#could be anything. what do you think it's about or what do you think the main characters are like

[justwinginglife]

The LADS Men React To You Saying You Can't Have S*X Because Of Mismatching Underwear

NSFW WARNING

Sylus

Sylus knows in an instant that you’re messing with him but he plays along, a sly smirk sitting pretty on his lips. “Oh NO- your underwear set doesn’t match? Whatever shall we do?” After clicking a few buttons on his phone, he stands to grab his car keys (one out of many).

“Wait! What are you doing, where are you going?” You ask, brows furrowing. The sudden change in the atmosphere has you feeling like, at any moment, you might get whiplash. One minute, he’s kissing up your neck, squeezing at your thighs, grinding his raging erection into your crotch, and the next, he’s throwing on his jacket, zipping his pants back up, and getting ready to leave. 

“You mean where are we going, kitten.” He speaks like it’s only obvious. 

Your eyes narrow in suspicion. “Why are we leaving? I thought you just wanted to have sex not two seconds ago.”

“Of course, dearest, but we can’t have sex if you’re feeling embarrassed, now can we? So I thought I’d just buy the nearest lingerie store and we could go pick out whatever you like.” 

You choke on your spit. “You did WHAT?”

“I said I bought the store. So let’s go.” His eyes are daring you to continue with your little charade.

“Well I…I kinda wanted to stay home tonight.” You say weakly. You know you’re making a pathetic case for yourself, but he’s really not allowing you the wiggle room to be more convincing.

“Then allow me to have all of their stock delivered to the house. Unless… you think that the mismatching underwear is no longer an issue?” 

Oh, this son of a bitch. “You… you really don’t have to do all of this just for me.” You say with an awkward laugh. He knows you’re all out of moves and you’re just pivoting at this point. He knows and he has the audacity to be amused. 

“Oh, but I did, kitten. I wouldn’t want to overlook this very important issue. What’s important to you is important to me.”

“It’s, uh, not actually that important…” You confess meekly. 

“Say that again, sweetie?” He cranes his head to hear you better but you know damn well he can hear you just fine.

You glare at him. “I said it’s fine.”

He chuckles, sweet satisfaction clear on his face. “So then. Does this mean we can pick up where we left off?”

Caleb

You’ve been teasing Caleb all day. 

Dancing into his field of view with that low neckline of yours, wearing a dress that’s so short, it’s a wonder it’s covering anything at all. Touching him here and there, your fingers grazing his skin with a feather-light touch, trailing up his biceps, or down his back, before flitting away like you’d never been there in the first place.

So, of course, after hours of edging him towards an excruciating erection, his self control still intact (though holding on by mere splintered pieces), you decide to reward his good behavior. You straddle him on the couch, and slowly begin to slide your hips back and forth, dragging your clothed cunt across the admittedly-impressive bulge in his pants.

He swears he’s seeing heaven, when you finally allow his aching cock some much needed friction. He’s not proud to say that a little dry humping is all it takes to get him coming into his pants, but he’s sure you’ll continue to show him such endless bliss as the night goes on that he won’t even remember how many times he’s come, let alone that the first time was in his underwear. His head dips forward, steadying itself on your shoulder as he allows the wave of euphoria to wash over him. 

But the second the wave has come and gone, his arousal is already flaring back up in his gut, ready for round two, round ten, round however much you want. All he can think about is how perfect it’ll be when he finally sinks himself inside you, your wet heat enveloping him until all he can feel is you. He doesn’t even think that maybe you’re more devious than he gave you credit for.

After he’s come, you retreat almost immediately, pulling yourself off of him.

He whines pathetically and he fumbles as he attempts to grab hold of you.

“Baby, we can’t tonight.” You say, innocent as ever.

He tries to keep the disappointment from his voice, tries to restrain his very evident need for you, but desperation is quickly rising within him. “Why not?” 

You try to keep the smirk from your lips. “It’s just…I’m not…”

“You’re not what, love? Not feeling well? Not in the mood?” He hopes you don’t notice how badly he just wants you to spit it out. 

“I’m not wearing matching undergarments tonight. So we can’t.” And there it is. The goal you’ve had all night. The little trick you couldn’t wait to play on him. You’re thrilled to see how he’ll react.

His eyes darken in an instant. “Oh, you little minx. You know what you’re doing to me, don’t you?” His tone has dropped to a low growl. 

“I haven’t the slightest idea.” You say, feigned ignorance dripping from your lips. 

He gives a short laugh. “Sure you don’t. Well, if your mismatching underwear is the only issue-” He begins to kiss down your neck harshly, not bothering to take care where he leaves his marks, “-I’ve got just the solution.” His fingers find your dress’s zipper with expert precision and before you can even process that he’s taken ahold of it, the dress is already laying in a pile on the ground. Along with your bra and panties. 

“There. All better. Now your underwear matches- they’re both on the damn floor.” 

Rafayel

You’re starting to think that you lie just a little too well.

You had only meant to tease Rafayel when you had told him that the reason you couldn’t have sex tonight was because you were embarrassed that your bra didn’t match your underwear, but you didn’t expect him to take you completely seriously. What was even more unexpected was that he would go on to give you an entire art lecture in the process.

“Take Picasso, for instance. Brilliant artist. One of a kind. You know him, of course you do, everybody knows him. His work is asymmetrical, and yet you don’t see anybody telling him that his work isn’t beautiful because it doesn’t match.”

“Raf-”

“And take my work. My work isn’t always symmetrical either, but would you tell me that I’m anything less than a true genius? No, because I am. See?”

“That’s besides the point-“

“The point, cutie, is that you’re gorgeous no matter what you’re wearing. It’s okay that you didn’t plan a matching outfit today. Some of nature’s most stunning scenes are spontaneous. You wouldn’t complain to the sunset that its pink doesn’t match its orange, would you?”

“No, but I-”

“Exactly. So it doesn’t matter to me if you’re wearing mismatching underwear; you could be wearing a trash bag and I’d still want you. Do you understand now, cutie?”

“Raf, baby, there’s nothing to understand, I was just jo-“

“Okay, if you don’t understand, let me put it in simpler terms for you. I’m hard for you regardless. That make sense now?”

When he puts it that bluntly, you really want to jump his bones. At this point, you figure you might as well. It’s useless to try and explain to him that you were only joking- not after he’s given you such a lengthy (though thoughtful) monologue. Though he’s a bit dense today, he’s still the same sweet Rafayel you fell in love with. So you think you’ll reward him for his kindness.

“You know what, baby? You made me feel so much better, thank you. I think, to show you just how much better I feel-” You strip yourself naked for him and his jaw drops, his eyes hungrily raking over your bare form, “-I’ll even let you come inside me tonight. What do you think?” You purr seductively.

You really didn’t have to try so hard to seduce him.

He’s already dropped his pants and begun stumbling towards you, rapidly hardening cock in hand.

Xavier

You’re in the middle of a very heated makeout session with Xavier when you decide to pick on him a little. You can tell where this is going, but you want to drag it out a little longer.

“Xav-” You whine breathlessly. “I think we should,” You return another one of his hungry kisses, “Probably stop for the night.” 

He pulls back to examine you. He can’t tell if you’re messing with him or if you’re genuinely not in the mood. Of course, if you want to stop, he’ll stop. He can just fuck his hand later; he’s not so selfish that he’d make you do something you don’t want to do. But just in case he did something wrong, he decides to ask. “Any particular reason you want to stop?”

“It’s just…” You bite your lip, hoping it makes you appear timid, when really you’re trying not to grin. “My bra and my underwear don’t match. I’m a little embarrassed to show you.”

He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Oh, is that all? Feel free to change them then. I won’t look.” Before you can even respond that it’s a joke, he’s turned his back to you to give you your privacy.

You shake your head, smiling softly at his back. You didn’t expect him to be so sweet. You may as well strip naked while he’s allowing you the time; you had planned to have sex with him anyway. 

What the both of you don’t realize is that your bedroom’s full length mirror is angled just right so that he can still see you even when you’re behind him. He looks up only to get a perfect view of you undressing. When he realizes he’s seeing something he’s not supposed to, he starts to look away. But then he catches a glimpse of your mismatching underwear. Cherries decorate the soft material of your panties, while your bra is littered with little bows all the way around. Heat surges through his groin and he realizes that for some reason, this combination of mismatching underwear is doing something to him. 

You finish pulling your shirt off all the way and reach back to unhook your bra. “You know, I appreciate you being so understanding, my love, but I have to admit- I was completely kidding about not wanting to have sex just because my underwear didn’t match.” 

In an instant -you honestly don’t remember him even having the time to turn all the way around- he’s at your side, gripping your wrist tight and locking you in place. “That’s a relief. Now you don’t have to take off any more.”

You raise a curious brow at him. “What do you mean? Didn’t you want to have sex? I kinda have to take my underwear off for that.”

“No. You don’t.” His tone is low and thick with lust. “The undergarments stay on.” Before you know it, you’re pinned down to the bed.

You don’t know if it’s his teleportation ability or just his pure, unadulterated need, but he seems to be moving rather hastily today. You’ve barely even had time to blink before he’s slipping his cock under your bra, fucking your cleavage while it holds his cock in place. 

Something about you, the girl who always settles for function over fashion, wearing the cutsiest, girliest underwear he’s ever seen makes him harder than he’s ever been before and he’s not stopping until he’s staining this particular set in his cum. 

Zayne

“So we don’t strip naked then. That doesn’t mean I can’t still make you feel good.”

When you originally decided to play this joke on Zayne, telling him that you were feeling just a little too shy today to reveal to him your mismatching underwear, you thought he would see right through your little act. This is the man who has known you almost your entire life, after all.

But after you’d come so many times IN YOUR GODDAMN UNDERWEAR ALONE, all because he had insisted on tending to your needs even with your clothes on, after your clenching walls began to feel rather bruised, your clit increasingly more and more overstimulated with each passing second, as he fingered you through the (soaked) fabric of your clothes yet again, you were starting to regret this decision to mess with him. 

You tried to confess so many times, to tell him you’d been lying, to beg him for his cock instead, but it was almost like he knew what you were trying to say, because he’d kiss you so deeply until you were so dizzy from lack of breath that you forgot what you wanted to say, and then he’d dry hump you until you forgot how to even breathe in the first place. 

When you finally stutter out a pathetic, “P-please Z-Zayne…can’t t-take it anymore. Wanna f-fuck you,” Your hips thrusting desperately against the unsatisfying, thin air, he grins.

In that moment, you realize he’s known you’ve been lying all along. 

He leans over to you and you think he might kiss you. That, or scold you. But either result turns you on, so you hold your breath, waiting for him to respond.

He merely peers down your shirt before tugging your pants down slightly to confirm something. “So your underwear does, in fact, match. What an interesting development. Now then…how should I punish you for such dishonest behavior?”

Taglist: @pixelcafe-network @tbaluver @minasfwoopyponytail @ouiouimochi

[gayeddiejuice]

🚨🚨 boots on the ground reporting 🚨🚨

ok just got off the phone with my friend, she is the mvp called me as soon as she clocked out while she walked to the train.

ok. first things first i asked. we’re they nice? and she said YES she said they were probably the easiest table anyone had she felt bad for everyone else cause she kept seeing all the handlers running back and forth and she was just chilling pretty much. she said they dinner was pre ordered but they didn’t eat much of it cause they probably ate at the pre party event. she was also like “did you know oliver is vegan?” LOL anyways. as the main handler the job is to make sure the vips have everything they need, so for example she would take all their food orders and then send it to the kitchen and then there’s a team of waiters who bring the food, the handler never leaves the table you have to be there in case they need anything.

she said since their team preordered most of the food it made her job so much easier, she basically just stood by their table all night just in case they needed anything. she did order lots of drinks tho she said they drank A LOT 😂😂 but it was mostly for all the people that kept coming over to their table, apparently they were super popular people from other shows kept coming over to talk to them. also lots of the other guests which is mostly just the advertisers, that’s the whole point of the party abc/disney has all these celebs there to mingle with advertisers to get them to sell stuff on their network. and she said everyone wanted to come to the 911 table!!

after the dinner portion the actual party starts and that’s when things get hectic cause the vips always scatter and if you’re their handler you gotta know where they all are at all times. i do not miss this job btw it gave me major anxiety.

during the party they pretty much stuck together which made her job so much easier and she said they all remembered her name when she only told it to them once when she introduced herself. listen she doesn’t know anything about this cast she kept calling them the girl and the asian guy or the two hot guys. which. yall. she said they were all extremely beautiful she said she kept blushing cause ryan (she fell in love with him btw) kept calling her by her name and asking her questions and he kept organizing the plates and glasses on the table to make it easier for the wait staff to pick up.

other than that she said later in the night she kept losing track of them cause again they were so popular 😂😂 mostly aisha, she said she seemed to be friends with EVERYONE and she said, i repeat she knows nothing about rpf she didn’t know what her words would mean, she said ryan and oliver (the two hot guys) hung out together the whole night especially once kenny left, she said he left at like 8 right after dinner, and aisha kept going to talk to other people but ryan and oliver stuck together all night. I said oh im so sure. 🤭

that’s pretty much it, i asked if she could hear their convos and she could but she didn’t really pay attention cause she didn’t recognize any names. she did say that they were all cracking jokes all night and they laughed a lot which idk warms my heart 🥹🥹

btw ryan and oliver did leave together and i think they were going to either go somewhere else with other people or they were having like an after party at the hotel? cause they kept telling people yeah we’ll see you “after” she didn’t really catch where “after” was but when they said bye to aisha ryan said “see ya at the hotel” and oliver told her to not take too long 😂😂 so idk I guess they’re still partying.

[ang3ltine]

˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙— "𝖠𝖽𝗆𝗂𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇" - Bob Reynolds x freader x platonic thunderbolts

Golden Retriever x Black Cat trope

Being recruited by Valentina as part of the new Avengers (z) team was never part of your list of agendas. Yet here you were, doting on an awkward brunette.

a.n - This is a short scenario that got me all giddy while writing this, so I hope you Bob fans enjoy this as much as I did!

Warnings - minor spoilers! trauma, nightmares, making out, hickeys & yearning Bob! Lots of fluff too

A few months had passed since the 'incident' on the streets of Newyork where almost half the city was engulfed in complete darkness.

You mostly blamed this on Valentina since she pushed her ideals of the sentry project onto Bob. Now you, along with the others tried your best to make him feel welcome and wanted, despite his 'minor' flaws.

Now that you all moved into the newly refurbished Avengers tower, you had to adjust to your new life. This was never part of your agenda but you're one to complain.

Especially since you got the chance to dote on a certain brunette, who you undeniably cannot ignore since he's always trailing after you wherever you went.

Yelena had introduced you to Bob properly after the whole incident and he's been glued to your side since then. You were more on the nonchalant and cool girl type while he was the polar opposite.

But he still admired you nonetheless. Not to mention, you also get endlessly teased by Yelena and the others.

More so than usual when she noticed that Bob tends to follow you around more than her now. Not that she cares, she was more than happy that he was trying to get closer with someone else other than her.

Yelena had joined you in the main kitchen after training together. You reached into the refrigerator to bring out your bottle of water when she asked an unexpected question.

"Do you like Bob?" She asks straight up, catching you offguard in the process.

"As friends? Yeah ofcourse." You muttered underneath your breath then took a chug of your water.

"Pshh friends? Friends don't eyefuck eachother across the room." She mused while leaning against the refrigerator door with an amusing smirk.

You choked a couple of times while Yelena pats your back before adding another comment. "It's okay! No need to feel ashamed."

"What're you talking about??"

"Okay maybe not, but you two would still make a cute couple." She mused while flashing you her iconic smirk.

"Oh...I don't know about that 'lena. He's just someone I care about alot you know?"

Before you could carry on the conversation, your eyes shift past Yelena's shoulders. Sure enough, Bob was awkwardly standing in the hallway.

"I uh - I didn't hear anything."

Yelena steps back to let Bob in before mouthing a quick 'goodluck' to you. God that girl was going to be the death of you.

The only times he wasn't with you was when you went on missions, which is when he'd spend most of his time in the tower with Alpine.

After a gruelling and unbearably long mission, all you wanted to do was to take a shower, eat dinner then go to bed.

"Ugh...Ava, what time is it?" You groaned while rubbing your temples to somehow lessen your headache.

Ava, along with you and John were on the quinjet, which was preparing its landing sequence on the helipad of the tower.

She glances at the time on her watch before answering with a yawn. "It's a little past midnight."

"You think anyone's awake right now?" John joins in on the rather dull conversation. The ship was on autopilot and had finally landed when he finished his sentence.

"Mhm I highly doubt it," you replied with a strained voice as you stretched your limbs. Almost every inch of your body ached, and your muscles were extremely sore.

As soon as the hatch opened, you dragged your tired body through the hanger. The endless corridors of the living quarters almost made you lose your mind, but you breathed a sigh of relief when you finally made it to your room.

You hesitated for a moment, noticing the door was slightly ajar. Figuring it was just you being paranoid, you swiftly flung the door open, only to find a familiar set of eyes blinking back at you.

Bob stood almost a feet away from you with a pillow in hand, the poor man had flinched at your sudden appearance. Almost immediately, he let out a string of '"sorry's'' since he invited himself in without your permission.

"Hey-- Bob, it's ok. You can stay in my room as long as you like." You say in a hushed tone while placing your hands on his shoulders, rubbing them gently so he'd calm down.

He found it hard to focus on your face as his eyes shift downwards in shame. "I just... I wanted to talk to you as soon as you came back."

"We can talk-" you intercept almost immediately. "But would you mind if I took a shower first? Then we can talk afterwards ok?"

Bob finally lifts his eyes off the ground to look at you before nodding. "Uhh yeah... yeah, I can wait."

You reached up to ruffle his slightly messy hair before retreating to where your walk-in closet was. Bob took the leisure of sitting back on your comfy bed as his eyes followed your every move.

"Ah, this will do," you muttered to yourself while fishing out your sleep shirt and a pair of shorts. Except, it looked bigger than usual?

"Oh right uhm, I think that's mine..." Bob mumbles hesitantly when you notice that it was, in fact, not yours.

Bob had the tendency to leave his belongings scattered in your room, including his large sweatshirts. He'd vist you almost every night since he'd constantly have nightmares, and you would comfort him whenever you could.

"You wouldn't mind if I wore this would you?" You turned around with the sleep shirt pressed against your chest to show it off. It was a deep blue navy colour, simple, yet comfortable.

"Uh yeah! Go ahead." Bob replies with open arms and his usual widespread grin. You returned the smile before grabbing your towel and headed into the washroom.

You quickly scrambled out of your suit and chucked it into the laundry basket to wash later. Bob could hear the sound of falling water through the doors of the washroom as he looked around.

That's when he realised he made quite a mess while waiting for you. So he took his time going around and picking things up from the floor to put them back to the right spots.

After half an hour or so, you stepped out with the towel around your neck after wringing out excess water from your hair. You had the power to control the wind, so it was easier to dry your hair, which was awfully convenient.

"Bob? You here?" You called out after noticing that he was nowhere in sight. The lack of response concerned you as you frantically searched your room for the man.

You finally found him in the far corner of the room, huddled with one of your plushies and was fast asleep. The racing of your heart only quickened once you hear him mumbling your name in his sleep.

"Oh Bob..." you shook your head amusingly as you bent down to his height to lightly shake him awake. It only took a few seconds before he stirred, you felt bad for doing so but you didn't want him to sleep on the floor.

"Do you wanna sleep here tonight?" You asked quietly since he was still half asleep, trying to process what you were saying. He nods his head after a while, placing the plush toy back where it was in the pile before reaching his arms out for you to grab.

You do just that and lead him towards your massive king sized bed. Just earlier on today, you had changed the sheets to satin ones, so it was even more comfortable than usual.

The lights were dimmed but not completely off since you learned the hard way that Bob hated the dark. So you switched on a nightlight by your bedside for extra light just in case.

Bob settled into the crispy sheets that had been untouched since your arrival. He scoots over a bit while you slipped in next to him.

Although, you two were in quite an awkward position after a while. Since you had to prepare a schedule for the next day, he was pretty much beneath you. You were struggling not to crush him while he only made things worse. His arms were wrapped around your waist to pull you closer to him so he could soak in your warmth while you worked.

"Sorry Bob, just give me a few more minutes." You sighed while typing away on your phone. Bob only hummed in response while burying his face into the crook of your neck.

"By the way...do you want to talk about the nightmare that you had?"

"Mm...yeah." Bob replied with a muffled voice as the vibrations tickled your skin, making you squirm slightly. "Alright, tell me what happened."

That's exactly what he did. You listened carefully as he mentioned all the bad things that he had seen in the nightmare.

That's one of the reasons why Bob admired you. You were straightforward with him but caring.

Many would think that sort of activity was only reserved for relationships. Which was partially true, you in fact, did harbour feelings for him. But you chose to keep them to yourself.

What Bob needed was someone who was patient and not pushy. For now, you were content with just being 'friends.' Even though it was far more than that.

It was around 7am in the morning by the time you awoke. The soft golden rays of sunlight shone through the blinds of your room, giving your room a soft glow.

Little did you know that a blonde haired assassin had come to your room during the night to ask you something, only to find you with your limbs entangled with Bob's.

Yelena being Yelena, took the opportunity to snap a few pictures on her phone before leaving. Already planning on using them for blackmail or to tease you whenever she pleased.

Speaking of Bob, he was fast asleep as you peer down at him. You became quite flustered since his face was fully pressed against your chest. He probably thought that it was his pillow, yet you were too afraid to move him. Instead, you opted to run your fingers through his dark chocolate locks.

They were soft, as usual, but still, you tried to detangle his hair gently since there were a few knots. It wasn't long before he started to stir, causing you to freeze in the process. You move away from him slightly to give him some space as he slowly processes where he is.

"Morning sunshine... did you sleep well?" You whispered gently as he peers up at you through his lashes, his eyes still heavy with sleep. His voice was hoarse while he spoke,

"G'morning...yeah I slept well, and you?"

"Ahh, me too..." You responded while brushing stray hair away from his face, it had gotten slightly longer than before. Which gave you the idea of maybe trimming the front bangs later on, with his consent, of course.

Your fingers lingered on his cheek for a brief moment, before retracting your hand. Bob was disappointed to say the least when he felt the warmth of your hand no longer present against his skin.

"Let's get freshen up and head down for breakfast. How does that sound...?"

Bob nods in agreement after rubbing the sleep from his eyes while you slowly got up.

He found himself practically swooning over you while he observed the way you stretched, letting your hair fall across your shoulders. Sure it was messy since you had just woken up, but to him, you looked heavenly.

You felt him staring but you chose not to think much of it. Bob's cheeks had a slight hue of red when you did manage to look back down at him, bringing a small smile to your face at his bashfullness.

"What? Is there something on my face?"

