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awrkive · 6 months ago

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tlp xmas special — jjk (m.)

hello awrkive nation!!! its late but merry christmas to those who celebrate!! sorry for being ia but heres a christmas gift from me to you 🫣 first of all i genuinely forgot abt the car s*x drabble that won that poll i made a few weeks ago which i promised you guys ISHDJDJ but here it is!! this drabble combines all of these three recurring requests for the tlp couple and this might also be the last drabble im doing for them (for now??) so do enjoy!!

pairing: tlp!jungkook x tlp!oc (main story)

summary: in which jungkook looks way too good carrying your sister's three-year old at her christmas eve party and you can't help but let your mind wander

w/c: 6k (ctfu)

warning/s: explicit sexual content (p in v s*x, car s*x, unprotected s*x, cre*mpie), oc having baby fever lol. genuinely not proofread sorry for any errors!

You find babies mesmerizing. They’re charming, they can be a handful, they’re irresistibly cute; so tiny, yet so loud. But to the core, they somehow manage to be a pure embodiment of joy.

Before Nayeon got pregnant, she shared something about having a “baby fever”. Of course you knew what it meant – but you never really felt it yourself. She said it was something about Minhyuk being such a good husband that she couldn’t wait for him to be a father. Well, you related to that specific part, at least; about your own husband being such a good husband. However, for the past year you’ve become a married couple, you never really thought about having babies. Or him being a father. Or you being a mother.

It’s not like you don’t want to become a mother, like ever, or have a family with him. It’s just you thought you’re still way too young to be having babies. So you kind of just… gloss or skip over that idea – and for the record, Jungkook’s never brought it up, either.

It’s not until your sister got pregnant for the second time, though, that you got yourself thinking. Seokjin and her had babies almost four years into their marriage, but it’s not very long until they decided to try again after Nari and now your sister is carrying her baby boy for seven months.

It brings you here, gathered at their house for Christmas Eve. Your families haven’t arrived yet, but you and Jungkook decided to go earlier than the agreed time to help out with the – admittedly, big preparation. And currently, Jungkook’s got Nari – Seokjin and your sister’s 3-year-old – in his arms, asking for raspberries because Jungkook’s her favorite uncle. (Why wouldn’t he be? He spoils her a lot and carries her around when you come over.) He insisted on looking after her so Seokjin can help your sister out in the kitchen while you’re over at the counter island making some charcuterie.

Seokjin’s helping your sister take out the pies they’ve both prepared, with him guarding her and being extra with it because “my wife is pregnant and I’m growing white hairs because she wouldn’t just let me do everything”. Your sister is just so done chastising him for his overbearing antics, but you guess it’s cute, at the core of it all. You’ve always looked up to their relationship all these years. In fact, you kind of see Seokjin in Jungkook sometimes. Seokjin loves your sister the way Jungkook loves you.

And then, the thought passes over your head like some form of looming possibility, unsettling yet intriguing. It lingers for a moment, uninvited but persistent, as if life is quietly hinting at something you’ve never truly considered before. The idea of a baby, of parenthood, feels distant but somehow more tangible now—like a door you never saw, now standing slightly ajar, waiting for you to decide whether to step through.

Would Jungkook be just as (lovingly) overbearing if you were pregnant? You imagine he’d be even more annoying about it. It’s rare for you to get sick, but when you do, Jungkook practically flips the house upside down just to make sure you don’t have to lift a finger. Takes care of you so seriously, as if the illness would never go away on its own in a few days. So what would it be like if you were carrying his child? Would he act like Seokjin does now, always hovering with a hand on your back, supporting your every move, scolding you if you try to do anything that requires even a little bit of effort?

The thought makes your lips curl. Because he probably would. You know he will.

And as you look at him from across the room, carrying Nari around effortlessly against his body with one arm, with his red long-sleeve polo shirt pushed up to his forearms, white slacks, and freshly cut hair slicked to perfection for tonight’s occasion, he looks… delectable.

Like a DILF.

Except he isn’t a dad.

But god, would you really, really like to fuck him.

(And would he look way hotter if he – say – gave you a child?)

“Is it done?” Your sister interrupts your thoughts – thankfully, might you add. Because it’s going in a direction that’s way too inappropriate for a family occasion like this, and you need to be family friendly tonight for this Christmas party.

When you turn around to see if she was talking to you, you find her looking at her husband instead, and with her stance and the tone of her voice, you know it doesn’t sound good.

“Yeah. I think I just need to add a little more—”

“Jin,” she says, sounding a little distressed. “Hurry. And make sure it’s perfect, okay? Everyone’s arriving in fifteen, and this is the first time I’m hosting Christmas and I really, really don’t want to disappoint your family and Jungkook’s parents and mom and—”

“Hey,” You see Seokjin put a hand on the lower part of your sister’s back, effectively cutting her off. Gently, he tells her, “Everything’s perfect, alright?”

Soft tunes of Christmas songs are playing all over the huge open space of their house, and you know you’re not supposed to listen in to the conversation given that they’re spoken in an almost hushed manner as some sort of discretion, but you can’t help but notice when she turns to Seokjin to give him a downturned smile.

“I just really want to give this my all…”

He smiles down at her reassuringly. “You have, honey. Let’s not stress, okay? Not good for baby, remember?” Then, he begins to rub her protruding belly, and you see her visibly relaxing to his touch.

You turn around quickly to not get caught watching, only to be welcomed with Jungkook making a beeline towards you, with Nari still in his arms.

“Hi, baby,” Your sister automatically greets Nari, cooing at her, mood immediately picking up. The bright-eyed little girl lights up at the sight of her mommy, making grabby hands instantly. Laughing, Jungkook hands her to Seokjin, who receives his daughter and kisses her chubby cheeks with a smack.

“What were you up to with uncle JK, little missy?” Seokjin says, swaying her side to side.

Jungkook leans his elbow on the island while looking at the pair, smiling widely.

“Uncle JK said he’s giving me three presents! Three! I wanna open them!” She holds up three fingers, and you giggle at her cuteness.

Your sister softly laughs in response. “Your uncle likes to spoil you, sweetie. But we’ll open them later, okay?”

“Why not now?” She whines, and you smile at how seriously she takes it. “I want three presents!”

“Don’t worry,” Seokjin laughs, “You’ll have lots of surprises when the grandmas and grandpas get here. But we need to change into your dress first.”

Nari giggles. “You? You’re gonna wear a dress too?”

Seokjin raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, why not?”

She shakes her head, still giggling, her pigtails swaying as she does so. God, she looks like a combination of Seokjin and your sister that it’s so uncanny sometimes.

“You’re so silly, daddy.”

Seokjin feigns shock. “Silly? Just wait, Uncle JK and I are going to be Ariel and Belle for New Year’s! Right, Jungkook?” He looks over at Jungkook, who widens his eyes comically.

You laugh, and Jungkook adds, “Well, I wanted to be Cinderella, but sure, I’ll be Belle.”

Nari gasps dramatically, putting her hand over her mouth. “But she’s my favorite, Uncle JK! You can’t be her!”

She’s such a cute kid – and you know everybody in the room agrees. No doubt her mom and dad think so, but when you look over at Jungkook, he’s cheesing really hard – with his nose scrunched into that expression of cute aggression.

“These two boys are silly.” Your sister interrupts with a playful roll of her eyes. She looks at her husband Nari, “Honey, take Nari upstairs and dress her up, please.”

“I can wear my new dress now?!” Nari shrieks, excitement showing with the way she wiggles in her father’s hold.

“Absolutely, baby, and the sparkly white shoes, too,” Seokjin nods. You all coo when Nari lets out an adorable, delighted “yay!” at the words, already leaning towards the direction of the stairs and telling her father to hurry. With a chuckle, Seojin turns to you. “Alright. And Jungkook, please help her with the food.” Seokjin’s gaze falls to your sister, a reminder before he goes completely.

“She’s so cute, I can’t.” Jungkook chuckles.

“Right… my sister was definitely not that cute when we were younger.” you tease, earning an arched brow to your way from your sister.

“I was the cuter one between us, it’s an established fact,” she rolls her eyes. “When you two get a kid, it better look like Jungkook.”

Maybe the remark sounded like such a throw-away comment that Jungkook just laughs it off as if it isn’t the first time somebody hinted at you two starting a family. Or maybe he just thinks it isn’t a big deal. Or maybe… maybe he likes the idea?

You’re about to say something when your sister turns to you.

“You,” she takes you by the shoulders and you look back at her. “You might want to retouch your make-up. Party’s starting soon. And this charcuterie looks—” she looks to the side as if to check if Nari is still around, and when she deems she isn’t at all, she continues to say, “fucking perfect. I love you.”

“Duh.” you reply, cockily showing off the board to her and to Jungkook who intriguingly looks at your work.

“I knew you should have been a chef.” Jungkook comments proudly, grinning at you.

“Alright, man,” your sister says in a flat tone, making Jungkook and you laugh. “Jungkook, can help me transfer these to the dining table, please?” She points to the trays of food and Jungkook rounds the counter so he can do just as she requested.

Before you can head to the powder room, Jungkook brushes past your waist – just one of the candid things he does to have some sort of physical contact with you when you’re not necessarily talking together or close to each other.

It puts a smile on your face as you enter the powder room.

Inside, you make quick work of putting another layer of lipstick and pressing powder on your face, checking your hair before you stand upright and look at your reflection in the mirror.

You step backwards enough to see half of your body, and from there, you can see how beautiful you look in the outfit you’ve chosen for tonight. It’s a satin red dress with a halter neckline, the gathered drape cascading gracefully around your neck, exposing your shoulders. The silhouette fits at the waist and flows into a straight skirt that stops inches below your knees, and Jungkook may have had a hard time letting you go in your bedroom before you drove to your sister’s place – but you promised him a good time when you get back home so in the end, he had to tuck in a semi on the way from here.

Poor Jungkook.

Though… you’re beginning to think poor you, instead.

Because you’re thinking about it again. Him in his outfit tonight; the silk polo so he can match yours, and the way he looked so good with a baby girl in his strong arms.

You can already picture how good he'd look with his own child. He’d be the type of dad who looks effortlessly hot with a baby carrier, showers his kids with gifts because he can’t help himself, and simply excels at being a wonderful father because he’s Jeon Jungkook and he excels in everything he sets his mind to.

Now your brain’s going on a haywire.

Because now it’s just Jungkook. Hot Jungkook. Jungkook with a baby. Jungkook looking smoking hot carrying his own baby – your baby.

And wouldn’t it be nice? To carry a being formed by your mutual love? To have someone as adorable and smart and sassy as Nari? God. You hope she’d look like you, but have Jungkook’s eyes because they are your favorite part of him, and then his nose, maybe? And… and maybe have the mole under his lip too, if that was possible. Jungkook had a lot of hair when he came out of his mom’s womb, would your daughter have a lot of hair as well when you give birth to her?

And why are you already thinking of the gender of your non-existent child?

You think you’ve gone nuts, but the indulgent little devil on your shoulder is insisting that Jungkook would look so good with a baby girl because you know he’d be such a girl dad. There’s just absolutely no doubt about it, given how he treats Nari.

You stare at yourself in the mirror again, and absentmindedly, you turn to the side, noting the very clear absence of a bump on your stomach unlike your sister’s.

Would you carry a baby as gracefully as her? You know her struggles… but… maybe you won’t mind it with a husband like Jungkook… right? Just like she doesn’t mind with a husband like Seokjin. Because Jungkook takes really good care of you. He’d probably panic more than you about certain things. Be extra careful for the both of you. Fetch you your cravings. Love you more than he does now.

You remember Seokjin rubbing a gentle hand over your sister’s bump, and it brings your own to caress the flat of your stomach over the smooth fabric of your dress.

Obviously no baby there. But… just imagine. You with a baby bump.

Hah.

Weird, because it’s the first time the idea’s planted in your head and you kind of like it more than you thought.

You nibble on your bottom lip as you continue to caress your tummy, not noticing the knock that came from outside.

“Oh my—”

“Baby?”

“Jungkook.” Your hands retreat back to your sides. When you look at Jungkook, standing on the doorway, you let one hand clutch at your chest as you tell him, “You scared me.”

The door clicks as he locks it behind him. Your husband arches his brow as he goes over to you. “What are you so jumpy for?”

You ignore the question, looking back to the mirror again to fix your dress. But as you do so, you see his reflection – and you catch how he intently stares at you through the glass as well, walking behind you closer and pressing himself against you. His proximity suddenly makes you nervous.

“You should’ve knocked.”

“I did. You didn’t answer.”

“I didn’t hear.” When you turn around, Jungkook takes a curled strand of hair over your face and tucks it behind your ear.

“You look beautiful. So gorgeous.” He says before he wraps his arms around your waist and presses a kiss to your lips, one that you welcome fully even though you just reapplied your lipstick. When you break away, you see some remnants on his lips… and realize you picked the wrong lipstick for tonight. You should’ve brought the kiss-proof lippy instead.

You wipe it off and Jungkook smiles before he ducks down, not caring, and kisses your cheek for good measure before he speaks again, “What were you doing in here?” He wiggles his eyebrows, as if he knows you were up to something before he barged in.

You avoid his gaze and turn back around.

“Nothing,” You say, trying to busy yourself with your hair again. But Jungkook can be really annoying when he wants to be, so of course he pushes, quite literally and figuratively.

“What was it? I saw you…” He teases, pushing his nose in the juncture of your neck and shoulder, tightening his hold around you.

“What did you– Jungkook!” You half-snort and scoff when Jungkook bites your neck playfully. You turn around to push him, but he’s insistent on keeping the nonexistent space between you and cages you in his big presence instead, trapping you in between the edge of the sink and the heat of his body.

“This damn dress…” Jungkook whispers as he splays his hand over your stomach, which makes your breath hitch.

Did he really see? See you pretending to have a baby bump at the thought of him impregnating you?

But Jungkook doesn’t really say anything further, just lets an idle finger run over the curve of your hips up to your waist, until it stops at the exposed skin of your shoulder.

“Can’t wait to fuck you in this.” He whispers in your ear, eyes meeting your gaze in the mirror, not subtle in the way he checks out your body after.

You huff out a scoff, giving a little more force into the push that you give him this time. His more relaxed hold on you makes him stumble a little bit backwards, chuckling when you roll your eyes at him once again.

“You’re not even gonna take it off me?” You ask as your turn on the tap, arching your brow at Jungkook’s reflection in the mirror.

A sly smirk makes an appearance on his lips. “I don’t need to take anything off to make you cum, baby.”

You turn around, leaning on the sink. “So you’re saying you’re not interested at all about my very elaborate choice of underwear tonight, then?”

That catches him off guard, his brows furrowed in confusion and then realization.

“You minx.”

You chuckle, swatting his hand away when he tries to touch you. When he whines, you take a step forward and wrap your arms around his neck, and Jungkook’s predictably eager to encircle your waist in his arms back again.

“Later. We have to keep it PG for at least three hours tonight. And you can—” you push at his chest for leverage so you can lean down a little to ride your dress up your thighs. Looking at Jungkook, you watch as he stares at you closely, intently, but oblivious to what you’re doing. He clearly enjoys it, though, judging from the hint of a smile on his lips and the shine in his eyes when more of your skin gets revealed.

Especially when he catches a glimpse of your white lace underwear that he bought for you himself.

He whistles, and you roll your eyes at the predictable reaction. Taking one of his hands off you, you guide it in between your thighs, earning an involuntary moan from you because Jungkook’s palm automatically cups your heat when he gets close.

“Ah…”

“Fuck…” Jungkook looks down where his hand meets your core. “Goddamn,” He says, then you feel him push your panties to the side, dipping the tip of his finger in your pussy. “Why the fuck are you so wet, baby?”

“Y-yeah…” You whine against his chest, gripping his wrist when he attempts to move again. “Kook, don’t.”

Jungkook halts. He looks at you. Then, he nods. “Alright. Alright. Stop this here?”

“Hm.”

He looks down at you with an arched brow. “You started it, though.”

“You were being flirty.” You say as Jungkook brings your underwear back in place, but not without squeezing your ass first. You nibble on your bottom lip as he rides down the dress, letting it dangle on your knees back again, smoothing the front for you to get rid of the wrinkles.

“Not my fault you’re hot,” he snorts. “Fuck.”

“What?”

“I’m kinda hard…” He says, and you both look down to the bump on his white slacks. Certainly not his full potential (like… you’d know), but it’s still apparent in the light color of his trouser.

“Poor baby,” you say, can’t help but pat it a little condescendingly which earns a chuckle from Jungkook, him playfully swatting your hand away.

“You’re so…”

“I’m so what.”

Jungkook’s face is a mixture of frustration and amusement. “You always do this shit.”

You giggle, knowing exactly what he means. But you act like you have no clue. “What?”

“Get me horny then leave.” He shakes his head, then pokes your waist.

Chuckling, you kiss him on the cheek quickly, making a beeline to the door quickly lest he tries to kiss you again (and you’ll have no choice but to make out in your sister’s powder room, during her big Christmas party, mind you) and then give him a wink before you go.

The ride on the way home felt like it took sixty five years, and it might just be true especially when you’re horny as hell and you got a husband behind the steering wheel looking effortlessly hot in his element.

You’ve been hot and bothered for hours, and maybe it’s the champagne – probably has gotten in your brain or whatever – but Jungkook was not even done parking when you made a move to palm him over the console.

“Fuck,” Jungkook hissed, clearly not expecting it at all. He had that wide-eyed look when he frantically turned off the engine, staring at you while your hand grew heavy on his crotch. “Here?” You bit on your bottom lip as you nodded your head. He looked beyond conflicted. “But baby, we’re just ten floors away from our u–”

“Please?”

And what was he supposed to say? No?

Absolutely not. Not when your glassy eyes looked so pleading the way they did.

He just makes your insides churn, especially when you look at him. And for the past few hours, you couldn’t stop thinking about his dick inside you and most especially his cum. (Translation: You can’t stop thinking about him fucking a baby into you).

But… the thing was, you’ve only ever fucked in a car once.

Jungkook’s way too pesky about stuff like that, and somehow, even though he’s already been made aware of your exhibitionist tendencies (cue unprompted sex in public areas like that one time in the beach, window sex at a Ritz hotel back in London and… admittedly many more…) car sex was just… a least favorite. The first and only time you did it was when you were still fresh into dating; at a drive-thru cinema, but it was kind of a whack in both your opinions because it was too cramped up and you bumped your head and you almost got caught which is way too embarrassing of a memory to ever revisit.

But now maybe that really doesn't matter anymore.

Not when your husband looks like that.

And bottomline is: you just really, really want him to cum in you.

Oh god. What is wrong with your head tonight?

“Baby, fuuuck,” Jungkook hisses as you speed up your rhythm up and down his cock. His boxers and slacks are pushed down to the middle of his thighs while his shirt is all but buttoned. Meanwhile, your dress is bunched up in your mid-section.

You’re near tears on his lap at this point, already feeling your thighs straining at the force you’re exerting in every bounce – but you couldn’t care less.

“Oh my god, baby– you feel so good,” you moan, eyes shutting close at the feel of his tip hitting that spot inside you whenever you go down.

For the first few minutes, Jungkook took it upon himself to guide your hips in every movement just like he always does when you ride him like this, pounding into you from underneath, but he eventually let you control the pace, leaning way back to the reclined seat and watches you work instead. He stares at you with hooded eyes as you push yourself up and down on his hardened cock, stiletto heels digging the side of his thighs occasionally.

While you pleasure yourself on him, he slides your dress up further, gets a little frustrated that it’s tight on the waist so he can’t push it past your tits. So he feels for your nape to find the zipper because he knows it’s there – he zipped you up in this dress before you drove to your sister’s place – and he delights when he finds the small, cold material, pulling it down blindly until you noticed and help him get yourself out of it.

Jungkook sighs when the top comes down, snapping the clip of your sleeveless bra and getting it out of the way before he greedily fondles your now bare breasts in his huge palms.

“Ohh,” you moan when Jungkook flicks your nipples, getting them even harder. You push yourself back, leaning into one elbow on the steering wheel as you begin to rock against him in a back and forth motion,

“Fuck—” Jungkook lets out a guttural groan, squeezing your tits tighter that makes you keen in want. “So fucking sexy, baby. Shit – damn – l-love you.”

“I-I love you too,” you say, more like a whine, chasing a high he knows is impending.

Jungkook looks up at you with hooded eyes. Your hair that was once tidy and neat three hours ago is now all over the place, the high bun loosening and some strands falling off your pretty face. Your lipstick smudged and he’s sure the remnants are on his lips, and with your mouth agaped in that erotic o-shape while you pleasure yourself on his cock, Jungkook feels like exploding.

“Ah– shit,” he groans, feeling the warm crevice of your wet pussy swallow him whole. When you climbed over his lap a while ago after he fingered you, he was gonna take out a condom from the glove compartment but you insisted to not use it, and the picture of you looking down while he pushed your panties to the side and looked into each other’s eyes as you sank down on him is still playing in his head like a broken record.

God fuck damn, you’re just so unreal. The love of his life. His wife.

He wipes your tear-stained cheeks, torn because he doesn’t like seeing you cry but he does like it when it’s because you’re so eager to bounce on his cock that even though you know you’re pushing it, you continue to do so.

Jungkook lets his hand travel from a boob to linger on your cheek, and he keens on the way you purr when you lean into his touch, smiling slightly when you open your mouth as his thumb nears it.

You eagerly suck it as if verbally prompted, opening your eyes just so you can stare at his as you lewdly slobber over his finger while you expertly move against his cock, breasts jiggling up and down right in front of his face – the obscene squelches of your lovemaking filling the air of his cramped up benz.

“You’re so perfect, baby,” Jungkook whispers. “Perfect girl. You love bouncing on my cock, love? Just couldn’t wait until we get home? Hm?” His tone is a bit condescending and cocky.

When Jungkook takes out his finger from your mouth, you bite your lip as you nod, resuming your up and down motion again. Slamming down on his dick, your hands come up to grip his shoulders tight.

“We are home.”

Jungkook chuckles, a rich and dark sound that sends shivers down your spine. A snarky remark gets buried in your throat when you feel a certain zap of electricity coming from your toes to your spine, the hot coil in your stomach edging to burst.

“I’m cumming– oh my god, Jungkook– baby I’m cumming—” You say, speeding up your pace once again.

With your breasts bouncing in front of his face like that, he couldn’t help but dive right into it, wrapping his lips around one nipple, nipping and sucking and licking, while he busies one hand with fondling the other. He alternated in between both tits, groaning and grunting when your pussy tightens around him, and one more slam on his cock gets you spiraling as you finally cum.

Jungkook closes his eyes when he feels you gush around him, and he really wishes that he could lay you down, spread you out, and eat the slick right out of you just like how he likes it.

“That’s it, baby – fuck. Good girl, good girl.”

A long, drawl-out moan slips past your lips, and Jungkook takes it upon himself to keep you bouncing on his cock when your energy dwindles down, rocking his hips upwards, just as eager to reach his high as well.

You try to pick up your pace to help him, planting your palms on his bare chest to meet his thrusts.

“Fuck baby, I’m cumming, I’m cumming,” Jungkook says in a hushed whisper, groaning, squeezing your ass tight that you know will leave marks the next day.

“I know, baby – cum for me,” You lean down to capture his lips, whimpering when you feel yourself still coming down from your high.

“Ohh fuuck—” Jungkook moans, a tell-tale sign of his orgasm. “Fuck, I’m cumming—”

It’s almost second nature the way he looks down on your crotch, hand going over to where you meet – and you almost panic when you realize what he’s about to do.

“Jungkook, no,” you stop his hand, and he looks at you with utter confusion, rightfully so. Biting your lip, you stare into his eyes as you say, “I want you to come inside me.”

You watch as his eyes widen, then, “You sure?” He says with furrowed brows.

You nod your head frantically. “Please come in me. I want your come in me. Please, please—”

“Jesus fuck—” Jungkook’s hips stutter, his grip on yours tightening, gaze darkening as he processes your words. “Fuck. Okay, baby. No need to beg, okay? Fuck. I’ll come inside you.”

You speed up your pace and you can feel yourself getting there for a second time, and maybe it’s the heat of the moment, but your next words fall from your lips without much thought: “Yeah, yeah –give it to me, Kook. Want your– ah– want your babies.”

“Shit.” Jungkook hisses, taken aback by your words. “Fuuuck…” He looks up at you, grabs your waist and makes you lean closer. “You mean that?”

You nod your head, jumping on his cock up and down like your life depends on it. “Want your babies. Want you to cum in me.”

“Shiiitt,” Jungkook sighs, and you feel him getting harder by the second. “Gonna– gonna fuck a baby in you, baby. Fuck. You don’t know what you do to me– shit, I’m cumming.”

You both moan in unison when Jungkook finally releases inside you the same time you do so, his cock hardening in your walls, throbbing when you settle down on his lap with him still buried inside you. When the seconds pass, you feel the exhaustion wrapping around you, and you let Jungkook trail kisses up your shoulders and neck at the post-coital momentum.

