#and when i saw him my hands started shaking at first

[niwaart]

Hiii i really love your writings can you please give us more of the doctor reader pleaaase🙏🙏🙏🙏

Doctor! Male! Reader X Batfam

[Part1 - Part2 - Part3 - Part4 - part5]

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Bruce has a severe headache, and the family dinner turns into a family war. Damian and Tim try to kill each other, Dick passes out on the floor, Jason and Stephanie die laughing while filming Tim and Damian fighting and filming an unconscious Dick, Cass helps Alfred gather edible food before Tim and Damian destroy it while Duke tries to talk them out of the fight, and Y/N tries to salvage the remaining food (cake) and puts it in her bag. How did this all start?

It all started when Y/N arrived at Wayne Manor, before pressing the bell button he made sure he packed everything he would need today in his bag. What did he pack? He packed several things, first the pepper spray, why? Because what if they accused him of stealing? Or decided to lock him up inside the creepy mansion?... Well he knows he's exaggerating and the reason is because of the series he watches but there's no time for regrets. Second he packed papers proving that he's an adult and can live on his own and has a good salary and job, and third he has lollipops, why? Because he's sure his father is evil to the point that he won't serve candy and cakes early... So Y/N is ready, he was going to take the hospital scalpel but Sammy stopped him and beat him up for that idea... But that's okay.

Y/N took a deep breath, pressed the bell button and waited for someone to open the door, as he expected and saw in his TV series the butler opened the door!... He should really expect from watching those TV series... "Welcome Mr. Y/N, please come in, Mr. Bruce is waiting for you." Alfred stepped aside to let Y/N in, Y/N entered with closed eyes... Why is the house glowing from the inside? Did they buy the sun or something?... Y/N made a note to himself to take sunglasses with him next time... He was sure that if he got out of here alive that meant there would be a next time... Y/N followed Alfred into the dining room, as he walked behind the butler Y/N was looking at the paintings, Bruce and his children... Why are they all wearing black in the pictures? Y/N didn't think much about it, all he wanted was cake... The world is hard sometimes.

When they arrived at the dining room, Bruce greeted them in a formal suit and a bright smile with a model's pose... Y/N wanted to leave now. Bruce approached him with the same smile "Hello son, glad you came." Y/N nodded "Yes, hello, Mr. Wayne." Bruce frowned at Y/N's formal response "You can call me dad you know, no one here but family..." Y/N ignored Bruce's words and sat down in one of the chairs before they forced him to sit next to Bruce. Bruce sighed and sat down in his chair at the head of the table "Well, that's okay, maybe later. Now I want you to meet your siblings, not everyone is here yet but they will be soon." Y/N looked around the table, there were only two people who hadn't arrived... "First off, this is my son Damian." Bruce pointed at Damian, Y/N remembered all the pictures taken of Damian and Bruce, Damian didn't smile once... Creepy. "And this is Timothy." Bruce then pointed to Tim who nodded in greeting and said, "You can call me Tim." Y/N nodded and Bruce continued, "And this is my daughter, Cassandra." Cassandra waved and Y/N did the same. "And this is Duke" Bruce pointed to Duke who smiled shyly at Y/N and Y/N smiled back at Duke. Bruce then pointed to Stephanie who introduced herself before Bruce could. "Hi!! Oh my god, nice to finally meet you!! I'm Stephanie, you can call me Steph." Stephanie extended her hand to shake Y/N's who laughed at her enthusiasm and then shook hers in return. Bruce smiled as he watched his son integrate so seamlessly into the family. Timothy's plan to bring Y/N here via cupcakes was genius.

Maybe bringing chili pepper was a bit much, the family seemed pretty normal… except for the kid, he still looked scary to Y/N, if looks could kill, Y/N would be dead. “Well, time to serve dinner.” Alfred said as he brought the plates with Cassandra’s help. “Cake?!” Y/N said excitedly as he looked at the plates Alfred was holding. Alfred laughed and said, “No, dessert is after dinner, Mr. Y/N.” Y/N’s smile faded, he knew they would keep the cakes late… that’s why he brought the lollipops… He pulled one out of his bag and it caught Damian’s attention. “Aren’t you going to eat Alfred’s food?” Those were Damian’s first words to Y/N and he felt the tone was familiar… Y/N didn’t think much of it, the point was to answer the kid before he choked him. “I came for the cake, so I’d rather keep my stomach empty for dessert.” Y/N said as he put the lollipop in his mouth.

Damian raised an eyebrow at Y/N's words and everyone at the table turned their attention to Y/N who felt like he was in exam class. "We know you love cake but we didn't expect it to be this bad." Stephanie said with a playful smile and Cassandra nodded at her words. Y/N said nothing as he looked at his plate, his pasta... well it looked delicious... but he still wanted cake first. So he pushed the plate away from him. "Can't I have cake now?" Y/N looked at Alfred sadly. But Alfred has strict rules, no dessert unless you eat the main course first. Y/N sighed and looked at his father... then a brilliant idea came to him.

“Dad… can you help me with my plate?” Bruce who was about to choke when Y/N called him dad, looked up from his food to Y/N… Y/N was looking at Bruce with big sad eyes. Bruce was confused… he didn’t know what to do, because his children had never looked at Bruce that way before… in fact no one had… he wasn’t trained to handle this “Okay, I’ll eat your plate.” Bruce sighed in defeat and took Y/N’s plate. Stephanie, Duke, and Tim laughed at Y/N and Bruce’s actions. “Oh man, I can’t believe you made B do what you ordered!” Duke said looking at Bruce who now had two plates and Y/N who was smiling proudly at his great accomplishment. Damian was watching Bruce in shock. Had his father just given in to the demands of someone who had come to the mansion for the first time in his life? No way... Then Damian looked up at Y/N... He should be careful of him in the future, he wouldn't let him take the Robin suit.

While everyone was asking Y/N about himself and his job, he heard the door open, Y/N turned to the door to see two people… oh Bruce’s sons. “Sir Jason, Sir Richard, you’re late, please sit down so I can serve you dinner.” Alfred said who immediately went to the kitchen. “Thank you Alfred. Sorry for being late, but Jason is not an easy person to bring here.” Richard said smiling cheerfully as Jason sighed as he sat down lazily in his chair. “I didn’t want to waste Alfred’s food, that’s why I came.” Jason said aggressively, Jason was sitting next to Y/N who was now terrified. Jason was huge… to his right was Damian who was terrifying enough… and now to his left sat a huge man who could crush him in seconds… reminding him of Red Hood whom he had met before…

Richard had been excited all morning to meet his big brother, finally he wasn't the big one anymore, he could be pampered... Richard approached Y/N from behind while Y/N was distracted by Jason and hugged him from behind which startled Y/N who screamed in horror and hit Richard's head hard, Richard fell unconscious from the headbutt and at the same moment Y/N accidentally pushed Damian's arm causing Damian to throw his spoon in Tim's face... Tim got angry and threw his spoon at Damian who decided to wage war on Tim, he was angry enough that day. Jason and Stephanie burst out laughing and took out their phones. Alfred had already set out a few plates of cupcakes. Y/N wasn't focusing on the trouble he caused, he was focusing on the cupcakes... He had to take the cupcakes, he got away from Damian and Tim who decided to wrestle on the table, Y/N moved to the other side of the table, where the cupcakes were. And he started to collect the plates, since no one was sitting now, Stephanie and Jason were filming Tim and Damian, documenting Richard who was lying on the floor unconscious while Duke was trying to separate Damian and Tim from each other, Y/N asked Alfred for cupcake containers for the cupcakes, Alfred didn’t hesitate to get them, Y/N immediately took the containers and started to grab the cupcakes so he could leave quickly, Cassandra was helping Y/N collect the cupcakes and keep the food away from Damian and Tim. Bruce stood up to stop Damian and Tim who were literally about to kill each other and Duke who gave up and left them while Y/N collected all the cupcakes, but he still needed to apologize to Richard, so he took the lollipop out of his bag and put it in Richard’s pocket then ran out of the dining room as fast as he could with a bag full of cupcakes. He did it! He left alive!

Bruce sighed as he looked at Y/N out the window, then turned to Damian and Tim angrily while Alfred was cleaning the table and Cassandra was trying to wake Richard up, Stephanie and Jason were sharing pictures of Barbara who couldn't come and editing the videos to make them funnier. "That ended badly tonight." Bruce said in frustration... "But it's okay, there's definitely next time." Jason laughed at Bruce's words and replied sarcastically, "Oh yeah, next time will be more fun."

Bruce sighed again and sat back in the chair thinking of a new plan to bring his son here, and keep him here forever this time.

@roxy776699 @missmannequin @theultimatezazasniffer @chericia @mybones537 @thegothamsiren

[mashtatosworld]

on and off stage

summary: you're seunghyun's dance partner, but not by chance

The first time Seunghyun saw you - really saw you - you were standing at the edge of the rehearsal room, balancing a water bottle against your hip, eyes scanning the chaos as dancers and staff moved in a flurry around you.

You were new, but you didn’t have that nervous energy most fresh hires carried. You were grounded. Focused. And, in Seunghyun’s eyes, effortlessly beautiful.

The crush hit him fast and hard, and it was immediately inconvenient.

He didn’t do crushes.

Not like this.

Not the kind that made his ears heat up when you so much as adjusted your hair, or the kind that made him stutter when you asked him a perfectly normal question about stage placements. He was too old for this. Too cool, supposedly.

And yet, there he was, subtly slouching during partner assignments, hoping to hell they’d match you to his height instead of Daesung.

It worked.

He almost felt guilty about it, until you turned and gave him that polite, slightly shy smile - and all he could think was mine.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

But it was awkward at first.

Not because you were difficult - far from it. You were professional and respectful, especially after the others warned you in hushed whispers that Seunghyun didn’t like to be touched.

“He’s a bit... reserved,” Taeyang had said, choosing his words carefully.

“You’ll be fine,” Daesung had reassured you. “Just don’t, like, hug him.”

So you kept your hands light, your touches fleeting, and Seunghyun was equally distant. His hands hovered rather than held. His fingers brushed instead of rested.

It was formal. Stiff. And it threatened your job.

Because the choreographers noticed.

They wanted passion. Intimacy. Chemistry. And you couldn’t exactly tell them, Sorry, my partner seems allergic to prolonged contact.

So you resolved to talk to him. To clear the air.

But fate - and the boys’ relentless prank war - had other plans.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You’d been heading toward Seunghyun’s dressing room when, the moment you opened the door, you were hit square in the face with a spray of cold water.

For a second, you stood frozen, droplets running down your cheeks, hair sticking to your forehead, and all you could hear was Seunghyun’s horrified gasp.

“Oh fuck.” His voice was low with panic, the water gun slipping from his fingers. “I'm sorry... I- I thought you were Jiyong! I swear!”

You wiped your face with your sleeve, sputtering out a laugh before you could stop yourself. Seunghyun blinked, stunned, watching your shoulders shake with amusement.

“I suppose Jiyong is pretty enough to take that as a compliment,” you teased, eyes bright despite the water still dripping from your chin.

The relief that flooded his expression was immediate - and then, unexpectedly, he laughed too. Deep, warm, real laughter that curled in his chest and filled the room.

"Mm, but I definitely think you have him beat," he admitted, passing you a towel.

The air between you shifted, tension dissolving in the echo of your shared laughter.

After that, everything was easier.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You started teasing him during rehearsals, lighthearted jabs about his “terrible aim” and “intimidating water combat skills.” He gave as good as he got, poking fun at your tendency to count steps under your breath and how you scrunched your nose when you were concentrating too hard.

But beyond the jokes, you also noticed something else - how careful he was with you.

How respectful.

How he never held you longer than necessary, and how his touch always felt like it was asking permission, even in the middle of choreography.

“You know,” you said one afternoon, after the room had cleared, “it’s okay to touch me. During the dance, I mean.”

Seunghyun’s gaze snapped to yours, his ears tinged pink. “I- I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You wouldn’t,” you assured him, your smile soft. “I trust you.”

The words hit him harder than they should have, sinking into his chest like something precious.

And from then on, everything changed.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The closeness came more naturally. His hand settled more firmly at your waist, guiding rather than hovering. When you leaned into him during spins, his arm held you just a little longer, his touch steady.

The choreography started to feel less like work and more like a conversation - one spoken in quiet glances, soft smiles, and fingertips against skin.

The choreographer noticed, too. “Finally,” they said with relief after one particularly fluid run-through. “Now you two look like you want each other.”

Seunghyun nearly tripped over his own feet.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You'd performed together enough times that everything should’ve gone smoothly. But somehow, thanks to a typo or crossed wire, you were reassigned - to Daesung.

You were halfway across the stage, heading toward your new partner, when a firm hand caught your wrist.

Seunghyun.

He didn’t say a word. Just held your wrist, his grip strong and sure, and pulled you gently back toward him as the first chorus of Bae Bae begun.

The movement was seamless - almost like part of the act - and the other dancer quickly pivoted, falling into place with Daesung instead.

But the moment wasn’t lost on the crowd.

The fans saw the hesitation, the instinctive way Seunghyun reached for you - and they saw the way his hand settled possessively at your waist, fingers curving into the silk of your costume.

They screamed.

And they kept screaming as Seunghyun, emboldened by adrenaline and something even deeper, danced with you like never before.

When his solo verse arrived, instead of stepping away to the centre of the stage, he stayed close - circling you, rapping with that low, magnetic growl while his fingertips skimmed the bare skin at your hip. It wasn’t choreographed. It wasn’t planned.

But it felt right.

You could barely breathe, heart slamming against your ribs, skin burning beneath his touch. By the time the song ended, you were dizzy - whether from exertion or the way Seunghyun was still looking at you, you couldn’t tell.

And one you were backstage the teasing started immediately.

“Ohhh, so that’s how it is,” Daesung smirked, arms crossed. "I wondered why I was dancing alone for the first part."

“Our hyung was really feeling the song,” Jiyong added with a grin.

“Look at him!” Taeyang pointed dramatically. “He’s blushing more than she is.”

Seunghyun tried to deflect, but his flaming ears gave him away instantly.

You were too stunned to speak - but when Seunghyun finally caught your eye, the small, shy smile tugging at his mouth was the only thing you cared about.

The teasing could wait.

Because if tonight had proved anything, it was that you were his partner.

On and off the stage.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

the woman was too stunned to speak 🧍‍♀️

as requested! sorry it's taken me so long, writing for GD comes more naturally but Top has a special place in my heart <3

i actually already had plans to do this concept with GD but i saw this request and thought it was too good not to at least do for seunghyun as well as GD hehehehe

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure

[viperify]

oneshots | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ X ɢʀʏꜰꜰɪɴᴅᴏʀ ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

₊˚. 🂼 Losing Game.

Short Summary: being drunk sometimes means making reckless decisions, though agreeing on a bet with Tom Riddle might just top the list.

Warnings: 18+ only! rough oral m!receiving, slight dub con ig, Tom Riddle is a little bitch, no aftercare

A/N: first fic in ten days! finished my thesis and handed it in. SHDFJSKKF

also, this fic is based on this request! tysm for requesting! <3

wordcount: 2,5k

As soon as you saw the exam papers, you knew. 

You’d lose the bet.

A bet that was your idea in the first place.

—

Tom and you have been fierce rivals ever since you started Hogwarts. Always trying to outdo one another, striving for perfection on every single exam and paper you had to hand in.

It’s the day before your Potions exam. You shouldn’t be doing this—getting ready for the party in Slytherin’s common room when you know a late-night study session would be the only way to save you from embarrassment the next day.

Yet, you couldn’t miss out on a fun night with your friends, the ones that keep telling you to stop worrying about your grades so much, to finally take a day off studying.

If they only knew.

After you finish, you take a look in the mirror—neat makeup, hair perfectly styled, tall black heels, burgundy dress, short, maybe too short—you don’t care. Tonight is about having fun and hopefully forgetting about your studies for a few hours.

Flickering green lights and the heavy beat of the music wrap around you as you enter the room, immediately engulfing you in the party’s atmosphere, the smell of alcohol and spilled drinks heavy in the air. Your eyes dart around the place in an attempt to find your friends, but before you get the chance to do so, you spot another familiar face. Familiar in an unpleasant way.

He’s casually leaning against the wall, one hand tucked in his pocket while the other lifts his drink—firewhisky, you assume—to his lips. And he sees you too—a smug grin playing on his lips as his eyes shamelessly drop lower, wandering over your exposed skin before he returns them to your now flushed face.

Tom Riddle—head boy, former prefect, know-it-all. House rivals. He’s always tried to get under your skin with anything he could think of. If he outscored you by more than five points, you wouldn’t hear the end of it.

Merlin, how you despised him.

You silently curse him under your breath, shaking your head as you continue making your way through the crowd. Your skin tingles with the memory of his lingering gaze, already regretting your choice to put on your shortest dress.

As the night goes on, you almost forget about him, your friends keeping you busy with conversations and games. It’s not until after midnight that you see him again—coincidentally just after your friends left your side to get new drinks.

You don’t even realise it’s him until he’s standing in front of you, until you feel his eyes on your skin yet again. You look up at him, meeting his amused expression.

“Shouldn’t you be studying?” He asks, lifting an eyebrow as he gently sways his drink in his hand.

“Unlike you, I have a life, Riddle. I don’t bury myself in books all day.”

“Judging by your grades, that’s what you should be doing. Instead of…” he pauses, eyes roaming over your cleavage to your thighs and back up. “Going to a party in that dress.”

A scoff leaves your lips. That idiot.

“Yeah? Seems like you can’t get enough of it, hm?”

His eyes darken at your words, and merely the fact that he doesn’t have a smug comeback ready tells you you’ve hit a nerve. You are right. He was checking you out.

A satisfied grin forms on your lips as he turns around to leave without saying another word. However, overconfident with the buzz of alcohol rushing through your veins, an idea comes to your mind.

“Riddle,” you call out, voice barely audible above the loud music, and he stops in his tracks. “I bet I will outscore you tomorrow.”

The usual arrogant smirk returns, decorating his face as he retraces his steps, stopping right in front of where you are sitting on the couch, hands tucked in the pockets of his trousers.

“The alcohol is clearly getting to your head if you think you could beat me in any Potions exam.”

You scoff, but deep down you know he isn’t wrong. Potions isn’t your best subject by any means, while Tom seemingly had every potion perfected before you even discussed it in class. Maybe that was exactly what excited you in that moment.

“You don’t have to be afraid, Riddle. Even your ego can take a loss, I am sure of it.”

He nods then. “Fine. Although I expect an adequate prize. What that will be, I choose.”

“That won’t be necessary.” You shoot him a smile, and you don’t catch the last part of what he’s said until it’s too late.

“Good luck. You’ll need it.” He adds, before disappearing into the crowd, and you don’t see him again that night.

