He moved to climb on top of you but you clicked your tongue.

“Condom. You just fucked Sid.”

“With the only condom I had.” He mumbled in your neck and began rubbing his tip between your folds. You groaned softly and mentally chastised him. “I promise.” He kissed your neck.

“I need you.” He tested the limits by sticking the tip in and pulling out, causing you to moan in need.

“Okay fuck it.”

Billy entered you with a swift motion and you both let out a synchronous groan. He held a tight grip on your hips as he fucked you. You squealed and drug your nails along his back, stopping right above his buttocks and digging into the skin. Billy hissed and nipped at your bottom lip, moving more vigorously above you. You throbbed around him and he faltered, shivering above you.

“Don't fucking do that. Don't. Don't.” He pleaded into your neck as his strokes got more sloppy.

“Don't do what?” You whimpered as you did it again, causing him to hiss and strain as he held back.

“I'm gonna fucking come inside of you.” He kissed behind your ear. “You fucking asked for it. You wanted this.”

“No!” You moaned in delight. You could protest all you wanted, but you felt too good to get him off of you. The two of you panted louder, moaned louder, fucked harder until the two of you came undone in each others embrace. You curled your toes and panted breathless and he filled you up.

Billy rolled on his side and stared at the ceiling as he caught his breath. He sighed and patted your stomach twice before getting up.

As predicted, Tatum and Sidney began putting up missing posters for you, and Stu had to go around school acting like the heartbroken, devastated boyfriend.

Afterschool, Tatum was the one to comfort Stu, rubbing his back as Sidney and Randy came up with ideas as to where you went. Billy was pretty indifferent to it all, knowing you were probably laid out on his bed listening to music. Stu listened to Randy and Sidney, but his mind wandered, looking over at Billy, and then the floor, where he saw a familiar pair of panties hanging from the pocket of Billy’s backpack.

#halloween #halloweenfic #scream #scream 1996 #billy loomis smut #billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #stu macher #ghostface smut #ghostface x reader

2K notes · View notes

s-4pphics · 6 months ago

Text

the call. I (sevika + vi)

SYNOPSIS: reddit: a place for thought-dumping and being horny [college au] WORD COUNT: 9.5K WARNINGS: this was supposed to be dark but its very crack-ish, sevika and vi play rugby(kinda minor plot tbh), oc is a crazy redditor and wears skirts, STALKING, 90% SMUT MDNI(fingering + phone sex + munching + mult orgasms + dirty talk, tensionnnn) brief mentions of grief and loss bc me, recreational drug use, JUST TOXIC, abby makes an appearance later A/N: WROTE THIS WITH MY BABY!!! @trackinglessons art by lottie my love my light my everything this is a product of #OVULATIONWEEK and the #ARCANETAKEOVER

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller 3y

no one likes me.

i [f18] don’t have any friends. at all. i don’t have anyone that’s not family that likes me and sometimes im convinced my family regrets keeping me adound. i just moved cities for uni and haven’t been able to have a valuable conversation with anyone and im starting to think i’m the reason why. to be honest i’ve always been the “weird” one or whatever ppl at school called me. but i don’t think im weird at all. I think i’m nice but ppl treat me like a germ lol they just stare and whisper to each other but i know they’re talking about me

does anyone have any advice on being more approachable? or whatever i’m not even sure what to call it tbh.

kewlio313 • 3y

Everybody’s weird in college! You’re young and finding yourself. Join some organizations and put yourself out there! It’ll work out kid

artkiller OP • 3y

i wish there was a chess club lol

Margie • 3y

how do you go about approaching people?

artkiller OP • 3y

i just walk up and start talking about myself

Margie • 3y

Okay… and what’s their reaction?

artkiller OP • 3y

it’s different every time. sometimes they just leave, sometimes they laugh then leave, other times they’re outwardly mean. one guy told me to ‘shut the hell up bitch’ and i immediately wanted to commit a federal crime(not murder)

Margie • 3y

Goddamn lol. Maybe u r weird

miKrophone • 3y

shut up hoe

artkiller OP • 2y

?? :/

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller 2y

Advice Needed

how do you know if you’re mentally ill?

hello fellow redditors. lol. i’m finally back… very odd first term i think i got ghosted or whatever it’s called by some dude on the hockey team but yeah i plotted homicide. i’m pretty sure that situation sent me into a spiral. i think im sick.

i’m not sure what’s going on with me but my thoughts have been really dark recently. not necessarily suicidal or harm inflicting(on myself) but… yeah… prettyyyy dark. idk. it’s weird what my brain conjures up sometimes. i guess im curious why my brain thinks the way it does. i’m not a bad person and i know that, but my brain makes me believe that i am. idk what to do at this point. i’ve never been to a professional and tbh i don’t think i should because i don’t wanna be admitted somewhere lol

kewlio313 • 2y

Welcome back kid. It’s often better to seek help even though it can be fucking horrifying, especially in adulthood. Get help and you’ll be fine

artkiller OP • 2y

and if i’m not fine? what do i do then?

kewlio313 • 2y

To be frank, I'm not sure. I’ve been through alot and even I don’t have clear direction on life. I’ve been allowing my intuition to guide me for some time. Just try it and see what happens. Rooting for you

artkiller OP • 2y

thank you

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller 2y

Advice Needed

am i a lesbian?

i [f19] think im attracted to females. i can’t stop staring at their tits. i always assumed my middle school peeping was from jealousy or whatever the hell twitter said but now that i’m grown i think i wanna fuck girls. or like. girl adjacents??? idk the terminology or whatever.

PetersJoker • 2y

go eat some pussy and find out

artkiller OP • 2y

no fuckhead

kewlio313 • 2y

… Girl adjacents? Females? Are you actually 40?

artkiller OP • 2y

is this a dig

kewlio313 • 2y

You crack me up. Have you experimented before?

artkiller OP • 2y

i never passed a science class

kewlio313 • 2y

… Alright.

I meant hooking up. Have u kissed a girl before? Slept with one? Or whatever you youngins say these days?

artkiller OP • 2y

no. i’m not a slut lol i hardly go outside

kewlio313 • 2y

Finding out what you like isn’t being a slut. You’re in college for fucks sake. Find you someone to lay with, ya loser.

artkiller OP • 2y

or i should just shoot myself. less complicated then sex

kewlio313 • 2y

Maybe so, but they’re equally as messy.

ButchesForChrist • 2y

Questioning is usually the first sign. Lol

artkiller OP • 2y

fuck me

ButchesForChrist • 2y

Well

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller 2y

what does sex feel like? (wlw)

[f19] just watched scissor porn for the first time. what the fuck was that. (i need it)

MisandristInTraining • 2y

the work of demons aka men

artkiller OP • 2y

i drink their blood

MisandristInTraining • 2y

Lmao

OnHorseback • 2y

Feels like dying but emotionally • 2y

artkiller OP • 2y

i wanna die physically

OnHorseback • 2y

I’m sure some dirty fuck can set that up for you

artkiller OP • 2y

lit

kewlio313 • 2y

Welcome to the dark side.

artkiller OP • 2y

flirt a little harder oldhead

ButchesForChrist • 2y

Ready to come out?

artkiller OP • 2y

of where

ButchesForChrist • 2y

Bitch…..

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller 2y

home sweet home.

hello found family. been mia bc fuck school but i’m back… and i think im a sadist.

does anyone know where rugby originated from? i like watching large women be physical w each other and i wish they would harm me in similar ways. pls push me to the floor and stomp me out(specifically directed to one pink head) i’ve been thinking dirty things all day i need her so fucking bad. is this why ppl r so obsessed with sex? bc of hot people? i get it now. i need her to bend me over and put her cleat on my neck

lezziesthatembezzle • 2y

good morning to u too bitch

artkiller OP • 2y

big muscly girls pls rail me from da bck

lezziesthatembezzle • 2y

someone muzzle this thot

Accuntress • 2y

A dyke’s pride and joy: large women.

kewlio313 • 2y

This is crazily your most normal post. Missed ya. Do well in school

artkiller OP • 2y

:3 🩷

[deleted] • 2y

The cards are in my favor

artkiller OP • 2y

would you like to sex through private message?

[deleted] • 2y

What the fuck you crackhead

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller 2y

Advice Needed

sex addiction while a virgin?

is this possible? i shouldn’t have watched ppl with big clits trib. quite criminal. even more criminal when i’ve imagined the girl i’ve been following around for the past 2 weeks doing it to me

[deleted] • 2y

is this who we are….

artkiller OP • 2y

obviously.

kewlio313 • 2y

This is my last straw.

artkiller OP • 2y

hugs xD

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller 6mo

i’m confessing.

idc anymore. i don’t give a FUCK. i am in love. i [f21] am in love. the deepest kind i think. love at first sight truly. it’s the kind of love that’s painful. it kills and leaves behind trails of misery if betrayed or lost. whenever i see her, i cry from happiness. her joy is my joy. her hurt is my hurt. our hearts are forever intertwined no matter the distance. i’m writing this for her. if you ever see this: i love you, darling. there’s not a second that goes by where you’re not at the forefront of my mind. i’ll treasure everything we’ve built thus far, and promise to never take it for granted. i hope to die by your side.

i love you. i love you so much.

even if we’ve never spoken.

kewlio313 • 6mo

Yup… she’s lost it, folks. Very deep sigh.

ButchesForChrist • 5mo

That’s part of being a lesbian. She’ll live. Trust me

—

“Violet! … VIOLET!”

Why’s Sev always so loud in the goddamn library? The receptionist already has tacks on her behavior chart like some kindergartener. “I heard you! Jesus Christ, I’m sitting right fucking next to you—“

“I wouldn’t haveta fucking scream if you woulda answered me when I asked 3 days ago! Are you coming on Saturday?”

How does she tell Sev fuck no bitch I don’t wanna go in a polite manner? It’s the first weekend after Christmas break and quite frankly, she's already sick of being on campus. Vi loves her friend to death but holy fuck does she wish she had an off button.

“Just come the hell on and stop—“

“Dude, I—“

“You know it’s not gonna be fun if you’re not there! Half the bitches are comin’ for you! Plus… I think you could use a fun time after… y’know.” Sevika softens — only a bit, she's still Sevika. Hard ass.

She does know. At this point, who doesn’t? Her last year of university started on a bad foot when her family home caught aflame with her little sister and father still inside, but the icing on the cake was when her long term, blue-haired girlfriend sent her the can we talk? important text. Now she’s single with corpses for relatives(she thinks her sister would’ve found that funny). Her teammates returned to campus with her; eyes mournful and hearts sunk to the bottom of their stomachs, so prepared to shield and coddle when needed. Sev was one of them: through every breakdown and anxiety attack and hungry but nauseating night.

“I’m not tryna bring up old shit. You been through a lot and deserve some fun. That’s all I’m sayin’. Get your last bit of jitters out before the season starts.”

Vi nods. She gets it. Losing her sister was just as much of a loss for Sev as it was for her, but somehow, she was able to ease back into herself. Become… normal again. Socializing takes so much energy outta Violet, now. She’d rather go lift or go sock the shit outta rich person. In some ways, she wishes she had as much willpower as her friend.

She knows why Sev wants her to go. New pussy, new me, her and Abby once told her, but she’s not in the mood to smash right now. She’ll probably start crying if they don’t kiss both her cheeks before her nose like… Ugh. She shivers in disgust… and extreme longing. She misses her ex like crazy.

“I know. I’ll, uh, think about it.”

“M’kay… now what the fuck is epitactic theory.”

“Girl…”

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller 12mi

Advice Needed

how crazy is it to ask for a threesome from two ppl that don’t know you?

[f21] i’m currently in my campus library watching my girlfriend study with her teammate from my stiff ass beanbag and i need them both like crack. how do i bring intercourse up without making it awkward or uncomfortable? help asap pls

also i might c her this weeknd she’s going out and i wanna go

CreamTeam • 5mi

Wait … so is she your girlfriend or not?? 😭😭

artkiller OP • 2mi

we have a complicated relationship🩷

ButchesForChrist • 1mi

Aka she’s stalking her. Scroll down a little

artkiller OP • 30s

stay out my business

CreamTeam • 1s

What the fuck

kewlio313 • 2mi

I thought we were better than this, honey.

artkiller OP • 30s

you prob are. im not

kewlio313 • 4s

Deep sigh.

Your phone drops from your jittery hands and into your lap, screen glowing with every disappointed reply from fucking Kewlio who you’ve grown to love. You like to call them a friend. A faceless, emotionally intelligent, oddly attractive friend who you’ve never met.

The love of your life is right there, as always. Exactly 34 steps away, past the shelves littered with history novels and biographies, sat at the table surrounded by Liberal Arts textbooks and her star-littered laptop. Black jacket, black shirt, ripped black jeans, hair dyed black: that’s new. Still streaked with pink and somehow you’re even more hungry for her. She’s looked a mess recently: beaten and bruised, coming to class with black eyes and bandages across her pretty nose. It makes you wanna burn down the entire Arts and Sciences building with everyone inside of it.

She’s annoyed with Sevika, you can tell. They’re talking about something. Maybe her sister, rest in peace. Or piss if she sucked. Whatever. A small part wishes you listened a little closer when she talked about Jinx(weird ass nickname, but okay) so you’d know exactly what to ask. She can take out any aggression or sadness on you anytime. In here, outside. You’d drop ‘em for her wherever.

Kewlio is a dirty liar. You’re not a stalker. You’re a fan, an admirer, a lover. Your girl’s simply unassuming… How the fuck is that your fault?

She won’t be like that for long, though.

Vi lost her cleats a few days ago. Her black and blue ones that are worn the hell down and hanging at the seams, but she loves them. Wears them almost every match despite how unsteady they make her on the field. They’re her lucky charm, besides you, of course.

Her lucky charm found her lucky charms.

And by found, you mean broke into her gym locker with the code you memorized 2 years ago and snagged ‘em. She should really get those locks changed before someone takes something important.

The explanation of how you found her cleats exactly? You’re not sure and you’re not dwelling. She’ll be so relieved that you found them that it won’t even matter. Might even drop to her knees and praise you like a God. Is she religious? One of the minor details you don’t know about her.

But you’ll find out soon enough. No worries at all.

You wonder how Caitlyn is doing.

—

Rabbit holes are either your best friend or worst enemy. Today, they’re straddling the fence. Your brain never shuts off when you're in a crisis. You’re ovulating, overstimulated, and searching for a cure from someone you’ve never said hello to.

The internet can solve your problems though. Especially if they’re sex-deprived millennials. Their long-term lack of human contact makes for some hilarious stories and useful what-not-to-dos.

how to finger a vagina

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Reddit searches are always on your side. All answers to the world at the tip of your fingers. You love the media! Squirting is not pee evidently. PornHub comments are not a reliable source. You should ask your girlfriend if she squirts.

Caitlyn would know. Fucking BITCH!

how to make girlfriend come

Mansplainer misogynists geeking about making their wives do housework while they sit on their asses and flirt with young Discordians. ‘I clap and she appears’

…

You should craft a bomb that only targets cis-het men because what the fuck is going on right now.

how to make girlfriend cum

‘[M48] I’ve never made my wife climax and we’ve been together for 15 years and have 2 children’

Your eyes are fucking burning. Is it bad to wish death on a person? Cursed imagery. Your fingers attempt to salvage the last bits of your sanity.

how to make girlfriend orgasm wlw

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am i crazy quiz

insanity quiz

You’re normal you’re okay you’re literally fine.

mental illness signs for lesbians

what does dying feel lik

“Ma’am.”

You gasp sharply. Librarian. Fuck oh shit

“Hi. We’re, uh, lockin’ up, so…”

You’re still at the library. How much time has passed? How many rabbit holes have you fallen into? Where’s your girlfriend? Her and Sev are gone…

But you know where to find your g-spot! Hooplah!

“Oh ye— Yeah! Uhh… bye.” You stand so fast you get whiplash. Your backpack beats against your back when you adjust the straps on your shoulders. Headphones on, music blasting, and just like that, the world is off and you’re on. Right into the darkness of the city.

You love a stripper’s playlist in times like these.

You love Reddit in times like these.

You walk and walk with an extra skip in your step. Time to drive Kewlio crazy.

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller 1s

guys im happy

the joy that i feel rn is unmatched. i love my life. im so excited for the future. thank you god and or universe for these blessings

And post. Nothing could wipe the smile off your face. Nothing nothing nothing you love it here! You love school. You love your girlfriend and her friends and her sport!

“Oof—“

“AH—“

Your back connects with the angles of your hardcovers and fuck you hope your laptop survived that drop. There’s not nearly enough cushion in your bag to cover that fall fuck your life you hate everyone—

“YOU FU—“

“Holy fuckin’ shit I’m so sorry are you ok—“

And your mouth zips. Oh…

Oh.

Your girl’s in running shorts. Squeezing her thighs good ‘n tight and she glistens with sweat, brows pulled down in concern as she eyes you from above. If the sun was still out, the rays would dress her head like a halo. A heavenly sight. You’d die here… but not before a drop of her sweat falls on your face. You need that at least once. Zooweeema—

“Are you oka— fuck, gimme your hands, up ya go, c’mon—“

Oh she’s talking. And grabbing you.

Your hands are warmed by skin and your spine tickles when you’re pulled to your feet like a feather. The pain in your back and shoulders don’t fucking matter anymore. Life works in mysterious ways, doesn’t it?

“Hi, Vi.”

“I’m— hey, uh… do we know each other?”

We love each other actually!

“No— I uh, sorry! I go to watch your matches and all that. Kinda a fan… Sorry if that’s weird—“

“No no no no, not weird at all. Uh, very flattering actually. ‘Preciate it.”

You’re gonna fucking pass out.

“Are you okay though? Nothing hurts, right?” And your knees wobble when a squeezing hand lands on your shoulder, gauging you for pain. No pain. Just deprived. Needy. Desperate. Touch me some more.

“M good.”

“Cool…” Her hand drops and you nearly screech like a banshee, “And your name? Sorry bout t—“

You interrupt with yours and she smiles. Nice to meet you, she says with gravel and your heart grows another heart inside of another heart. Holy fucking you’re boutta

“I like rugby.”

Kill yourself. You’re boutta kill yourself.

Vi’s eyes widened before nodding in agreement, “Yeah… me too. If it wasn’t obvious enough. It’s a great… stress reliever.”

So is sex, according to Sexcopedia.edu. Do me.

“Really? It looks painful sometimes.”

She sighs with tension, “It is. We gotta lot of aggressive people playing against us so we have to always… do more. I guess, I dunno. But whenever I’m mad it’s great. Very useful.”

“Are you mad often?”

“Are you studying psychology?” She pins with an arched, slit brow, but her eyes remain light and friendly. It’s funny, she doesn’t appear to be this approachable with her grunge-ness.

“Nah. I need to, though. Could do me some good.”

Her laugh is hearty. Genuine. “Shit, me too. Help me out.”

“Do you wanna be my friend?”

She seems stunned and you don’t know why. Doesn’t banter create friendship? Whatever. Fuck it. She can say no. You don’t care. You still got her shoe—

“Gimme your phone—”

Your heart drops to the floor, through the concrete, right into the center of the Earth’s crust waiting to burn and cease to exist. She’s got you figured out. You’ve been exposed and she’s gonna fry you in the middle of the damn street

“—I’ll put my number in.”

… Oh.

You meticulously make sure your notis are deleted and OFF before handing her your device with the keypad on display. Her fingers are pretty and nimble. Flexible with how slender they are. Pretty hands. Pretty, blue veins and you're instantly reminded of her ex. You hate the color blue.

She hands your phone back, “That’s me. Hit me up when you get… wherever you’re going. And lemme know if I need to cover your medical expenses for spinal cord surgery.”