Bob immediately shook his head before you positioned yourself above him. You reached down to place one hand on his cheek to feel the light stubble against your skin.

This time he doesn't let you retreat that easily as he tugs you down gently. A bold move indeed, especially for you.

At first you weren't sure how to respond, the air around you suddenly felt awfully scarce as you were beginning to find it hard to breathe.

Even though he was the one who had instigated the sudden act of intimacy, he too grew a sense of shyness.

To test the waters, he lean in closer, bumping your nose against his and letting your lips hover over his. Your eyes flickered from his lips back up to meet his. If anything, you were more than happy to back away if he felt uncomfortable.

But Bob did want this, so he took the initiative to press his lips against yours. You let out a surprised sound before melting into the kiss.

His lips were slightly chapped, but that didn't bother you. You smiled against his lips as he was struggling slightly, honestly you didn't blame him. He probably hasn't kissed anyone for a while.

But eventually he got the hang of it. He picked up the pace while you struggled to keep up. Turned out he's a quick learner since he copied the way your lips moved against his.

You wasted no time reaching to the back of his neck and slipped your fingers into his dark hair pulling him in impossibly closer.

Soft whimpers escaped his mouth in between each kiss while you soaked in every one, pushing him to kiss you deeper. Sighs and moans of content or pleaure are passed between both your lips and his. The two had to fight to not entirely lose yourselves completely within pure bliss.

You nipped his bottom lip slightly before leaving a soft trail of kisses from his mouth down to the side of his jaw.

"Hm? What're you doing?" He drawled while your lips leaves his briefly, almost bringing out another whine as he feels you lightly kiss the juncture of his neck.

"Mhm, just need you - ," you hummed against his supple skin. You left open-mouthed kisses against a specific area on his neck before gently taking his skin between your teeth to leave a mark.

The feeling was too overwhelming for him yet he found himself bringing you in impossibly closer while you worked. After leaving a significantly dark hickey on the side of his neck, you move back towards his lips.

Which he happily accepts. Head tilting the side, his hot breath mingling with yours, he kisses you with much fever.

Yet keeps it sweet and gentle at the same time. Lightly sucking on your bottom lip while running his thumb against your cheek.

The kiss was filled with raw emotions, all the times that he wanted to tell you of his true feelings were poured into it. You too shared the same amount of passion when you deepened the kiss even further.

Sadly, the need to breathe was apparent after what seemed like forever. You flutters your eyes open before pulling away to take in Bob's appearance. He looked so effortlessly pretty.

His cheeks were rosy and wet from his tears and hair was disheveled, but he still managed to look perfect to you. Before you could say a word, some unexpected words leaves his lips.

"I...I love you," he whispers while you processed what he just said. A small rush of warmth filled you at the sound of those meaningful words as you fought back the urge to kiss him again.

"I love you too..." you whispered before dipping your head low to pepper his face with kisses, making him laugh in the process.

"C'mon sleepy head, let's wash up." Bob reluctantly accepts the offer and tugs the end of your shirt while following you into the washroom.

He was still trying to recover from the small makeout session as his legs almost felt like jelly as he walked. Which was new for him.

An array of skincare products lined up before him as you reached into one your drawers to bring something out. You had given him one of your waterproof headbands to wear so that his hair wouldn't get in his face in the process.

One of the reasons why you did a skincare routine specifically for him was because he enjoyed the feeling of being pampered by you.

So it was no surprise when he leans into your touch with excitement while you applied the cleansing foam on his face. A satisfied grin played on his lips while you rubbed the product into his skin, making you feel all giddy inside.

After the two of you washed up and got dressed, you then made your way to the kitchen to have breakfast.

Not even a second went by when Ava gave you one of her snarky remarks as soon as you walked in with Bob in tow.

"Ahh the couple's here to join us." You rolled your eyes playfully at the sarcastic comment as you turn to face the women in question.

Little did she know that she was, in fact, telling the truth. But you weren't going to give her that satisfaction.

"Oh shush, you're just jealous that I'm not giving the same attention to you." You retorted with the same amount of sass.

"Wow, Touche." She responds while sipping her coffee.

"Bob? Do you want pancakes?" You turned your attention back to the brunette who was patiently waiting for you.

"Yes please," he replies with a tight-lipped smile, already feeling shy from Ava's comment of referring to you both as a couple.

"Pancakes it is then."

Taglist: @doodlebob-mp3 @perdidosbucky-yyo @marianastudiesart @ordelixx @starktonyx @hisredheadedgoddess28 @avatarobsessedgirly @starstruckfirecat @adventure-awaits13 @milkbean69 @the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf

[iydiamartinx]

DINNER WAS NOT SERVED

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader

divider by: @cafekitsune & @iydiamartinx word count: 842 synopsis: Dick had one goal: to seduce his girlfriend. He forgot the part where he should check for unwanted guests first and narrates his plans in very, vivid detail. warning: talk of sexual themes

Dick Grayson practically bounced through the door. After a brutal day at work and a rare night off from his more nocturnal duties, he was beyond ready to spend the night with you—to the fullest.

He wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it—keys flung onto the counter, boots kicked halfway off, jacket tossed somewhere near the coat rack. His hair was tousled from the wind, and that boyish grin was plastered across his face like he’d just won the damn lottery.

“Babe?” he called out, already unbuttoning his shirt to reveal that smooth, unfairly sculpted chest. “I’ve been thinking about you all day. You have no idea what you’re in for tonight.”

You glanced up from the couch, eyes widening in horror.

Too late.

“Been thinking about that mouth of yours,” Dick continued, blissfully unaware of the audience. “You saying my name, choking on it… You better not have eaten yet,” he smirked, prowling closer. “Because tonight, I’m the only thing on the menu. And if you’re really good, I’ll make you my dessert before tying you up like you asked—”

You opened your mouth—something, anything—but the words got stuck somewhere between your brain and your mortified soul.

Dick wasn’t done.

“—And if I do it right, baby,” he added, voice dropping into something criminal, “you won’t be walking straight tomorrow.”

“Please,” Tim begged, his voice hollow—like something inside him had just broken. “Stop.”

Dick screeched.

His head snapped up like a man slapped by God himself.

Jason was sprawled across the other couch, mid-bite of pizza, now frozen with a look of stunned horror.

Tim was slouched in the armchair, pale as death and clutching a throw pillow to his chest like it might protect him from the trauma.

Dick flailed like a man caught with his pants around his ankles—and spiritually, he was. “I—You—WHY ARE YOU ALL HERE?!”

Jason stood up slowly, face blank. “No. Absolutely not. I’m done. I’m leaving. My ears are bleeding. I need holy water. Maybe therapy. And a priest.”

Tim slowly turned to you, deadpan. “You asked for that?”

“I didn’t know he was going to narrate it like a damn porn script!” you hissed, trying to wedge yourself deeper into the couch cushions as if you could disappear entirely.

Damian sat cross-legged on the floor, one eyebrow twitching in confused revulsion. “What… what do you mean by that?”

Dick groaned, dragging a hand down his face as he stumbled backwards as he realized his youngest brother was here too. “Oh my god.”

Jason made a sound like he was dying. “He means sex, Damian! Dear God, why do I have to be the one to explain this?!”

Damian blinked. “…Then why are they the meal?”

Tim looked like his brain had short-circuited. Again.

Jason threw his hands up. “Nope. Not walking him through this. I’ve done my time.”

Dick, flushed all the way to the tips of his ears, turned to you helplessly. “I swear I thought we were alone.”

You glared at him, mortified. “You described yourself as the entrée,” you snapped. “And me as dessert!”

Damian, still thoroughly lost, narrowed his eyes. “But neither of you are edible. That would be cannibalism.”

Jason grabbed his keys. “I’m going to pretend this never happened and go directly to the manor. If anyone ever speaks of this again—I swear—I’ll shoot them.”

Tim trailed after him, defeated. “I’m going to need a drink. And bleach. And maybe a lobotomy.”

The door slammed behind them, leaving only an awkward silence—and Damian, staring between the two of you with narrowed eyes.

Damian, still staring between you and Dick like you were an unsolvable puzzle, slowly tilted his head. “Is it… normal to talk about being consumed before intercourse?”

You made a strangled noise and grabbed the nearest throw pillow, mashing it to your face.

Dick groaned, dragging a hand down his face as if he could physically wipe away the humiliation. His voice was low and exhausted. “Damian. Leave. Before Jason drives off without you and pretends it was on accident.”

Damian huffed through his nose, clearly unimpressed. “Tt. As if I would lower myself to ride with him.”

Still, he stood up and brushed the invisible lint from his trousers. He shot you both one last perplexed glance, muttered something in sharp Arabic—definitely a curse this time—and swept toward the door without another word.

The click of the door closing behind him echoed through the now silent apartment.

Dick finally turned to you, face still beet red, hair a mess, shirt half-open and forgotten. 

“So…” he began, voice sheepish. “Not the night I had planned.”

You hurled a couch pillow at his head.

He caught it easily, the bastard, flashing that boyish grin that somehow still managed to be charming after all this.

“Still love me?”

You pointed at the door. “Ask me after they recover.”

He winked, his voice dipping back into that sultry purr. “Bet I can make you forget about it.”

You paused.

“…Shut up and lock the door.”

That grin of his widened as he rushed to do as you said.

[abbotjack]

when would jack stutter, have to catch his breath? whether it be something he sees, hears, smells. what makes him take pause?

Jack Abbot doesn’t stutter for effect. He doesn’t lose his words in arguments or get flustered in tension. He was trained—trained—to speak clearly through chaos. To radio for medevac while pressure-wrapping a wound with one hand. To give the date, time, and morphine dose to a nineteen-year-old he was holding together by sheer will while bullets cracked overhead. Words, for Jack, have always been tools. Precise. Tactical. Controlled.

So when Jack stutters, it’s never performance. It’s never dramatics. It’s malfunction. It means something short-circuited so violently inside him that all his practiced scripts—the field medic instincts, the ER attending cadence, the gallows humor—all of it collapses under the weight of something real.

It’s not trauma that makes him pause. He’s acclimated to that. It’s gentleness. It’s earnestness. It's the things no one ever trained him to survive.

It starts small.

You’re in his kitchen one morning, still in sleep clothes. No makeup. You open the fridge and mutter, “We need more eggs.” Not he needs. Not you need. We.

Jack freezes.

Just for a second. Just long enough that the corner of the coffee filter burns.

Because he’s spent years learning how to survive alone. Alone is safe. Alone is math he can do. But we? We is dangerous. We has loss baked into it.

So when you say something that sounds like permanence without even realizing it, Jack looks down at the mug in his hand like he forgot how it got there.

“You okay?” you ask, still rummaging.

“Yeah, I just—” He exhales, blinks. “I—uh, it’s—fine.”

It’s not the word he’s fumbling over. It’s the feeling.

Then it escalates.

You wear his sweatshirt to the grocery store and complain about the sleeves being too long. You say it in passing—no agenda, no performance. Just an offhanded “How the hell do your arms fit in this thing?”

Jack laughs. He nods. He goes quiet.

And later, when you’re brushing your teeth, he stands in the doorway, arms crossed, watching you like he’s never seen anything more disarming.

“You know you, uh—” He pauses. Swallows. “You look good in that.”

And that stutter? It’s not nerves. It’s not lust. It’s ache. It’s how dare you look like home in my clothes when I never thought I’d have one again. It’s him tasting the fact that someone might love him with the lights on. With the ghosts still in the room.

But the worst of it—the deepest malfunction—is when you touch the part of him he hides.

It’s a Tuesday. You’re lying in bed. Jack’s out of the shower, towel around his waist, residual steam curling off his shoulders. You’re half asleep when he climbs in, careful, always careful. The prosthetic is off. His right leg ends below the knee, the skin there pale, uneven in tone, scarred in a way that doesn’t fade with time.

You don’t flinch. You never have.

You roll over, press your face into his chest, and—without thinking—run your hand down his thigh and stop at the point where flesh becomes absence. Where history lives in muscle memory.

He draws in a sharp breath—sudden, ragged—like it knocked the wind out of him.

“Sorry,” you whisper, pulling back.

But he grabs your wrist. Not to stop you. To ground himself. To hold the moment in place.

“No, I—” His voice cracks. The words don’t follow. “It’s not—I just—” He blinks fast, jaw twitching. “I wasn’t—expecting that.”

Because what you touched wasn’t just skin. It was the thing he’s ashamed of needing love through. The thing people look at and get polite. The thing strangers pretend not to notice. The thing he never believed could be part of desire. And you just touched it like it was his. Like it was safe.

That’s when Jack stutters.

When you make the part of him he’s spent years compartmentalizing feel not just accepted—but wanted.

But maybe the most dangerous kind of stutter—the kind that ruins him—isn’t even about touch.

It’s when you fight.

Not over something petty. Something real. Something that threatens the fragile trust he’s learning to build. Maybe you accuse him of shutting you out again. Of pulling back every time things get too close. And you’re right. You’re so right it guts him.

He raises his voice. Snaps something defensive. His default. Control the room. Win the logic. Out-talk the fear.

But then you say it.

“Jack, you don’t have to be perfect to be loved.”

And that sentence? That sentence breaks him.

Not because of what it is.

Because of what it isn’t.

It isn’t a demand. It isn’t a plea. It’s grace. Unconditional. Unflinching. And it makes no goddamn sense to a man who’s only ever been valued for what he can fix, what he can endure, what he can sacrifice.

So he stares at you.

“You don’t—” His voice falters. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do,” you whisper.

And he stutters. He turns away. Rubs his jaw. Blinks hard.

Because he wants to believe you. More than anything. But his nervous system doesn’t know how to file that truth under anything but threat.

He says, “I just—” and never finishes.

Because he can’t.

Because it’s too much.

Because your love is louder than his guilt, and that is a sound Jack Abbot doesn’t know how to live through.

That’s when he stutters.

When you say something that unravels the wire he’s been holding himself together with since the war. Since the job started asking more than he had to give and he gave it anyway.

When you look at him like he is not a burden. Like he is allowed to stay.

That’s what makes Jack Abbot forget how to speak.

Not blood.

Not death.

But the unbearable mercy of being loved anyway.

[jawllines]

“I think this is the best idea you’ve ever had in your life.” Niall answered, his voice lowered while they sat across from each other in a cafe booth. It was a relatively nice day, the weather was beautiful, so they were planning on doing something – what that would be, they weren’t sure, but they started it with lattes and croissants and discussing something that shouldn’t be discussed in public (but what’s new), “Seriously, like – and I just need to take a deep breath because you’re finally listening to me. I don’t know how to tell you this but I bought you a collar like a month ago because I knew you’d pussy out.” 

Y/N’s mouth falls open, jaw loosened, “Ni, you did not!” 

“I did,” he nodded, “I didn’t get the rest of all the things because I didn’t know how you’d feel about it,” he swallowed, then shook his head, “No, I’m lying, I wanted you to fully commit to the bit so I ordered everything. Leash, tail. . .I mean, fuck it, I got ears too.”

or

Y/N likes Harry, and that's convenient, because Harry likes her too

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

part 5

(8.4k+ words)

vi.

Y/N has never been very good at science. 

Life sciences, like biology, she could figure out easily enough if there were pictures, and chemistry, she could fumble her way through after spending at least an hour screaming into her pillow about how much she didn’t want to do it. Things like physics, though, always zipped right over her head. With a limited understanding of whatever the hell Newton and Einstein were talking about also came a limited understanding of anything that may have to do with space. It was interesting, but actually learning about the concepts that shape their whole universe? Terrifying. Y/N would rather not know how big the galaxies are, because then she needs to start considering the existence of extraterrestrial life, and she feels like as soon as you go down that rabbit hole, you’re asking to get abducted. 

But she does know about supernovas. Only because of a song that she really liked mentioned them, and she had to see what it was. There was a long, intricate explanation as to why they happen, but what Y/N took away from it was that they were an explosion, and it was so bright, it could outshine galaxies. Beautiful colors emerge, blues, purples, pinks, greens, oranges, impressive and intense. 

Whatever is happening in her chest right now, Y/N thinks is close to a supernova. It feels just as colorful and complex. As bewitching, and as dazzling. As captivating, and as terrifying. Her heart races with it, confused, excited, overjoyed, hopelessly giddy. She probably needed a moment to sort through all the thoughts spinning around in her head, but right now, she knew she wouldn’t get one. She didn’t mind that either – not right now. Not when this is a version of Harry that she’d never been privy to. One that she’d never believed she’d ever get to witness. 

Harry, from the moment he’d stepped through her door, was more vulnerable than she’d ever seen him. And she’d seen him with his cock out and everything, consumed by lust, his bare bum walking to her bathroom – all pretty vulnerable positions, she’d say. Like, he definitely wouldn’t want to be caught by a bear in that state. But this emotional vulnerability was something else entirely for such a typically emotionally guarded, closed-off person. The impassive and at times apathetic man that she had come to know had been dipped in honey and set before her. Or, better yet, maybe dipped in an acid, to erode the outer shell and reveal the honeyed center beneath. 

He’d taken her to the sofa immediately, sat down across from her, his hands held out with his palms facing upward, and Y/N wasn’t sure if it’d been a silent request or a silent offering. Maybe both – she took it, no matter what it was, and slid her fingers between his own. Their hands were tight around one another's, as Harry curled his over her knuckles, his thumb stroked her where it lay. 

“I wanted to apologize to you,” Harry started, measured and sure, despite the way his cheeks flamed hot and fiery with what she could only imagine was immense embarrassment. Not that she thought his reaction was anything to be embarrassed about – had roles been reversed, she probably would have cried the moment she saw him then tried to crawl up under his shirt or something. But she knew that Harry wasn’t used to expressing himself or his feelings this intensely, so she understood the nerves behind it. “I should have warned you that Maren would be there, but I wasn’t sure how. . .how to explain why I was telling you? I guess that’s the easiest way to put it. And I really didn’t think she’d be a problem – she’s always been a thorn in my ass, but she usually isn’t so pointed with her advances.” He shook his head with a soft sigh, “But that’s beside the point. You mentioned me not messaging you as much?” Y/N nodded, and Harry nodded with her, “That had nothing to do with Maren,” he explained, “I was. . .if I’m honest, I was worried that I had been too overbearing while you were out for that week.” 

Y/N tilted her head, “Overbearing? I didn’t think so.” She shook her head, “You really took care of me. If you want to see overbearing, you need to meet Ni’s aunt – she checks his forehead like 5 times in the span of 10 minutes to make sure he isn’t too warm.” 

A small smile wormed onto his mouth, warmed and soothed the worry off of his face, “That’s good to know,” he replied, “I suppose I got into my head too, about it all. Especially when you didn’t want to talk to me.” 

With a grimace, Y/N explained herself, “Yeah, that – I didn’t handle that well, I don’t think,” she swallowed hard, “I just – um. . .like I was – I kind of thought I walked in on you two kissing?” Then she hurriedly adds, “Which is within your right to do! You aren’t not allowed to do what you want, I just didn't –” she huffed a sigh, unsure of how to articulate it beyond the easiest way, which happened to be the most humiliating, “I know we aren’t technically together or anything, but it made me jealous. I was jealous, and petty, and wanted to ignore you until I could sort myself out. I get it if the whole jealousy thing makes you uncomfortable, and like...I mean, I want to promise that it won’t happen again, but I don’t know if I can.” She swallowed even harder, chin tipped down, staring at their hands. Even just two weeks ago, Y/N would have rather worked with notoriously difficult Chhurpi cheese than tell Harry that she was jealous. To even allude to the fact that her feelings for him might be beyond what they had started this with.

But tonight, it didn’t feel so hard. It took her a while to spit it out, sure, but she still was able to get there. Part of what encouraged her was the way his hands felt against hers, the expanse of their palms pressed together so warmly that it thaws out her usually cold fingers. Another part was the blatant, and unremitted display of affection he’d doled out to her as soon as he stepped through the threshold of her flat, as if he didn’t peck her face with a hundred kisses, she’d disappear in a puff of smoke. And another – the way he was looking at her. His eyes were softened in a way she only vaguely recalls after they had sex, when she’s only a couple of minutes from passing out, pressed tightly to his side. 

“When I called you the other night and you were with Youngjae, I was so jealous that I could barely see straight,” he admitted suddenly, honestly, “Surely, you realized that? I threw a fit, practically – covered you in all of those marks. Even before then, when he’d only just complimented your meal, invited you to practice under him, and I was just so mad that he’d asked right in front of me. So I took you home and I fucked you that night. Don’t you remember?” 

Y/N nodded, but still, she considered his words, “I kind of figured. Or, well, at least Niall kind of figured and then told me that you were jealous.” 

“Niall is smarter than he looks.” 

“But I guess I just wondered what it was you even had to be jealous of? I mean, you and YoungJae are kind of carbon copies of each other, only he’s Korean!” 

Harry clicked his tongue, “No,” he disagreed, “That’s not the only difference. He’s more personable, more gentle, he seems sweeter, and more patient. Adam told me you had a dedicated crying corner to go to when I yelled at you. It’s different,” he seemed stressed, remembering it, “He’s different than me, and I figured that you’d go and realize that you could learn with someone nicer, who was attractive, and probably had a crush on you.” 

“A crush on me?” Y/N gaped, then sat up straighter, “What the hell? What made you think that?” 

His eyes go wide, “What, you don’t think he likes you? He looked at you like you’d given him a star or something. It was so irritating.” Y/N couldn’t help it when she snorted, a giggle bubbled from her throat, and she had to slip one of her hands from his to cover her mouth, “Don’t laugh at me.” 

“I’m not!” She bit down on her lip to suppress it, but it still slipped free, “It’s just – Harry, he looks at everyone like that! He even looks at you like that – actually, he looks downright dreamy when he even thinks about you.” 

Y/N has never seen Harry truly, genuinely pout until tonight. His bottom lip jutted out, and he still looked grumpy, but Y/N wanted so badly to slip her hands onto his face and pull him to her mouth. To dig her teeth into his lip and nibble and pull at it until he whines, too. She took his hand again, then chanced pulling his hand up to her face, running her cheek along his knuckles, “You’re just saying that.” He muttered. 

“You’re so silly,” Y/N replied. This is such a refreshing development, she thinks. Never would she have expected this from Harry – this pouting, jealous, slightly insecure version of him that thinks she’d run off with Youngjae because he was nice to her. She doesn’t even have time to consider being mad at Niall for exposing her crying corner to Adam, because all she can think about is how upset Harry seemed that it even had to exist. There was a guilt clear on his features, but whispered between his words. Honestly, Y/N hadn’t even thought about how Harry used to yell at her for a long time. “I’m not just saying it! He didn’t give me any vibes like he might like me.” 

Harry tipped his chin up and looked to the side, and wow, she wondered if she reached out and touched his ear, if it’d feel as hot as it looked, “Well, I don’t know how much I trust your detection skills, if I’m being honest.” He mumbled, “It seems like Niall has to do most of the ground work.” Still, despite a grumbled reply, he flipped his hand around so that he cradled her cheek instead, resting it against his palm. 