What that will be, I choose. His words keep repeating in your head when you are finally in bed, trying your hardest to fall asleep. Slowly sobering up, you can’t believe what you have done. You would never be able to even come close to him tomorrow—not with last bits of alcohol in your system, not with two hours of sleep, surely not with how much you have studied.

Fuck.

And of course, the inevitable happens. The exam is way too difficult, your mind still clouded, ears ringing as a result of your loud surroundings last night. You can’t concentrate no matter how hard you try, and finally decide to hand in early, before anyone else. 

You take one last look around the classroom before you leave, and immediately, your eyes lock with his. 

Tom has been watching your struggle with pleasure, knowing exactly what it meant—what he’d choose as his prize. From the second you initiated the bet, it’s been as clear as daylight what he’d want. .

A week later, and as expected, he has outscored you. In fact, he received the best grade possible on his exam. And you—you failed. Failed. You had never failed an exam before.

So, you have been waiting. Waiting for him to come to you and tell you what he’d want. But the moment hasn’t come—not even days later. 

The following weekend you find yourself at another party. You have expected him to talk to you there, preparing yourself with all sorts of drinks. Whatever he wants from you—and you fully expect it to be something humiliating—will be easier to endure with the courage you gain when you are slightly tipsy.

He’s there, you have seen him, but it doesn’t happen. He gives you that same arrogant smirk each time you see him, yet he never seeks a conversation. He might have forgotten. You hope he has forgotten.

The next day, after your final lesson of the day, you pack your belongings and leave the classroom. The corridors are empty at this hour as you make your way to the Gryffindor dormitories. You sigh as you turn the corner leading you out of the dungeons, ready to head to bed early after an exhausting day.

However, that plan shatters as a pair of strong arms shove you into an empty classroom, hand clamping over your mouth, muffling your attempts to scream.

The familiar scent of potion ingredients and old wood floods your senses as the door shuts behind you, quickly locked with a spell. And then, you finally see who has dragged you in here.

“Riddle, what the hell?” You whisper-yell, looking around you, scared someone has seen or heard you.

“If I remember correctly, you owe me.” He retorts smugly, not yet facing you, instead casting a silencing spell on the room. “And I am here to collect my prize.”

You cross your arms over your chest, leaning against a bookshelf behind you. “What do you want?

Tom turns around then, looking at you for a second before he speaks.

“You. On your knees for me.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You wish he was joking, but the tone of his voice tells you differently. He’s a hundred percent serious about this.

“There is no way I am doing that.”

“Oh but you will. You lost, I get my prize. It’s only fair.”

A sharp exhale leaves your lips, rolling your eyes. “Could have done this when I was drunk. Wouldn’t have been as humiliating.”

“I don’t take advantage of drunk girls. Also,” a grin tugs at the corner of his lips as he guides you towards the wall, forcing you on your knees so that you are facing him. “Makes me enjoy it more.”

You shake your head slightly, looking up at him. “You are sick, I hope you are aware.”

���Get to work,” he orders, disregarding what you just said. He takes a step closer, fingertips brushing over your cheek, thumb softly tracing along your lips. The strain on the fabric of his trousers is evident as your shaky hands make work of his belt, carelessly dropping the leather on the floor with a low thud. He doesn’t bother stepping out of his clothes, leaving them to pool around his ankles.

You swallow as you take in his size, hesitantly reaching out. With your thumb, you softly swipe over his already with precum glistenting tip, looking up at him through your lashes. Your hand wraps around his length before you give him a few soft strokes, earning a low groan of approval from the brunette.

His patience snaps when you trace along a prominent vein on the underside of his cock, forcefully tilting your head back as his fingers tangle in your hair, having you meet his gaze.

“Can’t take a little bit of teasing, Riddle? That desperate for me?” You say smugly, eyes never leaving his as your grip around him tightens, speeding up.

“Thought I’d go easy on you, but turns out you don’t want me to.” He hisses, guiding your head towards him. Your lips wrap around him then, tongue swirling over his sensitive tip before you take him as deep as you can, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as he hits the back of your throat.

It’s not long before his grip on your hair tightens, stilling your movements before he thrusts himself inside of you, deeper than you had taken him. You obey, laying your tongue flat in your mouth as his length slips further, holding you there until you gag around him.

Focusing on breathing through your nose, you relax your muscles, making space for all of him, his eyes shutting in pleasure each time your throat constricts, squeezing him even tighter.

“Look at you,” he rasps, a ragged breath leaving his lips as his dark eyes now stare down at you again, watching his cock disappear in your mouth with every snap of his hips. “So eager to please me. Knew you were nothing but a pathetic slut behind that facade you try to put up. Smart— fuck—  always trying to impress— but in reality, this is the only thing you are actually good at, hm?”

With his hands’ tight grip on your hair, holding you in place as he uses your mouth, you find yourself unable to give a proper response other than a muffled sound of agreement—something he doesn’t seem to be quite satisfied with.

You gasp, taking in a deep breath as Tom yanks your head back, pulling you off his length, now coated in your spit. A string of saliva connects his tip to your swollen, reddened lips, blinking away your tears.

“Answer me.”

“Fuck— yes, Riddle.”

He shakes his head slightly, tilting your head even further back so you are met with his strict gaze. “What’s my name?”

“Tom,” you whisper, “yes, Tom.”

“Good girl,” he purrs, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk. “Remember it.”

Only a second later he is back inside of your warm mouth, holding onto your hair as leverage as he buries himself to the hilt, groaning as he feels you struggle for air, your hands holding onto his thighs for support.

You shouldn’t like this, shouldn’t like how he is using you to get off, and yet, his soft gasps and groans as he gets closer to his release have you clenching your thighs together, desperately trying to ease the ache in your lower stomach.

“Hate to admit you were right. Can’t fucking get enough of you.” He grunts as you feel him twitch inside of you, spluttering around his cock as his thrusts grow harsher, tears running down your cheek as you try your best to take what he is giving you.

“Fuck— Show me—“ Tom breathes, hips stuttering, “show me whose good girl you are and swallow for me.” He barely gets the words out before he stills inside of you, the taste of his release flooding your senses as he empties himself inside of you—deep enough that swallowing is in fact the only option.

Still, he keeps your head pressed against his lower abdomen until he feels you swallow around him, only then pulling out of you.

Tom lets go of your hair then, and you sink against the cold brick wall behind you, utterly spent, jaw sore. You watch him getting dressed, mind still hazy when he walks towards you, looking like nothing happened—on the contrary to you.

“Look even prettier when you cry for me,” he remarks, taking in your state, wiping your tear-soaked cheeks with the back of his hand before he uses a spell to clean your chin and blouse.

And you let him do it, too tired and worn out to complain.

“I guess I have finally found a way to silence that bratty mouth of yours,” he mumbles when he is done, gently wiping a strand of hair from your face.

You look up at him then, hoarsely whispering a soft “Fuck you, Riddle.”

He offers you no other reply than his signature grin whenever he gets something he wants, his eyes fixated on you while he adjusts his robes.

“Tutoring for Potions every Thursday at 7 pm in the library. Don’t be late.” He says, exiting the classroom before you even get the chance to process his words.

You run out of curses to use for him by the time you reach your dorm, exhaustedly collapsing onto your bed. You tell yourself that no, you wouldn’t go because who does he think he is—yet it’s an offer you can’t decline.

So, every Thursday from then on, you find yourself studying for Potions under his guidance. It’s tough at first, but after just a few shared lessons, you realise he might not be that bad after all.

And soon enough, the next bet is made.

—

“If I outscore you tomorrow, I get to fuck you—properly.”

��You are delusional, Riddle.”

Naturally, you lose the bet.

The only difference: This time, you lose on purpose.

[someonegoood]

BRUISED HEARTS ✫ jeon jungkook

CONTAINS: boxer!Jungkook x reader, fighting turned bonding, emotional vulnerability, healing together, SOULMATES AU, mention of violence, past trauma, shared pain, fluff & angst, unexpected connection, fighting against fate....

NOTE: thanks so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed it!! this work hasn’t been revised, and english isn’t my first language, so please bear with me!!!! your feedback means a lot to me! 😊THIS IS A ONE PART STORY.

my main masterlist! ❀

From the moment you’re born, your soulmate exists somewhere out there—a thread tying two lives together, invisible but unbreakable. Yet, the connection remains asleep until your eighteenth birthday. That’s the moment everything changes.

The moment the clock strikes midnight, your body becomes linked to theirs. Every ache, every wound, every sharp sting of pain—they feel it, and so do you. A scraped knee burns against your skin. A broken bone sends you crumbling under the same pain.

It’s an unspoken law of the universe: soulmates share pain, but bleeding wounds always belong to the one who truly endured them.

For some, it’s proof of an unshakable bond, a guiding force leading them to their other half. For others, it’s a cruel twist of fate—linkedto a stranger’s suffering with no way to stop it.

And for you? It starts with a split lip the day after turning eighteen, stealing the breath from your lungs.

A sharp sting on your lip, the dull ache blooming across your face. You scramble out of bed, stumbling to the mirror, fingertips ghosting over the swollen skin. There’s no explanation. No accident from the night before. No memory of falling. And yet, the pain lingers deep in your bones.

And that’s when it hits you.

Your soulmate is hurt. And you have no idea who they are.

That was a year ago.

At first, the pain was relentless. It happened again two nights later—an ache in your ribs, enough to make you suffer with every breath. Then a bruise on your knuckles a week after that. It was slow at first, little reminders that somewhere, someone was fighting battles you couldn’t see.

You tried not to think about it too much. Tried to convince yourself it wasn’t your problem. But then the injuries worsened.

One morning, you woke up with bruises scattered across your face, purple and aching. Your mother screamed when she saw you.

"What happened to you?" she demanded, rushing over with wide, frantic eyes. You blinked at her, still groggy from sleep.

"I—I don’t know."

"Don’t lie to me!" Her voice cracked as she cupped your face, fingers trembling. "Who did this to you? Did someone—did someone hurt you?"

Tears burned at the back of your throat. "No one hurt me, Mom. I swear. It just… happened."

"That’s not possible," she whispered, her hands falling to her sides. "This isn’t normal."

You swallowed hard, heart pounding. "It’s the soulmate bond."

Your mother exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "Oh, sweetheart..." She pulled you into a hug, holding you tighter than she ever had before. "You need to start covering them. People will ask questions."

So you did.

From that day forward, you mastered the art of makeup. Layers of it over bruises, carefully chosen clothes to hide what foundation couldn’t. Some days, the pain was just a dull ache. Other days, it felt like your body was breaking under the weight of wounds you couldn’t see.

You had to.

Now, the pain is back. It comes in waves, occasional bruises appearing on your skin like echoes of a fight happening miles away. You thought it was over, that maybe your soulmate had finally found peace.

But the fresh aches tell you otherwise.

Jungkook’s life has always been a battlefield.

He grew up fighting, not just in the ring, but for survival. There was no softness in his world—no warm hugs, no soothing words, no gentle hands to catch him when he fell. His parents were there in surname only, too preoccupied with their own lives to notice the boy slipping through the cracks.

So he learned early: no one was coming to save him.

Pain was temporary. Weakness was unacceptable. And anger? Anger was the only thing that was his.

He was fifteen the first time he stumbled into an underground fight. It happened by accident—one of the older kids at school had mentioned a place, a ring hidden near a park on the outskirts of the city. No rules, no questions, just fists and money exchanged under flickering lights.

Jungkook hadn’t gone looking for a fight that night. But when he saw it—the raw brutality, the way blood stained the concrete floor, the way the crowd roared with every brutal hit—something inside him clicked.

For the first time, he felt something real.

The next time he went... he wasn’t just a spectator. Now, years later, fighting is the only thing that keeps him steady.

“Why do you keep doing this?” his coach, Seokjin, asks one evening after a particularly brutal match. Jungkook sits on the locker room bench, wrapping his bruised knuckles with practiced ease. His jaw is swollen, a cut on his cheekbone still fresh, but he barely flinches.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares at his hands, flexing his fingers. “Because I need to.”

Seokjin sighs, running a hand through his hair. “That’s not an answer. You have talent, Jungkook. Real talent. You could go pro. Make something of this. But instead, you’re out there throwing punches in illegal rings for what? Money? Bragging rights?”

Jungkook lets out a humorless laugh. “It’s not about money.”

“Then what is it about?” Seokjin presses, voice softer now. “Why do you need to fight like this?”

For a moment, Jungkook hesitates. Then he exhales, leaning back against the wall. “Because if I stop, I have to feel everything else.”

Seokjin doesn’t push him after that.

Two years ago, Jungkook turned eighteen, expecting something—anything. But no pain came. No sudden ache, no phantom injuries. Nothing. At first, he waited, convinced that maybe his soulmate just hadn’t been hurt yet. But days turned into weeks, then months, and still, he felt nothing.

Soulmates were supposed to share pain. If he felt nothing, then maybe soulmates weren’t real. Maybe he was alone in this world.

One night, during a rare outing with his friends, the topic comes up. They're sitting at a bar, laughter mixing with the low hum of music. Taehyung leans back in his seat, tipping his drink toward Jungkook with a knowing smirk.

"Still no sign of a soulmate?" he asks.

Jungkook scoffs, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "You know the answer."

Jimin, ever the romantic, frowns. "That’s... kind of sad, man. Doesn’t it bother you?"

"Not really," Jungkook lies, taking a slow sip. "Means I don’t have to worry about someone else’s pain."

Taehyung hums. "Or maybe it means they don’t exist at all."

Jimin shakes his head. "That’s not how it works. Everyone has a soulmate, Jungkook. You probably just haven’t—"

"I don’t believe in that crap," Jungkook cuts in, sharper than intended. "If I had one, I’d feel something. Anything. But I don’t."

The table falls silent for a moment. Then Taehyung raises his glass in a mock toast. "Well, soulmate or not, at least you can still drink with us."

Jungkook clinks his glass against Taehyung’s, forcing a smirk. But deep down, something unsettles him. A quiet thought he doesn’t want to acknowledge.

If soulmates are real, why hasn’t he felt anything?

The underground fights are ruthless. There are no rules, no referees to step in when things get too rough. It’s just fists, blood, and the roar of a crowd hungry for violence.

Jungkook thrives in it.

Tonight, he moves like a predator in the ring—sharp reflexes, calculated brutality. Every punch he throws is precise, every hit he takes with gritted teeth and unwavering focus. He’s fast and relentless. He doesn’t just fight to win, he fights to feel something. To punish himself for things he won’t say out loud.

And somewhere, you feel every single one.

Your body jerks awake with a sharp gasp, searing pain tearing through your ribs. Your vision swims, the force of a punch nearly knocking the breath from your lungs. You clutch your side, fingers pressing against skin that remains unbroken but throbs as if bruised to the bone.

You barely make it to the bathroom, bracing yourself against the counter as your legs tremble beneath you. Another hit lands, this time to the jaw, and your head snaps to the side as if an invisible fist just struck you. A choked whimper escapes your lips, swallowed by the silence of your empty apartment.

Whoever your soulmate is, they are fighting for their life.

And losing.

The next morning you tend to your aching body, carefully putting ointment over bruises that aren’t really yours. The motions are familiar, practiced. Once done, you take your dog for a walk, hoping the fresh air will clear your mind.

But the moment you get to the park, he takes off.

“Wait—Soo!” you call, but he doesn’t stop. He runs between trees, disappearing into the distance. Panic rises in your chest as you chase after him, heart pounding.

You finally catch sight of him slipping through a half-open door of an old shed. A strange chill creeps up your spine.

You hesitate before stepping inside, your voice trembling as you call, “Soo?”

The dim light reveals punching bags, weights, and a massive ring in the center of the room. The scent of sweat and metal lingers in the air. A gym—hidden, secure.

And then, a sound. A faint, almost imperceptible.

Your heart jumps. You whip around, breath shallow, eyes scanning the room. The space seems unnervingly still, the only movement coming from the dim, buzzing fluorescent lights above. But there’s nothing else. Nothing... until another sound. This one louder.

A figure steps from the shadows, taller than you expected, broad shoulders cutting through the low light like a figure from a dream. The knot in your stomach tightens, but you can’t look away.

You know who it is.

Your heart races, but not from fear—no, it's something else, something far more primal. It’s like your body recognizes him before your mind has a chance to make sense of it. A fleeting sensation of familiarity, as though you've seen him before… in a dream, or maybe in another lifetime.

His eyes catch yours—intense, almost possessive—like he’s been waiting for you too. His lips part, but he doesn't speak. His presence feels like a weight in the room, pulling the space around you taut, making everything feel infinitely closer. You swallow hard, a lump in your throat, unable to find the words, but a strange tug at the back of your mind tells you he knows you.

But how? Why does it feel like this moment was always meant to happen?

He steps closer, the sound of his footsteps muffled by the thick air in the room. There’s a quiet intensity to his movements, as if he's waiting for something, calculating your reaction. Your breath quickens as your pulse races in your ears, the distance between you shrinking.

"Soo?" you ask again, your voice trembling, unsure whether it's out of fear or something else entirely. You can’t quite place it, but something inside you stirs, a flutter deep in your chest, as though you’ve been waiting for him all along.

Jungkook doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, his gaze holds yours, unreadable, before a small, knowing grin tugs at his lips. His silence speaks volumes. There’s something in the air, a strange recognition, an unspoken connection. It feels inevitable, even if neither of you understands it.

Jungkook stands frozen, his mind a whirlwind of confusion, and something deeper—a recognition he can’t shake. He’s drawn to you, inexplicably, even though every instinct tells him to stay back.

Jungkook thinks this can’t be real.

His mind spins with a whirlwind of confusion and something deeper, a recognition he can't shake. He’s always been cautious. Always kept his walls high. After all, the world had taught him that letting anyone in just leads to pain. But here you are, standing in front of him, and there’s a familiarity in your eyes—something that speaks to him on a level he can’t even begin to understand.

Why now? Who are you?, he thinks.

His eyes follow your every movement. Every part of him wants to know you, to understand why everything about you feels so... right. But the voice in his head urges him to retreat, to protect himself from whatever this connection might bring. He can’t afford to trust anyone again—not after everything he’s lost.

But the pull is too strong.

All of a sudden, a high-pitched bark echoes through the gym, breaking the tension in the air. The sound is so unexpected, so out of place in the heavy silence, that it startles both Jungkook and you.

Jungkook jumps, muscles tensing, eyes wide. The bark throws him off balance, and in his haste to step back, he bumps into something hard. The sound of metal crashing to the ground sends a jolt of adrenaline through him.

He stumbles, trying to regain his footing, but as he does, his shoulder brushes against yours. The unexpected contact makes both of you freeze.

A sudden wave of warmth rushes through you, more intense than any shock you’ve ever felt. It’s like a spark, an undeniable connection surging between the two of you.

You flinch, your breath catching in your throat.