You laugh. Really fucking loudly and she flinches, but smiles after. She’s so fucking cute! Is this flirting?

“Y-Yeah, I will.”

Her head tilts fondly, “Cool.”

“Cool.”

She gives you one last look before plugging her earbud in to continue her jog. You check her contact to make sure it’s real and fuck you have her fucking number! Fuck fuck fuck fuck

You leap like the happiest frog in the pond when she’s out of your line of view and a sharp pain whips through your shoulder blades.

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller 3mi

lads i just got proposed to. spring wedding in sweden

number collected. so it begins.

kewlio313 • 48s

Christ help us all.

CreamTeam • 10s

Ring pics.

artkiller OP • 3s

cawk ring pics***

CreamTeam • 1s

Should’ve fuckin known. I hate you genuinely

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller 30s

when’s a good time to text the girl you’re obsessed with?

[f21] soooo i’m laying in bed lookignat her contact and idk what to do. i’ve fantasized about this so many times and now its in my lap… im so used to shit going wrong that idk how to react to it going right. it’s kinda late but i really wanna talk to her but idk she might be sleep or whatever.

should i scale her building and check if she’s awake? :(

—

Vi doesn’t know why there’s a pit in her stomach. She sits on her teammate’s fluffy rug with a smoked out Sevika who patiently waits for her green light, but it hasn’t come. She feels an oncoming breakdown and she needs a babysitter just in case.

“Finish this for me?” A roach floats in front of Vi’s face before she pushes it away.

“No.”

“Buzzkill.”

Sev and Vi sit in silence for 12 seconds before the roach is stolen and hit by the latter. Sevika snickers. Vi drops her head on the couch and exhales her worries through clouds. Stressed, anxious riddled, maybe not the best headspace to get high but fuck it.

“Whatcha thinking about?”

She shrugs, “Everything.”

“Talk ta me. What’s happening.”

Vi’s face burns when her mind plagues with you. Your giant bifocals and smudged mascara and acrylic-stained hoodies. You had a backpack on… Could be a student here. You might be a freshman. Vi hates making assumptions about strangers but you seemed a little…

Immature? Your eyes were too shiny to be a senior.

“You’re gonna laugh…”

“I’ll always laugh at your stupid ass,” She snickers. “What happened, though, seriously.”

Wafts of smoke curl around her words, “I almost bulldozed a girl earlier.”

Sevika scrabbles to her knees with a slack jaw, “WHAT THE—“

“Oh my fucking god can you be normal for—“

“BITCH BULLDOZED? WHAT THE FUCK FREAKY ASS BITCH—“

“NOT LIKE THAT!” Vi scoffs, “I went on a run and bumped into her! Fucking WEIRDO!”

Sevika slumps back on her ass, clearly disappointed, “… Oh.”

Vi tends to the roach until her fingertips burn, stubbing out the burnt paper on Sevika’s ashtray. When she looks up, she finds a very intrigued looking fox. Here she fucking goes.

“She hot?”

Vi’s sigh is littered with agitation at her friend while she laughs, “I hadta fucking ask! Tell me! She smell good?”

“I don’t fuckin’ remember! We talked for like… 2 minutes!”

“2 is enough time to check her out. Show’a hands, how fat were her tits? Like this?” Sevika mimes holding watermelons that are too goddamn heavy and Vi cringes.

“You fucking disgust me.”

Sevika relaxes back onto her elbows, legs extended in front of her. Her brow quirks when she catches Vi’s gaze drop to her waist, “Meh. You like that about me.”

“Sometimes. Not when I’m in a crisis.”

“Meeting a girl is a crisis now?”

“Yes! I don’t fucking know, she was…”

Honestly, Vi’s unsure how to describe you.

“Does she at least go here! You’re not giving me shit to work with.”

“I DON’T KNOW—“

“DON’T FUCKING YELL AT ME—“

Vi groans with her palms in her eyes, “She just asked to be friends. She told me she watches us play and that she’s—“

“Back the fuck up,” Sevika raises up again, “Do you not see what’s happening here!”

“…”

“You’re actually fucking stupid, wow,” She scoffs, “You know she set all that up, right?”

“… What in the fuck are you talking abou—“

“She ran into you on purpose! She’s a fan bitch!” Sev reaches for her phone on the coffee table, “What’s her Instagram?”

Vi whines, “I don’t know—“

Before Sevika can cuss her out for the 40th time, she bursts, “I GAVE HER MY NUMBER!”

“… Did you get hers?”

“…”

“BROTHER—“

“Shut up! I’m not… I don’t flirt! I don’t know how, not anymore! She caught me off guard honestly.”

“What's her name?”

Vi sheepishly mumbles your title; it’s slimy the way it curls on her tongue. You were so nice and now she’s setting you up to be pestered by her best friend.

It’s silent for 3 minutes, only the pittering of Sevika’s fingers on her device while she hunts for you. Another 4 pass before she tosses her phone in annoyance.

“You sure you weren’t hallucinating? Nothing’s poppin’ up.”

“You’re so annoy—“

WHO THAT IN THE BAAAAAAACK, WHO THAT IN THE BAAAAAAACK

Vi’s phone screen glows gray with an unsaved number across the top… One with their area code… Sevika watches the number scroll like a hawk. The smile that grows on her face is crooked. And knowing.

It’s 11PM. It’s not you. It couldn’t be you.

“That’s your ringtone?” Sevika snorts.

“Shut up.” Why’s she so anxious all of a sudden? Her sweaty palms aren’t enough to stop her from reaching for the device, though.

She answers and puts you on speaker.

“Hello?”

“…Hi. It’s me.”

Sevika’s brow lifts in questioning. Is that her? She mouths and Vi nods. Her eyes roll when her friend whispers, cute voice.

She’ll never say, but Sevika’s presence re-energizes her. Makes her a little more playful, so she teases, “Me who?”

A beat of silence passes before you start mumbling to yourself, “I’m gonna fuckin’ throw up is this the wrong per—“

Sevika’s hand flies over her mouth to smother her laughter while Vi coddles you; laughs that she’s joking and that she was waiting on your call. Her cheeks burn when her teammate throws her an accusatory look.

“Do you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“That you’ve been waiting on me?”

Before Vi can answer, Sev raises up onto her knees and mimes fucking somebody from the back, face slack with faux and exaggerated pleasure. She ignores the sinful jolt in her tummy and flings a throw pillow right at her face.

“Yeah, ‘course I was…”

And then it’s silent again. Her muscles freeze with every deep breath you take over the phone. Sevika waits expectantly, talk to her, she says with flapping fingers.

“Whatcha up to?”

“… Uhh… nothing?”

Your laugh is featherlight, “Are you asking me?”

“Maybe?”

Sevika’s had enough of the tomfoolery. She wiggles over and hits the mute button with a heavy slam. Leans in close while she whispers,

“Dude, she’s tryna fuck—“

“No, she isn’t—“

“Yes she is, dodo, did you hear how she was talkin’?” Her tone heightens in pitch, mocks seduction, “You were waiting on me, baby?—“

“H-Hello?” Your mumble is drenched with insecurity. Sevika doesn’t give a fuck.

“See?” She nearly screams, “She’s DJin’ right now—“

Violet shoves her back before unmuting, “Sorry, m’here…”

“… Was it a bad time to call?” You’re quieter now. Ashamed sounding. Embarrassed.

“Not at all! Sorry, I was smoking earlier, makes me lose my train of thought.”

“It’s okay…”

“You make it home safe?”

“Mhm. I was about to fall asleep but then I remembered to call, so…”

Vi catches her smile before her friend can bully her for it, “So, you called…”

“Yes,” said excitedly. She can hear your smile. Very puppy-like. Cute. Vi jolts when Sev starts snoring obnoxiously fucking loud. She flicks her forehead.

“Is someone there with you?”

Both their eyes widen. A sharp hand raises to slap Sevika, but she flinches before it lands, “Sorry. Just my stupid ass roommate.”

“Hi, Sevika.”

You’re oddly calm…. But why wouldn’t you be? You had no other intent for this phone call other than keeping your promise. They still share a look though; a brief flash of intrigue and skepticism. How’d you know…

It’s not pondered on for long by Sevika before she sings, “Hey, sweetheart.”

You sound like the wind has knocked outta you. “H-Hi.”

Sev singles for Vi to pass the phone over to her. She obliges with a hard stare, “I was just passing through, but while I’m here, I gotta couple… questions. That good with you?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You single?”

“Mhm. For forever, sadly.”

“Great. Are we at the same school?”

“Duh. I’m at every match. We’re, uh… graduating together if everything goes as planned.”

So definitely not a freshman. Just when Vi thought it was impossible to finish college without a chip on your shoulder. You seem to have made it through just fine.

Despite Sevika’s reputation of being cold-hearted and abrasive with wicked flirtation skills, she speaks to you like you’ve been in her life for years. Gentle. Inquiring. She lays flat on her stomach with her feet kicked up behind her, “What’s your major?”

“Architectural engineering. What’s yours?”

“You’re so smart. ‘M doing mathematics. You should tutor me when you getta chance.”

“Sure. Just lemme know when. I’m always in the library, so.”

“Well, what a fucking coincidence, so are we! You coulda dropped by and said hello if that was the case.”

“I’m trying to do that now… Am I doin’ okay?”

“Just fine actually. Aren’t you sweet.”

“I taste sweeter.”

Sevika drops the phone on the plush rug beneath them. Sits upright with urgency. Gawks at Vi whose jaw is nearly in her lap. There’s hardly any air in her chest. She squabbles for her phone and ensures that the volume is all the way up. Holds the device right in between them.

“… Swear? I don’t think that’s possible.” Sevika hums at you, holding her roommate’s gaze while her tongue traces over the dryness on her lip.

“You could find out… Both of you can if you wanna.”

“‘S that easy?” Sevika rasps, and Vi flinches when her breath hits her mouth. Leans in a bit closer to feel more on her face.

“Why do you sound like that?” Vi huffs at your genuine curiosity. You’re so fucking cute, fuck.

“Because you’re turning me on, hon,” Her gaze washes over Vi and her skin burns with trails. “Both of us.”

“Oh… cool.” You exhale unsteadily. They can’t help but laugh at you. “Cool?” Vi repeats.

“Yeah. Awesome. I’ve never done that to someone before.”

“You a virgin?”

“Yup.”

“FaceTime us.”

“I have a Samsung.”

Both girls explode into laughter, “We’ll call you, then, Jesus—“ Vi sends an eager finger towards the small camera before you mumble,

“Who says I’ll answer?”

Sevika tuts, “You don’t wanna watch us kiss?”

“I’d rather watch in person.”

Sevika throws Vi a look and she’s instantly reminded of Abby. Usually, that glance — filled with an equal amount of tenderness of filth — is shared between her teammates and she’s forced to endure whatever nonsense they plan to take out on somebody together, but now she’s here. Sevika’s including her in such a sacred ritual. She’s suddenly skittish, “You’re killing me, baby. Whatcha doing this weekend?” Sev quiets, timbre amorous.

“Playing Overwatch.”

“Fuck that shit. Come to Kappa on Saturday. Everybody’s goin’.” Sevika snips down at Violet, and she whines while her fingers dig into her roomie’s tank top. A little closer, and they’re kissing. Just an inch—

“What’s Kappa?”

Vi giggles, “House,” Sevika mumbles against Vi’s mouth, “Frat house. Right off 16th. It's bright blue, can’t miss it.”

“‘K, I’ll go. See ya there.”

“Wh—“

Three dial tones break through the smoke in the air before the screen goes dark, both girls left stunned and… very tempted to track your location. Maybe pop a titty for your RA in exchange for your room number. Wouldn’t be the first time…

… Is that too much?

It could be, but you didn’t hesitate to drop bomb after proposition, and the selfish part of her heart can’t help but think you wouldn’t mind two ravenous strangers at your front door. The knowledge that they’d give you everything you needed would be enough for you to allow them entry.

And the way Sevika’s staring at her… Craving, but careful. She’s so patient.

It’s been such a long time — two years since they’ve had any physical connection. Drunken nights, quickies in the locker room showers— the distractions from grief were all put on the back shelf when Vi got into her relationship. Sevika’s a sleaze, not a homewrecker — most times, so she kept her hands to herself out of respect, no matter how many times Violet would catch her staring where she knew was off limits.

Vi can't get to you, but she can get to Sevika.

So she yanks her close, dissolves the space between them as their mouths collide with heat and a newfound ache for you in the middle. Sevika’s just as rough as she remembers — pushes her down so her back molds to the floor, entangles a cinched hand in her hair to pull and expose her neck to the attacks. She’s got blotches and teeth marks on her throat — the unrestrained and possessive and her stomach flips. She gasps at the ceiling when her nightshirt shreds under a forceful hand.

She hasn’t had the heart to have sex in months — propositions were turned down on dozens of occasions because her mind couldn’t focus on enjoying. Every second of euphoria gets overshadowed by hollow, unforgiving guilt.

You sparked something in her with your forwardness, that curiosity that left her aching to read your mind. Her best friend, too, evidently.

Every movement is fast. She crawls down her torso with intent — fangs sharp where they leave blood down her sternum. Vi’s fingers pry Sevika’s shirt off, her tongue separating from her waist for mere seconds before reattaching. An eager hand fondly moves her friend’s hair out of her face.

You want it? Sevika’s eyes read.

Yes, I want it, please. Vi says aloud. Eager with a twisting hand in her scalp.

Sevika sends waves through Vi with every wrestle her tongue devotes to her clit. She can’t think of anything but Sevika and you and both of you at the same time; on top of her — you sat on her face while Sevika’s fingers drove inside her. She wants her tongue inside you; unrelenting and feverish until you scream and soak her tongue in your sweetness.

Sevika eats like she’s hungry. She eats like she misses having her like this and that wounds Vi up tight; it sends shockwaves down her legs. Makes her twitch, but Sevika forces her still with a tight grip on her waist.

Vi curses with fluttery eyes when a finger — then two, circles around the entrance that aches for a stretching.

They’re heaven sent when they push in. She’s getting fucked like she’s hated and she loves it. She deserves to feel like nothing; her walls are selfish where they encase the digits that bring her to the sun, massage against every sensitive ridge just how she needs. Her mouth spills with whatever energy she has left within her; slurred and drooled fuck yes yeses. She can barely conjure a warning when her core locks tight, right before she explodes.

There’s wetness everywhere while she pulses through her pleasure, thighs squeezing around Sevika’s head with every satisfied moan that vibrates on her clit. Tells Violet to give her more and to take it take it take whatever she gives her like she knows she can.

It’s not until Violet starts sobbing and Sevika’s mouth is dripping wet that she pulls out and separates from her completely. She kisses her pussy gently before shifting to help unlock Violet’s knees. She shivers with every peck that’s trailed up her torso to her chest to her neck.

Sevika laughs when Vi does, choked and clogged, but elated and genuine. It’s been so long since her body’s felt this light.

“You needed that. Ya look better already,” Sevika cackles. “Can you stand?”

“Fuck off, gimme a sec.” Vi shoves playfully at her chest.

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller 3s

guys.

i love being a liar. it makes me feel alive never let a bitch tell you lying is wrong it literally makes life so much easier!! wishing everyone a good night.

everything’s going as planned. just one more tally on the board and we’re set

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller 20mi

Advice Needed

it’s been 24 hours and my girl who’s not my girl has been texting me nonstop.

[f21] hello. im in a crisis but a good one? if that’s possible. long story short im in love but not dating the girl im in love with yet. i took some of y’all’s flirting advice and i think it worked. im betting my life that yall do witchcraft. i barely said anything to her and now she won’t me😝😝😝 and tbh… i think her friend won’t me too!!!!! she’s always asking about my day and asking if i ate and if id wanna eat with her but i always decline bc im not ready physically mentally like i’m gonna combust the second she walks up to me i barely survived our first interaction…… but her friend invited me to a party tomorrow night…….. wtf do i wear to that i’ve never been outside before LOL

might get a train ran on me…… WE’LL SEE FRIENDS

adding her undies to the shrine🩷 yaaaay

CreamTeam • 14mi

bro is she your girlfriend or not? It’s been years at this point.

artkiller OP • 12mi

yes i mean no or yes :)

kewlio313 • 7mi

Wear something that you wouldn’t wear to your parents funeral. Good luck dear

artkiller OP • 5mi

i would whore out if my family died

kewlio313 • 2mi

Good God.

—

What does genuine happiness feel like?

You’re unsure how long you’ve been on your beanbag, but Violet and Sevika have been laughing since you sat down. They’re so relaxed around each other, content with silence. Accepting of failure.

You’re not a jealous person at all. Far from, actually, but something furies from within whenever you see them — or people, in general, gleeful; the desperation to feel. You haven’t had the privilege. Maybe that’s why you cling to whatever you have with Vi. She has birthed a wanting inside you. A desire for connection after spending decades comforted by the sound of your own voice. Or comments under your posts.

Violet makes you happy. And Sevika might, too. Just as long as she doesn’t get too close to your light.

You’re standing right behind Sevika. She can’t see you, but Vi can. Her fear is swiftly overshadowed by delight. She greets you with a smile that makes your heart throb.

Sevika’s gaze wanders down to your legs, that remain exposed despite the weather,

“You’re not cold?” She asks. Not exactly the introduction you were expecting, but that makes you giddy. Vi must tell her about you!

“Yes,” You say with ease, “Y'all should come to my room. It’s warmer there.”

Vi nods after gawking, 2 books immediately tucked to her chest with her bag on her back. Sevika just laughs. She gets it. You like that.

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller 1s

Advice Needed

how do i mentally prepare for sex? (virginity)

literally fucking freezing walking to my room rn with two burly butches that i want to throw me around and i think they’re going to bc they’re not talking to me but the y are very close i don’t want them to see my screen guys im about to have a threesome pls fucking help me

—

“Cute room.” Violet says, inspecting your horror movie posters and stuffed animals.

“Thank you.” You smile.

I hid the 14 polaroids of you that I had taped to my door. Hope that makes you more comfortable!

“It’s just you in here?” Sevika chimes, eyes glued to the small bed up against the wall, right next to your PC setup. You should ask if they game afterwards.

“Yes.”

Violet takes her jacket off and hangs it on your doorknob.

“Already takin’ off your clothes?” You plop down onto your freshly made mattress. Both girls look very stiff in your space; Is that normal? Maybe they’re nervous.

Both girls laugh the same. “Not like that. It is warm in here.” Sevika follows in Vi’s lead, removing her hoodie and her undershirt is squeezing her and yup those arms are still there those muscles are popping out yup yup yup—

“Yeah. I can’t sleep in the cold.” You pat your bedspread for them to sit… and they do. On either side of you. Vi brought her notebook and pencil. Sevika brought her heavily ringed hands.

She scoffs, “Me neither. Immune system is worse than a newborn’s.”

“Do you get sick easily?”

“Yes. I just got over it last week.”

“Damn…”

“Almost got me sick,” Violet pins playfully, skimming through her pages. She erases before rewriting. So so so so smart; too bad both her answers were wrong. You’ll show her the way soon enough.

“Coach would hate me. Her star pupil’s under the weather, what ever shall we do,” Sevika mocks and you both chuckle.

“The season starts next week. Y’all nervous?”

“No—“ “Yes—“

“I’m nervous for games, not practice,” Vi corrects, “I can’t find my fuckin’ shoes.”

“What shoes?”

“My cleats. My sister got ‘em for me a while ago, wear ‘em every match for good luck. I don’t remember where I fucking put them though.”

“Aww, ‘m sorry.”

Sorry for keeping them in my closet.

“S whatever. Just gotta get new ones.”