“Fuck, that was so hot.” He whispers against your lips, kissing your parted mouth. You sigh against it, all sweaty and fucked out.

“Oh, baby…” You moan when Jungkook lifts you up and you feel yourself dripping from your cum.

“Fucking hell, so beautiful baby...” Jungkook trails off, squeezing your breasts before pushing you gently to lean back on the steering wheel. You look down as you watch with a gasp when he slides his cock out from your heat, covered in white and slick, moaning lewdly when he pumps it out for more.

Some of it spurts on your pussy, and you stare in awe when Jungkook inserts the tip once again in your heat, your eyes rolling to the back of your head at the blurred lines between pleasure and overstimulation.

“Goddammit.” Jungkook sighs, gratified, tapping his cock on your pussy a few times before he grabs your hips again so he can kiss you on the mouth. It almost gives you whiplash when he looks at you with such sincere and genuine eyes as he says, “I love you.”

“Love you,” you say, closing your eyes when his kisses trail to your jaw and his hands come up to fondle your tits again. His favorite fixation – his words, not yours. “Kook.”

“Hm.”

“Sticky.”

He hums again. You keep your position like that for a few more seconds before Jungkook helps put your panties and dress back in place, picking you up slightly as you climb over the passenger seat.

You watch as he pulls his boxers and pants back up, buckling his belt around the waist. He hasn’t fixed the unbuttoned state of his shirt yet before he looks at you again with a smile.

“Come here, you,” He says, beckoning you to come closer with his arm around your seat. You grin, crossing the console again to meet the kiss he gives your mouth. Then, Jungkook breaks the contact, caressing your cheek as he speaks. “Babies, huh?” He brings up, eyes so bright; delighted, excited. He has that unshakeable grin.

And you can’t help but mirror it.

“Do you want to?” You ask instead. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you nervously wait for his answer that doesn’t really take that long.

“Fuck, yeah. If you want to, then I want to,” he responds. Then, he adds, “And I really, really want to.”

“Okay…” you say, biting your lip to keep yourself from smiling too much. “But it doesn’t have to be now. Or I don’t know. I know it’s only been a year since we got married and all that—”

“Baby, stop,” Jungkook says before you can finish your thought. “Doesn’t matter if we were one month into the marriage. As long as you’re ready, then I’m ready. Are you ready?”

A few beats.

It was your horny-adled brain that got you in this position in the first place – but you think about how life with Jungkook would be like with kids added in the equation in the near future.

It would be so far from bad.

The past year had been nothing short of bliss since you married him, and as you watched Jungkook, a thought warmed your heart: he’d be an incredible dad. The way he loves you, so deeply and selflessly, leaves no doubt in your mind that he’d go above and beyond for your child—or children. You’re certain he’d love them as much as he loves you, perhaps even more.

A smile spreads across your face, and you nod to his question.

“I want a family with you, Kook.”

Jungkook’s face lights up with a delighted smile, mirroring yours. “So, we’re doing this?”

You nod again, biting your lip to temper your excitement.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

You blink at him in surprise. “Why are you thanking me?”

He shakes his head with a gentle smile and leans in to kiss you again. “Just… thank you.”

You furrow your brows, squinting at him in playful confusion. Before you can say more, he leans forward and nips the tip of your nose.

“Ow!” you exclaim, laughing.

“You’re cute,” Jungkook teases. “But we’ve gotta clean up and head home. Then, we can keep practicing putting my baby in you—on a nice, comfortable bed this time.” He winks, pecking your cheek as he buttons his shirt and unbuckles his seatbelt.

You snort, rolling your eyes as you do the same. “Admit it, you like car sex.”

Jungkook hums nonchalantly, his cheeky grin giving him away. You chuckle, shaking your head at him, love radiating in every moment between you.

#jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook scenarios #p; drabbles #tlp drabbles #fic: tlp

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dilfverines · 4 months ago

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teach me | step uncle! logan howlett x f! reader

content warnings: stepcest, drinking, cheating, virgin reader, vaginal sex, fingering, finger sucking, praise, pet names, light degradation, anal play, creampie, oral (fem receiving), cum eating, daddy kink, breeding kink (kinda)

word count: 4.3k

for @nymphomatique thank you for proofing bby <3

18+ MDNI

You were eighteen when your parents first allowed you to start dating boys, that’s how strict they were, and not much has changed in the past two years since then. The rules stayed the same: no parties, no staying out late, no smoking or drinking- typical for someone in their teens, not a young adult. As you grew you found yourself getting tired of your parents’ harsh boundaries, and you always had the nagging feeling of needing to break free, you were just never sure of how to do it, until you met him.

Logan was your dad’s older step-brother, and he had come just a little while ago to stay with you for a few weeks. You don’t really know all the details, something about his girlfriend kicking him out, you weren’t sure. Your dad had told you he didn’t really speak to Logan much, and once you met him, you understood why. The man was a douchebag to say the least. Rude, short-tempered, vulgar. Despite this, you found yourself strangely attracted to him.

The looks were definitely part of it, all dark-haired, muscular and tall, you would be a fool to not be into that- but his attitude was starting to grow on you too. You were respectful, pleasant, the opposite of everything he was. Perhaps his own nature was sparking a bit of rebellion in you the more time you spent with him, and he just never knew.

It was late when your parents had left, deciding to have a date night to themselves, leaving you and your uncle all alone in the house. You had cooked dinner, and after eating, decided to join him in the living room. The tv plays some random movie that the two of you are barely watching.

“You drink?” Logan suddenly asks, breaking the quiet between you two, his eyes still on the tv screen just ahead.

You look over to him, watching his lips around the rim of the beer bottle in his hand as he takes a sip.

“No,” you shake your head. “My parents don’t let me.” It sounds silly, a grown adult who doesn't drink because their parents won’t allow them to, and the little chuckle Logan lets out confirms what you’re thinking.

“Who gives a fuck about what they think?” he dismisses.

“I do,” you respond with a slight frown.

Logan finally looks at you, and scoffs after a moment of silence. “You don’t have to listen to them, you know?” He takes another sip of beer. “You’re what- twenty? Maybe it’s about time to start thinking for yourself.”

You shrug. “Maybe… I just-” You’re cut off by Logan.

“What? Afraid you’ll make them upset at you?” He asks, almost taunting you. “Scared they’ll be disappointed in their perfect little girl?” His smirk widens, and he can clearly sense the slight fear in you when you don’t respond.

“C’mon,” he urges, scooting closer to you and holding the half-drank bottle of beer in your direction. “Take a little sip.”

Your body noticeably heats up at the older mans close proximity. You look down at the bottle in front of your face, then back up at him. “I dunno,” you mutter. “Mom and dad will get mad.”

“Ah, come on.” His arm goes around your shoulder, and he feels you tense slightly. “No one’s here but us, they’re not gonna know.” Rough fingertips graze the top of your chest, just barely. He knows what he’s doing, the little look in his eyes telling you all you need to know.

He presses the bottle to your lips, and with hesitation, you take a sip. The bitter flavor passes over your tongue, and you grimace at the taste. Logan watches with amusement.

“Good girl,” he praises, pulling back the bottle just enough to let you speak once you swallow. “You don’t like it, do you?”

You shake your head, using your sleeve to wipe away the liquid that had dripped on your face. “Not really.”

Logan laughs quietly. “It’s not about the taste, baby.” He brings the bottle closer again. “It’s about the feeling it gives you.”

Half a bottle later, and you can definitely notice the feeling he was telling you about. Your brain feels a bit fuzzy, so sensitive to the alcohol you hadn’t even had a mere sip of before tonight.

“How are you feelin’?” Logan asks you, knowing damn well just how you’re feeling. He’s seen drunk people enough times to know you’re getting there.

“Mm,” you hum. “Feels funny.”

Logan smiles, amused by the sight before him. “Yeah?” His arm around you pulls you closer, to the point that you’re practically on top of him, nearly sitting on his lap. A hand snakes down to your thigh, and he gently squeezes the soft flesh there.

“I think I might know a way to make you feel even better than you already do…” His voice is low in your ear, and your already warm body flushes even deeper. His movement is slow as his touch comes up your thigh, to your hip, his fingertips dipping just under the elastic waist of your shorts.

“You’ve never been touched before, have you, baby?”

Those words make your breath stop in your chest, both out of surprise and slight embarrassment. It’s almost a shame to admit that you’ve never had sex, let alone kissed anyone at your age- but he already knows so much, no shame in admitting this to him now.

You shake your head sheepishly, your voice going soft as you answer with a meek little “no,” which makes Logans dirty grin widen a bit.

“Oh, nothin’ wrong with that.” His fingers sink lower into your shorts, making his way beneath the lace of your panties now too. “Just means I get to be your first…”

You turn your head to the side to look at him, his lips dangerously close to your own. The distance is too tempting, and you both lean in to close it, meeting halfway. He can tell you’ve never been kissed before, the way you freeze for a second before his own lips moving goad yours into doing the same. He finds it cute, and all the more arousing how inexperienced you are.

His tongue presses against your own, wet and hot, just like the cunt he finds himself rubbing his fingers against. You’re already soaked just from the kiss, and he would chuckle at that if his lips weren’t on yours at the moment. You can’t help but moan into him as he circles your untouched clit, making you spread your legs further, instinctively wanting more.

Logans lips part from yours, leaving you breathless. “You like this, don’t you? Like how uncle Logan plays with your pussy?” His voice is low and deep in your ear when he says it, nipping at your neck with his teeth. You can only respond with breathless moans. A stuttered little “yes” leaves you.

“Mm,” he grunts against your soft skin. “Good. Such a good girl, letting me touch you like this.” You could almost cum just from his filthy praises.

Your panties are soaked through at this point, a wet spot on your shorts being the embarrassing sign of your arousal, and Logan is eating it up. You, young and innocent, ripe for the taking. He feels so incredibly lucky to have you like this.

Logan's fingers continue to rub your clit, just at the perfect pace so as to not overwhelm you. His face is buried into your neck, sucking and leaving marks that he’s sure will bruise. You’ll have fun explaining that to your parents tomorrow.

He knows when you’re close, when you start to whine like a puppy more and more, when your hips start to twitch ever so slightly, when your hand tries to desperately wrap around the thick of his wrist. You’re just about to tip over the edge, gripping him so tightly, when he stops.

“You think I’m gonna let this end that quickly?” He asks, voice low in your ear. He gives your cunt a light slap, making you whimper, before he pulls his hand from your shorts. “I wanna take my time with you. Lay down and take off your shorts.”

You’re a bit frustrated that he didn’t let you cum first, but you find yourself obeying his orders, too needy now to even think twice about the fact that you’re doing all this with your dad’s step-brother. You lie back on the couch, and Logan is quick to slot himself between your spread legs, already assisting you in pulling your shorts off. He tosses them along with your panties, forgotten in the corner of the room somewhere and leaving you bare for his eyes to take in. You’re a sight to see, he thinks- his step-niece all laid out for him, ready to be taken. He almost growls at the thought.

His hands are quick in working off his own belt, undoing his pants and hastily shoving them down his strong thighs. Out comes the thick length of his cock, sprouting from a bush of dark pubic hair, and your eyes go wide at the sight. You had never seen one in person before, but you were certain his would be considered big- way too big. It’s long, girthy with a couple veins coming up to the uncut tip.

Logan seems to notice the sudden unease in your demeanor, and your eyes finally meet his again when he speaks. “Don’t worry, we’ll make sure it fits. pretty doll.” His smile would be more reassuring if not for the perverse way he looks at you.

He brings a hand between your legs, rubbing his calloused fingertips through your slick folds, feeling how incredibly soaked you are for him before he pushes two fingers inside you. You let out a breath at the stretch, an unfamiliar feeling. You had fingered yourself before, but Logans fingers were much thicker and longer compared to your own slender ones. He starts to push them in and out, climbing on top of you and coming closer as he does.

Your lips meet, the kiss initiated by you this time. Perhaps the alcohol in your system has you getting a bit confident, but Logan quickly reminds you of who’s in charge of this whole situation when he brings his free hand up to give you a light slap on your hip, making you whimper into his mouth. The same hand then moves up your body, pulling your shirt up past your chest before Logan roughly gropes one of your breasts. Two fingers pinch at the hardened bud of your sensitive nipple, a muffled moan leaving your lips at the feeling.

His fingers seem to speed up, plunging in and out quickly, until he pushes them in deep one last time before pulling them out. A string of saliva connects you two, the evidence of your messy kiss when he pulls away. You’re left panting afterwards, your breath hitching when Logan suddenly grabs your face, clearly not trying to hurt you but not being gentle either as he squishes your cheeks with one hand while making you look up at him.

Before you are his fingers, soaked with your essence, which he pushes slowly between your glossy lips. If you weren’t a bit buzzed at the moment, you’d push his hand away and gag at what you’re currently doing, but you don’t. Logan watches, pleased as your eyes seem to relax and your stiff jaw goes slack.

“That’s it,” he whispers. “Good…” You suck your slick off his fingers, the taste slightly salty yet bitter, something you can’t quite put your finger on. The last thing you thought you’d ever do was taste yourself on someone else’s fingers, but here you are. Rough fingertips press down on your tongue, making you gag just a bit, before they slip out of your mouth, and a chuckle leaves Logan.

“Didn’t think you’d be such a nasty little thing so quickly.” He gives a soft pat to your cheek. “Couldn’t even get my girl back home to do that.” You try to ignore that, reminded that the man you’re about to lose your virginity to has a girlfriend. He really is a dick.

“C’mon,” Logan says, big hands reaching for your hips. “Turn over, yeah?” You do as he says, allowing him to help you get adjusted in your new position on your arms and knees on the couch, legs spread with your back arched. As soon as you get settled, Logan takes the opportunity to admire the view from behind, a bit of a smirk gracing his rugged features at the sight of his little niece all bent over and spread out for him.

He mutters a soft “damn” as his hands grip the soft flesh of your hips, closing in on you to the point you can feel his body heat on your skin and the head of his stiff cock pressing against your thigh.

“Nice ass you got here, girl.” He gives a soft slap to your left ass cheek with his compliment, snickering a little as he does so and admiring the way the flesh jiggles from the force of his hand.

You glance over your shoulder, watching with anticipation as he keeps one hand on your hip while the other wraps around his swollen cock, giving it a few pumps. He brings himself closer to you, rubbing the pinkish tip through your slicked up folds with a soft sigh at how wet you are. He makes sure to focus on your clit, swiping the sticky slit against that swollen nub just enough to make you twitch slightly with pleasure, before he glides back to your opening. Logan presses himself against you, not enough to slide in, but enough so you can feel it. You tense, and he notices.

“It’s ok,” he assures, tone soft as he seems to try to genuinely comfort you to the best of his ability. He was never good at being nice. His hand on your hip squeezes slightly, thumb rubbing soothing circles on the skin. “You’ll tell me if it hurts, won’t you, baby?”

You nod, taking in a breath. “Yeah…”

His lips curl into a smile. “Good girl.” Logan moves in so his chest is pressed to your back, his warmth slightly distracting you from the feeling of your heart pounding nervously in your chest. Your hands cling on to the couch cushions, your breath hitching as he presses in, the thick tip sinking just past the tight little opening.

You whimper, and he shushes you, kissing at one of the pink marks that’s just starting to bruise on your neck. He pushes in further, slowly but you feel as though you’re ripping apart when the thin membrane of your hymen stretches and tears. You bite down hard on your lip, stifling back any pained sounds as Logans hips still when he’s halfway in.

“You ok, pretty?” He asks, a low whisper against your ear. “Yeah, ‘m ok, Uncle Lo.” His lips press against your cheek, a way to show you he cares, at least a little bit. For him being so mean all the time, he’s somewhat gentle with you.

He starts to move his hips again, pushing into you more and more, inch by inch. You bite down on your lip, so hard you swear it might bleed. Your hands grip the throw pillow you’ve decided to cling on to. He’s so thick you think he might just split you in two when he’s fully sheathed, all the way inside you. He stills again, not wanting to overwhelm you and letting you adjust to his size for a moment, despite how much he’d love to just lose control and start pounding you into oblivion. He’s an asshole, but he’s not a monster.

His hand goes from your hip to the small of your waist, giving the soft curve a comforting squeeze. “Feel ok? Ya ready for me to move?” You nod, the discomfort fading into a desperate need for more. “Please.”

Logan seems pleased to hear you so eager for him, a low growl leaving his lips. He pulls his hips back, only to push himself inside you with a bit of force, making your body jolt forward slightly. The motion of his hips repeats, in and out, back and forth, until he sets a steady and slow paced rhythm for now.

He’s starting to feel it now, the way your virgin hole is wrapped so tightly around his cock. “Fuck,” he grunts, breath hot and moist against your skin. “Never would’ve guessed my little niece would have such a tight cunt.” Logan feels the way you seem to squeeze him even tighter for just a moment when he says it, and an amused yet dirty grin crosses his lips.

“You like that, don’t you?” His thrusts speed up, going harder. “Like uncle Lo tellin’ you what a tight little pussy you’ve got?” You just whine, unable to say anything when you can already feel your brain going numb at just how good his big cock feels ramming into you- but clearly your lack of a response doesn’t suffice for him. A firm slap lands on your rear, making you squeal, before the same hand comes up to grab your hair at the scalp.

“Answer me,” he growls. You would be surprised at how suddenly rough he’s being with you if you weren’t so into it. “N-nnh- Y-yes, Logan,” you answer meekly. “Fuckin’ love it so much.” Logan grins. He’s never heard you swear before.

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, his voice low and barely audible above the ‘plap’ sound of his tanned flesh meeting yours. “Gonna turn you into such a perfect slut for me.” His promise seeps into your brain. You can feel it, your body and mind melting, molding perfectly into being his and his alone.

Logan sits up properly on his knees, no longer with his sweaty chest pressed into you as he continues to pound into you with rough and intense vigor. You can’t see what’s happening behind you, but you can feel when he suddenly grips your ass. He squeezes and spreads the round globes of your cheeks, eyeing the little hole hidden between. A dirty looking grin crosses his face, one like no other.

“Cute,” he murmurs. You’re not sure what’s happening, what he’s doing, but you know you feel suddenly more conscious in the moment, just when he presses the tip of his thumb into the tight ring of your ass. A gasp leaves your parted lips, the feeling foreign and so incredibly dirty. “Nice and tight too. Maybe I’ll fuck this hole next time.”

Humiliated is the one word you could think to describe what you’re feeling. Logan can sense it too, and it gives him a sort of sick satisfaction to know that he’s doing this to you, that he’s corrupting you like this. He decides to take it a step further when he speaks next.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t ya’, baby?”

You could almost cry, lip quivering. But you can’t deny it. “Y-yes, uncle Lo.” Pathetic, he thinks. “Hmm,” he hums, sinking his thumb slightly deeper, feeling the strong grip you have around his finger, just before pulling it out. “I’ll have to keep that in mind then.”

He gives your ass a hard slap, making you whine pitifully before his grip returns to your waist. “God, ‘m gonna fill this pussy up soon,” he mutters low beneath his breath, but loud enough for you to hear. You should be freaked out by that, you know. You can’t be having anyone’s babies at this age, especially not your much older step-uncles babies- but you can’t bring yourself to feel anything other than a thrill at the thought.

“Please, Logan,” you plead. “Give me your cum. Need it so bad.” Logan could bust just hearing that sweet voice of yours begging for it, sounding like the call of the purest of angels. He’s unsure if he’s died and gone up to Heaven or not.

“Oh, you’re gonna get it, baby.” He comes down so his chest is to your back again, and his strong arm wraps around your neck instantaneously, being careful not to hurt you. His thrusts speed up, pounding into you harder than previous. You moan loud, an almost choked sound when his cock head hits your cervix, hard and deep. “Gonna make sure you’re full to the brim.”

It’s not long before Logan fulfills that promise. A few more pumps of his hips against yours, his bicep bulging against your throat when his arm tightens around your delicate neck, and you feel it. ”Fuck-” A low grunt escapes his thin lips, burying himself as deep as he can inside the tightness of your cunt as a torrent of hot cum floods your insides. You gasp at the unfamiliar feeling, trying to squirm away, but Logan keeps you there with his body pinning you to the couch.

“Not gettin’ away from me,” he grumbles. “Let your uncle breed you like you need.” He gives one final, deep slam into you, ensuring that his seed stays planted in your womb before he slips out with a hiss.

You collapse on the couch, body hot and exhausted, but Logan isn’t done with you. His hands grab at your waist, trying to pull you back. You quickly peer over your shoulder, watching as he gets down between your legs, maneuvering your hips to be lifted off the couch again.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Logan’s eyes meet yours when he hears your question. “Lady’s gotta cum too, yeah?” He doesn’t give you any time to answer before his lips meet with your used cunt. A gasp leaves you, a sound of surprise and pleasure. His skilled tongue licks a long stripe from your clit to the end of your slit, going back up and sucking on the sensitive nub and making you squeal with delight.

His tongue laps at your hole, eating the filthy mixture of his cum and your juices from out of you, soaking his stubbled chin. It’s clear he’s done this before, having no problem with doing such a nasty thing.

Your hand reaches back, taking grip of his dark brown locks, styled neatly with gel until your fingers get ahold of it. Your hips push back against his face, and he happily takes it, letting out a muffled growl into your pussy as his hands squeeze the soft flesh of your thighs tighter. He starts to eat you out faster, with more vigor, desperate to get you to your peak, and you can feel it approaching.

“O-oh-” Your fingers nearly dig into his scalp, holding him impossibly tighter, as close to you as you can get him. “Fuck. Feels so good, daddy.” Logan grins against your cunt. Never in a million years did he think he’d hear that coming from you, but he just did. You weren’t sure why you said it either, it just came to you. You’d heard it used in porn a few times, and this seemed to fit the sort of situation you’d see in one of those videos. Perhaps it was just instinct.

Your hips tremble, grinding back against Logan’s aged face. The heat in your belly pools, hot like fire before it hits you. You practically scream. “L-Logan!” If you weren’t home alone he would’ve shoved the throw pillow into your face to shut you up real quick, but thankfully, he’s able to relish in your pretty sounds just the way he’d like to.

He sucks harder on your clit as you cum on his face, grinding against his face wildly, and he lets you- because what kind of man would he be if he didn’t? It seems to be over just as quick as it happened, to you at least, and you’re left panting, head spinning as he pulls back.

Logan gets up, coming to stand in front of you. He reaches out, grabbing you by your jaw and guiding your head so you’re facing him. His thumb pulls at your bottom lip. He clearly wants you to open your mouth, and you do, sticking your tongue out. Logan leans down, and spits the mixture of his cum and your own right on to the center of your tongue. You retch at first, but Logan closes your mouth. “That’s it,” he urges, giving your face a soft pat. “Swallow it.” You do, with a bit of reluctance, letting the salty taste run down your throat with a shiver going up your spine.

“Good job,” he praises, ruffling the top of your head before he turns away, leaving you on the couch, numb and soaked in your own sweat.

It’s quiet for a while, you sitting there collecting your thoughts. processing what all has just happened, until Logan breaks the silence.

“So, daddy, huh?” He asks with a smirk as he pulls his pants back on, and you scoff.

“What? You don’t like it?”

“Now who said that?” He chuckles, shaking his head as he clasps the buckle on his belt. “Just wondering where such a sweet lil’ thing like you got the nerve to say something like that.”

You shrug. You weren’t really sure either.

“Maybe you’re already rubbing off on me.” Your eyes meet his, a little smile cracking your previously tired expression.

Logan can’t help but grin at that. You’re cute, he thinks. He’s not a very sappy guy, but damn if he could just see you like this all the time- all soft and pretty after he’s just had his way with you, all his.

He nods his head, agreeing with you.

“Just maybe I am.”

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #wolverine x reader #wolverine smut #x men x reader #x men smut

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littlegochu · 30 days ago

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2am text 3/3 │ jjk 18+

"You still up?"

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader (f)

genre: exes to lovers, cold male lead, cold female lead

rating: 18+, smut

synopsis: we broke up eight months ago. mutual, no dramatic fights—just distance and timing. but we made one rule before ending things: no texting each other after 2AM.

tonight, he breaks it.

he doesn’t rush me.

even when our bodies press together and his hands roam with purpose, there’s patience in him. like he knows this version of us is fragile. like he wants to take his time memorizing what we almost lost.

my back hits the couch cushions, and he follows—hovering just above me, arms braced on either side of my head. his hair falls forward slightly, brushing against my forehead. he looks at me like he’s trying to remember how to breathe.

“you’re beautiful,” he whispers, and it’s not cocky or calculated—it sounds like it hurts to say.

i slide my hands under his hoodie, fingertips tracing the hard lines of his torso, the warm skin stretched over years of growth. he’s solid now. more than he was before.

his breath stutters when i lift the hoodie over his head and toss it aside. he lets me.

then he kisses me again.

it’s slower this time. deeper. his mouth moves over mine like he’s not just kissing me—he’s apologizing, and remembering, and asking me to stay.

our bare chests press together, heat blooming in every inch of skin that touches. his hands slide down my sides, settling on my hips. he doesn’t pull, doesn’t push—just holds me like i’m something precious.

i guide his hand lower, watching the way his eyes flick to mine. searching. waiting.

