#and now for something completely different

[trivia-yandere]

ok head me out…jungkook…who happens to be your brothers best friend…are you catching what im saying???

well why the fuck not? off limits

he’s a 10 but…he’s your brother’s best friend & completely off limits.

word count: 3.118

warning: smut, little plot fr fr, age difference (like 3 years), fingering, unprotected sex, alcohol intake, oral sex (f/m) creampies, dirty talking,

“Did you know?” you asked Jungkook, head pressed against the cold window. Your eyes watch as the world passes by in a blur with the speed in which he’s driving. Your mind is a mess, the alcohol flowing through your body.

“Know what?” Jungkook asks.

Jungkook was the person you called to pick you up from your night out with your friends. It was nice of him to deal with all of you - the random crying in the backseat from one friend, to the angry screaming another did over the phone with her boyfriend. It was silent now, however, as he was on his way to driving you home. There’s soft music playing through the speakers that’s at the perfect volume for you and him to talk.

You don’t answer his question - not yet, at least. “Remember…my freshman year of highschool,” you start, lifting your head from the window to turn to look at him. “when I kissed you?”

Jungkook feels your eyes on him as he drives. His hand grips the steering wheel, his right hand lightly tapping his fingers against his thighs.

Jay, your brother and his best friend, would have not picked you and your friends up without giving you an earful along the way. Especially once he saw the way you were dressed - short skirt, tight shirt and laced stockings. It was one of the main reasons why you called Jungkook, after all.

“Yes.” Jungkook murmurs. “You weren’t even supposed to be at that party.”

True, you think. But neither was Jay. Your parents were out of town that weekend and that meant Jay was going to do what he wanted. You threatened to expose him if you didn’t go along with him - typical younger sister actions. After giving you a long list of things not to do, he allowed you to come.

Of course, he had told all of his friends about you being there and to keep an eye out. Your beer was stolen from your hands by Jimin who replaced it with soda. Taehyung had plucked the joint that was handed to you by a senior right out of your fingers and insisted you do something else. That something else was joining a game of seven minutes in heaven where, surely, no one would be there.

Except, Jungkook was. And the moment he saw that you were going to be in the closet with someone older than all of them, he had stepped forward and gone inside with you instead. He fully intended on not doing anything with you, of course.

“The look on your face was funny.” you snort, thinking about that memory. You haven’t talked about it with him ever - neither did you even tell Jay. Your brother made it clear from day one - back in elementary school when he met his closest friends - that you were to never be associated with them outside of a platonic relationship. 

They were off limits; and so were you.

“I wasn’t expecting you to do that.” Jungkook responds, snorting. You’ve done it so fast and it lasted less than five seconds. There was only a minute left in the game and you had placed a hand onto his chest and murmured a quiet “our little secret” before leaving. “You were like a little sister to me back then.”

Your smile immediately falls, your eyes shifting back to the road. The mood changes immediately and Jungkook notices it.

Your question you asked him before was did he know. Did he know that you liked him back then? You were only a freshman while your brother and him were juniors. You didn’t blame him for seeing you as a little sister as you all grew up around one another. He witnessed you and your brother fight and argue countless times, eyes bouncing between you and him with large doe-like eyes.

“How about now?” you ask as Jungkook stops at a red light. The roads are clear from any cars in sight. “Do you still think of me as a sister now?”

Jungkook allows himself to look at you fully now. He stares at you for a few moments, gathering your question into his mind. He doesn’t respond, unsure how to.

It was easier to see you as a little sister back then - all of the friend group had. Taehyung would always tease you like Jay had while Jimin was more of the caring type. 

Now, however, it was different. He noticed the shift as you began to grow older. Your senior year to be exact. Your figure changed, your voice grew a bit deeper and older. You were growing a bit mature for a senior girl. He told himself it was because you were a pretty girl so naturally, he would notice these changes.

But even after highschool, his eyes continued to wander to you and linger longer than they should. You moved in with Jay into his apartment to be closer to college and he would see you whenever he frequented there. Your shorts fit you perfectly, as did your shirts. You showed more skin (than Jay ever wanted you to) and when you spoke to him, it was always in a tone that Jungkook swore wasn’t entirely platonic.

“Kook?”

Jungkook blinks, turning his eyes away to look at the light that’s still red. He contemplates just running it as it’s nearly 3 a.m and not a single car around them. His cheeks are dusted a bit red when he realizes he’s been staring at you the entire time.

“No.” Jungkook says. “I don’t.” he answers truthfully.

“Kook?” you hum once more, this time a hand reaches out for him. It touches his arm and causes a jolt of electricity to shoot throughout his body.

“Yeah?” Jungkook swallows, adam’s apple bobbing. This damn light wasn’t turning fast enough. He turns his attention towards you. He notices from this angel, the red lights are illuminating your face. Your lips are coated in gloss and it shines.

“Can I stay at your place tonight?”

Another swallow, followed by a squeeze of the steering wheel.

“I lied about where I was going to Jay tonight. And…if I go home. He’ll see me dressed like this.” you explain further. It causes Jungkook to glance down at your attire again, immediately regretting it and then meeting your eyes. “He’ll call me a whore again.”

Jungkook wants to say no - that you should go home. Jay should be asleep by now; he had work in the morning right? 

Jungkook doesn’t see the issue of you being at his apartment. You’ve gone there before…with Jay. Without Jay, what would be the reason for you to be there? What if Jay found out and thought-

“You’re thinking too much into this, Kook.” your lips form into a smile and your head tilts. Your hand squeezes his biceps a bit. “Besides, what could go wrong? It’s just me.”

Everything could go wrong - and it did.

You’re unsure how long it took when you and him got into his apartment, but your lips were on his before either of you could think.

Jungkook’s mind screams at him to stop this. Not only were you not sober, but you were off limits. You were someone he respects greatly and shouldn’t take advantage of.

But your hands roam his chest, then go lower to his stomach. You grab hold of his hands and place them onto your hips - all the while continuing to deepen the kiss.

Jungkook gives in, pushing you closer. You smell of fruity alcohol and strawberries - your lips taste of peach; soft and sticky from the gloss. He’s hooked, the flooded feelings he suppressed coming out at such a terrible time. 

“I want you.” you mumble against his lips, arms wrapped so tightly around his neck. Afraid to let him go in the guise that this could possibly be a (wet) dream; one you didn’t want to wake from just yet.

Jungkook knows you do, but he’s hesitant. Kissing you is bad and it goes against his friendship. But fucking you was something so heinous. If Jay found it, it would ruin nearly two decades of friendship.

“Please,” you repeat, one arm unhooking from his neck to take hold of one of his hand that’s gripping your ass. You dip it between your legs and through the skirt so he can feel just how much you wanted him. “please.” you repeat.

Jungkook groans - how much could one man handle? You’re soaking through your panties and the stockings you’re wearing. His fingers are directly against your clit and on instant, they rub circles on the wet, sensitive bud.

“Jay’s going to kill me if he finds out.” Jungkook groans, capturing your lips into his as his fingers dips between your wet folds. He makes no move to stop or push you away, however.

“It’ll be our little secret.” you say, repeating those very words he heard years ago. A secret he was going to take to the grave with him, no matter how small and insignificant it may have been back then.

Jungkook dips his fingers into your hole. It’s tight and squeezes around him. Instantly, he begins to pump, needing to feel just how wet you were for him.

You don’t hide your moans in the slightest. You wanted Jungkook to know how much you wanted this; wanted him. You waited years to be in this position - to have Jungkook all to yourself, even if it meant that you had to do it behind everyone’s back.

“Just for tonight.” Jungkook says, his warm breath tickling your cheek. “Tonight I’ll give you what you want.”

“The whole night?” your hand is still holding his wrist as he pumps his fingers deeply inside of you. Your arousal is coating his palm, a groan escaping your lips.

“Fuck,” Jungkook grunts, eyes already clouded with lust. “you’re going to be insatiable.”

Jungkook removes his fingers from you, a whimper escaping your lips at the loss of them. He juts his head down the hall to the bedroom. He tugs you along, slamming the door open and leading you inside.

You don’t take your time in removing your clothes and the stocking, having them pool around you.

Jungkook doesn’t waste time pushing you onto his bed and pulling your legs apart. Your pussy is glistening underneath his LED lights and he groans at the beautiful sight. His head dives down, tongue swirling onto your clit. He’s groaning and grunting, his cock throbbing with just the act of eating you out.

It felt so wrong doing this, Jungkook thinks. The same young girl who was once so innocent and sweet was now you. The girl who was an adult who knew what she wanted. Who was laying naked on his bed and whimpering as he suckled onto your clit.

Your hand places itself onto his head, gripping his hair. Your hips grind against his tongue and he lays it flat so you could continue. The amount of times you thought of Jungkook in less than holy ways couldn’t be counted on both hands, but getting to live it out was a dream.

“Fuck, Kook.” you moan. 

Jungkook wasn’t going to stop until you came - which wasn’t far. He has your legs on his shoulders and his hands on your thighs to assure you cannot squirm away from him. His tongue laps your clit greedily, messy black hair jumping with the way his head bobs back and forth.

Jungkook’s cock is painfully hair as you moan for him. His eyes flicker up to your face - scrunched in pleasure with your eyes fluttering open just in time to meet him. He doesn’t look away, a satisfaction flowing through him when your eyes widen slightly and you groan. His tongue continues to ravish onto your cunt greedily until you’re shaking with pleasure.

You begged for him to fuck you right there. To take you as rough as he wanted - to not hold back. You were on birth control, you said. You wanted to feel him - all of him if this was going to be the one and only time.

Jungkook was but a man. He was already a fucked up person and friend. He sinks his cock into you and pounds you so disrespectfully - as if you weren’t his friend's baby sister. As if you weren’t someone he cared about deeply.

You begged for more, each thrust causing your stomach to churn. Your breast bounces erratically and your pussy’s already squeezing out another orgasm, but you don’t want this to end; neither does Jungkook.

Jungkook turns you around and fucks into you even deeper, your face pressed into his cotton sheets. Your ass was amazing from this view - it was going to be engraved into his mind. 

“Your pussy feels so good.” Jungkook whines, fully positive that he sounds like a school boy experiencing sex for the first time. 

It doesn’t help that you’re far too willing for him  to fuck you that you do whatever . You spread your  legs even further to allow him more access, nails digging into his sheets. He pounds into you with no mercy, your pussy squeezing him.

Jungkook hovers about your arched back, right hand dipping between your thighs to capture your already throbbing clit in his. He rubs it as he pounds into you, his lips close to your ear. “Are you really on birth control or was that a lie?”

“I-I am!” you say through moans. “A-Are you going to cum in me?”

Jungkook grunts - you weren’t going to make it easy for him, were you? The thought of cumming in you was exciting as he never did it with anyone without a condom. 

What’s the worst that can happen? You and he were already doing the unforgivable.

“You want me to cum in your pussy?” Jungkook’s voice sounds like sex, deep and sensual. 

You cum right there, overstimulation flowing through you but you nod your head erratically. You wanted any and every part of Jungkook that he was willing to give you.

And Jungkook had.He came right in you - again and again.

The fucking didn’t stop until he’s came in you at least four times. One time on your back so he could see your face as you cum around his cock. Once while you ride him, his hands cradling your hips possessively, eyes darting from the way you rise and fall on his wet cock to your bouncing breast in his face. The next follows immediately after, this time Jungkook taking control while you kept your position right above him.

Somehow, even then you weren’t done. You allowed yourself an hour before you asked if he could cum in your mouth. The request was outlandish but, Jungkook complied. You laid on your back and opened your mouth for him to, in your words, use you.

Jungkook should feel disgusted of himself for already using you as if you were nothing but a whore, but it was far too tempting. He pumps his cock into your mouth, watching the way you take him effortlessly and he ponders just how long you wanted this.

Him fucking your mouth turns to him fucking your breast - another request you had. His hands squeeze your breast together as his thumbs twirl against your hardened nipples.

“I didn’t know you were such a slut, Y/N.” Jungkook grunts.

“Only for you.” was your response that has him cumming again, cum shooting out and coating your breast.

The amount of sex that you and he have leads the both of you exhausted, sprawled out on his ruined sheets and both breathing heavily and sweaty. Jungkook’s mind wanders to how he was going to be able to look at you or his friend in the face again without feeling like a complete asshole.

Neither of you have time to think when a loud ringing sound comes from down the hall. It’s your phone and judging by the time, you can guess who it was. 

“It’ll go to voicemail.” you murmur to Jungkook. “He still thinks I’m at a friends.”

Jungkook's heart sinks but he nods.

“Wanna shower with me?” you ask, a hand placing onto his sweaty forehead. “We can both use it.”

Jungkook sniffs. “If that’s what you’d like. We can.” he says. “Y/N, I-”

You place a hand onto his lips to silence him. “I know, Kook.” you murmur. “You don’t need to let me down easily.”

Jungkook lifts himself to a seated position. “I wasn’t going to say anything like that.” he shakes his head. “I just…I want you to know that I do have love and respect for you.” 

You blink as Jungkook continues.

“And I don’t want you to think that I view you as…a slut or…any less than before.” Jungkook’s cheeks are a crimson color now. “I-”

“Kookie,” you lift your body so that you can grab his hands into your own. The nickname was one he hadn’t heard since middle school and it immediately caught his attention. “I get it. Trust me.” you say, a smile forming onto your lips. “Did you know…” you began, repeating the question from earlier. “...that I liked you?”

Jungkook's mouth goes dry and slowly, he shakes his head. It should be surprising as Jungkook was oblivious to any and every girl that liked him.

However, Jungkook does recall one moment - an instant in which Jay had stated that you and him could never be together. It was a random comment that came entirely out of nowhere, but it happened right after you kissed him.

“Jay knew.” you murmur. “I didn’t tell him but…he knew.” you look away. “I thought maybe he told you. I’m glad he didn’t.”

Jay wouldn’t have - not even now. 

Jungkook slowly inhales. A part of him feels even more like an asshole because this was a mistake. You had feelings for him that should’ve been obvious if he wasn’t such an idiot. Things are much more complicated now.

“Let’s shower.” you say, noticing the change in Jungkook’s demeanor. This was a one time thing that wouldn’t happen again and you’ll grow to be fine with that. “Then if you’re up for it, you can show me that movie you’ve been talking about.”

Jungkook nods slowly, allowing you to tug him off the bed and towards his bathroom. His mind wanders back to your confession and recalls just the amount of times he’s caught you looking his way and smiling shyly when he notices.

Off limits, he hears Jay’s voice say in his mind over and over again as you turn the water on to heat up. He was fucked.

@darkuni63 @sweetempathprunetree @chimmy-licious @investedreader @momnomnom

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖. 🍒 HOW THEY COMFORT YOU AFTER HAVING SEX WITH THEM .ᐟ

༄.° Paring : Phainon, Mydei, Aventurine, Fei Xiao x gn!reader

༄.° warnings : nsfw/smut, a lot of fluff, strap, (gentle) spanking, daddy kink, after-care, hickeys, thigh gripping, body worship, implied that reader is chubby. Over all there isn’t much warnings.

༄.° note : not proof-read sorry!

－୨ৎ PHAINON ；

The aftermath was quiet, save for the sound of your unsteady breathing. Your body still trembled, overstimulated and spent, the echoes of Phainon’s thrusts lingering like a phantom ache deep inside you. His cock had filled you so completely, stretched you open with a slow, deliberate cruelty that left your legs weak and useless beneath you.

Phainon exhaled a soft chuckle, voice smooth as silk as he traced lazy circles over your damp skin. “Worn out already?” His touch, so firm moments ago, had turned delicate—fingertips ghosting along your spine, pressing warmth into the lingering soreness. His other hand smoothed over your thigh, massaging away the tension he’d forced into it.

He shifted beside you, pulling you closer, his bare chest solid and warm against your back. “You take me so well,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear. His fingers drifted lower, skimming over the bruises his grip had left behind. “Should’ve been gentler.”

His tone was soft, but there was something almost pleased in the way he kissed your shoulder—like he loved seeing the evidence of himself on you. Still, he took his time now, easing you down from the high he’d dragged you to. He adjusted his position, letting you rest more fully against him, his cock still slick and heavy where it pressed against your thigh.

“Breathe,” Phainon murmured, stroking his hand through your hair. “I’ve got you.”

Your breath was still shaky, body still thrumming with the aftermath of him. Phainon held you close, his arms wrapped snug around your waist, his touch a stark contrast to the way he’d handled you just moments ago. His cock still rested heavy against your thigh, slick and warm, but he made no move to continue—just held you there, pressed against him like you belonged nowhere else.

You swallowed, voice coming out soft and tired. “You really wore me out,” you murmured, resting your hand over his where it lay against your stomach. His fingers twitched, then curled slightly, as if savoring the plushness of you beneath his palm.

A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest. “I could tell,” Phainon murmured, his lips brushing against your shoulder. “You always try to keep up, but by the end, you just let me take what I want.” His fingers traced idle patterns over your skin, following the curves of your waist before dipping lower to your hip, where a faint bruise was already forming beneath his touch.

You huffed, shifting against him just enough to glance back at his face. “You don’t have to sound so smug about it,” you mumbled, though your voice lacked any real bite.

Phainon smirked, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “Can’t help it.” He shifted, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your shoulder before trailing his lips along the side of your neck. “You’re just too good for me.”

You sighed, letting yourself melt against him. His hands roamed lazily, smoothing over your soft thighs, ghosting over the marks he’d left on your skin as if he was trying to memorize every inch of you. He always did this after—touching, tracing, holding you close Like he never wanted to let you go.

His touch was different now—gentler, reverent, like he was savoring you instead of taking you apart. His fingers pressed into your softness, his palm spreading over your stomach again, rubbing slow circles against the plush skin. You felt his breath against your neck, warm and steady, grounding you in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice softer now, the teasing edge from earlier fading into something more tender.

You sighed, relaxing further into him. “Yeah… just sore.” Your hand found his and gave it a small squeeze. “You really don’t know how to hold back, huh?”

Phainon chuckled, low and pleased. “Not when it comes to you.” He shifted slightly, pressing his lips to your temple, his other hand continuing its slow, wandering path over your thighs, your waist, anywhere he could touch. “You can take it, though. You always do.”

You scoffed, though you couldn’t fight the warmth creeping up your neck. “You say that like I have a choice.”

Phainon smirked against your skin, nipping lightly at your shoulder before soothing the spot with his tongue. “You could tell me to stop,” he murmured. “But you never do.” His hand slid lower, squeezing the soft flesh of your thigh, as if to emphasize his point.

You shivered but stayed quiet, because he was right. Instead, you turned your head just enough to press a tired kiss to his jaw. “You’re so cocky,” you muttered.

“And you love it.” His voice was warm with amusement, but his hands never stopped moving—slow, lazy, possessive.

You exhaled, shifting slightly in his grip. “You’re not gonna let me move, are you?”

“Not for a while.” He pulled you in closer, his cock still pressed against your thigh, twitching slightly despite the tenderness in his touch. “Just stay like this.” His fingers traced over your stomach again, dipping lower, but not with any urgency—just enough to feel you, to keep you close.

You sighed, letting your eyes flutter shut. “Fine… but you’re carrying me to clean up.”

Phainon laughed, pressing another kiss to your shoulder. “Deal.”

✰

－୨ৎ MYDEIMOS；

The warmth of Mydei’s palm lingered on your skin, a soft sting left behind from the gentle spanks he’d given you earlier. He hadn’t been rough—not really. Just enough to make your breath hitch, to have you shivering against him, to leave the faintest warmth on your thighs and the curve of your ass. Now, though, his touch was nothing but soothing, tracing over the spots he’d struck as if to erase them. His cum oozing out of your entrance, as a little smirk formed on his lips.

You shifted in his lap, still catching your breath, your body spent from everything he’d done to you. His cock, still slick and heavy, rested against your thigh, a quiet reminder of how thoroughly he’d ruined you. Mydei sighed, pressing his forehead against your shoulder, his arms snug around your waist.

“You okay?” His voice was softer now, his usual sharpness dulled by the haze of exhaustion and afterglow.

You hummed, your fingers drifting up to play with the ends of his hair. “Mhm… just sore.” You paused, shifting slightly, feeling the warmth of his hands smoothing over your stomach, your hips, grounding you. “You really like spanking me, don’t you?”

Mydei huffed, his breath hot against your skin. “You react too well to it.” One of his hands left your waist to cup the curve of your ass, squeezing gently before rubbing slow circles where he’d spanked you. “Besides… I never do it too hard.”

You scoffed, pressing your face into his neck. “Still stings.”

“Tch.” He clicked his tongue, but his hands never stopped moving, kneading your soft skin, tracing over every mark he’d left behind. “Want me to kiss it better?”

You huffed a laugh, wiggling slightly in his lap, feeling his cock twitch against your thigh in response. “You’re ridiculous.”

He let out a quiet grunt, but you could feel the way his grip tightened just a little, the way his lips brushed against your temple, soft despite the roughness he always carried. “You’re the ridiculous one,” he muttered, shifting you slightly so you rested more fully against him. “Can’t believe you let me do this to you.”

You exhaled, letting yourself sink into his warmth, your fingers tracing lazy patterns over his chest. “You take care of me after,” you murmured. “You always do.”

Mydei was quiet for a moment, his arms tightening around you, his touch lingering where he’d marked you. “…Of course I do,” he said, as if the idea of doing anything else was absurd. His lips brushed against your shoulder, lingering. “I’ll clean you up in a minute,” he murmured, his voice lower now, quieter. “But stay like this for a little longer.”

You sighed, pressing a tired kiss to his jaw. “Yeah. Okay.”

You felt Mydei exhale against your skin, his breath warm and steady as he held you close. His fingers dragged over your thighs, then up to your waist, smoothing over the softness of your stomach before drifting back down again. His touch was lazy now, slow, as if he wasn’t ready to let go of you just yet. You didn’t mind. Being in his arms like this—after everything—felt grounding, safe.

“You always get so soft after,” you murmured, shifting slightly in his lap. His cock twitched against your thigh at the movement, but he didn’t react beyond the slow rub of his hands over your hips.

Mydei huffed, his lips brushing against your temple. “Only for you,” he muttered. His voice was quieter now, lacking its usual bite, like he’d poured out the last of his sharp edges into you and was left with nothing but warmth.