Small talk is boring as fuck, but it continues between you and Vi. Sevika’s quiet as a mouse; every glance in her direction is met with hooded eyes. She’s very focused on your nightstand drawer. Can she see what’s inside it? You hope so; Maybe your unworn thongs will motivate them to move this along.

“Awww! Wait, you used to play soccer?”

You already know all this. It’s on her fucking Instagram for fucks sake!

“On the junior team when I was like… 10! I was—“

Trash. I kept tripping over the fuckin’ ball—

“—And forgetting to tie my shoes. It was a hot fucking mess!”

Yup. Same as the caption.

The laughter between you finally quiets. You count 12 seconds in your head. You raise a hand to place it on the Hello Kitty bandage directly under her eye.

“What happened here?”

Sevika’s breathing is very calming.

“Got in a fight,” Vi mumbles. Poor things embarrassed! “Got socked in the eye.”

“Sorry,” Your hand rests in your lap, “Did I hurt you?”

“You’re good… still stings though. They gotta good one in.”

“How’d it happen?”

“Don’t remember honestly.”

“Oh okay.”

The conversation ends. Another 12 seconds.

“So… Did you guys fuck after I hung up?”

Sevika smiles and Vi chokes in shock. They’re so different. No wonder they’re so close.

“I— sorry, thought we were studying—“

“Who said we were gonna study?” You stare at Vi quizzingly.

“No one did. We mighta fucked.” Sevika shrugs nonchalantly.

“Oh… was it fun? Whatever it was.”

“Ask her.” She nods in direction of the girl whose face is beet fucking red. How cute!

“Vi… was it fun?”

Her eyes droop to the pencil in her hand before flicking it nervously.

“… I guess.”

“You guess?”

“That’s what I said.”

“… Okay.”

Vi sets her book and pencil on your nightstand before releasing a stuttered sigh.

“Tell me what happened if ya wanna,” Softness wafts off your tongue.

Vi swallows, “I… uh…”

“Mhm?”

“We… I didn’t…”

“I gave her head til she cried.” Sevika whispers right in your ear; tickling against your lobe and you’re suddenly winded. Vi’s legs twist until one crosses over the other.

Gave… Oh…

This isn’t new information. You’re 79% sure Sevika was Vi’s first kiss… or you heard something like that in passing, so why does the sudden confirmation make you wanna hide? Curl into your blankets and shield yourself from both of them?

“Oh… fun.” Your face burns underneath the skin.

“Very.”

“Yup…”

“You’re shy now? After all that?” Sevika almost laughs when your eyes drop to the floor.

“It’s uh, easier to talk when no one’s actually there.”

“We coulda been if you’d answered the fucking phone.”

“… Sorry.”

“It’s okay, baby.”

Sevika’s captain of the team for a reason; a leader by nature and Vi allows her to despite her anticipation. She's much closer now, the respectful distance she kept up upon arrival now completely shut, her shoulder touching yours, nearly straddling your leg.

There’s a light tickle on your thigh; Sevika’s index finger barely grazes the skin exposed beneath the hem of your skirt.

“You’re so stiff,” She whiffs tender against your neck and you choke a noise.

“I’m … ‘mscaredtobreathe—“

“Don’t be scared,” Sevika’s whole hand caresses your knee, eases you into her, all while Vi mouths at your neck. “Here, wanna know a secret?”

You release the air in your lungs, “Sure…”

She’ll never tell, so I will. Your head bobs so encouragingly.

Vi told me something after she showered that night.

With every buttery brustle against your shoulder, Vi’s hands gently attack wherever they can reach; the plush of your hips, on your thighs, grabbing at your tummy over your hoodie that takes up too much fucking space for her liking. You can’t stop squirming with every taut pull at the pit of your stomach.

I was sitting on my bed and she came in, and she smelled so good. I was trying to roll up again, but she took my tray and put it on my dresser…

Roll up? Tray? What what what the fuck is she saying—

And she got on her knees in front of me… and she looked so fucking cute just staring up at me like that, like she’d do anything to make me happy… She’s sweet like that if she’s in the mood.

She said ‘may I practice on you, please?’… And I said okay… So she pulls down my underwear and treats me so well. You wanna know who she was practicing for?

Yes, yes, please—

It was you, baby. She kept telling me how good she wanted to make your first time.

A strained noise chokes from your throat, and Vi smiles against your ear before her lips close around your lobe and it’s too much they’re too much—

Uh huh, and her tongue felt so fucking good on me. Almost impressive… and she loved every second of it.

Please… please, I’m—

Listen to that, Violet, she’s so fucking cute, isn’t she?

So sweet, too. Bet she tastes so fucking good.

She’s so hungry for you, baby, Sevika coos at you, Gonna stop teasing and give us what we want?

You agree obediently — desperately, with every thrumming cell you can use at the moment.

Vi’s benign hand rests on your cheek to turn you towards her before kissing you softly. A gentle peck before she pulls away. It’s overstimulating; Vi kissing and touching you like you’re made of glass while Sevika sucks large bruises on the side of your throat. Your nails dig into the muscular thigh that hardly shakes at your grip in attempts to ground yourself, but they fail because you’re about to faint.

Your sun kisses you deeper, holds your face tighter to keep you where she needs to tongue at your lips. You’re trying to keep up with her, to use the muscle like she uses hers, but you’re falling behind. They don’t seem to mind, satisfied with the fact that they’re gonna devour you regardless.

And when Vi lays you back nice and cozy against your pillows while Sevika kisses all over your face, you know you’re fucked.

—

Sevika and Vi take turns kissing you.

It’s a messy and uncoordinated mess of teeth and saliva, mainly because of you, but you like it. You love it. You hope they do, too. The warmth of their bodies beside you resonates deep in your core. Whenever one of them pulls away, the next is more than open to take her place, over and over. Your thighs are already shaking.

Your hoodies raised up thanks to Vi’s wandering hands, tucked right above your rib cage. Your stomach jolts when a feathery finger teases at the band of your skirt.

“You ticklish?” Vi mutters against your cheek.

“… Nope.”

“Yes—” She swipes the same finger against your exposed skin and you jump with a giggle, “you are. Liar.”

“Fuck you!”

“Yeah… I really, really want to.”

She doesn’t give you time to think of a response; just kisses you one last time before climbing onto her knees. Meanwhile, Sevika’s struggling to get comfortable in your bed. She’s essentially on top of you, both her legs wrapped around one of yours.

“Fucking — small ass mattress! I forgot how much I hate these!”

“S-Sorry! Couldn’t afford anything else — mmh!”

Sevika reconnects your mouths while the bed dips beside you. Then there’s lips on your tummy.

Laughter explodes outta you; Sevika can’t help but laugh into your mouth while Vi nibbles at your pudge. Her grin glows on your skin before her tongue glides on your hip. Her attention stays there; sloppy noises from above and below, your gasps swallowed with every bite Vi gives you.

You hardly register her pulling your skirt down. You’re just colder. And fuzzier in the head. Sevika breaks away to ask,

“How wet is she?”

Huh— oh she’s not talking to you yup yup—

“Come see.”

Sevika rises from position and you’re even colder. When she whistles at the spot on your underwear, your thighs squeeze shut… for 000.3 seconds before she pries them open again.

“Stop I’ll fucking cry—“

“Cry about what? That’s so fucking hot. You’re so cute, baby.”

“Bro I wanna die—“

Sevika rolls her eyes, “Bust one last time at least, damn.”

“Can we make it quick please I’m already on the verge—“

“Of cumming?” Sevika purrs.

“Of suicide—“

Vi’s in hysterics. You shouldn’t be this fucking funny. She watches you and Sevika go back and forth with tears in her eyes.

You bite, “Wonky ass foreplay—“

“I’ll strangle you—“

“I’ll like it—“

Both of you are fucking stupid. Neither of you notice Vi tugging your panties down. She almost starts drooling at the sight of your pussy. Swallows down the lump of saliva before it can drip down her chin. You’re wet and throbbing and pretty and you smell like heaven.

You gasp when two curious fingers separate your sticky lips; strings of slick cling to Vi’s digits. Sevika watches with an insatiable hunger.

“What do you like?” Vi whispers, and you shrug.

“I dunno, I’m new here.”

She rolls her eyes, “I mean what do you do when you touch yourself?

“I don’t do that.”

“Never?” Both girls exclaim.

You shake your head. “I tried once and nothing happened so I just ate spaghetti and went to bed.”

“Were you wet?”

Vi’s forbearing with her inquiries, but still, you’re on the fucking spot and you might start sneezing from anxiety. They’re too patient with you; Maybe you’ve been misreading how they were in bed this entire time. You were expecting them to be knuckles deep in every available hole by now.

You’ve never been so nervous, and for you, that’s saying a lot. “I don’t remember, it was years ago.”

“You’ve never used toys or anything?”

“I… No.”

Sevika stares at Vi, and Vi at Sevika, and you at the wall.

Your thighs twitch when velvet nuzzles at them, Vi’s voice deep as the ocean. “I’m gonna try something, tell me if you like it and I’ll keep going… okay?”

You can’t formulate a response but your head bounces in approval. A finger applies the gentlest of pressure on your clit and you expel a wheeze.

“Okay?” Sevika hums from above you, a hand easing underneath your hoodie to massage your breast.

“Ye-ah—“

“Sit up for me, honey,” She whispers and you obey so she can creep in behind you, your back resting against her chest. Both her hands rub at your chest this time, her fingers massage your nipples while Vi strokes your clit in slow, teasing circles.

“How’s this feel, babe?”

“G— good! Great… h-hooray?” How do pornstars dirty talk so eloquently? You’re literally fucking dying right now. Sevika laughs to herself in your neck and your chest burns.

“Yeah? And this?” She utters right before pressing in, flicking you from side to side and your core squeezes tight. You’re dripping and she watches so closely.

“Oh fuck—“

“There she is, good girl, just feel what she’s givin’ you.” Sevika rasps against your shoulder.

You are feeling and it’s too much for your body to comprehend. Your brain’s never been this focused on one thing. On one feeling, especially one this enjoyable. It’s so good it’s so good you love your fucking girlfriend—

“Tell me when you’re gonna cum?” Vi says against your soft skin

“Uhh…? I— oh god—“

“Getting there, baby? Feel how tight you’re getting? I can see it.”

2 ragged inhales and your eyes roll back and your jaw slacks and your nose tickles oh shit—

“Yeah, yeah, give it to me, c’mon—“

ACHOO!

Your thigh squeezes shut when euphoria overtakes your entire system; thighs clamping shut around Vi’s wrist while she giggles and rubs out your pleasure with ease because she’s stronger than you. Your initial efforts of staying as silent as possible were in vain because you’re squealing your little head off. Sevika rests back on her hands and watches like a hawk while you thrash and clench and leak all over her roommate’s hand.

“Good job. Felt nice, hm?”

You struggle to nod because you’re still cumming so hard and her fingers won’t cease on you. Your thighs stick together with your wetness.

“I’m still eating you out, you know that, right?”

Your whines of approval sound wounded.

You couldn’t see it, but when Vi finally pulled her hand from you, slurping noises swiftly followed, alongside Sevika’s hums of satisfaction.

Mentally preparing for your burial.

—

Vi might be obsessed with you.

She’s back in her original position between your thighs — with Sevika this time because she’s greedy — and fuck she’s never been so antsy to give head. She loves it and she loves getting it even more… at least she thought so. The aliens could come crashing down from the clouds and her first focus would still be getting you to soak her face.

You’re fully undressed now, minus a sock; its twin slipped off some fucking where but she couldn’t give a fuck. She’s so desperate to touch you again. It plagues her mind; stuffed with everything that she’s learned about you thus far. You sneeze before you orgasm for fucks sake that’s the cutest shit ever —

Can I?

She’s asking you and you’re whispering yes, please and fuck you moan so pretty when she first glides her tongue on you. Sevika allows her to ease you into the feeling, but she stays close enough to see every drop of slick that glides on Vi’s tongue. You’re so noisy and she loves that. All she can think about is how loud you’d be with your face in her pillow and your hands behind your back while she —

Vi! Violet! I’m cumming again!

You’re a fucking dream. An insane fucking freaky ass dream.

If anyone were to walk past your room right now, they’d be appalled at the ruckus that permeates through your space; sloppy sucking noises and encouraging praises and dehumanizing name calling that makes you grind your hips faster. You’re nearly riding her fucking face.

Vi wishes she could see you in entirety; memorize every thrust and wriggle you give into her face, drowning her in your scent and juices and everything she could ever want in this moment. You’re exactly what she needed; a pliant distraction. You turn her mind off so easily.

Sevika’s greedy and selfish as she raises one of your legs up with ease. You fall back onto the mattress with your back arched to the skies, a cracked wail squeezing from your lungs when another tongue smushes against your clit. Sevika sucks hard at your clit when Vi’s tongue swirls down to meet your entrance. The eager muscle wastes no time to shove inside and catch whatever bursts from you.

She moves on autopilot; eases one finger past your pulsing heat and your legs start to shake. The digit curls deep inside, plunges into you with vigor and determination to get you there, hits a spot that almost lands her a kick in the back of her head, but she catches you; curls an arm around your thigh to keep you still.

And the night — or afternoon or morning, none of you remember, continues like that until you’re drained completely dry and your body contracts from memory.

Hours pass when Sevika and Vi finally start tonguing each other down for your viewing pleasure, and it starts all over again.

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller 1s

2 butches are sleeping next to me rn…

never let a hoe tell you to stop following your dreams. i’ve been following mine for almost 3 years and now they’re sleep next to me….

#HAPPYPRIDE

#vi smut #vi arcane #vi fanfic #vi league of legends #sevika #sevika smut #sevika arcane #sevika x you #vi x you #lesbian #rugbyplayer!vi #works 𖧧࣪#arcane smut #arcane

1K notes · View notes

gf2bellamy · 3 months ago

Note

hello!

I sent a request some time ago but not sure if you saw it 💞could you do one where the reader is the one infected with anthrax instead of reid? maybe they are already a official couple? or not- whichever is fine. Fluffy at the end 💞bonus points for Hotch worried for both of them

Thanks love!

anthrax — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader is infected with anthrax , mention of being dizzy and exhausted , mention of fever, mention of nasal cannula, reader passing out , reader ends up in hospital a/n: hiii!!! i'm so sorry it took so long <3 also i rewatched the scenes on youtube ( instead of the entire ep ) so if i got something wrong i'm vv sorry !! hope you like this :)

Spencer frowned, mid-sentence, his words faltering. "What do—" He turned instinctively, expecting to see you beside him. But you weren’t there.

His stomach twisted as he spun in place, scanning the area. Derek was a few steps away on the sidewalk, wearing the same confused expression. You had been right there just moments ago.

Then Spencer's gaze snapped to the house. The front door was swinging shut.

He surged forward, reaching the door just as it latched shut. His hands pressed flat against the wood before he fumbled with the handle, rattling it frantically.

“Hey! What are you doing?” His voice wavered as he rattled the door handle, his hazel eyes wide with panic. He could see you clearly through the glass pane.

Derek was right behind him now. “Open the door. What the hell are you doing?” His voice was demanding, but Spencer could hear the underlying fear laced in it.

That’s when he saw it.

The small, shattered vial on the floor.

Tiny, glimmering shards of broken glass spread across the tile, barely catching the light. But Spencer didn't care about the glass—he cared about what had been inside of it.

Anthrax.

The realization hit him like a freight train. His mind, always so quick, always analyzing, now felt sluggish, as though he were processing everything in slow motion.

The room you were in had been compromised. You had inhaled it.

“No,” Spencer whispered, shaking his head in disbelief.

His hands pressed against the cool surface of the glass, as if he could reach through it and pull you back to him. Derek muttered a curse under his breath, his jaw tightening, but even he knew—there was nothing either of them could do. Not right now.

You swallowed hard, blinking up at Spencer. He could see the fear in your eyes, the resignation settling in.

"I’m sorry," you murmured.

A lump formed in his throat. His fingers curled into fists against the door.

“Don’t. Don’t say that.” His voice cracked. “You’re going to be okay. We can fix this. We can—”

Your lips trembled, and though you tried to smile, it faltered.

Spencer had never felt so helpless in his entire life. His mind screamed at him to think, to find a solution, to do something.But for the first time, he had no answer.

And that terrified him.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed. Minutes? An hour? The room felt both too hot and too cold at the same time. Your head rested against the door, your body slumped slightly as exhaustion settled into your bones. You weren’t in pain, but you felt weak—like all the energy had slowly been draining out of you.

Through the glass, Spencer was still there.

He hadn’t moved an inch.

Derek had tried—more than once—to get him to step away, but Spencer refused. His back was pressed against the door, his knees pulled up as he sat on the floor, staring at you like if he blinked, you might disappear entirely.

“I’m not leaving,” he had said, voice quiet. And that was that.

You exhaled softly, letting your fingers trace invisible patterns against the cool surface of the glass. Spencer noticed immediately. His gaze flickered to your hand, then back to your face.

“You’re sweating,” he murmured, concern evident in every syllable.

You gave a small, lopsided smile. “Yeah. I guess breathing in bioweapons does that to a person.”

Spencer frowned. “That’s not funny.”

“Little funny,” you teased, tilting your head to look at him.

He sighed, but you could see the slight twitch of his lips, like he wanted to scold you and smile at the same time.

A comfortable silence settled between you two, despite the chaos unfolding around you.

“You’re okay,” he said suddenly, more to himself than to you. “Your symptoms aren’t progressing rapidly. That’s… that’s a good sign.”

You raised a brow. “You’re diagnosing me through a glass door now, Doctor Reid?”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Actually, rapid-onset symptoms from inhalation of anthrax typically appear within a few hours. Since you’re only experiencing mild weakness and slight sweating, it’s possible that the exposure was minimal. And if that’s the case, early treatment should be highly effective—”

“Spence,” you interrupted gently.

He stopped rambling.

Your voice was softer this time. “I know you’re scared.”

His eyes darted away for a split second, but then he sighed and met your gaze again. “Of course I am,” he admitted. “I—” He hesitated, running a hand through his hair before resting his palm against the door, mirroring your position. “I can’t lose you.”

Warmth spread through your chest, even as your body trembled slightly from exhaustion.

“You won’t.”

You weren’t sure if it was the truth or just something to comfort him, but you needed him to believe it. And maybe, just maybe, you needed to believe it, too.

Spencer took a slow, shaky breath. “Just… keep talking to me, okay? Stay awake.”

You smiled. “Only if you promise to stay with me.”

His eyes softened, his fingers twitching slightly against the glass.

“I promise.”

Your body felt heavier now. The exhaustion was creeping in faster than before, and you could see the way Spencer’s expression kept shifting—his mind was racing, cataloging every symptom, analyzing every possible outcome. You knew what he was doing. He was trying to calculate how much time you had, how bad it would get.

You couldn’t let him spiral.

“Spence,” you said, voice softer than before. You blinked a few times, trying to focus, forcing yourself to sit up straighter. He immediately caught on, his hands pressing against the glass like he could hold you up through sheer willpower alone.

“I’m here,” he reassured, but his voice was tight.

You gave him a small, tired smile. “Do you remember our first date?”

Spencer’s forehead creased. “Why—why are you bringing that up right now?”

“Because I want to talk about something good,” you murmured, tilting your head slightly, “and because I want you to stop staring at me like I’m a math equation with a really bad solution.”

Spencer’s lips parted like he wanted to argue, but then he let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “That’s not how I look at you.”

“Little bit,” you teased.

He sighed, but his shoulders relaxed—just a fraction. “Of course I remember our first date.”

You smiled, waiting for him to continue. He shifted slightly, his eyes flickering over you, still scanning, still worried. But he played along, just like you wanted.

“I was terrified,” he admitted after a beat.

Your brows lifted. “You were terrified?”

