#and the second part would be like ''to help him'' | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

guliexe · 2 days ago

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━━━SHORELINE 18+

Surfer!Sim Jaeyun x Female!Reader

.ᐟwarnings/tags: friends to lovers, summer, soft dom!jake, making out, dry humping, dirty talk, praising, unprotected sex, p in v, angsty a little, fluff, oral (f), fingering, aftercare

♡ you've loved jake for years, but he's never looked at you the way you wish he would. one summer night, he finally does, and everything changes.

.ᐟwc: 8.8k (no proofread)

It’s mid-July, and everything feels a little unreal. The kind of heat that sticks to your skin like honey, the air salty and sweet, the ocean loud but somehow comforting in the background of every moment. The days stretch long and slow, sun-drenched and golden, and the nights are warm enough that no one really goes inside anymore. You’re part of a tight-knit friend group that’s been orbiting the same beaches and bonfires all summer. Surfboards, smoothies, sandy towels, music from portable speakers. Mornings blur into late afternoons, and someone always brings drinks when the sun starts to dip behind the horizon. And then there’s Jake. Jake Sim—tanned, black hair curling over his forehead, bracelets always clinking on his wrist, board under his arm like it’s part of his body. He’s been your friend for years, technically. But you’ve spent most of those years trying to ignore the fact that you’re completely, hopelessly in love with him. You’ve never told anyone. Not even your best friend. Not even yourself, out loud. Because Jake? Jake doesn’t see you that way. Not when there’s girls like her around. Bright, gorgeous, loud—the kind of girl who fits next to him. She’s the one who always throws her arm around his shoulders in photos, who surfs as well as he does, who laughs just a little too hard at his jokes. You tell yourself that it’s not a big deal. That it’s fine. But it’s not fine. Because no matter how much you try to play it cool, how much you smile and laugh and act like Jake is just another guy in the group, your heart still skips every time he looks at you too long. Every time he says your name, grinning around the bottle of water he’s drinking from. Every time he pulls his shirt off without thinking and runs into the waves, sun hitting his back like he was made to be here.

You weren’t supposed to hang out alone today. The whole group was meant to come, but everyone canceled one by one. Lazy. Busy. And now it’s just you and Jake. Alone. And he’s waiting by your door, board propped up next to him, shirtless. “Ready to hit the water?” he says, tossing you a smile that makes your knees weak. “You promised I’d get to see your legendary surf stand today.” You roll your eyes, laughing to cover the panic in your chest. “Legendary in how bad it is?” “Legendary because you’re cute when you fall,” he teases. And just like that, you’re drowning—and you haven’t even stepped into the ocean yet.

The water is warm when you wade in, the kind of warmth that wraps around your legs and pulls you in deeper. Jake walks ahead of you, board tucked under one arm, wet hair already curling at the ends. You try not to stare at his back, the way his shoulder blades shift, the water beading down his tanned skin. You fail miserably. “Alright, coach me,” you say, trying to sound confident. Jake smirks, turning around and offering his hand to help you up onto the board. You hesitate for a half-second before taking it. “You already know the basics,” he says, treading water beside you. “Pop up fast, keep your balance, don’t panic.“ “Okay.” He lets go of the board and gives it a little push. “Go ahead.” You paddle forward, managing to catch a baby wave—and, just like that, you’re on your feet for all of three glorious seconds before you wobble and tumble straight off the board with a splash. You come up sputtering, hair in your eyes, and Jake’s already laughing. “You almost had it that time!” he calls, floating closer. You flick water at him. “Shut up.” He grins, eyes crinkling, and swims over to steady the board. “Alright, alright. Try again. I’ll help this time.” You crawl back on, breathless and wet, trying not to think about how close he is as he floats next to you. He places one hand gently on your lower back to steady you and your heart nearly leaps out of your chest.

“Keep your feet wide,” he murmurs, guiding your legs into position. “Yeah, like that.” You nod, eyes glued to the water. Anywhere but his face. “And pop up—now.” You try, really try, but your knee slips and suddenly you’re falling again, off the board and straight into him. You crash into his chest, your hands landing on his shoulders, and his arms wrap around you instinctively to keep you both from going under. For a moment, everything stops. You’re pressed against him, chest to chest, his hands firm around your waist, ocean swirling around you. The sun glows somewhere above, but all you can feel is Jake. His eyes are on yours. So close. So dangerously close. Salt on his skin. His breath fanning over your lips. You blink. He doesn’t move. And then, awkwardly, too quickly, you laugh. “God, I suck at this,” you say, trying to twist out of his arms. He lets go slowly, like he doesn’t want to. “Nah,” he says, voice quieter now. “You’re doing better than you think.” You swim backward a little, pushing your hair out of your face, cheeks burning. He watches you like he’s trying to figure something out, but the moment passes, and soon enough, he’s teasing you again. Splashes you. Challenges you to a race. Makes you forget for a second that anything happened at all.

You spend a little longer in the water, drifting between lazy splashes and playful teasing. Jake tries to dunk you once, fails, and you laugh so hard your stomach hurts. “This is probably the worst surf lesson of all time,” you tease as he floats beside you, arms stretched behind his head like he has all the time in the world. He shrugs. “Nah, I’ve had worse.” “Oh yeah?” you smirk. “Name one.” He grins. “This one girl nearly drowned me because I was ‘correcting her form.’ Real aggressive.” You snort. “She sounds kind of hot.” He raises a brow at you. “She is.” Your chest tightens, but you splash water in his face before he can see it. Eventually, the sun starts dipping lower, turning everything a honeyed gold. You both float there for a few more quiet seconds, water rocking you gently. Then Jake nudges you with his shoulder. “C’mon. Let’s head out.” You make your way back to shore, water dripping from your limbs, the sand soft and warm beneath your feet. Jake walks ahead to grab his board, and you follow, pulling your hair back, skin glistening in the fading light. What you don’t see is the way he looks back at you when you pass him. His eyes trail over your curves, still wet and gleaming under the sun. The way your bikini clings to you. The curve of your hips, the slow sway in your walk as you brush your towel off. His jaw tightens slightly, brows twitching like he’s thinking something he shouldn’t, but he doesn’t look away. Not until you sit down. You drop onto your towel with a soft sigh, brushing your hair out of your face. Jake joins you a moment later, flopping down beside you, his board sticking out of the sand nearby. Everything smells like sea salt and sunscreen and him.

The two of you sit side by side, toes buried in the warm sand, wet hair dripping onto your shoulders. The waves roll in and out, steady and soft. The sun is lower now. Jake leans back on his elbows, looking out toward the horizon. “Good day.” he says softly. You glance over at him, and it hits you again—just how pretty he is in this light. His profile, the way his lashes catch the last of the sun. How at ease he looks here, like the ocean is the only place he’s ever belonged. “Yeah,” you say, heart thudding a little too hard. “It is.” For a few moments, there’s only the sound of waves and birds and the quiet hum of tension between you. “Wanna come to mine?” you say, nervous. Jake turns to you slowly. “I’ve got beers, chips, probably some ice cream too.” He smiles, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Your beach house feels cooler once you step inside, the salty breeze drifting in through open windows, mixing with the familiar scent of sunscreen and lemony soap. Jake’s already tossing his towel over the back of the couch like he lives here—because in a way, he kind of does. He’s been here more times than you can count, post-surf showers, movie nights, late dinners with the group. But tonight feels different. You grab two beers from the fridge and toss one to him as you walk past “Thanks.” You plop down onto the couch beside him, legs curled under you, and he stretches out, shirt sticking to his still-damp skin, hair a little frizzy from the salt water. The TV flickers in the background—some nature documentary neither of you is watching. The only light comes from the screen and the tiny lamp you always forget to turn off. It casts the whole room in a soft orange glow, warm and sleepy. He cracks open his beer. “So. On a scale of one to complete embarrassment, how would you rate today’s surf lesson?” You shoot him a glare over your bottle. “I’d say a solid seven. But only because I didn’t actually drown.”

He chuckles. “A win’s a win.” You sip, watching him out of the corner of your eye. He looks relaxed. His head is tilted back, the curve of his jaw catching the lamplight. That bracelet he never takes off is still wet, clinging to his wrist. His thumb runs lazily over his beer bottle. You clear your throat. “Thanks for teaching me. Again.” He glances over. “You’re getting better.” “Liar.” He smiles at you softly. “Okay, you suck. But you’re trying. And you looked like you were having fun.” You nod, lips quirking. “I was.” For a while, the two of you just sit there, sipping quietly, shoulders nearly touching. The breeze flutters through the curtains, and outside, the last of the sun has melted into the ocean into something darker, quieter.

He turns slightly toward you, voice low. “Crazy how long we’ve been doing this.” You glance at him. “Surfing?” He gives you a look. “This. Us. Hanging out. It’s been, what—five years?” You nod slowly. “Yeah…damn. Five.” You both go quiet for a moment, the weight of that time hanging in the air between you. So many summers. So many inside jokes. So many chances you didn’t take. He breaks the silence first. “Remember that one time we all snuck into the pool at that hotel?” You laugh instantly. “When you splashed the security guard and nearly broke your ankle jumping the fence? Yeah.” Jake chuckles. “I swear we almost died that night.” You’re both smiling now, warmth bubbling up between you—not just from the drinks, but from this. From the years of comfort, the way you know each other so well it’s easy to forget the ache under the surface. You shift slightly to face him more, leaning back against the couch. “I’m glad we’re still like this,” you say quietly. “Even if everything else’s changed.” Jake’s eyes meet yours. “Yeah,” he says. “Me too.” The air feels heavier now. Not awkward, but charged. His eyes drop to your lips for just a second before flicking back up.

Your head’s tipped back against the couch, skin flushed and warm from the drinks, your lips still tingling from laughing too hard at something dumb Jake said ten minutes ago. The room spins just slightly in that way it does when you’ve had just enough, soft edges, soft thoughts, everything blurring like a dream. Jake’s next to you, turned toward you now, one arm thrown lazily along the back of the couch. He’s watching you. You can feel it more than see it. “You’re drunk,” he murmurs. You snort. “No I’m not.” He smiles, the corners of his mouth tugging up in that slow, teasing way that always makes your heart ache. “Yes, you are.” And then his hand reaches up gently and he tucks a damp strand of hair behind your ear, fingers trailing just barely against your skin. You freeze, breath catching. His eyes don’t leave yours. And then, so quietly you almost miss it, “You’re so pretty.” Your whole body stills. “…What?” You look up at him, blinking, heart hammering. You can feel the blush rising in your cheeks like a wave, hot and immediate. Jake just smiles wider. And then he lets out the softest laugh and leans in. He kisses you. Warm and slow, his lips pressing softly into yours like he’s been waiting to do it for years. One hand comes up to cradle your jaw, and your eyes flutter shut, the taste of him, beer, salt, Jake, sinking into your skin like a secret.

He kisses you like he means it, like he’s been dying to, and the second his hands slide around your waist, you already know where this is going. His grip is firm but careful, fingertips pressing into the skin just above your hips, still damp from the ocean. You feel him shift beneath you, then suddenly you’re being pulled into his lap. You let out a soft gasp, steadying yourself with your palms on his shoulders as your knees straddle him, your bikini-clad body settling over his swim trunks. He exhales hard through his nose when your thighs tighten around his hips, and you can feel him underneath you already, half-hard, hot, pressing right up against your barely-covered center. “Fuck,” he breathes, his head tilting back as he looks at you. “You’re so pretty like this.” You’re already blushing, your skin buzzing from the heat of the alcohol, the air, him. He brings a hand up to push a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering along your jaw. “You always are,” he murmurs. “But right now? Sitting on me like this? You’re unreal.” You can’t say anything. Not when he’s looking at you like that. Not when every part of your body is screaming for more. So you slowly move. Your hips roll forward, just once, dragging the soaked fabric of your bikini bottom against the rougher texture of his swim trunks. The friction makes both of you shudder.

His grip on your hips tightens instantly. “There you go,” he murmurs, voice low and thick. “Just like that, baby.” Your stomach flips at the praise, at the way his voice drops when he says it—baby. Like it belongs to you now. Like he’s never called anyone else that before. You do it again, a little more confidently this time, grinding against him with a soft whimper slipping past your lips. Jake groans deep in his chest, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “Fuck, that’s it,” he says. Your hands slide up into his hair, wet and soft under your fingers, and you kiss along his jaw—down his neck, where his pulse beats hard against your lips. He tilts his head to give you more space, his breath catching when you kiss a little harder. His cock twitches beneath you and you feel it, all of it. And it’s so good, so intense, that your hips move without you even meaning to, searching for more pressure, more friction, more him. He hisses through his teeth, pulling you down tighter against him. “Keep doing that baby, fuck—” he murmurs. You moan softly, your pace picking up, slow but steady, dragging yourself along him as you kiss down his neck, leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses over sun-warmed skin. The heat is building fast between you, sweat and seawater mixing with the electricity sparking under every touch. “Jake,” you whisper, lips brushing his collarbone. He leans in, breath hot against your cheek. “Let’s go to your room, yeah?” he says, voice rough. And when you nod, eyes wide, lips swollen, he lifts you, arms firm under your thighs, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Jake carries you down the hall with your legs wrapped tight around his waist, your bikini still damp and clinging to your skin, his lips brushing yours between heated, breathless laughs. When he nudges your bedroom door open, the only light in the room is the soft, low glow of your lava lamp, a dreamy, slow-moving mix of purples and pinks that cast shifting shadows on the walls. He sets you down on the bed carefully, like you’re fragile, like he’s trying to keep it gentle, but the second your back hits the sheets, he’s on you. He climbs over you, his body caging yours in with easy strength, and he dives in—his lips on your neck, hot and open, kissing and sucking until you’re gasping. He nips at the skin just below your ear, your collarbone, working his way down with messy, hungry kisses. “Jake,” you whisper, voice already shaking. “God,” he groans into your neck, hands sliding up over your stomach. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.” Then his hands find your chest, his thumbs dragging along the edge of your bikini top before he squeezes your tits through the fabric, hard enough to make you gasp. His mouth is still at your neck, kissing and biting and panting against your skin like he can’t get close enough.

You arch into his hands, your hips already shifting beneath him, grinding up against where he’s hard and heavy between your legs. Even through the fabric of your swimsuits, the pressure is blinding. You rock your hips again, more desperately this time. He groans low and filthy, and grinds back down into you. “Fuck, baby,” he growls, one hand leaving your chest to grab your hip and hold you still. “You’re gonna make me lose it.” His fingers dig into your waist, guiding your hips as you move against him, his cock thick and pulsing through his swim trunks, pressed perfectly against your core. You’re soaked already, the thin fabric of your bikini barely a barrier at all. Jake palms your tits roughly through your bikini top, groaning low in his throat like he’s waited too long to touch you like this. Then, without a word, he slides his fingers under the fabric and pushes it up, taking it off of you. He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dropping to your now-bare chest. “Jesus Christ,” he breathes. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” And then he’s on you again—his mouth hot and hungry, lips wrapping around one nipple as he sucks it deep into his mouth. His tongue circles, wet and relentless, and your back arches off the mattress as a moan tumbles out of you. “Jake,” you gasp, threading your fingers into his damp hair.

He groans at the sound of your voice, switching sides, licking and sucking at the other nipple now while his hand slides up to squeeze the one he just left—fingers rolling it between his fingertips, firm and perfect and too much in the best way. He’s messy with it, sloppy, he doesn’t care, just needs to taste you. His teeth graze your sensitive skin and you writhe beneath him, grinding up into the hard line of his cock pressed against your center. “You sound so good,” he murmurs between kisses, his voice rough and low. “So fucking sweet, baby.” And then, his hand trails down. Over your ribs. Over your stomach. Straight under your bikini bottom. You suck in a breath the moment his fingers slide through your slick folds, already soaking wet from how badly you want him. He groans. “Fuck. You’re dripping.” His middle finger finds your clit and starts rubbing slow, steady circles over it, perfect pressure, and your hips jerk up instantly, a whimper slipping from your lips before you can stop it. Jake’s mouth crashes back onto yours, swallowing every sound as he kisses you harder than before—tongue curling into yours, his hand between your legs never stopping, working you into a mess beneath him.

You can’t stop the sounds now—soft gasps, broken moans, the way your body starts rocking into his touch. “Jake, please,” you whimper, tearing your mouth from his, eyes glassy. “Tell me what you need,” he says, kissing along your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “I’ll give you anything, baby. Just say it.” You’re panting beneath him, your hips rolling helplessly into his hand as his fingers circle your clit, while his mouth stays glued to your neck. He’s so deep into you—touching, kissing, tasting—you don’t even realize how close you are to falling apart until the words tumble out of your mouth, broken and breathless. “Jake,” you whimper. “Want you to fuck me.” His hand stutters, just slightly, but he keeps going, his breathing getting heavier against your cheek. He lifts his head, eyes locking with yours, and you feel like the air has been sucked out of the room. You blink up at him, barely able to breathe, and whisper, “Please, Jakey.” He whimpers. Actually whimpers—a soft, desperate sound pulled from somewhere deep in his chest, like the sound of his restraint finally snapping in two. “Holy fuck,” he mutters, and then he’s moving, yanking his hand from between your legs, reaching down to hook his fingers under the sides of your bikini bottoms. “You can’t—fuck—don’t call me that.” He slides your bikini bottoms off in one smooth motion, tossing them somewhere behind him, and his gaze drops between your legs. His jaw clenches at the sight of you, wet, flushed, bare for him. “Jesus Christ, baby…”

Then he’s on his knees, pushing his swim trunks down, and your eyes drop instinctively. Your breath catches. He’s big. Thick and flushed and so fucking pretty, the tip already slick and leaking as he wraps a hand around the base and strokes once—slow, like he’s trying to calm himself down and failing miserably. You let out a soft, shocked moan, eyes locked on him. Jake notices—and he smirks, that cocky little flash of teeth you’ve seen a hundred times before but never like this. He leans over you again, kissing you slow, deep, while he lines himself up between your legs, the head of his cock dragging through your wetness. “Want me to fuck you ,baby? Yeah?” he breathes against your lips. You nod fast, almost trembling. “Yes. Please—want you so bad, Jakey.” He groans and pushes forward, just barely. And it slides in—slow and easy, your body opening up for him, so warm and wet around him that he nearly chokes on a moan. “Holy fuck,” he gasps against your mouth. “You feel—so good. So fucking tight.” You wrap your legs around his waist instinctively, hands digging into his back, and when he bottoms out, it feels like something inside you clicks into place. You’re full. So full. He doesn’t move for a second, just breathing hard against your neck, his body trembling from holding back. Then he pulls out halfway—and thrusts back in, sharp enough to make you gasp.“Jake—!”

“That’s it,” he grits out, one hand grabbing the headboard above you as he starts to move. “Let me hear you.” He starts fucking you slow but deep, his hips rolling into yours like he’s trying to memorize the way you feel. Every thrust hits that perfect spot inside you, the one that makes your back arch and your breath catch in your throat. He groans, eyes dark, sweat starting to bead at his temples as he picks up the pace, his strokes getting rougher, needier, deeper. “You take me so fucking well,” he pants. “Knew you would. Knew you’d feel perfect.” The sound of skin on skin fills the room, the wet slap of his hips meeting yours over and over, and you can barely think—your body rocked by every thrust, every word, every kiss he presses to your cheek, your neck, your mouth. You moan his name again, broken and breathless. And Jake loses it. He starts fucking you harder, faster, his cock slamming into you at just the right angle, his hand slipping between your bodies to rub circles over your clit. You’re barely holding on. You can’t even form words anymore—just soft, broken gasps of his name. “Jake… Jake, I—” You claw at his shoulders, eyes fluttering shut, mouth falling open as your whole body tightens. He leans down, breath hot on your neck. “That’s it, baby. Let go. Lemme feel you.”Your back arches off the bed as the orgasm crashes into you. Your thighs tremble around his hips, and you cry out, your entire body clenching around him as your release hits you like a wave.

You’re dazed, ruined, barely aware of anything except how full you feel, how perfect he feels, how you never want this to end. “Fuck,” Jake groans, voice strained. “You feel so good—holy shit—I don’t think I can last—“ He pulls out suddenly with a desperate grunt, wrapping a hand around his cock, and you barely manage to open your eyes in time to see him come completely undone. “Fuck, baby,” he gasps, head falling back as hot, sticky ropes of cum spill across your stomach, your tits, painting your flushed skin in a messy, breathless finish. He strokes himself through it, breathing hard, his eyes locked on the sight of you laid out beneath him—glowing in the purple light of the lava lamp, glistening, ruined, perfect. You blink up at him, still dazed, your chest rising and falling with every shaky breath. Jake looks like he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life. “Jesus,” he mutters, voice hoarse. “You fucking wrecked me.”