You smiled against his skin. “Good.”

His grip tightened slightly, fingers pressing into your softness before he let out a slow breath, forcing himself to relax again. His thumbs smoothed over the faint marks he’d left on your thighs, his expression unreadable as he traced over them again and again. You could tell he was thinking about them—about how hard he’d spanked you, about whether he’d gone too far.

“I’m okay, you know,” you murmured, tilting your head to press a soft kiss to his jaw. “You didn’t hurt me.”

His eyes flicked down to you, golden and unreadable for a long moment. Then, he clicked his tongue, his fingers giving your hips a small squeeze. “You’d tell me if I did, right?”

You nodded without hesitation. “Of course.”

Mydei studied you for a moment longer before exhaling through his nose, like he was only half satisfied with that answer. Still, his grip softened again, his hands trailing over your body in slow, grounding touches. “Good.”

Silence stretched between you for a while, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You let yourself relax against him, your body still tingling from everything he’d done to you, from the aftershocks of pleasure that still pulsed through your limbs. His cock was still there, pressed heavy against your thigh, but there was no urgency left in either of you—just warmth, just the quiet hum of shared exhaustion.

“…You like seeing the marks, don’t you?” you murmured after a while, your voice laced with amusement.

Mydei stiffened for a fraction of a second before scoffing, turning his head slightly so you couldn’t see his face. “Tch. Don’t start.”

✰

－୨ৎ AVENTURINE ；

Aventurine’s touch was slow, teasing, as he traced his fingers over the faint warmth he’d left on your thighs. He had spanked you just enough to make you shiver, just enough to leave a lingering sting that had you clenching around him, whining so sweetly for more. But now? Now he was all indulgence, all slow, soothing touches as he massaged the tender spots, rubbing circles into your skin as if he hadn’t been the one to mark you up in the first place.

His cock still rested heavy against you, still slick with everything he’d done to you, but he made no move to do anything else. He was enjoying this part—holding you close, letting his hands roam over your softness, feeling you tremble under his touch. His voice was smooth as silk when he finally spoke.

“You always get so needy after, don’t you?” he murmured, pressing his lips to your temple. “Clinging to me like you can’t get enough.” His fingers dipped lower, smoothing over your stomach before sliding back up again, appreciating every inch of you.

You huffed, shifting slightly in his lap. “You’re warm,” you muttered, your voice muffled against his chest. “And you feel nice.”

Aventurine chuckled, the sound vibrating against your skin. “I do, don’t I?” His palm smoothed over your stomach, fingers spreading out to squeeze the soft flesh there before drifting lower, rubbing gentle circles into your sore thighs. “You’re so warm too, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “So soft… you fit in my lap perfectly.”

You huffed, squirming just a little, but he only tightened his grip, keeping you snug against his chest. His cock twitched against your thigh at the movement, still slick and heavy, a quiet reminder of how thoroughly he’d taken you. He let out a slow breath, nuzzling into your neck, his lips brushing the sensitive skin there.

“You were such a good thing for me,” he murmured, his tone deep and sweet, like honey drizzling over your skin. “Taking everything I gave you, letting me leave those pretty marks on you.” His fingers trailed over the spots where he’d spanked you, pressing just hard enough to make you whimper. “Bet you’ll feel them tomorrow.”

You shivered, leaning into his touch, heat pooling low in your stomach despite how exhausted you were. “You were the one who kept telling me to take it,” you muttered, voice still breathless. “Daddy.”

Aventurine groaned softly at the title, his grip flexing over your hips before he chuckled, low and indulgent. “That’s right,” he murmured, his teeth grazing your ear. “And you were so good for me. So sweet. Letting me spread you out, take my time ruining you.”

You whined softly, pressing your face into his neck to hide your embarrassment. He loved this—loved drawing out every little reaction, loved making you squirm even after he’d already had his fill. His fingers continued their slow, lazy path over your body, tracing the curves of your thighs, your waist, your stomach—anywhere he could touch.

After a moment, you sighed, your body melting further into his embrace. “You’re gonna clean me up, right?” you mumbled.

Aventurine smirked against your skin. “Of course, sweetheart,” he purred. “Gotta take care of my precious thing.” He kissed your jaw, lingering, his hands still roaming, still enjoying you. “But let me hold you a little longer first.”

You exhaled, sinking into his warmth, letting his hands and voice lull you into a hazy, blissful calm. “Fine… but I’m not moving.”

Aventurine chuckled again, kissing the corner of your mouth before resting his forehead against yours. “Didn’t expect you to, darling.”

✰

－୨ৎ FEI XIAO ；

Fei Xiao’s fingers traced slow, thoughtful patterns across your thighs, her touch featherlight as she smoothed over the warmth she had left behind. The soft sting of her palm lingered, a quiet reminder of the way she had handled you—firm, teasing, always in control. You could still feel the weight of the strap resting between your legs, still feel how deep she had taken you, but she wasn’t moving now. Just holding you, feeling you, her breath steady against your skin.

She hummed, the sound low and pleased. “You always go so quiet after I fuck you,” she murmured, dragging her nails lightly over your stomach before flattening her palm, rubbing slow circles into the softness there. “What’s on your mind, sweetheart?”

You swallowed, shifting slightly in her grip. “Just… tired,” you mumbled. “You really did a number on me.”

Fei Xiao chuckled, her arms tightening around you. “Did I now?” Her lips brushed against your shoulder, teasing, but there was something softer beneath it, something warm. She rolled her hips slightly, just enough to remind you that she was still inside you, still filling you even now. “You took me so well,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Made the prettiest sounds for me.”

Heat pricked at your skin, and you nudged her with your elbow. “You always have to tease me, don’t you?”

She only laughed, shifting to kiss along the side of your neck, her lips dragging slow, deliberate paths across your skin. “Wouldn’t be any fun if I didn’t.” One of her hands slid lower, smoothing over your thigh before squeezing lightly. “But I mean it—you were perfect for me.”

You sighed, letting yourself melt further into her touch. “You gonna clean me up, or are we just staying like this forever?”

Fei Xiao grinned against your skin. “Tempting.” But she was already pulling back slightly, brushing her fingers through your hair, tucking you against her chest. “Just a few more minutes, then I’ll take care of you.”

You huffed, but you didn’t argue. “Fine. But you owe me a massage after.”

Her laughter was rich, indulgent. “Anything you want, sweetheart.”

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

[unabletonotlovesatoru]

nanami kento and his certified yapper of a girlfriend, whom he loves very dearly <33

nanami has perfected the art of the “hm.” it’s his go-to response when you’re on one of your enthusiastic tangents. but don’t be fooled—there are different versions of his “hm.” there’s the supportive hm (when he agrees with you), the tired but still listening hm (when he’s too drained to fully engage but doesn’t want to ignore you), and the you’re absolutely ridiculous but I love you hm (his most common one).

he may seem like he zones out, but he retains the important things. you could talk for ten minutes straight about which nail color you should get, and he won’t remember a word. but if you offhandedly mention that you really love those matcha cookies from that one bakery, guess what’s waiting for you the next day?

he’s the only person who can actually get you to shut up—for a moment. whether it’s pulling you into a sudden kiss, placing a warm hand over your mouth, or just giving you that look, he has his ways. you’ll still continue after the interruption, though. always.

sometimes he just lets you talk because he enjoys how animated you get. you’re waving your hands, switching between different tones, going off on dramatic tangents—he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t cute. sometimes he just sits back and watches you, letting the sound of your voice fill the space around him. and you’re so absorbed in your own storytelling that you completely miss his lovesick gaze and his warm smile.

he has definitely fallen asleep to the sound of your voice. you don’t even take offense anymore. it happens often enough that you’ve just accepted your voice as a lullaby for him. sometimes, he’ll wake up to you continuing your story, completely unbothered by the fact that he passed out halfway through.

when he’s in a bad mood, you’re the only person who can make him laugh. sometimes, all it takes is a well-timed, ridiculous comment. other times, it’s just your sheer determination to get a reaction out of him. if he tries to stay grumpy, you’ll narrate his emotions out loud, complete with a fake dramatic voice: “behold! the great and brooding nanami kento, burdened by the weight of existence. will he ever smile again? will he ever—oh wait! there it is! a smirk! ladies and gentlemen, we got him.”

he gets oddly worried when you’re quiet. if you go more than twenty minutes without saying something, he immediately assumes something’s wrong. “are you okay?” “yes, why?” “you’re quiet.” “…so?” “so, it’s suspicious.” if you get quiet for too long, he’ll gently nudge you. not because he doesn’t enjoy silence, but because he knows something might be wrong. “what’s on your mind?” he’ll ask, and when you start rambling again, he knows things are back to normal.

he absolutely refuses to take you grocery shopping anymore. the last time he did, you spent fifteen minutes analyzing which brand of rice was superior, picked up random items purely because they “had cute packaging,” and got distracted by the tiny honey jars again. now, he just goes alone and comes back with everything he knows you like. (or he relents to your endless begging and tells you to not give promises you won’t be able to keep— like you sticking to his side and not prolonging the trip.)

he loves your voice, even if he pretends it exhausts him. he may act like you talk too much (which, to be fair, you do), but if you ever go away for a few days, or if he has a long, quiet work trip, he finds himself missing the constant sound of your chatter. the first thing he does when he comes back? sit down and listen to you ramble about everything he missed.

he’ll never admit it, but he secretly finds your endless talking comforting. it makes the world feel less heavy. it reminds him that, no matter how chaotic things get, you’ll always be right there, filling the silence with something only you would say.

he’s developed a high tolerance for your rapid-fire conversation shifts. most people would struggle to keep up, but nanami has learned to expect the unexpected. you could be talking about your dinner plans one second and then suddenly ask, “do you think sharks are self-aware?” without missing a beat. he doesn’t even flinch anymore—just calmly responds, “if they were, they’d probably be very concerned about their reputation.”

he has a hidden soft spot for your random facts. sure, he’ll sigh when you start a sentence with, “did you know—” but deep down, he’s actually listening. later, he’ll casually use one of your weird facts in conversation, and when you catch him, he’ll just adjust his tie like it never happened.

he’s learned to predict the exact moment you’ll start talking during movies. without fail, right when an important scene starts, you will have a thought. every time. and somehow, nanami just knows when it’s coming. he’ll pause the movie right before you open your mouth, giving you an expectant look. “go ahead.” and you’ll happily share your insight before he presses play again.

nanami secretly finds your over-explaining adorable. sometimes, you’ll start explaining something completely unnecessary—like why a certain restaurant’s menu design is superior to another’s—and he’ll just watch you, arms crossed, pretending to be unimpressed. but inside? he thinks it’s the cutest thing in the world.

he loves when you talk about your day, even if it’s just the small stuff. you could spend twenty minutes telling him about how the barista at the café made your drink slightly different than usual, and he’ll still sit there, listening, occasionally nodding and asking questions. because no matter what you’re talking about, it’s you, and that’s enough.

he will not—under any circumstances—let gojo encourage you. if gojo hypes you up for talking even more, nanami is done. he’ll literally drag you away before you and gojo can start bouncing off each other with endless nonsense.

he may sigh, roll his eyes, and pretend to be exhausted by your constant talking, but if anyone else ever told you to “be quiet,” they’d get a very cold stare from nanami. no one—no one—gets to dull your spark except for him, and even he doesn’t really mean it.

[heeluvv]

i have been loving everything you're writing :D can i request sunghoon who secretly records himself fucking Y/N and sending it to heeseung after he found out heeseung tried to hit on her?

so i’ve seen this alr in a fic, very similar to the way you described it so i did it differently, hope you still like it tho :))

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 .ᐟ

pairing ⁞ park sunghoon x reader ft. heeseung

genre ⁞ smut

warning ⁞ unprotected sex, rough hoon, etc.

natty’s notes ⁞ mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

you never expected to find yourself in this situation—not like this.

it caught you completely off guard, leaving a sinking feeling in your stomach as you processed what had just happened. of all people, heeseung. the one who had always been there, the one who knew exactly where your heart belonged. yet here he was, toeing a line he had no business crossing, his words dripping with something that made your skin prickle with unease.

your pulse quickened, tension settling heavy in the air between you. his gaze was steady, unwavering, as if he was waiting for you to give in, to entertain whatever this was.

but you wouldn’t. you couldn’t.

your breath came out slow and measured as you straightened your shoulders, voice firm despite the slight tremor of disbelief still lingering within you.

“i’m not interested, heeseung.”

the words felt heavy, final.

his lips curled at the edges, an unreadable expression flickering across his face, but he didn’t move, didn’t step back.

you took a step instead, creating space between you, a silent boundary drawn in the tension-filled room.

“i think it’s best if you just leave it at that.”

your voice was softer now, but no less certain.

because this—whatever this was—couldn’t happen. wouldn’t happen.

not when your heart already belonged to someone else.

he left after that.

no further words, no last attempt to push the boundaries—just a lingering look before he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, your mind in turmoil.

but just because he was gone didn’t mean the weight of what had happened left with him.

your thoughts were racing, looping the moment over and over in your head, dissecting every detail.

should you tell sunghoon?

the question gnawed at you, settling deep in your chest.

you didn’t know how he’d react. would he be upset? angry? would he confront heeseung, or would it create unnecessary tension between them? between all of you?

the uncertainty made your stomach twist.

so you decided to stay silent.

the day stretched on, but you were too caught up in your thoughts to fully process it. the hours blurred together, your mind distant, replaying everything until it all felt unreal, like maybe it had never even happened in the first place.

but the moment sunghoon walked through the door, reality snapped back into place.

he wasn’t as talkative today, but that wasn’t unusual. you were both naturally quiet, better at speaking through gestures and touches rather than words.

you watched as he set his things down, his posture relaxed, but something about him seemed… off.

still, you smiled, pushing aside the lingering unease as you made your way toward him.

“hoonie…”

your voice was soft, affectionate, as you reached for him, your fingers brushing against his.

but as his dark eyes met yours, something about his gaze made your heart stutter.

he knew.

you bit your lip, the weight of his stare pressing down on you like a storm about to break. your hands felt clammy, a nervous sweat forming at your palms, but still—he didn’t speak.

his dark gaze burned into you, unreadable, suffocating.

your breath hitched as tension crackled between you, thick and suffocating. you wanted to say something—anything—but before you could part your lips, he moved.

his hands were on you in an instant, gripping your face with a force that sent a shiver through your spine.

and then, he kissed you.

aggressive. hungry. possessive.

his lips devoured yours, his movements unrelenting as he pushed you back, his grip firm as he guided you toward your shared bedroom.

you stumbled slightly, but he didn’t let up.

his body pressed against yours, heat radiating from him, his breath heavy as his fingers tangled in your hair, pulling, tilting your head just right so he could deepen the kiss.

his tongue slipped past your parted lips, claiming every inch, swallowing every soft whimper that escaped you.

your mind spun, the air growing hotter, your body burning under his touch.

his hands moved fast—too fast—fumbling with the fabric of your clothes, dragging them away from your body, his touch rough, desperate.

your shirt was the first to go, discarded carelessly onto the floor.

then your pants—his fingers making quick work of the waistband, yanking them down in one swift motion.

your breath came out in short, uneven gasps as his lips trailed down, kissing, biting, marking as he went.

“hoon—”

your voice broke between gasps, your fingers clutching at his hoodie, grasping for something—anything—to ground yourself.

but he wasn’t stopping.

he wasn’t slowing down.

whatever had settled behind those dark eyes of his—it was consuming him.

and tonight, he was going to make sure you knew exactly who you belonged to.

he pushed you down onto the bed, the sudden force of it knocking the breath from your lungs. his hands moved fast, desperate, yanking at his hoodie, his shirt—any barrier that separated his skin from yours.

but even as he fumbled with his clothes, his lips never left you.

hot, open-mouthed kisses trailed down your body, his teeth grazing, his tongue soothing over the marks he was claiming as his.

the bruises he was leaving behind burned against your skin, each one searing, possessive.

he was never like this. never this rough, never this desperate, never this ravenous.

but you couldn’t stop him.

you didn’t want to stop him.

it was intoxicating—the way he handled you, the way his breath came out ragged, the way his fingers gripped your hips so tightly it made your head spin.

a shudder ran through you as his lips moved lower, ghosting over your stomach, his hands gripping the waistband of your panties.

before you could even process it, he ripped them down, tossing them somewhere behind him without care.

your breath hitched, your thighs instinctively trying to close, but his hands were already there, spreading you apart, holding you open for him.

his gaze flickered up to meet yours, his dark eyes burning.

and then—he dove in.

his mouth was on you in an instant, his tongue licking a bold, deliberate stripe through your folds before latching onto your clit, sucking with a hunger that made your entire body jerk.

a strangled moan tore from your throat, your back arching off the bed.

“fuck, sunghoon!”

but he didn’t stop.

he groaned against your heat, the vibrations shooting through you, sending sparks of pleasure up your spine.

his fingers dug into your thighs, keeping you pinned, keeping you exactly where he wanted you as his tongue worked you over, relentless, unforgiving.

his nose brushed against your swollen clit as he licked deeper, tasting, savoring every inch of you like a man starved.

your fingers shot down, tangling in his hair, pulling—pushing.

you didn’t know if you wanted him to stop or if you needed more.

he couldn’t wait any longer.

he had been holding back, barely reining himself in, but his patience had snapped.

tonight wasn’t just about taking you—it was about proving a point. and he was going to do it fast, hard, and without a single fucking ounce of hesitation.

his hand wrapped around his cock, pumping himself with rough, desperate strokes. the slick sounds of his precum-coated length filled the air, mixing with his ragged breathing, soft groans slipping from his lips as he worked himself up.

but his other hand was already moving—reaching for his phone.

his fingers moved quickly, unlocking it in an instant, scrolling through his contacts until he found the one.

his grip tightened around his cock, his hips jerking slightly into his own touch as he pressed the call button.

his free hand dropped, the phone held steady at just the right angle—high enough that whoever was on the other end would get a perfect view of you.

your body, laid out beneath him.

your legs spread.

your soaked folds glistening, waiting for him.

he needed them to see this.

to watch.

to understand.

he lined himself up, his cock tracing a slow, teasing path along your folds, dragging against your wetness, coating himself in you.

your body tensed, a soft whimper escaping your lips, but you were too lost in the moment, too consumed by the overwhelming anticipation to even notice what he was doing.

but then—the call picked up.

a soft, almost confused, “hello?” crackled through the speaker.

and at that very second—he slammed into you.

your gasp turned into a cry, your body arching, your nails digging into the sheets as he bottomed out in one deep, punishing thrust.

his grip on his phone never wavered, his dark eyes flickering between the screen and the way your body clenched around him.

and then—his lips curled into a smirk, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he finally spoke.

“watch this.”

heeseung stood there, frozen, his breath caught in his throat as he watched the scene unfold before him.

his eyes were wide, his jaw locked tight, but he didn’t move. he couldn’t.

because sunghoon wasn’t stopping.

wasn’t slowing down.

if anything, he was only getting rougher.

his grip on your waist was bruising, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he slammed into you, his thrusts hard, relentless, punishing.

his free hand left your hip, trailing downward with purpose, with intent.

then—a sharp, stinging slap landed against your soaked pussy, making your body jolt, a strangled moan tearing from your throat as the sensation sent a jolt of pleasure straight through your spine.

“you thought i wouldn’t fucking find out?” sunghoon growled, his voice thick with something dark—something possessive, something deadly.

heeseung sucked in a sharp breath, his fists clenching at his sides, his face unreadable as he kept his gaze locked onto yours.

but sunghoon wasn’t done.

his grip on your jaw was sudden, forcing you to turn your head, forcing you to look at him, his dark eyes burning into yours.

his lips curled into something dangerous as his pace snapped, his hips rolling into you harder, deeper, making you sob, your nails clawing at the sheets beneath you.

“you’re a fucking bitch tryna hit on my girl,” he spat, his words laced with venom, his hand coming down on your pussy again, making you jerk, making you feel every single inch of him.

heeseung’s jaw twitched, his breathing uneven, but he didn’t dare move.

not when sunghoon was looking at him like that.

not when he was making a fucking statement.

because this? this wasn’t just about fucking you. this was about claiming you. and sunghoon was making sure heeseung understood—you belonged to him.

“who owns this pussy, baby?” sunghoon growled, his voice rough, breath ragged as he drove himself into you over and over, each thrust harder, deeper, making your body jolt with every brutal snap of his hips.

his fingers never stopped—never slowed—as they worked furiously against your swollen clit, circling it with aggressive, relentless strokes.

you could barely breathe.

your body was on fire, the heat of his touch sending violent shudders through you, your walls clenching around him so tightly he let out a guttural moan.

his free hand gripped your waist with bruising force, anchoring you in place, keeping you exactly where he wanted you—helpless, ruined, completely at his mercy.

the pleasure was too much.

your thighs trembled, your body tightening, the familiar heat in your stomach coiling so tight you thought you might snap at any second.

“sunghoon—fuck, i—”

your words were broken, slurred between desperate moans, your nails digging into his arms, clinging onto him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

but he wasn’t stopping.

he wasn’t letting you catch your breath.

his pace only snapped, his cock dragging against your sensitive walls with each unforgiving thrust, hitting that spot that made your vision blur.

“tell me,” he growled, his hand suddenly slapping your clit, making you scream, your back arching, pleasure shooting through you like lightning.

“who. owns. this. pussy?”

his words were punctuated by sharp, punishing thrusts, each one knocking the air from your lungs, forcing the answer from your lips before you even had time to think.

“you!” you sobbed, your body convulsing beneath him, tears spilling from the intensity of it all. “fuck—sunghoon!”

his grip on your thigh tightened, his fingers grinding against your overstimulated clit as he drove himself into you, chasing your orgasm, pushing you to the very edge.

“that’s right, baby,” he groaned, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice thick with possession.