“More than you could ever imagine,” he said, his lips twitching at the memory. “I had wanted to ask you out for months, but every time I got close, I chickened out. Then one day, you just—”

“I made the first move,” you finished for him, grinning.

Spencer rolled his eyes but smiled despite himself. “You didn’t ask me out. You just—assumed we were going on a date.”

You laughed, though it was weaker than usual. “Because I knew you wanted to. You weren’t exactly subtle.”

“I thought I was,” Spencer muttered.

“You were not.”

His cheeks flushed slightly, and even though you felt awful, you still found the energy to appreciate how endearing he was. “Okay, fine. But that didn’t make the date any less nerve-wracking.”

You hummed. “Yeah? What part was the worst?”

Spencer barely hesitated. “When I spilled coffee all over my shirt before we even sat down.”

You giggled, your fingers tapping lightly against the glass. “I remember that. You looked so horrified.”

“I was mortified,” he corrected. “And then you just… laughed. Not at me, but—you laughed like it was the best thing that had happened all day.”

You grinned. “Because it was adorable. You were so worried about being perfect, but I already liked you, Spence. The coffee disaster just made you even cuter.”

Spencer exhaled a slow breath, his eyes studying you. The warmth of the memory had softened the tension in his face, but not entirely. “I didn’t think you could like me back,” he admitted quietly. “Not like that.”

Your chest ached—not from the anthrax, but from him.

You pressed your palm against the glass, mirroring his. “I always liked you. I was just waiting for you to catch up.”

Spencer let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “God, I love you.”

Your breath hitched, just slightly. Even though you’d heard those words before, they always felt brand new coming from him. You let them settle in your heart.

“Good,” you whispered, your eyelids growing heavier. “Because I really, really love you too.”

Spencer noticed immediately. The slight droop in your posture, the way your blinks lasted just a second too long. His body tensed.

“No, hey, stay with me,” he urged, his voice sharper now. “You have to stay awake.”

You forced a smile, tilting your head against the door. “I’m still here, Spence. Just a little tired.”

Spencer’s jaw clenched. He turned his head sharply toward the nearest agent. “Where the hell is the medical team?”

“They’re almost here,” someone answered.

“Not fast enough,” Spencer muttered under his breath before looking back at you. His fingers curled into fists against the glass. “You have to stay with me.”

“I will,” you promised, though you weren’t entirely sure you had a say in it.

Spencer sucked in a shaky breath, forcing himself to stay calm. “Tell me more about our first date.”

You blinked up at him. “You remember it all.”

“Tell me anyway.” His voice cracked.

You swallowed, nodding slightly. “Okay,” you whispered, gripping onto his voice like a lifeline. “We got ice cream after coffee. You ordered vanilla.”

Spencer exhaled a small laugh. “It was the safest option.”

“And then I let you try mine, and you hated it.”

“It was mango,” he scoffed. “It tasted like… tropical regret.”

You giggled again, your body sagging just slightly more against the door. Spencer noticed. His fingers twitched like he wanted to reach through the glass and pull you up, hold you steady.

“Keep going,” he urged desperately.

You blinked. “We… we sat at the park for hours.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded sleepily. “You kept talking about stars.”

Spencer swallowed thickly. “Because I wanted to impress you.”

“You already had.” You smiled softly, the memory flickering in your mind like an old film reel.

"Do you remember the first time you told me you loved me?"

Spencer's lips parted, his brows knitting together as he searched his mind. He was stalling.

"You do," you teased, your voice barely above a whisper. "You just don’t want to admit how ridiculous it was."

A faint blush crept up his neck. "It wasn’t ridiculous."

You let out a weak chuckle. "Spence. You said it because you were delirious from a fever."

Spencer groaned, tipping his head back against the door for a brief second before looking at you again. "It still counts," he muttered defensively.

You grinned, the exhaustion pressing heavy on your limbs, but you fought to stay awake—if only to see the way his ears turned pink at the memory.

"You were so stubborn," you mused. "You refused to admit you were sick, and then, the second I forced you to lay down, you grabbed my hand and just—"

"I love you," Spencer murmured, finishing the sentence before you could.

You blinked at him.

"You didn’t even remember saying it the next morning," you reminded him, smiling despite the heaviness weighing down on you.

Spencer huffed. "That part was unfortunate."

"I don’t know," you teased. "I kind of liked getting to tell you that you'd confessed your love to me in the middle of a fever dream."

Spencer let out a breathy laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. His fingers twitched against the glass, his entire body taut with barely restrained panic.

"Tell me more," he said suddenly.

You blinked. "About what?"

"Anything. Everything. Just keep talking."

He was trying to keep you awake.

You knew it.

But you didn’t argue.

You smiled softly and whispered, "Okay," before slipping into another story, your voice carrying through the glass like a lifeline. Spencer held onto every single word.

At some point, though, Spencer had to move when the medical team came rushing in. You barely registered it—just the sound of frantic voices, the distant feeling of your body being dragged into motion. You were barely holding on, your eyes fluttering shut despite Spencer calling your name.

Then—

Water. Cold, drenching, shocking.

You remembered that much. The hazmat team had hosed you down. There was vague, fleeting awareness—Spencer shouting at someone about being gentle with you, the sting of something against your skin, and then—

You were drenched, clothes clinging to your frame, hair plastered to your face, looking equal parts miserable and very out of it.

Then—nothing.

When you woke up, everything felt… hazy. Heavy. Your body ached, your limbs stiff as if you’d been asleep for days. A nasal cannula rested under your nose, cool oxygen flowing through it, making each breath feel easier.

You blinked slowly, adjusting to the hospital room. The beeping of monitors filled the space, and—

Spencer.

He was sitting in the chair beside your bed, staring into the air, his hands clasped together tightly. His eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, his usually neat curls disheveled, his clothes wrinkled like he hadn’t moved in hours.

“Spencer?”

Your voice came out hoarse, barely more than a whisper, but the second it reached him, he jolted upright. His head snapped toward you, his breath catching in his throat as he stood so quickly the chair scraped against the floor.

For a moment, he just stared down at you, his hazel eyes wide, disbelieving—like he wasn’t sure if you were real or if his mind was playing some cruel trick on him.

Then, in a rush, his hand was on yours, gripping tightly, his fingers trembling slightly.

“You’re awake,” he breathed, like he had been holding those words in his chest for hours.

You tried to smile, but your lips barely moved. “Hey, Spence.”

He let out a choked breath, his free hand pushing through his hair, trying to keep himself together.

“You—God, you scared me,” he whispered, his voice raw.

Your fingers twitched against his, a weak attempt to squeeze his hand. “Sorry.”

Spencer let out something between a laugh and a sigh, shaking his head. “Don’t. Don’t apologize.”

There was a beat of silence, and then you gestured vaguely toward the hospital bed. “So… can I get a hug, or are you just going to stand there looking like a lost puppy?”

Spencer hesitated, his eyes flickering to the monitors and wires surrounding you. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Spencer, I’m not made of glass. Hug me.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. He leaned down carefully, wrapping his arms around you in a gentle embrace. You sighed, melting into him, your face buried in the crook of his neck. He smelled like coffee and antiseptic, and his shirt was wrinkled beyond repair, but you didn’t care.

“I was so scared,” he murmured, his voice muffled against your hair.

You tightened your grip on him as much as your weakened body would allow. “I know. But I’m okay. Thanks to you.”

Spencer pulled back slightly, his brows furrowed. “Me? I didn’t do anything.”

“You stayed with me,” you said simply, your voice soft. “That’s not nothing.”

Spencer’s eyes softened, and he brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering for a moment. “I told you I wasn’t leaving.”

“And you didn’t,” you said, smiling up at him, though your smile wavered slightly as you noticed the dark circles under his eyes, the way his shoulders sagged with exhaustion.

You watched him carefully, taking in every little detail—the way his fingers curled tightly around yours, the lingering fear in his eyes, the exhaustion weighing down his entire body. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

“How long?” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer swallowed hard, his gaze flickering away for a moment before meeting yours again. “20 hours.”

Your chest tightened. No wonder he looked like he hadn’t slept.

“You stayed?” you asked, though you already knew the answer.

He let out a soft, breathy laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Of course I did.”

You let his words settle over you, the warmth of them sinking into your skin. Slowly, you turned your hand, just enough to thread your fingers through his. His grip tightened instantly.

“I’m okay,” you murmured, your voice steady despite the fatigue pulling at you.

Spencer exhaled shakily, nodding, but his eyes betrayed him—he was still scared.

“Yeah,” he whispered, squeezing your hand like he needed to convince himself. “You are.” And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he finally let himself believe it.

The door creaked open, and both of you turned to see Hotch stepping into the room. His usual stoic expression softened slightly as his eyes landed on you.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of relief. “How are you feeling?”

You managed a small smile. “Like I got hit by a truck, but… I’ll live.”

Hotch nodded, his gaze flickering to Spencer for a moment before returning to you. “You gave us quite the scare.”

“Sorry about that,” you said, your tone light. “I’ll try to avoid inhaling bioweapons in the future.”

Hotch’s lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile you were likely to get from him. “I’d appreciate that.” He paused, his expression growing more serious. “The medical team said you’re responding well to treatment.”

You nodded, feeling a small weight lift off your chest. “That’s good to hear.”

Hotch glanced at Spencer again, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the young agent’s disheveled appearance. “Reid, when was the last time you slept?”

Spencer blinked, caught off guard by the question. “I, uh… I’m not sure.”

Hotch sighed. “Go home. Get some rest. I’ll stay with her.”

Spencer shook his head immediately, his grip on your hand tightening. “No. I’m not leaving.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow. “You’re no good to anyone if you collapse from exhaustion. Go home, shower, eat something, and then you can come back.”

Spencer opened his mouth to argue, but you cut him off.

“He’s right, Spence,” you said softly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “You look like you’re about to fall over. Go take care of yourself. I’ll still be here when you get back.”

Spencer hesitated, his eyes searching yours for a moment before he finally relented with a sigh. “Fine. But I’m coming back as soon as I can.”

You smiled. “I’d expect nothing less.”

Hotch stepped aside as Spencer reluctantly stood, his movements slow and stiff. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before straightening up and heading for the door.

Once he was gone, Hotch moved closer to your bed. “He didn’t leave your side the entire time,” he said quietly. “Not even when the medical team told him to.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, but you swallowed it down, nodding. “I know.”

Hotch studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. “You’re important to him. To all of us. Take care of yourself.”

You smiled faintly. “I will. Thanks, Hotch.”

He nodded once, his usual stoic demeanor returning. “Get some rest. I’ll be outside if you need anything.”

As he left the room, you leaned back against the pillows, letting out a long breath, as you fell asleep once again.

And when Spencer returned an hour later, looking significantly more put together and carrying a cup of coffee for you (decaf, because he insisted), you couldn’t help but smile.

“Miss me?” he asked, setting the coffee on the table beside your bed.

“Always,” you said, reaching for his hand.

#criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x you #spencer reid #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic

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kxsagi · 3 months ago

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"𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬"

moving was hectic and busy, so busy that you had forgotten to text roommate! isagi that plans changed and you would be moving in at 8 PM instead of 2 PM. he was wondering why you weren’t responding to your texts and not answering your calls for six hours (to which you felt terribly sorry for doing so and apologized about it later), as he spent the whole day embracing himself for an awkward introduction.

but instead of one, you open the door to your new shared apartment to the sight of roommate! isagi in nothing but a towel slung low on his hips as he stood there in the kitchen eating fruits, dumbfounded at your unexpected arrival.

that was six months ago. since then, the two of you had fallen into an easy rhythm of late-night kitchen conversations about your days, movie marathons, playful teasing that sometimes felt like something more.

and then there were the accidents. the way you would turn too quickly and find yourself chest-to-chest with him in the hallway. the way he would purposely leave the bathroom door open a crack with the light off to have you walk in on him post-shower, thinking he was done, but he was really just “touching up his hair.” or the way his voice dropped when he said your name.

you told yourself it was nothing. but then came your first storm together.

the power had gone out, leaving your apartment in darkness, but the worst part? you were in the middle of showering.

“you okay? need light?” you hear roommate! isagi ask you from outside the bathroom door, knocking.

“yes please, i can barely see anything,” you respond, but since the door is locked, you have no choice but to step out of the shower, wrap yourself in a towel, and get a light from the boy yourself.

however, when you open the door, you don’t see your roommate. where’d he go? before you turn the corner of the hallway and call for his name, you collide into muscle and the lantern in his hand turns on.

his mouth practically gapes at the sight of you with wet hair and just a towel on, droplets of water still scattered across the smooth surface of your skin. your round exposed shoulders and parted lips are enough to send him reeling and he nearly drops the lantern.

“thanks,” you say, oblivious to his reaction and taking the lantern to the bathroom with you to continue your shower.

what you didn’t even realize was how this small interaction confirmed his feelings for you were real.

the planned movie night was no longer a go because of the power outage, leaving the two of you sitting on the couch with nothing else to do. the heater was also turned off, causing you to shiver from the entering winter cold.

“you’re shivering,” roommate! isagi murmured, his voice husky. he reached for you, his hands sliding around your waist and pulling you closer.

you should have moved away. you should have made a joke, kept it light like always. but instead, you pressed against him, your fingers trailing over his chest, your breath catching when his lips hovered just inches from yours.

he murmured your name, his voice thick with something you had only dreamed about. it made your brain hazy.

"yeah?" you reply, fingers curling into the fabric of his white t-shirt.

"i can't –" his mouth crashed into yours, hot and insistent, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled you onto his lap.

he wouldn’t stop until you knew what true passion and heat felt like.

by the time you two broke apart, gasping for air, his forehead resting against yours, you knew there was no going back.

"well," you sighed, grinning. "guess we’re more than roommates now.”

the black-haired boy chuckled, his thumb tracing your lower lip. "what do you mean? we’ve always been more than roommates."

a/n: i love me a good roommates to lovers trope :p AND I'M SORRY IDK WHERE THE HEADER IMAGE IS FROM ☹️

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #isagi yoichi #bllk #bllk x reader #isagi x reader #yoichi isagi #isagi yoichi x reader #yoichi isagi x reader #roommates to lovers #more than roommates

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seaborgium-dazies · 3 months ago

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your lover on a leash

mha boys like you romantically and they're convinced you don't like them back :( But you do and you finally tell them. part 1 is here cw: throwing up (deku), set in the last year of UA; reader makes the first moves cus the boys are shyyyyy, gn!reader 🌊: deku, bakugo, shoto, iida, denki A/N: I got carried away 😭 And I finished this at 3:06 am so ignore any mistakes hdhjdhf wc: 2.8 k

deku:

Tears were effortlessly falling from his eyes as he was rocking back and forth. If you had seen him in this state, muttering a mix of "why wont they just love me" and "i'm such a loser" your heart would've shattered into a million pieces.

Between tears and hiccups deku just couldn't wrap his head around the pain of the situation. His thoughts were going a hundred kilometers per hour as he heard a gentle knock on his door. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Had he been too loud? Did someone hear him? Panic started to bloom in his chest.

Deku's spiraling was interrupted by the soft sound of your voice. "Deku I can hear you, please open the door". Fuck. I guess there's no way out. Deku approached the door, hastily wiped his tears and cracked the door open just enough to catch a glimpse of your face.

"What's up". He cringed at the way his voice cracked. He watched you trying to piece together the most gentle way to approach the topic. "I thought I heard, uhm, you having a hard time". Dekus mouth was slightly agape, humiliation and shame making him want to throw up. Actually seeing you here, your foot in his door, your furrowed brows, your fluffy hair, that knowing look. Seeing you in all of your glory and knowing he'll never get to have you? The pain in his chest - it makes him sick.

Before he could comprehend it he ran to his bathroom, bending over the toilet to throw up. When he came to his senses, he saw you standing next to the sink, handing him a damp paper towel to wipe his mouth.

Deku really thought that he already hit rock bottom, that the weeks of pining and stashing love poems under his bed were the epitome of patheticness. But seeing you standing there, casting a heavenly light on him, akin to a saint, he felt the worst he ever has.

"I actually came here because I wanted to ask you something, i didn't know you were sick". You looked nervous, deku figured it was because you were seeing him in such a fucked up state. You crouched down next to him. "You don't look too well, let me make you a tea".

"No, no, I'm fine". "No I already made up my mind deku. You're getting a nice chamomile tea". And with a quick "be right back" you slipped out of his room.

You returned with a steaming cup of tea in your fidgety hands. You slipped into his room and made your way over to deku, who was now sitting on the edge of his bed. It really pained you, seeing him like this, but you had sworn to yourself that you would do it. You figured that you just HAD to act on your feelings or they would eat you alive, even if deku was sick right now. Of course the fear over dekus reaction was already eating you alive.

"Why did you come to my room to begin with?". Deku took the words right out of your mouth. Whatever. It's now or never.

You took a deep breath and started "I've had something on my mind for a while now. And I don't know how you'll react but I just really want to clear the air between us."

Deku took in a shaky breath but you continued "I like how up-beat, caring and sweet you are. How you never leave anyone out and how intense your desire and passion to learn and help others is. I guess what I'm trying to say is that i really like you and i was wondering if you would want to go out sometime? As... more than friends?"

You physically couldn't bring yourself to look up from the pralines that you had taken out of your bag and which you were now clutching.

With every passing second of silence you wanted to fade into nothingness more and more. When you looked up to hand him the chocolate, you had to gasp.

Deku's furrowed brows, puffy and glassy eyes made your breath hitch. Just as you were about to start apologizing for making him cry he laid his scarred hand over yours.

"Yes". With his answer, short and sweet, it felt like a thousand kilogram weight was lifted off of your shoulders. Like two magnets you two clashed against each other and connected in a fierce hug. Your rib cages clashing against one another, your hands buried in his shirt and his hands curling around your waist.

Your heart was beating rapidly and feeling dekus face in the crook of your neck sent shivers down your spine. You felt as if you two just cultivated a piece of heaven.

You managed to peel yourself off of him after a while and you two had an in depth conversation about everything that happened and how you imagine your future to be.

The both of you could not stop grinning from cheek to cheek through the whole conversation and you thanked your lucky stars extra that night.

bakugo:

You jogged over to the sports hall. You were late for your weekly sparring matches. You locked yourself out of your dorm room and even forgot your running shoes lying on the floor. So you had to get the spare key and bring it back which resulted in you being super late.

You arrive at the hall after all, and after explaining the situation to aizawa he tells you that the only partner that's left is bakugo and that you're gonna have to sparr with him.

Your shoulders drop at his words. This is so much worse than any scolding you could've imagined. Of course. Of course the universe wanted to punish you, not only by making your fall head over heels for the guy who despises every fibre of you, no, but also by frequently forcing you to fight him.

And just like that he had you pinned against the floor, you fought against his grip but he didnt seem to budge. The anger was bubbling inside of your chest and it was getting harder to push it down. When would he STOP being so hard on you? Why did you have to have a crush on him of all people! AND WHY DOES HE HATE YOU SO MUCH?.

Before you knew it, your emotions got the better of you and you had bitten him so hard that he yelled in pain. This gave you an opening to slip out of his grip.

Unfortunately bakugo's anger seemed to be a neverending resource and you could practically already hear another explosion coming. "WHAT THE FUCK?! DID YOU JUST FUCKING BITE ME?!"

You skillfully converted your guilt into anger and directed it against him once more. "Yes! Because you deserve it, you piece of shit!"

You two moved so quickly that watching the fight transpire would be physically painful. With alternating hits, dodges and words exchanged, this felt like much more than a simple sparring match.

This match was different than every previous match and the bleeding bite mark and bakugos bicep was a painful reminder of that. Slightly out of breath he began shouting "What the fuck is wrong with you today?!"