You must’ve fallen asleep wrapped up in him. One minute, Jake was still kissing your shoulder, fingertips brushing lazy shapes on your waist, and the next, your eyes are fluttering open to the faint glow of early morning bleeding into your room. The sky outside is that soft, pale indigo. The same dreamy light that washed over you both last night is back, but now it feels different. Colder. You blink, stretch your legs beneath the sheets, still drowsy and warm, and then you realize—He’s not there. Your hand reaches instinctively to the other side of the bed, but it’s cold. Sheets wrinkled but empty. His clothes are gone from the floor. Your heart drops. You sit up slowly, blanket falling around your bare chest, the ache between your thighs a lingering reminder of everything that happened hours ago. Your skin still smells like him. You still feel his hands on you. His mouth. His words. But he’s not here. And just like that, the warmth starts to fade. The bedroom feels too quiet, too still. Your throat tightens. You try not to let your mind spiral, but it’s impossible not to. Maybe it didn’t mean anything to him.

Maybe it was just the alcohol. Just the tension. Maybe he went back to her. Maybe he regrets this. You swallow hard. You tell yourself to stop, to breathe, to wait—but the sting is already rising behind your eyes, and before you can stop it, a tear slips down your cheek. Then another. And then you’re silently crying, chest tight, fists curled in your blanket as you sit there in the soft light of a morning that suddenly feels so cruel. You knew he liked that other girl. You’ve seen the way he looks at her—how can he look at you the same way and still want someone else? You wipe at your face with the back of your hand, frustrated with yourself for feeling this much. For hoping. Because last night, for just a little while, it felt like you were everything to him. And now…he’s gone.

By midday, the sun is high and blinding, casting golden light across the waves. The beach is buzzing again, boards scattered across the sand, friends stretched out on towels, someone grilling lunch, music playing just loud enough to drown out your thoughts. You sit a little off to the side, legs curled beneath you, sunglasses hiding your tired eyes. You’ve barely said a word since you joined everyone. You nod when people talk. Smile when it’s expected. But you’re not really present. Not when you can still feel the ghost of Jake’s hands on your body. Not when the last thing you remember from last night was falling asleep tangled up in him, thinking maybe, finally, he was yours.

And now, now it’s like you’re watching him from the outside again. Like you always have. Jake’s been hovering nearby all morning—offering you drinks, asking if you’re hungry, tossing you gentle smiles like he’s trying to check in without making it obvious. But you’ve kept your distance. And it’s killing him. You see it in the way he keeps glancing at you, confused, a little hurt. Like he doesn’t understand why everything feels different. Like he’s searching for the version of you from last night, the one who moaned his name and kissed him like she’d been waiting a lifetime. Now you barely look at him. You can’t. Because you don’t trust yourself not to break. He comes over at one point, shirtless, hair still damp from a swim, sitting beside you with a hopeful smile. “Wanna walk down to the rocks with me later? It’s kinda nice over there.” You don’t meet his eyes. “Maybe later,” you say, soft. He hesitates. “You okay?” “Yeah,” you lie. Jake stares at you for a second longer, his brows drawing together like he wants to press harder, but doesn’t. He nods once and gets up again, joining the others. You finally exhale. And you sit there the rest of the afternoon feeling like you’re floating just out of reach—like everyone else is on the shore and you’re out in the water.

The party starts just after sunset. It’s beautiful, really—how quickly the sky shifts from orange to dusky pink to deep navy. Someone brought lanterns and fairy lights, and now they’re strung along the trees and tied to sticks in the sand, flickering like stars. A bonfire crackles near the center of it all, throwing golden light across everyone’s faces. Music’s playing, and someone’s passing around a bottle of vodka. Plates of food rest on towels and tables. Coolers overflow with beer and soda. People are laughing, dancing, shouting over each other. It’s the kind of night that should feel perfect. But it doesn’t. Not for you. You’re standing a little off to the side, near the edge of the fire’s light, holding a drink that’s already gone warm. You’ve been trying to act normal all evening, but you feel it—how different everything feels now. Or maybe it’s just you that feels different. You haven’t spoken much. You haven’t even tried to talk to Jake. And he hasn’t really come over, either. Not since earlier. You keep pretending not to watch him. Pretending not to care that he’s across the circle of people, beer in hand, laughing at something someone said. At something she said. She’s right beside him—the girl. The one you’ve always had a quiet ache about. The one he used to flirt with before. The one you thought he moved on from after last night. But now her hand is wrapped lightly around his arm, and she’s leaning in close, laughing at something he said like he’s the funniest person alive. You can’t hear what they’re saying. You don’t need to. Your chest goes tight. Your stomach turns. Jake doesn’t push her away. He doesn’t lean in either, but he smiles. And that smile makes something splinter in your chest. Maybe it meant nothing to him. Maybe last night was just a moment. Maybe she’s the one he wants after all.

You can’t take it anymore. You quietly slip away from the group, no one notices. They’re too busy drinking and dancing. You walk farther down the beach, shoes in hand, until the noise fades behind you. Until it’s just the sound of waves, soft and rhythmic, and the wind in your hair. You find a small outcropping of rocks half-hidden by tall grass and sit there, your arms hugging your knees, heart full of things you can’t say out loud. The sand is cold. The air has a bite to it now that the sun is gone. But you don’t move. You just sit there quietly, aching. Until you hear footsteps in the sand behind you. You don’t need to look to know it’s him. Jake says your name gently, like he’s afraid you’ll run. You close your eyes. “Can I sit?” he asks. You nod without speaking. He drops into the sand beside you, knees bent, hands on the ground behind him. For a few moments, neither of you says anything. Then he murmurs, “Why’d you leave?” You shrug, still not looking at him. “Just wanted some air.” “I noticed you were gone.” He pauses. “I’ve been noticing a lot of things lately.” You say nothing. He swallows. “Did I do something?” You don’t answer. You can’t. Because your throat is already tight, and your eyes are already burning, and you don’t know how to tell him that watching him with her tonight shattered something fragile you were still trying to protect. You just whisper, “I don’t want to talk about it.” Jake looks at you for a long time. Then he says softly, “Okay. But I’m not leaving you out here alone.” And so he stays. Quiet and still, right beside you, just close enough that you can feel the warmth of him.

You sit beside him in silence, the ocean humming softly in the distance, moonlight casting silver over the waves. The party is still alive far down the beach, music pulsing faintly, voices rising and falling, but out here, it’s just you and Jake. The air feels heavy. Like the moment is pressing in from all sides. Jake picks at the hem of his shorts, stealing glances at you like he wants to speak but doesn’t know where to begin. You can feel the weight of his gaze, his confusion, his worry. And suddenly, you can’t take it anymore. Your voice is small—barely audible over the water—but it cuts through the space between you like lightning. “Did it mean anything to you?” He freezes. Your eyes stay fixed on the ocean. You can’t look at him. If you do, you’ll fall apart. You swallow hard, voice trembling. “Last night…when you—when we…” You hesitate. “Was it just a hook-up to you?” Jake turns toward you fully now. You still don’t meet his eyes. There’s a beat of silence. “What?” he says, like the wind got knocked out of him. You finally look at him, and his expression shatters something in you. He looks stunned. Crushed. Like he never saw this coming. “I woke up and you were gone,” you whisper. “And then today you just acted like everything was normal. And then tonight, you’re with her—laughing, letting her touch you—like nothing happened between us. Like I imagined all of it.”

Jake’s mouth opens, then closes. He’s speechless. You look away again. “So just tell me. Did it mean anything to you?” The silence stretches, and you feel your stomach twist. Then his voice breaks through, soft and shaking, “Of course it meant something to me.” You blink. Jake exhales hard, dragging a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know you felt this way. I thought you’d be weirded out. I thought maybe I crossed a line. I didn’t know what to do.” You look at him, and he’s not smug or cool or collected. He looks wrecked. “I wasn’t with her,” he says quickly. “Not like that. She grabbed me. I didn’t even realize it would look bad. I wasn’t thinking, I was just…I was looking for you.” Your chest tightens. “I’ve been trying to talk to you all day,” he says, his voice rising just a little. “But you kept shutting me out. I thought maybe you regretted it. That I fucked everything up.” Your breath catches. “I left because I didn’t want to wake you. That’s it. I was scared if I stayed, you’d wake up and regret it.” You’re both quiet for a moment, the weight of everything between you settling in the sand. Then he adds, barely above a whisper, “I’ve liked you for years. I just didn’t think I had a chance.” You stare at him, barely breathing. His words keep echoing in your head. It doesn’t feel real. Like maybe you dreamed this whole thing. Like your brain made it up just to protect you from the ache in your chest. But then Jake smiles. Soft and sheepish. Like he’s been holding this in forever and finally let it out.

You blink, eyes burning again—but this time for a different reason entirely. “You…you liked me?” you whisper, voice shaky. “This whole time?” Jake laughs under his breath, shaking his head like he can’t believe you don’t see it. “Are you kidding? You’ve been driving me crazy since the first time we met.” A breathless sound escapes you, half laugh, half sob, and you don’t even realize you’re crying until Jake reaches out and gently wipes a tear from your cheek. “Hey,” he murmurs, scooting closer, his hand cupping your jaw. “Don’t cry, baby.” You lean into his touch without thinking. Your heart is racing, chest rising and falling fast, and you can barely look at him without tearing up again. “I thought I lost you,” you whisper. “You never did,” he says. “I was yours before last night. You just didn’t know it.” Your lips part like you’re about to speak, but then Jake leans in, his forehead brushing yours, and he kisses you. Soft and gentle. His lips warm and slow against yours, he’s trying to tell you everything he hasn’t said with just one kiss. You melt into it, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt as he pulls you closer. When he finally pulls back, his lips are still brushing yours as he whispers, “I’m not going anywhere this time.” He leans back just slightly, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek, catching the last trace of tears before they can fall again. “Wanna go back to the others now?” he asks, voice low and soft. You nod, your heart finally light again. “Yeah.” He smiles and laces your fingers together like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You both stand, still barefoot, brushing off the sand. The moon is higher now, and the wind cooler, but with Jake’s hand in yours, everything feels warm again. He doesn’t let go. And as you walk back toward the lights and the fire and the laughter, you swear the world feels a little different—like something shifted quietly inside it.

The party’s still going strong around the fire, but everything feels quieter now. Jake’s hand hasn’t left yours since you came back from the rocks. Every now and then he bumps your shoulder or leans close to say something soft, like he has to keep touching you just to believe you’re really still there. And every time your eyes meet, it lingers. There’s no awkwardness anymore. No guessing. No more pretending. Just heat. Raw, familiar, and simmering just beneath the surface. You’re sitting beside him on one of the big towels, watching the flames crackle and the others still half-drunk and laughing. But you don’t really care about any of it. Not when his fingers are trailing slow circles on your bare thigh. Not when you keep glancing at his mouth like you want to kiss him again—properly. You feel him shift beside you, and when you look up, he’s already watching you. “Wanna leave?” he murmurs, voice low against your ear. You bite your lip, nod once. “Yeah.” He stands up without another word, tugging you gently with him, and neither of you tells anyone goodbye.

The walk back to your place is quiet but not awkward. Just heavy with anticipation. Your fingers stay laced. He keeps stealing glances at you, and your heart won’t stop racing. By the time you get inside, the door’s barely closed before he turns to you, eyes dark, soft smile. Jake cups your face and kisses you, slow and tender. His hands trail down your sides, slipping under the hem of your dress, touching your skin like he missed it. You let your arms wrap around his neck, fingers threading through his hair as you sigh into his mouth. This time, there’s no rush. No foggy drunk blur. He doesn’t break the kiss as he picks you up—hands gripping the back of your thighs, holding you against his chest like you weigh nothing. You gasp softly against his mouth, arms tightening around his shoulders. He walks the familiar path to your bedroom, only the soft light of the hallway guiding the way. When he gets there, he gently lowers you to the bed. He pauses above you, one knee between your legs, his gaze sweeping over your face “You’re sure?” he asks again, voice low but steady. You nod, breath shaky. “I want you.” Jake lets out a soft exhale, like he’s been holding it in all night. “Good,” he whispers, brushing your hair from your face with the back of his knuckles. “Because I’m not letting you go this time.”

He leans down and kisses you again, slower and deeper. His mouth warm and sure, hands trailing along your waist, slipping beneath your dress to touch your bare skin. His lips move to your neck, dragging along the sensitive skin just below your jaw. “You smell so good,” he murmurs, voice thick. “Feel even better.” Your fingers dig into his shoulders. And when he slips a hand beneath your dress, eyes locked on yours, his voice drops to a whisper that sends shivers straight to your core, “Let me make you feel good again, yeah?” His fingers slip, sliding over your panties—and the moment he feels the dampness there, he lets out a low groan. “Fuck,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours for a beat. “Already wet for me?” You nod shakily, unable to speak, hips twitching as he rubs slow, deliberate circles over your clothed slit. The pressure of his fingers through the thin fabric has you gasping, legs parting on instinct. Then he presses a little harder, and your breath hitches, your body arching into his hand with a quiet, needy whimper. Jake smiles against your neck, voice low and warm. “Sound so sweet f’me, baby.”

Your thighs tremble. He slides your panties to the side, fingers finding your soaked folds, and then slowly, he slips two fingers inside. You moan softly, walls clenching around the intrusion, and Jake groans in your ear feeling how tight you are. “Shit,” he breathes, starting a gentle rhythm, curling his fingers with every stroke. “So fuckin’ soft around me.” You’re already squirming, hands fisting the sheets, barely able to process the pleasure building as he fucks his fingers into your gummy walls. Then his thumb finds your clit, pressing and rubbing in slow, perfect circles, and your head falls back with a whine. He kisses down your neck, messy and hungry, teeth scraping lightly over your skin. “There you go,” he murmurs between kisses.“Makin’ all those pretty noises just f'me.” You moan louder at that, your body completely at his mercy now—hips rocking up to meet every thrust of his fingers, desperate for more, for all of him.

You can feel it building, coiling tighter and tighter in your belly, seconds away from falling apart completely, but then Jake pulls his fingers out. You gasp, whining at the loss, trembling with frustration. “Jake—” you whimper, breath ragged. He leans in, voice thick with heat. “Shhh, baby.” Before you can even beg, he’s already moving, kneeling between your legs, eyes locked on you as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and drags them down your thighs. Then your dress. He pushes it up and over your head, leaving you completely bare for him. Jake just stares for a moment—drinking you in like you’re something holy. His pupils are blown wide, his lips parted. “Fuck,” he whispers, running a hand through his hair. “You’re so fucking perfect.” He pulls his shirt off in one swift motion, tossing it aside. His skin is warm and golden in the low light, muscles flexing as he shifts forward, settling himself between your thighs like it’s where he belongs.

You shiver as his hands slide up your legs, thumbs brushing gently along your inner thighs. Then he leans in close, until his breath is hot and heavy right against your dripping cunt. He doesn’t touch you yet. Just breathes. Watches. Fingers ghosting up and down your slick folds as you writhe under him, desperate and aching. “Look at you,” he murmurs, completely entranced. His thumb swipes gently through your wetness. “My sweet girl.” You bite your lip, a whimper slipping from your throat. And then, he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, soft and lingering, before sliding his tongue slowly up your slit, groaning low against you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted.

The moment his tongue touches you, it’s over. He moans low against your pussy like he’s tasting something he’s been craving for years. He starts slow, teasing licks through your folds, lips wrapping around your clit just enough to make your whole body jolt. And then he does it again. And again. Each time a little rougher. A little wetter. A little more desperate. “Fuuuck,” he groans into you, hands gripping your thighs, keeping you open for him. “You taste so fucking good.” You gasp, fingers tangling in his hair, hips lifting off the bed as he sucks your clit into his mouth. It’s messy, obscene—the sounds of him licking you echoing through the room, wet and filthy and perfect. Then suddenly, he’s slipping two fingers back inside you—pushing in deep, curling them up in just the right way, and your moan breaks into a whimper. “Ngh—Jake—!” He groans again, like your voice alone is enough to make him lose it. Then he adds a third finger.

Your back arches, legs trembling as he fucks them into your soaked cunt fast and deep, his palm smacking softly against your skin with every thrust. His mouth never leaves your clit—tongue flicking, sucking, devouring like it’s the only thing that matters. “Let go, baby,” he mumbles against you. “Wanna feel you.” You’re already so close. You can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t stop yourself from grinding against his face like your body’s got a mind of its own. The pressure snaps. You cry out, thighs clenching around his head as your orgasm crashes into you. Your fingers tug at his hair, your hips jerk, your moans breaking into soft, high-pitched whines as you fall apart in his mouth. But Jake doesn’t stop. He keeps licking. Keeps fucking his fingers into you like he wants to memorize the way you cum. And when you finally start to go still, trembling and breathless beneath him, he pulls back just enough to kiss your inner thigh, lips swollen, chin glistening with your slick. He crawls back up your body, kissing a trail from your trembling thighs to your stomach, over your chest—leaving warm, messy kisses across your skin before finally reaching your mouth. He kisses you hard. Hungry, deep, desperate, his lips still slick from tasting you, his tongue dragging over yours like he needs more of you in every way.

You can feel how hard he is now, pressed between your thighs. It’s driving you crazy—every movement, every breath just making it worse. Still kissing you, he breaks just long enough to whisper, breathless, “Need to be inside you, baby. Can’t wait anymore.” You nod, dazed, still catching your breath. Jake shifts back, and in one smooth motion, he pushes his shorts and boxers down, finally freeing his cock. You can’t help the soft gasp that leaves your lips, and Jake smirks through heavy breaths. He leans down again to kiss you, while his hand slides up your thigh. Then suddenly, he grabs one of your legs, lifting it over his shoulder. His other hand cups your breast, fingers squeezing, thumb brushing softly over your nipple as he lines himself up. “Look at me,” he murmurs, voice low and thick with heat. You do. And then he slides in. Slow at first, inch by inch, until he’s buried deep inside you, your walls fluttering around him. You moan his name, back arching off the bed.

Jake’s jaw clenches, his hand tightening on your thigh. “Fuck, baby…” he groans, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “You feel—so good—fuck.” His hips start to move, deep, rolling thrusts that drag every inch of him along your soaked walls. He keeps your leg hooked over his shoulder, the angle letting him hit every sweet spot, his other hand still cupping your breast like he can’t get enough. “So perfect…so tight for me—fuck!” he pants, voice all praise and heat. You moan louder, nails digging into his arms as he starts to pick up the pace—hips slapping against yours, breath hot and ragged, all while he keeps watching your face like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Jake’s rhythm starts to falter, his hips snapping faster, rougher, his breathing growing messier with each thrust. His brows are furrowed, lips parted, hair falling into his eyes as he fucks you like he’s starved for it.

“Oh my god—fuck,” he moans, head dropping forward. “You feel so fucking good, baby—shit, you’re so tight—oh fuck—” The way he says it, so breathless, whimpering, makes your whole body react. Your walls clench down around him instinctively, squeezing him hard, and it pulls another choked moan straight from his throat. His voice breaks again. “Ohhh fuck—just like that—holy shit—” He sounds so good. Ruined. Wrecked. Like he’s completely unraveling inside you. You’re a moaning mess beneath him, gasping for air, thighs trembling as he pounds into you deep and fast, hitting that perfect spot with every stroke. Then he brings his hand down, finding your clit like he knows exactly what you need. His fingers are messy, fast, rubbing tight circles in sync with his thrusts. You cry out, arching under him, clutching at his biceps as he holds himself over you and keeps fucking you through it. “Jakey—!” you sob, voice high and desperate. He groans like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever heard. “That’s it, baby,” he pants, kissing your jaw, your neck. “Come on—cum for me again—please, I need to feel it—need to feel you fall apart on me.”

You’re so close, your legs starting to shake, your fingers gripping him like a lifeline, your moans breaking into breathless little whimpers. And all you can hear is him—moaning, gasping, whimpering, praising you like he’s gone completely stupid from how good you feel. Your whole body locks up as that final wave crashes over you—tight and hot and overwhelming. You cry out his name, legs shaking, back arching as you cum hard around him, fluttering and pulsing deep on his cock. Jake chokes on a moan—high, broken, wrecked. “Fuuuck—so good—so fucking good, baby, oh my god—” He pulls out just in time, gritting his teeth through a loud, desperate groan as he fists himself and spills all over your pussy and thighs—sticky, thick ropes of cum painting your skin while his hips twitch and his breath catches in short, ragged pants. He collapses forward slightly, chest rising and falling, eyes still glazed with pleasure. Then his gaze drops down, seeing the mess he made of you, and he groans again, softer this time, like it’s too much to handle. “Shit,” he breathes. “You’re so fucking perfect…” He leans in and kisses you slow and warm. His hand brushes your cheek before moving to the nightstand, grabbing some tissue from a pack you kept there. “I got you” he murmurs. You hum softly as he wipes you clean—gentle, patient, still pressing soft kisses to your collarbone, your shoulder, anywhere his mouth can reach. And when he’s done, he tosses the tissues aside and crawls back into bed, settling in beside you. He wraps his arms around you from behind, pulling you into his chest like he has to keep you close. You feel his breath in your hair, slow and steady now. His hands finds your waist, his thumb stroking lazily over your skin. Then he whispers, barely audible in the dark, “I’m yours…I’m not going anywhere.”