“this pussy belongs to me.”

and with one final, devastating thrust—he sent you crashing over the edge.

your orgasm tore through you with an intensity that left you completely shattered.

your body convulsed beneath him, your thighs trembling violently as your back arched off the bed, your vision blurring with the overwhelming pleasure that surged through your veins.

your walls clenched down hard around nothing, the emptiness almost unbearable as your entire body pulsed with aftershocks, your breath coming out in ragged, broken gasps.

you felt lightheaded, floating, completely lost in the lingering haze of euphoria—your mind too clouded to focus, your body too weak to move.

sunghoon pulled out abruptly, leaving you dripping, ruined, your slick coating your inner thighs as he fisted his cock, stroking himself at a ruthless pace.

his breath was heavy, uneven, his grip tight as he worked himself closer, his eyes fixed on you—your wrecked state, your flushed skin, the way your body still twitched from the overstimulation.

“fuck—” he groaned, his brows furrowing, his abs tightening as the heat in his stomach snapped.

his cock twitched violently in his hand, hot ropes of cum shot out, splattering across your face, coating your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, marking you completely.

the warmth of it, the sheer filthiness of it made your thighs clench instinctively, a soft whimper escaping your lips as you tried to catch your breath.

sunghoon let out a shuddered exhale, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he came down from his high.

his dark gaze flickered toward his phone, his grip tightening around the device as he angled it lower, making sure every inch of your cum-covered face was perfectly captured on the screen.

he shifted slightly, tilting his head, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip as his eyes flickered up to the screen—to heeseung.

frozen.

silent.

his expression unreadable, his lips slightly parted, his breathing barely noticeable as he stared at the image before him.

sunghoon smirked.

he lifted the phone higher, angling it just right so heeseung had no choice but to take in all of it—your wrecked body, your heaving chest, your face completely painted in him.

his voice was low, dripping with possession as he spoke, his words slow, deliberate, final.

“she’s mine, fucker.” his smirk widened as heeseung’s jaw tensed, his fingers twitching at his sides.

sunghoon chuckled darkly, his thumb hovering over the screen.

“you’ll never have her like this.”

and with that, he ended the call.

natty’s notes ⁞ hoped you enjoyed!!

[taibhsearachd]

#I think for some people #knowing that humans took care of the nearly fatally injured #and knowing humans took care of a child born with a disability #are two different and incredibly impactful factoids #because like. one can picture a some guy who would buy into ‘alpha male’ shit saying something like #‘well obviously if one of their best hunters had his leg broken they would put a lot of effort into healing him. He’s a genetic asset’ #is some other masculine ancient hunter bioessentialist nonsense #for the rest of us it is a beautiful reminder that humans are caring and always have been #but to have evidence of caring for a child with Down syndrome #is so incredibly irrefutable #from birth this child was different #but they still cared for them #this kid didn’t have to prove their worth to be allowed to live

Thank you for articulating this when I've been struggling to explain it to people who are like "oh but we knew they took care of the disabled before this!"

Shanidar 1, my number one Paleolithic boy, was severely disabled... but he was disabled as an adult, in a catastrophic injury, and lived a decade after that. There's a specific Homo erectus skull that I don't remember the specimen name of but I always called "the old man" when I was studying him... he lost all his teeth and survived long enough that the holes in his jawbone completely healed over, at a point in time where someone would have had to be chewing most of his food for him to keep him alive. But those are adults who had already proved their worth, who probably had children and partners (whatever that would mean in their culture), who could still share knowledge or teach skills or maybe watch a child briefly even with their disabilities.

The significance of this child is that the child would have never been independent, it was probably very clear to its community from early on that it was not going to contribute to their survival at all... and they still went out of their way to care for it. Not just its parents, who of course will love their child. The entire community had to give extra resources and time and care to this child that would never benefit them, and they did, to the end of that child's natural lifespan as far as we can tell.

And to say it's "evidence of compassion" is not, as many people replying to this post have supposed, suggesting that anthropologists did not believe ancient humans possessed the capacity for it. It's that there is evidence now, that a community of people in the most extreme survival circumstance you can imagine still loved and cared for a child simply because it was one of them, and not for any benefit it could provide them.

Yes yes a healed femur is very important, I entirely agree, but this is something else entirely, and it matters differently.

DID YOU HEAR ABOUT THE NEANDERTHAL CHILD WITH DOWN'S SYNDROME? Because they're all I've been thinking about when I'm sad for the past few days. Their existence makes me less sad.

[chrissturnsfav]

star who pulls chris by his chain (the one with her initial on it) when she goes to kiss/makeout with him or pulling it it have him follow her, giving him her needy eyes as she drags him to the bed room (obviously being careful not to like break the chain!)

⋆.˚✮ singer!reader is in need of her fix

you're sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the couch in chris’s stupidly big living room, the tv glowing in front of you, the chaotic mess of 'shameless' playing while you pick at the last of your food.

chris is next to you, legs stretched out under the coffee table, heavy chain resting on his bare chest, reflecting light every time he moves. your name sits right there in the middle of it, a big, iced-out pendant flashing like it belongs there. because...well, it does.

"you gonna eat that or jus' look at it?" chris asks, mouth full, pointing his fork at your plate.

you roll your eyes. "i was gonna finish it, but now i don’t want it anymore."

chris smirks, "say less." and just like that, your plate is gone, your leftovers now his.

but you're not even paying attention anymore because your skin is starting to feel warm, heat creeping up your neck, settling low in your stomach and down to your core. it's a slow burn, one you can’t ignore, and when you glance over at chris, he's just sitting there, focused on the tv, completely unaware of the way you're looking at him.

you shift closer, pressing your knee against his. nothing.

so you take it a step further, fingers brushing against the cool metal of his chain, wrapping around it lightly. still nothing. but then you tug just enough to get his attention.

his head turns, eyebrows raising. "what you doin'?"

you don’t answer, just lean in, eyes locked on his as you pull the chain again, this time guiding him toward you. he lets it happen, lips twitching like he knows exactly what's on your mind, like he was waiting for you to make a move. and when your lips finally meet, he groans, deep and low, one hand immediately finding your waist while the other plants itself on the floor behind you, steadying himself.

"oh, you actin' different," he mutters against your mouth, voice all cocky and amused, that smirk on his lips as usual. "what got into you, ma?"

you hum, tilting your head, kissing him deeper, fingers still curled around the thick links of his chain. you feel him smirk again, like he thinks he's got you all figured out, like he thinks he's running this, but he's not. not right now, at least.

because when you pull again, harder this time, guiding him up, he follows.

"oh, you really actin' different," he chuckles, letting you lead him, letting you tug him toward the stairs like he's not twice your size, like he's not fully capable of stopping you if he wanted to. but he doesn't. of course he doesn't, cause why would he?

his hands find your hips as you back through the doorway, his grip firm, possessive. "you better not break my shit," he warns, voice low, teasing, but there’s something else there too. something darker. something that makes slick dampen in your panties.

"i won't," you whisper, eyes all needy, breath hitching when he tugs you this time, closing the space between you in one smooth pull.

he grins, lips brushing against yours. "good girl."

thank you for reading!! <3

tags 🏷️: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott , @sturns-mermaid , @sophand4n4 , @sturnsrecord , @purpledragon222 , @faiyaz555 , @jocelyncsblog , @dvinesturn , @slut4chris888 , @chriss-slutt , @ilovedanielcaesar , @annsx03 , @snoopychris , @chrissweetheart , @slutformatt17 , @mattsturnii , @dominicfikeenthusiast , @mattsbratt333 , @ivysturnss , @tessasturns , @coquettechris , @courta13 , @sturniolo101 , @malsmind , @mattsleftball , @softhyunieeee , @whore4mattsturniolo , @tezzzzzzzz , @corspebridedelrey , @softhyunieeee

@chrissturnsfav ™

[lokisswiftie]

Satisfied

2.5k Words

Summary: Spencer can’t take his eyes off of your mouth once he notices your fixation…

Warnings: Smut!!! So much smut!!! Reader has an Oral Fixation, post prison Spencer, Dom!Spencer but he’s pathetic guys, Slightly rough Spencer, Oral (m receiving), Reader wears lipgloss?

A/N: hey guys!!! I’m back with more Spencer and I can’t lie I absolutely loved writing this. I’m taking requests, read details on my pinned post! Enjoy, and tell me what you think ;)

———————————————————————

Spencer knows the exact moment that he became aware of your fixation. It happened at night, when he was among the only people still in the bullpen working away at his mountain of files. He figured that the endless piles of papers to complete are a good distraction from the thoughts that follow him home. So, there he was at his desk, dutifully filling in the paperwork with focused efficiency. That was until his eyes briefly glanced up from his work, with the sole intention of taking another sip of his coffee.

Instead, they landed on you. Spencer had grown close to you since his return from prison, and found himself opening up to you, the newest agent. You were sweet, and hard working and growing on him fast. So, he felt very ashamed for the way he was becoming hard at the sight of you.

Very clearly wrapped up in your own stack of files, your brow was furrowed as you read over the writing. Your hair looked especially gorgeous in the low lighting- but that wasn’t what had him slack jawed. It was that you didn’t even notice that you were chewing on the lid of your pen. Your lips are parted around the cap, your tongue flicking out against the lid. He realised with a shuddering halt that a number of things you had done around him were adding up.

While speaking to him once he can recall you frequently wetting your lips. Another time, he can remember you sucking on a sweet treat. Now, Spencer Reid realised very quickly that you definitely had an oral fixation. And he felt very guilty for how much he was turned on by that. He didn’t say anything, just returning to his files and fighting to ignore the tent in his trousers- but from then on he was always noticing you, even when he tried not to.

He tried over the next few weeks to stop his eyes from drifting sinfully to your lips, whenever you would mindlessly chew on your pen without even noticing. Or, the way you almost always had some sort of candy on your tongue, even in the field. It seemed to him that you couldn’t stop wanting something in your mouth, and it was growing frustrating to him that he was so fascinated by this. It was making his life much harder, when everytime he was around you he was only able to focus on your soft lips, that he keeps picturing wrapped around him.

It was wrong. He knew that, as your colleague and your superior he has a role of responsibility around you. But with your friendly nature it’s not like you ever give him time away from you- always at his side talking animatedly about cases with an enthusiasm he can’t match. He can’t, because he’s always focused on your goddamn mouth. His stomach twists in guilt every time he finds himself staring at you, and he forces himself to look away.

The obsession- he’s given in and started calling it that- has gotten to a point where he lays awake at night, unable to sleep for thoughts of your mouth. He always feels shameful when he wakes up the next morning, and the wet patch on his boxers is evidence that he once again fell asleep to thoughts of you. Thoughts of what he would do to keep your pretty mouth busy.

So far he’s convinced himself he’s doing well at maintaining a professional relationship with you. The problem is, you’ve noticed the difference in Spencer in the past few weeks. It’s becoming increasingly more obvious that he’s been avoiding you, and you’re growing tired of it. In all honesty, you miss the casual interactions before he started putting distance between you.

That’s why when you’re about to leave for the night and notice Spencer staying late like usual, you decided that the pile of paperwork on your desk would be a perfect excuse to spend more time around him.

Spencer Looks up briefly as you return to your desk, and grab a file from the stack. He quickly looks away but internally his heart is racing. A quick glance around the room tells him that everyone else has left- leaving him alone with you. Sure, this is fine. It’s fine. Only, when he cautiously glances at you again he’s pained at the sight of your lips wrapped around the lid of your pen while you’re deep in thought. His cock is already perking up in his trousers at the sight and it feels almost mocking how your lipgloss catches the light in that moment.

“Spencer, why are you staring at me?”

You sigh in frustration, and Spencer doesn’t feel the surprise at your words for a good few seconds, as he’s so busy watching the way your mouth forms them. He snaps his eyes to yours, mouth agape and floundering beneath your gaze.

“I- uh- sorry, I didn’t realise I was- sorry.”

He pathetically stumbled the response, his mouth going dry. God, he feels ridiculous. It’s like you’re doing this on purpose- looking so pretty every time he sees you. He’s recently noticed You applying that shiny lip gloss that feels like it was made specifically to torment him. He wets his lips and shifts behind his desk conspicuously.

You raise your eyebrows and stay silent, staring at him while you lift your pen to your mouth again. You stare at him, analysing his fidgety nature. As far as you know, you haven’t done anything to elicit this kind of reaction from him. He’s been acting off with you for weeks and you’re determined to know why.

“You’ve been being weird with me- what did I do, Spencer?”

You question him seriously, and when you’re done talking you put your pen back between your lips again. The funny thing is, you don’t even realise you’re doing it again. Your tongue flicks against the lid, and Spencer groans prompting you to raise your eyebrows again.

“Fuck- that.”

He gives in relatively easily to the question, and he could kick himself for it. But it’s not entirely his fault- you’ve worn down on his capacity to lie convincingly, with your mouth haunting his mind. You furrow your eyebrows at him, and squint at him with a puzzled expression.

“What?- Spencer, what are you talking about?”

You feel your cheeks get a little bit heated at the way Spencer’s eyes are so locked on you. You squirm a little under his gaze. Spencer couldn’t handle it anymore- not when your bottom lip brushes the cap of the pen again when you speak. He grits his teeth and gets up as your eyes follow him. Pacing over until he’s standing in front of you, Spencer places his hand on your jaw which goes slack in shock.

“That. The fucking pen- you keep biting it. You don’t even know you do it, do you?”

His voice has gotten lower- rightfully so, this conversation is not for work. You stumble for a response, and you find that your heart has started racing with his touch.

“I- I don’t-“

“-You bite your lips too. And you-“

Spencer interrupts your weak response with a low tone, and you don’t make an effort to interrupt his impromptu ramble. His palm remains seated on your cheek while you gape up at him, gripping the pen in your grasp. It’s true, now that he’s pointed it out you run your tongue over your bottom lip. He groans at that, and goes silent.

There’s a moment after that where he just looks down at you, gritting his teeth and his mind racing. His brow has a crease in it telling you he’s thinking intently. His trousers have a tent in them that tells you what those thoughts might be.

“You have an Oral fixation. You seek out stimulation through your mouth- by sucking on those candies or biting your pen.”

He finally says, and the words sit on your head and then fly away. You can’t much think past his crotch in your eye line. From above, Spencer exhales slowly and then his hand firmly directs your head to look up at him. When you do, you can’t breathe much for the fire in his eyes.

“But you’re never satisfied. You drive me insane with that mouth of yours.”

The words spilling from Spencer’s mouth have been restrained for weeks. Weeks since he first noticed your mouth in this lewd way, and he’s watching the way they affect you just as much. Slowly, he sinks his hand back to grip your hair firmly as he speaks with his voice barely above a whisper.

“Do you want me to help you fill it?”

You feel your heart stutter in your chest, and without really meaning to you tip your head back for him. When his words register in your brain you realise the throbbing between your legs. You’ve surely soaked through your panties by now. Your mouth goes dry and then when your eyes glance back down to his bulge, you find yourself almost salivating at the thought.

“Yes- please, Spencer.”

You nod eagerly and he groans, which turns into a dry chuckle. He feels like this might be another one of his dirty dreams about you- but at this point he can’t be bothered to care. Instead he gently brings your head closer to his aching crotch.

“Yeah, I thought you might… be good for me, undo my belt sweetheart.”

He exhales. Your hands jump into action and you can’t believe this is happening. You drop the pen and it skids away, while you fumble with his belt hurriedly. The thought of Spencer in your mouth is making you press your thighs together. You’ve always had a tiny crush on your fellow agent, ever since you joined the bau and were introduced to him. You always thought that he was impossible to have… but now as you tug down his slacks and come face to face with his tented boxers, you realise you’re not the only one who wanted this. You pause and look up at him, finding him panting and his pupils blown wide in those brown eyes.

“Fuck- c’mon sweetheart, use that pretty mouth for me.”

He says, his chest rising and falling fast. His hand tenses in your hair, eager to direct you to the source of his arousal. The sight of your face so close to his aching cock is making him impatient. Thankfully, you grin and oblige him, pulling down his boxers. He’s painfully hard, his cock hitting off his stomach and pulling a hiss from his lips. Meanwhile, you have to take a moment to stare at him.

Fuck he’s bigger than you expected. You wet your lips as you think about having to take all of him in your mouth, and you decide you want that challenge. Pearly beads of pre-cum form steadily at his tip, and you can’t resist wrapping your hand around his base and directing his head to your mouth. You deliver kitten licks to him, and look up to find him a mess already.

“Oh fuck- god-“

His eyes closed for a moment, eyebrows furrowing as he gathered himself together. You swirling your tongue around his sensitive head is what snaps his eyes open with a broken moan. He draws in a breath before his hand tightens in your hair and lightly tugs you closer to him.

“Don’t fucking tease me- you know you want to take it all. So fucking take it.”

His voice is low and strained, and it’s making wetness pool between your thighs embarrassingly fast. You wet your lips at his words and you don't wait any longer to wrap your lips around him. The sound that spills from Spencer’s mouth when you start taking his cock into your mouth is borderline pornographic. You stop for a moment in surprise and look up, but when you lock eyes with him and see the desperation in his face you promptly take him all the way in your mouth.

“Oh my god!-“

Spencer’s head tips back, and his hand grips your hair tightly, keeping you like that for a moment while he gets his breathing in check. His eyes have drifted closed and he feels like he’s left the planet for a good few seconds.

“Feels so fucking good baby-“

His voice breaks into a moan when he looks down at you, and you fight the urge to smile around his cock. You slowly start to bob your head in a rhythm, the salty taste of his precum spurring you on. It gets to a point where he can’t take it anymore, and it pulls a choked moan from your throat when he grabs your hair more firmly and starts to direct your thrusts.

“Fuck- just like that baby- you love this don’t you?-“

You’re not surprised that he rambles even now, when your mouth is wrapped around his cock. You smile around your mouthful, and when he sees that he thrusts against your throat with a shuddering moan. The throbbing pulse of his vein on your tongue is addicting. What’s more addicting is that everytime you come up, You swirl your tongue around his head. That pulls the most pathetic of moans from his throat.

“Oh god- oh fuck baby- I’m close, I’m so close-“

Spencer starts to babble, forcing himself to keep his eyes open to watch you. When he fixes his eyes on you he sucks in a breath. Your eyes wet with tears from taking him so well, and drool pooling at the sides of your lips. Your lips- you pull back and then he’s hit with the sight of your lipgloss smeared around his cock. when he sees that, you feel him grip you and slam himself back into your mouth again.

“I’m coming- fuck- I’m gonna come-!”

His voice gets higher, whimpering as he proclaims to you in warning. As if you don’t already know what’s coming, with the way he throbs on your tongue. You lock eyes with him when it happens, and the sight is obscene.

Spencer’s dark eyes almost roll back entirely when he comes with a moan down your throat, his hand holding you firmly in place. You take it all, your hand coming to stroke his hip while you swallow everything he gives you. After the waves wash over him his hand grows slack on the back of your head, and you pull off with a pop.

“Spencer, are you with me?”

Your words come out sly, as you wipe the corners of your mouth from any residue. Spencer’s eyes flutter open, and the moment he looks down at you he’s a mess again. No dream could compare to the satisfied grin on your lips.

“You’re so beautiful.”

The words spill from his bitten lips without any hesitation, and his hand slides to cup your cheek. For a moment the two of you look at eachother, a wrecked smile on his face and a satisfied one on yours. When he catches his breath he fixes himself up- though no matter what he does with his clothes, the fucked our expression on his face remains.

His hand strokes over your cheek and he almost falls down to his knees in his hurry to connect his lips with yours. You decide when your lips lock together that you’d happily let Spencer take care of your cravings like that again.

[scoupsakakitty]

could you write idol! jeonghan meeting y/n for the first time and scoups noticing that jeonghan is in love at first sight ??? ty ty luv it blog <3

Coffee Shop | idol!Jeonghan x Influencer!Reader | fluff

The small coffee shop was a welcome escape from the bustling streets of Seoul. The warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee mixed with the faint scent of vanilla and cinnamon, creating a cozy atmosphere. Y/N sat by the window, her laptop open in front of her as she edited her latest vlog. She had always loved quiet places like this—somewhere she could focus, unwind, and just be herself.

Her fingers danced across the keyboard, occasionally pausing as she sipped on her iced latte. She was deep in concentration, completely unaware of the group of young men who had just entered the café.

Seventeen had just finished practice, exhausted yet eager to recharge with their favorite drinks. Jeonghan, as usual, was more focused on finding the most comfortable seat than ordering a drink, but something—someone—caught his attention.

Seungcheol noticed it instantly. The way Jeonghan’s gaze lingered on the girl by the window, how his normally relaxed posture straightened slightly, and how his expression softened into something almost… mesmerized.

“She’s even prettier in person,” Jeonghan mumbled, mostly to himself.

Seungcheol smirked. “You should talk to her.”

Jeonghan scoffed, tearing his gaze away. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you’ve been staring at her for a solid minute.”

Jeonghan rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t deny the pull he felt. He knew who she was, of course. Y/N was a well-known influencer, popular for her travel vlogs, fashion sense, and down-to-earth personality. Despite her massive following, she always seemed approachable. Still, approaching her was another thing entirely.

Seungcheol, always the instigator, grinned mischievously before nudging Mingyu. “Watch this.”

Before Jeonghan could stop him, Seungcheol took a deliberate step toward Y/N’s table, pretending to stumble as his iced Americano sloshed over the rim and onto the floor right near her.

Y/N looked up in surprise as the commotion unfolded beside her. “Oh!”

Seungcheol immediately put on his best apologetic face. “Ah, I’m so sorry! That was totally my fault.”

She laughed lightly, waving a hand dismissively. “No worries, accidents happen.”

And just like that, Jeonghan found himself standing next to her table, feeling oddly nervous. Y/N looked up at him, recognition flickering in her eyes. “Jeonghan, right?”

He blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Uh—yeah.”

Y/N smiled, resting her chin in her palm. “I love your group’s music.”

Jeonghan, usually quick with words, found himself at a rare loss. “Thanks. And I, uh—I like your content.”

She raised a brow. “Really?”

Seungcheol, now thoroughly enjoying himself, nudged Jeonghan. “He watches your videos all the time.”

Jeonghan shot Seungcheol a glare before turning back to Y/N. “I watch them occasionally,” he corrected, though the warmth in his ears betrayed him.

Y/N chuckled, tapping a few keys on her laptop before closing it. “That’s cool. I didn’t expect an idol to have time to watch vlogs.”

Jeonghan, now regaining his composure, slid into the empty seat across from her. “Sometimes we need an escape, too.”

Seungcheol smirked before excusing himself, leaving Jeonghan and Y/N alone.