"With me?! What the hell is wrong with you! You keep picking on me! You keep fighting me!"

You were cursing yourself up and down for becoming emotional, but how could you not? Tears started forming in your eyes as you continued shouting "I never did anything to you! I was always kind! I don't deserve this hatred! WHY CAN'T YOU JUST LIKE ME BACK?!"

And just as the shouted words left your lips it dawned on you that you just let your best kept secret spill "..what?"

Bakugo looked at you with wide eyes, not certain if he had heard you correctly now.

The energy shifted and bakugos muscles went lax as he lowered his arm. Guilt was not only creeping in, it was enveloping him now. Suddenly he realised just how shitty he had been acting towards you. His own feelings for you suddenly felt exposed as well, his face falling into a mix of shock and a smile.

"What?" You asked him, all traces of anger wiped from your face. The unfamiliar expression on bakugos face made an uneasy feeling brew in your stomach.

"I do...". The words left bakugos lips and like a spell it turned you two into shy messes, stumbling over words and fidgeting with your hands.

"So...." "So?" "do you like ... wanna go out ... sometime?"

Blush spread across both of your cheeks. Intensifying as you muttered a shy "Yes, id love that".

Now you two just had to pray to god that none of the other students had heard you screaming...

Shoto:

Shoto was super perceptive of things happening in the real world, but of feelings? Not so much. He was aware when they started bubbling in his chest, when they were threatening to erupt but before that they went unnoticed a lot.

That's exactly what happened with his feelings for you, he didn't notice when that 'damn I really like them' started morphing into a 'damn I really love them' and much less when his heart started bleeding at the thought of you.

It was easy to ignore the slight changes in shotos behavior. It was easy to dismiss the worries by saying you were too paranoid but you just couldn't put a halt to the gnawing, the constant worry. He just seemed different in a way you couldn't pinpoint.

The bell rang marking the end of your day. Conversations ensued and the noise was accompanied by people packing their stuff and making plans. You saw shoto making quick work of his bag and you decided to take your chance.

You quickly crammed your supplies into your bag and jogged to catch up to him.

"Heya!", you greeted him with a smile. Shoto replied with a surprised "Hey".

"Do you have any plans now?". "No" "Perfect".

It didn't take long to convince Shoto to go check out a new cafe with you and soon enough you were walking side by side through the bustling streets.

You kept stealing glances, evaluating what you're seeing. He noticed of course, which made you turn away. There was no doubt that he somehow changed, were the bags under his eyes slightly more pronounced or were you just seeing things?

You wiped your sweaty hands on the outside of your legs, collecting your courage to ask. "So... is everything okay?"

Shoto tilted his head slightly before answering "of course, why wouldn't it be?". "Well... You've been a little distant lately, and uhm... more quiet. So i just wanted to make sure that nothing is up...".

You tried smiling at him but he saw that it was shaky, he saw the genuine worry on your face and it surprised him. Now that shoto was thinking about it you really were right. He couldn't sleep, focus or enjoy his usual pastimes the way he used to. But he never would've expected someone to notice it especially when he hadn't even noticed it himself.

"You know I'm just saying I'm a little worried, and we haven't hung out in a while... So uhhm if I've done something wrong or insulting please just tell me. I've been thinking back but I couldn't really tell what it was that made you want to have less-"

"y/n" Shoto interrupted your mumbled rant. You turned your head towards him, waiting for his words.

"It's not like that." "It isn't?" "No, don't worry".

Although shotos words were only partially true, he really didn't want to make you worry. He did feel different and he didn't know why, but your concern made him feel weirdly warm inside.

"As long as I'm with you everything is good"

You couldn't help but blush, and in return shoto blushed. The silence between you felt so thick as if it could turn into a blanket any moment and wrap you two in it.

After a while you worked up the courage to ask "wow this feels suspiciously like a date "

Without missing a beat he answered, "I like the sound of that". "Then let's make it one".

Before reaching the cafe your hand had found its way into his. The way his cheeks glowed light pink made your heart beat even more ferociously and this afternoon was just the first of many spent in that very same cafe.

iida:

The last couple of weeks iida seemed to be different. Completely overworked and stressed to hell and back.

It worries you deeply to see him like this. You were constantly wondering whether he was taking care of himself. The bags under his eyes seemed to be more pronounced and his participation in class seemed more shallow even though he was working more than before.

But whenever you wanted to investigate and find something out he seemed totally normal. He held a conversation just fine, he made you laugh and you enjoyed every second spent with him. But something wasn't right, you just knew it!

He was hanging up the new schedule for class duty when you saw an opening. You approached him with a clipboard in hand.

"Iida do you have a couple of minutes to spare? I'm collecting data for a study I'm conducting. It's supposed to help the planning of the schedule for future generations"

Of course that was all a lie, but it's not like he would find out. At least not immediately and that's what counts.

You began asking standard mental health questions about sleep, stress and self doubts. The answers surprised you. Of course you knew that iida had always been disciplined but this seemed like a little too much, training a little too hard, studying a little too long, sleeping too little. You had to do something.

"Hmmm, iida I have to tell you that your results are by far the most alarming. You're going to have to change parts of your schedule."

"What? What does that have to do with your study?"

"Oh- uhm nothing. But I'm just saying this as your friend now. Thanks to the study I have sketched out a standard routine, with a little bit of tweaking I can make it perfect for you"

Iida seemed suspicious of you and asked more questions which you all dodged like a pro. You were really good at persuading iida so it was only a matter of time until he accepted your offer.

It wouldn't be you if you didn't get the most out of it though. You got him to agree to meet in his dorm room to discuss further details and courses of action later.

One thing that was unmistakable though is that when he was talking to you, his mind was sharper, his sentences more clearly structured, his words more precisely picked and his cheeks tinted with an adorable pink hue.

Not long after iida told you he had to go somewhere and that you would talk later. So of course you got him to confirm your idea and as you said goodbye you shouted over to him

"It's a date then~"

The wink you shot him was the finishing touch, he disappeared in the crowd with burning cheeks and a rapidly beating heart.

Denki:

You always saw denki as a one in a million type of guy. The type of guy to remember the songs you liked and try to subtly incorporate them into his playlist when you were hanging out. The type of guy who would try to impress you with card and skateboard tricks. The type of guy who could joke for days, the type of guy you would scour the earth for. And harboring these feelings for him made it all the more difficult not to lose your mind when you heard him belittle himself so much.

Months passed but denki didn't pass up any opportunity to point words against himself. He was calling himself everything from stupid to ugly to incompetent, all of which were just factually untrue and one day you just couldn't do it anymore.

"You would never go out with an ugly boy like me, i just know it" Instead of taking the high road and trying to tell him hes pretty you bluntly state "I would if I could".

"What?", denkis voice hit an unusual cadence and the shock was dripping from it.

"What?", you ask back with a cocky tone.

"What did you just say?" Denkis self doubts seemed to be rather serious if he still asked you, his voice full of disbelief.

"I said I would if I could. You're cute, funny and lovely to be around, I can't think of a single reason not to go on a date with you"

You weren't sure if it was his quirk or just your hearts but there were definitely sparks. And as he smashed his lips against yours, connecting them in a passionate kiss, you praised the heavens for this gift.

taglist: @the-did-i-ask

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aventurineswife · 5 months ago

Note

What could possibly trigger their jealousy? how bad can it get? And how will they confront the reader about it? Could be angst, fluff, or suggestive. Up to what you see fit! (march 7th, Kafka, Veritas, Kaveh, Ruan mei, Aventurine.)

“I'm jealous of the way you're happy without me”

Tags: March x Reader, Kafka x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Kaveh x Reader, Ruan Mei x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Jealousy, Emotional Tension, Vulnerability, Romantic Tension, Conflict, Possessiveness, Emotional Struggles.

Warnings: Themes of Jealousy, Possessiveness, Emotional Conflict, Tension In Relationships, Implied Possessive Behavior In Romantic Dynamics, Insecurity.

A/N: My stupid ahh didn't register the req properly into my brain and I ended up writing fics for them 🧍‍♀️... Enjoy!

March was normally the picture of cheerful optimism, but today, something was... off. She had been unusually quiet, fiddling with her camera instead of chatting your ear off about her latest snapshots. You noticed it started when you and Stelle had been laughing together earlier—laughter that felt innocent to you, but apparently not to her.

Later, as you entered the train lounge, you found March sitting cross-legged on the couch, pouting slightly, her camera resting on her lap. Her eyes flicked up to meet yours, a storm of emotions hidden beneath her usual brightness.

“Hey,” she said, forcing a smile. “Had fun with Stelle today?”

You blinked, surprised. “Yeah, she told this ridiculous story—”

“I heard,” she interrupted, her voice tight. “You were laughing so much... Guess it must’ve been really funny.” Her attempt at casualness crumbled under the weight of her emotions.

“March, what’s wrong?”

She sighed dramatically, crossing her arms. “What’s wrong? Nothing! Except, I don’t know, maybe it feels like you’re forgetting about me. I mean, I’m always the one dragging you into adventures, taking cool pictures with you, but now you’re all buddy-buddy with Stelle.” Her voice cracked slightly at the end, betraying how deeply it bothered her.

You knelt in front of her, taking her hands in yours. “March, no one could replace you. I love hanging out with you—your energy, your humor, everything. Stelle’s fun, sure, but she’s not you.”

March’s pout softened, her cheeks flushing. “You really mean that?”

“Of course I do. You’re one of a kind, March. My one and only quirky photographer.”

She chuckled, her mood visibly lifting. “Okay, okay, I guess I got a little... silly there. But don’t forget—next time you’re laughing like that, it better be at one of my jokes.”

It wasn’t easy to rile up Kafka. She was the epitome of cool confidence, always in control. But when she saw you chatting with someone else—a certain Stellaron Hunter who was being just a little too friendly—her usual smirk faltered.

She didn’t confront you right away. Instead, she waited until later, when you were alone in her quarters. Sitting with her legs crossed, her eyes fixed on you with an unsettling intensity, she finally spoke.

“You’ve been quite popular today,” she remarked, her tone light but laced with something darker.

You tilted your head, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on,” she said, her voice dripping with feigned innocence. “That little tête-à-tête you had earlier? I could practically see the sparks flying.”

Realization dawned. “Kafka, are you... jealous?”

Her smirk returned, though it was sharper this time. “Jealous? Me? Hardly. I just don’t like sharing what’s mine.” She leaned closer, her fingers brushing against your jaw, forcing you to meet her gaze. “You wouldn’t make me feel ignored, would you, darling?”

You swallowed, your heart racing. “Of course not. You’re... kind of impossible to ignore.”

Her smirk softened into something almost tender. “Good answer. But just to make sure you don’t forget...” She leaned in, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was both possessive and utterly intoxicating. When she pulled away, her voice was a low murmur. “You belong to me. Don’t forget that.”

For someone as composed and logical as Dr. Ratio, jealousy was an uncharted territory. He prided himself on being above such emotions—until he saw you, laughing and leaning in close with another scholar during one of his lectures.

He didn’t say anything at first, though his eyes burned with an intensity that even his alabaster mask couldn’t hide. It wasn’t until the lecture ended and the others had dispersed that he finally confronted you.

“I couldn’t help but notice your... enthusiasm during today’s discussion,” he said, his tone carefully neutral, though the sharpness in his gaze betrayed him.

You frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ratio sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Let me put it plainly. I didn’t appreciate how... comfortable you seemed with that imbecile. Their theories are pedestrian at best, yet you treated them as though they were a second Einstein.”

“Ratio, are you jealous?” you asked, more amused than anything.

His eyes narrowed. “Jealous? That’s an absurd accusation. I simply don’t understand why you’d waste your time entertaining someone so beneath you.”

You stepped closer, resting a hand on his arm. “Ratio, you’re overthinking this. I admire you—for your brilliance, your passion, everything. No one else comes close.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly, though he still looked conflicted. “I... appreciate that. But I don’t like feeling—” He cut himself off, his frustration evident.

“Vulnerable?” you supplied gently.

He nodded, his pride clearly wrestling with the admission. “Yes. But if you say I have nothing to worry about, then I’ll trust you. Just... don’t make a habit of testing my patience.”

You smiled, standing on your tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Never. You’re the only genius I have eyes for.”

Kaveh sat at his drafting table, his fingers absently tracing the intricate blueprints for his latest project, but his mind was miles away. It wasn’t the design that occupied his thoughts—it was the image of you, laughing and talking with Alhaitham in the corner of the room. He tried to brush it off as nothing—after all, they were old friends, right? But every laugh you shared, every soft smile you gave him, struck Kaveh’s heart with a sense of sharp, unfamiliar discomfort.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want you to have friends. He knew the importance of connections. But Alhaitham... the way you looked at him, so comfortable and at ease, made Kaveh's stomach twist. He couldn’t ignore the jealousy gnawing at him—how could he, when it felt like his chest was being crushed under the weight of it?

He had always been the idealist, believing in beauty and goodness. But in that moment, watching the two of you exchange something unspoken, something that seemed to bring you both closer, he felt a sting of doubt.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Alhaitham’s voice interrupted Kaveh’s spiraling thoughts. His tone was unreadable, his expression indifferent as usual.

Kaveh forced a smile, though it felt like the most strained thing he had done in days. “Of course. Just working.”

But Alhaitham wasn’t fooled. With a subtle glance at you, he excused himself, leaving Kaveh alone in the room.

Kaveh’s hands tightened into fists. He couldn't push the emotions away any longer. He could only imagine what it might feel like if you turned to him the way you did to Alhaitham. The ache inside his chest deepened.

You’d never seen him so distant. His demeanor had changed. The open warmth that usually defined him had turned to quiet frustration, something unspoken hanging between you.

Finally, after hours of silence, you approached him. "Kaveh," you began softly, "I don't understand. Why have you been avoiding me today?"

He turned to face you, his eyes sharper than usual, an edge of vulnerability flickering within them. “I—” He swallowed. “You were with him. With Alhaitham.”

You blinked, confusion flashing across your face. “What do you mean? He’s my friend.”

Kaveh’s voice wavered despite himself. “I know. But... it’s more than that, isn’t it?” He couldn't stop the words from tumbling out. “I can’t help but wonder if... if you need him more than you need me.” His gaze fell, suddenly feeling the weight of his own words.

You didn’t need to ask how deep it went. Kaveh’s jealousy wasn’t the playful, harmless kind—it was raw and vulnerable, revealing his fears of being discarded, of his care and efforts never being enough.

You moved to his side and gently placed a hand on his arm. "Kaveh, I—" You hesitated, before continuing, "You’re my light, my inspiration, the one who makes my heart race with everything you do. But that doesn’t mean I don’t cherish my friends. You’re not in competition."

For a moment, Kaveh felt a spark of relief—just a flicker, before his insecurities took hold again. “Then why does it feel like I’m losing you?”

With a soft sigh, you cupped his face in your hands. "You haven’t lost me, Kaveh. Not ever."

Kaveh closed his eyes, taking a slow, steadying breath. "I don’t know what I would do without you," he whispered, his vulnerability spilling out as the jealousy melted into something more profound—an admission of how deeply he needed you, how terrified he was of losing what mattered most.

The lab was unusually quiet. The hum of machinery and the soft clicking of data streams filled the room, but something was off. Ruan Mei didn’t need to look up to know what was happening. She could hear it in your voice—the light, teasing tone you had when speaking to Herta, one of her colleagues from the Genius Society.

It wasn’t that Ruan Mei disliked Herta. Far from it. But seeing you so engaged, so at ease with her, stirred something unfamiliar in her. Herta’s loud laugh, her gregarious energy, was so different from Ruan Mei’s cool, methodical presence. She knew she couldn’t compete with that. Yet, why did it bother her so much?

A brief flash of jealousy spread through her, like a cold chill in her chest. She couldn’t explain it—she’d never cared about this before. But somehow, seeing you make Herta laugh, seeing how easily you two interacted, made her feel like an outsider in her own life.

She wasn’t one to show emotions easily, but this... this was something she had never expected. The creeping feeling that perhaps you could find someone more engaging, more dynamic, than the stoic, emotionally distant Ruan Mei. It was suffocating.

She turned her attention back to the data, forcing herself to focus, but her mind kept drifting back to you. And to Herta.

When you finally approached her later that day, her expression remained unreadable, a mask of detachment she had perfected over the years. You didn’t seem to notice the subtle shift in her demeanor.

“Ruan Mei,” you said, softly. “Can we talk?”

Her heart skipped, but she kept her voice neutral. “What is it?”

You hesitated, a knowing look in your eyes. “I noticed... you seemed a little off today. Is everything okay?”

Ruan Mei clenched her jaw. She didn’t want to admit to her jealousy—not to you, not to anyone. She had always been so in control, so precise in her actions. But you were different. You made her feel like she had to confront the emotions she had buried for so long.

“Everything is fine,” she replied, her voice sharp but controlled. “I’ve been busy.”

You took a step closer, your eyes searching hers for the truth. “Ruan Mei,” you said gently, “I can tell when something’s wrong. You don’t have to hide it.”

She stiffened. “I’m not hiding anything,” she snapped before quickly composing herself. “It’s nothing.”

But the slight tremor in her hand betrayed her. She could feel her walls crumbling. With a deep sigh, Ruan Mei looked away, the weight of her feelings too much to bear. “I don’t like seeing you with her,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

You blinked, confused at first. “With Herta?” you asked.

Ruan Mei nodded stiffly. “She... she’s too different from me. I don’t understand why you would prefer someone so... loud.”

You stepped closer, lifting her chin gently, forcing her to meet your eyes. “I like you for who you are, Ruan Mei. I don’t need someone loud or flashy. I need someone who’s thoughtful and intelligent. Someone who makes me think. And that’s you.”

Ruan Mei felt her breath catch, her heart racing in a way it hadn’t in years. Maybe, just maybe, there was something to this connection after all.

Aventurine sat at his usual spot in the corner of the room, watching you from across the room. His fingers were wrapped around a glass of wine, swirling it absently, though his attention was entirely on you. You were talking to someone else—an acquaintance, someone new—and his stomach twisted with a sensation he hadn’t expected.

He couldn’t deny the tightening in his chest. He had known it was irrational. He had known it wasn’t the time to feel possessive, but watching the way you laughed at the other person’s jokes, the way you leaned in slightly, even the way your eyes sparkled when they spoke to you—it stirred something deep inside him. Something dangerous. Something he had long buried under layers of charm and strategy.

It was an old feeling—jealousy—but for someone who had gambled with so much of his life, to feel out of control like this, to feel exposed—it unnerved him.

He had always prided himself on his ability to remain composed. He was a master of manipulation, a master of the game. But this was different. He could feel the walls around his heart beginning to crack, the fear of losing you threatening to swallow him whole.

He stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor, drawing attention. You looked up, your expression a mix of confusion and concern. That was all it took to push him over the edge.

Aventurine’s smile was strained as he approached you, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He leaned in just enough for you to notice the tense edge to his movements. “I think,” he began, his tone almost teasing, but there was something deeper behind it, “that I should be the one to occupy your attention for a while, don’t you think?”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly unaware of the storm brewing beneath the surface. “Aventurine, what’s wrong with you? Why are you—”

He cut you off, his voice low but with an unmistakable edge of tension. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said, though the words were laced with an undercurrent of something darker. “I just don’t like seeing what I’ve worked so hard to gain slipping away.”

You stared at him, now understanding that something more than mere playful banter was at play. “What are you talking about?”

He laughed, though there was no humor in it. “I never lose. Not in this game.”

You stepped closer, your hand gently resting on his. “Aventurine, you don’t have to play games with me. Just tell me what’s going on.”

He hesitated, his expression faltering for just a moment, before he smirked again. “Perhaps it’s just the thrill of the chase. Or maybe... just maybe, it’s that I’m afraid of losing.”