“are you sure?” he asks again, voice low and rough.

“yes,” i breathe. “just... be here with me.”

that’s all he needs.

his touch turns bolder, surer. his fingers trace the waistband of my shorts, slipping beneath the fabric with practiced ease, but none of this feels routine. it feels new. necessary.

my breath catches when his fingers find how wet i already am for him. his lips twitch like he wants to smirk—but doesn’t. he just leans in, pressing a kiss to my temple like it physically hurts him to be this close and not fall apart.

he touches me slowly at first, coaxing soft, broken sounds from my throat. i arch into him, needing more, and he gives it—his fingers moving with intent now, knowing exactly how to pull me apart.

my hands tangle in his hair. his name slips past my lips more than once, and every time it does, he reacts—his breath hitching, his hips pressing slightly against mine like he’s barely holding back.

i reach for him, sliding my hand between us, cupping him through his sweatpants.

he groans into my neck, voice ragged.

“fuck... you really missed me, huh?”

“you have no idea,” i whisper.

he lets out a shaky breath, eyes heavy-lidded and dark. “then show me.”

we shed the rest of our clothes in a tangle of limbs and heat and quiet gasps. the moment i guide him to my entrance, we both freeze.

he looks down at me, eyes serious. “i don’t have anything on me.”

i pause, breath shaky. “i’m on the pill.”

his gaze searches mine, like he’s giving me one last out. i don’t take it.

he nods. presses his forehead to mine.

“tell me if anything feels wrong.”

“it won’t,” i whisper. “you never did.”

and then he pushes in—slow, thick, overwhelming. my breath hitches as i adjust, eyes fluttering shut at the stretch, the heat, the way it instantly feels like too much and not enough.

he groans low in his throat. “fuck... you feel the same. better, even.”

his hips meet mine fully, and we stay like that—pressed together, still—just breathing.

then he moves.

each thrust is slow, controlled, devastating. his hand grips my thigh, pulling my leg higher around his waist, opening me wider for him. his other hand cups my face, thumb brushing over my cheek like he’s trying to anchor me there.

we move together like muscle memory. like nothing’s changed and everything has.

my moans grow softer, breathier, words slipping between them.

“don’t stop—”

“i won’t.”

he buries his face in my neck as he fucks me deeper, harder. the couch creaks beneath us, but neither of us cares. we’re too far gone.

i reach my peak fast—too fast—and i whisper his name like a prayer as it crashes over me. he groans when he feels me clench around him, his rhythm stuttering as he chases his own release.

“fuck—y/n—i’m close.”

“come,” i whisper, lips brushing his ear. “just come.”

he does. with a low, wrecked sound, he thrusts deep and stills, body shuddering as he spills inside me. his arms wrap around me tight, like he needs to hold something real.

we stay tangled. sweaty. shaking. full of things we still don’t know how to say.

his lips press to my forehead, and for the first time since he walked through my door, he sounds calm.

“i’m here,” he whispers.

i nod, breath unsteady.

“me too.”

i don’t know when we fell asleep.

one second he was still inside me, our bodies tangled and trembling. the next, we were curled together under the thin throw blanket i never thought i’d share with him again.

now the morning light is creeping through the blinds, pale and too honest. it paints lines across his bare shoulder, across my thighs, across the living room floor like it’s trying to remind us this was real.

my face is tucked against his chest. his arms are still around me. we never moved.

he’s warm. steady. and for the first time in months, my breathing doesn’t feel like work.

i don’t want to wake him.

but he shifts before i can decide. his arms flex around me, pulling me just slightly closer.

“you awake?” his voice is low, rough with sleep.

“mhm.”

we stay quiet for a moment.

then he says, “i forgot how loud that damn fridge is.”

i smile, just a little. “some things never change.”

he hums. “yeah.”

he doesn’t move to get up. doesn’t let go.

i keep my face pressed to his chest. “was it a mistake?”

his hand stills on my back.

i feel him breathe in deep. then—

“no.”

i swallow. “are you sure?”

he nods slowly, chin brushing my hair. “we made mistakes. but this? being with you? never was.”

i want to believe that.

but morning makes everything feel more fragile. more real.

“what now?” i whisper.

he pulls back just enough to see me, his thumb brushing gently along my cheekbone.

“i don’t know,” he says honestly. “but i don’t want to pretend anymore.”

his gaze lingers, unreadable. soft in the way only he gets when everything else is stripped away.

“i came here to ask if there’s still a chance,” he says. “if we can try again. slowly. better.”

my throat tightens. “what if we mess it up again?”

“then we mess it up honestly.”

i blink. he smiles faintly.

“i’m not here to fix the past,” he murmurs. “i’m just here because i still love you.”

those words hit me like a slow exhale.

and suddenly, the weight in my chest lifts—just a little.

i nod. “okay.”

he watches me. “okay?”

“okay,” i repeat, voice barely above a whisper. “we try.”

his smile is small but real. “good.”

he kisses my forehead, then holds me again. softer now. slower. like we’re both just starting to learn how to be held by someone we already know too well.

the clock on the wall ticks quietly behind us.

i glance at it.

7:18 a.m.

i breathe in, steady and quiet.

“we broke it,” i murmur.

he hums. “broke what?”

“the rule.”

he tilts his head. “the 2am one?”

i nod. “you weren’t supposed to text. i wasn’t supposed to answer.”

he smiles against my temple.

“maybe we needed to.”

i close my eyes.

and this time, when i say it, it feels like a beginning.

“yeah,” i whisper. “we did.”

authors note: pls comment for suggestions and ur opinions on this story!

#bts jungkook #jungkook scenarios #jungkook smut #jungkook ff #jungkook #jeon jungkoooook #bts fanfic #bts army #bts smut #bts #bts x reader #bts jung jungkook

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studioeisa · 7 months ago

Text

is it casual now? (teaser) 🫀 seungcheol x reader.

★ seungcheol x makeup artist!f!reader. ★ teaser word count: ~8,000 ★ genre/warnings: mdni. 18+ content. situationship/friends with benefits, light angst, use of pet name ('love'). soft dom!seungcheol, making out, biting/marking, protected sex. let me know if i missed anything! ★ footnotes: this has been on my backburner for months. it's admittedly a full-blown story in need of hard editing, and so i'm posting this in hopes of bullying myself into working on the whole thing. should it come down to it, though, i like to think this can stand on its own. enjoy. <3

Seungcheol has been in the industry long enough to know that everybody had vices.

Trainees, rookies, veterans. It didn't matter. There were dangerous, risky vices. Alcohol, drugs, smoking. There was dating, too, of course. Dating fans, dating fellow idols.

Seungcheol didn't do drugs. He smoked socially, but he would rather not. And he drank, sure, but never to an unhealthy amount. Dating, however—

Did it really count when there was only really ever one person he treated like a vice?

You've been in his life since the group debuted. Nine years, give or take. And then, at one point, he just... tried something with you. And it clicked, fell into place, and now you've been sneaking around for the better half of three years. It's the one place Seungcheol feels like he can breathe, can get away. But it's also the biggest secret he's kept.

You're his makeup artist, after all.

When the two of you started off, you both insisted on nothing serious. To 'keep it casual'.

That worked perfectly for Seungcheol. He likes to think it's still working for him, as he raps at the door of your apartment and waits for you to open up. His wristwatch says that it's midnight, but it doesn't matter. He knocks a little louder, growing a touch impatient.

You open the door, and you're greeted with Seungcheol looking reproachful. "Yah," he chides. "Why haven't you been answering my texts?"

When you rub your eyes with the back of your hands and look over your shoulder to glimpse at your wall clock, Seungcheol almost feels apologetic. Almost. “Cheol,” you say exasperatedly, slowly. “It’s the middle of the night.”

"So you were sleeping then, hmm?" Seungcheol says. The corner of his lips tilt up, just slightly. He leans against the doorframe, taking a brief amount of time to glance you over. As he does, a small wave of tiredness finally washes over him— just how late had he kept himself up working on new music? "I sent you texts hours ago."

"You didn't even read them." He reaches up, tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. He sighs, the sound almost exaggerated. "How cruel of you."

You let out a low hum at Seungcheol’s fingers brushing against your skin. “Mmm, I fell asleep with my phone in my hand,” you admit, the words coming out more like a soft sigh than anything else.

You seem to finally drag yourself out of your sleepy state to give Seungcheol a once-over. He knows it shows all over— the exhaustion in his eyes, his stance. He’s tired, and you can tell. You’ve always been able to tell.

You step aside a bit and he takes that as his cue. Seungcheol moves past you, a small hum in the back of his throat. He toes off his shoes and shuts the door behind him with a soft click. In spite of himself, the moment he's inside, he reaches for you.

One arm is loosely slung over your shoulders, pulling you in close. He rests his chin on your shoulder, the tip of his nose against your neck.

"You fell asleep..." he gripes. "Do you know how many texts I sent you? I sent five.”

“Five”” you repeat as you bear Seungcheol’s weight. Your hand instinctively raises to stroke the base of his hair behind his neck, and he thinks he could melt then and there— your soothing touch, your light tone. “Oh, how ever will you live?”

Seungcheol huffs into the crook of your neck. The feel of your fingers in his hair does wonders to combat the tired, stressed part of himself. Slowly, his shoulders relax, and he sighs, the sound long and deep.

"Don't get snarky with me," he mutters. But there's no bite to it at all, just a quiet sense of contentment in his voice. "You could've at the very least read the messages." He moves, presses a kiss to your neck. "Would've taken ten seconds."

“I was asleep,” you protest, but— whether or not you notice— your head is tilting around a bit to press a lingering kiss on to the side of his face.Seungcheol's stomach flutters. You're sweet like that. Always have been, always will be. He hums under his breath at the kiss, his hand that's on your shoulder moves up to cup your cheek.

“That’s my penance,” you say drowsily.

"One kiss isn't nearly enough," he tells you.

He pulls back from your shoulder to look at you, now. The eye contact, the way he regards you, has a more focused weight. He takes a moment to look you over again— hair mussed, face still flushed faintly from sleep. "Two,” he says in a tone that brokers no argument.

“Greedy,” you mumble, but both of you know it doesn’t matter.

Not when your free hand finds purchase at his side and you use your fingers in his hair to pull him down so you don't have to stand on your tiptoes. Not when you press your lips together into a kiss that's soft and sweet, almost sleepy.

All it takes is the sound of your voice for Seungcheol to be pulled in— when you tug at his hair, he follows, his chest against yours. He bends down, his own hands coming up to the sides of your face.

He melts against your mouth, his eyes closing in an instant. But it’s done as quickly as it started. You pull away, your face still inches away from Seungcheol’s, as you smilingly mumble to him, “There. Two kisses.”

His eyes open again once you pull away, his grip on your face tightening just slightly. "Three," he mutters back, and then he leans back in.

You hum against his mouth, the sound breaking free from the back of your throat. You’re both so tired from your respective work and it shows in the kiss. No heat, no fire. Your tongue swiping over his lip makes Seungcheol hum, quiet and low in his throat. He's usually so used to being the one who takes control, making the first move, but here with you, in the early hours of the morning— there's something else to it.

He pulls you closer against him, his hands moving down to your hips. Against your mouth, he murmurs, "Four," before his tongue slips in, just to get a taste. Just to linger, just to savor, but not take over.

“Cheol,” you huff, though your reprimand is tempered by the way Seungcheol is intent on keeping the kiss going. “You’re— mmph— being greedy—”

"Five—" he sighs against your mouth. "Let me be greedy a second more."

One of his hands moves to the back of your head, fingers tangling up in your hair. This is what he likes, this is what he always comes to you for. Something that's simple. This, he can deal with. This, he can handle.

It’s never a second more with Seungcheol. He’s always out the door when he can go, when he has to. He’s never been a glutton for time, and so it’s enough for you to sense that something is wrong.

You break away from him.

Seungcheol has to resist a whine when you pull back, his eyes fluttering open in a daze. Your hand has moved to his face and you’re looking up at him with a small frown and a quiet query. “Long week?”

He lets your question hang in the air for a moment, the hand in your hair loosening its grip, fingers just idly combing through the strands.

He glances at your face— the furrow of your brow, the hint of concern in your eyes— and it makes him sigh. He turns his head to press a soft, quick kiss to your palm.

"Long year," he corrects.

You look like you want to say more. Seungcheol almost begs you not to. This— whatever the two of you have— it’s an outlet that won’t break him, won't ruin him, won't tarnish him or the group's name. He just wants— he needs—

You know exactly what he needs, even if he doesn’t always know himself. “How do you want your fifth kiss?” you ask instead of commenting on his obvious fatigue.

Your question makes Seungcheol's head empty out in an instant.

It takes him a moment to think, to consider. His mind, hazy and tired as it is, struggles to come up with an adequate answer. All he knows is that he's comfortable, that he's tired, that you're here. And that's all he really needs, in the end.

He lets his hand fall from your hair, to the nape of your neck. "... Soft," he murmurs. "Soft and easy."

You’re back up on your tiptoes to give him what he asked for. A sweet, slow press of your lips against his. It’s a kiss that lovers give each other, even though you’re the furthest from that.

It's easy, easy, easy for him to fall into the kiss just like that, a shudder running down his spine when your tongue doesn't invade him. It's sweet, it's chaste, it's simple. It's exactly the kind of kiss he needs after a week of work.

His hand on your neck moves to your cheek, his thumb brushing over the skin there. He breaks away for a mere second, a fraction of a beat, to catch his own breath, but he kisses you right back after.

"Six," he whispers desperately. "Again."

This time, you laugh against his mouth— a slightly muffled sound, not any less amused— but you give in, still. When you separate for air again, one of your hands rests on his chest to keep him away. “You have to let me breathe, Cheol,” you huff.

Seungcheol has to resist groaning outright when your palm on his chest keeps him from coming in for another kiss. You're adorable like this, in the middle of the night, with sleep in your eyes and annoyance in your voice.

He knows he's being needy, taking advantage, but at the same time? It's all he seems to be able to do. Greedy, he hears you call him, and it's true.

"I'll let you breathe when I get my seventh kiss, then," he grumbles.

He can see the annoyance blooming on your expression, but he’s saved by one thing and one thing alone: The fact that you can get pretty greedy sometimes, too, especially when Seungcheol was involved.

"Fine," you say haughtily, feigning annoyance. "Just one more kiss."

Seungcheol's eyes glimmer with something akin to mischief. His hands move to your face again, his own lips curving up in a smirk. You give him an inch, he wants a mile. It's his style. "One more kiss. That I can work with."

He brushes a thumb over your cheek again, his grip in your hair loosening only to brush some stray strands away from your face. "Only fair that I get to pick the way, then," he says, his tone low.

He's going to make the most of this opportunity, and you're letting him.

His tongue darts out briefly to lick over his bottom lip. "Open your mouth."

When you let out a noncommittal hom and oblige, parting your lips, he knows he’s gone. Seeing the obedience in your face makes Seungcheol's stomach do a little bit of an excited flip. You're like this, this, even when you're tired, when you're barely awake.

It's a little addicting.

"Good," he says softly. It's all the warning you get before he's got his mouth on yours again.

He kisses you— devours you, his tongue parting your lips, sliding into your mouth, taking. The kiss is almost bruising and seems to throw you off balance, but you quickly recover by pressing flush against Seungcheol and holding the sides of his arms. If he were a better person, Seungcheol would let this be the last one. Would let this kiss end and call it a night.

But then the smallest of sounds escape you. A whimper, a soft noise that only makes all sense fly right out of Seungcheol's head. It's not fair, he thinks, that you still have a hold on him even in the middle of the night.

All it makes him do is pull you closer— press you up against the wall with his entire body, his hands still gripping your face as he kisses you deep. Harder than he usually would, rougher than he normally did.

He swallows the sound, his tongue still in your mouth.

Your fingernails are pressing into his biceps now. Your tongue is sinking into his lower lip; not quite biting, but enough to drag his focus away for a moment. "Seung," you sigh, and it’s like music to his goddamn ears.

He was Choi or Seungcheol when he was in your makeup chair. Cheol, when it was just the two of you. But Seung was something different entirely.

A small moan, low and quiet, gets caught in Seungcheol's throat when you bite into his lip, when you whine out his name like that. He knows what it means when you call him like that— knows what he's in for.

He relishes in it. In moments like these when he gets to be like this. When he doesn't have to be responsible, when he doesn't have to be a leader. He gets to be just Seung.

There isn't a single part of his body that's not on fire right now, not when he's got you pinned against the wall, not when you're all satin and soft against him. His grip on your face tightens, and now his lips are no longer on your mouth, but on your jaw, moving down to your neck, your throat.

A quiet, needy little ah falls out your lips when he nips at that spot on your pulse point, and there, there is exactly when he knows that he's got you exactly where he wants you. Pinned by his body, shaking and shivering like he's touching you for the first time.

If he was feeling a little less riled up, a little less needy, he'd keep up the teasing. But he can't, not now. His hands move from your face to your hips, moving under the satin of your pajamas. It's not enough, never enough.

Every sound that leaves your mouth, every little please, just, already sets a fire in his brain. Every part of his mind turns to static, white noise, as he keeps his lips on your throat, your neck, biting and nipping at your skin.

“Seung,” you hiss, your hands flying to his shoulders as you press your back on to the entryway wall, willing yourself not to crumple. “I’m going to get a noise complaint again—”

“I'll pay the fine,” he murmurs against your skin, his lips against your collarbone now, his hands still on your hips. His brain is starting to grow fuzzy, his thoughts less coherent, but this was the goal.

To get you like this. Soft and shaking and desperate. To make you his for the night, for just a little while. To hold some sort of control over something in his life.

“You can't just keep paying for— ah— the fines,” you’re babbling. “They're going— t-to kick me— Seung, fuck!"

Whatever you’re trying to say dies out when Seungcheol nips at your warm skin. The rational part of him, somewhere deep, deep inside, knows that you're right. He can't keep paying your fines for complaints of loud music and loud sex.

The part of him that's currently working on painting a bruise on your collarbone doesn't seem to care all that much.

"I'll pay," he repeats, between leaving a few more marks on your skin for good measure. "As many times as I have to—"

“Jesus Christ,” you cuss, your chest heaving as Seungcheol’s hand moves higher and higher up your shirt. “My neighbors are so fucking sick of me, and it’s all your fault.”

“My fault?” Even through the haze in his head, Seungcheol can't help the low scoff that he lets out. He wants to say that he couldn't care less about your neighbors— wants to say that your pretty mouth makes up for the noise, but something else catches his attention. The brush of his fingers on bare skin.

His eyes go wide, his brain suddenly clearing.

"You're not wearing anything underneath your pajamas," he deadpans, his voice coming out in a low drawl.

Of course, that adds up. You hadn’t been expecting Seungcheol, after all, so he can’t blame you for foregoing the underclothes. Still, it only stokes the growing flame in the base of his stomach. Especially when you move your head back against the wall so you’re looking right up at Seungcheol, the ghost of a smirk on your face.

“Wanna check for yourself?” you taunt.

A low groan falls out of Seungcheol's mouth as soon as you ask that. Like clockwork, his hands go to the hem of your shirt, pulling the fabric up slightly. Just a little bit, just to see if you're really not wearing anything beneath.

"You always like to tease," he says, his voice low. That hint of a smirk on your face is only serving to drive him that much crazier. "Go on, then. Show me, since you want to act all cocky."

You give him half an eye roll that’s more affectionate than anything else before reaching over to the back of your pajama collar. You pull the top over your head in one deft, swift movement. Seungcheol's eyes go wide for just a moment, taking in the sight of you, undressed, in front of him. It never stops shocking him, never stops making his heart thump a little harder, his breath coming out a little more labored.

“Happy?” you half-joke, your voice low.

He looks at you, up and down, before his eyes go back to your face. His hands move from your hips to your waist, fingers tracing over the sides of your chest as he shakes his head.

"Not yet," he says. "But I will be."

His hands keep tracing over your skin, his touch light— almost feathery, as he keeps his eyes fixed on your face. There's something about seeing you so exposed like this that's driving him absolutely insane, something about you being entirely at his mercy that's making his eyes grow dark.

He leans in, bringing his lips just past your ear. "Turn around," he murmurs, almost like a command.

He sees how you swallow hard, how you take in the familiar darkness in Seungcheol’s gaze. You know him, have known him for years, and that comes with trust. Unflinchingly, you twist around in his arms to press your chest against the wall.

He has you practically trapped, all against his chest and the wall. His eyes look at you up and down, taking in your bare shoulders and back, the way you've submitted to him so perfectly.

His hands go to your hips again, and his eyes look over your back, following the line of your bare spine. "What do you say we find a use for this wall besides me just pushing you up against it," he murmurs. "Hm?"

“Yes, please,” you whimper, and as soon as you agree, Seungcheol's hands tighten on your hips, his grip almost bruising as he pulls you a little closer to him. You're not going anywhere, not when he's got you like this.

He leans in, his body practically pressing up against your back, his chest against your skin. He bites down on your shoulder, pulling a strangled whine out from somewhere deep in your throat. "You look so goddamn pretty like this, love," he murmurs against your skin.

His hands move from your hips to your chest, tracing the skin there before he brings them up to your throat. He presses his fingers against your pulse point, feeling the thump thump thump of your heartbeat.

He can feel your heart thrumming against his hand, can practically hear you shaking. It's driving him absolutely insane— you, underneath him, trembling for him. The knowledge that he's got you like this, the fact that you're letting him take control, letting him do whatever he wants.

He moves his mouth to that spot on your neck again, the skin that's so sensitive that it makes you whimper and shiver. He always finds it so easy to tease those sounds out of you, and always relishes in doing it.

His hands stay at your neck, his fingers still pressed against your pulse point. This had always been one of Seungcheol's little habits— a single finger on your pulse point, as if he liked seeing which actions would make your heart rate spike, which words would have it hammering.

Seungcheol presses his lips on your skin again. "You're so loud."

He marvels at the way you ball your hands into fists, the way you shake all over with poorly concealed want and need as he keeps nipping and marking. "‘M not," you gasp, lurching forward against the wall. "‘M perfectly— hng!"

Everything is working in his favor.

You're shaking, and your heart is racing, and every noise you make is just more fodder for him. God, he loves it. Loves being the one to make you absolutely tremble and shiver like this. Loves the fact that he's the only one to make you feel like this.

"You're mine," he says again, bringing his mouth closer to your ear. He bites the shell of it, hard, before letting out a low hum.

This is his favorite place in the entire world— right against your back, feeling your body heat against his chest, his tongue running over your skin. He loves how reactive you are to him, how sensitive you are, how your body just melts under his touch.

"Say it," he mutters against your skin. "Who's in control?"

There it is. The million won question.

The whole reason you started these rendezvouses in the first place. He had been spinning out of control, and you had been lonely, and you clicked into place like magnets.

You give in, like you always do. The words are a soft whimper, almost a shout in your otherwise empty apartment. "You. You're in control, Seung."

That's all he wants to hear.

He digs his fingers into your jaw and wrenches your head so it's turned to look at him, his lips inches from yours. Even if there's a little pain, nothing in him is stopping. "Good," he mutters, his breath hot against your lips. "Good girl."

The kiss that follows is absolutely messy, the kind of kiss where it's just tongue and teeth and raw need. It's worlds different from the soft and easy kisses that Seungcheol asked for earlier, when he first came in complaining about five unanswered texts.

"Seung," you groan as you pull away for air. "Please—"

When you moan his name, it's like something snaps.

He growls low, his fingers slipping into the waistband of your shorts, gripping the fabric hard enough that there's a very real chance of them ripping. "Please what?" he mumbles against your neck. "You need to tell me what you need, love. Use your words."

"I hate you," you whine, and Seungcheol nearly smiles. He knows you’re not fond of begging, but he needs to hear it from you. At least, he wants to.

"You know what I—" you’re saying, but dammit, his control is already razor thin as is. He rips off the last fabric of clothing on you until you’re completely bare, pressed entirely up between the wall and him.

Somehow, your mind still has some shrivel of coherence to complain, "I liked this set, asshole!"

He grins against your skin at your words, chuckling at your whine, at the way you're just reacting to him. You can act annoyed, you can act like you don't need him, but he knows. "I'll buy you a new one," he hums, finally letting go of your shorts and letting them fall to the floor in tatters. "One for me to rip to shreds all over again."

That thought alone makes his blood sing.

It takes you a great effort to turn around, but somehow you manage. Seungcheol is still fully clothed and so your bare chest presses against the front of his shirt. The sight of you, naked, his hands at your hips, pressed right up against him, against his chest like this— he's gone.

And then you’re asking him, low and sweet as he has you caged in, "Where are you going to fuck me tonight, Seung?"

He can't even manage a word for a moment, his hands holding you so tight that he's definitely going to leave marks on your skin, his eyes fixed on your face.

He swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry at the question. "You want me to say it out loud, hm?"