"Auch..." you mutter under your breath, the word slipping out instinctively, and just like that, something shifts in the air. It’s subtle, but you feel it. The pull between you and Jungkook intensifies, and for the first time, the weight of the moment settles around you, overwhelming, undeniable.

Jungkook stands still, eyes wide as he processes the surge of emotion, the inexplicable bond between you. His breath falters for a moment, the realization dawning on him.

This is what it feels like.

You and Jungkook stand there, breathless, a shared understanding passing between you. Neither of you needs to speak because you both know.

You’re soulmates.

“Soo?”

That fluffy little dog. The one that had barked, causing the sudden, chaotic moment between you and Jungkook. The dog now stands quietly at your feet, as if it, too, understands the truth, playing its part in this strange, inevitable moment.

Jungkook looks between you and your dog, his confusion turning into something deeper. He doesn’t speak, but his eyes narrow, taking in the shift in your expression. Something clicks in his mind, a strange understanding flashing in his gaze.

His gaze flickers down to the dog again, and then back to you—realizing something that had been hidden in plain sight all along.

You take a deep breath, and the words rush out before you can stop them.

“I—I’m so sorry,” you say, your voice soft but filled with genuine regret. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean to intrude.” Your gaze flickers down to the dog at your feet, still looking up at you with that familiar, innocent expression. “I was just looking for Soo.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond immediately. He looks at you, his eyes softening, taking in your apology. Then, after a long moment, he steps a little closer, the distance between you still feeling palpable.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he says, his voice low but firm, like he’s already decided what he’s going to say. “But don’t get this twisted. I didn’t ask for any of this.”

His words hit you like a slap. For a moment, you’re stunned into silence. You can’t breathe. You thought the connection between you was undeniable, but now, it feels like he’s put up an unscalable wall between you.

“I don’t want this… whatever this is. I don’t need anyone to complete me, and I sure as hell don’t need you or anyone else to make sense of things.”

You open your mouth, but no words come. How do you fight against a rejection like that?

Jungkook turns away, the finality in his movement clear—this conversation is over. He doesn’t look back. The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating, leaving you standing in the aftermath of a connection that never had the chance to bloom.

Jungkook leans back against the cool metal of the bar, the bottle of beer in his hand nearly empty. His friends are scattered around him, the night still young, but the mood feels different tonight. The conversation from earlier keeps replaying in his mind, echoing in his thoughts.

“SO YOU REJECTED HER?” Taehyung’s voice cuts through the air, sharp and teasing, his eyebrow arched as he takes another long sip from his bottle.

The others look between them, all clearly waiting for Jungkook's response. There’s a lightness in the air, but it feels forced, like they can’t tell if this is some sort of joke or if Jungkook is dead serious.

“I didn’t reject her,” Jungkook mutters finally, his voice rough, as if the words don’t sit well in his mouth. "I just told her the truth. She was… looking for something I don’t want."

Jimin leans forward, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “So, Jeon Jungkook doesn’t want a soulmate?” He shakes his head, laughing lightly. “That’s rich, man.”

Jungkook’s eyes flash with irritation, and for a moment, the teasing vibe shifts. It’s not fun anymore. Something darker flickers in his gaze, something that says he’s not in the mood for jokes.

“I never asked for this,” Jungkook snaps, his tone harsher than he meant. “I’m not looking for someone to complete me. I’ve got my own shit to deal with.”

“Yeah, but you could’ve been a little gentler with it,” Namjoon adds, his voice calm but firm. “You’re not the only one with baggage, you know. But she... she didn’t deserve that cold of a response.”

“Did she do something?” Taehyung asks, his tone softer now, more thoughtful. “Remember the ring. When you’re boxing... she feels it.”

“Stop,” Jungkook mutters, the frustration and guilt creeping into his voice. He doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t want to deal with it. His jaw tightens, and a frown pulls at the corners of his mouth.

“She can’t handle me,” he finally says, his voice low, almost like a confession. “No one can handle all of this. I’m not gonna drag her into my mess.”

“She's already in it, man,” Taehyung shoots back, his words cutting through the tension. “You don’t get to decide that for her. She’s already shown she’s not backing away. She’s in this whether you want her to be or not.”

Jungkook falls silent, the weight of his friends' words sinking into him like a stone. He doesn’t know how to respond. The truth stings, but it also feels impossible to ignore.

A few weeks had passed since the encounter, and the tension still lingered in the air. It wasn’t easy to shake off, and you decided it was best to avoid him and that gym altogether. The thought of crossing paths again felt unbearable, especially when everything remained so raw, unresolved.

So, you made a conscious decision to stop walking past the gym—you started taking a different route home after university, deliberately steering as far away from the gym as possible.

Meanwhile, Jungkook had thrown himself into training. The big fight was approaching, the culmination of months of grueling preparation, and he needed to be at his best. But no matter how hard he trained, no matter how many rounds he sparred or how relentlessly he hit the punching bag, his mind kept drifting back to you.

He tried to concentrate on the fight, but all he could think about was the last and the first time he saw you—the pain in your eyes, the way he had pushed you away when he should’ve reached for you.

The night of the fight finally arrived, and the gym was buzzing with energy. The crowd outside had already begun to gather, their anticipation filling the air.

In the locker room, Jungkook stood, sweat dripping from his body as he tightened his gloves. His coach gave him one last pep talk, but Jungkook wasn’t really listening. His thoughts kept wandering back to you—wondering if you were still thinking about him, wondering where you were.

The bell rang, and the fight began.

Sitting on your couch you felt an odd pull deep in your chest, a force was gently tugging at you, calling you back to the gym. You tried to ignore it, to push it aside, but the feeling only grew stronger. Something inside you told you to go to the gym, so, against your better judgment, you followed that pull.

When you arrived, the crowd was already thick with excitement. The atmosphere was electric. You pushed through the sea of bodies, your heart racing for reasons you couldn’t quite explain. And then, you saw him.

Jungkook in the ring. He was a force of nature—each punch landing with precision, his body flowing like a dancer, but there was a raw intensity in his movements. He wasn’t just fighting his opponent; it was as though he was fighting everything inside him—the hurt, the frustration, the things he’d been trying to bury.

And then, it hit.

The pain. Sudden and sharp, like a knife piercing your chest. You stumbled back, clutching your stomach as the world spun around you. The pressure in your chest was unbearable, each breath harder to take than the last. You wanted to ignore it, push through it, but the pain only worsened.

You gasped for air, your body trembling, and with each punch Jungkook landed in the ring, the agony seemed to ripple through you. You pressed your hand to your stomach, trying to steady yourself, but the pain wouldn’t stop. You accidentally trip over a rock and fall to the ground, hurting your ankle.

And that’s when he felt it, a particular pain in his ankle.

Jungkook’s head snapped to the side, as though something had reached him through the chaos. He searched the crowd, his gaze sweeping over the sea of people, until it landed on you. His heart skipped a beat. There you were, clutching your chest on the floor, barely able to stand. His world tilted.

Ignoring the shouts from his coach and the crowd—he leaped out of the ring, pushing through the crowd as though nothing else mattered. His pulse hammered in his ears, and all he could think about was getting to you.

The crowd around you parted as Jungkook pushed through. You felt him before you saw him, his presence like a magnet pulling you toward him. His hand steadied you, his touch warm and strong as you struggled to stay conscious.

You looked up just as he reached you, kneeling in front of you, his hands hovering around you as if he wasn’t sure what to do. His eyes locked onto yours, filled with panic, and something inside him snapped.

“I knew you were here,” he breathed, his voice rough. “What’s happening? Are you okay?”

“I…” You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat, the pain still gripping you. Somehow, being near him made it feel a little less suffocating.

“Stay with me,” he urged, his voice shaking with urgency. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

You couldn’t find the words. The pain still gnawed at you, relentless and all-consuming. You trembled, barely able to stay on your feet, your knees buckling.

“Hold on,” he whispered, his voice tight with panic as he scooped you into his arms. “I’ve got you.”

The crowd murmured, but it was a blur. All you could focus on was Jungkook’s heartbeat, thudding in his chest as he rushed you toward the back exit. His touch was gentle, yet desperate—his focus solely on you.

Once outside, he didn’t hesitate. He pushed open the door and called out to the driver, his voice strained with worry. “Get in the car,” he ordered. “We’re going to my place.”

You wanted to say something, to assure him that you were fine, but the words wouldn’t come. The pain still gripped you, leaving you numb.

“You’re gonna be alright,” Jungkook murmured, glancing over at you before turning his attention back to the road. “I’ll take care of you. We’ll figure this out.”

When you arrived at his place, he didn’t let go of you. He helped you inside, his hands gentle as he guided you to the couch. His eyes never left you as he checked your pulse, your temperature, doing everything he could to make sure you were okay.

“I’m here,” he whispered, sitting beside you. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His words were the only comfort you could feel as the pain started to slowly subside, bit by bit. You didn’t know how long you would stay here, or what would happen next, but there was one thing you were certain of: he wasn’t going anywhere.

The bathroom was small, the smell of antiseptic filling the air, the light flickering overhead. Jungkook stood at the sink, his shirt off, revealing the bruises and cuts from the fight. His movements were sharp, purposeful as he cleaned the cuts on his arms, his jaw clenched against the sting.

You sat on the edge of the tub, your body still sore from the pain that had brought you here. Jungkook had insisted on helping you, leading you to the bathroom, tending to your bruises with a professionalism that made it clear he was used to this kind of care.

You winced as he applied pressure to the bruise on your side. His touch was gentle but distant, his expression unreadable. The quiet movements filled the air, but there was an unspoken tension between you.

You didn’t know what to say, or how to bridge the gap between you. This wasn’t how you imagined the night would go—here you were, two people in silence, tending to each other’s wounds. You remembered how he had carried you, how you’d felt his worry despite the coldness he tried to show.

You said your name softly, breaking the silence. “Sorry for all this… for everything. I didn’t mean for any of it to happen.”

“Jungkook,” he replied shortly, his voice clipped, almost dismissive. “It’s fine. Just… be careful next time.”

You nodded, feeling the sting of his coldness, but understanding. He was protecting himself. The sharpness in his tone hit harder than you expected.

“I should probably go,” you murmured, standing up slowly, mindful of the pain. “You’ve done enough. I—”

Before you could finish, his voice stopped you.

“I’ll take you home,” he said, his tone softer now but still holding that edge of distance. “It’s late. You shouldn’t be out alone.”

You didn’t argue. You couldn’t. You just nodded as he grabbed his jacket and slid it on, movements slow and deliberate. You left the bathroom in silence, walking to the car without another word.

When he pulled up outside your apartment, you hesitated. You didn’t want to make things awkward, but you felt the need to say something.

“Thanks for… helping me tonight,” you said quietly. “I didn’t expect any of this, but… I appreciate it.”

Jungkook didn’t look at you. His eyes remained fixed on the rearview mirror as he nodded. “Get some rest. Stay safe.”

You gave him a small nod, feeling the weight of his words. You hadn’t expected more, but still, something in the air felt unfinished. A moment of hesitation passed before you reached over, picking it up slowly. Jungkook’s eyes flickered to you, his face hardening immediately.

"I should probably have your number, just in case something like this happens again," you said, trying to make it sound casual, though you felt your heart racing. You didn’t want to push him, but you also didn’t want to leave things hanging.

He didn’t immediately respond, and you could feel the conflict inside him. He was clearly reluctant. But after a long pause, he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before nodding curtly. "Fine," he muttered, a mix of frustration and resignation in his tone. "But don’t expect much from me."

You held his gaze for a beat, then typed in your contact information. As you handed the phone back to him, you caught a glimpse of the hesitation in his eyes.

He didn’t say anything, just took it from you without looking at your face. His fingers gripped the device a little too tightly, as if holding on to something he didn’t want to let go of.

"Good night," you said softly, opening the door.

"Yeah," Jungkook’s voice was quieter than before, and for a brief second, you thought you saw something flicker in his eyes. "Get some rest."

You closed the door behind you and stood for a moment on the sidewalk, watching his car pull away. The night felt unusually quiet, almost too still, and as you walked to the entrance of your apartment, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted.

He shook his head, trying to silence the thoughts. He knew he wasn’t supposed to care. He had made that decision a long time ago—no soulmates, no attachments.

But as he drove away, the uncertainty waved at him.

The next morning you sat on the edge of your bed, your phone pressed to your ear as you spoke with your mother. The concern in her voice was unmistakable, but you tried to keep the conversation light, not wanting to worry her too much.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked, the words heavy with worry. “I saw the bruises on your arm when we last talked. Have you been getting enough rest? Are you eating?”

You glanced down at the fading bruises on your wrist, the reminder of the hectic few days that had passed. You hadn't told her about Jungkook yet—didn't want to add fuel to the fire of her concern. She’d only worry more if she knew about him.

“I’m fine, Mom,” you said, forcing your voice to sound reassuring. “I’m just a little clumsy, that’s all. Nothing to worry about.”

Her sigh on the other end of the line was audible, but she didn’t press further. “Alright. Just take care of yourself, okay? And if you ever need me—”

“I know, Mom. I will. Love you,” you interrupted, hoping to end the conversation before she could say anything more. You needed the distraction, the escape, from everything that was weighing you down.

“Love you too,” she replied, and you could hear the concern still lingering in her tone before she hung up.

Soo followed you, tail wagging, oblivious to the storm of thoughts that were swirling in your head. You smiled weakly at the sight of him, kneeling down to pet him before you prepared to leave. “I’ll be back soon, Soo. Be good while I’m gone,” you murmured, trying to shake off the weight of the night.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. As you reached for the door to leave for your uni classes, a notification caught your eye. . You checked the screen, your stomach tightening as you saw the name that popped up.

Jungkook.

i don’t know how to make this easier for you, just stay safe

don’t get too close to me

It was cold, but there was something deeper in it, something that pulled at you despite the detachment. His words were sharp, but the underlying care was unmistakable, even if he couldn’t bring himself to show it fully.

You bit your lip, a mix of emotions washing over you. He wanted to protect you, but at the same time, he was pushing you away, keeping you at a distance. It was always the same—Jungkook’s confusion, his walls, his inability to be vulnerable.

There was no easy answer, no simple way to make sense of him, of what you were supposed to do with all of this. You ran your fingers over the edge of your desk, then typed a short reply.

i’ll be careful, but don’t push me away!!

i won’t disappear :)

You hesitated, staring at the screen for a moment, then sent it. What were you even expecting in return?

With a new sense of energy and warmth you turned to leave, Soo’s wagging tail following you out the door. As you stepped into the cool morning air, a sense of possibility filled you. Whatever this was between you and Jungkook, whatever he was trying to say, you felt a spark of hope that it wasn’t over.

The gym was nearly silent, save for the rhythmic hum of the overhead lights and the faint creak of the floorboards beneath Jungkook’s heavy steps. His fists were clenched, shoulders rigid with frustration as he stormed inside. The sting of his loss still burned in his chest, but the anger coursing through him had nothing to do with the fight itself.

Seokjin was already there, arms crossed, watching him with the kind of knowing gaze that made Jungkook’s skin itch. He didn’t need a lecture right now. He needed to hit something, to drown out the mess in his head with exhaustion.

"You lost," Seokjin said, his voice even but edged with something firm, something disappointed. "You weren’t focused. You let your emotions get in the way. You let her get in the way."

Jungkook’s jaw tightened. His pulse roared in his ears at the mention of you.

"I told you I don’t need anyone’s help," he bit out, his voice rough with frustration. "I don’t need you or anyone else telling me what to do. I’m fine on my own."

Seokjin let out a slow exhale, shaking his head. "It’s not about needing help, Jungkook. It’s about what you’re doing to yourself. You’re pushing everything away—everyone away. And for what?"

Jungkook’s chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths. He hated this. Hated feeling like his insides were unraveling. Like no matter how fast he ran, the past—the pain—was always a step behind, waiting to sink its claws into him.

"You don’t get it," he muttered, shaking his head. "You don’t know what it’s like to feel like everything’s slipping through your fingers, no matter what you do."

"Then stop running," Seokjin snapped, stepping forward. "Face it. Face her. Face yourself. Because this? What you’re doing now? It’s not working."

The words hit harder than any punch Jungkook had taken in the ring. His breathing stuttered, his vision blurring at the edges as something sharp lodged itself in his throat. He turned away before Seokjin could see the cracks forming.

"I’m done," he muttered, voice tight. "I don’t need this."

"Jungkook—"

But he was already moving, shoving open the door and stepping out into the cold night air. His pulse pounded in his ears, hands still curled into fists at his sides. He didn’t know where he was going.

All he knew was that if he stayed, if he let himself feel any more than he already did—he wouldn’t be able to stop. And that terrified him more than anything.

You had just finished your last class of the day, your mind still tangled in the mess of notes and half-understood lectures. The weight of exhaustion clung to you, but it wasn’t just from studying—it was from everything. From the lingering thoughts of Jungkook, from the conversation with your mother, from the way your chest felt too tight lately.

And then you saw him.

Jungkook was walking down the street, head down, shoulders tense, his whole presence brimming with frustration. His eyes—dark and stormy—barely flickered as people passed him, lost in whatever war was raging inside him. But beneath the anger, beneath the cold detachment, you saw it.

Something broken.

He didn’t notice you at first, his mind too consumed by his own turmoil. But as you caught up with him, you called out his name softly, trying not to startle him.

"Jungkook?" Your voice was gentle, but it broke through the fog in his mind. He turned sharply, his eyes flashing with a mix of fury and sadness.

"What do you want?" His voice was harsh, sharp, like he was ready to lash out. "I’m not in the mood for any of this."

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t back down. Instead, you stepped closer, your tone steady, insistent. "You’re not going anywhere like this. You need to calm down."

"I don’t need your help," Jungkook snapped, his fists tightening at his sides. "Just leave me alone."

His jaw clenched, but before he could argue, you grabbed his wrist—not hard, not forcefully, just enough to ground him. His body was tense, radiating frustration, but he didn’t pull away. Maybe because deep down, he was too exhausted to fight anymore.

You shook your head, not willing to let him push you away. "No, Jungkook. You’re not fine. I’m not letting you do this alone. Come with me."

Before he could argue further, you guided him toward your apartment. You didn’t care about his anger, his desire to fight. You cared about the pain behind it, the way he was falling apart, and you weren’t going to let him suffer in silence.

The walk back to your apartment was quiet, thick with unspoken tension. He moved stiffly beside you, every step heavy with something neither of you were ready to name.

Once inside, you guided him to the couch. He sat reluctantly, his eyes still dark with frustration. You disappeared into the kitchen for a moment, returning with two glasses of water. He took his without a word, staring at the liquid like it held answers he’d never find.

"Why do you care?" His voice was quieter now, but the edge was still there. "You don't know me at all."

You sat down next to him, close enough for warmth but not enough to make him retreat. "You’re human, Jungkook. You’re allowed to be angry, to make mistakes. But you don’t have to go through it alone."