For a moment, he allowed himself to be vulnerable, before the mask slid back into place.

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upon-sunflower-trails · 5 months ago

Text

use me how you need, so long as i'm your favorite toy

choi su-bong (thanos) x reader | oneshot | 1698 words

warnings: nsfw, non-explicit sex (at least not imo), toxic relationship, VERY brief salesman x reader

work below the cut!!

It had been like this since the first night these games had started.

You were either bent over the bathroom sink or slammed against the door of a stall while your fellow players were all doing decidedly more useful things, such as fearing for their lives in these death games or catching up on much needed sleep.

It all started after being met by some man in a suit, purring that you could play more games to win money as you stood there, holding your stinging cheek as tears welled up in your eyes, matching the warmth pooling in your abdomen at the pain. You took the business card from him with shaky hands and flushed cheeks, dialing the number on the back as soon as humanly possible.

The first game had been Red Light, Green Light. You remembered the way you scoffed at the short-haired man who rushed ahead of everyone else, shouting into his jacket sleeve about people dying and staying careful. You murmured jokes to the long-haired man next to you, who seemed a tad bit more anxious than you, but still laughed along. You found a morbid sort of thrill in the danger of such a game, even once it was revealed Player 456 was correct as shots rang out through the large room and blood decorated the sandy field.

"Guess he was telling the truth. Thought he was on something, honestly," you snarked to the man next to you, who revealed his name to be Nam-gyu. He laughed, albeit a bit shakily, as you both continued to make your way closer to the finish line.

Your interest was piqued by the energetic man with purple hair, who decided to push the people ahead of him. While you knew deep down it was cruel and unusual, you couldn't help but meet his gaze and return the grin he shot you. You really should have been disgusted by him and his actions, blood now decorating his face. But you really never had much self respect to begin with.

After the game, with you and Nam-gyu sticking close to each other as you passed the finish line, both cracking jokes even as shots rang out and more bodies dropped, you noticed the man from before still staring at you. He'd approached you both, more comfortable with Nam-gyu than you (as the two had been conversing before the games had started), before asking for your name with a smirk.

You'd given it without hesitation. "What about you? Seems from all those people begging for your picture like you're famous, but I don't keep up with celebrities." You tried to act disengaged as you straightened out your jacket, wiping some of the blood that had splattered onto your hands on your tracksuit pants. He feigned shock, bringing a tattooed hand to his chest. He tried to reply before Nam-gyu cut him off.

"Really, Y/N? Famous rapper Thanos doesn't ring a bell for you?" He patted him on the shoulder as the man—you guessed he went by Thanos, which made you hold back a snort—hit him lightly on the chest.

"I've got this, Nam-su." He smirked at you again, raising an eyebrow and ignoring the long-haired man groaning, 'Nam-gyu.' He wrapped an arm around your waist, his proximity dizzying as you noticed his blown-out pupils. "Why don't we get to know each other, huh?"

It was after voting to leave had taken place that night, when it seemed as though the pills he'd taken had worn off, that he crept to your side as you lazily slid into bed, teasing that he needed a new addiction while he was in this place. You had initially rolled your eyes at his cheesiness, but you weren't known for your strong resolve. The blood on his face and clothes was only adding to you giving up the last piece of self-respect you had left.

You were never quite sure how the two of you convinced the guards to let you out after lights-out. Maybe the miniscule logical part of you secretly wished they would close the slats and deny your requests. The overpowering irrational part of you knew that if that had happened, it would only lead to limbs tangled together under the sheets of the bunk.

The first night had been painful, your pleasure clearly not at the forefront of his mind as he simply used you against the stall—such a thing that would leave any normal person dry and refusing to return. Unfortunately for you, you were obviously not a normal person. The pace he set was brutal, your body living proof of that as the markings slightly peeked out above your tracksuit collar. You weren't sure how long you both stayed there, slick with sweat and panting in time with the rhythm he set, but you didn't care. Despite his temporary sobriety, you felt as though you were at your highest as he degraded and berated you.

Even when he pressed a rough kiss against your lips and muttered some half-ass declaration of love, you knew he was simply using you. You didn't care. That was how you'd gotten into these games in the first place, you let others treat you as a stepping stone to get what they wanted, as long as they gave you a sliver of attention. Call it a fucked-up childhood, mental instability, you didn't care—how could you, when he was holding you so closely as he came down from his temporary high and muttering sweet nothings as your back was pressed against the door?

It had grown into your nightly routine. After you teamed up in the six-legged pentathlon with Thanos, Nam-gyu, and some other players who you hadn't bothered to learn the names of because they weren't him, he was pressed against you as the guard let both of you through to use the bathroom, begging to see if your skills could be used for things besides gong-gi. Obviously, you had indulged him, even when he called you all sorts of mean names while hissing through his teeth because of your hands.

During each vote, you couldn't care less whether or not you were going home. You wore the blue circle on your chest with pride, preening when you would return to the side of players desperate for the prize as Thanos cooed how loyal you were, even if he treated you more like a pet than a lover when everyone else was watching. Nam-gyu was the only other person who spoke to you, seeing as everyone else was too scared to get close to the person who that menace had claimed.

It was only after Mingle that he had truly fucked you with some sort of emotion, when in his drugged-out state he had forgotten to pull you into a room with him and his other teammates, forcing you to be dragged along with Player 380 in a rush. You hadn't even cared, reasoning to yourself that Thanos had better things to worry about than you, even as hot tears streamed down your face when the girl laden with piercings asked you if you were alright.

You remembered how he pulled you into him with desperation after the doors had opened again, trying his best to joke through his anxieties as he acted as though he knew Player 380 would ensure your safety. But after the vote that night, even after you had voted "O" without a second thought and bounded towards him with a smile on your face, he stuck to you like glue. He'd ripped you out of your bunk with a newfound desperation during lights-out, urgent to get to the restroom you considered your second home as he pressed you against the sink, hands shaky.

"Thought I'd really lost you this time, shit," he panted out, voice barely above your noises of pleasure. When you practically screamed out his name, he quickly corrected you as he stopped suddenly. "Su-bong." His tone was serious, with his expression matching. You felt your blood run cold, having never seen him in such a state. "Please, my real name—Call me Su-bong."

You swore his grip on your hips was tighter than ever before, especially as your cries of his real name echoed throughout the empty room, burying himself into you as he finally finished what he had come to do. That was usually all it ever was, with Su-bong using your body and you being able to completely get off on it. But not tonight, it seemed, as he knelt in front of you while kissing your thighs. You weren't used to such intimacy from him, or anyone for that matter. Your face burned as he looked up at you through his lashes, eyes glassy. The pleasure he brought as he finally used his mouth between your thighs was foreign to you, something you had never felt before. Your climax was different from any you had ever had, fingers tangled in his hair as you realized this was what was supposed to be normal. He held you close as you came down from ecstasy, pressing soft kisses to your lips. It was out of the ordinary for him, adding to the tender words he was mumbling against your pulse.

"I won't let anything happen to you, baby, not again." He gently sucked at your neck, the bruises blooming beneath his lips a painful reminder of his ownership over you. "Don't know what I'd do in here without you. I'll keep you safe, promise."

You knew his promises were empty. You didn't care. You knew everything would go back to normal in the morning, once he slipped the colorful pills past his lips while chuckling with Nam-gyu, caressing your side as he ignored anything you tried to add to the conversation. You didn't mind it. He paid attention to you once the lights were off and no one was around to see, and that was enough for you. It always was.

He was using you, and you didn't care; he was using everyone. You were his favorite, at least for now, and that was all that mattered.

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sleepingdiaryzzz · 6 months ago

Note

yandere!Conner kidnapping reader after she rejects him😔

(I'M HAPPY YOU'RE DOING WELL<3)

Yandere connor Kent x reader

Conner Kent was used to losing things—control, stability, even his sense of self—but he didn’t think he could lose you. Not after everything. You were the only person who didn’t look at him like a walking science experiment or a Superman knockoff. You didn’t ask him what it felt like to have two dads who didn’t care enough to stick around. You didn’t treat him like a weapon in waiting, either.

You just saw him, the way no one else did.

And for someone like him, who had spent his entire existence clawing for meaning, that sight was everything.

So when you said no, when you told him you didn’t feel the same, it was like a fist to his gut. He played it cool, shrugged, tossed out some half-hearted "No big deal," before walking away. But inside, something cracked open. Something dark.

Because rejection wasn’t just rejection—it was abandonment. And Conner Kent had been abandoned enough for one lifetime.

When you woke up, the room was dimly lit, with the faint smell of leather and motor oil clinging to the air. The bed beneath you was soft, but the weight of an unfamiliar blanket felt suffocating. You blinked against the hazy light, your brain sluggish as it tried to make sense of where you were.

The faint sound of music hummed in the background, something low and grungy that vibrated through the walls. You tugged at your wrists and realized, to your growing panic, that they were tied—not tightly, but enough to keep you from slipping away.

"Morning, sunshine," came a voice from the corner of the room.

Your head snapped toward it, your heart lurching as you spotted Conner leaning against the wall. His leather jacket hung off his broad shoulders, and his arms were crossed over his chest, muscles taut beneath his white t-shirt. His face was unreadable, but there was something dangerous in the way his blue eyes caught the light.

"Conner?" Your voice came out small, shaky. "What the hell is going on?"

He smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "Relax. You’re safe. Isn’t that what everyone wants to hear?"

You struggled against the restraints, your panic mounting. "Safe? Are you kidding me? Let me go!"

He pushed off the wall and sauntered toward you, his boots heavy against the floor. When he stopped beside the bed, he crouched so his face was level with yours.

"Yeah, that’s not happening," he said casually, his tone almost bored.

Your stomach flipped. "Conner, this isn’t funny! You can’t just—"

"I can’t just what? Take care of you? Make sure no one hurts you? Because guess what? I’m already doing a better job at that than anyone else ever could."

"You call this taking care of me?!" you snapped, tears welling in your eyes. "This is insane!"

His jaw twitched, and for a second, you saw the cracks in his cool exterior. "What’s insane," he said quietly, his voice low and sharp, "is thinking you could just walk away. Like I’m nothing. Like I don’t—" He stopped himself, exhaling harshly. "Do you know how many people have walked out on me, [name]? How many times I’ve been left behind like I didn’t matter?"

Your breath caught as you saw the raw, unguarded pain flicker across his face.

"But you?" He continued, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "You were different. You made me feel like I was more than just some half-baked clone. And then you threw it all away like it didn’t mean anything."

"Conner, that’s not—"

"Save it," he cut you off, standing abruptly and running a hand through his messy black hair. "You don’t get it. You don’t see what I see. But you will. I’ll make sure of it."

He turned back to you, his smirk returning, though it was laced with something darker now. "You’ll thank me eventually, you know. Once you realize I’m the only one who gives a damn about you."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared at him, your fear and anger warring with the flicker of pity you couldn’t quite suppress.

"Conner," you said softly, trying to keep your voice steady. "This isn’t love. This isn’t how you treat someone you care about."

He froze for a moment, his expression hardening. Then he scoffed, shaking his head. "You don’t know what love is," he muttered. "But don’t worry. I’ll teach you."

And with that, he turned and walked toward the door, his boots echoing in the small room.

"Get some rest," he said over his shoulder. "You’re gonna need it."

The door closed behind him with a resounding click, and you were left alone, the weight of his obsession settling over you like a heavy chain.

(A/n: sorry for the wait! I've been writing all day, my hands are aching there's like 15 asks edited in my drafts 😭 TYSM FOR THE WORRY though you don't need to, im fine😛 but not today.. This is my last post before I go to a short hiatus, maybe for 1 or 2 weeks? Either way, I'm not gonna post for awhile because of mental health issues, exams, and chirstmas. Merry Christmas everyone!!)

#yandere dc #yandere connor kent x reader #yandere connor #yandere superboy #yandere superboy x reader #yandere superman #superboy x reader #yandere dc x reader #😺– request #dc x reader #yandere connor x reader #connor kent x reader

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lilacgaby · 8 months ago

Text

i guess i'm stuck forever by the glue,

oh, and you.

pairing: spiderman!megumi x reader

synopsisꨄ: you and megumi have been on and off for a while, one situation to another has you two webbed together. not like either of you mind. wc: 3k

tags: fem!reader, cursing, fighting, use of she/her, drinking, yuuji is the goat, suggestive (kissing(???)), fluff, pet names, college!au, megumi has a lip piercing. yeah.

as megumi swung back from a night full of work, greeting his roommate yuuji with a fist bump and an exhausted smile as he pulled up his mask, he laid down on his bed exhausted.

his black webbed suit now discarded by the bed as he stared up to the ceiling of his room. his chest heaving slightly as he put an arm over his eyes, blocking out all light so he could sleep for a couple hours before it all began at nine.

not.

he had classes today, classes he dreaded for one reason. you.

something happened between you that should've never been given a single thought, never should've been conceived even in his mind.

he'd kissed you. and that was putting it lightly.

it was at some random college party he'd been convinced to go to by yuuji, he had been taking down cans of cheap beer mindlessly, the bottle now a bit crushed in his hand as he saw you walk in.

fitted dress, hugging you so right. jewelry shining in the dim light of the party, but this place was forgotten as his eyes settled on you. and yours in him.

a lot of the party was a blur in his mind, events playing together and becoming one because the only thing he kept focused on was you.

he thinks you drank a lot too, he can't quite remember. his hand slaps over his eyes in frustration, because the one part he thinks he'll never forget plays in his head on repeat.

your lips on his, you on his lap as his hand held you against him. you were on a bed, how did you get there? he didn't know but didn't care. his hand tilting your head slightly, with the feeling of your hands in his hair. the piercing on his lip rubbing almost addictively painful against yours, his tongue almost slipping in your mouth until–

todo. his stupid upperclassman barged in, a comically loud gasp coming from his lips as he yelled, “megumi and [name] are making out in here!”

safe to say you jumped off of him pretty quick, his hands ripped off your waist as he stood to attention, you shoving past him as you left. megumi shot an annoyed glare as he walked past him, only for yuuji to laugh in his face as he settled back onto the couch of the living room.

“what?” megumi grunted, he was already annoyed, he didn't need yuuji laughing at him right now.

“it's just..” yuuji pointed a finger to his face, before cracking an impossibly wider smile. “you have lipstick all over your face megumi.”

after throwing a pillow at yuuji’s face, he went home.

but you've been on his mind ever since, and he didn't know what to do about it.

you've been ‘friends’ for a while, only because of mutual relations between your other friends. but you'd always had this weird connection between you two. sharing wired headphones during school trips, lending a shoulder to sleep on, studying together.

he'd hate to think it'd be lost just because of a drunken— no it wasn't an accident. far from it. but he just wished he talked to you before it got that far.

with a groan, he shoves his head into a pillow, letting out a muffled scream.

he finally felt his thoughts calm down, his eyes closing as he fell asleep..

and awoke to the beeping of his alarm clock. he threw a web at it and stuck it to the wall. this was going to be annoying.

you seemed to be just as awkward as he was about this whole ordeal, fingers playing with each other as you avoided eye contact with him at all cost.

not like he fared any better, anytime he tried to start up conversation with you, his eyes would fall to your lips and make him flush red.

just two hopeless idiots.

class ended with no words spoken between you two and a voice screaming at him to do something. anything.

but he didn't, and you were already gone. he sighed before packing up and heading back to the dorm.

yuuji had become sort of like his intelligence.. though it wasn't the best idea megumi ever had, he was good hearted about it at least.

as megumi snacked on a bunny-shaped popsicle, yuuji looked shocked to see him. he looked at him blankly before starting, “i didn't think you'd be here.”

megumi squinted, “why wouldn't i be in my own house?”

“because doc oc attacked by one of the school dorms?”

a moment of silence passed, the bunny now miserably dripping down the drain forgotten, as megumi ran to put his suit on. “lead with that shit, idiot!”

he zipped out the window of his room, yuuji yelled out behind him, “dorm 5-C!”

megumi swung quickly, the black and white suit making him stand out in the broad daylight as he sped over there. landing a kick on the face of the man controlling the robotic suit, before landing perfectly on the top of the dorm.

“hey freak. don't you have anything better to do?” he mocked, before webbing down one of their arms.

“oh, nice of you to finally show up, spiderman.” the man spoke, attempting to grab him but slamming his hand down onto the building instead. “so slow, what if i'd killed someone already?”

“you think you're that good?” he sped over to land a kick on the main body of the mission, making the man keel over.

“no, i know so.” the man retorted, before slamming down three arms at once. he missed megumi entirely, but one section of the dorm was now completely cut off.

‘crap’. megumi thought, before attaching a string of web to the man's neck. “can you be more considerate next time?” before he could swat it off, a wave of venom passed through his neck, paralyzing him.

megumi, after breathing a sigh of relief, quickly did a once-over of the damaged area. swinging by only to see you, standing at the broken off chunk of what must've been your room with a horrified look.

you stared blankly at the outside, an odd look on your face. the boba that you stopped to get at the cafe now dropped on the floor.

megumi rushed over to you, moving you from the dangerous edge as he instinctively asked, “[name]! are you okay?”

you looked at him, tilting your head in confusion as he held you close. “..spider-man? why do you know my name?”

shit.

“uhh. i.. know one of your friends? he spoke of you once.”

“really? who?”

“um.. oops.. his name must of slipped my mind.”

“oh?”

“just– listen, you've got to find someone to stay with. sorry about this, but your dorm is wrecked.”

it seemed to get your attention off the topic for a second you looking over and mentally crying at all your lost things. “aw man, my stuff.”

he finally let you out his embrace so you could start calling up people to let you stay with them. “um.. i'm really sorry about this [name].”

“it's not your fault spider-man,” you said while texting, “i probably would be dead if you didn't come when you did. so thank you.”

you gave him a polite smile, before he nodded and swung off.

he finally made it back to his dorm, slumping over at his desk, changing quickly so he could just be done.

he walked out his room, sweatpants hung low as he went to go get another bunny popsicle, only for this one to meet the same fate as its predecessor when he saw you walk in with yuuji.

“hey megumi!” yuuji waved, his eyes wide as if to signal something.

“she's gonna be staying here, since her dorm was ruined by a villain. isn't that horrible?”

“why are you being weird?”

“i'm not?”

megumi stood jaw slack at the implications of living with you, his face flushed before he let out a small. “okay.”

weeks living with you weren't bad. you were a good roommate, you'd clean, do your part of the dishes, hang out as you three, it was all good.

he'd let you borrow his clothes, his sweatshirts and pants became you new style. since his fight with that villain had left you without any clothes.

everything had been fine, you'd even hung out in his room one on one once, lazing about as you laid on the silken sheets, not knowing how you were affecting him.

one day, an altercation with some random villain had left him bleeding from the stomach, stumbling as he walked in. he only managed to make it to the living room, before falling onto the floor. he didn't have his suit on thankfully, he had been caught off guard and had to fight without it, but he'd never missed the slight protection it gave him until now.

you saw him, keeled over on the floor, and rushed to his side. “megumi? what's–” you let a sharp gasp escape your lips at the sight of the blood puddle under him. you flipped him over as gentle as you could, pulling up his shirt and running to find a kit.

you didn't think you'd ever need to use your sewing skills for skin, but you were weaving the needle in and out of the huge wound with precision, ignoring the tears burning at you eyes.

you didn't know what was going on with him, why'd he'd leave at random hours throughout the night and come back bruised every time. but you couldn't find it in yourself to ask.

now you wish you did.

“megumi?” he was out cold, face still as you poked his cheek gently. you dabbed at his wound, cleaning it up before getting yuuji to help him into his bed.

he woke up alone, his wounds even from the months before having been taken care of. when he walked in to the kitchen, only to have you grab his hand.