You go to steal the upper hand for a minute or so, and you do it so effectively. Your hand rises almost lazily to his neck, your finger instinctively finding his pulse point. He feels his heart rate speed up as he watches, just watches, you do it. You stand on your tiptoes to raise your lips directly to his ear.

All he can feel is the thunder of his heart racing against your hand. You seem to notice it, too, if the smile on your face is any indication.

"How about you just show me instead?" you say, and he’s convinced he’ll pass out then and there.

"You're a brat," he mutters through gritted teeth, his hand moving up from your hips and up your spine. "A brat who needs to be taught a lesson."

He takes a shuddering breath, almost completely lost in your little game, before he snaps back to himself. Seungcheol's hand leaves your hip and goes to your hand, gripping your wrist hard. "On the sofa," he says, and it’s nothing short of a command.

He practically drags you on to the piece of furniture, watching intently as you fall back with a small oomph. Seungcheol stands on the edge of the couch as you prop yourself up by the elbows to watch him right back.

The sight of you underneath him— your hair splayed against the cushions, your eyes half-lidded and fixed on him? It's absolutely perfect. It's the kind of thing that he wants to keep in his mind forever, the sight he wants to always be able to remember.

He lets out a noise under his breath as he undoes the button of his jeans, the sound of the zipper going down obscenely loud in the quiet room. "Gorgeous,” he breathes.

He gets his jeans undone and kicked off, his shirt following them not long after, and then he's on top of you, caging you in, his hands either side of your head, staring down at you.

The look in his eyes isn't something he really gets to show often— that raw need, that want, how desperate he is for you. He wants you, God, he wants you so badly, and you're letting him have you.

He dips his head to your neck, his lips against your skin, his breath hot against your pulse point, still absolutely obsessed with that spot. His hands find your wrists, pinning them back against the couch, while his knee finds its way between your thighs, pressing up against you.

You arch and squirm underneath him, visibly distressed with the facsimile of friction that you’re getting from his knee. “Seung,” you pant, grinding your dripping core against his knee. It sends a jolt of electricity through him. “Please— don’t wanna wait any more—”

“Where’s all that snark now, hm?” he teases, his teeth running over the skin on your neck. But he’s not any better off, his own self-control slipping through his very fingers as his hips grind down against you desperately.

"Been driving me insane, love," he whispers, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the line of your neck. "Been dreaming about this for days. Missing you—”

A low keen escapes you, and he can only echo it as you tug at the last piece of material separating you. “Can we get this off already, please?” you huff as you hook your fingers at the waistband of his boxer shorts.

He groans against your skin, his teeth finally letting go when he lifts his head to look down at you, the expression on his face looking like he's fighting for control. "God, yes," he groans, lifting his hips just enough for you to tug them off him.

He kicks them off once you’ve yanked them down, and his hand— which has instinctively gravitated to your pulse point— feels how the beat absolutely skyrockets. One of your arms goes around his shoulder and the other, surprisingly, clutches his jaw.

You’re looking right at him as you say, "Fast and hard, Seung."

"Yeah?" he says, just the slightest hint of a surprise in his voice. "You want me to be rough with you, love?"

Seungcheol was usually a sweet lover. He liked taking his time, liked being gentle and responsible even in bed.

But there were particularly rough weeks, terrible days, where he just needed a means to an end. Where the sex was an outlet, where the best thing you could be for him was his.

He waits for your permission, because he still always remembers to ask no matter how far deep you’re in. The agreement comes in the form of the best three words.

"Ruin me, Seung."

You know him too well. You know how he works, you know how he thinks, and you know him better than anyone.

He groans in response to your words, his head dipping down to drag his teeth gently over your collarbone. He's trying to hang on to his control, he is, but it's a losing effort.

"I will, love." His breath is hot against your skin, his hands finding your hips. "Just give me a minute—"

He shifts, just for a moment, to find the condom in his jean pocket. He goes through the motions until he's back on top of you again, one hand coming up to grip your hip again, the other coming up to rest against your throat. He looks down at you, his eyes almost glowing.

"You trust me?" he mutters. His hand at your hip tightens; his hand at your throat barely clenches around your pulse point, his eyes never leaving yours.

You can feel it, see it. The way the little threads are beginning to unravel and fray. The way this was no longer Seungcheol of SEVENTEEN; not the leader, not the idol. This was something different entirely, someone else completely.

"I do," you whisper back, your eyes so full of adoration for him that he has to bite back the urge to scream. "I trust you, Seungcheol."

His full name is what really does it for him, because then he's pushing in, and you’re gasping, whimpering, trying to adjust around him and the fact that you’re practically clenching him on the get-go. Seungcheol eases in, nice and slow, because you’re too tightly coiled for him to do more than carefully bottom out. You’re both heaving, your breaths coming out as gasps; your own breaths are sharp, harsh, because Seungcheol is still choking you a little.

His head dips down to your shoulder because he needs something to hold on to, anything, while his mind spins. His head is dizzy feeling you like this, feeling you around him so tightly. He's trembling, his thighs shaking, but he's holding himself back as long as he can.

When Seungcheol gets as far in as he can possibly get, you let out twin groans. He’s completely sheathed inside of you and you’re fluttering around him in a way that’s dangerous.

“Y’can move, Seung,” you reassure him after a moment, the words coming out strained with desire. “As fast and hard as you want.”

You sound strangled, just like he feels, and it's taking him a mammoth amount of control to hold himself back. He groans against your shoulder at the sound of your voice, the words you say. He wants to move, to thrust, but he's trying to have some semblance of composure.

"Love," he says, his voice wrecked. "I—"

His voice breaks. It breaks, because there is only so much he can take, and he's beyond that point now. There's a tremor in his thighs, his hands clenching in the cushion below you.

You drag him right back down, with the sound that you let out that’s halfway a whine and a sigh. One of your hands goes to rest in the space between Seungcheol’s shoulder blades, as if to steady the two of you.

Your voice is surprisingly firm when you speak. "Let go," you command. And then, softer, "I need you."

Your words, your voice— it's in complete conflict with the situation you're currently in. And yet, it works. He lets out a sound, one that's somewhere between a growl and a whimper, his breath hot against your skin. And then he's moving and he's holding nothing back.

He's hard, brutal, and he's taking. His teeth on your shoulder; his breath against your neck; his nails digging into you.

It's a relentless, dizzying pace. Seungcheol bullies into your weeping cunt, fast and hard, and it draws out the most obscene sounds from you. Gasps, whines, an occasional scream when he hits a particularly sensitive spot. What has him seeing stars is the fact that you can't seem to settle on a name to moan. "Seung— Seungcheol— Cheol—"

Yes, you're saying, yes.

Seungcheol loses himself, utterly and completely, in you. You're on the edge, he can hear it; he can feel it, and God, he wants to hear you say his name. Every single one of them.

It almost sounds like a mantra, your voice, as he takes and takes and takes, his breathing harsh, ragged.

You go through all of the names you have for him, breathless and wrecked, until you can't even say anything because his hips are snapping into you with a ferocity that's rare but not unwelcome. Your pornographic moans reverberate in your otherwise empty apartment, and Seungcheol thinks he might go insane.

"'M close," you choke out. "Cheollie, baby, I'm— ah, fuck— Seung—"

His breath catches at your words, his eyes closing for a moment as he groans. You, you, in all your perfect, glorious, undone state. It’s a sight he wishes he could capture, freeze in time.

He lets out a whimper, his words almost slurred when he responds. "Love— I—"

He's never been this rough, never this intense. You're the only one, the only person he's ever let himself go like this with. The only person who he's ever let see everything, take everything.

He's on the edge, he's there, he's—

"C'mon," he whines, his voice barely above a whisper, his hand clenching hard around your hip. "With me, love, please."

It's a miracle that you can even nod, can even find your voice as Seungcheol keeps on going with his erratic, stuttering thrusts. "With you," you gasp.

He snaps into you, then, and you arch up with a scream of his name. There’s the familiar white-hot flash of pleasure; the impossibly tight clench of your walls around him.

He stays buried in you for several long moments, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his heart pounding so hard he can feel it in his ears. He has never felt so utterly spent in his entire life, never been so completely, utterly drained of energy. He's weak against you. He’s weak because of you.

"God," he finally manages to mutter.

He lifts his head, just enough to be able to look at you, but he can't even muster a grin. He's spent and he knows you know that.

His hand comes up slightly, to brush the hair off of your forehead. "I think..." he says, his voice thick and hoarse, "I think I ruined you, love."

You let out a breathless laugh, one that you have to push out of your heaving chest. "You—" you try to say, but the words don't form, not at first. You take a few moments to take in some air, to gulp past the lump in your throat. "You're a fool."

His lips twitch into a tired but genuine smile at the sound of your laugh. It’s a soft sound that he's always thought sounds beautiful, especially coming from you.

A hoarse, broken laugh of his own escapes; his hand coming up to rest at your jawline, his thumb gently tracing over the warm skin there. He's still catching his breath, but he's slowly gathering himself.

"Am I a fool?" he asks quietly, leaning his forehead against yours. "What does that make you, then?"

You’re a fool, too, he thinks to himself. For letting me have this.

Instead of answering him, you press a small kiss to the corner of his mouth. It’s the only answer he’s going to get from you for now, it seems.

He lets out a soft huff, moving his head back just slightly, his eyes closing. "You're beautiful, you know that?" he says quietly, his voice still rough with fatigue.

"Every time," you respond. Your own voice is strained, almost tired, but there's a hint of amused exasperation. "You say that every time, Cheol."

His eyes opened once again to look at you.

"Because it's true," he says simply, his voice soft and sincere, the hand resting at your jaw moving to brush your hair back from your face. "It's always true, love."

He lets out a soft sigh, his eyes tracing over your face, taking in every inch of you. His eyes pause at your lips for a moment, his tongue gently wetting his own, his gaze finally moving back up to meet your eyes.

You thread your shaking fingers through the back of his hair and answer his unspoken question. "Kiss me soft and easy, Cheol," you whisper.

The moment the words leave your mouth, he's in action.

He leans forward without a second thought, the hand not buried in your hair going to rest on your hip, his lips meeting yours in a soft, gentle kiss.

There's no heat in it, no want or need. Just a soft press of his lips against yours, gentle and slow.

It's languid and unhurried. Like there's nowhere either of you have to be after this. For a moment, you can pretend that this is normal— that Seungcheol will not have to leave, and that you’ll not have to change into new pajamas because he'd broken yours, and that you can be... well, something, anything aside from what you are now.

But it's wishful thinking, you both know, so all Seungcheol can do is kiss you. He lets out a soft sound, almost a sigh, as his tongue slides into your mouth, his hand on your hip tightening slightly. His other hand is in your hair still, his fingers gently tracing over your scalp, his body almost melting against yours.

He will have to leave. He always does. But for now, he's here, with you, and you feel perfect, and—

Five minutes, he bargains. Five more minutes.

And then things end, not really by your own accord.

The sharp, shrill sound of Seungcheol's phone ringing breaks through your haze. You pull away, a bit jolted at the foreign sound— at something other than your words, your breathing, reverberating in the room. It takes you a beat too long to realize someone is calling him— his phone in his discarded jeans— in the godawful middle of the night.

He lets out a loud groan, the sound tired and drawn out, and he can't help but rest his forehead against your shoulder once again, letting out a resigned sigh.

"God, save me," he mutters, his voice rough. "What time is it?"

You chuckle lightly. "Go on," you urge softly, not because you want to but because you have to. "Answer."

Seungcheol lets out another loud, drawn out sigh, his shoulders slumping in obvious defeat. He reluctantly lifts his head from your shoulder with a grumble, but he can't quite stop himself from pressing a kiss to your cheek just before he shifts up and off of the couch.

Once he’s reached down to grab his phone from where it's stuffed in the pocket of his jeans, he answers without looking at the caller ID. "Yeah?"

"Hyung!"

It's Soonyoung— of course it's Soonyoung— calling.

"Are you still at the company?" the younger member asks. "I think I forgot my headset in one of the practice rooms, and Minghao said you didn't go home with them."

"It's midnight, Soonyoung."

You shit over on the couch, careful not to make any sound. Not to give Soonyoung any suspicion that Seungcheol might be somewhere where he shouldn't be. You press a small, reassuring kiss to Seungcheol's hip as Soonyoung goes on to whine, "Yeah, yeah, I know. But it's the expensive headset, hyung. If you're still there, could you check? Please?"

Seungcheol lets out a huff— a mixture of resigned affection and irritation— at the feeling of your lips against his skin. He can feel the exhaustion deep within his bones now, and all he wants to do is go back to snuggling into you for the night.

But he can't say no to Soonyoung, especially not at this time of night.

"Fine," he grumbles, letting out a huff. "Which practice room?"

You can hear the moment Soonyoung practically brightens with triumph.

"Third floor!" he says happily, and you bury your face into Seungcheol's side to keep yourself from laughing. "You're the best, hyung! I'll buy you a meal tomorrow for the trouble!"

He reaches down with the hand not holding his phone, pressing his palm to the top of your head, pushing lightly down. A warning of don't laugh. "Just be thankful I'm your hyung, kid," Seungcheol grouses.

Soonyoung ends the call soon enough, saying some things about sending Seungcheol a photo of his headset so he knows exactly which one is missing. When it's back to just the two of you again, you tilt your head up to look at Seungcheol.

"You're really going back for it tonight?" you ask, even though you already know the answer.

The corner of his lip twitches into a half smile at the way you look up at him. His eyes takein the sight of you— his hand on the back of your head, his fingers gently twisting strands of your hair.

"Of course I am," he sighs. "I can't say no to him, love."

You shift upward so you can sit side by side with Seungcheol. Both of you have yet to put on any clothes, but you’ve at least gathered your bearings enough to form coherent words now.

"You can't say 'no' to any of them," you tease as you press a gentle kiss to his cheek. There's an almost blinding affection in your tone as you say, "You and your goddamn boys."

Seungcheol reaches out, wrapping an arm around your waist to tug you closer to him. Briefly, he presses his lips against your hair. His eyes are almost tender as he speaks.

"They're my boys," he says, his voice soft.

You let the words hang there for just a moment. It’s an admission, one that both of you have known for the longest time, but it's also a reminder. It’s the reason why you and Seungcheol can never be more than this—because he has his boys, and he would never do anything to jeopardize them.

You press your face against the column of his neck for just one more precious moment. You’ve never been selfish about Seungcheol, but there were nights when you thought about it. Just… thought about it.

The thought never wins.

"Let’s clean up, get dressed," you whisper into his skin. "So you can head to the company sooner."

He lets out a soft, almost painful exhale. He knows what you're thinking, what you're feeling; he's thought about it himself, as well. He hates having to leave you, hates having to say that he has to leave you. But his boys are his boys, and one day all this will be over, and then...

He can't think about it right now, though.

Instead, he nods, pressing a light kiss to your temple. "Yeah."

It takes about ten minutes or so for you both to gather everything together. Seungcheol still looks tired, though for different reasons now. He’s essentially traded one exhaustion for another.

As he puts on the shoes he left in your entryway, you lean against your doorway with your arms crossed over your chest. "I’ll be holding you accountable for my pajama set," you warn him. "And for tomorrow’s noise complaint."

"Yeah, yeah," he huffs, taking a step toward you. "Don't worry, I haven't forgotten."

His face softens as he reaches you, his hands coming up to grab your elbows, gently pulling you closer to him. "Sorry," he says. "Again."

"You’re not sorry, " you sigh pointedly, more out of spite than anything. It’s the truth—he’s not really that apologetic about losing control every now and then, about your neighbors knowing you’re being pulled close every so often.

When you bury your face into his chest, he lets out a low, gruff chuckle, his chin resting gently against the top of your head. His arms wrap around you, holding you tightly against him, just like every single time before.

"You’re right," he murmurs. A quiet, affectionate admission. “Not sorry. Not even a little.”

He holds you there against him, his eyes fluttering shut as he allows himself just a few more moments before he has to leave. You both stay there, allowing yourselves that moment, until the tension in Seungcheol’s shoulders fades and your annoyance at your torn pajamas ebbs. It could’ve been five minutes, maybe less, but then Seungcheol’s phone pings with a text—surely Soonyoung asking if he’s found his headset.

You’re the one who takes the step back, putting some distance between you. "Drive safe," you tell Seungcheol. "Text me when you’re there."

Resigned. That’s the only way to describe the smile that tugs at his lips. "Yeah," he says. "I will."

True to his word, Seungcheol does indeed send you a text about an hour or so after he'd arrived at the company, informing you that he was there and had found Soonyoung’s headset.

He's still exhausted, and all he wants is to be back. Back inside of you, back with you. But he can't do any of that. At least, not right now. Not at this point.

I miss you already, is the only other thing he adds to his text.

Your text comes in only moments later, like you had been waiting by your phone.

you're a fool. head home. take care.

A soft sigh escapes him the moment he reads your text, his eyes flickering over the words you'd typed, the harshness of it. It's another layer of protection for the both of you, but it's still not easy to read.

He's about to respond with something snarky, some light-hearted joke to tease you a bit, but he stops himself at the last moment. He knows that you're right.

He needs to head home. He needs to take care.

And he’s an absolute goddamn fool, in more ways than one.

#seungcheol x reader #choi seungcheol x reader #scoups x reader #seungcheol smut #scoups smut #seungcheol imagines #scoups imagines #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svt smut #seventeen smut #( am i happy with this ? not ... entirely! but it's here! LOL )#( i think i've mentioned once before that i'm not very good at smut so this was dizzying )#( but it's also The longest svt fic i have in my drafts. i just cant be assed [yet] to beta it )#( anyway.... enjoy [???] <3 )#(💎) page: svt #(🥡) notebook

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got-the-cheese-touch · 30 days ago

Text

More Than a Name - chapter one

Harry Potter x Sirius Black's Daughter!Reader

slowburn harry potter x reader

summary: The father you never knew but always feel makes his presence known. (indirectly)

a/n: chapter one. AAAAH i'm nervous. it's not as long as i would've liked but i didn't wanna drag it out for too long. (please reblog and like and leave a little comment! they make my day) no use of y/n

trigger warnings: nothing really except maybe poor grammar. lmk if there is something I missed. (reader does use she/her pronouns)

ty to @thecutestgrotto for the dividers <3

The Hogwarts Express rolled down the tracks with a satisfying chug, a low hum filling the silence of the train compartment. Next to you lay Remus, sleeping under his trenchcoat. His peaceful form was in stark contrast to your own. You buzzed with excitement. Your third year at Hogwarts. Hopefully, it would be less eventful than the other years (mostly for Remus’s sake. You were sure that if he received another owl telling him that you fought the Dark Lord once more he’d get a heart attack).

When you learned that Remus was going to be teaching Defense against the Dark Arts you were relieved. Nothing could hurt you when Moony was around, of that you were sure. If Voldemort even tried to touch you or Harry, Remus could stop him. Your Remus could do anything.

“Seriously, how is he still asleep?” you thought as you watched his chest rise and fall peacefully. Although, you supposed it was good that he was getting some rest. Recently, he was on edge. He’d pace around, reading the newspaper and shaking his head. He closed the papers and tossed it into the fireplace before you could see what exactly was on the headline; only catching a glimpse of a crazed smile as the page burned down. You had asked what it was and he simply gave you a kiss on the forehead.

“Oh, it’s nothing, mate.” He’d say, giving you a smile that’s too tense to be real. He picked up other odd habits too- cracking his knuckles, smoking a bit more than usual. One morning, you came out of your room to find him asleep on a chair outside of your door. He slept there all night, keeping watch.

What he was protecting you from- you had no idea.

But the strangest behavior of all happened one morning when you two were out for a walk. Remus needed to pick up his Wolfsbane and was hesitant to leave you alone at home. He also insisted on holding your hand the entire walk there which you didn’t mind, of course, but his grip would tighten at any startling noise. As you walked past a cafe you smiled and pointed.

“Look, it’s a dog!” You smiled and laughed at the sight- the dog looked out of place in the cute cafe. Remus’s head immediately turned and he stepped in front of you, protective. Remus’s eyes searched frantically for the animal like it was about to pounce on the two of you.

His shoulders visibly relaxed when he realized that you were pointing to a small fluffy dog resting inside its owner’s purse. He exhaled shakily and tugged you along, walking a bit quicker than before and muttering something under his breath.

You figured that Remus’s new job would be good for him. He’d be closer to you, he’d be closer to help for his lycanthropy, and he’d be away from whatever news headlines were troubling him so much.

In your daydreams you almost missed the three familiar figures walking past your train compartment: Hermione, Harry, and Ron. You slide open the door, creeping out quietly so as to not wake Remus. A whole summer without seeing your friends was torture. Harry was your first friend at Hogwarts- you liked that he was just as new to everything as you; he liked that you had tons of stories about his parents. Hermione had intimidated you at first. With her quick wit and effortless smarts. Those feelings quickly dissipated after she stood up for you when a group of Ravenclaws stole one of your letters to home. Your cheeks burned when they mocked your letter to Remus but seeing their hair immediately grow down to their feet thanks to a hex from the young witch cheered you up.

Once you stepped into the train’s hall you called out to your friends with a smile.

“Hey guys,” You call out to them “I’ve got a compartment. Be quiet, though. My dad’s sleeping.” You smiled at the sight of their surprised faces. Hermione ran to you with an excited call of your name, crashing into you with a tight hug.

“Oh, I missed you this summer! I would’ve written so much more but I was just so busy reading. I’ve been trying to get ahead. I mean, with the schedule I have for this year I’m gonna be in two places at once.” You shook your head with a smile. Of course she was studying over the summer. She was the biggest overachiever you knew.

You were pulled from your embrace with her when Ron bumped her out of the way.

“You’d think she’s been gone from war, Hermione. Can you not strangle her before we get the chance to say hello?” You smile and let out a laugh, amused at the bickering. You brought him in for a friendly hug and you patted his back. Ron was a good guy. You wouldn’t say he’s your best friend but the shared trauma of exploding monster chess pieces has a way of bringing people together. “I see you haven’t taken off this jacket of yours.” He says, tugging on the sleeve of your- well, Sirius’s- leather jacket.

“And I see you’ve gotten some more freckles.” You tease back with a smirk. He pushes you off with a groan and a poorly concealed smile.

“Merlin, not even two minutes into the year and I’m sick of you.” He snickers and steps into the compartment, training behind Hermione. You finally turn your gaze to Harry and two things quickly come to mind. The first is that he’s gotten tall. The second is that you hadn’t even noticed how much you really missed him until this moment.

He wore a simple t-shirt and jeans, his wand tucked into his pocket. He wore the same wire framed glasses over the same pretty green eyes.

“Okay, easy. It’s just Harry for Merlin’s sake. Not Gilderoy Lockhart.” You thought as you stepped up to him with a grin. He quickly pulled you into a hug and took a deep breath.

Harry’s summer sucked (naturally). Staying with the Dursleys was torture. Not only did it mean that he was away from school. The months spent in that cupboard was a prison sentence. His warden? Vernon Dursley.

That meant that he couldn’t take visits to see his friends, he couldn’t study for the upcoming year. He couldn’t even write letters either.

But whatever troubles he had developed over the summer, he had quickly forgotten after seeing your smirk.

“Missed you loads.” He says, his shoulders relaxing. You smiled. You didn’t need to say you missed him; you were sure he could tell. He had a weird way of reading your mind. You wondered if it was the same way with James and Sirius.

Harry was a friend that you could tell anything to. He’d been with you through thick and thin and you could say that he was, without a doubt, your best friend. He’s a partner in crime, a confidant, someone to lean on.

It would be natural to wonder how you two could get along so well. It may seem shocking that the fact that your father is accused of brutally murdering his parents isn’t a setback in your relationship. Perhaps it would be an issue if Harry knew that unfortunate detail about your life’s history.

To save you from ridicule, Dumbledore and Remus both decided it would be best to enroll you in Hogwarts under Remus’s name. As far as anyone was concerned, you were a Lupin. You didn’t mind. It’s not like you knew your real dad. Remus was your father in every sense of the word other than blood.

But Harry would probably mind. Did it make you a bad person not to tell him? Maybe.

But have you felt guilty about this every time he asks you to tell him some of Remus’s stories about The Marauders? Absolutely.

You shove these thoughts to the back of your mind as you release him from the hug with a smile.

“Sap.” You say before climbing into the compartment.

You slide in next to Remus who is still, somehow, sleeping over the noise of Hermionie and Ron’s arguing. You quiet them with a look and a nod towards Remus’s figure, covered in his coat. Hermione turns to you, her expression suddenly serious.

“Have you been reading the papers?” She asks, her tone anxious. You shake your head.

Remus had been hoarding the Daily Prophet for some reason. He hadn’t let you read the papers in ages. Another one of his odd habits recently.

“I get them sent by owls. You ought to start staying up to date on this kind of thing. Especially considering the relevance it has.” Hermione huffs. She quickly pulls a folded up newspaper from her bag and holds it out to you. “We need to be concerned for Harry.”

You’re about to quip “When do we not?” until you flip over the pages to see the headline and your blood runs cold.