“What are you working on?” Jeonghan asked, nodding toward her laptop.

“Editing a new vlog,” she replied, tilting the screen slightly so he could see. “It’s from my last trip to Paris.”

Jeonghan leaned in, genuinely intrigued. The footage showed a montage of Y/N exploring the city, trying different pastries, and laughing at the camera as she attempted to order in French.

“You make it look fun,” he commented.

“That’s the goal,” she said, smiling. “Traveling isn’t just about fancy locations—it’s about experiences.”

Jeonghan tilted his head, watching her with interest. “You really love what you do, don’t you?”

She nodded. “I do. And you?”

He chuckled, leaning back. “Most days, yeah. Some days are exhausting, but when I see fans enjoying our music, it makes it worth it.”

Their conversation flowed effortlessly, as if they had known each other for years rather than just meeting for the first time. Jeonghan found himself completely at ease in her presence, a rare occurrence for someone who usually kept his walls up.

As their drinks dwindled and the evening stretched on, Y/N checked the time. “Wow, I didn’t realize how late it was.”

Jeonghan followed her gaze to the clock and sighed. “Yeah, time flies when you’re talking to someone interesting.”

Y/N laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Smooth.”

He grinned. “I try.”

Before she could gather her things, Jeonghan spoke up. “Can I see you again?”

Y/N paused, then smiled. “I’d like that.”

Seungcheol, who had been watching from afar, smirked as he saw Jeonghan scribble something on a napkin and slide it toward Y/N. As they left the café, Seungcheol patted Jeonghan’s shoulder. “Told you so.”

Jeonghan simply smiled to himself, already looking forward to their next meeting.

[skaiylus]

Love and Deepspace - Valentines Day (Fluff)

A/N : yes I'm a few days late sorry <3. There is some clear bias in Sylus's 🤣. I am still new to Love & Deepspace so they are definitely OOC.

Sylus – A Night of Hidden Truths

The city becomes a blur of neon lights as Sylus leads you through a hidden passageway. You weren’t sure where you were going - but with Sylus, that was nothing new.

"Trust me," he murmured, his grip firm yet careful as he guided you up a rusted fire escape. The cold wind nipped at your skin, but the warmth of his hand in yours was enough to keep you steady.

At the top, the city stretched out before you—Linkon City in all its chaotic beauty. The rooftop was secluded - a stark contrast to the bustling streets below.

"I used to come here alone," Sylus admitted, leaning against the railing. You turned to face him, the usual teasing smirk on his lips softer tonight.

"And you brought me here because…?" you prompted, crossing your arms.

"Because I wanted a night without masks. Just you and me. No expectations. No running."

Your heart clenched at the rare vulnerability in his voice.You stepped closer, placing your hand over his

"Then let’s not run."

For a moment, he hesitated. Then, with a quiet hum of approval, he pulled you into his arms, his lips brushing against your forehead.

"Close your eyes."

"Sylus, if this is one of your cryptic surprises—"

"Just trust me please sweetie? " he murmured, his voice quieter than usual.

You sighed but obeyed, feeling the gentle tug of his hand as he guided you forward. The air smelled faintly of fresh roses and something sweet—chocolate, maybe?

"Okay. Open them."

Your breath hitched.

The rooftop was completely transformed. A pathway of softly glowing lanterns led to a cozy, candlelit setup—a plush blanket spread out, trays of food, and an array of neatly wrapped presents . A bouquet of your favorite flowers rested at the center.

"Sylus…"

You turned to him, but he was already watching you—eyes darker than the night yet filled with something soft, unguarded.

"This is…" You swallowed. "You really did all this for me?"

"I had some help," he admitted. "You deserve more you know - I'd give you the whole world if you asked"

A warm breeze brushed past, carrying the faint sound of city life below, but here, in this moment, it was just the two of you. Sylus sat down, pulling you between his legs, your back resting against his chest. His arms wrapped around you, strong and secure.

"You should know something," he murmured against your hair.

"Hmm?"

"You should know very well that I adore you. There is no love purer than mine." His lips brushed the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

"You keep saying that."

"Because I need you to believe it."

You turned slightly, enough to see the undeniable sincerity in his gaze. And then—he kissed you. Slow, deliberate, like he had all the time in the world to memorize the way you tasted.

When he pulled away, a rare smile—genuine, without any teasing— graced his lips.

"Happy Valentines Day, Sweetie."

Just as you were about to say something, a small flutter of wings caught your attention. Perched on the rooftop railing was Mephisto, Sylus’ ever-loyal bird companion. But this time, there was something glinting in its beak—a ring, adorned with a deep red stone.

Sylus, still holding you close, simply chuckled. You turned back to him, eyes wide, heart racing.

Was this what you thought it was?

Sylus smirked, but there was something different in his expression now—a quiet certainty, a promise.

"So…" he drawled, plucking the ring from Mephisto’s beak, twirling it between his fingers.

"How do you feel about forever?"

Rafayel – Painted in Love

"Close your eyes."

You sighed dramatically but obeyed. "If this is another one of your ‘trust exercises,’ I —"

"Shhh,"

The scent of oil paint lingered in the air, a mixture of fresh canvas and something distinctly him. You heard him move, adjusting something before he finally spoke again.

"Open."

Your breath hitched as you saw the painting in front of you. It wasn’t just a simple portrait but rather a masterpiece. The soft glow of your expression, the hidden laughter in your eyes, the way your hand reached out as if grasping for something just out of frame… It was you, seen through Rafayel’s eyes.

"Rafayel…"

"You like it?" he asks casually leaning against the table with a smirk.

"Like it? Raf, it’s… beautiful."

He pushed off the table, stepping closer until he was just a breath away.

"I only paint things that matter to me."

Your heart pounded as his fingers traced a stray streak of paint on your cheek, his touch lingering.

"So… what does that make me?" you whispered.

His lips curved into a knowing smile. "What do you think?"

And when he kissed you, slow and deliberate, like the brush strokes of his painting, you had your answer

Zayne – A Prescription for Love

"An arcade?" you asked, raising an eyebrow at the bright neon lights blinking above you.

"Doctor, this is very uncharacteristic of you."

"You once said Valentine’s Day should be fun and not stressful. I figured this was preferable to another restaurant dinner." Zayne adjusted his glasses, looking unamused, but there was a hint of something softer in his eyes.

"So you do listen when I ramble." You grinned, nudging his arm playfully.

He ignored your teasing, holding out a token. "Pick a game. "

After several failed attempts on the claw machine —on both sides—you somehow managed to win a small plush cat. Grinning you hold it up proudly to show him.

Zayne huffed, crossing his arms. "Statistically, the machine is designed to fail at least—" He stopped mid-sentence when you pressed the plush into his hands.

"Here. A gift. From your incredibly thoughtful and wonderful Valentine’s date."

He blinked, staring at the tiny cat as if it were a foreign object.

"You’re giving this to me?"

"Of course. You need something cute in your life. Maybe in your office? ."

Zayne looked at you then, and for once, his usual guarded expression melted away. His fingers curled around the plush as if it were something precious. His gaze softened, filled with something warm and unreadable.

"I already have that," he murmured, his voice quieter now, more intimate.

Before you could formulate a witty comeback, Zayne stepped closer, his hand tilting your chin up gently.

His touch was precise, deliberate—just like him—but when his lips met yours, the kiss was anything but calculated. It was slow, lingering, filled with an affection he rarely put into words.

When he finally pulled away, he let his forehead rest against yours for a moment, exhaling softly. Then, a smirk tugged at his lips.

"You should win me prizes more often."

You laughed, still a little dazed. "Are you saying I need to bribe you for affection?"

"Not at all," he said smoothly, tucking the plush into his coat pocket before lacing his fingers through yours.

"But if it means I get to kiss you again, I’m not above a little incentive."

Xavier – Dancing Among the Stars

"A spaceship?" you echoed in disbelief as Xavier led you onto the deck of a high-tech vessel docked just outside the city.

"You wanted a unique date," he said with a wink, casually flipping switches on the control panel.

"Thought we could do something different."

Before you could fully process what was happening, the ship’s thrusters roared to life. The world below blurred into streaks of light, and then—silence. Outside the window, space stretched endlessly before you, a vast sea of glittering stars, nebulas swirling in vibrant hues. It was breathtaking, unlike anything you had ever seen.

You turned to Xavier, wide-eyed, your breath stolen by the sheer wonder of it all. "You… stole a spaceship for me?"

He grinned, leaning back against the control panel with that signature devil-may-care charm.

"'Borrowed' is a better word. No one’s using it right now."

"Xavier!"

"Relax, darling ." He chuckled, reaching for your hand, his fingers tracing slow, lazy patterns over your palm.

"I just wanted to give you a view no one else could."

His response was rather nonchalant but beneath it was something deeper, something unspoken.

Your gaze flickered back to the window, the stars blinking like scattered diamonds, the cosmic dust shimmering in soft waves of light.

"This is crazy," you murmured, unable to look away.

"You knew what you were signing up for when you fell for me." His voice was lower now, smooth as velvet. His fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. The universe stretched out behind him, but all you could see was him—his tousled hair, the mischief in his eyes, the way he was looking at you like you were the most mesmerizing thing in the cosmos.

"Regrets?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. "None."

A slow, knowing smirk curved his lips. "Good."

And then he kissed you.

It was different this time—unrushed, lingering, like he had all the time in the universe to memorize the feel of your lips against his. The stars outside blurred, forgotten, as warmth spread through you, as his hands slid to your waist, pulling you impossibly close. When he finally pulled away, his breath ghosted against your lips, his hands still holding you as if he had no intention of letting go.

"You know," he murmured, his thumb tracing a slow line along your jaw, "space is beautiful, but even galaxies don’t compare to you."

Your heart pounded. "Xavier—"

He smirked, eyes twinkling like the very stars outside. "What? I’m just saying, if someone told me you hung the stars yourself, I’d believe them."

Your face heated, and he only grinned, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction.

"You’re ridiculous," you muttered, trying to look away, but he caught your chin again, his expression suddenly softer, more sincere.

"I mean it," he said, voice dropping to something quieter. "Out here, in all this endless space, you’re still the only thing I want to get lost in."

And just like that, the universe no longer felt so vast.

Taglist (I think this is the most updated please feel free to send me an ask/dm/fill out my Google form to be added/removed <3)

@buzzyboi79 @0lissa0 @nishikina @bakugosgorl @bakugosbratx @aomi04 @dabis0bitch @bakubabeyy @keisurou @hannas16 @namjoonswifeyy @neko-loogi @stormcloudsbrewing @nymphoheretic @gently-folded-paper-cranes @shoutascoffeepot @slutfor-fictionalmen @dreamcastgirl99 @effy_2000 @sparkyvibes @hotgreenteea

[interlude63]

Hearts and Fists

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: DUB-CON, toxic relationship, jealous!Rafe, public indecency, possessive behavior, fighting also english isn’t my first language.

Summary: You wanted to go on a romantic date — too bad your boyfriend has different plans.

Word count: 3k

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“I just have some shit to do, okay?” Rafe muttered over the phone, his tone clipped and dismissive.

Lately, that was all he ever said when you asked if he wanted to hang out. No explanation, no effort—just excuses. It was frustrating. Maddening, even.

Things weren’t always like this. For almost two years of you dating, Rafe had always made time for you. Back then, you were inseparable, stealing every free moment just to be together. But now?

It had been months since you’d gone on a proper date. Just the two of you. His lapdogs always coming along.

Well—except for the times when he fucked you. It seemed like the only thing Rafe wanted to do with you.

“Whatever.” You muttered before hanging up, frustration burning in your chest. Was it really that hard for him to make time for you? You weren’t asking for much.

Shaking it off, you decided to grab breakfast by yourself.

You were at The Wreck when you spotted Sarah sitting with her group of questionable friends. Not that Rafe was any less dubious himself.

He was always warning you about Pogues, telling you to stay away from them. But right now, you were so mad at him that you decided to do the exact opposite.

So, when Sarah came up to you and asked if you wanted to join them, you agreed. It was kind of awkward at first, especially since you’d never really hung out with her friend group before. But after some time, you started to actually enjoy it. The conversation flowed easier, and you found yourself laughing at things you wouldn’t normally find funny. It felt… different, but in a good way.

“So, we were thinking about hitting the beach later. Are you joining us?” Pope asked, and you thought it was really sweet of him to include you.

“Oh, I mean, you probably have plans with your boyfriend or something,” he added quickly, looking a little embarrassed by his question.

You smiled, trying to ease his discomfort. “No, I don’t have anything to do today, so if that’s not a problem, I’d love to join you guys.”

That day you came home later than you thought you would—it was already pretty dark outside. You were having so much fun with Sarah, John B, Kiara, JJ, and Pope, especially Pope, that you had completely lost track of time.

Young Heyward was so sweet and open-minded, and even though your boyfriend was such an asshole to him, he still got along with you effortlessly. You appreciated that more than you could say.

As you walked inside, your phone buzzed. It was a text from Pope: “Hope you made it home safely.” You smiled, feeling a warmth you hadn’t expected.

──────────────────────

The next morning, Rafe texted you.

“Be there in 10.”

No good morning, no want to hang out? It rubbed you the wrong way. Whenever you wanted to make plans, he was always too busy. But when he decided to see you, you had to drop everything. It felt… one-sided.

Still, you pushed the thought away and got ready. Not long after, you heard the sound of Rafe’s truck pulling into the driveway, followed by your mother opening the door for him.

Your parents adored Rafe. To them, he was the perfect match—good-looking, rich, and charismatic. The kind of guy any girl on the island would be lucky to have.

You sat in Rafe’s car, the engine humming softly beneath you. He hadn’t said much— his eyes stayed fixed on the road, only flicking toward you for the briefest second before looking ahead again.

“So… where are we going?” you finally asked, breaking the silence.

“My place,” he said, not even sparing you a glance.

The second you stepped into his room, Rafe was on you—no hesitation, no words. His hands were rough, stripping you down like he’d been waiting for this all night.

And for a moment, you let yourself believe that this—this—meant something. That maybe he missed you. Maybe he still cared.

──────────────────────

"Fuck, you're so perfect," he groaned, his body still trembling against yours as he collapsed on top of you.

The room was filled with the sound of heavy breathing, the scent of sweat and sex clinging to the air as you both came down from the high of it all.

Then, he started kissing you again, leaving small, lingering marks on your neck, each touch deliberate and slow, sending a shiver down your spine.

“I have to go, though,” he said as he get up from bed, already reaching for his clothes, slipping on his pants like he hadn’t just had you in every possible position.

You sat up, the warmth of his body still lingering against your skin. “Already?” You didn’t even try to hide the disappointment in your voice.

“Yeah. Topper and Kelce will be here soon.”

Your stomach twisted. Of course. He couldn’t even spend one full day with you without them showing up.

“They’re coming too?” you asked, unable to keep the distaste from your tone.

Rafe smirked. “Come on, no need to be jealous. It’s not like I’m fucking them too or something.”

Oh yeah. That definitely made you feel better.

You exhaled sharply, pressing your lips together before muttering, “I thought it’d be just us this time.”

Rafe’s eyes darkened at your tone. “Oh, fuck. Are you seriously about to throw a tantrum because I want to spend time with my friends?”

“No. But when you guys hang out, all you do is scream at the TV, drink beer, and talk shit about people. That’s not exactly my idea of fun.”

He scoffed. “It’s not like you can’t invite your friends over too.”

You shot him a pointed look. “Yeah, except I can’t—because you don’t like them. And whenever they are around, you’re mean to them.”

“Not my fault you pick the wrong friends,” he said with a shrug, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Anger bubbled up in your chest before you could stop it. “Maybe I picked the wrong boyfriend.” The words slipped out, barely a whisper—more for yourself than him.

But Rafe did hear.

In an instant, he was in front of you, gripping your jaw, forcing your gaze to his. His face was too close, his breath hot against your skin. His blue eyes burned into yours, dark with something unreadable.

“What was that?” His voice was low, dangerous.

“Nothing,” you muttered quickly, suddenly regretting every single word.

Rafe’s grip didn’t loosen. “No, say that shit again,” he challenged.

But before you could respond, the doorbell rang. His head snapped toward the sound, jaw clenched. Without another word, he let go and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

So, you spent the rest of the day with Rafe and his friends. It was just as boring as you’d expected—nothing but drinking, shouting over the TV and mindless video games, and talking trash about Pogues, but you endured it. Like always. You had nothing else to do anyway, and you were just so desperate to be with your boyfriend, even if it meant settling for something that didn’t feel right.

”Rafe, can you drive me home?” you asked after realizing it was getting late.

“Can’t you stay the night?” he countered, a smirk tugging at his lips—the one you knew all too well. Before you could respond, he leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to your neck before burying his face there.

“I can’t, I need to—” You barely got the words out before he lifted his head, his eyes locking onto yours, almost pleading.

“Pretty please, hmm? We could go to the movies tomorrow. I heard they’re playing one of those trash romance films you like so much,” he teased, trying to sway you.

“They’re not trash, Rafe,” you mumbled, heat rising to your cheeks.

“Of course.” His grin widened. “So, do we have a deal?”

And that’s how you ended up spending the night at the Cameron estate.

──────────────────────

You were beyond happy that Rafe had actually taken you out on a date, so you made sure to dress up nicely. Luckily, you kept some of your clothes in his closet, and after a little searching, you picked out a pretty blue dress—one you knew he’d like.

At the outdoor cinema, the two of you sat side by side in fold-out chairs, the massive screen glowing in front of you. The night air was warm, the low hum of the movie filling the space around you. Popcorn and soda in your lap, Rafe finishing off a beer. It had been about twenty minutes into the film, and you were really enjoying it so far.

Rafe, on the other hand, clearly wasn’t.

You could feel his eyes on you more than the screen, stealing glances instead of paying attention. And then, his hand found your thigh. It was nothing unusual—he did that often—but as the minutes passed, his fingers slowly started to creep higher.

“Rafe,” you warned softly.

He only hummed in response, pretending not to hear the hint of caution in your voice. Instead of stopping, his hand slid up even further.

“Just relax,” Rafe murmured, his voice low and commanding as his fingers grazed over the thin fabric of your underwear.

When he pulled your panties to the side, a rush of fear hit you—there were people around, and you couldn’t shake the worry of being seen. But despite the anxiety, a soft, involuntary sound escaped you—a mix between a sigh and a whimper. Rafe’s eyes stayed fixed on you, sharp and analytical, drinking in every reaction.

His thumb drifted upward, tracing slow, deliberate circles over your clit, his touch both torturous and addicting. His eyes darken as he watched you tremble beneath him. “Just like that” he whispered and without warning, he slipped two fingers inside, stretching you open—your breath caught, your body arching as you surrendered to his touch.

You were still a little sore from last night, a lingering ache that blended with the slow, building pleasure. Rafe was gentle, his touch careful yet deliberate, each movement sending a wave of warmth through you. You could feel your body responding to him, a building tension deep inside, and before long, you came on his fingers, a rush of pleasure flooding you.

“Good girl,” Rafe murmured, his voice low and filled with obvious satisfaction as he watched you, the praise made you shiver.

──────────────────────

After that, Rafe let you watch the movie in peace, mostly staying on his phone. You smiled to yourself, enjoying one of the movie’s scenes—it was so cute and romantic. Then, suddenly, you heard that familiar voice. “Hi, man” It was Topper. Fucking Topper. What was he doing here?

“What’s up, bro?” your boyfriend responded.

“Come on, baby,” Rafe said softly, gesturing for you to move onto his lap so Topper could take your seat. At this point, you were so frustrated you didn’t even care. You made room for Topper, just wanting to finish the movie. But, of course, now they were talking, disturbing your focus.

You needed a break from all this, so you stood up, telling them you were going to grab some soda.

You picked up your snack from the concession stand and were heading back when you heard a voice behind you. “Hi.” It was JJ, waving at you, with Pope standing beside him.

“Oh, hey! Are you guys enjoying the movie?” you asked, trying to keep it light.

Pope froze for a second, clearly caught off guard by your attention. He hesitated, his eyes darting between you and JJ, clearly uncomfortable. JJ, sensing the awkwardness, quickly chimed in, “Yeah, the film’s great, right Pope?”

The boy cleared his throat, his voice quieter than usual. “Uh, yeah… yeah, it’s really great,” he stammered, unable to hide the nervousness in his tone. His gaze lingered on you for just a moment before he quickly looked away, his face flushing slightly.

You wanted to talk to them a little more, but you knew you couldn’t keep Rafe waiting. He’d get suspicious, like he always did. So, with a quick smile, you said, “Alright, gotta go, see you guys later,” turning on your heels to walk away. But as you took a step, you suddenly froze. Rafe’s gaze was locked on you, his eyes burning with fury and jealousy. The intensity of his stare made your heart race, and you could feel the weight of his anger without even needing to say a word.

“Rafe,” you started, trying to calm him down, hoping he’d understand it was just a casual conversation about the film, nothing serious. But Rafe didn’t have it. Without warning, he stormed over to the Pogues, Topper right behind him.

“Come on, man, we were just talking,” JJ tried to reason with him, his voice tense. But it was no use. Rafe’s temper was already boiling over. He swung, landing a punch straight to JJ’s face.

JJ hit the ground hard, dazed, and Rafe stood over him, seething. “My girl won’t be talking to some fucking Pogues,” he spat, the words sharp and full of contempt. The spit hit the ground beside JJ.

Pope, fuming with anger, couldn’t hold back anymore. “You’re a fucking psycho!” he shouted at Rafe, his voice shaking with fury. But before he could say another word, Topper stepped in. Grabbing Pope by the shirt, he slammed his fist into his stomach repeatedly, each hit harder than the last. Pope gasped, his breath knocked out of him, struggling to stay on his feet as Topper’s blows landed with brutal force.

The crowd had gathered around, forming a tight circle, all eagerly watching the chaos unfold. They were shouting, urging the fight on with loud cheers and taunts.

JJ had managed to get back on his feet, fists raised, and the fight between him and Rafe ignited again. You couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Stop! Please, just stop!” you begged, rushing between them, your voice trembling. You grabbed Rafe’s arm, trying to pull him back, but he was still seething. JJ was breathing heavily, his face bruised from the last punch, but he wasn’t backing down either.