This giddy feeling that overruns her is nice. It’s fun – she likes it, after so long of being so upset and confused and distraught. She thinks she’s finally starting to understand, though. . .that she’s finally getting it. What Niall had been seeing this entire time. 

“Harry?” She inquired, and he hummed, eyes following Hazelnut as she sat across from them, and looped her tail around her bottom paws. When she doesn’t say anything to immediately follow it, Harry turned to look at her, his green eyes bright, “If I asked to see you and we didn’t have sex, and we didn’t cook something. . .would you be okay with that?” 

Harry answered without hesitation, “Yes.” 

“And if I. . .if I said that I only wanted you to do stuff like this with me? Sex, and…and seeing each other outside of it?” The nerves almost stop her from saying it, threatening to clog her throat.

“Then I’d tell you that it’s been like that from the start,” he replied again, immediately, “I’d tell you that you’re the only person I want to see. The only one I want to sleep with. The only person I’d like to be with.”

Y/N grinned. She scooted across the sofa to wrap her arms around his shoulders, and Harry slid his arms around her waist. It was warm — Y/N wondered when the last time they hugged like this was. If they’ve ever even hugged like this. There’s so much that they have done together, but still so much they hadn’t, and if this was them opening the door to all of that, she was more than enthusiastic.  

With her chin hooked around his shoulder, Harry’s face is dipped into her throat. He takes a deep breath, then a slow exhale, “This is a lot, for me,” he told her, “I wish that you could just siphon information from my brain instead of me having to say it.” 

“Ah, you might need to get used to saying it, though. I’m kind of dense – Niall says so at least.” 

Somehow, they had ended up in her bed. Nothing crazy, nothing sexual, just the two of them tangled up in each other’s limbs, and for the first time, Harry falls asleep first. He had all but demanded that she let him spoon her, so she didn’t get to look at his face, but with the way his breathing had slowed and how heavy his arm felt around her waist, she knew he was resting. This is a sort of content that she seldom gets to feel and still be all in her head to truly enjoy it. Harry’s body is pressed warm against her back, he sounds sweet with little snores, and Y/N can’t help but melt into him entirely. 

All the vulnerability must have tuckered him right out. Y/N smiled to herself, stretching her arm over his, her hand resting over his hand. Even in his dreams, he raises two fingers for her to curl around. Twists his fingers up in hers.

Her insides feel bright, wicked, an ebullition of colors that rival a supernova. 

                                                          .                              .                             .

The thing is, Y/N feels bad. 

Listen, she knows she shouldn’t! She and Harry have discussed their feelings, and they’ve communicated relatively decently about the entire situation and how to avoid it in the future. Harry only implores her that if she has an issue, she bring it to him directly, no matter how intimidating she might think he is. Whether it be work-related or not, Harry is not the type to let issues fester. He’d like to nip it in the bud immediately, as soon as possible, even if he’s the one who is upset. 

So they’d discussed it, and they’d apologized for the misunderstandings, and it should be in the dust by now. Just something they had learned and grown from – something in the past. 

But Y/N replays how Harry had walked into her flat, how he’d cradled her face, kissed her a thousand times, told her to never completely ice him out again. To never not speak to him, to leave him in the dark, and it’d only been a few days – barely. 

She feels bad, though. He’s told her dozens of times that she shouldn’t feel bad, because it wasn’t her fault – the situation was just an incorrect interpretation of the other’s thoughts and feelings at the time. That he wasn’t upset, to stop apologizing, that if she said sorry to him one more time, he would get upset. 

So she has an idea. And she takes her idea to Niall, because he hadn’t steered her wrong at this point, and he would let her know if it was stupid or not. If she would look ridiculous doing it. If she should just make him a meal or something to quell the ache in her chest. 

“I think this is the best idea you’ve ever had in your life.” Niall answered, his voice lowered while they sat across from each other in a cafe booth. It was a relatively nice day, the weather was beautiful, so they were planning on doing something – what that would be, they weren’t sure, but they started it with lattes and croissants and discussing something that shouldn’t be discussed in public (but what’s new), “Seriously, like – and I just need to take a deep breath because you’re finally listening to me. I don’t know how to tell you this but I bought you a collar like a month ago because I knew you’d pussy out.” 

Y/N’s mouth falls open, jaw loosened, “Ni, you did not!” 

“I did,” he nodded, “I didn’t get the rest of all the things because I didn’t know how you’d feel about it,” he swallowed, then shook his head, “No, I’m lying, I wanted you to fully commit to the bit so I ordered everything. Leash, tail. . .I mean, fuck it, I got ears too.” 

“Niall!” She exclaims, but he pulls his phone from his pocket and quickly drags up the link from an email, “How much was – why am I so shocked?” 

Niall clicked his tongue. “I don’t know why you’re shocked at all, actually, I told you I was going to,” he spun the phone around, sliding it across the table, “S’crazy right? It wasn’t that pricey, consider it a birthday present. So, I’ll kind of guide you through this because I know you’ll get in your head and freak out. I was actually intensely into pet play like three years ago, so this is perfect.” 

That’s how Y/N ended up here, after extensive teachings from Niall, examples, and demonstrations that make her face feel so hot it might melt off. It all led to her inviting Harry over to her flat on their day off, with a medium-sized collar around her throat that had his name stitched into it. A leash was clipped to the metal clasp at the back of it, which she looped around her wrist while she moved around so she didn’t get tangled in it. She had a set of ears clipped in neatly on her head, flopping, similar to her hair color, but stuck out enough that it was clear what they were. The most shocking of all, however, and the most time spent between her and Niall, was him teaching her how to open herself up for a plug. 

He showed her how to on his Fleshlight, which looked like a bum, and he’d promised her he’d cleaned it out before he pulled it out for their “fingering-lesson” as he continued to call it. Y/N thinks that if she had said it was okay, Adam would have been on the phone guiding her as well, but she was feeling way too bashful for that. Hell, even talking about it with Niall was a lot, as he described how much lube, the depth she should start with, how many fingers, but even before that – her diet and how to clean herself out to prepare for it. Y/N doesn’t think she’d ever stared so hard at a fleshlight in her life, as she watched him spread it open, talk about the right and wrong way to do it. 

So, spreading her open, a plug with a tail fixed to the end of it caressed the insides of her thighs every time she moved. It was insane, all of this, but they had talked about it before – briefly. Discussed what they wanted to do, how he wanted her to be a proper puppy, and Y/N wanted that too. She just wishes she could skip to the part where she was so cock dumb and empty-headed that she didn’t feel all the anxious, jittering nerves inside of her. 

Because what if Harry was just saying that as pillow talk? What if he’d just been trying to work her and himself up, but the actual thought of it he didn’t want. Maybe they needed to sit and have a proper chat about it, before she just balls to the wall went all in and dressed like a fucking dog then invited him over to her flat. This is actually insane work, honestly, and yeah Niall is right about most things but he’s also a horny freak who typically has partners equally freaky and horny as him. She doesn’t think he’s ever not thoroughly discussed a scene before he did something new with someone either, so when Y/N had mentioned that they’d spoken about it, he probably thought she’d meant actually discussed it. Like sitting across from each other, going through hard nos, dos, and don’ts, and not when Harry was twisting a hand around his prick, and she was a hairpin trigger away from cumming untouched. 

Y/N has nearly completely talked herself out of it by the time she hears her front door open and completely stills. She was sitting on her bed, feeling stupid, silly, and a ton of other negative adjectives that did not instill any confidence in her before something she probably needed a lot of confidence for. She was trembling, her stomach turning, her heart kind of felt like it might be thudding in her throat, and her blood roared through her ears when Harry called for her. First, just her name. Then, “Baby?” Which is a new development – a welcomed one, but one that gets her all fuzzy inside, no matter how many times he’d begun to casually refer to her as such. 

Eventually, she hears his footsteps get further inside. The floorboards shift at the beginning of her hallway, then again right outside of her door, and his hand presses against the wood as he swings it open quietly. He probably thought she had fallen asleep waiting for him or something, which would explain why he was attempting to be so quiet. Instead, he is met with her, sitting on her knees, her hands were supposed to be in her lap per Niall’s instructions, but instead they were curled up in the blankets at her side. 

Harry’s gaze falls upon hers. He blinks a couple of times, like he might be trying to adjust his eyesight to the lower lighting of the room. Or maybe he’s just trying to make sure that this wasn’t some elaborate hallucination that he’d suddenly uncovered. When he stops blinking, the image of her stops disappearing and reappearing before his eyes, and there she still stays. Did he think this was embarrassing? Maybe he was experiencing the world’s greatest second-hand embarrassment – so bad that they could put it in a world record book. Or maybe he was trying not to laugh at her. She probably looked ridiculous, didn’t she? She’d barely looked herself in the mirror once she put the ears in – just enough to make sure they were level with one another before she fucked off into the bedroom. There’s no bra, there’s no underwear – she’s stark naked, just sitting, waiting, like a dog would. Like a puppy. 

“Ohhhh, I see,” his voice is careful, as he takes a step forward, “My baby isn’t here, hm? I just have a sweet little puppy instead.” 

Y/N swallows hard, dipping her head down and lowering her front half against the mattress. When Harry outstretches his hand, she rubs her face into his open palm; her cheek, her nose, her mouth. It felt good, especially when he curled his fingers up in her hair and scratched gently at her hairline, caressing upward through it, to stop at the ears. There’s a soft tug, and her head jerks with it before she settles again, letting his hands explore and move around her new accessories.

It’s when his fingers dance from her head, along her human ears, down to her neck that the pads trace around the collar. He follows the border of it, the threading, slips two fingers between her throat and the leather. It’s tight–not so tight that it’ll choke her, but it’s definitely a weighty presence–one that’s hard to ignore.  That must be when he sees it, though, as he strips around the material, because he pauses, he reads, his breathing hitches, and – 

– he moans. Something loud, a little whiny, erupting from the back of his throat. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles out, dragging his thumb along the embroidery, “Oh my fucking god.” YN lets him continue to pet her but shifts forward, nudging the back of her head against his hand. He slides his fingers to the front of the collar again, twists the thin leash around his knuckles, and gives a soft, gentle tug, “C’mon, you know better. No puppies on the bed.” He helps guide her down, on hands and knees, carefully dismounting from the mattress in the most awkward, limb-filled way she could have. Eventually, she is on the floor, the carpet digging into her nails and into her knees, her face flaming hot when she rubs her cheek against his calf, which may be more of a kitten thing than a dog thing. Niall told her that it could be interchangeable a bit, because typically, all the non-geared-up person in the dynamic cared about was that the other person was giving in to base desires and acting like an animal. 

From this angle, he must be able to see the tail because another murmured curse slips from his mouth, before she feels the same gentle, prodding fingers that usually nudge at her lips, move around her bum. The rim is stretched and messy with lube, so when Harry carefully pushes into it, Y/N whines and lurches forward. Her skin is sensitive, where it’s soft and slick, and he goes from moving around the plug to letting his fingers drag through the tail, “Such a filthy fucking thing. Where did you even get toys like this?” 

Y/N doesn’t answer, because she’s a dog and dogs don’t speak. She does shake her bum, though, move her hips from side to side so the tail swings and tickles the back of her thighs. It’s humiliating in a way that she can’t describe but the way Harry is looking at her, the heat that flurries through his gaze, the lump in his trousers where his cock is pressing up against the zipper. It’s worth it. It’s well worth the way part of her wants to crawl her way right under the bed and not let him pull her out until science can figure out a way to wipe her memory clean. 

But it also feels. . .good. Kind of, she doesn’t know – she needs to stay like this for a little longer. To really get the feel for it. Really see how deep into puppy space she could get. 

Y/N, let’s Harry guide her out of the bedroom. He leads her carefully, doesn’t tug or pull, and Y/N appreciates it. Since they weren’t able to sit down and discuss every avenue of this, she could tell that Harry was approaching it cautiously. He doesn’t just automatically start tugging her around because he doesn’t know that she’s okay with that yet. Doesn’t start spanking her and fucking her with her plug because he doesn’t know that she’d like that. Doesn’t shove her nose into his crotch and make her mouth at him wetly, because he has no clue that the thought makes her want to start drooling. 

He guides her to the sofa, and when he sits down, Y/N sits pretty beside his feet. Harry pets her head like she really is a puppy, cooing at her sweetly, “Such a good girl,” he murmured, his hand sliding down to her jaw, his fingers caressing her skin, “Knows exactly how to be a good puppy already, don’t you? Might not even have to train you.” He hums, “But if my puppy wants to stop this at any time, all she has to say is Duck, okay? And if you can’t talk, then just squeeze my hand three times.” 

Y/N nods and shudders, dips her face against his knee, and nudges against him. Harry chuckles, grabs a pillow off her couch, and sets it on the floor between his spread feet. Once again, he gives the leash a little pull and coaxes her with sweet words, “Knees on the pillow, Pup. Why don’t you rest your head on my thigh for a little bit?” 

That’s easy enough, Y/N could do that. Niall had told her the brunt of this – what makes this all so sexy – is the complete control that Harry would have over her. If he told her to bark, then bark, if he wanted her to pant with her tongue hanging out and drool all over his cock, then she’d do it. Of course, she doesn’t think they’d get too intense tonight, because Harry is – above all else – a good, dominant partner in the dynamic. He knows when to lead and when to step back, how far to take it, and what to relax with. 

So she trusts him implicitly. Even more so when his fingers press against her lips, Y/N opens them eagerly so that he can feed them into her mouth. She sucks on them, licks around his knuckles and sighs contently – it’d been a while since he’d had his fingers in her mouth like this. Y/N forgot how much she liked it; the weight of his fingers against her tongue, the scrape of her teeth along his nails, the salty taste of his skin. She likes how full she felt with only two of them in there. Even more than that, she likes that two of her holes were plugged, and wondered how it might feel to have all three of them. The thought alone makes her shiver. 

They stay like this for a while. Harry turns the telly onto something, but she can’t tell if he’s really paying attention or not. Just feels him stroke the top of her head, fuck his fingers inside of her mouth every so often, stretch them against the inside of her cheeks. It’s mind-numbing in a good way, lulling her somewhere else–somewhere sweeter and softer, as the insides of her legs get sticky from how much she’s leaking down between them. Y/N had been good at first, perfectly still just sucking on his fingers, but she starts to wriggle more. Adjusting her hips, pawing at his calves as she slowly began to get restless. 

Y/N doesn’t realize she’s whining until she feels her throat vibrate with it, and Harry clicks his tongue softly, “What is it, puppy?” He inquired, and Y/N’s brain is full of cotton and clouds when she looks up at him. There’s drool building up at the corner of her mouth, dribbling out of the sides that Harry drags away with his thumb, “Hm? Are you feeling needy?” He pressed down on her tongue before slipping his fingers out of her mouth entirely. Y/N whines, chasing after them, but he uses his grip on the leash to keep her in place, “You can talk, Honey. Can my dumb puppy speak?” 

She opens her mouth, “Please,” her voice sounds wrecked already, “Please, I want – I need it, daddy.” 

There’s a flash in his eyes that has her clench around the plug, only making her more painfully aware of how empty her pussy was. “Yeah, you need it?” Harry repeated, biting down hard enough on his lip that the flesh blanched around the indents of his teeth. She swears she saw his cock twitch in his bottoms, which were doing very little to hide how worked up he was. “Okay, baby, show daddy how much you need it, hm?” But when Y/N starts to lift her hands toward his thighs, Harry grabs for both of them, curling his fingers around each one, “Mm, no, no, Sweetheart. Remember, puppies don’t use their hands.” 

Y/N nods, swallowing hard, not even worried about it. She could do it without her hands – she didn’t need them. All she needed to do was stretch forward and rub her face into his crotch, which should be more embarrassing than it feels right now. The way she buries her nose against him, breathing in deep, mewling when the pure scent of Harry slithers through her. Her mouth is wide open, tongue pressed out against the fabric of his thin linen trousers – the lavender ones that she was fond of – and soaking it around his cock. How he’d had it trapped against his body had made it hard at first, but the harder he got, the easier it was for her to find the head, to lull her tongue around it. She whimpers, brows curling, lips pursing at the tip and suckling through the fabric like it was all she knew how to do. 

Her hands are slid beneath the sofa cushion, so she really wouldn’t use them, but her neck and jaw start getting a little tired from how she has to move without any support. Harry must be able to tell because he tucks his fingers around the back of the collar where it lay against her nape and pulls her away. He laughs when she whines at him, her tongue hanging from her mouth, drool spilling from her, “Wow,” he murmured, “I thought it might take a bit more to get you into a sweet little spot like this, but I forgot how easy you were for it, hm? You trust me, baby?” Y/N nodded – she trusted him more than anything, “Yeah? G’na let me make you feel good?” 

Again, she nods, leaning forward when he slackens his grip and runs her tongue over his cock several times, in wet, long strokes. The fabric’s taste isn’t what she wants, though, and Harry lifts his hips and pushes the bottoms down so that his cock is out. 

He’s hard. The tip is red, leaking already, and it sways a little with the motion of him pulling it free. Y/N barely waits for permission to get her mouth on him, and while she thinks on a different day, when Harry was more prepared for a scene like this – he might have scolded her. Instead, today, he just lets her do what she wants. Laughs through his nose and strokes the side of her head as she mouths out at his cock, which feels bigger right now for some reason, than it usually does. Especially when she can’t use her hands to help guide it, she just has to part her lips and chase after it. She thinks she probably looks dumb, but she doesn’t care. She wants him in her mouth – needs it, actually.  

“Ah, maybe I will have to train a greedy puppy like you after all,” he hums thoughtfully as she slurps around his cock, taking him deep, deep, deep until it touches the back of her throat and it convulses around the intrusion. Y/N slips off, takes barely a breath to compose herself, then goes right back in, “But it’s your first time being my puppy for real, isn’t it? I’ll be more lenient now than I will in the future,” he murmurs and it sounds a little like a warning, when she drools over his cock, down to his balls, lapping at them. He groans, wanton and loud, needy as she was, “God – fuck, c’mon, g’na take care of you. Bet that pussy is so messy, isn’t it baby?” 

There’s some maneuvering involved, but Harry ends up on the floor with her, slipping out of his trousers the rest of the way. When he pulls his top over his head and tosses it to the side, Y/N reaches out for it, grabs for it – she doesn’t know why, but she wants it near her, kind of. Lays it next to her head so she could smell him some more, and if she were more in her head, then she’d realize how very omega-like of her this was, and how prideful Niall would be if he realized she’d done this. But she’s nowhere near that level of conscious thought right now. She’s swimming somewhere so beautiful and brainless that she doesn’t even feel shy to press the fabric to her nose and breathe in deeply. Smell his cologne and his sweat from the day. 

Harry’s cock twitches when he watches her, and he splits her thighs and looks between her legs. She probably is messy right now, lube and her arousal dripping all over the place. Y/N had been worked up after stretching herself open and sliding the plug in, imagining what Harry’s reaction would be to her, and how hard he might fuck her made her touch herself a little bit too. She’d only gotten to two fingers and only did enough to get herself a little more needy, so she feels deprived and restless right now. 

He starts with one fingers, and when her hole sucks him in greedily, he gives her two, right down to the knuckle, “Always so ready for it. Slutty fucking pussy,” he is tentative as he preps her, and with the plug in her bum, it somehow feels more intense. There’s more pressure everywhere, so much so that three of his fingers feel like four, and four of his fingers feel like five. Still, Y/N moans, keens, whines, whimpers – does every sound but bark for him – as he splits her open. It’s so good, she feels so fucking good right now, but all she wants is his cock. Wants him to fill her up and fuck her dumb, even stupider than she is right now. Wants to drool, wants him to fuck her hard and deep, and split around him, and feel the head nudge against her g-spot. She wants to squirt on him and get him messy. She wants him to keep going even when she’s too sensitive and is wiggling away, she wants him to drag her right back to him. 

Y/N starts fucking her hips down into him, her arms slung beneath her knees to keep them spread but her hips moving tirelessly. Harry places a hand on her thigh, fingers stretched wide, but he doesn’t stop her from moving. He almost seems amused by it, above anything else, his eyes watching closely, his lips curled into a smile, cooing little encouragement like, “Yeah, there we go, baby, that feels good, doesn’t it?” She nods helplessly, and he curls his fingers relentlessly as her legs tremble, getting tired, “Why don’t I give you something a little bigger, hm?” 

This time, she nods as enthusiastically as she can. As soon as his fingers slip from her, she rolls onto her belly unprompted, lifts herself onto her knees, and presents herself for him. Years of omegaverse lore aid her subconsciously as she rests herself on her shoulders, reaching back and pulling herself apart to show him where she’s wet and needy for him. Nobody can ever resist that, and at the end of the day, Harry is only a man. He makes a sound kind of close to a growl behind her, cursing beneath his breath when his left hand covers hers to keep her steady, and his right hand guides his prick to her hole. Even though they both knew she was more than ready enough, Harry is still slow about sliding into her. Makes sure she feels every single inch that slides inside of her, stretches her out further. Y/N wonders if it feels tighter because of the plug inside of her. Harry does show an interest in the tail, smoothing it out of his way so that he could look at her again, where she’s stretched taut around the plug. 

“Can’t stop thinking about you getting ready for me,” Harry grinds inside of her deep, and Y/N cries out, her fingers digging deeper into her flesh, “How did I find such a naughty, greedy puppy, hm? Fuck, you were made for this,” he prods at the skin around the plug, threatens to dip his thumb in too as his he slowly starts to build up a rhythm. Y/N wishes she could see him – even if she craned her neck, it would do the view no justice. She wants to watch him from the side, from the back, from between her legs – wants to see how big his cock is, how far it stretches her, how his balls slap against her with every stroke he bottoms out in. 

She can feel herself drooling, and later on, she would cringe about it, and how it smears against her cheek while her face rubs against his shirt. Oh! His shirt, she’d forgotten – she slides her hands from holding herself open and curls her arms around his shirt. Presses her nose into it and breathes in so deeply, taking in every lick of Harry’s scent that she can from it. For some reason, it made Harry’s hips stutter behind her, his fingernails digging into her skin as he paused deep inside of her. Y/N whines, and he must be able to feel that she’s going to move her hips again because he tightens his grip, “No, just – fuck, just give me a minute. You almost made me cum.” 

“Want it,” she whines, “Want it, want it, want it –” 

Harry stretches himself across her back, slips his fingers into her mouth, and muffles her mid-beg, “Shh, dumb puppies like you don’t need to talk or think,” he groans as he slides out of her, slowly rolling his hips, wary to start where he left off right away, “God, you love being my little doggy, don’t you? You’re so fucking wet,” Y/N quivers, holding his fingers uselessly in her mouth, unable to suck or lick or bite, just pant and drool around them, “You wanna cum for, Daddy, Sweetheart? Get me all nice and sticky with it?” 