His name. Your father’s name printed clearly on the front page.

You stared down at his photo, the image moving as he snarled and thrashed at the camera. He looked angry and tired and sick and evil. His eyes were filled with intensity that made the hair on your arms stick up.

It was like looking in a mirror. A sick and twisted mirror, sure, but still. The resemblance was uncanny. His eyes, his smile, his nose. Down to the sharpness of his canines. Thank Merlin that your friends were too occupied in the situation that they didn’t notice your state or your resemblance to the man.

In your shock, you only catch the tail end of their conversation.

“...The man’s a murderous, raving lunatic.” Ron deadpans. His sarcasm isn’t able to hide the pure worry he has for Harry. A strange part of you feels protective. He is your dad. You don’t feel the need to cut in with his defense: the fact that he hadn’t had a motivation or even a trial. Remus didn’t hate Sirius and neither did you. None of this would be helpful to point out. You look up from the photo at Harry.

“It’ll be okay. Dumbledore won’t let anyone get to you, yeah?” You say, trying to be reassuring. You’re not sure if it’s for Harry or for yourself. Before anyone can cut in with their worries, the train screeches to a sudden halt.

Rain pelts against the window as the Hogwarts Express jostles. You look at Remus who is miraculously still sleeping.

“Why are we stopping?” You hear Hermione question. You shake your head, about to express your confusion before the lights of the train shut off. The newspaper in your lap is forgotten as you stand up to investigate. Before you can get to the door though, a lurch of the train sends you back to your seat. “Bloody hell” Ron gasps and you turn your head. The window has frosted up and you watch in confusion as the bottle of water on the floor freezes up. Your grip tightens on Sirius’s leather jacket, hugging the warm leather closer against you.

A shadowy figure approaches from outside the compartment. It was ghostly and its presence filled you with dread. Suddenly you were four years old back in evil foster homes. You could only stare in fear and silence as it opened the door to your compartment.

“Get Remus, Wake him up.” Your mind shouted as the creature stared at all of you. You felt like it saw right into your soul. You sat frozen.

The ghost looked towards Harry and you gasped as it drew close to him and inhaled deeply. Like he was sucking out Harry’s soul.

When you finally found your voice, you turned to Remus’s sleeping figure helplessly and you shook him awake.

“Dad, please wake up! Moony help!” You said to him as Harry slipped out of consciousness, his weight slipping onto you as the shadowy figure continued its assault.

Remus quickly jolted awake at the sound of you and stood up with his wand. A burst of light filled the compartment, driving away the creature. Once it had fled, Harry slumped down. Remus sees the copy of the newspaper on the floor and he picks it up quickly, folding up Sirius’s angry stare and tucking it into his back pocket. Remus looked at you before he even noticed Harry’s state.

He starts rambling. His hands fly to the sides of your face, holding you worriedly. “Oh, mate, I’m sorry, are you okay. Merlin- Fuck, I’ll explain it all later. I should’ve told you. I had no clue the dementors would even be here. Dumbledore assured me that they’d be far away. Oh, Lovely- if it got its hands on you it would’ve-”

“Dad.” You cut him off, “Harry.” You nod towards the boy who’s passed out. Hermionie and Ron simply stare helplessly.

“Oh! Yes, yes.” Remus mutters, moving to check on Harry now that he’s realized that you are okay.

“Not even at school yet and we’ve already gotten into some kind of trouble.” Ron mutters. He is quickly silenced by a swift kick to the shins, given by Hermionie.

Minutes feel like hours as you wait for Harry to wake up. When he does stir, he sits up and looks around, confused. Remus pulls a bar of chocolate from his cloak pocket.

“Here. Eat.” Remus murmurs comfortingly. Harry takes it, his expression unsure. He looks at me and I give him a reassuring nod. “It’s alright. It’s chocolate.” Remus says, encouraging Harry to eat.

“What- what was that?” Harry asks shakily, adjusting his glasses.

“A dementor. One of the guards of Azkaban.” Remus sits back in his chair. His gaze is heavy as he stares at Harry. “He’s gone now. He’s looking for the traitor Sirius Black.” Your friends don’t catch the way Remus’s jaw ticks and his shoulders tense at the name. They don’t notice how Remus’s eyes flick to yours for a moment or how you avert your gaze. They don’t notice the sadness in Remus’s eyes remembering his companion as though he was a murderer. You do. You notice everything about Remus.

He stands and sets the rest of the chocolate bar in Harry’s lap before kissing you on top of your head.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he starts as he opens the compartment door “I need to have a word with the driver.” He takes one more glance at all of you, his gaze landing on Harry. “Eat. You’ll feel better.” With that, he slips out and the door shuts with a click, leaving the four of you in silence.

So much for an uneventful school year.

After the dust had settled and everyone had gone to bed, you found yourself in Dumbledore’s office, standing stuck to the floor next to Professor McGonagall. Her arms are crossed and her eyes are filled with concern as she talks with Dumbledore. Across the room, Remus is pacing back and forth, dragging his hands through his hair. The whole display didn't feel real. Maybe it wasn’t.

You were dreaming. A nightmare. Soon you’d wake up at home, tucked safely in your bed. Harry wasn’t attacked by a dementor. Your dad hadn’t escaped jail.

You shivered at the thought.

You knew he wouldn't hurt you. You were sure of that. But all those years locked away for wrongful imprisonment would probably make a guy want to settle some grudges.

You were numb. Remus was livid.

“What happens if they realize that she’s his daughter? Huh? Those dementors won’t think twice about killing her. They’ll sense his blood and give her the kiss before she can even pull out her wand.” Remus said angrily. He was smoking a cigarette. In fact, he was almost through a pack.

Severus Snape stares at him coldly from across the room. Logically, you knew that Snape was trustworthy. Dumbledore wouldn’t be so loyal to him if he was truly evil. But there was something deep within you that told you Snape was no good. The way he walks, the tone of his voice, the condescending way he stares at you sends your blood boiling. Apparently he had a big feud with The Marauders when they were young. Even if it wasn’t in your DNA to hate Snape, you still would loathe the man for how he treated others. He looked away when muggle-borns were being bullied. He praised Draco malfoy, the prince prick of all pricks. Snape never passed up the chance to take points from houses other than Slytherin and he’s rumoured to be a death eater.

Nothing is worse, though, than how he treats Moony.

Your Moony. The one who makes you toast and dries your tears. The one who saved you, who took you in. Somehow Snape is able to bully your kind hearted, gentle, loving Remus. In the time that they’ve been in the same room, Snape has already mocked Remus’s lycanthropy, made snide comments about your upbringing (as if the fact that Remus wasn’t rich made your life with him any less happy), and he went so far as to insinuate that Remus was a traitor due to his loyalty to Sirius.

Severus Snape was a dick.

“The dementors are instructed to stay far away, in the unlikely case that it becomes an issue-” Says Snape, his voice nasally and irritating.

“Unlikely? A dementor has already attacked a student. Harry could’ve been seriously injured. Or worse!” Remus takes a deep inhale of the cigarette. He moves to stand at your side. “Call them off, Professor. Call them off or we’re leaving.” He looks to Dumbledore, his brow set in a determined stare, stubbornly making a point. Dumbledore sighs and shakes his head patiently.

“Remus, we just can’t do that. It’s standard protocol.” You hear Remus huff next to you, agitated. Dumbledore continues “I will speak to Harry about the encounter and I’ll talk to the ministry about the ordeal but we won’t call off the dementors. I’m truly sorry but there is nothing I can do.” He looks genuine. You give him a small smile and he gives you one back, a glint in his eye as he leaves. Snape trails after him next, giving Remus a snide look.

Professor McGonagall remains with the two of you, turning towards the still fuming Remus.

“Minnie, I mean what I said. I will leave and she’s coming with me. I promised that I’d keep her safe and I will not let her stay so close to those fucking things.” Remus starts pacing again, muttering angrily as Professor McGonagall tries to calm him down.

“Remus, listen to me, leaving will do nothing but harm. What happens if people think you are in cahoots with Black? Here, Albus will protect you both. Who will protect you if you are at home?” Her voice is sharp but not unkind. She looks at him with a motherly sort of fierceness.

“If anyone tries anything, I’ll be the one in Azkaban.” Remus says, lighting another cigarette.

As the two of them bicker back and forth, your gaze drifts to the window. The moon is bright and clear, almost full. That was probably another reason for Remus’s mood. He always got territorial and antsy when the full moon was closer. When you first moved in with him, the full moon nearing meant he would get distant. He was so scared that he would hurt you somehow. Once he became more sure of his place in your life, his pre-moon behavior changed. He would become fiercely protective. You supposed it was the natural instinct to protect enhanced by the wolf.

Once McGonagall is able to calm Remus down (and confiscate his cigarettes) she sends the two of you out, ordering you back to the dorms and Remus to the professor’s quarters. It was funny seeing her scold him, it was like he was a teen again. He might be much taller than the old woman, but she still put him in his place quickly.

“She should know better than that. I obviously have more packs than that.” Remus says, trying to lighten the mood as he walks you back to the Gryffindor common room. You simply stare ahead angrily. He looks at you and taps you on the head. “Lovely, don’t be mad. C’mon I don’t smoke that much.” No response. Remus sighs. “I want to keep you safe, kid. I can’t let anything happen to you. Seriously.” You stop and look up at him, upset.

“Sirius Black is out of Azkaban and you didn’t think to tell me? You didn’t think I needed to know?” You spit out. Remus recoils at the anger in your voice. “I’m not six anymore. You should have told me.”

“I should have.” Remus nods, stopping in his tracks. “You’re right about that. But when I found out, the only thing I could think to do is protect you, mate. I will always defend Sirius. You know that.” His voice is unsteady as she stares at you. “But Azkaban changes people. Who knows what he’s like now.” You look down, unable to hold his gaze any longer. He pulls you into him, hugging you. “And I didn’t even think. I just needed you safe, mate.”

When you arrived at the common room safely, Remus took a glance around before giving you a kiss goodnight. Harry, Hermionie, and Ron were sitting on the couch by the fire, talking quietly. Their conversation stops when they notice you. Remus gives them all a smile and a nod.

“Goodnight Ron, Hermione. Goodnight Harry.” He says before turning and leaving. When you face the group again, they’re all pulling you down to sit.

“What was that about? Where were you?” Asks Hermione, her head tilted curiously. What were you supposed to say?

“Me? Oh, just preparing for the oncoming dementor attack I’ll get because of the fact that my dad escaped from prison. Yeah, my dad is Sirius Black, sorry I’ve been lying to you all about that. And sorry about your mum and dad Harry.”

You figured that that wouldn’t go over well so instead you give Hermionie the most convincing smile you can muster.

“Just helping my dad settle in, no need to worry.” That seemed to have calmed her and she continues talking to Ron about the classes she’s enrolled in this year. You feel Harry’s unwavering gaze on your profile. You turn to look at him. “What?” You ask, hoping he doesn’t see right through you.

“That’s your dad, huh?” He says nodding towards the portrait hole Remus had just left. You swallow thickly and nod. “You look nothing alike.” You blink, unsure of what to say to that so you simply shrug.

Leaning back against the couch, something catches your eye. It’s small enough to be overlooked but you caught the little carving written into the side of the side table:

“Sirius was here”

As your friends chatted away about the upcoming year, you stared at the little carving. A small act of teenage rebellion, nothing meaningful. It stuck with you though. Sirius was here.

Sirius was everywhere.

He’s Remus’s sigh after a laugh, he’s the frustration in professors’ voices when they correct you, he’s the stubborn furrow in your brow that forms when you’re being defiant. He is there when you’re upset at the world. He’s there when you look at photos, or listen to music. He was there when you snuck one of Remus’s cigarettes one night over the summer. He’s in the common room- his name written on random surfaces or Prophet headlines.

He’s inescapable. He follows you around wherever you go, whether you like it or not.

He’s the mangy black dog with shaggy fur and wild eyes that’s found a hiding place in the shrieking shack.

notes: IF IT'S BAD IM SORRY. i'm not exaggerating when i say that i get so nervous posting this. please give me validation y'all i live for it. (some of your comments have me giggling and kicking my feet) also im so sorry that it took so long to post this chapter. i was going through it.

THANK YOU FOR READING THIS FAR ILYSM!!!!

taglist, comment to be added <3 : @mmmunson @reesespeesees @starmaniii @deathmybride

(if you reblog, i'll give you my firstborn rumplestiltskin style)

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rafesbabygirlx · 24 days ago

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ONLINE LOVE | 2 𝚆𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚜

𝚂𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎𝚍𝚊𝚍!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙰𝚄

✧ 𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃 | 𝙰𝚄 𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃 | 𝚃𝙰𝙶𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃

✧ Summary- Rafe Cameron used to avoid love, only having flings and never getting close to anyone. Now 27 and raising his 3-year-old daughter Harper alone, he wants something more—a real connection. Tired of being judged on the island, he tries Hinge and sets his location to the mainland. After days of no matches, he finds your profile and is instantly drawn to you.

✧ Right now- you’re 2 weeks in and it couldn’t be going any better.

✧ Some suggestive stuff- reader showers on FaceTime with Rafe. random/awkward conversation. Mention of past drug use. They are still getting to know each other. At the same time, their relationship is growing quickly.

This has been the most fun Rafe has had with someone who wasn't 3 and could properly pronounce words that have S’s and R’s. He just hated you were so far away.

5:26pm: Finally free of my shift! how was your big meeting today?

5:28pm: Long and boring. Worth sitting through now that I get some time with you. You home yet?

5:29pm: pulling in to my apartment now why?

5:32pm: INCOMING FACETIME

You and Rafe were silent for a few moments, staring at each other through the phone as the dings from the elevator count the floors you pass. You both first decided to FaceTime last week and it’s been consistent since it started. You were leaning up against the wall of the elevator. Lids heavy but open enough to take in the sight of Rafe’s features. And damn were they nice to look at.

You exit the elevator that seemed to take forever tonight. Making your way to your apartment still holding your phone up, Rafe watching in a comfortable silence as you get settled. Bags are dropped at the front door, mail spread out on the counter. The first thing you grab is a plate of leftovers and a bottle of wine from the fridge. Sitting down at your kitchen island still immersed in Rafe and your conversation.

It's a strange feeling getting to know someone. But the comfortability Rafe has given you has made it far beyond easy to get through the awkward talking stage. You've never made past 1 week of getting to know someone and somewhere deep down, that you're not trying to flare up just yet, knows that you might want this forever.

You entered the bathroom, with a pair of pajamas and your robe. You set your phone down on the counter telling Rafe you’ll be a second and go to turn in the water. Steam enveloped the bathroom. You stepped back into frame really quickly to give him a smile. You tell him to give you 10 minutes as you undress and step into the shower.

What you weren't aware of was the fact the you angled the camera perfectly towards your full length mirror against the wall, giving Rafe a perfect view of your body behind the fogged up glass. To say it turned him on was an understatement. Rafe tried to stay as composed as possible while you continued the conversation from under the stream of the water.

Rafe was subconsciously tugging at the crotch of his pants, trying to make room for the strain that was being caused. He couldn't see you clearly, but from what he could, your body was perfect. Perky, toned, and soft. He wished that he could touch you through the screen. Smell the florally scent of the products you used. Because you looked like a girl that loved flowers. He'd cover the whole house in them for you if you were his.

He watched you. He couldn't stop watching you. He knew it was probably (definitely) wrong, but he only wished he was in there with you. He watched the way you scrubbed your hair, the way you ran the loofa across your body. He was floored at learning how everything, in this short amount of time, about you was perfect. God, were you perfect.

The shower turned off, and the glass door slid open. You disappeared from the screen once again. Rafe took a long sip from his whiskey glass trying to cool himself down. When you reappeared, you were dressed and applying lotion to your arms. You were in a pretty 2 piece set and your damp was tied back into a braid. You picked the phone up taking it to your room before plopping down onto the bed.

You propped the phone up on a pillow next to you, as if to mimic Rafe laying down with you. Rafe did the same when he noticed. The lamp on your nightstand gave you a glow that highlighted every delicate feature of your face. Soft features that Rafe noticed and wanted to reach out and touch desperately.

You go on to tell him all about your life Canada. Your biggest secret being that you once stole a gold watch from a family friends home to help you when you visiting home when you first started medical school. Your family was not wealthy by any means and you’d probably eat 3 times a week if you were lucky. If only you knew, what Rafe did for 200x more gold than that. He’d share it with you, like many other things one day. But he was cherishing the blossoming relationship too much for all that mess right now.

You’ve been talking so long you end up needing to plug your phone in. You had the day off, knowing Rafe was the boss, you hoped he’d end up talking to you all day tomorrow too. You hope that this goes far. You hope to hear his voice every day and night. It’s insane how quickly you’re falling. Does Rafe feel the same?

You talked until 3am before you suddenly nodded off. You always ended up being the first to sleep. This, whatever this was, was something that doesn't feel like a chore. It feels right. It feels like it's meant to be. You don't what it is about this man, that just makes sense. Like he was brought here to be yours. Like he’s someone you could love.

You feel like there's something that weighs on his mind just a little, but you aren't one to pry. Especially when the feeling of him being the right person is there. If it’s something he feels he could trust you with he’ll bring it up when’s he’s ready. Maybe it was bringing up his mom. Now that you think of it, he really doesn’t mention his family. Maybe it’s a conversation for another time.

✧ Say hello to graphics <3 they won't be in every post. BUT I do enjoy them for FaceTime or phone calls. Please tell me if you like the addition or not, I wanna know your thoughts.

✧ Big thank you to my loves- @inthelibrarybtw and @cherrywriterrr for helping me with deciding to do the graphics and some dialogue to add. 🩵

Tags + some moots: @rafestoothbrush @weluvwbb @itsforeverandalwayz @butterfly-ibuki @megiiite @siredbtches @bigenergy777 @aupernatural-teenwolflover @rafegf-real @skywalker0809 @snowtargaryen @kieeslove @leather-n-velvet @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @diasnohibng @slurpdew @alphabetically-deranged @whydoesthemirrorhateme @currentresidentinhell @slut-4-rafey @akobx @rafesheaven @laniirackssss @jjmaybankmylovee @slut4you @larema121 @tul1preads @wuluhwuhmaster @inthelibrarybtw @littlelamy @bellaballerina111 @pogueprincesa @daddyrafeslittleslut @matthewswifeyy @emmaaas-posts @ijustwanttoreadlols @lolabunnyworldss @zyafics @maybejj @writingroom21 @rafesfavegf @ivysprophecy @nemesyaaa @rafesbuzzcutseason @rafeysvenicebitch @maybankslover

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motherlvr · 2 years ago

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just friends?

she fell first, he fell harder

wc: 2.2k

pairing: Earth-42! Miles Morales x f! reader

Summary: In the early years of your adolescence, you made the grave mistake of asking Miles to ‘practice kissing’ for future suitors. That mistake would come back to bite you every following day.

Warnings: cursing, childhood friends to lovers, friends that kiss, jealousy, started off the fic with a bang cuz i dont believe in small talk, possessiveness

A/N: what happened to hello? what happened to how are you?

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Your current predicament was straddling Miles' lap as you both kissed like this would be the last time you ever did. His hands grabbed onto your thighs that encased his legs. Pulling away for a second, you watched as a small string of saliva binds both of your lips.

Looking down at him, you asked out of breath, "We're still just friends, right?" The question caught him off guard. But he responds with a teasing smirk, "Yeah, yeah ma. Just friends." You nervously bit your bottom lip, nodding at his response. Wrapping your hands onto his braids, you smashed your lips against his yet again to ignore your conflicted thoughts.

It's times like this when your past mistake comes back to haunt you. And he made sure you never lived it down. The mistake in question was made on the playground with Miles when you were both ten. Being the young and innocent child you were, you proposed to 'practice kissing' for potential lovers in the future. As all kids do. He accepted and it all sprouted from there. You were each other's first kiss.

That first kiss was only one of many to come. You both had urges, after all. Since your younger days, it turned into something a bit more than just practice. But you never gave it a second thought. Until of late. What used to be a silly playground crush on Miles only grew stronger as the years passed by.

In all honesty, you had no clue where you stood with Miles. What were you, friends that kiss periodically? That was how it was, you suppose. But what you did know was that you'd stay by his side no matter the circumstance. Even if it meant that your friendship would never develop into more. Although occasionally you wished you never initiated to 'practice kissing' with him in your naive and prepubescent years. That would solve your problem at its roots and prevent the rapidly growing feelings you had for him. It was no doubt a mistake in your mind.

Separating your lips for a second time, you pulled away again. He stared at you in confusion. You looked frantic, "Shit, what time is it?" Glancing at the time on your phone, you cursed. It was 3:30 pm. "Fuck, I have a date at four o'clock. I gotta go, Miles." You jumped off of Miles' lap on his bed and swiftly started packing up your things.

Miles felt jealousy start to boil within his stomach as his lap felt empty. He was right here, why would you need to go on a date with some other guy? Furrowing his brows, he irritably questioned, "Fuck you mean you gotta date? With who?" He tried to conceal his annoyance but failed miserably.

"Some guy from my physics class asked me out, sorry but I gotta go." Grabbing your bag, you pecked his cheek lightly as a goodbye. Glancing in his mirror one last time, you tamed any stray strands of hair.

Your response only fueled his jealousy, "Do you even know his name?" He started interrogating you.

"Of course I do, it's..." You paused for a second to think, and your conclusion was unclear. Your mind was foggy. "I think it's Javi? Or maybe Jake? Jacob? Shit, I think you kissed the thoughts right out of my brain." You rambled. Your words made him crack a slight smirk, and he said, "Nah, you ain't going on that date ma." pulling you back into his hold by your hips.

"I can't just stand him up, Miles." You told him, starting to regret agreeing on going on the date. "I could take you on a better date than he can, mami." He suggested.

He was full of surprises this afternoon. Usually, he didn't display such possessiveness. You didn't even like the supposed guy you were going on a date with. You just thought he could help you get your mind off of Miles for a few minutes.

Raising an eyebrow, you asked, "Is that an offer?" "It's a promise." He responded without an ounce of hesitation. The way he was staring at you almost made you take him up on it. "Tempting, but I'll have to take a rain check. See you tomorrow. Alright, Miles?" You waved goodbye and walked out his door.

"'Ight, ma. See you." He gave up. As he watched you walk out the door of his room, he groaned in frustration.

The unfortunate recipient of his frustrations was a punching bag in his Uncle Aaron's apartment. Striking the bag with all the force he could muster, the punching bag rumbled on the chain it was strung upon. His knuckles were slowly getting bloodier with each hit, but he couldn't feel it. He could only feel you. It was the only thing he wanted to feel, anyway.

His Uncle inevitably noticed his behavior. Cleaning off one last knife, he set it down and walked towards his nephew. He held the punching bag steady and questioned him, "What's up with you, man?"

Continuing to throw punches at the unsuspecting punching bag, he responded sharply. "It's nothin'. Just my girl going on a date with some other guy." His nostrils flared slightly.

With those two sentences, his Uncle understood his sour mood. "That doesn't sound like nothing. And you just let her? I don't think you're my nephew, man." Shrugging, Miles took a quick water break. Taking a long swig of water, he replied, "You know her, she's stubborn." He had introduced you to his Uncle a while back. His whole family knew you, in fact. Every time he went back home, his mother asked about you. How you are, and when he’s going to tell you how he feels. It seemed everyone knew. Except you.

"Hey. If you want this girl, you gotta show her before someone else does." His Uncle wisely told him. Miles stopped hitting the punching bag and started wrapping his bloodied knuckles in bandages.

Those words stuck with Miles for the rest of the night as he made his way back to his dorm.

Laying on the bed of his dorm, Miles stayed up thinking about what his Uncle told him. His dorm felt empty without you there, he realized.

The next afternoon in his dorm again, you laid on your stomach on his bed, kicking your feet in the air. You frequented his dorm so often that you were more of a roommate to him than his actual one. Glancing at Miles, you noticed the bandages on his knuckles. “Ay, Miles. What happened?” You asked him, taking his hand into yours to inspect it. He disregarded it, "Don’t worry 'bout it.” He continued, addressing the elephant in the room. “How was your date with Javi, Jake, or Jacob?"

You casually respond, "Actually, his name was Jason. And it was fine, I suppose. Although I called him by the wrong name a few times until he corrected me." You mumbled the last part, embarrassed. Not to mention, you almost called him by Miles' name. Not just once but multiple times.

"Just fine, huh?" He replied, intrigued. And slightly satisfied that you didn't have too good of a time.

"Yeah. I mean, he tried kissing me by the end. But his breath reeked of garlic, so I looked the other way and pretended I didn't notice." You said with a grimace, pretending to get flashbacks. In reality, Miles ruined kissing for you. You couldn't stop seeing Miles' face as your date was leaning into you. He wasn't him.

Stifling a laugh, he grinned at you. "So, that mean you wanna take me up on my offer?" You whipped your head to him in surprise as you said, "You were serious about that? I mean, I'm down." Friends go on dates, don't they? You thought to yourself.