“You look at her again, I’ll fucking break your skull open!” Rafe shouted, his voice filled with raw fury.

You turned just in time to see Topper’s hands wrapped around Pope’s throat, choking him. Pope’s face was turning red, his eyes wide in panic as he struggled to breathe, unable to draw in enough air. The sight sent a wave of panic through you, but the violence was escalating so quickly, you didn’t know how to stop it.

The sudden wail of police sirens cut through the chaos, and in an instant, the crowd started scattering, running in all directions to avoid getting caught. Topper finally released his grip on Pope, letting him collapse to the ground, gasping for air. He quickly turned to Rafe, his eyes wide with urgency.

“Come on, the cops are here!” Topper shouted, pulling at Rafe’s arm. But Rafe, still seething with rage, shoved JJ one last time, sending him stumbling back.

“You’re lucky, bitch,” Rafe spat, his voice low and full of venom. His eyes remained locked on JJ for a moment, as if daring him to do something. But as the sirens grew louder, Rafe finally turned. His gaze shifted to you, and without warning, he grabbed your wrist, his grip tight and almost painful.

“You’re not so much,” he muttered, his voice dripping with frustration and possessiveness as he began to drag you through the crowd. You stumbled to keep up with him, the chaotic scene still unfolding behind you, but Rafe wasn’t paying attention to anything else.

And you? You were furious about what he meant by that.

──────────────────────

He dragged you all the way down to his truck. You didn’t see a soul around—he had parked in an empty, desolate spot. The sky had started to turn a deep navy blue as dusk settled in. Without warning, he slammed you onto the car, pinning you against its metal surface.

“I leave you for one second, and you go running to the Pogues?” he shouted, his voice seething with fury. His hair was messy from the fight, blood staining his chin and soaking through his shirt, his appearance wild and chaotic.

“I was just saying hi.” you said, barely able to get the words out

“For what? You want to fuck him? Or maybe you already did, huh? Did you fuck JJ?” he hissed, his voice full of venom. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath. You shook your head, but it only seemed to make Rafe angrier. “How about Pope, hmm? He was blushing like a bitch” he sneered. Then, with a swift motion, he punched his car with a fist, so close to your head that you flinched, fear coursing through you. For the first time in your life, you were so terrified that you truly thought he was going to kill you.

Rafe’s eyes locked onto yours, intense and burning with fury as he snarled, “Maybe you fucked them both?” He grabbed your throat, and you could feel his bloodied knuckles pressing against your skin. His face inches from yours, his breath hot and heavy, noses nearly touching. “Were you a good cumdumpster to them?” he hissed, and the words made you want to vomit.

Tears blurred your eyes and stained your face as Rafe roughly turned you around, his chest pressing hard against your back, his breath hot and heavy against your skin. One of his hands was still on your shoulder, gripping it tightly, while the other moved toward his pants. You heard the sound of him unbuckling his belt, and it made you whimper, a wave of terror washing over you.

Rafe didn’t even take the time to prepare you, shoving his full length inside you, his face buried in the back of your neck and your hair as he muttered with disgust, “God, you’re so pathetic, I can’t even look at you.”

[heeluvv]

𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐒 ✘

pairing ✓ bsf younger brother! kim sunoo x reader

genre ✓ smut

warnings ✓ fingering, overstimulation, age gap (no specified), slight dry humping, tit play, oral (f receiving) soft dom! sunoo, etc.

natty’s notes ✓ mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

you shouldn’t feel anything for him.

you tell yourself that over and over, as if repeating it will make the feeling disappear, as if logic will override the way your pulse skips whenever he’s near.

but it’s wrong.

you know it’s wrong.

sunoo is off limits.

he’s your best friend’s younger brother, someone you’ve watched grow up over the years—someone who was never supposed to be anything more than a familiar face, a name you’ve spoken a thousand times without ever really thinking about it.

but something changed.

he changed.

the boy you once brushed off without a second thought had grown into something else entirely. his sharp features, the effortless confidence in his stance, the way his dark eyes always seem to linger on you, watching, waiting.

and lately, you feel it everywhere.

his stare.

the weight of it.

how it follows you when you’re in their house, when you’re laughing with niko, when you pretend—so hard—that you don’t notice.

you tell yourself you’re imagining it.

but deep down, you know better.

you’ve been ignoring it for months.

and now, sitting here on the couch, you feel it again.

“can you please stay over, y/n?” niko’s voice pulls you from your thoughts, her hands clasping yours as she looks at you with pleading eyes.

“it’s pretty late…” the warmth of her touch should ground you, remind you that this is just another sleepover, just like the countless others you’ve had over the years.

but your heart stutters for a completely different reason.

because sitting across from you, lounging on the opposite end of the couch, is sunoo.

silent. watching.

his gaze is heavy, unreadable.

and when your eyes flicker toward him—just for a second too long—he smirks.

like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

like he already knows your answer.

“okay, fine, but i’ll be leaving early in the morning,” you say, sighing dramatically, though there’s no real resistance behind your words.

niko beams, squeezing your hands as she cheers in victory.

“yes! it’s been way too long!”

it wasn’t unusual for you to sleep over at her house. in fact, for years, it had been a regular thing—late-night movies, whispered conversations under the blankets, sneaking into the kitchen for snacks long after everyone had gone to bed.

but it had been a while since the last time you stayed over.

and for obvious reasons.

you push the thought aside as niko eagerly pulls you up from the couch, already chatting about what movie you should watch before bed.

but as the two of you walk toward her room, something makes you pause.

an itch at the back of your neck.

a feeling of being watched.

your body reacts before your mind can catch up, your head turning ever so slightly—just enough to look over your shoulder.

and that’s when you see him.

sunoo.

still sitting on the couch, still watching you.

but this time, there’s no attempt to hide it.

his dark eyes trace the curve of your body, slow and deliberate, lingering on your legs, your hips, before finally meeting your gaze.

heat creeps up your spine, a shiver settling under your skin as something unspoken passes between you.

he doesn’t look away.

doesn’t pretend to be interested in anything else.

instead, his lips twitch, curling into that infuriatingly smug smirk.

and then—he stands, stretching lazily before disappearing down the hallway, leaving you standing there with your breath caught in your throat and your heart pounding a little too fast.

“y/n?” niko’s voice snaps you out of it. you blink, shaking your head quickly before turning back to her, forcing a smile onto your lips.

“coming.”

but even as you follow her to her room, your mind is still stuck on him.

on the way he looked at you.

on that damn smirk.

and suddenly, you’re not so sure staying over was a good idea.

it had been hours since the movie ended. the credits had long since rolled, the room had gone dark, and the only sounds filling the space were the rhythmic ticking of the clock and niko’s slow, even breaths beside you.

but you? you were wide awake.

no matter how many times you shifted under the blankets, no matter how tightly you shut your eyes, sleep never came.

your mind wouldn’t let it.

every time you drifted close, something pulled you back—an image, a feeling, a pair of dark eyes that had been watching you far too closely.

you exhale softly, carefully peeling back the blanket, making sure not to disturb niko as you slip out of bed. her breathing remains steady, undisturbed, and you let out a quiet breath of relief as your bare feet hit the wooden floor.

the house is silent as you step into the hallway, the air slightly colder than before, sending a soft shiver up your spine.

you make your way down to the kitchen, the dim glow of the moon filtering through the window, casting faint silver streaks against the counters.

your fingers reach for a glass, the cool material grounding you as you fill it with water, watching as the liquid swirls inside.

you take a slow sip, but it does little to ease the dryness in your throat.

because the moment you set the cup down, your thoughts drift back to the way he looked at you earlier—so shamelessly, so confidently, like he knew exactly what he was doing.

like he was testing you but the more you try to push the thought away, the stronger it lingers.

“you should really try hiding it more.” the sudden voice cuts through the quiet, making you freeze.

your fingers tighten around the glass instinctively, your heart stuttering in your chest but you don’t need to turn around to know who it is.

his voice is unmistakable—smooth, confident, edged with something amused.

slowly, you pivot on your heels, your breath catching as your eyes land on him.

leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, watching you with that same smirk from earlier—except now, it’s even more dangerous.

he’s casual, dressed in a black tank top that clings to his frame, the soft glow of the moon casting faint shadows over his collarbones, down to the toned definition of his arms. his sweatpants sit low on his waist, exposing a teasing glimpse of his hip bones, and it takes too much effort to tear your gaze away.

“h-hide what?” the words fall from your lips, uneven, weak. you curse at yourself the moment you hear the stutter.

his smirk deepens.

“you know what.” his voice is lower now, softer, but it carries through the kitchen like a challenge.

he takes a step closer.

“you’re not very good at pretending, y/n.”

the air between you shifts, something thick, charged, pressing down on your lungs, making it harder to breathe because you know exactly what he’s talking about.

“you can’t hide it anymore, y/n.”

his voice is steady, almost casual, but there’s an undercurrent of something heavier beneath it—something that makes your stomach twist, your breath catch. You should move, should step back, but the second he closes the distance, you realize you can’t.

your back meets the counter, fingers gripping the edge as he towers over you, his presence suffocating in the best and worst way. He smells clean, warm, intoxicating, and when his dark eyes flicker down—trailing over your face, your parted lips, the way your chest rises and falls just a little too fast—you know he sees everything.

“so why are you still trying?”

his voice is softer now, teasing, daring, but you don’t have an answer. you don’t need one. because the way your body reacts to him says enough.

he leans in slowly, the heat of his body pressing closer until there’s barely an inch of space between you. his breath fans against your skin, warm and deliberate, sending a shiver down your spine as he lowers himself to your level.

his lips ghost over your cheek, not quite touching, just hovering, teasing, making you hyperaware of every little movement.

he lingers there for a second, close enough that you can feel the soft brush of air every time he exhales, close enough that your skin prickles with anticipation.

then, with agonizing slowness, he trails his mouth lower, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, so soft, so barely there that it makes your entire body tense.

“i know you feel it too.” his voice is a whisper, but it wrecks you all the same.

his gaze locks onto yours, searching—waiting—for any sign that you’ll stop this, that you’ll push him away, that you’ll tell him no.

but all he finds is yearning. a deep, undeniable want swirls in your eyes, dark and unguarded, and it’s all the confirmation he needs.

his lips crash onto yours, no hesitation, no second-guessing—just pure hunger. he kisses you like he’s been holding back for too long, like he’s been waiting for this exact moment, and now that he finally has you, he refuses to take his time.

his mouth devours you, stealing every breath, every thought, every single piece of self-control you might have had left. his hands find your waist, fingers tightening as he pulls you against him, making sure you feel every inch of him, his warmth, his need, his intent.

he moves you effortlessly, guiding you backward, step by step, never breaking the kiss, never letting go, until the two of you reach the living room. your knees hit the edge of the couch, and in one swift motion, he’s lowering you down, hovering over you, his weight pressing you into the cushions as his lips continue to consume you whole.

his lips leave a burning path as they trail down the side of your neck, the heat of his mouth sending shivers straight through you. he doesn’t rush—instead, he takes his time, savoring the way your breath hitches when he sucks lightly on the sensitive skin, his tongue flicking out to soothe the spot before moving lower.

open-mouthed kisses scatter across your throat, warm and wet, each one more deliberate than the last. his teeth graze over your pulse point, a satisfied groan slipping from his lips when he feels the way your body tenses beneath him.

his hands tighten on your waist, holding you firmly in place as he rolls his hips into you, the pressure making you gasp.

even through the layers of fabric separating you, you can feel how hard he is, how much he’s aching for you.

“this is what you do to me, baby…” his voice is low, thick with desire, his breath hot against your skin.

he thrusts against you again, slow and deliberate, letting you feel every inch of him as his fingers dig into your hips, holding you exactly where he wants you.

his hands move slowly, deliberately, as they travel down to the hem of your shirt, his fingers curling around the fabric before dragging it up your body with agonizing patience.

he peels it off of you inch by inch, his gaze locked onto your exposed skin, hungry, wanting. the cool air of the room kisses your bare skin, sending a shiver down your spine as he finally tosses the shirt to the floor, forgotten.

his hands are on you in an instant, cupping your tits, squeezing, kneading, his thumbs brushing teasingly over your nipples.

“fuck,” he breathes, his voice thick with lust, his fingers digging into your soft flesh like he’s been starving for this moment.

then, without warning, his tongue darts out, flicking over one nipple before closing his lips around it, sucking, teasing, pulling.

your back arches off the couch, a gasp falling from your lips, the heat between your legs growing unbearable as he works your body so effortlessly.

“s-sunoo…”

his name escapes you in a breathless moan, your fingers tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against your skin.

he switches to the other nipple, his teeth grazing lightly before his tongue swirls around it, sucking hard enough to make you whimper.

he pulls back just slightly, his breath hot against your damp skin, his dark eyes flickering up to meet yours as a smirk tugs at his lips.

“you sound so pretty when you say my name like that, baby.”

his mouth stays latched onto your tits, lips warm and wet as they suck and tug, each pull sending electric jolts straight to your core. his kisses grow hungrier, turning rough and unrestrained, leaving behind bruises that you know will still be there in the morning.

his hands move lower, gliding over your waist, fingertips pressing just enough to make you shiver as they reach the waistband of your pajama pants. with one smooth motion, he hooks his fingers under the fabric and drags them down, peeling them from your body with agonizing slowness.

you shift, lifting your hips slightly to help him, the cool air hitting your bare skin as he tosses your pants to the side, forgotten.

his lips finally leave your chest, but only so he can lower himself further, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the curve of your stomach, his breath searing against your skin.

his dark, heavy gaze locks onto yours as he settles between your legs, his hands gripping your thighs firmly, spreading you just enough to make your heart hammer in anticipation.

“keep it down, baby,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with teasing amusement, his smirk evident even as he presses a slow kiss to your inner thigh, his breath fanning over your aching core.

“you don’t want niko to hear us, hm?”

you barely have a second to process his words before you hear the sound of fabric tearing.

your eyes widen, a gasp slipping from your lips as you feel the sudden coolness against your bare skin—he’s ripped your panties clean off, the shredded lace falling to the floor like it was nothing.

but you don’t even have time to react—because the second the ruined fabric leaves your body, his mouth is on you.

he dives in, tongue flattening against your drenched folds before licking a long, slow stripe up to your clit.

your entire body jerks, a muffled moan caught in your throat as your hands claw at the couch, trying desperately to keep quiet.

but sunoo? he just groans against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your core, his grip tightening on your thighs as he buries himself deeper.

“fuck, baby,” he murmurs between hot, messy licks, devouring you like he’s been starving for this.

“you taste so fucking sweet.”

he devours you like a man starved, his mouth working relentlessly against your dripping pussy, tasting, licking, sucking—like he’s trying to commit every inch of you to memory.

his tongue flicks against your clit in quick, teasing strokes, before flattening out, pressing long, slow licks against your folds, coating himself in your arousal. he groans, the sound vibrating through you, making your thighs tremble as you clutch at the couch beneath you.

but he doesn’t stop there.

his hands tighten on your thighs, holding you still as he pushes his tongue inside, plunging it deep into your entrance, fucking you with it, twisting and curling it in ways that make your entire body tense and shudder.

“fuck, sunoo…”

your moan is breathless, high-pitched, your head falling back against the couch as waves of pleasure pulse through you. your fingers grip into his hair, tugging slightly, making him groan against you as his tongue delves deeper, your walls clenching around him, sucking him in.

the sensation is too much, yet not enough.

he pulls back, his lips glistening with your arousal as he licks them clean, his dark eyes flickering up to meet yours, half-lidded and filled with something dangerous.

but before you can even process the loss of his tongue, his fingers slam into you, two at once, thrusting deep without warning.

a choked cry leaves your lips as your back arches off the couch, your body responding instantly to the sudden intrusion.

“shit—”

his fingers move fast, pumping into you mercilessly, curling with each thrust, finding your most sensitive spot with infuriating precision.

“you look so cute taking my fingers, baby,” he purrs, his voice thick with pure lust, watching the way your body trembles beneath him.

but he isn’t satisfied.

he angles his fingers deeper, scissoring them, twisting them, pushing you closer to the edge at an unforgiving pace.

“let’s see how many times i can make you cum before the night’s over.”

his fingers move faster, harder, deeper, each thrust sending white-hot pleasure coursing through your veins. his pace is unforgiving, every curl of his fingers hitting that sensitive, electrifying spot inside you that has your thighs trembling, your back arching, your hands desperately clawing at the cushions beneath you.

he has a mission—and he’s not going to stop until he sees you completely unravel.

“fuck, sunoo—”

your moans increase, growing louder, needier, your breath coming out in ragged, uneven pants as you feel yourself being pushed closer and closer to that edge, the pleasure building, your release so impossibly close you can almost taste it.

but just as you’re about to fall over, just as your orgasm begins to crest—his hand clamps down over your mouth.

your eyes fly open, a muffled whimper escaping against his palm, your body jerking as the sensation takes you by surprise.

“shh, baby…”

his voice is low, dark, teasing, dripping with satisfaction as he watches your wide, dazed eyes look up at him.

his fingers don’t slow—if anything, they move faster, thrusting into you with brutal precision, curling just right, pressing, stroking, pushing you further into madness.

“we can’t have niko hearing you, can we?”

his smirk is wicked, knowing, his breath warm against your ear as his thumb brushes against your swollen clit, rubbing cruel, slow circles.

your muffled moans turn into desperate, broken cries, your body helpless against his touch, completely at his mercy.

his fingers never slow, never ease up, even as your orgasm crashes over you in violent waves, your body trembling, convulsing, your walls fluttering uncontrollably around his relentless fingers.

your head tilts back, lips parted in a silent, choked cry, the pleasure so intense it borders on unbearable. your entire body shudders, the overstimulation making your nerves feel like they’re on fire, your legs trying to snap shut around his wrist—but he doesn’t let you.

“fuck, look at you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with hunger, his free hand leaving from covering your mouth only to press firmly against your inner thigh, keeping you wide open for him.

his fingers continue their merciless pace, pumping, curling, pressing, as if he’s determined to drag you through another orgasm before you even have a chance to recover.

you can only nod weakly, barely able to process anything beyond the sheer, overwhelming sensation coursing through you.

but he doesn’t let you get away with just that.

“come on, baby, i know you can do it,” he purrs, his tone dripping with sweet, cruel praise, his lips grazing over your ear as his fingers fuck into you deeper. “you’re my good girl, aren’t you?”

your body betrays you, responding to his words as if they carry weight, as if they have power over you—because they do.

your thighs shake violently, the overstimulation so intense it leaves you breathless, your fingers clawing desperately at his arm, at the couch, at anything to ground yourself.

“sunoo—fuck, i can’t—”

but he just smirks, eyes gleaming with satisfaction, watching the way you writhe beneath him, helpless, ruined.

“oh, baby,” he coos, his pace somehow still unrelenting, still merciless. “you can. and you will.”

natty’s notes ✓ wanted to write about sunoo since it’s been forever so i hope you all enjoy!! also 700+ followers??? so insane tysmmm, ilygs 💕

[do-what-the-knight-tells-you]

Yes absolutely to most things on this post, but also in case anyone who wasn't already very familiar with s'mores before this post reads my response, I feel it is also crucial to point out that this practice of making s'mores is ubiquitous enough that in the lead up to especially the summertime, many stores will essentially adopt outdoor/camping as the "seasonal" section, and you will not be able to get away from skewers for roasting marshmallows that are like purpose-made for that-

(example photos from walmart.com)

Many families especially who would have access to camping or campfire-like situations will have a stash of these somewhere.

You of course can use one marshmallow at a time if you want, but they are two pronged like this to enable you to do things like offset your two marshmallows so that they each have complete surface area coverage, but one maybe a little more toasted than the other... Or stick as many marshmallows on there as you can fit. 👍

And some families may have those, but also an extremely traditional method of making a s'more especially when in a moderately forested area, and the version that you're going to see in cartoons and stuff, is to stick the bastards directly on a stick that you have scraped hopefully a majority of bark and dirt off of

And this can be taken to extremes. With that intentional skewer, you can you know pretty easily get two to four marshmallows on the end if you want, so sometimes one member of the party will be on marshmallow duty, and will pass goo-ified marshmallows off to whoever is next making a s'more, especially this might happen if you have some people who are really keen on roasting marshmallows, but maybe don't like eating them so well, or sometimes this will happen if like you're making them for kids who actually maybe too young and uncoordinated to be trusted sticking something into a fire...

But also you can do the same thing with the sticks, leading sometimes to very elaborate setups with multiple marshmallows sticking off at different points, and the tricky experiment of trying to roast them all appropriately without setting your stick on fire.

And the one point I would like to quibble with is that while we now have those jumbo marshmallows pictured above, and we even have like square marshmallows that some companies are making that are designed to fit more neatly on a half a gram cracker... In my day neither of those products existed, and the standard was just the large marshmallow, which is the size that every marshmallow on my section of this post has been so far. For comparison, here's a child playing with the sizes of marshmallow:

That's the tiny, like you would find in a hot cocoa packet perhaps, mini, which is the size you would use if you were going to build structures out of toothpicks and marshmallows, or make a little marshmallow trebuchet or launcher, also probably the size you would get if you were going to make Rice krispie treats, flat, which is the kind that have semi recently been designed specifically to fit nicely on a graham cracker half, standard, which is the size that anyone who's at least 20 or 25 probably grew up mostly seeing, and a jumbo, which is just... So much marshmallow...

(and on a personal note, while I always loved setting them on fire, probably the most fun for kids, my personal favorite way to eat them is not on the smore at all, but rather to toast them layer by layer, caramelizing the outside, and then slipping that skin off, here violating the precept that you must make it gooey (which, gooey is crucially important if you're going to squish it between two not very sturdy graham crackers with some stiff chocolate) but rather for me it's important not to make the middle gooey, so only so much of the inside comes with the skin and then you can stick the whole thing back in the fire and toast yourself another skin, and then repeat until you are out of marshmallow. This is extremely effective on a jumbo marshmallow, but then I have to drink a lot of water and lie down because that is so much sugar. XD)

Also also, part of the reason that Hershey's chocolate is usually the chocolate choice is that it is a very milk chocolate that melts quite easily and is fairly thin and brakes off into nice even squares or sets of squares. But also for anyone who has not had Hershey's, its quite a distinctive chocolate, and while others will do in a pinch, it is a distinctive enough chocolate that a s'more is not going to taste quite classic without specifically Hershey's.

(I'm not saying Hershey's is necessarily a good chocolate- if you are prone to thinking that some chocolates taste kind of like vomit? Hershey's will probably not be for you, cuz whatever chemical makes it taste that way is quite prominent in Hershey's milk chocolate. But it is a classic, cuz it was for the longest time the best shaped and cheapest and most available version of itself for this purpose)

GBBO: “A s’more is basically just an Italian merengue sandwiched between two ganache-covered digestives”

Americans:

[fortunxa]

「 ✦ soft to the touch ✦ 」

Jinx x ballerina!reader / modern AU

─── ballerina masterlist ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ // fourth position

summary: From recitals to the quiet moments after, Jinx was there—watching, waiting, memorizing every movement like it was meant just for her. She’d seen her girl dance before, but never like this—never under stage lights, never with an entire audience holding their breath. And yet, all Jinx could think was, “She’s mine.”

contents: modern AU, opposites attract, established relationship, Jinx being the best gf ever (duh), Jinx being down bad, shit summary

wc: 5k

author's note: man the pressure was on, spent the last 48h grinding for this part.

The air smelled like grease, oil, and something softer—vanilla, maybe, or jasmine. That was your doing. Jinx had found an old candle in a junk shop last week, stuffed between a broken radio and a pile of tangled cords, and you had lit it tonight. Now, its dim glow flickered against the walls, casting shadows over the chaos of her apartment, making everything feel a little less like a storm and a little more like a sanctuary.

Jinx herself was on the floor, half-buried in wires and tools, a screwdriver balanced between her fingers. Her jeans were torn in ways that weren’t trendy, her black tank top smeared with grease, and the floor lamp beside her flickered like it was on its last breath. But none of that mattered.

Because she was watching you.

You stood at the window, bathed in the pale glow of the city outside. The skyline pulsed with a million stories—some cruel, some kind—but she barely noticed. Not when you moved like that, stretching your arms over your head, the movement slow, effortless, like every inch of you had been made to flow. The hem of your sweatshirt—her sweatshirt—rose just enough to tease a sliver of skin before settling back into place. Jinx should’ve minded that you stole it.

She didn’t.

She couldn’t—not when it looked better on you anyway.

She had seen you dance before—watched you through the mirrored walls of your studio, where everything was measured, precise, rehearsed to perfection. But here, in the dim light of her apartment, with the scent of burnt circuits and oil hanging in the air, it felt different. More real. More yours.

You weren’t a ballerina in a stranger’s world. You weren’t some delicate thing tiptoeing over the wreckage of her life.

You didn’t belong to the ballet studio right now.

You belonged here, with her—in her space, in her clothes, in the middle of her mess.

And somehow, impossibly, you fit.

Jinx swallowed, fingers twitching in her lap. She could’ve gone back to work. Could’ve tinkered with the half-built contraption on the table, focused on something, anything else.

But she didn’t.

Because you were standing there, all light and quiet elegance, and she—grimy hands, messy hair, and all—was yours.

And she thought she could watch you forever.

“You’re staring,” you teased, not even looking up.

Jinx blinked, caught mid-thought. “Huh?”

For a second, she could’ve played it off—looked away, pretended she hadn’t just been completely absorbed in the way you moved, the way the light traced the curve of your jaw.

But subtlety had never been her thing.

Instead, she just grinned, lazy and unapologetic. “Can’t help it. You’re too pretty.”

The words came out too simple, too easy—nowhere near enough to match the tangled mess of thoughts you’d just unintentionally put her through. But maybe that was a good thing. If she actually tried to explain it, she’d be talking forever.

You shook your head, a soft laugh slipping past your lips as you crossed the room, approaching her. “And you’re shameless.”

“Only for you, dollface.”

Lie. Jinx was shameless anywhere, anytime—loud, cocky, and unapologetic, like she had something to prove to the world. But with you? It was different.

Her words might’ve been teasing, dripping with her usual brand of confidence, but her tone gave her away. It was gentle. She was gentle when it came to you, always. Her voice softened around you like it might bruise you otherwise, her hands steady as they held whatever delicate thing you passed her—your phone, a piece of jewelry, your shoelaces when she crouched to tie them just because she could.

She might’ve been all sharp edges, unpredictable and rough like the streets she grew up on, but you? You were smooth lines and soft landings, silk and grace and everything she didn’t know how to be.

And maybe that was the thing: Jinx wasn’t used to fragile things. Wasn’t used to handling them, much less having them.

But she wouldn’t dare risk damaging you.

Not even when she reached for you now, fingers looping lightly around your wrist, calloused against the warmth of your skin. She didn’t pull—just held you there, grounding herself, as if to prove to herself that you were real. It always surprised her, how easily she could switch gears for you—how her hands, accustomed to roughness and chaos, could find the gentlest of touches.

“What? Having an existential crisis over how much you adore me?” You glanced down at her, your playfulness betrayed by the fond look in your eyes.

She snorted. “Please. I accepted my fate ages ago.”

Still, she didn’t let go. You looked like something made to be admired, never touched—yet here she was.

Tomorrow was a big deal. Your first recital since you and Jinx had started dating. You’d been rehearsing for weeks, running through your routine so many times that she swore she could see the movements even when she closed her eyes—your turns, the arch of your arms, the way your body carved shapes into the air like it was second nature.

“Nervous?” she asked, her voice light, but there was something curious in the way she tilted her head, watching you.

“A little,” you admitted, exhaling softly. “But it’s a good kind of nervous. Like butterflies.”

She grinned. “I’ll be there, front and center. Don’t worry, doll—I’ll scare the butterflies off.” Then, quieter, like a passing thought, “Or the audience.”

“What was that?”

Jinx fumbled her screwdriver, letting it clatter to the floor, and leaned back on her hands, stretching out her legs. She studied you from where she sat, gaze low, thoughtful, utterly smitten.

She exhaled, shaking her head with a lopsided smile. “It’s just not fair, y’know? Being all graceful and pretty while I look like… this.” She gestured vaguely to herself, messy blue hair falling over her shoulder in the process.

You took her in, noticing the sock half-off her foot like she’d kicked it loose hours ago and never fixed it, before crouching down in front of her. You were close enough now that she could see the flicker of amusement in your eyes, the way your lips twitched like you were holding back a smile.

“You look like you,” you said—simple, certain.

Jinx’s smirk faltered, just for a second. “…And that’s a good thing?”

Your expression softened. Like you had already made up your mind about her a long time ago. Like she wasn’t something that needed fixing, just something worth knowing.

“It’s my favorite thing.”

The blue-haired girl felt a familiar heat creeping up her neck. The words sat between you, pressing against her ribs, warm and solid, something heavy disguised as light. She’d never been good at compliments, at sincerity. Words always came out too sharp, too loud, or too much.

But then you reached out, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear, fingers lingering just a little longer than necessary, like you were memorizing the shape of her. And suddenly, she didn’t care if she was a little rough around the edges.

Not if it meant being yours.

Jinx wasn’t built for quiet spaces. Libraries, coffee shops, waiting rooms—anywhere people expected her to sit still and blend in—were her mortal enemies. Which made the fact that she was sitting in the middle of a tiny, upscale theater kind of hilarious.

The lobby smelled like perfume and polished wood, and every person there looked like they belonged on the cover of a fashion magazine. It wasn’t exactly her scene. She fiddled with her stacked rings, feeling the stares from strangers burning into her back.

“Look at her boots,” someone whispered behind her.

She grinned to herself. Yeah, the boots were old and beat up, sure. But they’d also been through hell with her, and she wasn’t ditching them just because these people thought they were ugly.

She wasn’t one for dressing up anyway. She didn’t do fancy, but for you? She could manage decent.

She actually showered—hot water, soap, the whole deal. Scrubbed the grease from under her nails, wrestled a comb through the blue chaos on her head, and even styled it into something that almost looked intentional.

Almost.

Clothes were trickier. A dress was out of the question—too frilly, too not her. A button-up? Maybe, but she’d have to dig one out that wasn’t permanently wrinkled or stained with paint. She settled on some ripped purple tights (stylish rips, not just “I fell on my face” rips, thank you very much), a pair of shorts, and a non-negotiable cropped leather jacket over a band tee that might’ve once been her sister’s. It was as fancy as she got, and hell, it even matched her boots.

Makeup was a last minute decision. Eyeliner? Smudged, but present. Lipstick? Just a swipe—something dark, something purple. Nails? Painted a chipped, electric blue.

She looked…not bad. Not boring. Not someone she didn’t recognize.

And most importantly, not someone who’d embarrass her girl tonight.

She glanced down at the pristine bouquet in her hands—roses, soft and pink, perfectly arranged with some Baby’s Breath, wrapped carefully in a satin ribbon. She had spent an embarrassing amount of time picking them out at a flower shop that had felt just as intimidating as this place. It wasn’t like Jinx to care about details like that, but you deserved something pretty. Something delicate. Something that matched you.

She never really understood the whole flowers thing.

They were pretty, sure. Some of them smelled nice. But they died so fast. A week, maybe two, and then they were just dry petals and sad stems, tossed in the trash like they’d never even mattered. It always seemed kind of pointless.

She never knew how to explain why she kept bringing them either.

It wasn’t like she had to get you flowers. There was no rule saying, Hey, when your ballerina girlfriend is incredible and does something amazing, you should absolutely go out of your way to buy her a whole damn bouquet like some lovesick idiot.

No one expected her to do it.

But maybe it was because she liked the way your face lit up every time—like it was the first time, like it was always the first time. Maybe it was because she liked proving that she could do stuff like this, that she could love loud without it feeling weird or wrong.

Or maybe it was just because it was you.

Either way, it didn’t matter. The bouquet was already in her hands, something soft and delicate, just waiting for the right moment, for that warm and grateful smile.

The lights flickered in the lobby, signaling the start of the performance. Jinx quickly made her way to her seat in the front row, like she’d promised, settling in among the fancy suits and sparkling jewelry like a riot in their midst. She slouched, legs spread wide as she gripped the ripped fabric of her tights. The guy next to her—a middle-aged man in a pressed suit—kept side-eyeing her like she was about to rob the place. She stuck out like a sore thumb, but she didn’t care.

Because tonight was your night—the one you’ve been training for, stressing over, breaking in those stupid pointe shoes for, chasing perfection like it was something you could hold.

Jinx had seen you in the studio, under harsh fluorescent lights, with mirrors on every wall and that strict, no-nonsense instructor barking out corrections. She’d seen the hours of practice, the exhaustion, the way you’d shake out your legs after too many drills, muttering about how your feet would probably fall off one day.

She’d seen you on late afternoons, sock-clad feet sliding over the kitchen floor, spinning absentmindedly while waiting for the tea to brew. She’d seen you in the cramped space of her apartment, practicing steps between the couch and the coffee table, one hand gripping the back of a chair for balance.

But this? This was different.

The theater was dim, the hush of the crowd heavier than she expected. The moment the lights hit the stage, she leaned forward, hands fisted in her lap, scanning the dancers until—

There.

You.

And, shit.

Jinx had always known you were good—great, even. She’d seen the dedication, the bruises, the discipline. But under the glow of the stage lights, you weren’t just great. You were breathtaking. Effortless. Like you weren’t just dancing—like you were the music itself.

She barely breathed as she watched, heart hammering like it was her up there, like every move had her name stitched into it. The way you turned, the way you leaped—it was the same girl who curled up next to her on lazy mornings, the same girl who stole her hoodies and made her eat actual meals. But up there, you were something untouchable, something unreal.

And Jinx? She was absolutely, hopelessly wrecked.

She sank lower in her seat, subconsciously gripping the bouquet in her hands tighter. She wasn’t used to this—being the one watching, being the one awed. Usually, it was the other way around. But now? She couldn’t take her eyes off you.

Jinx remembered a night a few weeks ago, lying on the floor together after a long day, staring up at the ceiling fan as it spun.

“You ever get tired of it?” she had asked, stretching an arm toward the fan, watching her fingers blur.

You had laughed, rolling onto your side to face her. “Sometimes. But then I get on stage, and it’s like… I don’t know. Like it all makes sense again.”

Jinx didn’t get it then.

But oh, she got it now.

“Front row and everything, huh?” a voice whispered to her left. She turned to see a snooty-looking woman giving her a raised eyebrow. “Didn’t peg you for the ballet type.”

The blue-haired girl gave her a grin that was all teeth in return. “I’m not,” she said, unapologetic. “I’m her type.” She nodded her chin toward the stage. The woman rolled her eyes but said nothing more.

When the performance ended, Jinx was on her feet before the applause even started, fingers stuffed between her lips as she let out a sharp, piercing whistle. She didn’t care if it was out of place. Didn’t care if the people next to her flinched.

Because when you took your bow, your final pose held just long enough while the last note echoed, Jinx caught it—the tiniest smile, just for her.

And the second the curtain fell, she was gone.

She bolted from her seat, ignoring the looks from the parents and fellow spectators as she rushed down the aisle. It was only halfway down that she realized she’d left the bouquet behind.

“Shit—” She spun, snatched it up, nearly snapping the stems in her grip, and took off again.

Did she know where she was going? Not exactly. Did she care? Less than zero.

People in expensive outfits gave her sideways glances as she weaved through the crowd, moving like she had every right to be there, practically vibrating out of her skin. A few ushers hovered near the backstage entrance, and for half a second, she considered slowing down, playing it cool. But fuck that. Her girl had just owned that stage, and Jinx wasn’t about to wait around like some polite, rule-abiding audience member.

She slipped past a distracted stagehand, ducked around a closing door, and found herself in a hallway lined with dancers. Some were stretching, some fixing their hair, others congratulating each other in excited whispers. But Jinx wasn’t looking for just anyone.

And then she found you.

Still in costume, still catching your breath, your face glowing from exertion and adrenaline. And god, she had never seen anything like it.

You spotted her, bright blue hair and barely contained excitement, and your eyes sparkled at the sight.

“Jinx.” Her name rang softly, like something warm, something safe, honey-sweet on your tongue.

“You—” she started, but she was already closing the distance, practically bouncing on her heels. “You were insane. Like—like actually unreal!” She gestured wildly with the bouquet, nearly hitting a passing dancer in the face. “I knew you were good, but that? That was, like—movie shit. No—better than movie shit. You—”

You laughed, reaching out to steady her overexcited, flailing arms. “Breathe, babe.”

“No, you don’t get it,” she insisted. “I didn’t breathe. The whole time. I forgot how. ‘Cause you were just out there like—” She mimed some approximation of a ballet move, nearly tripping over her own feet in the process. “And everyone was just watching like it was normal, like they weren’t witnessing actual perfection—”

“Jinx—”

“—and I swear some guy next to me almost cried, like actual tears. You made a grown-ass man emotional.”

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head, and she could see it now—the little flicker of pride, the way your shoulders relaxed just a little.

And that? That made Jinx’s chest feel way too full.

She took a deep breath, finally steadying herself, letting your presence ground her.

Your eyes dropped to the bouquet still clutched in her grip, and just like every other time, your face softened. The flowers were a little squished, maybe a little wilted from the heat of the theater, from the way she’d been holding them for too long.

But it didn’t matter.

Jinx didn’t move at first. Didn’t say anything. Just held the flowers tighter for a second, looking down at them like she hadn’t already made up her mind, like she wasn’t going to hand them over anyway.

She didn’t shove them forward, didn’t rush the moment, didn’t try to play it off like an afterthought. Instead, she just offered them—a little stiff, a little awkward, but meaning it.

“For you.”

You slowly reached out, plucking them from her hands, brushing your fingers over the petals like they were made of glass.

And Jinx? She still didn’t get it. She really didn’t.

Because this wasn’t the first time. It wasn’t even the second or third. She had done this every single time she had some cash lying around, showing up with flowers like some sappy idiot—not every day, not even every week, but enough. Enough that you should’ve gotten used to it. Should’ve started rolling your eyes, started treating it like a habit, something expected.

But every single time, you reacted the same way—like it was the most thoughtful thing anyone had ever done for you. Like it was something rare. Like she had given you a piece of her heart and you were holding it between your hands, cherishing it.

The roses weren’t even her style, but you loved them, and Jinx would’ve set fire to a whole field of thorns to get the prettiest ones.

“They’re beautiful.”

“So are you,” she said without thinking, then immediately groaned. “God, that was cheesy. Forget I said that.”

“I won’t,” you said, laughing. “Because I like it.”

She ducked her head, grinning despite herself. She barely had time to process anything before you reached out, fingers curling around the lapels of her jacket, tugging her in just enough to make her breath hitch.

You were right there. Close enough that she could see the remnants of stage makeup smudged at the corners of your eyes, close enough that she could still feel the warmth of your laughter lingering in the space between you, close enough that she knew what was coming.

And then—closer.

You leaned in, slow but certain, like there was no doubt, no hesitation, like this moment had been inevitable from the second Jinx stepped backstage.

Her breath stuttered. She barely had a second to brace herself before your lips met—soft at first, tentative, like you wanted to savor it. And Jinx—Jinx, who had never known softness in a way that didn’t cut—was completely undone by it.

But then you sighed against her mouth, fingers tightening in her jacket, and—

Fuck.

She melted. Into it, into you.

The flowers crinkled between you, caught in the space of your bodies pressing together, trapped between two hearts that wouldn’t slow the fuck down.

Neither of you seemed to care. Not about the bouquet, not about the voices echoing around you, not about the dancers and stagehands weaving through the backstage chaos.

Nothing else existed.

None of it even registered.

Just this. Just you.

She didn’t care who saw. Didn’t care who whispered.

Didn’t care that she was supposed to be cool and casual when everything about this felt wild and big and terrifying.

Jinx deepened the kiss without thinking, hands finding your waist, pulling you closer, letting herself drown in the warmth, the scent, the feel of you.

It was deep, slow, loving in a way that made something in her chest ache. Because god, she was all in. Had been since the beginning, since the first time she got you flowers, since the first time you looked at her like she mattered.

And now, standing in the middle of all this noise, Jinx could only think—

Yeah. She’d set fire to a thousand fields just to keep this.

You pulled away just enough to rest your forehead against hers, the warmth of her still lingering on your lips.

“I love you, you know,” you whispered, not just to fill the silence, not just because the moment asked for it—but because it was true. Because it was the truest thing you’d ever said.

Jinx blinked, like she needed a second to process it, then let out a slow breath, voice quieter now, almost reverent.

“Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

A slow grin crept across her face, crooked and so Jinx, like she wasn’t quite sure how to hold something so big in her chest but wanted to, desperately.

“Good,” she said, nudging her nose against yours. “’Cause I love you, too. Like, a stupid amount. Like, probably an unhealthy amount.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Like a scary amount?”

“Terrifying.”

And then she was kissing you again, as if the words weren’t enough, as if she had to show you. She stole another quick kiss, then another, and then—

“Alright, lovebirds, out of the way,” someone called, brushing past with an armful of costumes. “Some of us are trying to work here.”

She scowled, pulling back with an exaggerated eye roll. “Yeah, yeah. We’re leavin’, I guess.”

You grabbed her hand, lacing your fingers together before she could start mouthing off to an overworked stagehand, and gave a small tug. “Come with me while I change?”

Jinx perked up with her signature smirk. “Oh? Bold invitation.”

You rolled your eyes, dragging her toward the dressing rooms. “An invitation to wait.”

“Still counts.”

She lingered in the hallway as you slipped inside, peeling off layers of sweat and exhaustion, stripping off the tight bodice of your costume, swapping stiff satin and tulle for soft, worn clothes that felt yours again.

By the time you emerged, she was leaning against the wall, messing with the bouquet, spinning one of the bruised roses between her fingers. She glanced up, took one look at you, and grinned like you were the best thing she’d ever seen.

“Ready?”

She pushed off the wall, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “Hell yeah. Let’s get out of here.”

Outside, the city was buzzing—lights flashing, cars honking, the kind of restless energy that never really died down. The kind that made you feel like the night was still yours.

“You know, if I was rich rich, I’d totally hire a fancy car to come pick us up. Something ridiculous. Something with champagne.” Jinx turned her head, glancing down at you as she wiggled her eyebrows.

You snorted. “You don’t even like champagne.”

“I’d make an exception. For the aesthetic.”

But you weren’t rich rich. You were young and broke and still clinging to the last of your post-performance adrenaline as you headed toward the subway entrance with your girlfriend’s arm slung around your shoulders and her heartbeat pressed against your side.

The train was mostly empty when you boarded, save for the few scattered souls—an older man nodding off in his seat, a girl with headphones in, lost in her own world, a couple whispering to each other near the door.

Jinx flopped down on the bench, stretching her legs out like she owned the place, then tugged you down beside her.

“You were incredible tonight,” she murmured suddenly, like she’d been holding onto the thought, like it needed to be said.

You turned to her, lips twitching. “You already told me that.”

“Yeah, well. You were.”

Something about the way she said it—so earnest, so unapologetically sure—made your chest go tight.

You exhaled, leaning into her shoulder. “Thanks for being there.”

Jinx scoffed, as if the idea of being anywhere else was insane.

“Always.”

She was quiet for a moment, absentmindedly toying with the loose thread on your sleeve, before speaking again.

“You hungry?” she murmured. “How about we grab some noodles? I know this place that has, like, the best dumplings.”

You raised a brow. “We’re broke”

“First of all, rude. Second of all, I am treating you.”

“You say that like we don’t share the same tragic bank account situation.”

“Babe, I’d rob a bank for you.”

“That is not comforting.”

“I’d get away with it, though.”

“Oh my God.”

Honestly, the idea of warm noodles and dumplings sounded perfect after the long night you’d had—your stomach was starting to protest. Besides, Jinx was stubborn when she wanted something—there was no talking her out of this. So, you let her lead you out of the subway a few stops later.

The two of you walked through the city, past neon-lit storefronts and quiet streets, weaving through clusters of late-night wanderers. Somewhere, a group of friends sat on the curb, laughing over something that didn’t matter. A street musician packed up his guitar case, counting the crumpled bills inside. The night smelled like warm pavement, like street food and exhaust, like the last lingering notes of summer fading into something cooler.

After a few blocks, Jinx veered left, leading you to a small, tucked-away noodle shop wedged between taller buildings. The sign buzzed faintly, flickering like it could go out at any second. The windows were fogged up from the heat inside, condensation blurring the fluorescent lights.

She pushed the door open with her shoulder, grinning as she held it for you. “After you, m’lady.”

You gave her a look. “Never say that again.”

She cackled, following you inside.

The place was quiet at this hour—just a couple of other people eating, a lone employee halfheartedly wiping down the counter. The air smelled rich, savory, like garlic and broth and something fried. Jinx led you to a booth by the window, sliding in across from you and grabbing a menu, even though she already knew what she wanted.

“You have to get the dumplings,” she said immediately, peering at you over the top of the menu. “It’s, like, a rule.”

You smirked, placing the bouquet of roses beside you. “Oh? And who made that rule?”

She leaned forward, lowering her voice like she was letting you in on a secret. “The universe.”

You shook your head, amused, but when the waitress came over, you let Jinx order for both of you—two bowls of noodles, a plate of dumplings, and two cheap sodas.

As you waited for the food, she toyed with the napkin dispenser, spinning it absently between her fingers. You could feel her watching you, her gaze softer now, like she was letting herself settle into the moment.

When your order arrived, hot and fragrant, you didn’t hesitate, groaning at the first bite.

“Okay,” you admitted, “these are really good.”

Jinx grinned like she’d personally cooked the meal herself. “Right? Told ya.”

“Fine. You win.”

She watched you eat for a moment, chin propped up on her hand. “You know,” she said, nudging a dumpling onto your plate, “I like this.”

You raised a brow. “Like what?”

“This,” she gestured vaguely between you. “Us. This whole thing.”

Warmth bloomed in your chest, slow and steady. You swallowed your bite, then picked up a dumpling and set it on her plate in return.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “Me too.”

Jinx’s grin softened into something quieter, something real. “Good. ‘Cause I’m gonna keep buying you dumplings, no matter how broke we are.”

For a while, the two of you just ate, content in your usual conversations, in the warmth of the shop, in the way the city buzzed faintly beyond the glass. It was just the two of you, sharing food, sharing space, sharing something neither of you had the words for most of the time.

Eventually, she sat back with a sigh, rubbing her stomach. “Okay. Maybe I overestimated our budget a little.”

You raised a brow. “How much do we have left?”

“Uhh… Enough to get home.” She winced. “Probably.”

You groaned, reaching for your wallet. “Jinx.”

“Relax, relax. I got it,” she said quickly, waving you off before sliding out of the booth. “Wait here. If I don’t come back, assume I had to fight my way out.”

“Oh, fantastic.”

She cackled and made her way to the counter, charming the guy into letting her pay in crumpled bills and loose pocket change. She gave you a thumbs up as if you didn’t overhear their whole conversation, sitting just a few feet away in the cramped-up space of the noodle shop.

When she came back, she grabbed your hand, guiding you to your feet with a grin. “Alright, ballerina. Time to head home before we have to actually rob someone.”

You giggled, reaching for the bouquet which had seen enough for one day, letting her lead you out.

Outside, the air had cooled, the city feeling just a little quieter now, a little slower. You fell into step beside her easily, her arm slung over your shoulders in a familiar manner, your body naturally leaning into hers. It was routine at this point.

She let out a breath, glancing at you. “Tonight was good.”

You nodded, squeezing her hand. “Yeah. It was.”

She smiled. Not her usual cocky grin, not the sharp-edged smirk she gave when she was teasing—but something softer.

Something just for you.

And as the two of you headed toward the subway again, tired but full, broke but happy, you felt something settle in your chest—steady, certain, home.

[pickingupmymercedes]

Ferrari? Cars? Red things? - Lewis Hamilton

genre: fluff (suggestive language though)

wordcount: +2K

a/n: Hi, so kind of a special to celebrate the new livery launch and shakedown, kind me trying to get back intro writing (again)

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

SUGGESTIVE LANGUAGE, PROCEED WITH CAUTION

______________________________________________________________

It was nearly 1 a.m. when the door to our bedroom on the trailer creaked open, a rush of cold air sneaking in before he shut it behind him.

I didn’t even need to turn around to know exactly what I’d see—Lewis, still in his gala suit, eyes glowing, grin stretched so wide it could light up the whole damn place.

I knew that expression. It was the face of a man who’d just spent the past few hours living out his childhood dream and was still high off the fumes of it.

And there went any plans of getting a full night’s sleep.

He was buzzing, damn near vibrating with excitement, and I could already tell there was no way in hell he was going to just slide into bed, close his eyes, and rest for tomorrow.

“Hey, love” he greeted, his voice thick with adrenaline, as he kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his jacket. “You still up?”

“No, you’re dreaming. I’m actually fast asleep right now.” I rolled onto my side on the bed, propping myself up on my elbow to look at him.

He chuckled, running a hand over his face, but even that couldn’t dull the bright gleam in his eyes.

I’d seen Lewis excited before, but this was different. This was the kind of unfiltered joy that made his whole body hum with it.

He looked younger, weightless, like he’d just been given the keys to a whole new world.

And honestly. I’m not above saying it—it was hot as hell.

I watched him for a beat, soaking in the way his smile tugged at his lips, the way his dimples deepened, the way his broad shoulders moved as he stretched, his muscles flexing underneath the snug long-sleeve he was wearing.

He caught me staring, because of course he did, and his smirk turned downright sinful.

“What?” he asked, dropping onto the edge of the sofa just in front of the bed

I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “You look happy.”

He exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. “I am happy.”

I grinned, shifting up so I was sitting cross-legged looking straight at him. “Okay, tell me everything. What’s got you bouncing off the walls at one in the morning?”

Lewis’s eyes lit up even more, if that was even possible.

“C’mom. Spill.”

And, oh, did he spill.

He went on about the event, the moment they announced him as a Ferrari driver, how it felt to be standing there in red with Charles, knowing this was the start of something completely new.

He told me about the energy in London, how surreal it all was, how much love he felt from the fans. How there were tifosi just outside of the Fiorano track right then, about the shakedown in a few hours, about the new car finally hitting the track, about how he could hardly sit still.

I was listening—I swear I was. But somewhere between the words ‘Ferrari’ and ‘dream come true,’ my focus… was gone.

To his mouth.

To the way his lips moved as he spoke, to the way the deep timbre of his voice filled the room. To the way his jaw clenched subtly when he was thinking, to the way the veins in his neck stood out when he tilted his head back slightly, still smiling.

To the way his forearms flexed when he gestured, to the way his biceps strained against his sleeve, to the way he was looking even more stupidly buff than usual lately.

It was unfair.

“What?” Lewis asked, mid-sentence, and I realized belatedly that I had, in fact, stopped listening entirely.

“Hm?” I blinked, snapping back to reality. “Nothing. Keep going.”

He squinted at me, amused. “You weren’t here, were you?”

“I was” I said, unconvincingly. “Ferrari? Cars? Red things?”

His grin turned slow and knowing. “You were staring.”

“Caught…”

“Looking at my mouth.”

“You are pretty hot, so…” I shot back, lifting my chin. “Maybe next time, try being less… you. Ever thought about that?”

Lewis threw his head back and laughed, the kind of laugh that made him light up.

And gosh, I hated how much I longed for that sound.

I let my eyes wander again, taking him in—the scruff on his jaw, the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the warmth in his gaze as he looked back at me.

And then, because I was weak, because he was still buzzing with excitement and it was making me feel restless, I got up and walked up to him.

“Well,” I said, stretching my arms on the back of his neck as I slowly, purposefully, slid onto his lap, straddling him on the small sofa beside the bed. “Since neither of us are getting any sleep tonight anyway, we might as well make it worth it.”

His hands found my waist instantly, fingers pressing into my sides. His grin turned downright dangerous. “Oh, yeah?”

I leaned in, letting my lips ghost over the veins on his neck, feeling the way his breath hitched beneath me. “Yeah.”

“Damn,” he muttered, his voice already deeper, rougher. “You really have no self-control.”

“Like you’re any better.”

And just like that, his hands tightened, and we were gone.

His laugh was all low and breathless against my ear, but it stuttered when my lips finally met his skin.

The veins along his neck were prominent, pulsing with adrenaline, and I took my sweet time pressing slow, teasing kisses there, feeling the warmth of him beneath my lips. I could feel the hum of his voice before I even heard it.

“Babe,” he rasped, tilting his head ever so slightly, just enough to let me have my way with him—until he stiffened, as if remembering. “Wait, don’t leave a mark.”

I pulled back just enough to glance up at him questioning, my lips still hovering over his throat.

His fingers flexed at my waist, his grip just shy of bruising. “There’ll be photos everywhere tomorrow. Everyone’ll be zooming in, analyzing, and I’d rather not show up with—” He cut himself off when I hummed and pressed my lips back to his skin, just under his jaw, deliberately slow. “Y/n.”

“Not gonna do anything” I murmured, but I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t tempted.

Just the thought of it—of knowing I’d left my mark on him while he stood there tomorrow in full Ferrari red, cameras catching the smallest details—was dangerously appealing.

But I sighed dramatically and pulled back, patting his chest. “You’re lucky I’m merciful.”

“Merciful, my ass,” he muttered, but he let me go, only for his hand to cup my jaw a second later, guiding me back to his lips.

And then—then—he had the audacity to bite down on my lips, just hard enough to make me gasp.

“Oh, so you can do it?” I accused, pulling back just enough to glare at him.

Lewis had the nerve to look smug. “Double standards, love.”

I huffed, pushing at his chest, but he only used the opportunity to flip our positions, shifting me down onto the sofa so fast I barely had time to register it before he was hovering over me, his weight pressing me into the cushions.

And it became a game of control.

I pushed back, trying to flip us again, but he was stronger, faster, and when I tried to grab at his wrists, he laughed at me.

Actually laughed. The bastard.

“Babe” he taunted, easily catching both my wrists in one hand, pinning them above my head. “You’re barely even trying.”

Oh, fuck him.

I yanked a knee up, knocking his balance off for just a second—just long enough for me to twist out of his grip and shove at his shoulder. He went willingly, letting me straddle him again, but that stupid grin was still on his face, like he knew he was letting me win.

I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t be cocky.”

“You love when I’m cocky” he countered, dragging his hands up my thighs.

And I hated that he was right.

The push and pull didn’t stop as we made quick work of each other’s clothes—though, to be fair, he had far more of an advantage.

I’d been lounging in nothing but one of his oversized shirts and a pair of boxers that were technically his but had long since been claimed as mine.

Which meant that by the time we were both breathless, I was bared before him, while he was still in his pants, his upper body deliciously bare but the rest of him maddeningly covered.

And honestly, not fair.

I huffed, about to make a snarky comment, when I noticed his expression as he looked down at me. He wasn’t smirking anymore, wasn’t teasing—he was just looking at me.

Looking at me like I was something rare, something fragile and infinite all at once.

His hands smoothed over my sides, up my ribcage, and back down again, slow and reverent. His mouth parted slightly, but he didn’t say anything.

That stupid, beautiful smile was still on his face. I swallowed, warmth settling in my chest.

I should’ve said something snarky, teased him for looking so enamored, but for once, I didn’t have the words.

And I just let myself sink into it—into him.

The first hints of morning crept in through the blinds, soft and hesitant, spilling weak streaks across the sheets.

Somewhere in the distance we could hear the metallic clang echoed through the crisp air, voices in hurried Italian murmured instructions, and, unmistakably, the sound of  tifosi—already buzzing.

I sighed, stretching slightly against the warm body beside me. “It’s barely six in the morning, and they’re already outside.”

Lewis chuckled, his voice rough and lazy. “Hmm.”

I turned my head, catching the lazy smirk playing at his lips. His eyes were droopy, his skin warm and golden in the dim light.

He wasn’t talking much now, but he was touchy—like the always was after – his fingers trailing absentminded patterns over my hip, his palm spreading warm over my back, pulling me closer like he was committing the feeling of me to memory before he had to get up.

I let the silence linger for a few seconds before murmuring, “You’ve got, what? Fifteen minutes before you have to leave?”

He hummed in confirmation, his hand slipping lower, fingertips dragging down my spine. “More than enough time.”

I raised an eyebrow. “For what exactly?”

Lewis didn’t answer—not with words, anyway. Instead, he shifted, rolling me onto my back effortlessly, pressing his weight into me as his lips found mine.

It was slower now, deeper, nothing like the frantic desperation of hours before. He wasn’t trying to prove a point anymore, wasn’t teasing or coaxing—he was just kissing me, savoring it, letting the last remnants of the excitement settle into something quieter.

And maybe I let him, just a little.

Maybe I let my fingers slide into the hair at his nape, let my lips part for him, let my body melt into the warm press of his.

Maybe I sighed against his mouth when he kissed me again, and again. Like he had nowhere else to be.

But only he did.

I pulled back, looking at him before I went back for his lips, giving it a quick bite on the bottom before smirking. “Just making sure they’re plump enough for the photos today.”

Lewis groaned, dropping his forehead to my shoulder.

I laughed, but my fingers traced over his jaw, softer now. “What’s got you quiet this morning?”

He didn’t answer right away.

I let him take his time, let my hands slide down his back, slow and soothing. Eventually, he exhaled, shifting just enough to rest his forehead against mine.

“I just…” he started, then hesitated. “I don’t know. It feels different.”

I studied him, my fingers absently trailing along his neck. “Yeah?”

Lewis sighed, eyes flickering up to meet mine. “I don’t have expectations. Not in the way I used to. I just want to feel happy driving again.”

And my chest tightened at his words.

I had heard him talk about racing in a million different ways—about the precision, the adrenaline, the hunger for victory. But this was the first time I’d ever heard him say it like that.

Not about winning. Not about proving anything.

Just about feeling it again.

I pressed my lips to his cheek, lingering. “You will” I murmured. “You’re right where you’re meant to be.”

Lewis didn’t say anything, but his arms tightened around me, his grip just a little firmer, like he needed to hold onto the moment before it slipped away.

I smiled against his skin. “Alright, Romeo. You’ve got, like, five minutes left before Angela comes and drags your bum out of here.”

He groaned, dropping a lazy kiss to my jaw before reluctantly pulling away. “Shower with me?”

I snorted. “Nice try. You have to work.”

He smirked. “And you don’t?”

“Not until ten” I said smugly, already reaching to hug his pillow. “So I’m staying right here.”

Lewis grabbed a towel as he laughed, running a hand over his face as he stood by the bed looking down at me. He hesitated for a beat, then glanced back, his voice softer now. “You coming by later?”

I blinked, surprised at the question. “To the track?”

He nodded. “For the shakedown.”

I stretched lazily, propping myself up on one elbow. “I don’t know… I was thinking of spending the day sightseeing. Maybe find a good cappuccino, read a book, contemplate my life choices…”

Lewis gave me a flat look.

I grinned. “Of course I’m coming.”

Something shifted in his expression—not surprise, exactly, but something quieter. I softened, reaching for his wrist and running my fingers over his skin. “Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

Lewis exhaled, a slow, content sound, then leaned down, brushing his lips over my forehead. “Get some rest” he murmured. “I’ll come get you for lunch.”

And I didn’t argue, just watched contently as he just leaned down, kissed me one more time, and headed for the shower.

Okay— and maybe I might have watched him go. Just a little.

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[andvys]

The edges of your soul (I haven't seen yet) ⭐︎ chapter four

⭐︎ While I’m alone and blue as can be

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of death, mentions of blood and wounds, gore, post apocalypse au, major character death

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: The aftermath of Steve's outburst leaves him guilty and regretful, but a conversation might fix things... a little.

Word count: 6k+

Author's note: @hellfire--cult thank you for proofreading, for fixing my dumbass mistakes and for writing with me hehe

⭐︎ series masterlist ⭐︎ previous chapter

☀︎

It was surprising how well you adapted to this change, to being back on the road. You imagined it to be harder when you were still back in Hawkins, you thought that you would struggle after days spent in warmth and safety but you didn’t, you don’t struggle – maybe it’s got to do with the fact that you are not alone this time, that you still have a warm bed to sleep in every night, that you still have the feeling of safety thanks to the people you are with, that you still have a roof over your head. The RV almost feels like home. For now, you have enough food and water to last for a while, though you still stock up on cans, water bottles snacks wherever you can find some, gas stations, grocery stores, and shops that you stop by on the way. 

It’s been three days since you left Hawkins, three days since you saw Steve fall to his knees and cry out tears that you know he must’ve pushed away since the day he lost her. You felt so bad for him, your heart broke at the sight of his pain and at the sound of his cries. You pitied and felt for him, though it still didn’t take away the pain he left you with. His words hurt, and they stung deeply. You were stupid to think that things could work out between you and him when he shared a moment with you in the kitchen, you got too hopeful. He was mean and cruel to you; it was a mistake to try and be his friend.

Now, you don’t talk much to him, only when you have to. You don’t look at him all that much either, nodding at his questions and giving short replies. He tries. He tries to talk to you, to strike up conversation but you don’t want it, you don’t want to talk to him, knowing that he only does it out of guilt. It wasn’t a surprise to you when he approached you on the first day and offered his help to cook dinner with you. You declined and asked for Eddie instead. 

He isn’t heartless, nor is he a bad guy, of course the guilt and the regret would catch up eventually but it doesn’t make the feeling in your chest go away, the dread and the sadness he put inside of you. 

The tension between you is thick and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Eddie and Nancy. Even on the day of your departure, they knew something had happened the night you ran after Steve. You came back crying, and the next day you barely talked, sat there with puffy red eyes and a sad look on your face. 

And now, whenever he comes close to you, whenever he tries to talk to you or help with something, you bolt, not wanting to be anywhere near him, not wanting his help, not wanting to talk to him, nothing. 

Maybe it would have gone unnoticed by them if it wasn’t for the time you’ve spent together cooking the night before you left Hawkins. It was tense between the two of you before, but it was different because you still tried and he didn’t have that guilty look on his face he has now. Every time he asks you something and you reply with less than three words before walking away from him, his eyes follow you, filled with guilt and sadness. 

‘He looks like a kicked puppy’, Eddie had said to Nancy. 

He looked like one for the past three days, and it’s seemingly getting worse. The longer you behave this way towards him, giving him nothing but a cold shoulder, his eyes sadden a little more. 

You are completely unaware of it all. If only you took a better look, you would see it too. 

-

Leaning against the side of the RV, Eddie is smiling with his eyes closed, enjoying the faint warmth of the afternoon sun as he puffs out the smoke from his cigarette, humming the melody of a song Steve doesn’t recognize. 

Unlike the metalhead, Steve looks anything but relaxed, his eyes glued to the dusty windows of the gas station you and Nancy are currently inside of, looking for food to stock up on. He is swinging his bat back and forth, pacing around as he waits. 

He wanted to be the one to go into the gas station with you, though Nancy didn’t even give him the chance to before she followed you inside and told him to stand guard with Eddie. 

The guilt of what he’s done, of what he said to you has been eating at him, worsening every day. He despises what he did when he was angry, and he can’t forgive himself for directing his anger at you. You were right, you were right from the start and deep down he knew it. 

Nothing waited for him back there, not her, not even the ghost of her but he didn’t want to accept it. 

Now he has to deal with the aftermath of the ugliness that ripped out of him when he hurt you. You can’t even look at him and it makes him feel like the worst person alive. 

Eddie peeks one eye open, taking a look at his friend, he can see the distressed look on his face, the deep frown and the way he constantly runs his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit. He would be amused by this if it wasn’t for the hurt look in your eyes. 

The door opens and Nancy walks out with a box, grinning at Eddie, “we got corn, tuna, beans, we even found some trail mix and chips, they might be a little stale but–”

“Is she still inside?” Steve asks, interrupting her as he looks over her shoulder. 

“Yeah, she’s desperately looking for something sweet,” Nancy chuckles as she moves past him, getting into the RV to put away the things she gathered. 

Eddie takes one last drag of his cigarette before he throws it on the ground, killing the flame with his boot; he starts making his way over to the entrance when he feels a hand on his chest, pushing him back against the RV.

“Stay here,” Steve orders as he makes his way inside instead, wanting to use this moment to be alone with you, to talk to you, to apologize. He closes the door behind him and takes a look around. Most shelves are empty, covered in dust and cobwebs, some cans and bottles are lying around, and an unpleasant smell hangs heavy in the air. He hears some rustling to his right, followed by a string of curse words falling from your mouth. He follows that sound, careful not to step on any fallen object. He finds you in the last aisle, and he notices that one of the shelves has fallen over, leaving a mess on the floor, some bags of candy and chips lying beneath it and you are crouched before it, searching for something, the variety before you seemingly not satisfying enough. 

Steve opens his mouth but he quickly closes it again when he feels the coil in his throat. 

“Reese’s pieces and sour patch kids are not the most popular candy in the apocalypse I guess,” you mumble as you turn around, not expecting to be met by hazel eyes and that guilty face. “Oh… it’s you.” 

Your face falls and his heart drops, he grows nervous. 

“I-I yeah, uh,” he stutters, bringing his hand up to his hair to run his fingers through it. Now that he stands here before you, he doesn’t know what to say, he doesn’t know how to start with his apology, he doesn’t even know how to apologize, he was so mean to you when all you wanted was to help, you wanted him to come with you, you wanted him to leave the dying town because you didn’t want him to die with it. “I wanted to check up on you… Nance found a bunch of cans.”

Your eyes scan his face, the nervousness and the guilt filled eyes – that is the only reason why he is here, the guilt is eating him alive and he can’t handle it, it’s not even about you and that he hurt you, it’s about himself, only about himself.

“Yeah, we got lucky.” You mumble as you turn around again, no longer focused on the candy, you just don’t want to face him. It’s difficult enough avoiding him in the RV. 

He hates the stoic tone in your voice, it’s so unlike you. Even when he was cold towards you back in Hawkins, you were never like this with him. 

He looks down at you, noticing how slow your movements have become, how you are no longer moving the bags of candies around, looking for that one specific one. You don’t want to look at him and he doesn’t blame you, he can’t. 

“Can I help you?” He asks, not knowing how to start this off, not wanting to make it any more awkward than it already is. 

A sigh falls from your lips, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. 

Steve is being nice, kind – it’s the side of him you were looking for a few days ago, and you couldn’t find it then. If it’s driven by guilt now, then you don’t want this kindness. 

You push yourself up, taking another deep breath, you pinch the bridge of your nose. You know you have to start talking to him again at some point, you can’t bear this awkwardness for long either. 

You also can’t bear this look on his face, those stupid eyes, the pout and his tousled hair. You don’t want to look at him in that way. You know he wants to apologize, you also know that he sucks at it. 

“No, I’m done here.” You shrug, gesturing to the box you filled with snacks and toiletries you could find, along with other things you could need for the RV. You’re about to bend down to pick up the box when he stops you by placing his hand before you. 

“I got it,” Steve murmurs, adjusting his bat as he bends down to grab the box. 

“Okay…” You mumble, pulling back. 

You wait for him to move, to turn around and walk out of the store but he doesn’t, instead he straightens his back, with the box on his hands, he directs his gaze at you again. 

You brace yourself for what he is about to say, taking a deep breath, you cross your arms over your chest. 

He starts by saying your name, softly, carefully. You realize how foreign it sounds rolling off his tongue. 

“I-I know this won’t change what I did, what I said but I’m really sorry, I’m sorry for hurting you, for saying those things about your family. I was… I didn’t want to leave, I was angry – and I know that’s not an excuse – I… fuck… I’m horrible at this but I’m just, I’m really sorry. I hope your family is okay and that you will see them again… soon.” 

You can hear the desperation in his voice, the need to make this right. You can see the softness in his eyes, something you aren’t familiar with in the slightest. His lips are curled downwards, the sadness in his features so clear. 

You nod, the tension in your shoulders from all these previous days slowly falling. 

“Thank you, Steve, I appreciate your apology.” The tone in your voice and the look on your face isn’t so convincing though. “And I know that my family is okay, I will see them soon.” 

Good. He didn’t kill your hope. He hopes that it’s good. 

His lips curl up a bit, you are so set on it, you are so sure of it, that your family is okay and that you will reunite with them. It scares him a bit. You are so hopeful now, so confident about it – what will happen when you won’t find them the way you wish to? What will happen to you? Will you lose yourself the way he did when he lost her? Will you die the way he did? Will you be a ghost trapped in a living body? 

You forgive him, but you don’t crack a smile, not even a small one, not like you used to even when he was being an asshole to you. You clear your throat and break eye contact, brushing the fallen strands from your single braid behind your ears. 

The tension between you is still there, the awkwardness and the hurt in your features. He has to try harder than this, an ‘I’m sorry’ won’t cut it. 

“I–”

“We should go, we need to set up camp before it gets dark.” 

Before he can even say, or try to say anything, you move past him, hurrying out of the store, wanting some distance between you just like before. He can’t blame you, he can’t be mad at you but his shoulders slump still, and his face falls too. He didn’t feel this before, he didn’t feel this kind of guilt back in Hawkins because he wasn’t vulnerable, his feelings were bottled up and the lid was closed tightly, there was no space for those kinds of emotions, anything other than anger was impossible for him to feel. 

But after he let her go, after he allowed himself to finally grieve and cry, to empty that bottle of emotions, he started feeling everything again, all at once, overwhelmingly so, and now it all feels so intense. 

The urge to run his fingers through his hair is strong but his hands are full. He sighs loudly, shifting on his feet, he is about to follow you out when his eyes catch a glimpse of something red underneath one of the broken shelves, something you must have been looking for. 

-

The fire crackles before you, the flames are kept low to not attract attention. You sit close to it, needing warmth on your cold skin, the blanket around you isn’t enough, the gusts of wind cause goosebumps to rise on your skin. It’s mid fall, but it’s already getting so cold, and you could smell the hint of winter nearing. 

You can’t help but feel a little jealous of Nancy and Eddie, they get to sleep in the warm RV tonight while you stay out here, doing night watch with Steve. You volunteered yourself, though you quickly regretted it when Steve said he’d join you. 

You were successfully avoiding that the past three days, you either did night watch with Eddie or Nancy. Last night you were the lucky one who got to sleep in the big bed while Steve took the couch – now you are sitting here, out in the cold, tugging the blanket closer around you. 

Steve left to do a perimeter check, not trusting the area despite how safe it seems compared to the ones you have spent your nights at in the past when you were still by yourself. He didn’t want to listen to you though, he grabbed his rifle and left about twenty minutes ago. 

You hold your mug filled with coffee tightly to your chest, chasing that warmth and the smell that reminds you of the past, of simple mornings in your bed with a freshly brewed cup of coffee and your favorite book. You wonder if you will ever get to experience that, if you will find a place that will allow you to live like you used to. 

The sudden sound of footsteps behind you, startles you a little, and he seems to notice. 

“Just me.” 

You wish you could lose that tension in your body again, but you don’t, knowing that you will have to spend the night with him, that you can’t use excuses to run from him, to avoid him, to avoid talking to him. 

He walks around you, glancing at you briefly, he places his rifle down, leaning it against the other free camping chair. You expect him to take a seat, instead he walks away and towards the RV. You watch him curiously, how he carefully opens the door and steps inside on tiptoes, not wanting to wake Nancy and Eddie. 

You furrow your eyebrows, leaning forward a little. You keep staring at the door, waiting for him to come back out, though when he steps back out, you quickly look down, hiding your curious eyes from him. 

You hear the click of the door and his boots against the stairs as he walks down, his feet hit the grass in soft thuds. You hear the rustling of plastic. It sparks your interest again, wondering what he got from the RV but you don’t look up, not until his boots come into your vision and he stands right before you. 

Your eyebrows pull together even more, a confused frown making its way onto your face. You tilt your head up to look at him, though your eyes meet his only briefly before the bag in his hand catches your attention and suddenly, all the tension in your body disappears, your lips part and you straighten your back, a little too quickly, causing the blanket to fall from your shoulders. 

Steve’s lips curl into a small smile, he tries to hide it but the excitement on your face and how your eyes light up, make it impossible for him to. 

"Kitkats!?" You yell in a whisper, trying not to shriek and jump to your feet. “You found Kitkats!?”

He can’t hold back the chuckle now, his chest bubbling with an unfamiliar feeling as he looks down at you. 

“Yeah, the last bag, it was stuck between one of the shelves,” he explains, biting his cheek when your eyes look into his. “Your favorite candy… it’s what you were looking for, right?”

Your eyes soften and your lips curl into a small smile. He remembered. He remembered your favorite candy even though it was mentioned only briefly. Warmth floods your chest and something flips in your stomach. 

You nod. 

“Yeah,” you whisper as you bring up your hand to take the bag from him, “I’ve been looking for them everywhere!”

“Yeah, it nearly got you killed,” Steve shakes his head at you and at your gas station incident before you found your way to Hawkins. 

You shrug as you place the bag onto your lap, “now you know how much I love chocolate.” 

Steve gives you half a smile and a breathy chuckle, he looks at you for another long moment before he steps back and sits down on the camping chair next to you. He leans back and crosses his feet, staring into the fire. 

“Please don’t get yourself killed for chocolate,” he murmurs. 

“It’s the only thing that brings me happiness!” You exclaim in that tone that he began to miss. 

“Is it really?” He asks you, turning back to look at you. You have got to be the happiest person he has ever met, you always find a reason to smile, you always find something to be excited about, to look forward to, even in a world like this. He can’t relate, not in the slightest.

You look down at the bag of candy, shrugging, “no, you know me. I have a lot of hope.” Your words come out with a saddened look on your face.

Guilt fills him instantly, he judged you for it, he judged you for something that he no longer has. Hope. Life – there is none of that left in him anymore, no light turned on, while yours is still blazing and glowing brightly. Yours didn’t fade, yours hasn’t been touched by the ugliness of this world. 

He whispers your name softly, his faint voice so guilt filled. 

“It’s good that you have it, that you still have some… life left in you, makes it a bit easier to bear this world.” He admits nervously. “I know you must think I’m a horrible person, I’ve said horrible things–”

“I don’t think you’re a horrible person, Steve,” you interrupt him, turning your head towards him to find him looking at you already, his hazel eyes filled with regret, you know he wishes he could take his words back. “You were hurt and angry, you were grieving.” 

He blinks. 

“Yeah, but I was an asshole–”

“It’s okay, you apologized, you’re not being an asshole now, that’s what matters.” You shrug, not wanting him to feel bad anymore. 

He nods slowly, not moving his eyes away from you. The light from the fire illuminates your face, he sees all the emotions flickering in your eyes, every twitch of your lip, every frown, the softness of your skin, the color of your lips– he catches himself quickly, and instantly forces himself to look away. 

“And maybe you can find that hope again…” You add, carefully. 

“I doubt that. I never had that in the first place, not even then…” He stops when he catches himself spilling more than he would like to. He turns to you, and you are looking right at him, with a frown on your lips and a curious look in your eyes. You want to know and a part of him wants to talk, to let things out. A part of him even feels like he owes it to you. 

He takes a deep breath, looking back into the flames. 

“I-I… I feel like a part of me…” He hesitates, struggling to find the right words. “When Robin died, it felt like a part of me was ripped out of my chest and I buried that part with her. The day she died, I died too – only that I am still breathing and she isn’t… I didn’t want to leave Hawkins because I felt like she was still there, like I could be with her. Leaving meant accepting her death, accepting that she is gone, accepting that I am still alive, that I have to find a way to live without her.” 

His eyes glisten with tears, his cheeks burn red, illuminated by the flames. He doesn’t hold back, he doesn’t hide the sadness on his face. 

You don’t either, you can’t imagine what goes on inside of him, how the sadness eats at him, how the darkness took hold of him. 

“I was so angry at myself for not being able to protect her, I was so angry at this world for taking her from me that I grew hateful of everything and everyone, I didn’t want to leave, I didn’t want Nancy and Eddie to leave. I now see how selfish that was but in the state I was in, I was just so… mad and unaccepting of the fact that they wanted to live, something that I did not want. I didn’t want to live again. I knew I’d have to the moment I’d step foot outside again, I would have to fight to protect them, I would have to fight for survival, I would be forced to move. I wouldn’t be able to visit her or be with her… ever again.”

Your chest feels tight with grief for him, you can’t imagine what he felt like when he lost her, and even now. You can see how much he is struggling still, the pain in his eyes is so clear, his voice is slightly shaky, like he is about to break into tears again. 

He lost someone he loved so dearly. He lost his best friend. You had them too, best friends. But they never stayed that for long, none of them ever loved you the way Steve loved Robin.

You can’t help but wonder if he felt more for her, if it wasn’t only friendship for him. 

“Robin was the first person who was my friend not because I was King Steve,” he scoffs at his popular nickname from High School. “She was my friend because she liked me, she was the first person who wanted to get to know me, who wanted to spend time with me, who was there not only on my good days but also on the bad. She loved me for me.” There is a tremble in his voice, a stronger one than before, he is pained, so pained that it hurts your heart. 

You don’t know what to say, there are no right words to comfort him, to make him feel better, to take away his pain. He needs this, he needs to talk, to let it out – though you are surprised that he chose to do it with you. 

“She was the first person who held me, who comforted me, who was there.” He sniffles, staring down at his shaky hands as he goes back to the day when they were covered in her blood. “I was the last to hold her.” 

You blink when you feel your own tears welling up, the warmth stinging in your eyes. You watch how tears start rolling down his cheeks. A part of you wants to wipe them away and take his hand or even hug him, to give him the comfort that he needs. But you doubt that he’d want it from you. 

“I’m so sorry, Steve,” you whisper so sadly that it brings a new wave of tears into his eyes. 

His heart feels so heavy, the sadness burning in him, the grief coming back to life once again as he thinks of that night when he lost his best friend, his soulmate, his other half. A moment of weakness and she was gone – it was only a second that he looked away, it was only a split moment that he turned his back before he heard her scream, the pained sound, the ripping of flesh, blood spilling from her neck and staining her clothes and her hand as she clung desperately to the cut in her throat from where the Demogorgon had sliced her skin open. He remembers how he turned around in horror, how his heart stopped beating and the world stopped moving. They almost made it out, they almost made it out of Hawkins together like they always wanted to. Almost. She wasn’t supposed to be the last to get on the bus, it was supposed to be him but he had a child in his arms, a little boy who lost his parents, he needed to get him to safety. Robin was right behind him, she was right there, they were in the clear, she was already one foot inside the bus when that monster came out of nowhere. 

He remembers the look in her eyes when he saw what had happened, he remembers the adrenaline that flooded through his body when he jumped out of the bus with an axe in his hand, he doesn’t even remember how he killed it, he only remembers dropping to his knees and pulling her weak body into his arms, he remembers how he promised her. 

‘You will be okay, Robin. I promise, you will be okay. I got you, I got you, Birdie.’

But the life in her eyes was fading, tears slipping from the corners and down onto the cold ground, mixing with her blood as he pressed his hand to her wound. She held his hand, gripped it tightly, like she was afraid to let go. She struggled out his name and looked at him with nothing but fear in her eyes, a look that haunts him to this day. 

She didn’t want to die, she said so herself, she even begged because she was so afraid, and he was too. 

There was nothing he could do, there was no fixing it, there was no saving her. He could only hold her and watch how she died, how she slowly slipped away from him, how in her last remaining moments she only looked at him and into his eyes because that is the only place she found comfort in. She died in the arms of someone she felt at home with, she died in the arms of someone who loved her more than anything and he… he lost that, he lost his home. 

When he is done recalling that night, telling you every gory, every heartbreaking detail, he only tastes the saltiness from his tears, feels himself choking up though he doesn’t let the cries fall the way he did that night. He feels his heart hurting once again – though at the same time, it hasn’t felt this alive in a while. 

He wipes away his tears, and his voice dies. He doesn’t look to you, not yet but he hears your soft sniffle, hears you shifting around. From the corner of his eye, he watches you put your things down, the mug that must be cold by now and the candy he gave to you. And then, you scoot closer to him and you slowly lift your arm and place your hand on his shoulder, a comforting touch he has grown unfamiliar with. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper and he notices how shaky your voice is too. 

He turns his head slowly, his eyes searching for your own, he sees every emotion – shock, sadness, pain, understanding. 

“I can’t imagine this… pain and what you are still going through. Robin deserved better, both of you.” You look back into the fire, frowning. “I understand why you didn’t want to leave, why you feel that way. I’d feel dead if I lost someone I loved that much.” 

Your heart hurts for him, squeezing in a painful way. His words sadden you. He feels dead, lost in a world that took away his other half and now he’s just a shell of himself, a pained soul. You wonder if he will ever find his way back to himself, you wonder if you could if you were in his place. 

“I do believe that she is with you though, i-if she was your soulmate, then she is with you… forever. She might have left this world but her energy is still there, always with you, following you every step of the way.” 

Steve purses his lips, tilting his head at you, “like a guardian angel?”

A small smile appears on your face, you nod, “yeah, kinda. Maybe she will send you a sign, maybe she did already and you haven’t noticed.” 

“A sign?” He shakes his head, still looking at you curiously, “like what?”

You shrug and turn to face him again, “you’ll know it, it has to be something that is– was special to you both, whether it’s a song on the radio or her favorite animal.”

“Oh,” he nods, furrowing his eyebrows as he wonders if he had missed any signs, if he was so focused on his grief that he paid no attention to what was going on around him. He falls silent, eyes focused on the flames before him. 

“Thank you, Steve.” You whisper after a long moment of silence. 

He leans forward, pressing his hands together over his knees as he fiddles with his fingers, he looks back at you, raising his eyebrows in question. 

“Thank you for telling me, for opening up to me, that means a lot.” 

He nods, taking in your softened features, your kind eyes that gleam again, and the comforting smile you look at him with. It warms his insides and causes his cheeks to flush but among these reactions, he also feels something else, a lightness in his chest that he hasn’t felt in so long, he needed to do this, to talk about this, to tell someone what he truly feels. 

“Thank you for listening,” he retorts, offering you a smile–a first, a genuine one. Your eyes light up at that, your shoulders rising a bit as you straighten your back, surprise flashes in your features and your smile only widens. It’s endearing, he has to admit that. 

“Always.” 

You look into each other’s eyes for a moment. You are surprised to see kindness, genuine and real kindness, and you can’t help but feel giddy at that. 

You are surprised when he moves closer to you, the smile still lingering on his face. He bumps his shoulder against yours, “I’m gonna be nicer from now on.”

You accepted him for who he is, his grumpiness and his rough demeanor sometimes. You don’t want him to change, you don’t want him to feel like he has to. 

“You don’t have to pretend–”

“I am not… I know I’m… kind of returning to who I was… slowly,” he murmurs. It’s something he didn’t want. He didn’t want to heal. He didn’t want to move on because he knew it meant accepting that she was gone but you were right, that night when you found him at her grave, you told him that she wouldn’t want this for him, and he hated it, hated that you were right and he hated how he felt that sparkle inside of him ignite again after he finally allowed himself to properly cry and grieve. 

“And who were you?” You asked with that tilt of your head as always. 

He knows what Robin would have said and he can’t help but smile. 

“... A fucking idiot.”

You giggle at his words but shake your head. 

“No, I doubt that!” 

“I saw the good in things… something I haven’t in over a year, and now I can– I am starting to feel it again… It’s not there yet but…”

You smile again, looking into the fire. You saw him smiling with Eddie today, heard his chuckle when the metalhead tripped over a log. It was a nice sound and the smile looked good on him. 

“Yeah, it looks better on you.” You whisper, not looking away from the flames. 

He tries not to look at you for too long but he can’t help it .He likes the way the golden light touches your skin, the way your eyes shine with contentment, the way your body is so relaxed again, something that wasn’t the case the previous nights. He likes the faint dimple on your cheek as you smile. He admires the way your lashes flutter every time you blink, the way you sink your teeth into your bottom lip, the way you–

He breaks himself out of his thoughts, forcing his eyes away from you, he clears his throat, jumping a bit when he looks down at his backpack, “ah wait–” he grabs it and unzips it quickly, taking out the radio from their living room back in Hawkins. “You guys left it, I thought we could use some music… sometimes.”

You smile widely at him, nodding. 

“Let’s see what stations we can pick up.” 

While Steve is trying to find a signal, to find a station that plays music, you reach for the second mug you had prepared before and grab the jug where you had cooked the coffee earlier. It’s still hot, steam rising up into the cold air when you pour him a cup. You place the mug on the small camping table that Eddie had set up earlier. Steve flashes you a smile, whispering ‘thank you’ followed by your name. 

You open the bag of Kitkat’s, excitement bubbling up in you to taste your favorite candy again. You pick out one of the bars and place it next to his coffee.

“You’re sharing your Kitkats with me? No way!” Steve gasps and chuckles when you roll your eyes in amusement. “Did you just roll your eyes at me, sunshine?” 

You giggle at the perplexed look on his face, ignoring the way the nickname made you feel warm all over. 

“What if I did?” 

“Then I’ll say that one of them,” he points his thumb at the RV, “is a real bad influence on you.” 

You snort and shake your head, “hmm, I don’t know. You're sassier than Eddie and Nancy.” 

“Me? Sassy!?” He scoffs. 

“Yeah, you’re sassy, Steve. Accept it.” 

He shakes his head in amusement but doesn’t comment on it, he looks down at the radio when the static noise suddenly disappears and he finds a station. 

And surprisingly… ‘Dream a little dream of me’ by Ella Fitzgerald starts playing, filling the space between you. 

The song is calm, warm, a distant memory of your father dancing with your mother in the kitchen while they prepared dinner on a sunday afternoon. Then, your brain processed what Steve had said, a question lingering in your lips.

“Why sunshine?” 

“Hmm?” He asked, his eyes closed in relaxation as he leans back in his chair. You could see the expanse of his neck, the markings around it, his Adam's apple– You shake your head to focus once again.

“You called me sunshine. Why?” You tilt your head in question and his eyes open, his head turning to face you again.

“I don’t know. You’re just… You just remind me of the sun.” He says as if his words mean nothing, as if his words were just that. Words. You giggle, not understanding the meaning of it.

“The sun? Hot and unbearable?” You say in a joking manner, earning a chuckle from his part, an authentic one. He closed his eyes again, leaning back as the song played along.

“No. Bright and warm.” Your smile fell instantly, not because you didn’t like his definition. Not because you thought that what he described you as was stupid. Not because you thought he was lying to you or making fun of you, because you could hear it in his voice that he wasn’t.

No.

Your smile fell because you swear your heart just skipped a beat.

☀︎

taglist: @prettyboyeddiemunson @pretentious-blonde @thecreelhouse @tvserie-s-world @thesickestqrmydcll @crispystarfishhottub @sophal22 @definitionwanderlust @talkativecarnation @mysticalwoolenfroglegs @ariesandwolves @mortqlprojections @sattlersquarry @sherrylyn0628 @purpleeyeswithgoldensparkles @micheledawn1975 @keepingitlokiii @littleromanoff2005 @sunshine-mrk

[superfastjellyfishsandwitch]

What’s my school started providing me with the Chromebook site after buy one I started having really interesting problems with it

It got especially bad in the summer because I keep trying to do my summer assignments and wouldn’t be able to go into the school to get computer so imagine all of this happening while you’re trying to write an essay for like an AP class

- keyboard, technically still worked, but it got mixed up so certain keys would give me different letters

It was fine once I could get into a document and use voice to text, but it was a nightmare to login because I could never remember which key would give me what letters and some of them would still do what they said they would do

-My computer Google Docs would just corrupt the file or something I don’t know what was happening. I switched to doing it on my phone.

What would happen was most of the screens text would just turn into a like corrupted text with some of the words backwards and a lot of things overlapping and the margins got really big  and I could not fix it

And I couldn’t fix the formatting on my phone either so when I turned it into this teacher, I was like I know the formatting is off, but my computer is evil

-I have to run an extension for my accommodation plan and recently it’s just caused my computer to stop

Everything just freezes and I can’t actually use the extension because everything is frozen

I have to completely shut down my computer to get it to start working again. I’m pretty much given up on using that part of my plan. (for context I’ve used this extension since I was in the fourth grade and I’m a senior now.)

my friend liz downloaded some free audio software a few months ago to do something and now every time she joins a call a female voice says “trial. trial.” and liz doesn’t remember the name of the software or know how to stop it and she doesn’t want to