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mwphisto · 2 days ago

Note

MC has a horrific gag reflex. Like even opening her mouth too wide can cause her to gag. But she really wants to give them a blow job (could be any of the love interests) except she can’t get more than the tip inside her mouth before she feels the reflex start.

As someone with a horrible gag reflex too, I relate to this head-canon heavily — and I’ll leave it at that LMAOO

For Xavier, I think he’s 𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 but also prioritizes your comfort. If you can’t get more than the head in? He’s not forcing you to take more, really you’re lucky if he even lets you continue. He wants you to enjoy yourself, and gagging yourself sick trying to take his cock in your mouth doesn’t sound all that fun. If you’re super adamant, he’ll let you lick and do whatever you want but the second you attempt to take him and start gagging, he’s easing you off. “We can take things one step at a time, starlight. Don’t make yourself sick”

For Rafayel, I think this fishy would find the gagging rather… hot. He doesn’t want to see you in any discomfort, nor does he want to push your limits. So if you gag more than twice while trying to suck on his head, he’s gingerly pushing you back and guiding you into something more manageable. “While I do enjoy seeing you choke on my dick, I don’t want you hurting yourself for my sake.” He prefers going down on you anyways, he could eat your pussy for hours and cum untouched. He doesn’t need a blow job to be satisfied.

For Zayne, giving him head is off the table. He doesn’t find the whole thing all that sanitary. He claims it would hurt your knees, your jaw. He can’t understand how he’d find swallowing his cum to be all that appealing either. But if you’re adamant on trying, he’d let you. But the second your eyes water? He sees you struggling as you gag around him, he’s pulling you off of him. “My love, this isn’t worth the trouble.” As he’s thumbing the spittle from your lips. He’s another one that would much rather be the one giving head than getting it.

For Sylus, he’d let you play with his dick but he’d cut things short the second you gag out of discomfort and not reflex. “You should have told me your gag reflex was sensitive, kitten.” He does rather enjoy your mouth on him, but he’s way more into giving you head. Still, if you’re really determined to get him off with your mouth, Sylus will guide you through other means. Kitten licks, suckling on the sensitive parts, using to it hands as well. You’d work it out together.

For Caleb, he’s so aware of your gagging that he has to beg you not to go down on him. He doesn’t want you to work yourself up, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to help himself once you get your mouth around him. So? You start slow. You train yourself to lessen your gag reflex, taking things like his fingers first to get used to something hitting so far back. “That’s it, good girl. Just breathe through your nose, you’re okay…” Eventually, he’ll be able to throat fuck you.

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strnilolover · 2 days ago

Text

⌗ . . . RIBBONS

WARNINGS : SMUT. PNV. BEING TIED UP. PRAISING. DEGRADING. DUMBIFICATION (?).

matt’s room was quiet except for the sound of skin slapping against skin when his hips met the flesh of your ass—and the broken gasps that spilled from your lips every time matt bottomed out inside your gummy walls.

he had you on your hands and knees, your back arched and hands grabbing at the sheets below you—his favorite position to have you in. your thighs were shaking as his cock dragged along your walls, pressing against all the right spots that had you seeing stars.

he’d been fucking you like this for minutes—longer?—you didn’t know. your brain too far gone already to focus on anything else but him. his hands were gripping your hips, holding you in place as he fucked you slowly, pushing in deep enough and hitting spots you don’t even know existed.

“y’feel that?” he murmured from behind you, his gaze locked on the way your cunt tried to suck him back in every time he pulled back. “y’feel how tight you’re squeezing me? so fuckin’ dumb on my cock already baby.” you couldn’t help but moan helplessly, your back arching for him more without thinking. just giving into the feeling even more.

matt always knew how to fuck you—knew exactly what you needed every time he had you in his bed, or yours. there’d be times he’d start out slow before he sped up and would fuck you until you were crying for him. or there’d be times like now—where he’d take his time and fuck you so slow and deep that you couldn’t remember a god damn thing even if you wanted to.

“that little head of your’s s’empty now, huh?” one of his hands left your hip and slid up your back—his palm was warm against your already burning skin. it traveled higher until he tangled his hand gently in the loose part of your hair. his hips rocked into you again in one deep thrust before he suddenly paused.

you whined as he stopped—feeling so full—but it wasn’t enough. you blinked hard, dazed, not sure what he was doing until you felt him carefully pull the ribbon from your hair—letting the strands fall down your back.

you forgot you had worn your favorite pink ribbon today, you didn’t think he had noticed it. but he did. his mind had been fixated on it ever since he got you in the position.

he hummed, dragging his hand slowly back down your back—running the silky ribbon along your skin and you shivered. “you know what I’m gonna do with this sweetheart?” he asked, leaning his body forward to place kisses along your spine.

you whimpered, shaking your head at his question. if you thought hard enough you’d probably know—but god you couldn’t think with how deep his cock was inside you, pressing up against your cervix, the tip kissing it with every little shift of his body.

matt couldn’t help but smirk at the way you reacted, trying your hardest to use your pretty little head, but failing. his other hand tapped against your thigh, getting your attention when he noticed the way you began to rock your hips. “hands behind your back, baby. c’mon, be a good girl for me.” he said, leaning back up.

and you obeyed on instinct, moving your body slowly as you brought your first arm behind you—making sure to make yourself comfortable enough before you brought the other behind to join. the position caused your face to press deeper into the mattress, face smushed. your breath caught as matt took ahold of both your wrists and used the ribbon to tie them together in a little pink bow.

“a little bow.” he whispered once it was secure, giving your wrists a small tug. “my sweet girl. all pretty tied up like this for me.” he admired how the color of the ribbon contrasted with your skin, the sight turning him on even more.

the second he made sure your hands weren’t going anywhere, he pulled back and started fucking into you again—even slower than before—every thrust making you cry.

you gasped when he pressed deeper, body wiggling. “oh god matt!” you cried out, your hips trying to pull away from him with how overwhelming it was. “oh, now you remember how to talk?” he teased as he leaned over you again.

his chest pressing to your back, one hand keeping a hold of your wrists, keeping you right in place. “you’re so fuckin’ pretty like this. can’t touch me. can’t move. just takin’ it like the good girl you are.”

you whined, the silk biting softly into your wrists, the sensation heightening everything. “can’t even hold yourself up now.” he murmured. “god, you’re perfect. letting me use you like this. you like being my dumb little thing, huh?” he mocked. you nodded—your mouth could barely form words anymore.

“thaaaat’s it.” he groaned, fucking into you a little faster, listening to the sound of your sobs every time he hit your sweet spot. “so fuckin’ good for me—fuck.”

and through the haze in your head—listening to the way matt groaned as he fucked you—you knew you’d be wearing the ribbon again and again.

a/n : first fic of my 1 year! things are being moved around on the list since some things weren’t written by the time july 1st came…so enjoy this! i also won’t be consistent with every other day posting so i’m sorry

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drdawnbreaker · 13 hours ago

Text

𝐒𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 ☆ 𝐉𝐢𝐧𝐮

Pairing: Idol!Jinu x Producer!Reader

Summary: Jinu was struggling withi is vocal range. Stressing over it to be exact. So he decided he needed a snack break. Good thing he knew just the treat to eat.

Word count: 1.32k

Genre: pwp. Idol au. Smut.

Warnings: Oral (f rec). Fingering. Cum eating. Dirty talk-ish. Pet names. Slight public sexscapade, hehe.

Note: Gonna be honest I have no idea what came over me but when I watched the movie I knew I had to write some fanfics.

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Jinu paced around the booth, making noises that would seem absurd to others but to singers, you would know he was trying every technique under the sun to calm and loosen his vocal chords. He had been given the chance to show off his vocal range in a more ballad type comeback and of course, his voice has decided to go through what he liked to call a second puberty. He was already super stressed as it is for this comeback since it was the first time releasing a real album and you know, not being controlled by a firey demon of hell so… And of course now his voice had chosen to crack, it felt like the world was out to get him.

“Come on, Jinu. Let’s try another take.” Your voice rang through the speaker from the other room that connects to the booth. He sighed, finding a slight comfort in your voice, knowing it was just you watching him fail every time. Ever since Bobby suggest the Saja boys get hired under the same company as huntrix, he was nervous to meet all the staff. but you as a producer had felt like a little piece of heaven, you had helped so much, even going out of your way to stay late with him to practise his parts in the songs. “You ready?”

He put his headphones back on before standing in front of the microphone, “Ready.” He gives a thumbs up to the one-sided glass. You pressed play on the back track, watching Jinu count the beat until he was supposed to sing but when he started he immediately sang the wrong note, cracking the pitch with a ‘fuck’ following afterwards. He threw his headphones in a rage his yellow eyes flaring up ad patterns creeping in the process, making you jump for the speaker;

“Hey, come here now.” You said sternly, watching Jinu run his fingers through his messy hair. He swung the door wide open before entering the producing room where you were sitting on the swivel chair with crossed arms. Your eyebrow was raised while you clicked your tongue, “You didn’t need to throw the headset, you know.”

Jinu slumped onto the couch, falling into it as if he was hoping it would swallow him whole. “I know…” He mumbled. This caused you to shake your head, turning your back to him to look at the computer, choosing to give him a cool down before either of you progressed. He watched your movements closely, feeling the annoyance drip from you. You hated when he got angry, even more so when he threw things. Although he doesn't mean it, he knew that it still bothered you. "I'm sorry…"

“I know…” You mimicked his words prior, sighing as you continued to adjust some of the ranges on your screen. “I understand... I get it.” Another thing he loved about you. You never stayed mad at him when he fucks up. Even when he accident revealed his demon half to you, you didn’t judge. You simply let him explain. Being a caring and kind-hearted person, you always put the happiness an understanding of others before your own.

As you shifted in your seat, he watched as you placed your hand on your neck, lightly rubbing it. You were tired but you would never admit it. You were craving to be in your nice warm bed, cuddled up next to your lover while fast asleep. He felt bad he couldn’t give that to you. but as his eyes wandered lower to stare at your skirt-covered legs, he noticed the way you held your thighs tightly together in concentration. Fuck, what he would give to have them over his shoulders right now, he always felt his calmest when between your gorgeous legs. That’s when an idea popped into his head, “Hey…Why don’t we both take a break.”

“You wanted to do this note before tomorrow. Taking a break would mean you lose time for that, Jinu.” You swiveled your chair to face him but instead of seeing a defeated sad man, you were met with pure desire matching lust-filled eyes. You gulped, tightening your thighs and straightening your back, “Why are you staring like that?”

“Oh, I think you know why.” He grinned, making you look everywhere around the room but at him, with blush painting your neck and ears.

“Jinu! We are in our workplace. This is inappropriate.” You gasped, turning back to the desk, attempting to shake the shiver that was running down your spine to your core. But Jinu just chuckled at how easily flustered he can get you. He stood up, walking over before placing a hand on your shoulder;

“Just one taste. Loosen up my mouth and all.” His deep whisper against your ear caused your eyes to flutter closed. You bit your lip as your body reacted before your brain, pushing off the desk slightly so Jinu could take a seat in front of you. “Such a good girl.” He gave your cheek a kiss before grabbing a pillow from the couch, taking a seat under the desk on his knee right in front of you.

“If we get caught, You’ll never hear the end of it.” You grumbled, lifting your flowy skirt up, gifting Jinu a view of your damp panties, the pink frilly fabric already sticking to your cunt deliciously. Jinu has admitted it a thousand times and he’ll keep screaming it from the rooftops if he had to. But he loved to eat you. It was one of his favourite things to do. There was something about making you feel good just by his tongue and fingers. The way you clenched around him while he lapped up your mouth-watering juices. He would much rather get you off multiple times before he would even grant himself one orgasm. You never came first in life so he made sure you would come first over and over with him if it was the last thing he did. You deserve it after all.

“Fuck look at you, baby. All wet already.” He put his nose against your soaked panties, taking in a deep inhale, groaning at your scent invading his senses. His fingers hooked around the band, pulling the fabric to the side so he could get a look at your cunt dripping with slick. Taking a quick glance at the door and then to your pleading eyes, he wasted no time in latching his mouth to your little bundle of nerves sending a shock of electricity to crackle up your spine. Your hands flew to his soft locks, tugging on them harshly, earning yourself a hiss from him

“Fuck, Jinnuu…” You hiccuped, bucking your hips against his tongue as he licked several long stripes along your folds before going back to suck on your clit. His fingers made quick work, using his free hand that wasn’t holding your soaked panties, to sink two digits into your quivering hole. Your head dipped back against the head of the chair, hanging slightly as you threw your left thigh over the armrest. This gave Jinu more access to add another finger inside you while pulling back to admire your pussy clenching around them.

“You taste so amazing, Sunshine. My favourite fucking meal.” He growled, spitting on your clit, watching his saliva leak down to your hole before he pulled his fingers out just enough to fuck the saliva into you.

“Jinu…I’m gonna argh…” Your eyes watered as you lost yourself in the pleasure while Jinu leaned down, spreading his own legs so he could get the perfect angle to fuck his tongue into you. He groaned when he felt your walls tighten around his wet muscle, eating all the slick that dripped out of your cunt.

“Come..” A slurped followed by a humm, “Come on me…” His nose rubbed against your clit as his fingers sped up, “please, I need it.”

You obeyed your lover's whimpering commands, coming undone on his tongue and long digits. Using your free hand, you covered your own mouth to silence your screams as your hips stuttered and your body convulsed from the aftershock of your climax. You felt like you were floating among the clouds, hazily looking down to see Jinu drinking every drop of your puffy pussy gifted him.”You…a menace.” You panted, raking your hand through your sweaty hair.

“I’m aware.” He sat up with a cheeky grin, your cum dripping off his chin and down his neck.

—

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akisteahouse · 14 hours ago

Text

I LOVE YOU THE BEST! in which some of the NRC boys don’t even try to hide their affections for you…

Kalim Al-Asim! Who was seen with you more often than not, happily chatting away with the object of his adoration - you - ever since he found out he like-liked you.(from Lilia, no less, after he’d spent half of the time in the pop music club talking about you, it was about time someone helped the poor boy figure out his feelings) Showering you with everything you laid your eyes from, whether it be a drink from the Monstro Lounge, or a pretty bracelet from the boutique not too far from Night Raven - a sweet gesture, at first, until he tried to buy and gift you a restaurant you seemed particularly fond of, then you had to get him to stop(nevermind how your voice softened considerably when he seemed to deflate, mumbling apologies under his breath, eyes glassy and wet - you could never stay mad at him for too long). Inviting you over to sleepovers at Scarabia so often that you practically lived in his room now, in that disgustingly newlywed kind of way, with a bed the two of you shared(and made every morning, together) and makeup palettes that he insisted you could use(much to Jamil’s chagrin). Hand in yours for most of the day, if he could help it, dragging you back and forth campus, always citing the same reason - ‘Oh, this looks fun, wanna go together?’(nevermind how his heart stuttered in his chest at the last word, how the idea of the two of you being together made him feel so giggly that he’d accidentally made Jamil concerned when he heard him laughing to himself while studying). Finally blurting out his very apparent feelings for you on a magic carpet ride - “I like you a lot - your eyes, your smile, your hands… and I think you’re really so so pretty and sweet and nice and -“ almost sending the carpet crashing down when you said you liked him too, crash landing into one of Scarbia’s many sand dunes with a smile brighter than the sun’s, gleefully peppering kisses everywhere but your lips, cheeks hurting for smiling so damn much - you’d gladly return the favour to your dear boyfriend, right? :))))

Ruggie Buuchi! Who you knew as your quiet seat mate in animal linguistics, and not the massive head-over-heels loser literally everyone else saw him as for you - it really was a mystery how you never noticed his pining stares from right next to you, the way his ears would perk up at the sound of your voice, how even just a tiny bit of skinship had him so pink one would think he was about to steal Riddle’s brand ://// Oblivious, oblivious you who didn’t even notice the fact that Ruggie, the guy who stole from other’s pockets and lunch trays, offered you a piece of his lunch every single time(sliding riiiiight next to you, body brushing against yours in that electrifying way that made his body feel alight with nerves - the good ones, of course ;) ) Coincidentally getting a part-job at the Mystery Shop the minute he learnt you were a regular there, so obviously giving you priority over the other customers, heart leaping in his chest like an idiot when you thanked him for helping you pick out the best deal for detergent, going unusually silent when you patted him on the head for it(pleasepleaseplease do it again he’d gladly do all your laundry for the rest of your life just run your fingers through his hair again like that :))) )

Riddle Rosehearts! Who everyone knew had the biggest, fattest crush on you, but were mostly too scared of getting beheaded to actually tell your dense self, leading you to know Riddle as not Heartslabyul’s teapot-tyrant but as the blushy, permanently red-faced second-year that tutored you in practical magic - which sucked for the both of you, because your darling tutor most certainly wasn’t ready to ask you out anytime soon, much less be your beloved,,,,,,, sigh, if only you could pick up on context clues and just court him already :’(( Face flushing his signature shade of rose-red when you offered to feed him a slice of his favourite strawberry tart at the Unbirthday party he’d invited you to(‘concidentally’ getting to sit right next to him, citing some obscure Queen of Hearts rule, ignoring the loud snickers from Cater and Ace from opposite the two of you), going uncharacteristically silent for a moment before clearing his throat - “Well, as host, it would be rude for me to refuse.” (Wouldn’t you do it again? For the rest of your life together, of course <3333 )

Idia Shroud! Who couldn’t help but melt into a puddle of goo under the immense pressure of even a tiny fraction of your attention :((((( Mind blue-screening immediately when you waved at him that one time, mind so busy trying to get his hand to work and wave back, that he accidentally slammed his forehead into a wall. In front of you. The tips of his usually blue hair now burning a bright pink(a sight you’d long become used to, as the Ignihyde housewarden seemed unable to talk to you without his face and hair becoming pink), because NO NO NOT NOW WHY NOW?!?! Holding his stinging face in his hands as he prayed to the Seven that maybe there had been a very interesting bug on the floor when he fell that you would have looked at in favour of instead of him, but alas - his desperate pleas had gone unanswered, clearly, as you were now in front of him, holding his face in your warm and soft hands,,,,, getting brought to the infirmary and panicking even more because you weren’t leaving his bedside(a trope he’d adored in anime, but he was nowhere as cool as the main lead to pull off), and you insisted on staying until Ortho came. Which would take a while, because he may or may not have installed a tracking device in Ortho’s system to alert Ortho to get those normies to go away when he was alone with you… and now his master plan to sweep you off your feet had failed miserably, leaving the both of you to ugh, communicate. Hey, just a suggestion, but wouldn’t you speed up this process by kissing his injured face silly? :)

BONUS:

Malleus Draconia! Who looked at you like you hung all the stars in the sky when you joined the Gargoyle club, pale face tinting pink when you insisted he continue talking about gargoyles when he’d stopped himself mid-sentence, thinking he was boring his only club member. You… really were a kind person, weren’t you? :))

Floyd Leech! Who everyone thought you were already dating due to the mass amount of times you two were seen hugging, though most never failed to notice the way Floyd was with you versus anyone else, hands gentler, softer. Oya? You really were his absolute favourite person to squish, y’know? <333

Cater Diamond! who spent more time than necessary stalking all your social media accounts, memorising all your likes and dislikes, for ‘funsies',,, yeah, he was fooling absolutely no one, especially with the way he grinned when your eyes brightened after he’d bought matching keychains for the both you of your favourite character - “How’d you know?” “Lucky guess.” ;))))

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binmeister · 1 day ago

Note

COULD YOU WRITE A PART 2 TO YOUR TOXIC SAJA BOYS POST?? I NEED TO SEE THEM GENUINELY TWEAK OUT (ohhh esp Baby and Mystery) AFTER LOSING THE READER, MEANWHILE READER IS JUST LIVING HER HAPPY, SINGLE LIFE (without them being in her life whatsoever anymore)🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

Toxic - aftermath

Saja boys x Reader (Separate)

This one took me a bit longer cause I wasn’t too sure how I wanted to approach it tbh, there are several ways to end it but these are a couple of the ones that I could see happening im not super satisfied but I think I captured what I wanted

Straying from the “reader is thriving” in most of them bc i just wanna focus on how guys felt and highkey believe the reader is taking their time to heal

Continuation from Toxic - some potential make up, some crash outs, please read either part with caution to be safe

CW: May contain dark / mature themes (heavy on the may) - may still he heart breaking may not be - not properly proofread

Jinu

He’d contacted you a couple times after you broke up with him, checking in to see how you’ve been and asking if you’d maybe want to hang out sometime - as friends. You’d given him half hearted responses which gave him hope but then you’d reject his offer to hang out, reminding him in text that it’s better you two don’t meet for a while. Not until the hurt has healed. He says he understands, wants to respect your space even though it contradicts what he actually wants.