Nodding his head, he said, "I made a promise, ma." He started to stand up, gently grabbing your hand to pull you up with him. Locking your hand onto his arm, he led you out of campus.

Miles brought you to an endearing cafe only a few blocks away from the campus. A diamond in the rough, you thought. As you both sat down across from each other, you felt your nerves spiking.

Truth be told, he still made you nervous at times. Although you've undoubtedly been friends with him for longer than either of you could remember. The both of you ordered food and you started to speak, "So, you take all your girls here, Miles?" Putting on a calm facade, you teased him. You were glad he couldn't see your leg bouncing with anxiousness underneath the table.

He let out a slight puff at you, "What girls? Solo eres tú, mami. You know that." Your heart fluttered slightly at his words. Widening your eyes, you murmured, "I didn't know that, actually." You cleared your throat and enunciated, "How'd you find out about this place then?" Your voice piqued with interest. You didn't believe he would frequent this cute cafe in his spare time. It wasn't exactly his scene, so to say.

"This is where my dad took my ma on their first date." He said with an unusually soft tone, staring into your eyes for your reaction. You would never guess it, but he saw a future with you. Ever since that day on the playground, he knew it was real. His affection for you never dimmed since then.

As you both locked eyes, you realized then that he took you to a place that was sentimental to him and his family. This cafe was where his parent’s story first started. All of a sudden, this date felt a bit more serious than he had originally let on.

Under his stare, you felt your face go warm, "That's beautiful, Miles." After a few moments, you continued, "I suddenly feel like I'm intruding, though." His response came quick, "Never, mami. What makes you say that?" You confessed the thoughts that swarmed your brain right when you walked into the cafe, "I mean, this place feels a bit intimate for people that are 'just friends'" You said with air quotations.

"I think we're past that stage. Don't you, princesa?" You nodded at him. He was right, you thought. After all, friends don't usually have an oral fixation for their friend's mouth.

Your orders came at the same time. You both comfortably conversed. It was a nice change of pace after your date from yesterday. After you both ate your orders and paid, Miles and you walked down the street with his fingers settling on your waist. You spoke up, "Thanks for bringing me here today, Miles. I had a good time with you." You wanted nothing more than to reach up and kiss him til he couldn't breathe, but resisted.

"Anytime. If it meant you'd stop going on dates with other guys." He said casually, but his grip firmed on your waist. Your head turned to him at his words. After your date with Miles, you were sure he ruined dates for you as well. Just like he ruined your ability to kiss anyone else. "Yeah, I'm not even sure I'll want to go on a date with anyone else after this." You said under your breath. He silently grinned.

As you both made your way back to Miles' dorm, the urge to brush your lips against his only became stronger. You could tell he felt it, too. You noticed how he walked a bit faster to go back to his dorm.

Once the door to his room opened, you gave in to your desires and pulled him in by his hoodie to connect your lips. He backed you against his door as his hands traveled all over your body like it was a new territory he was unfamiliar with. He couldn't get enough of you. Groaning into your mouth, he deepened the kiss impossibly more. You both parted for a moment to get a quick breath of air.

Staring into his eyes, you told him before you lost the courage, "I don't want to be just friends. Friends that kiss sometimes when they feel like it." He looked at you like you just told him he won the lottery. In his eyes, this scenario was better than winning the lottery. He grinned as he kissed you again. Full of heat, his kiss spoke louder than words. "Then why don't we be lovers that kiss?” He pulled away to whisper against your lips. “Yeah, I think I like that idea.” You smiled against his lips.

That kiss from yesterday would be the last kiss you shared. As friends, that is. And this would be your first kiss as lovers. From the very first chapter of your life, he was there. And to the present-day chapter of your life, he's still here with you. In the end, It'll always be him and you.

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solo eres tú - it’s only you

princesa - princess

#earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles morales x reader #across the spiderverse #into the spider verse #miles morales spider man #miles morales x y/n #miles morales x you #spider man #friends to lovers #prowler miles #jealousy #childhood friends to lovers #childhood friends #prowler miles morales #miles morales #miles morales prowler #spider man: across the spider verse #friends that kiss

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 4 months ago

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Chapter 3: But I Don't Want to Carry On Like Everything Is Fine

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!Reader, Reader POV

Summary: With a birthday printed on your wrist that happened over a hundred years ago, you always thought that you were cursed to never meet your soulmate. But when you finally meet the man that's supposed to be the other half of your soul, you wonder if the stars were wrong, and wonder how this man was meant for you. Reader is Hughie's sister, is not a supe, and is a Literature Professor that gets dragged into the middle of things. This fic takes place in an AU set loosely after Season 3 and does deviate from the plot of The Boys

Tropes: Soulmate AU, Little bit of Grumpy and Sunshine, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Protective Ben/ Soldier Boy, Jealous Ben/Soldier Boy

Warnings: I'm gonna label this one 18+ because it's Soldier Boy and we all know he's a warning. Homophobic comments towards Hughie (It's Soldier Boy y'all), Self deprecating thoughts, ANGST, SADNESS, HEART RIPPING OUT OF CHEST (figuratively because it's what it felt like to write this), Fear? Mentions of past graphic death, Mentions of torture (SB in Russia), Cursing, Mentions of past abuse (verbal abuse and it's SB doing it to someone because… we ALL know), Mentions of drinking, Mentions of Sex, Mentions of Death, Loneliness, Longing, Basically the reader just wants to be loved, Reader wears glasses?, Soldier Boy might be a little OOC.

Word Count: 6.9K

Song Inspiration For Chapter: Love In The Dark By Adele (Title for chapter taken from this song)

Playlist For Series!✨

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

A/N: I know this chapter is a long time coming, but thank you so much to everyone who has loved this series so far, and for encouraging me to come back to it. I hope y'all are strapped in for a ride, because this is when all the angst starts to unfold… But also… I might have changed up the Soulmate AU even more in a crazy more heartbreaking direction so, there's that too

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Guide:

Reader's thoughts are in italics and in first person.

Ben's thoughts in italics, bold, and blue!

Previously:

"I've been looking everywhere for you sweetheart." The man rumbles, the words vibrating against your fingertips where they rest against his muscular chest. He smiles at you and somewhere deep down you feel something break open that you thought was locked away long ago.

And as you stand there looking up at the man you thought you'd never see again, you feel a flicker of something that could grow into a blaze.

You stand there in the silence that follows the words of your soulmate, the rough vibration of his voice still trembling through your fingertips where they lay against his chest, as you stare up into his hypnotic green eyes. The sunlight that streams in from the windows at you back traces the hardened edges of his handsome face turning his dark hair a honeyed brown. A smile pulls at the end of his lips, crinkling his eyes, and bringing a softness to the rugged features that make your heart beat quicken.

He was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen and yet nothing what you’d expected. You briefly wonder if you were what he expected, but judging from the women you'd seen him with in his memories you weren't, given that you looked nothing like them.

The air around the both of you warms as electricity pops and crackles along your skin skittering against the flesh and bringing goosebumps in its wake. A wave of heat travels from where Ben's hand is gently cupping your chin in his calloused fingertips, that makes you feel like you're melting from the inside out.

Nothing else exists in the world except the two of you. There's no need to breathe, no need to see, and no need to speak, because all you know is your soulmate. You can feel the beating of his heart in your own chest, feel the thrum of electricity in his body along your nerve endings, and each breath he takes you can feel vibrate in your lungs.

You'd spent years feeling like a freak, lost, and out of place, but standing here with Ben so close that you can feel his breath on your face, makes you feel whole for the first time in your life.

He's still too far away.

A voice whispers in your ear and you long to close the distance between the two of you, to hold him tight and never let him go.

The date on your wrist sears hotter than it did the first day you met him burning through the foundation once again that you'd smeared across it to hide it and the golden cord that wove through the air securing his heart to yours seconds ago grows so hot that it turns a blinding white. And just as you think you'll have to shut your eyes from the brilliant light, the cord squeezes your chest to tight it takes your breath away.

You inhale sharply as a flood of emotions comes washing over you that aren't your own, memories that you'd only seen in your dreams flash through your mind as if you lived them, and Ben's eyes widen as he feels the same thing. His heart beats in tandem with yours, the space between you growing to almost nothing as the cord yanks you so close that you can feel his breath on your lips and his hands fall to your hips to steady you against him, sending goosebumps prickling over your body with his touch.

You'd read about what it was like to meet your soulmate before and people had tried to tell you, but for everyone it was different and no one ever described as anything like this. Especially not happening a second time after they'd crossed paths.

This shouldn't be happening, we've already met.

But you know you're not imagining this, you know that your soul is singing to Ben's, calling out to his and both of them are twisting between the two of you, weaving you together, binding you as one.

The spark in the pit of your stomach you felt the moment Ben's eyes locked with yours has begun to flare again until it burns into a wild-fire, but it's not love you feel, not compassion, not relief, or love, it's fear.

It sobers you.

Its cold finger drags down your spine and seizes in your chest, wiping away whatever else you're feeling for the handsome man standing only millimeters from you.

The Ben's memories you re-lived in your dreams come roaring back like a lion over a kill, each one more horrific than the last.

You see your soulmate standing triumphantly over bodies burned beyond recognition, see him beating someone into submission his fists splattered with red, watch as he laughs at the torment of his younger teammates and then opens his mouth to say something so repulsive it makes your skin crawl, and you see the proud smirk when he knows he's won, when he knows that he can't be beaten and no one can stop him.

He had no remorse in any of those moments, no compassion, no regret, there was only the pride and arrogance that comes with his belief that he had bested whomever attempted to challenge him.

Nothing about him is gentle, caring, or kind and nothing about him is anything like you.

You who'd never been in a fight your entire life, you who tried your hardest to make sure that no one ever felt what it was like to be alone as you had for so many years, you who always put others first, and you who tried to always find something kind to say about someone else.

Everything about your soulmate and who he is terrifies you, chills you to your core and wipes away the sensations that skittered along your skin and buried themselves in your heart moments ago.

He can't be mine. Not someone like him. Please no, anyone but him.

Your soulmate's head tilts to the side and his eyebrows furrow with confusion, mouth twitching into a frown, and you realize that he can feel your fear, maybe even hear it in the quick pulse of your heart or maybe he could smell it.

You weren't sure how his powers worked, all you knew was that you'd seen what he'd done with them, you’d seen the kind of person he was, and you wanted no part of that even if it meant being alone.

You'd spent your entire life waiting for this moment and now you wish it never came.

The cord between you snaps, the sound like breaking glass, but the man's emotions still remain in your head. You feel his confusion, his apprehension, and underneath it all you feel something else, something vulnerable that flicks away in an instant.

You step back from him, allowing his hands fall from your waist, prepared to run, needing to put as much distance between the two of you, but his fingers closes hard on your wrist just over his birthdate, hard enough to bruise.

I have to get of here.

"Where are you going?" He asks, his voice gruff, the sound of water over rocks, smoothing the sharp edges, answering your thought with a question.

"Please let me go." You say, unable to catch your breath and tugging at where his hand tightens around your wrist.

The feeling of his skin pressed to yours is overwhelming, begging you to curve into him, to sink into the warmth of your soulmate and never resurface for air.

But you can't. The fear is there, rising in the back of your throat, clamping down hard and stopping the rush of oxygen to your brain.

You weren't like Butcher, you didn’t hate supes, but you also weren't unrealistic or clueless about them. You didn't believe that all of them were bad, because with the bad came the good.

Your brother's soulmate Annie was proof of that, a supe that wasn't evil or callous or on a power trip to make others submit to her will. She cared for other people, used her powers to help others, but not all supes were like her.

Your brother had told you to stay away from supes like your soulmate, warned you about Homelander before he vanished, and warned you that not all supes were as they appeared. Although, Hughie had tried hard to keep his life separate from yours, Butcher believed you had a right to know that the supes who promised safety and freedom would be the first to take it away from you.

The stories Butcher had told you about Homelander kept you awake at night fearing for your brother and Annie’s safety, and your own. You knew that the new leader of the Seven, Stormfront, was just as bad, if not worse.

As much as you believed in the strength of your brother's soulmate, there was another part of you that knew she might not be a match for Stormfront, at least not on her own.

You yank your hand again trying to break his grip, but it doesn't move from Ben's grasp.

Why is she trying to leave?

Ben's voice in your head makes you hesitate, eyes widening as you look up into his face. You knew that Ben didn't say that out loud and yet you'd heard it.

Holy shit, how can I hear his thoughts? Can he hear mine?

You weren't a supe and you didn't understand why you could hear his thoughts and feel his emotions, or why you hadn't been able to feel or hear them in the year since the two of you met.

What the fuck is going on? Ben's voice says louder in your head and you don't understand what the hell was going on. No one in history had ever been able to hear their soulmate's thoughts or their emotions, you knew that for a fact.

"Let me go!" You say louder.

All other sounds of whispered conversations and tinkling glasses have stopped as everyone in the room turns to stare at the two of you.

Your emotions were overwhelming, the part of you screaming to run away fighting with the urge to get closer to Ben.

His confusion floods into you as well as a slew of other emotions from him that you can’t put a name to. He doesn't understand why you're trying to get away from him and why he can feel your emotions either.

"But-" Ben begins to say.

You're my soulmate. His thought finishes in your head.

"Let her go." Hughie says appearing on your left.

The confused look in Ben's eyes shifts to annoyance, the green hardening within a second. "Fuck off. This isn't your problem." He snarls gaze flicking to your brother who looks closer to anger than you'd seen him in years.

Ben's anger and annoyance comes in a wave of heat, scorching up your arms and into your chest, clawing against your ribcage.

What the hell is happening?

"Oi let her go mate." Butcher's voice joins Hughie's and you can feel the presence of the other man hovering just over your shoulder.

Truthfully you liked Butcher. You thought he was funny and that he cared more about other people more than he was willing to let on. Not to mention after he lost his Soulmate, Becca, Butcher didn't have much to do, so you’d invite him over for movie nights with Annie and Hughie so you didn't feel like the awkward fourth wheel. Butcher was as much your friend as he was Hughie's.

I didn't fucking ask to butt in you British cunt. Ben's thought burns through your body with a wave of his anger and you can feel the heat of his skin raise.

Another shiver of fear courses down your spine at the thought of Ben losing control and burning you alive just as he had done to his teammates.

Ben's eyes drop back to yours when you whimper in pain, trying to free your wrist from his grasp, and this time Ben releases you.

The warmth you felt from touching his skin is gone, leaving only a dull throb in your wrist as you clutch it to your chest, eyes wide with fear and horror.

Ben's eyes drag down your body to your wrist and you can feel a flicker of something that might be guilt, but you're not sure if he can feel things like that. All you know is that you have to get away from him.

Why is she afraid of me?

Ben's thoughts are back, vibrating through your skull and bringing a wave of emotion with it that's not yours. You back away from him, but Ben takes a step forward to fill the space you left behind reaching for you again.

"Don't touch me." You whisper, throat thick. You couldn't tell what were his emotions and what were yours colliding in your head, all you knew was that you didn't want him anywhere near you.

Stay away from me! You think taking another step back. Ben tilts his head to the side in confusion.

He takes another step towards you still not comprehending what is happening, frustration and confusion burning through the air between the two of you.

You'd seen the short temper your soulmate had, saw what happened to people on the wrong side of it, and you cringe away from him in fear. You didn't want to be on the receiving end of his fist or whatever the hell he had locked away in his chest.

Please don’t hurt me.

The thought comes before you can stop it and you watch something flash in Ben’s eyes that looks surprisingly like hurt.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Ben says, eyebrows furrowing together. “I’m your soulmate, I’d never hurt you.”

It confirms what you already know, that Ben can hear your thoughts just as you can hear his.

You back up into Butcher's chest and he drops his hands down on your shoulders to make you feel better.

Get your fucking hands off of her. She's mine!

Ben's voice roars in your head. The wave of jealousy and rage that you feel rip through your body at the feeling of Butcher's touch scorches against your insides.

"You should go." Hughie says calmly, but you can hear an edge to his voice.

"I'm not going fucking anywhere you overgrown glory hole!" Ben snaps, eyes flashing in the light of the sun behind you, the soft green long gone, but falling on you once more.

Why is she acting like she's not my soulmate? Like she doesn't want me?

Ben's voice asks in your head, the words snagging in something deep down that you thought you locked away years ago, the empty place inside that you longed for someone to fill, the empty place you knew that this man was supposed to belong.

No. No. No. Why is this happening to me?

"Hey, you don’t get to fucking speak to him like that in our house!" Annie shouts back at Ben, her eyes narrowed at the man who was at least two heads taller than she was.

It was all too much. You couldn't be here, not with all these people watching you. You move out of Butcher's grip and around Ben as close as you dare, trying to get to the front door and away from him. You could feel everyone's eyes on you and hear their silent judgement.

It reminded you too much of your childhood, the one you spent wishing that the whispers and odd looks would stop, the one when people would cross to the other side of the road like you had something contagious, the one where you felt so alone that you couldn't standing it and when you wished that someone, anyone, would fill the hole you felt inside for far too long. The same hole that you couldn't feel when Ben was touching you.

"Wait-" Ben begins to say, voice gruff, while trying again to grab you, but you dodge his hand and run full speed at the front door of the apartment.

Come back.

There's something behind those words that grates against your heart, but you don't turn around.

Hughie and Annie shout your name, but you're already gone. You can’t be here, not now, not with him standing there, not when he's everything you'd thought you'd never have and yet, everything that you fear.

Your footsteps pound against the cracked pavement, the world around you a soundless blur with every pump of your arms. Rain swats against your skin as you run, each slap of your bare feet against cracked pavement mirroring the thunder that shakes the buildings around you.

You'd lost your shoes the minute you broke into a run outside Hughie and Annie's apartment, and you were too afraid to go back for them.

Water trickles down your spine, bringing the chill of the rain with it, but you can’t feel it, the only thing you feel is the flood of emotions you'd had since the moment you ran into your soulmate again, the one who left you on the street one year ago like you meant nothing to him.

Funny, when that happened you thought that was the worst of it, but it wasn't.

What did I do to deserve this?

Flashes of your soulmate's memory echo the lightning above, the horrors you witnessed in the sweet abyss of sleep that haunted your mind. Bloody fists, blackened bodies, harsh laughter, and clips of dialogue play through your mind on a sickening loop.

You ran as if you thought you could leave it all behind, as if you could leave him behind, but he was everywhere. He was in the faces of the people in the crowds, in the sound of the thunder, in the thrum of your blood through your veins, in each beat of your heart, and in each breath you took.

The look he had on his face when you fled was there, bringing a wave of guilt for leaving him behind the way that he left you one year ago.

But he left me before he knew me. I know him. I've seen what he's done. I-

The thought brings the memory of the hurt that flashed through Ben's eyes at the apartment back into your head.

In all the memories you'd seen of him, you'd never seen him look hurt, but it was there somewhere, slipping through whatever warped telepathy the two of you had, the telepathy you didn't understand.

How could someone you waited for your whole life fill you with such dread? How could the man who was the other half of your soul, be anything like the man you met?

In the past you'd tried to imagine who it would be, what your soulmate would look like, how he'd treat you, and what kind of man he'd be. You'd seen a faceless man holding sunflowers out to you, a man holding you while you cried, a man sitting with you curled on the couch while you read through one of your favorite books with your head leaning on his shoulder, a man taking you to bed while your fingers clasped his above your head and the soft sound of his voice telling you how much he loved you, a man who touched you reverently, as if you were something to be worshipped, a man who made you feel safe and who would listen when you talked to him, a man who remembered the little things, a man who took care of you, and a man who sat with you while you graded papers and sighed to yourself at the end of a day that seemed endless.

Now it all seemed like a big lie, because your soulmate could never be that man. You'd seen exactly who and what he was.

The idea that you were cursed seemed to fit now, because there had to be something or someone above laughing at your expense, making you suffer all the years you were alone dreaming of a man who could be those things for you only to give you the one man who could be none of them.

Annie and Hughie were perfect in every way. All the little things that made each of them unique molded together to create something beautiful. They loved each other in a way that made your chest hurt to look at them.

You'd wanted that so badly for so long.

And now the stars laughed at you because they'd given you him.

You didn't think it would be possible for you to ever love someone like him. Someone who took from others and gave none in return, someone who found joy in the submission of others, and someone who hurt and killed with no remorse.

Monsters did that, men who thought the world owed them something or rather that the world should submit to them, men who took and took and never once cared what it did to the people around them, and men who never saw anyone else as an equal.

In the past you'd thought that your soulmate of all people would see you as something more than just a possession, but rather something that strengthened him, made him stronger with your love and care, made him a better man, and a man who saw you as someone, not something.

People clear out of your way, parting to watch what they must believe is a woman driven mad, running shoeless, down the streets of NYC in the middle of a torrential downpour.

And maybe you were crazy to run from someone who looked like your soulmate did.

There was no denying that he was gorgeous. He looked like he stepped right out of a book, the dashing dark-hared brooding hero with sharp features and green eyes you wished to lose yourself in. Your soulmate looked like every lead male character you'd imagined and fallen in love with in every book you ever read. The novels you read when everything in the real world was disappointing and bleak, the ones that opened their pages and welcomed you home, promised an escape from the mediocre and enveloped you in the extraordinary.

He looked like everything you ever wanted. Something taken from your unconscious and made real.

Why me?

The fear was back, the cold trickle that became a roar blocking out the little voice inside your head that scolded you and told you to turn around and go back to him, that you needed him, the little voice that told you he was yours, that he was made for you, just as you were made for him. The voice that promised after years of being alone and filled with a cold, empty feeling, all you had to do was turn around and run back to the sun.

But you can't go back, because you're not sure if your soulmate is even human anymore.

In the past your bathtub had been a place of solace where you could have a nice glass of wine and lose yourself in a good book, but today the warm water did little to sooth the anxiety prickling on the back of your neck.

There was a Rosemary Mint candle lit on the small counter next to the sink sending a flickering yellow light over the worn subway tiles in your bathroom. One of two candles Annie had gifted you for Christmas in a handmade basket full of things to pamper yourself and a candle that was supposedly good for "stress relief" but you were prepared to call bullshit on that given the state of your nerves.

The plush white bathrobe hanging on the back of your bathroom door, the jar of soothing lavender bath salts nestled into the elbow of your tub, and the face masks scattered on the bathroom counter also came from the same basket.

All of which served as another reminder of how perfect she was for your thoughtful and caring brother.

The thought brings a wave of sadness over you and you lean your head into your knees.

None of this was helping.

You couldn't remember coming home, didn't remember running up the creaky stairs to your floor, didn’t remember passing by Mrs. Charleson's apartment with the happily painted yellow door, didn't remember unlocking the five locks on your apartment door, and certainly didn't remember slipping into the warm bath you found yourself in.

The only thing you could remember was meeting your soulmate, feeling the warmth of his caress over your skin, hearing the smooth rumble of his voice like distant thunder, and seeing how the memories you'd seen did not do justice to the handsome and rugged features he had.

A shiver of fear follows and your tighten your arms around your knees.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be different.

You think to yourself as your eyes drift to the hand print on your wrist, the one that had already begun to turn an ugly blue and ironically was curved over the birthdate that glowed gold in the flickering light.

Why him?

A wave of guilt comes swiftly when you think of the way he looked at you when you thought that in front of him.

How could he hear my thoughts? How could I hear his thoughts and feel his emotions?

There were so many things about the soulmate bond the two of you had that made no sense. You knew for a fact that no one else could see their soulmates memories when they slept, but the ability to hear your soulmate's thoughts and feel his emotions? It was impossible. And unless someone had spiked your drink with compound V at the party, you still weren't a supe and had no idea what the hell was going on!

But you were thankful that you couldn't hear Ben's thoughts and emotions right now. You didn't know why that was and hoped it meant that it only happened when you were around him or hoped it meant that it would never happen again.

The memory of how you met Ben again sends a warm feeling from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. Another mystery… why it was like that to meet Ben the second time.

None of your friends ever told you that it was like that to run into your soulmate a second time.

Then again what other soulmate leaves you standing in the street alone?

The golden cord glows behind your eyelids, the cord that bound Ben's heart to yours for a few precious seconds, a moment that lasted forever. You'd never heard anyone talk about a golden cord before either. Annie said that when she met Hughie it felt like fireworks, but she never talked about feeling like she was bound to your brother or told you that it was anything like what you’d experienced with Ben.

What the hell is going on?

When you'd told Mrs. Charleson that you were dreaming Ben's memories she'd said that she'd heard a myth about it, that it meant the two of you were "meant to share more than one lifetime together," (whatever that meant), but she'd never mentioned anything about a cord that wove soulmates together. You would have gone to talk to her after the train wreck that happened at the party, but you knew that she was still at work.

Despite the fact that she had more than enough money to retire, your neighbor argued that people "who slowed down got old." She'd been running a successful apartment and house cleaning business for years, but about a year ago a man had hired her to clean his apartment and cook for him full time. He'd offered her so much money that your neighbor no longer needed to clean anyone else's home and was employed as his housekeeper.