Something flickered in his expression—hesitation, doubt, maybe even relief. His fingers curled around the glass, but he didn’t drink. He took a deep breath, as if he was allowing himself to finally feel the weight of everything he had been pushing down.

"I don’t know what to do anymore," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I feel lost. And it hurts."

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you leaned forward, placing your hand gently on his. The contact was small, but it seemed to ground him, his shoulders slumping just a little as he let the tension leave his body.

"Just be here," you said softly. "Just for tonight. Let yourself feel it. You don’t have to have all the answers."

Jungkook exhaled, his head tilting back as he closed his eyes. It felt like a weight was lifting from him, just a little. And for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself lean into the moment, let the anger and the frustration subside, replaced by something quieter—something softer.

"Thank you," he whispered, barely audible. "I didn’t think anyone would be here for me like this."

As the silence stretched between you, the weight of the day slowly fading, you glanced at him, feeling a quiet resolve settle in your chest. His shoulders were relaxed now, his eyes softer than you’d seen them before. You couldn’t help but smile, the warmth in your heart spreading through you.

You watched him, your resolve settling. His walls were still up, but there was a crack now, a glimpse of the person beneath all the anger and resistance.

"You're not alone, Jungkook," you said, voice soft but certain. "I’m your soulmate, anyway. No matter how much you fight it, I’m here."

His eyes snapped to yours, something shifting between you in the dim light. It wasn’t a plea. It wasn’t an argument. Just the truth—unshakable, undeniable.

For a moment, he didn’t speak. But then, barely there, the corners of his lips twitched, something small, something real.

And for now, that was enough.

SIX MONTHS LATER...

Jungkook was sprawled on your couch, flipping through channels with the kind of bored impatience that made you roll your eyes. His hair was still damp from his shower, a few strands falling into his eyes, but he didn’t bother pushing them back.

You were on the floor, leaning against the coffee table, scrolling through your emails when a notification popped up. Your brows furrowed as you opened the message.

You are invited to the wedding of Kim Namjoon & Seo Yuna…

Your eyes widened. "Jungkook."

"Hm?" He didn’t look away from the TV.

"You got an invitation to Namjoon’s wedding."

That made him pause. He turned his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "Namjoon? Hyung is getting married?"

"Yeah. And it says we’re invited." You lifted your phone, shaking it a little.

Jungkook’s jaw tensed as he sat up properly. "He invited both of us?"

"That’s what we means."

His lips pressed into a thin line. You watched as he processed the information, his fingers tapping against his knee.

"You don’t have to come," he said after a beat, voice a little too casual. "It’s not like anyone expects—"

"I want to," you interrupted, tilting your head at him. "Unless you don’t want me to go."

Jungkook hesitated, eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. A few months ago, he would’ve found a way to push you away, to make it seem like he didn’t care. But now, he was different. Softer in ways he didn’t realize.

Finally, he exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "It’s just… a lot. Weddings, relationships—" He stopped himself, then sighed. "But if you want to go, then we’ll go."

You smiled, setting your phone down. "Then it’s settled."

Jungkook shook his head, mumbling something under his breath, but you caught the way his lips twitched, the way his fingers absentmindedly reached for yours as if it was second nature now.

Neither of you said it out loud, but the truth hung between you like a quiet understanding.

This wasn’t just about a wedding. It was about showing up—for each other.

Jungkook had spent months resisting, convincing himself that fate was something he could outrun. That having a soulmate was a burden, not a gift. But somewhere along the way—between the quiet moments where you stood by him without expecting anything in return, between the nights where you saw the parts of him he kept hidden from the world—something shifted.

He stopped fighting it. Stopped fighting you.

It wasn’t sudden, but gradual, like ice melting under the warmth of the sun. He still wasn’t perfect—still stubborn, still rough around the edges—but the walls he’d built weren’t impenetrable anymore.

Now, when you reached for him, he didn’t pull away. When you said his name, he answered without hesitation. And when he looked at you, really looked at you, he didn’t see a mistake.

He saw home.

A few days later, both of you were seated in the venue. It was breathtaking—golden chandeliers casting a soft glow over the polished floors, tables adorned with white roses, and a string quartet playing something elegant in the background.

Jungkook had been fidgeting with the cuffs of his black suit since the moment you arrived, but he looked effortlessly handsome, the dark fabric hugging his frame in all the right places.

"You clean up well," you murmured, adjusting the slightly crooked tie around his neck.

He huffed, feigning annoyance, but you didn’t miss the way his lips twitched. "Yeah, well, you look—" His gaze flickered over you, lingering for a moment longer than necessary. "Nice."

"Nice?" You raised an eyebrow. "That’s all I get?"

Jungkook rolled his eyes, but there was no real irritation behind it. His fingers ghosted over your wrist before he slipped his hand into yours, like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Fine. You look beautiful. Happy now?"

Before you could tease him, the sound of laughter and clinking glasses filled the air as Namjoon and Yuna made their grand entrance. The crowd erupted into cheers, and Jungkook straightened, his grip on your hand tightening slightly.

"Do weddings always feel this… intense?" he muttered, eyeing the scene.

You grinned. "It’s just love, Jungkook. Try not to look so scared."

His jaw clenched slightly, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he let you pull him toward your table, where some of his friends were already gathered.

Throughout the night, you caught glimpses of something new in him. The way his shoulders eased when you leaned into him, the way his fingers absentmindedly traced circles on the back of your hand, the way his lips twitched in amusement when you forced him onto the dance floor despite his protests.

And then, somewhere between the speeches and the first dance, he leaned in, his voice quieter, more certain than before.

"I don’t know when it happened," he murmured, eyes locked on yours. "But I stopped fighting it. Stopped fighting us."

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words settling between you.

Jungkook wasn’t running anymore.

Instead, he was here—standing beside you, hand in yours, finally accepting that maybe, just maybe, fate had been right all along.

[silent-stories]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 (𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐁𝐀𝐅 𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄)

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader

Summary: Luna talks about what a friend of hers thinks about Noah.

The three of you were on the couch after having dinner. The night outside was quiet, and the only sounds in the house were the hum of the heater and the faint rustling of Luna’s tiny feet kicking against Noah’s leg as she settled comfortably in his lap, and the soft hum Neki made as he slept at the foot of the couch.

You sat beside them, your legs tucked up under you, enjoying the easy, quiet comfort of the evening.

Luna was already in her pajamas, a mix of pink and purple, smelling faintly of soap and lavender after her bath. She played absentmindedly with the fabric of Noah’s hoodie, twisting it in her small fingers before suddenly looking up at him with those big brown eyes.

“Daddy,” she started, tilting her head slightly. “Today Lily said you look scary, when she saw you.”

You saw the way Noah’s expression faltered just slightly, the way his fingers hesitated in the soothing circles he was rubbing against Luna’s back.

Noah had always known that his appearance wasn’t exactly… the one of a "conventional dad", and the fact that he was covered in tattoos and mostly dressed in black didn't really help.

The first few times he had taken Luna to preschool, he had felt the weight of every judgmental stare from the other parents, especially the moms. They had looked at him like they already knew what kind of father he was, like his inked skin, the fact that he was a musician and that Luna didn’t have a mom, let them know everything they needed to assume.

And maybe he had imagined some of it, but he was pretty damn sure he hadn’t imagined the way conversations quieted when he stepped into the room, the way some of them pulled their kids just a little closer when he walked by.

One day, you had joked, "Don’t go flirting with the moms when you drop Luna off."

Noah had scoffed, shaking his head as he adjusted the little purple bow on Luna's head. "Yeah, no danger of that. They probably all hate me."

Now he exhaled softly, trying to keep his voice casual. “Oh yeah?” he asked. “Do you think I look scary?”

Luna blinked at him, clearly confused by the question. Then, without hesitation, she shook her head. “No,” she said simply, like it was the silliest thing in the world. She leaned against his chest, pressing her tiny hands against his hoodie, as if trying to make her point even clearer. “You look like my daddy.”

Noah let out a slow breath, his arms instinctively tightening around her small frame.

You watched him closely, seeing the weight lift off his shoulders even if he wasn’t fully aware of it. You knew Noah thought about these things more than he let on—how people saw him, how parents at Luna’s preschool sometimes gave him wary glances. You had seen the tension in his shoulders when he stood outside the classroom, waiting for Luna, as if he was always preparing for someone to look at him the wrong way.

But Luna didn’t see him like that. She never had.

You remembered what happened when Noah went to pick up Luna from preschool a month earlier, Noah had explained everything.

He’d been running late that day, caught in traffic, his fingers drumming anxiously against the steering wheel as he’d tried not to think about how much he hated being late. By the time he’d parked and rushed inside, most of the other kids had already been picked up, leaving Luna sitting on a small chair near the front desk, swinging her legs as she’d clutched her backpack.

When she’d seen him, her face had instantly lit up. “Daddy!” she’d called out, sliding off the chair and hurrying toward him.

But before she could reach him, one of the teachers had stepped in front of him, stopping him with a hesitant look.

“Sir, I’m going to need to see some ID,” she’d said, her voice polite but firm.

Noah had frowned, glancing between her and Luna, who had already been reaching for him. “What?”

“I just need to confirm that you’re her father,” the teacher had explained, shifting uncomfortably. “We have to be cautious, you understand.”

He’d understood the importance of safety, of course he had. But the way she had looked at him—like he was some stranger trying to take a kid that wasn’t his—had made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

“I’m her dad,” he’d said, keeping his voice steady as he’d crouched down to Luna’s level, placing a reassuring hand on her back. “Luna?”

Luna had blinked up at him, clearly confused. “You’re my daddy,” she’d said matter-of-factly, like it had been the most obvious thing in the world.

Noah had looked back at the teacher. “There. Can I take my daughter home now?”

The teacher had still hesitated, her gaze flicking over him—taking in the tattoos covering his hands and neck, the dark clothes, the sharp contrast between him and the tiny, pink-clad girl at his side.

“Sir,” she’d said again, her tone softer this time but still firm, “I really need to see some identification.”

Noah had clenched his jaw but he had walked back to his car, taking the wallet, leaving a confused Luna looking at him. He’d flipped it open and shown his ID, and after a few moments of scrutiny, the teacher had finally nodded.

“Alright,” she’d said, forcing a small smile. “Thank you for understanding. You can take her home now.”

He hadn’t said anything. He’d just scooped Luna up into his arms, holding her a little tighter than usual as he’d walked out of the building.

“Daddy?” Luna had murmured, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Why did she ask that?”

Noah had swallowed hard, pressing a kiss to her temple. “It’s nothing, Lu,” he’d murmured. “Let’s go home.”

But even as he’d strapped her into the car seat and started the drive home, the feeling had stayed.

He’d known he didn’t look like the typical dad. He’d known people made assumptions. But he’d hated that, even for a moment, someone had looked at him and thought he wasn’t hers.

Now, still sitting next to him, you reached out, gently running your hand over Noah’s arm. He glanced at you briefly, and you gave him a small, reassuring smile.

“I just don’t want your friends to be scared of me,” he admitted quietly, mostly to himself.

Luna, who was already getting sleepy, rested her head against his chest. “Why?” she mumbled.

“Because…” He hesitated, exhaling through his nose. “I don’t want them to think I’m mean. I don’t want people to look at me and think bad things.”

Luna was quiet for a moment, then she sighed dramatically. “You’re not mean,” she said, as if it was the most obvious fact in the world. “You’re nice. And you give good cuddles.”

Noah let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “Oh yeah?”

She nodded against him. “Mhm.” Then, after a pause, she added, “And you’re my best daddy.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that, warmth blooming in your chest at the way Noah’s expression softened completely.

He pressed a kiss to her hair, holding her a little closer. “You’re my best Luna,” he whispered.

She giggled, already half-asleep against him.

After a couple of minutes, she suddenly shifted, sitting up just enough to place her tiny hands on his cheeks.

“Yes. You’re cuddly,” she announced, squishing his face between her small palms.

Noah blinked at her, lips pressing together under the pressure of her hands. “Am I?” His voice came out slightly distorted, making Luna (and you) giggle.

“Mhm,” she nodded seriously, keeping her hands there as she studied his face. “Soft.”

You chuckled beside them, watching the way Noah let her do whatever she wanted, no trace of protest in his expression. It was almost funny, how easily this little girl had him wrapped around her tiny fingers.

“Soft?” Noah repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Lu, I have a stubble.”

Luna just giggled again, letting go of his face only to wrap her arms around his neck. “Still cuddly,” she mumbled into his hoodie.

Noah huffed a small laugh, wrapping his arms around her. His eyes met yours for a second, and you could see it—how much he loved her, how much these tiny moments meant to him.

And as Luna snuggled back into his chest, sleep slowly creeping in, you couldn’t help but smile.

You leaned into Noah’s side, resting your head against his shoulder. “She’s right, you know,” you murmured, “you're nice. And give great cuddles. And you're the best dad and boyfriend ever.”

He sighed, but it wasn’t a heavy sound, it was lighter, like something had finally settled in him. “Yeah,” he admitted, glancing down at the tiny girl in his arms. “I hope you both are.”

You stayed in silence for a while, then, eventually, Noah sighed softly. “Alright, Lu,” he murmured, shifting carefully so he could stand up without waking her completely. “Time for bed.”

Luna let out a sleepy little whine but didn’t protest as he carried her to her room. You followed, stepping ahead to pull back the covers on her small bed. Noah laid her down gently, and you both worked together to tuck her in.

You reached for Mr. Flop, and placed it next to her. Luna instinctively curled an arm around it, her eyes fluttering open just enough to look at the two of you.

“No story?” she mumbled.

Noah chuckled softly, brushing a few strands of hair from her face. “It’s too late for a story tonight, princess.”

You crouched beside the bed. “We’ll do a double story tomorrow, okay?” you promised, your voice gentle.

Luna considered that for a moment, then gave a tiny nod. “Okay.”

Her eyes drifted closed again, her breathing evening out as she snuggled deeper under the blankets.

Noah leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Goodnight, Lu.”

With one last glance to make sure she was settled, Noah turned off the small nightlight beside her bed, and the two of you stepped out, carefully closing the door behind you.

Noah turned to you, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Double story, huh?”

You shrugged. “Had to make it up to her somehow.”

He hummed, wrapping an arm around your waist as you walked toward the bedroom. “Guess I’ll have to think of a good one.”

Once inside, you both changed into more comfortable clothes, Noah stripping off his hoodie and swapping his sweatpants with some more comfortable, while you slipped into one of his old t-shirts.

You climbed into bed and Noah slid under the covers beside you, immediately pulling you close. His arms wrapped around you, his body warm against yours. You let out a content sigh, nuzzling into his chest, feeling the slow rise and fall of his breathing.

For a while, neither of you spoke. You just enjoyed the quiet, the safety of being wrapped up together.

Then, softly, Noah murmured, “She really doesn’t see me like that, does she?”

You shook your head. “Nope. She sees her dad. The guy who makes her pancakes shaped like bunnies, who carries her on his shoulders when her legs get tired, who sings her lullabies with the softest voice ever.”

Noah let out a soft breath, his arms tightening around you. “Guess that’s all that matters.”

“It is,” you murmured. “That’s what makes you a good dad.”

He didn’t answer right away, just pressed a kiss to the top of your head. Then, in a voice quieter than before, he said, “Thank you.”

“Love you.” you whispered, closing your eyes.

“Love you too.” he mumbled, his voice low and sleepy, "Goodnight."

Just as you drifted off, the faintest sound of paws padding across the floor reached your ears.

Neki, moving like a shadow, hopped up onto the bed, curling up at your feet with a satisfied sigh.

"Goodnight Neki." You murmured.

"Did you just say goodnight to the dog before me?"

You grinned, eyes still closed. "Ops."

Tags: @anything-more-than-human @ladyveronikawrites @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @bloody-spades @fadingangelwisp @xmads-omensx @iwasntstable @thisbicc @pathion @flowery-mess @into-the-grey @lacy1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @stardustsirenmelody @thewrstinme @hurricanesfollowyou @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @missduffsblog @pandora-08

TBAF Tags: @klutzy-kay24 @mrscevans @concreteangel92 @iconic-taurus @niicoleleigh @cheyyyyr @supersquirrel1996 @respectfulrebel @clickmedead @whenyouwannafindlove @kenjipepsi1

[ultravi0lence14]

FALLEN STAR

CASTIEL X FALLENANGEL!READER

SUMMARY: they fell in love; she ended up falling while he stayed

WORD COUNT: 1.2k

the day you fell was dark, gloomy, a vast difference from what heaven was usually like. if you were to explain it to anyone, you would say it was a utopia. a kaleidoscope of colours and light that brought forth the heavenly grace in each and every angel. god had created you all the same, from the same light source. yet you were different. his own little creation from a separate beam of light he couldn’t shake from his mind.

all angels came from the glowing white mirth in god’s palm, yet you came from a vibrant pink balm that enticed god like original sin in the garden. when you were made, he didn’t render you with the other angels. you were his own, and each and every other angel was garnered below you instead of being your equal.

though, you didn’t view castiel like that.

he was different than the rest, a beacon of hope that gnawed and ripped it’s teeth at the short leash your father held you on. god didn’t like you leaving his side, yet cas always found a way to sneak you into his arms.

as time went on, your loyalties started to change, and god saw a shift in how his little girl was acting. you were sneaky, and when you weren’t sneaky, you were secretive. god knew something was wrong, yet he didn’t know what could possibly have changed with his prized possession.

he watched you slowly, saw as you ran to castiel for any issue you had. he saw the lingering holds, the featherlight touches, and the way you looked at the angel like he hung the moon and stars. it all started to make sense, and god felt an anger he had only felt once before; when lucifer betrayed him.

“how could you?” he bellowed, watching you cower into castiel’s side. “disobey your father, run around with a lower being? you knew better, little one. i taught you better.”

“no,” you bit out, walking closer to your father while cas held onto your hand tightly. “you kept me caged, held me close because you were scared of me. you knew you shouldn’t have created me. you knew i would be too powerful, so you kept me on a tight leash. but cas doesn’t treat me like that. he treats me like i matter, dad, and that’s all i’ve ever wanted.”

sighing, god shook his head, hating what he was going to do but knowing it needed to be done. holding your cheek in his palm, god stared down at what he believed was his greatest creation, turned into his worst mistake.