“megumi.”

“ah. [name].” his eyes were wide as he stared at your grip on him. “what.. what do you do when you go out? you come back all.. bruised and stuff.”

crap.

“i.. i can't tell you.”

you gripped his hand tighter at that, before letting go completely. “‘kay. but,” you held up a finger to his face. “i'll take care of your injuries everyday.”

his eyes widened impossibly, before a small smile overcame his face. “yeah? sounds good.”

that's how he found himself, every night with your hand tending anything that ailed him. you'd make jokes about what you think he was out doing, beating up underclassmen or whatnot. until.. he left his mask in plain vision once.

“hey, why do you have spider-man's mask in here?”

his breath hitched, eye catching the object that fell out of the closet he shoved it in.

“uh.. i'm.. spider-man's friend?” he mentally face palmed.

…

“oh!” you said, eyes brightening. “now i get it! wouldn't you believe it if i said that i met spider-man when my dorm like.. got destroyed?”

“yeah. uh– he told me.��

“oh! he said he had a friend, i didn't know it was you!”

“yeah i help him. research and stuff, get caught in the aftermath a lot.”

“that makes sense. you're so cool megumi.”

he flushed, becoming hyper aware of your hands on his.

“yeah, whatever.”

your almost nightly ritual was only cut off by a party your friend was throwing. you were so excited, not having gone to one since your dorm room was destroyed.

until you needed someone to help zip up your dress. with your friends half an hour away, you wrapped a towel around yourself and knocked on megumi’s door.

“yo–” whatever he was going to say got caught in his breath at this sight of you, clad in a towel.

“hey megumi. can you help me real quick?”

he ripped his eyes off of you momentarily, before averting his eyes and gesturing for you to come in.

he almost freaked out when you dropped the towel, only to see a gorgeous dress underneath. “can you zip me up? i can't reach.”

he sucked in a deep breath, before putting a thumbs up.

with shaky hands he zipped up your dress, instinctively you turned around. “how do i look?”

he couldn't voice his words, but as you saw the gulp that came over him, you knew you looked good. with a pat on the back and a, “see you there!” you set off.

and you found yourself in the same position as the last time, except he was on top of you, your hands pulling him closer as your legs wrapped around him. same bed too, not that it mattered.

you felt the same pressure from his piercing from last time, you two weren't nearly as drunk as then though. it was bruising your lip, you two were breathless, his hands moved, about to hold your face when–

his phone rang. you both jumped, but when he saw who it was he knew he had to answer. it was yuuji, and he wouldn't have called if it wasn't important. “sorry.” is all he said before he went outside.

he always kept his suit near him, so he slipped it on and went to the site where it was reported doc oc would be. being he escaped prison and all.

you were upset and angry in all senses of the word. you stormed out into the streets, the cold biting your skin as you stomped away. only to find yourself… entangled in an iron hand.

“spider-man likes you, right?” a man asked, warped voice behind you. “stay still and i won't hurt you. too bad.”

you were dragged, silent as to not upset this strange man. he settled over a random building, holding you over an edge.

“stay quiet 'til he gets here, i don't wanna hear you scream.”

—-

all the information had been wrong, doc had been on the complete opposite side of the city. with a screaming yuuji in his ear, he now knew the villain held you in his grasp. great.

the guy was shaking you around over the edge, the one you were tumbling over mentally was now physical as the far distance to the bottom loomed under you.

his heart sped up at the sight of you, he made his presence known. “hey, how'd you escape from the psych ward?”

“it was confinement, and i don't owe you any answer spider-man! you'll let me beat you down or– or i'll throw your girlfriend off this roof.” the villain shook you slightly, making you yelp.

“you won't be doing anything.”

“oh, yes i will.”

the arm with you encircled in it raised, he sped over to web the base of his body to the ground, kicking the control in with his leg.

the dome surrounding the villains body shattered, leaving a shaking man in its wake.

“d-don't hurt me! or i'll–”

a punch by the side of his head shut him up. “put her down, before i put you down.”

“i– i can't! that arm is broken! t-the whole panel is!”

he looked and sure enough he was right, the control buttons were electrified and tweaking.

he scoffed. “stay here, actually.” he webbed him down, with a little venom just to be safe.

he walked calmly on top of the arm, seeing the relief form on your lips bruised from him.

“hey pretty.” he said, not knowing where the sudden confidence came from.

“spider-man! thank god.” you breathed a sigh. “yeah, don't thank me yet.” he muttered. “you have to trust me [name]. can you do that for me?” he asked, looking right at you as he stood over the only thing keeping you alive.

“i mean.. yeah.”

“okay then. you're going to fall. but i'm going to catch you, okay?”

you nodded, closing your eyes. “okay. don't worry, i got you.”

before you knew it you were falling, you screamed obviously, because you stupidly opened your eyes to the cars moving below. the lights blinding as you fell closer and closer, until you were suddenly in the embrace of him.

“are you okay?” he asked, looking at your face of pure shock at the feeling of being swung around. “yeah, now that you're here! this is so cool!” he smiled, the fabric of his mask wrinkling as he took you to your unknowingly shared home, though he took the long route.

he was a bit too happy when he dropped you off at your window, antsy as you finally settled in. “thank you, spidey.”

“ah, it's nothing. just doing my job you know?” he smirked, you nodded. you tilted you head slightly as you moved towards him, heart in your throat as you put your hand under the neck of his mask, lifting it up just to reveal his lips.

“what, you trying to pay me for my trouble?” he genuinely didn't know why he was acting on his impulses so much around you, maybe it was the freedom of being spiderman. but you didn't mind as you kissed him. sparks flew, almost literally.

a lightbulb went off in your head, you gasped when you felt the metal of his piercing nudge against the sensitive bruise on your lip from earlier.

no way. “megumi?”

he froze, before a small, “hi?” escaped him.

you pulled off his mask, green eyes greeting you and a messy bunch of hair that you have no idea how it fit being revealed. all you could do was laugh, before planting another kiss on his lips.

“you're so dumb. but i guess i am too, huh?”

a smile overcame his lips, matching yours as he let out a small laugh too.

“guess we are.”

the night ended with you two in each others arms, him speaking on his experiences as spider-man and you questioning him on it. his hands now playing with your hair.

“name slipped your mind huh?” you joked, reminiscing on your first conversation with spider-man.

“tch, shut up.” he grumbled, before silencing you with a kiss. he physically didn't want to be far from you anymore, he held you even closer. even if you poked fun at him.

a webbed seal of fate tied you two together, a web woven by cupid themself.

858 notes · View notes

seospicybin · 9 months ago

Text

INEXPERIENCED.

Han x reader. (s)

Synopsis: One of your subordinates wasn’t performing the way you would have liked, you invited him for a drink in the hopes of encouraging him only to discover that he's inexperienced in other things too. (7,5k words)

Author's note: Let me know if you want a second part. Oh, and happy birthday, Hannie! ♡

"Goddammit!"

The chief's voice is sharp and loud like a crack of thunder but instead of lightning, it comes with a stack of papers hurling toward you.

Fortunately, it's breezing past the side of your head as it scatters in the air and the papers float before they make a quiet landing on the floor.

"Have you been teaching those under your wing right?" The chief yells again, this time personally aimed it toward you with his nostrils flared and his neck gets all red whether from the anger or his collar is too tight, or both.

"Don't make light of our work here!"

It's always safe to apologize first and explain later, it's even better if there are no explanations at all and admit right away that it's your fault.

"We're very sorry, sir!" You sincerely say while keeping your head down, you secretly glance to the side to check on someone and he does the same thing too.

"I'll take responsibility for this," you openly accept the blame as a good senior would do.

"Enough with your apologies!" The chief lowers his voice as he rubs on his wrist and you guess he got hurt from hurling the papers at you with all of his strength.

"Just go back to your work and do it right!" The chief yells once more as he hides the pain around his wrist.

You nod and put on a courteous smile, "Please, excuse us," you say.

You quickly make your way out of his office along with your junior co-worker and none of you say anything until you both turn into the hallway that leads you back to your office.

The person next to you, Han, stops walking and turns to face you, he's looking down at his feet when he apologizes, "I'm sorry. It was my mistake but I dragged you into this."

With a job comes a responsibility and when you get tasked to take him under your wing, you are fully aware that he's your responsibility and his mistake will be your mistake too. Since he's new, it's understandable that he stumbled on things but the problem is he's done it a couple of times already in the last five months he's been working here.

However, you remember you were once in his position and you've experienced how stressful it can be when everyone is pressing you from all sides, you don't want that for him so you try to be a compassionate senior for him.

You gently place your hand on his shoulder and smile at him, "The most important thing is you acknowledge your mistake and apologize. Now, we can just laugh it off," you tell him.

Han lifts his head, showing how sorry he is with his eyebrow downturn and wistful eyes, "We can't just laugh it off," he meekly says.

You put your hand on the small of his back and whisk him away to continue walking down the hallway, "Let's just laugh it off and have a few drinks tonight," you console him.

"Maybe just one drink," he says, feeling concerned with what you mean by a few drinks.

"Let's drink until morning!" You jokingly say, linking your arm with his.

"We can't drink until morning," Han meekly says as you keep dragging him along with you.

"Oh, come on!" You gently slap him on the chest and get surprised by the firm muscles he has under his crisp white shirt, "It's my treat."

What's a high-paying job when he earns more stress than money?

Han should consider himself lucky that he has you as a senior. Not only that you're nice, you are so kind and patient with him, you teach him everything he needs to know about his job and the company. You always try to cheer him up when he gets chewed off by the chief. You're not only making this job bearable to him, you make it possible for him to enjoy his work with you around.

"Oh, no!" You gasp as you see the sign taped on the front door of the bar.

"Our sanctuary!" You cry with your lips pursed and your shoulders sagged.

Closed for renovation, it says on it.

It's such a shame that the bar that you both regularly visit is closed on days like this when he needs to drink his sorrow away and just decompress.

"Shall we go somewhere else?" He suggests while scratching the back of his head, raking his brain for any bar he knows in this area.

Your face brightens as the light bulb in your head dings with an idea, "How about we drink at my place?"

"Huh?" His eyes burrowed in slight shock and confusion.

"Come on! It's just around the corner," you don't wait for his answer, you link your arm around him and whisk him away with you.

Turns out, you're not lying about your place is just around the corner. You live in a small house with a miniature garden in the back and everywhere he looks, there's a potted plant sitting in the corner of the room.

It creates such a contrast to the hustling and bustling of the city and the stressful environment at work, it offers a pleasant atmosphere that instantly puts him at ease.

Keeping the window open, the wind chime sings a tune every time a gust of wind brushes in between, sending them clinking against each other.

"How do you manage to take care of all of these plants?" He asks in wonder, foolishly touching the tiny thorns on one of your succulents.

"It's easy," you answer from the kitchen, "You just need to water them."

Han saunters into the kitchen, ready to offer his help as you stand on your tiptoe to get glasses from the top cabinet. He notices the big jar of dark brown liquid with something floating on the surface.

"What is that?"

"That's what we'll be drinking tonight," you answer with a smile.

Being the gentleman he is, he carries the big jar of mysterious drink to the living room, carefully puts it down on the table, and then sits on the floor, looking at it with curious eyes.

"It's cherry brandy," you inform.

"You made it yourself?" He wildly guesses.

"I am," you answer with a proud smile, opening the jar with all of your strength.

As soon as the lid cracks open, Han is already intoxicated by the sweet, alcohol-tinted aroma that is wafting around the room. He watches as you dip the ladle and meticulously pour it into the glass. He knows now that the things bobbing on the surface are the cherries.

"But how?" He asks in wonder as he observes the drink in his hand.

"It's just cherries, sugar, and vodka, put them in the jar, shake them, put them in the dark for weeks, and voila!" You easily share the recipe and the comprehensive steps for making it.

"No, I mean, how do you have time to do all these?" He asks, utterly befuddled.

Work is draining enough to him that he has no energy left to do other things than rest, and when he gets time, he uses it on something as frivolous as playing video games. That explains why he can't relate to your way of life because how?

You look at him and snort as if his question is inane and the answer is obvious. You get up from the floor as you say, "I'm going to get the cheese."

"Please don't tell me you also made the cheese yourself," he jokingly asks because he already has so much respect for you.

This cherry brandy is dangerous. The cherries mask the taste of the alcohol and all Han can taste is the sweet and tangy flavor of the cherries, but he's aware that he's getting lightheaded with every sip of it. The worst part is he can't stop drinking it.

You're using his drunk state as a chance to tease him and he starts grouching, slurring his words doing it.

"What I'm saying is you always change the topic to me apologizing," he whines with his lips forming a cute pout.

"I'm not," you deny, taking a piece of cheese in between sips.

"I know I am incompetent," he grumbles then hisses at the alcohol burning down his throat.

"I beg to differ. I don't think you're incompetent."

"What then? Incapable? Pathetic? Useless?"

"I think you're just... inexperienced and that's okay," you pause to pick a handful of cherries from the jar with the ladle, "I know that you're sorry and you'll keep trying to be better. I have faith in you, Han."

Han didn't know that he needed to hear that until now. Suddenly, the tightness in his chest loosens, and he feels liberated. He can finally breathe and enjoy his drink with ease.

"Let's impress the chief with our next presentation, okay?" You softly smile at him, raising your glass to invite him for a toast.

Returning the spirit, Han smiles and raises his glass, clinking it with yours as he promises himself to prove that you're not wasting your faith in him.

"Damn! This cherry brandy is so good," he praises with his nose scrunched reacting to the aftertaste.

"Can you do this?" You pop a cherry into your mouth while holding the stem between your thumb and index finger.

"Do what?"

You put the stem into your mouth next and begin moving your mouth, almost like chewing it. After a while, you stick your tongue out, revealing the stem is knotted now. It's impressive, yes, but his eyes are focusing on your lips and how they're glistening wet, probably tastes as sweet as a cherry too.

"That's kind of uh..." he's not sure if what he's about to say is appropriate so he decides not to finish his sentence, "Wow!"

"They say that if you can do this that means you're a good kisser," you remark as you fish out more cherries out of the jar with the ladle.

He hesitates but considering that he's not in a workplace and the alcohol dulls his brain, it can no longer tell what's appropriate or not anymore.

"Are you?"

"Mmh?" You hum in question with a cherry tug between your teeth.

"Are you a good kisser?" He daringly asks.

You bite through the cherry and he can the juice flooding your mouth, you're chewing it as you're looking at him, making him wait for your answer in anticipation.

Then you lean forward on the table, you prop a hand under your chin and slightly tilt your head to the side, "Want to try?"

The way you both execute it is like two teenagers doing seven minutes in heaven. You're both sitting facing each other on the floor with your legs folded under you and awkwardly looking at each other.

All of a sudden, you lean in close until both of your faces are merely inches away from each other. Your lips slowly curl into a smile as you stare into his warm brown eyes.

"You have beautiful eyes."

He can't only handle that much and smiles at your compliment, "Thank you."

"But I need you to close them for now."

"Okay," he obeys your order and closes his eyes.

A minute later, Han just realized what he'd done to himself. With his eyes closed, he can't see what you're doing and he can only wait in anticipation with his heart pitter-patter in his chest.

"Where should I start, mmh?"

He hears you mutter and he knows that it's a rhetorical question, you don't need an answer, you do that just to build his anticipation.

In the next moment, Han feels your breath fanning over his ear, sending goose bumps down his neck, then softly, you press a kiss to his left temple.

“Hmm... where to now?” The words are spoken softly against his skin, each one a caress.

He knows it's yet another rhetorical question but it's enough to send his heart rattling like someone sets firecrackers in his chest.

The tip of your nose grazes his skin as you move lower and you surprise him with a kiss on his cheek, making him close his eyes tightly as impatient sears through him.

As if you hear his thoughts, you land the next kiss on the corner of his mouth, so close yet not exactly where he wants your lips to be.

Then you rest your hand on his jaw, holding him in place as you press an innocent peck on his lips. A tingling sensation bounces around in his chest and a second after you pull away only to sink your lips on his again.

This time, you take the lead, you're showing him how it's done, drawing the kisses out. When your tongue slips between his lips, he goes stock-still. He can't comprehend that your tongue is in his mouth, hot and wet, swirling around his tongue.

This is it. This is kissing and kissing is this good. Oh, man, no one tells him that it's this good!

When you break the kiss, he almost lets out a whimper of complaint from the sudden loss of contact.

"What do you think?" You ask, biting your lower lip but he notices a grin peeking around the edges of your mouth.

"The best kiss I've ever had," he honestly admits.

You let out a soft laugh, "We're not at work. You don't have to suck me up," you say, not entirely buying his words.

"B-but I'm not lying," he assures you with his eyebrows downturn and his dark eyes looking at you.

You take your glass of cherry brandy and have a small sip, "Well, if the only other person you've ever kissed is your mum, then I'll take you on that," you jokingly say.

Something catches in his throat and it's the truth. Han doesn't plan on telling anyone about it or ever for that matter but he deems you're trustworthy enough to keep this secret for him.

"I'm a virgin," he meekly confesses.

The handle of the ladle slips off your fingers and it clatters to the bottom of the jar, "Pardon?"

"I have never had sex with anyone," the hesitation makes his voice quiver at the end of his sentence.

You bring your glass close to your mouth but not drink it, "When I said you're inexperienced, I didn't think that it included the dating area."

Now it feels like he's just told you his defect and his nerves are being replaced by a wave of regret. His eyes wander off, his voice turns small.

"Was that a turn-off?"

You take a cherry from your drink and shove it into your mouth, as you chew on it a sly smirk rises on your face. You lick your lips and then lean forward, "If I say that I'll pop your cherry..."

Your hand reaches for his face and the pressure of your fingertips on his chin makes him face you again, leading him to believe you want eye contact.

"What would you do?"

The tension is climbing fast when you both enter your bedroom, he can't even see his surroundings as both of your lips are locked in a rapturous kiss and you lead him in one direction, the bed.

The moment you have him lying on the bed and you pin him under, his skin gets hot and sensitive, his pulse drumming with eagerness. His cock digs in his slacks, reminding him that it's real and it's not some fantasies he's making up in his head. He is sure he's been turned on before but he can't remember when, even if he did, he's sure it wasn't this much.

From there, it's raining kisses on his lips, and in between the aching presses of your lips, your tongue caresses him, making his skin tingle. When he tries to capture your tongue to take into himself, you evade him. You tease him more by brushing at his lips and dip your tongue inside for a mere second, then quickly withdraw, making him almost groan in frustration.

Okay, he gets it, you're a good kisser so stop playing, he complains in his head.

The way you smile against his lips only means that you know what you're doing and enjoying it. Impulsively, Han decides to seal your mouth with his and touches your tongue with his, an explosion of taste in his mouth, sweet, tangy, tart, so. fucking. addictive.

As he's drunk in your kisses, you run your hand down his body and eventually discover his member poking through the front of his slacks.

"Wow!" You lowly gasp yet continue rubbing his clothed bulge, "You're already this hard?"

Since it's his first time, he doesn't know how to properly react or respond, but he's familiar with this feeling tugging inside him, insecurity.

"I'm sorry," he meekly apologizes.

You gently cup his jaw and stare into his dark, round eyes, "What to be sorry for?"

To assure him, you place a long, lingering kiss on his lips and then sit straddling him on the bed. You untuck the hem of your blouse out of your skirt and bring your fingers to the top button.

"My junior pops a boner on me..." you maintain eye contact with him as you continue undoing all the buttons on your blouse, "Then I can't just look and do nothing."

It's a mystery how he doesn't get blind from seeing your bare upper half body but he knows his eyes are almost out of their sockets the second you take your blouse off, revealing your soft mounds hanging beautifully on your chest.

