#and the rest are looking to the right and those are the ones where he has his hat on

[jaeyuniversal]

nonsense - s.jy

pairing: loser shy tutor!sim jaeyun x outgoing tutee fem!reader

synopsis: you're loud, confident, and a little too good at making shy boys squirm. your only issue is you’ve always hated physics—until you meet your painfully shy tutor, jake sim. he’s awkward, brilliant, and blushes every time you call him cute. so naturally, you flirt. hard. at first, he stammers and short-circuits, but as study sessions stack up, jake starts to change. maybe it’s the way you lean a little too close or how he starts to flirt back (badly, but adorably).

featuring: jake sim of enhypen n maki from &team!!

genre: college au fluff!!!

warnings: jake has his first kiss, making-out?? kind of. a bit of jealousy, jake is just a super cute loser. lowercase intended ◡̈

playlist: nonsense by sabrina carpenter & soft spot by keshi

wc: 2.411k

a/n: i fear i will ride the loser jake wave forever! i love nerdy men <3 btw this is not proofread...

you’ve always hated physics.

not because you didn’t get it — okay, maybe a little because of that — but mostly because it was boring. theories and forces and laws. rinse and repeat. you weren’t failing physics. not exactly.

you were, however, spending an uncomfortable amount of time squinting at your textbook wondering how the hell you’d gone from memorizing song lyrics in under a minute to barely remembering newton’s third law. you told yourself it wasn’t that bad. then your lab partner dropped out, and your professor kindly suggested that you “seek out support.”

support came in the form of jake sim.

quiet. polite. a little too handsome for his own good. glasses-wearing, formula-spouting jake, with a habit of ducking his head when people talked too loudly. you’d seen him around campus before — usually alone, sometimes reading while walking (impressive), always in a hoodie two sizes too big, and baggy jeans that he almost steps on. 

you’d think he was popular, but those thick framed glasses always resting on his perfect nose made you think otherwise. 

your meet-cute wasn’t the typical coffee-spill-and-eye-contact thing. it happened last semester, during an elective you were both in: intro to astronomy. you’d been running late one day, flustered and frantic, only one seat left in the lecture hall. next to him. you took it.

he didn’t even glance up.

not until halfway through the class, when you leaned over and whispered, “sorry if i’m invading your orbit.”

he looked at you like he didn’t get the joke. (he didn’t.)

but later that day, you got an anonymous compliment on the university confessions page. “to the girl who sat next to me in astronomy and said something about orbits… you kind of wrecked mine.”

you knew it was him. and you never forgot.

───

“you don’t have to hover,” jake mumbled, eyes focused on the problem set in front of him.

“i’m not hovering. i’m observing… like a particle. you know, in motion.”

“that’s not… how particles work.”

you smiled to yourself. “i was hoping you'd say that.”

he flushed immediately. jake didn’t handle flirting well. hell, he had never even felt the touch of a woman, nevertheless flirted with one. 

you’d learned this by session two. if you got too close, he got tongue tied. if you complimented him, he’d practically glitch. it was fascinating. like a physics experiment, but cuter.

“what happens when you apply an external force to a closed system?” you asked, tapping your pencil.

he looked up slowly, suspicious. “depends on the force.”

you leaned in, gaze playful. “what if it’s me?”

he froze.

“y/n,” he said quietly, “you’re not even trying to learn right now.”

“that’s where you’re wrong, mr. sim.” you leaned back in your chair, spinning your pencil between your fingers. “i’ve been learning a lot.”

he narrowed his eyes, skeptical but intrigued. “like what?”

you met his gaze, serious now. “like how you pretend you didn’t notice me in astronomy last semester. even though you did.”

jake stiffened. his pen slipped from his fingers and rolled across the table.

“i—i didn’t—how did you—”

“i recognized your handwriting,” you said softly. “from the confession post.”

his face went scarlet.

you tilted your head, a smile tugging at your lips. “you called me orbit girl.”

jake looked like he wanted to disappear into the earth’s mantle. “i didn’t think you saw that.”

“i did. i screenshotted it.” you shrugged casually, then added, “still have it.”

he looked like you’d just told him you’d been keeping a shrine in your closet. but beneath the panic, something else flickered — hope, maybe?

“…why didn’t you say anything?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

and there it was. the plot twist.

you dropped your eyes to your notebook, fingers idly brushing a corner.

“i was going to,” you said. “but you never talked to me again. i figured you weren’t interested.”

jake looked stunned. like he’d just missed the punchline to his own joke.

“no! i mean– um…i wasn’t not interested,” he said quickly. “i just didn’t think someone like you would ever…”

“what?” you said, raising a brow. “flirt with their physics tutor?”

jake swallowed hard. “like me back.”

there was a beat of silence. you reached across the table, nudging his pen back toward him.

“you’re cute when you’re nervous, jake” he blushed and wrapped up the tutoring session, brain too flustered to continue talking about his second favorite subject (you’re his favorite). 

───

you asked around for jake’s number which proved to be very difficult. 

no one had it.

so, you did the only thing you could think of. you went to every cafe within a 15 mile radius of your campus, hoping to find the shy boy.

your mission to find him ended up taking longer than anticipated, misjudging how many cafe’s surrounded decelis. you’ve been to 23 and counting, not once finding the fluffy haired boy with glasses way too big for his adorable face. 

as you walk into the twenty-fourth cafe, you think you see him. striped shirt, slightly messy brown hair, around 5’9ish. you walk up to him, tapping on his shoulder when someone behind you calls your name.

“y/n?”

you whip your head around to be met with those big, dark hazel eyes you adored so much.

his plump, heart-shaped lips were wrapped around the straw of his green grape ade, softly biting the plastic. his head was strewn to the side, resembling a golden retriever. 

“i found you!” you happily cheered as you made your way to the little table he was at. 

“f-found me? were you… looking? for me?” he stuttered which made you giggle. 

you fondly smiled at him, “yeah. i was.”

after you ordered an iced mocha, you guys sat in a comfortable silence until you spoke. 

“so,” you said, stirring whipped cream into your drink, “what’s a physics genius like you doing tutoring me when you could be dating someone who understands quantum mechanics?”

jake almost spat out his coffee.

you smiled sweetly. “kidding. kind of.”

“i—i don’t think I’m a genius,” he mumbled. “and I’m not — uh — dating anyone.”

“oh, i know,” you said casually, resting your chin on your hand. “campus gossip moves fast.”

jake’s eyes widened. “wait — what do you mean? what gossip? about me?”

you laughed. “relax, jake. you’re just a bit of a mystery. tall, soft spoken, brainy, never goes to parties. people notice.”

he stared at you like you’d told him he was famous.

you sipped your drink and shrugged. “i noticed.”

the cup trembled in his hand.

“…thanks?” he said, though it sounded more like a question than a statement.

you leaned forward. “you say that like you don’t believe me.”

jake’s mouth opened, then closed again.

he was still trying to respond when the barista called out your name, signaling your pastries were ready. you winked at him on the way up and when you turned back, he was still watching you, straw halfway to his mouth, like he couldn’t believe any of this was real. 

───

you had your feet up on the seat across from you, swinging gently as you skimmed your notes. jake sat across from you, hoodie sleeves shoved up to his elbows, manspreading with his textbook open on his lap.

you knew what you were doing when you stretched, your shirt riding up slightly as you leaned across the table to reach a pencil. you knew jake saw. his eyes darted down and back up so fast it was like a reflex.

“everything okay?” you asked sweetly.

“fine!” he said, voice three octaves too high. “great. normal. yup.”

you laughed, tossing your pen down. “you know, if we were measuring awkward tension in this room, we’d have to switch to the richter scale.”

jake groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “why are you like this?”

“because it’s fun watching you short-circuit.”

he peeked at you through his fingers, a lopsided grin starting to form. “you’re evil.”

“i prefer charming.’”

there was a beat of silence. then, softly—

“you are.”

your smile faltered. just for a second. “what?”

jake met your eyes, cheeks still flushed but voice steady. “charming.”

you blinked. it was the first time he’d said something like that without tripping over his own tongue.

“…jake sim,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “are you flirting with me?”

he shrugged — shrugged — with fake nonchalance. “maybe.”

you stared at him.

he stared back.

and then — his pencil rolled off the table and he smacked his head on the edge trying to catch it.

“still me,” he groaned, face down on the table. “still a loser.”

you couldn’t help it. you laughed so hard you nearly fell out of your chair. he was cute and adorably clumsy. exactly. your type. 

───

the next session, you came in with your usual confidence. playful comments. flirty glances.

but jake didn’t fold this time. (immediately).

in fact, when you were about to lean over to grab his calculator, he reached past you and did it first. smooth. like he was testing you.

“looking for this?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

your eyes narrowed suspiciously. “who are you and what have you done with jake?”

he smiled — cocky, but still nervous. “maybe i’m learning.”

you tilted your head. “is this some physics thing? like, building resistance?”

“more like acceleration,” he said softly. “you keep pushing. i’m picking up speed.”

you stared at him.

he immediately panicked. “i mean — not in a creepy way — i just meant—”

you cut him off with a smirk. “careful, jake. you flirt like you solve equations — painfully accurate.”

he blushed again, but this time, he didn’t back away. instead, he looked at you for a long moment, then leaned in a little, just enough to make your breath catch.

“you said once that you noticed me before,” he murmured.

“yeah,” you said slowly.

he smiled, shy and genuine. “i think i’ve been noticing you for a lot longer.”

you forgot how to breathe for a second.

and then he bumped your knee under the table, awkward as ever. “anyway, we should… probably go over magnetic fields now.”

you grinned, heart racing. “god, you’re such a loser.”

“your loser,” he said quietly.

and somehow, that was the smoothest line of all.

───

the tutoring session was going fine.

that is, until maki showed up.

you were in the library lounge, halfway through a problem on thermodynamics, when a voice interrupted.

“y/n?”

you looked up. riki maus (known as maki). same year, tall, charming, objectively hot in that annoying way that made girls forgive him for talking through labs.

“hey,” you said, blinking. “didn’t know you were on this floor.”

jake went completely still next to you, pen frozen mid-equation.

maki barely glanced at him. “i was just heading out, but i had to say hi. you doing okay with physics? i tutor sometimes too, you know.”

jake’s grip on his pen tightened.

“oh?” you asked, amused. “you tutor now?”

maki shrugged. “not officially. but i could make time. for you.”

you opened your mouth, ready to tease him back, but jake’s voice cut in first.

“she already has a tutor.”

maki blinked, like he’d just noticed him. “right. sim, yeah? you’re in physics lab.”

“yeah,” jake said, still quiet, but there was an edge now. “i’ve got it covered.”

you turned to jake, brows lifting slightly. was he… tense?

maki grinned. “no offense, man, but i’ve heard tutoring y/n is more like surviving her. you sure you can handle it?”

jake stood.

you blinked. jake stood.

he was taller than you remembered. towering over maki, still in his soft hoodie and baggy jeans, but standing like something had clicked. like a switch had flipped.

“i can handle her,” he said, voice even. “better than anyone else.”

maki raised his hands. “okay. chill, bro.”

he gave you one last glance and walked off.

you looked up at jake. he was still standing, chest rising and falling like he was trying to keep it together.

“jake?”

his eyes met yours. there was something in them you hadn’t seen before. something fierce.

“do you like him?” he asked.

you frowned. “maki? god, no.”

he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath. stepped closer.

“because i don’t like seeing guys like that flirt with you.”

you tilted your head, heart starting to pick up. “jealousy doesn’t suit you, sim.”

“i know,” he said quietly. “but you do.”

and then he kissed you.

you didn’t expect it. not from him. not like this.

not with his hand cradling your cheek so gently it made your heart ache, not with the way his lips pressed to yours like he’d been waiting for this moment for weeks — months — forever.

your breath caught. he was warm. steady. his lips moved with surprising confidence, slow at first, then deeper, more certain as you kissed him back.

his other hand found your waist, pulled you in, grounded you. like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go.

your fingers curled in his hoodie, body leaning into his. he tilted his head just slightly and kissed you like a man who had solved the formula for gravity and decided to fall anyway.

wanting to deepen the kiss, you moved your thumb to his jaw, signaling him to open his mouth wider.

he (hopefully) got the hint and slowly but surely slotted his tongue right against yours. he wanted to memorize every part of you and figured he should start with your mouth.

it was as if your lips and tongues moved in perfect synchronization. like puzzle pieces.

when he finally pulled back, it was only enough to rest his forehead against yours.

you both stood there, catching your breath.

“…wow” you said, dazed. “what the hell, sim.”

he started at you. blinked. once. twice. “w-was it okay? did i — do it wrong?”

silence. 

he spoke again, “that was kinda.. my first — um — my first kiss…” 

you let out a disbelieving laugh. “what do you mean that was your first kiss??? you kissed me like you’ve been rehearsing it in your dreams.”

he looked away. shy. “…maybe i have.”

you narrowed your eyes. “wait. have you?”

he winced. “that was a joke.”

it was silent for a hot minute.

“…mostly. i—i never really get close to pretty girls because i don’t— well i don’t go out. so. um. yeah…” 

you grabbed his hoodie and pulled him closer until your lips were right in front of his plush ones. “stop speaking nonsense and kiss me again, sim.” 

he didn’t hesitate. just smiled at you and slammed your lips on his. he kissed you like he was finally where he belonged.

and maybe he was.

because nerdy physics tutors?

yeah.they might know the laws of motion — but now he knew what it felt like to crash into you.

please reblog if you enjoyed this cute lil fic ! it helps a lot <3

[ @jaeyuniversal ] prod. 250417

[zombii-writess]

𝙷𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝙰𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛

You made it.

All those hardships thrusted upon you ever since you appeared in Twisted Wonderland. All those overblots you fought, all those nights where you sat alone in the dark, wondering to whatever god was willing to listen to you, a magicless human with nothing to her name. Barely above a whisper, you asked the stars above you; Is there even a happily ever after for me?

Oh, what a silly human you are, they laughed, not like you heard them. There’s always a happily ever after. And their words spoke true you realized, staring at the large doors you were supposed to enter from, wedding dress clenched in your shaking hands, you smiled.

You made it.

Characters: Riddle Rosehearts (Here), Leona Kingscholar, Azul Ashengrotto, Kalim Al Asim, Vil Schoenheit, Idia Shroud, Malleus Draconia

a/n: went wedding dress shopping with my aunt a few days ago cuz she wanted to renew her vows with my uncle in june and seeing so many wedding dresses made me feel inspired! also apologizies if anyone is ooc, i tried my best !!

Your heart was pounding with excitement and nervousness. You were just a few minutes away from marrying the love of your life. The man who's been stuck to you like glue the moment you saved him from his overblot and helped him change for the better.

Pacing back and forth, you don't notice the familiar cherisher grin appear next to you before the rest of his body appears. "Nya? Is the wife-to-be experiencing cold feet?"

Jumping, you turn to face the voice and find Che'nya, in all his cheeky glory. "Yo!" He struts over to the nearest loveseat and like a cat, sprawls his body across the plush cushions, hands behind his head, and his tail swaying against his thigh. Not a care in the world.

"Che'nya? What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be sitting with the rest of the guests?" You stopped your pacing to question your friend. "The weddings about to start and I don't think Riddle would appreciate you missing the ceremony-"

The beastman waves your questions with a few flicks of his hand. "Relax~ I'm just here to check on you by Trey's request and from his judgment, he was right." He sits up and scans your face. "Riddle's wife is experiencing cold feet!" Che'nya laughs, poking at your hot cheeks with his nail.

"It's not funny!" You whine, turning your face away from the prodding and walked over to the vanity. Che'nya follows after you, looking at you examine yourself, playing with your hair to fiddling with the vail you wore. "What if I mess up the vows or I trip walking down the aisle? Oh! I don't want to embarrass myself ESPECIALLY on my wedding day!" You shrieked, covering your face and curling in on yourself.

"What if Riddle regrets asking me to marry him..." You whimpered.

"Do you regret it?" The cat beastman asks, tilting his head.

"No! Never!"

Che'nya lets out a sigh, leaning his shoulder against yours as he once again pokes at your cheek. "Oh, then I doubt Riddle will ever regret asking you to be his wife, in fact you should've seen him planning out your proposol!" You look at the beastman with confusion.

Before you were able to ask more about it, Che'nya beats you to it.

"Man! Riddle was so worried about the smallest details, he would bark orders left and right and if one of the flowers in the bouquet were just off by a centimeter, he would get red in the face and redo the whole thing himself!" Che'nya cackles, clenching his stomach from laugh.

"An-and! When it was finally time for the proposol Riddle had the nerve to get cold feet! He was spouting nonsense like 'What if [Name] regrets saying yes?' PFT-"

Dropping back to sit on the loveseat, Che'nya laughs harder while you stared dumbfounded at the information.

Riddle getting cold feet?? But on the day he proposed he was as cool as a cucumber!

Though, you thought, heart thumping in your chest as heat spread across your cheeks. It does feel nice to know Riddle feels the same... maybe he's experiencing cold feet right now?

Standing up, you smacked your cheeks, pumping yourself up for the walk. "I got this!"

Wiping tears away from his eye, Che'nya giggles. "Got what?"

"The wedding, I'm sure Riddle is just as nervous as I am right now and I wanna show him that we're in this together!" Gathering the front of your dress in your hands so you won't trip, you stomped down out the room, bumping into Cater who had arrived to tell you that it was time.

・❥・

Standing in front of the large pearl white doors, you took a deep breath, held it, and exhaled.

"Nervous?" A voice asked.

You looked to your left and spotted your professor who you had grown to see as a father figure during your time in Night Raven College.

Smothering down your dress, you responded shyly. “A little.”

Then familiar notes of 'Here Comes the Bride' begans playing.

"Are you ready?" Your professor smiles at you and stretches out his elbow.

Linking your elbow with his, you nod straightening your shoulders. "I am."

Soon the doors were pushed wide open by magic and there stood Riddle across the room at the altar, waiting for you. Your heart speeds up once you both make eye contact.

Walking closer and closer, Riddle blinks away his tears rapidly, straightening his back one more once you stood in front of him, hands laced with each other. His breathes through his nose harshly after getting a good look at you closely.

You were just as beautiful as the day he met you.

He zones out whatever the officiant is saying but Riddle immediately locks in once he hears it was his turn to say his vows. With shaking hands, Riddle pulls out a folded paper from his breast pocket and with a loud, shaky voice, he spills the vows he spent countless hours on.

"[Name], you have been my rock since the day we met, you have seen me at my worst and stood by my side whenever I was blinded by rage." He pauses, eyes flickering to yours before swiftly back down at the paper again.

"You soothed me whenever I had doubts, and you stuck with me after my mother cut contact even after all the harsh words she had thrown at you. F-for you, I would break all the rules."

Slapping a hand to your mouth, you choked on the sob that threaten to escape. Tears bubbled at your water line, a few managed to escape and leave a burning trail down your cheek. "R-Riddle..."

The officiant smiles, glancing between the two of you. "Riddle Rosehearts, do you take [Name] as your lawfully wedded wife? In sickness and in good health, in good times and woe, for richer or poorer, til death do you part?"

"I do."

Smiling, the man turns to you and repeats the same phrase.

"And you, [Name] [Last Name], take Riddle Rosehearts as your lawfully wedded husband? In sickness and in good health, in good times and woe, for richer or poorer, til death do you part?"

Sniffling, you smiled. "I do."

The man smiles and turns to the bundle of fur on the side. "May we have the rings, please?"

Grim perks up and waddles over, presenting the rings. After placing the rings on each other, Riddle and you held your hands together, not once removing your gaze from each other.

The officiant then loudly proclaims. "I now pronounce you, husband and wife, you may now kiss the bride."

Riddle wastes no time and immediately cups your face in his hands and placed his quivering lips upon yours. The hall explodes in applause at the now married couple.

Whistles ring out once you wrap your arms around Riddle's neck to bring him closer to you, salty tears mixing with your kiss.

Pulling back to stare into each other's eyes, you give your now beloved husband a smile.

"I love you Ridde."

Riddle chuckles, tears finally rolling down his as he uses his thumb to wipe at your wet cheek.

"I love you too, Mrs. Rosehearts.

Who Was Invited?

Cater Diamond, Trey Clover, Duece Spade, Ace Trappola, Che'nya, Trey's parents, Malleus Draconia, Lilia Vanrouge, Silver Vanrouge, Sebek Zigvolt, and a few professors you had grown close to. Riddle's mother never showed up

While Riddle wanted a small wedding, he couldn't say no to you once you gave him those puppy eyes.

My tip jar! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

excuse any mistakes !!

[luvbabydoll]

Idk if i should put requests here but could you please do inexperienced reader giving simon a blowjob for the first time and accidentally using too much teeth so now he has to teach her how to give bjs 😩😩

a/n: UGH!!! he’s so hot i need him !!!! this got me out of my cod writers block

you’re kneeling between simon’s legs, heart pounding, hands fumbling nervously as you look up at him. his mask is off, those sharp hazel eyes locked on you, a mix of patience and something darker flickering in them. your lips are still tingling from the clumsy attempt you just made, and the slight wince he let slip—barely audible, but enough to make you freeze and it has your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“too much teeth, love,” he says, voice low and rough with that thick mancunian drawl, a hint of amusement curling at the edges. he’s sprawled back on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, the other resting on his thigh, fingers twitching like he’s fighting the urge to guide you himself. “gonna have to ease up a bit, yeah?”

you nod, swallowing hard, your throat tight with nerves. “sorry,” you mumble, barely meeting his gaze. your hands hover awkwardly, not sure where to start again.

“nowt to be sorry for,” he says, leaning forward slightly, his voice softening just a touch. “just need a bit of practice, that’s all. c’mere.” he crooks a finger, motioning you closer. you shuffle forward, and he reaches out, calloused thumb brushing your bottom lip, slow and deliberate. “open up. slow-like. let’s start there.”

you do as he says, parting your lips, and he guides you with that same steady hand, his touch firm but not forceful. “right, now mind your teeth. keep ‘em tucked back—use your lips, yeah? like you’re kissin’ it.” his voice is a low rumble, matter-of-fact but laced with something that makes your stomach flip.

he shifts, guiding your head down gently, his fingers threading through your hair. “start slow,” he instructs, eyes never leaving you. “just the tip first. tongue’s your mate here—swirl it, soft-like. don’t rush.”

you follow his lead, tentative at first, your tongue flicking out to trace him. his breath hitches, a faint “fuck” slipping out under his breath, and it spurs you on. you try to mimic what he’s described, keeping your teeth well out of the way, letting your lips glide over him. it’s awkward, uncoordinated, but you’re trying, and he notices.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, voice thicker now, his grip in your hair tightening just a fraction. “good girl. now take a bit more—easy, don’t force it. breathe through your nose.”

you do your best, inching down slowly, your jaw straining as you focus on keeping it smooth. his low groan tells you you’re doing something right, but then your teeth graze him again—just a faint scrape—and he hisses, tugging your hair lightly to pull you back.

“oi, teeth again,” he says, but there’s no real bite to his tone, just a gruff chuckle. “you’re eager, i’ll give ya that. c’mon, let’s try it another way.” he shifts, sitting up straighter, and pats his thigh. “rest your hands here. keeps you steady.”

you place your palms on his thighs, the muscle solid under your touch, and he nods approvingly. “right. now focus on the rhythm. up and down, slow and steady. use your hand for what your mouth can’t reach—twist it a bit, like this.” he wraps his own hand over yours, guiding it in a slow, twisting motion that makes him curse softly again.

you try again, combining everything he’s told you—lips soft, tongue teasing, hand moving in time with your mouth. it’s still messy, your inexperience obvious, but simon’s not complaining. his head tips back slightly, jaw tight, and the low, gravelly “fuck, that’s better” he lets out feels like a victory.

“keep goin’,” he says, voice dropping an octave, his hand in your hair more guiding than controlling now. “you’ll get the hang of it. just listen to what i’m tellin’ ya, and you’ll have me beggin’ in no time.”

you glance up at him, catching the way his eyes are half-lidded, lips parted just enough to show a flash of teeth. it’s enough to make you double your efforts, determined to prove you can learn. and with simon’s low, steady instructions filling the air, you’re starting to think you just might.