“you could’ve been so much more.” he whispered, caressing your cheek as castiel’s eyes worried. he saw the malice in his creators eyes, and he knew whatever god had planned for you wasn’t good. “you could’ve been a warrior as good as michael, but you betrayed me like lucifer.”

your mouth gaped open, and before you could speak, god flicked his hand, sending you free falling from the heavens. “say hello to my son for me when you fall in his wasteland.”

the last thing you heard was castiel’s scream, the sight of him clawing and reaching for you as angels held him back burning behind your eyelids as the wind whipped at your eyes and seeped into your bones. pain emitted into your back, and you felt your wings disintegrate as you hit the earth. but instead of going further into the ruined soil, greeting lucifer in hell, you landed in a field of beautiful flowers.

god sent you somewhere worse than hell. he sent you to earth, where you’d have to adjust to being human. adjust to a life without your love.

a lone tear fell, and you just wished cas was hear to smooth back your hair and hold you in his arms, telling you everything would be okay.

the years flew by like an angel’s wing, and you found yourself adjusting decently to a human life. small town living wasn’t easy, but the decrepit town in colorado greeted you with opened arms, allowing you to open up your own flower shop. it reminded you of when you first fell, the last time you saw your lovers face.

peaceful living was what you got used to knowing. wake up, get ready, man the store. it was all so simple. until two brothers came crashing into your store, looking for refuge from a vengeful werewolf.

they weren’t expecting the sweet, timid looking cashier behind the counter to have any silver weapons. and they definitely weren’t expecting her to wield a silver dagger like a sword, piercing the werewolf’s heart like a skilled hunter. it may have been the lace cami and denim mini skirt, but sam and dean winchester were baffled by your skills.

you three got to chatting, and without giving away your true nature, you somehow ended up on sam and dean’s good side.

it wasn’t easy, leaving the shop behind. each daisy reminded you of cas. each rose reminded you of his smile and each carnation reminded you of the way his lips brushed your skin. but if you wanted to show god how much of a warrior you were without him, than leaving with the winchester’s was the best thing you could possibly do.

the hollowness in your chest broke into shards as pamela barnes spoke the name you hadn’t heard in two years. castiel seemed to be the one to raise dean winchester from hell, and you couldn’t help but hitch your breath at the sound of his name.

your cas, your sweet boy. it was all too much. when dean and bobby mentioned they were going to go out to a remote location and seek him out, you couldn’t help but spring up and agree to join.

damp air sent shivers down your spine as you waited with bobby and dean. it had been so long, and you didn’t know what face he wore, but he would still be the same to you. when lights started flickering, and rain smacked against the barn roof, you knew that your lover was finally crawling home to you.

castiel came in the space stoic, leisure steps that showed reverence and strength in his walk. but when his eyes landed on you, they faltered, hands starting to shake and eyes widening in surprise and buried pain.

“angel? is that really you?” he was an angel of the lord, a being who felt no emotions. but at that moment, cas couldn’t help the tears that sprang into his eyes. the last time he saw you, your face was fear stricken; features alight with pain as your own maker cast you out of his sight. now, you just looked ethereal, a beacon of beauty and grace.

all you could do was nod, running as fast as you could until you were wrapped in his arms. dean and bobby just stood shocked, guns at the ready yet not knowing what to do with them as their friend hugged and kissed the face of their target.

“why are you here?” he spoke through wispy breaths, hands roaming your face and body to make sure you were real. “i thought god cast you to hell?”

“god? cast to hell?” dean spoke up, shock and disbelief evident in his eyes. “okay, what the fuck is going on?”

“she’s a fallen angel,” cas spoke, hands cupping your face as he pressed his forehead to yours. “my fallen angel. and she is finally home to me.”

TAGS: @titsout4jackles @daylighted @deansbeer @bluemerakis @figthoughts @haunteres @sunsbaby @h8aaz @beausling @deanswidow @cowboysandcigarettes @j2archives @honeyryewhiskey @florchids @dulcescorderitas

NAT BABBLES: gotta give my boy cas some love!! and this also goes out to my other cass ( @starzify ) BC IT IS HER BDAY!!!

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Barnes Bakes Chapter 1

A request that turned into a short story. Hope y'all like it! *mudak: moron or blowhard in Russian

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Bucky waited for the elevator up to his apartment.  It had been another grueling mission and he was just not in the mood for anything but a big glass of his favorite Irish cream liqueur and a pizza.  He and his girlfriend had been bickering over text all day, and he was at his wits end.  Everything had started great between them a few months ago, but she had proven herself to be very jealous, which he had no patience for.  He put his phone on silent as the elevator rose and when he walked out he was greeted by a hallway of boxes.  Great, another new neighbor, he thought as he gingerly walked around and over the boxes.  When he turned the corner he found a woman almost completely sideways to a large box, pushing as hard as she could to get it through the doorway of the apartment across from him, blocking his way.

She grunted as she stopped pushing, then saw him and gasped.  “Oh!  I’m so sorry all my shit is in the way,” she said, moving away from the large box and shoving the smaller ones toward each wall to make a better walkway for him.  

“It’s okay,” he said gruffly, walking toward his door.

“You’re right across from me?  That’s great!  Hi, I’m Y/N,” she said, her voice way too chipper for him right now.  She thrust her hand out towards him with an expectant smile.  Bucky eyed her hand then slowly extended his right hand, shaking it firmly.

“Bucky,” he said simply.

“It’s nice to meet you, Bucky,” she said as her smile widened.  “I’m sorry for the mess.  I’ll get it moved toot sweet.”

He huffed a laugh, catching himself off guard.  “Toot sweet?” he asked.  

“Yeah, I know, I’m an old lady,” Y/N giggled and rolled her eyes.  “Well, I won’t take up your time.”  She turned back to the large box and tried pushing it again, moving it only a couple of inches.

Bucky couldn’t help but smile at her.  She was short, reaching only up to his chest, very curvy and pretty.  She was dressed in a very flowy, mint green and white perpendicular striped, strappy summer dress that she kept having to hike up so she wouldn’t step or trip on it that showed off her chubby arms, her body slightly jiggling every time she moved.  Her hair was haphazardly toppled on her head with a good amount of it falling out of the hair tie, and she had a sheen of sweat along her brow from how much she had been moving around by herself.  She would be exactly what he would have gone for back in the day.  Curvy, cute, and from what little he’d just gotten from their first interaction, spunky, which he liked.  He rolled his eyes at himself as he set his things down and pocketed his keys.

“Let me help you,” he said, leaning down to the large box.

“Oh you don’t need to—oh!  Nevermind,” she laughed as he hefted the box easily, carrying it across the threshold of her doorway.  

“Where do you want it?” he asked.

“The kitchen,” Y/N said quickly, pointing the way.

Bucky walked toward the kitchen and put the heavy, large box on the counter with a grunt.  “What’s in this anyway?” he asked.

“Cookbooks,” she replied.  

“Just cookbooks?” he asked, looking at her curiously.  “I don’t think I own a single cookbook.”

Y/N laughed.  “Well, I’m a baker, so I’ve gotta have all the recipes,” she explained.

Bucky nodded like it all made sense.  “Well, let me get the rest and you just tell me where to go,” he said, walking back toward the front door.

“You don’t have to do that Bucky, I can get the rest.  That one was the worst one,” she said, following him out.

“Too late, I’m already doing it,” he said, bringing in another box.  

She gave him an appreciative smile and pointed to where she wanted it.  They created a little system as he took the boxes and she told him where she wanted it, which he could easily find since her apartment was just like his layout but flipped.  Within ten minutes he had all the boxes out of the hallway and in her apartment, ready to be opened and unpacked.

“Thank you, Bucky, that would have taken me ages,” she said with a sigh.  “I really appreciate it.  How can I repay you?”

“Don’t worry about it, seriously,” he said walking toward his door and taking out his keys.  

“Well, what’s your favorite treat?” Y/N said before he could get away.  “Are you allergic to anything?”

He frowned at her.  “I don’t have a favorite treat,” he said.  “And I’m not allergic to anything.”

Y/N perked up at that information.  “Alright, well then I’ll repay you in treats until I can find and bake your new favorite,” she said determinedly.

“You don’t have to do that—” he tried.

“Too late, I’m already doing it!” she laughed, repeating his words from earlier as she backed away from him into her apartment.  “Thanks again sweet pea!”  She winked at him then shut the door.

Bucky gawked at her door for a moment.  She was the strangest and most bubbly person he’d met in a long time, and for some reason it was making him smile again.  Why did he feel all giddy when she called him sweet pea?  He shook his head and went inside his apartment, the Irish liqueur calling his name.

[vmiina]

autumn leaves

married!dean winchester & married!reader

summary dean finally found peace with the woman of his dreams and their newborn babygirl, believing that he has escaped the supernatural life. but fate is cruel.

warnings angst very little fluff dean does not catch a break GRIEF major character death very mild descriptions of violence dean being the best girldad ever (this is dedicated to the bitches with daddy issues) unfortunately has a couple timeskips

notes based on the song autumn leaves by bts, most of my fics are made with a song in mind but this one deserves a honorable mention !! this song has been going triple platinum with me for the last few years, genuinely one of the most beautiful songs i’ve ever heard. glazing? never heard of that !!. also i do apologize for this fic before anyone even reads it. do not like seeing you guys, or dean winchester happy (that’s a joke)

dean thought he had finally found the peace he has spent a lifetime searching for. after years of hunting, the bloodshed, the loss, and the endless pain, he had settled down with you— the woman who had given him a sense of calm he never thought he could have. the love he felt for you, the way you understood him when no one else could, gave him so much hope. together, you decided to start your own little family, to create a future that didn’t involve the never-ending cycle of monsters and death.

you were pregnant when autumn came, the trees turning shades of gold and red as the world seemed to reflect the new life growing inside you. it felt like a new chapter was unfolding, one where the nightmares of the past could be put to rest. dean spent the next weeks fixing up the house, getting it ready for your baby, feeling more grounded than he had ever before.

then— the best moment of both of your lives’ happened, your baby was born. a little girl with your eyes and dean’s smile. dean could hardly believe how perfect she was, how she completed the family you’d always dreamt of. he spent every moment doting on her, watching her grow with a sense of joy and pride that was foreign to him.

you had been talking about names for months, but the moment dean held her for the first time, he just knew. “layla.” he had said, the name slipping from his lips like it had always belonged to her. and for the first time in his life, he thought that maybe he could have it all. a little family, a home, the whole apple pie life.

but fate— as it always does, had other plans.

one cold evening, as the leaves outside swirl in the wind, an old enemy from dean’s past resurfaced, a demon—one he thought had been vanquished years ago—had come back, angrier and more powerful than before. the first sign that something was wrong when the lights flickered, the house growing unnaturally cold. dean’s instincts kicked in, he knew something was off. but before he could react, the door slammed open, and the demon appeared.

dean immediately rushed to protect you, but the demon was too powerful. it spoke in a voice that chilled him to the bone, a voice dripping with venom and rage. it wanted revenge for something dean had done in the past, and it was not going to stop until it tore everything from him. the creature was relentless, overpowering him, and in the chaos, the last thing he saw was you stepping in front of him, trying to protect him and layla.

“run!” you screamed, voice shaking. “take her and run, dean! please!”

dean tried to fight back, to reach you, but the demon was too fast. in a heartbeat, it lunged and the world seemed to freeze. dean saw you falling the ground, the life draining from your eyes, before the demon turned its focus on him. the demon’s laughter echoed in the room as it vanished, leaving nothing but a deafening silence. dean collapsed to his knees beside you, his hand reaching for your still form.

“no— no please,” he whispered, voice breaking. “not you. not now. i can’t— i can’t do this without you.”

but you were gone. his heart shattered as he had you in his arms, the warmth of your body slowly slipping away. your little girl was crying from the nursery, but dean couldn’t move. he couldn’t breathe. the life he had fought so hard for, the future he’d finally gotten, had been ripped from him in a blink of an eye. when he finally gathered the strength to move, he found his daughter, the tiny girl he had promised to protect, innocent face scrunched up in fear. layla had no idea what had just happened, why her mom would not be around anymore, why the world just collapsed around her.

dean took her in his arms, holding her tightly against his chest, the sound of her crying tugging at dean’s heartstrings. “i’m so sorry,” he whispered to layla, feeling like he had already failed her. the world had become an incredibly cruel place, and he was now the only one left to fight for her.

as the leaves continued to fall outside, the final moments of your life seemed to linger in the air, a harsh reminder of how quickly everything could get taken away. dean didn’t know how to move on. how to face another day without you. how to raise your daughter alone, when he had always relied on you to balance him, to help him see the light even in the darkest moments. but now, all he had was her. the only piece of you left in the world. and as he rocked her to sleep, dean whispered a promise— a vow to keep her safe, no matter the cost. the price of love in his world has always been too high, but he would fight for her, because that’s all he had left.

the days that followed felt like a blur— like time had lost all meaning. the house was too quiet, too empty without you. dean moved through it like a ghost, going through the motions only because he had to. he had a daughter now. your daughter. the only piece of you still here, still breathing. he had no choice but to keep going.

god it hurt.

the nights were the worst. the weight of the silence pressed down on him like a vice, squeezing the breath from his lungs. he would find himself reaching for you in bed, only to be met with the cold, empty space where you should have been. his arms ached to hold you, his fingers desperate to brush against your skin, to tangle in your hair. but you were gone.

and in the next room, layla stirred, her small cries cutting through the silence.

dean forced himself up, dragging his exhausted body to where the crib where she is, tiny and fragile and completely unaware of the hole that had been ripped through his heart. he scooped her up, holding her close against his chest, whispering soft, broken words. “hey sweetie,” his voice cracked as he rocked her gently, trying to calm her. “it’s okay— i got you, i got you.” he didn’t, he didn’t have anything.

dean winchester had faced monsters, demons, and the literal end of the world. he had fought many battles no man should have survived. and yet, standing here, holding the daughter her mother would never get to know, he had never felt so lost.

days turned into weeks. he tried— he really did. he changed diapers, warmed bottles, learned how to hold her just right to get her to stop crying. but nothing calmed the constant ache in his chest. everytime she looked up at him with those big, innocent eyes, all he saw was you. and it broke him all over again. he barely slept, barely ate. the grief clawed at him like an open wound that refused to heal. and in the quiet moments, when he was alone with his thoughts, he wondered if fate had been planning this all along. letting dean believe he could finally have happiness, just so it could be taken right away from him.

one night, as the wind howled outside, rattling the windows, dean sat in the rocking chair by the crib, staring blankly ahead. layla had finally drifted off, her tiny fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. the weight of her against his chest was the only thing anchoring him to this world.

he swallowed hard, pressing a kiss to her soft hair. “i dunno what the hell i’m doin’ kid,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “but i swear to you, i’m gonna figure it out. i have to.”

because he had made a promise. to you. to her. and no matter how much it hurt, no matter how broken he was, he would keep it.

dean never knew how much one little human could talk until layla started stringing full sentences together.

at five years old, she was a force of nature— bright, curious, and full of boundless energy that he often struggled to keep up with. she had your eyes, that same spark of mischief and wonder, and everytime she smiled at him, it was like he was staring right at you as a child. it was the most beautiful and the most painful thing ever.

“daddy, why do cows say ‘moo’?” she asked one morning, swinging her legs back and forth as she sat at the kitchen table, a half-eaten bowl of cereal in front of her.

dean rubbed a hand over his tired face, still groggy from another late night. “uhh… ‘cause that’s just what they do, baby.”

she hummed, seemingly considering his answer, then tilting her head. “but why?”

dean sighed. “i dunno, layla. why do you ask so many questions?”

she grinned at him, cheeky as ever. “'cause i wanna know stuff!”

dean chuckled, shaking his head as he took a sip of his coffee. he never got tired of her endless curiosity, even if it exhausted him most of the time.

then came the question that made his heart stop.

“daddy… what was mommy like?”

he froze, the coffee cup halfway to his lips. his grip tightening just slightly, and he forced himself to breathe. he should’ve known this was coming. it wasn’t the first time she asked about you, but it still hit like a punch to the gut every single time. dean set his mug down and looked at her, his little girl watching him expectantly, her big, eager eyes waiting for an answer. he swallowed past the lump in his throat.

“she was amazing,” he said, voice quieter than before. “the best person i ever knew.”

layla’s face lit up. “really?” dean nodded, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips. “yeah, sweetie. she was kind, and smart, and she was the most beautiful woman ever. just like you.”

“did she like pancakes?” she asked with an innocent smile that had him melting. dean huffed a laugh. “yeah, she did. especially when i made ‘em.” she furrows her brows at his words, not quite believing them.

“but daddy— you always burn pancakes!” she huffs out, crossing her arms. “hey,” he said, feigning offense. “i’ll have you know that i’ve gotten better missy.”

layla laughed, and for a moment, the conversation felt light, warm— something dean could handle. but then, as kids do, she hit him with another question, this time one that sent a chill down his spine.

“why isn’t she here?”

dean’s chest tightened, he set his coffee aside and ran a hand through his hair, trying to find the right words. he hated this part. hated that he had to tell her why you’re not here, why layla would only ever know you through stories and pictures. he looked at her, his little girl who deserved to have both her parents, and felt the familiar ache in his heart. “mommy…” he exhaled slowly, searching for words a five year old could understand. “she had to go away.”

layla’s brows furrowed again. “where..? why?” dean doesn’t know how long he can keep on answering these questions, but he’ll try, and he can’t blame her, she’s just a kid.

“someplace… far, and because she wanted to keep you safe.” he manages to murmur, his throat feeling tight. layla stared at him for a moment, as if trying to make sense of his answer. then in a quiet voice, she asked. “did she not want to stay with us?”

dean’s breath hitched. “baby, no,” he said, voice breaking just slightly. he reached across the table, taking her small hand in his. “mommy loved you more than anythin’ in the whole world. she didn’t wanna leave. she just… didn’t have a choice.”

layla’s lower lip wobbled. “i miss mommy.” she whimpers, looking down at her little feet. dean closed his eyes for a brief second, willing himself to keep it together for his little girl. when he opened them, he pulled her into his arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “i know,” he whispered. “i miss her too.” layla curled into his chest, her small arms wrapping around his neck. “is she watching us?”

dean’s eyes burned. he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to keep the tears, he refuses to show her, away. he presses his chin firmly to the top of her head. “yeah,” he murmured. “she’s watchin’ and she’s real proud of you.”

a moment later, her expression shifted, her usual curiosity returning. “daddy?” she softly says, tugging at the collar of his shirt. dean lets out a soft hum, wanting to hear what the little girl has to say now. “do you think mommy would like my drawings?” dean chuckled, relieved by the sudden change in subject. “she’d love ‘em,” he said, ruffling her hair. “especially the ones where you make me look like a potato.”

layla burst into laughter. “that’s ‘cause sometimes you look like a potato!”

dean gasped dramatically. “that’s it, you’re gettin' it now.” layla shrieked with giggles as he adjusted his grip on her, tickling her until she was breathless with laughter. for a moment, just a moment, the weight in his chest lifted. the grief, the pain, the emptiness—it was all still there, lingering beneath the surface, but layla’s laughter was louder, brighter, stronger.

and maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

as the golden leaves drifted past the kitchen window, dean held his daughter close, silently vowing—as he always did—to keep going. for her. for you. for the family he had left.

layla was no longer the little girl clung to dean’s hand and begged for bedtime stories. she was too grown up, and though she had your eyes, she wore them with a hardness that dean could barely recognize.

she was angry. at him, at the world, at everything. dean had tried to keep her safe, to protect her from the truth of her mother’s death, to shield her from the supernatural world that had once taken everything from him. but now, with each passing day, layla only pushed him further away.

it had been a long week of arguments. ever since she started high school, layla had been more distant, more independent. she came home late, snuck out whenever she could, and when she was home, she spent most of the time holed up in her room, listening to music that dean did not understand. he had tried talking to her, tried to keep the bond between them strong but she only shut him out.

tonight, something snapped.