He’s on a walk, trying to enjoy the peace of the quiet night but it’s hard when he recounts when he’d be out on these walks with you. Thinking about the first time you confessed to him in the spot he stood now, trying to stammer through your confession as you told him that you understood if he wasn’t interested because you’d be willing to wait for the chance if he ever would be interested. He’s clutching his head at this point as he hears Gwi-Ma’s distorted voice mocking him, telling him he was a fool for believing anyone could love him.

Then Gwi-Ma ups his game and uses your voice against him. Calling him trash, useless, pathetic because you couldn’t love someone like him. A selfish bastard that only cared about himself. He’s keeled over on his knees at this point, hands moving from his head to his chest as he wheezes and tears can’t stop falling from his face as he feels the sear of his patterns surface and he can’t take it. Letting himself crumble completely as he cries out - being forced to feel all the heartache that he’d been pushing off in his hopes that you’d take him back, that you’d love him still because you always did.

You always accepted his flaws even when he pushed you away, you’d give him space and then when he was ready he’d go back to your open arms. You always accepted him back. He just wanted to hear your voice for a second, the only interactions you’d had were through text and it wasn’t helping his mental state. Just once could you say his name again? Lie to him and tell him you loved him?

“Jinu?”

His head cleared, everything that had been screaming and fighting inside disappeared when he felt warm arms wrap around his crumpled form and he froze. He smelt the familiar perfume you wore, the texture of this specific hoodie that you’d stolen from one day because you’d complained you were cold. Neither of you spoke as you held him in your arms, let him continue to cry as his laboured breaths filled the silence and then finally you feel his arms come up and wrap around you in exchange. Gentle, like if he squeezed too tight you’d disappear then and there.

The words were on your tongue, instinctive as you wanted to tell him that you loved him but you bit them back. You couldn’t do that to him again, to yourself. But you stayed until his breathing had calmed down, tears no longer flowing down his face and his patterns had steadily faded as you both held the embrace. When you felt he’d calmed down enough you break the hug and he lets you, even though his mind tells him to hold you tighter so you’d know he still loves you. You don’t smile at him as you lift your hand, wipe away some of his tears with the sleeves of your hoodie and there’s a silent agreement that now isn’t the right time to talk. That the wounds are still too fresh to have a healthy discussion.

So you leave him behind, leave him to pick up the pieces of himself that were left and he doesn’t stop you because you’d given him hope in that call of his name and the embrace you shared.

Abs / Abby

He doesn’t reach out to ask how you are, not for a couple of weeks as he tries his best to learn more about what he did wrong or maybe what he could’ve done better. About why he couldn’t understand you, why you felt like you were vile and then he thinks about all the times you’d peel away from him when he’d offered affection - complaint on your tongue about feeling gross and that he shouldn’t be subjected to your ‘gross body’.

You’d bumped into him when you were out and about and he’s surprised to see you, stares at you because you look healthier. You look happier. You’re flustered, stammering as he finally drops his hands that had steadied you after your collision. He listens to you ramble, the look of pure adoration in his eyes was hard to swallow but this time there’s a part of you that confirms that it’s genuine. That he did mean it when he said he loved you as you were.

“It’s good to see you.” He says sweetly, but you notice the way he hesitates on what he wanted to say. That he missed you. But he doesn’t want to put pressure on you and you can tell he’s changed a little in the time you spent apart.

“I’m.. I’m really sorry for y’know.” You apologised to him, unable to put the words together and you see him shrug a little as if to tell you it’s no big deal and you realise how careful he’s trying to be because he’s watching you closely now. Trying to read and understand you.

He’s shocked when you start crying, apologising through your tears and he pulls you into his arms as he can’t hold himself back any longer and gives you a tight squeeze as his lips press a kiss to the top of your head. Words of encouragement as he admits he missed you but didn’t want to bother you in case you weren’t ready to talk to him. He gets it now that you didn’t break up with him because he did something wrong, you had just felt like you weren’t enough for him so you wanted the space to fix and heal yourself because you were scared you’d bring him down with you.

He’s sure of the fact that he understands you a little better now, so maybe you could try again?

Mystery

He was quiet, he always was but this time it felt lethal. It’d been days since you broke up with him over text and he stares blankly at his phone each day, praying that maybe you’ll send another message to tell him it was a joke. Some twisted little lie that you were put up to do. He can’t bring himself to send a reply, each time he tries to type something he ends up deleting the message and locking his phone again.

It takes him another day before finally he calls you instead of sending a text, waiting for you to pick up because something inside him knows that you will. But you don’t and that shatters his pride as he feels that familiar sense of anguish wash back over him, he tries to leave a voice memo but no sound comes out of his mouth and he lets the call die. Feelings he had forgotten briefly during his time spent with you now heavy on his body as his jaw drops as if to scream but again no sound comes out.

It makes him even angrier as he tries to suppress the rage building in him, knows he’ll break something and he doesn’t want to do that. Doesn’t want that part of him to win because he knows you wouldn’t want that, that you liked him when he was gentle.

He’s shaking barely managing to calm himself down enough to not want to destroy anything, hugging himself and trying to mimic the way you’d rub your hands against him to help relax him when you’d notice he was stressed out. It comforted him slightly but he felt cold, he questioned himself on why he couldn’t speak to you even though you’d asked him so many times and he couldn’t find a reasonable answer.

He’s exhausted as he finally picks up his phone again, fingers shaking as he types you a message, asking if you could meet up and talk if you could spare him the time.

He’s left on delivered.

Romance

Drowns himself in the touch of others, coercing fans to meet him as he takes what he needs from them and discards them after he’s had what little fun he can muster. But it’s empty. Meaningless. He feels disgusted afterwards but he keeps doing it because he needs to convince himself that you needed him more than he needed you. It’d been months of this at this rate, he’d been berated by the others to stop bringing people back to their place so he’s resorted to one night stands scattered around the city - not caring about the scandals that came from it when some fans catch onto what he’s doing.

He indulges in his demonic half, occasionally one of his one night stands becomes another missing person poster and that still doesn’t do it for him. He wants you back as he pictures his next temporary escape from reality to be you instead, whispering sweet lies into their ear even though he wished it was you.

But then he sees you. The real you. You’re with your friends and you look happy, you’re laughing at some dumb joke they’re saying and he stops paying attention to whatever faceless nobody had been trying to get his attention.

His chest aches as he watches you leave, radiant as you ever could be and he quietly accepts that it’s really over.

That he needed you more than you ever needed him.

Baby

He’s barricaded himself in his room one day, the guys hearing the sound of thudding and crashing for hours before it’s silent again and Abby manages to break the lock so they can check in. They assess the damage in the room there’s shattered glass on the floor from when Baby had slammed his phone against the tv hanging on the wall, clothes scattered, books and broken pieces of furniture like a tornado had flown through the room. They finally spot him standing in the middle of all the mess, expression blank and eyes hollow as his demonic form releases - patterns glowing dangerously.

His head is full of violent thoughts, Gwi-Ma progressively upping the volume until he clutches at his skull and spews curses. At Gwi-Ma, at everyone that existed, at you. He thought you hadn’t mattered, that you were easily replaceable once you’d left and refused to contact him anymore. His phone haunts him whenever he instinctively searches up your username, tries to check what you’re doing and he even tries to check your shared games to check for your online status but you’ve unfriended him everywhere. He’d tried to replace you with other fans that were dying to have the crumbs of attention he’d feed them but it didn’t do anything, didn’t fill the space in his life and heart that you left behind as their touch felt vile to him and made his skin crawl.

He wants to hurt something, destroy something else because it feels like nothing matters anymore but then he can hear the soft sound of your voice in between all the screaming in his head telling him that he’s sweeter than he lets off and then he can hear your laugh. For the first time in his demonic existence he wants to cry, wants to scream and tear himself apart because it hurts not having you around. Hurts that you’re not here with him so he can hear you laugh at something stupid he says, hold his hand with your softer one or spend time with him by just being by his side.

There’s whispers in his head telling him he should feast, tear apart the stupid humans that didn’t deserve to live - deserved to be preyed on. But for once he’s distraught because he can’t fathom doing that anymore. His mind conjures images of you, the way you’d cried when you left him and he finally falls to his knees. He finally lets the tears he’s held back for centuries out and just cries, demonic cries echoing in his room as he feels the guys try to comfort him but they don’t know how to.

He hated that he understood now why you were hurting and he hates himself for taking you for granted. You were right about being better off without him, and he hated that he agreed with that statement now.

#kpop demon hunters x reader #saja boys x reader #kpdh x reader #jinu x reader #baby saja x reader #abs saja x reader #mystery x reader #romance x reader

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userluhna · 3 days ago

Text

࿔⋆ WARM ANYWAY

namgyu x f!reader

based on those requests

words: 3.9k

warnings: squid game season 3. changed small parts of the plot. english isn’t my first language. mention of drugs. death. squid game violence. complex relationship? mention of blood. angst. bit of comfort? no happy ending blame it on the request.

a/n: tried so hard not to make it cliché asf okay. genuinely curious what you think—because i’m not used to writing namgyu’s character and want to know if i need to change anything guys. not sure how i feel about this one tbh—

enjoy! :(

maybe namgyu was warm when you met him. warmer than anything around you right now. maybe he was warm because it was two summers from now, because it was so hot outside, because he handed you a glass of whatever he was serving and you felt his fingers brush yours as you grabbed it, you felt that he was warmer than the burning air.

because he called you by nicknames so quietly you almost missed it more than once when it was just the two of you, because namgyu always let you put your cold feet under his thighs while he sat across from you on the couch but would always say, “your fucking cold feet,” trying to pull them away just to mess with you but he’d leave them anyway, his hand casually brushing your ankle.

he was warm the way that when you fell asleep on his lap you didn’t feel like you needed a blanket but he always put one over you anyway.

because the first months of your relationship were hard. because doors slammed, because promises broke, because you found him once—just once—after a night where it was too much, shaking, fucking shaking, too hot while he said, “i’m so cold—“ and his lips trembled. you helped him drink water, vomit if he needed. you kneeled next to him in the bathroom. you held his hair. kissed his temple even though he told you to just let him be. “fucking let me, don’t be sweet on me.”

because he told you more than once, “just one last time, i swear—“ before going out and coming back to your apartment around 3 am red-eyed and seeing you half asleep on the couch. “fuck gyu—you can’t just—“ you said that night, crying, and he was too high to fix it.

because it took him months of your silence after that night to realize that maybe—just maybe if he lost you he would lose too much. so he tried. fucking tried to be clean. he wasn’t the kind to ask for help, but maybe this time he did.

because when he knocked on your door months later he looked clean. because maybe you saw it in the way he looked at you. because months after, you felt him lighter, but still warm. so warm.

because namgyu let you sleep at his apartment as long as you needed when you didn’t have enough money to pay rent. because sometimes his eyes lingered on you when you felt anxious about finding a second job, when your leg wouldn’t stop shaking and he just—“you’re okay,” he said as his hand found your knee. “i’ve got you.”

because this time when you cried, he held you tight against him and just—“okay, stain my shirt with your tears—“ so he could hear you laugh, even if just a little.

because he was always touchy with you in private, his hands anywhere—on your waist, your hips, the small of your back, the back of your neck when he teased you, your jaw when he kissed you, your thigh when he needed you closer. because that’s how you knew he was always—always—warm.

and when you woke up the second day of those games you felt cold, like some warmth was missing. like someone was missing because you didn’t plan that. because you didn’t plan to lose your money after some fucking bet. because you didn’t want to be dependent on your boyfriend who was also struggling.

you had kissed him goodnight two days ago—maybe more, maybe less. you kissed slower than usual. and he did too, looking at you longer after it, like he was memorizing you.“don’t look at me like that,” he whispered.

“like what?” your eyes soft, his thumb brushing under your eyes. “like i’m gonna disappear.” you wanted to say, “you almost did.” you wanted to say you were scared, you wanted to say “please don’t.” but instead you kissed him again.

and you just lined up—for a second game or whatever was going on—you wanted to go home. you wanted to hug him even if he said, “yah, slow down,” but he would still hug you back.

they made teams, and you ended up with mostly men—only men. you don’t even know how you ended up there—the only thing you knew was that at some point, some moment, you saw namgyu. and god, oh my—you thought it wasn’t like that. that it wasn’t real—that maybe it was just someone who looked a bit too much like him because of where you were. it could be anything, right? anything to mess with you.

and he didn’t see you. not yet. maybe he did, but if he was high when he did, he wouldn’t even get it. and maybe it was later in the dormitory that you found him again—just there, just talking, just laughing, just—“gyu—“ is all you managed to spill out. and his face, oh his face, you could see the tiny flicker in his eyes, something between worry and not fully realizing what was happening.

“you know her?” the voice cut through—thanos, sitting there. and no one answered because how the fuck is he supposed to say yes when someone could just turn you against him?

and your eyes locked with his for longer than expected. and god, you fought tears so hard your eyes stung. his hand twitched and you saw it because he wanted to reach for you. to fucking feel your skin against his. to give you warmth because you were probably cold. because you were always cold.

but a vote was called—and maybe he voted to stay again and maybe after him, just after him, you voted to leave, your hand reaching for the X trembling. and that’s when maybe it hit him, because you weren’t supposed to be here. and you wanted to leave and he had voted to stay, and he couldn’t look at you. even when you searched his eyes, he couldn’t fucking find yours.

maybe you didn’t find him after—not until the next game, where you don’t even know how you made it through the whole thing. maybe he searched for you, maybe he didn’t. not until the number “two” was called. not until you felt the warmth grabbing your wrist, pulling you so fast it almost hurt. not until he put his whole body against the door when people tried to open it, back to it, facing you.

he didn’t ask if you were okay but you still nodded. his eyes, oh boy, his eyes—they were everywhere on you, every part of you, looking for something—blood, bruises—but the only thing he found was fear. he closed his eyes, his head going back to the door still holding it, saying nothing. you could see the way he swallowed, the way he shook a bit, the way he was sweating.

“baby—“ he called, slow, unsure.

“oh you don’t get to say that,” you spat. because “what the fuck gyu?” you said more to yourself than to him. because it wasn’t for him, it wasn’t for him getting high, it was for you, for him being here, for him having blood on him, it was for you wanting to leave, it was for him voting O.

the door clicked behind him, finally closing. and his whole body just started to relax. not fully, just enough that he didn’t have to put his whole weight on the door.

and his hands slowly, so slowly, reached up to cup your face. he looked at you in the eyes—directly into them.

“shit—what are you doing here?” he whispered, because if he yelled, if he spoke too loud, it would make it real.

“it’s not—“ he breathed out, eyes wide, hands now on your shoulders as he tried to steady himself. and he hugged you. and he was warm. because even like this, he knew. he fucking knew you weren’t supposed to be here. to be covered in half blood. to be standing there.

and maybe he was shaking, maybe he was sweating, maybe his hands weren’t firm on you like they usually were when they grabbed your body—maybe they were shaking. so he laughed, maybe a bit, between the tears he didn’t know where were falling, his head directed to the ceiling, hands on both sides of his head now. “aah fuck—fuck fuck fuck.”

“why are you here?” he scoffed. “why the hell are you here?”and before you could explain, before you could say anything, the doors opened with that soft click. thanos’s voice cut in once more—“namgyu my boy,” as thanos’s arm found namgyu’s shoulder.

“found someone to lock yourself with, huh?”

“shut up,” namgyu spat out, fingers brushing his lips. “what’s her name?” and maybe your lips parted, you were about to say something, you wouldn’t reach for him because you were with people. so many people.

“nah—“ he said. “you let her.”

his voice was firmer. because when it involved other people, namgyu lost his mind sometimes. he had lost his mind especially under drugs or alcohol.

like that one time a man murmured something in your ear a bit too close one night. you didn’t smile at what he said, but the man did. and namgyu found him after and almost kicked his teeth in, shouting: “she’s mine. not yours.“

“what’s her name?” thanos repeated, voice low. and namgyu’s face hardened. he didn’t answer. he never answered. maybe just once, when no one was around and you took the stairs down, he just—“you stay close,” he said, voice low, eyes fixed on you in that way you couldn’t ignore.

because he meant it. and maybe you lost him when everyone rushed out toward the bathrooms. maybe there was screaming. maybe the piggy bank dropped again, and it all started moving too fast. maybe—just maybe—he came back with blood on his shirt, smeared across his cheek, yelling something about an X attacking an O. and maybe all you could do was exhale, just once, shaky—because he was still alive.

still standing. still fucking here. and when you sat down at the edge of the bed, hands resting heavy on your knees, eyes distant—you breathed out, slow. trembling. cold.

namgyu tossed the cross behind him. that’s when he moved toward you. just a little. he sat down beside you—one leg bent, the other folded underneath, like always. and he looked at you. resting his head on his knee.

“he fucking died,” he said finally. “he always treated me like i was stupid.” but you heard it—the break in his voice, the way he swallowed like it hurt. the same way he did when you packed your things that april, two years ago.

“you think you’re better than me?” he’d shouted “go ahead. walk away. i don’t need saving.” and you had walked away.

until months later, when he knocked on your door. sober. or close to it. he’d done everything he could. but this time, you couldn’t walk away. you wouldn’t. so you offered your hand. palm up. resting between you both. not asking—just waiting. because you’d learned patience. learned it during those first months, when he’d show up at your apartment high and twitchy. you learned how to hold him through it. how to wait until the worst parts passed.

so you waited. maybe his fingers twitched. maybe he let out one of those soft, cynical laughs through his nose like—“why are you being sweet on me when i should be the one—” and maybe—just maybe—you felt his warmth for a moment, his fingers hovering just above yours. but he didn’t reach.

“are you okay?” the words sounded dumber out loud than they had in your head. they just… didn’t land. “you’re the one asking that?” he scoffed.

and maybe deep down he knew you always cared more about him than yourself. because you always did. even when he didn’t deserve it. even when he was careless with you.

his eyes didn’t meet yours—he kept fidgeting. rolling his ring around his finger. cracking his knuckles, over and over, even when they stopped making any sound. swaying slightly, front to back.

he flinched when your hand touched his sleeve. but you still said it—soft, more to yourself than to him: “we’re gonna be okay.” he nodded. too fast. once, twice—four times, like he couldn’t stop. biting his thumbnail until it bled. swallowing like his throat was dry.

“namgyu,” you said again, softer this time. “you’re gonna be okay.”

when lights out came, the flickering above never stopped. some girl shouted at you—said she’d slit your throat in your sleep. you snapped back before you even thought. and from across the room, he saw you—already covered in blood, not even knowing whose it was. definitely not his.

he grabbed you by the waist, yanked you out of the middle of it, holding you against his chest as he shoved you both into a dark corner. he didn’t speak right away. not until you pulled away. his thumb brushed behind your ear. wet. not dry. you shook your head before he could say anything. “it’s nothing. doesn’t hurt.”

“shut up. you’re literally bleeding.” he wiped it with his sleeve. then just looked at your face. for what felt like a whole minute. a flicker of fear behind his eyes. “don’t fucking die in there.” before the fourth game, you wandered the edge of the room trying to trade places with someone. tried to convince some of the red players—but no one wanted to be a target.

“come on,” you said to one. “you just have to find the exit.” your eyes flicked to namgyu—he looked lost. kept glancing down at the knife in his hand like he didn’t want it. or like he did want it.

somehow, you made it work. somehow, you ended up red. ended up with him. and even though you had to team up with 333, you stayed close the whole game. even when he spun the knife in his hand like it was a toy. even when he sang quietly under his breath. even when he threw his arm over your shoulders while walking.

“red suits you, baby,” he murmured, mouth too close to your cheek. “oh, fuck off, gyu.” and he laughed—one of those light ones. the kind he only had when he wasn’t scared.

at some point, he killed someone. myunggi did too. two stabs. two players. both passed. but the timer kept going. you hadn’t stabbed anyone. and he almost lost it. “why did you switch?” his voice cracked. “you’re so fucking good at hiding—why would you switch?” two minutes left and he crouched by a blue player slumped against the wall, knife resting near their cheek.

“sleeping so well,” he muttered. “namgyu—come on,” you called out, already moving toward him, myunggi beside you. and that was when it happened. the blue player grabbed the knife. he wasn’t dead. you’d been afraid of that.

namgyu stumbled back, hands up. “hey man,” he laughed, breath sharp. his back hit the wall. the player stepped forward, knife raised. “you don’t wanna do that—” it got violent fast. too fast. the blade was almost at his throat.

you didn’t think. stabbed him—shoulder, first. he screamed. you stabbed again—lower, through the ribs. left the knife there. he managed to turn, slashed across your leg—near the knee. “fucking bitch!” the man screamed.