[bluejelly8]

I first tried to come out as asexual when I was 13. At 13 I knew that I had no interest in sex the way a lot of my peers seemed to be at that age. I believed, at the time, that I was pan-romantic and I felt really good about those labels. They felt right. My parents' immediate response was laughter. "What? Are you a plant?" Was the first and only thing she said on the topic of my sexuality. Ever since, she has boasted being supportive and not caring about other people's sexuality whilst ridiculing her own daughter's to her face.

When I was in 14, my color guard group was going around the circle, introducing ourselves and a few girls shared their pronouns/sexuality. I felt safe. I felt welcome. I told them I identified as panromantic asexual. The looks they gave me. The abject horror on their faces. I explained what that meant, that i was romantically attracted to all genders, but sexually attracted to none. Their faces didn't change. We moved on.

When I was 16 I started telling friends I was bisexual. Not because I strongly felt like I was, but because it was more palatable, more understandable than asexuality of any kind. I avoided queer spaces. I still do. I own 1 enamel pin of the aroace flag disguised enough to be passed off as something inoculous. I own a jellyfish plushie in the asexual flag colors, a gift from an old friend.

When I was 19/20 my best friend introduced me to the idea of aromanticism. Away from my hometown, with the help and support of one incredible friend, I began to reidentify as asexual. Because I was never bisexual. With the support of that same friend, I was introduced to the concept of aromanticism, and something just clicked. It was an option I had never considered before. And it made sense, it explained so much. Not everything, but a lot. Im 22, almost 23 now, and I'm still figuring out where I stand on sex and that's okay!!

I became sort of friends with a new coworker when I was 21. We broached the topic of queerness to me, and I felt comfortable enough to share my sexuality with him. It's not something I am shy about discussing with people, close friends, or not(more often than not, it saves me the hassle of being asked out). He asked me if I was just 'intellectualizing my feelings towards other people'. I told him I no, and I never discussed my sexuality with him again.

Within this last year, another coworker asked me out. I apologized(a mistake) and explained that I was aroace(in laymans terms) and that I thought he was a great guy, but I just don't work like that. We barely spoke for a year. It was awkward, but he was my friends older brother, and I thought we could be friends. He took the rejection well and never brought it up again. As soon as I felt comfortable enough around him to talk to him outside of work, he slapped me in the face with bigotry. Chappel Roan was playing on the speaker and my friend(his sister, a proud lesbian), and I intended to keep that going while we worked, and he complained about her music. That's fine, its not for everyone, but he kept whining about it. So, I asked him what was wrong with it. What about it did he not like? I was curious. He said "Well, I'm not a lesbian, so I dont get it."

I replied with "Okay...? I'm not either."

And he looked at me. He looked me dead in the face with suspicion. As though he didn't believe me when I said that. I reiterated that I was not and am not a lesbian.

"But you would be. If you weren't what you are, you would be."

He walked away before I could proccess what the fuck that meant. I was an anxious mess for the rest of my shift. I called my friend in tears on my way home. I panicked about working with him the next week(at the time we were the only 2 people working in the basement of where I work), I didn't feel safe around him anymore. I had to go to my boss and explain the situation in full because(after his sister grilled him on how fucked up of a thing that was to say to someone is and how she warned him that something like this would happen) all he had said was 'I understand if Jelly doesnt want to work with me anymore and I have to move upstairs'.

The conversation went well, but I was a shaking, sobbing mess, and I could barely string together two sentences. I had written down everything I wanted to say for my boss to read in case I physically couldn't explain it. And my boss was great about it. I didn't work with him for a year and I am never scheduled alone with him. We barely speak beyond work related topics.

The point of all this rambling and explanation is that aphobia and every type of bigotry occurs in big and small ways every day. It happens from within and without the queer community in equal measure. Asexuality might be invisible to a lot of people, but so is aphobia. Just because you don't see it doesn't mean it's not happening. Just because we 'arent hurting anyone' doesn't mean people aren't hurting us. Sorry if this is an unwelcome addition, OP.

tbh I really dislike how aphobia tends to be discussed whenever there's some kind of incident that makes it visible to general society. The most common response seems to be some variation of "why would anyone hate asexual/aromantic people, they aren't even doing anything" and it just always sits wrong with me. It paints such a passive picture of our existence and feels like a comment influenced by the level of invisibility that aspec people have in society. Why would you be annoyed by someone who is practically invisible? Just go back to ignoring their existence, it's easy!

But despite the invisibility, aspec people are actually doing quite a lot of things that will piss off queerphobic, right-wing and religious people (and hell, even left-wing people). And the most obvious point is that we are actively not performing heterosexuality the way they want us to. People who's entire world view is "cis men and women should be in monogamous, heterosexual marriage and have (white) babies" are not going to lean back and say "oh but those asexuals and aromantics are fine". They will also hate our guts, and they will come up with all sorts of reasons, including insinuating we're all secretly into bestiality, or mentally ill, or not human, or attention seeking children. It's just plain old queerphobia, and like all queerphobia, there's no inherent logic to it which you can worm your way out of by "not doing anything".

And like, there's a lot more that aspec people do which people hate. Raising awareness about amatonormativity? People feel attacked, they hate it. Asexual people having sex? Or not having sex? People hate it! Aromantic people being in (seemingly) romantic relationships? People fucking hate it! Aromantic people having sex? Ohh people hate that!!

I guess the existence of aphobia can be confusing when you haven't spent much time thinking about asexuality and aromanticism, but in the end, these are identities that aren't heteronormative and they will be hit with the same or similar bigotry as any other queer identity. I just get tired of this response after seeing it recycled for 10 years without ever seeming to go any further.

[myfictionaldreams]

⁀➷ Crave // Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Summary: You're confident, loud, and always in control—until Eddie Munson’s praise turns you into something soft and aching.

Requested by: @peppers-hideout (they/them) -- thank you so so much for this request honestly I had so much fun writing it! Much love <3

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, pleasure dom!eddie, (eventual) sub!Reader, reader is described as extroverted to begin with, praise kink (!!), subspace, domestic fluff, teasing, dirty talk, one line of degrading, aftercare, oral (m receiving), rough sex, mentions of period

Words: 6.8k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

You were always the loud one.

The kind of girl who could walk into any room, whether it be a grimy bar off Main Street or the makeshift garage stage where Corroded Coffin practices, and just own it. Not because you were trying to. You just could. Talk with your hands. Magnetic and unapologetic. You were all coloured in the grayscale of Hawkins.

And somehow, you were his.

Eddie Munson, chaos incarnate. All black denim, tattoos and silver rings, always smelling faintly of smoke and cheap cologne, with a voice that could go from gravel to silk in the space of a sentence. He worked at the guitar store now – PickPlex - still played gigs, ran Hellfire, and cussed out anyone who disrespected one of his friends. But when he looked at you, it was like the rest of the world stopped existing.

He knew he was lucky to have found the other part of his soul. When the two of you were together, it just was. Soulmates in every sense of the word. If he was in the mood to burn down the patriarchy, you were right there with him with a lighter in hand.

You were his biggest supporter, his biggest cheerleader. There was no breaking the infamous ‘Freaks of Hawkins’, a name that had stuck with you both since high school.

You knew every little detail about Eddie, from his insecurities to his favourite pair of socks- the Led Zeppelin ones with the holes. Eddie similarly knew everything about you, which is why the shift caught him so off guard.

It started on a grey Wednesday. It was one of those Indiana days when the sky looked like wet concrete and everything felt ten degrees colder than it was.

It was your day off college, thank fuck, and you’d shown up at his trailer in sweats, hoodie pulled tight, socks mismatched and tucked over your swears. Your usual bursts of chaotic energy were nowhere to be found. No witty one-liners, no dramatic entrance, just a quiet groan as you threw yourself onto his bed, curled up like a cat, and clutched a microwave's heat pack to your stomach.

Eddie, who had followed quietly behind you, kicked the door shut, leaning casually against it, “Period week?”

You nod beneath your hood, burying your face into his pillow until he's sure you’ll smother yourself. “Feel like hell.”

He didn’t say much. Just kicked off his boots and climbed in behind you, pressing his chest to your back and draping an arm over your waist like he always did, only softer this time, his hand holding onto the heat pack for you.

Making sure you’re still breathing, he eases back your hood, happy to see your face squished on the side. This gives him the chance to kiss your cheek and nuzzle into your neck, breathing you in for a minute.

You hum contentedly, pushing your body back into his.

The calm only lasted for a moment before another wave of nausea and stabbing pain in your uterus caused a deep groan from you.

“You’re such a tough girl, baby,” Eddie encourages, voice low as he momentarily removes the heat pack, but only so he can massage the area that was aching. “So good for me.”

You went still, just for a moment.

Eddie was worried that he’d hurt you, but then he felt the shift as your body melted into his hold. The tiniest whimper slipped out, not quite intentional, like your brain hadn’t caught up with how your heart reacted.

He blinked, massaging your stomach, not daring to move anywhere else.

Just waited until your pain passed.

You didn’t say anything. Didn’t tease him or laugh it off like usual when he was trying to be comforting. You always said his praises sounded like you were a dog he was trying to pet, but there was nothing this time. You just let him hold you. Curled up as small as you can and quiet in his arms.

One arm eventually reaches out, linking your fingers through his, resting on your stomach.

And that was it. No grand revelation. No instant fireworks or declarations of love. Just a moment. But something had shifted, even if it wasn’t verbalised. Because Eddie? Eddie knew everything about you, and the way you had melted into his hold was something new.

He didn’t push it. Not yet. But he filed it away like a secret.

It was a Friday.

You’d stopped by PickPlex after your last class of the day, the sleeves of your oversized sweatshirt pulled over your hands. Your backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. You were talking about your professor’s obsession with overly dramatic grading curves while flipping idly through the racks of guitar strings like they were with your attention, but Eddie could tell something was up.

You were hovering. Lingering.

He was behind the counter, working on restringing a battered Strat for a high school kid who swore he didn’t know how the neck cracked. Eddie had one knee up on the stool, tongue between his teeth in focus, his hair falling into his face.

“Got this back today as well,” you say casually, stepping up to the counter and sliding a paper across towards him.

He barely glanced up at first, “Yeah?”

Then he saw the red circle—a crisp, bold A-.

Eddie set the guitar down and leaned forward, pulling the paper towards him, recognising the title from the essay you’d written for the last 3 weeks. “Holy shit, that’s amazing!”

You tried to keep your face neutral, but your lip was caught between your teeth, eyes flicking away, unable to hold his excited eye contact. It was small, barely-there, but he knew you. Knew that it wasn't nerves when you bit your lip like that. It was hope. Hope that someone would notice. That we would see.

Eddie’s eyes flicked from the paper back up to you. Then he beamed, a dimple forming in his cheek.

“I’m so proud of you, Sweetheart,” he’s stepping around the counter now. “My smart girl.”

You froze. Just for a single beat. Then your eyes dropped to the floor, cheeks warming as your fingers tugged at the fraying cuff of your sleeve.

There was no holding back the smile now, even if it was smaller than your usual grin.

It was the kind of smile that Eddie just knew you kept for him. Felt it like a spark down his spine.

He wraps you in a joyful hug, swaying on the spot as you sigh into his hold, his lips pressing comfortingly against your forehead.

Eddie held you with no rush to let go – it wasn’t like the shop was rushed with customers – and thought about how you looked when he gave you that praise again. The way you softened was like something that finally settled in his mind. Oh.

Eddie Munson did not rush it. Did not shove you into a new rhythm or make a big deal out of it.

Instead, he started weaving it in, casually, like it had always been there. To be truthful, it always had been. Eddie was always an affectionate and complimentary boyfriend, but never before had it had this sort of effect, like your entire personality would shift.

So he wanted to see how to develop this discovery subtly.

It started with the laundry.

You were helping to fold his seemingly endless collection of band tees in his trailer, legs crossed on the beige couch, in nothing but a bra and leggings. He watched you smooth his shirts into near little squares, brow scrunched in focus, like it wasn’t even a chore, just something you did because you were here and you loved him.

“You’re such a good girl,” he said offhandedly, reaching for another shirt.

You faltered—not enough to seem obvious, but enough for him to see. There was just a little pause in your hands, a flicker in your breath, and you didn’t look up at him.

Eddie noticed.

And when you did glance up at him moments later, your lashes were lower than usual. Your smile was gentler as you began discussing what to have for dinner, brushing past your feelings completely.

Hellfire club. Chaos, as always.

Jeff was arguing about spell slots, and Gareth was making some insane suggestion that only fired up Jeff more. And you, usually loud, chiming in with jokes or snatching the dice out of people’s hands, were seated beside Eddie’s throne, legs slung across his lap.

He reached beneath the table, finding your hand in your lap and laced his fingers through yours.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured low enough that the others wouldn’t hear.

No reason. No context. Just because he wanted to.

The muscles in your legs seemed to relax further on his thighs, like your tension melted into the floor. Your body shifted closer so that your head could rest on his shoulder, and you did not say another word.

This wasn’t you. You were usually sitting at the other end of the table, mixing in with your friends, not at his side, clutching his hand like it's your lifeline or rubbing your body against his like a cat.

It was cute. So fucking endearing. But it was out of character, and Eddie was loving it.

A few days later, you were sitting at the diner counter after dropping off some library donations with Robin, still dressed in that little corduroy skirt that always made his hands twitch and talking animatedly about an old lady who tried to tip you with a bag of sweets.

“And then she told me I had a good soul, can you believe it? Me?” Your head tips back in a laugh, reaching across the table to steal one of his fries.

Eddie’s hand catches yours, the coolness of his rings stark on your skin. He didn’t kiss it. Didn’t joke, just held it there as his thumb runs slow circles across your palm.

“You’ve got such a big heart, babe. I love that about you. That old lady was right.”

There it was.

The lowering of your gaze, your shoulders slumping, and your breath hitching. It was like your body short-circuited.

The way your lips parted, but no words came out.

You weren’t just reacting. You were responding. Physically.

Not just to the words but to Eddie. To the way he spoke. To what they meant when they came from him. You looked down at your lap, suddenly too focused on peeling the corner off your napkin.

Eddie couldn’t help it. He smiled, slowly. Grinning like a wolf ready to pounce on his prey. But not yet, he’d wait. He wanted to see just how much he could play into this discovery.

You didn’t even realise you were doing it at first.

Stopping by his work a little more than usual. Bringing him coffee, you didn’t even like the smell. Sliding into the creaky stool by the counter like you belonged there, pulling your textbooks out like the music store was just another extension of your world. Casual.

But it wasn’t about the coffee. Or the studying. Or even Eddie.

Well, not exactly.

It was about the moment you can say, “I passed my midterm.” Or, “Professor Carmichael used my essay as an example.”

And it wasn’t even the grade that made you smile.

It was the smoothness of Eddie’s voice. The way it would lower, rich like honey.

“You’re such a smart girl. Knew you’d kill it.”

“Fuck, I’m proud of you, Sweetheart.”

“My brilliant girl. Look at you.”

Every single time, your heart would beat just that bit stronger. No matter how cold, your body would ignite with heat.

Even if you tried to hide your reaction, you couldn’t. Your automatic response was to look down, trying to hide the twitch in your smile, the way your breath slowed, and the way your body softened. But Eddie always noticed. Because he always watched you.

The way you leaned closer to the praise. The posture changes like you’re settling into something warmer, safer. Like you’re trying to become smaller and compact.

His confident, social, take no shit girlfriend, going soft at the sound of a few words.

So, of course, he started offering it more.

You were trying to hide a yawn behind your hand as you leaned against the counter, brows furrowed as you read through a textbook for college. The shop was quiet as it came close to closing, so the boss didn’t mind when you used it as a place to study, keeping Eddie company.

He stood on the other side of the counter, watching you closely.

Leaning closer, his lips brushed your temple. “God, you’re so focused when you’re learning. That’s so hot.”

It would have sounded like he was teasing you if he had used any other tone. But that same low, silky voice had you instantly biting your lip hard.

And later, when he walked out from the back room and found you curled in the battered armchair near the window, knees tucked under you and your sweater sleeves covering your hands, nose buried in a battered paperback - he didn’t say a word.

Because there it was again. That softness. The unspoken request. The way you glanced up at him, slowly with eyes heavy-lidded like you’d been drifting off and just waited.

The twinkle in your glazed-over eyes, he just knew you wanted him to say something.

“You’re my favourite thing to look at, you know that? So pretty.”

And you whimpered. A quiet, breathy sound like your body didn’t know what to do with how much it wanted that kind of attention.

Eddie smirked, flexing his ringed fingers at his side before offering you one. He was ready to close up the shop, take you home in his van, and wrap his arms around you.

It hit you out of nowhere.

One minute, you were tucked into Eddie's passenger seat, your leg bouncing, and fingers fiddling together in your lap. Humming along to his latest mixtape.

The next minute, the need hit you like a train as his words from the shop replayed in your mind.

It crawled under your skin, burned low in your stomach, and made you shift in your seat, like your body didn’t fit right anymore.

You glanced over at him. One hand on the wheel, his fingers tapping to the beat, eyes focused. Casual and effortlessly hot.

You swallowed, leaning over to turn down the song's volume, “pull over.”

Eddie’s brown eyes flick to yours, “What? What's wrong?”

Reaching across the arm rests, you rest your hand over the bulge in his jeans, squeezing his soft cock. Bold and direct like you usually were. The way he always liked. But instead of the usual firm touch that had him thrusting into your palm, it’s soft, barely even a ghost of pressure for Eddie, like you needed to ask permission even though you just knew you didn’t need to because Eddie made you damn aware that you could touch him any second of any day.

Swearing under his breath, the grip on the steering wheel turning his knuckles white. “Jesus H Christ, Sweetheart-”

“Please, Eds. I just wanna take care of you. I don’t want to wait.”

His heads whipping towards you, eyes alarmingly wide and that alone made your thighs press together to try and ease the throbbing pressure in your clit.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Yeah, fuck yeah. Okay.”

Without wasting another second, he swerves the steering wheel, causing the van to drive off the road dramatically, gravel crunching beneath. Managing to park just beyond the treeline, Eddie shuts off the engine, dousing you both in silence.

You both climbed into the back of the van, an area perfectly filled with plush blankets, cushions, and a couple of band posters pinned above the side panels like his bedroom. It was his little getaway, whether to practice his guitar whilst watching the sunset or to smoke a joint with a couple of friends. Over time, though, it had become your haven, a spontaneous and comfortable place for an orgasm or two.

Eddie lies back in the middle, his hands on your waist with the intention of helping you to straddle his waist, but that was not your intention as you drop to your knees between his legs.

No teasing. No commentary. Just that head burning low in your belly, fueling your movements, needing to soothe the emotions in your body. If he could praise you then you were damn sure making him feel good.

Eddie watched, trying to figure out where this energy was coming from, then his mind drifted back to the response you’d give him in the store.

“Easy Angel, I’ve got it. You okay?” Eddie asks as he watches you struggle to undo his belt buckle because your hands shake so much. Another sign that had him questioning which side of you he would be getting.

You nod, avoiding eye contact, fingers gripping his jeans just because you had to hold onto something as he pushes his jeans down to mid-thigh. “Just want you in my mouth. Want you to tell me I’m good.”

The outline of his now hard cock twitches in his underwear as he hisses through his teeth. Licking his lips, he wraps his fingers around your wrists, pulling your body up so that you’re now hovering over him, his mouth so close to yours. “You’re always good for me. My girl. Always so sweet even when you want to suck my cock.”

He sees it. The way the tremble stops, and eyes glaze over, breath fanning across his face. His cock twitches again.

Eddie sits up, his mouth pressing against yours with an urgency that has him moaning first. Your lips are always so soft against his, like pillows, and they taste so sweet from the lip balm you obsessively use.

With his fingers still loosely around your wrists, your hands press into his lower stomach, just to hold onto him. Leaning into his kiss more, you mewl as his tongue brushes against yours.

With a hand now cupping your jaw, tilting your face away from him, Eddie has the perfect angle to kiss along your neck, tickling that ideal spot to have you like putty in his hands.

“Yeah,” he whispered between kisses. “That’s it, you just wannabe my good girl, don’t you?”

The answer came in a head-to-toe shiver as you pull out of his hold, shuffling further down his body once more and hovering over his crotch.

Licking your lips, you reach beneath the waistband, easing out his cock, noting how it hardened at your touch. You open without question, taking him slow, inch by inch, with that look in your eyes like this wasn’t about you at all. It was for him.

“Fuck”, Eddie grunted, hips jerking slightly. “You’re doing so fucking good for me, Angel. Look at you.”

You moan around him, taking him deeper, tasting the saltiness and something that was just so uniquely Eddie. 

He could feel the way his praises melted you From your mouth getting wetter, to your thighs squeezing together, your hands shaking as one holds the base of his cock and the other slips beneath his shirt to feel the soft layer of hair beneath his belly button.

“You’re so goddamn pretty like this. On your knees for me, just needing to hear how perfect you are.”

Your responding whimper nearly has Eddie orgasming already. Biting onto his knuckle to try and hold back, he just watches. Not thrusting, not taking. Just letting you take control and do what you like—pleasing him and getting drunk off his voice.

As much as sex was always a give and take motion, Eddie was very much a pleasure dom when it came to intimate moments. He got off on seeing you get off. Even before this revelation that his words were doing more to you than you first realised, Eddie loved nothing more than lying you back, a pillow beneath your hips and his face firmly between your thighs until you’re numb from the amount of orgasms.

Of course, with the years of dating him, you’d pleasured him, but it was never like this, never because you needed it. Not even wanted to pleasure, but needed to get him off, to hear his words, his moans, feel the hand on the back of your head with reassuring strokes of his fingers.

It was like a dormant part of your mind had finally woken up.

Your fingers graze over his balls, playing with them, and Eddie’s back arches, just about ready to blow.

“Wait- I want to finish inside you,” he gasps, trying to pull his cock out of your mouth but you’re determined and keep him in your mouth. “Fuck-! Yes, baby fuck yes!”

You both groan, Eddie deepper than you, as you swallow the hot cum down coating your tongue, lapping at the underside of his cock, his most sensitive of spots, until he slumps back in a satisfied heap.

Eddie gave himself one breath to get his composure before reaching for your body, fully intending to switch positions and repay the favour. However, you were already tugging his boxers back up, crawling into his lap like a sleepy kitten.

“I don’t wanna keep going,” you say quietly, settling your head against his chest, listening to the comfort of his racing heartbeat. Thump thump thump. “I just wanted to make you feel good.”

Eddie blinked, hands automatically holding your body closely, “You don’t want me to?”

You shake your head.

“I just needed to be close. Needed you. You always make me feel so good, so I wanted to do the same for you.”

He was quiet for a beat, trying to comprehend your words. “Angel.”

For a moment, Eddie’s worried that you’ve taken this whole praise thing the wrong way. He wasn’t saying these things to expect anything in return, and a heaviness settled in his stomach. But then he looked down at you in his lap, from the grateful smile and the loving look in your eyes and released a sigh, lips brushing against your hairline. “Of course. Yeah, sweetheart. Whatever you want, always.”

He held you for a couple of minutes, just breathing in your perfume, trying to find some composure after his intense orgasm as the van gently rocked from the breeze outside before finding any sort of motivation to drive home.

It crept into everything now. The way you’d gravitate toward Eddie like you needed to be touching him just to breathe right. The way your loud, teasing commentary during Hellfire sessions had quieted into soft chuckles.

You didn’t even notice how much softer you were around him, but everyone else did.

Dustin was the first to speak up.

“Is she sick or something?” he whispered to Gareth after one particularly mellow campaign night. You hadn’t interrupted once. Just smiled, laughed quietly, and curled into Eddie’s side like you were made to fit there.

Jeff snorted, overhearing, “Dude, she used to roast all of us for our dice rolls. Now she just smiles.”

“She’s still her and she can very much hear you assholes,” Eddie interrupts from the head of the table, his arm wrapped casually around you, his thumb rubbing slow circles into you hip as you gave the boys at the end of the table the middle finger. “Se’s just tired lately, so stop judging, yeah?”

But even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t just tiredness.

It was that look you gave him every time he called you good, every time he praised your kindness or told you how proud he was. That softness had settled deep in your bones, a kind of hush that bloomed just for him.

Still, he needed to check in later, when it’s just the two of you back in his trailer, the TV playing some old horror flick as your legs rest in his lap, his hand under your shirt resting on your bare stomach.

“You okay, Sweetheart?” he asks, trying to keep his eyes on the screen but spending more time glancing at your face, trying to see any signs that something was wrong.