“i’m not a kid anymore!” layla shouted, slamming the door behind her shut as she stormed into the living room. dean barely looked up from his beer when she started in on him, her face flushed red. “you can’t keep treatin’ me like one! i don’t need you to follow me around and tell me what i can and can’t do!” dean stood up slowly, fighting the exhaustion that had been creeping up on him for weeks now. he did not want to fight, but his patience was wearing thin, and his body was weak from the constant strain of his past. he had never really given himself time to rest. he couldn’t.

“baby, this is about more than just going out late. i’m just tryin’ to keep you safe— i don’t want you out of the house this late, not with everythin' goin' on.“

her face hardened, the air in the room seemed to thicken with tension. “everythin' goin' on? what does that even mean, dad? you’re just using that excuse again, i’m not a kid anymore, you can’t control me!”

“it’s not about control, it’s about keepin' you safe. you don’t know what’s out there— what could happen—“ he says calmly, his tired eyes meeting his daughters.

“keep me safe from what?!” layla stepped closer, her voice rising, fists clenched at her sides. “you think i dunno what’s out there? i grew up with you! i’ve seen the blood, the pain. i’ve seen how you’ve shut down, how you’ve been miserable since mom—“

the words hung heavy in the air like a sharp blade, cutting through dean like nothing else. he flinched, the rawness of her voice piercing deeper than he ever expected. she was angry, sure, but in that moment it was not just anger. she was hurt, and it was aimed straight at him.

“don’t you dare—“

but layla was not done. “don’t you dare tell me i dunno what you’ve been through, or what’s out there. because i do, dad. you think i haven’t seen how it destroyed you? how it ruined everythin'? you’re just holdin' me back because you’re scared— scared that i’ll end up like her, that i’ll get taken from you too. well guess what? i’m not mom! i’m not her, okay?”

dean felt as though the air had been ripped straight from his lungs. her words hit him like a punch to the gut, leaving him stunned and speechless. he stood frozen, trying to process his daughters words, the way they felt like the past he couldn’t escape, the past he was trying to outrun. it felt like the air in the room had closed in around him, the words echoing in his mind as his chest tightened. he sees so much of you in her— your eyes, your warmth, pieces of your personality. everytime he looked at her, he saw you. it had been one reason he kept going, the one thing that made his life feel slightly more bearable.

but now she was throwing it back in his face. she was not you. she was not that girl who would do anything to protect him, who would hold him together when he was on the brink of falling apart. she wasn’t that innocent child anymore, and she did not want to be reminded of what had been lost.

dean blinked, shaking his head, trying to clear the fog that was clouding his mind. he opened his mouth to speak, to tell her everything, to explain that he was only trying to protect her. but no words came out. his throat felt dry, his heart thumping in his chest as he watched layla’s figure fade out of the house, into the night, her anger and pain still hanging in the air like a thick mist.

she was right, in a way. she was not you. she was not the girl who would do anything to protect him, the girl who would hold him together when he was on the brink of falling apart. and dean knew that. he’d failed her, he knew he had. but all he ever wanted was to keep her safe, even if it meant pushing her away. and now he could not stop the fear that gripped him. that same fear that had haunted him since you were taken. and now it was creeping up on him again. the world was not done with him, and it was just starting with layla.

he stood frozen for a moment, the silence of the house, pressing in on him. he tried to shake it off. “layla,” he muttered under his breath, moving quickly toward the door. “layla don’t go out there. it’s not safe, layla!” but it was too late, the door had already slammed shut behind her, and she was gone into the dark night. dean cursed under his breath, his pulse racing as he ran after her. he pushed past the front door, not even bothering to close it behind him, his eyes scanning the yard, the street. she was out there, somewhere, and he could already feel it. the same presence he had felt when she was younger. the cold chill going through him signaling that something was terribly wrong.

he called his daughter’s name again, but the only response was the wind rustling through the trees and the distant hum of city lights. the silence was killing him.

then, he felt it. a sharp pain in his chest. something was coming for them— for her.

his breath hitched as a dark shadow appeared in front of him, the air around him growing unbearably cold. dean’s defenses rising up, his hand already reaching for the gun he still keeps at his side, but his limbs felt heavier than usual. there was something wrong with him. he had been worn down, physically, emotionally. and now, he was not sure if he could even fight back. a dark figure materialized before him. it was the same demon that had killed you, the one that had haunted him for years, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike again. it still was not here to kill him, at least not physically, it is here to tear his life apart.

“you thought you could hide from me, winchester,” the demon sneered, its voice guttural, dripping with malice. “you thought you could run and bury your pain. but you can’t. it’s never gone. you and your precious daughter are mine. always have been.”

dean’s breath quickened. he could feel the weight of the demon’s words in his gut, in his bones. but he couldn’t move. not like this. not in the state he was in. his body giving out on him. “no,” dean gritted out, pulling the gun from his waistband. his hand shook as he aimed it at the demon. “not again.”

“you can try, but it won’t matter. she’ll be just like her mother.”

before dean could even react, the demon vanished, and in its place, the air grew colder still. a familiar, hollow silence fell over the street. dean’s heart hammered in his chest, his eyes darting around in fear, desperate to find layla. he took a few steps forward, calling her name, voice as loud as he could get it. “layla!” but his words were lost in the night. and then, he heard it.

a scream.

one so desperate and raw that it stopped dean in his tracks. his heart dropped to his stomach as he ran toward the sound. the closer he got, the more his chest constricted, the more the world around him seemed to close in. when he finally reached the alleyway a couple blocks away, he stopped dead in his tracks. layla was there, her back pressed against the brick wall, her eyes wide with terror. she was shaking, her hand gripping her chest as if trying to hold herself together, but blood was slowly spilling from a wound— the same wound that had taken you. a deep, gaping hole in her chest, just like that he had seen all those years ago.

dean’s breath caught in his throat as he dropped to his knees beside her. “no! layla, please—” he practically yells out, voice cracking as his hands reach out.

“dad…” layla’s voice was barely audible, a whisper carried on the wind. ”i’m sorry, i’m sorry— i didn’t… i didn’t mean what i said.”

dean’s hands shook as he pulled his daughter into his arms, cradling her tightly to his body. “i know baby, i know. it’s okay, you’re okay,” he whispers against her head, pressing a gentle kiss there. he could feel her body growing colder, her pulse slowing. “layla, please… stay with me, baby. i need you. don’t leave me— please, please don’t leave me.” but she didn’t respond, her breaths labored, shallow. the life in her was slipping away, just like her mothers had. dean’s vision blurred as tears welled in his eyes. the same helplessness he had felt when you were taken crashed over him, drowning him in an ocean of grief he had never truly recovered from.

“i love you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “don’t go, please. you’re all i have left— you’re my world, layla.” her breaths quieting, the life fading from her eyes. her body falling limp in his grip.

dean didn’t remember screaming, but his throat was raw, burning with agony of a loss too great for anyone to bear. he held layla’s cold body against his chest, his hands gripping her too tightly, as if sheer will could keep her there, keep her from slipping away completely. but she was already gone. his baby girl. his layla. his world.

the night around him was too still, too quiet, as if the universe itself was mocking him, watching as he broke apart all over again. his tears dripped onto her blood-stained shirt, and his mind flashed back— his daughter at five years old, making dean play with her dolls. his daughter at ten years old, stubborn but sweet, sneaking into his rooms during thunderstorms because she was too proud to admit she was scared. his daughter at thirteen years old, rolling her eyes at his dad jokes and cringing, but laughing anyway. and now, she was gone.

his chest burned with something raw and ugly. grief. guilt. rage.

this was his fault.

he should have stopped her, should have forced her to stay inside, should have done something.

she had been angry. she had been hurting. and now, the last thing she would ever remember was their fight. the way she had yelled at him. the way she had thrown your death in his face like it was a weapon, cutting him open right before she was taken away from him too. “i’m sorry.” he whispered, voice hoarse. “i’m so sorry, baby. i should’ve protected you. i should’ve kept you safe. i should’ve—“ but the words didn’t matter, nothing did anymore.

his entire world is gone, first you, now her. and for the first time in decades, he had no reason to keep fighting.

[rafeyssugar]

Heyyy lovely 🥰 it's been a couple days but I am back hehehe. Hope things have been going well for you! /gen

But tomboy!reader shall be our muse today ^^ she's fairly new to the island, only living on the Outer Banks for a few months. She's not quite kook, not quite pogue, but to her that didn't matter because she kept to herself

At the beach Topper and Kelce saw reader and exchange some hateful words about her and Rafe asks who they're talking about and points reader out. They're confused when Rafe goes off until reader sees them and comes over all excited, giving him a kiss and talking about how she's excited for their beach date. Rafe just smirks and tells Topper and Kelce that he's late for a date with his girl and they leave the two standing there stunned because when did that happen?

hi babyy, missed u xx. 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

unexpected tides

the outer banks had an unspoken rule—either you were a kook, born into money and privilege, or a pogue, scraping by with nothing but loyalty and sunburnt skin. there was no in-between.

but then there was her.

she’d been around for a few months now, but no one really knew her. she wasn’t a pogue, didn’t roll with the kooks, and didn’t seem to care about the labels everyone else lived by. she kept to herself, always on her bike, always somewhere in the background, a ghost among the chaos of the island.

and that alone was enough for topper and kelce to hate her.

they stood near the bonfire, the flames casting flickering shadows over their smug expressions as they whispered about her.

"she really thinks she’s too good for everyone, huh?" topper sneered, watching her kick at the sand beside her bike, her arms crossed like she had no interest in anyone or anything.

kelce scoffed. "she’s not even a real local. what, moved here a few months ago and now acts like she owns the place?"

"she doesn’t even try to fit in," topper added, shaking his head. "not a pogue, not a kook. what the hell is she?"

"annoying," kelce muttered.

rafe, who had been half-listening, took a slow sip of his beer before lazily turning his attention to them. "who?"

topper gestured toward her without much thought. "tomboy. the one who thinks she’s too cool for everyone."

rafe followed their gaze, his blue eyes locking onto her figure. his expression didn’t change, but something about the way he tilted his head—just slightly—should have been their first clue that they had no idea what was coming.

without a word, he started walking.

"yo—where the hell are you going?" topper called after him, frowning.

kelce watched him weave through the crowd, confusion twisting his face. "is he seriously—?"

but before either of them could finish their thought, she looked up.

and their entire world flipped upside down.

her face broke into a grin the second she spotted rafe. a genuine one. not forced, not cautious, but bright—like seeing him was the best part of her day.

"rafe!" she beamed, pushing off her bike like she’d been waiting for him all night.

then, to topper and kelce’s absolute horror—she kissed him.

and not just some nervous, fleeting peck either. no, this was casual. comfortable. natural. like she’d done it a hundred times before. like she belonged there.

and worse? rafe let her.

no—he smirked into it, like he enjoyed making a show out of it. his hand found the small of her back, the touch easy, practiced, like muscle memory.

"i was starting to think you forgot about our beach date," she teased, nudging him lightly.

rafe chuckled, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "what, and miss a night with my girl?"

and just like that, he turned, guiding her down the beach, completely ignoring the fact that topper and kelce were standing there stunned.

kelce blinked. "what the hell just happened?"

topper didn’t answer. he just stared after them, his mind racing.

because there was no way. no way in hell rafe cameron had been dating her under their noses.

right?

a/n : wrote this while changing to my school uni, currently 6:30am.

(FAILED SCHOOL LAST YEAR; leave me alone)

[indiepascal]

𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬

#3 ONE-SHOT inspired by Two Princes by Spin Doctors.

Summary: Frankie and Santiago, both retired soldiers, unknowingly find themselves dating the same woman—you. At the men's night out, Frankie casually asks Santiago if he’s dating you, sparking a realization that they’re both involved with you. Tension builds as both men confront the situation, and when you step in their trap, you're left to choose between them.

Tw: +18 mdni, love triangle, petnames (baby, my love, hermosa, cariño), threesome, swearing, possessive!Frankie, possessive!Santiago, oral f and m!receiving, fingering, praise, unprotected piv (wrap it y'all), dirty talk, creampie, pinching nipples.

A/n: this one took me forever but I LOVED every single part of it. First Triple Frontier smut in the series, I hope you enjoy it :) !! word count: 3,228

← Previous songs

The night started like many others—whiskey glasses clinking, low conversations in the haze of a dimly lit bar. Frankie and Santiago sat at a small, round table in the back, their usual spot whenever they found time to catch up. The bar hummed with distant chatter and the occasional burst of laughter, but between them, an uneasy silence had begun to settle.

Frankie leaned back in his chair, his eyes scanning the room, but his thoughts were far away. He had a vague sense that something was off, something about you. You’d been distant the last couple of times they’d met, slipping out of conversations just a little too quickly, your texts arriving at odd hours. It wasn’t just that, though; it was the way you moved—like you were playing a game neither of them were fully aware of.

Santiago, on the other hand, was quiet, his expression harder to read than usual. He was watching you, too, even though he hadn’t admitted it yet. Every time you’d smiled at one of them, his gaze would shift, just a little too sharply. And each time you mentioned your other plans, whether it was with family, work, or anything that didn’t involve them, it didn’t sit right.

For a brief moment, Frankie could swear that he saw your profile picture when Santiago was texting someone so fondly. He rolled a cigarette between his fingers, brows furrowed. “You ever get the feeling you’re being played, man?”

Santiago took a slow sip of his drink, eyes narrowing slightly. “Depends on the game.”

Frankie exhaled a short chuckle but didn’t look up. “Her name ever come up in your head when I say that?”

Santiago didn’t answer at first. He simply stared at the dark amber liquid in his glass, then sighed. “You talking about her?”

Frankie finally met his gaze. The weight in the air shifted.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Santiago said, but his tone was off—too measured, too controlled.

Frankie smirked and glancing at his phone. “Yeah, you do.”

Another pause, longer this time. Santiago leaned back, rubbing his jaw. “Fuck.”

Frankie laughed, but there was no real humor in it. “Yeah. Fuck.”

The realization settled between them, heavy and electric. The woman they both thought they had something special with—the one who had been slipping between them without a single misstep—was playing them both. And damn if that wasn’t impressive.

For a long moment, neither spoke. Then Frankie pulled out his phone and set it on the table. “We could call her out.”

Santiago scoffed. “Or?”

Frankie lifted an eyebrow, mischief creeping into his expression. “We could have some fun with this.”

Santiago studied him, then let out a quiet laugh. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

Frankie tilted his gaze toward Santiago's phone. “Now that you're having a conversation with her, invite her. Same place, same time, and I'll join you.”

Santiago chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re an asshole.”

“And you’re in.”

A beat. Then Santiago smirked. “Yeah. I’m in.”

Then Santiago hit sent.

The hotel room was dimly lit, the air thick with the kind of tension that could snap in an instant. Frankie sat in an armchair near the bar, Santiago leaning against the window with arms crossed. They had been quiet for the past few minutes, lost in separate memories—kisses stolen in dark corners, whispered words that felt meant just for them. And yet, they had never really been hers alone.

“You pissed?” Frankie finally asked, voice low.

Santiago exhaled through his nose, something between a sigh and a laugh. “I was.” He turned to look at him. “You?”

Frankie thought about it, then shook his head. “Not anymore.”

Santiago nodded, pushing off the window. “Gotta hand it to her, though. The way she kept us both hooked without either of us noticing?” He let out a low whistle. “That takes skill.”

Frankie chuckled. “Yeah. Kinda impressive when you think about it.”

A beat. Then Santiago tilted his head slightly. “What if we don’t make her choose?”

Frankie’s gaze darkened with something unreadable. “Thought about that too.”

Santiago smirked. “And?”

Frankie’s lips curved into a slow grin. “I think we make the offer.”

A knock at the door.

They shared one last look before Santiago pushed off the wall and moved to answer it. When the door swung open, you stood there—expecting one man, and finding both.

Your lips parted slightly, eyes flickering between them as realization dawned. But before you could speak, Frankie leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

“We figured it out,” he said, voice smooth, almost amused.

Santiago leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “And we got a proposition for you.”

You should be angry. Maybe you should be scared, or at the very least, nervous. But instead, there was a strange kind of exhilaration blooming inside you. The thought of being caught between them—the tension of it all—felt like a delicious challenge. Your heart raced, but not out of fear. No, it’s something else, something darker.

Frankie tilted his head, voice dropping. “Don’t look so nervous, cariño.”

Santiago smirked. “You wanted both of us, didn’t you?”

The air in the room shifted, thickened, humming with something almost dangerous.

Frankie held out a hand, inviting. “Then take us both.”

Silence.

The door clicked shut behind you, the sound final, sealing you into this moment with them. A part of you wanted to run, but another part—the part you’ve tried to ignore—welcomed the chaos. There was no turning back now. You stepped into their game, and a shiver ran down your spine as their eyes locked onto yours, a silent promise of whatever it was you were re willing to accept.

“Listen, I…” You hesitated for a moment. “I'm sorry, dating you both separately was wrong but this… is fucked up.”

Santiago's expression softened slightly, his voice gentle but firm. “We know it's unconventional, baby. But hear us out. We both care about you, deeply. And we've… discussed this at length. We want to give you a choice, to be with both of us, fully and completely.”

“More sure than anything else in our lives,” Santiago whispered, stepping closer. “We're not just saying this to get you into bed, hermosa.” He exchanged a glance with Frankie, who nodded in agreement. “Though,” Frankie added with a slight smirk, “if you're worried about how it works...”

Frankie chuckled, his smirk widening. He uncrossed his legs and stood up, towering over you. “Let me demonstrate,” he murmured, pulling you into his arms. He looked at Santiago, who already knew what Frankie was planning. “Santiago, come here.”

Santiago moved closer, pressing himself against your back. You were sandwiched between the two men, their hard bodies caging you in. Frankie tilted your head up, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, while Santiago started trailing kisses down your neck, his hands roaming your body.

“See?” Frankie whispered against your lips, trailing kisses along your jaw as Santiago continued kissing your neck. “The way you melt between us... it feels right, doesn't it?” Santiago's hands moved to your waist, pulling you firmly against his hardness while Frankie placed possessive hands on your hips.

Santiago whispered against your ear, his breath hot. “No need to overthink it now.” Frankie captured your lips again, then broke away to nip at your bottom lip. “Let us worship you, mi amor. Let us give you everything you need.”