His pace picks up again, the slide of it easier as he makes more space for himself inside of her. It’s much more intense with Harry pressed up against her like this, and it doubles when his fingers slip between her thighs and swirl around the swollen bud of her clit. It flicks beneath his touch, stiff and engorged, and just the press of his index and middle finger pads against it makes her cry out. The ears are flopping against her head with each thrust. Her legs want to close, but there’s no easy way to, and her back arches against him. But her mouth is full, her clit is being played with, the plug still sits inside of her and Harry rocks his hips into her like he’s trying to make sure the shape of him never leaves, hard and deep, an impression of himself in her insides. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” she sounds around his fingers, and it’s muffled, a staccato sound with every collision of their hips together. Words escape her; she just feels, and she feels everything so intensely right now. 

Her whole body shakes when she cums. It starts with her thighs, shaking hard, making the rest of her legs tremble, and the heat of her arousal swells into a tight balloon that expands rapidly, the latex filling out until it pops, and the warm wave of water that was inside of it flows through her. Washes over her whole body as she pulsates around him, milking him, and Harry fucks her through it, despite how difficult it gets when she squeezes so tightly around him, “Yeah, that’s it, that’s my girl,” he murmured, “I’m not g’na stop, baby, not unless you say your special word.” 

Duck, Y/N remembers, or to squeeze his hand three times. Both are far away from her now though, even as she comes down from her first orgasm, she feels oversensitive as he fucks into her but not in the way where she’d need to shove him off. So she starts working her hips back against him again and Harry curses beneath his breath, then starts fucking her earnestly again. 

She’s unsure for how long it goes on, or how many times she cums. She just knew that around her fourth orgasm, Harry had flipped her around so that she was facing him and had pulled her nipple into his mouth. And she knew that he had started fucking the plug in and out of her bum too, and Y/N felt a bubble in her belly that popped, forcing Harry out of her body when a swell of liquid followed his cock’s exit. He’s made her squirt before, and Y/N had wondered if it was just a one-and-done type of thing, but clearly not. It’s fully within his capability to do it, and leave her breathless, shaking, gasping. 

This time, Harry isn’t able to slip back into her. He peels the condom off, slips his hand through the mess of her pussy and uses that as lube to fuck himself with. Y/N watches through lidded eyes as he strokes his cock, “Yes, yes, such a messy fucking puppy, so perfect for me,” he rambles, “So good, and fucking perfect, made for me, shit – only me,” before he starts to cum, all over her belly, in thick spurts that land heavy on the skin. Some of it even reaches her neck, and the knowledge of it makes her open her mouth, let her tongue hang out in hopes of catching more of it. None comes organically like that, but Harry does smear his fingers through the mess on her belly and feeds it into her mouth. Y/N licks it away, the taste heady and Harry, and so good because of it. 

Y/N can barely move. Her muscles are kind of achy, and her head is so feather-filled she might as well be a pillow. Harry, above anything else, drops to her side and pulls her into his body, not caring about the sticky, drying cum on her skin when he pulls her into him. Rolls her over and maneuvers her limbs until she’s lying on top of him, running one of his hands up and down her back, “That was so beautiful, baby,” he says it so gently, Y/N almost wants to cry for some reason. She feels emotional and exhausted and like, maybe in love, a little bit, she doesn’t know – maybe it was just post-orgasm endorphins or maybe Harry was actually her soulmate, who could tell right then. “Did so well for me, for your first time. So perfect.” 

As he is with all things, Harry is more than careful as he removes the floppy ear clips from her hair, unbuckles the collar, and slowly slips the plug out of her bum. For a moment, one of his fingers does slide around into the little gape that was left, and when she twitches and whines, he kisses the side of her head, “Sorry, Honey, couldn’t help myself,” before slipping it away, “We’ll have to play with that pretty hole too, it was getting jealous.” Y/N manages a laugh, though it’s just breathless and soundless enough to sound like a puff of air through her nose. 

They stay there for a while, until Y/N feels like she can move, but even then, words haven’t come back to her yet. This was the deepest into subspace she thinks she’s ever been, but she isn’t scared of it. Y/N revels in it. With Harry there, she feels safe, and cared for, like she doesn’t need to worry about a thing at all. And she’s right, because he takes her to the shower with him and they get clean together. Harry wipes her down first, tenderly, slowly, and goes quickly for himself so that she isn’t standing there for too long. He coaxes water into her, too, at least half a bottle until she’s pulling her face away. Eventually, they find themselves in her bed, Y/N in a big shirt, her favorite band’s last album cover on the front, and Harry in one of her big shirts with a bunny on the front. He slid her underwear onto her, tucked them nicely around her hips, and then brought her up under the covers. Harry rubs her elbows and knees for a little bit, where they were rubbing against the carpet kind of hurt, and the skin was irritated. He pushes kisses to all the spots that seemed sore. 

“I liked that,” she finally spoke, after what might have been 20 to 30 minutes of silence. Harry doesn’t seem startled, and she wonders if it usually took her a while to start talking anyway, “A lot.” 

“Me too, Sweetheart. You play the role of a greedy puppy very well,” he rubs up and down her arm, where it’s stretched across his chest, “And you were very cute. I’ll probably touch myself to that for weeks.” 

Y/N makes a noise in her throat and tips her face into his chest, “Shut up,” she grumbles, then continues, “I – um – like you a lot,” she sighed out, her lips rewarming, preparing for a ramble that she just knew was going to happen soon. Not that she had anything in particular to ramble about, except the fact that she’d seen a really pretty garden today, before she’d puppy-fied herself. 

Harry, who had begun to play with her fingers, seemed delighted. “Is that so? That’s convenient, because I like you too.” 

“Yeah, and we should probably plant a garden together,” she rumples her lips, “But neither of us has any yard to plant a garden, so we’d have to steal someone’s yard or something. Or buy like a little patch of dirt on someone’s property. Do you know anyone who has a yard?” 

“I’m sure I could find someone,” he replies, amused, “You like gardening?” 

“I’m so bad at it, actually, but you seem like you’d be good at it, so that’s why we should plant together. Are you good at planting?” Y/N feels him nuzzle his nose against her temple, “I feel like you’re good at everything.” 

Harry hums, “No, m’not,” he murmured, “I’m actually not great at folding laundry.” 

“Really?” She tilted her head to look at him, “Like – how?” 

He shrugged, “Dunno, it always looks messy though. You haven’t seen my drawers?” 

“No, was I supposed to see them? Should I be looking through your drawers?” 

“If you wanted to, you could,” he offered, then immediately took it back, “Actually, no, I want you to pretend I’m good at everything still, I don’t need you to see my folding.” 

Y/N laughed, then nestled close to him again, “You’re silly,” she murmurs, sighing again, letting sleep weigh heavy in her bones, “I’m glad I was delusional enough to think that you were obsessed with me.” 

Harry squeezes her close. 

“It’s not delusional if it’s true.” 

[thewritingfairy]

↪ 13. Damian attempts self-reflection

PREV PART trigger warning: medical + physical + emotional neglect, name is officialy fucking done and they'll make it known, Name is no longer hiding that they want to leave, Damian centric chapter, short filler  main m.list       series m.list

You are about to kill a motherfucker, and that motherfuckers name is Damian. Not only is he following you, he continuously attempts to place trackers and to get your medication to give to Bruce. And after your latest shift, you were done. Robin was now spying on you while you were working, and you are absolutely fucking done.

So when you see him at the dining table you couldn’t contain your anger. “You and I are going to have a talk, privately,” you hiss at him, smacking a bag of broken trackers on the table. “or so help me, and I actually get a fucking restraining order against you.”

This sure as hell got his attention, and he nods and follows you to the kitchen. You need a room that can be trashed, and in the kitchen you have more shit to throw. “You are out of line,” you say, looking at him with a stare that one could describe as threatening, enraged and calculating. “if you do this again I’ll be sure to fuck Robin up the next time he comes to visit me at work.”

You didn’t want to play your cards out, they have no need to know that you know. Of course Duke knows, but he’ll always be the exception.

Damian laughs, he can’t help it. You think you can fuck up Robin? Please, he didn’t know you had a sense of humour. What a delightful surprise.

At least he has enough sense to stop laughing when he felt your stern gaze become a glare. Truly, you aren’t like Bruce a lot, but your stare… your stare is purely Bruce. “Why do you think you being followed by Robin has anything to do with me?” he asks, genuinely curious. He just hopes you won’t put all the clues together, he’s quite relieved with the fact that your pain keeps you oblivious. Unable to use all of your intelligence.

“Nightwing and then Robin, it’s obvious they are in Bruce in pockets,” you say trying to make it seem like you weren’t omitting something. But Damian did notice a slight change in your body language, but he’ll dismiss it for now. “get him to back off, or I will file a formal complaint of stalking against him. Wouldn’t be so good for his already shitty reputation, right?”

Seems like you hit a nerve, Damian looks away ashamed, regretful and at the same time grateful. Good, let him think you’re oblivious, the more he underestimates you the safer you will be. A boy like Damian is even more dangerous than a man like Jason, Damian was raised to kill, but Jason just copied the aggression he learned. And when he lost his joyful nature, he became the monster he is today. You take Damian’s silence as compliance. “Do me a favour and tell Brucie that I will be at Maria’s for the rest of the week,” you say as you turn around, ignoring how he takes a sharp breath. “I don’t want to see your face until I return.”

Damian knows your hyper independent nature is due to their actions, due to what they’ve done to you. But he can’t help but feel bitter, he didn’t know better. He didn’t understand your side, and he wants to be your brother. He always wanted to be your brother.

From the moment you defended Tim he knew that he wanted you to defend him like that, that he wanted you to love him like that. But after Jason’s attack he learned how your family treated you, and he wanted nothing to do with you. Fearful of losing his father’s approval, and you don’t know about their life. Involving you would lead to you being kidnapped and at worst killed.

He knows he could have had a civilian relationship, but after he chastised you for your anger towards Jason he knew he no longer had a chance. He knew, so he didn’t try.

He didn’t try because he didn’t understand.

So now, as you pull away from them instead of them pulling away from you Damian doesn’t know what to do. He wants to be your sibling, he wants the bond you seemed to have with Tim (a bond he now knows doesn’t exist), he wants to be loved by you. And he wants to protect you.

Can’t you let your brother protect you?

You’re the older sibling, shouldn’t you do anything to make your younger siblings happier?

NEXT PART guys, I know this is short, but listen, I wanted this out because I keep having Damian being a gremlin brother thoughts and not in a good way. also I keep seeing one specific username that is such a typical name where I am from that I'm like; shit do I know this person?

taglist CLOSED!: @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories, @asillysimp, @wisefuncherryblossom, @eyeless-kun, @marina27826, @muggleloveralways, @ironsaladwitch, @shyenemyperson, @iamaunknownsecret

[jobean12-blog]

Midnight Confessions

Light SPOILERS ahead!!!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2.5K

Summary: A late night gives you the opportunity to flirt with Bucky and the next night he comes right back for more.

Author's Note: There are some Thunderbolts spoilers here- none really story related so much but more character driven. So reader BEWARE :D I had fun writing all the ridiculous dialogue in the beginning and it's a bit chaotic but I hope it makes you smile! Thank you so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: fun and fluff, flirtiness, tension, sweetness

You set the timer and place it on the counter, leaning back with a sigh. While it seems everyone else in the tower is asleep, you’re as wide awake as the bustling city below. This is the second batch of cookies you’ve made this week, but no one seems to be complaining.

After contemplating something on the TV you decide instead to read, hoping it will make you sleepy.

No such luck and just as you’re starting the next chapter you see a dark shadow at the entrance of the kitchen, you’re body stiffening.

“It’s just me doll.”

At the sound of Bucky’s voice, you instantly relax.

“Jeez you’re quiet,” you whisper.

He chuckles lightly and steps into the kitchen. His hair is slightly mussed as if he’s been running a hand through it and his tee shirt clings to the broad lines of his chest and toned biceps. With a hard swallow you let your eyes drop lower, to the way his pants sit low on his waist but still hug his thighs.

“Can’t sleep?” you squeak out, dragging your gaze back to his face.

He shakes his head no and moves closer, revealing a surprise. The guinea pig Yelena rescued from the lab sits atop his left shoulder, tucked close to his neck and partially hidden by his hair.

You sit up with a gasp and rush over to him, cooing quietly and without a word plucking the piglet from his shoulder.

“What are you doing up?” you ask the guinea pig in a sweet voice.

“I probably should have let him sleep but as soon as I made noise he started squeakin’.”

You look up at Bucky and notice his soft expression as he watches you with the guinea pig.

“It’s a boy?” you ask.

“Actually, I don’t know,” he replies.

“Hmm,” you say as you pet it’s soft fur. “I bet it’s a girl.”

“That works too,” he smiles. “Are you making cookies?”

“I am…they should be out…,” and you walk over to the timer, “in three minutes.”

“Great doll. I could use a snack!” He slowly rubs his stomach as he stretches, revealing the dark trail of hair that disappears enticingly into his sweats.

The guinea pig squeaks and draws your attention away before he catches you staring.

“She needs a name,” you state as you cradle her in your arm.

Bucky is silent for a moment before he blurts out, “Cookie.”

“That’s cute,” you giggle, “but I think you’re just hungry.”

He doesn’t disagree and keeps thinking.

“She’s brown and white so…BACON!”

You stop petting the piglet and narrow your eyes at Bucky.

He holds his hands up in surrender, but you can see the way his eyes crinkle at the corners as he tries to hold back a smile.

“Are you going to wash the dishes?”

Bob’s voice is so low you almost don’t hear it but Bucky spins around at the sound.

“Bob!” both you and Bucky exclaim.

“What’s going on in here?” Bob asks as he looks between you and Bucky.

“We can’t sleep, and I made cookies,” you explain.

“And we’re trying to give the guinea pig a name,” Bucky adds.

“Ok,” Bob says. “I’m going to wash the dishes.”

“Do you want help?” you ask him. “I can dry the bowls.”

“Sure,” Bob says.

You hand the guinea pig back to Bucky. “Don’t get comfy. I want her back when I’m done.”

“Anything you want doll,” he says with a wink.

“How about Piglet?” Bob chimes from the sink.

“Like in Winnie the Pooh?” you ask as you slide up next to him and take the first bowl to dry it.

“Yeah…she’s kinda tiny…,” Bob says.

“So, you think she’s a girl too!” you say happily. “Bucky was calling it a he.”

“Not because I don’t think it could be a girl…I just…said he first.”

“It’s a girl,” Yelena says as she walks in.

“See! I knew it!” you sing song.

“What is going on here?” Yelena asks.

“None of us could sleep,” Bob answers. “So, we’re making cookies, washing dishes and naming the guinea pig.”

“Are the cookies ready yet?” Yelena asks, eyeing the oven.

“Just about,” you answer.

“Bob suggested Piglet…but I like Bacon,” Bucky says to fill Yelena in.

“Of course you would say Bacon,” she tsks. “I like Piglet.”

“Do I smell cookies?”

Walker strides in and heads straight for the oven.

“HEY Walker,” you whisper shout. “They’ll be out in a minute.”

He stops and plops himself down on a stool at the island with a huff.

“Why didn’t anyone invite me to the party?” he says.

“Because you’re an asshole,” but you and Yelena chime simultaneously but not without a smile pulling at each of your mouths.

“Can I least have some cookies,” Walker asks.

“Of course,” you tell him.

“Why don’t you name the pig, Hamlet,” Walker adds.

Everyone is quiet for a minute and tries to hide their smiles. “Actually, that’s cute,” you say, “but we’ve decided it’s a girl so maybe something…more…girly.”

Walker rests his chin in his hands but remains silent.

“What the hell is going on in here?” Ava says, appearing from the other side of the wall.

Bob startles at the sink and Walker rolls his eyes.

“No one can sleep, we are about to eat cookies, and we need a name for our girl guinea pig,” Yelena sums up quickly before opening the oven just as the timer dings.

“Pipsqueak,” Ava says flatly.

Yelena smiles. “I like that. She does squeak…a lot.”

“But she’s brave,” Bob says. “She survived the lab. I wouldn’t call her a pipsqueak.”

“But Piglet is scared of everything isn’t he?” Bucky muses. “So that wouldn’t work either.”

“Oh,” Bob sighs. “Yeah, he is.”

“Still like Bacon,” Bucky mumbles to himself.

“WHO SAID BACON?” Alexei booms when he walks in. “We eat?”

Yelena hangs her head with a sigh and Ava rolls her eyes.

“No bacon,” Bucky says sadly. “But we have cookies.”

“Hm, that will do,” Alexei says as he walks over to Yelena and pulls out the hot tray with his hand.

“You should let them cool,” you say to Alexei as he goes to grab for one.

“No, no…I like them all gooey and melted and messy…” He pops half the cookie in his mouth and hums happily.

Bucky slides over; the guinea pig nestled in the crook of his metal arm as he grabs for a cookie.

Walker reaches over the island to grab his own.

“They’re still hot guys!” you scold but give up with a sigh when half the tray is gone in under a minute. “You better grab one,” you whisper to Bob.

He turns from the sink and wipes his hand, reaching for a cookie and placing it on a napkin near him. “I’ll let mine cool,” he says with a small smile.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence and lots of mumbled praises over the cookies, you ask, “so what are we naming the guinea pig?”

Alexei yells out, “ALEXEI!”

Everyone answers with a determined, “NO!”

Alexei deflates and takes another cookie.

“So far we ruled out all the suggestions,” you say, leaning back on the counter next to Bucky.

Without prompting he hands you the guinea pig. You gently hold her up and look her over.

“I have so many ideas but none of them seem to fit,” you huff.

“All mine are related to food,” Bucky shrugs.

“I still like Alexei,” Alexei grumbles.

“Hamlet isn’t girly enough,” Walker says.

“Piglet and Pipsqueak make her sound too timid,” Ava adds.

Finally, Yelena says, “what about Nat?”

All eyes turn to her, soft with unspoken words.

“That’s perfect,” you say quietly and everyone agrees.

Once the few remaining cookies are packed away and the kitchen is clean you walk over to Bucky who’s leaning against the wall, Nat once again cradled against his chest in the crook of his metal arm.

“She likes that spot,” you say quietly as you gently stroke her back.

“Yeah, maybe because it’s cool,” he says and then softly touches her nose as it twitches.

You watch him for a moment, so sweet and gentle with the little furball.

“You’re so cute,” you say softly.

“She is right,” Bucky agrees.

“She meant you super soldier,” Alexei chuckles from behind you. “Not pig.”

“She’s a guinea pig Dad,” Yelena dead pans.

Alexei waves his had dismissively. “All same.”

Your eyes meet Bucky’s, and you see the tops of his cheeks, just above all the dark stubble lining them, turn light pink.

“You meant little Nat right?” he asks.

“She definitely meant the guinea pig,” Walker says with a yawn as he walks by. “I’m goin’ to bed.”

Ava follows close behind him. “Me too. And she meant you Barnes.”

Alexei slaps Bucky hard on the back, jostling Nat in his arms and Bucky glares.

“Oh. Right, sorry,” Alexei mumbles then smiles wide. “She thinks you are cute.”

He walks away rubbing his stomach.

Only Yelena and Bob remain, Yelena with a smirk lifting her lips and Bob with wide eyes.

Your eyes stay on Bucky, and you lean in closer, still petting Nat. “No. I meant you. You’re really cute. Especially with her. It’s sweet.”

“She said he’s cute,” Bob whispers to Yelena who’s full on smiling now.

“Da,” Yelena nods, grabbing Bob’s arm to pull him down the hall.

“Does she like him?” Bob asks as he passes by you and Bucky.

Yelena laughs but doesn’t answer and keeps tugging him away.

The two of you are now alone and you watch Bucky’s gaze quickly drop to your lips before he says a quiet, “thanks.”

“Hope you can get some sleep,” you tell him then kiss his cheek. “Night.”

“Night, doll,” he whispers as he watches you walk to your room.

The next night when you’re still awake after midnight you head to the common room but when you don’t see a sign of anyone else you decide to go watch a movie until you fall asleep. The light knock on your door an hour later surprises you and when you open it to find Bucky on the other side you’re even more surprised.

“I didn’t wake you did I doll?” he asks in a rush.

“No, don’t worry. I was watching a movie.”

“I thought I saw light under the door so I figured you might still be up.”

“Did you want more cookies? The leftovers are in the cabinet.”

“Actually…Alexei ate them all. I checked…”

You snort laugh and grab Bucky’s hand, pulling him through the doorway.

“Of course he did,” you say as you plop down on the small couch.

Bucky follows and then stands there as if he’s unsure what to do next.

“You can sit,” you tell him.

He does.

“Are you watching The Goonies?”

“I am!” you say excitedly. “I’m so glad you’ve seen it.”

“Classic 80s.”

“Exactly,” you agree.

You settle back into the cushions and let your shoulder brush his. As the movie continues your body relaxes against him and he lifts his arm to rest it along the back of the couch. His fingers brush your shoulder and when he feels your skin pebble beneath his touch he does it again. Your breath catches in your throat and you audibly swallow.

The movie ends and you’re still pressed against him, his arm now circling your shoulders as his fingertips ghost over your skin.

“That’s one of my favorites,” you say and turn to meet his eyes.

“Mine too,” he whispers, curling his fingers around your arm so you turn your body into his.

His eyes wander over your face, their soft reverence only sharpened when they stop on your lips.

“Doll…I…”

Whatever he wants to say is lost in the moment and he presses his mouth to yours, softly at first, but when you slide your fingers into his hair and tug him closer, he hums low in his chest and deepens it, parting your lips.

His knuckles skim down your arm before splaying at your back and pulling you into his lap. His hand slips under your shirt, every caress of his fingertips slow and teasing as if he’s savoring every moment and committing it to memory. His kisses are sweet and languid and the hair lining his face scratches the soft column of your neck as his lips trail downward to your hammering pulse.

A deep and satisfied hum rumbles through his chest and you press yourself closer, feeling the hard lines of his muscle beneath his shirt.

“Bucky,” you whimper.

He lifts his head to stare at you, his breathing fast. His metal thumb lifts to trace your swollen bottom lip before he slides it behind your neck and brings your lips back to his, nibbling the same spot then soothing it with his tongue.

You moan into his mouth and the sound snaps what little control he’s holding on to and suddenly you’re flipped to your back, your wrists in his metal hand and pinned above your head. His eyes teasingly trail over your body, and you go pliant in his hold, your legs falling open as he settles between them.

He leans down, dipping his head to run his nose along your neck, breathing you in before his lips are on yours again.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs, his hand releasing your wrists and sliding lower to stroke your curves. “I knew you would be.”

“You’ve thought about it?” you ask as you tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, licking his lips. “I came over here with the intention to ask you out on a date…”

“Is this not…?”