“ah, man—” namgyu grabbed him by the collar, shoved him back against the wall. your knife—still in the man’s ribs—was pushed deeper as namgyu leaned in. blood gushed out of the man’s mouth.

namgyu smiled. his hands stayed tight on the collar. face inches from the dying man’s. “you don’t get to call her that,” he whispered, eyebrows raised. “understood?” and the man just collapsed. dead. your number was called. you passed. the timer ended. and namgyu stood there, breathing hard. his hands slowly raised to the top of his head.exhaled. slow.

at night it got harder. he’d lost the cross. slipped off somewhere—he was sweating too much, shaking too hard. you gave him your water bottle. you stayed close, even when he told you to leave him alone. even when he apologized. even when he warned you—they’re gonna target you because of me. even then. and when he broke, just a little—just enough—“don’t leave me,” he said, so quiet you almost missed it. and you didn’t. you stayed.

you kissed his forehead when he finally passed out. brushed the damp hair off his skin, wiped the sweat away with the edge of your vest. even when your knee was still bleeding, raw and swollen. even when he noticed and—wordless—took off his own vest to tie it around your leg. he murmured “fuck” under his breath, at least five times while he did it. tightening the knot. hands shaking. and you tried not to limp. tried to walk like the pain didn’t touch you.

when your vote was cast—you still chose X. even with everything. you still voted stay. and when namgyu voted, he picked to leave. fidgeting with his sleeves, pulling at the skin around his fingers. hands running again and again through his hair, like it could calm something. maybe your pinky brushed his. maybe no one saw. maybe it grounded him. maybe it didn’t.

and right before the fifth game started—before anyone crossed—he looked at your leg. at how you limped. and he just… laughed. nervous, thin laughter that didn’t belong in his throat. you laughed too, barely. through wet tears running down your cheeks.

“fuck, is that—” he didn’t finish the sentence. your knee was bleeding again. your foot barely touching the ground. he looked at you like he couldn’t breathe. like everything was caving in.

“it can’t just be like that—” the timer was counting down. people screamed. some had already fallen.

“you gotta try, okay?” his voice broke. “you fucking gotta try.” you smiled. barely. just enough to show him your teeth through the shaking. “it’s okay, baby.”

he shook his head, biting his nails. biting his lip until it split open. he tried to carry you—put your arm around his shoulders, tried to make you move, to jump. the rope was swinging. too fast. his hand trembled where it gripped your waist. “gyu—”

“don’t. don’t—please.” he didn’t look at you. but you felt the way his whole body shook. and then he made you jump. once. twice.

your landing was off. you stumbled—the rope came back too fast. he jumped. but he couldn’t get you to go again. your body slipped. his arms were tight around you just seconds before—and then you were just gone. shoved off in one clean hit. he didn’t scream. didn’t move. just froze. the same arms that held you like they’d never let go—stayed in place, like he hadn’t felt it happen. until the rope hit again. shoved him clean off. same direction. same fall.

maybe the last time you touched him, he was already cold. already trembling under your hands. and maybe—just maybe—right before you were pushed off, right before it ended, he kissed your temple. still holding you. still trying. and whispered—“didn’t know you could be this warm.”

masterlist

tag: @namgyucat @namsgyu @threerxcha @rohjaewonlvr

#squid game #squid game headcanons #squid game x reader #namgyu #nam gyu #nam guy x reader #namgyu x reader #player 124 #squid game season 3 #squid game season three #squid game season two

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miyasmagnolias · 3 days ago

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𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐭 ⏾ ࣪ ˖ ⊹

miya atsumu x f!reader

atsumu takes you on a date to the university night market. everything is perfect — until you run into the last two people he ever wanted you to meet.

part twelve of the in close quarters series, a friends-to-lovers college AU featuring you, atsumu, and the ten months you spend living together senior year.

"I can't — " you stammered, chopsticks clamoring onto your plate in defeat. "I can't eat another bite. I feel delirious right now."

Beside you, Atsumu folded another dumpling into his cheek like a squirrel. "Ya tappin’ out now? I thought ya wanted to get our picture up on the wall of fame!"

"Goddamn it. You're right," you growled, pointing at the poor eighteen year-old boy who had been serving you dim sum for the past hour. "How many more before we get our picture taken?"

"Uh..." The waiter quickly counted the empty plates scattered around your cramped table. "Between the two of you? Seven."

"That's not bad," Atsumu said behind a mouthful of pork.

"Not bad at all," you grumbled, picking up your chopsticks with a renewed sense of purpose. You wiped off the sweat that had formed on your brow and said, "So much for looking pretty on our first date."

"I dunno," Atsumu drawled, dividing the remainder of the dumplings between you — four for him, three for you. "Yer awfully cute when yer determined.”

"Hush and eat your dumplings," you snapped at him, uncapping the lid off a fresh cup of chili oil. "We're getting a cute Polaroid of us."

Atsumu had expected a couple of things to happen on your first date. One, he expected you to make him nervous (because when did you not). And two, he expected the atmosphere to lean somewhat romantic. After all, your university's annual night market was a prime spot for first dates — with all the string lights and food stalls and thousands of opportunities to feed each other. The tickets couldn't have gone on sale at a better time.

What he didn't expect was for you, in the middle of exploring, to find a dim sum stall who promised all parties who ate twenty-five dumplings a person a photo on their commemorative wall of fame.

"We have to do it," you deadpanned, staring at the collection of Polaroid photos tacked onto the back of their makeshift dining stall. "Think of how memorable it would be!"

Now, Atsumu felt less like he was on a romantic date with you and more like you were on an intense leg of The Amazing Race. Sweat sheening. Stomachs distending. Morale lowering by the second. In fact, as he shoveled another dumpling into his mouth, he half-expected Phil Keoghan to appear and tell them they'd been eliminated. The energy was that palpable.

But as you practically inhaled the chili oil up your nose, sending you into a half-coughing, half-laughing fit, Atsumu couldn't help but crack up. You looked adorable when you set your mind to something. And, if he were being honest, he'd had more fun on this date than all of his previous first dates combined.

Perhaps things were leaning more romantic. Just not the type of romantic he expected.

"Good job," the waiter said flatly after you both had finished the last of the dumplings. Stomachs full. Souls depleted. "Let me grab the Polaroid camera from my boss."

"You alive?" you asked Atsumu, slumped against him in the wooden booth you both shared. A low burp grumbled out of him in response.

"I feel pregnant," he murmured, brown eyes glazed over in delirium. "I hope it's a girl.”

You snorted, a hiccup escaping your lips. "What are you, a seahorse?"

The waiter returned not a moment later with the check and the Polaroid camera, Atsumu's hands sinking into the flesh of your hips as he hoisted you into his lap for the photo. You ended up taking two — one flashing peace signs at the camera for the wall of fame, and another, softer one as a keepsake for the two of you.

"Awe," you gushed, the image of Atsumu pressing a kiss to your cheek slowly developing under the warm lights of the food stall. Your heart swelled at his freshly cut hair, the baby blue button-down he'd rolled at the sleeves. "You look so handsome, Tsumu!"

"Oh, please," he drawled, watching as the polka dots on your blue mini dress grew more vibrant by the second. His breath had caught in his throat the moment you'd stepped out of your bedroom with it on. "Yer the real show stopper ‘ere.”

You tacked your Polaroid onto the wall while Atsumu paid the check, your hand easily slipping into his as you exited the stall and returned to the busy halls of the night market.

As nervous as you'd been to take things further with your roommate of eight months, you also felt a sense of overwhelming relief. After all, you'd spent the latter half of your senior year dancing around each other — sneaking in touches, dismissing flirtation with the flimsy excuse of we're-just-good-friends. It felt good to just act upon your attraction toward one another without restraint. It felt like the puzzle pieces of your relationship were finally falling into place.

"You in the mood for dessert?" you asked him, gesturing to the handful of food stalls selling an assortment of confections: ube soft serve, matcha cake rolls. Mango bingsu and mochi in every flavor you could imagine.

Atsumu let out a low whistle. "Maybe lemme walk this off first?”

Chuckling, you leaned into his side and said, "Fair enough."

Unsurprisingly, the conversation flowed just as easily as it had before. You talked about everything and anything as you wove in and out of the bustling crowd: Atsumu's most recent home game. The progress you'd made on your creative writing thesis. Your predictions for the latest episode of Love Island USA, which you had both planned to watch when you got home.

"Do they all need to make out with each other, though?" Atsumu bemoaned as you waited in line for a Filipino dessert stand that had caught your eye. "That's like, a mono outbreak waitin' to happen."

"But that's what makes it entertaining!" you argued, scanning the display case of ube crinkle cookies, buko pandan, and leche flan. "Nobody watches Love Island for the picture-perfect romance. That's what Norah Ephron is for."

"Still," Atsumu huffed, shaking his head. "Some people oughta be ashamed of themselves..."

He trailed off the moment he spotted them.

There, in the corner of his peripheral vision. He wasn't sure if his mind was playing tricks on him right now, or if the universe actually hated his guts.

Because there, standing at the cash register, was his ex-girlfriend.

And her boyfriend.

Who just so happened to be Atsumu's ex-best friend.

His face drained of color.

"Tsumu?" Akemi asked in disbelief, blinking up at the setter through her long lashes. Before he could even utter a response, her bony arm snaked around his shoulders and forced him into a hug. The smell of her perfume — pungent and floral — careened him into the biggest wave of déjà vu. "It's been so long! How are you?"

"Akemi," Atsumu breathed, gently setting his hands on her shoulders and peeling her off of him. Then, towards the young man that had drawn himself up beside her, "Terushima."

"Well, ain't this a reunion?" his former fraternity brother drawled, flinging his arm around Akemi with a smirk. "We were real worried about you for a sec! Thought you went off the grid."

Atsumu dug his fingernails into his palms, tried to restrain the anger steadily rising in his chest.

"Glad to see the two of ya still together," he managed cordially. They had the audacity to laugh.

"Oh, yeah. We're coming up on what — six months now?" Terushima said, stroking Akemi's hair. "Had to convince this one to finally commit to me. She's a real handful. Though I'm sure you of all people would know, right?"

The question sent a bolt of electricity down Atsumu's spine. He hated how casually Terushima had said it, too. Like they were just old friends catching up.

"Yūji. Stop teasing him," Akemi giggled. Her large, patronizing eyes snapped onto Atsumu's. "Anyways, how are things going? Are you still doing your little volleyball thing?"

"Yeah," Atsumu huffed, trying to swallow down the lump that had formed in his throat. "Yeah, somethin' like that."

She pursed her lips to one side and said, "I'm happy for you, Tsumu. Seriously. You always did enjoy volleyball way more than you enjoyed me." Then, running her long fingernails down Terushima's arm, "I'm just glad I found someone who left all that stuff back in high school."

Her words sounded sweet, but they pierced him between the ribs and twisted, threatening to split him in half. Memories he'd long since withheld came boiling back up to the surface — him, shouting at Akemi down the hallway of the fraternity house. Akemi, throwing her phone at his face. Terushima, throwing Akemi over his shoulder before she could cause any more collateral damage.

Their entire dynamic had been toxic, tiring. Atsumu hadn't been entirely surprised when he found them together at their end-of-year fraternity party. And yet, seeing Terushima on top of her made something in him splinter beyond repair. Told Atsumu everything he suspected of himself and more.

Ya ain't enough. Never have been. Never will be.

The reminder was enough to make his throat close.

"Hey," you said casually, resting your hand on Atsumu's shoulder as you approached. The warmth of your palm jolted him out of his trance, pushed through his icy demeanor like a flower in early spring. "You okay?"

His brown eyes gleamed with an apology he didn't quite know how to voice. Before him, his ex-girlfriend's lips parted in surprise.

"Oh! Are you on a date? She's so cute!" Akemi gushed, leaning forwards like she wanted to pet you. "I'm Akemi, by the way. Atsumu and I used to date."

"Yes, I know who you are," you said, your expression calm. Neutral. You knew Atsumu's history with these people, had thought about it more times than you cared to admit. But actually seeing them in the flesh made something in you shift. Sharpen.

"Well, hopefully he's learned a thing or two since dating me," Akemi drawled, staring at you in what you could only describe as pity. "From one girl to another? Don't provoke him. We used to bitch at each other all the time — it was horrendous."

Careful, now, you thought. Partly to her. Mainly to yourself.

"Really? He isn't like that with me at all."

You could've sworn Akemi flinched.

"...I see," she hummed, schooling her expression. "Well, it's only a matter of time before he shows you his true self."

Furrowing your brow innocently, you said, "Well, maybe he didn't show you his 'true self' because you were too busy fucking his best friend."

Beside you, Atsumu nearly choked. Akemi blanched. Terushima cleared his throat and adjusted his collar.

"Sorry. I don't mean to be crass," you told her. Eyes empty. Tone flat. "But I don't take advice from people with bad character.”

And with that, you took Atsumu's hand and walked in the opposite direction.

"...what assholes," you murmured under your breath, shooting him a displeasured look. "You put up with that shit?"

Atsumu gulped back, unable to find the right words to say. His heart hadn't stoped hammering in his ears.

The sun had long since dipped past the horizon by the time you had escaped the crowd, the two of you now sitting on a bench just outside the night market. Bands of college students, families, and local food enthusiasts buzzed in the background as you unwrapped one of the ube crinkle cookies you'd managed to pay for before all hell broke loose. You tore off a piece and held it out to Atsumu. He popped it into his mouth without a word.

You'd never seen someone eat a cookie more seriously.

"Tsumu," you drawled, brushing the powdered sugar off your fingertips.

"Yeah," he clipped, his tone flat. Dismissive.

"Your face."

"What about it?"

"You look constipated."

A muscle in his jaw ticked. "I dunno. Maybe it's the dumplin’s.”

"Sure," you chuckled. You folded the plastic wrapping of the cookie and gingerly slid it back into your purse. "Do you wanna talk about it? You know, how the dumplings made you feel?"

"Not really," he mumbled, folding his arms across his chest. Then, after an excruciatingly long minute, "I just think it's funny how they think they can talk to me like that, ya know? Like they didn't totally stab me in the back."

"I know."

"And you. God — " He ran a hand over his face. "I didn't know ya had that in ya! I mean, I was mad. But you...you were irate."

"Irate," you breathed, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. "You did today's Wordle, didn't you?"

"It was a good word!” he exclaimed. He pinched the inner corners of his eyes and sighed, his anger morphing into something softer. More vulnerable. "Ya know, that lil’ stunt ya pulled back there? That was...the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

Your heart splintered at his confession. "Really?"

Atsumu winced. "Kinda a low bar, ain't it?"

"A little — but that's okay!" you insisted as Atsumu hid his face in his hands and groaned. You reached out and pried his hands away from his embarrassed expression. "What matters most to me is that you're okay."

"Yeah," Atsumu reassured you with a nod. He pulled your hands into his lap and gave them a gentle squeeze. "Yeah, I am. Just...weird runnin' into them after so long, ya know?"

"Yeah, I get it,” you said. "Probably doesn't help that it was on our first date, either."

"Just my luck, eh?" Atsumu scrubbed his hair out and laughed miserably. "Argh — I'm sorry. I had this whole plan! Tonight was supposed to be fun, not…traumatizin'."

“Well, for what it's worth, I had a lot of fun going off on your ex."

"Yeah, honestly? That was pretty fun to see,” he said. A comfortable silence washed over the both of you, filled only by the sound of distant laughter and buzzing cicadas.

"I'm not usually a confrontational person," you admitted after a while, running your thumb across the back of his hand. "But when I heard how they were talking to you, something in me just...snapped. I couldn't stand it."

He looked you in the eye at that moment, brown eyes gleaming with an emotion you couldn't quite place.

"Sometimes I think yer the only thing holdin' me together these days.”

You shook your head. "Tsumu..."

"I'm bein’ serious!" he said, turning to face you on the bench. "Y/N, I was so fuckin' pathetic before I met ya. Ya should've seen me the day I caught those two together.”

He could still remember the details of that night, if he reached far back enough. Him, volatile and drunk out of his mind. The Uber driver, kicking him out two blocks from Osamu and Suna's house. He was pretty sure he vomited into one of their house plants before they found him there on the front porch, angry tears streaking down his face. He looked pitiful. Heartbroken.

That day used to hurt whenever he thought about it. Now, it just felt like scar tissue. Still tender, but not nearly as painful.

You gazed at him with a gentle look in your eye and murmured, "Well...I'm here now."

Atsumu's throat bobbed as he looked down at your joined hands. A small smirk flickered onto his lips.

"Yeah. What took ya so long?"

"Excuse me?" you guffawed, nudging him in the shoulder. "I wasn't the one doing keg stands with the worst people on Earth."

"One, ouch," he said, shooting you an offended glare. "Two, fraternities aren't that bad. Ya know, minus all the hazing and infidelity."

You rolled your eyes, though a laugh rumbled out of you. "People will do anything for belonging and a beer."

"Can't argue with ya there," he exhaled, his gaze affixed on the full moon casting white shadows across the campus pavement. "Can we go home and watch Love Island now? I've had enough real-life drama for today."

"Couldn't have said it better myself," you agreed, standing up from the bench and stretching your arms towards the night sky. "Oh, and Atsumu?"

"Hm?"

"If it makes you feel any better, I still had a great time tonight."

"Really?" he asked, a grin blooming across his face as he stood. You nodded.

"Yeah! I'd love to do it again sometime," you said, smiling up at him sweetly. Then, before you could stop yourself, "We can invite my ex-boyfriend while we're at it, too."

He buried his face into your shoulder and groaned. "Yer unbelievable, ya know that, right?"

Your laughter reverberated off the campus buildings as you flung your arms around each other and began the long walk home.

@miyasmagnolias, 2025

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moscatosin · 3 days ago

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🖤 virgin diaries - mattheo riddle. 🖤 virgin sex. slapping. rough. just a bit of fun really. pour whiskey into a teacup.

It isn’t a secret that you’re no stranger to the idea of desire coursing through your veins. Your body is like a goddamn fucking inferno; always burning, always craving more than you’ve ever dared to take. Oh so many nights spent alone with fingers relentless, teasing your dripping core, pinching your clit with a cruel edge, tugging at your nipples until you’re a writhing, cursing mess, humping a pillow like it’s your last lifeline because up until now, it has been.

You’ve read every filthy book, skimmed every dirty magazine, memorized every whispered rumour, and spun fantasies so dark inside your pretty little head that’d make most stoic blush. But knowing? Fuck, it’s a shadow compared to actually doing. You’re a virgin, sure; but not some delicate angel… more like a baby devil in waiting. Untouched by anyone else, which is exactly what drives Mattheo fucking insane the second he learns your not so dirty little secret.

The younger Riddle brother is well – for lack of better word choice… obsessed. Not with some fragile flower bullshit, but with you. Your razor-sharp tongue, your crude humour, the vicious streak you show from time to time that mirrors his own mess and chaos. The day you slid that perfectly folded note across the desk in potions class - ‘smile if you want to take my virginity’ scrawled in jagged ink and your ever so cursive loopy hand writing, fuck, Mattheo damn near lost it. Couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t function; just became obsessed with the idea of pinning you down, claiming you, wrecking you until you were his alone.

That’s how you’re here now, sprawled out on your bed in your dorm, the air thick with vanilla candles flickering for some half-assed ‘romance’ you don’t need. Your dorm obviously and not his – a girl needs to keep some kind of control over the situation. Mattheo’s torn between wanting to savour you like some delicious dessert he’ll only ever have one chance at tasting and wanting to break you. His cocks tip nudges your entrance, warm and heavy as he expects you to squirm, to blush like some shy little thing. But you? Fuck that. You lock eyes with him, pupils blown wide with raw want, your matching red lace bra and panty set screaming you had planned for this all along.

“C’mon, Riddle,” you rasp, voice dripping with a challenge, breathy but not fake. Like some kind of shit you’d read on one of your romance fantasy novels that a female lead would sound like. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Yep, that does it. A growl tears from the back of his throat, low and feral, vibrating against your skin as your fingers graze his chest, ever so teasing, ever so testing. He feels amazing on the outside, just fucking imagine once he’s in. Ugh, yep – there it goes… he pushes in. Slow at first, the stretch so fucking intense you can’t help but gasp; lips parting as a shameless moan spills out loud and unashamed. Your back arches a few inches off the bed, body chasing his, the sting of him filling your tight, untouched core like a drug you didn’t know you needed. It’s everything you’ve ever fantasized about, no fuck it… it’s better, rawer. Yet it’s not enough. Let’s be honest, you’re greedy, clawing at the silk sheets beneath you, nails nearly shredding them as you reach up and grab his chin, voice cracking

“Mattheo. Baby. I’m not some breakable delicate doll. Fuck me like you mean it.”

His eyes flash, dark as sin and he doesn’t hesitate. Oh it’s surreal. His thrusts turn brutal, deep. The bedframe groaning under the force and weight of you both. You melt into a mess; eyes rolling back almost painfully, hair plastered to your sweat slick cheeks, thighs drenched as you squirt, body shaking with the raw intensity you haven’t had the pleasure of experiencing. It’s a thousand times filthier and more intense than your fingers ever have managed. Head tilting back to sink into the pillows; you bare your throat and Mattheo takes the invite without having to consider, his teeth grazing, biting; his lips sucking hard enough to bruise pretty plumes of red, purple and blue. His kisses climb to your mouth and with one deep thrust, burying inside of you, he spits into your mouth before smirking, daring you. You swallow with no hesitation whatsoever, biting your lip as his hips snap harder.