You didn't know anything about him, didn't even know his name, but your neighbor said he was a kind young man who often reminded her of her son and was richer than a piece of french silk pie. You supposed he was a wall-street guy or the founder of some tech company, but you couldn’t believe the descriptions of his apartment she told you or the pictures you'd shown you.

It sounded and looked like a palace so far in the air it might as well be a castle in the sky, but you wanted to see it in person.

You did like your apartment, but it was too small even just for you. The thought of having a place where you could have a real desk, sunlight, consistent water pressure, a breathtaking view, and no super who only responded to twenty dollar bills and asked you for pictures of your feet daily sounded heavenly.

Not to mention it would be nice not to live somewhere with walls so thin you could hear your neighbors having obnoxiously loud sex at all hours of the night like bats. You had no idea how they ever got anything done with so little sleep.

And yeah, maybe Mrs. Charleson and you had made fun of the guy's decorating choices, but you figured that maybe he just needed someone to help him pick out furniture that was a little more comfortable to make his apartment seem less like a museum and more like a home. Mrs. Charleson had said he was single anyway, which meant that guy probably hadn't met his soulmate and when he did, they would help him out.

The front door of your apartment opens and fear momentarily spikes at the thought of it being your soulmate, that he'd somehow figured out where you lived, and he'd find you naked and vulnerable in the bathtub.

But then you hear your brother shout your name from your living room and a wave of relief crashes over you.

"I'm in the tub." You yell back.

Honestly, you didn't feel like talking to anyone, not after the day you had. You wanted to forget it happened, to go to bed and go to work tomorrow as if everything were normal and not as if your life was falling apart. It always felt like it was falling apart, but today was exceptionally heart breaking.

"Can you come out?" Hughie asks. You can hear him lean his head against the door of your small bathroom and you imagine his frown.

"I don't feel like talking right now." You reply pushing your face further into your knees.

"I brought tacos."

You hesitate for a second. Your brother and you had always been close. Sure there were those awkward sibling moments and a little bit of sibling rivalry and times when Hughie annoyed you to no end, but he was your best friend. It was him who encouraged you to become an English teacher despite the constant disapproval from your parents, him who loaned you enough money to get out from under their roof and start your own life, and him who always knew just the way to cheer you up… hence the tacos.

"And a blind date from Inky's Inspirations." He continues.

Damnit.

Inky's Inspirations was your favorite used book store. You had spent many a weekend curled up in one of the holey reading chairs with a worn paperback in your hand, letting the rest of the world fall away while you were lost in a book that whisked you away on ink and paper with gentle prose. The store had started doing "blind dates," wrapping up books in brown paper with descriptors like "Will melt your panties" or "Made me realize I have a bondage kink" or "Supernatural creature hunter vibes" or "In case you're curious about what the inside of the Loch Ness monster looked like."

That last one had been a supernatural romance that you still weren't sure if you liked it or not. It had been interesting...

But you were under the impression that no one could have too many books. The books scattered all over your apartment and stacked up so high they hit the ceiling were proof of that.

You sigh to yourself cursing your thoughtful brother. "Give me a second."

When you come out of your bathroom wearing your favorite soft t-shirt and sweatpants, your brother envelops you in a warm hug, and unfortunately undoes the little relaxation you felt when you took a bath and makes you begin to cry.

Worse was that a little part of you wished that it wasn't your brother but your soulmate who was here holding you, or rather the version of the soulmate you'd invented in your head, not the man you’d seen earlier.

It made all of this worse, that you were still so alone and sometimes you couldn’t understand how you could feel so alone with so many people in your life who cared about you. But you wanted him, wanted the other half of your soul to hold you close against him, to feel the warmth of his body curving around yours as he told you that everything was going to be okay.

It hurt more than you knew it would, especially now that you knew he existed.

Sobs shake through your body as you cling to your brother and rub your nose into the front of his shirt as everything from today washes over you all over again. Meeting your soulmate again after a year, having all those feeling and emotions roll through you, seeing flashes of his memories again, and running away from him as fast as you could.

You felt lost and yet there was a voice whispering in your ear that told you that the only place that you could be found was back with the man who held the other half of your soul.

"Shh. It's alright." Hughie soothes, rubbing his hand up and down your back. "It's okay."

It was the same thing that he used to tell you when you were younger and nothing made sense, when it felt like you were a freak because of the date printed on your wrist. The same days when you'd ask yourself the ultimate question: would it be okay?

But now you knew the truth… it wouldn't be.

Because you'd hoped and prayed to meet your soulmate every day of your life, and now that you had, you wished that it never happened, because the man who grabbed you so hard it bruised your skin couldn't be the man you imagined falling in love with when you were a little girl.

"Are you okay?" Hughie asks you.

"No." You murmur pulling back to clean your tear smudged glasses.

Hughie was still wearing the light blue button down shirt from the party, and you feel a wave of guilt crash over you thinking that you ruined his and Annie's housewarming party.

Your brother presses his lips together. "I'm sorry-" He begins to say, but you interrupt.

"I'm the one who should be saying that."

"What? Why?"

"Well I ruined your party and-"

"Are you kidding? No you didn't! That asshole did-" Hughie frowns. "I don't know what he was thinking grabbing you like that."

You swallow the lump in the back of your throat remembering the grip Ben had on your arm.

"Did he hurt you?" Hughie picks up your hand to examine your wrist, frowning at the handprint. "What a dick!"

Your brother didn’t usually get angry, he was more of a suffer in silence kind of person who kept all their emotions a little more close to their chest, but he looks livid. "I swear the next time I see him I'm going to give him a piece of my mind. He shouldn’t have fucking grabbed you like that-"

The thought of your gentle brother yelling at Ben makes a lump of worry catch in the back of your throat. You didn't want Ben to hurt your brother, he was only person in your entire family that made you feel like you belonged.

"Hughie calm down, it's okay."

It wasn't and you both knew it.

"No it's not. He could have broken your arm!" He snaps.

"He didn't." You murmur.

But he could have.

Those words are like taking a bullet to the chest. You’d seen exactly what your soulmate was capable of and exactly how he acted when he didn’t get his way.

What did I do to deserve this?

"That doesn't matter! He didn't have a right to treat you like that. Like you're-"

"His." The word comes out before you can stop it. "But I kind of am." You shudder at the confession.

Even if you didn't want Ben in your life, it didn't change anything. He was still your soulmate. Every part of him was molded and shaped for you just as every part of yourself was molded and shaped for him.

Ben was yours, but you didn't want to be his.

Hughie shakes his head. "He might be your soulmate but you don't belong to him. You're not his property-"

"I know that but-" Your voice breaks under the weight of everything crashing back down over you. "How can he be my soulmate?"

Hughie whispers your name, but you keep talking. It was coming out of you, everything that you had pushed down, all the emotions you'd had as a child, because you didn't want to keep going like everything was fine, it wasn't.

It never had been.

"Why is he my soulmate? How are we anything alike? He's-" A memory of Ben ripping someone in half comes across your mind and it makes you feel nauseous.

"I mean I-" The tears were coming fast again now, hot against your cheeks. "I waited all these years, thought that he'd never exist, thought that I was going fucking crazy staring at this damn date on my wrist and after years of feeling like a freak I find out that the man I've been waiting for is him? How is any of this fair?"

"It's going to be-"

"Stop saying that!" You shout, hands clenched at your sides. "It's not Hughie! It's not going to be okay and I'm so sick of hearing you say it. Not everyone can be happy all the time and have a perfect soulmate. Some of us are fucking stuck with a barbarian who doesn't give a shit about anyone else and kills people for sport!"

Hughie recoils with your words and you feel guilty.

You didn’t mean to hurt his feelings and you knew that your brother was here to help you, but you were just so frustrated and confused over everything that had happened today. You had no idea what was going on and what any of this meant. It all made you feel helpless and you hated feeling like that.

"He's-" You squeeze your eyes shut as if it'll make the thoughts stop, but it doesn't. "He's nothing like me! He's-" The image of a body laying at Ben's feet comes flashing through your head with him standing triumphantly over it. "He's a monster."

You hadn't said it out loud until right now only thought it. The word seems harsh, but you didn't know what else to call a person who killed and hurt other people with no remorse. In all the memories that you’d relived of your soulmate that was the ingredient missing.

Remorse.

Regret.

Guilt.

Shame.

All were things that would have made you reconsider going back to Ben if he'd felt those things after killing or hurting someone, but you didn't feel a shred of any when you watched him tear people apart with his bare hands.

You wonder if it had something to do with being tortured in the lab all those years, if being put through that changed him, but you’d seen memories of him acting just as terrible years before that happened.

"Someone like him isn't capable of feeling love! You can't do all the things he has with no remorse and still be capable of that." By now you were babbling, your voice barely recognizable from the sobs and shaky breaths you kept taking to stabilize yourself, but the truth was you were on the verge of a panic attack. Your eyes shift to your brother's concerned expression. "I'm sorry Hughie I-"

Hughie hugs you again, holding you so tight against him that it hurts. “You don’t have to be sorry. I know you’re frustrated. And I don't understand why he's your soulmate either. You have no idea what I’ve seen him do.“

“I don't know what to do.” You whisper into his shirt with a sniffle, still trying to calm the rapid breathing and beat of your heart, but nothing was working.

Because what the hell should you do?

You'd lived so long believing that you’d never meet your soulmate and even though the thought of being around him terrified you, there was another part of you that was begging you to go back to him.

The fantasy version of Ben manifests again, the one you'd imagined when you were a little girl dreaming of the day you'd get to meet the man who would complete you. Now those fantasies mocked you, every year you spent celebrating the birthday of your soulmate alone in the darkness of your apartment, every minute you spent trying to shrug off the taunts of the people in your hometown and your own parents when they saw the date on your wrist, and every second you spent hoping that it would happen to you while a little voice in your head told you it wasn't meant to be, that someone above cursed you to be alone forever.

All the hope you'd felt was a lie.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this and now that I’ve seen what he’s done I… I don't think I could ever love someone like him."

"No one is asking you to." Your brother says.

"I know that, but- He's still my soulmate."

I want to love him. A little voice deep inside said, it was the same one that was begging you to give Ben a chance, but you ignored it. You had seen the kind of man he was and you wanted no part of him in your life.

You take in a shaky breath and pull back from Hughie to examine the handprint shaped bruise on your wrist right over the golden birthdate that glows against your skin. "I'd rather be alone than be with him.”

The words hurt to admit to yourself, especially after all the years you’d spent wishing that you wouldn’t be alone and watching everyone else get the happy ending you so desperately wanted.

But none of that mattered now. Soulmate or not, everything about Ben scared you, and it didn't matter that the universe said he was yours, you knew in your heart that he couldn't be and that you'd never be able to love someone like him.

And miles away, on the other side of the bustling city that never sleeps, your soulmate sat on the end of his large bed in his empty apartment and looked down at his own wrist, tracing an ugly blue bruise that looked surprisingly like a handprint over your golden birthdate, and the first bruise he'd had in over eighty years.

A/N: Welp, I told y'all it was sad and oh my stars it broke my heart to do this to Ben. 😭 I'd like to say that the next chapter I have planned is less sad... but oh man I think it's worse 😅

As always thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, comments, and likes are not required, but are always welcome and appreciated! I really love hearing what y'all think. ❤️ If you'd liked to be added to the taglist for this series please let me know :)

Taglist:

@reidtomewinchester @livya99 @pascal-rascal424 @xaviersgifted @zepskies

@bagpussjocken @bitchykittenconnoisseur @kamisobsessed @goldenmaknaes @ophennie

@infinityonhighhhhh @modiddys-blog @globetrotter28 @roseblue373 @tulipsvanilla

@annoyingrebelsoul @soldiergrimes @megara0224 @zpandaqueen @ladykitana90

@corruptedcruiser @podiumackles @criminalyetminimal

@deangirl96 @kr804573 @the-super-who-locked-wizard

@pamwritessometimes @roger-that-cap @my-obsession-spn

@52ndstreeet @mrsjenniferwinchester @impala67stellawinchester

@bookchik26 @anna6307

@moodyquesadilla @isla-finke-blog @green-which

@thoughtfullyfurryangel @winchester-stark

@amyjam78 @emisworldd @jollyhunter

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neotyty · 10 months ago

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oral fixation ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚ | yang jeongin oneshot

WARNINGS !! : smut in like the first few seconds, dom! jeongin, not a lot of use of y/n, fempov, jeongin has an oral fixation clearly, y/n treats jeongin like a baby and he gets fed up, not proofread don't shoot me, got lazy at the end, degrading/rude jeongin ??? idk anymore, slightly shitty diologue bc i'm better at writing the atmosphere than what ppl say

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────

It was supposed to be a joke, or at least that's what you thought it was. Your best friend, Jeongin, had been close to you ever since kindergarten. You would help him with pretty much everything due to the fact that he was 3 years younger than you, even if it wasn't a big age gap in his eyes. You treated him like a baby. Your baby.

Jeongin, on the other hand, grew to absolutely despise being treated like a child. Any time the two of you were together, he would do anything to show you he was grown up now-- purposefully touching your waist or "playfully" pulling you into his lap, he needed to show you who he really was, not some kid you had to protect.

He would often come to your place, not bothering to text prior or set specific dates, it was just natural.

So when he plopped down next to you on your bed completely uninvited, you didn't mind, your head lying on his solid chest for a change as you attempted to match his breathing with yours. You completely missed the way his eyes darted to your lips, just imagining how well they would wrap around his fingers as you focused on the meaningless video playing on your phone.

"Look at me." His voice was monotone, your eyebrows furrowing as he spoke but glanced up at him nonetheless. He took his time soaking in your features, to your freckled cheeks down to your soft and slightly uneven lips, grinning to himself as a hand came up to caress your cheek.

"Jeong, what are you doing?" You questioned with a small chuckle, a confused expression on your face watching his thumb trace your lower lip, pressing down on it lightly and not enough to cause any pain.

"You need something? I can whip something up real fast, just give me a second-"

His thumb quickly shoved past your lips, watching with narrowed eyes as you mumbled against him, cheeks growing a deep red at his confidence.

"Fuck, y/n. I can make my own goddamn food," He paused, letting his thumb roam around your tongue-- just like he imagined. "I don't need you to pretend like you're my big sister just to hide that you're a slut, alright?" Jeongin's gaze never left those glossy lips of yours, noting how your pupils dilated with each word he spoke.

"So sit here, and take it."

With that, he added another finger, observing the saliva dripping down your chin. It was sinful. He shouldn't be enjoying this, he shouldn't enjoy watching his best friend struggle to take his fingers down her warm throat, but he did. He lived for it.

The soft whimper that escaped your mouth was enough to send him into a spiral, letting out a low groan as his free hand reached for your hair. "I need to taste you. Let me taste you, baby." He whispered lowly, pulling you close just for you to feel the growing tent in his pants.

You nodded shakily, ignoring how you looked like a complete mess with his large fingers shoved down you throat and drool seeping through the corners of your mouth.

"That's a good girl." A smirk corrupted his face, your eyes ones of disappointment as he pulled out of you-- but quickly replaced his digits with a kiss, his tongue pushing against yours.

He was quick to flip you on your back, not breaking the kiss as his hands fumbled for your hips-- moaning against your lips after feeling the obvious wet spot he had caused.

"I could stare at you all fucking day,"

He pulled back only to rip your panties down your thighs, gently shoving your legs apart. He couldn't miss the way your hands came up to your face at his perverted comments, a coy smile appearing on his mouth.

"Don't hide from me baby, let me see all of you," A rough hand came up to grab your wrists, keeping them held in one hand as he buried his face deep inside your cunt, making mental notes of how you moaned and cried for him.

"Ah- Fuck! Jeongin, please.." You didn't know what you were begging for, to be entirely honest, you were so fucked out you could barely think.

He hummed against you, lapping at your folds as his tongue circled your clit-- making your thighs shake from the stimulation.

It wouldn't take long for your release, chest heaving and cheeks red as he gave your inner thigh a harsh smack, letting you know to be still. "You wanna come for me?" He mumbled, inserting a finger inside your hole, feeling you clench around him as he sucked on your clit.

Your eyes shut tightly, letting out the most shameful sound on earth as you came to your high.

The only sound was your heavy breathing, which didn't last long as Jeongin went in for another kiss. This one was softer and full of apologies, slowly moving down to your neck.

"Get the hell off me, Yang Jeongin, you're such an ass." You attempted to suppress your laughs, pushing him away from you with a weak grunt.

"And stop being such a pervert!" Your hand gently striked his shoulder, unable to hide the growing pout on your face.

"You should've told me to stop treating you like a kid instead of shoving your fingers down my goddamn throat." Jeongin watched with his head propped up on his hand, licking your juices off his fingers with a sly smirk.

"Oh come on, where's the fun in that when I can just fuck you to your senses?"

Well, he wasn't entirely wrong..

#skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids imagines #skz hard thoughts #stray kids fluff #stray kids headcanons

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spxfav · 6 months ago

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Orange

Summary: Post Tobias Hankel Spencer, struggling to stop taking dilaudid and spiralling in darkness finds light in the one he loves most <3

Warnings: Anxiety, drug dependency, panic attacks, depression (I think that's it, please let me know if I missed any)

Word count: 3.2k

a/n: Hi guys! This is my first time writing something longer than a bot for Spencer, so I really really hope you'll like it! The way I chose to portray his depression and anxiety here is very much based on how I experienced it, so this is very important to me. Let me know if you'd like a part two! Enjoy!

Spencer was wasting away, fading. His dark eyes no longer shone like they used to. His pretty smile was now a rare sight to see. His nerdy contributions to conversations were now scarce - that is, if he ever interacted with anyone anymore.

He felt hollow, no longer being motivated to do anything but the one thing he knew he shouldn't. Dilaudid.

That little bottle now went everywhere with him. The flask and the demons that haunted him after Tobias, clinging to him and punishing him for whatever bad thing he had done to deserve this. And he was sure he had done something. He just couldn't understand why so many bad things kept happening to him, following him from his childhood to his adult years. Even with all the science in the world, the only explanation plausible enough was that he had done something terrible in his past life and was now paying for it.

Despite the leave Hotch let him take having ended two days ago, he still hadn't shown up to work. This was new to him. He'd always loved going to the bureau, even if it was just for paperwork. Now, he could barely read three lines out of his favourite book.

Time was blurry, a haze of sobering up and searching the high once again with pauses destined for the bathroom and occasionally to eat - when his stomach hurt enough to remind him he had to. Apart from that, he never left his bed, hopelessly wishing he could sleep without being hunted by the flashbacks of his time in that shed, of the splinters he wasn't able to remove after digging his own grave. His hands were now raw in the parts he had scrubbed out the skin to take the little wooden pieces off of him. He barely felt it. He barely even felt anything.

He knew it wasn't rational, but the empathy and guilt he felt for the man who kidnapped him was so intense it did nothing but contribute to his numb state.

So, alone, he spent his days, going through flask after flask of the forbidden liquid, cursing himself for not being strong enough to stop and wishing Tobias had never reanimated him back at the cemetery.

Naturally, after dealing with a schizophrenic mother all alone as a child, and being forced to grow up faster than he should have, he fiercely believed he had to solve this problem alone, like he's always done.

You, however, didn't. With the many gift baskets sent by Penelope and the sweet voice that was enough to make his demons dissipate - at least while you talked -, the time you spent sitting by his locked door always left him feeling somewhat relieved.

Sitting on the cold hardwood floor with sweaty damp hair clinging to his forehead, Spencer listened quietly as you talked, not giving you any hint that he was there. Part of him didn't believe he deserved those acts of kindness from you, so he hid himself in the shadows, and, as if forbidden, served as audience to your stories about events he missed. He noticed, even in his usually drugged state, that you tried your best to lighten up the stories, probably afraid to trigger something in him. If only you knew there was no need for a trigger.

It was a Wednesday, and the pouring rain that came through the window he forgot to close and got him and his bed soaked was almost enough to make him give up on the day, even if he had been up for only two minutes and 28 seconds.

But he couldn't. Because giving up would mean he'd have to sit in the wet sheets all day, and despite everything, he still had issues with the feeling of wet things against his skin.

Dragging himself out of bed, he gave up on the challenge of changing the sheets and settled for his sofa instead.

"I'm changing ambiens. This is improving."

The lie of getting better was more of a sentence he said as a form to attract it, though he never made the effort to stop himself from deteriorating further. That was merely an excuse for the voice in the back of his mind to scold him further. It started with his incapability of getting clean. Then, his lack of shower. After, came the barely eating and now, the sulking in bed - or in this case, the sofa.

His mood was as gray and dull as the weather, and the sound of the rain falling did little to comfort him through the many nightmares plagued naps that he eventually gave up on. This was the moment of the day he went to his bedside table and retrieved the little ornate box with the needles and the bottles of the clear liquid. This was the moment of peace, of relief.

His mind was hazy, clouded by the momentary pleasure only the dilaudid was able to provide when the familiar knock on the door came.

“Hi Spence.” You said, your honey, homey voice wafting through the apartment and reaching his ears.

Automatically, he stumbled across the living room, and, in an all but gracious way, dropped by the door. That was the first time you heard him move inside as you talked to him, and as minimal as it was, it brought a smile to your face.

“I think I heard you fall. Knock twice if you’re hurt.”

No knocks. So, he was okay. Or as much as possible.

“The day was boring. No new cases today.” You start talking, the daily briefing session that grew more and more important to his weary mind filling the previously silent apartment, your voice sounding like a melody to his stoned brain.

“But I thought of you.” His ears perked up, his spine straightening as he focused intently on the next words.

“Can you believe there was no sugar for the coffee? Not in the coffee station, not anywhere in the building.” It was silly. Stupid. But it made you think of him, and if he was on your mind, he was happy.

“That’s absurd.” He murmurs, a little out of it.

You freeze, too surprised that he said something this time. It was the first time you heard him speak in almost two weeks. It was muffled, and too low for you to understand, but it was words, and that was better than nothing.

“It is.” You say, trying not to draw much attention to the fact that he spoke. You didn’t want to scare him away.

“What happened next?” He asked quietly, almost as if talking to you was a mistake. To him, it was actually a privilege he didn’t deem himself worthy of.

“Garcia went down to a local coffee shop with Emily and they stole a bunch of packets for us. They came back running as if they had stolen a bank.” You say and chuckle, hearing the faintest of laughs inside from him. He was laughing. That was good. Amazing, actually.

“Good. Can’t imagine being without sugar.” He murmurs, and you couldn’t see the small smile on his lips at the first sign of normalcy after so long in the dark.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure when you get back there’ll be as much sugar as you want.”

Silence.

You wait, and wait, and wait, but he doesn’t speak again.

“Spence?” You ask, and the only other sound you hear that day is him getting up and stumbling away.

“When you get back.”

Those words plagued him for the rest of the day, which he spent locked up in his room to try and muffle your voice as you continued talking on the other side of his front door. Just the thought of it terrified him.

At first, he imagined it was out of fear of living something like his experience with Hankel again. But when he passed by the mirror in the bathroom and saw how he looked, he understood the real reason.

Deep dark circles. Hollow cheeks. Lifeless eyes. Hair greasier than it had ever been in his whole life. Pajamas stained with food he couldn’t identify. Grown out beard. He had gotten used to the smell by now, but he was sure it would be strong to anyone else.

He was disgusting. Gross.

Useless. Undeserving. A junkie.

His breathing quickened, but it was like no air came. One shaky hand moved to his heart, feeling the fast and strong beats. It felt like drums in a rock song. Like the cart of a rollercoaster against the rails. Like horses running freely.

Except there was no freedom. He felt trapped, desperate. Hopeless.

And as he fell to the ground and tears pricked his eyes, he was sure he might die.

No one will understand. No one will try to understand.

Suddenly death didn’t seem so bad. But just like it happened so many times before in his life, it was an easy way out. And nothing was easy for him.

So, fifteen minutes later, the needle in his arm was the only thing capable of taming the panic attack that still coursed through his veins.

When he rolled around on his bed, sweating from the nightmare, the room was spinning. Or maybe it was just his brain.

Either way, the open box on the bedside table, the not discarded needle and the torniquet still on his arm were explanation enough for what had happened the night before. He exaggerated. Again.

The day after these episodes were always the worst. Sickness, dizziness. Loss of strength in his muscles. That was also when the thoughts got worse.

It was ironic, really, that he went through almost a whole flask in hopes of drowning the voices only to wake up with them stronger than ever. It was a cycle. But then again, wasn’t all of this?

The world was a blur, a mix of living nightmares and not very healthy thoughts, and in the end, he caught himself wishing you’d show up.

Laughing, whispers of love and beautiful promises. That was how the world was around you. And even through the thick wood of his front door, he was still selfish enough to crave a glimpse of the Heaven you held in your hands; of the salvation from this twisted reality he found himself trapped in.

Spencer wasn’t the most emotional of men. In fact, before you, all his research pointed to him lacking the brain connections that allowed one to feel anything remotely romantic. He was sure he was okay without love, and he was sure he would always be.

But then you came, and it was like buying his first glasses all over again: suddenly the world was clear, and so much more beautiful.