He cuts you off. “This is exactly what I want…you’re what I want. I’m just…trying to be a gentleman.”

Your lips form an O shape, and he kisses you again.

“I’ll go on a date with you Bucky,” you murmur between kisses.

“Good, that’s good,” he says, his warm hands continuing their exploration of your body while his lips trail down your neck.

You arch into him and slide your hands from his hair down his back, scraping lightly with your nails.

“Fuck,” he hisses.

When his eyes lift to yours he wears a pained expression.

“A gentleman,” he repeats.

“Right. A date,” you say.

“Fuck,” he mutters again but doesn’t move an inch.

You stare at each other, the tension building in the small space between you before he dips his head and kisses you again. His lips find the spot just below your ear and he whispers, “if you don’t tell me to go now…”

“I don’t want you to go Bucky. I want you to stay. I want you.”

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

──── EVEN WHEN IT'S HARD... ↳ one shot // also part of the no doubt series !

✎ᝰ .ᐟ aka the one where even when it's hard...sim jaeyun will always choose you.

── sim jaeyun x f!reader ౨ৎ wc. 1.1k ⌗ angst angst ANGST, reader is a lil self-sabotaging, jakey gets v v sad :(, but then comfort, reassurance, & fluff<3

↳ IMPORTANT NOTE .ᐟ ── this is part of my no doubt series ─ a sequel series of short drabbles that take place after the events of my fic no doubt, and show jake & reader's relationship throughout their first year together (& how jake wins her trust & love back hehe) ── THIS CAN BE READ AS A ONE-SHOT, however, there will be some easter eggs if you've read no doubt before!

↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── hello pls don't be mad at me for this one,,,decided to throw another angsty one into the mix because once again─i really wanna make this series realistic and i totally see yn still getting into her own head every now & then. and it's totally normal & realistic for couples to have lil moments of miscommunication and i feel like this is how jake would handle it :') bc at the end of the day, he will always choose yn...

You don’t even know how you got here.

It probably started small.

Something barely noticeable—something as small as a mere thought in the back of your head. A flicker of doubt—the kind that’s been fading, slowly but surely, over time.

But still lingers.

Like a crack in glass you don’t notice until the whole thing shatters.

Maybe it was a comment.

A look.

Maybe the restaurant you recommended but it ended up being mediocre.

The too-long silence during the drive back home from dinner.

And now here you are.

Standing in the middle of your living room, your bag still half-slung off your shoulder, while Jake stands from across the space—watching you with his arms limp at his side, a pout on his lips, confused and concerned, like he doesn’t know what’s happening.

And you don’t even remember what you said.

Only the way Jake’s face fell.

The way his shoulders sank immediately, like something slipped through his fingers and he didn’t even realize he was holding it.

The way he blinked, slow and stunned—like he felt the crack before he could make sense of it.

“I just think—” you sigh, sharper than you mean to be, your arms folding across yourself, “I don’t know—maybe you shouldn’t assume things about how I feel.”

Jake’s brows knit together, his voice low but steady, “I’m not assuming anything, Y/N. I’m asking. You won’t talk to me, and I’m—I just…I’m trying to figure out where your head’s at.”

You turn away.

Try to blink it back—the tightness rising in your chest. The frustration.

You don’t even know why you’re upset.

At him? At yourself?

“Well maybe my head’s a mess right now,” you say, a bubble rising to your throat. “And I don’t need you trying to fix it.”

There’s a pause.

A shift in the air.

Jake lets out a soft breath. Barely audible.

But you hear it.

And you see it, too—the subtle way his expression drops.

And god, it hurts.

“Okay.” He nods slowly, his voice suddenly quieter, barely above a whisper. “So what do you need, then?”

You hesitate.

Because that’s just the thing. You don’t know.

Because it’s not him. Never him.

It’s not the quiet car ride home. Or the under-cooked steak at the restaurant. Or the stupid thing he said about maybe meeting his parents next month.

It’s you.

It’s everything else.

The pressure. The doubt. The sinking feeling in your chest that you don’t deserve something this good. Something as good as him.

“I think…” you start, your eyes meeting his, swallowing hard. “I think I need space.”

And it’s like you ripped the floor out from right under him.

You watch the words hit him.

Watch how he stumbles without even moving.

His eyes flick to yours like he misheard. His breath catches like you knocked the wind out of him.

His fingers tremble at his sides, helpless and twitching, like he doesn’t know what to hold on to anymore.

He exhales a shaky breath and—

“No.”

You blink.

“What?”

“I’m not giving you space.” His voice cracks. Barely holding it together. “Not like this. Not when I don’t even know what I did—”

“You didn’t do anything, Jake—”

“Then I’m staying.”

His voice breaks again. And when you look at him again—his eyes are glassy. His voice trembles in a way that shatters your heart more than you’ve ever known before.

And before you know it—

Jake crosses the living room and closes the distance between you two—like he’s trying to reach the part of you that’s slipping through his fingers.

And when he’s right in front of you, he stops.

Just looks at you.

Like you’re the only thing he sees. Like he’s begging you to see him too.

“Let me stay,” his voice unsteady, more desperate now. “Please.”

Your throat closes.

“You’re shutting me out again and I can feel it and I know I’m not perfect, but—God, Y/N—I love you.”

A breath. A blink. A beat.

“I’m trying. I’m here,” Jake continues, his eyes pleading. Breaking. “Please don’t push me away when I’m trying to stay.”

You stare at him.

And you hate it.

You hate how much he means it.

How sincere he sounds—how shattered he looks.

How his hands are clenched at his sides like he’s holding himself back from reaching for you, like he’s not sure he can.

And you hate that you’re the one making him feel that way.

Like love has limits.

Like maybe even he isn’t allowed to cross the invisible line you drew without even realizing it.

Because deep down—

You’re terrified.

Terrified that one day he’ll just say okay and walk out.

That he’ll stop trying. Stop fighting.

That your worst fear will come true: that you are too much. That you’re not worth all this effort.

“Jake…I’m scared,” you whisper—and it breaks.

The dam. The silence. You.

“I’m scared you’ll realize I’m not worth this,” you choke, your own vision blurring. “That I’m just—too much. Or not enough. Or both.”

Jake’s face crumbles.

Completely.

“Y/N.”

You shake your head, blinking fast—it’s all spilling now, messy and unfiltered and real.

“You could have anyone. You could find someone easier. Someone who doesn’t blow up over nothing or pull away every time it gets hard or—”

“Don’t.”

The sudden edge in his voice stops you—not sharp, but urgent.

Urgent, wrecked, and aching.

“Don’t you dare try to write me out of this story when I already know how it ends. Like I haven’t already chosen you.”

He takes a step forward.

“I don’t want easy. I don’t want someone else. I want you.”

Another step.

“Even when it’s messy. Even when you’re mad. Even when it’s hard.”

And before you can stop him, Jake’s hands cup your face—gentle, steady—like you’re something fragile and priceless at the same time.

“This is still you,” he murmurs, leaning down to press his forehead against your own. “And I still love you.”

Your lip quivers.

He brushes his thumb along your cheek—and only then do you realize you’re crying.

A broken breath escapes your lips.

“…I’m sorry,” you choke out, the tears falling out faster now—completely open and raw.

Jake lets out a small, breathy, almost sad laugh.

“Me too.”

And god.

You think that might’ve been the moment you fell completely, absolutely, irreversibly in love with him.

In a way you can’t describe.

In a way that sits in your chest and says this is it—even if you don’t know how to say it out loud yet.

So for now—

“Please stay.”

Jake smiles. It’s small. But so full of relief.

“Always, pretty.”

And he does.

Jake stays through the silence. Through the ache.

Through the heavy nights and the mornings when it’s better.

Because real love doesn’t run.

It reaches. And it stays.

Even when it’s hard.

Especially when it’s hard.

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tag list! (open ! // bolded couldn't be added!)

@bluxjun @ki2rins @why-did-i-just-do-this @favoritten @lovialymisc @xylatox @vivimura @leehsngs @puma-riki @lezzleeferguson-120 @enhaprettystars @laurradoesloveu @sievenderz @somuchdard @kristynaah @hinryh @ltfirecracker @lov4hoon @taeheexx @niyzu @chunkzdeluluwife @jakeflvrz @fangirl125reader @0429jw @dreamy-carat @yuons @thestarinstarbucks @miszes @llearlert @ppeachyttae @hoomin10 @teddybeartaetae @tanisha2060 @therealmrsbahng @beomgyu-bears @ikeulove @jiyeons-closet @youngheejay @wxnderingthoughts @fuevrois @soobundle1009 @isoobie @enhypenova @zoemeltigloos @lizdevorak @deluluscenarios @bloomiize @hasuyv @ijustwannareadstuff20 @veilstqr @dreamiestay @jakeyyyjakexoxo

[muli-wam]

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦　⁺ 　 . ✦

Track Runner!Ryomen Sukuna hated you. He hated you with a passion. Scratch that, Sukuna despised you.

Track Runner!Ryomen Sukuna hated your snarky comments towards him and your feigning innocence when coach came around. He hated the way coach would use your "talent" as an "example" to the rest of the team like you were some pro athlete who's ability should be a standard.

He hated the way you'd tilt your head up in pride when you'd finish a 100 meter sprint in 11.64 seconds (which was only .4 seconds faster than him), walking past him silently with a face that said, "try and beat that," and he hated coaches bias comments about how great you were just because you were his daughter.

Track Runner!Ryomen Sukuna loved track and field, he truly did. He strived to be the best not only because it boosted his ego, but also because he needed to get that full ride scholarship if he wanted to get into college. It was his only chance at going pro and he was not going to give that up.

But as of late, his hatred toward you and his determination to beat you blurred that love for the sport. He just wanted to win. Against you.

Track Runner!Ryomen Sukuna who wanted to throw himself across the field when coach told him he had to be partnered with you for "training".

"Scouts are going to be at this weeks meet and we need you to be at peak performance. Especially if you want that scholarship," coach says, raising a knowing eyebrow toward Sukuna.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Sukuna grumbles, dragging his feet as he makes his way over to you. He rolled his eyes at the way you tied up your spikes all confidently and the way you started stretching like you knew exactly what you were doing. God, he wanted to puke.

Track Runner!Ryomen Sukuna who grumbled and groaned and complained the entire time you tried talking to him. He hated every idea you threw at him, and rolled his eyes every time you so much as blinked at him. No, he didnt want to jog a couple warm up laps, no he didnt want to stretch (with you), and no, he absolutely didn't want to talk about what he needed to improve on.

Sukuna was the best, he didn't need to improve on anything. It's literally just running.

Track Runner!Ryomen Sukuna who's baffled when you say

"You sure? Because you run like you're trying to prove something instead of just running," you say while swinging your arms.

"Also, your stride is a bit sloppy...I think we could work on that?" You suggest and Sukuna is caught off guard for a moment.

You didnt sound like you were teasing. You seemed to actually be pointing out a flaw and Sukuna didn't like that. He didnt need improvement. But the nagging feeling telling him you were right itched at the back of his mind.

"Tch. My stride isn't sloppy." He grumbles, crossing his arms, his stubbornness evident.

Track Runner!Ryomen Sukuna who considers that maybe you were right. Maybe he did need to work on some stuff, but he doesn't want your help. Unfortunately for him, he doesn't have a choice. So, Sukuna swallows down his pride—only some—and gives in.

"What would you...suggest..." He's obviously not use to asking for help.

Track Runner!Ryomen Sukuna who already saw improvement from your training. You had him practicing high knees, side steps, and calf hops, and Sukuna could already see progress.

Track Runner!Ryomen Sukuna didn't want you to get the wrong idea though. just because you were helping him did not mean you two were friends. Far from it, actually. With your advice, it gives sukuna an opportunity to get better than you, which was his ultimate goal.

Track Runner!Ryomen Sukuna goes home with a strange warmth pooling in his stomach—one he refuses to name. He didn't recognize this feeling, the warmness he felt. The amount of attention and care you were putting into his training really caught him off guard.

You were being...sweet? The way your soft hands felt against his shoulder when he did a good job at something, or the way your eyes would light up when you saw his improvement.

The entire time during practice he kept telling himself that he still hated you, that this was just for a couple more months until you guys graduate and he never has to see you again. That he was just using you for his benefit so then he could be the best.

But why did his stomach turn every time you praised him? Every time you looked at him, he felt a tightness in the back of his throat—not like he was about to vomit—it was different.

Track Runner!Ryomen Sukuna recalls all the past times you both interacted, his memory shifting perspectives of you. You were kind. Encouraging. And somehow, all of that made him feel worse. You never had an ounce of pride in your bones, always so humble.

Track Runner!Ryomen Sukuna wonders if it ever really was hate. Or maybe he had been lying to himself all along. I mean, hes never had a conversation with you, only exchanges due to forced proximity, coaches orders. Hes never recalled a time where he ever not hated you.

It seemed like the moment he met you, he despised you without a reason, but now that he actually talked to you, he found himself burning for more.

But, It wasn’t admiration. It wasn’t anything. It was just training. That’s all. Or that's what he was telling himself.

Track Runner!Ryomen Sukuna got a taste of your sweetness—and now he’s addicted.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦　⁺ 　 . ✦

A/n: hello hello hello I'm freaking out anyway I hope you like it skaterboy!ino is coming out next love you guys bye

Oh also sukuna and reader are seniors in high school now, but they will be graduated and in college before the smutty stuff happenss 😌↕️

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[p1psqueaks]

LOVE AND DEEPSPACE — MISSION GONE WRONG

ZAYNE

You stumble through the sterile white corridors of the hospital, the world around you spinning, and the sharp sting of pain gnawing at your every step. The mission had gone wrong in ways you didn’t even want to think about, but there was no avoiding it now. Blood stains your uniform, and exhaustion weighs heavily on your body as you drag yourself toward the medical wing. Every breath feels shallow, and your chest burns, the aftereffects of near-death lingering like a bad memory.

As you turn the corner, you catch sight of him. Zayne. He's standing by the nurses' station, his back straight and his usual professional composure in place, but his eyes immediately snap to you the moment you appear. The flicker of worry in them is unmistakable.

"What happened?" he asks his voice dropping an octave. His calm, steady demeanor never falters, but you can see the tension in his jaw. “Are you hurt?”

You try to give him a reassuring smile, but it’s weak and fails miserably. “Mission went south. Nothing I can’t handle.”

His eyes scan you from head to toe, quickly noticing the bloodied bandages peeking from under your torn jacket. His brow furrows in response. “You’re not handling this. Come on, we need to get you to a bed, now.”

You swallow, wanting to protest, but you don’t have the energy. Zayne’s hands are gentle but firm as he guides you toward the nearest treatment room, keeping you steady on your feet, as if the sheer presence of him is enough to keep you from collapsing.

He glances at one of the nurses, Yvonne, over his shoulder. "Have Dr. Greyson look over my post-ops for now."

Once inside, Zayne immediately takes charge, his usual calm and methodical self taking over. “Sit down,” he orders, voice soft but commanding. You sink into the bed, too exhausted to argue.

He begins assessing your injuries with a practiced eye, checking your pulse and temperature before gently peeling away the tattered remnants of your uniform. His hands are gentle but quick, his movements sharp, yet there’s an undercurrent of something more—something deeply protective. The quiet intensity of his gaze speaks volumes, and you realize, for the first time, just how much this affects him, seeing you like this.

"What happened out there?" he asks as he begins cleaning a deep gash on your arm. His touch is careful, but you can see the tension in his shoulders, the unspoken fear of seeing you so badly hurt.

You take a shaky breath, the memories of the mission flooding back in waves. "They ambushed us... a trap. We weren’t ready. We should have known. I should have known. I couldn't save everyone."

Zayne’s face softens, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, his voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it. "You did what you could. You always do. It’s not your fault, my love."

But the guilt presses on you, suffocating in a way you can’t ignore. "We lost good people, Zayne. People who trusted me. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t—"

"You’re here," he interrupts softly, his voice dropping to a more intimate register. "You made it back. And that matters more than anything."

You look up at him, your heart twisting at the quiet sincerity in his eyes. It’s so rare for him to drop the doctor’s facade, to let down the walls that keep him so emotionally distant from the world. But with you, there’s no hiding it. There’s no barrier between the hunter and the man who cares about you.

"You don’t deserve this," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I didn’t want to drag you into this... into my mess."

Zayne pauses, taking a breath before continuing his work, his hands never stopping as he applies a fresh bandage. "You didn’t drag me anywhere, my love," he says, his voice so soft, so sure. "You’re my partner. I’m here because I choose to be. I’m not going anywhere. You’ve got me, and I’ve got you."

His words settle in the room like a blanket, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself soften. You feel the weight of your guilt slip just a little, the sharp edge of fear dulled by his steady presence.

"I don’t know what I’d do without you," you admit, your voice hoarse. "You keep me from falling apart."

Zayne meets your eyes, his expression tender but firm. "I’m not going anywhere. Not now, not ever. We do this together, no matter what."

You let his words sink in, closing your eyes briefly, just allowing yourself to feel his presence, to feel the safety of being here with him. The hospital room, with its harsh lights and sterile smell, suddenly feels a little warmer, a little more like home.

Zayne finishes bandaging your arm and moves to your side, carefully sitting next to you, his shoulder brushing against yours. His hand finds yours, his fingers lacing with yours with such ease, like it’s second nature. You squeeze his hand, the simple gesture grounding you in a way nothing else can.

"I love you, you know," you whisper, the words coming out before you can even stop them. You’ve said them before, but here, now, they feel even more significant—vulnerable, raw.

Zayne’s lips curve up into that small, rare smile you love so much, his eyes softening as he leans in close. “I love you too. Always.”

For a moment, everything fades—the mission, the pain, the guilt—until all that’s left is the quiet rhythm of your breathing and the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your side.

You lean your head on his shoulder, feeling the overwhelming weight of everything start to ease. There’s still work to be done, still losses to grieve, but for now, you know you’re not alone.

And with Zayne by your side, you know you’ll heal.

XAVIER

The metallic hiss of the docking bay doors echoed in the vast emptiness of the ship. You had just returned from a mission that should have been a simple recon, a sweep through an abandoned space station. But as the airlock cycled open and the faint glow of the docking bay lights illuminated the vessel, a heavy silence fell over the crew.

You stumbled through the door first, your body battered, clothes torn, and your movements sluggish. You had barely made it back at all, much less in one piece. Your face was smeared with dirt and blood, and your usually sharp eyes were clouded with exhaustion.

Xavier was the first to spot you.

His usual calm, collected demeanor faltered for a split second as he rushed forward, his boots making swift, purposeful strides across the floor. His face tightened with worry, eyes scanning your battered form. He had heard the distress call, had heard the urgency in your voice, but seeing you like this—bleeding, broken—hit him harder than he anticipated.

"Hey," he breathed, his voice tight with concern.

You looked up at the sound of your name, eyes blinking as if you had just woken up from a deep sleep. "Xavier..." you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper. The exhaustion in your tone was unmistakable, but there was something else there too—something darker. Something haunted.

Xavier took a step closer, reaching out instinctively to steady you, but you pulled away slightly, as though the contact hurt more than it helped.

"Easy," Xavier murmured, his voice gentle but firm. He hated seeing you like this. He hated the thought of you suffering alone out there in the cold, vast expanse of space. "What happened? We heard the distress call."

You swallowed, trying to push down the nausea that rose in your chest. The mission had gone wrong so fast—an ambush, a trap, enemies from a faction you thought you'd left behind. But none of that seemed to matter now. The only thing that mattered was getting through this, surviving long enough to see the others. To see Xavier.

"I was... outnumbered," you said slowly, words falling heavily. "They weren't supposed to be there. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, Xavier. I couldn't..."

"You don’t have to explain," Xavier interrupted, his hand gently gripping your arm, this time making sure you didn’t pull away. "You’re here now. That’s all that matters. You’re safe."

But you could see it in his eyes—he didn’t believe it. Not fully.

You let out a shaky breath, a faint laugh that felt hollow in your chest. "Safe? After what happened out there?"

Xavier said nothing, but his grip tightened, his gaze never leaving yours. The silence between the two of you grew thick, like a storm cloud hanging in the air, heavy with the unspoken words that neither of them seemed ready to say.

Your voice was low but insistent as you looked up at him. "I should’ve... I should’ve called for backup sooner. We could’ve avoided this. I should’ve been better, faster, more prepared..."

"No," Xavier said, his voice low but resolute. "You did what you had to do. And you made it back. That’s what matters now." He leaned in, his forehead touching yours, eyes filled with an intensity that spoke of more than just concern. "Stop blaming yourself. You did everything you could."

The warmth of his breath on your skin, the steady beat of his heart beneath the thin fabric of his uniform, grounded them. You closed your eyes for a moment, fighting the overwhelming flood of emotions that threatened to rise up.

"I’m sorry," you whispered.

Xavier's hand, which had been hovering near your shoulder, finally settled there, steady and unshaking. "You don’t have to apologize to me,. Not for this. I’m just glad you're here."

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The world outside the ship continued on, the hum of the engine a distant, comforting sound. But in that small space between you, the silence held more than just words—it held everything they couldn’t say aloud.

"I thought I lost you," Xavier finally admitted, his voice raw, his usual composure cracking. His hand gently cupped their cheek, his thumb brushing over the cut there, as if he could somehow erase the pain just by touching them. "For a while, I didn’t think you were going to make it."

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice. You had always known Xavier as a strong and capable hunter, someone who could face anything with a cool head and unwavering confidence. But now, as he stood before you, his own walls seemed to crumble, if only slightly.

"I’m here," you murmured, their voice hoarse. "I’m still here."

The corners of Xavier's mouth twitched in a faint, weary smile. "I’m glad."

You both stood there for a while, silent but connected in a way that no words could express. The past was still there, heavy on both of you, but in this moment, all that mattered was the present. Xavier had always been a steady presence in your life—strong, supportive, always there when you needed him most. And now, after everything you had been through, you could finally allow yourself to lean into that strength.

"You should get some rest," Xavier said after a while, his tone softening with a concern that was unmistakable.

You shook their head slowly. "I can’t. Not yet."

Xavier raised an eyebrow. "You can’t stay awake forever. Let the others take over for now. You need time to heal."

The words were gentle, but they carried an undeniable weight. For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to relax, to let go of the tension that had been holding you together in the aftermath of the mission. You felt the weight of Xavier's gaze, steady and unwavering, and knew that, no matter what came next, you wouldn’t face it alone.

"Okay," you whispered. "I’ll rest."

Xavier gave you one last look, a silent promise hanging between them. "I’ll be here when you wake up."

You didn’t need to say anything more. There was nothing left to say.

The storm had passed. And for now, you were home.

RAFAYEL

The door creaks open on rusted hinges, the metal groaning in a way it didn’t the last time you stepped through it. The studio smells the same—linseed oil, old wood, drying paint, and the faint ozone tang of filtered sunlight through the solar skylights.