With a low growl, Frankie picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He carried you to the bed, laying you down gently. Santiago followed, crawling over you to capture your lips in a passionate kiss. Frankie started undressing you slowly, his calloused fingers brushing against your skin.

“Just relax, baby” Santiago murmured, his fingers trailing teasingly along your stomach as Frankie finished undressing you. Frankie's hands roamed your body hungrily, squeezing your breasts and teasing your nipples until they hardened. “God, you're gorgeous” he breathed.

Watching them pleasuring you made you bit your bottom lip.

“Don't fucking do that,” Santiago said suddenly. “If you bite that lip, I swear to god, I'll make you pay.” He looked at Frankie, who smirked and bent his head to suck the lip out of your mouth, soothing it with gentle bites and kisses.

“Mmm, you like that, don't you?” Frankie murmured after they quickly heard your sweet sounds, switching his attention to your neck and marking you with his teeth. Santiago watched, his eyes darkening with desire. He started undressing, revealing his muscular chest and abs. “Let's see how you handle us both.”

Frankie undressed slowly, deliberately, maintaining eye contact with you. His movements were graceful, almost predatory. The dim lighting cast shadows across his powerful body, making every muscle definition clear. Santiago moved to your side, running his fingers through your hair. “Spread your legs, baby,” he whispered.

“Wait!” Suddenly you came back to Earth. “I've never done this before... you know? A threesome.”

“We know,” Frankie said, his voice soft and reassuring. He settled between your legs, pressing gentle kisses to your inner thighs. “We'll go slow, make sure you're comfortable.” Santiago nodded, his thumb brushing your cheek. “Just tell us to stop if it's too much, okay?”

With gentle care, both men explored your body. Frankie focused between your legs while Santiago kissed your neck, breasts, and stomach. They worked in sync, complementing each other's touches perfectly. Frankie's tongue found your clit, making you arch against his mouth. “Fuck, you taste amazing as usual, hermosa” he growled.

It was too much pleasure to handle. They were so skilled each one of them, you always knew that, but together you could feel like moaning even louder than normal.

“God, listen to those noises,” Santiago growled, watching Frankie feast between your legs. He captured your lips again, swallowing your moans. His hands massaged your breasts, tweaking your nipples. Frankie pushed two fingers inside you, making you buck against his hand. “She really likes that,” Santiago murmured, his fingers tangling in your hair to tilt your head back further. He claimed your mouth again in a deep, possessive kiss as Frankie continued to worship between your thighs. “Frankie, two fingers, okay?” he asked, breaking the kiss briefly and Frankie nodded.

“Mmm, you're so tight, hermosa. I'm gonna stretch this pretty sweet pussy so good” Frankie groaned against your pussy as he pushed two fingers inside you. His touch was gentle yet firm, slowly stretching you open. You moaned into Santiago's mouth as he continued to kiss you passionately. The combination of their touches was overwhelming but pleasurable.

Santiago broke the kiss, his breath ragged. He looked into your eyes, checking in. “You okay, baby?” You nodded, whimpering slightly as Frankie began to curl his fingers inside you, hitting a spot that made your eyes roll back. Santiago smiled approvingly.

“Mmm, found your sweet spot, didn't we?” Frankie chuckled darkly, maintaining that perfect rhythm with his fingers. Santiago moved to your breasts, sucking one nipple while teasing the other with his fingers. Your back arched off the bed, pleasure coursing through you.

“God, you're so responsive,” Frankie groaned, adding a third finger and increasing the pace. Santiago switched to your other breast, ensuring both nipples were equally flushed and hard. “She's ready, Frankie.” Santiago whispered between breaths. “I'm going to get you properly wet, baby.”

Santiago repositioned himself, settling between your legs alongside Frankie. His tongue joined Frankie's, both now lavishing attention on your soaked pussy. Frankie continued fingering you firmly while Santiago licked and sucked, focusing on your clit. Their tongues danced together, teasing your folds.

The room filled with your whimpers and the wet sounds of their mouths and fingers working in tandem. Frankie and Santiago glanced at each other, smirking wickedly as they heard your pleasure-filled moan. They increased their efforts, tongues flicking faster over your clit while Frankie's fingers pumped steadily. Santiago reached up, tweaking a nipple sharply, the sting contrasting beautifully with the pleasure assaulting your core.

Your hands gripped the bedsheets tightly as the overwhelming sensation pushed you closer to the edge. Frankie felt your walls contracting around his fingers, signaling your impending orgasm. He looked up at you, his face glistening with your arousal, and whispered, “Come for us, hermosa. Let us taste it together.” As Frankie's words washed over you, combined with their relentless attention to your sensitive spots, your orgasm crashed through you spectacularly. Your body shuddered violently as waves of pleasure consumed you. Frankie and Santiago didn't let up, continuing to lap at your dripping pussy, prolonging your climax.

As your orgasm subsided, Frankie and Santiago finally pulled back, their faces covered in your juices. Breaking apart, they climbed up the bed, Frankie on your left and Santiago on your right.

Both men propped themselves up on their elbows, studying your flushed, satisfied face. Their cocks were rock hard, but they took their time, caressing your skin softly. “You alright, mi amor?” Frankie asked gently, trailing fingers through your hair. Santiago leaned in to kiss your shoulder.

“Not scared off yet?“ Santiago joked softly, his fingers trailing down your stomach possessively.

You laughed softly, making both men smile. “No,” you admitted. “This is... surprisingly hot.” You bit your lip again, making Santiago growl.

“Spread your legs again, baby,” Santiago's command was low and rumbling, his eyes locked onto yours.

As you complied, spreading your thighs, Frankie positioned himself between your legs, running his hands up your inner thighs possessively. “Lift your legs up, hermosa” Frankie instructed, his voice firm and demanding.

You lifted your legs, wrapping them around his waist instinctively. In response, he wrapped his arms under your knees, lifting them higher and spreading you wide open. The position was vulnerable, yet incredibly turned on. Santiago leaned in, his hand joining Frankie's to hold your legs apart.

“Fuck, you look so sexy like this,” Frankie growled, positioning the head of his cock at your entrance. Santiago leaned down to kiss you, his fingers digging into your thighs, holding you steady. “We're going to fuck you together, baby,” he murmured against your lips.

With a single thrust, Frankie pushed into you, his thick length filling you completely. You gasped into Santiago's mouth, your body stretching to accommodate him. At the same time, Santiago guided his own cock to your lips, pressing the head against your mouth. “Open your little mouth, baby,” Santiago cooed softly, guiding his cock into your mouth. You took him greedily, moaning around his shaft as Frankie began to move inside you, his hips thrusting slowly and deeply. The simultaneous sensations of being filled in both your mouth and your pussy were intense.

“Oh fuck, she's so tight,” Frankie groaned, picking up the pace of his thrusts. His hands tightened on your legs as he drove into you harder, his balls slapping against your ass with each thrust. Santiago matched his rhythm, fucking your mouth with long, deep strokes.

Tears streamed down your face as you struggled to take both men, your body overwhelmed with pleasure and slight discomfort. Santiago wiped away your tears gently with his thumb before pushing it into your mouth alongside his shaft. “Take it all, baby, I know you can,” he panted, his voice strained with effort.

You managed to relax your throat, taking Santiago deeper. He growled approvingly, his hips snapping forward faster. Frankie watched, his eyes darkening with lust. He released one of your legs, snaking his hand down to rub your clit, making you moan loudly around Santiago's shaft.

“Jesus Christ,” Santiago hissed as your moan vibrated against his cock. Frankie continued circling your clit expertly, making your pussy tighten around him.

The room filled with the sound of wet skin slapping against skin, soft moans muffled by Santiago's thick length in your mouth.

“Gonna come soon,” Frankie panted, his fingers moving faster on your clit. “Want to fill this tight little pussy up.” He looked at Santiago. “You close too, buddy?” Santiago nodded, his thrusts becoming more erratic. “Fuck yeah. She's got the best mouth.”

“Come for us, baby,” Frankie commanded, pinching your clit hard. The sudden jolt of pain mixed with intense pleasure pushed you over the edge. You came with a muffled scream, your pussy convulsing around Frankie's cock, your throat convulsing around Santiago's.

“Shit!” Frankie hissed, his thrusts losing rhythm as your orgasm milked his shaft.

“She's gonna make me come.” Santiago groaned, his hips snapping forward harshly. “Swallow baby. Swallow it when I come... Only the way you know” He warned, his voice hoarse with need.

As if on cue, both men came almost simultaneously. Frankie's hot cum filled your pussy, dripping out around his thick shaft. Meanwhile, Santiago held your head still as he unloaded his own hot, sticky load into your throat. You gagged slightly but obediently swallowed every drop.

Both men slumped forward, draping their bodies over yours as they tried to catch their breath. Frankie's cock slipped out of your pussy with a wet pop, cum leaking out. Santiago stroked your cheek affectionately, his semi-hard cock slipping from your lips. “Fuck that was hot, baby,” Santiago whispered, his thumb gently wiping the corner of your mouth.

Frankie, still propped up on his elbows, leaned in to press a soft, lingering kiss on your shoulder. “You okay, hermosa?” Frankie asked, his voice husky from exertion.

You whimpered softly, snuggling closer to the warmth of their bodies. Frankie chuckled, wrapping his arms around your waist possessively. “She always gets like this after,” He murmured to Santiago.

Santiago smiled, cradling you against his chest. “I know. Like a kitten,” Santiago laughed softly, nuzzling your neck. “You get all snuggly and whiny, baby.”

Frankie watched as your body went boneless and docile, your eyes half-lidded with satisfaction.

“What are we gonna do after this?” You asked a little bit worried at how things flew. Now they both knew you used to date them at the same time and deep down it hurt you that everything must change now.

“What do you want to do, hermosa?” Frankie asked seriously, his playfulness gone. He sat up, his abs tightening. “You wanna make this a regular thing? Or was this a one-time thing?” He watched your face carefully. Santiago mirrored Frankie's serious expression, waiting for your answer.

“Honestly, I don't know” You hesitated.

“You're not sure if you want to have sex with two guys again?” Santiago asked carefully, his voice unreadable. “Or you're not sure if you want this to be a thing?” He added when you didn't answer immediately. Frankie watched your face closely, his expression unclosing.

“Is it because society might judge us?” Frankie asked softly, his voice gentle. “Or is it because you're not sure about us, personally?” He searched your eyes. “We can keep this a secret if you want, but we both really like you, hermosa. This isn't just about the sex for us. You know that.”

Just as the silence lingered, the iconic strains of Two Princes by Spin Doctors began to play from the stereo, its upbeat rhythm filling the room. You all paused, and then, with a shared chuckle, recognized the ironic coincidence of the song choice. A song about two men competing for the love of one woman—how fitting for the moment. You laughed at the absurdity of it all, knowing that the universe had an odd sense of humor.

(dividers by @saradika-graphics)

[razildor]

WIP Wednesday

wow I got one of these out on a Wednesday, well done me.

Was tagged by the ever lovely @heylittleriotact Thanks!💚💚

So I was going to take a small break from smut after Unwind to write maybe some fluff or something with my male Qunari Reaper, Hakiem He smooches Emmrich.

But here I am, back in horny jail, because I saw an art of Emmrich smoking and it awoken another smut idea in my unhinged brain, so enjoy the WIP. It's still a rough draft, I literally started this yesterday.

Tagging: @holdingontojupiter @redheadsramblings @ollypopwrites and anyone who wants!

warning for smoking!

it's a bad habit but the idea won't go away sooo.

Smoke

The room was peaceful, the fire keeping the air warm enough for the two inhabitants that currently sit in a plush armchair in front of it. A small sigh of content leaves Rook as she snuggled deeper into Emmrich's neck, fingers idly playing with the skull collar pin that keeps the Mages high collar closed. The odd noise of papers shuffling keeps her from dozing. A hand covered in gold rings reflecting in the fire light ever so slowly trails down the woman's naked spine, making her shiver with delight, the hand coming to rest on an ass cheek, squeezing it slightly.

“You make it difficult to work, my heart.”

Rook huffs into the man’s neck, grinning as she squeezes around his cock that sits snuggling in her. “I’m not to blame for your idea, Emmrich.”

Emmrich inhales sharply, the hand on her ass squeezed tighter, head tilting back to rest in the chair, taking three deep breaths to keep himself from coming at that moment. Both of them strung tightly with need, having been sat in such a position for a while now. It’s true that having her sit naked with his cock inside was his idea, keeping him warm until he was going over some more notes that Vorgoth sent his way. Then to give Rook the attention she desvers by fucking her over the nearest surface he could find, be it the desk or against the bookshelves.

Yet he found himself taking longer than normal, each shift from Rook, a shameless squeeze here and there sending his mind to a screeching halt, losing the spot in the notes, having to re-read the same word over and over again, hand shaking when writing down some words he doesn’t even recall- he would have to draft up the letter again after this.

“Rook, behave if you please.”

Rook only smirked into his neck without a word, very likely plotting something in that brilliant mind of hers. Emmrich thinks before going back to writing something on the paper, yet the pen drops from his hand with a small clatter at the feeling of Rook running her tongue slowly up his jaw, eyes slowly rolling up as he tilts his head back more for her. Unknowing that deft fingers unclipped the collar pin, placing it gently on the small table next to them, pulling the collar apart to run lips down his neck, deft fingers once again slowly undoing his shirt partly.

“I-I did say I would be done soon, darling.” Emmrich stutters, hand gripping the arm of the chair tightly as he tries to keep himself under control to some degree.

“Hm, you said that an hour ago.” Rook mutters into his neck before placing a mark there that made him gasp sharply.

Emmrich didn’t reply at first, he was sure it had only been a short while. A sigh leaves him as he lets the stack of papers fall from hand and sags back into the chair, a gasp from Rook makes him smirk a little himself from the movement. Reaching to the small table he picks up a small narrow cylinder from a dish, a Smoke, Rook recognised, recalling the few times she’s seen people use them.

placing it between his lips, along with a grunt as Rook slowly rolled her hips, watching him closely with interest. Shaking his head slightly from her grin, lifting a free hand to the tip of the smoke igniting it with a spark of green magic, inhaling slowly before blowing the white smoke to the side, away from Rook’s face.

“I didn't know you smoked.”

“Hm, I indulge from time to time, depending on the circumstances” He shrugs slightly, taking another drag of the Smoke between fingers, holding the fumes for a little, then exhaling  them slowly over Rook’s head- she swears the fumes almost looked like a skull before disappearing into the air.

“Though this is a good alternative, my dear.”

A ringed hand reaches around to grab Rook's ass again, squeezing the soft flesh and smirking at the groan from the women. Helping to guide her slick cunt over his aching cock that sits so tightly within her, her fluids leaking down his cock making the glide easier. He taps the ash into the dish as he asks. “Have you ever indulged in this before?” A small nod from Rook, wrapping her arms around his neck being mindful not to knock his hand holding the Smoke.

“A few times before all this, but with the Gods I’ve not had a moment to find any.” 

“Then allow me to share this indulgence.” His tone sultry, bringing the Smoke to his lips once more to inhale the fumes, yet doesn’t let the white smoke escape, pulling the hand away to reach with the other to Rook, gently grasp her chin between two fingers, keeping her still long enough to press his lips against hers, quickly pushing his tongue through her lips to push some of the white smoke into her mouth. A deep moan follows from the women, arms pulling Emmrich  by the neck closer, the Mage’s hand slowly moving to her jaw, holding her in place. The cold feeling of his rings sends sparks of aroused down to her core.

[my85volvo]

Prompt!

Thanks for the inspo @sunnyhopeworld !

...

I was just a little rebellion, that's all. Just a little escape from the ever-present weight of the Hale name. Always shaved, always neat, clothes pressed, shoes shined. Keep your back straight but always look relaxed, Derek. Make your voice deep yet never booming, Derek. Be generous but ignore the undeserving, Derek.

He stood outside a run-down strip mall, with a laundromat, nail salon, tax office, and... Red Spark Tattoos and Piercings. It stood out with an artfully designed banner of large, red letters painted in calligraphy, and the windows were plastered with a collage of stickers, posters, and what looked like doodles made with a sharpie. Derek's hands were slightly shaking as he pushed the dingey glass door open. The smell of cleaning supplies greeted him as he stepped into a small room, populated by a large reception desk, a few rolling chairs, something that looked like a massage table, and a wall of floor-to-ceiling cabinets. There was only one person there, a 20-something man with shaggy brown hair relaxing behind the desk with an open book in his hand. Derek cleared his throat to get his attention.

"Woah!" The man exclaimed, nearly falling out of his seat. "Ah, um, sorry man, lemme just--one second."

The man tossed his book somewhere behind the desk, then picked up a fountain soda with one hand while pushing away the remains of his lunch with the other. When the desk looked sufficiently tidy to his liking, he took a breath and stood up straight, looking Derek straight in the eyes and smiling wide.

"Welcome to Red Spark! How may I poke you today?"

Derek was a little taken aback, both by the man's greeting and his appearance. His eyes were a gorgeous, honey brown, highlighted by pale skin and a few tiny moles dotting his jaw. He was full of piercings; two in his left brow, one under his lip, 5 in one ear and 3 in the other. Derek saw the hint of a tattoo peeking out from the collar of his shirt, and another that started on his right hand and disappeared under his cuff. Somehow, the man looked like a rock star, rather than the dilenquient that Derek expexted.

It took a moment before he regained his composure.

"I, um...piercing?"

The man's smile grew a bit wider.

"First time?"

Derek gave a curt nod.

"No problem at all. How about we talk for a few minutes in my office?"

Derek glanced toward a door in the corner of the room, thinking they would go somewhere private. But the man just stood and gestured for Derek to follow him 4 steps away while he plopped down in a rolling chair. Derek followed suit, cautiously taking another chair for himself.

"So, welcome, like I said before. My name is Stiles, and this is my little shop. I can pierce pretty much anything--" Derek didn't miss the way the man's eyes drifted down his body when he said that, "--and we have plenty of hoops and studs to go with your style. But before we get into that, how about you tell me your name?"

"...Derek."

"Derek," Stiles said warmly. "Good to meet you. Thanks for coming in today. Want to tell me a bit about what you're looking for?"

Derek sucked in a breath, preparing to recite the short speech he had practiced a dozen times on the way over. I'd like a nose piercing, right nostril. Nose piercing, right nostril. Nose piercing--

But instead, he said--

"I want to be different."

He felt his cheeks growing hot in embarrassment. Why the hell did that come out of his mouth? He expected Stiles to give him a questioning look, or roll his eyes, or pretend to think that what he just said was a great idea. Instead, the man's smile grew soft, and he nodded his head in understanding.

"Yeah, I get that. And I've got good news for you--you're already different. You've lived your life in such a fantastically specific way that no one else ever could, just because you're you. You don't need a piercing to be different; all that can do is give you a reminder of who you were when you decided to get it.

No one had ever said anything like that to him before. It felt like...somehow this man could see right through him. It put Derek on edge, for some reason.

"You're not a very good salesman."

Stiles laughed and looked down, as if Derek wasn't the first to tell him that.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But it helps me sleep at night," he replied. "You still want to take the plunge?"

"Yes...I already decided to go through with it. I don't want to back down now."

"Okay!" Stiles clapped his hands together once, slightly startling Derek. "That settles that, then. Where were you thinking of getting pierced?"

"Nose piercing. Right nostril."

"Yep, yep, solid choice. Do you have any allergies? Any alcohol or drugs consumed in the last 24 hours? Are you an avid nose-picker? Because that can mess with the healing process."

"...No, no, and I always use a tissue."

Stiles seemed a bit too amused by his answer, flashing a bright smile once again.

"Excellent. That'll be $80 and an ID for the piercing, which includes the jewelery. Cash or card?"

"Cash," Derek said, reaching for his wallet. No way was he going to let this place show up in a paper trail.

Stiles checked his ID, took the cash, and wrote out a reciept. Derek noticed that his fingers were long and graceful, and his handwriting was hurried and terribly sloppy.

"Alright, that takes care of that! Now let me grab these--" he reached toward a shelf behind him to grab a flat display box full of studs and tiny hoops. "You can take a look at what you want while I prep."

Stiles stood and walked back to the desk. Derek heard him shuffling through some papers while he examined the studs in the case. He wanted something subtle yet visible. Something his mother wouldn't notice because she barely looked at him unless he was doing something wrong, but still stood out among his clean-cut peers. He ended up choosing a small, sterling silver stud. It wasn't the boldest choice, but he was okay sticking to the classics when it came to middle-child rebellion.

When Derek looked up again, Stiles was sitting across from him fiddling with a few items placed on a small tray resting on the table beside them. There was a clipboard next to the tray, which looked like a contract that had been copied from a copy many times.

"Liability release. Read and sign, if you please." Stiles said. "And have you picked a piercing you like?"

"Yes. This one," Derek pointed to the silver stud.

Stiles nodded and put the box back on the shelf, then opened a tiny drawer in one of those big, plastic organizational cases. He pulled out a small baggy of identical studs, shook one into his hand, then set it on the tray.

Derek read the liability release while Stiles started sterilizing his equipment and readying his tools. The contract was pretty standard, though Derek could already tell there were some pretty glaring loopholes. This must have been written at least 20 years ago, based on the language. Derek was no lawyer, but having poured through hundreds of contracts while managing the Beacon Hills branch of his mother's business, he had seen his fair share of liability agreements. This guy definitely needed a new one.

He signed the contract without much fuss and turned towards Stiles. The man was waiting patiently, alcohol swab in hand.

"Ready?" He asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

Derek nodded.

"Alright. I'm going to wipe down your nose first. Then I'll put on some gloves and open a new needle. The piercing will take less than a minute, and then I'll slip on your stud. We'll talk about care afterwards. Sound good?"

Derek nodded again, feeling his heartbeat increasing and his lungs slightly tightening.

"Alright, excuse my reach--"

Stiles rolled forward, slotting his knee between Derek's legs while he reached for his face. It was... a lot more intimate than he expected. The cool press of the alcohol swab caused him to tense, but Stiles just placed his other hand on Derek's jaw while he cleaned. It was warm and surprisingly comforting.

"Alright, step two! So tell me, what do you do, Derek?"

Derek watched as Stiles started pulling on gloves.

"I work for my parents. It's boring."

"Hmm," was all Stiles said in response. He was peeling open a paper holder, revealing a new needle inside. "Alright, ready to take the plunge?"

Derek took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. "Yes," he replied.

He felt Stiles move in closer, his knee coming dangerously close to Derek's crotch, and with a gentle hand the man held Derek's chin and tilted his head to the left. Then he felt something push inside his nose, which wasn't particularly pleasant, before a moderate burning pain burst from his nostril.

"You're doing great, Derek. Almost there."

His eyes were still closed, and a moment later, he felt something slide into his new piercing. Stiles fiddled with it for a moment, then pulled away completely. Derek sort of missed the heat of their bodies touching, however brief it may have been.

"Alright! You are now the proud owner on one extra hole in your body. How do you feel?"

Derek opened his eyes and instinctively reached up to touch his new piercing, but Stiles quickly grabbed his hand to stop him.

"Don't touch," Stiles warned. "Let me put a bit of ointment on first."

His hand lingered for that extra two seconds, which made Derek start to feel hopeful. They separated, and he watched as Stiles opened a tube of... something and squeezed a bit out on a q-tip.

"Hold still one more time for me," he asked.

Derek watched the top of his head while Stiles deftly swabbed his piercing. His hair looked soft, touchable, and Derek was beginning to realize the feelings that this man was stirring in him. He blinked rapidly and tried to clear his head.

"Okay, you're gonna wanna put this on twice a day," he said, handing the tube over. "Try to twist the stud a little bit to make sure it's not healing over. If you want to change it out, come back and I'll do it for you. Otherwise, wait 6 months before removing it. Sound good?"

Stiles started cleaning up the tray of supplies, and Derek wasn't sure what to say. Was it over already? Did he really have to leave so soon? He knew why he wanted to stay.

"Is that...it?"

"Oh! Almost forgot. here--" Stiles pulled out a pamphlet from the shelf behind him. "In case you forget anything I just told you."

Derek stared at the pamphlet, reading the same list of instructions over and over again. Stiles finished cleaning up, then sat back down beside him. Derek could feel Stiles staring, and when he looked up, he was met with another one of those warm, inviting smiles.

"Want to rest here for a bit while you get used to it? you're free to lay on the table and have an existential crisis, too. Comes with the piercing package." Stiles winked.

"No, I should go. Thank you." Derek stood abruptly and walked away, cursing himself for the awkward goodbye.

"Thanks! Come back any ti--"

The door closed with a thud, cutting off the end of Stiles's sentence. Derek really didn't mean to be so rude, but if he stayed in that little shop much longer, he feared that he would make an even bigger fool of himself.

Of course, that didn't stop him from planning his next vist. Maybe he could ask Stiles to pick a new stud out for him and change it out. Derek smiled to himself, already looking forward to returning to Red Spark.

Daydreamed of Derek Hale with a nose piercing today at work. Now I can't get it out of my head

[cheesecake-clown]

WOAHHHHH

[makismei]

cw: pleasure dom toji!!!, overstim, he’s sweet, squirting. 18+ content, penetration, little hint of anal play, fingering, oral f! receiving, established relationship

“baby, chill out,” he scolds, grabbing you by the hips and dragging you back. he knocks your legs open and you whimper, resisting.

“tojiii,” you whine, all drawn out and pretty, “please, it’s too much, i can’t cum.”

he scoffs, wet fingers rubbing against your pussy. your body locks up and he holds back a groan at the tears in your eyes. “it’s only too much because you can’t stay still. you did this to yourself, doll.”

you shake your head, stubborn as ever. “‘s not my fault! you just suck!”

eye twitching, toji presses two fingers inside without warning. “i think i’ve been too nice to you, baby.” he hums, scissoring his fingers and relishing in the way your back arches. “look at ya, talking back to me.”

he thrusts his digits, forcing your leg to open wider, while his thumb massages your clit. he presses down, applying pressure and making out little shapes.

you wriggle, tears pooling in your eyes like the drama queen you are. “no! not like thaaaat!”

“why, baby?” he questions, “you cum so quick when i have ya like this.”

you whine loudly, legs starting to shake. toji licks his lips, eyes training hungrily on your cunt. you’re almost there, but you’re fighting the urge to cum, knowing it pisses him off.

it makes him regret the fact he used to make you hold back your orgasms, only letting you cum if he said so—because now look, you’re using it against him.

but toji is competitive and he loves to win.

so he crooks his fingers just right, hooking onto that one spongey spot that guarantees his victory every. single. time.

“yeah,” he goads, watching your body suddenly lock up and wetness spew from your pussy like a geyser, “‘s what i thought.”

he rubs your pussy, just to make your squirt splash around. it’s humiliating, how he toys with your body and forces you into endless pleasure until you go stupid.

but you love it, despite the fact you like resisting, toji knows all too well that it’s just an act.

you turn onto your side, quivering from the aftershocks of your orgasm.

wordlessly, he manhandles you onto your knees, shoving your face into the mattress. you moan at the feeling of his tongue lapping at your pussy, muffling a scream when his lips latch onto your swollen clit and suck, his tongue playfully flicking your little bud.

he alternates between nibbling and sucking, reducing you to a babbling, incoherent disaster.

“cumming!” you warn, more squirt splashing shamelessly onto his face and all over the sheets. you fall forward, head turned to the side and panting.

“what a mess,” he chides, clicking his tongue. “aren’t ya ashamed?”

it’s teasing, but you’re so turned on. you hike up your knees again, wiggling your ass enticingly. you look over your shoulder, pouting. “‘m sorry, toji. didn’t mean to be messy.”

“sorry?” he asks, frantically you nod. burly hand slides up and down his cock, catching your slit and using your fluids as lube. his gaze flits to you momentarily, “yer really sorry?”

you nod again, squirming, “i am! m’ so sorry.”

toji grins, watching his cock disappear into your cunt, “then cum for me again, c’mon, hurry.”

you yell, arms unable to hold yourself up.

he plows into you mercilessly, fingers digging into the plush of your ass. your eyes widen when you feel his thumb on your other hole, rubbing it teasingly.

“what if i put my thumb in here, baby? what do you think will happen?” you feel a line of spit hit your ass, his thumb collecting it before returning to teasing your other hole. “remember your little treasure chest? swore i saw some plugs in there..”

weakly, you try to support yourself on shaky arms, moaning incoherently. “i— toji, i… ahh, mmph!”

you fall back down, face first, and he just laughs, “s’ okay, you don’t have’ta say anything. ya know why?” he goads, thrusting just a little bit harder, teasing you. “‘cause your little pussy is telling me all i need to know.”

toji groans and it’s loud, feeling your cunt squeeze down, trying to milk him for everything he’s worth. “that’s right,” draping himself over your back, his hand sneaks its way to flick your bud, relishing in your squeals and they way your body squirms.

“cum, pretty, c’mon,” he breathes, leaving spit-soaked kisses on your back, “need ya to feel good for me.”

he sings praises in your ear when he hears you gush all over the already damp sheets, moaning into your skin as his thrusts grow sloppy, before he’s dumping wads of hot cum into your battered pussy.

“fuck me,” he sighs, dragging his lips along your shoulder blades and nape, hips still pushing into your ass.

you’re whining, tears blurring your vision as you ride out the pleasure toji relentlessly gives. you’ve fallen into prone bone, too fucked out to utter words besides incoherent babbles.

his hands find purchase beside your head, dropping to his forearms, but refusing to pull out but littering your skin with feverish kisses, “did so good for me, sweets.”

he’s reassuring, knowing it’s intense for you. but toji has a mean streak that he likes to keep up, so naturally he’s teasing. “my baby, so fucked out, huh? it’s okay, you’re so cute like this. always so sweet after i dick you down enough.”

he pulls out, knocking your legs apart to watch his cum drool out of your slit. “mm, yer perfect, baby.”

you flop onto your back, pinching toji’s arm and refusing to look him in the eye. he grins, “what? you want a kiss?”

you nod slowly, cheeks burning. he just knows you too well.

but he complies, all too easily. it’s you, after all.

swallowing up your little moans, he devours your lips, pushing his tongue into your mouth. burly hands cup your face, opening his eyes to see yours squeezed shut. he grins, biting your lower lip when he pulls away.

rough thumbs wipe your teary cheeks. “there’s your kiss, baby. you happy?”

“yeah…” you mutter, eyelashes fluttering as you look up at him. “another one?”

he smiles and it’s warm and full of love, leaning down, toji brushes his lips against yours. “sure doll, anything you want.”

[bunnigumi]

─ A LITTLE BIT HARDER NOW!

WHEN HE PULLS BACK theres drool collecting at the corner of your mouth. You're red in the face, eyes averting in shame 'cause you really do like it when he presses on your tummy like that.

cw. megumi x reader , stomach bulge , tummy pressing , size kink

Right now, Megumi has his grab on your thighs, blunt nails digging into soft flesh, thumbs circling pink bites on the inner sides. It's a routine that's starting to become familiar. Your hips are slightly lifted up from the bed, and he really cant explain why, but when he can see the outline of his dick through your stomach, he absolutely loses it.

You were horrified at the sight when you first saw it, but Megumi on the other hand? He was turned on the most he's been in his entire life.

He just loves pressing on the bulge in your little tummy. Its addicting—watching you squirm and whine and protest with little results. Seeing the way you cant decide if you want to stray from his touch or arch further into it. Loving how big his dick is compared to you.

"Fuck baby," he breathes out in awe. "See that? Feel it? Can you feel my cock deep inside you?" He groans as he pulls out all the way just to slam back into you, starting a fast, rough pace that doesn't seem to let up and makes the sound of sticky arousal totally embarrassing.

A hand retreats from where it's holding up your thigh to grab one of your own hands, wrestling the grip you have on crumpled sheets and guiding it down to your stomach.

"Wha- nghh, M'gumi, don't—!" A long, drawn out moan escapes your lips before the rest of your complaint can. Your hand is trembling, and too weak to escape his grab.

"C'mon sweet girl, don't you like how full I can make you feel?" He coos.

Your head falls to the side, attempting to push your face into the soft pillows, "N-noo... feels so weird..." The drawn out nature of your words make you sound unsure. Megumi doesn't believe that you don't like it, because oh, he knows you do.

"Awwh... you sure you don't like it, baby?" He says, faux innocence laced in his sweet tone. You pout. You know what he's doing to you, and hes so wrong for it. He leans in closer, tilting his head, teasing you so you get all embarrased—hot and flustered. "I should just pull out then if it's too much."

You shake your head so fast you almost get dizzy, unable to form any coherent words. Only small uh-uh's make it past your moans.

It's too hot. Megumi is so, very close to you right now. You're able to feel the radiating warmth of his body, his breath against your ear. With the added weight of his teasing, it becomes far too invading. You bury your face deeper into the pillows.

When you get like that, the heat always pressures you into spilling whatever you don't want to say—always. You make for a terrible, terrible liar.

"What about when I do it like this?" You face him again with curiosity. Your brows are furrowed, sweat beads down your hairline. Glossy eyes search his face in confusion in the cutest way ever before dilating in panic.

He adds more pressure and forces your hand harder onto your stomach, closing the little distance seperating the two of you to kiss you sloppily. You make a noise of shock, whining as he continues to knead your hand onto it.

Your cries melt back into the sound of pleasure, moaning into the kiss, your whining dying down.

When he pulls back theres drool collecting at the corner of your mouth. You're red in the face, eyes averting in shame 'cause you really do like it when he presses on your tummy like that. "Tell me how much you love it," he taunts.

When you're like this, you're able to feel all of him. Able feel every single thrust just grazing your cervix, senses going into overdrive as you subconsiously stop trying to fight his hold on your hand with the little to no strength you were using to begin with.

"I, hahh, love it! Love your cock s-so much! Feel so full... hah- aah—!" With one last thrust, your back arches, core unraveling around his length. Walls tightening, spasming in a way that makes Megumi spill all his praises. As your chest heaves heavily, your abdomen flexes and tightens, revealing the silhouette of your boyfriend's cock stuffed inside of you even clearer now.

The corner of his mouth quirks up in pride, "I bet you do, baby. I fuckin' bet."

He really should start doing this more often.

[paetalks]

nanami kento, very serious looking guy working in the finance department, having a little crush for the new girl who just got hired by the creative team.

you didn’t even know him, not until the christmas dinner party at the office. you were fairly new, only been working there for four months. working for a big company had not always been your goal, but when you got offered the position freshly out of college you couldn’t say no. it was well paid, in the city center, and allowed you to put your degree to use - which was a big plus, since finding a good job lately seemed to be stressful for people with an art degree (or so you were told by basically everybody).

when you first saw him, your heart skipped a bit. he looked insanely good, with his white shirt hugging a toned chest and short blonde hair falling slightly on his forehead. he was talking with your creative project manager, big hands gesturing softly while speaking and a light smile on his face. it was the first time you ever laid eyes on this beautiful man, and as soon as you realized you were staring a bit too hard, he had already made eye contact. eyebrows slightly furrowed, his eyes met yours. before you even knew, you were walking up to him.

“hi” you said, breathily. you felt your hands sweat and damned yourself mentally for behaving like a girl seeing a cute boy for the first time. up close, you realized he must have been a little older. not too much but the confidence he exuded was clearly not the one of someone in his early twenties - nothing like a guy your age. your manager looked around, confused on why you were intruding in their conversation, and eventually asked “hi, y/n. did you need something?”

you blushed immediately, looking away from the beautiful man, realizing there was no good reason to justify your sudden intrusion. you just saw a good looking man and walked up to him as if nothing else was going on. “oh…” your mouth slightly open, your mind racing to find something appropriate to say.

“i think we have not been introduced yet.” his voice was deep and you felt it in your stomach, like music at a concert. your eyes darted up to the unknown man, nodding shyly. “right. my name is nanami kento, pleased to meet you.”

you felt your insides melt while shaking his big hand, mumbling your name and smiling softly. five seconds later, you pretended like someone was calling your name from somewhere where your other colleagues were and excused yourself, quickly leaving just like you did arriving.

watching you walk away, nanami let out a soft smile, hoping the man in front of him was not going to pay much mind to it. “oh, don’t worry about y/n. she’s young, and new. she’s still trying to find her way around here, you know?” your project manager laughed awkwardly, still wondering what was all that about. kento shrugged, watching you from afar. your cheeks were red and the grip on the glass you had in your hands looked incredibly stiff.

what neither you or your protect manager knew was that nanami kento did know who you were. he had noticed you, maybe on your first or second day, when you got lost and popped up in the finance department. your colorful sweater and laptop full of stickers looked very out of place and when one of his colleagues approached you, letting you know that maybe you had walked in the wrong office, you did turn another color from embarrassment and started profoundly apologize. he thought you were cute, and funny, but the more he got a glimpse of you in the hallways, the more he noticed you wherever he were.

the break room, the coffee shop in front of the office building, the elevator. he found you in every room, even if you didn’t even know he was there. it was like he couldn’t get enough of you, like looking at you from afar was something he had grown addicted to in such a short time.

he wouldn’t have called it a crush, but whenever he needed to print something he would carefully choose the printer on the same floor your office was on - hoping that, when walking by, your door would be open and that he could catch a glimpse of you. okay, maybe thinking back, there had been a few moments in which he felt very infatuated by the idea of you…

looking at you from across the room, while zoning out on the conversation he was in, and noticing how sometimes you would look back too, he told himself that yes, that was definitely a crush.

idk i love the dynamics of stoic boyfriend x artsy girlfriend. wtv??? i’m done .