Sweat beads on his forehead. Mattheo’s body caging you in over the bed. One hand braced by your head, his other dragging rough down your cheek. The gesture is almost sweet but not quite. You wrap your legs around his waist, glancing up with the innocent eyes of a wounded doe although you know, Mattheo won’t see through the act you’re portraying poorly.

“What, this all you got? Should I have fucked your brother instead Matty?”

That snaps something in him. His hand cracks across your cheek with a snap, the sting shooting straight to your core. You clench around him, cumming so hard your vision whites, slick coating Mattheo’s cock as your walls grip; milking him dry. He groans, hips faltering as your orgasm drags him down with you, his release overflowing hot and thick it wets the sheets as well as painting down your legs. His body; it fucking trembles above you as he rides the pleasure out.

In the end, you expect smugness or maybe a taunt; but Mattheo just catches his breath, collapsing beside you on the bed with a grin, taking a moment to gain control over himself before raking a hand through his damp curls. Ugh – cute. Glancing over, your eyes meet. Both yours and his glistening with a shimmering shade of trouble. Your fingers creep along the sheets to find his before lacing them together. The gesture isn’t soft, not romantic; just - real.

“Round two, Riddle?” it almost sounds like you purr out the question, voice sugar laced with a candy like venom. The whole package sealed with a wink. He scoffs, the sound dark and hungry as one of his arms wraps around your hip, your back; yanking you on top of him to straddle his hips. Before you know how, his fingers glide up your back, twisting into the back of your hair as he tears you down toward him with a single yank to growl ever so seductively in your ear.

“Oh, princess, you are gonna wish you hadn’t said that.”

unedited. i'm so sorry - i just needed to get the idea out of my head. a special thanks to @riddlemelater, @ur-local-wizard and @juliet-017 for threatening to throw rocks at me unless i wrote. it helped <3 i promise xo

#slytherin #moscatosin #hogwarts #hogwarts universe #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle smut #mattheoxreader #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x self insert #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x y/n #mattheo riddle oneshot

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eveningcherryblossoms · 7 hours ago

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It's A Beta Life, Not A Better Life | Part 5

A platonic yandere Batfam x neglected beta reader story

Dick knew your mother way before he knew you.

The first time he saw your mother he was ten, freshly presented as an omega, and extremely upset from not having his original pack with him and from having just squabbled with Bruce over remaining as Robin. Too dangerous, growled Bruce. At that time, Dick had hated presenting as an omega.

Then he saw your mother, so beautiful and captivating and unmistakably omega, and he instantly knew that he wanted to be like her someday. It was almost a crush, which was funny–Dick had always hated the 'high-class' omegas who fluttered around Bruce at galas, especially the ones who tried to act motherly towards him in order to lure Bruce. Yet when it came to your mother he wanted so badly to be pack with her, to learn how to be a strong and beautiful omega from her. When your mother herself finally approached Bruce, Dick did a quadruple flip from one chandelier to another.

When Bruce later pulled him aside and told him that it was just to be a contract relationship, to be dissolved within three years once Bruce could adopt Dick–apparently that was her offer of aid, to be exchanged for her share of her natal pack's inheritance that was in the form of a dowry–Dick was upset beyond belief. Not even knowing that Bruce would do his best to court your mother comforted him.

Good thing he didn't hope anyway. Bruce failed. Your mother sweetly, cruelly kissed Dick on the forehead and left without a backward glance the day after Dick's thirteenth birthday.

He hid in the nest for days.

That should've been the end of things. Dick did allow himself to dream from time to time of your mother returning, penitent for having left yet as captivating as always, but that was that. Then six years later he went home after a long mission and saw you.

He... Goodness, it was embarrassing how out of control his scent was upon learning about your existence. You, the actual biological child of your mother, who apparently had just died. And you didn't even take after your mother in appearance!

Dick didn't mean to be unkind to you, but it hurt so bad to know your mother had you with Bruce, his and your father, then walked away from him and Bruce to raise you herself. To claim you and you alone as her pack. For a fraction of a second, Dick could've cheerfully committed fratricide.

Thank goodness you were nothing like your mother. Just a normal kid, a good kid who didn't throw tantrums or cry or bother anyone for their attention. It literally took Dick years before he could think of you without overflowing bitter envy. But it was all good now!

Better yet, you had presented as an omega just like him! Dick could immediately tell from your scent patches and turtleneck and those hints of your omega mother's features he now spotted in you. He could help you build your first nest and teach you to use your innate omegan charm, as your mother had taught him.

Yes, yes, once he was done with this mission, he'd bond with you just like how he'd hoped to bond with your mother. It was so nice having another omega in the pack.

Though it'd be even nicer if Reader was a beta, Dick mused. Your mother might've been the most wonderful omega Dick had ever met and you might've been her biological omega child Dick would look after for her sake, but with the pack being... like this, it would've been much better for everyone if you were a beta.

For everyone but you. After all, in Dick's mind, it was never about you.

You ticked off one month with grim satisfaction.

It would've been so easy to feel complacent. To wave off everyone's neglect of you and not take care to hide, with the reason–excuse–that they wouldn't have noticed anything anyway. Had you done so, it would've been game over by literally the first day.

Luckily you had been careful, so you hadn't been caught–not by the Waynes or by any other pack.

You were still free and, fate willing or not, with luck or not, you were resolved to stay so till the end.

It had been a whole month since you presented, but to be honest it didn't feel like it. You were so busy looking up everything about betas, figuring out how to cover up the tracks of your research, actually covering up the tracks of your research, learning to control your beta scent and instinct, refining your acting, and improving your physical skills in (the hopefully not inevitable) case you would have to fight off or run away from a pack.

It was exhausting. It was draining. It was... surprisingly, exhilarating.

You felt the corner of your lips twitching.

No good, no good. This wasn't some game, you ought to take this seriously... But you did, didn't you? It didn't change the fact that you found it exhilarating to do what you were doing now.

You firmly told yourself to maintain self-control and vigilance. Only one month had passed, you still had twenty-three left to go through before you could leave.

Still the dangerous, hazardous little thought persisted–

That you could get used to this thrill.

A/N: I'm on a roll guys 🤟😎 Actually in my original outline the whole Batfam's pov was supposed to take one (1) chapter, but I didn't wanna write 3k+ words in one day again so I decided to keep it to Bruce. Then Dick just insisted to be written aaand guess we'll see everyone else's pov in the next chapters 💕 Btw I was so pissed at Dick's even though I was the one who wrote him here 😭😂

My package is still lost :x Who took my manga omg...

P.S. Guys, if you wanna be tagged pls request it on the latest update okay... I think I saw a notif of taglist request on older parts but it confused me so I refrained from adding it. Sorry about that! 😔🙏

Taglist: @randomlyappearingartist @bellethesleepypotato @nirvanaxx1942 @tenswife @galaxypurplerose @shycreatorreview @cupid73 @time-shardz @mikusamsan @simpingpandas @kore-of-the-underworld @elmichi0 @mirabilis-polaris @farsketch @altumsomnum @hai-there-how-are-you @vanessa-boo @ashjade19 @yandere-enthusiast @a-lurking-fae @hyperfixatedcatlover @leeiasure @luckynemi @lowkeyjarrr @lunoorbonoor @deathbynarcisstick @tacendxx @staarflowerr @anonlikesfics @magical-panda2 @whognuthis @arwenyukiamoto @hon3ydewcaram3l @lilyalone @jazzyspaceghost @teabutnerdy @bunbunbread @darktrashpoetry @conqcakes @sleepdeprivedcrappywriter @unrelatedlily @ciatin @ratchetprime211

#platonic yandere #platonic yandere batfam #yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #yandere batfam x reader #x reader #x neglected reader #neglected reader #gender neutral reader #beta reader #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #betaverse #batman #dick grayson

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wendichester · 2 days ago

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𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 car buff²,

summary. dean had no clue you knew so much about cars. and oh boy, he's feeling it

pairing. dean winchester x autistic!reader genre. fluff

wordcount. 918

notes / warnings. mentions of autism and sensory overload (handled gently and respectfully), light cursing (dean being dean), flirting and soft romance, excessive sweetness — may cause smiling, swooning, or the sudden urge to kiss someone in a '67 Impala

ᯓ★ read part 1

The diner Dean picks is very Dean Winchester. Vinyl booths. Pie slices the size of your head. Neon sign that hums like a lullaby. The jukebox in the corner is older than both of you, and Dean picks a table in the back where you can see the Impala from the window.

She’s parked in the glow of the streetlight, all chrome and pride. You can't help but glance at her every few minutes. Like a kid sneaking peeks at their Christmas present.

Dean notices.

“Y’know,” he says, sipping his coffee, “I think Baby might like you more than she likes me. She’s never looked that smug.”

You smile around the edge of your milkshake. “I’d never take her from you. But I would ask to help with her tune-ups. Joint custody.”

Dean chuckles. “Alright, fair. As long as I get visitation rights on weekends.”

You’re still smiling, but the buzz in your brain is louder now. The diner’s not too crowded, but the flicker of the fluorescent above the counter is grating. The hum is high-pitched. Someone slams a glass down two tables over and it startles you just a little too much. You grip your straw tighter.

Dean clocks it. Not in a pitying way—more like a hunter spotting a shift in the wind. His voice goes a little quieter.

“You okay?”

You nod, but then shrug, because honesty’s easier than pretending.

“Just… kinda loud. Lights’re doing the thing. Not a meltdown or anything, just... a little much.”

Dean’s brow furrows, but not with discomfort. Concern, sure. But the good kind. The “tell me what you need so I can do it” kind.

“We can leave,” he offers immediately. “Or we could take it to-go. I know a spot where the Impala always looks good at night.”

You blink. “Are you… asking me to go look at your car under moonlight?”

Dean leans back, smirking. “Maybe.”

You snort. “God, you're such a gearhead.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

You slide your milkshake across the table toward him. “Only if you don’t share.”

Dean grins, and that’s that. You split the check, grab the pie to-go, and make your way back out into the night.

The “spot” he mentioned turns out to be a hill just outside of town. Gravel shoulder. Empty road. Crickets chirping like backup singers.

He parks with the nose of the Impala aimed right at the valley below, the glow of faraway lights blinking like stars. The sky above you is clear—deep navy, dotted in constellations you only half-remember the names of. The air smells like engine grease and pine trees and something sweeter you can't place until Dean opens the pie box.

“Apple,” he announces proudly. “No better nightcap.”

You sit on the bench seat, knees turned toward him, fingers sticky with pie crust and joy.

Dean leans back, elbow on the steering wheel, his other hand resting casually on the seat behind your shoulder. Not touching. Just there. Just available.

“You always like cars this much?” he asks, like he already knows the answer.

You nod. “Before I could write, I was drawing V8 engines with crayons. I memorized the gear ratios of every ‘60s Chevy before I turned ten.”

Dean whistles. “That’s impressive. I was mostly just getting into trouble at ten.”

“I was getting suspended for correcting my science teacher about spark plug heat ranges.”

He laughs, but it’s soft. It’s fond. You look over to find him watching you, eyes warm.

There’s a pause. A moment heavy with something not uncomfortable. Something nice. You’re not sure what to do with it, but Dean seems okay just sitting in it.

Then, after a second, he says: “I like how you talk about things.”

You blink. “Things?”

“Things you care about. You light up. Makes it feel like the world’s got a little more color in it.” He shrugs. “Kinda makes me wanna find more stuff to light you up with.”

You stare at him.

He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “Sorry, that was maybe—too much—”

“No, it wasn’t.”

Your voice is soft. Real. And Dean turns to look at you again.

You point at the dash. “You know how Baby’s engine sounds different in third than it does in fourth?”

Dean blinks. “Yeah…”

“That’s how your voice just changed.”

He raises his eyebrows, curious. “Meaning?”

You smile. “You just downshifted. Got softer. That’s your ‘I’m being real’ voice.”

Dean watches you like he’s not used to being seen. Not like this. And you’re watching him like you’re already mapping out his mechanics in your head—like he’s a beautiful, complicated engine you want to understand.

He leans in then. Slow enough you can move away if you want. But you don’t. You tilt toward him just a hair, and the kiss is barely more than a press of lips—gentle, for a guy who probably fights monsters before breakfast.

When he pulls back, he smiles.

“Bench seat privilege,” he murmurs.

You grin. “Best date I’ve ever had.”

Dean nods, serious. “Same. Not even just ‘cause you knew the exact horsepower of my car.”

“You said that like it isn’t the sexiest thing someone could do.”

Dean laughs, head thrown back.

And maybe the stars burn a little brighter that night. Maybe the Impala catches the moonlight just right. Maybe two people sit there talking engines and life until it’s nearly dawn.

But either way— It’s already a love story.

It just keeps going with pie.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fic #supernatural #spn #.docx #d : car buff

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m-robinavitch · 3 days ago

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7 + robby x jack’s sibling

Trope Tuesday! Send an ask with a trope from this list with a character and I’ll make a shitty blurb for you!

Pairing: Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Abbot!Reader

Trope: Best friend’s sibling

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, age gap relationship

“You should just stay the night man, it’s late and you’ve had a few drinks,” Jack said- pointing to the couch, trying to convince his friend to stay over.

“Yeah Robby, it’ll make me feel better knowing you’re safe,” you smiled innocently. Robby only had those drinks to calm his nerves, because every time Jack left the room or turned- you were on him. Kissing his neck or jaw or stealing his breath from his lips. He tried shoving you off, not because he didn’t want you, no- Robby and you have been fucking behind your brother’s back for years.

You were, what Jack liked to dub as- the accident. You were born when Jack, was in his late teens. A complete mistake on your parent’s part- apparently vasectomies should be checked every year or two. Oh well. You loved your brother. His name was your first word, you crawled into his bed when you had nightmares, you scribbled letters to him while he was deployed overseas, you were the flower girl in his wedding with his late wife, yours was the bed he crawled in when she died because he couldn’t sleep alone and needed to cry- and you never judged him for it.

Only, some years after he became an attending in Pittsburgh- he brought along a tall, attractive man one Christmas. You were home from college and instantly you were enamored with Robby. Jack thought it was cute at first- the way you took up Robby’s time and attention that first time you met. Asking him about being an ER doctor “I’m an ER doctor too? You never care about my experience?” “Jackie I’ve heard enough from you- go help mom in the kitchen” And about places he travelled to. “I was literally deployed all over the map” “This isn’t about you right now Jack” And maybe before he left you worked up the courage that only a delusional girl could have- you kissed him. You and Robby were the last ones awake and he and Jack and your sister in law were leaving in the morning so you kissed him. And he let himself kiss back for a moment- just a second before he realized how wrong it was. You were his best friend’s sister- the forbidden fruit. That didn’t stop the way he let you crawl into his lap and continue kissing him.

The next time was when you went to visit Jack and your sister in law that summer after the Christmas kiss. Jack was working mornings with Robby in the Pitt, and you had spent the day exploring the city by yourself before you made your way to the hospital to go home with your brother. Only he got more busy and-

“Robby can take you home- he’s already done for the day,” instant heart eyes- Robby could feel himself stuck between a rock and a hard place- also know as his dick because he’s been thinking about you since Christmas. He wanted to disagree but then there would be questions as to why so there you sat in some parking garage- straddling Robby in the driver’s seat while kissing along his neck. This was so wrong. So fucking wrong but you grind into him and-

The next time was when you came into town for a few days to explore job opportunities with some college friends. Jack and your sister in law made the guest room up for you but you insisted on spending the time with your friends in a hotel like young adults do. Only you lied to both your family and your friends. You spent those days in Robby’s bed for the first time- learning exactly what sex should be like with someone who cared about you.

And now you’re here, years later- visiting your brother for the weekend because you honestly missed him. And like he always does when you’re here- he invites Robby for dinner. And after everyone says good night you wait an hour or two, practically vibrating in your skin because once you know Jack’s asleep- you all but run to the living room. Robby’s awake. He always waits up for you. Hungrily kisses you while pulling you into his lap- throwing whatever thin shirt you wore to bed to the floor so he can kiss along your chest like he’s come to know you enjoy.

“Missed you so much sweetheart-” his earlier frustrations with you were gone- taken over by hunger and desire now. “Been thinking about this all fucking month-“ since you told Robby you were coming for a visit he’s been eagerly waiting. And as he groans just a little too loud when you sink down onto him- you cover his mouth with your palm while you set a fast pace on his lap. No matter how many times you’ve done this with Robby- it was always a stretch. Always made you tense and whine at the feeling. One day you’ll tell your brother that his best friend has been fucking his sister- just not this time.

#trope tuesday #lexi answers life’s questions #michael robby robinavitch x reader #michael robinavitch #michael robby robinavitch #Michael Robby Robinavitch x you #michael robby robinavitch fanfic #robby robinavitch #robby robinavitch x reader #robby robinavitch x you #dr robby #dr robby x reader #dr robinavitch #dr robby x you #my random typings

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heliosunny · 1 day ago

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Drop an Argenti Lucky Egg (or literally any new Lucky Egg) and my life is yooouuurs

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Argenti x Reader

No one really knew where the Lucky Egg Dispenser came from. One day, it just showed up. People thought it was a prank at first. But then someone pressed the button. Out came a warm golden egg. Three days later, it hatched into a creature that sang songs only she could understand. After that, more people tried it.

But then something changed.

Someone pressed the button and got an egg. It was soft white, with a rose-colored pattern spiraling around the shell. It didn’t feel warm like the others. And when three days passed… it didn’t hatch.

Instead of discarding it, the family who received it decided to keep it. The Rosette Egg was placed in a glass case surrounded by real rose petals. It was passed down through the family. Every new head of the house would take care of it, but no one ever saw it crack, let alone hatch.

Now it’s your turn.

Y/N Valedrin, the new head of House Valedrin - one of the six royal families still holding power, young and talented. In this world, people drive flying cars, stream music and interact with the singer through a screen, but society still runs on names and bloodlines. Royal houses manage territories, resources, and laws like companies.

Your induction ceremony was short. And then, they brought it in.

The egg sat on a red velvet cushion. The same as always.

“The Rosette Egg,” one of the elders said, carefully handing it to you. “It’s yours now.”

You nodded and took it with both hands. It was lighter than you expected.

“...It’s warm” you said quietly.

“Are you sure?” another elder asked.

“I’m sure.” you said, holding it closer.

It happened early in the morning. The Rosette Egg, which had sat quietly on the shelf for over a century, began to glow. The rose patterns on its shell shimmered like liquid gold. You didn’t call anyone. You just watched, as fine cracks bloomed across its surface.

Then, with a soft pop, the shell split. And there, kneeling amid the broken shell and petals, was a man.

Tall, graceful, long red hair clung to his shoulders, his armor catching the early sunlight. He looked like he had stepped out of a painting.

His green eyes locked onto yours.

"You must be Y/N. I’ve waited a long time."

“You… know my name?”

He nodded. “Yes. That’s all I know.”

Before the hour passed, the elders had gathered in the halls outside your room. Other family members, distant cousins and advisors, peeked in, pretending to offer help.

“Argenti,” you repeated the name he told you. “That’s your name?”

He nodded, standing silently behind you as people talked.

“They're too young to handle him.”

“Is this even safe?”

“No one else could hatch it, and suddenly—just like that?”

“Maybe the egg was defective and took a form on its own.”

You held back a sigh. When you finally had a quiet moment, you stood up and faced them.

“I’ll be handling this on my own.” you said. “He’s part of my duty now. I don’t need interference.”

They didn’t like it. But they couldn’t say much, not with Argenti standing tall beside you. You caught how his presence made even the most arrogant advisors take a step back.

Later, you slipped back to your room and closed the door behind you.

Argenti stood by the window, looking out.

You sat on the edge of your bed and asked, “Do you really not remember anything else?”

He turned to you, “Only my name. Yours. And a strange feeling that I’ve been waiting.”

“Waiting for me?”

“Yes. I don’t know why, but I do know it’s right.”

You leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “Do you know how many people kept your egg before me? All of them ended up taking a second egg when nothing happened with yours.”

He didn’t look surprised.

“So… why me?” you asked. “Why now?”

“I don’t know. But I’m glad it was you.”

You stared at him quietly for a moment. Then you stood up and crossed your arms.

“Just so you know,” you said, “not everyone in this house is trustworthy. Some of them are ambitious, greedy, and they will use anything to climb higher.”

Argenti smiled faintly. “I understand.”

“You say that,” you replied, “but this isn’t just some storybook castle. They’ve ruined lives for less than what you are.”

He stepped closer, one hand over his chest.

“Then let them try,” he said. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You didn’t quite know what to say to that. So you sat down again.

“…Thanks.”

House Valedrin wasn’t known for warmth or unity, but it was respected. Among the six royal houses, it was the one trusted most when it came to health, recovery, and poisons.