But something about it feels emptier.

You stand in the doorway a moment longer than necessary, your gloved hand still braced on the frame like it might be the only thing holding you upright. Your gun dangles from your other hand, cracked but intact.

Your boots leave damp prints on the worn floorboards as you step inside.

"You're back," a voice says from deeper in the room.

Not accusing. Not angry.

Just... frayed.

Rafayel doesn’t move from where he sits, half-hidden behind a leaning canvas. The stool beneath him creaks as he shifts, brushes idle in his fingers. He doesn’t even look at you at first—just stares at the wall, at some invisible point only he can see.

“You’re painting,” you say, your voice rough. You haven’t spoken much in the past forty-eight hours. Not since extraction. Not since you watched someone you couldn't save drift away into the black.

He finally looks up, eyes scanning you like you're part of the composition. Not a subject, not a muse—just someone he’s been trying to remember how to see.

“You weren’t supposed to be gone that long.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t send a message.”

“I couldn’t.”

A silence stretches out between you. It isn’t uncomfortable—it’s the kind of silence where everything lives. Fear. Relief. The ghosts of unspoken thoughts.

You shift, unfastening the collar of your suit. Your shoulders sag the moment the seal breaks. It’s always heavier when you come back. You remember the stars being beautiful once. Now they just feel cold.

“I thought about this place every day,” you say. “It was the only thing that felt real out there.”

Rafayel rises slowly, setting the brush down on the edge of the easel. Paint still clings to his fingers, ultramarine and burnt sienna smeared across his knuckles like bruises.

He crosses the studio to you, stopping just short of touching. His expression is unreadable. Distant, almost. But his eyes—those impossibly expressive, storm-colored eyes—are too full.

“What happened?” he asks quietly.

You hesitate.

“We lost half the team. Comms were knocked out. We drifted... longer than expected. Long enough to think maybe no one was coming.”

He exhales like he’s been holding that breath since the moment you left. When he steps closer and finally touches you, it’s with a gentleness that makes something in your chest give way. One hand on your cheek. The other rests against your side, feeling the tremor you can’t suppress.

“I didn’t paint for the first week,” Rafayel murmurs. “Every time I picked up a brush, I just... stared at the canvas. I kept thinking, what’s the point of capturing light if I don’t know whether you’re still in it?”

Your breath hitches. “I’m sorry—”

“No,” he interrupts, firm but soft. “Don’t. Not to me.”

He pulls you in slowly, giving you time to pull away. You don’t. Your arms slide around his waist and you press your forehead against his shoulder. The tension doesn’t vanish—it can’t, not yet—but it loosens. Bit by bit.

You stand like that for a long time.

When you finally part, Rafayel brushes a streak of dried blood from your temple with his thumb.

“Let me show you something.”

He leads you to a side alcove where the light is softer. A single canvas stands there, turned away from view. He hesitates for a heartbeat before flipping it around.

It isn’t finished.

Your silhouette is there—sharp and luminous—but your face is only partially rendered. One eye stares back, half-done, ringed with shadows that haven’t been painted in fully. The rest of the canvas is sketchwork, graphite and ghost lines.

“I started this the night before you left,” he says quietly. “But when I didn’t hear from you... I couldn’t keep going. I didn’t know how to draw someone I might never see again.”

Your fingers reach out, brushing the edge of the canvas.

“You don’t have to finish it,” you say.

He looks at you, startled. “Why not?”

“Because I’m not the same person you started painting.” You turn to meet his eyes. “But maybe you could start a new one.”

His lips curve—softly, not quite a smile, but something warmer.

“Stay,” he says. “Just for tonight.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

And this time, when you kiss him, you mean it like a promise. Not to the stars. Not to the mission. But to him.

To here.

To home.

SYLUS

The lights in the apartment are dim when you step through the door.

Your body aches. Your limbs are heavy with exhaustion, and your suit—still streaked with dust from the failed mission—feels like a second skin you can’t shed fast enough. The echo of the explosion still rings faintly in your ears, muffled now by the silence of home.

You don’t expect him to be here. Not this late.

You barely make it two steps before you hear movement from the living room.

"You're late," Sylus says, voice calm but edged in something sharper—something tight. "Three hours. Mephisto couldn't locate you."

You turn toward the sound and find him sitting on the couch, long legs stretched out, hair tousled like he’s been running his hands through it all night. His gaze sweeps over you in one quick, calculating motion—assessing. Scanning.

"I'm here now," you say softly, your voice hoarse.

"You’re hurt."

You look down. There’s a cut along your forearm—dried blood, not deep. Another scrape near your collarbone. The mission had gone sideways, fast: an ambush, one of your own turning against you, comms scrambled. You’d barely made it back.

"I’m okay," you say, but even to your own ears, it sounds like a lie.

Sylus is already on his feet. In three steps he’s in front of you, his hands ghosting over your arms before settling on your shoulders. His grip is gentle—but grounding.

"You were off the grid for too long. I thought—"

You lean into him, the rest of the sentence unnecessary. I thought I lost you. You feel it in the way he holds you closer, in the way his forehead drops to rest against yours. He breathes you in like you’re the air he’s been missing.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur.

“You don’t have to be,” he says. “Just… next time, let me come with you.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “You know you can't do that."

“Then quit."

He’s only half-joking, and you love him for it.

You pull back enough to look into his eyes. “I didn’t want you to see what happened.”

His expression shifts—more serious, more tender.

“Then tell me,” he says. “Tell me everything.”

So you do.

You tell him about the ambush, the way your mission had been sabotaged, how you’d lost communications and one of your team had turned traitor. You speak in low, halting sentences while Sylus cleans your wounds with steady hands. He doesn’t interrupt, just listens—his silence filled with warmth and quiet fury on your behalf.

When you finish, he doesn’t offer hollow reassurances. He doesn’t say it will never happen again, because you both know the truth: it will. That’s the job. The risk. The cost.

Instead, he says, “I’m proud of you.”

Your eyes sting.

“You made it back,” he continues. “You brought the rest of your team home. And you walked through that door.”

“I almost didn’t,” you admit. “There was a moment when I thought—I didn’t know if I could.”

“You did,” Sylus says, voice low, sure. “You always do.”

You sit together after that, on the couch, the silence between you no longer heavy but healing. His arm curls around you, his fingers tracing slow, absent patterns against your back. You let your head rest on his shoulder, your eyes fluttering closed.

“You know,” you murmur, “you should’ve been asleep.”

“I was waiting for you.”

“You always do.”

He kisses the top of your head. “I always will.”

CALEB

You wake hours later, the house quiet, the lights low. The faint scent of chamomile lingers in the air. Caleb’s not beside you, but you hear the low hum of the kettle in the kitchen. The clink of a spoon against ceramic.

He’s always like this — never sleeping when you’re out on a mission, never resting, always waiting for you to come back in one piece. He was always waiting, even when he didn’t show it.

You sit up slowly, stiff and sore in ways you didn’t feel before. The herbal tea calms the knots in your stomach, but there’s an ache deep in your chest, one you can’t ignore.

Caleb appears in the doorway, two steaming cups of tea in his hands. He looks at you with that same unreadable expression, but something’s different now. It’s softer, as if he’s peeling away the layers of control he holds so tightly around everything.

“Chamomile,” he says, his voice steady, though there’s a faint quiver in the way he says it, like he’s holding back something more.

“Thanks,” you say, taking the cup from him, your fingers brushing his. It’s a small thing, but it feels like a spark between you.

He doesn’t sit immediately. Just stands there, his eyes on you — searching, like he’s trying to read the unspoken things in the spaces between your words.

“You were gone for three days longer than planned,” he says, voice low. “No communication. No updates.”

You look down at your hands, your grip tightening on the mug, the weight of his concern pressing down on you. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“I know,” he replies quickly, too quickly. “But I still thought…”

He stops himself, and the silence stretches between you. It’s thick now, heavy with things neither of you have said.

You glance up at him, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “What did you think?”

He hesitates for a moment longer before answering. “I kept replaying every transmission you ever sent. Listening to the tone of your voice. Trying to figure out if there was something I missed. A clue. A hint. Anything.”

Your heart stutters. You set the cup down, the liquid inside forgotten. “That’s—Caleb, you didn’t have to—”

“I did,” he insists, his eyes fierce now, jaw tight. “Because you’re not just another hunter to me. Not just some mission on a schedule board. You—”

He stops himself again, and the weight of his words lingers in the air, like they’re trapped somewhere between his lungs and his lips.

You whisper, “Say it.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. His hand is trembling just slightly when he reaches up, cupping your cheek in his palm. His thumb strokes along your skin, slow, deliberate, like he’s memorizing the feel of you.

“I kept thinking about what I’d do if you didn’t come back,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I knew I wouldn’t be able to live with it. I don’t think I’d be able to breathe.”

You close your eyes at the rawness in his voice. “I’m here.”

The words break something inside him. He leans forward, just enough that his lips brush against yours — a tentative, barely-there kiss. A question, an offering.

It’s not neat. It’s not perfect. It’s messy and hungry, tasting like relief, like heat, like every unspoken word between you two that’s finally tumbling out.

When you finally break apart, he doesn’t pull back. His forehead rests against yours, breath coming in shallow bursts, and you both stay there, suspended in the moment, unsure of where the next breath might take you.

“You terrify me,” he murmurs, his lips barely brushing your skin.

“Because I might get myself killed?” you tease, though there’s a tremor in your voice, too.

“No,” he says, his voice soft, but filled with something more. “Because I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you. And because I want you so much it hurts.”

Your heart flutters, a distant star shining brightly in the center of your chest. You’re close now, too close to ignore the heat thrumming between you.

You whisper, “I didn’t think I’d make it back.”

He smiles, just barely, the corner of his lips lifting. “I did.”

You reach up, curling your hand around his, pulling him closer until there’s nothing separating you two, until you feel the heat of his skin, the thrum of his heartbeat.

And as he holds you, his arms wrapping around you like gravity itself has shifted, you finally let go of the last vestiges of fear, the mission, the blood, the fire.

You’re here now. Alive. And Caleb is here, too.

That’s enough.

[rosemaryhoney27]

Gotham's sunshine child part 4

“No One Tells the Sunshine Kid Anything”

Danny Fenton prided himself on being unflappable.

He had died once. Literally. Been half-ghost for years. He could walk through walls, disappear, fly, and fight beings made of fire, rage, or raw existential dread. He had babysat Ellie, his chaos clone-little-sister, through her “I can fly and you can’t stop me” phase.

But nothing—nothing—prepared him for the sight of his own face plastered across the top of an official-looking document on Bruce Wayne’s desk, next to the words:

“Adoption Petition: Daniel James Fenton.”

He stared at it.

Then stared at Bruce.

Then back at it.

Then he panicked.

“You—you can’t just adopt me!” Danny yelped, his voice cracking spectacularly.

Bruce blinked up at him from his desk with the calm of a man who had faced both clowns and demigods before breakfast. “Technically, I can.”

Danny looked like he might faint. “Wh—why would you—? I’m not—You’re a Wayne! I’m not a Wayne! I’m barely a Fenton! I eat cold pizza off library radiators and wear socks that don’t match! I have a hoodie made of duct tape!”

Tim leaned in from the doorway, sipping coffee. “That hoodie has structural integrity, man. Honestly, I’m impressed.”

Danny pointed at him with wide, betrayed eyes. “You knew?!”

Tim shrugged. “I helped with the paperwork.”

“TRAITOR!”

Bruce held up a hand. Calm. Gentle. Fatherly.

“Danny,” he said. “This doesn’t have to be anything more than what you want. You’d have a roof over your head. Legal protection. Access to our resources—”

“I phase through roofs. I don’t need a roof!”

“Then think of it as a...very big ceiling with heating.”

“That’s worse!”

Alfred arrived mid-meltdown with tea and what he claimed were “emotion-calming biscuits.” Danny took three. Out of spite.

“I don’t need to be adopted!” he snapped, halfway through a butter cookie. “I’m fine!”

Jason walked past the study, heard that, and turned on his heel.

“No, you’re not,” he said, stepping into the room. “You fell asleep outside last week because you gave your blanket to a stray dog.”

“The dog was cold!”

“You were shivering in a bush!”

“...It was a warm bush.”

Jason just stared at him.

Dick flopped in through the window upside down.

“We’re not doing this because we think you’re helpless,” he said, casual as a cat. “We’re doing it because Gotham chose you, and so did we.”

Danny looked between all of them. “…You conspired.”

“Yup,” Damian said, finally entering with a folder. “Here are the signed statements from three soup kitchens, a youth center, one angry barista, and a biker gang requesting your formal protection and adoption. The barista threatened to withhold caffeine from Father if he did not comply.”

“I—what?!”

“They also gave me a sticker,” Damian added, pinning a “SUNSHINE CHILD DEFENSE SQUAD” badge to his tunic.

Danny’s eye twitched. “I’m going to implode.”

“Already did once,” Tim muttered.

“YOU’RE NOT HELPING.”

Danny sulked on the couch for two hours with a cat in his lap and five Wayne kids hovering around him like worried bees.

He didn’t leave.

Eventually, Bruce sat beside him with quiet patience and said, “You don’t have to be alone, Danny.”

Danny stared at his mismatched socks.

“…I don’t know how to do any of this.”

“You don’t have to,” Bruce replied. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

Danny opened his mouth, closed it again. Then, voice small:

“Can I still keep my hoodie?”

Jason snorted. “Kid, we’re not monsters.”

The next morning, Gotham woke to news headlines:

“Bruce Wayne Adopts Local Teen Hero ‘Sunshine Kid’” “Gotham’s Favorite Child Now Officially a Wayne — and Somehow Still Humble About It” “Criminals Warned: ‘Touch Him and Face Gotham’s Wrath’”

Danny groaned and buried his face in the mansion couch.

“Why are there stickers with my face on them?”

Barbara, voice chipper: “Because you’re adorable and Gotham is proud.”

[forever-rogue]

Salty

AN | Hello, as you all know Joel is alive and well and there are shenanigans afoot in Jackson. Enjoy💕

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader 

Warnings | Language 

Word Count | 2.6k

Masterlist | Joel, Main 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You loved Joel.

Joel loved you (you hoped anyway) and Ellie.

Ellie hated you.

After just over half a year in Jackson, you had finally put two and two together. All those little things you’d thought were accidents or odd coincidences weren't that at all.

Everything came down to one Ellie Williams. And that led to you making a decision you immediately hated.

“I don’t think we… should spend time together anymore.” The lump in your throat was thick, and you focused your attention on the vegetables you were tending, refusing to look at the man. You’d rehearsed this very moment in your head about two hundred times, and still, it wasn’t going to plan. Sigh.

The man next to you was silent for a few beats, trying to decide if you were being serious. When you didn’t say anything further but he heard your sniffle, he realized this wasn’t a joke at all.

“Oh? And just how did you reach that conclusion, darlin’?”

“I just… I dunno, Joel. It just seems like the right thing to do.” You shrugged, adding the carrots you'd unearthed into the basket between the two of you. “I don’t… I don’t want you to get the wrong idea and think I’m… interested.”

A heavy silence fell over you; you tried to continue working, but Joel remained dumbfounded, watching your every move.

“Okay,” he eventually said, causing you to relax slightly. “I’ll do as you ask and respect your wishes and all that. You gonna tell me what changed suddenly?”

“Nothing,” you lied. You’d thought about telling him the truth but highly doubted he’d believe you. He’d never think his baby girl would do something so downright vicious. “It’s just… what I want.”

“Alright.” He stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans, capturing your attention. “I’ll leave you to it. I think you can handle it from here, right? I wouldn’t want to get the wrong idea.”

“Joel—” His name came out as a huff, but before you could get any further, he had already walked away.

You watched after him until he was out of your sight before hastily wiping at the tears rolling down your cheeks. This hurt even worse than you had anticipated. Ellie would probably leave you alone now that you weren’t pursuing her dad or trying to take him away from her.

“I guess it’s just you and me again.” You pulled a few more carrots out of the dirt and tossed them to the side. You were going to need a new hobby to occupy your mind.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The first time something strange had happened, you had been baking a cake for Joel's birthday. You were in the restaurant kitchen, having talked Seth into letting you use the space to keep your plans secret.

You were almost done mixing the dry ingredients when you couldn’t find the sugar.

“Where is it…” You looked through cabinets, sure you’d seen the container at some point. Without sugar, you definitely weren’t going to finish this cake.

“Looking for this?” There was a smile on Ellie’s face as she set an unlabeled bag down next to your bowl. You relaxed and nodded. “Sorry, I was using it earlier. Totally forgot to put it back.”

“No worries at all,” you said, grabbing the measuring cup and adding the sugar to your bowl. “I was starting to worry I’d imagined it.”

“Hmm.” Ellie watched you work in silence for a few minutes. “What’s this for?”

“I’m making a cake… for Joel.” Your face warmed as a flash of annoyance shot across hers. She was well aware of what you were doing, having overheard you talking to Tommy. “I figured it’d be something nice for him.”

“That’s really sweet of you,” she smiled. “I’m sure he’ll love it.”

“I hope so,” you agreed.

Unfortunately, fortune seemed determined to make a fool of you.

You’d stopped at Joel’s house to deliver the cake, wanting to make it casual.

“Happy birthday,” you sang, holding up the cake with an eager look. Your heart beat nervously as a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “It’s not much, but I hope you like it.”

“It’s amazing,” he whispered, heart constricting at the sweet gesture. It had been a long time since someone had baked him a birthday cake. “C’mon in. We can cut right into it.”

“Oh,” you smiled shyly, finding it hard to meet his eyes. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re always welcome here,” he said, firm but still soft. “And I insist.”

“Okay.” You followed him inside, setting the cake on the table. Joel grabbed a couple of forks, plates, and a knife. “Is Ellie here? Should we cut some for her?”

“She’s off at Dina’s,” he shook his head. “It’s just us.”

“Well here, let me.” You cut into the cake, placing large slices on each plate. You sat down across from him, pushing a plate toward him. “Happy birthday, Joel.”

“It certainly is now.” You tried not to freak out as you took a bite. Joel did the same.

As soon as you started chewing, you realized it tasted… terrible. Gritty and salty. Anything but sweet and decadent. You reluctantly swallowed and cast a forlorn look at Joel, who was clearly trying to school his expression.

“This is disgusting,” you said, horrified. “I—I must’ve added salt instead of sugar. Fuck. I should’ve paid more attention, but I thought… Ellie handed me the sugar.”

“It’s…” Joel, bless his heart, tried to make it seem better than it was.

“Terrible,” you insisted, trying not to cry. “I’m so sorry. I ruined it all.”

“It’s not… the worst thing ever.”

“Joel.”

“It’s pretty bad,” he admitted with a grimace, “but it’s the thought. Even if that’s cliché.”

“Well,” you sighed with a grimace, “maybe next time will be better.”

Joel reached across the table and placed his hand on top of yours. His touch made your stomach flip. “It’s okay, really. Thank you for this.”

“Happy birthday,” you whispered. Your face was warm, and you swore you saw a light blush on his cheeks.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The second time you were sure that you had bad luck. Everyone has bad luck sometimes, right?

It was spring, finally warm enough not to require multiple layers. There was a barbecue going on, and Joel had asked if you wanted to go with him. He hadn’t said it was a date—but he hadn’t not.

You’d put on a sundress, feeling prettier than you had in a long time.

But as you walked to Joel’s house, something slippery on the porch made you slide off and into a lingering patch of mud.

A scream escaped your lips. You weren’t hurt—just covered in mud from head to toe. Your shoes had fallen off. Tears of frustration fell down your face, which only smeared the muck.

“Are you okay?” Joel ran outside, worried. When he saw what had happened, he had to fight a smile. He was glad you weren’t hurt—but it was a little funny. You let out a frustrated huff. He stepped off the porch and held out his hand. “Oh, darlin’.”

Just as you reached for him, he slipped and landed next to you. His surprised face made you giggle. Reaching over to wipe a spot off his cheek, you shook your head.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” He smiled. “I’d say we make a fine pair.”

“Unfortunately, I think we’ll have to clean up and change before we do anything,” you teased. Joel looked at you with nothing short of fondness. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

“No reason,” he said, leaning in. You leaned in too. “I’m just thinking I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

“Oh?” You were ready to finally close the gap when the front door burst open.

“Hey!” Ellie’s voice made you both jump apart. “What happened?”

“Slipped and fell,” you both said in unison.

“You should be more careful,” she said directly to you, brown eyes hard. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen.”

Then she turned and went back inside. A shiver ran down your spine.

“C’mon.” Joel got to his feet and helped you up. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

“Thanks,” you said softly.

Something inside your stomach twisted. Something was going on.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The third time you were sure that none of the things that had been happening were accidental.

Joel had asked you on a date—made it very clear it was a date. Even though it was just Joel, you were full of butterflies.

You settled on an outfit and went into the bathroom to finish getting ready. Everything needed to be perfect.

Until… you tried to leave the bathroom and couldn’t. You jiggled the knob, convinced it was stuck, but after a few seconds of no success, you realized you were locked in.

You exhaled sharply, trying not to panic. This wasn’t an accident—but you weren’t in real danger either.

You banged on the door. “Ellie! Let me out! Please let me out!”

No response. But you thought you heard creaking down the hall. She wasn’t coming back.

You sat on the toilet, head in your hands. This was the worst. All you had wanted was a date with Joel. You couldn’t even have that.

Eventually, you pried open the bathroom window, grateful you lived in a one-story house. You squeezed out and fell a few feet onto the hard ground with a small oof.

Brushing yourself off, you made your way to Joel’s house, ready to set things straight.

Only one light was on. He wasn’t home. Your heart sank.

You knocked loudly. “Ellie!”

After a moment, the door flew open. She stood there, surprised. You laughed bitterly. “Surprised to see me?”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

“Cut the shit,” you snapped, tears pricking at the back of your eyes. “Why have you been doing this to me? And don’t even try to lie—I know it’s been you.”

“I…” She didn’t even bother to lie. “Stay away from Joel. He doesn’t need you. We’re fine without you.”

“Is that what this is about? Me and Joel? Why does it—”

“He doesn’t need you,” she hissed. “Stay away from my dad.”

The door slammed in your face.

You stood there, stunned.

After a few moments, you trudged home, your heart heavy, when you heard your name being called. You turned to see Joel catching up.

“Hey,” he said, falling into step beside you. “What happened? I waited for over an hour, then went to check if you’d gone to—”

“I was locked in my bathroom.” You pinched the bridge of your nose. Joel stared at you, waiting for a punchline. But then he saw your expression—serious.

“I’m sorry, Joel. I didn’t mean to stand you up. I was really looking forward to tonight.”

“How did you…”

“Weird accident.”

“Is everything okay?” he asked, stopping and gently grabbing your wrist. You turned to face him, fighting back tears. He touched your cheek.