You're already gorgeous with your clothes on but like this, it's too much for him. He swallows hard as you glide your hand down your sternum and he sees how your fingers lightly graze your nipple as you cup the underside.

You take both of his hands and put them on your breasts, then, you let them go just to see what he's going to do with them.

Nothing. He does nothing but look at his hands holding your breasts and you almost grin at how he looks at them with eyes filled with childlike wonder.

You tilt your head to the side, "So what do you think?"

"They're so soft," he innocently answers.

You hold his hands and move them together, fondling your breasts together with him, you gesture his thumb to play with your hardening bud. Soon, he's doing it himself, kneading on your breasts and once in a while, rubbing his fingers over your nipples.

After a while of letting him touch them, you deem he's ready for more, "Want to kiss them?"

His eyes glance up from your chest to your eyes and then stifle a nod. You scoot a little to the back as he rises from the bed, and this new position brings his mouth close to your breasts.

Sensing his hesitation, you say, "Go ahead. Put your mouth on them."

As he stares at them in silence, Han swallows air, sending his Adam's apple bobbing inside his throat before softly landing his small, pouty lips on the valley of your breasts, a long peck that leaves a searing feeling on your skin and then buries his head in between.

A ragged breath escaped your mouth as you encircled your arms around him, drawing him closer. You tangle your hand in his hair, dark, loose curls, caught between your fingers.

Seconds stretched into minutes and Han hasn't done anything but rests one side of his head on your sternum.

"You're not falling asleep, are you?" You jokingly ask.

"No," his voice is small and low, almost like a whisper.

You reckon he needs some pointers on ways to play with them, you glide your hand to the back of his head and tilt his head slightly upward, just enough to make him look at you.

"How about we put them in your mouth?" You ask with your hand softly scratching the tendrils of hair on the nape of his neck.

You lead him by placing your hand on his jaw and with your thumb, you trace his lower lip, then slowly, you part his mouth open with it. You let him do the rest and he catches up fast, he opens his mouth a little wider and takes your ample flesh, then closes his mouth around it.

Han is following his instincts, he tightens his grip around you and pulls you closer so he can feast on you. He has your breasts in his face, his mouth, rolling on his tongue. He can play with them all day.

As you gaze down at your chest, you see his lips wrapped around your nipple and his hand kneading on the other, both stimulations sending you twist and arch your back, your ass making friction on his crotch.

"You like them, huh?"

Without detaching his mouth from your nipple, he answers, "I like this."

He moves his mouth to the other nipple and sucks on it, "and this."

It's such an erotic sight that you feel a tingle down there. You bring your hands to the side of your breasts and push them to the middle so he can suck them all at once.

Han doesn't need more pointers, he knows what he wants and going for it. More importantly, he knows this is no fantasy playing in his head. This moment, you, and his undeniable attraction to you are all real.

He's slowly yet surely claiming your body in any way he can, he drags his lips up your throat, along your jaw, back toward your mouth, kissing you like it's his lifeline and he's hanging on a thin thread.

A murmuring sound hums in your throat as you kiss him back while your hands go down his back, taking the tail of his shirt out of his slacks. You draw your hands back to the front, unbuttoning his shirt and your patience wears thin as you get to the last one, you end up ripping it open.

A sigh escapes your mouth as you place your hand on his bare chest, but it's the swell of his chest muscles that distracts you from your exploration. You never touch hard rounded flesh like this before and his skin is searing hot under your fingertips. Gosh! You want to touch him all over.

As you sink your mouth into his again, you run your greedy hands over his arms, his chest, and his abs. You also admire his exceptional shoulders-to-waist ratio.

On the other hand, Han isn't prepared when you stroke over the fly of his pants, a jolt of pleasure coursed through him and his cock twitches in excitement, and a hoarse groan falls out of his mouth. His mind goes haywire as you unbutton and unzip his slacks, then you withdraw the hard length of his cock. He's almost losing it when your eyes go dark with so much want.

"Oh, so hot," you breathlessly gasp as you wrap your fingers around his swelling member, "mmh... so hard for me."

It's obvious that you have the experience, you seem to know where to touch, what would please him the most, the rhythm he prefers, and know when to pick up the pumping of your hand around his length.

"Am I doing good?" You casually ask, acting like you don't see the effect of your stimulations on him.

"Good," his voice is trembling with so much intensity.

As much as he likes it, he doesn't want to risk coming all over your palm, he wants to explore more of you and more ways to do that to you.

"Want... to... touch you," That's all he can mutter after forcing his brain to form a coherent sentence.

"Want to touch me?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"There," he lowly whispers that he doubts you can hear it.

You give him a haste kiss before answering his request by sitting on your knees, you swiftly undo the hook fastening at the side of your skirt and then ease the zipper over the sweet curve of your hip. Instead of sitting back down, you get off his lap and slowly lay yourself down on the bed. You raise your hips to lower the skirt down and then out of your legs.

"Now, come here," You're patting the space next to you.

It puts him in a trance seeing you lying naked on the bed with only your white underwear on, the fabric is so flimsy it leaves nothing to the imagination.

After a struggling minute, his brain finally manages to process your command, he lays next to you. You waste no time but gently hold his chin, then bring his head close for a kiss.

Maybe it's because you're too good at this that makes Han feels he needs to rise to the level. He does more than a kiss, he licks, he nibbles at your lips, and his tongue daringly invades your mouth to get as much of that sweet taste of you.

A hand finds him and you're taking it with you, placing it on you, guiding him to where you like to be touched. Your neck, across your chest, the underside of your breasts, around the navel and you keep leading him south, not stopping until his hand meets your clothed sex.

"It's wet," he blurts out as he feels the dampness of your underwear against his palm.

"It's even wetter underneath," you mutter against his lips.

Curiosity gets the best of him, he checks right away to see if what you said is true. He slips his hand under the fabric and immediately gets the answer. You're drenched and it gets all over his fingers the more he touches you.

"Oh, my God..." you arch your back against his hand, offering more of you to touch.

He feels encouraged to please you more, he pulls your underwear to the side and slips one finger into you. Low murmurs tumble from your lips and it tells him that this is what you want. He works a second finger in, and the stretching sensation has your head falling back and your heels dug into the bed.

"Curl them," you instruct as you push into penetration.

Han doesn't obey your words right away, he allows his fingers to ease in and out, feeling you out and catching you off guard, he curls his fingers inside you, startling a breathless gasp from you.

With your eyes closed, you lick your lips and then ask, “Are you sure it's your first time?"

His insecurity kicks in again as you show sheer doubt in your question, “What do you mean by that?”

You open your eyes and slyly smile at him, “It means so far you’re very good at it.”

The moment he hears that his insecurity turns into confidence. He applies slow, measured movements and does what he thinks would please you, using your lewd noises as the guide. The motions seem to calm you even as they put you on edge.

Your hand hikes its way up to his arm then nestles in his tousled hair, "My, my! You really are a capable boy when you try," you praise with dazed eyes and a sly grin.

This should offend him but it does nothing but stroke his ego in the best way. Other than that, he just wants to please you more and more even though he has no idea how. The better question is: what to do next?

"Do you mind taking my underwear off for me?"

He doesn't answer but hurriedly gets himself to do it, fingers tugging at the waistband of your underwear, then slowly, pulling it down your legs. The scrape of his nails on your skin sends a shudder down your spine.

"There you go!" You delightfully exclaim once the underwear is off of you.

You get comfortable on the bed, propping an elbow on the mattress as you lie slightly to the side, "Now, take your clothes off."

He's just realized now that his shirt is still loosely draped around his shoulders and his slacks are bunched around his thighs with his hard-on hanging out of his boxer.

With naughty eyes, you watch as he removes the pieces of clothing until there's none left but miles of miles of honey skin. You run one hand down your front then part your legs open, you don't seem to be embarrassed touching yourself in front of him and he finds that very sexy.

Little does he know, what you're about to do next is far sexier.

You put your hands on the back of your knees and then slowly, you pull them apart, exposing your glistening wet core to him.

Han admits that he hasn't seen enough to know but he's sure he's looking at one of the prettiest pussy he's ever seen, glistening wet, pulsating with so much desire, and so damn inviting. Looking at it makes him swallow air, hard.

He wants to play it cool but he fails at it, he wants you so much, he becomes this one big ache of wanting.

As he's about to lower himself on you, you block him from coming closer with your hand on his chest, "Oh, we almost forgot the condom."

You twist your body to the side, hand reaching for the handle of your bedside drawer and pull it open. To cut time, he grabs it for you from a box full of condoms inside the drawer.

"Want me to put it on?" You offer.

"Yes," he shortly answers, not caring if he sounds so eager.

You tear through the foil wrapper and take out the rubber, you give his length a gentle stroke before rolling the rubber down, then you pinch the end to make room for his completion.

You lay back on the bed, head resting on the pillow and a smile lingering on your face, showing him that you're comfortable enough to continue.

"You know what to do next," you say as you rub your hand up and down his forearm.

As he hesitates, you wrap your hand around his cock and rub it between your folds, milking more essence to prepare you for penetration. You're getting impatient for him but you let him decide when to enter you.

After a while, Han finally aligns his cock to your entrance, and with a shallow breath, he pushes just enough until his tip disappeared inside you.

Oh, the face he makes as he enters you, it's priceless.

"I can take a little more," you assure him with fingers lightly scraping the skin of his arms.

"I just—" he bites back a groan and tugs his lower lips between his teeth, "Give me a moment. This is my first time."

As you lay underneath and hear that, you find him hot and cute at the same time, butterflies explode in your stomach and fly around in amok.

"Kiss me," you sweetly ask, bringing his head close with your hand holding his chin.

Han fulfills your wish, lowering his mouth on you again as you wrap your arms around him. As he calms down from the rising tension, you bring your hands down to his hips and nudge him to push more into you.

"Oh..." his groan is hoarse and raw, spilling into your open mouth.

"I want all of you inside me," you whine against his lips.

Conveniently, what you want aligns with what he wants, he pushes the rest of his length inside you until he's fully sheathed in your warm, velvety walls.

A shaky breath escapes his mouth and he buries his head in your neck, you can hear every shudder of his breath, getting heavier with each passing second.

The two of you savor the moment—not speaking, not moving, not doing anything, just being with someone. The room is so quiet you hear the cars driving by outside and the occasional sounds of the wind-chime from the living room.

With a passionate kiss on your lips, he begins moving, he withdraws then thrusts, and the pace turns quick all of a sudden. You understand that this is his first time but he can't fully enjoy it when he's going at a light speed in a second.

"Hey, slow down," You calmly say with a soft peck on his lips and jaw, "don't rush."

He abruptly stops moving for a second and lets out a low sigh, "Sorry, I can't help myself."

Why he has to be this cute in a heating moment like this? You can't help but smile and peck his small lips again. You keep your hand on his neck, feeling the blood rushing in his veins.

"This is our first time," you say, "I want it to be special."

"Okay," he says with repeated nods.

Our first time. That sounds like you're hinting that this will be the first of many. Han feels a flutter all over his body hearing that.

Our first time, he replays it in the back of his head for his own amusement.

Keeping your words in mind, he continues where he left off, thrusting into you again at a moderate speed until he finds his pace. You give him the closeness he seeks by spreading your legs wider and wrapping them around his dainty waist.

In between kisses and moans, you tenderly gaze into his eyes and ask, "So, how do I feel?"

He forces his brain to try and compute words, "You feel hot... slippery and tight."

He pauses to clear his throat and adds, "You feel so good."

"I know," You softly smile and land a peck on his lips, "You feel so good inside me too."

Gosh! If he knew that sex felt this good, he would have done it sooner. He believes that it's all because of you. There's no guarantee that it would feel this good with someone else.

The way you keep clenching tighter around him means that he's doing well but on the other hand, it brings him closer to the edge. How long does sex usually last? He doesn't know but it seems like he can't hold himself back anymore.

"I'm sorry but I think I'm about to come," he says through his gritted teeth.

You hastily kiss his lips, "do you want to cum, mmh?"

Now that you asked him, he doesn't feel good about saying yes because you seem like you still want to continue. He changes his mind, convincing himself he can hold back a little longer.

"No, I can't— I shouldn't," he mutters while shaking his head.

"You hold back so much despite it being your first time," you say with a sly smile.

You put your arms around his shoulders, clinging to him, and swiftly, you roll him to the side, forcing him to lay back on the bed while you get on top of him.

"Alright then..." you sigh as you run both hands down his chest, "Try not to come as hard as you can."

Han should've taken your warning seriously. He gaps so loudly as you start rolling your hips against him, back and forth, then in circular motions, painstakingly slow. He's hopelessly grasping at the last shred of sanity left in him.

It's impossible to hold back anymore when you're fucking him good and he's watching you enjoying it with your breasts bouncing along to the slightest of movement, your nails clawing at his chest and the sexiest part of all is that blissful smile plastered on your face.

For a timeless moment, Han hovers on the brink, breathless, until the orgasm crashes over him and he grips at your thighs as you drive into him relentlessly. He hasn't finished with his orgasm yet he can feel your muscles fluttering around him and clamping him down.

With a hoarse groan, you surge into him one last time and come around him, then slowly, you lower your shaking body to the bed.

Without thinking, Han holds you close like you are his. He puts his arms around you and you burrow your head into the crook of his neck as you hold him back.

"Congratulations!" You whisper.

"Mmh?" He asks with dazed eyes.

"Your cherry has been popped!"

Han jolts awake the next morning, he's seeing you sleeping next to him, in your room and the sun is shining so brightly outside. The first thought that comes to his mind is he's late for work and panicked.

He rises from the bed and gasps, "Oh, God! Did I oversleep?!"

You put your hand on his chest and pull him to lay back on the bed, "It's Saturday," you sleepily croak.

"Oh? Right..." His panic turns into embarrassment and he blames his body clock for that.

You scoot close to his side and put your arm across his chest, fingertips lightly trailing his collarbone. It feels nice, and snug. Why would he try to leave this heavenly feeling of lazing on the bed with you?

But he's aware that he should also consider that you might want your personal space back and he doesn't want to overstay his visit.

"I uhm... I probably should go," he says yet not moving an inch.

He hears you draw a breath then drop your hand to cup his jaw, "Okay."

Again, Han remains still on the bed, lying so close next to you and in your warm embrace. You suddenly lift your head and roll to the side, overlapping his body with yours.

"Before you leave, want to shower with me first?"

This is unexpected but he's not complaining at all. He reminds himself to keep calm and try to come up with a playful response.

"So we can have sex again?"

You crack a laugh at that and rest your chin on his chest, you gently tap his cheek with your index finger, "Now that you're no longer a virgin, you think you're so hot, huh?"

It hasn't completely sunk into him that he had sex for the first time last night and the reminder makes his heart flutter.

He keeps his cool and nonchalantly shrugs, "Just a little."

As much as he tries his best to resist it, Han keeps following you with his eyes.

Yes, he's aware of how creepy it is and he wants to act normal, it makes it obvious that he feels something toward you.

Or rather, why are you able to act normal about this?

He admits that he likes that part about you, you are aware that this is a workplace and there shouldn't be personal business involved within.

However, Han can't help but wonder if he's the only one still thinking about that night.

Now that he thinks about it, you and him never really agreed on what to call this relationship, is it just casual or do you want to take it further, and is not talking about it an adult thing to do?

"Ugh, I don't know," he doesn't mean to let it out loud but thankfully, no one is there to hear it.

His eyes hovering over you again, he slightly swivels his office chair to the side and watches you checking files from one of your juniors. He finds it attractive that you have a crease between your eyebrows whenever you're focused on something and the way you flip the page then hold it between your fingers, oh, it does something to him.

"It looks good," you say as you put the files back, "You can proceed with this one."

Your junior takes the file back from you and holds it in front of her as she asks, "Will you come to our company dinner tomorrow night?"

You don't even consider it but answer right away, "Yes, sure, I'll be there."

Your junior responds with a warm smile, "That's great!"

After your junior leaves, you collect some files from your desk, get up, and bring them with you as you make your way toward his desk.

He doesn't know why but he shoots up from his chair as if he gets caught doing something. You stop by his desk and you have no idea how thankful he is, imagine if you walked past his desk, he would be so fucking embarrassed.

"Han, these are the documents for the next meeting," you say, showing him the files you're holding, "Can you organize them for me?"

"Absolutely!" He answers without a beat.

He thinks you have nothing else to do for him but you linger by his side and then slowly lean into his side while keeping the files open, covering half of your faces.

"Isn't the day after tomorrow is your birthday?" You ask.

His breath hitches either from the proximity or the fact that you know about this birthday, "Yes. How do you know?"

"Oh, well..." You slightly shrug instead of telling him the answer.

Taking him by surprise, you lean in closer and then place a soft kiss on his cheek. His breath catches in his throat and he feels a hiccup coming. He looks around to see if anyone saw that but the official remains lively as usual.

"What's that for?" He manages to ask while holding his cheek as if he is trying to hide the mark even though there is nothing but the searing feeling it leaves on his skin.

"An early birthday present," you simply answer with a smile then walk back to your desk.

Han used to dread company dinner because it requires him to drink and he's bad at drinking.

The first round is at a barbecue place, the drinking is moderate, and he can slow down the drinking by shoving food in between.

On the second round, they're going for a karaoke bar and that's when it gets tricky, someone will somehow notice if he hasn't drunk enough and force him to get on their level. If only they had any ideas that he'd be likely blacked out from drinking as much as them.

By the time the second round ends, Han finds himself stumbling on his way out of the karaoke bar. He's not drunk but he knows he's one drink away from it. Someone grabs his arm and without looking, he knows that it's you. No one likes to link their arms with him, except you.

"Hey, do you want to get out of here?" You keep your voice low to not let anyone else hear it.

"Yes," he answers without thinking and frankly, you can take him anywhere you want.

"Round three! Let's go!" The team manager shouts, half slurring his words and leading everyone to go.

"But–but how about...?" He stutters, pointing at their co-workers walking away and he's afraid that the two of you might get in trouble for ditching everyone else.

"Don't worry about it," you assure him, walking to the other way of where everyone else is going and at the end of the street, you hail a taxi.

It's obvious that he doesn't know where you're taking him until you tell the taxi driver to pull over and he steps out of the taxi, finding himself at the front of a hotel.

He follows you as you walk across the lobby, coming toward the reception to check in for a stay. The process only takes a few minutes and you get handed a keycard.

He can simply ask you why you're taking him here but it would be so naive of him, right? The most important thing is he likes where this is going.

Arrive at your floor, you lead the way to the room and even though he's still feeling a little lightheaded, his eyes can't seem to look away from watching your back figure as you walk in front of him with your hips swaying side to side and that pencil you always wear to work does nothing but accentuate the shape of your—

"I'm sorry, Han," you suddenly apologize as you walk up to a door and he guesses it must be the room you're assigned to.

"Yes?" He asks, confounded.

Instead of getting into the room first, you turn around on your feet and stand with your back facing the door while holding the keycard in your hands.

"You see I don't really know what you'd like for your birthday so..." your voice turns lower the more you speak but it's the soft gaze and the way you're looking at him through your lashes that suddenly makes it hard to breathe.

"I was thinking we could go shopping together but I can't help myself."

There's no physical contact whatsoever but he gets hot all over, he licks his lips as his eyes flick to your lips that tempted him to kiss.

"I've been thinking about being alone with you and all the things we could do together."

He is right to not ask the question but God, he likes the answer to it.

"So... will this do?" You ask, your eyes filled with wild, naughty glints.

Instead of answering, he takes the keycard from your hand and puts it close to the scanner on the handle of the door, it automatically clicks open.

Now, you know the answer. He couldn't ask for a better birthday present than what's going to happen in this hotel room.

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