Whether it was curing a fever, identifying a toxin from an assassination attempt, or preparing subtle herbal brews to “nudge” political decisions, Valedrin was involved. You were used to this. Argenti, however, was not.

“This way.” you said, walking slowly down the stone path.

The garden, located behind the main hall, was full of plants. Some were safe, most weren’t. Faintly glowing roots peeked through the soil. Strange flowers shifted their colors with the time of day.

“Don’t touch that one” you pointed as Argenti leaned toward a bell-shaped vine.

“It looks lovely.” he said, crouching slightly to observe the shimmer. “Delicate and elegant. Like it would sing in the wind.”

“It 'sings' when it senses warm blood” you replied, pulling him back by the wrist.

“...Ah.” He stood straight and brushed the dust from his gauntlet. “You live in a lovely garden.”

You glanced up at him. “You hatched in a glass box surrounded by petals. You’ll live.”

He let out a soft chuckle. “True.”

Despite how close everything seemed - greenhouses, halls, libraries, and labs - the Valedrin estate felt distant. Even members of the same family barely spoke unless required. Loyalty was directed to the house, not each other. It had always been that way.

But today wasn’t just another day of routines.

You led Argenti toward the outer courtyard just in time to welcome a guest. Waiting there was a man dressed in a dark uniform. A golden crest of wings and steel crossed his shoulder - House Rastoth, the strongest military house in the six.

He turned when he saw you. Tall, with cool gray eyes and neatly combed black hair.

“Y/N Valedrin,” he greeted with a nod, offering his hand. “A pleasure. I’m Kael Rastoth.”

You shook his hand. “Welcome to Valedrin.”

Kael smiled. “I was sent here to discuss supply routes and plant-based antidotes for our field units. I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Not at all,” you said. “I’ll have the report ready after tea.”

As you talked, Argenti stood behind you. He stayed silent, but you sensed the subtle shift in his expression. His eyes flicked between you and Kael. And when Kael smiled, Argenti stepped one inch closer to you.

“Is this your knight?” Kael asked, glancing at Argenti. “Quite the presence.”

“He’s… recently hatched.” you answered, unsure how else to put it.

Kael raised an eyebrow but didn’t question it. “Impressive.”

“Thank you.”

Kael stayed for tea and walked with you through part of the estate. You kept the conversation formal but you had to admit, Kael was striking, confident, smart, too. You noticed Argenti frowning at a flower for too long while Kael spoke.

It wasn’t until Kael stood to leave that Argenti finally spoke again.

“He’s dashing.” Argenti said, watching the man disappear down the path.

You turned to him. “You say that about everyone.”

“I say it when it’s true.” he replied with a thoughtful tone. “His posture, the way he spoke, even the way his coat buttons aligned—perfect. It’s rare to see such symmetry.”

“I didn’t like him looking at you” he added. “But maybe that’s normal?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you jealous?”

“...I don’t know.”

You stifled a laugh. “You’ll figure it out eventually.”

He looked genuinely confused, but then said, “Well, he is married, isn’t he?”

You nodded. “Two kids. He talks about them all the time.”

Argenti’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “…Good.”

“Good?” you repeated, smiling.

“I don’t like the idea of sharing you.”

You looked at him for a second, unsure if he understood what he was saying. He didn’t look embarrassed.

You turned and started walking again.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” you muttered.

“But I meant it.”

---

You woke up early that morning, well before the sun had fully risen.

There was a trip scheduled to the outer poison farm - a restricted garden located far from the estate, where only the strongest or most resistant plants were allowed to grow. It wasn’t open to the public or even to most members of the house. You had special clearance, of course, but it still took hours to reach by car.

When you stepped out of your room, half-dressed and still fixing your sleeves, you expected to find Argenti still asleep or waiting nearby.

But he wasn’t just awake, he was outside.

You noticed something strange. A faint shimmer in the air, like heatwaves off the road. It was a barrier.

“...You made a shield.”

He turned at your voice and lowered his arm. The shimmer faded.

“I sensed something last night.” he explained calmly. “I know this estate is safe, but it felt… off. I didn’t want to take chances.”

“You didn’t sleep at all?”

“I was resting,” he said. “Lightly.”

You sighed. “Next time, wake me.”

The car ride to the restricted farm took nearly two hours.

The landscape changed gradually. The polished marble of the inner city gave way to trees, scattered hills, and wide fields. No one built houses out here, not near the toxin fields. It wasn’t safe.

Argenti watched everything from the window, eyes constantly moving.

“It’s beautiful.” he said after a while.

You glanced over. “You think so?”

“It’s quiet. I like the energy.”

The garden wasn’t like a normal farm. There were no clear paths. Vines crept up from the soil in odd angles. The air was thick with scent, not all of it pleasant. You wore gloves, goggles, and thick clothing for protection.

Argenti didn’t seem bothered, though he stayed close.

“This area’s older,” you explained, walking carefully along the gravel trail. “We call it the Lesser Bloom Ring. Don’t step off the path.”

“Because of the flowers?”

“And the moss. Some of it reacts to movement.”

He took one wrong step near a sloping patch of grass and almost lost his balance.

“Watch it—!”

You grabbed his arm and pulled him back quickly. His armor clinked lightly against your suit as he steadied himself.

The moment held for just a second too long. You were very close. Your hands still on his arms. His breath faintly brushing your face.

“Your balance,” he said softly, “is perfect.”

“...That’s what you noticed?”

He smiled. “And your grip strength.”

You shoved him lightly. “Keep walking.”

At the next location, you handed him a sealed protective suit.

“This part requires full gear. These flowers release spores that trigger hallucinations and paralysis. We take zero risks.”

Argenti looked at the suit and raised a brow. “Stylish.”

“It’s not meant to impress anyone. Just put it on.”

He did, though with some struggle, he muttered complaints about the sleeves being too tight. You led him to the special section, where a single flower stood under glass. It was a strange thing - wide, pale, with black veins and golden dust scattered on its petals.

“My father created this one,” you said. “A hybrid between a necroot vine and a blooming torchleaf. It can slow the heartbeat enough to simulate death.”

He turned to you. “Your father was—?”

“He passed last year. I only visit this area when needed.”

You unlocked the glass.

Before you could explain the next step, Argenti took off one of his gloves and reached forward.

“Wait—Argenti!”

He touched the petal.

And nothing happened.

“…Huh? Wait, what part of zero risks did you not understand?”

“I’m sorry.” he said. “I just… it felt familiar. Like it wouldn’t harm me.”

“Don’t do that again.”

He looked genuinely apologetic. “I won’t. I promise.”

You made it back to the estate just after sunset.

The harvested samples were locked up safely.

In the quiet of the kitchen, you made a simple meal. Argenti stood by and watched, though you caught him trying to sneak bites more than once.

“You cook, too?” he asked as you stirred the soup.

You shrugged. “When I need to.”

Dinner was quiet. Afterward, you stretched your arms and yawned.

“I’m going to bed,” you muttered, rubbing your eyes. “Don’t set up a shield in the hallway again.”

“I won’t.”

You didn’t expect him to follow, but he walked behind you anyway. When you reached your room, you sat on the bed. Then you felt it, his hands gently pulled your blanket up once you were under it.

“What are you doing?”

“You’ve had a long day,” he said. “You should rest properly.”

You stared at him. “You really don’t need to tuck me in.”

“Too late.”

You sighed and turned onto your side. “...Goodnight, Argenti.”

That night, you fell asleep quickly.

The long drive, the exposure to heavy flora, the mental weight of walking past your father's legacy, it all drained you.

But you didn’t see the way Argenti returned just minutes later.

The door creaked open softly, just enough for him to step inside. He didn’t make a sound. He stood by your bed for a long moment, simply watching your chest rise and fall with each breath.

His hand hovered above you for a second. Then slowly, he reached down and laced his fingers between yours. You didn’t stir. His other hand brushed a few strands of hair away from your forehead. He leaned in and pressed the softest kiss there, barely more than a breath. Then he pulled back, let go of your hand, and disappeared into the quiet.

Morning sunlight peeked through your curtains.

You blinked awake. The bed was warm, your body sore from yesterday’s work, but your mind was already spinning with ideas. Argenti’s resistance to the hybrid flower couldn’t be ignored.

You got up quickly, changed, and headed out.

Argenti was already waiting outside your door.

“Morning,” you said, stretching your arms. “We’re going to the lab. I want to test something.”

“Testing sounds ominous.”

“You touched a death flower with your bare hands yesterday and nothing happened. We’re going to find out if you’re poison-resistant.”

“I trust you.”

You were halfway down the hall when the sound of heels clicking against marble stopped you.

“Y/nnn~”

You stopped walking. Argenti did too, shoulders subtly stiffening.

It was your cousin—Virelle. Though you were both from House Valedrin, she acted like she owned the place, and never seemed to stop testing boundaries.

“There you are,” she said, stepping into your path. “I was wondering when you’d come out of hiding. Still collecting strange pets, I see.”

“What do you want, Virelle? I’m busy.”

“I just happened to hear about the trip yesterday,” she said, circling you both slowly. “And the flower. Sooo... how did he manage it, hmm?”

“Maybe the flower liked him better than you.”

Her smile thinned. “Careful, cousin. Flowers can wilt... or be pruned.”

It took you an entire hour to get rid of her.

She talked, insulted, questioned, and pretended to be interested in a dozen irrelevant topics. Finally, with a fake excuse about an urgent document, you escaped back into the hallway with Argenti close behind.

She’s a bad flower. Bad flowers should be cut.

The lab was cold and quiet. You suited up, handed Argenti a modified set, and began testing small doses of various toxins, mild ones first. Then gradually more dangerous strains.

“Tell me immediately if anything stings or burns,” you said, swabbing a pale powder onto the back of his arm. “I’ll get the antidote right away.”

“I will.” he said.

But he never did.

You tested five poisons, two flower-based venoms, and even one of the mist spores under controlled levels. His vitals remained unchanged.

“How do you feel?” you asked, after the final check.

“Maybe I was made for this place.”

“Maybe,” you said, still watching him closely. “But don’t test your luck again. I don’t want to see you dead.”

“You’d care?”

“I’d have to fill out the paperwork. It’s exhausting.”

He laughed.

You left the lab in the late afternoon.

As you stepped into the hall, a servant approached in a hurry.

“Master Y/N,” they said, “You… you need to come to the west wing. Your cousin—Virelle—she… something’s happened.”

You rushed there immediately.

When you arrived, the door to her room was already open. Several elders were inside. The scent hit you before anything else: roses.

The floor was scattered with petals. Her bed soaked in red and pink. The walls, splashed with a blooming flood of roses, crawling up like vines. And there, at the center, was her body. Her mouth slightly open, with a final rose petal resting on her tongue.

“She vomited them?” someone whispered. “No poison was found..”

Another elder held a clipboard. “Cameras show nothing. She was alone.”

And you?

You were in the lab. With Argenti. Every second accounted for.

The case was filed under unexplained natural occurrence.

You said nothing as you walked away.

Behind you, Argenti walked quietly, hands folded behind his back.

Sleep didn’t come easy that night.

You tossed and turned for a while, your mind still stuck on the lab tests, the petals, and the fact that the cousin you had just spoken to that morning was now gone. Your room was quiet, but your body wouldn’t settle.

A soft knock came to your door.

You didn’t answer right away, but it opened gently.

Argenti stepped inside with a small tray in hand. He set it on the bedside table, a warm cup of milk, lightly sweetened.

You sat up slowly. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to” he said, sitting at the edge of your bed.

You took the cup and sipped.

“You’re getting too good at this,” you mumbled. “What’s next? Breakfast in bed?”

“If you ask”

You didn’t remember falling asleep after that. One minute you were finishing the last sip. The next, you were out.

Argenti remained by your side a little longer.

Then, with a hand gentle enough not to disturb, he brushed his thumb across your cheek, leaned in, and placed a soft kiss on your lips. It lingered for a moment longer than last time.

He looked at your hand, resting above the blanket.

He took your ring finger carefully between his thumb and forefinger, brought it up, and gently pressed his lips to it.

Then, he opened his mouth slightly, just enough for the tips of his teeth to graze your skin.

Halfway through, he paused.

His eyes softened. Slowly, he lowered your hand and laid it back down.

“I’ll wait.” he whispered.

The next morning, you woke well-rested, if a bit confused about how you’d fallen asleep so fast. Argenti was already up, as usual, standing near the window.

“Today’s meeting is with House Celennor.” you reminded him while dressing. “Their youngest is in charge of jewelry and cosmetics. It’s mostly for partnership continuity.”

Argenti’s eyes lit up slightly. “Beauty industry?”

“Don’t get excited,” you said, hiding a smile. “They’re flashy and dramatic.”

“I love them already.”

House Celennor was known for its glamour - jewels, perfume, luxury fabrics, and everything that shimmered under light. Their estate wasn’t just bright, it sparkled.

You weren’t used to all this sparkle. You preferred function over fashion. But having Argenti around made things feel less awkward. He walked at your side, taking everything in with open admiration.

“It’s like walking through a painting,” he murmured. “Everything glows.”

“Don’t let them blind you.”

You were welcomed by Sevain Celennor, the youngest son of the house. He wore white and gold robes, hair long and pale like ivory, with multiple earrings.

“Y/N Valedrin,” Sevain greeted you. “You honor us with your visit. I heard about the incident. Our condolences.”

“Thank you,” you replied. “Let’s keep this meeting efficient.”

“Of course.” he smiled.

He walked you through the newest accessory collection—necklaces, rings, hair ornaments lined with crystalized pollen that shimmered in motion.

One hair ornament caught your eye. Fine silver lines, shaped like a thorned vine, with a small gemstone in the center.

Without thinking, you turned to Argenti. “Sit.”

“Me?”

“Might as well try this out.”

He sat obediently.

You gently pulled his long red hair to the front and worked the ornament in place, clipping part of it behind his ear. He didn’t speak the whole time.

Sevain tilted his head, amused. “It suits him.”

“He knows.” you muttered.

“I do,” Argenti admitted. “I like when you touch my hair.”

You coughed lightly and turned away. “We’ll take the full set. Send the bill to Valedrin.”

On the way out, Argenti suddenly slowed.

You looked back. “What is it?”

“That woman,” he said, glancing toward the far end of the garden. A lady in a pale dress stood near the fountain, watching you both.

“Celennor staff?”

“She's acting strange.”

You both moved on, and by the time you glanced back, she was gone.

By evening, you returned to the estate.

You were just about to go inside when loud voices came from the gate.

A man you didn’t recognize was arguing with two of your guards. He looked dirty, unstable, shouting nonsense about betrayal and blood. One of the guards hesitated, unsure how to deal with it.

Argenti stepped forward. In seconds, he disarmed the man. He moved, pinned the man with ease, and stood tall as he spoke quietly to the guards.

“If you can’t control the gate, someone else will.”

The guards nodded quickly, dragging the stranger away.

“That was a little dramatic.”

“You help me put on a hair ornament today,” he said, brushing his fingers over it. “I feel empowered.”

You laughed softly, the sound more relaxed than it had been in days.

You both ate dinner together again in the smaller hall—something you never used to do with anyone. Afterward, you stretched, waved him off, and made your way to bed.

That night, it happened again.

You were already asleep when Argenti leaned over your bed, fingers brushing your hair away. He kissed your lips more tenderly this time.

But just as he was about to linger, his ears twitched.

A sound.

His eyes sharpened.

He stood up and walked to the door, pulling it open without a sound. In the hallway, just beyond the edge of the light, stood a young servant.

She didn’t flinch when he appeared. She met his gaze directly.

“If you don’t tell her… I will.”

Argenti said nothing.

He simply shut the door behind him.

What happened next was quick. He lifted her in his arms like a sculpture and carried her to the old hearth in the unused west wing.

The flames roared briefly.

With a slow breath, he extended his hand and summoned his rose vines again, their thorns crawling across the ceiling, cutting into every security camera. The systems shut down.

The hallway was quiet when he returned to your room.

You were still asleep.

He tucked you in carefully and sat at the edge of the bed.

By morning, the estate buzzed with mild panic.

Security had been compromised, cameras across the east and west wings were suddenly fried. The data, all gone. The elders ordered a full inspection and brought in a private tech team to upgrade the system.

Argenti stood near the balcony, pretending to be mildly curious.

And that’s when he saw her again.

The woman from House Celennor’s estate. This time, she wore a blue technician jacket and carried a toolbox like the others.

She didn’t look his way.

But he remembered her.

The funeral was quiet. You didn’t cry for Virelle, but you paid your respects with formality.

Argenti stayed home, as instructed.

The repairs weren’t finished. A few technicians stayed behind, planning to complete the last wing of work by next morning.

You left early the next day for a short business trip regarding neutral supply trade.

Argenti stayed again.

The tech team returned.

And so did she.

He followed from a distance. She worked like the others, but she was too aware of her surroundings. At one point, she slipped away from the group, toolbox still in hand, and made her way to the lower level.

Argenti followed. Down a quiet hall. Through an old access door. Into the power routing chamber.

She turned around the moment he entered.

“You’re not bad,” she said, dropping the toolbox. “But not clever enough.”

“You work for the same group as that servant, I handled her.” Argenti said. “Why target House Valedrin?”

“We want to see the royal's fall.”

“You killed her too,” she added with a smirk. “Did she beg?”

Argenti summoned his spear. It shimmered in the low light as his fingers closed around it.

“Let me show you what real beauty looks like.”

She clicked her tongue.

Bugs burst from the wall, giant beetles, their wings sharp like blades, their legs spiked and twisted. They charged at him. Argenti moved like he was dancing. One step forward, a clean strike—slash. The first beetle split clean down the middle.

But they kept coming.

He narrowed his eyes. His aura grew darker—red, heavy like blood-soaked petals. His spear hummed as he swung harder. The room filled with wind and movement and the sound of wings being ripped apart.

The woman screamed and sent more.

And then, her scream was cut off.

She fell with a final breath, roses blooming from the open wound across her chest. He stepped over her body, took a moment to ensure no trace was left behind, and burned it all in silence.

Nothing remained.

You returned late that evening.

You opened the door to your room and blinked, Argenti was already there, drawing the curtains closed.

“Welcome home”

You set your things down, not questioning anything. “Long day.”

“You should rest.”

You didn’t ask how he always knew what you needed.

You just slipped under the blanket, sighing softly.

The damage from the power chamber hadn’t gone unnoticed.

By morning, the estate called in another technician group to repair the wrecked area—the one you hadn’t seen.

You flipped through the report in silence at breakfast, frowning.

“Collapsed structure, melted metalwork, and a large patch of scorched stone? What does that mean?”

You looked up at Argenti.

He sat calmly across from you, sipping his tea.

“Oh, that. Maybe it’s old. Things decay with time.”

You squinted at him. “You were home yesterday. You really didn’t see or hear anything?”

“Only silence”

You leaned forward.

Then, without warning, you pressed your hand lightly against his stomach. His breath caught.

“...W-What are you doing?”

“Checking something.”

“Something?”

“You were born from an egg,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. “Can you lay one?”

“...What kind of question is that?”

“A logical one.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is. The bunny my aunt hatched from her egg lays one golden egg every year on her birthday. Maybe it’s some kind of biological exchange system.”

“So you think I—”

“Could lay one?”

He opened his mouth, paused, then slowly closed it again. “No.”

You laughed under your breath. “You look like you’re not even sure anymore.”

Argenti glanced away. He could feel it again, something under his skin. A deep, thorned stir. The same sensation he’d felt the day he touched that dead servant.

He had left something behind. His spores - one of his abilities.

And now, through those infected by that woman, through brief touches, lingering words, shared breaths—his awareness was growing.

A network of rot, blooming under the surface.

All of it tied back to him.

If this house fell, you’d be caught in the collapse. That couldn’t happen.

His duty wasn't to Valedrin. His purpose was you. If protecting you meant killing a dozen more spies, so be it.

“Argenti?”

He blinked. You were watching him again, brows raised slightly.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve been zoning out” you said. “Like you’re thinking about something serious.”

“I was just... wondering,” he replied, “about bonding.”

You tilted your head. “What kind?”

“Servants that come from eggs. Some of them require... small offerings from their masters, don’t they?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Like my aunt’s bunny. It won’t do anything unless she gives it carrots or tells it bedtime stories.”

He nodded slowly. “And me?”

You leaned back, folding your arms. “Are you trying to say you want a reward now?”

He shrugged.

“Spit it out.”

He hesitated.

Then your hand reached up and brushed a few strands of hair away from his face. His thoughts immediately snapped back into the moment, and he blinked as if waking up.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “What were you saying?”

You stared at him. “...You look tired”

“I don’t need rest.”

“You do if you’re going to space out mid-sentence,” you said. “Alright. Day off. Don’t follow me around.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but you waved a hand and grabbed your coat.

“I’m going to check a few things in the lower wards. Alone.”

“Will you be long?”

“I’ll be gone tonight, maybe tomorrow.”

You left without waiting for his reply.

Afternoon came.

Then evening.

The sun dipped low across the sky, and Argenti was still waiting in the main hall when one of the kitchen staff approached.

“Ah, Sir Argenti,” the servant bowed. “Master left this message earlier.”

He took the note with a quiet nod.

As the door closed behind the servant, the last light of day bled into the crimson dusk.

Two days.

Alone.

The perfect opportunity.

Argenti stood slowly, his steps unnaturally silent as he moved down the corridor. The flowers blooming beneath the estate walls whispered to him.

He let his spear materialize in his palm, glowing faintly with red.

This place had survived so long with poison and caution.

Now it had him.

You never paid much attention to the house’s garden staff.

They came and went. Maintained the toxic orchids, trimmed the vines, kept the blood-colored lotuses blooming in season. One in particular, a young man with gentle manners, had been around longer than most, still, a forgettable face.

But not to Argenti.

Argenti saw everything. Especially him.

The way the man watched you from the distance as you walked the garden paths. How his hands lingered on pruning the roses you liked. The extra care taken to grow the pink hellebores you complimented once.

It disgusted him.

Not because the man was a spy. But because, as a spy, he dared to admire something that wasn’t his to admire. That wasn’t even his to look at.

Argenti had already cleared out half a dozen infiltrators while you were gone. He replaced them with new ones under the guise of elder orders.

This one would be the last.

You returned by late evening.

The air was lighter as you walked in, carrying a small paper box. Your eyes scanned around until you saw Argenti waiting in the front hall.

“There you are,” you said, holding up the box. “I brought cake.”

His eyes lit up faintly, and the faint exhaustion in his expression melted for a moment. “For me?”

“Maybe,” you shrugged. “Maybe for both of us. You looked tired before, so I thought—why not try the rabbit-carrot thing with sugar?”

He took the box gently from your hands.

“I’m honored.”

You both shared it in the dining hall.

Argenti didn’t stop smiling the entire time.

Later that night, you were tucked into bed.

The tea you drank was extra fragrant tonight. It worked too well. You didn’t even stir as the light flickered low and the warmth blanketed your limbs.

You didn’t hear the soft dragging sound. Or the faint rustle of thorns across the marble.

Argenti stood at the doorway, one hand wrapped in a twisting red vine.

At the end of the vine was the gardener.

His mouth was taped shut. His limbs tangled in thorned ropes, tight enough to bite through cloth. Blood already seeped around the cuts. He struggled, but it was pathetic.

Argenti walked him slowly into your room.

Your chest rose and fell with steady breaths.

He dragged the man close, until he could see you clearly. The softness of your face. The faint curl of your fingers around the blanket.

“This is the person you thought you could have.” Argenti whispered to him.

He knelt by your bedside.

Gently, he pulled the blanket aside just enough to reveal your neck.

He leaned in and pressed a kiss there. Then another. And another, slightly deeper. A visible mark bloomed beneath your jaw.

Then he turned his head back toward the man.

“Do you see this?”

The man’s eyes widened, muffled grunts echoing through the gag.

Argenti’s hand reached for yours. He lifted it slowly, reverently, and this time he did not hesitate. His lips closed around your ring finger and he bit, gently but firmly. Just enough for a bloom of red to bead up.

You shifted a little in your sleep, but didn’t wake.

He held your hand to his cheek afterward, almost like a prayer.

“You don’t belong to anyone else.”

Then he stood up.

The vines tightened.

The man thrashed once.

Then fell silent.

By the time dawn touched the windows, he was already gone, buried beneath the garden he once cared for. Returned to the soil as fertilizer for the roses you loved.

You woke late the next morning, your limbs slightly sore and your body oddly warm. You stretched, rolled out of bed, and walked to your vanity, only then noticing the red mark on your neck and the faint sting at your ring finger.

You narrowed your eyes at the small bite.

“What...?”

You dressed quickly and opened your door just as Argenti was about to knock.

“Oh,” you blinked. “Good morning.”

He looked you over, eyes pausing at your hand.

“...You’re injured?”

You raised your finger. “This? I don’t even remember how.”

His gaze darkened briefly. “Let me see.”

He took your hand gently, turned it palm up, and without waiting for permission, leaned forward and licked the wound.

The skin tingled. Then healed completely.

Your eyes widened. “You can do that?”

“I remembered just now,” he said. “My master’s blood and my touch are bonded. I can close minor wounds.”

“Huh.” You stared at your hand, then raised a brow. “So what else do you remember?”

He paused. “...To restore energy, you need to kiss me.”

You stared at him.

“Are you messing with me?”

“Would I lie?” he tilted his head innocently.

You hesitated, then leaned in.

He didn’t wait. His hand cupped the back of your head and drew you close. The kiss wasn’t rushed, but it deepened faster than you expected.

When you finally pulled away, a flush touched your cheeks.

“You… Hold up.. I do feel stronger”

Then you squinted. “But your hair came undone again.”

His smile faltered. “It did?”

“Yes. Sit down.”

He obeyed without question.

You carefully combed your fingers through the long strands, fixing the twisted braid along his shoulder, smoothing out the mess behind his ears. He stayed still the whole time.

No one else is allowed to touch my hair.

Your fingers slowed, brushing down the last strand, and the air between you held something quiet, comfortable.

Because no one else could ever do it right. Only you.

Somewhere outside the window, the garden bloomed a little redder.

#yandere x reader #yandere #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x you #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #argenti x you #hsr argenti #argenti hsr #argenti honkai star rail #argenti x y/n #heliosluckyegg

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lucydixon · 3 days ago

Text

Cozy Comedy Club

This is part ten of Welcome to Hellfire. You can find part one here.

Summary: After your heated moment after the show, Eddie takes you back to his trailer, and the two of you get busy for the first time. Warnings: Y'all are fucking in this one, NSFW, Oral Fem!Receiving, Unprotected P in V (On this blog, there are no concequences in creampie city, just asume everyone is on birthcontrol.)

Eddie practically tore you out of the van as soon as he opened your door for you.

He backed you up against the side of it, and you picked up right where you’d left off in the hideout parking lot. Hands wandered and tongues tangled while the two of you swallowed one another's soft, breathy sounds until he just couldn’t take it anymore and dragged you into the trailer by the hand.

You threw his leather jacket over one of the dining room chairs on your way to his room, eager to get out of all your clothes as soon as humanly possible. He was practically running towards his bedroom, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

The second that the two of you crossed the threshold of his room, he was back on you, and you were far from complaining. Your back hit the door, and he was quick to hoist you up in his arms again, desperate for friction.

Your legs wrapped around his hips tightly, and as soon as everything was lined up, you went right back to rolling your hips and grinding your clothed heat over the hard bulge in his pants.

Eddie groaned into your mouth, tightening his grip on the backs of your thighs.

“God, you looked so fucking hot up there on stage.” Your voice was low and whiny “like some kind of fucking rockstar.”

He didn’t know what to do with your praise, but there was no denying that it felt so beyond good to feel wanted like that.

“Forget about Mick Jagger or Robert Plant or any other celebrity crush I’ve ever had.” You let your head fall to the side so he could latch back onto your neck, which he did, eagerly. “It’s gonna be all Eddie Munson, all the time in my head from now on. You’ve ruined me-”

A moan tore its way out of your throat before you could continue.

Eddie was letting your praise feed into the intensity of the frenzy of his lips on your neck. He’d started to focus on your sweet spot, and you were sure that if you’d been standing, your knees would have buckled.

“Shit-” You gasped, writhing in his arms “You’re really fucking good at that.”

“Am I?” He chuckled into your skin, cheeks warming slightly.

“Yeah.” you let out a breathy laugh that quickly turned into a moan “Fuck, Eddie.”

Hearing you moan his name scratched an itch he didn’t know he had.

He was desperate to hear it again. To have you chanting it like a prayer until you fell apart in his arms.

With a low growl, Eddie pushed off the door to take you to his bed, and you squealed, grabbing onto his shoulders like he’d drop you.

“I’ve got you,” he muttered into your mouth, tightening his grip on you before dropping you onto his mattress gently.

The way you stared up at him with your big doe eyes while he stood over you was doing things to him. It was like you were waiting for him to tell you what he wanted.

Only, he couldn’t decide.

He knew that he wanted your clothes gone, but was he supposed to take them off for you? Should he just ask you to take them off yourself?

“Are you-” He stammered, cheeks warming as his heart thudded in his chest “can I- shit.”

“Can you, what?” You jutted out your bottom lip in a condescending pout. Clearly enjoying how flustered he was.

His fingertips skimmed along your waist, hooking under the fabric of your leather tube top once they reached the top.

He shot you a pleading look.

“You want this off?” You raised a brow, smirking lightly.

“Please.” The word fell from his lips, sounding like a whimper, desperate and whiny to the point where he was mortified, and his cheeks burned.

“C’mere.” You beckoned him towards you, looking a little more serious and maybe even concerned.

Eddie was quick to crawl into his bed next to you, still blushing like a madman.

“You okay?” You brushed his hair out of his face with a soft look.

“Yeah,” Eddie breathed shakily, pupils still blown with lust “Just been thinking about this forever and I don’t wanna fuck it up.”

“You’re not gonna fuck it up.” You sounded so sure that it really did help, despite his slight embarrassment.

“Can I see the girls now?” He muttered without thinking, eyes widening slightly when you laughed loudly.

“Stop calling them that!” You swatted his chest, still giggling.

“What?” He exclaimed, biting back a laugh of his own, “I miss them!”

“You saw them ten minutes ago.” You sat up so he could help you with the zipper at the back of top.

“Longest ten minutes of my life.” He grumbled affectionately, fumbling with the zipper for a moment before finally getting it.

“You’re so dramatic” you fell back onto the mattress and watched his eyes widen when he took in your bare chest.

“Fuuuuck” He drew the word out in a long exhale as he sat up to get a beter look.

“Shit, Sweetheart.” He breathed “So fuckin’ beautiful.”

Your cheeks warmed slightly, and Eddie figured he oughta give your pretty, pouty mouth a little bit of attention before burying his face in the soft, pillowy flesh of your breasts like he desperately wanted to.

He kissed you softer than you’d expected.

It wasn’t urgent.

Wasn’t rushed.

Just Eddie, kissing you sweetly like he did all the time.

You pulled him in top of you without breaking the kiss, reaching out to run your thumb along his jaw as he nestled himself in between your thighs. You sighed happily into his mouth and he had to smile.

“God, you’re so cute.” Eddie gushed, pulling back to kiss the tip of your nose. “I’m like, completely obsessed with you, you know?”

Your eyes crinkled as you beamed at him, heart racing in your chest from all the excitement.

“It feels like I’ve known you forever and not less than a week.” He breathed “You feel like Home.”

“I think our souls are tied,” You told him, dead serious, yet still smiling, “Like, maybe in another life, we didn’t quite get to finish loving eachother and now we’re making up for lost time.”

Eddie’s breath hitched in his throat, and he had to clear it before speaking again. He knew that you weren't professing your love to him, but it filled him with hope nonetheless.

“Can’t go saying shit like that sweetheart.” The corner of his mouth quirked upwards in a lopsided grin “that just fucking wrecked me. I’ve got it so bad for you. You have no idea.”

“I think I have a pretty good idea.” You smirked, rocking your hips into the painfully hard bulge in his jeans.

“You gave my heart a boner too, you know.”

The two of you blinked at one another for far too long before bursting into laughter.

“Would you take this off?” You gave the sleeve of his t-shirt a gently tug, looking up at him with a raised brow “Unfair that I’m the only one without a shirt on.”

“For you?” he scoffed playfully before going to shrug it off “Anything.”

“You might as well take your pants off too, Rockstar.”

Eddie froze and looked down at you with wide eyes full of what looked like a combination of disbelief and excitement.

“What?” you frowned. “We’ve been in bed together with no pants on before.”

“Right.” He bobbed his head and scrambled out of bed to get out of his jeans, not about to argue with that logic. “You are so right.”

Just like every other time you’d watched him take his jeans off, Eddie almost ended up on the floor, stumbling around in his rushed state.

You took the opportunity to shimmy out of your own jeans, not fully understanding why Eddie had to get all the way out of bed every time.

When he went to crawl back into you, his eyes just about bulged out of his head when he saw that you were only wearing a pair of black lacy panties.

His mouth went dry.

“Holy shit.” He muttered under his breath, unsure where to look first.

You watched his eyes dart around all over your body with poorly contained amusement.

“You’re sure, you wanna-” He cut himself off, realizing that he was still staring at your tits while he was talking to you “We don’t have to, you know. If it’s too fast or you’re not ready”

Eddie, being entirely himself this whole time, had helped any nerves you’d had fizzle out before they could take root. He was making you laugh and saying all the right things without even meaning to, and god, you loved him for it.

“Very sure.” You nodded, looking so sure that he had to believe you. “Are you?”

He just nodded eagerly.

“Then, that’s that.” You beckoned him towards you “Now, get over here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” He crawled over your body so quickly that you shrieked out a laugh.

“Don’t do that!” You exclaimed through your laughter, “You look like a centipede.”

“I think you like it.” Eddie peppered your cheeks in kisses, hunched over you with a cheek-splitting grin.

“You’re right, I do.” You sighed, letting your eyes flutter shut to savour the feeling of his lips against your skin, “Only cause its you though.”

Eddie kissed his way down your body until he reached the hem of your panties.

By that point, you were ready to start begging him to touch you.

Luckily, you didn’t have to.

The low whine that tore its way out of your throat was enough to spurr him forward and within seconds, your panties were halfway accross the room and his mouth was dragging over your inner thighs.

He pulled back a little to stare at your glistening cunt in awe.

It looked so warm and inviting, lips puffy and weeping for him, just begging to be played with.

“God,” He groaned, running a finger along your slit “you’re fucking soaked, aren’t you, Sweetheart?”

You nodded, propped up on your elbows with your bottom lip trapped between your teeth, panting.

Without warning and completely unable to control himself any longer, Eddie dove face first into your pussy, burying his face in between your legs.

Your upperbody fell back against the pillows, head tossed back in complete bliss.

“Fuck!” You cried out, hands searching for his hair, but unable to lift your head enough to look.

Luckily, Eddie saw them wandering around, searching for purchase, and guided them to his unruly mane. He groaned into your most sensitive parts, making out with your cunt like a man starved.

He was being real sloppy with it, just over eager and desperate to taste you.

He wasn’t necessarily getting you anywhere, but the feeling of his tongue running through your folds had you bucking your hips into him anyway.

“Shit, sweetheart.” He spoke directly into your heat, his voice whiny and desperate “Taste so fucking good.”

Eddie found your clit and tentatively flicked it with his tongue, your entire body jolted and you made a sound that would put a pornstar to shame.

Clearly, you’d liked that, so he paid special attention to the little nub at the top of your slit, running his tongue over it and finding a pace that you liked based on the sounds you were making alone.

“Eddie-” You were whimpering his name, tugging on his hair so hard that it hurt but he couldn’t care less because he was making his girl feel good and there was nothing on earth that could deter him from making you cum on his tongue.

He didn’t even want to stop to ask you if you were about to cum, and he didn’t need to. He could tell based on the pitch and frequency of his name falling from your lips that you were getting close and he doubled down, pinning your hips to the mattress with his hands, thumbs slotting into the crease when your hip meets your thigh.

“Eddie, baby-” You panted, back arching off the bed and chanting his name desperately as you tumbled over the edge

Eddie happily lapped up the new surge of moisture gushing from your drenched, pulsating hole, until you were finished coming down from your high, and even then, he stayed where he was. He just propped himself up to look at you.

“You alright, Sweetheart?”

You could hear the smirk in his voice and laughed breathily, chest still heaving.

“I think I’ll live.” you glanced down at his grinning, slick covered face with pink cheeks.

“Good?” He asked as if he didn’t already know.

“You’re a menace.” you sighed teasigly. “Are you gonna come back up here?”

“You know, I think I’m gonna actually live down here.” He nodded solemnly, hugging your thighs against his shoulders “Get me a picket fence and a mailbox and I’ll retire here. Spend the rest of my days happy.”

“Can’t fuck me from down there, though, can you?” You reminded him, smirking when he froze and blinked at you like his brain was short circuiting.

“I bet I could if I tried hard enough.” his brows pinched together “I’m pretty flexible, if I just got a little creative-”

“Eddie!” You laughed loudly

He sighed dramatically, unable to wipe the goofy grin or anything else off his face, and crawled up to kiss you,

“You’re not allowed to laugh at me if this lasts under a minute.” He paused just before lining himself up with your entrance.

“I promise, I won’t.” You held your pinky out to him and he took it, hooking his through and locking it.

“Okay,” Eddie went back to the task at hand, staring into your eyes from above. “You ready, sweetheart?”

You nodded, wrapping your hands around his biceps when he lowered himself over you, slowly pressing forward.

His eyes were already screwed shut tightly and you were both panting before he’d even gotten a full inch into you.

“I probably should’ve warmed you up with my fingers first.” He grunted, “That’s what people do, right? Shit, Sweetheart, I’m sorry.”

You could feel your walls stretching around him as he slowly sank into you, but it wasn’t painful or entirely unpleasant.

“I’m okay, baby.” You wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling you further into him. “Keep going.”

“So wet-” Eddie hissed, already struggling not to cum “Feels so fucking good, Shit-”

You made a soft gasping sound once he’d buried himself to the hilt, able to feel his tip nudging your cervix.

“You okay?” He forced his eyes open to check on you. “Doesn’t hurt?”

“I’m okay,” You breathed, adjusting to the feeling of being so full “it doesn’t hurt, just feels like pressure. Are you?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more okay.” He scoffed out a laugh, pecking you on the lips. “I’m gonna start moving.”

You bobbed your head and focussed on the drag of him along your walls as he withdrew.

Eddie pulled back until just the tip remained before oh, so slowly rocking his hips back into you.

You felt every inch of him.

Every vein and the swell of his tip against your walls.

On the second or third thrust, you couldn’t be sure, it started to feel good.

Eddie was relieved when you finally started making a bit of noise.

Breathy moans filled the air, and your hips started to rock into the thrusts.

“Okay!” he pulled all the way out of you suddenly, breathing raggedly with wide eyes “That felt way too fucking good!”

“Then come back” You whined, already missing the feeling of him inside you.

He was quick to oblige, but kept a tight hold on your hips.

“No funny business, missy” He warned, but it came out sounding more like a plea. “Or else this is gonna be over real soon.”

“Good thing we can always go again.” You smirked and squirmed in his grip, trying to grind yourself further on his glistening cock.

“This right here is funny business.” He gasped, digging his fingers into your hips hard enough to bruise. “Killin’ me here sweetheart.”

“God,” he groaned when he looked down at you and the pure want in your eyes “Don’t look at me like that or I’m gonna cum. Fuck-”

“You’re too pretty.”

You got what you wanted in the end.

Of course you did.

How could he not fuck you when you asked him with your big doe eyes and that little pout he loved so much.

Fuck, you were going to be the death of him.

“Okay, fuck.” he burried himself inside you, slamming all the way to the hilt like he’d been wanting too since the second he saw you in his bed in just those little panties.

You moaned loudly and dug your nails into his biceps.

His hips snapped into you at a bruising pace, dragging the head of his cock along your walls in a way that had you seeing stars.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck” Eddie started cursing and his thrusts grew erratic and sloppy. “So fucking tight and wet and warm and oh god, sweetheart, I’m gonna-”

“Cum?” Your lips curled into a smirk, recalling the first time Eddie had made you cum. “I want you to. Cum for me, baby.”

“Please.”

That did it for him.

Eddie came so hard that his eyes rolled back and his ears started to ring. He couldn’t make a sound, let alone form words.

Your walls were gripping his pulsating length so tightly, milking him for all his worth as he sloppily slowed to a stop, and even then, he stayed buried deep inside you, trying not to crush you with his weight despite his exhaustion.

When he just couldn’t hold himself up anymore, he clutched you to his chest tightly and rolled you over so that you were on top, still wrapped around him

“You’ve done it now.” He groaned tiredly into your hair “You’ve killed me. I’m dead. Desceased. Gone.”

“Poor thing,” You chuckled, pressing your lips to the bare skin of his chest “at least you went out with a bang.”

“You okay?” Eddie kept you close, arms around you, surrounding you with warmth. “I wasn’t too rough at the end there?”

“Yeah, baby.” You smiled cheeekily, “You were just rough enough.”

“Yeah?” He scoffed, giving you a squeeze. “Should probably get cleaned up, but I kinda wanna stay in here.”

“We can just lay here for awhile.” You muttered, nuzzling into the side of his neck. “Its comfy.”

“We’re gonna do that again, right?” he said after a while, sounding almost hesitant.

“Of course we are.” You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Ok, good.” Eddie beamed, pressing his lips to the top of your head, “Just making sure.”

“When?”

“How long till you’re ready to go again?” You raised a brow.

“Five to ten?”

“Then Five to ten.”

He clutched you to his chest, wondering how he got so lucky.

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