“Things have been a little… off lately.”

“Guess I’m just having a spot of bad luck,” you shrugged, refusing to say the real reason. As angry as you were with Ellie, you understood. Joel was her stability—and in her mind, you were a threat.

“It’s nothing, really.”

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Did you still want to grab dinner?”

“Actually, I kind of just want to go home.” You hated the way hope faded from his face.

“I’ll see you around, Joel. Have a good night.”

“Good night.” He gave your hand a squeeze but watched you walk away, his heart heavy.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Two weeks passed.

You caught glimpses of Joel, but that was it. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

You missed him.

One night, as you were getting ready for bed, a knock came at your door. You almost ignored it—but you knew better. No one in Jackson would let you live it down.

With a sigh, you trudged to the door, already annoyed.

“What?” you asked before even looking—only to find Joel standing there, a bemused smile on his face.

You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. “What are you doing here?”

“I think we should talk.” You swallowed thickly. “Can I come in?”

“Y-yeah.” You stepped aside and led him into the living room. You sat across the couch from him. “What’s up?”

“Ellie told me what happened,” he said. Your shock was evident. “She explained what she did.”

“Oh.”

“She said she hated seeing me so miserable all the time,” he continued, and you realized you weren’t the only one hurting. “She said she felt some remorse.”

“I don’t… I do blame her—because she did those things. But I can understand where she’s coming from.” You shrugged. “She’s trying to protect you. You’re her family. She doesn’t want to lose you. It’s her way of showing love. I can’t fault her for that.”

“I know,” he said. “She told me everything. But it doesn’t make what she did right. You could’ve been seriously hurt. I told her that no matter what happened between us, my love for her wouldn’t change.”

“Of course not.”

“But tell me… were you really ready to never speak to me again?”

“I mean… I wouldn’t be happy about it.” Your face flushed and you couldn’t meet his eyes. “But if that was best for everyone…”

“Do you really think that would’ve been best?”

“Well… no. Now it seems trivial.” You met his honeyed gaze—reverent, gentle. “I’m glad you’re here. I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” He scooted closer. You could feel the heat radiating from his body. “You still want me to stay away?”

“I’m kind of thinking I want you to finally kiss me.”

You didn’t know where the boldness came from, but it had been long enough.

“Is that so?”

“It is—”

Joel kissed you gently, cutting you off. It caught you off guard—but it was perfect.

“Yeah?” His hand was on your cheek, thumb stroking your skin.

“Again?” Your soft request made him chuckle. “Please?”

And he didn’t waste any time.

He kissed you again.

[spilledssojuu]

Double Booking (Part 1)

Aespa Ningning ft. Karina & Giselle

Words: 6.5k

Ningning had it all—money, fame, beauty, and nearly four million followers hanging on her every move. She could buy anything, go anywhere, and get nearly anyone she wanted.

Except the one thing she needed.

She was horny. Not the cute, flirty kind that faded with a good night's sleep, but the kind that burned slow and deep, like a fever under the skin. It had been too long. Far too long. Months without a real touch, without someone strong enough to put her in her place. The men she dated were all the same—soft, eager, selfish, or just plain clueless. They wanted to have her, but they never knew how.

She needed a man. Not a boy, not a pretty face with a trust fund and no backbone. A man who knew how to handle a woman like her. Someone with presence, skill, and discipline.

Someone who could fuck her like he meant it.

But she couldn’t exactly go tweeting that. So she confided in her closest friends—Karina and Giselle, the only two people who knew what was really going on behind her curated, sparkly social media life.

They were lounging at Karina’s place, the three of them in silk robes with wine in hand, when Ningning brought it up.

“Do you two ever get, like… painfully horny?” she asked, blunt and bored, tracing circles on her wine glass.

Karina raised a brow. “Uh, yeah. Like every other night. Why?”

“Because I’m losing my mind,” Ningning confessed. “I haven’t been touched in six months. Six. Months. I can’t even sleep anymore without thinking about someone bending me over a balcony.”

Giselle snorted into her drink. “Damn. Not even a sneaky situationship?”

“They all suck. Literally. No skill, no stamina. Just bad head and worse dick.”

Karina laughed. “You’re ruthless.”

“I’m desperate.” Ningning sighed. “I want someone who knows what they’re doing. Someone who doesn’t ask, ‘Is this okay?’ every two seconds. Someone who can take me.”

The room went quiet for a moment—until Giselle smirked.

“You know… you should meet Woohyun.”

Ningning blinked. “Woohyun?”

Karina leaned back. “Yeah. He’s the guy we’re filming with next week. Adult actor. But he’s not like the sleazy ones. He’s clean, professional, almost too respectful. But he’s got presence. And control. When he turns it on… damn.”

Giselle added, “He doesn’t flirt on set. Doesn’t mess around. But there’s something about him. He knows what women want. You can see it in his eyes.”

Ningning leaned in, intrigued. “Is he hot?”

“Hot isn’t even the word.” Karina said. “He’s sex on legs. Tall, quiet, intense. Like the kind of man who’ll ruin you in the best way possible, then make you breakfast.”

Ningning's thighs pressed together.

“I want him.”

Giselle laughed. “You haven’t even met him yet.”

“I don’t care. If he’s as good as you say, I need him. I want to feel again. I want someone who’ll throw me against a wall and make me forget my name.”

Karina tilted her head, suddenly thoughtful. “Well… the penthouse we’re staying at next week for filming—there’s a weird double-booking. You could stay with us.”

Ningning's eyes lit up. “Is he staying there?”

“Supposedly.” Giselle said, sipping her wine with a grin. “It’s just us and him. And a really big bathtub.”

“You did this on purpose.” Ningning smirked.

Karina winked. “Maybe. Or maybe we just thought you needed a little push.”

That night, Ningning packed her suitcase like she was preparing for war. Lace, silk, and heels. Lipsticks that left marks and perfume that lingered. She imagined running into him in the hallway, catching him shirtless in the kitchen, brushing past him in nothing but a towel.

She wouldn’t jump him. She didn’t want easy. She wanted a slow burn. She wanted the tension, the eye contact, the teasing. She wanted to watch his control snap.

And when it did?

She wanted him to fuck her like he’d been holding back for years.

This wasn’t just a vacation anymore.

This was her hunt.

And Woohyun was the prize.

Woohyun didn’t smile when he walked into the studio. He never did.

Dressed in all black, sleeves rolled to the elbows, his forearms were corded with lean muscle. His jaw was sharp, clean-shaven. Eyes dark and unreadable. He looked like he belonged on a runway, not a film set—but his reputation spoke louder than looks.

Woohyun was known for one thing: control.

Karina was already waiting, legs crossed, sipping iced coffee in a thin silk robe that clung to her skin. It slipped open just enough to show the swell of her breasts, barely hidden by sheer black lace. She watched him with a lazy, hungry grin.

“Well, look who finally decided to show up.” she purred.

Across the room, Giselle smirked from behind a water bottle. Her robe was untied, draped loosely over a tight red thong and matching bra. “Mr. Cold and Composed.”

Woohyun dropped his bag at the couch without looking at them. “I’m here to work.”

“You’re no fun.” Karina teased, standing slowly and stretching her arms overhead. The motion pulled her robe higher, revealing smooth thighs and the top of her lace stockings. “Don’t you ever just… give in?”

“Not unless the scene calls for it.” he said flatly.

“Oh.” Giselle said, standing and walking up behind him, her voice a soft whisper in his ear. “And today… it does.”

The first scene was with her.

Set in a dim apartment with shadows flickering across the walls, the energy was already heavy before the cameras rolled.

Giselle wore nothing but a see-through white shirt, her skin glowing under the low lights. No bra. No shame. She stormed into the room, eyes blazing.

“You think you can just ghost me?” she demanded. “After everything we did?”

Woohyun stepped into frame, slow and deliberate. “I didn’t ghost you.”

“Then why’d you disappear?”

He said nothing, only walked forward, closing the door behind her. His eyes drank her in slowly—legs, curves, the hardened peaks of her nipples under the thin fabric.

He reached out and took her by the wrist. She gasped at the sudden contact.

“I was trying not to want you.” he said, his voice low.

“Then stop pretending.” she whispered.

She leaned in. Their mouths met in a collision of heat and need. Woohyun’s hand slid up her thigh, gripping her ass, pulling her flush against his body. Her moan escaped instantly—soft, breathy, needy.

“Mmm—fuuuck…”

He backed her into the wall, hands everywhere—her waist, her chest, sliding up under her shirt until his fingers brushed against bare skin. Her head tipped back, hips rolling against him.

“Yes…yes…”

He lifted her easily, her legs wrapping around his waist. She ground against his hardness, lips clinging to his as her moans got louder.

“Ahh—don’t stop… fuck, don’t stop…”

He didn’t. He moved with quiet dominance, his strength holding her exactly where he wanted her, his mouth devouring every sound she made.

“Cut!”

Giselle collapsed against him, breathless. Her skin was flushed, lips parted.

“Holy shit.” she murmured. “You were into that.”

He didn’t answer. Just walked away, shoulders rising and falling with slow, steady breaths.

Karina’s scene followed.

She stepped onto set in thigh-high black heels and a corset tight enough to make her breath shallow. Her eyes were cold and commanding, lips painted blood red.

She circled him slowly like a predator, fingers dragging over his chest. “Still playing the gentleman?”

He didn’t blink. “I can be anything the scene needs.”

“Then kneel.”

He dropped without hesitation. The click of her heel between his knees echoed through the set.

Karina climbed onto his lap, her hips grinding down onto him with slow pressure. He gripped her by the waist and controlled her movements—up, down, back, deeper. Her breath caught. Her moan was real.

“Ohh… fuck, Woohyun…”

His fingers tightened, guiding her rhythm with brutal precision. Her head fell forward, forehead resting against his.

“You’re… so fucking intense,” she panted.

“You’re shaking.” he whispered.

She bit her lip, nails digging into his shoulder blades.

“God, I can’t take it when you look at me like that—like you’re holding back…”

“I am.” he said simply.

“Cut!”

Karina slumped onto his chest, panting. Her thighs trembled.

She laughed breathlessly. “You’re a damn machine.”

Giselle walked over, arms crossed. “Still think you can keep this ‘professional’ forever?”

He stood, wiped sweat from his jaw. “I’m not here to fall for anyone.”

Karina raised a brow. “Even if she’s got the body of a goddess… and wants to be ruined?”

Woohyun said nothing.

As the shoot wrapped, he slung his bag over his shoulder and headed for the penthouse the studio booked him for the week.

Only when he opened the door did he realize something was wrong.

The lights were already on. A pair of high heels sat neatly near the entry. A silk robe—pink, expensive, lacy—lay draped across the couch.

Then he smelled it. Warm vanilla and jasmine. Feminine. Seductive.

The sound of splashing water echoed faintly from down the hall… followed by a low, drawn-out moan.

“Mmh…”

His jaw tightened. He stepped slowly forward, bag forgotten on the floor.

He reached the hallway just as another soft sound floated from the bathroom.

“Ahh… yes…”

The voice was light. Teasing. Familiar.

Someone was in his penthouse. Someone who wanted him to find her like this.

And by the sound of it, she was already touching herself… thinking about him.

The scent hit him first.

Warm vanilla with a hint of jasmine, soft and sensual—completely out of place in a penthouse he thought he had to himself. Woohyun stepped inside and dropped his duffel by the door, already on alert.

Then he saw it.

A trail of clothes. High heels. A silk robe. Lacy black panties lying shamelessly on the floor like breadcrumbs leading him to the wolf’s mouth.

And then he heard her.

“Ahh… mmmh…”

A moan.

Soft. Drawn out. Way too deliberate.

He followed the sound, each step slow and controlled, though his pulse betrayed him. At the end of the hall, the bathroom door glowed with steam and golden light. Partially open.

He pushed it.

Inside, the bathroom looked like a sensual dream—candles lit on the marble counter, the massive tub full of frothy water, rose petals floating lazily.

And her.

Ningning was stretched out in the water, one leg over the edge, toes pointed, the other knee just above the surface. She didn’t flinch at his presence.

She posed for it.

Her lips parted in a pleased little smile. “Took you long enough.” she purred.

Woohyun stayed silent. Observing. Sharp. Still.

Ningning rose from the water slowly, deliberately, letting it cascade down her bare skin. Her breasts rose above the surface, nipples tight from heat and tension, glistening under the candlelight. She pushed her wet hair back from her face and made no move to cover herself.

She was glowing.

“Surprised?” she asked, stepping out of the tub like it was a private stage. “Your co-stars mentioned a booking mix-up.”

He blinked once. “They set this up.”

“Mmm… they did.” she said, walking right past him, completely nude, completely in control. Her arm brushed his chest. “I might’ve asked for a favor.”

She stopped just in front of him. Water dripped from her thighs onto the floor.

“You’re… taller than I thought.” she said, looking up at him, eyes dark with mischief. “And more tense. You always this stiff around naked women?”

“I’m not here to—”

“—fuck me?” she interrupted, smirking. “Not yet.”

She turned around and walked slowly toward the bedroom, hips swaying like a promise. At the doorway, she glanced back over her shoulder.

“You coming?” she asked, voice feather-soft but soaked in temptation.

He didn’t move.

So she licked her lips and added, “I moaned for you earlier, you know. Thinking about your mouth. Your hands. That voice”

She let out another soft moan, deliberately louder this time.

“Mmm, Woohyun…”

He stiffened.

Ningning smiled.

“I’ve been so good for too long.” she whispered. “And I’m tired of pretending I don’t want to be ruined.”

He clenched his jaw.

She turned fully toward him now, backlit by bedroom lights, her curves perfect and glistening.

“Don’t worry.” she said sweetly. “I won’t bite…”

Then she leaned one hand against the doorway and whispered with a wicked grin—

“Unless you beg me to.”

And with that, she vanished into the bedroom, the sound of her footsteps soft against the carpet, her scent lingering behind.

Woohyun stood there alone for a long moment.

Every part of him screamed to stay still, to keep control.

But every part of him below the waist had already decided:

He was going to break.

The bedroom was warm.

Not just from the candles she’d lit, or the soft ambient lighting overhead—but from her. Ningning was lying across the center of the massive bed, legs crossed at the ankles, still completely bare, her skin glowing in golden tones, every inch of her shamelessly on display.

One arm propped her up. The other toyed lazily with a wine glass she hadn’t touched.

She smiled when she saw him standing at the doorway.

“I was wondering if you’d grow the balls to walk in.”

Woohyun said nothing, but his presence filled the room. The door shut behind him with a soft click, and now there was no escape.

“Still trying to be the professional?” she asked, tilting her head. “You’ve been eye-fucking me since the tub.”

His jaw tightened. “You don’t know what you’re playing with.”

“Oh, I know exactly.” she said, biting her lip. “You’re like this... perfectly wrapped gift. All cold restraint on the outside—” she traced her finger along the curve of her own thigh, “—but I bet you’re all fire underneath.”

She spread her legs slightly, slow and unhurried. “Why don’t you come unwrap it?”

He took one step forward. Then another. Silent. Deadly.

She leaned back onto her elbows, heart hammering in her chest. “You look like you’re about to either walk away or pin me down.”

“I’m deciding.” he said flatly.

That made her laugh—low and soft.

“Here.” she whispered, crooking a finger, “let me help you choose.”

He reached the edge of the bed.

She rose up onto her knees in front of him, her body sliding against his clothed form. Her hands went straight to his belt, nimble fingers working while her eyes stayed locked on his.

“Still want to act like you’re not dying to touch me?” she breathed. “Because you’re hard.”

He grabbed her wrists.

Not rough—but firm. Commanding.

Their faces were inches apart. Her breath hitched. Then—

“Say please.”

Her lips parted in surprise. Heat flared in her cheeks.

“…What?”

“You want my hands on you?” he said, voice low and dangerous. “Say please.”

She stared into his eyes. A challenge and an invitation.

So she smiled slowly.

“Please.” she whispered, letting it drip from her lips like honey. “Touch me. Make me scream. Make me forget every man who’s ever bored me to death.”

His eyes darkened.

He shoved her gently back onto the bed.

Ningning gasped, breath catching as he climbed over her. Fully clothed, body hard, frame powerful over her exposed skin.

He didn’t kiss her. Not yet.

His hands traced the lines of her waist, the dip of her stomach, the swell of her hips. Slow. Torturous.

She arched into him.

“Mmh… Woohyun…”

“Louder.” he murmured against her throat, not kissing, just grazing.

She moaned, long and soft.

“W—Woohyun…”

He dragged his mouth lower, tongue teasing the underside of her breast, then sucked—hard—right below it.

She gasped.

“Oh fuck—”

His hands slid under her thighs, spreading her wider, making her feel how caged she was beneath him. Still clothed, still composed—and she was already unraveling.

“You said you wanted to be ruined.” he whispered.

She nodded, trembling.

“Then let me.”

He kissed her, finally—crushing, hungry, devouring. She moaned into his mouth, fingers digging into his shirt, pulling, clawing. Her hips rolled against him, desperate.

He broke the kiss with a deep breath, forehead pressed to hers.

“You’re not ready,” he said.

“I am—fuck, I am—”

He smirked, brushing his lips across hers again, feather-light. “No.”

Then he stood up and walked away.

She stared at him, stunned. Panting. Aching.

“W-What the fuck—”

He glanced over his shoulder, jaw tight, eyes on fire.

“When I take you.” he said, voice like thunder, “it won’t be in a rush. It won’t be because you begged.”

He paused at the doorway.

“It’ll be when I know you can’t take it anymore.”

And then he was gone.

Leaving Ningning on the bed, body hot, lips swollen, thighs trembling—and more desperate than she had ever been in her life.

The sun crept through the penthouse windows, spilling soft gold across white sheets, tangled legs, and a heat that hadn't cooled from the night before.

Ningning lay alone in bed, the empty space beside her mocking her frustration. Her thighs still tingled. Her lips were still swollen. Her body still ached from being denied.

She groaned softly, fingers pressing between her thighs, trying to ease the need, but it only made it worse.

“Fucking hell…” she whispered, tossing off the covers.

She didn’t want relief.

She wanted him.

Sliding out of bed, she stalked into the walk-in closet and pulled out a black lace set—thin as smoke, sinful as sin. A barely-there thong, matching bra, and a silk robe she didn’t bother to tie. Her nipples peaked under the fabric, the lace doing nothing to hide how needy she was.

Her eyes found her reflection.

“Let’s see you try to walk away this time.” she muttered, smirking.

She heard him in the kitchen—his deep voice humming low, the sound of a spoon stirring coffee, of control reasserting itself.

Not for long.

She padded across the marble floor in bare feet, her robe trailing open just enough to tease.

“Morning.” she purred.

Woohyun turned.

His eyes dropped immediately. His grip on the coffee mug visibly tightened.

Black lace. Exposed skin. That goddamn smirk.

“Is this how you normally dress for breakfast?” he asked flatly, eyes flicking up to hers.

She tilted her head. “Depends who’s watching.”

She leaned back against the counter beside him, hip cocked, robe slipping more open. She made no move to fix it.

“I had dreams about your mouth.” she whispered. “Woke up soaking.”

He sipped his coffee, slow. Silent.

So she closed the space between them and pressed against him, her chest brushing his arm.

“I need you to ruin me.” she whispered in his ear. “I don’t want sweet. I want your fingers on my throat, your teeth on my skin, your cock so deep I forget my own name.”

He didn’t speak—but his hand shot out and grabbed her waist, slamming her back against the counter. Her gasp came sharp, breath stolen from her lungs.

His face was inches from hers now. His voice low.

“You think I don’t want you?”

She nodded quickly, chest heaving.

“You think I haven’t imagined bending you over every surface in this place?”

“Then fucking do it.” she moaned. “Please, please—”

He crashed his mouth onto hers.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was a claiming.

Her moan spilled into him, hands clawing at his shirt, his belt—desperate, messy. He shoved the robe from her shoulders and it hit the floor with a soft whisper. The cold marble against her bare ass made her squirm.

He pulled back just enough to look down at her body. Lace soaked, clinging to her folds, nipples brushing the air.

“You’re filthy.” he growled.

She smiled breathlessly. “Then fuck me like I am.”

His hand wrapped around her throat, not tight—just enough to remind her who was in charge.

“You don’t get to tell me when.” he said. “You get to beg.”

“I’m begging.” she gasped. “Please, Woohyun… please…”

She reached down and guided his hand between her thighs. Her breath hitched when his fingers brushed her through the soaked lace.

“Dripping.” he muttered. “So fucking ready.”

He tore the panties aside.

She cried out—loud, filthy, high-pitched.

“Aah—fuck! Woohyun!”

He slid two fingers into her without warning.

Her head fell back, back arching, thighs trembling.

“Mmh—yes! Yes—oh my!”

“Keep moaning.” he growled, curling his fingers. “I want everyone in this building to know who’s making you scream.”

His fingers thrust deep.

Ningning’s moans filled the kitchen, echoing off marble and glass, so filthy, so real, she barely recognized her own voice.

“Ahh—fuck—yes, yes—!”

Woohyun watched her unravel beneath him, eyes locked on her soaked lace pulled aside, his fingers moving inside her with expert rhythm. He curled them just right—and her knees buckled.

“Oh my—fuck!”

Her hands scrambled for something to hold onto. He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her effortlessly onto the kitchen counter, pushing her thighs wide apart.

She gasped at the sudden cold of the marble on her bare ass, back arching.

“Look at you.” he muttered. “Dripping all over my hand.”

He pulled his fingers out slowly, deliberately, then slid them into his mouth. Sucked.

Ningning whined, watching it, her thighs trembling.

“Please,” she begged, voice shaking. “Don’t stop now—fuck, I need you.”

He unbuckled his belt. Her eyes followed every movement like prey.

She reached for his cock, pulled it free, and moaned loudly when it slapped against his stomach, thick, heavy, hard.

“God, you’re perfect.” she gasped, wrapping her fingers around the base. “Let me taste—”

“No.”

He shoved her back gently onto the counter, guiding her legs over his shoulders. Her back hit the cold surface, and then—

His mouth.

“Ah—ahh, fuck!”

His tongue was hot, wet, relentless. He buried his face in her, licking long and deep, fingers digging into her thighs to hold her in place.

She cried out, hands flying to his hair.

“Woohyun—your tongue—ahh, right there! Don’t stop!”

He growled into her, the vibration sending shockwaves through her core. His tongue flicked hard over her clit—fast, dirty, possessive.

She was losing control.

“I’m—fuck—I’m gonna—ahhh!”

Her entire body snapped. She came with a scream, thighs clamping around his head, back arched off the counter.

“FUCK! Woohyun!”

He didn’t stop.

He kept going, licking her through every pulse, every tremor, until she was a sobbing mess under his mouth.

When he finally pulled back, his lips and chin were soaked.

He stood, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and stared down at her ruined body.