It was hard for him to describe what he felt. He could only think of one simple way to put it. It was all orange.

“Hi, Spence” The melody of the notes that compose your voice echoed around the apartment, making the faintest of smiles bloom in his face.

For the past three days, you had managed to make him talk more and more. At first, it was weird. Alone in his apartment, the only things his walls had heard in the past few weeks were his terrorized nightly screams and the incoherent mumbles that occasionally made themselves present.

“Listen, I brought you something” You say and wait to see if he had any contributions. When he remains quiet, you continue. “I called your mom’s facility” His eyes shot open, and he sat up straighter on the floor. “Don’t worry, I didn’t say anything. I figured if someone was to tell, it should be you” The simple reassurance was enough to calm him down the slightest. “I called to ask her for the recipe of those peppermint cookies you told me about a few months ago.”

The smell of baked sugar filled the small kitchen. Days like these were good. Days when his mom was okay. When she was his mom again, and he had the freedom to be the child his seven-year-old self deserved to be.

“I made some” Your voice cuts through the first good memory h’s had since everything went down. “I’m sure they’re not as good as hers, but they’re not bad either. I have them here, I could drop them off with the baskets Penelope brought and yo-“

The sudden movement of the door opening catches you by surprise as you stumble back, no longer having a surface to rest your back on.

He opened the door. He really opened the door.

Spencer stood there, looking down at you and seeming even more surprised than you did. His eyes flickered over your form, heart beating faster. God, how he missed the sight of this angel.

He looked different from what you remembered. Dark stubble covering his face, messy and greasy hair, sleeves rolled up to reveal an arrangement of needle punctures. For a moment, neither of you say a word, simply taking in the sight of the one person you each missed more than breathing. That was when Spencer realised it. He’d rather die in that shed a thousand times more than go another day without seeing your face. The pictures he had really did you no justice, not when you looked more beautiful than a diamond, with its carbon atoms so perfectly aligned, creating what is believed to be one of the most precious objects on Earth. You didn’t even compare to that.

“You made me cookies?” He asks, looking down at the little box in your hands, the faint smell of the cookies reaching his nose.

“Yes. Yes, I did. They’re still a bit warm, I baked them before coming here.” You stand up, quickly enough to drop your blood pressure slightly, but not enough to startle him.

When he takes the box from your hands and, without another word, walks inside leaving the door open for you. There’s no hesitation in your steps as you follow him in. And the sight that welcomes you is nothing but heartbreaking. His once so perfectly organized place – at least according to the system only he understood – was now a mess. There were books on the floor, take-out boxes on every table, dirty clothes on the floor.

He wafted through the chaos, eyes never leaving the box as he opened it and threw himself on the sofa. Carefully, he picks up a cookie, and after an experimental bite, a single tear rolls down his face. Then another, and another, and another until the dam breaks and he is full on sobbing on the sofa, crushing the cookie as his hands close into fists and his shoulders shake.

Your heart, shattered already, breaks even further, and when you sit next to him, you feel shocked as he falls into your arms. His arms are tucked between your bodies, his face buried on your chest, and you don’t have the heart to tell him he smells the tiniest bit. No, not now. You could tell him he needed a shower when he didn’t look like a vulnerable child, climbing on your lap.

“It’s okay… shh…” His brain barely registers your comforting words, too busy paying attention to the way your fingers card through his hair without a hint of disgust. He knew he loved the right person, especially because of moments like this. You were just… perfect. It was cliché, but Spencer genuinely could not think of any other way of describing you.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” His voice was almost inaudible, filled with a gut-wrenching guilt for doing this to you. “I’m s-sorry”

“Don’t be. It’s okay, you’re okay. I’m here” Your voice, the soft murmur of reassurance breaks him even further, relieving him of the pressure of the guilt he had been feeling for so long.

That day, he cried until he fell asleep in your arms. Not for a second did you let go of him, your hands always gentle and loving as you caressed his hair. For the first time in two weeks and four days, he slept with no nightmares.

The sound of steps moving around his apartment was the first thing he registered when he woke up. Rubbing his eyes and sitting up on the couch, he looked around, groggy and with his head pounding from crying.

You had your back turned to him as you cleaned his kitchen, the smell of something in the oven making his stomach growl slightly. Then he notices it. No clothes on the floor. No takeout boxes around. Books neatly on the shelves. You had cleaned his place while he slept.

For a minute, he simply watches you, dark eyes following your movements around the kitchen as you wash and dry dishes. Then you turn, and the small, concerned smile that forms on your lips as you walk closer is enough to send his heart racing in his chest again.

“You’re up. How did you sleep?” You ask, stopping behind the couch as your fingers lovingly brush his messy hair out of his face.

“Fine. How long was I out?” He asks and clears his throat, voice slightly gruff.

“About three hours. I didn’t want to wake you, so I cleaned up. And made dinner. You still like lasagna, right?”

His eyes stare directly at your face, and for a moment, he considers a crazy theory.

Maybe he had died that day in the shed. He died, and the last couple of days were his time spent in some sort of imbo. But now he was in Heaven. That had to be it. As irrational as it was, how else could he explain the presence of an angel in front of him so suddenly? Besides, he always thought that if the Realm of God was a real place, if his paradise was real, you’d be there.

“Spencer?” He blinks, and the world still has a happy veil over it when his eyelids open and his irises meet your face again.

“Yes. Yes, I like lasagna.” He nods, eyes fixed on you.

Maybe life wasn’t so bad after all.

The door closed behind you, and the illusion left just as fast. The light that seemed to follow you was gone, his world buried in darkness and numbness again. Your presence made him feel so light as you talked his ears off today. He didn’t mind. Not when he smiled more in a couple of hours than in the last two weeks. Not when you two were sitting so close, cuddling on the couch. Not when your lasagna had tasted like the best dish he ever ate.

But now you were gone, and all that is left for him to do is climb back in bed. His sheets are clean now – you changed them – and the overused pajamas on his body feel sinful against the fabric. What was meant to be a good thing only served to send him spiraling again, and as most nights, this one ended with a small pinch and the sting of the liquid as he applied it on his forearms.

Who knows? Maybe the delusions would bring you back tonight.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid fluff #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid post tobias hankel

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classygreydove · 7 months ago

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kkob/obkk fic recs

5 kkob fics that are criminally underrated - obv we all love rocks fall; scene end, Kamui Blues, and New Recruit, (if you haven't read those, I highly recommend them) but these works deserve some appreciation too!

kakaobi fluff series by Eye_like_trauma - 6k, ONGOING

G, No Archive Warnings Apply. Hatake Kakashi/Uchiha Obito. Just a lot of fluff, crushes, and pining.

[dove's notes: Every single on of these one-shots is just precious. And also makes me laugh so hard. Peak content for this ship.]

2. Hey, Wouldn't It Be Mortifying If We Both Survived This? by Eye_like_trauma - 4k, COMPLETE

T, No Archive Warnings Apply. Hatake Kakashi/Uchiha Obito, Kakashi & Minato & Rin & Obito. Kannabi fix-it, love confessions, feelings realization, first kiss, fluff and angst, hurt/comfort

Obito can’t hear anything beyond the cave crumbling around them, thousands of tons of rock cascading down and crushing everything it can. Can’t see beyond the dust in the air, the vibrations of the world around him. Couldn’t, anyway, because he can barely keep his eyes open. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispers into Kakashi’s hair. He knows Kakashi won’t hear him. Wouldn’t, even if he were conscious. That’s okay; the words are as much for him as they’re for Kakashi. He presses himself closer, focuses on the warmth of Kakashi as the world fades in and out, as every bit of remaining light is snuffed and he can feel debris falling on every side of them, huge and heavy and deadly, if they’re hit. He can’t feel Kakashi’s heart beat past the world falling in on itself, but he tells himself it’s there, tells himself that Kakashi’s not dead.

[dove's notes: literally my favorite confession fic. i laughed, cried a little, and felt many fuzzy feelings. bb tsundere kakashi is adorable.]

3. The Things We Found in the Ashes of Our World by shefrommo - 40k, ONGOING

M, Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings. Hatake Kakashi/Uchiha Obito, Sukea/Tobi, strangers to friends to enemies, identity shenanigans

Ironically enough, Kakashi didn't start having treasonous thoughts until after he'd already committed treason. __ Or, during a mission gone wrong, Kakashi discovers Obito's alive. He never comes back from that mission. Five years later, Team Seven stumbles across a pair of Akatsuki members--both of whom are working under false identities, both of whom were declared dead years ago.

[dove's notes: Incomplete, but so so good. Tobi and Sukea (and their headspaces) are both very well-written, as is the relationship chemistry. The identity shenanigans are great.]

4. Quiet Revolutions by Anjelle - 68K, ONGOING

T, No Archive Warnings Apply. Hatake Kakashi/Uchiha Obito, Sakumo & Kakashi, Sakumo & Obito. Canon div, dogteeth!kk, Hidden Cloud Village worldbuilding, Identity Shenanigans, Secret Identity, anbu!obito, enemies to friends to lovers

Tensions are running high between Kumo and Konoha. Between the targeting of the Hyuga clan for their Byakugan and an unknown ANBU running interference on missions, their tentative alliance is strained and war is just one slip-up away. Not wanting any part in this, Obito is dragged into it anyway when he's given a mission to find out who instigated the attack. Instead, he gets more than he bargained for when a certain Kumo-nin lies in wait on the other side of Kamui. OR: Due to extenuating circumstances, Kakashi grows up in Kumo and decides that this strange, masked ANBU skulking around his village would make for a fun distraction from his boredom.

[dove's notes: I really enjoyed the dynamics here. obito is bamf but also an idiot. kakashi is bamf but also an idiot. so canon dynamic, pretty much. also identity intrigue, worldbuilding, this fic is full of good stuff.]

5. Truth and what it takes (and what it gives) - 11K, COMPLETE

M, Graphic Depictions of Violence. Hatake Kakashi/Uchiha Obito, TW for mentions of suicide/suicidal ideation, Hurt/Comfort, Blood & Gore

"Kakashi's pupils are wide and fixed, like those of dead animals. The Uchiha has never seen him with that expression before. Obito wonders if he’s dreaming it, then he notices the metallic edges around his frame. The sink. A mirror. He’s looking through Kakashi’s eyes."

[dove's notes: very good relationship study of obkk during kakashi's anbu era, and the writing style is riveting. Dark, so not for fluff fans.]

#kkob #obkk #kakaobi #obikaka #obito uchiha #kakashi hatake #obkk fic rec #naruto fic rec #obito x kakashi #fanfic rec

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matchpointfaist · 3 months ago

Text

me & you together song

best friend! connor murphy 𝜗𝜚

a/n: no smut! this is just soft connor falling in love <3

when you proposed the plan for connor to come with you on your weekend trip for a college tour, you hadn't entirely expected your parents to agree. some combination of safety in numbers and the general inseparability convinced them, though, and you were college bound with connor's black backpack snug next to your pink duffel, taking turns controlling the radio like you didn't have all the same taste.

he was in his own head, like always, thinking of all the million ways the two of you could grow apart when you left. he was never very strong academically, struggling with authority and retention and all the things you seemed to excel at. he knew, in some way, that it would always come to this; you moving on.

he tried his best to keep a smile, for you, unable to allow himself to ruin your mood. you'd been all smiles all day, wearing your "lucky sweater" and insisting that this was the one- you could feel it. the one in question happened to be nine hours from home, from him, and he selfishly could not seem to push the thought from his mind.

above everything, always, connor wanted you to be happy. so there he sat in the passenger seat of your car, watching the way the sun weaved through strands of your hair and your smile as you pointed out little landmarks. when you finally arrived at the campus, he could understand why you wanted to go so desperately- it was beautiful, lively, creative. everything your hometown was not.

you didn't have to tell him to take a million photos; one of you walking past the entrance sign, one of you grabbing a tour pamphlet, one of you with your tour guide. he had his phone out before you could even ask, capturing a million little memories that he could make a home in once you were gone.

you stayed in a hotel just off campus, courtesy of your parents, in a connecting room that you were both sure to take advantage of. you got pizza from a local place, and connor just listened intently as you raved about how excited you were to live like this every night, growing more and more uncertain in his ability to keep his thoughts to himself.

"it won't be like this, not really," he finally said, regretting it as soon as it left his mouth, "i mean, i won't be here, that's all. but you're gonna have so much fun," his encouraging smile felt more like a cringe.

"you could always come with me," you frowned slightly, and his chest ached, "i know you don't wanna go to college, but maybe you could get a job and then we could rent a place after my first year?" you'd discussed it before, of course, but it never went anywhere. he'd always shaken off the idea, not wanting to hold you down or hold you back from anything you wanted. you'd always insisted that it would be the opposite, but he couldn't shake the nagging thoughts.

"maybe," he said after a moment, "we'll see, yeah? we'll figure something out. maybe you can just come visit every month?" "i guess, yeah," you nodded hesitantly, "i don't wanna just see you once a month, con. i mean- you know i love you, and i believe in you. but sometimes you frustrate me so bad," you ran a hand through your hair, "i know your parents are overbearing, but they'd pay for you to go to school or for you to get an apartment if you'd just ask. you don't have to come with me, of course, but it seems like you want to and that's a perfect solution-"

he stopped you, standing to pace the room, his unease at the mention of his parents making him antsy. "please don't pretend to understand my relationship with my parents," he said quietly, his voice heavy with tension. "pretend?" you repeated with a scoff, "connor, i know you better than anyone! i'm the one who's always there after your fights, that's not fair,"

"just because you're there after doesn't mean you understand! your parents love you, they-" he paused, trying to calm down, "look, i'm sorry, okay? i shouldn't have come with you," you looked stricken at that, a pained, distant look in your eyes, "what?"

"i shouldn't have come, it was a mistake. this is a big thing for you and i'm messing it up," he said with a sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. "you're not messing it up, connor. i just don't understand-" "that's right, you don't understand," he cut you off, "look- let's just go to bed, okay? i'll see you in the morning," he grabbed his phone from the bed and disappearing behind the connecting room door, leaving you speechless.

you ran over the argument what felt like a hundred times, trying to figure out what went wrong. he could be so frustrating, so single minded when it came to his potential, but he'd never lashed out at you. you'd always been the one calming him down, not working him up. you hated this, whatever this even was.

on the other side of the door, connor wasn't doing any better. he felt sick with guilt, hating the way you'd looked at him as he snapped at you, hating the way he'd said you didn't understand. you understood better than anyone else, and he knew that, deep down. you saw him in a way he could never allow anyone else to.

he glanced up as he heard a quiet knock at the door, recognizing the little pattern tapped against it, feeling silly as his heart rate spiked at the idea of you on the other side, coming to him despite his temper. "come in," he called, smoothing out the blanket to busy his hands. you stepped inside quietly, the hoodie of his that you always slept in catching his eye immediately.

"i hate when we fight," you said softly, still standing like you weren't sure how close to get to him, "i can't sleep knowing you're upset," you looked so vulnerable in that moment, he would've done anything to make it better. ask his parents for college tuition, move hours away with you, whatever it took to get the teary eyed expression off of your face. "i hate it too," he sighed, opening his arms and gesturing you over, "not mad at you, just- it's hard,"

you crossed the room, settling on the bed and melting into his arms in the way he'd grown so addicted to. "didn't mean to pressure you," you mumbled into his shirt, "i'm really sorry, con," god, you had it all wrong. "you aren't pressuring me," he said quietly, running his hand through your hair absentmindedly, "i don't even know how to say all of this," you pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your brows knit. "say all what?"

"i want you to do whatever you want, go wherever you want, and i hope you know that. you're gonna do so many great things, and i'm scared i'll hold you back from that, or that you'll have so many things that you won't need me anymore. and i know that's unfair, and you've always shown that i'm important, but it terrifies me, the idea of not having you in my life," he hated the way his voice cracked, "and you're my best friend, and i've sat with this and i haven't said anything because i'd never do anything to jeopardize that,"

i'm really doing this, he thought, as he continued on, "the idea of not being in your life terrifies me because i'm- well, fuck, i'm in love with you. you're so funny and so fucking smart, and you always know what to say, but you never really have to say anything. just being with you is the easiest part of my life. and i'd love to follow you to college, i'd love to get us a place just for the two of us, i would love nothing more than to make a little life with you, and i know we're so young and we're friends and if this is all wrong, we can forget it, okay? but i couldn't act like i wasn't feeling this way, it wasn't fair to either-"

"connor," he opened his eyes, not realizing he'd ever even closed them, to find you beaming and giddy and close to laughing, "i've been waiting so long for you to say that to me, do you have any idea? god, we're both so stubborn," and then you were on him, your arms around his shoulders and your face buried in his neck, hugging him the tightest anyone ever had.

he laughed, breathless and shocked, holding you closer to him, "are you serious?" "of course i'm serious," he could feel your smile against his skin, "i've been in love with you for ages," he pulled you back slightly, your cheeks pink and your smile giddy as you looked up at him, and he couldn't resist it anymore, he kissed you with all the emotion he'd been holding back for what felt like a lifetime, smiling against your lips, laughing as you pulled away to rest your forehead on his.

the two of you just laid there for a while, your legs tangled together and your hands trailing over each others arms, backs, hair, anywhere the other could reach. he hadn't even realized he'd dozed off until you were yawning softly and shifting to lay your head on the pillow. "i love you," you mumbled, a sleepy smile on your lips. "i love you,"

you fell asleep hand in hand, your own bed on the other side of the door long forgotten.

#mike faist #connor murphy #connor murphy x reader #best friend! connor #connor murphy fic #connormurphy #connormurphy x reader #connor murphy x you #connor murphy fluff #dear evan hansen #mike faist x reader #mike faist x you #mike faist fluff #friends to lovers #best friend connor muprhy

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1999hiru · 1 month ago

Note

Not smut but could you write reader who has a learning disability and is really struggling in school with nerdy Abby who takes her time and helps reader in a way she can understand?

awww omg of course !!!! i love this idea ( ˃̣̣̥᷄⌓˂̣̣̥᷅ ) nerdy abby holds such a special place in my heart she’s my baby !!! i loved writing this soooo much ૢ(❛◡❛✿) ૢ thank u sm for this anon !! i really hope u enjoy ^_^

i hope i've written this properly and respectfully ! if i have written something incorrectly/made an offensive comment , please let me know ! <3 i did as much research as i could to do justice for this prompt but i definitely know it will not be perfect . tysm !!!! <3<3<3

cw. mentions of learning disabilities, dyslexia in particular!

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♡*.✧ you noticed something was a little off when you were growing up. words were difficult to make out, sounding out funky pairs of letters and how the words were even supposed to be said out loud. when your teacher brought up reading time, it was very difficult. you were always confused as to how your friends were reading so quickly, finishing the ten-paged picture book in minutes. it took you way too long to even get through the text next to the colorful images. the letters seemed to dance around within the word, and given the context, what you were reading didn't match the picture you saw. you did your best, and somehow, it still wasn't enough.

♡*.✧ you were seven when you were diagnosed. dyslexia. it sounded way too fancy for you, the word was... hard to read or process at the time. your parents had to break it down for you in easier steps so that you could understand, but at that age, you just described it as simple as you could in your head. school life was easier, though. you received more time during tests and reading exercises, and you were enrolled in one-on-one classes with a reading specialist. it helped, sure, things were easier to manage now that you had a chance—but your academics weren't drastically improving. your grades weren't great and it demotivated you further, your classmates always had an easier time and you had to put in more effort to get to their level. it wasn't fair at all.

♡*.✧ you managed to get by your younger years just fine and you got into college. you couldn’t lie to yourself and say you weren’t super anxious about it, it would be another section of your life where you felt like you were potentially falling behind. you knew you were smart, creative, you loved drawing and being able to place meanings behind your art. you were great at math, having only a little trouble with word problems, but nonetheless you were good at it. it was just those pesky english assignments that caught up to you, and even then you were managing to land better marks than some of your peers. you just hated the fact that college seemed so "adult," you had bigger responsibilities since you lived alone and had to manage yourself on your own schedule.

♡*.✧ you’re sitting in your 2nd lecture. your professor is introducing the text you’d be analyzing for majority of the semester and you’re having a little trouble with some of the sentences. you’re stuck on the same page for a while before the person next to you taps your shoulder, and you glance at the girl next to you with her braided blonde hair. she’s wearing a warm smile, “did you need any help with that?” you’re giving her a small nod and she’s shifting her creaky chair closer to yours. “what part were you having trouble with?” you’re a little hesitant to tell her at first—what if she judges you for something that seems so easy? but she’s looking at you with genuineness in her eyes and you suddenly feel at ease. “uh.. like, what exactly does this mean? and i don't get the other stuff here.” she reads it out for you, sounding it out, and explains the definitions after. in the past, you never really understood things at first—but the way abby thoroughly walked you through everything, you got it immediately. you both end up going through the chapters together and she helps you with anything you struggled with.

♡*.✧ the lecture ends and the girl introduces herself as “abby,” you exchange your own name and your number. “just text me if you need anything, i don’t mind studying with someone else.” you’re giving her a smile and heading your separate ways, walking to your dorm with a warm heart. no one else had ever really insisted on helping you out like that, never getting frustrated or tired of your questions. even though you had known her for such a short amount of time, she made you feel relaxed. you always felt anxious when you were meeting new people—especially since others hadn’t been so understanding in the past. you didn't feel the need to tell abby about your dyslexia, you felt no reason to. she wasn't judging you because of your struggles and you didn't need to provide an excuse for your academic abilities. it felt like a breath of fresh air and cookie dough ice cream in the summer. she was so good.

♡*.✧ a few weeks go by and you find yourself texting abby on a regular basis. not just for college assignments, but little things like "the barista messed up my coffee!" or abby's texts like "my mom sent me this really cute picture of my dog, look :)" college had been insanely nerve-wracking at first, but with abby's presence, it had been easier than you anticipated. you both took time after lectures to catch up on how your day went, going through readings together, or just taking a walk around campus. abby was kind and smart, and so pretty. but every time you’ve thought about the latter, you felt butterflies erupt in your stomach. you couldn’t stare at her for too long unless you wanted to feel your heart violently thumping against your chest.

♡*.✧ before you knew it, midterm season was approaching. you have a stack of assignments and exams piled up and you’ve been crying under your sheets for hours now. you had been attempting to start your many essays, study for your various exams, be a regular college student—but it didn’t go as planned. you didn’t expect college to be this demanding. you never had a million assignments or tests due at the same time in high school, and this was completely new. the stress of everything had also made it impossible to read through anything properly. you usually give yourself time to read, you know your situation, and you’ve never felt this overwhelmed from trying to read. the letters are jumbled together and you can’t tell if a word says that or this. your pillows are completely stained with tears, knees to your chest. you felt miserable.

♡*.✧ your phone is suddenly buzzing next to you, multiple dings at a time. it’s abby.

abby <3: wanna study?

abby <3: i have lots to do

abby <3: you there?

you blink away tears, thumbs slowly moving to reply.

you: not feeling it rn, sorry

abby <3: are you okay?

you think carefully about your next reply. should you just tell her you’re struggling? she would understand. it’s abby.

you: uh

you: i have dyslexia

you: since midterms are coming around i didn’t rlly expect for everything to be this stressful

you: i usually take my time to read but i feel rushed and because i feel rushed i’m anxious and i can’t get through anything properly, the text is so small and i’m srsly gonna go insane

you put your phone down when you see the text bubbles pop up, heart clenching. even though a part of you knew that abby anderson would never judge you for something like that, another part of you felt afraid. that she would just be like the others. you've come this far with her, and you really didn't want her to think of you any differently—

abby <3: give me some time, i'm coming over

♡*.✧ you're wiping off your tear stained face when you hear a knock at your door, opening it up to see abby standing there. she has a folder covered in a pattern of different ocean animals and a package of papers inside. you're raising a brow before abby shoots you a smile, "can i come in?" you respond with a nod, abby moving past you to sit on your small rug next to your bed. you sit right in front of her wearing a confused expression. "what do you have there?" abby doesn't reply, only opening up the folder to reveal the contents inside. she takes out the papers and hands it over to you. "i know our exam is coming up and i was doing some research," you're flipping over the stapled pages and smiling. it's the book for your class, but the font is printed huge, spaced out, easier to read and the letters aren't mixing together anymore. "i don't know if it'll help, but i heard it might make it easier for you to read." your heart swells, stomach filled with a comforting warmth. "you did this for me?" abby nods. "i don't like seeing you like this and i know you can do it, you just need a different method."

♡*.✧ you end up passing everything with flying colors, the studying had completely paid off and you started printing assignments and your work in bigger prints. it took a while getting used to, but it was easier and you were doing well. abby invites you out to dinner after midterm season, your favorite place, and you haven't stopped smiling since you both sat down. "thank you abby, seriously, i don't think i could've done it without you." she's shaking her head, a big smile on her face. "you did it. not me, you're the smartest girl i know."

#abby anderson #abby anderson fluff #abby x reader #abby x fem reader #ella writes ── .ꔫ abby anderson ♡

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