You nod, idly running your hands over his forearms. “Mhm.”

“You’ve been quiet lately,” Eddie pushes, not satisfied with the response.

You blink up at him, eyes big, warm and open. “Just like being near you, Eds. That’s all.

“Yeah?”

You answer with a sweet kiss to the centre of his throat, directly over his adam's apple. “You make me feel safe, Munson.”

Fuck. That was it. That was the shift he’d been feeling. Not just a change in mood, but a change in trust. You weren’t just his loud, fearless girl anymore. You were letting him carry you a little and letting him be your softness and safe place.

The house party at Steve’s place was loud, chaotic, and everything you loved about hanging out with your friends. 

Music blasted from the stereo, and people laughed in the kitchen over spilt beer and half-eaten pizza. Eddie was by your side, sitting on the couch, nursing a beer in his hand, his head tipped back with a laugh with Robin and Steve. You were laughing, too, throwing playful jabs at Harrington’s over-the-top party-hosting skills.

But there was something different tonight. Eddie noticed it almost immediately. You were quieter than usual, a little softer. Not in a bad way, just not as loud or bubbly. Your words were fewer, your movements more delicate as you leaned into Eddie’s warmth. Your usual mischievous grin had softened, and your laugh was quieter, most distant.

It wasn’t that you were sad; in fact, it was very much the opposite. You were still in the moment, enjoying yourself, but Eddie’s gaze kept flicking to you, watching the subtle changes. The way you stared into your red cup a little too long. The way your fingers tapped idly against your knee. The way your smile was smaller and your breath softer.

The way you had been acting wasn’t even necessarily a daily occurrence, either. This softness. There were still days when your loudness would return, the jesting with friends. In fact, yesterday, the two of you had sung karaoke off-key in the local bar just because you wanted to prove that you could hold a note longer than him. He watched, mesmerised, as you stood on a chair and belted out a song with all of your heart. His girl. His beautiful soulmate. Loud and proud.

But today, there was that change once more.

“Hey, Angel. You okay?” 

Blinking slowly, like it was an effort to achieve, you give him an almost sheepish smile, resting your chin against his shoulder and breathing him in. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired, I guess.”

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips as he kisses the tip of your nose. He’d seen you go quiet like this after he complimented you on a particular burn against Harrington in this current war of words.

“Do you want to come with me for a second?”

You nod without hesitation, letting him guide you by the hand as he leads you away through the crowd. By passing the kitchen, he heads up the stairs, pausing at a door near the back of his house, glancing over his shoulder to ensure no other person was following.

The spare bedroom was empty. It was a quiet sanctuary away from the party noise, but the steady bass could still be heard thumping through the floor.

Shutting the door with a soft click, he turns to you, finding you flicking on the small lamp on the bedside table. Eddie licks his lips, watching you closely, from the way you awkwardly shuffle your feet, eyelids lowered like you’re embarrassed to meet his eyes, hands behind your back giving you an innocent demeanour.

Yeah. You were definitely in that praiseful headspace right now.

Eddie was quick to close the distance, needing to feel, touch, and protect you if that's what you wanted. Your lips parted, and his mouth is on yours, stealing all of your breath, hands firmly on your waist so you’re being pulled tightly against his chest.

Your hands circle their way into his hair, clutching it tightly and playing with the curls.

Eddie eases back, but only because he is dizzy from the lack of oxygen, resting his forehead against yours as he tries to compose himself. “You’re so quiet, baby.” Each kiss he placed against your cheek was slow, like he wanted to savour the taste of every inch of skin he reached, making his journey down your neck until you’re melting into his hands. “I know what you need.”

You felt a soft shiver run through you at his words. He was so close now. His hands lowring to cup your arse beneath your skirt, the firmness poking into your abdomen from his cock aching in his jeans. 

“Eddie, I-”

He kisses you again, cutting off whatever you were about to say, deepening the movements until your tongues are dancing together, fighting for dominance in a way that you’re now ready to drop to your knees because the word Eddie, Eddie Eddie, was all you could think about. It was addictive.

“Let me take care of you. You’ve been so fucking good, so sweet for me tongiht. I can see it, baby. I can see you slipping into that space. Let me make you feel good. I know that’s what you need.”

You felt your body respond to him. The overwhelming urge just to rub yourself all over him, to feel him on you. You needed to please him, the way he always did for you.

“Please, Eddie,” you say breathlessly, chest chevy to suck in air until you’re dizzy and swaying in his arms. Your fingers release the firm hold on his hair, lowering them over his chest. “I want to make you feel good, too.”

His eyes flashed with something darker. The corner of his lips tipped up as he began to push you back against the bed, your body bouncing on the mattress, his body now hovering over yours, trapping you underneath him.

“You wanna make me feel good, huh? God, how did I get so lucky to get you, Angel?”

Your eyes are wide as you stare at him, his curls framing his face in darkness, the smell of his shampoo filling your senses. “Yes, Eddie. I just want to make you feel good. I need to.”

“Good girl,” he praises sweetly, running his hands down your body. His fingers trace the curve of your waist before slipping under your shirt, admiring the softness of your stomach skin. He pauses for a moment, just to watch your reaction.

Your hips roll, pushing his hands firmer against your body, thighs separating to give Eddie room to rest a thigh just there.

His eyes lowered, watching the way your panty covered pussy now rubbed against his jean covered thigh. He could feel the warmth of your arousal even through the denim, feel the dampness seeping through.

“I love it when you do that. I know you want to make me feel good and you will, because nothing turns me on more than seeing you cum, Sweetheart. Let’s see if you can take me, baby.”

Eddie’s gifted fingers lower to the edge of your crumpled skirt, lifting the flimsy material until your lace panties are uncovered. He sucks in a breath, even though he saw you dress in them earlier, seeing them pressed firmly against his leg had his abdomen tightening with the need to cum. With a breath that helps to soothe that fighting urge down, his fingers slid under the damp material.

His eyes close, groaning deeply as he plays with your wetness, spreading it over your pussy, soaking your clit before lifting his thumb to his mouth, sucking and tasting your juices.

“Taste so fucking good. What do you want, Angel? My fingers, mouth or cock?”

“Cock, Eddie please fuck me.”

Jeans and boxers shoved down, panties off and thrown across the room, Eddie has one hand around your jaw, possessive and dominant as he guides his cock to your pussy with the other hand.

With each inch that enters you, your walls squeeze, the thickness causing your eyes to roll back. Your fingers dig into his forearms, leaving crescent-shaped marks from your nails.

“Goddamn, baby. Always so tight for me. You love this, don’t you? Love being my good girl?”

You nod frantically, feeling his fingers squeeze just that bit tighter around your throat, not in a discomfort way but just to keep you right there.

Eddie fucked you slowly at first, deliberate and deep. He wanted to see how loud your sweet moans could be, almost wishing your friends downstairs could hear so they knew who you belonged to.

The noises coming from your cunt were just as obscene, the sloppy slick and slap as he moved in and out. You were burning from the inside out; everything started and ended with the man inside you.

“You’re takin’ me so well. So fucking good for me!”

You whined, clinging to his shoulders now as he lowered his chest to brush against yours, the clothes catching together and wrinkling as his hips chase that helpless desperation.

Then something shifted. A spark. A pulse of heat and need in your belly, tightening, growing with each thrust.

Your legs hooked around his waist tightly, grabbing the back of his hair, your voice coming out harsher than it had all evening. “Harder, Eddie. Fuck-harder, please!”

Eddie froze. Then grinned.

“There she is,” he breathed, cock twitching inside of you. “There’s my strong, fiery girl; I’ve been looking for you.”

Your pussy clenched hard around him as your continue to hold onto him.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” he groans, snapping his hips forward with enough force that he has to hold your hips down onto the bed. “Hmmm, let me just try something first.”

You’re so deep within your arousal that you don’t respond at first, eyes closed and body trembling with restraint.

“Good girl”, he praises gently, kissing your cheek.

Your inner walls tighten in a quick burst, squeezing his cock, earning a deep groan from your boyfriend.

“Mm, fuck yes, you’re my little slut aren’t you.”

Nothing. Not even a whine, squeeze of your legs, or flutter from your pussy. Eddie chuckles, sitting up on his forearms as he stares at your face. You aren’t upset, but you aren’t reacting; you’re just blank like you weren’t there anymore.

His hands cup your cheek instantly, “Hey, hey. You with me?”

You nod slowly, eyes finally having some depth and life. “I’m okay. I just-”.

Eddie leans down, kissing your nose, lips, chin and cheeks. “I know, that wasn’t for you. It’s okay. I just wanted to see if you would be interested in anything else. But, you’re my good girl, and my perfect angel just wants to be praised, doesn’t she? For taking my cock so fucing well.”

There was. That deep clench that suffocated around his cock, the one that took his breath awy and confirmed his thoughts. “Oh yeah, there she is. Tell me Angel, tell me you’re mine and i’ll make you cum.”

“I’m yours,” you sob, tears welling in your eyes at just how overwhelmingly perfect this was. 

Eddie's hips began moving more intensely than ever before, driving your body right to that perfect place.

“Again.”

“I’m yours, Eddie- all yours, always-”

He kisses you so hard you forget how to breathe.

You came with him buried deep inside, clenching like a vice, sobbing through it. Eddie didn’t stop kissing you; he rocked you through it until a new warmth began to spill into you, dripping out with more obscene wet noises and causing more stains on the sheets.

His touches softened, lips encouraged with their touches over your face, bringing your hands to his mouth, kissing each finger.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he whispers, wiping the tears and sweat from your face with the corner of his shirt.

You nod with a tremble, “I'm ok, Eds.”

“You were incredible, so fucking incredible. All of you, my strong, perfect girl. I love you so much,” he buries his face into your neck, arms scooping beneath your back to wrap you in a hug.

You’re exhausted, physically and mentally. You wish you could return those praiseful words right back to him, but you couldn’t because you needed sleep—even if your last thought was the words, “I love you too.” 

The party was still thumping downstairs, but in the quiet, dimly lit spare bedroom, the world had shrunk to just the two of you.

You were in and out of sleep. Body feeling like warm jelly, boneless and dazed, wrapped in Eddie’s embrace on the tangled bed. The room smelled like sex, sweat and Eddie’s cologne. Grounding.

Your cheek was resting against his chest, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers stroked playfully over the nape of your neck.

You weren’t crying. You weren’t sad. You were just… spent.

Eddie felt it. Every tiny tremble in your body, how you clung to him like he was the last steady thing in the world. You hadn’t spoken since you came so hard you’d forgotten your name – not because something was wrong, but because your brain had gone quiet. Floating.

Eddie had been researching different BDSM terminologies, especially since finding out that he liked to be referred to as a pleasure dom. As you began reacting so well to the praises, he wanted to see what else he could learn to help benefit you.

Which is why he now knew you did not like degrading, having had no physical or verbal response during sex.

He also knew that what you were experiencing right now was something called Subspace. You were deep in it, still floating in that blissed-out, fragile place that made you extra soft and sleepy.

“Hey, baby,” Eddie gently spoke, his voice cracking as he did so. “You still with me?”

You nod, somewhat awake, cheek still smushed against his shirt. “Mmhm.”

“That’s my girl,” he said, smiling against your damp forehead. “You did so well for me tonight. So, so fucking good. I’m gonna clean you up now, though, ok? I don’t want you to wake up later feeling gross. Need to get you nice and comfortable.”

After another barely there nod, Eddie carefully slips out of your hold, readjusting his boxers and jeans, rebuckling the belt and straightening himself. He could shower later when you were wrapped up safely in his bed.

With careful coaxing, Eddie helped you walk to the bathroom across the hall and sit on the counter. With warm water on the corner of a towel, he wiped away the sins between your legs, being careful as he moved.

You whimpered, shoulders hunching over, and legs trying to sht at the overstimulation. Eddie, ever the caring boyfriend, took his time, talking you through the touch. “I know, baby. I’m being as gentle as I can, but I need to take care of you.”

You’re practically asleep again by the time he’s stuffing your panties into his back pocket and straightening your clothes. With his leather jacket wrapped around your shoulders, he helps you down the stairs. “Let’s get you home, sweetheart.”

You barely remember the taxi ride home. You were just aware of moving around and leaning heavily against him, and of the moment when the world began to strongly smell like him and home. 

Finally, you were being helped out of your clothes and into one of his old shirts. Then, you were tucked into his bed, and he lay beside you in just a pair of boxers.

Only once you were warm and safe in the dark did he speak again, not even sure you were awake.

“Hey, how are you feeling? Do you feel alright now?”

He’s surprised when you react with a subtle tilt of your head against his chest, curling further into his hold, “Yeah, Eddie. I’m just- I don’t know. I felt so close to you earlier. I think I just dropped, is that the right word for it?”

Eddie nods, striking his fingers against your cheek, picturing your face in the dark. “You don't have to explain it, sweetheart. I get it. I felt it too”

“I just wanted to make you feel good. You always take care of me. You're always saying how I'm your best girl, and I just wanted to give that back, even if it was a lot.”

“It was a lot,” Eddie agreed. But I loved every second of it. And you were perfect. You don't need to do anything for me. You could slap me in the face, and I'd thank you for it.”

You laugh tiredly against his chest, “I'm not going to slap you, Eddie.”

“You know what I mean,” he chuckles, tightening his hold. I’ll always take care of you because you’re my best girl, and you’re going to mine forever and always, right?”

“Forever and always, Eddie.”

[leriexoxo]

The Things We Never Said

Hyunjin x Reader

Tags: 18+ (minors DNI), heavy emotional angst, rejection, heartbreak, sexual content (soft & rough, mirror sex, aftercare, etc.), swearing, crying, pining, miscommunication, Slow burn, angst, friends-to-lovers, hurt/comfort.

Word Count: 9k

Summary: You’d been in love with Hyunjin for years, always stuck somewhere between friendship and almost. When you finally confessed, he rejected you—and then tried to pretend nothing happened. You did your best to move on, even let someone else in… until Hyunjin realized too late that he loved you too. Now he’s at your door in the rain, desperate for a second chance—and you don’t know if your heart is ready to break all over again.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You met Hyunjin the summer after high school ended.

He was loud. That was the first thing you noticed. He laughed with his whole chest, talked with his hands, and never seemed to run out of things to say, even when no one was listening. You’d been dragged to a bonfire by your childhood friend, Jiyeon, and suddenly there he was—sitting cross-legged in the grass with his hair tied up and his head tilted back as he tried to balance a beer can on his forehead.

You didn’t say much to him that night. But he noticed you. You knew, because he kept trying to make you laugh.

He succeeded, a little. And then again. And again.

And by the end of the night, when Jiyeon shouted, “We’re getting ramen after this, let’s go!” and you instinctively began to gather your things, Hyunjin turned to you and said, “You’re coming too, right?”

It wasn’t even a question, not really. Just a smile. A light in his voice.

And somehow, without even realizing it, you became part of the group.

He was the kind of person who pulled people in without trying. Messy and ridiculous and disarmingly soft around the edges. He made the quiet ones talk. Made the serious ones laugh. And you—he made you feel like maybe it wasn’t so bad, being seen.

You became friends slowly. Not all at once, not in that immediate, magnetic way some people describe. It was more like… a comfort you grew used to. Like warm socks in winter. Like the sound of the microwave at 2am.

You sat next to him at game nights. He always offered you the last slice of pizza, even when he obviously wanted it. He texted you the dumbest memes at 3am. Brought you coffee without asking what you liked. He just guessed. He was right.

He remembered things you didn’t expect anyone to remember—your cousin’s name, your pet peeves, the exact date you said you were dreading a dentist appointment.

You never let yourself overthink it.

He was like that with everyone.

It didn’t mean anything.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

But then came the long drives.

The ones where you sat shotgun, feet on the dash, window cracked open, his playlist humming low between the silence. The ones where he’d ask questions like, “Do you think people always know when they’re falling for someone?” with a weird little smile, and you’d pretend it didn’t send your heart into overdrive.

You didn’t know when it happened. When liking him stopped being a quiet crush and became a permanent ache under your ribs.

But by the time you realized it, it was already too late.

It didn’t happen all at once, but looking back, you could see the moment things started to shift.

It was a Wednesday. Rainy. One of those days where everything felt half-slow and half-noisy, like the world couldn’t decide if it wanted to rest or scream. You had been late to dinner—group dinner, as usual. Everyone had already ordered. Someone had stolen your usual seat.

Without missing a beat, Hyunjin scooted over, patted the bench beside him, and said, “Sit here.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d done something like that. It wasn’t even that significant. But when you sat, when your knee pressed against his, and he didn’t move an inch—you couldn’t ignore it anymore.

His shoulder bumped yours every time he laughed. You felt it in your bones.

And when he leaned down to whisper something only meant for you—something stupid and irrelevant about the waiter’s mustache—you laughed too loudly, too quickly, just to distract yourself from how warm his breath felt against your cheek.

Jiyeon gave you a look. The kind that said oh.

You didn’t want to talk about it.

From then on, everything became sharp-edged.

Every car ride. Every lazy afternoon curled on his couch. Every group hangout that ended with the two of you lingering after everyone else left.

You stopped seeing your friends. You started seeing him.

You memorized the way his fingers looked when he was focused—thumb tucked under his chin, brows drawn. The way he fidgeted when he was nervous, like during that open mic night when his leg wouldn’t stop bouncing. The way he whispered your name when you drifted off during late movies, like it meant more than just waking you up.

You knew it didn’t. Not to him.

But it was starting to mean everything to you.

You tried to tell yourself it would pass.

You tried to flirt with someone else at Jiyeon’s party—a guy who was sweet and cute and definitely into you. But then you caught Hyunjin watching from the kitchen, eyebrows slightly furrowed, his cup clutched too tightly in his hand.

Later that night, when the guy asked for your number, you hesitated.

And Hyunjin—who hadn’t spoken a word about it—offered to walk you home.

You let him. Of course you did.

And as you walked side by side in silence, your jacket tucked beneath his arm like a second thought, you wondered what it would be like to reach over. To grab his hand. To say it out loud, right then.

But you didn’t.

Because you were still scared of the answer.

⸻

The moment came two weeks later.

Another rooftop, another night, another group hangout gone late. Everyone had gone back downstairs. Only you and Hyunjin remained, curled under a blanket, half-drunk, half-exhausted, watching the city blink in soft, slow pulses.

You felt full and empty all at once.

And then he said, “You’ve been quiet lately. Like… inside-your-head quiet.”

You blinked. “Have I?”

He nodded. “Yeah. You do that when something’s eating you.”

You laughed softly. “That obvious, huh?”

“To me, yeah.”

And just like that, the words pushed up your throat like they’d been waiting.

“I like you.”

It came out too fast. Too raw. You didn’t look at him when you said it. You stared at the skyline like it could save you.

He went still beside you.

You felt it. The pause. The absence.

Then—

“…Don’t.”

Silence. Loud silence.

Your heart crumpled in real time.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t say it,” he said softly. “Please.”

You turned then. Looked him in the face.

He wasn’t angry. Wasn’t mocking you. Just… heartbroken in a way that made no sense.

“I didn’t want this to change anything,” he whispered.

You laughed once. Just a breath. Just enough to keep from crying.

“Well,” you said. “Too late for that.”

—

You didn’t cry that night.

Not when he reached for your hand and you pulled away.

Not when you stood up too fast and nearly tripped over the blanket.

Not when he said your name like he didn’t know how to say anything else. Like it could still fix it.

You just left.

You went down the stairs and out the door and didn’t stop walking until the city swallowed the rooftop behind you. And when you got home, you showered like you were trying to wash it off. The rooftop, the night, the words. Him.

You climbed into bed in a pair of socks that didn’t match and stared at the ceiling until your eyes stopped burning.

And even then, you didn’t cry.

You just hurt.

You thought maybe he’d give you space.

That he’d let the silence stretch between you until it thinned into distance—polite, painful, but necessary. That was what people did when they didn’t feel the same, wasn’t it? They stepped back. Gave you room to breathe. To grieve.

But Hyunjin didn’t.

The very next morning, he texted you like nothing happened.

hyunjin:

“u up?”

hyunjin:

“wanna get coffee before you go to class?”

hyunjin:

“or not. either way i hope you slept okay.”

You didn’t answer.

Not because you wanted to be dramatic—but because you didn’t know how to be normal around him anymore.

Because nothing felt normal.

That weekend, you saw him again—against your better judgment. Jiyeon had begged you to come to their little movie night, the usual group, just “lowkey and chill.” She’d even promised to make your favorite dumplings.

You told yourself you could handle it.

You were wrong.

He looked up the second you walked in. Said your name with that same soft inflection, like the last three days hadn’t shattered you. Like your confession had been a dream and not a detonation.

You sat on the far end of the couch. He noticed. Didn’t say anything.

Halfway through the movie, he leaned over the armrest and whispered, “You okay?”

You didn’t turn.

You didn’t answer.

You just smiled at the TV screen and hoped no one could see how tightly your hands were clenched in your lap.

⸻

You tried to pull away.

Not just from Hyunjin—but from everything. The group chat, the hangouts, the drop-by visits. You skipped brunches. You started sitting in new spots during class. You made yourself busy with things that didn’t include him.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

But instead of leaving you alone, he chased harder.

He started showing up in ways he never had before. More texts. More “hey, haven’t seen you in a while” messages in the group. Random pictures sent to you privately—funny signs, cats that looked like yours, memes he used to tag you in without asking.

He still made you coffee sometimes. Left it at your door with a note that said nothing more than “You still like oat milk, right?”

It broke you.

Not because he was cruel. But because he was still kind. Because his version of “normal” made it impossible for you to move on.

⸻

Jiyeon called you one night after another canceled invite.

“You okay?”

You paused. Then, “Yeah. Just been tired.”

“You and Hyunjin haven’t talked.”

“I know.”

There was a quiet moment.

Then she said, softly, “You know he thinks everything’s fine, right? That he didn’t break anything.”

You didn’t know how to answer that.

So you didn’t.

—

You made it twelve days.

Twelve days of answering texts with forced emojis.

Twelve days of dodging hangouts, rerouting your walk to class, pretending you weren’t constantly bracing for the next time he’d show up.

You were holding yourself together with duct tape and denial—and Hyunjin kept peeling it off with every well-meaning smile, every gesture that used to feel like comfort and now felt like cruelty.

So when Jiyeon’s birthday rolled around, you told yourself you could survive it.

One night. One dinner. You could smile for a few hours, eat some cake, laugh at a few jokes, and go home.

But then he sat next to you. And that was the beginning of the end.

He didn’t even hesitate.

Walked in with that warm, open energy that had once made you feel safe and now just made your heart twist the wrong way. He saw you across the table, grinned like nothing was wrong, and dropped into the empty seat beside you like it belonged to him.

“Hey,” he said, nudging your shoulder. “You look nice.”

You didn’t answer. Not right away.

You forced a tight smile. “Thanks.”

He tilted his head. “Haven’t seen you all week. You ghosted me again.”

Again.

Like it was a joke. Like it was cute.

You blinked down at your plate. Your heart was pounding. He kept going.

“You still mad at me?” he teased gently. “Come on. I know I’m annoying, but I’m not that bad.”

You laughed. Not because it was funny.

Because something inside you snapped.

You stood up.

He blinked at you, confused, one hand reaching slightly like he thought you might fall. “Wait—”

“I need some air.”

You didn’t look at him as you walked out.

The street was quiet. Cold. A relief.

You leaned against the wall of the restaurant and closed your eyes, willing yourself not to cry. Not here. Not now. Not because of him.

But then the door creaked open behind you, and you knew.

Of course he followed.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Did I… did I do something?”

You turned, finally. Looked him in the face.

And you couldn’t do it anymore.

“I told you I liked you,” you said, voice cracking. “And you rejected me. Which—I get it, okay? That’s fine. You didn’t owe me anything.”

“…I never meant to—”

“But then you kept showing up,” you went on, too fast now, too full. “You kept texting, kept smiling, kept acting like nothing changed. Like it didn’t wreck me to be around you.”

He went still.

“I needed space, Hyunjin. I needed time. But you—you just kept being you. And that made it worse.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. “I didn’t know what else to do,” he said finally.

“You could’ve let me go.”

The silence between you was unbearable.

You took a step back.

“I’m not mad at you,” you whispered. “But I can’t be your friend right now. I’m sorry.”

And then you left him standing there, under the soft glow of the restaurant lights, with nothing but the echo of your voice and the pieces you hadn’t been able to hold onto anymore.

—

He didn’t text the next day.

Or the one after.

For the first time in weeks, your phone stayed silent—no morning messages, no dumb inside jokes, no pictures of dogs in sunglasses or bad street poetry. You thought it would feel like relief.

It didn’t. It felt like absence.

Like a door finally closing after weeks of creaking on its hinges.

And part of you wanted to pry it open again—just to make sure he was still there. Still existing in the same world, breathing the same air. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

You had meant what you said.

You couldn’t be his friend. Not like this.

The group chat slowed without you.

Or maybe you just stopped checking. Muted it. Let the messages pile up without opening them. Jiyeon texted once or twice—“are you okay?” and “you don’t have to explain, just letting you know I’m here”—but even she understood.

You weren’t ready to talk. Not about it. Not about him.

You weren’t even sure what about him meant anymore.

It had been easier when you were just friends. Easier to joke, to sit close, to share blankets and drinks and late-night walks without wondering if it meant something.

Now you couldn’t look at your favorite coffee shop without remembering how he used to order your drink before you got there.

Couldn’t listen to certain songs without hearing the way he hummed under his breath when he thought you weren’t listening.

Couldn’t step onto the rooftop without your chest tightening like it was still holding the echo of your confession.

⸻

Hyunjin didn’t come looking for you.

Not at first.

You heard from Jiyeon that he was “laying low.” That he’d been quieter, less involved, skipping a few hangouts here and there. He wasn’t himself, she said.

You wanted to tell her neither were you.

But what good would it do?

The damage was already done. And unlike him, you couldn’t keep pretending you hadn’t bled for it.

One week later, you ran into him.

Not dramatically—not on a rainy street or in a dark hallway—but in line at the grocery store, both of you clutching baskets filled with microwave meals and snacks you didn’t need.

You saw him before he saw you.

And for a moment, you thought about leaving your cart and walking out.

But he turned.

He blinked. Paused. Said your name like a question.

“Hey.”

You swallowed. “Hey.”

It was awful.

Awkward in a way that made your skin itch. He reached up and scratched the back of his neck, looked down at your basket like it was easier than looking at your face.

“How’ve you been?” he asked.

You could’ve lied. You should’ve.

But you shrugged. “I’ve been better.”

Something in his face twisted.

“I miss you,” he said quietly. No preamble. No smile.

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t trust yourself to.

Because hearing it didn’t fix anything.

It didn’t pull the broken pieces back together or rewrite the moment on the rooftop or un-crack the parts of you that had already started healing from the silence.

All it did was ache.

Even after that quiet moment at the grocery store, even after his eyes followed you all the way to the exit like he still had something left to say. You didn’t reach out.

Because missing you wasn’t the same as wanting you.

And you were done trying to read between lines he wasn’t brave enough to cross.

So, you made yourself move on.

Not out of spite, but out of survival.

You said yes to more invitations, even if it meant sitting in circles he’d never touched. You started spending time with people who didn’t already know your story—or worse, the part where your story had ended.

You met a boy named Minho through your literature elective. He made snide comments about every poem you read in class, and sometimes he offered you half of his protein bar even when you didn’t ask.

He was safe. He didn’t look at you like he remembered every time your heart had cracked open.

He didn’t remind you of anything.

You went for coffee once. Then again. He made you laugh.

It didn’t make your heart race.

But it made the ache dull.

And that was enough.

⸻

Jiyeon noticed the change in you before you did.

“You’re glowing,” she teased one night as the two of you walked home from a dinner that didn’t include Hyunjin for the first time in months.

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t start.”

“I’m serious,” she grinned. “It’s like… you’re coming back to life a little.”

You smiled softly. You didn’t say it, but you felt it too.

The quiet felt less suffocating.

Your chest didn’t tighten every time you heard his name.

You weren’t happy—not all the way. But you weren’t drowning anymore.

That was something.

You saw Hyunjin again two weeks later. Unplanned. At a gallery opening hosted by a mutual friend.

He was standing by the window with a drink in hand, talking to someone you didn’t recognize.

He looked… different.

Tired, maybe. Older somehow. Like he’d finally started carrying the weight you’d been dragging alone.

You tried not to look at him. Tried harder not to feel anything. But the moment he saw you—really saw you—his whole body shifted.

He excused himself from the conversation and made his way over before you had time to turn.

“Hey.”

You stared at him for a long beat. “Hey.”

“I heard about your reading,” he said, a little breathless. “Jiyeon said you’re submitting that short story to the contest next month.”

You nodded. “Yeah. Thought I’d give it a shot.”

His smile was proud, but his eyes were careful. “That’s… really cool. You always talked about writing more.”

You didn’t know what to say to that.

Because yeah, you did.

And he used to be the person you shared your rough drafts with.

You sipped your drink.

He hesitated. Then, “Can we talk?”

You blinked. “We are talking.”

“No, I mean… actually talk. About everything. About what I did—or didn’t do. I know I hurt you.”

You exhaled through your nose. “You didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” he said. “But I did anyway.”

He paused.

“I didn’t say what you needed to hear that night. Not because I didn’t care, but because I panicked. I thought if I said it wrong, I’d lose you completely.”

You laughed, bitter. “Newsflash.”

“I know,” he said again. Quiet. “I didn’t know how to be honest with you without breaking something. And then I broke it anyway.”

There was a beat of silence between you.

You looked at him. Really looked at him.

And for the first time, you saw guilt.

Not just regret. Not just nostalgia.

Real guilt. Like he finally understood what it meant to be the one who got to walk away clean.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should’ve let you go when you asked me to. I should’ve respected the space you needed. I thought staying close meant I still mattered to you.”

“You did,” you whispered. “But it hurt too much.”

“I get that now.”

You nodded.

“I’m not asking to fix things,” he added. “Not tonight. Maybe not ever. But I wanted you to know—I see it. Everything I ignored. And I’m sorry.”

You didn’t cry.

You didn’t reach for him, didn’t tell him it was okay.

Because it wasn’t. Not really.

But hearing it? It helped.

—

You kept seeing Minho.

Not often. Not seriously. But enough.

Enough to make people start asking. Enough to let the idea hang in the air—like a question you were never quite ready to answer.

He was calm where Hyunjin had been chaotic.

Confident without being loud.

Sharp-tongued, but thoughtful when it counted.

You didn’t burn for him, not in the way you had for Hyunjin.

But that was the point, wasn’t it?

Minho made it easy to breathe. Easy to exist without constantly trying to guess what came next.

And for a while, that was enough.

You started smiling again. Real ones.

You stopped checking your phone for messages that never came.

Stopped wondering what Hyunjin was doing on a Friday night or who he was laughing with or if he ever thought about the rooftop and the way you’d looked at him like you had something left to lose.

You stopped bleeding, even if you still bruised.

And when Minho asked if you wanted to get dinner—just the two of you this time—you said yes.

Because you wanted to try.

Even if your heart still twitched at the sound of someone else’s name.

⸻

You didn’t mean for Hyunjin to find out about Minho that way.

But the world was small, and the friend group smaller.

He saw you across the quad one day—Minho beside you, walking close, laughing low at something you said. You didn’t notice Hyunjin sitting on the low wall by the fountain, earbuds in but music off, eyes catching on you like a hook in water.

You didn’t see the way he stilled.

Didn’t see the way his jaw clenched when Minho leaned in to adjust the strap of your bag.

Didn’t hear the breath he held until it burned.

But later that night, you got a message.

[10:03 PM] Hyunjin: so it’s real? you and him?

You stared at it for a long time.

Your fingers hovered over the screen. Typed. Deleted. Typed again.

[10:09 PM] You: I’m trying to move on.

No reply came.

Not that night. Not the next day.

But Jiyeon texted you the morning after: Did something happen with Hyunjin? He was weird today. Like really weird.

You didn’t answer.

Because you knew exactly what happened.

—

Hyunjin didn’t understand it.

Not at first.

He thought the ache in his chest was guilt. Maybe even jealousy in the shallow way—like possessiveness, like territorial instinct. The kind of pang you feel when someone you used to be close with starts laughing a little too freely without you.

But it wasn’t that.

It was something deeper. Wilder.

More like grief.

Because you weren’t just someone anymore.

You weren’t even his almost.

You were someone else’s maybe.

And that was what shattered him.

Because when you left, he missed the way you looked at him. Missed your laugh, your stupid overthinking texts, the way you always brought him snacks when he forgot to eat. He missed your presence.

But now—now he missed your possibility.

Now he missed what he never let himself want.

He started spiraling quietly.

He didn’t bring you up. Not to anyone. Not even Jiyeon.

But he was short-tempered, restless. Said no to hangouts, stayed up too late doing nothing, stared at half-written texts he never sent.

He kept seeing you in crowded rooms—never alone, always glowing a little too much beside someone else.

Minho touched you gently. Laughed easily. Didn’t flinch when your arm brushed his.

And Hyunjin hated it.

Because Minho hadn’t hesitated.

Minho didn’t push you away and then regret it after.

Minho got to hold the part of you that Hyunjin threw away out of fear.

It took him two weeks to admit it to himself.

Not just the feelings. But the failure.

He hadn’t been confused. He’d been a coward.

He let you fall while he stood on the edge, too afraid to jump.

And now someone else was learning all the soft, sacred pieces of you he never deserved.

—

You weren’t expecting anyone that night.

It was raining. The kind of rain that didn’t come with thunder—just a quiet, steady fall that wrapped the city in soft gray noise. You had a hoodie on, socks mismatched, fingers curled around a mug of tea gone cold on your desk.

Your phone lit up twice—one from Minho, one from Jiyeon—but you didn’t open either.

Some nights were like this. Still on the surface, but storming underneath.

You didn’t think anything of the knock at your door.

Just a neighbor, maybe. A package. Maybe Jiyeon needing to vent.

But when you opened it—

Your whole body froze.

There he was.

Hyunjin.

Soaked to the bone, hood pushed back, hair dripping onto the collar of his jacket. His eyes looked darker than usual—not angry, not cold.

Just… raw.

Like he hadn’t slept.

Like he hadn’t smiled in days.

You couldn’t say anything. Couldn’t even move.

“I know I shouldn’t be here,” he said quietly.

His voice was hoarse, frayed at the edges.

“Just—can you let me talk? Please.”

You stepped back.

Barely. A breath of space.

And he took it like it was a lifeline.

He stood in your entryway dripping water onto your rug, shivering slightly, looking around like it was all unfamiliar.

But you both knew it wasn’t.

“You’re still drinking that chamomile stuff,” he murmured, eyes catching the mug on your desk. “I always hated the way it smelled.”

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t tell him you started drinking it more after he stopped texting you.

Didn’t tell him Minho liked it. Said it suited you.

Hyunjin swallowed. “I’ve been an idiot.”

You crossed your arms.

“I don’t mean the usual kind of idiot,” he added quickly. “I mean… the kind who gets handed something rare—something real—and is too scared to hold onto it.”

Your throat tightened.

“I told myself I didn’t want to risk losing you,” he went on. “But I lost you anyway, didn’t I?”

You said nothing.

Because the pain was still there. The crack. The weight. The memory of the rooftop and the way his silence felt like your own body turning against you.

“I saw you with Minho,” he admitted, eyes searching yours now. “And it hurt. God, it fucking hurt. Not because he did anything wrong—he didn’t. He’s good to you. I could see it. That’s what scared me.”

You looked down.

He took a step closer.

“Because I realized I didn’t want you to move on,” he whispered. “Not from me.”

A breath caught in your chest.

“I wanted to be the one who made you laugh like that. The one who made you feel seen. But I gave that up, didn’t I? I gave it up because I was too much of a coward to admit I loved you.”

The silence rang loud.

Too loud.

You blinked, voice breaking. “Loved?”

His face crumpled—gently, like he was unraveling all at once.

“Love,” he corrected. “I love you. Present tense.”

A pause.

And then, softer:

“I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t expect you to take me back. But if there’s even a piece of you that still feels something… I had to come. I had to try. Because if I lose you forever without telling you how I feel, I won’t survive it.”

You stared at him. At the boy who once shattered your heart and then stood there hoping you’d pretend it never happened.

Only now, he wasn’t asking you to pretend.

He was asking you to believe him.

To believe this mattered. To believe you mattered.

Even after everything.

You stood there trembling.

His words echoed through the room, too loud and too soft all at once. You hadn’t meant to cry, but the tears were already sliding down your face—slow, silent, uninvited. You didn’t even try to stop them.

You didn’t know what to say.

Because you had wanted this. You had dreamed of this.

And now that it was here, it didn’t feel real.

Your fingers clenched at your sides.

You still loved him. God, you loved him so much it hurt.

That was the problem. That had always been the problem.

You had never stopped.

You turned away before he could see your face break completely. Your voice came out thin.

“Your clothes are soaked. You’re gonna get sick.”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t move.

You went to your drawer and pulled out a hoodie—his, ironically, one he’d left at your place months ago and probably forgotten. You hadn’t. You wore it once when the world felt especially heavy.

You walked back and handed it to him, not meeting his eyes.

“There’s towels in the bathroom,” you mumbled. “You can dry off in there.”

He hesitated. Then nodded, quiet. “Thanks.”

You didn’t say anything else.

—

The rain got heavier.

It pounded against your windows, against the balcony outside your room. The whole apartment felt suspended in that stormy cocoon—like time had been paused by the sky itself.

You stood by your bed, arms around yourself, chest aching.

How many times had you imagined this moment?

How many times had you told yourself it would never come?

And now he was here.

In your bathroom. Wearing the hoodie you used to cry in. Telling you he loved you.

Your knees nearly buckled under the weight of it.

When he stepped out again, hair damp but drying, hoodie slung over his frame like it still belonged to him, he looked… softer.

Not small. Just real.

Your gaze lifted. Locked with his.

Neither of you spoke.

But something shifted.

In the stretch of silence. In the sound of the storm. In the space between your heart and his.

And then, he moved.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Like he wasn’t sure if he had the right. Like he wanted to give you every chance to step back.

You didn’t. You didn’t move an inch.

Not even when he reached out, thumb brushing just under your eye to catch a tear you hadn’t noticed was still falling.

“Still hurts?” he whispered.

You nodded. A breath.

“Me too.”

Then—

His hand slid to your jaw, gentle, reverent.

And he kissed you.

It wasn’t hungry or desperate.

It was slow. Careful. Terrified.

Like he was asking.

Please. Let me back in.

And you— You let him.

Because your heart had never been Minho’s.

Because you never stopped waiting for this.

For Hyunjin.

For this kiss.

For him.

His lips moved like he was afraid to touch you fully.

Not because he didn’t want to—because he did, you could feel it, the trembling in his fingers, the way his breath stuttered against your cheek—but because he was terrified of breaking you again.

And maybe he already had.

Maybe you were already in pieces, just standing there, letting him kiss you.

But your hands found his hoodie, your fingers curling tight into the fabric at his chest, and you tilted your head into him, letting the kiss deepen. Just slightly. Just enough.

He gasped when you kissed back.

A sound so full of relief, you nearly choked on it.

His arms came around you in a rush then, like he’d been holding back every instinct for weeks and couldn’t anymore—like he was suddenly starving and you were the only thing that could fill him.

You clung to him just as desperately.

It was messy. It was soaked in heartbreak. It tasted like too much and not enough.

He kissed you like he was scared this would be the last time.

And maybe it would be, if you didn’t speak now.

You broke the kiss with a trembling breath, forehead pressed to his, his hands still cradling your face.

Your voice cracked.

“I waited for you.”

His whole body stilled.

“I waited, and you didn’t come.”

“God,” he whispered, eyes squeezing shut. “I know.”

You were crying again. Quiet. Angry at yourself for still loving him. Angry at him for giving you this only after you’d shattered trying to forget.

“I couldn’t even look at Minho without thinking of you,” you said. “I tried. I wanted to move on. But you—” your voice broke, “you were everywhere.”

Hyunjin’s eyes opened. Bloodshot. Glistening.

“You should hate me,” he said. “I hate me.”

“Then why didn’t you just say yes?” you asked, choking on it. “On that rooftop. Why did you make me beg for a rejection?”

“I was scared,” he confessed, so broken it hurt to hear. “You were real. You were everything. I didn’t know how to be the person who deserved you.”

“Then why now?” you whispered. “Why come back?”

He brushed his thumb over your cheek again, voice shaking.

“Because I couldn’t breathe without you. I thought I could live with letting you go, but I couldn’t. I tried. I tried so hard. But seeing you with him—” he swallowed hard—“I lost my mind. Not because of jealousy. Because I knew he could give you what I threw away.”

You didn’t speak.

Couldn’t.

You leaned into him, both of you trembling.

And then his mouth was on yours again—more desperate this time, more raw, like the floodgates had broken and neither of you knew how to stop.

His hands cupped your face, then tangled in your hair.

Yours slid under the hoodie, fingers curling into his shirt like he’d disappear if you didn’t hold on tight enough.

It wasn’t about sex.

It wasn’t even about comfort.

It was grief.

It was love.

It was apology.

And it was need.

You kissed like you were trying to put all the broken pieces back in each other.

And for a moment, maybe you did.

—

The next morning, the world was hushed.

Golden light streamed through the blinds, soft and warm, like the universe was trying to offer you a gentle landing after the storm.

Hyunjin was still asleep on your couch, one arm draped over his eyes, the borrowed hoodie rising and falling with each breath. He looked peaceful. Tired. Like someone who had cried himself to sleep in someone else’s arms.

Because he had.

And you… you were wide awake.

Your heart felt like a tender bruise. Not aching in the same sharp way it used to, but sore with memory. With love. With everything you still hadn’t unpacked.

And there was still one thing you had to do.

You sat in the café before Minho arrived, nursing a coffee you barely touched. Your hands were cold, even with the cup between them.

He spotted you from the door, gave you a soft, tired smile.

He already knew.

Minho sat down across from you like it wasn’t the end of something. He didn’t even make you start.

“You let him in.”

You swallowed. “Yeah.”

He nodded slowly, then looked out the window for a long moment.

“I figured it would happen,” he said, tone light, but not careless. “He had that look in his eyes when he saw us. Like someone waking up too late.”

“I never tried to use you,” you whispered. “I promise. I just… didn’t want to keep bleeding over him forever.”

“I know.”

Silence stretched. Comfortable. Sad.

“I liked you,” he said. “A lot. Still do, in a way. But I could never get to the place he had in you. You looked at me and I always saw him sitting behind your eyes.”

Tears welled again. You didn’t want to cry—not for this. Not for hurting someone who didn’t deserve it.

But Minho smiled.

“I’m not mad. Heartbreak’s messy. And I’d rather lose like this than keep you with me when your heart’s still somewhere else.”

You blinked, stunned.

“You’re kind of perfect,” you muttered, wiping a tear.

Minho grinned. “Don’t forget it.”

And just like that, he stood, patted your head, and said goodbye.

⸻

Hyunjin waited until you were ready.

For a week, he gave you space. Checked in gently. No pressure. Just warmth. Just patience.

And then— He asked if he could take you out. On a real date.

You stared at the message for a long time before smiling.

Yes.

It was an easy answer.

He took you to the planetarium.

It was quiet, empty enough that your footsteps echoed as you walked side by side into the main observatory dome. The room was dark, filled with a slow-spinning map of the stars across the curved ceiling. Everything glowed faintly blue and silver.

You stood there in the dark, hand brushing against his.

He turned to you with a soft smile. “When I was a kid, I used to think people became stars when they died.”

You looked at him, heart full.

“I think people are stars,” you said. “We just don’t always shine the same.”

He stared at you, eyes wide, something fragile flickering behind them.

“You’re unreal,” he whispered.

You reached for his hand fully this time. “So are you.”

He kissed you under a sky of constellations, hand on your waist, lips soft and sure. There was no rush, no storm.

Just you. And him.

And something whole blooming between you.

You didn’t say it out loud that night, but you felt it so deeply it poured out of you anyway—through your smile, your kiss, your laughter, your joy.

You were smitten.

So in love it made your chest ache in the best way.

He looked at you like he was seeing the stars for the first time.

And for the first time in a long time…

You felt complete.

—

The special moments started small.

A look that lingered too long.

A touch that lasted a heartbeat more than it should.

A silence that simmered.

You noticed it the second time he kissed you.

The night after the planetarium, when he walked you home again and kissed you outside your door like he wasn’t ready to let go yet. You had your hands tangled in the front of his coat, half on your tiptoes, the warmth of his breath brushing against your lips even after the kiss ended.

You’d pulled away first. Barely.

And he’d looked at you like that—like his control was fraying.

“I should go,” he murmured, but he didn’t move.

Your fingers had clenched tighter in his coat.

So close. So warm. So real.

“Yeah,” you breathed, your voice too soft, too unsure. “Probably.”

He kissed you again anyway. Deeper this time.

It kept happening.

Little moments that crackled with heat.

Moments that made your skin tingle and your thoughts spiral.

He’d tuck your hair behind your ear and let his fingers trail just a little too long against your jaw.

You’d lie on your couch watching a movie and realize his thumb was drawing slow circles into the back of your hand without even thinking about it.

He’d lean in to whisper something and you’d feel his breath on your neck, and your body would ache.

You never said it.

But he felt it too.

You could see it in the way his jaw tightened when you wore shorts around him. The way he looked away fast, and then looked back, like he couldn’t stop himself. The way his fingers would twitch in his lap like they were remembering the shape of your hips.

Neither of you pushed it.

It was careful. Respectful.

But it burned.

⸻

One night, you ended up at his place after dinner. Nothing dramatic. Just takeout, music, the glow of his living room lamp.

You were in one of his hoodies again. Legs folded on his couch.

He was beside you, thigh pressed to yours, half-laughing at a story you told about Minho getting kicked out of a bookstore for sneezing too dramatically.

And then the laughter faded.

And there was quiet.

And you were looking at each other.

His smile softened. Melted.

“I love you,” he said suddenly.

You blinked.

“I know,” you whispered, heart stuttering.

He reached for you, one hand brushing your knee, then your hip, then your waist. His fingers curled there like they belonged.

“I think about you all the time,” he murmured. “Not just like this. I mean… everything. I think about waking up beside you. Cooking with you. Fighting over what movie to watch. I think about what it would be like to make love to someone I actually care about.”

Your breath caught.

You could feel your pulse in your throat.

“And I think about touching you,” he added, voice barely above a whisper. “More than I should. Sometimes it drives me crazy.”

You swallowed hard. “Hyunjin…”

His forehead dropped to yours, breath hot against your lips.

“I don’t wanna rush you. I don’t want to fuck this up. But… if you ever want me, really want me—”

“I do,” you whispered. “I do.”

He kissed you again.

And this time, it wasn’t soft.

It was hot and aching and honest.

A kiss that shook the air out of your lungs, that made you whimper into his mouth.

A kiss that told you he had been waiting.

His hand slid under the hem of your hoodie—slow, careful, worshipful. You felt his palm press against the bare skin of your lower back, and your entire body lit up.

Your hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, legs shifting to straddle him without thinking.

You needed him.

Not just physically.

Fully.

And for the first time, you saw it in his eyes—how much he needed you too.

His breath trembled against your lips as he kissed you, deeper now—slow and searching, like he was committing you to memory.

You straddled his lap, knees tucked against the couch cushions, hoodie sliding up your thighs as his hands gripped your waist like he’d dreamt of this a thousand times and still couldn’t believe it was real.

Your hips tilted into him and god, he groaned—low, guttural, like the sound had been ripped from somewhere deep in his chest.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he whispered against your mouth.

You kissed him harder, dizzy with how much you wanted him. With how long you’d ached for this exact feeling—his hands on you, his mouth devouring you like he was starving.

“I’ve wanted this,” you breathed, forehead pressed to his. “Hyunjin, I’ve wanted you so bad—”

He surged up, catching your lips again, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other slid under your hoodie—warm palm pressing flat against your bare back. His touch burned, delicate and firm at once, like he didn’t know whether to cherish you or ruin you.

Maybe both.

You rolled your hips into him again and he lost it—his grip on you tightening, his mouth trailing fire down your jaw to your throat.

“Let me take you to my bed,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “Please. I need to see you—all of you.”

You nodded, breathless. “Take me.”

You barely made it to the room.

He kissed you the whole way there, backing you into the doorway, pulling your hoodie over your head and moaning when he saw you weren’t wearing anything underneath.

“Holy shit, baby…”

His hands roamed, reverent, worshipful—fingers trembling slightly as he cupped your breasts, kissed your collarbone, trailed down your ribs like he wanted to map every inch of you.

You undressed him too, slow and needy. Shirt first. Then pants. You couldn’t stop touching him—his lean lines, the muscles under smooth skin, the way his breath caught when your hands slid below his waistband.

And when you finally reached the bed, he laid you down so gently, like you were something precious. Then he hovered over you, eyes locked to yours, full of heat and vulnerability.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, voice cracked. “So fucking beautiful.”

You pulled him down into another kiss, and then—

His hand slipped between your thighs.

He touched you slowly at first, lips brushing your cheek as his fingers slid through your folds, testing, teasing—until your hips bucked and you whimpered his name.

“You’re so wet,” he whispered. “You’ve been like this for me all night, haven’t you?”

“Longer,” you gasped. “Weeks. Months.”

He cursed under his breath and slipped two fingers inside you, curling just right, dragging moans out of you before you could stop them.

“Hyunjin, please—”

He kissed your temple. “I got you.”

And then he was lining up, breathing hard, pushing in slow.

Your back arched.

He filled you completely.

Deep and thick and hot and perfect.

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

Only feel.

He groaned into your neck, holding himself still for a second while your body adjusted.

“You’re so tight,” he rasped. “Fuck—so warm. I’m gonna lose my mind.”

“Move,” you begged. “Please, Hyunjin—”

And he did.

He fucked you like a man unraveling.

Deep strokes, slow at first—but with every sound you made, every time you gasped his name or dug your nails into his back—he got rougher. Desperate. Unhinged.

“Been dreaming about this,” he panted, forehead pressed to yours. “Fantasizing about being inside you, hearing you moan for me—mine, baby, you’re mine—”

“Yes,” you choked out. “I’m yours. God, I’m yours.”

That snapped something in him.

He grabbed your thighs, threw them over his shoulders, and started pounding.

You cried out—head tilted back, fingers clawing at the sheets, the rhythm obscene, filthy, delicious.

“You take me so well,” he groaned, driving in harder. “Look at you, fucking trembling—this is what we were meant for.”

You were gone. Ruined. Drenched in sweat and tears and love.

It was everything.

The heartbreak. The longing. The second chance. All of it crashed into this moment—two people finding each other again in the most primal, vulnerable way.

And when you came, you screamed.

Tears streaming, thighs shaking, sobbing his name.

He followed seconds later, moaning into your mouth as he spilled inside you, his body curling around yours, trembling.

⸻

After, he didn’t move for a long time.

He just held you. Tight. Like you were the center of his universe.

“You okay?” he whispered, brushing hair from your face.

You nodded, still breathless. “I think you just ruined me for anyone else.”

He smiled—soft, shy, proud.

“Good,” he murmured, kissing your forehead. “Because I’m not letting you go again.”

You’d barely caught your breath.

Still tangled in the sheets, your chest rising and falling with each slow inhale, skin flushed and sticky with sweat. Hyunjin was quiet beside you—his fingers tracing lazy lines over your bare back, lips pressing soft, reverent kisses to your shoulder, your temple, your jaw.

“I should clean you up,” he murmured against your skin, voice low and hoarse and wrecked from all the moaning.

You smiled, dazed. “I’m not sure I can stand.”

His laugh was quiet. Tender. “Then I’ll carry you.”

And he did—arms under your thighs and back, cradling you to his chest like you were fragile. Like he wanted to take care of every part of you.

The bathroom was warm. Dim. Steamy from the shower he turned on.

You sat on the counter while he grabbed a warm towel, gently wiping between your legs with a tenderness that made you melt all over again. His hair was a mess, his chest peppered with bite marks, but his eyes never left yours—soft and so full of something it made your chest ache.

“You okay?” he asked again.

You nodded, cupping his cheek. “I’m more than okay.”

He leaned into your touch, lips brushing your palm—and that’s when it changed.

His hand slid to your thigh, slow and deliberate.

His eyes flicked down. Then up. Then to the mirror behind you.

“Look at you,” he said softly. “You’re fucking glowing.”

You felt it, too.

The heat between your legs rising again.

The tension sparking all over your body.

“Hyunjin…”

He didn’t kiss you this time. Not at first.

He turned you around.

Gently. Slowly. Until your palms were pressed flat against the cool marble counter, your back arched just slightly, and your eyes locked to his through the reflection.

He stood behind you, hands running down your arms, then your sides, then gripping your hips from behind.

The mirror caught everything.

Your parted lips. Your flushed skin. The way your thighs clenched at the way he looked at you.

“You’re so fucking sexy like this,” he murmured into your ear, grinding against your ass with a low groan. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You whimpered. “Then show me.”

And he did.

You felt him again—hard, hot, thick—pressing into your entrance, slow and unbearable, until he was buried deep inside you once more.

Your mouth dropped open. His hands gripped your hips tighter.

And the mirror made it so much worse.

You could see the way his brows furrowed, the way his lip curled when he pulled back and slammed in again—your body jolting forward, your eyes fluttering shut as your moan echoed off the tile walls.

“Open your eyes,” he growled, fucking into you harder now. “Watch.”

And when you did—

You saw it all.

The way his body curved into yours.

The way your tits bounced with every thrust.

The way his jaw clenched, desperate, possessive, lost in you.

“You look so good like this,” he groaned. “Letting me fuck you in front of a mirror like a filthy little angel.”

You moaned. “Hyunjin—fuck—”

He reached around to grab your throat, just enough pressure to tilt your chin up—forcing you to hold the eye contact, to see the mess he was making of you.

“You love this,” he hissed. “Being ruined like this. Being mine.”

“I do,” you gasped. “I love you—Hyunjin, I love you so much—”

That shattered him.

He bent over you, caged you in with his arms, and pounded harder—deeper—his teeth scraping against your neck, his moans falling ragged against your ear.

“I love you too,” he choked. “I’m so in love with you—fuck, baby, I can’t hold back—”

Your body clenched. Your thighs trembled.

And when you came this time, you saw yourself unravel.

You watched the moment your face broke apart in the mirror—watched Hyunjin’s eyes lock to yours as he fucked you through it, whispering your name like a prayer as he came inside you again, deep and pulsing and perfect.

You collapsed against the counter, boneless and spent. He held you up, breathing hard, his chest pressed to your back as he kissed your shoulder softly.

“You wreck me,” he whispered.

You smiled, eyes fluttering shut.

“Good,” you breathed. “Because I’m not done wrecking you either.”

After the second round, your body was jelly.

Warm, aching, full of him—so full of him you could still feel the echo of his thrusts hours later.

Hyunjin carried you back to bed, wet towel slung over his shoulder, your skin freshly cleaned but your cheeks still flushed, your lips swollen from all the kissing. He tucked you into the sheets like you were sacred, brushing damp strands of hair from your face, placing the gentlest kiss to your forehead.

You curled into his chest, and for the first time in forever, your body truly relaxed.

“Did I hurt you?” he whispered, stroking your spine with featherlight fingers.

You shook your head, half-asleep. “You made me feel everything.”

His arm tightened around you, pulling you closer until you were tangled up in him again, your cheek pressed over his heartbeat.

He nuzzled into your hair. “Thinking back, I was so scared you wouldn’t let me in.”

“I almost didn’t,” you murmured, drowsy. “You really fucked up, Hyunjin.”

“I know,” he said, his voice low with guilt. “I was a coward. I thought pushing you away would protect me from messing it up, but I ended up hurting you worse. Hurting myself too.”

You shifted just enough to look up at him. His eyes were soft and open now. No walls. No distance.

“I never stopped loving you,” you said quietly.

His lips parted. “Even when I broke your heart?”

“Especially then,” you whispered.

The weight of that landed hard between you—and then he was kissing you again. Soft and slow, all emotion. No rush, no hunger this time. Just pure devotion. You moaned into it, wrapping your arms around his neck as he hovered over you, chest to chest, lips to lips.

He kissed your nose. Your eyelids. Your jaw. The corner of your mouth. He worshipped every inch like he was making up for lost time.

“You’re my everything,” he murmured. “I never want to be without you again.”

“Then don’t be,” you said. “I’m yours. Always.”

⸻

Spring came slowly that year.

The trees bloomed in soft pinks and pale greens, and everything felt like it was waking up again. You too.

It had been three months since that rainy night. Three months since Hyunjin stood in your doorway with his heart on his sleeve and yours clenched in his hands. Since you let him in—into your apartment, your bed, your life.

And now?

You were his.

Not in the possessive way he used to fear, but in the gentle, deliberate way that felt real. Solid. Like something that had been growing quietly beneath the surface all along, just waiting for the right season to bloom.

“Here,” Hyunjin said, setting a cup of tea on your desk as you buried yourself in editing your thesis. “Made it just the way you like it.”

You blinked up at him, smiling. “You’re spoiling me.”

He leaned down and kissed the top of your head. “You deserve it.”

He meant it. Every word. You could see it in his eyes now—no hesitation, no deflection. Just warmth. Confidence. Love.

Sometimes, you caught him staring when he thought you wouldn’t notice. His chin resting on his hand, gaze soft and open. Like he still couldn’t believe you were here, his. Like he was trying to memorize your face a hundred different ways.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you teased one night, sprawled on his couch with popcorn in your lap and your feet in his.

“Because I’m in love with you,” he said simply. “Still not over it.”

⸻

Your friend group got used to the change quickly.

Jiyeon called you “disgustingly cute” with a fake gag, but kept smiling after. Minho never said much—just gave Hyunjin a knowing look whenever they passed by each other and nodded once, like they had an understanding. No bad blood. Just quiet grace.

And the sex?

Still toe-curling. Still addictive.

But now it came with pillow talk. Inside jokes. Morning kisses and shared playlists. Him dancing you around the kitchen with pancake batter on your nose, hands on your hips, forehead against yours.

It came with safety. Intimacy. The kind of closeness that felt earned.

You’d been through every version of heartache with Hyunjin.

And now you were building every version of healing.

⸻

He took you on a picnic for your six-month anniversary.

Cherry blossoms in full bloom, a checkered blanket under the trees, his sketchbook in his lap as he tried to draw you mid-laugh—messy and imperfect, but so full of love.

“You know,” he said, glancing over the top of the page, “I used to be scared I’d ruin us if I ever crossed the line.”

You reached for his hand. “And now?”

He smiled. “Now I’m scared I’ll never be able to love anyone the way I love you.”

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his. Soft. Sure. Smitten.

“Good,” you whispered. “Because you’ll never have to.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: Guys 🥹 I think I fell in love with Hyunjin all over again!!! And lord knows I TESTED myself with the amount of fluff a d emotions in this lmao.. anyway guys, we are hitting 1k soon and I’m so excited! 😭❤️ its been 3 months of writing back to back and there’s already so many fics in the masterlist! Thanks for all the support, love you guys!

Taglist: @tsunderelino @innieandsungielover @inlovewithstraykids @reignessance @jeonismm @sttnficrecs @herejusttemporary @krssliu @sagestarlight @kenia4 @miilquetoast @thackery-blinks @leeminho-hall @suga-is-bae @butterflydemons @inejghafawifesblog @malunar28replies @minchanlimbo @mal-lunar-28 @breakmeofftbr @itvenorica124 @slut4junho @deepblueocean97 @thequibbie @yaorzu-blog @imagine-all-the-imagines @just-bria @mischievousleeknow @universeyuto @ifyxu @melanctton @thelostprincessofasgard @binniebb @sillylittlecat1 @darkwitchoferie @m-325 @headfirstfortoro @imseungminsgf @ihrtlix @vernorica123 @hwangjoanna @swordswallower2000 @niki007 @yxna-bliss @firelordtsuki

[deffonotsupposedtobehere]

𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐏 (𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐏)

Yandere! Batfam x F!Reader

Synopsis: No matter where you go... you're always—always—bumping into one of them.

Warnings: Implicit sexual content and scenarios, implied noncon, maybe ooc writing, kidnapping, extremely obsessive behaviour, isolation, manipulation, threat, mentions of stockholm syndrome, dead dove: do not eat

Disclaimer: Everyone is depicted as 18+. Your relationship with yandere batfam is ambiguous, but it is not platonic, at least, not in their eyes. This is a horror, not a romance.

You don't think you've ever felt your skin crawl as much as it does when those boys look at you.

The feeling is vivid, this coil of disgust that weaves between your bones and squeezes you tight enough to make you shudder.

It curls around you like a snake. Hissing and gliding and slithering through your ribs until it leaves you reeling back from all the slime, a wince barely able to describe the expression on your face.

But it's nothing compared to when they touch you.

"Y/N?"

They claim to be bats but it's only spiders you feel on your skin when Tim brushes his fingers against it.

"Are you alright?"

You don't bother to hide the way you flinch back, or ease the way your hand yanks out of his grasp.

"I'm fine."

Tim frowns, gaze falling down and stretched-out hand retreating to hold his other arm, gripping it like he would've done yours had you let him.

The sight is enough to make you feel green.

"Are—uh, are you sure?"

He starts playing with his sleeve as he asks you that, fiddles with it like he's some sort of nervous school boy speaking to his crush and not a fully grown adult who took part in your fucking kidnapping.

It's sickening.

"Yes," you hiss out through barely gritted teeth, "I'm sure."

Tim flinches back, Adam's apple rolling along his throat as his gaze flits to the side.

"Well, uh," he starts, tongue sweeping over dry lips, "In that case... you should probably head back inside. Everyone's worried. You've been out for awhile."

Inside... where the rest of them all are.

You take a moment to flick your eyes to the right, the familiar sight of a zoomed lens stuck on your form greeting you with a smile.

You don't want to go back inside.

Something liquid passes over your tongue and spills down your throat before you're taking a step forward and training your gaze onto the hoodie-wearing male before you.

"Do I have to?"

The effect is instant, Tim's gaze almost immediately glazing over as his lips part and his mouth somehow visibly goes dry.

"I—uh."

You give yourself a second to squeeze your eyes shut in brief disgust before taking another step forward and holding in a shudder when his breath hitches.

"Can't I just stay out here a little longer?"

He stares at you with blank eyes. But not blank enough.

Just a bit more.

"...With you?"

Bingo.

Tim's breath doesn't just hitch this time, it shudders, breaks up every second like there's something blocking it from leaving his mouth, like he's forgotten how to properly breathe.

His whole form is quivering and his legs look like they're a centimetre away from giving in, from collapsing until he's on his knees in front of you.

And then he is.

The cotton of your skirt scrunches up as he holds it with both hands, head tilted up and gaze swirling when he looks at you, all previous pretend normalcy gone like the fake persona that it was.

"Anything..." he breathes out, grip tightening over your thighs, "Anything... anything... please..."

This time, you can't hold back the way your expression contorts, the way your body leans back and your spine coils like a spring just waiting to jump away.

What he's pleading for, you don't even want to think about, all your previous willpower leaving you at once when he starts to press his lips right up against your hips, murmuring into your clothes with a breath hot enough to seep through them and into your skin.

"Off... get off of me!"

You almost fall in your struggle to get out of his grip, and something icky settles in your stomach when you register the wet patch on your clothes right where his lips were.

Fucking freak.

You don't even bother giving him a second glance as you run back into the manor, the wind pushing against that damn patch and making the skin underneath it feel abnormally cold compared to the rest of your body.

You're definitely changing your fucking clothes. Holy shit.

"Miss Y/N?"

Your ears perk up, the voice of their butler stiffening your spine.

"Are you alright?"

Your gaze hardens. Why does everyone keep asking you that?

You barely mutter out a response before you're pushing past him. He may not have taken part in your kidnapping himself, but he's still complicit in their fucked up little scheme.

And you aren't about to treat him any better than them.

You release a breath after a few steps, shoulders falling for just a brief second before rising again, tenser than before.

Goosebumps.

Someone's watching you. Demon spawn.

Your gaze falls to the right, and sure enough, there he is, cloaked in shadows just like his father.

His gaze is piercing. Unreadable. Every bit the expressionless ghost that he is.

He doesn't say a word. Usually never does. Just watches. Waits. For what, you don't know. But you usually don't stick around long enough to find out.

That's not changing today.

His gaze follows you as you walk, and you're squeezing your eyes shut again at the sound of his nose taking you in when you pass by him.

And just when you think you can get away with once again not saying a word to the usually quiet man, his grip on your arm renders you still.

"Beloved."

Something burns in your throat.

"Where are you headed?"

'Away from you.'

"To my room."

"Allow me to accompany you."

"I'll be fine on my own."

You attempt to tug your arm away.

"I insist." His grip tightens.

You stare at him. He stares back at you.

For a moment, everything stills, the world stopping to accommodate the both of you, drowning everyone else out until it's just the two of you.

Then, the water drains away.

"Demon brat. The hell are you doing?"

The grip on your arm loosens enough for a tug to free you, and you waste no time rushing to your room, catching a glimpse of dark hair paired with a broad frame before you're slamming your door shut and leaning against it with a chest heaving up and down.

But of course, you should've known that even your own damn room isn't safe from them.

"Hm, is this the gift I got you last summer?"

You still, eyes flying over to the figure by your dresser.

"I was wondering where it was." The oldest grins, your jewellery's glint practically reflecting off his white teeth with a wink. "How come you never wear it, babe?"

He's leaning on one arm, the other holding your gift high enough to catch the light of the sun that bleeds through your window as he looks at it like an artist admiring a painting. If said artist was a monster hiding behind a boyish smile, that is.

"Dick..." you breathe out his name, and squeeze your eyes shut at the way he licks his lips, "...get out of my room."

"Nah"—he lowers your necklace, grin wolfish—"I don't think I will."

The piece of jewellery meets your dresser with a soft clink before he takes a step towards you, and your eyes dart around the room for just the smallest opening.

He blocks your gaze.

"Tut tut tut"—Dick shakes his head, wagging a finger as his eyes glint with that sick sense of amusement of his—"is the little birdie trying to escape?"

Your jaw sets, almost biting your tongue had it not retreated further into your mouth in time.

"And here I thought I was your favourite."

You avert your gaze from his, trying your best to imagine you're anywhere but here, though apparently, he saw that coming.

His hands slam beside your head loud enough to make you flinch, and the rush of wind that accompanies his actions reminds you of Tim's earlier ones when the cold makes its way to your hips first, further solidifying that this, right here, is your reality.

Disgusting.

Your eyes squeeze shut.

Revolting.

Spiders crawl under your chin.

Nauseating.

"Mm. Hiding again, are we, pretty girl?" he purrs so close to your face.

You only gulp in response.

"Do I need to draw you out myself?"

His breath is on your neck now, lips ghosting over the exposed skin as you inwardly curse yourself for not wearing a turtleneck earlier today. For leaving your room at all really. Maybe if you hadn't spent so much time outside, they wouldn't be as antsy as they are now.

Fucking pieces of—

Your shoulders tense.

Tingles. Explosive, dangerous, horribly unpleasant tingles all over your neck. All around his lips.

You raise your hands, bracing yourself, but just before you can push at his chest—sob and beg and plead for him to go away and just leave you alone—a knock sounds at your door.

You feel the vibrations of his growl against your neck.

"What?"

The voice on the other side is muffled. "Uh, Mr Wayne wants you."

Dick pauses, head still buried in your neck, not reacting as though the longer he delays it, the longer he can stay here, nestled against you.

Like you'd ever let him.

You push at his chest, and he lets you, because he's letting you, pulling away with a groan before regarding you with one last look, intense and unwavering.

"Don't think this is over."

With that, you fling yourself off your door like it stung you, and he leaves the room briskly, sending a brief glare to the person right outside.

You release a sigh, gaze falling to your saviour.

"Uhm, Mr Wayne isn't actually calling him. I just figured that would keep him busy for a while."

The gaze of the most recently adopted son (though that was years back already) flits to the side, fingers playing with his collar.

Your lips quirk up. "Thank you, Duke."

He perks up. "It's uh, it's no problem, Y/N."

He stands there, awkwardly shuffling on his feet for a bit before you're letting out a sigh and following it up with a, "Do you... wanna come inside?"

His eyes widen at your invite, fingers freezing right where they were fiddling with his collar as he regards you with parted lips and an air of disbelief.

It is strange, you'll give him that, but your reason for it isn't anything noble. Having him in your room will likely deter the other, worse ones from entering in hopes of some sick one-on-one time with you.

Besides, you've seen no sign of him harbouring the same feelings for you as they do. At least, not to their intensity.

You'll kick him out if need be.

With a step back, you're nodding towards your room, and already, you make note of how his own steps seem all-too-eager as he follows you in.

Strike one.

You don't bother closing the door, not fully anyway, just enough to leave a visible gap so everyone can see exactly what you'd like them to, and stop reading your room as an open invitation to come harass you alone.

When you turn around, Duke is already staring back at you, lips parted and gaze distant, far, as though trapped in some sort of trance.

"Duke?"

He shakes his head, blinking his eyes wide open. "Oh, uh, sorry. I was just uh... thinking."

Strike two.

At this rate, he'll be out before even five minutes have passed.

"Do you... do you want anything?"

You raise a brow, watching the man rock on his heels.

"You're asking me if I want anything in my room?"

"Right, right. That was stupid."

Your lips quirk up, a dangerously fond thought crossing your mind before you halt it right in place and steel your expression again.

You didn't think this through. You did not think this through at all.

You're not supposed to have thought that was cute. Why did you think that was cute?

He kidnapped you. He and his brothers—they all kidnapped you.

Strike three.

"Out..."

Your words come out quiet, a whisper in the wind, a barely-heard current over hail.

"Huh?"

"Get out."

Duke takes a step back, blinking with those stupid fucking wide eyes of his that he just can't seem to stop regarding you with. But even still, he makes no further indication of leaving.

Is he deaf or something?

"Get. out!"

The man flinches at your tone, though unlike before, he actually starts towards the door. But not without throwing one last glance at you over his shoulder, brows scrunched and eyes swirling with that same look they all take on when they pretend to care.

The one they give you before all the brothers know about your outburst.

The door shuts with a click.

Your hips feel cold.

Spiders crawl all over your skin.

And before you know it, you're curled up on your bed, lower half covered by nothing but your underwear, and skirt laying discarded in the corner of your room.

A knock.

"Princess?"

You pull your knees closer to your chest.

"I'm coming in."

Why even bother with a warning?

The bed dips with a weight.

"You alright?"

'No.'

You purse your lips.

"'Ts okay. Everything's gonna be okay."

His hand, calloused and familiar and full of just as many spiders as all his other brothers', presses flat against your bare thigh.

"I'm here to make it all go away."

He pulls, gentle, but firm enough to unravel you, like a gift carefully being opened.

"You'll feel so good."

The bed dips even further.

"Promise."

And the last thing you see before all your fight gives way—

—is Jason's face smiling down at you.

[rafescherie]

✮⋆˙ losing your virginity with bsf!rafe.

warnings — 18+. MDNI. reader losing virginity, lots & lots of praise.

cherie's note — this one needs a disclaimer i think; for the purpose of the work, i mentioned something along the lines of people who wait until after college being losers — i want to preface i do not think this way, but believe rafe and his best friend would definitely talk something like this. it's all make-believe!

you couldn't remember how the conversation had even started. maybe it was the ambiance — the television humming with that faint cool blue glow, whatever rafe had thrown on half-watched and long forgotten, a half-smoked blunt tutting between the two of you for the past couple of hours. somewhere along the way — you couldn't quite remember when — you'd let it slip.

you had never done anything. with anyone.

not that it was a big deal — it wasn't. but it was surprising, especially for rafe. the same rafe known for his reckless hookups and casually cruel behavior, who'd experienced it all years ago. he'd always assumed you had too, and never told him.

but as soon as you'd mumbled something about not wanting to be one of those losers who waited until after college to have any sort of sexual experience, the idea popped into his head like a fucking lightbulb — clear, bright, and impossible to ignore.

"what if i did it with you?"

maybe that's where it really started, actually.

his hands are warm and solid where they grip your hips, holding you steady as you straddle his lap, your thighs hovering just above him. your heart’s going too fast. your lip is caught between your teeth, eyes flicking between his and the space between you — like you’re still deciding, like you could still change your mind.

his gaze is darker than usual. blown pupils, flushed cheeks, mouth parted slightly as he stares up at you like he can’t quite believe this is real.

"we don't need to do this," he swallows, voice low and rough, like it's scraping its way up from his throat. his eyes drop to your lips. "you sure?"

you nod. maybe not totally sure, but sure enough. your stomach is tight with nerves, dread curling in your gut at the thought of the pressure, the sting — but when you look at him, the way he’s waiting for your word like it’s everything, it almost seems worth it.

“i—i wanna do this, ray,” you say quietly, and it’s the first time you’ve called him that in weeks.

his grip tightens on your hips. just a little.

“okay,” he whispers. “just breathe. go slow. i got you.”

you reach between the two of you, fingers trembling as you guide him to where you need him — tip nudging right where your body’s warm and ready and nervous. he keeps his eyes on yours the entire time, one hand sliding up your spine, the other still firm on your waist.

you lower yourself onto him slowly — a shaky inhale spilling from your lips as you feel him start to stretch you open, inch by inch. it’s not pain, not exactly — it’s pressure. overwhelming and unfamiliar and a lot.

“fuck,” he mutters, his head dropping back as he exhales through his nose. "nice and slow, pretty girl."

you squeeze your eyes shut. “is it supposed to feel like this?”

“you’re doing perfect,” he breathes, lifting his head again, blue eyes searching your expression. “you okay?”

you nod, jaw clenched.

“keep going,” you whisper. “please.”

he groans, low and guttural, as he helps guide you down the rest of the way, hips lifting just a little to meet yours. when you finally bottom out, your whole body goes still — breath caught in your throat, limbs trembling.

“there you go,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours. “you did it.”

you nod, blinking fast, and whisper, “feels so full.”

“yeah,” he huffs, brushing a kiss over your cheek. “we’ll go slow, promise. i won’t move until you tell me to.”

you don’t expect the way it makes your chest ache. how gentle he is. like you’re something fragile. like you matter.

like maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

you sit still for a moment, adjusting to the stretch, the fullness — his thick cock buried deep inside of you, twitching slightly with every shaky breath he takes. the feeling is foreign, but delicious. rafe doesn't move — wouldn't dare, not when there was so much trust on the line. his hands rub slow, absent circles into your skin, and his lips brush your collarbone like he's trying to ground you.

“you okay?” he asks again, voice barely above a whisper, like he’s afraid to break the moment.

you nod, slower this time. “just… weird. good weird.”

he smiles — barely there, but it softens something in his expression. “yeah. it’s gonna get better, promise.”

you take a breath, and then another, and then roll your hips — just the tiniest bit. the movement pulls a gasp from your lips, and a sharp inhale from him.

“jesus—” his eyes flutter shut, head tilting back against the headboard as he groans. “you feel so fuckin’ good.”

you do it again, a little more this time. your hands plant on his chest, finding your rhythm slowly — small, tentative rocks of your hips that make your thighs tremble and your head swim. it’s overwhelming and messy and nothing like what you imagined, but it’s him, and it feels right.

his grip shifts, one hand sliding to the small of your back to guide you gently, the other gripping your thigh tight like he’s holding back everything he wants to do.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, eyes locked on your face, like he doesn’t wanna miss a single second. “you’re doing so fucking good.”

his praise goes straight to your stomach, makes the warmth there coil tighter. your brows knit together, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you rock into him a little harder — his cock dragging slow and thick against that sensitive spot inside you, making your breath hitch.

“r-rafe,” you whisper, voice shaking. “feels… better now.”

“yeah?” his hands tighten on your waist. “told you.”

he bucks up slightly, meeting your next roll with a soft thrust — not rough, not fast, but deep enough to make your body jerk and your nails dig into his chest.

you whimper, and that sound alone has him cursing again, jaw clenched like he’s barely keeping it together.

"feels good, huh?" he asks, calloused fingertips tickling the exposed skin of your hips. he presses a firm, lazy kiss against your jaw, his other hand interlocking with yours for an added bit of reassurance.

your hips move on instinct now, chasing the way he feels inside of you — deep and warm and so good it's making your head spin. every roll of your hips sends sparks through your stomach, that tightening coil getting hotter and hotter the longer you keep going.

rafe's gaze stays on you, watching you like he's never seen anything so pretty. hands firm on your waist, guiding you, steadying you.

"you're doing so good," he whispers, voice ragged, eyes flicking between your face and the spot where you're joined for the first time ever. "swear you were made for me."

your breath hitches, lashes fluttering as you grip his shoulders, trying to stay anchored through the pleasure that’s starting to take over.

“ray,” you gasp, soft and shaky. “it feels… i don’t know—i think i’m gonna—”

“i know,” he murmurs. “i know, baby. just let go. i’ve got you.”

he lifts his hips just slightly, pushing up into you at that perfect angle — again and again, unhurried but deep, and it makes your thighs tremble. makes your back arch. makes your whole body light up from the inside out.

and then it hits.

your orgasm crashes over you like a wave, stealing the breath from your lungs. you cry out, clutching him tighter, hips stuttering as your body pulses around him — every nerve ending on fire.

“fuck,” he groans, holding you through it, hands gripping you like he never wants to let go. “breathe, baby… you’re doin’ so good. i’ve got you.”

you collapse against him, chest to chest, face tucked into his neck as you try to catch your breath. he strokes your back gently, rocking into you a few more times before you feel him still, his breath catching, hips pressing up tight to yours as he lets go with a soft, broken sound.

you’re both quiet after that.

just the rise and fall of your breathing, your bodies pressed together, hearts thudding out of sync.

you don’t say anything at first. you don’t need to.

his hand finds yours. fingers lacing.

and he kisses your temple like he means it.

[sweetshuga]

ⓘ content warnings: smut ⋆ +18 ⋆ age gap ⋆ raw doggin’ ⋆ big dick!matt ⋆ semi-public sex ⋆ (kinda) rough sex ⋆ daddy kink ⋆ partial bondage (wrists) ⋆ breeding kink (?) ⋆ creampie ⋆ praise kink ⋆ (slight) degradation kink ⋆ dacryphilia (?) ⋆ overstimulation ⋆ use of safe word + more.

He isn’t supposed to feel this way.

Matt knows he isn’t supposed to feel this way about his student, but the way you speak to him with your voice all soft and smooth – as if you know what that does to him – or the way you look at him with those damned fuck-me eyes like you want him to sport a hard-on in the middle of the lecture—was making it hard to keep things professional.

He had previously put boundaries between you and made it clear that he isn’t ready to make whatever you had going on more than it already is.

Despite being the one to initiate the stop to your physical relationship, he felt disappointed when you didn’t even complain or beg like he thought you would.

Matt sighed deeply, shaking his head subtly as if that’d get rid of the distracting thoughts he was having in the middle of a lecture.

As he droned on about the topic he is supposed to go through today, he couldn’t help but notice how distracted you were, blatantly flirting with some guy in the third row from the front, batting your eyelashes and smiling so sweetly as you listened to the guy talk.

A muscle in Matt’s jaw twitched, his eyes narrowing when he saw the guy lean in close, his hand casually coming to rest on your arm.

‘Snap out of it Matthew.’ He mentally scolded himself.

But he simply couldn’t focus on teaching with you sitting there, giving fuck-me eyes to some other guy who... is probably more suitable for you than a divorced dad like him.

He was starting to overthink, his anxiety taking over for a split second until you looked his way, your eyes locking with his and your lips curling up with a barely there smirk – in a way that almost seemed like you were taunting him – before you looked back at the guy.

Matt’s eyes darkened when he understood that you were deliberately trying to push his buttons, trying to make him jealous, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t affected.

He was burning with jealousy.

He texted you during a lull in the lecture – where students were either taking notes from the slideshow or doing their own thing – and his mood soured further when you acted like a damned brat.

«read the text messages»

Your breath hitched in your throat as you read his messages and you could see how genuinely pissed off he was even through text.

Your heart pounded against your ribcage as you walked towards Matt’s office, your panties already soaked through due to the way he looked at you during the lecture.

You simply wanted to have fun and see if Matt would care if you flirted with a guy – since he wanted to end their arrangement – but now you wondered if you did the right thing.

A shaky breath full of nerves and excitement exited you as you finally reached his office and slowly opened the door to find him sitting at his desk, his jaw tight, eyes dead and dark.

“Lock the door, sweetheart.” Matt’s voice was low, controlled and eerily calm.

Seeing him so calm had you thrown completely off, and you decided to play it safe and drop the attitude, complying with his request as you closed and locked the door of his office before turning around to face him.

More arousal pooled in your panties from the way he was watching you with those intense, blue eyes of his.

“Come here.”

Your legs moved on their own as you walked towards his desk, feeling like you were fully exposed due to how intensely he was looking at you—shamelessly raking his gaze over your body as if he was undressing you in his mind.

“Sit on my lap.” His expression was unreadable as he spoke, giving way to nothing.

You could be a brat and say no and that he was being unfair, but the way his words flowed out of his mouth so smoothly like honey had your knees weak.

You lowered yourself onto his lap without any complaint, your bare thighs on each side of his hips and your pleated skirt riding up due to the position, showing more of your thighs.

Matt’s hands immediately placed themselves on your thighs, caressing them in a borderline possessive manner that had you feeling like your whole body was burning with desire.

“Did you have fun?” He suddenly asked, catching you off guard and eliciting a confused “what?” from you.

Matt’s lips curled up with a ghost of a smirk, finding your confusion endearing despite the anger and jealousy still lingering in him.

“Did you have fun shamelessly flirting with that guy? Was it exciting to have him eating right out of your fucking palm the moment you gave him those fuck-me eyes?” His jaw muscle ticked at the mere reminder of the guy.

His hands trailed higher up your thighs, making your breath hitch.

“And that damned attitude... Jesus.” Matt chuckled mirthlessly, his grip on your thighs tightening as he leaned forward until your faces were inches apart.

“Should I just fuck it out of you? That bratty fucking attitude of yours?”

Your mouth opened and closed but nothing came out—too stunned by his sudden demeanor to say anything.

He was usually more gentler than this but clearly your attempt to make him jealous affected him more than you thought it would.

“Y-yeah...” You managed to breathe out, not knowing what exactly you were saying yes to but your body screamed for his touch – almost starving for it – which made it difficult to think straight.

Matt’s smirk widened slightly at your shaky agreement, his pupils dilating further. His length strained painfully against the fabric of his jeans, pulsing against your clothed pussy.

His hands confidently trailed up from your thighs to just below your tits, his thumbs grazing the underside of them through your shirt before trailing his hands back down, this time gripping your hips tightly to pull you closer.

“You gonna be a good girl for me? Let me fuck you right here in my office?”

His words had your stomach doing somersaults, and you found yourself nodding, whispering a needy “please, prof”.

A slow grin made its way onto Matt’s lips when he saw your desperation, finding your needy plea equal parts amusing and sexy.

The moment you sank down on his cock, Matt’s hands gripped your hips almost painfully—no doubt leaving marks as he began to lift you up and down repeatedly while thrusting up into you.

“Wearing such a slutty little skirt to class... Did you want me to fuck you like this?”

He panted harshly, his hold on your hips tightening slightly as he used you as he pleased, going so deep it bordered on painful due to his tip pounding against your cervix.

“N-no- didn’t mean— f-fuckk!”

You barely held back a scream as Matt changed his angle, the slight curve of his cock helping him hit that sweet spot inside your gummy walls.

His hips pistoned up into you at an impressive speed, burying his length deep each time.

Matt gritted his teeth, grunting in exertion and looking like a vision in his sexy red sweater and slight scruff that screamed dilf.

Your hand slid down to rub your clit in time with his thrusts as you got closer, your eyes rolling back briefly as your mind flooded with pleasure.

Matt saw the action and his eyes darkened, his jealousy rearing its ugly head.

Only he could touch you.

It was an absurd thing to think, but in this moment everything made him jealous, even your own clothes for always being wrapped around you.

Matt stopped abruptly, causing you to stop moving too.

You stared at him in confusion as he took his belt – which was placed neatly on his desk – and bound your wrists behind your back.

You were slightly taken back, but you were definitely not against it.

“Kinky,” you teased, but he wasn’t having any of it.

“Shut up.” He snapped.

“Safe word.” Matt looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to tell him a word, but you just stared at him, confusion etched on your face.

“Safe word?” You repeated dumbly.

“Tell me a safe word... because I don’t know if I can stop myself from ruining this sweet pussy for anyone else.”

He was dead serious—and that had your body shuddering in excitement.

“My lecturer is hot.”

His brows furrowed at the sentence, but then a lazy, dangerous grin spread across his lips.

“You’re not taking this seriously.” His words were eerily calm, almost like he was taunting you for being so stupid—like he knew he’ll reduce you to nothing more than whimpers and moans.

Oh you were so so naïve.

Matt was fucking you so hard that you were seeing literal sparks behind your eyes every time he went deep.

“Oh fuck! I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum-- daddy, fuuuckk—”

Your thighs trembled as you began moving your hips in time with his thrusts, chasing after that sweet release.

“What did you just call me?”

Matt suddenly stopped moving, eliciting a needy whine of protest from you. His voice dropped an octave lower when he spoke again, becoming huskier, giving way to how much your word affected him.

“Daddy? Is that what you just said?”

“S-sorry, it just slipped out... I-”

You breathed heavily, your chest heaving with ragged breaths. Your whole body felt like it was on fire and the pressure that was building in your abdomen slowly subsided due to lack of stimulation.

Matt couldn’t believe how much you calling him daddy turned him on and he needed to hear you say it again.

He began to fuck you in earnest, his arm wrapping tightly around your waist to keep you from squirming as his tip kissed your cervix with each hard thrust.

His free hand tangled in your hair and pulled you down into a heated kiss—all tongue and teeth.

Matt pulled back and whispered harshly against your lips, his voice deeper than usual.

“Call me that again.”

And you did.

“Daddy—ffuuckk--”

You chocked back a moan when he began to fuck you faster, his hips slapping against your thighs and creating loud wet smacks.

Matt groaned low in his throat when he heard your desperate mewls and whimpers, the sounds of your pleasure only making him fuck you harder.

“M’gonna-” Your breath hitched, “Cum-- Matt, sh-shit—shit!”

Your whole body tensed – mouth opening in a silent scream, back arching – as the first wave of your orgasm crashed over you. Warmth spread in your tummy, pleasure coursing throughout your whole body.

Your mind blanked with pleasure, zeroing in on the feeling of his cock still plowing in and out of you, hitting your sweet spots.

He fucked you through your orgasm, relishing in the sight of your eyes rolling back in pure, unadulterated, bliss as tears of pleasure streamed down your cheeks.

“Oh, fuuckkk, you’re squeezing my dick soo good.” Matt groaned, feeling himself growing closer thanks to the feeling of your inner walls spasming around his sensitive shaft.

The sight of your tears was making his balls draw tight, his climax approaching quickly.

“Gonna cum,” Matt warned, “Need to fill up this pretty pussy and stuff you full of my cum— fuuck--”

His movements became jerky and uncoordinated as he got closer to the edge, fucking you in sharp, deep thrusts.

His hips stuttered as he came deep inside you, eyes rolling back briefly before closing shut, mouth opening in an "o" shape. His load painted your velvet walls white as you milked his cock dry.

But Matt didn’t stop there.

His need to make you his and knock you up were too strong.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he growled softly and his eyes snapped open—blue orbs basically black with desire.

“Need more... You can take more, can’t you sweetheart?”

You found yourself unable to say no even though you were too sensitive—his words and the primal look in his eyes had you feeling like you might as well just let him knock you up.

Watching you nod, Matt lips curled up with a satisfied smirk.

“Good girl.” He whispered, fingers gripping your hips so tightly that you were sure you’d have bruises tomorrow.

He fucked you through your fifth orgasm – having cum thrice himself – not letting you catch your breath. You felt your nerves burning with overstimulation—your body overwhelmed by the pleasure he was giving you.

“l-lecturer—mmh-ah—is hot... my lecturer- my lecturer is hot!” You cried out, feeling yourself trembling with overstimulation.

Matt snapped out of it at the sound of your trembling voice, his gaze softening profusely when he heard you struggling to say your safe word.

“Should’ve picked a shorter one.” He murmured breathlessly, a hint of teasing in his tone. He slowed down before stopping completely, pulling you into a surprisingly gentle kiss.

Matt pulled out slowly – hissing softly against your lips at how sensitive you both were – before gently freeing your wrists from the makeshift handcuffs he made out of his belt, rubbing your reddening wrists.

He pulled you closer and your body immediately melted into him, making him hold you tighter against his chest as he nuzzled his face into your hair, inhaling your sweet scent mixed with your perfume and the musky scent of sex.

“Good girl,” Matt whispered against your hair, “My good girl.”

✰ english is not my first language! || wc: 2.2k ✰

Isa’s rambling ۶ৎ My bad for taking so long to finish this fic but your girl was having a hard time writing for some reason like I didn’t have an ounce of motivation, but I finally finished it and I feel like I kinda rushed the ending ’cause I wanted to post it today.

⟢ lecturer!matt taglist: @blahbel668 @ribread03 @sturniologals @annedebeijer @sleazy-1 @m0r94n @cherryswifeyy @lvrsturniolo @iluvnicksturniolo @sturniolosluttt @sophand4n4 @squishybxg @matts-247 @lifecansmd @zokhlyxo @v33ang3l @jibitzlesscrocs @oopsiedaisydeer @shortnsweetsturnz @sagesturns @corspebridedelrey @anonymouslyachrisgirl @heartsforvin @lvrsturniolo @poolover123 @trustinsturniolos @mattsturnsgirlie @riannas-stuff @sturnboos @whore4-chrissturniolo @crazy4weeed @chrismoans @chlosallow @juless-is-elsa @nai2two @natesfavoritehoe @ineedchrisbadly @l0s3rhaha @fwsecret @lyingbymalcom

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

a hotel room. l Harry Castillo

Summary:  an evening at a bar with a stranger

Warnings: smut (+18), some alcohol, kissing, talking about spouses, fingering, sexual tension (I hope)

A/N: something like that.

your feedback is very important to me and I want to thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. I secretly hope you like this story.🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

[my masterlist] [Harry Castillo masterlist]

You really liked the dress. The cut was perfect for your figure, the material was soft and comfortable, and the color brought out your eyes. You looked really good and felt even better. The hair and makeup were perfect too. Nothing spectacular, but they made you happy to look at your reflection as you walked down the hallway lined with large, ornate mirrors. 

The restaurant was connected to a nice bar, and that's where you sat on one of the taller chairs right next to the gleaming oak bar. The young and handsome bartender appeared a second later and after a moment he put the ordered drink in front of you. You liked such places. Beautiful and tasteful, they made you feel special. However, you couldn't hide the fact that it took you some time to get used to this luxury. 

You had been struggling with the feeling that you didn't deserve it and that you weren't "that kind of person". You looked at the guests, trying to guess what they did for a living - lawyers, businessmen, jewelers, owners of properties in the most expensive places in New York. The cream of the crop. You took a sip of your drink and adjusted your dress with your hand.

You sensed him before you saw him. A moment of your distraction caused him to enter the bar through one of the side entrances, and his eyes found you immediately. Hands shoved into the pockets of his elegant trousers, shirt unbuttoned enough to reveal a patch of golden skin and a neck that was worth sinking your lips or teeth into, depending on your mood. He looked like he owned the place.

His dark, curly hair was tamed, but begged to be brushed, tugged, or simply played with. His prominent nose made him look like one of those antique busts you once saw in a museum. And those eyes. Brown, almost black at times, the kind you could fall into like a well.

He walked up to you with a confident step and after a moment he sat down in the chair next to you. He nodded to the bartender, who after a moment poured him a glass of whiskey. He twirled the glass in his long fingers for a moment to take a sip and set it down with a quiet clink.

"You know..." his voice was warm and low. The sound of it made every string in you tremble "I know it sounds cheesy, but you're the most phenomenal woman in this place."

You smiled. "Yeah, it sounds cheesy. But it suits you."

He raised his eyebrows, pleasantly surprised by your comment, but the corners of his mouth did the same. “I thought I still had something in me.”

“You got it. It’s sweet and romantic.” You replied, resting your chin on your hand and looking at him.

"So..." he began, turning almost fully towards you, "Do you often come here alone?"

He noticed the tip of your tongue as you slightly moistened your lips. This small gesture seemed extremely enticing to him.

"No." you replied, "But my husband likes to come here. With me or friends. And you?" you raised an eyebrow, letting him know that you needed to call him something.

"Harry." he said, and you quietly repeated his name, feeling how light it sounded in your mouth. Simple, classic. "I come here sometimes. With my wife. But lately we haven't had much time for such pleasures."

"Is she here today?" you asked, looking around the room and wondering which of these beautiful women would be the best match for Harry.

"You are, that's enough."

Your smile delighted him, absorbed him. You were all glowing with subtle feminine beauty. Delicate, but also sexy. Harry was sure that if he hadn't appeared in this bar, someone else would have definitely appeared next to you, you drew attention to yourself.

He couldn't stand this thought. He felt how much he wanted you, although maybe it was crazy, because he sat here with you for a few minutes, exchanged a few words, he didn't even finish his drink.

You didn't protest when his hand rested on your knee. Harry's gestures were subtle and measured. As if he knew exactly where he should touch, what he should say to draw you even closer to him. You were sure that if it wasn't for the fact that you were in a public place, you would have thrown yourself at each other right at the bar.

“I have a room upstairs. If you want.” You said, watching as he took your hand and then pulled it to his lips, gently kissing your knuckles. Your heart fluttered. With the kiss, a hot feeling spread throughout your body through your nervous system.

“Are you sure, love?” he murmured. You bit your lip.

Fuck. You wanted him so bad. You nodded and whispered a quiet “Yes,” which worked like a charm.

His hand on your back as you walked together towards the elevators at the end of the hall. You were sure that if someone could read your mind and see the images that were appearing in your head, they would definitely stop you. Some strange fog covered your brain and you couldn’t think of anything else but the feeling of Harry’s solid body on top of you, underneath you, under your fingers.

There were no limits or restrictions. When the elevator doors closed behind you and you pressed the button, you realized that your legs were almost numb. You didn't have time to say a word.

Harry was already behind you. His hands were resting on your hips, fingers digging lightly into your flesh. Hot breath brushed against your neck, and then you felt his lips press against it.

"Someone might come in here." You panted, but it was pointless. You didn't care, and Harry was so close that you could feel the bulge in his pants pressing into your buttocks.

Damn. The pool in your panties was already unbearable, your walls were tightening slightly around nothing, and your body was slowly starting to get irritated. Finally, the elevator stopped, and the doors opened. You grabbed Harry's hand and pulled him down the long hallway towards the room. If it weren't for the heels, you probably would have run the whole way.

You quickly pulled the card out of your purse and ran inside. The door slammed shut and you could already feel Harry pressing you against the wall, his lips crashing against yours in a hard kiss. Without hesitation, he slid his tongue between your lips and you moaned.

God! He loved it. Hands greedily gripped your thighs, pushing your dress higher as you tangled your fingers in his hair.

“Is this all for me?” he asked playfully, running his hand over your already ruined panties. “If I had known you were in so much pain, we would have been here a long time ago.”

“You’re awful.” You smiled but then moaned, the friction of his fingers a welcome relief to your body. Harry kissed your neck and collarbone as his nimble fingers pushed your panties aside and slid inside you with unbelievably embarrassing ease. If it weren't for the wall behind you and Harry in front of you, you would have slumped to the ground.

“Yes, I can feel it, baby. She's greedy, isn't she? So hungry…” Harry's low voice filled you, and his fingers moved inside you, in and out, with such precision that you were sure you were about to come. “I'll do so many things to you, you'll be delighted. Come on, baby... I want to taste you later. Will you let me?”

You nodded so vigorously that Harry burst out laughing. He kissed you again, drinking in a deep moan from your lips.

When you tightened your fingers on his shoulders, digging your nails into him, he knew you were close. The orgasm hit you like a wave. Your thighs clenched, trapping his hand, as if to feel even more, even stronger.

“Good girl.” Harry praised you. “So beautiful, so hungry.”

It took you a moment to regain your senses, but Harry had time. You had a long evening ahead of you, there was no rush.

Finally, you looked at him more consciously, although your eyes still seemed a little blurry to him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, gently brushing your hair out of your face.

“More than okay,” you replied. “I want more.”

“Oh, really?”

Harry hissed as your hand found his hard bulge and squeezed it lightly. You were his death, the most beautiful of them all.

“I missed you,” he said quietly. “Every day I missed you.”

“It was only a few days.” you murmured, wrapping your arms around his neck. “But it’s so sweet. Not many husbands miss their wives this much.”

“Their loss. But mine is the most beautiful, the sexiest, the smartest…”

“Harry! You’re a gem, but I already married you, you don’t have to flatter me like that.”

“I will! Every day.” he kissed the corner of your mouth. “Come on, I have many ideas on how to spend this evening with you, and one of them is your legs on my shoulders.” 

You burst out laughing. How could you refuse such a good offer?

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[sturnslutz]

fully introducing.. bsf!chris and bsf!reader

their first interaction, and a hangout. warnings: tension

honestly, you weren't really expecting anything when you followed chris on instagram. you were already mutuals with nick and matt, but it honestly never really occurred that you weren't following the other triplet.

you've seen a couple of their clips from their videos on your for you page, but nothing more than that. they seemed interesting, but they had a much bigger following than you did, and you again, didn't expect anything to happen between the 4 of you.

but when one day, when you were at the beach with a couple friends, chris finally followed you back and dm'ed you almost immediately after following you back.

christophersturniolo- 1:29pm

yoo wsp, your names peach? thats cool

after his text, you replied back to him, and that went on to days on end of texting each other when neither of you were busy. you both realized that you had very similar humor, interests, and in general, personalities.

when he saw your feed, he was almost starstruck. you seemed out of his league for him, but wanted to at least try to have a conversation with you. when he saw that you also lived in la, he immediately asked you mid conversation if you were willing to come hangout with him and his brothers— maybe at top golf.

at top golf, you got along with them all so well. matt was still more on the shy side, but your jokes got him to open up to you a bit more. nick was already mesmerized by you, and how you held yourself up so high, and he was practically platonically in love with you.

chris on the other hand, was almost obsessed. you were gorgeous, hilarious, and matched him on all levels. when you guys started becoming closer over the next few weeks and months, fans started noticing the mutualism that came between the 4 of you and they absolutely loved it.

more and more hangouts came, some with just you and one of them, some with all of them. one particular hangout with just chris, struck a sudden attraction between the two of you—one neither had felt before.

"chris, y'gotta use your head sometimes, and not just rely on me to drag you around. where do y'wanna go? we can't just stay home the whole day." you rolled over onto your side, looking at chris who was looking at his phone.

"i use my head, peach. i'm just indecisive and trust you more with this shit. y'know all those cool, underground places." he barely looked from his phone, but he felt the annoyance rising from you.

you sighed, running a hand over your face as you sat up in a criss-cross position and pulled his phone out of his hands, setting it in your lap, and making chris reluctantly look up at you.

when he looked up, you couldn't deny he looked too damn good. his brown messy curls just barely infront of his eyes, his freckles that were more apparent due to the summer season, and just the way he's looking at you right now like you were the prettiest girl he's ever seen.

your breath practically hitched in your throat as his smirk grew wide— you finally realizing how long it's been of you guys just staring at each other in silence, something that's rarely ever occurred between the both of you.

"why are you looking at me like that?" you ask, barely over a whisper. you've never been necessarily nervous around chris— the whole 3 months of knowing him, but this was different. you actually felt yourself growing shy when he was looking at you for this long.

"m' not lookin' at you in anyway," he murmurs, his smirk still shown. "yes, y'are. stop it." you look down at your hands resting in your lap, right on top of his phone, picking the skin around your freshly done acrylic nails.

"stop doin' that. y'just got 'em done." he grabbed one of your hands out of your lap, holding it gently in his hand as his thumb rubs around your knuckles, massaging them softly.

you looked back up at him, and you felt the heat growing to your face. "why y'nervous?" he asks, his eyes roaming your face. he's never seen you like this, but honestly, he's not complaining.

"i'm not, you're just looking at me weird." he pouts his lips slightly, shaking his head a bit. "no, i'm not. y're the one thinking it's weird, when 'm jus' looking."

a bit more seconds of silence grow between the two of you, his thumb never stopping their movement against your hand. "you're really pretty, y'know? never really said it, but always thought it."

that was the shit that caught you off guard, and you panicked. you coughed loudly, trying to clear the tension-filled air, and pulled yourself up off the bed, leaning down and tugging your shoes on. "um, let's jus' go get ice cream. i'll go heat up the car." you say almost rushed, barely looking at him, before grabbing your bag and rushing out his bedroom's door, practically speed-walking to the garage.

[darylgf]

・ ⭑⠀MONIKER OF LOVE⠀,⠀daryl dixon x f!reader

warnings/tags.⠀⠀MINORS DNI, mature content, moments of fluff + lil angst + lil smut, est. relationship, lowercase intended, second pov, f!reader but no desc given, no use of y/n, hints of sub!daryl bc i had to obvi

word count.⠀⠀1.6k

summary.⠀⠀certain men will refer to their girlfriends or wives as "mama" to express respect, appreciation, and sometimes a sense of her being a nurturing figure. this is exactly what daryl does for you, no matter where you are or what is happening around you.⠀⠀⠀OR⠀⠀⠀a collection of times of when daryl calls you "mama".

the world could be ending and daryl would still call you by his specific nickname for you. hell, the world was and is ending all around you. yet, he never stops. at this point, you’re convinced that you’ve heard it more times than you’ve heard your own name. he will call you the other and more common pet names still; baby, honey, darling. however, none of those are used to the extent as this one or holds the same weight, not even close.

he calls you this during quick passing moments that occur throughout the day.

once while on his motorcycle, daryl glances back at you as you hop on, your leg being thrown over the threshold. unlike what he expects you to do though, you don’t initially wrap your arms around him like you always do and instead opt to hold the bar at the rear of the bike, just behind you.

he scoffs almost comically, taking another look back at you incredulously, an eyebrow lifting. he knew what you were doing just by the hint of a teasing smile that threatened to pull at the corners of your lips. “the hell you doin’?” he asks, chin jutting out to gesture at your arms behind you.

daryl lets a half grin show as you just giggle in response, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip as he shakes his head; a habit that displays his light annoyance while also making it clear it was all taken in stride. immediately, you wrap your arms around his middle so eagerly that it makes him lurch forward slightly in the seat with a grunt and you scoot in even closer to him.

“hold on tight, mama.” he says as he pats your hand that was placed at his torso, just moments before the engine of the motorcycle roars to life and he lets off of the brakes. the name makes you smile while you let your head rest on his leather clad back, cheek pressed against his shoulder blade.

he will call you that when it's early in the morning, the sun not even rising in the sky yet. daryl gets up this early simply because he's used to it, and it gives him a head start on his hunting. but before he's even able to start getting ready, he has to accomplish the difficult task of unwrapping your tangled limbs from each other and roll out of the bed with minimal movement, all without waking you up.

he fails, of course. he always does. daryl is the stealthiest person you know, yet you're just too damn determined to ever let him leave before telling you goodbye.

"go back to sleep, mama." he sighs when he sees you stir awake, his voice soft yet so raspy, still thick with drowsiness.

the way you pout at him as he leans down to you pulls at his heart strings. he remains strong-willed though, surprisingly so. he places a kiss to the top of your hair before standing back up straight and you watch him with hooded eyes from your comfortable spot in the sheets, knowing he’d be back in your arms soon enough.

he evens calls you that when both of you are in the face of danger. just like any other run that you guys have been on, there was always a high chance of things going south. and that’s exactly what had happened.

the air was completely knocked out of you as your back slammed against the cold hard floor of the dusty gas station. it was unclear where or how the walkers got in even after the space was cleared and now you were there, pinned against the ground with one right on top of you. while you managed to hold it back, your muscles were already beginning to ache. it was taking both of your arms’ strength to keep the undead creature above you at bay so there was no reaching for your blade at your side without risking everything, but you just might have to.

suddenly, a sickening squelching sound reached your ears and the body on top of you stilled. it was then lifted and tossed to the side like it was nothing, by none other than daryl. “i got ya, mama.” he grunts as he quickly reaches for your upper arm, hoisting you up to your feet before you could even so much as breathe a sigh of relief. he then began hurriedly guiding both of you to your exit with a gentle hand on your lower back, the dead still walking dangerously among you. “let’s go.”

you get called the endearment when you need it the most as well; when you thought that you may never even hear it again.

you remember how the members of your group parted, as if moses himself was parting them just for you and created a path that led directly to daryl. it wasn’t clear to you what was happening at first, you had hung back as everyone made their way into hilltop and your ears failed to pick up the reunion everyone had with him after his escape from the sanctuary.

a noise of utter shock came from you involuntarily. whatever was in your hands— you don’t even remember what it was anymore— fell to the ground.

his eyes had been searching for you, it was obvious with the way his eyes were darting from side to side and chin lifted to the air to look above the heads around him. but at your commotion, his head whipped forward to meet your eyes finally.

daryl was in front of you within seconds, arms wrapping around you and his head buried into the crook of your neck. it felt like home, to you and to him. he settled into your embrace like it was second nature to him, your hand coming to soothingly stroke the back of his head.

“i missed ya, mama.” he mumbled into your shoulder and the words broke you; a sob racking through your body instantly and your eyes started to burn. lifting his head at the sound, he lets your foreheads rest against each other just so he can see you while also managing to keep you as close as he could.

by the shaking and quivering of his lower lip, you knew he was trying his damndest to not crack and you leaned in to press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose before whispering back to him, “i missed you, too.”

lastly, daryl calls you by your designated pet name when you’re all alone; when the lights are off and the doors are locked, when you both feel the safest.

the hunter watches you from his place on his back, not even a pillow behind him cushioning his head as it was most likely somewhere on the floor. perhaps next to the discarded clothes that belonged to the both of you. not that it mattered or that he even cared about it, his mind was elsewhere right now. but who could blame him when your hips were hovered just above his and his hands gripped harshly at your thighs in anticipation.

from his perspective, he couldn’t even find the words to describe how you looked. it could be because you were just too beautiful— alarmingly so— even in the low lighting of the room. or it could be because you let your bare center finally meet his, letting his hardened length slide back and forth between your slick folds that made his mouth completely fall open in silent pleasure. either way, you rendered him speechless.

just when he was about to completely surrender to you and find his voice just to beg, you snaked your hand down to where your middles met to take a hold of him. with one hand planted flat on his chest to help your balance and the other guiding his tip into your entrance, you inhaled a shaky breath.

daryl’s head fell back against the mattress and lids fall shut as you sunk down onto his cock while a whimper escaped you. the stretch was downright delicious. and you could only guess he thought so as well with how he let out a drawn out groan when you were fully seated on him.

it takes him a moment to pull himself together, but once he does, his eyes reopen. it’s hard to meet your gaze, it always was for him especially when he was intimate with you. however, he forces it because after all this time, after all you two have been through, he needs to see you. it’s like the ultimate gift from the universe.

daryl then moves to sit up with his arms wrapping securely around you. the movement causes surges of pleasure to hit both of you, your breath hitching as you hold him against your chest and his mouth places sloppy kisses onto the skin of your naked cleavage. “you feel so good, mama.” you hear him say in a rough voice and the only thing you can muster up is a moan in response, his arms tightening around your waist at the sound.

your hands slide over any and all exposed skin of his; his arms, biceps, back— the warmth he was radiating off addicting. they then landed on both of his shoulders and you pushed him until he was flat on his back once more, palms pressing against his chest to keep him there this time. it was a wordless declaration that control was back in your grasp and it was going to stay there.

he grunts your name softly before following up, “gonna fuckin’ kill me.” his voice thick with arousal, speaking in the deep and gravelly way that sends heat straight to your core. you laugh, cruelly so, he thinks. and your hips begin to drag themselves against his that makes his gut tighten.

“alright, mama— do your worst,” he adds, breathless, and you do just that.

a/n.⠀⠀idk what this was tbh lol i just know good southern men loooove to call their girls "mama" & i know for a fact that daryl would too YUPPPP

likes, rbs, & just general feedback is always appreciated mwah <3

©⠀darylgf⠀'25⠀✮⠀all writing & edits posted are made by me. please do not repost or save anything without my permission.

[bbyg4rl]

jj gets jealous when you go out on a date with someone else . . .

cw: stalker!jj x camgirl!reader, smut/angst adjacent, stalking, creepy/obsessive & perverted behaviour, voyeurism, masturbation (m.), slight somnophilia, violence but not toward reader, wc—600.

JJ watched from the shadows, hood up, fists clenched so hard they left crescent-shaped imprints on his palms.

You were on a date. Some loser with too-white teeth and hands that hovered too close. You giggle, a cherry popsicle in your mouth, twirling your tongue around it like you knew exactly what you were doing. The shift in your date’s posture. The twitch in his jeans while he squirmed in his seat, painfully hard and trying not to show it, JJ sees it.

JJ had to hold himself back because he couldn’t snap his neck right there in the open. So he followed him home instead. Two blocks. A dark alley. One punch to the gut. Two to the face. Then JJ grabbed him by the collar and hissed, “Look at her again, and I’ll slit you open slow.”

By the time JJ left, the guy’s curled in a puddle of himself, choking on blood and panic.

Now, JJ’s back where he actually belongs: in your room. In your space. Inches from your bed, where your face is peeking out from under your covers—bare and his.

The clock says 2:17 a.m. You’re asleep, like you didn’t just perform for someone else. It makes his blood boil. He stands there, his presence looming over your unconscious figure. His breath is heavy, hard, ragged.

He yanks the blanket down far enough to expose your whole body. “You really did that,” he mutters, voice low. “Licked that thing and let him watch. I should’ve made him blind.”

He falls to his knees near the edge of your bed when you whimper in your sleep. His hands trace your thighs, hesitant, twitching to wake you up, shake you, scare you, look you in the eyes.

But he stops himself. Not now. No, you weren't ready. Not yet.

So he stares down at your sleeping face instead—mouth parted, breath steady, chest rising and falling like you're not breaking him apart.

“Wanna know what’s fucked?” he whispers, mouth pressed to the inside of your thigh. Close but not too close. “He got hard watching you eat that popsicle… and so did I.” He lets out a humorless chuckle.

His hand drags down his stomach, under his jeans. Presses his palm flat against the ache and breathes. Breathes you in, the scent of you, the air in your room, the vulnerability of you so open, so ready, so clearly needy for him. He tugs his dick out, pressing featherlight kisses to your thigh.

He’s silent. Slow. Careful. Hand stroking his cock as he breathes your scent in. Eyes closed, head resting on your thigh, bottom lip between his teeth as he swipes his thumb over his tip, he's already leaking beads of precum.

One of his hands holds your thigh gently while he bucks his hips into the other, chasing his orgasm. The room is filled with his muffled moans. Part of him hopes you wake up, watch as he falls apart for you, smile down at him and let him touch you. Give him permission to kiss you. Devour you. Own you.

He groans, tilting his head back as the coil in his stomach tightens. He imagines its your hand jerking him, up and down, squeezing him, looking up at him with those eyes you use on camera. He moves his head closer. Close but still not close enough, his nose nudges at the edge of your panties. He can smell you, it drives him feral.

He whines as his cum shoots out in thick spurts. Messing up his hand, dripping down his balls, staining his pants. He stands up instantly, realising he's stayed too long. He can't risk waking you. He swipes a dribble of his cum on your thigh. A twisted claim on you, before climbing out your window.

He'll see you again tomorrow. Even if you dont know about it.

check out my other works ! masterlist

[pagesfromthevoid]

Honey & Glass | r. r. | 3

Robert “Bob” Reynolds x superpowered!reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: Mentions of void. But otherwise tooth rotting fluff.

Author’s Note: Technically the end of the story. But I’m sure I’ll write more about her and Bob over the course of those 14 months soon

Masterlist | Talk to Me! | AO3

“You’re all idiots, just come up stairs,” Valentina’s voice echoes through the main floor of the old Avengers Tower. 

The Thunderbolts –as Alexei decided they would be called –glanced at each other wearily. Bucky doesn’t trust a thing that comes out of Valentina’s mouth. Not a goddamn word. But her agents have stood down, and there’s a clear path to the elevator. And he really needs to save his assistant. And Bob. 

He’s getting too old for this shit, honestly.

When the doors open, Valentina immediately starts spouting her usual bullshit.

“How crazy is it to think about all of the…monumental fights that happened exactly here, where you’re standing?” She spouts, pouring herself a glass of champagne as the team approaches. “I mean, the place wasn’t cheap. But it’s got good optics.” She pauses, looking up finally and smiling at all of them. 

“This ends today,” Bucky says, stepping forward in front of the rest of them.

“Congressman Barnes. You know, I never really thought you’d have a promising political career –but less than half a term? Yikes.”

“We’re taking you in, Val,” Walker cuts in, rolling his eyes. 

Valentina scoffs though, setting her glass down. “I don’t think so, junior varsity Captain America.”

Bucky is trying to get eyes on his assistant; he knows she’s here. She has to be. Same with Mel. But Walker goes to pull his gun and Bucky snaps at him. “Walker.”

Valentina just smiles, knowing that Bucky isn’t going to let her get killed by any of them. He wants to let them; he understands. But he needs de Fontaine alive –he needs her to face consequences the right way or everything he’s done –everything he’s trying to do –will mean nothing. 

“Nice to see you, Ava –and Yelena. Wow. You look…awful. You sure you’re ready for that public facing role you asked me about?”

Yelena sneers, stepping around Bucky now herself. “Eat shit, Valentina. Where’s Bob?”

“And Bucky’s assistant,” Walker interjects. Bucky narrows his eyes, reminding them she has a goddamn name.

But Valentina just chuckles again, like all of this is some big joke. “Look at you. You are all so adorable. Just think –I send you down there to kill each other and instead, you make nice and form a team!”

“Where are they?” Ava asks one more time, but her tone is clipped. They’re all about ready to pounce.

“They’re both fine. Working together, actually. I told you, Congressman Barnes –your girl is a swiss army knife. She’s got talents far beyond what you give her credit for. Robert?”

There’s a pause –just long enough that they can hear footsteps. Heels clicking behind boots. Then Bucky feels it –that tingle at the base of his skull. The uncomfortable pin pricks of her getting into his head. He looks around, noticing everyone else feels it too –except Valentina.

Don’t freak out, she says, Well, not about me. I would freak out about Bob. I wouldn’t fight him.

Walker is about to say something but Ava is the one that catches on that it’s their heads first. Don’t worry about fighting. You’ll get out of here soon.

She’s about to say something, Bucky can tell, but Valentina is talking again.

“Years of hard work have finally come to fruition,” she explains, motioning to Bob who comes to stand beside the director. Behind him stands Bucky’s assistant, who is shifting uneasily as she stares up at Bob. She doesn’t look scared –not of Bob, at least. She looks…worried. “Stronger than all of the Avengers combined. He has the power of a thousand exploding suns –Earth’s mightiest hero. The Golden Guardian of Good. The Sentry.”

Bucky can’t help but make a face at all of this posturing. “I’ll bite –what do you plan to do now? Take over the world like every other bad guy?”

But the director scoffs again, shaking her head. “Oh, god no. Robert here –Sentry, as he’s aptly named –is a hero, James. He’s going to protect the world. Where the Avengers have failed, he will succeed.” She turns to Bob now, putting a careful hand on his arm. Bucky notes that she almost flinches, like she’s expecting something bad to happen when she touches him. But nothing seems to happen. “Robert, take care of them, will you?” 

Bob looks down at Valentina for a moment, then glances back at the young woman behind him. Like he’s waiting for her permission. But she doesn’t make a motion one way or another, fear freezing her finally. Bucky knows that look; it’s the same look she had when she came in six months ago after being cornered and he decided to teach her to fight. 

Cornered. Frustrated. Powerless.

“C’mon guys –just give yourselves up. I don’t…I don’t want to hurt you.”

Do not fight him. You will not win, she insists as Valentina steps back, pulling her along. But that falls on deaf ears as a dogfight breaks out. Bucky can’t keep track of how many punches he throws or how many knives he breaks. Walker’s shield is twisted into him and he’s thrown across the room. Every punch, every shot, every attack –it’s like they’re nothing. The guy doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t bruise, he doesn’t bleed. 

But they do.

All of them do.

He only stops when she cries out as Bucky’s arm is ripped off his shoulder and thrown to the ground. She’s shoving away from Valentina, finally putting the skills Bucky has taught her to some use to throw Valentina off balance and twist out of her grip. Bob watches as she throws down the files that she’s been forced to carry and drops down to grab her boss’s arm. The rest of them are rushing to the elevator, trying to get away as fast as they can. But she’s hesitating, looking between Bob and her boss –her friend. 

Don’t hurt them, she says but her lips aren’t moving. Bob realizes –that tingle at the base of his skull –it’s her. Please.

Yelena is yanking her into the elevator, but she’s trying to look at him with pleading eyes as the doors shut. Please.

But she hears him –a voice, distorted. Dark. Shadowed in his mind but loud enough in her own that she can feel it in her very bones.

They always leave. Even when they promise they won’t.

When they get to the ground floor –and they’re sure that Bob is not going to come finish them off –Bucky turns on her.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind? What did I tell you about getting closer to Valentina?”

She flinches back, not expecting to be scolded after the events of the last few days. “I wasn’t thinking –I was talking to Mel –,”

“You’re right. You weren’t thinking. You could have been killed.”

“Hey, hey –do not yell at her,” Yelena cuts in, stepping between her and Bucky. The Russian puts her hand up. “She did not know she was going to be kidnapped –she was doing her job. Which –by the way –you taught her to do. So it is technically your fault.”

“Oh no –,” she starts, shaking her head quickly.

“It is not my fault –,”

She shushes them all suddenly, throwing her hands out to the sides. Everyone is staring at her like she’s insane, but she’s staring like she’s listening intently to something. Ava says something, tries to get her attention, but she waves her away. 

“Something’s wrong,” she says, spinning around several times. 

Her eyes lock into the sky just beside the tower –a shadowed, caped figure. She wants to think it’s not something evil –it’s not Bob, it can’t be. Deep down, though, she recognizes this figure. She’s seen it in his mind before –and those eyes. The only part of the figure that’s not casted in shadows –two white, glowing spots that look directly into the soul –are staring down at them.

He puts his hand out and the helicopter that is circling spins out of control suddenly, crashing into the tower. One by one, people around them disappear into shadows themselves, and she tries to step forward –tries to save someone; anyone. But Alexei holds her back gently. Bucky and Alexei stand on either side of her, looking up in horror as Yelena steps forward with Ava. Walker is pulling off his helmet, following their gazes as shadows creep up the buildings surrounding the engulfed tower. 

“You all know the truth,” he says. And it’s Bob’s voice –she knows it. But it’s distorted and full of anger. The same voice she heard earlier –the one that told Bob that they always leave. “You can’t outrun the emptiness.”

“I think Bob’s dark side got superpowers,” Walker states, eyes wide as they all stare in horror. “We need to get everyone off the streets.”

They’re all too distracted to notice that she does not follow them. That she stays planted in place, looking up at the figure that is slowly creeping its way towards her as the shadows begin to consume those around it. Vaguely, she registers that Bucky is yelling her name but she ignores him as she takes half a step forward towards the shadows.

“You promised you wouldn’t leave,” he says, peering down at her. “You did though. You left. Just like Yelena said –we’re all alone in the end.”

Bucky is screaming at her now, and so is Walker. But Yelena steps to her right and looks at her –knowingly, as if the former Black Widow knows something that was never shared between the two of them. Then, Yelena steps forward into the shadows. And he watches, waits. His thoughts are much clearer than Bob’s. They’re more violent; more feral. But they’re easier to understand.

“He’s not alone. And neither are you,” she promises, taking the plunge into the shadows herself. 

*****

In the end, they do what superheroes always do:

They save the world from the bad guy.

Except the bad guy wasn’t actually a person.

It was loneliness, and self-loathing. It was the darkness that surrounds you when you’re at your lowest and think it’s the end. It was the hardest parts of life thrown at you all at once, trying to drown you.

It’s something that…doesn’t just go away. And it didn’t just go away. 

It’s there. It’s lingering.

But that Void –as they’ve been calling it –can’t be ignored. But it can be filled –and that’s what they’ve been doing. For Bob, for themselves, for each other. Valentina did a lot of bad –but out of that bad has come some good. 

She has friends, for example. Though Alexei would insist they’re family, even if they’ve known each other a month. And she has a job that pays obscenely well (though, given the PR nightmare that is her new team, it better). 

Bucky made it clear that he wasn’t going to take part in anything relating to the team if she wasn’t hired as their PR manager. Yelena had seconded that notion, and Valentina wasn’t really in a place to negotiate so here she is. Living in New York City, with what could be described as her own floor of the Watch Tower, trying to clean up the team’s PR nightmare.

Living in the WatchTower is…weird, she thinks.

She’s gone from living in a crappy little apartment in DC with a random roommate she met on Facebook, to living in what was once the Avengers Tower in New York. With the New Avengers. 

This isn’t how she imagined her life. Though she can’t complain. 

When she isn’t trying to convince Walker to stop arguing with trolls on Twitter (“Seriously. This is what they want. Give me your phone.”) or stop Alexei from getting random sponsors from internet scams (“Sponsors will not ask for your credit card!”), she’s kind of actually enjoying herself. She makes good money, she has good friends, and her job isn’t that bad. 

The team is a hot mess. Don’t get her wrong —they truly are a PR nightmare. But they’re her PR nightmare and it’s not like she can get fired if she doesn’t do a good job at helping them. 

However, she’s doing a damn good job at helping them. 

Tonight is a great example. She’s sitting in the kitchen, finishing an outline for the next meeting with Valentina. Because while the director might think she’s in charge, she is not —and the team has entrusted their PR manager to ensure meetings with the director go their way and no one else’s. 

It’s late; she should probably be asleep. But she likes being up late when the team is out doing training because then she’s awake when they’re back. Though, it also means she gets to work in her pajamas and she much prefers that. And Alexei, bless him, has given her so many random shirts that are twice her size with New Avengers logos on them that she has a nightshirt for every night to wear with her boxer shorts that she definitely didn’t steal from the laundry the first week they all lived together. 

Bob —who has been distant and quiet most of the day —wanders into the kitchen. He’s wrapped up in a sheet, though he’s also wearing a sweater and sweats, and she briefly wonders how he’s not hot. She keeps an eye on him from her computer, though she doesn’t say anything initially. Sometimes he needed that push to talk, sometimes it was clear he didn’t want to. Tonight felt like the latter. 

They have…some kind of relationship. More than friends but less than dating. A weird in between that she doesn’t mind but is a bit confusing.

It’s clear they have some sort of feelings for one another. After everything that happened last month, she couldn’t help how she felt. Though she takes everything at his pace.

He clings to her (not literally but he’s always as close as he can be without making her uncomfortable). When the team is on missions and he’s left behind, she’s with him. Him reading, her working on whatever PR problem they’re facing now. Sometimes they lay on the couch together and watch movies.

Because she’s the only one he can touch without shame spiraling them, Bob likes to hold her hand whenever he can. That’s all he’ll do in front of the team; they don’t question that. But he lays his head in her lap when they’re alone. She plays with his hair absently and does whatever she’s doing. He just sort of exists in that moment and enjoys it while it lasts. And they just enjoy whatever they have.

When he drops his spoon three times in a row, she finally speaks up. 

“Are you good?” She asks, shutting her laptop. He’s staring at the spoon on the ground, clearly contemplating getting it. She slips off the chair and does it for him. “You don’t look too hot.”

He waves her off, but she can see the thin layer of sweat that stuck to his hair and skin. She reaches up to touch his forehead, though it dawns on her as soon as she touches him that there’s no real way to check his temperature. 

“Bob, we talked about this,” she reminds him gently. 

He huffs some and nods a bit, pushing his hair out of his face. “Just…I can’t sleep. That’s all. Nightmares and stuff —hard to sleep when I can’t control those. I’ll be okay though.”

“Do you have them a lot?”

He just nods and shrugs, opening the fridge to take a bottle of water. “Yeah. Less when the others are around —think that’s why I fall asleep during meetings.”

She hums in response, taking a note of that, then nods. “Let me know if I can help.”

“I don’t think you can,” he replies simply, but it doesn’t seem like he minds as he smiles at her wearily. Then he starts to leave, calling over his shoulder, “Thanks though.”

She wants to argue, but stops herself. “At least hang out here with me then,” she counters, pushing her laptop across the counter and trailing behind him. “I just finished Friday’s outline; we can put something mindless on and maybe that’ll help you sleep? That helps me.”

He hesitates, clearly considering it, then nods some. She motions for him to follow her, and they end up finding themselves sitting in the living room. For a moment, she’s staring at the buttons on everything before realizing —she’s never actually turned anything on up here. Usually it’s just on. Or Bucky does it for her. 

“Oh shit, hm.”

“What’s wrong?” He asks, sitting up some and leaning over. 

“I…don’t know what does what. I need to label all this shit,” she laughs sheepishly, sitting down beside him. “Any ideas?”

He shrugs. “I just push things ‘til something happens.”

“Fun idea,” she offers, crossing her arms over her chest as she considers what to do next. “But I don’t touch buttons I don’t know how to use. I’ve seen plenty of movies that say that’s a bad idea.”

“What do we do then?”

She hums, looking around. The room is lit with dimmed lights and the cityscape is glowing around them. Then she grabs two of the throw pillows on the couch. 

“You trust me?” She asks, looking down at him. She’s smiling, holding out her hand to him.

Bob doesn’t hesitate this time, taking her hand and pulling himself up. He doesn’t let go, either because this is his way of saying he does trust her or because he just wants to touch her. But she doesn’t care one way or another because she leads him to the elevator and hits the up button. 

They stand in silence, hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder as the elevator shoots up to the top floor. Bob is fidgeting, and without even poking into his head, she knows he’s worried about what they’re doing. But she just squeezes his hand reassuringly as the doors open. Then she pulls him along towards the staircase that leads to the helipad outside. 

There’s one more set of stairs that leads to a small balcony –nothing fancy; probably there as an observation deck. But she found it the second night there after having tried to label a map of the tower for everyone. She didn’t label this part for selfish reasons, though anyone can find it if they really try.

The pillows drop to the ground and she kicks them some to adjust them to be cushions. Then, she pulls her hand from Bob’s and sits down, legs dangling over the edge and arms braced against the railing. The way the tower is shaped blocks the wind, but allows for an excellent view of the entire city from this vantage point. Rest in peace, Tony Stark, she thinks, because this is the best thing he designed in this tower. Bob is hesitant but sits down beside her, though he criss-crosses his legs under him instead of letting them dangle. 

Shoulders brush again, and she reaches out to take his hand without a word. He interlocks their fingers, no questions asked, and leans against her. And for a while, they just sit there in silence. They don’t really need to speak; they have each other’s company and that’s all she really needs. She hopes this is enough for him too.

An hour or so must pass, because he adjusts slightly and she lets out a small laugh as he lays his head in her lap without question. She runs her fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp as she does so and he closes his eyes

“We gonna camp out up here tonight?” She asks, voice soft and finally tinged with tiredness.

“Can we?” 

She considers it for a moment. He’s warm enough that it’s comfortable, even if there’s a slight chill in the air from being so high up. The team won’t be back until the early hours of the morning, so it’s not like they’ll be looking for the two of them right away. So she just nods and taps him to get him to move, then pulls her legs up off the edge. Bob moves the sheet he’s discarded to cover the ground some and she adjusts the pillows to be used properly now. 

Then they just lay down, face to face. They’re almost nose to nose, and Bob is smiling softly, the weariness that he had earlier just barely apparent in his eyes now. 

“Can I try something?” She asks, and he nods once, brows furrowing. Her hand moves slowly, resting on his cheek. “You’re going to feel that weird little pin prick.”

Bob braces for it; closes his eyes. She knows he doesn’t like it when she’s in his head; not because he doesn’t like her powers but because he doesn’t want her to be afraid of whatever is going on in it. She doesn’t mind whatever she sees, though, because she knows that he’s trying to be better. He’s working on it, and they’re all there to help him. So when his mind floods into hers, and she sees the fragments of the nightmares from earlier –the ones that are just brimming on the edge if he closes his eyes.

It’s him –well, it’s Void, actually. And it’s the lab where Void almost won. In this nightmare, though, he does. Consumed by the shadows, and the self-loathing. And Bob is standing there, unable to stop and save all of them. There’s crying and begging. She even hears her own voice, telling him that he’s only made things worse.

But then…she pushes it away. Sort of, at least.

They’re still there —still scary. But not as loud or as violent. Their faces are blurred out and Void is gone, replaced by just a shadow figure without eyes or a voice. It takes a lot of energy to do this –she’s never really held it longer than an hour or so –but touching him is helping keep it up. 

His breathing is even –soft, calm. He’s let out a soft, “oh,” having not experienced this level of calmness in a long time –if ever. Even if the thoughts aren’t as violent, they’re still there. But she’s trying to push them all away; replace them with something good. Though it takes most of her energy to even blur the current thoughts. 

But a new thought –not one she’s planted, but his own –flashes in her mind. It’s him and her. Where they are –above the city, looking at each other. And he’s reaching out to her. But he’s not timid in his own thoughts. He’s confident, and instead of taking her hand, he’s taking her by the waist and pulling her closer and –

“Oh my god,” he suddenly cries, pulling away and sitting up. He’s blushing furiously, covering his face. “I’m so sorry –that’s not –I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry –,”

She sits up, pulling his hands away from his face. She can feel the flush on her cheeks, but it’s a good thing as far as she’s concerned. “Hey, don’t apologize –I’m not uncomfortable.”

He looks at her with surprise, blue eyes swimming in confusion and dare she assumes, a little bit of hope. “You’re not?”

Laughter bubbles up and she can’t help it. “Bob, we hold hands pretty much every day. We basically cuddle any time no one else is around. Do you think I’d do that if I wasn’t comfortable?”

“I mean, you’re always nice to me. I just thought, you know, because you’re the only one that doesn’t get pulled in –you’re just doing that to be nice.”

She can’t help herself. She should have been patient, but he’s so…endearingly blind, and she realizes that if she doesn’t do it now, it may never happen. Her lips are on his without another word, leaning into him to get close. Unfortunately, Bob doesn’t seem to expect this –though he’s very excited nonetheless because his thoughts are just repeating holy shit, holy shit, holy shit and he falls onto his back. She falls with him because she doesn’t expect him to not know she’s going to kiss him. But his hands find her waist, and she catches herself by her hands on either side of him.

And he’s looking up at her with a faint blush on his cheeks, and she’s looking down at him with a bright smile that she can’t contain.

“Can we try that again?” She asks, and he nods quickly, closing the distance himself this time. 

One hand finds itself tangled in her hair and the other is gripping her waist like she’s going to disappear. The connection to his mind has been severed, but she doesn’t need to read his mind when she’s laying on top of him anyway. The kiss is awkward and a bit messy –neither of them have clearly been this close to another person in a while. But something about that only makes it better as she presses herself closer to him. 

He makes a sound –it’s quiet, but an obvious whine as she nips at his bottom lip. Her tongue slips past his lips and he makes that sound again, a little louder this time. A little more desperate. But it’s him who pulls away, and she wants to be okay with that but honestly, she’s more flustered than she’s willing to admit. They’re both breathing hard but she rolls off him and lays on her side, hands tucked under her head as Bob lays flat on his back and covers his face. 

“I –sorry, I couldn’t breathe,” he admits with an awkward laugh. And she laughs too, shaking her head.

“It happens,” she reassures.

There’s a pause, then she shifts, laying her head on his chest. He tenses just a bit, perhaps not expecting her to want to keep touching after all of that. But he relaxes, and drops his hands from his face, then slowly wraps his arms around her. He’s unsure, but when she presses closer to him, he squeezes her tight and rests her cheek against the top of her head.

“Thank you,” he whispers into her hair, and his voice is sluggish with exhaustion.

*****

“Look at the two lovebirds!” Alexei yells, pointing at the security feed in the conference room.

Bucky looks up from his phone, frowning some as everyone gathers around the monitors to see her and Bob, asleep, on the roof. It’s not the weirdest thing he’s seen, but it’s not what he’s expecting.

“Finally,” Yelena complains, throwing her hands in the air. “I thought we were going to have to lock them in a closet or something.”

“Should we go wake them up?” Ava asks, kicking her feet onto the table. “Valentina will be here any minute. Do we really want to give her any kind of leverage over us?”

“Leave them be,” Bucky says, tossing his phone onto the table. “Just shut off that camera. We’ll make up an excuse why they’re not here.”

The team agrees not to bring it up. Let the two have whatever time they want together.

Bucky’s just thankful he doesn’t have to listen to her complain about how hot Bob is anymore.

———

Taglist: @ilovemarvel12 @k1ttyjuice @magikdarkholme

[bronzealchemy]

The Masquerade

Simon „Ghost“ Riley and hacker!fem reader are on an undercover mission at a masquerade ball and things get a little heated.

content: grumpy x sunshine, fluff, banter, undercover mission, explicit content, light smut, dirty talk, fingering, knee riding

wc: 2k

a/n: I feel my Ghost hyperfixation coming back guys, so something different for today!

This mission was supposed to be simple. One evening, one hell of a lot of money and while I’m at it – do something good that’ll save a lot of people’s lives. Simple, right? Wrong. Because the man on whose arm I am just now is nothing but simple. And he hates babysitting me.

„Would it hurt you to maybe – I don’t know – smile a little?“, I ask, while Ghost gets even more tense.

„It would“, he grunts, clearly not amused. I wonder if there was ever a time he smiled. Not that I can see his frown under the skull mask he’s wearing … but still. He has a look in his dark eyes that tells me he has seen shit a normal person would never get over. But this – getting intel, finding out if this party’s host really is selling experimental weapons – is his job, while mine lies in a completely different field. Namely in the decryption key that is hidden inside my dress. A place where not even security found it when Ghost and I stepped foot into the ballroom.

„Did you see him yet?“, I whisper while stepping on my tiptoes. God, this man is huge. A mountain, really. The suit seems almost too snug for his wide shoulders and his enormous biceps. I wonder what those look like under the black fabric.

„Stop whispering so bloody loud.“ He sneers. At least I think he does, its hard to say under that skull mask of his.

„I‘m not sure if you remember, but I am a hacker, not a … what was your job description again? Secret black Ops making stuff explode expert?“

„Fuckin‘ hell“, he mutters under his breath, his eyes darkening, which ironically makes me smile. I caress his arm.

„Don’t you worry, big boy. I’ll keep you safe.“

We keep on walking through the crowd, the ballroom full of whispers and orchestra music. The melody fills the air, while I overlook all the guests. Some of their masks have ornate symbols on them, others show animals or mythical creatures. Mine is black with soft glitter particles that shimmer lilac when light falls on it. It’s adorned with thorns and delicate flower petals and I smiled when I put it on. One pretty thing for an evening that could turn really ugly with one wrong move. Yes, I make jokes with the Lieutenant next to me, but that is mostly because of nerves.

„You’re shaking“, Ghost mutters next to me, lowering his head to my ear. His breath tickles my skin, and a shiver runs down my spine.

„I’m nervous“, I admit.

„There’s no reason to be, love.“

I scrunch my nose at the petname, but this is our cover. We’re supposed to be a couple tonight. I should smile, so I do, but it feels forced.

He lets out a breath. „You’re a horrendous actress.“

„Thank you, baby“, I say as if he’s not just insulted me, while he directs me to the dance floor. We’re just two people enjoying each others company. It’s completely normal for a couple to dance, right? But the way my heart almost leaps out of my chest when his hand rests on my back doesn’t feel that way. I tip my chin up and look into those dark eyes of his. His eyes scan the room. Fully focused, while swirling me around between all those other couples. How does he do that? I can’t paint my nails while watching a tv show, and here he is, scanning hundreds of people at the same time while dancing without stepping on my feet.

I start to look around. And that‘s when I see him. Vasiliev. Our target for tonight. A man in his mid fifties, face hidden behind a black mask with devils horns and leaning on a cane. That cane … that’s where he hides the intel. Out briefing said he never leaves that thing outside his reach, no one is allowed to touch it, not even his right hand man. While Ghost keeps twirling me around in his arms, Vasiliev starts to move.

„He’s leaving“, I whisper.

Ghosts grip hardens around my body, his gaze follows Vasiliev. „Come on.“

He grabs my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine, and my cheeks warm. His hand is so big that it seems to swallow mine whole. My mouth feels dry, while Ghost guides me through the crowd. I need to focus. Find Vasiliev, use the decryption key on his cane, leave. That is the mission. Not thinking about how big his hands are or how sad his pretty eyes look.

Vasiliev steps inside the floor that leads to the washrooms. I have to be quick. I let go of Ghosts hand, but he instantly grabs it again.

„You wanna tell me what the hell you're doing?“ His voice is deep and gravelly and it sounds as if he’s used to people following his orders.

„Just trust me with this, okay? We’ll be out of here in no time.“ Without saying another word, I free my hand from his and follow Vasiliev into the corridor.

There he is, the man in the devil mask, leaning on his cane, his right hand man at his side. I walk fast on my heels, get closer to him, take the decryption key out of my dress and trip, forcefully pushing against Vasiliev. His cane rattles to the ground, as do I.

„Oh my god!“, I stammer, while grabbing the cane and pushing the handle ever so slightly to the side, inserting the key with the other hand. „I’m so incredibly sorry.“

I get on my feet again, handing Vasiliev the cane back. „Please forgive me. I’m not used to wearing heels this high.“

Vasiliev looks me up and down and I hold my breath while his gaze stops at my black high heels. „Those could pass as a weapon, indeed.“ He takes the cane in his hand and looks me up again, so slowly, that heat rushes to my cheeks. „Would you mind telling me your name?“

I freeze.

„She would mind“, a gravelly voice sounds from behind me. Then, a strong arm wraps around my waist and pulls me closer to a hard toned body.

Vasiliev passes a look between Ghost and I. Then he nods slowly. „I see. It has been nice to make your acquaintance.“

„Sorry again“, I say.

Without another word, Ghost pulls me with him, while Vasiliev disappears into the washroom. Next thing I know, he pushes me against the wall.

„What the hell were you thinking?“, he growls.

My breath is stuck in my throat. Theres something I didn‘t see before in his eyes. Not sadness anymore, neither his focus while looking for Vasiliev. Instead, he looks almost … worried?

„Don’t tell me you were scared for me.“

His brows furrow as if I just said the most stupid thing he’s ever heard. „Bullshit.“

„Oh my god. You totally were!“, I exclaim and hit his chest playfully with my hand. „You were scared for me.“

„Stop this shit“, he snarls.

„Never. You were worried for me. That is so sweet.“ I get on my tiptoes and kiss his cheek. The mask feels cold under my lips. Next thing I know, he pushes me back against the wall. His chest rises and falls in a faster pace.

„Stop talking so fucking much.“

I don’t know what happens next. One second he stands in front of me, chest heaving abruptly, in the next he lifts the bottom of his mask and his mouth is on mine. For the traction of a second I’m too stunned to do anything. But then … he moves his mouth on mine. And then I’m gone.

I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him back with full force. He groans and the sound vibrates through me, wakes fire inside me. I can’t believe this is happening, but at the same time I devour every second of him claiming my mouth. He slides a knee between the slit in my dress, and when he hits me there, I sigh with delight. Ghost knows what he's doing. I realize that in every move of his, every swipe of his tongue against mine, every hit of his knee against my weak spot, every firm touch of his hands on my body. I melt. I melt and will be left as a puddle on this floor if he keeps going like that.

„I've never met anyone as annoying as you”, he grunts out.

„Doesn’t feel that way, Lieutenant“, I retort while reaching for his hard on. He feels rockhard and hot under my touch, and the way he sharply inhales lets me feel more powerful than while writing code that could shut a whole city down.

Again he kisses me. Again i can't get enough of his taste. He makes me completely dizzy with his mouth. His knee continues to move against me, and I groan.

„Feel good, love?“, he murmurs and I nod.

I want to scream: Yes. He almost lets me forget that there are hundreds of people here and that we’re on a mission.

The mission.

We’re both wired. Which means …

„Ghost.“ His name leaves my mouth breathless.

„I’m kind of busy right now, love.“ Again he pushes against me and I gasp. I press my mouth against his shoulder to stifle the sound.

„Ghost, they’re listening“, I whisper right against his ear.

„Then maybe you should be a little more quiet.“

That’s the only thing he says before his mouth is on mine again. Then I feel his hand there and I see stars. I bite into his lip, which makes him groan again. I love this sound. It sends a wave of pleasure through me. His large fingers are on me, circling skillfully, caressing me until I see stars and my knees feel weak. I want him inside me, but this is neither the right place nor the right time, and we both know it. Even though my brain is melting down right now, including any logical thought. I lean against him and at some point am not able to kiss him back properly, so I stifle my moans against his neck, biting down hard, while rubbing him through his trousers.

„Oh my god“, I exclaim, when the wave crushes over me and stars explode before my eyes. He keeps circling me, then pushing his knee between my legs again.

„That’s right, love“, he whispers into my ear. „Take it. Just like this.“ I push myself against him, until the waves of pleasure slowly start to fade. Then I lean against him, my legs shaking slightly. When I catch my breath, I lift my head to look into his face, just as he pulls down his mask again. But he can‘t fool me. I didn’t really see his face, but I felt it. I felt the soft curve of his lips, the scar on the left side, and the stubble that he’s hiding. I felt it so good that if I’d close my eyes, I probably would see his face in front of me.

„Great, if you two are finished, could you get the fuck out of there?“, a familiar, deep voice sounds in the earbud in my left ear.

„Sure thing, Captain“, Ghost answers while I hide my red cheeks in the crook of his neck. Ghost grabs me by the hand and leads me out of the ballroom. While we walk through the crowd, he lowers his mouth to my ear.

„That was a lie“, he murmurs. „I’m nowhere near done with you yet.“

It almost sounds like a promise.

[mejaemin]

prompt 9 with jaem pretty plz !!!

jaemin + them discovering ur praise kink

(18+ mdni !!!) warnings: couch stuff, riding, mentions of drawing blood but its so vague, praise kink ofc an: another one that i accidentally made too long… i love my nana banana so much i had too much fun remembering and writing down our experience tgt.. bc this is our story obvi

“mm, baby, you’re so good for me..” jaemin breathes, head falling back against the couch. the noise that spills from your mouth is a mix of a whine and something a little more strangled, and that pairing with the way you clench around him has his whole body shuddering.

you grip his biceps, whining and gasping endlessly as you bounce on his lap. your arms are tired, baby pink nails leaving scratches on his skin as your high comes closer. truthfully, the way jaemin speaks to you so sweetly, making you feel so good and special, praising you with the most flowery words as his dick stretches you out.. it makes you feel a certain way, making you all flustered non-sexually, and setting your body on fire in intimate moments.

even when he speaks to his cats, petting one of the girls as he gives her praises for doing literally anything. even if it’s not directed at you, it makes you squirm just thinking about his voice, smooth and velvety, calling you a ‘good girl’ the same way he does to his babies.

“angel,” he starts, hand resting against your cheek. “where are you right now?” he stops you, hand on your hip to keep you from moving, smiling when you let out a sweet little sorry.

“thinking about you..” you mumble, looking down at your hands.

he chuckles, sitting up to connect his lips to yours. “i’m flattered.. but why don’t you focus on the real me, hm? how i feel inside you?”

you nod, slowly repositioning yourself to be comfortable, before finally starting to move again. he sighs, sinking back into the couch cushions. you’re already so close, so quick just from his face, all glossy with sweat glittering over his pleasure-stricken expression.

“oh, fuck, doing so good, my good fucking girl.. bouncing on me like that..”

he doesn’t even mean to say it, it just happens, but it’s everything you wanted. that’s all it takes, just those three words, and your body freezes, hips jerking as you cum around him. your voice is empty, hands bruising and drawing blood as you grip his muscles with one of the most intense orgasms of your life. jaemin’s right there with you, pulling you into him as his seed floods your insides.

you both stay there for a moment catching your breath. you’re frozen, hoping he doesn’t bring up how badly you just gave yourself away, but of course he does.

“what was that, huh?” he pinched your hip when you don’t respond, and you whine into his neck. “you liked that? being my good girl?”

“please shut up..” you groan.

he chuckles. “no.. it’s cute. i don’t mind calling you that from now on.. i mean, it’s what you are isn’t it?” you whine again, embarrassed by him, but he only laughs, leaving wet kisses on your cheek.