“Now.” he said, voice rough, thick with hunger, “you’re ready.”

She nodded, dizzy, dazed, eyes wild.

He lined up his cock and pressed in slow—too slow.

“Ahh—fuck—you’re so—big,” she whimpered.

He filled her, inch by thick inch, until she was stuffed full, moaning beneath him, arms wrapped around his neck, legs locked around his waist.

“Move, please—!”

He slammed into her.

Once. Deep. Brutal.

She screamed.

“Ahhh—yes! Just like that—harder!”

He set a rhythm—deep, punishing thrusts that hit every spot, the counter beneath her shaking, her breasts bouncing with every snap of his hips.

Their skin slapped loud and wet, moans mixing with curses and gasps.

“Look at you.” he panted, grabbing her chin. “Begging to be ruined.”

“I love it.” she cried. “I love your cock—don’t stop, don’t stop!”

He drove into her harder. Faster. Her moans turned into broken, breathless cries.

“W-Woohyun—I’m—again—fuck, I’m cumming again!”

“Then cum.” he growled, fucking her through it. “Make a mess. I want to feel you soak me.”

She did.

She shattered under him, screaming his name, body convulsing, nails dragging down his back.

And only then—only then—did he finally let go.

He groaned loud, deep, thrusting once, twice, then holding deep inside her as he came hard.

They collapsed together, panting, sweaty, clinging.

The kitchen reeked of sex. Her thighs were trembling. His breath was ragged in her ear.

And Ningning—fucked out and still grinning—whispered, “You’re not done with me.”

The bedroom was dim now, lights low, the sheets a twisted mess around two bodies that hadn’t stopped touching since the kitchen.

Ningning lay straddling him, her chest pressed to Woohyun’s, still flushed and soaked. Her skin glowed with sweat, her hair wild, her thighs sore and slick from being filled over and over.

He lay beneath her, half-hard again, his hands lazily gripping her hips.

“Still not done with me?” he murmured.

She smirked and sat up, brushing her hair back, bare and unbothered.

“I told you.” she whispered, “I’ve been waiting months to get wrecked like this.”

She reached for her phone on the nightstand.

Woohyun raised a brow. “What’re you doing?”

Ningning just smirked as she opened FaceTime and tapped the name Karina. “Finishing what they started.”

It rang once.

Twice.

Then—

Connected.

Karina’s face filled the screen, brows raised, lounging in what looked like Giselle’s living room.

“Ningning? What the hell—”

But then she saw her.

And him.

Ningning, naked, flushed, riding a very recognizable man beneath her. Woohyun’s hand gripped her hip just as her other hand wrapped around his hardening cock again.

“Oh my—what the fuck?!”

Ningning grinned wide. “Surprise.”

Giselle’s voice piped in from behind the screen. “Wait—no way—that’s Woohyun?! Our Woohyun?!”

Karina covered her mouth. “You’re actually—oh my God. Ningning.”

Ningning leaned forward, giving them a full view of her breasts bouncing as she moved her hips.

“Mmh… don’t look away.” she moaned, locking eyes with the screen. “You wanted me to meet him, didn’t you?”

Woohyun groaned beneath her, eyes fluttering shut as she guided his cock inside her again, slowly, teasing.

“Fuck—you’re insane.” he muttered, breath hitching.

“Am I?” she whispered, riding him shallow, hips rolling. “Or do you like being watched?”

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

On screen, Karina looked stunned. And silent. Watching.

Giselle was biting her lip, whispering, “Holy shit…”

Ningning moaned loudly, tossing her head back as she sank down hard onto him.

“Ahhh—fuck! Just like that, Woohyun!”

The sound of skin slapping echoed through the call. Wet. Sinful.

Karina’s voice cracked. “You’re really—right now—while we’re watching—”

“Say hi.” Ningning gasped, looking into the camera, hips bouncing faster now. “Tell them how good I feel.”

Woohyun grabbed her ass with both hands, fucking up into her.

“Fucking perfect.” he growled. “Tightest pussy I’ve ever been inside.”

“God, yes—yes—harder!”

Giselle’s voice came out in a breathy whisper. “She’s so loud…”

Ningning turned the phone slightly, making sure both girls had a full view of where Woohyun disappeared inside her—slick, raw, dripping.

“You like this?” she panted. “This is what he does to me. This is what you’ve been keeping to yourselves.”

Karina was breathing fast now. She didn’t answer.

Ningning grabbed her own breast, squeezing it, moaning again.

“Mmh—he made me cum five times already…”

Woohyun flipped her suddenly, slamming her back into the bed, taking control again.

Karina yelped on the call.

Ningning screamed as he rammed into her, hard, rough, making the phone shake in her hand.

“YES! YES—oh fuck, keep going!”

Woohyun leaned down, whispering in her ear, loud enough for the call to hear.

“You want them to see me break you? Want your friends to hear you beg?”

“Yes!” she sobbed. “Let them hear how good your cock is—ahhh—fuck!”

He thrust faster.

Ningning held the phone up blindly, eyes rolling back, moaning into the screen like she was putting on a performance.

Karina’s voice cracked. “Ning… I’m—”

Giselle’s breath hitched. “I can’t believe I’m wet from this.”

Ningning smirked through her moans. “Next time.” she gasped, “you can join.”

And then she came hard, body convulsing, screaming his name, the phone slipping from her hand onto the sheets, still connected.

Woohyun didn’t stop.

He chased his own finish, hips pounding, one hand tangled in her hair, the other gripping her throat just tight enough—

And then he spilled deep inside her with a loud, broken moan.

Silence. Just panting. Sweat. The smell of sex in the air.

The call was still on.

Karina whispered, stunned: “You’re evil.”

Ningning grinned, voice hoarse, wrecked, proud.

“I warned you I’d seduce him.”

The room was humid with heat and sex. Sheets half off the bed, the smell of sweat and climax hanging in the air. Woohyun lay back against the pillows, chest rising slowly, but his cock was already hard again—throbbing, slick from being inside Ningning over and over.

And Ningning?

She wasn’t done.

Still naked, flushed, sore and soaked, she straddled his hips again, grinding slowly along his length, teasing herself with the tip. Her body trembled from the overstimulation, but her hunger burned hotter than ever.

Just then—ding. The elevator.

Knock knock.

“Room service.” came a soft female voice, polite, professional.

Woohyun sat up slightly. “Did you—”

Ningning just smiled. “I may have… forgotten to cancel breakfast.”

Before he could say anything else, the door to the suite opened—and in walked a young hotel staff member in uniform, carrying a silver tray.

She looked up.

Then froze.

Her eyes went wide as she took in the scene—Ningning’s bare back, riding a naked man on the bed, her body glistening, her hips rolling, the air thick with wet, lewd sounds.

“Oh my—I’m so sorry—!”

Ningning turned her head, not startled—smiling.

“Don’t run.” she purred.

The girl stammered, trying to back away, but in a moment of impulsive boldness, Ningning slid off Woohyun, walked across the room completely nude—and grabbed the girl’s hand.

“I said don’t run.” she repeated, firmer.

The girl trembled under her touch. “I—I shouldn’t be here—this is—”

But Ningning stepped closer, bare chest brushing her uniform, her voice dropping into a whisper.

“You already saw. Now you’re in it.”

The girl blinked, lips parted, breathing shallow.

“I-I…”

Ningning glanced back at Woohyun—he was watching, his cock throbbing.

She turned again and climbed back onto the bed, reaching for the girl’s hand.

“Come here.” she said softly. “Help me.”

She didn’t resist.

The girl stepped closer, and Ningning pulled her in, guiding her to stand by the edge of the bed. Then, with a wicked smirk, she turned her body—back to Woohyun—and placed her hands on the staff girl’s waist.

“I need support.” she whispered, voice trembling with arousal.

And just like that, she bent forward—resting her upper body against the girl’s front, her bare breasts pressing against the uniform, her hands clutching her hips for balance.

“Hold still.” she whispered, then moaned, loud and shameless, “FUCK—Woohyun, give it to me.”

He didn’t hesitate.

He grabbed her hips and slammed into her from behind, hard and deep.

“Ahh—fuck yes!”

Ningning cried out, her moans muffled into the girl’s chest. The girl gasped, hands hovering awkwardly in the air, not sure what to do, but frozen in place as Ningning clung to her—grinding, panting, taking every thrust with raw desperation.

“Ah—harder! Right there! I’m gonna—”

Woohyun grabbed her ass, thrusting brutally, the sound of wet skin on skin bouncing off the walls.

The girl whimpered, her hands finally coming down to gently rest on Ningning’s back—barely touching, but undeniably there.

“You feel her?” Ningning moaned, voice thick and ruined. “You feel my body shaking against you? It’s because he’s fucking me so good.”

Woohyun groaned, fucking her faster now, watching the way her body slammed into the girl’s—soft breasts pressed against Ningning’s moaning lips, her thighs visibly trembling.

“Tell her.” Ningning gasped, turning her head to look up at the girl, “Tell her how deep you are.”

“Balls-deep.” he growled, pounding harder. “She’s gripping me like a fucking vice.”

“Ahhh—yes—yes—don’t stop!”

The girl didn’t move, didn’t speak—but her thighs squeezed together, her breathing shaky, and her eyes locked on where Woohyun disappeared inside Ningning, again and again.

Ningning was unraveling—moaning into her, holding onto her, sweat sticking their bodies together.

“I’m gonna cum—I’m gonna cum—fuck—”

She screamed, body trembling violently, riding out her climax with her face buried in the staff girl’s chest, her arms clinging tight.

Woohyun groaned loud behind her, then thrust hard and deep—once, twice—and came inside her with a broken, guttural moan.

Silence.

Heavy breathing.

Ningning slowly pulled back, glancing up at the girl, who was flushed to the ears, her uniform damp where Ningning had pressed against her.

“Thank you.” she whispered, brushing her lips against the girl’s cheek. “You were a perfect support.”

The girl blinked. “I… should go.”

But she didn’t move.

The room was quiet again—except for the heavy, labored breaths of three people who had just crossed a line they could never uncross.

Ningning rolled onto her side, still glowing, still dripping with Woohyun’s cum. She licked her lips and looked up at the girl still standing beside the bed.

The hotel staff member was shaking. Her fingers trembled at her sides. Her legs pressed together, thighs tight. Her eyes darted between Ningning’s wrecked body… and Woohyun, still hard, glistening, sitting up against the headboard, looking at her like he already knew what she needed.

“Don’t go.” Ningning whispered, reaching up and brushing the back of her hand along the girl’s thigh. “You’re soaking through your skirt.”

“I… I can’t…” the girl whispered, voice nearly broken.

Ningning sat up and gently unbuttoned the girl’s vest, fingers slow, teasing. “You want to.”

The girl swallowed hard.

Woohyun just watched, silent, letting Ningning guide her like a flame pulling in a moth.

“I’ve never…” the girl whispered, her voice trembling as Ningning slipped the uniform vest off her shoulders.

“That’s okay.” Ningning said, kissing her belly through the blouse. “He’s good. He’ll ruin you soft.”

The girl’s breath hitched.

Then, without a word, she stepped out of her shoes. Then her skirt. Then her blouse.

Standing in front of them in nothing but lace panties and a bra, she looked like she wanted to run—but her body betrayed her.

She was soaked.

Woohyun’s cock twitched again.

“Come here.” he said gently.

Ningning guided her onto the bed, onto all fours, facing him.

She was crawling toward him like prey, panting, pupils blown wide. When she reached him, she paused, kneeling between his legs, inches from his glistening length.

Ningning whispered behind her, now curled up and watching, her legs spread lazily. “Taste him.”

The girl leaned down slowly, lips brushing the tip—and then she opened her mouth, took him in, and moaned. Her tongue swirled, hesitant at first, then bolder, her hands gripping his thighs.

Woohyun groaned. “Shit… slow down…”

But she didn’t.

She sucked him deeper, eager, drooling, her hips shifting like she needed friction. She was moaning against him, soft at first, then louder. Her lips glossy. Her movements sloppy.

“You’re a natural.” Ningning purred, touching herself now, fingers sliding through the mess between her legs. “You want to feel him inside you, don’t you?”

The girl whimpered around his cock.

Woohyun couldn’t take it anymore. He gently pulled her up by the chin, thumb brushing her wet lips.

“You sure?” he asked, voice low.

She nodded.

“Say it.”

“I want you.” she whispered. “Please. I need to feel it.”

He laid her down on the bed—gently, carefully—kissing down her neck, her chest, her stomach. When he pulled her panties aside, he groaned.

“Fuck. You’re soaked.”

She gasped as he teased her folds with the head of his cock.

“Relax.” he whispered.

Then he pushed inside.

She cried out—half moan, half gasp—as he slid in slow, deep, steady.

Her eyes fluttered. “Oh my God… oh my God…”

Woohyun kissed her neck, holding her close, whispering in her ear.

“You feel that? That stretch? That fullness?”

“Yes.” she gasped. “It’s so—ahhh—so big…”

He started to move, gentle at first, letting her adjust, letting her moan through it.

Ningning watched from the side, one leg draped over the other, touching herself slowly, a proud smirk on her face.

“Good girl.” she whispered.

“Faster.” the staff girl whimpered, nails digging into Woohyun’s back. “Please… fuck me harder…”

Woohyun groaned and gave her what she asked for—thrusting deeper, harder, faster, the sound of their bodies slapping together filling the room.

“AH—yes—yes—oh fuck yes—!”

She was crying out, moaning with every thrust, her hips rising to meet his, her body clinging to him like she’d explode if he stopped.

Ningning moaned with her, fingers moving faster now, her other hand on her breast.

“Make her scream, Woohyun…”

He did.

He flipped the girl, pulled her hips up, and slammed into her from behind. Her scream echoed off the walls.

“FUCK—I’m—gonna—cum—!”

And then she did—her body locking up, legs shaking, head thrown back, voice raw and broken as she convulsed around him.

He followed seconds later, slamming deep, cursing under his breath as he came inside her, filling her just as he had Ningning.

When it was over, she collapsed on the bed between them—naked, sweating, panting.

Ningning reached over, brushing hair from her flushed face.

“Told you he’d ruin you soft.” she whispered with a kiss.

The room was still thick with the smell of sex, the sheets soaked, tangled between legs and limbs that had barely moved since the last climax. Ningning lay draped across Woohyun’s chest, trailing lazy fingers over his skin. The hotel staff girl was gone—long gone, leaving behind nothing but her scent on the air and a faint lipstick stain on a glass by the bed.

Woohyun closed his eyes, sinking into the blissful aftermath.

Then—ding.

The elevator.

Another knock.

Ningning barely turned her head. “This day just keeps giving.”

Woohyun sat up, a low groan rumbling in his throat. “Please tell me you didn’t order more room service.”

Ningning grinned. “Better.”

The door swung open before either of them could react—and in walked Karina and Giselle.

Both dressed in tight, black dresses. Both looking furious.

Karina’s eyes immediately locked onto Ningning’s bare ass draped across Woohyun’s lap. Her nostrils flared.

Giselle looked worse—like she was already imagining her hands around someone’s throat.

Ningning smirked. “You made good time.”

“Did you forget we saw everything?” Karina’s voice was low, controlled, trembling with restrained heat. “You let that girl touch him.”

“I let her do more than that.” Ningning replied, stretching lazily like a cat. “And you two just watched from a screen. Kind of sad.”

Giselle stepped forward, eyes burning. “You said he was off-limits until we wrapped the film. You promised, Ning.”

Ningning sat up, slow, graceful, her naked body a taunt all on its own.

“I lied.”

Karina’s jaw tightened. “You stole him.”

“No.” Ningning slid off the bed, bare feet hitting the floor, hips swaying as she walked past them. “I took him.”

Woohyun watched silently, tension rising like steam.

Giselle’s voice dropped low, dangerously low. “So that’s it? You seduce him, you fuck in front of us, and now you get to keep him?”

“I never said I’d keep him.” Ningning purred, turning back to face them. “But if you want a taste…”

She tilted her head, daring them.

“Prove you deserve it.”

Karina stepped forward, closing the distance. Her hand reached up, fingers brushing Woohyun’s chest.

“Do you still have room for two more?” she asked, voice sultry but edged with challenge.

Giselle stood beside her, hands on her hips, licking her lips. “Because we’re done waiting our turn.”

Woohyun looked between them—all three now staring at him with hunger in their eyes.

And he knew this was no longer about just sex.

This was war.

Ningning smirked. “Let the best bitch win.”

The door shut behind them with a soft click.

[yuuchama]

You're playing with Idia's hair. Letting the flames flit between your fingers and dance in your hand as you decide whether he should get a braid or a bun or something else entirely.

He's on his phone, and his tablet, playing a game on one and scrolling socials on the other while trying not to think about what you're doing to his head. It feels nice, if a bit ticklish and very unfamiliar, to have someone so close.

You pretend not to notice when Idia steals peeks at your reflection in the dark screen edges. He does it out of anxiety more than anything. You begin tying things in place where you want them. A ponytail or two could suit him well, you think. He's in his own little otaku world and surely won't mind.

Except, they just announced the new Herculean Heroes game figure is limited to 50 sales. It can only be obtained via lottery, one entry per person. When Idia read that, his hair erupted into a violent flaming red mess.

It was just for a second. Just when he leaned forward and gasped and felt desperation run through his veins at potentially missing out on such a pristine piece of merch.

It was just enough to snap the elastics you managed to finagle around his hair. Now you're left with a blank canvas, a messy cascade of blue flames in an unending tangle. You grab a big handful and bunch it up in retaliation. He sheepishly glances at you again in the reflection of his tablet. A wisp of pink trails between your fingers.

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: name-calling, otherwise really sweet yandere, suggestive nsfw, chewing gum

♡ GN reader

Three years of sharing the same class—he’d started doubting he’d ever get the chance, but then, in your final year, the two of you were finally paired for a project together.

And he planned to use it for all its worth—ask you over to his place, invite himself over to your place, take you out to cafes, propose you eat together, all for the sake of the project, of course, no other reason! Maybe you could take a break and catch a movie or something—he’s totally not going to pretend it’s a date or anything…

And why had he waited for school to do his match-making for him, you ask? Why hasn’t he just asked you out himself all these years? It’s a good question. Why didn’t he think of that? Only he did. He has asked you! Plenty of times, actually! 

It makes no sense. When a popular, good-looking guy like him asks a bookworm like you out, there really is no sane reason to turn him down, but that’s what you do. Always! You always say no, followed by something about wanting to focus on your studies or whatever.

Well, you’re not escaping him this time. You can’t. Not when half your grade depends on him.

And so here you are. At his place, sitting opposite each other with books out and pens in hand, scribbling notes in silence.

He’s tried making conversation a couple of times, but you always answer curtly, killing him. He cleaned his room for you and everything. In fact, he tidied up the entire place! And you’re just sitting there, reading and writing, not even looking at him!

He sighs and pulls a packet of gum out of his pocket, taking two in his mouth as if they were aspirin or something stronger. Maybe he ought to cut his losses and let you go. Plenty of others like him, and you shouldn’t really even be his type, and from the looks of it, he’s not even close to being yours.

Or, wait… maybe you’ve just been shy? Well, it must have been something in any case 'cause you’re looking at him now. Peeking up from your textbook with those big eyes, looking straight at him, or no, his lips.

You’re looking at his lips!

You sigh and look down into your book again, clicking your pen—but you'd definitely just stared at his lips! And now, you're even biting your own lip. Oh my god! You're imagining kissing his stupid face, aren't you? 

He’s reached it—finally, the moment when opposites attract—the moment when you’ve spent too much time with him, you can no longer help but fall in love with him despite how much you don't want to. Oh, and to think he was just about to give up on the whole idea, here you are, daydreaming about him right in front of him!

You keep sneaking glances. He sees it. You’re very obvious. Staring right at his mouth. My, what a brazen thing you are. How unexpected, he for sure thought you’d be more blushy and shy than this, but with those bedroom eyes you’re giving him, it’s as if you’re about to leap right over the table, grab him by the collar, and crash your lips onto his—and holy shit, he can’t take it anymore.

“Like what you see?” he asks. Smirking that flirty smirk that has everyone make giggling fools of themselves, flashing his pearly whites with half-mast eyes so suggestive he might as well be screaming out from the top of his lungs how badly he wants to shove his tongue down your throat.

“Oh no, I’m sorry,” you answer, shaking your head, then scoff with a laugh. 

Okay… not the reaction he was expecting.

“You’re just, uh…” you continue, and he nearly falls out of his seat, leaning across the table in eager wait for your words. “Chewing gum really loudly.” 

What? Gum? Chewing?

“And it’s kind of, uhm…” You look around a bit awkwardly as if looking for the right word before giving up. “Distracting.”

Yeah… that was definitely not the word you wanted to use—he could tell. Distractions are sexy, and you were definitely not turned on. No, you’d wanted to say annoying. But you didn’t have to. It was written plainly on your face instead, in the way you forced your lips into a polite smile that made your eyes crease, looking like an unconvincing wax figure, unable to portray the emotion the sculptor had wanted. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” it all he has the mind to say, picking the gum out and tossing it in the trashcan beneath the table.

Sitting awkwardly in his chair, now, burning from embarrassment, he glares into his book but can't seem to read a single word. Head too busy spiraling in thought. You weren’t even going to say anything, were you? No, you just held your tongue and gritted your teeth through it, until he all but forced it out of you—with the sleaziest pick-up line in existence, no less.

Fuck! He almost groans out loud, but manages to keep it internal.

“No, no,” you say, waving your hand in dismissal. “My ears are just sensitive. It’s totally fine, don’t worry.”

Oh god, now you’re even making excuses for him. Could it get any worse?

Yes. Yes, it can. Because he can’t focus. You’ve written about two pages worth of notes and ideas for what the two of you can base your project on, meanwhile, he hasn’t done a single thing! Fuck, you’re going to drop him as your project partner because of what a total academic disgrace he is and he’s going to fail in both his pursuit of you and the class altogether.

“Will it help you focus if we have sex?” you ask after a moment.

He’s still spiraling and doesn’t have the capacity to listen, so all he answers is a weak and worried, “Maybe…”

But then your words catch up to his thoughts, and his head whips up, looking at you frantically, almost yelling, “Wait, what?! What did you just say?”

You sigh, “Alright then, guess it can’t be helped. But you have to promise me you’ll work after.”

Then you click your pen, placing it neatly between the pages of your textbook before pushing yourself out of your seat and standing up.

Walking towards the hallway where you’d earlier spotted a door with his name on, you turn around to look at him, still sitting at the table, gaping at you, all frozen like a picture.

“Well?” you ask, brow quirked at him. “You gonna sit there, or are you gonna show me your room?”

♡ BNHA – Touya, Hawks, Natsuo ♡ JJK – Gojo ♡ HQ – Kuro, Miya twins, Oikawa ♡ BLLK – Nagi ♡ WB – Kiryu

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist