#first drawing is from last night second is just now
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Inches In Between Us
summary: moment where you and him are caught too close for comfort⌠or maybe just close enough, tension simmers
pairing: skz x gn!reader
genre: slight angst, fluff, forced proximity trope
a/n: this oneâs been sitting in my drafts forever (based on this request) I took my time crafting each moment to really bring the tension and emotion to life! comment below and let me know which scene had your heart doing somersaults âĄ
Masterlist
~°~
Bang Chan (established relationship)



You flew across two countries just to see him.
You told yourself it was worth itâthe late-night packing, the long airport waits, the time off you had to beg your manager for. You missed him. You missed you and him, and those Facetimes squeezed between rehearsals werenât enough.
But now, sitting stiffly on the plush leather seat of the tour bus, knees locked together and jaw tight with frustration, you werenât sure why you bothered.
You had claimed the wide back rowâmeant to seat four or fiveâbut you sat all the way in the corner, facing the window, hoping to be left alone.
Chanâs voice had barely left your ears since the fight earlierâsharp words you both didnât mean, silence that hurt more than shouting. Heâd said he needed space.
So, you decided to give it to him.
Now that the schedule was over, the members and staff had scattered across the bus, most of them slouched in the two-seaters lining either side of the aisle. Some had earbuds in, some quietly scrolled their phones, but no one said a word about the tension radiating from the very back.
Chan climbed in last.
For a second, you thoughtâhopedâheâd take one of the many empty two-seaters. Maybe even sit with Minho or Changbin, who were already half-asleep a few rows ahead.
But no. He walked straight to the back and slid into the long seat. Not just the seatâbut right next to you. Right up against you.
You blinked at him. âSeriously?â
In response, he just leaned back with a soft exhale, gaze forward.
Annoyed, you got up and moved to a two-seater near the middle of the bus. You didnât look at him.
Seconds later, the seat dipped beside you again.
You didnât even have to look to know it was him. The quiet, stubborn presence. That familiar scent. The way your thigh brushed against his because the seat was narrow and neither of you budged.
You huffed, loud enough for only him to hear, but said nothing. You didnât want to draw attention. Not to the fight. Not to how your heart still sped up when he was nearâeven now.
His thigh pressed against yours, his shoulder brushing yours. There wasnât enough room not to touch unless you climbed out the window. You didnât move. Neither did he.
You refused to look at him, eyes glued to the streetlights racing by outside. Still, you felt himâ his quiet sigh, his fidgeting fingers. The way he turned his body toward you, even if he didnât say a word.
"Youâre really not gonna say anything?" he finally whispered, voice low enough that no one in front could hear.
You shrugged.
"You were the one who said you needed space," you murmured bitterly, still not looking.
He was silent for a long second, then said, "Yeah. I was wrong."
"You canât just say stuff like that and expect it to go away, Chan."
"I know," he said. "Thatâs why Iâm here. In your space. Because I donât want it. I want you."
âYou told me to fly out. You wanted me here. And then you barely looked at me all day.â
Chanâs jaw tensed. âI didnât mean toââ
âYou think that makes it better?â Your voice cracked. âI cleared my schedule, booked time off, flew across countries just to watch you pull away from me every second. I know what dating an idol means, Chan, but thisâthis felt different.â
He looked like heâd been punched. âI know. I messed up.â
He reached for your hand, tentative. You let him, but didnât squeeze back yet.
âI thought if I focused on the tour stuff first, I could make time for you later. But I just pushed you away, Iâm sorry, baby.â
You turned to the window again, biting your lip.
âI was just excited to see you,â you whispered. âAnd you made me feel like an afterthought.â
Chan exhaled shakily. âYouâre not. Youâre the only part of this I donât want to mess up.â
His voice was rough, edged with guilt.
âFor the rest of today, Iâm yours,â he said, gently pulling your intertwined hands to his chest. âNo staff. No members. Just us. And I swear, I wonât let you feel like this again. Let me fix it.â
You hesitated. But you looked at him and there it was again: that open, vulnerable gaze only you ever got. He was looking at youâ eyes glassy, sincere, scared.
So you nodded.
He leaned in, his voice even quieter.
"You can keep being mad at me. Iâll sit here the whole ride, touching your knee like a loser, until youâre ready to forgive me. I just⌠I donât want this silence anymore."
Your anger crumbled a little at the edges. He was ridiculous. Dramatic. Stubborn. And yours.
You huffed, barely hiding the smile tugging at your lips. "Youâre squishing me."
"Good," he said, bumping your shoulder gently. "I missed you."
You let your head drop onto his shoulder, just for a second. âYouâre lucky weâre in public.â
He smirked. âTrust me. I know.â
Lee Know (frenemies)



It was supposed to be a relaxing weekend. A break from the city, from work, from stress.
A weekend camping trip with all your friends consisting of a bonfire, setting up tents, good food, and no cell serviceâ sure, it sounded cute on paper. Until you found out Lee Minho was coming too.
Minho. The eye-roll king. Your arch nemesis in every group chat and game night. The one who always had something smug to say, who knew exactly how to push your buttons and enjoyed doing it.
So, here you were, standing in the middle of a forest clearing with an uneven patch of dirt under your shoes, mosquitoes humming in your ears, and Minhoâa.k.a. your personal plagueâstretching beside you like he owned the woods.
You didnât even want to make eye contact.
âAlright!â Chan clapped his hands. âEveryone gets paired up in tentsâbut, to make things fun, weâre drawing sticks.â
Groans went up immediately, mostly from you and Jeongin.
âWhat is this? Summer camp?â you muttered.
âExactly,â Felix grinned, holding out the small bundle of color-coded sticks. âPick your destiny!â
One by one, your friends picked sticks, with excitement and curiosity filling the air.
You pulled yours last. It was red.
And then your heart sank.
âRed too,â Minho called casually, holding his up and locking eyes with you.
You blinked. âNo. Nope. Pick again.â
He smirked. âAw, are you scared of sharing a tent with me?â
âMore like scared for my sanity.â
You whipped around to Han. âPlease, just switch with me. Iâll give you my hoodieâthe one you love. Or that extra brownie from earlier!â
Jisung burst out laughing, already dragging his guitar to a fancy-looking tent. âCanât switch! I got the one with the LED light strip and padded floor. Iâm not giving THAT up for your romantic tension!â
âThere is no tension,â you barked. âOnly rage!â
Minho was already walking toward your sad, lopsided tent, humming like he was enjoying every second of your meltdown. You shot pleading eyes at Chan, at Hyunjin, at anyoneâbut they were all pretending to be busy adjusting gear or unrolling mats.
Betrayal. Pure betrayal.
Sighing dramatically, you picked up your bag and trudged after Minho, muttering curses under your breath. Grumbling and defeated, you stomped into the tent, tossing your bag to the far corner. The inside was cozier than you expected, but that didnât mean you were happy about it.Â
âOkay but seriously,â you said, peering into the tent, âwhy is there only one camping mattress?â
Minho, behind you, tsked. âYou lost. I shouldnât have to suffer.â
âYou think I didnât suffer the moment I saw your face and âred stickâ in the same moment?â
He didnât answer, just ducked inside and threw his sleeping bag onto the narrow mattressâif you could even call it that. It was barely wider than your body, lumpy, and definitely not meant for two.
âOh, hell no,â you snapped, following him in. âThatâs not just yours.â
Minho raised an eyebrow as he flopped down and smirked. âYou wanna sleep on the floor then?â
âNo. You sleep on the floor.â
âI got here first.â
You both stared at each other for a moment. The unspoken war was real.Â
âFine. Iâm not giving it up,â you stubbornly said and climbed in.
There was maybeâmaybeâthree inches of space between your bodies. Arms touching. Legs bumping. Shoulders pressed awkwardly side-by-side.
This was not ideal.
âStop moving,â you hissed as he adjusted.
âYouâre poking me with your elbow!â
âYouâre hogging the blanket!â
âYour knee is in my spine!â
A moment passed.
Silence.
Then, somehowâinevitablyâyou both stilled. The night was quiet outside the tent, filled only with the distant crackling fire and soft murmurs from the others. Inside, the air was warm. Heavy.
You could feel the rise and fall of his chest. Every little breath.
His eyes met yours. And you didnât look away.
The bickering faded. The closeness became unbearable in a different way. His face was inches from yours, eyes flickering from your mouth to your gaze and back again.
Your heart pounded. Loud. Messy. Dangerous.
âDonât snore,â you broke the silence.
âI donât snore,â Minho piped up, rolling his eyes. âBut I do talk in my sleep. Usually insults.â
âYouâre really annoying,â you whispered.
âSo are you,â he replied quietly.
But he didnât move away. And neither did you. His hand brushed yours under the blanket. Barely touching. But enough to make your breath hitch.
You both leaned inâslow, tentative, until your noses almost touchedâ
âYah! Who stole the marshmallows?!â
Hanâs voice rang outside the tent and you both jerked away like youâd been electrocuted.
Minho cleared his throat, turning stiffly onto his side. âSleep. Now.â
You swallowed hard, heart racing, facing the opposite direction.
But long after the outside voices faded, you stayed awake, replaying that momentâone breath away from disaster.
*************************************
The sun had barely risen over the quiet campsite, dew still clinging to the grass and birds chirping in the distance. Most tents were still zipped up, the fire pit long gone cold.
Han yawned dramatically as he and Hyunjin wandered toward your tent, both of them tasked with rounding people up for breakfast duty. "Letâs just yell and run," Han muttered. "Classic wake-up strategy."
Hyunjin shushed him. âNo, I want to see their faces. Especially those two.â
Han smirked. âOhhh right. Mortal enemies sharing a tent. Bet they killed each other in their sleep.â
They unzipped the tent slowly, careful not to wake any potential dragons.
But what they did see stopped them in their tracks.
Inside, the two of you were a complete mess of limbsâyour arm flopped across Minhoâs chest, his hand loosely resting on your waist, legs tangled beneath the thin blanket. One of his knees was even wedged between your thighs, and your face was tucked into the crook of his neck.
Utterly relaxed. Peaceful. Intimate.
Hyunjin let out a quiet gasp. âOh my God.â
Han clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. âDude. What⌠the hell?â
Hyunjin grinned. âSo the tension finally melted.â
Han whispered, âYeah. Into a puddle of cuddles and potential kisses? Do you think they kissed?â
Hyunjin smirked, âIt mightâve happened.â
They slipped away without waking either of youâthough Han did snap a silent photo on his phone, âjust for documentation.â
However, the quiet rustling outside was just enough to stir you.
You blinked, stretching a littleâonly to freeze the second you realized something was very wrong.
Your cheek wasnât against your pillow.
It was on someone's chest.
Warm. Steady. Rising and falling slowly beneath you.
You shifted just a littleâand then you noticed it. Minhoâs arm around your waist. One of your legs slung over his. His hand resting lightly on your back.
You nearly stopped breathing.
And just then, he stirred tooâbrow furrowing, eyes fluttering open. He blinked once. Twice. Then looked down.
Right at you.
There was a beat of silent realization. Eyes locking. Tension crackling in the small, stuffy tent.
Your breath caught. His hand twitched on your back.
ââŚYouââ
âThis isnâtââ you both started at once.
You scrambled back in a panic, elbowing the tent wall as you untangled your legs and rolled toward the exit. âIâI didnât mean toâ!â
âYouâre the one who shoved me over in your sleep!â he whisper-hissed, equally flustered, hair a mess and voice rough from sleep.
You yanked the zipper open and practically ran out, heart pounding, cheeks burning.
The morning air slapped your face as you stumbled into the open, hoping no one saw. (Too late.)
From the campfire pit, Han and Hyunjin exchanged a lookâand then burst into laughter.
Inside the tent, Minho sat up, running a hand through his hair and muttering to himself.
ââŚSo dramatic.â
But even as he said it, a faint, undeniable smile pulled at his lips.
Because your warmth still lingered on his skin.
And that momentâhowever briefâwas now burned into him.
*************************************
Back at the communal camp kitchen, Han was making scrambled eggs while Hyunjin cut fruit, both humming softly. Minho emerged from the trees a while later, hair a bit messy, lips pressed in a line as he poured water into the kettle like nothing happened.
âYou sleep okay?â Han asked innocently.
Minho side-eyed him. âWhy wouldnât I?â
Han shrugged. âYou know. Considering the person you used to say youâd rather fight a bear than share a tent with.â
Minho didnât look up. âShut up. Thereâs nothing between us.â
But then he hesitated. Almost like something tugged at him.
And when he glanced over his shoulder, there you wereâlaughing at something Felix said, your cheeks squished adorably in the cool air, your hair a mess from sleep. You tossed your head back as you laughed, eyes sparkling while Minho was watching. And he smiled softly. Almost in a daze, like it bloomed out of his chest before he even knew it was there.
Han caught it, catching the way Minho lingered just a second too long before turning back around.
He didnât say anything.
He just smiled tooâwatching his best friend quietly fall.
Seo Changbin (friends to lovers)



Changbinâs apartment smelled like buttered popcorn and clean laundry.
It was your favorite place to be latelyâlow lights, cozy blanket, a ridiculous action movie playing on the screen, and him beside you, warm and familiar. Your legs were tangled casually over his, a bowl of popcorn between you, laughter spilling out as some over-the-top fight scene played.
"This is the dumbest movie youâve made me watch," you grinned, tossing a popcorn kernel at him.
Changbin caught it in his mouth effortlessly and winked. "Admit it. You love it."
"I love mocking it," you teased, nudging his thigh with your foot.
He caught your ankle before you could pull back, grinning wickedly. âYou sure you want to start something?â
You wiggled your toes defiantly. âWhat, youâre gonna fight me?â
âI could win.â
âYou wish, Seo Changbin.â
Thatâs all it took.
Suddenly, the popcorn bowl was tossed aside, and you were squealing, squirming, as Changbin tackled you onto the couch in a flurry of limbs and laughter.
It wasnât seriousâjust a mess of soft slaps, blocked pokes, mock grunts. You wrestled, pushing at his shoulders, but he was strong and quick, playful growls leaving his throat as he countered every move with ease.
âOkay, okay, I take it back!â you laughed breathlessly, trying to twist away.
He caught your wrists.
One smooth motion, and you were pinned flat against the couch cushions, Changbin hovering above youâknees on either side of your hips, hands holding yours gently but firmly down beside your head.
The laughter stopped. Well everything⌠stopped.
His chest was rising and falling, breath just a little uneven. Your wrists burned under his fingers, not from pressure but from presence. The movie still played in the background, but it was a muffled hum nowânothing compared to the thunder of your heart.
He was close. Too close.
His face hovered just above yours, eyes flickering over every part of your expressionâyour parted lips, your wide eyes, the heat that was now unmistakably there in both of your gazes.
Neither of you moved.
You swallowed hard. âAre you gonna let me up?â
He didnât blink. âDo you want me to?â
You couldnât answer.
Because maybe you didnât want him to.
Your silence stretched. His grip loosened ever so slightly, just enough that your hands could move if you wantedâbut you didnât pull away. Not yet.
Your fingers curled around his wrists instead, and his breath caught audibly.
âYouâre dangerous,â you whispered.
He leaned a little closer, voice low. âYou bring it out in me.â
For a secondâjust a secondâhe dipped his head, your noses brushing, lips almost meeting. Almost.
But he hesitated. Like he needed permission. Like he didnât want to cross a line unless you asked him to.
âBinnieâŚâ you breathed, and that was all it took.
His forehead touched yours. Not a kiss, not yetâbut his weight above you, his warmth, the want in his eyes was enough to melt you.
âYouâre more than just a friend to me,â he murmured. âIâve been trying to hide it for so long, but when you look at me like thatââ
You surged up just enough to press your lips to his.
Soft. Careful. But charged like fire.
He kissed you back like heâd been waiting forever.
Changbinâs lips lingered on yours like he wasnât ready to let go just yet.
You watched him in that small, quiet momentâhis lashes brushing his cheeks, his hands still cradling your wrists. He looked⌠vulnerable. Not like the loud, confident Changbin who barked laughs and flexed his arms to annoy you. This was different.
He finally opened his eyes and met your gazeâsofter now. Nervous, even.
âSoâŚâ he said, voice quieter than youâd ever heard it. âNow what?â
Your heart flipped.
You smiled shyly and tugged your hands free, only to lace your fingers with his. âNow,â you whispered, âyou help me up, because youâre crushing me.â
A breathless laugh escaped him, and he immediately rolled off to the side, reaching down to help you sit up. âSorry,â he said, a little flushed. âDidnât mean to KO you on the first date.â
You both paused.
You tilted your head. âSo this is a date now?â
He looked a little caught, but the smile never left his face. âI mean⌠if you want it to be.â
You nudged his knee with yours. âOnly if it ends with another kiss.â
Changbin turned bright red, chuckled, and rubbed the back of his neck. âYouâre gonna make fun of me forever for this, arenât you?â
You leaned in, close enough that your noses touched again, your voice barely a breath. âProbably.â
He kissed you againâquick, sweet, like he couldnât help himself.
Then he got up, held out his hand, and pulled you to your feet. Still holding on. Still close.
âSo,â he said again, this time with a grin, âsleepover rules still apply. Iâm making ramen. Youâre picking the next movie. And maybe later, we kiss again.â
You smirked, tugging him toward the kitchen. âWeâll see if you earn it.â
âHey!â he whined playfully. âI pinned you! Thatâs gotta count for something!â
âIt counts as me letting you win, obviously.â
âOh, itâs on.â
And just like that, you were back to bickeringâbut now, between the sarcasm and the teasing, were shy glances, soft smiles, and the kind of tension that didnât need words anymore.
Youâd always been close. Now, you were closer than ever.
Hwang Hyunjin (crushing on seonbae)



It was your second week as a trainee for a new girl group under JYP Entertainment, and you had already learned that the training schedule was intense. You were still trying to find your rhythm in a world filled with highly talented idols, and it felt like everything was moving too fast. You spent most of your time in the practice rooms, working on vocal exercises, choreography, and dance routines.
One day, after a particularly long session, you found yourself taking a quick break to catch your breath. You'd never thought you'd meet Hyunjin from Stray Kids during your training, but here you were, sitting in the corner of the studio, trying to recover from a grueling dance practice. He was in the middle of a solo routine, and you couldnât help but watch, captivated by his flawless movements. The way he danced was mesmerizing, and for a moment, you forgot everything around you. You did harbour a huge secret crush on him.Â
When his practice ended, he caught you staring, a playful smirk appearing on his face. âLike what you see?â he asked with a teasing tone.
Caught off guard, you blushed, quickly looking away. âOh! Uh, Iâm sorry. I didnât mean toââ
âNo need to apologize,â he interrupted, walking over to where you were sitting. âI saw you struggling with your choreography earlier. Need some help?â
You blinked, surprised by his offer. You had only been a trainee for a short time, and the idea of dancing with someone like Hyunjin made you nervous. But his smile was disarming, and you could tell he genuinely wanted to help.
"Actually, yes," you admitted, standing up. "I can't quite get the moves down for our routine. Maybe you could show me some tips?"
Hyunjin grinned, taking his place in front of you. "No problem. I'll teach you the basics, and we'll see if we can make it a little more fun."
He started by showing you the footwork, his body moving effortlessly to the beat. You mimicked his movements, but the steps felt awkward under your feet. Hyunjin noticed immediately and gave a little chuckle.
âYouâre overthinking it,â he said, gently placing his hands on your shoulders. âRelax. Youâre supposed to feel the music, not stress about the steps.â
His hands lingered just a second too long, and you felt a heat rush to your cheeks. You took a deep breath, nodding. âIâll try again.â
You continued practicing, and as the movements started to feel more natural, Hyunjin encouraged you with small comments here and there. The choreography was getting better, but you were still a little offbeat.
"Okay, how about this," Hyunjin suggested. "Letâs do the next part together. I'll guide you."
Before you could say anything, he stood close behind you, his hand lightly resting on your waist to help guide your movements. His proximity caught you off guard, and your heart skipped a beat. The way his body was pressed against yours, his warmth radiating onto you, was almost overwhelming. You could feel his breath on the back of your neck as he leaned in to correct your posture.
âHere, just like this,â he said, adjusting your hips with his hands. The touch was gentle, but the closeness made it impossible to ignore the sudden tension in the air. You could feel your body growing tense, unsure of how to act with him so near.
His grip shifted slightly, and you found yourself in an almost perfect mirror of his stance. "See?" Hyunjin smiled, his voice low. "Much better."
The way his eyes locked onto yours made your breath catch in your throat. The dance had become less about learning the moves and more about the unspoken connection forming between you two in the space. His hands were still guiding you, his touch firm but soft, and every movement seemed to bring you closer together.
You both continued practicing, but it wasnât long before the movements became more fluid, and you realized that it wasnât just the choreography that was making you feel this way. Hyunjinâs presence, his proximity, was stirring something in you. Every time he adjusted your form, his hand would brush against your skin, sending a shiver through your body. Your heart beat faster, and the air between you felt heavier, charged with an unspoken tension.
At one point, you made a small mistake and spun the wrong way, causing your bodies to collide. For a brief second, you both froze, trapped in a moment of unintended intimacy. Hyunjinâs chest was pressed against your back, his arms still holding you in place as you both tried to steady yourselves. His breath hitched slightly, and you could feel his heartbeat racing against your skin.
You locked eyes, and for a second, everything else faded. The studio, the other trainees, the musicâit was just the two of you, caught in this unexpectedly close moment. The space between you was nonexistent. The gentle brush of his fingers on your arm sent a jolt of electricity through you.
âWell,â Hyunjin said, his voice now husky, as he reluctantly stepped back, breaking the tension. âI guess we got a little⌠carried away.â
You bit your lip, trying to steady yourself. âIâI didnât expect that,â you murmured.
He smiled, a little sheepishly. "Yeah, me neither. But hey, at least the moves are starting to look good, right?"
You nodded, though your thoughts were still a little scattered from the closeness youâd just shared. You both stood there for a moment, the silence between you filled with the lingering tension that neither of you dared to acknowledge.
âWell, if you ever need more help," Hyunjin said, his voice returning to its usual playful tone, "Iâm just a call away.â
You gave a small, nervous smile. âIâll keep that in mind.â
As he left the practice room, you stayed behind for a few moments longer, your heart still racing from the unexpected intimacy of the dance. There was a mix of excitement and confusion swirling inside you. What was that? Was it just the dance, or was there something more there?
You didnât have time to answer your own questions because, as a trainee, there was always another routine to learn, another move to perfect. But as you left the studio later that day, your mind kept returning to the way Hyunjin had touched you, the way heâd held you close, and how in that one moment, you couldnât tell if it was just dance⌠or something more.
Han Jisung (secretly dating)



It was game night, a regular gathering with the boys at their dorm, where laughter and playful competition filled the air. You'd been looking forward to this night, to unwind and enjoy their company, especially Han Jisung's. You were secretly dating him, keeping it low-key for the time being, but lately, it felt like a secret you wanted to shout from the rooftops. There was just one problemâyou didnât know how to tell the others without making things awkward.
Tonight, everyone was hyped up and playing a board game, the atmosphere light and buzzing with friendly rivalry. The stakes had gotten higher as the rounds went on, and the trash talk was flying. You and Felix had become a bit of an invincible duoâstrategizing, making each other laugh, and working seamlessly together.Â
But as Hyunjin leaned back in his chair with a smirk and exclaimed, âOh my god, Felix and Y/N, you guys are totally an unbeatable duo!â the comment seemed to hit differently. Jisung, who had been quiet for a while, stiffened beside you, his eyes momentarily narrowing as he watched you laugh along with Felix.
You noticed the subtle change in his demeanor. A quiet jealousy simmered beneath his usual playful and easy-going attitude. You felt your stomach tighten with an instinctive pull toward him. Felix, oblivious to the shift, was still bantering with Hyunjin.
But Jisung was different. He was unusually quiet, and the energy in the room had shifted in a way that only you could sense. You could feel his gaze lingering on you for a little too long, and it made your heart raceânervous, excited. The tension between you two was palpable, something you both tried to keep under wraps.
As the game continued, you couldn't help but glance over at Jisung. His smile didnât quite reach his eyes. His playful vibe had shifted into something more guarded. It wasnât like him to stay quiet for so long, and it made you feel uneasy, like you had inadvertently caused the shift in the air.
Felix was deep in conversation with Hyunjin, while the others were absorbed in the game, but you couldnât focus anymore. You excused yourself from the table, slipping into the hallway in an attempt to get some space. You figured you could give Jisung a moment to cool down or maybe even talk about whatever had been bothering him.
But before you could walk further, Jisung was there. You didnât even hear him approach, but suddenly his hand was on your wrist, and he was gently tugging you toward the hallway leading to his room. âHey, where are you going?â you asked, trying to keep the casual tone.
He didnât respond right away, his grip firm but gentle. There was a certain intensity to his gaze nowâhis eyes darkened slightly, and his usual teasing smile was replaced with something more serious. âI need to talk to you,â he muttered, his voice low.
You didnât say anything. You knew this wasnât just about the game anymore.
When you reached his room, Jisung quickly closed the door behind you, his hand resting on the handle for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. The two of you stood in the middle of the room for a few seconds, the air thick with unspoken words.
Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. âI donât like the way you two were... getting so close. Felix and you, laughing together like that.â His eyes were intense, full of something you hadnât seen beforeâsomething raw. âItâs not like youâve done anything wrong, but⌠it makes me feel something I donât know how to handle.â
Your heart skipped a beat. You stepped closer to him, instinctively. âHannieâŚâ you began, but he interrupted you.
âI want to tell them, baby. I want to tell everyone weâre together,â he said, his hand gripping yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles gently, though his voice was firm. âIâm tired of pretending like weâre just friends.â He took a step closer, his face inches from yours now. His breath was warm against your skin, and you could feel his heart racing in his chest, matching yours.
The proximity was overwhelming, intoxicating, and for a moment, you forgot everything around youâthe noise of the game, the others in the house. It was just him, and the desire in his eyes. You couldnât lie to yourself any longer; you felt the same way. You had been trying to ignore it, keeping your relationship under wraps for the sake of the group, but in that moment, it all felt like too much to keep inside.
You swallowed, struggling to find the right words. âI want to tell them too, baby. I really do. ButâŚâ you hesitated. âDo you think theyâll understand?â
Jisungâs eyes softened, and he gently cupped your cheek with his free hand. âItâs not about them understanding,â he said, his voice tender now, the tension easing from his shoulders. âItâs about us. I want to be open with everyone, especially with you. You mean so much to me.â
The words hung in the air, a promise wrapped in vulnerability. You were quiet for a beat, the intensity of the moment consuming you. Slowly, you nodded. âOkay. Letâs tell them. Together.â
He smiled, the usual playful glint returning to his eyes, but there was still an undercurrent of sincerity. Without another word, he closed the gap between you two and kissed you, soft and slow, as if savoring the moment that had been a long time coming. The kiss deepened, both of you letting go of the tension and unspoken feelings youâd been holding onto.
When you pulled away, your foreheads touched, breaths mingling. He whispered, âIâm so glad youâre mine.â
You smiled, your heart lighter than it had been in weeks. âMe too,â you said softly.
From that moment on, there was no more hiding. You were his, and he was yours, and that was all that mattered.
Lee Felix (colleagues to lovers)



The music video shoot had gone longer than expected, and most of the staff had either stepped out for a break or were busy resetting lights outside. The trailer where touch-ups usually happenedâthe one usually buzzing with stylists, cords, and brushesâwas now completely empty.
You were the only one there, you were sitting on the couch scrolling through your phone when Felix popped in, flashing that signature grin and muttering, âHyung said I need my hair re-gelled. Sorry,â like he was inconveniencing you, even though it was literally your job.
âSit,â you said, trying to sound normal. Professional.
But nothing about Felix ever let you stay fully calm. Not the way he tugged off his jacket with one hand and tossed it lazily on the couch. Not the way his damp dark hair curled against his forehead, making him look more boyish, more human, than the stage idol version everyone else saw.
You stood behind him, gently combing through his roots. The gel hadnât fully set, and you needed to rework it from the front.
"Can you tilt your head back?" you asked.
He did, but the angle was awkward. He sat too low in the chair, so you had to lean forward, your hips brushing the armrest. When you reached to push his fringe back, your chest nearly grazed his shoulder.
He stilled. You froze.
Then, in one ungraceful second, your foot slipped against the leg of the chair. Your balance tipped forwardâtoo fast to catch. A small gasp escaped you as your knees bumped the edge, and suddenly you were no longer standing.
You landed on him.
Your hands flew to his shoulders to steady yourself, but it was too lateâyour body was already pressed against his, knees planted on either side of his lap, your faces just inches apart.
His breath ghosted across your cheek. Warm. Shaky.
Neither of you moved.
âSorryââ you whispered, trying to push yourself back up.
But his hands had found your waist. Not tight, not holding, just there. Warm, grounding. And when your eyes met, something shifted.
âNoââ he breathed, voice quieter than youâd ever heard. âDonât move.â
Your breath caught.
âFelixââ
âI didnât mind⌠I mean, itâs okay. I justâŚâ His stammered.
You blinked at him, heart hammering, heat blooming across your chest and neck. Youâd danced around this for weeksâmaybe months.
The lingering stares, the way his smile always stretched wider when you were near. But thisâŚ
His hands were still on your waist. And for a moment, neither of you moved.
The only sound was the low hum of a distant monitor and your heartbeat hammering in your chest.
Then, slowly, his fingers reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch barely grazing your skin. The motion was so gentle, so intimate, that it made your breath hitch. And the moment his hand dropped, his eyes widenedâlike he hadnât realized what he was doing until it was already done.
âIâI didnât mean toâsorry, that wasââ he breathed, voice shaky.
You didnât move. Couldnât. His cologne wrapped around you like a net, grounding and dizzying all at once.
âI justââ he went on, swallowing, âGod, Iâm sorry.â
You stared down at him.
His face was already flushed pink, his eyes still locked on yours like he wasnât sure if he should let go or pull you closer.
âI didnât mind,â you said quietly.
He blinked.
âWhat?â
Your voice came out softer this time, more vulnerable. âI didnât mind. That you touched my hair.â
âReally?â he asked.
You nodded.
He exhaled through a breathless laugh, like disbelief. âBecause Iâve been trying not to do anything like that since you started.â
âWhy?â
âBecause I like you,â he said instantly. No hesitation. Just the truth.
âAnd I didnât want to make things weird. But God, youâre always so close, and youâre so gentle, and Iâm pretty sure Iâve started dreaming about the way you touch my hairââ
You kissed him.
Quick. Certain. Nothing intense, just a quiet yes to everything heâd just admitted.
His hands tightened on your hips, grounding himself. âOkay,â he whispered against your lips, dazed. âYeah. That just happened.â
You laughed softly and brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. âIt did.â
âI still need to finish your look,â you teased.
He grinned, pulling you even closer. âI think you just did.â
The silence was comforting this time. Not awkward but intimate.
Kim Seungmin (sunshine x grumpy)



When Chan invited you for a quiet weekend at his countryside farmhouse, you didnât hesitate. It had been months since you last saw your best friendâtoo many midnight voice notes, too many âI miss youâsâ with a sad emoji tacked on at the end. So you packed a bag and drove up that Friday evening, not even bothering to ask who else would be there.Â
Chan had welcomed you in with the warmest hug and whispered, âSeungminâs here. Try not to combust.â
You elbowed him, cheeks warm. âI donât like him.â
âSure,â he smirked.
Of course Seungmin was here. Still just as grumpy, still refusing to smile at your stupid jokes, still never calling you by your nameâjust âyouâ or âChanâs friend.â
And yet, somehow, you still looked for him in every room.
By Saturday night, you were full of barbecue, three glasses into a fruity drink, and cozy in an oversized hoodie. Laughter buzzed through the warm-lit living room. Chan had pulled out board games and card decks, and Hyunjin tossed on a playlist. You and Seungmin had exchanged exactly four words since arriving: âMorning,â âMoveâ and âNo, thanksâ
After too many rounds of Mario Kart, Chan flopped onto the massive couch and clapped his hands. âOkay, new game. Seven Minutes in Heaven.â
âAre we in high-school?â you and Seungmin said in perfect sync from opposite ends of the couch.
Everyone laughed, but Chan just wiggled his eyebrows. âCome on, youâre all cowards. Itâll be fun.â
Chan started spinning a bottle, and before you could sneak away, your name was calledâfollowed by Seungminâs.
The room howled.
You whipped around to Chan, whispering furiously, âYou rigged that!â
âDid not,â he said with a very smug expression. âEnjoy.â
The closetâtucked in the corner of the master bedroomâwas dim, a little too warm, and far too tight for two people. The door shut behind you with a soft click.
âI hate them,â Seungmin muttered, already looking up at the ceiling like it might offer a hatch out.
You nervously glanced around in the little space. You took a breath. âWow. Cozy.â
âNot really,â he said flatly.
You smiled anyway. âI forgot how much fun you are at parties.â
His lips twitched. The smallest, smallest smirk.
Minutes passed. Maybe only one. Maybe ten. You didnât know. The quiet between you felt heavier than the night sky outside.
Thenâhe spoke.
âYou flew all this way just to see Chan?â he asked.
Your brows rose. âYeah, why?â
âNo reason,â he said immediately, then hesitated. âJust⌠wondering.â
You took a step closer, trying to read him. âWhy do you always look at me like I annoy you, but then keep showing up in every room Iâm in?â
His jaw flexed. âYou donât annoy me.â
âCouldâve fooled me.â
He pushed off the wall now, standing straighter, closer. âYouâre⌠too much sometimes.â
You blinked. âToo much?â
âToo much sunshine. Too much sweetness. It gets under my skin.â
You smirked. âGood.â
He gave you a flat look. âThis is ridiculous.â
âThen why are you blushing?â
âIâm not.â
You grinned. âYou are. Itâs kind of cute.â
He glanced away, jaw tightening, but the pink in his cheeks betrayed him.
You leaned in just a little. âWhatâs wrong, Seungmin? Closet too small? Or is it just me thatâs making you all flustered?â
He narrowed his eyes at you. âYouâre enjoying this way too much.â
âYou wound me,â you gasped, hand over your chest. âIâm just being friendly.â
âYeah, well⌠maybe tone it down a little.â
You tilted your head. âBut I thought I was âtoo much sweetnessâ and âgets under your skinââdonât tell me Iâm growing on you.â
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. âDo you always talk this much?â
âOnly when Iâm stuck in a closet with my longtime crush.â
Seungmin froze.
Your eyes widened. Crap. You hadnât meant to say that out loud.
ââŚWhat?â he said after a beat, voice lower.
You scrambled. âI meanânot crush crush. I mean like, maybe. Possibly. Okay, definitely. For a long time. Like years-long. But you were always soââ
He took a step forward. You stopped babbling.
He didnât say anything. Just looked at you for a moment, then leaned in slightly, voice dry. âChan told me youâd be here.â
ââŚOkay?â
âIâve been trying to act normal since yesterday.â
âThat was you acting normal?â
He smirked, just a little. âI donât flirt like you do.â
âI donât flirtââ
âReally?â he stepped closer, close enough that your breath caught. âThen what would you call this?â
You were backed against the shelf, heart in your throat, eyes flicking between his and his mouth. He braced one arm beside your head, gaze sharp.
ââŚTrouble,â you whispered.
He smirked againâwider this time. âYeah. Youâre trouble.â
And then, just before the timer outside buzzed, he kissed you.
Slow, deliberate, and nothing like the annoyed boy who always pretended you were too much.
When he pulled back, lips barely grazing yours, he whispered, âNext time, we skip the game.â
And when the door finally swung open to the cheering crowd, neither of you said a wordâbut the heat in your face said everything.
Yang Jeongin (brother's best friend)



You hadnât seen Jeongin properly in almost a yearâwell you really havenât seen him much since heâd debuted and got busy with his idol life. But when your brother casually mentioned, âJeonginâs having a little dinner thing at his place. Just a few of us. You should comeâitâs been forever.â something fluttered in your chest that you tried very hard to ignore.
Youâd crushed on him since you were probably twelve, back when he was just your brotherâs slightly awkward best friend who always let you have the last slice of pizza. And now? Now he was I.Nâidol, heartthrob, and the same boy who still texted your brother dumb memes at 2am.
You didnât expect much when you arrivedâjust polite greetings, awkward small talk, maybe a few inside jokes that would go over your head. But when Jeongin opened the doorâŚ
Your heart did that stupid thing again.
He looked tired but beautiful, hoodie sleeves pushed up, the kind of soft glow that came from being around people he trusted. He looked mature nowâfame-polished, confident, sharper around the edgesâbut you still saw glimpses of the boy who used to chase your brother through your backyard, who used to steal popsicles from your freezer and grin like he won the lottery.
âHey,â he smiled, eyes flickering over your face for a second too long. âDidnât know you were coming.â
âMy brother dragged me,â you said lightly.
Jeongin tilted his head, still holding the door open. âGood. Iâm glad youâre here.â
The dinner was casual, cozy. Laughter echoed through the apartment, plates clinked, and stories flowed like old times. But something about the way Jeongin kept glancing at you when your brother wasnât lookingâwhen he refilled your drink before anyone elseâs, when your knees accidentally touched under the table and he didnât move awayâit felt like you werenât imagining it anymore.
It wasnât until laterâwhen everyone was a little too full and a little too tipsy and began playing loud musicâthat you slipped away to find some quiet.Â
The bathroom was unlocked, thankfully, and you slipped in, locking the door behind you. Only to turn around and freeze.
âOh?â you exhaled.
Jeongin stood leaning against the counter, arms crossed, he was startled to see you too.
You nodded, suddenly too aware of the small space, the way the air felt heavier between you two. You both stood there in silence, not quite looking at each other. You should leave, your mind said. Step out, apologise, pretend this didnât feel like something.
But for some reason⌠you stayed.
His gaze flicked to you, then away. âYou okay?â
âYeah. Just⌠needed a break from all the noise,â you said softly. âDidnât think Iâd find you here too.â
He gave a half-smile. âYeah, well. Guess weâre still in sync.â Then he shifted. âI didnât think youâd actually come tonight.â
You shrugged, trying to ignore the way your hands felt clammy. âYeah, well. My brother can be pretty persuasive.â
Jeongin smiled, then glanced down, almost bashful. For a second, he looked like the boy you rememberedâthe one who got flustered when you caught him singing in your garage.
You stepped back, âIâll find somewhere elseââ
You were about to step toward the door when he suddenly reached out and caught your wrist.
âWait.â
You turned, startled by the contact. His hand was warm around your wrist, gentle but firm enough to make you pause.
His voice was quiet. Earnest. âHow long are we gonna pretend weâre not dying to be with each other?â
Your stomach flipped.
You looked away, jaw tight. âMy brother would never agree.â
He chuckledâsoft, humorless. âYour brother doesnât get to decide who I want.â
âInnie,â you warned.
He locked the door behind him.
âInnie?â he echoed, teasing. âYou havenât called me that in a while.â
You froze. âJeonginââ
âI know. Your brother would kill me.â His voice was lower now, almost a whisper. âBut itâs driving me insane, pretending I donât feel something every time you walk into a room.â
He stepped in. Close. Too close.
âI thought I was imagining it,â he said, finally looking at you. âBut the way you look at me sometimes... it doesnât feel one-sided.â
âItâs not,â you whispered.
âDonât tempt me,â he said, voice rough.
He pinned you to the counter so easily you couldnât think straight.
He stepped even more closer before saying quietly. âIf I kissed you right now, would you push me away?â
You didnât answer. Instead, you closed the space between you, barely a breath apart. And whispered, âI should.â
âBut you wonât,â he said, voice hoarse.
âNo,â you breathed, âI wonât.â
And then he kissed youâsoft, hesitant at first, like he knew the line he was crossing. But when your fingers curled into his hoodie and he pulled you closer, you both forgot everything but the feeling of finally, finally not pretending.
----------------
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I Like Me Better When I'm With You
Part 4- The Final Chapter
I Like You Better With Flowers
Summary: After the events of Dina's party, you decide once and for all that Ellie Williams has to be the worst fake girlfriend alive. When an unexpected guest comes knocking, you're forced to open your door- and your heart.
Warnings: Mentions of alcohol usage
Based on the book/move series To All The Boys Iâve Loved Before
Song recommendation:
2 days after the party.
Sunday, 3:54 PM
Ellie's POV.
Two days since the party. Two days since Ellie had completely blown it, in every single way possible. I mean, she'd always considered herself to be above average with the ladies, but apparently when it came to you, there was something she just couldn't make sense of. Maybe it was because you were a decent human and she was used to blonde playgirls- but no, that couldn't be it!
Ellie's mind raced as she texted you for the seventh or eighth time today.


Obviously, Ellie felt bad. It was just that she had always had it pretty easy when it came to girls. How could she not? She was the epitome of a small-town masc, and although that meant girls at school would generally gravitate towards her, she also has had her fair share of heartbreaks from "curious" straight girls.
It was a new kind of feeling she was having towards you. There was some sort of protectiveness there- it was probably just because the two of you had known each other since primary school. She assumed you didn't at all remember, but Ellie used to have a fat crush on you all through fourth to sixth grade. You know how boys would chase the girls at recess and tug on their ponytails? Ellie's job was to chase the boys away from you. And then proceed to tug on your ponytail.
Habits die hard.
Cliche, she knows, but girls seemed to love her rom-com bullshit.
After grabbing her phone, Ellie rushes out of her room and past her dad Joel- who she had drunkenly explained her situation to last night, earning her a tough love speech about, well, basic human decency. It seemed to knock some sense into her, but she knew she was still in for it.
Sliding on her converse and quickly tying them, she tries (and fails) to ignore a quiet chuckle from Joel as he sips coffee from a mug in the room over.
Tugging the laces tight, Ellie can't help but yell, "What is it now?", her hand on the front door knob. After a few seconds of silence, Joel responds. "From what I remember about that Y/N from when you two were drawing with chalk, she's always had a soft spot for you. And don't think I don't remember the days when you liked her the same you liked that one Cat-" Joel chuckles, and Ellie could practically see his amused smirk through the wall.
"It's not like that- you know that," Ellie practically grumbles, turning the doorknob and pulling it open just enough to let the April golden sun stream through.
"I may be old, but I ain't an idiot, Ellie," The pepper-haired man snorts, making Ellie leave with a final groan, the wooden door closing behind her.
Sunday, 4:37 PM
Y/N's POV.
You were purposefully ignoring her. I mean, who did she think she was? Any and all feelings that may have...spilled over at Dina's house party were officially gone. 100% gone.
So why did your heart skip a beat every time your phone buzzed that afternoon?
And why didn't you hate Ellie?
Whatever it was, you knew you weren't ready for that internal conversation.
So, instead of dealing with your feelings, you picked up your latest romance novel- a story of two lifelong next door neighbours who fight over a parking spot. Yes it was sappy, and definitely unrealistic, but that didn't stop you from devouring every page.
It was hard not to eat up the grand romantic gestures and first "I love you"'s because the reality of real life romance, well, depressing to say the least.
So you read, your phone already having been on do not disturb to prevent any interruptions.
Not 10 minutes later, a knock at your front door pulls you out of your trance, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Your parents were out of town- and they didn't inform you of any packages meant to arrive, so who would be knocking at 4:30 on a Sunday?
Closing your book and laying it down, you swing your legs over the side of your bed, the sheets and pillow cases adorned with a baby pink tint.
You make your way out of your room and down the hallway, walking over to the front door in a pair of light brown bunny slippers. You open the door, and standing in a pair of baggy blue jeans and a dark green flannel was Ellie. Ellie, holding a bouquet of spring-scented tulips, an almost...nervous grin on her face.
Before you can form any kind of reaction, Ellie is right back to normal as her face contorts to her usual cocky smirk, "I like your bunny slippers."
Ellie's POV.
Fuck, Ellie was nervous. Despite the aggravating smirk she had plastered on her face, Ellie Williams was absolutely terrified to be standing in front of you right now.
It was uncharacteristic for her, as Ellie always felt in control of any situation thrown at her. But lately when it came to you, she's been completely at a loss. It could have something to do with the way you tuck your hair behind your ears when you're laughing, or maybe the way you roll your eyes to distract Ellie from the fact that you're blushing every time she compliments you. Or maybe it was how Ellie was totally and unconditionally whipped for you.
Snapping out of her thoughts, she hands the tulips to you, her expression betraying the nerves welling up inside of the poor girl. A small, real smile forms on Ellie's face as she see's your dumbfound expression.
"C'mon, L/N, I look like an idiot here," Ellie murmurs. She watches as you seem to snap out of your trance, taking the bouquet from her. Ellie internally sighed from relief, running one of her ring covered hands through her short hair which she had even taken the courtesy of brushing for you.
She quickly moves past you as you step aside to let her in, her eyes flicking around your house. She tries to make her steps seem casual, as if she wasn't waiting for you to say something- anything.
When she hears the door close, Ellie is immediately being pulled by the arm up to your room, a grin on her face. "Geez, at least take me out to dinner first", she teases, making you roll your eyes. God, she loved it when you rolled your eyes.
Once inside your room, Ellie's eyes wander along the posters and books lining the walls, creating the physical representation of your mind. She wanted to memorise every inch of it- of you.
"Why would you leave me alone at that party?" Your voice snaps her out of her daze, making her turn towards you, guilt immediately taking over her as she see's the look on your face- the hurt and anger you must feel for her. Fuck, she was an idiot. She knew it, too.
With a few moments to try and put together her thoughts in an attempt to not sound like a complete douche bag, Ellie nervously fiddles with the metal rings on her fingers.
"Listen, L/N- I know it was shitty, and I know I promised not to leave your side-"
"But?" You cut her off, a hard glare set in your stare. Ellie has to hold back the urge to get on her knees and beg for forgiveness.
With a huff, Ellie continues, "There is no but. I was an asshole". Ellie sighs, looking down at her feet and then back at you. "And I'm really sorry." Ellie shifts the weight between her feet. She wasn't used to this- at all. She's never had to be the one crawling back.
When you respond with silence, Ellie continues, "Because when I was talking to Cat, I realised everyone was right. Dina was right, for god sake. She's not good for me, and I realised that last night when the whole time I was in the bathroom with her, I wanted to be right next to you, making you roll your eyes and give me that little half smile thing you do when you think something I said was funny but you just don't want to give me the satisfaction, and-" Ellie pauses when she notices your small smile. With a goofy grin on her face now as well, Ellie says, "You're enjoying this."
She see's you nod and cross your arms, trying not to grin. Ellie can tell. "I'm totally enjoying this. In fact, I don't think I'm ever gonna let it go- every time you see me from now on I'm gonna bring up the fact that-"
Ellie was listening, but not really. Because as soon as she was sure you weren't upset with her, she kind of tuned out and just fought her hardest not to lean in and kiss you, to pour all her unsaid and compressed feelings into this one moment.
"I'm totally in love with you." Ellie cuts you off, staring down at you with a look in her eyes that she's sure Joel would never let her live down. When you don't immediately freak out, Ellie cups your face in her calloused hands and brings her lips to yours.
Y/N's POV
Ellie Williams was kissing you. And not a half-assed sixth grade spin the bottle kiss, a total full on i'm head over heels in love with you kind of kiss. It was making your head spin.
You weren't too out of it not to wrap your arms around her neck, pulling her closer as her mouth moves against yours, the bouquet of tulips forgotten against the floor of your bedroom.
When the two of you pull back, Ellie's grinning from ear to ear.
"I told you not to fall in love with me, L/N" Ellie whispers. Instead of rolling your eyes, you can feel yourself smiling too.
Because you loved Ellie Williams, and right now, you couldn't care less about the contract.
an: i'd firstly like to thank everyone who has been reading and keeping up with this series- it's honestly meant to much to me and i love reading everyone's comments and whatnot <3 this is technically the first full fic i've written and completed, so please keep in mind i'm still new at this! thank you again for everyone who has been patiently awaiting this chapter and i really hope you enjoy it. love everyone who loves this series, and thank you for reading until the end! <3
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Hungover Reader x Rafayel (Love and Deepspace). A snippet from full story.
The first thing I register is warmth. The second is the dull pounding in my skull.
I groan, pressing a hand to my forehead as I shift against the soft sheets beneath me. Soft sheets. That isn't right. My bed isn't this comfortable. And it definitely doesn't smell likeâ
My breath hitched. The unmistakable scent of him.
My eyes snap open, and I immediately regret it. The room is too bright, my head is too heavy, and worst of allâI'm not in my apartment.
I'm in Rafayel's bed.
Panic curls in my stomach as last night comes back in fragmentsâJenna, Tara, the jazz bar, too many drinks and then Rafayel. His hands steadying me. His lips, warm and just slightly parted. The feel of his breath against mine.
Oh, no.
I kissed him.
I sit up too fast, my vision swimming. That is when I notice that someone took off my shoes. Someone tucked me in.
And I have a very good guess who that someone is.
As if on cue, a voice drifts from the other side of the room.
"Well, well. Sleeping Beauty awakens."
I nearly jump out of my skin. Rafayel is leaning against the doorway, his arms are crossed with a coffee mug in hand. His dark eyes are fixed on me, the usual smirk tugging at his lips.
I open my mouth, then immediately shut it because what am I supposed to say? Sorry for throwing myself at you? Thanks for not letting me collapse? Please forget I ever put my lips on yours?
He raises a brow, clearly enjoying my suffering. "You look like you're debating whether to thank me or to start planning your escape."
I scowl, my brain still too sluggish to come up with a proper response. Instead, I throw the nearest object at him,a pillow. He catches it effortlessly, shaking his head in mock disappointment.
"I carry you all the way here, give you my bed, and this is the thanks I get?" He tsks. "You're hurting me, you know?"
"Oh shut up," I groan, rubbing my temples. "Why am I here?"
He looks at me like he is considering how much to embarrass me. "Well, you were drunk, you got here god knows how, and you seemed like you were going to collapse next to my door at any moment, so I figured I should probably let you in."
My hands cover my face. "Kill me. Just end it now."
"Tempting," he chuckles. "But watching you suffer through this hangover is much more entertaining."
I peek through my fingers to glare at him, but he just smirks. Infuriating.
Then, as if the most amazing thought just struck him, he leans against the doorframe. "By the way, you never mentioned you get extra affectionate when you're drunk."
I freeze. My heart dropped.
"Oh, you don't remember?" he continues. "And here I thought it was a special moment."
"I hate you." I mutter under my breath.
"Now, that's just hurtful." He places a hand over his heart. "But don't worry, I was a perfect gentleman. You, however..." He trailes off, enjoying the way my eyes widen in horror.
"Oh my god..." I press my palms against my face again. "What did I do?"
"Well, aside from clinging to me like your life depended on it?" He tilts his head, drawing out the suspense.
I am torn between throwing myself out the window and strangling him. "I did not."
"You definitely did." He takes a sip of his coffee. "And let's not forget the part where you-"
"Okay!" I practically shout, shoving the blanket off me and swinging my legs over the side of the bed. "We're done talking about this."
He chuckles, clearly pleased with himself. "If you say so."
He leaves the room, wearing a proud smirk on his face. I will not think about the kiss. I will not think about the way he didn't pull away and kissee me again. And I definitely will not think about the look in his eyes now.
Rafayel returns a few minutes later, a glass of water in one hand and a bottle of painkillers in the other. He tosses them onto the bed beside me.
"Drink."
I swallow the pills, ignoring the way he is leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching me like I am the most interesting thing in the room. It is irritating.
I set the glass on his nightstand and exhale slowly. "Okay. I think I can go now."
"Bold of you to assume I'm letting you leave in your current state."
I blink. "Excuse me?"
He arches a brow. "After one sip of water, you think you're good to go?" He tsks. "Not happening, sweetheart."
I groan, flopping back onto the pillows. "This is the worst day of my life."
He chuckles. "You're so dramatic."
I turn my head to glare at him. "I drunkenly kissed you, Rafayel. And now I have to sit here and pretend like that didn't happen, while you-" I gestured at him, flustered. "-just stand there"
His lips twitches, like he is fighting back another smirk. "And what exactly am I doing wrong?"
"It's just Infuriating."
He humms. "Well, that's just my natural charm."
I throw another pillow at him. This time, he let it hit him.
Silence settles between us after that, heavy despite the teasing. I don't know what I want him to say. Maybe some kind of reassurance that I hadn't ruined everything. Maybe just an acknowledgment that he felt something too. Full story: The Artist's Muse â Love and Deepspace Rafayel x Reader (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/story/389702656-the-artist%27s-muse-%E2%94%82-love-and-deepspace-rafayel-x? (On AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65074873/chapters/167341744)
#love and deepspace#lads rafayel#lads#rafayel x reader#rafayel love and deepspace#wattpad#angst#lnds#fanfic
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â âŠâŹ âË. ceilings â D.A



ËâĄËâ synopsis after two years, daniela returns, reigniting old feelings during a quiet night. as tension builds between you, the unspoken love you share feels distant, leaving you wondering if it will ever become reality or remain unfulfilled.
warnings: slight angst. tiny bit of fluff. mutual pinning (??). daniela avanzini x fem!reader
currently playing: ceillings - lizzy mcalpine
the wind carries the distant hum of the city through the open window, filling the quiet apartment with a gentle buzz. itâs late, but you donât know the exact hour. the world outside is moving, lights flickering in the distance, but inside, time feels suspended.
you stare at the ceiling, tracing invisible patterns in the dim light. your body is still, but your mind is running. thoughts unravel like a film reelâflashes of tonight, of her, of the way she looked at you with something unreadable in her eyes.
daniela.
her name lingers in your mind like an echo. sheâs somewhere in the apartment, moving through the rooms like a presence you can't escape. you can hear her faintly, her laughter drifting through the cracks of the walls. itâs warm, familiar. a sound that feels like home, yet right now, it unsettles you.
you shouldnât have stayed this long.
it was supposed to be simpleâa night out, a few drinks, a few moments stolen from the reality you both live in. but something shifted. it started with the way her hand brushed yours across the bar, a touch that sent a sharp current through your body. then, the way she looked at you when you both realized you were the last ones left, her brown eyes searching yours, waiting for something you couldnât name.
and now, here you are, lying in the guest bedroom of her apartment, staring at the ceiling like it holds the answers you need.
you close your eyes. the memory of the night replays in your mind, filling in the silence.
"come home with me."
the words were simple, said so casually that they couldâve meant nothing. but the way she said them, the way she looked at you when she didâit meant everything.
you hesitated for just a second. but then she smiled, and suddenly, the hesitation didnât matter anymore.
you followed her through the city streets, walking side by side but never touching. the cold air wrapped around you both, and you pulled your jacket tighter around yourself, watching her from the corner of your eye. she was humming a song under her breath, one you didnât recognize, but the sound of it felt like something familiar.
at some point, she turned to you and whispered, "youâre quiet."
you shrugged. "just thinking."
she didnât ask about what. maybe she already knew.
you kept your distance, but every now and then, her hand brushed yours, and each time, you felt that electricity shoot through you like a small shock. you wanted to reach for her. to pull her closer. but the moment always passed before you could.
eventually, you found yourself at her apartment, sitting at the edge of the guest bed sheâd prepared for you. the lights in the living room flickered off, leaving only the moonlight casting shadows on the walls. daniela was somewhere in the other room. her presence felt like a pull, a gravitational force, drawing you in, but you didnât want to go to her. not when you didnât know what any of it meant. not when she hadnât said anything that would make it clear.
a soft knock on the door pulls you back to the present. you don't answer right away, but the door opens anyway, and daniela steps inside.
sheâs wearing an oversized sweater, her hair slightly messy from the wind. her presence fills the room, the air around you shifting just from her being there.
"youâre still awake," she says softly, crossing the room to sit at the edge of the bed.
you donât look at her. instead, you focus on the way the moonlight falls on the wooden floor, casting long, pale streaks across the room.
"yeah."
she doesnât say anything at first. she just sits there, her fingers playing with the edge of her sleeve. then, after a long pause, she whispers, "what are we doing?"
the question hangs between you like something fragile, like glass on the verge of breaking. you donât answer, because you donât know.
or maybe you do, and you just donât want to say it out loud.
her fingers brush against yours. the touch is light, hesitant, but enough to make your heart race. you should pull away. you should say something to break the moment before it becomes something more. but you donât. instead, you let your fingers linger against hers, just barely, like you're both waiting for the other to close the distance.
she exhales, almost like a laugh, but thereâs no humor in it. "you drive me crazy, you know that?"
you look at her then, really look at her. her eyes are searching, hopeful, scared. a storm of emotions hidden behind a quiet facade.
your voice is barely above a whisper when you say, "i donât want to lose you."
something in her expression shifts, her lips parting like she wants to say something, but the words donât come. instead, she lets out a breath and looks away, her fingers pulling back from yours.
"you wonât lose me," she says. but it doesnât sound like a promise.
silence stretches between you. she looks at you again, eyes soft, lips slightly parted like sheâs waiting for something. maybe sheâs waiting for you to be brave. to say something real.
but you canât.
and maybe thatâs the problem.
she stands up slowly, the warmth of her presence retreating with her. she hesitates for just a second, like sheâs giving you one last chance to stop her. but when you donât, she nods, almost to herself, and walks toward the door.
she pauses in the doorway.
"goodnight," she says, her voice so soft you almost donât hear it.
and then sheâs gone.
the door clicks shut behind her, and you are alone again, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sound of your heartbeat echo in the empty space she left behind.
you lie there, your chest heavy with a quiet ache. your heart pulls in two directions, tethered to her and yet so far away. her absence is almost physical now, a thing that fills the room, pressing down on you as you lie motionless.
you donât know what you were expecting tonight. it was supposed to be like any other night. but it wasnât. something changed when you saw her again. something you canât quite name.
you wonder if she feels it too.
you glance at the clock. it's past midnight now, the hours slipping by without you noticing. your fingers brush the sheets beside you, imagining her there beside you, her warmth, her laughter, her smile. but it feels like a dream.
your phone buzzes, pulling you from the haze of your thoughts. you pick it up, seeing a message from her, short and to the point.
"sleep well."
the words sting more than they should. something so simple, yet so final. so far away from the way you had once dreamed of hearing her say them.
you let out a shaky breath and set the phone aside. you stare at the ceiling again, your mind racing, but no clearer than before. you donât know where you stand with her now.
and maybe thatâs the hardest part.
the love is there. but itâs unspoken. itâs lingering in the spaces between your words, in the silence you share. a love that never fully becomes reality. and maybe thatâs just how it was always meant to be.
a/n: how did u guys feel abt gnarly đŤ it might take me a while to get used to the lyrics, but the beat and visuals are really good đđ
#soeyekonic#katseye#katseye x reader#daniela avanzini katseye#daniela avanzini#daniela avanzini x reader#katseye angst#katseye fluff#megan katseye#daniela avanzini x female reader#katseye daniela#daniela katseye#daniela x reader#katseye imagines#katseye smau#katseye fic#daniela icons#megan skiendiel
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SFW Alphabet | Terry the terrific
Little side note: @sunday-bug suggested to make one to get more into the feeling to write for Terry. If you wanna read more Terry, check also out her masterlist, amazing work!
A = Affection
Terry is super affectionate, he loves cuddles and kisses. He will have little presents for you â either some flowers, sometimes a little magician show, just for you. As long as he can make you smile! Heâs making sure to always hold your hand, or be close to you.
B = Best friend
He would be the best best friend you can ask for. No matter if you know one another since childhood or met in high school. He would be there for you whenever and wherever you need him. Sometimes Terry would be insecure that you think heâs weird because of his magic tricks. But whenever you assure him that you love and cherish him, he shows you another trick he hasnât shown anyone else before.
C = Cuddles
Terry loves to cuddle! Heâs literally the cuddle king. Itâs intimate and can express so much more than words can. So itâs not just his way to show affection but also to seek comfort, offer comfort or show his feelings. Terry loves every position to cuddle as long as the two of you are comfortable. But - not - so secretly he loves to be the big spoon. So he can wrap himself around you tightly, draw pattern on your skin and you both can watch movies.
D = Domestic
Terry would love to settle down but only with the right person. He doesnât want a one night thing, he wants the true love. And when he finds you, he immediately plans out everything! But he wonât tell you, at least not until you both are ready to settle down together. He doesnât mind chores, he doesnât like them all, especially when there are too many socks in the wash. But he will help you, and he will cook for you. Though he prefers to cook and do chores with you.
E = Ending
Terry wouldnât agree to a relationship if he isnât sure that it will last. He went through break ups â mostly because the person he was with didnât like him being a magician. When they tried to change him he distanced himself until they were living like strangers again. So, if Terry is hurt, he will distance himself, giving his partner a second chance but when it doesnât change, he will bring distance between the two of them.
F = Fiance(e)
He would love to get married at some point with the person he loves. But it doesnât have to be rushed. Terry is grateful and happy with you, with your relationship. Marriage would be the next step but only if you two are really ready for that. Though, he will keep cherishing your love and relationship even if you take your time before marriage.
G = Gentle
Terry is gentle like youâre the most delicate flower. Heâs not afraid to break you, but he loves being gentle and soft with you. Heâs understanding, supporting. Not only because he knows how it feels when people judge or be harsh, but also because he loves and adores you.
H = Hugs
He loves hugs. When you get home, or he gets home the first thing is a tight, warm hug. Youâre cooking, baking, cleaning? He will hug you from behind, his fingers gripping your waist tightly to make sure youâre as close as possible to him. Terry loves hugs, itâs part of his love language.
I = I love you
Terry needs a bit to say these three words, he feels them but heâs afraid of speaking them out loud. Maybe you donât feel the same, or⌠he knows you do. So, once he says them, he canât help but shower you with them. Still not as much as physical affection, but still a lot. Always making sure he acts the same as he talks, but he just loves the softness and the smile on your face when he tells you he loves you.
J = Jealousy
Terry can be a bit jealous every now and then. But itâs not your fault or the way you smile at the bartender. Itâs just his insecurities. Heâs afraid that he isnât as good as all these other men could be. Though, he knows you chose him. And the sweet, soft smile you reserve only for him causes his jealousy to fade within a second. You love him, you chose him, and he will never dare to question your love or loyalty for him.
K = Kisses
Soft and gentle kisses from Terry! Sometimes with more passion, but he will always kiss you gently. He loves to kiss your lips, the tip of your nose, or your palms, as well as your neck. Terry also kisses your forehead a lot, letting you know that youâre the only one for him. Because forehead kisses are special kisses. Terry himself loves when you kiss his lips, or his jaw or underneath his ear.
L = Little ones
Terry adores kids, he likes to work with them. As magician he offers amazing shows for kids birthday parties, and heâs always having a lot of fun during these events. The thought of having own kids, of course he thought about it. He would love to have one, maybe two, kids with you. The thought of them playing in the backyard of your house while the two of you sit cuddled up and watch them makes his heart beat faster whenever the thought crosses his mind.
M = Morning
Lots of cuddles! If he wakes up before you, he will kiss your face, every inch of it. He will roll over you slightly, cuddling into you, while he peppers your skin with soft kisses. Terry will help you with the breakfast, lots of fruits, pancakes and hot chocolate, tea or coffee.
N = Night
Terry wants you to go to bed together or else he canât sleep. You can read â either quiet for you or even loud for him too â, watch movies, whatever, as long as he can wrap his arms around your waist and place his head on your chest. Heâs always tangling your legs with his, while he tells you how much he loves you, how beautiful you are and how happy and especially lucky he is with you.
O = Open
For you? Terry is an open book. He wants you to know all about him. Terry doesnât care that heâs vulnerable then. He wants you to know everything about him, because he would love to know everything about you as well. Itâs still not overwhelming much he tells you about himself, but when youâre sitting together to talk, he will tell you about himself or if you ask anything about him.
P = Patience
Terry is super patient. He has not reason to get angry, if anything doesnât work, he will just make some magic tricks to make you both laugh and then you can do whatever you wanted to do again. When you both disagree, you can talk about it without anger or frustration. But he isnât patience when someone talks bad about you, or makes you sad, then he isnât patient at all.
Q = Quizzes
He remembers a lot! Not everything of course but the important things he does. Terry knows what you like, knows how to read you to make sure he can get you what you would like without having to tell him. In conversation he takes care of the little details, sometimes even your body language or expression. He loves you and he wants to be as best as he can. So remembering stuff isnât a big job for him. But something he loves to do.
R = Remember
Terry loves everything that has to do with you. But just favourite moment â one of his favourite moments â was when he asked you out on a date. The day your eyes lit up with excitement when he used his cards to form words to ask you out. Plus the trick where he pulled a flower from his pocket and handed it to you with a wide smile. You said yes to go out with him, of course.
S = Security
Terry is protective, not too much but he is. He knows when you can handle things yourself and he will let you, unless you ask him to handle the situation. But if someone would dare to hurt you, he would be more than protective of you. Terry wonât let anyone hurt the ones he loves. He doesnât like to use violence, he would talk, but if the person doesnât listen, he wouldnât stop from pushing them or setting a punch to make listen. No hard injuries, just to make them back off.
T = Try
Terry would try his best to impress you with every date, not matter of anniversary or a coffee shop date. Little presents are a âmustâ for him. Even if itâs just a bouquet of your favourite flowers or a bar chocolate. Heâs helping you with everyday tasks as best as he can, fixing stuff and doing chores with you, so you donât have to do them alone. Instead you can use the time together, going for walks or other activities he has planned. Because with Terry itâs never boring, not even during movie nights â where you two make the snacks by yourself â because thatâs your way of putting effort in your relationship.
U = Ugly
A bad habit⌠or more a funny thing. Because of his magician he keeps some cards everywhere. So when the two of you are shopping he often pulls out some play cards instead of money. Itâs often funny, unless the employees are already mad, then that only worsens it. But except that, Terry doesnât have real bad habits.
V = Vanity
Terry doesnât care about his look. Not really, he is who he is. It needed time for him to accept himself and since he does, he doesnât care if someone is laughing or doing bad jokes. The only thing that matters for him is you, he wants to look good for you. And so he does, he notices the sparkles and love in your expression when he wears something he likes, something you two like.
W = Whole
He would feel incomplete without his girl, yes. Terry canât imagine anything without you anymore. Doing the chores, cooking, baking, cleaning, reading, watching movies or just cuddling. It wouldnât be the same without you, so yes. He only feels whole with you, thatâs why he cherishes and adores his girl â he makes him feel like heâs wanted. Like heâs needed. Heâs loved.
X = Xtra
Yours and Terryâs first kiss. It was clumsy, it was the first for both of you. But damn, it was perfect. Sitting on the couch, looking deep into one anotherâs eyes. And while you tilted your head, he did the same. Unfortunately you two titled your heads both into the same direction and hit both of your heads. It was cute, soft and you both laughed before you kissed one another softly.
Y = Yuck
Liars. Terry hates lies, he hates liars. And Judgements. Terry has faced so much lies and judgement before, itâs nothing he wants in a partner. Heâs just himself with you, so you can just be who you are. Terry loves you with his whole heart, every aspect of you. So, you donât have to hide or lie, unless itâs a little lie about a surprise for your boyfriend.
Z = Zzz
Terry canât sleep without in his arms. If youâre not in bed the same time he is he will throw himself left and right and just canât find a position for him to sleep in until youâre curled in his arms. He doesnât tell you, but your heartbeat, your warmth and your soft breathing calms his thoughts, he just likes to have you close.
Taglist: @rogersbarber @loki-laufeyson68 @etherealdisneyvillainness @winterschildren8 @rnurse-kole @kimmie113080 @sergeantbarnessdoll @sebastianstanisahotmf @mercurial-chuckles @holylulusworld @randomawesomeperson102 @looking1016 @multiversefanfics @kpopgirlbtssvt @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @alexxavicry @gremlin-girly @grilledcheesewithjalapeno @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @irisk12 @lilyalone @thenameswinter99 @casa-boiardi @blackhawkfanatic @mrsalexstan @thesarcasmqueen-22 @bamitzzsam @feynightlight @ethanhoewke
#terry the terrific fluff#terry the terrific x reader#terry the terrific#terry the terrific x fem!reader#terry the terrific x fem reader#sebastian stan characters x fem reader#sebastian stan characters x female reader#sebastian stan character x you#sebastian stan character#sebastian stan characters
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love ur human loop, most normal and deranged guy ever, other people drawing human loop in elaborate outfits, meanwhile loop in a big t- shirt and boxers (not to say im not a fan of elaborate outfits on them but like The Contrast (tm))
no literally like dgmw i love loop in Outfits and will probably draw that at some point soon but like. to me post-canon loop is like. a guy who is convinced they are living in the epilogue of their successful cloneâs life. Eventually they will slay but itâs gonna take like three years of therapy and probably a considerable amount of lexapro. for now itâs depression fit
#first drawing is from last night second is just now#btw air fryer shirt is a real thing that i own. i found it thrifting it is incomparably the best thing i own. i would give it to loop. mayb#isat#isat spoilers#loop#au#technically#also please no one interpret my dogged clinging to canon compliant characterization as judgement of anyone who does not#this is just how i do things. mostly bc its funnier to me that way#art#askbox#abilify would fix this dude as well. oh my god i forgot to schedule my psych appointment#pls donât tag as bdy hrrr btw thanks
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'doomed to loom'- a senpai comic from 'the big book of freaks'! ;D
see rick parker's original drawings for the comic here!
#robert wadlow#robert wadlow trash#i found the original drawings on ebay in 2017#i didn't even know what this was from until last night! :o#that's also when i discovered the formerly lost first and last pages! ;)#i remember the title panel so well! :)#...and the gross stuff :/#but i think of the lawyer panel when reading about senpai's law career which is fun! ;)#the pics are in much higher quality than the ebay ones! :D#and now they're preserved on my senpai site! ;)#back in 2017 i said that thinking senpai on the fourth page was hot... and that still might be true ;)#the text isn't in the original drawing paper! :o#it's just a yellow box (which could make for a great meme template!)#the second panel on the last page is so mean! >:(#harold wanted to get senpai back to the hotel but couldn't get out of the parade route#that guy doesn't even look like harold just a fake dad! (same with the first panel dad!)#and the 'say cheese' guy on page 5 is more like dr. humberd than the comic humbug!#there's also a fake addie in there! ;)#the 'w' sweater also wasn't real but unlike fake dad i wish it was! ;)#the '39 ballot wasn't for president (not until next year!) but a local election in alton#one of the ballot people looks like windsor mccay aka the gertie guy! ;D#and it looks like senpai voted for bronwyn carlton aka the author of another 'big book of'! ;)#this is a somewhat embellished but still great comic! :D#i'm glad to finally know the full story after all this time! :D
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â In which injured!reader begs Nanami to fuck her
âNo, sweetheart, please stop asking.â
Your husband may give in to you all the time because youâre his precious wife, who he loves to spoil, but apparently fucking whilst your ribs are bruised is where he draws the line. Damn him.Â
âBut, Ken,â you draw out, âwe can just go slow. Iâll even be on top, yâknow, so I can set the pace or whatever.â
Scribbling something on a risk assessment form, he sits at his desk in his office where he thought heâd be safe from your desperate hands and equally desperate pleadings. How wrong he was. When you wrap your arms around him from behind his chair, breasts pressing in on his shoulders, he sighs and sets his pen down.Â
Gentle hands try to pry you off. âI know you, sweetheart. At first, itâll be slow, and soon, youâll be begging to go faster, harder, and then youâll be crying because your ribs hurt. I really donât want to have to make a visit to our doctor and explain whatâs happened.â
Collapsing onto the floor, you rest your head on his knee, nuzzling in a last-ditch effort to get your way.
He pets your hair and coos, âIâm so deeply sorry, darling. You know if I could take your pain, I would. In a heartbeat.â
Irritated beyond reason, you grouch, âIf you were the injured one, we still wouldnât be able to fuck.â
âIâm not so certain thatâs true, my love.â With expert touches, heâs manoeuvring you onto his lap, careful not to aggravate your wound. Face tucked into the crook of his neck, you play with a loose thread on his sweater just as he pats your thigh absentmindedly, picking up that pen again with his spare hand. âIf it were only my pain on the line, Iâd gladly sacrifice some discomfort for your pleasure. Would you want me to?â
âNo,â you admit, thoroughly unhappy at how heâs backed you into a corner.Â
âHow kind." Kento chuckles. "Now, stop pouting and keep your poor husband company. Once Iâve finished this set of papers, Iâll prepare dinner, is that alrigâ Ah! Sweetheart!â
Your naughty hand is being snatched off his covered cock before you can lay a second squeeze. Having felt the embodiment of his love for you, you groan. âKento, youâre harder than a rock. Stop being such a gentleman, and let me suck you off. Iâll play with your balls the way you like and everything!â
He throws his head back, pushing his glasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Then, with a barely restrained patience, he reasserts for the hundredth time since youâve gotten hurt, âIâm fine, dear. You donât need to exert any kind of effort to take care of me. Iâm a grown man. Listen, I know this is hard for you, but please consider that this is hard for me, too. Yes, I miss your body; I miss being inside you, the comfort, the warmth, the connection. But I can wait. In fact, Iâd much rather wait.â
Silenced by the sincerity in his voice, you can do nothing but pout and listen, all while he holds your hand against his chest.
âIf I see my wife wince or tear up because Iâve pushed too hard and gone too fast, Iâll never forgive myself. Itâll haunt me, just like the sight of you all weak and shivering on the concrete haunts me now. Not a day will go by where Iâll ever feel at ease knowing I wasnât there to protect you. So, no, sweetheart, I will not contribute to your pain, and that is final.â
He's not mad; he's not frustrated or irritated. No, not Kento. Not at his darling wife. Never at you. And that's what drives you even more insane. You so badly want to show your appreciation, to thank him for all his hard work, to ease the guilt in his heart, show him you're fine and soon so he can actually sleep at night instead of sitting up, awake, anticipating a grimace in your sleep so he can bring you water or painkillers.Â
Pecking his lips in surrender, you acquiesce. âFine, but as soon as Iâm cleared to go, youâre never leaving our room until Iâm positively stuffed full of your cum, and youâre completely drained.â
Kento smiles, eyes crinkling in the corner.Â
âIt wouldn't be the first time.â
#jjk fluff#nanami fluff#jjk x reader#jjk oneshot#jjk x you#jjk drabble#nanami x reader#Nanami Kento#nanami x you#nanami drabble#nanami oneshot#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen nanami#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jujutsu kaisen drabble#jujutsu kaisen fic
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Hi Jade! (Iâve sent this before so ignore if you arenât into it) just thinking about a bau!reader (maybe shy!reader??) whoâs dating post-prison Spencer but didnât know him before prison and she sees some footage of season one Spencer (maybe they need to refer to a recording of a previous case?) and sheâs just dying at how cute he is đĽš
Youâve barely woken up with your face in a solid shoulder when Spencerâs turning around.
âDonât,â he says when you whine, slipping a familiar hand over your hip. âIâm not going anywhere.âÂ
âToo early to make fun of me.âÂ
âDo you think Iâm making fun of you?âÂ
His talking warms your nose where his head is angled down. Your skin smarts with goosebumps as he trails his hand lightly up your back, down again, the slowest, tumbling touch. You shiver, and Spencer, ever so slightly devious in love, says, âOh, youâre cold?â with great pity as he pulls you closer.Â
You rub your face against his shoulder. âSorry.âÂ
âWhy?â
âI smell.âÂ
He hums. âSort of. Not like sweat, though. You smell like sleep.â His lips touch your cheek.
He lets you âwarm upâ in his arms for a few minutes, then however long you doze for, lost and too comfortable to bother even trying to wake up properly. Your phone pings a couple of times after it comes out of sleep mode, a sure sign youâve overslept, but Spencer doesnât make you move until your stomach growls.Â
âCome on,â he says, kissing your nose and slipping you back onto your side of the bed. âIâll make breakfast.âÂ
âItâs nearly twelve.âÂ
âYou just woke up, and itâs the first thing youâre gonna eat. You are breaking your fast. Breakfast.â He looks pretty even through achy, tired eyes, all the sleep crusted in your lashes no match for Spencer Reid. How you went so long without knowing him is a mystery.Â
You get up only because he told you to and because he looked quite lovely when he did it, not because you want to. The bed is warm, that pit of his arms calling your name, but Spencerâs already rolling out of bed with an eager hand scratching through his hair. Sweat has made them tight and a little darker in the back. Youâll both have to shower at some point, preferably after heâs made you breakfast in bed.Â
He can see your expectations on your face, and he laughs as he pulls a t-shirt on over his head. âGet up! Iâm not bringing it up here, do you know how badly your sleep cycle is affected when you start doing the wrong things in bed?âÂ
âWhat counts as the wrong thing?âÂ
Spencer laughs again, softer now, and for a moment he traces your face with his eyes without speaking. âFine,â he says, waving a hand at you as he makes for the bedroom door, âstay there. But only âcos you look so pretty!âÂ
âThank you!â you call back.Â
This time with Spencer isnât enough. You need ten more years of this, thirty, fifty, you need to wake up in his arms and have him touch you and tickle your cheek with his breath. Heâs too far to have him come back, so you resign to hugging him when he returns.Â
Your phone pings again, drawing your attention finally. The first notification is a reminder to buy toothpaste today at the grocery store. The second is a text from a friend, the third an email. Itâs one from last night that piques your interest, another friend, full capital letters: HELP.Â
Her use of a laughing emoji defers any urgency. You click on the text thread and scroll up, puzzled by her previous messages, a link, and a caption: oh my god he was so dorky???Â
You open the video and feel your breath catch in surprise.Â
Is that Spencer?
You're not stupid, youâve seen photos of him and his friends together dotted around the apartment from over the years, and every time you come across that photo of him and Diana at a spelling bee with his huge black-framed glasses you have to laugh, but itâs different seeing him to hearing him.Â
Heâs so nervous. You canât understand what it is heâs saying, something about mathematical components to profiling criminals. Jason Gideon stands in the background watching him closely.Â
âThereâs actually a good joke thatââ
âSpencer,â Gideon reprimands.Â
You watch in awe as Spencer stammers an apology, his cheeks a little pink. Youâve seen Spencer blush, but this feels different. He looks so young. His hair is straight as a pin.Â
âSpencer, did you used to straighten your hair?â you call, hoping he can hear you over the sound of a frying pan popping in the kitchen. âOr do you have a perm now, or what?âÂ
âWhat!âÂ
âIâm confused on the logistics of your hair!â You feel something weird in your chest as on screen Spencer tucks a stray strand of hair behind his ear. Itâs a mixture of wanting to eat him and wanting to reach through the screen to stroke his cheek with your thumb.Â
Spencer treks back into the bedroom with his pink and white pinstripe apron over his shirt and sweatpants. He smells like cinnamon sugar already. âWhat are you talking about?âÂ
âMy friend found a video of you and Jason at one of those lectures you did.âÂ
Spencer presses his lips together. For a moment, he doesnât speak. âI didnât do any lectures.â
âUh, yes you did, liar, and you looked so cute.â You turn your phone to him. âSo sweet.âÂ
He marches to the bed. Before you can stop him, heâs taking the phone from your hand, giving you the world's silliest, tiniest shove when you try to get it back.Â
âCruel,â you quip.Â
Spencer stares at the phone screen, then you, âSorry,â he says, turning pink, âI donât know why I did that, justâ I justââ He frowns deeply. âCan you stop smiling like that?âÂ
You climb onto your knees, a morning disaster, but when you wrap your arms around Spencerâs waist he looks at you like youâre perfect. His eyes soften, brows relaxing, his irises like dark dimes that slowly dilate as he looks you over. Your phone presses into your back, his arm wrapping around you.Â
âYou were adorable,â you say sincerely.Â
âNot anymore?âÂ
You rub your cheek against his apron. âNo, you still are. Let me watch the video again.âÂ
âNot a chance.âÂ
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid oneshot#spencer reid scenario#spencer reid drabble#spencer reid fic#spencer reid fanfiction
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https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSjHFAReU/
This TikTok lit a fire in me ,like just imagine it happening with the 141 and possibly Alejandro đĽ˛their reactions after they open the lunchbox
141 + Alejandro? Yes, please. Also, I absolutely adore this. I keep imagining reader angrily packing their lunchbox and muttering under their breath but still thinking "goddamn it I love this man" and "this'll show him." Like, we might be upset with them because of the argument but we aren't sacrificing their nutrition over it.
For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE
Task Force 141 x Female Reader
Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): established relationship, married life, swearing, arguments, brief suggestive themes, light angst, fluff
Word Count: 2k
ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if series
John Price
John is alone in his office.
Thereâs a pile of paperwork on his desk. Files. Photos. Unfinished reports. Itâs never-ending, and itâs the least favorite aspect of his job. John would rather be out in the field or back home with you.
But going home feels a bit daunting. The fight the two of you had last night was the worst one, not that there are lots of fights to begin with. With heated words exchanged, the two of you argued until you were both red in the face. You had stormed off, locked yourself away, and then John sat in silence for hours afterwords, staring at the wall.
All of that, and it was his unpacked lunch that broke him. You always pack it with filling food that keeps him going on the days that heâs not in the field and just sitting behind a desk. He loves the notes you leave inside, and how you always prank something in his meal that makes him chuckle.
But right now, all he can do is stare at the container before him, knowing thereâs nothing inside it except what he packed himself last night.
âDamn it all,â he mutters, slowly tugging on the zipper, knowing itâs better to just face the measly meal than ignore it.
Yet as he opens up the container and glances inside, John finds something odd. Everything he packed last night is gone. In its place is what heâs always come to expect.
Disbelief spreads as John removes container after container, opening each one in turn. How did you manage it? How did he not sense you getting out or even returning to bed in the night? How did he not hear you in the kitchen?
John leans back in his chair, staring at the spread before him.
Whereâs the note?
Grabbing the bag, John checks, and finds nothing. He even opens up each food storage container, trying everything to see if youâve tampered with it. And still, everything is fine.
Reaching for his phone, John opens his messages, and thereâright thereâis one from you.
Sorry. Forgot to pack a note. Love you.
John sighs heavily, tapping the phone against his forehead. All this stress, all this worry, and you still care about him.
Thank you, he texts back. I love you, too.
John "Soap" MacTavish
âIâm done talking about this.â
Johnny shakes his head, grabbing your upper arm to pull you back into the conversation. âAnd Iâm not.â
You roll your eyes, but Johnny ignores the attitude. Whenever the two of you argue, itâs mostly frivolous nonsense that ends with the two of you fucking until the both of you are too exhausted to care about whatever you were arguing over in the first place.
This is not that sort of argument. The both of you are far too heated for this to devolve into rough kissing and even rougher sex.
âI know youâre angry,â replies Johnny. âButââ
âLet go, John.â
Johnny cringes on hearing his government name. You never call him John unless youâre looking to draw blood.
He releases your arm and steps away. âFine. But this isnât over. Iâm not going to let this go. We have to talk about it.â
âAnd we will,â you sigh. âBut I canâtâI canât think. I needâŚspace. JustâŚspace.â
Johnny watches you walk away and hates every second of it. The feeling only worsens when he glances over and notices his empty lunch pail. You always prep it for him, making sure heâs fed. He likes that you do it. Makes him happy every time he opens it up on his lunch break.
But youâre raging mad, and itâs late.
Johnny is on his own.
With reluctance in every step and movement, Johnny fills the pail with all sorts of junk. Itâs all snack food, but he hardly cares. If he has to, heâll grab something while on break. When heâs done, he heads into the bedroom, pausing in the doorway.
Youâre already in bed, covers pulled up over your head.
Johnny frowns but he doesnât bother you, and when he finally rolls into bed, sleep alludes him for a solid hour before seizing him.
The morning isnât much better. Youâre still submerged under the covers and unresponsive. Johnny dresses for work in silence, grabs his lunch he packed in silence, and leaves the house in silence. He canât even bring himself to turn on the radio or listen to his favorite music. Part of him is empty.
The day drags at the construction site, and when he finallyâfinally sits down to eat, he doesnât want to open up his lunch pail and see the pathic meal he packed for himself.
âFuck,â he mutters while pulling on the zipper and flipping the lid.
Johnny blinks, staring down at the food before him. Gone is the prepackaged snacks and junk food. Thereâs a homecooked meal in here along with several snacks, fresh fruit, and veggies. On top of it all is a small handwritten note on heart-shaped pink paper.
Iâm mad at you but I wonât let you starve.
He didnât even hear you get up in the night.
Johnnyâs eyes sting, and when he blinks to chase away a few tears, he realizes how stuffy his nose has become.
âFuck,â he mutters, opening up the container of strawberries.
Youâve cut them into heart shapes.
Simon "Ghost" Riley
Simon has been a grump all day.
Doesnât matter that he wears a balaclava, and no one can see his face. He hasnât cracked a single smile once. Any question asked is responded to with a grunt, and if he must speak at all, itâs nothing more than a one-word answer.
Heâs not in the mood. His mind is elsewhere. All he can focus on is the fight the two of you had last night. Fights are rare but theyâre always fierce, and you never back down during an argument. For Simon, itâs simultaneously attractive and frustrating.
âUp to trade anything, Lt?â Johnny saddles up to Simon, peering over his shoulder at his lunch pail.
The rest of the team teases him endlessly about the fact that you always pack Simon a lunch. They call it cuteâdomestic. But theyâre also jealous. Johnny is always trying to barter and trade with him, and Simon always refuses.
Until today.
There is absolutely fucking nothing in his lunch pail except a protein bar and a bag of crisps. Simon packed his lunch last night while you went to bed after verbally chewing his head off. This time, Simon is willing to trade the whole thing, but heâs too proud to spend money on picking something up. Heâd rather starve.
âMaybe,â answers Simon as he unzips the lid. âWhat you offering?â
Johnnyâs eyebrows rise slightly. Simon never shares. Never.
Simon flips the lid over but doesnât look.
Johnny leans forward, eyes widening. He whistles lowly. âDamn, Lt. Wifey hooked you up today.â
Frowning, Simon glances down and findsânot the lunch he packed himselfâbut one you packed for him.
âChanged my mind,â mumbles Simon, closing the lid and pushing the lunch pail away from Johnnyâs reach.
âChanged yourââ But Simon is already walking away, intending to enjoy his meal in peace. âOi! Lt!â
Argument aside, you still got up early and put this together while he slept. For the first time today, Simon smiles.
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
Kyle holds onto the lunch pail like a lifeline.
Itâs such a silly hesitation. He already knows what heâll find inside. He packed the damn thing.
Cup-o-Ramen. Plain crisps. An apple.
I donât want to talk to you right now, Kyle.
Leave me alone. Give me some fucking space.
Even now the resentment and anger still lingers on Kyleâs tongue. For all the years youâve been together, arguments have been few and far between. And even when there is a fight, the two of you talk it out until a solution is found. Neither of you like going to bed angry.
But last night was an atomic bomb. An explosion of dissent.
You broke off to the bedroom, slamming the door, and locking it behind you. Kyle ended up sleeping on the couch with nothing but a decorative pillow and a throw blanket that hardly covered his body.
After all the yelling, after all the back-and-forth and then your sudden disappearance, Kyle was left with two realities. One, you were pissed at him, and nothing was resolved. Two, you didnât pack his lunch.
Itâs the one thing Kyle loves most about working, knowing that youâve put together something healthy and filling. The cute notes arenât so bad either. But there was zero possibility that youâd pack him anything after that argument, so Kyle set to it, dumping stuff into the lunch pail before falling asleep on the sofa.
And now, here he is, sitting down for lunch and dreading the choices he made last night.
âBetter get to it,â he sighs, tugging on the zipper.
When he flips the lid over, heâs momentarily stunned. Gone is the Cup-o-Ramen and plain crisps. The apple is still there, but itâs sliced and in its own container with some chocolate spread on the side of dipping. Youâve replaced it all with sealed containers. Pasta. A salad with homemade dressing.
And on top of it all, a sticky note.
Iâm mad but I love you.
Kyleâs trepidation vanishes. He chuckles as he picks the note up and presses it to his lips.
Everything is fine.
Everything will be okay.
Bonus: Alejandro Vargas
When you and Alejandro fight, itâs explosive.
If something doesnât break from being thrown, it breaks because you and him were fucking like animals on it.
Last night wasnât a simple disagreement. You threw a shoe at him, and when Alejandro knocked it out of the air and kept going, you threw a pillow, and then attempted to throw the lamp. All in vain. He had yanked the lamp out of your hand, had it back on the end table, and tossed you onto the bed in a matter of seconds.
It was just pure need after that. All carnal lust.
After all the energy and anger vanished, Alejandro was left staring up at the ceiling as you dozed beside him. Nothing was resolved. Nothing was fixed.
And when he woke up late and rushed out the door, he didnât even think about that fact that you hadnât packed his lunch. Alejandro grabbed the container, brought it with him out of pure fucking habit.
Not, it stares back at him, and he doesnât know if he should even open it. Not like you got up in the night and packed it. Alejandro would have woken up if you had crawled out of bed in the middle of the night and returned much later.
No. No.
He wonât find anything in here. Nothing. A shame really. Heâs going to have to convince someone to go out and grab something for him, or hope someone brought something to drop off in the break room.
Alejandro swears under his breath and then opens the damned lid.
He expects nothing, and yet, itâs not empty. For a second, everything freezes, and then Alejandro isnât sure if he should laugh or cry. Inside is easily enough food for two. Youâve packed it to the brim, and as he explores, he even finds your homemade tortillas.
âIs this an apology?â he asks out loud, as if youâll pop into appearance and answer.
There isnât any note, and there isnât a single message from you on his phone. Either youâre waving a white flag, or youâre still angry, but not angry enough to allow him to go hungry.
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Private Military Contractor - Yandere Noncon
Yandere Male x Fem Reader Heavily inspired by this incredible fic.
He took you. Plucked you straight off the street on the way back from class. He must have known your routine down to a tee, because he did it all with a casual, brutal efficiency. Parking his rented van on the quietest road on your route, stacking a ladder and some paint cans outside so you'd think he was just a regular workman. The door open and waiting just for you, though you didn't know it yet.
You remember greeting him â a quick good morning to be polite - without stopping or even really looking at him. You walked a little bit past the van without realising he was following you. Oblivious right up until the moment he grabbed you, one paw against your mouth to swallow your scream.
He was quick. So ruthlessly quick. Yanking you inside the van and closing the door before you even fully registered what was happening.
He wants you around for one thing and one thing only. He made that abundantly clear on the first day, when you were scarcely through the front door and he was already tearing off your skirt. He would have fucked you in the van the second he took you if he thought he could get away with it.
He isn't gentle. He bends you over the couch with your wrists held together in the small of your back. If you squirm too much, he twists your arm so hard you scream that he's going to break it.
He fucks you dry. Shoving himself inside of you despite how tight you are, how unready and unwilling. He groans at the first thrust, so obscenely satisfied. Like he's finally tasting a prize long differed.
He doesn't last long during the first round. Spilling himself into you after less than three minutes.
He's big - too fucking big. The cum that drips out of your cunt is tinged pink with blood. If he notices it, he doesn't care. He just stands there for a minute, stroking himself hard again and then it's time for round two. Your tears haven't even had time to dry.
He fucks like a soldier in a foreign war zone. Taking, claiming, stealing. It doesn't matter that you're not his to have; he has his guns and his training and to him that's all the reason he needs.
He fucks like he hasn't had a woman in years. With all the pent up energy of long, lonely nights spent in the ugliest parts of the world. He fucks you like a man who's finally gotten his hands on the fantasy he's nursed through all the worst moments of his life.
He fucks like he's terrified of losing you now that he finally, finally has you.
You can't stand after he's done with you. Your cunt burning so bad you think you're on fire from the inside out. He doesn't care that you hang limp from his grip. He just picks you up and tosses you over one broad shoulder and takes you to his bedroom.
You come out of your shock only when you feel the handcuffs closing around your wrist. He's literally chained you to his bed.
You start screaming again then. Frightened and begging and finally realising that this is really happening. It's not a bad dream or a story on the news, it's actually fucking happening to you.
He ignores you, pulling off his heavy combat boots and locking his pistol in the draw across the room. Maybe he's waiting for you to tire out, for your throat to start hurting and for you to quiet down. You don't.
He sighs like you're nothing more than an inconvenience and then slaps you so hard your ears ring and white dots spark across your vision.
His use of violence is so causal, so easy. It's shock that keeps you quiet more than the pain.
Before evening on the first day, he fucks you four more times. He doesn't listen when you beg him to be gentle, beg him to go slow. He ignores you when you plead with him to fuck your mouth instead, as much as he wants, just so long as he gives your pussy a break.
Men like him exist on the knife edge between life and death. Is it any surprise that it leaves its mark? That he wants to take whatever pleasure he can because god alone knows how much time he has left?
He doesn't kiss you until the very end, when he's deep between your thighs and you've dug your nails so deep into his back that you're going to leave scars. He kisses you when you're too hurt and sore and scared to turn away. He kisses you and it feels like he's finally staking his claim. Like part of him didn't believe you were real until he'd fucked you again and again and there was no one to stop him.
The next morning, he shoves a bitter tasting pill under your tongue and keeps his hand over your mouth until he's sure it's dissolved.
"No kids," he says simply and it makes you want to laugh at the absurdity of it.
Yeah, you agree silently, no fucking kids. Especially not if you're the father. Especially not in a world where men like you exist.
He has an appetite that's borderline impossible to satisfy. Once he starts kissing you, he doesn't stop. Teeth nipping at your lips until you give in and even then it's not enough. He wraps one massive hand around your throat and squeezes.
"Kiss me back," he breathes, his lips just an inch from yours.
You kiss him and he takes it like you're everything he's ever dreamed about, the prize he's somehow earned.
After that, he spends a lot more time exploring your body. It's like he needed to get some of that desperation out of his system before he could think straight.
He's less feverish when he touches you, but no less impatient. He pries your thighs apart with one brutal yank and drops his face to your pussy. You try and jerk away from him, try and close your legs despite the massive forearms keeping them spread. You don't want him there. It's too intimate, it's too vulnerable. Hasn't he taken enough?
He licks you like he has no shame. Not even a little shy about having his tongue deep in your cunt. He tries different tricks - slow and sensual, rough, tight little flicks. He doesn't seem to care how you respond to any of it. It's more so an experiment to see which way he enjoys eating you out.
You cum on his tongue, your eyes screwed shut in guilt. You hope he won't notice, hope he'll just get bored and leave you alone.
He growls in a pleased sort of way, looking up at you with his mouth and chin slick. Oh, he definitely noticed.
You can't meet his eyes after that.
He's not a doomsday prepper. Or at least not exactly. But everything he has is off the grid. A house with its own solar panels and borehole, no technology except for his old fashioned satellite phone.
He doesn't talk much. Not even when he's fucking you. You might get the occasional good girl or a snarl for you to take it, take it just like that.
But he doesn't talk. Doesn't comfort you, doesn't insult you, doesn't even explain himself. (Though you suppose the way he holds you at night - tight, like you're going to be ripped away from him if he doesn't sink his claws in - is explanation enough).
He has money. Blood money you suppose. He doesn't go to work or leave the house much but still manages to buy you all sorts of expensive things. Silk negligees, satin panties, scented candles that melt into body oil. You aren't sure why he bothers. He's usually too impatient to appreciate any of it - most of the panties end up a torn, wet mess by the time he's done with you.
You look through his closet one day. There's a box full of military patches - Blackwater, Raytheon, MPR, a dozen more you don't recognise. And you know for a fact they aren't just some stupid collectibles, aren't there just so he can play out some militaristic power fantasy. He really worked for these companies. The patches feel real - their quality designed for hard weather and harder work. You understand him a little better after seeing them.
You don't know him. Don't recognise him in the slightest. He's a stranger to you - to the point you don't even know his name. At first you assume he took you because you were the only one stupid enough to get caught. But a few days with him and you realise that's not true at all. He knows you.
He feeds you your favourite cereal every morning, even though you can tell by his frown that he doesn't approve of your dietary choices. He has a closet packed full of your clothes. You thought he somehow raided your house but it's all new. He went out and bought exact copies of all your regular outfits, down to the tiny Victoria's Secret thongs that you like.
How? How could he gather so much information about your life while you didn't even realise you were being watched?
He takes you down to his basement one day, when you've been particularly insistent about asking him who he is. There are rows and rows of guns. Semi and fully automatic rifles, sniper rifles, shotguns. Shit you aren't even sure is fully legal.
You aren't sure why he's showing you this. Is he trying to scare you? Is he trying to goad you into escaping just so he'll have an excuse to punish you?
You look into his eyes - monster, monster in the shape of a man - and finally realise what he's trying to say.
No one is coming to save you. No one even knows where you are. But if by some slim chance they try and take you away, they'd better hope to be fucking bulletproof.
You stop asking him about himself after that.
He decides he wants anal one day in the shower. He's pressed up against your back and running his cock up and down between your ass. The tip keeps getting caught on your puckered entrance and maybe that's what puts the idea into his head.
You're too slow to realise what he's planning and he has one thick hand gripping the back of your neck before you can even think of running.
It's slow, painful going. He wants to shove himself in like he always does but the nature of it stops him. The tip is the worst part. You bite your lip so hard you can taste blood, your hands and tits both pressed up against the glass.
He presses his lips against your temple, watching your face screw up as he gets deeper.
"It's okay to cry."
There's a sick pleasure to his voice. He flicks your clit and your entire body clenches around him. He hums at that, amused and pleased.
And the worst part? He somehow makes you come. When he's finally loosened you up enough to start thrusting, he hits something deep inside you. He notices it - he notices everything about you. He laughs a little and slips his fingers into your pussy. That's all it takes to send you crashing over the edge, your whole body pulsing and aching all at once.
"That's what I like about you," he snarks into your ear when he's done, "I can make you come no matter how much you don't want it."
He turns you around and looks down at you. The expression on his face makes you want to vomit. He looks at you with a kind of loving softness. A tenderness that ignores all the awful, awful things he's done to you.
If you didn't realise it already, you knew it for a fact right then and there.
He's never going to let you go.
He takes your chin between his fingers and pulls you onto your tip toes to kiss him.
"Why?" you ask for the millionth time since he took you. And for once, he answers.
"Because I could. Because I can."
#yandere#yandere imagines#yandere x reader#yandere drabbles#yandere scenarios#reader insert#x reader#yandere oc#yandere lemons#yandere oc x you#yandere noncon#yandere male
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ORGAN THIEF

synopsis. you tell yourself caleb was never yours to have, so you let zayne get close. until caleb decides he doesnât like to share. warnings. jealousy. mentions of violence. angst. pairings. caleb x reader (x zayne) word count. 7k. an. felt like crying tbh. might edit later.
when you were young, there was no such thing as distance between you and caleb.
you were always together, moving through life side by side, never questioning it. there were scraped knees from racing down the street, grass stains from summers spent lying in the backyard, and lazy afternoons where he let you steal food from his plate without complaint. nights meant whispered conversations under blanket forts, his voice always the last thing you heard before sleep took you.
you grew up together, side by side, pulling each other out of the awkwardness of childhood, shedding timidity like second skin.
caleb and y/n, y/n and caleb.
hereâs y/n.
hereâs caleb.
here's a bond that no one else quite understands.
your love for caleb hasnât changed, but itâs grown into something you didnât understand. canât understand. not yet.
but caleb has grown. taller, sharper, still careless with his hair, but just as hopeless at tying his tie in the morning. thereâs a natural ease to him now, a quiet confidence that draws people in without effort. he doesnât just enter a room, he shifts the atmosphere, commanding attention without needing to say a word.
you hear the way the girls in the hallways whisper about him, their voices hushed but excited, their eyes lighting up when he so much as glances in their direction. heâs the kind of person people gravitate toward, like planets drawn to the pull of the sun.
kind. athletic. smart. golden.
the one who remembers names, who helps the new kid find their classes, who scores the winning shot and shrugs like it was never in question.
when caleb talks to people, he makes them feel important, like theyâre the only one in the room, like whatever theyâre saying is the most interesting thing heâs ever heard. he finds beauty in everything, in everyone, and in return, people canât help but see the same in him. they admire him, look up to him, want to be close to him.
but they also fear him.
they donât realize it at first. not until they get too close to you.
at first, you didnât think much of it.
the way conversations with guys ended abruptly, how some hesitated before sitting next to you, or how your lab partner, who had been openly flirting with you just the day before, suddenly kept his distance. his easy confidence had dulled overnight, his laughter forced, his eyes avoiding yours.
maybe it was just a coincidence, a strange pattern you convinced yourself wasnât worth questioning. but then it started happening more often. the brief glances, the quiet goodbyes, the way some of calebâs teammates barely acknowledged you despite knowing that you were close.
still, you never questioned it. because, in the end, it never really bothered you.
caleb had always been like that.
like how he insisted you wear his jersey at his games. the first time, he tossed it at you casually, like it was an afterthought. ânow theyâll all know exactly who youâre watching.â
you rolled your eyes but pulled it on anyway, ignoring how it smelled faintly of his cologne and sweat. after that, it became a habit. if you ever showed up without it, heâd pull it from his bag and toss it over. no words, no discussion.
or how he always left his jacket with you when you were cold. it didnât matter if you insisted you were fine. if he caught you rubbing your arms or tucking your hands into your sleeves, his jacket would be around your shoulders before you could protest. warm, a little too big, and never once did he ask for it back.
if you returned it to his room later, heâd only shrug like he hadnât expected it back in the first place.
and then there were the small things. how he always found a way to sit next to you, even when his friends were at another table. how he would drop by your class between periods, casually placing a snack on your desk before walking off without a word. he never explained why, and you never asked.
maybe you should have questioned it more.
but the thing that stood out the most was that caleb never introduced you as his sister.
it wouldâve been the easiest thing to say. it would have explained the connection, the way you were always around each other, how naturally you fit into his life. but he never said it. not once.
until people noticed.
one day, after a game, one of his teammates finally asked.
âso, sheâs your sister, huh?â the guy grinned, nudging caleb in the ribs.
caleb didnât respond immediately, just looked at him, unreadable.
the guy smirked, pushing further. âshould i start calling you brother-in-law, then?â
you expected caleb to laugh it off, maybe roll his eyes or shove the guy off like he usually would. but he didnât. his response was smooth, controlled, and too even.
âsheâs off-limits.â
there was no room for argument.
his teammate hesitated, raising his hands in mock surrender before forcing out a laugh. âdamn, man. didnât know it was like that.â
you didnât think much of it.
not until a few days later, when that same teammate got injured at practice.
a bad fall, they said.
a collision that left him with a bruised eye and a limp that lasted over a week.
accidents happen all the time in sports. it was easy to write it off as bad luck.
but when you glanced at caleb, standing on the sidelines, unbothered, indifferent with bruises along his knuckles, you felt something shift in your stomach.
maybe you should have been mad. maybe you should have confronted him, called him out, demanded an explanation.
not because it was unfair.
not because it was wrong.
but because you liked it too much.
you liked the way caleb made it impossible for anyone else to get too close. the way his hand lingered at the small of your back when he guided you through a crowded hallway. the way he always waited for you after school, even when you had nothing planned.
the way he looked at you sometimes. like there was something simmering beneath the surface, something unspoken and dangerous and impossible.
and that was the problem.
because he wasnât yours.
because he was supposed to be your best friend.your family. the one person you shouldnât want.
you understood now. the love you had for him has grown to fill the spaces you didnât have when you were a child. itâs grown into longing and desire and jealousy, something so fucking powerful and essential that there isnât a piece of you that doesnât love him.
so you did the only thing you could think of.
you avoided him.
at first, caleb let it slide, pretending not to notice the way you pulled away. he let you ignore him in the hallways, let you skip out on lunches, let you slip past him at home without so much as a glance. maybe he thought you just needed space, that whatever was wrong would work itself out on its own.
but after a few weeks, the cracks started to show. he stopped lingering after class, stopped waiting for you outside your door, stopped trying to pull you back into his orbit. the easy confidence he carried dulled, his smirks a little less sharp, his presence not as loud. he wasnât himself, and he knew it.
then, one day, he cornered you after the last period.
the hallway had mostly emptied, students filtering out in groups, their voices fading into the distance. but caleb wasnât moving. he stood in front of you, arms crossed, blocking your path, his amethyst eyes sharp and unwavering.
âyouâre avoiding me.â
it wasnât a question.
your stomach twisted, but you forced yourself to meet his gaze. âiâm not.â
his jaw clenched, his expression unreadable. âbullshit.â
you exhaled slowly, willing your voice to stay steady. âiâve just been busy.â
he scoffed, shaking his head. âright. too busy to come out of your room? too busy to even lok at me? we live in the same house, y/n. you donât just disappear on me.â
you swallowed, opening your mouth to say something, but nothing came out. caleb ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply, frustration radiating off of him.
âso you win. whatever it is i did, iâm sorry. now will you please fucking forgive me and put us both out of our misery?â
the words hit harder than you expected. he thought this was about him. he thought he had done something wrong. and worst of all, he looked miserable. bruises under his eyes, the tellâtale signs of too little sleep. heartbreak seeping through the sunshine boy's skin and weaving its way through his veins and making rivers.
the weight of it crashed into you all at once, the lump in your throat impossible to swallow. before you could stop it, your vision blurred.
calebâs face shifted the moment he saw the tears, his frustration dissolving into something softer.
his shoulders relaxed, his hands twitching at his sides before he finally reached for you, pulling you in without hesitation. his warmth wrapped around you, solid and steady, his breath slow against your hair. his fingers found their way to your hip, his lips pressing lightly against your forehead, his presence sinking into you in a way that felt painfully familiar.
and you didnât resist.
because despite everything, despite the space you had tried to put between you, despite how complicated things had become, caleb still felt safe.
so you pressed into his touch, letting yourself breathe him in, letting yourself forget, just for a moment, that you had ever tried to let him go.
friends, friends, friends.
he held you close, his voice rough with emotion. âiâm sorry, pipsqueak,â he muttered against your hair. âwhatever i did or said, iâm sorry, okay?â
you didnât answer.
you couldnât.
because the truth wasâ
you were the one who needed to apologize.
because this was never about him.
it was about you.
and the fact that no matter how hard you tried, you could never, ever stop wanting him.
too much, too much. you wanted caleb too much, want too much always, but you are not together and you had to accept that.
calebâs pinky locked into yours. you werenât sure if itâs another apology or a source of comfort you need in your state, or just plain habit, but heâs touching you (friends, friends, friends) and thatâs all you really need to know.
because despite everything, caleb still felt like home.
but home didnât last.
caleb starts staying out late.
at first, itâs nothing. just a few nights out, a way to kill time.
you hear about it through his teammates, offhand mentions from gran when she asks if heâs home yet. It doesnât bother you.
caleb has always been social, always had people orbiting around him, always found ways to fill the spaces in his life.
but then it becomes a habit. the late nights turn into early mornings, his weekends disappear into parties, and soon enough, it feels like heâs never home. he moves through the house like a ghost, slipping in while everyone else is asleep and leaving before anyone notices.
and you notice.
you notice the way he comes back smelling like perfume that isnât his, how his lips are redder than before, how his amethyst eyes seem heavier, dimmer, weighed down by something you donât recognize. you see the kiss stains on his neck, the scratches down his back.
you wish they hurt. you wish you left them there.
you donât avoid him, not entirely, but you donât talk to him the same way. your words are clipped, your tone indifferent. you stop waiting for him after school, stop lingering in doorways to say goodnight, stop reaching for him first.
when he nudges your shoulder, slings an arm around you, tugs on your sleeve like he always does, you pull away before he can get too close.
and caleb notices.
at first, he brushes it off, shrugs like it doesnât matter. he teases you the way he always does, pokes and prods, waiting for you to roll your eyes and shove him back. but the space between you keeps growing, stretching into something neither of you know how to name.
he stays out later. comes home smelling stronger, marked up worse, his voice hoarse in the mornings like heâs been screaming into the night. he looks at you, waiting for a reaction.
but you donât give him one.
and for the first time in your life, caleb stops trying.
the sky was falling weeks later when the door of your own room opens. blinking sleepily, you leaned over and flicked on the bedside lamp. he swayed against the wall, there is purple and green pressed all over his skin.
itâs caleb, whose lips are swollen again.
itâs late. too late.
the smell of beer clings to him, mixed with something sweeter. something that isnât his.
his hoodie is loose, his hair messy, his steps uneven as he leans against your doorframe, eyes heavy-lidded but sharp as they land on you.
âyou mad at me, pipsqueak?â his voice is lower than usual, playful, teasing, but thereâs something behind it. something that isnât entirely a joke.
your lamp lit up the dark bruise on his neck in a ghastly light. you could still see the fingertips, could feel the ghost of them pressing into his skin. friends.
your hand goes whiteâknuckled, gripping into the sheets. âgo to bed, caleb.â
âiâll sleep in your bed,â he mutters, like itâs obvious. like itâs true. like youâll agree without doubt.
you exhale, shaking your head. âyouâre drunk.â
âand?â he counters, stepping into your space, his smirk faltering just slightly. âyou say that like it changes anything.â
you donât answer.
because maybe it doesnât.
he peeled off his hoodie without a word. there are red fingernail marks on the ridge of his spine and bruises on his hips, signs from the girl with perfume you smelled on him last night, the girl who gets to touch caleb in the places you canât.
he watches you for a long moment, his eyes scanning your face like heâs trying to figure something out. and then, finallyâ
âi donât get it.â his voice is quieter now, more serious. âwhat did i do?â
you settled back against the bed. ânothing.â
âbullshit.â he laughs, but thereâs no humor in it. âyouâve barely looked at me in weeks, y/n. you donât wait for me anymore. you barely talk to me. and every time i try to touch you, you act like it makes you sick.â his jaw clenches. âso tell me. what the hell did i do?â
you should lie. you should push him away. you should say something sharp, something final, something that makes him leave.
but you donât.
and caleb, drunk and tired and hurting, sees right through you.
when he reached your fingers, he thread them between your own, collecting all the pieces of your conscience and disappearing without a trace, all remnants of your soul in hand.
his expression shifts, something softer flickering across his face. and thenâ
his fingers graze your cheek, barely there, like heâs testing the distance between you. the touch is slow, hesitant, deliberate. like he knows he shouldnât, but heâs never been the type to stop himself when it comes to you.
his hand moves to your hair, tucking it behind your ear with practiced ease, like itâs something second nature, like heâs done it so many times before that he doesnât even have to think about it.
his thumb lingers, brushing over your cheek, tracing the frustration etched into your skin. itâs warm, careful, almost apologetic. like heâs trying to smooth out the anger, the hurt, the weight of everything unspoken between you.
then, softer than youâve ever heard him, he murmurs, âhow can i sleep if my favorite girl is mad at me?â
and when you look at him, really look at him, your breath stumbles in your chest. he knew how to do it. how to make you feel like the sun rises in his veins only for you.
because caleb doesnât just sound tired. he looks it.
the dim light casts hollows into his features, emphasizing the exhaustion settling deep in his bones. his eyes, usually sharp and full of mischief, are duller now, heavier, shadowed by something that feels dangerously close to regret. thereâs no cocky grin, no teasing glint.
just quiet, aching exhaustion.
for the first time, caleb looks small. like the saddest man on earth, like heâs holding onto something he doesnât know how to fix.
you couldn't help but think of the amount of stars that had fallen with every step he took with a frown.
and it wrecks you.
you wanted to hold him, but you knew youâll be left with burned fingertips and calloused heart.
because he smells like beer and someone elseâs perfume. because there are scratches on his back that werenât made by your hands. because he has no right to touch you this softly after spending his nights with people who donât know him the way you do.
because no matter how much you wish you didnât care. you do.
and so, despite everything, despite the weight pressing against your ribs, despite knowing you shouldnât. out control, out of control, out ofâ
you kiss him.
for a tense, breathless second, he didnât move.
his body stiff, frozen, caught somewhere between hesitation and something else entirely.
and then, you felt it.
his hands sliding up, fingers threading into your hair, gripping tight.
and then for a second. just a second. he kisses you back.
itâs desperate, reckless, a collision of everything youâve been holding back. his lips taste like beer, and you donât care. your fingers grip his hair, pulling him closer.
his lips crashed against yours, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a hunger that left you breathless.
a quiet moan escaped you, swallowed by the heat of him, by the way his hands moved down, gripping, pulling, like he couldnât bear the space between you.
then, he tore himself away from you. friends.
tepping back so fast it felt like the air had been knocked out of your lungs. the warmth of his mouth, his hands, his presence, gone in an instant, leaving behind nothing but the sharp contrast of cold in his absence.
your eyes snapped open, breath uneven, pulse hammering as you stared at him, trying to make sense of what had just happened. caleb stood right in front of you, his chest rising and falling too quickly, his disheveled hair messier than before, his lips still swollen from the kiss. his amethyst eyes were dark, unreadable, but something about them made your stomach twist.
because he knew.
he knew what this kiss meant. he knew what you felt, what you had been too afraid to say. he knew you had shattered whatever fragile barrier had been keeping this moment at bay. he knew.
and yet, he smiled.
not the kind that comforted, not the kind that softened his sharp edges. this one was different. it was hollow, something cold curling at the edges, something sharp enough to cut through you with ease.
âhad enough practice?â
his voice was light, almost amused, as if the kiss had been nothing at all, as if it hadnât just unraveled you completely. you could only stare, frozen in place, his words slicing through you before you even had the chance to process them.
and you took it for what it was, a dagger to the heart.
then, with careful, deliberate movements, he stepped back, putting more space between you, widening a distance that already felt impossible to cross. his hand raked through his hair, a humorless chuckle escaping his lips, but there was no real amusement in it.
âif you just wanted to get your first kiss over with, you couldâve told me.â the words were effortless, thrown out like they meant nothing, but there was something in the way his voice faltered at the end that made your stomach drop. his gaze flickered over you for a second, lips curling into something that wasnât quite a smirk, wasnât quite anything at all. âguess now youâre ready for the real thing with whoever you actually want.â
your mouth opened, but no words came out.
it didnât matter. caleb didnât wait for a response. he exhaled sharply, his eyes lingering for a beat too long before he turned away. there was no hesitation in his steps, no second glance, nothing to suggest that this moment had shaken him the way it had shaken you.
and then, just like that, he was gone.
he doesn't think, doesn't wait, doesn't want.
he just leaves.
disappearing into the dark, leaving you standing there, cold, alone, and regretting everything.
and maybe that was the moment you lost him.
y/n and caleb, and it's hard to tell where one end and the other begins. there probably isn't a difference, and trying to draw the line would doom the both of you.
this time, caleb starts avoiding you.
and this time, you know exactly why.
itâs different now. worse. because he doesnât just disappear at school. he disappears at home, too.
you hear him tell gran he has practice when you know he doesnât. you catch glimpses of him slipping out late at night, hood up, car keys dangling from his fingers. when he comes back, itâs always late, long after the house has gone quiet.
you pretend not to hear the front door creak open, the careful shuffle of his footsteps down the hall, the way he pauses outside your door for just a second before moving on.
he doesnât look at you.
not in the morning when you pass each other in the kitchen, not when you sit at opposite ends of the dinner table, not when gran asks him a question and he answers without ever acknowledging the weight of your silence. the air between you is thick, heavy with everything unspoken, but neither of you say a word.
at school, itâs even worse.
you used to know exactly where to find him: leaning against his locker, sprawled across the lunch table, laughing too loudly, always moving, always there. but now, heâs everywhere except near you.
and when you do see him, itâs only for a second. a glance across the hallway before he looks away. a flicker of amethyst eyes lost in a crowd. an almost-moment before he disappears again, slipping into someone elseâs world, somewhere you donât belong.
you shouldâve expected this. you shouldâve known that kiss, your first kiss, would wreck everything.
but somehow, it still hurts.
and whatâs worse, what makes your stomach twist, what makes your skin feel too tight and your throat close up, is that you hate yourself for it.
you hate yourself for wanting it.
for wanting him.
you feel disgusted when you think about it, about how easily you caved, about how much you liked it, about the way his hands felt on your skin, his lips against yours. you hate that even now, when you close your eyes, you can still feel it, still want it, still crave the weight of him against you like a sickness you donât know how to cure.
so you do what you can. you push forward. you stop waiting.
and that was when you met him.
it started with a name, called out in class like it meant nothing.
âzayne and y/n.â
your biology teacher paired you together for a semester-long project, and you hadnât expected anything from it. zayne wasnât someone you had paid much attention to before, and when he pulled out the chair beside you, there was no hesitation, no awkwardness, just quiet acceptance.
âlooks like weâre partners.â his tone was even, uninterested, like he was already calculating how much effort this would require.
âlooks like it.âyou mirrored his indifference, expecting nothing more than a few study sessions and a forgettable final grade.
but it wasnât just another assignment.
zayne wasnât like caleb.
he didnât overthink his place beside you, didnât steal glances to gauge what others might think. he wasnât loud, wasnât overbearing, didnât fill the silence with pointless conversation just to make his presence known. he was steady, self-contained, comfortable in the quiet. after weeks of feeling like you were walking on eggshells, that steadiness ws a relief.
at first, your time together was purely academic.
library meetings that were structured and efficient, an easy rhythm of work that never strayed beyond the boundaries of your project. but then, something changed. lunches became routine, neither of you discussing it but always sitting at the same table. walks to class happened naturally, steps falling in sync without effort. conversations stretched beyond assignments and deadlines, carrying into late-night messages about things that had nothing to do with school.
zayne told you about his love for the winter, and how he would sneak out during the first snow fall. you told him about the time you and caleb got caught sneaking out, how caleb had talked his way out of trouble while you stood there panicking.
unlike caleb, zayne didnât tease, didnât turn your stories into jokes at your expense. he just listened, nodded like he was actually picturing it.
too kind, too understanding, too much of exactly what you needed.
somewhere along the way, you became friends. and soon, you were always together.
dinners with gran started to change. it used to be the three of you. gran, caleb, and you.
but caleb started skipping them, claiming he was busy, always finding somewhere else to be, never home long enough for it to feel like anything but an excuse.
zayne, on the other hand, filled the space caleb left behind.
it started as a casual invitation.
gran insisting he stay after studying, reassuring him there was more than enough food. he had accepted without fuss, without hesitation, and from that night on, his place at the table never felt out of place. gran told stories you had heard a thousand times before, and zayne listened to every one of them, nodding along, asking questions like he hadnât already picked up on the details from you.
he wasnât a replacement for caleb.
but he was something constant.
then one afternoon, you and zayne crossed paths with caleb in the hallway.
there was no tension, no hesitation, no moment of discomfort where zayne second-guessed himself. he just looked at caleb, gave a simple nod in acknowledgment, and kept walking, like it was nothing.
like caleb was no one special.
like he wasnât even worth a second thought.
caleb didnât say anything. he just stood there, watching.
but you knew that wasnât the end of it.
and you were right.
the moment the wrong boy fell in love with you. and you wished he could pull out your heart, and make him see that you fell in love with the wrong boy too.
that was why you were here, standing in the biting cold, surrounded by barren fields of frost, with zayneâs rare laughter curling into the air like something warm, something that was meant to feel safe. that was why you let him get close, why you let yourself believe, even for a moment, that this could be enough.
you shouldnât have been thinking about caleb.
so you focused on the wrong boy instead.
on the way his voice carried in the quiet, on how he walked beside you without hesitation, how his presence didnât ask for anything more than what you were willing to give. he wasnât waiting for you to figure things out, wasnât demanding answers you didnât have. he was just there. steady. certain.
maybe that was what love was supposed to feel like when you didnât want it. something easy, something quiet, something that didnât threaten to tear you apart.
but it still didnât fit right in your chest.
âweâre here.â
zayneâs voice pulled you back, his excitement evident in his eyes as he gestured toward the sled he had set up.
you blinked at it, then at him. âare you serious?â
he grinned, brushing the snow off the seat before tossing his scarf around your shoulders, adjusting it with careful hands. the fabric was thick and slightly uneven, the pattern something you wouldnât have picked for yourself, but it was warm, and it smelled like him.
you raised an eyebrow, eyeing the details.
âgran taught me how to knit,â he admitted, a flicker of amusement in his expression.
your fingers traced the edges of the scarf as you exhaled. âitâs nice.â
and it was.
you didnât know whether to laugh or cry over how endearing it was, how easily he gave things to you, how much he seemed to mean it. he could have handed you anything, and you would have taken it, because this. this moment, this feeling. was already too much.
then, without a word, he just looked at you.
not a passing glance. not a fleeting moment of consideration.
zayne never did things halfway.
when he looked at you, he made sure you knew.
his hazel eyes were bright despite the winter gray, his expression unreadable but not indifferent. there was something certain about the way he watched you, something steady in the way his gaze settled, like he was memorizing the shape of you.
like he took in every detail.
the way the cold had flushed your cheeks, the way your breath curled into the air, the way the weight of the moment made your fingers tremble against the scarf.
âis there something on my face?â you asked, startled by the intensity in his stare.
he shook his head, his gaze flickering slightly before settling again. âi wish i had more time with you.â
the words were quiet, simple, but the weight of them landed hard.
you swallowed, pulse stuttering, because there was something in the way he said it that made your chest ache. he didnât say it like a passing thought, didnât say it like he was reaching for something just out of grasp. he said it like he knew.
like he already understood that whatever this was, whatever you were, had an expiration date.
his eyes dropped, just for a second, barely noticeable, but enough.
enough to know what he was thinking.
enough to know that if you leaned in, he wouldnât stop you.
and for a fleeting moment, you wanted to.
not because it was right. not because it was real.
but because you needed to forget.
you needed something to press over the ache in your chest, something to drown out the weight of calebâs absence, the sound of his voice in your head, the way he had always, always been there. until he wasnât.
but you didnât.
because it would have been a lie.
âgran, weâve talked about thisââ
calebâs voice cut through the air, sharp with frustration, breaking the moment before it had the chance to solidify into something real.
âno, you talked. an aviation school halfway across the country? when there are good ones right here? whatâs wrong with being close to home?â
the front door creaked open, and as if time couldnât be any crueler, gran and caleb stepped outside.
his presence was immediate, impossible to ignore.
caleb had always carried himself like he belonged in any space he occupied, but now, standing in the cold with the weight of an argument still lingering between him and gran, he felt like something distant. something storming just beneath the surface, unreadable and untouchable.
zayne sighed, shifting beside you, but you barely noticed.
because while he was looking at you, you were looking at caleb.
your stomach twisted, the weight in your chest pressing down harder, suffocating in a way you didnât understand.
âand i know itâs far. i know itâs hard. but itâs not about running away.â calebâs voice was firm, steady, like he had already made up his mind. he barely hesitated before adding, âthis is whatâs best for me. for all of us.â
and just like that, it was over.
he turned before anyone could argue, before you could even process what he had said, stepping back into the warmth of the house.
the door clicked shut behind him, and somehow, that sound felt louder than anything else.
you don't know what's love and what's hate now. if there is a difference between the two of you, y/n and caleb, here.
later that evening, you fell.
it was late, exhaustion pulling at your limbs as you trudged up the stairs, arms full of books. zayne followed a few steps behind, his pace unhurried, hands tucked into his pockets as he listened to you yap.
you were mid-sentence, distracted by the conversation, too focused on the warmth of another presence at your side to notice the uneven step beneath your feet.
your toe caught the edge, and before you could react, your balance shifted forward. books tilted dangerously in your grasp before slipping from your fingers as gravity pulled you down. your stomach lurched, breath catching in your throatâ
but you never hit the ground.
zayneâs hand wrapped firmly around your wrist, his other pressing against your waist with steady ease. his grip was strong, grounding, keeping you upright before you even had the chance to panic. your breathing was uneven, heart hammering from the sudden shock, your body tensed from the lingering adrenaline.
for a moment, neither of you moved.
his fingers still pressed against your skin, his touch neither hurried or hesitant. . he had caught you, steadied you, and yet he didnât let go.
you became painfully aware of the way his chest hovered just inches from yours, the warmth of his palm burning through your shirt.
when you looked up at him, his expression was unreadable. calm, composed, but something else lingered beneath the surface. he wasnât just looking at you. he was waiting.
waiting for you to move. waiting for you to step back. waiting for your permission.
and that was what made your pulse stutter.
itâs too much and itâs never enough.
you should have pulled away. should have created space. should have let the moment pass as nothing more than a near fall. but you didnât.
because then, his gaze flickered. just slightly, just for a second. before his eyes dropped to your lips.
your breath hitched, and before you could process what was happening, a voice shattered the moment.
ây/n? zayne?â
granâs voice, light, amused, pulling you back to reality.
and thenâ
âwhat the fuck?â
caleb.
your entire body locked up, tension snapping through your muscles as your head turned toward the sound.
he stood at the end of the hall, unmoving, his eyes dark, expression unreadable. his jaw clenched, the muscle ticking, his hands curled into tight fists at his sides.
he wasnât just watching. he was seeing something he wasnât supposed to.
zayne, still close, exhaled a quiet chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck, as if this was nothing, as if caleb wasnât standing there barely a few feet away. gran smirked, clearly entertained by whatever she thought was happening.
caleb did not.
he didnât speak, didnât demand an explanation, didnât so much as glance in your direction. he just turned on his heel and walked away, disappearing down the hall without another word.
and somehow, that was worse.
dinner was slow, thick with something unspoken, the weight of the evening settling over the table like a fog.
gran, as oblivious as ever, carried the conversation, her voice the only thing filling the silence. âheâs going to be a doctor, y/n,â she said, beaming like it was something worth celebrating.
zayne gave a polite shake of his head, still eating, still composed, his presence unwavering despite the obvious tension in the room. âstill got a long way to go.â
but the real shift came when caleb sat down.
for the first time in weeks, he joined dinner.
he didnât make an excuse, didnât disappear before the plates hit the table, didnât claim to have somewhere else to be.
he was here. silent, stiff, but here.
his fork scraped against his plate, but he barely ate. his shoulders were tense, his fingers gripping the edge of the table just a little too tightly. he answered when spoken to, voice clipped, his eyes fixed on his food, refusing to meet yours.
zayne, on the other hand, didnât react. he carried himself with the same quiet steadiness as always, like nothing had changed, like calebâs presence, or his anger, meant nothing to him. he didnât fidget, didnât acknowledge the storm brewing across the table, didnât shift under the weight of calebâs unspoken frustration.
and that made it worse.
but you noticed.
caleb was stiff, his usual relaxed posture replaced with something rigid, something tense. his grip on his fork was just a little too tight, his knuckles flexing under the strain. he barely touched his food, answering granâs questions with clipped responses, his voice measured, controlled.
through it all, he never once looked at you.
your stomach twisted, the weight of his silence pressing down on you more than any harsh words ever could. it wasnât like caleb to hold back, it wasn't like him to sit in the same room as you and act as if you didnât exist. but tonight, he was locked in his own storm, letting it brew under the surface, making sure you felt it, even if he refused to acknowledge you.
then, after zayne left, gran turned to caleb, her gaze slow and assessing, studying him the way only she could. she took a sip of her tea, setting the cup down with a quiet clink before speaking, her tone light but deliberate.
âzayne is a good boy, but whether heâs good enough for you...â she let the words linger just long enough to make them feel heavier before tilting her head toward caleb, watching for a reaction. âwhat do you think, caleb?â
the shift in him was subtle.
a slight tightening of his jaw, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression, the barely-there twitch of his fingers against the table. you barely had time to process it before he moved, smooth and purposefully, his arm slipping around your shoulders like it belonged there.
his grip was warm, steady, and possessive.
âi think,â he said, his voice softer than usual, the perfect balance of ease and sincerity, âas long as pipsqueakâs happy, then iâm happy too.â
the words were convincing.
to anyone else, they would have sounded effortless, genuine even. but you knew him. you knew the calm in his voice when he was anything but. you knew the way he smiled when he wanted to bite back something sharper. you knew the restraint in his touch, the tension running just beneath the surface.
and right now, caleb wasnât just mad.
he was furious.
furious that you had kept something from him. furious that you had let someone else too close. furious that, for the first time, there wasnât a single thing he could do about it.
later that night, when you knock on his door, he opens it immediately, like he had been waiting.
the hallway is dim, the only light spilling from his room, casting sharp shadows across his face. the space between you feels suffocating, thick with something unspoken, something heavy you arenât ready to name.
his expression is unreadable, his face carefully blank, but you see it anyway.
the tension in his shoulders, the way his grip tightens around the doorknob, the barely restrained control in the way he stands, like heâs holding himself back.
your pulse thrums in your throat as you force the words out. âdid you mean it?â
caleb doesnât move, doesnât blink, his silence stretching unbearably between you.
you swallow hard, pushing forward even as your stomach twists. âas long as iâm happy?â
a second passes, then another. his jaw tightens, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he finally answers.
âno.â
the word lands between you like a blow. it should make things clearer, should make it easier to understand, but instead, it only makes everything worse.
you shift on your feet, your heartbeat hammering against your ribs, but caleb just watches you, his amethyst eyes locked onto yours in a way that makes it impossible to breathe.
âthen why are you acting like this?â
there's a crack in his surface, his electric electric eyes gleaming in undetectable, hidden message. his expression was a clear indication to what he felt.he wasn't ready to hear that.
his exhale is slow, controlled, measured, but thereâs something beneath it, somehing restrained. and then, just as carefully, he says it.
âget rid of him.â
the command slices through the air, sharp and undeniable, like a final puzzle piece snapping into place. your stomach drops at the certainty in his voice, at the quiet weight behind his words.
âi-i canât.â the response comes out weak, barely more than a whisper, but itâs the only thing you can give him.
something in caleb shifts instantly. his body tenses, his expression sharpening as his focus narrows completely onto you. his movements are deliberate, controlled, like heâs making a conscious effort not to move too fast, not to let whatever heâs feeling slip past the careful edges of his restraint.
âwhat do you mean you canât?â his voice is low, steady, but thereâs an edge to it, a dangerous thread of something unraveling just beneath the surface.
you look away, knowing that whatever comes next will change everything. âi donât want to hurt him.â
the silence that follows is heavier than anything he could have said.
his lips press into a thin line, his shoulders squaring as the warmth in his eyes fades into something colder, something unreadable. his posture doesnât change, but the shift in the air between you is unmistakable.
âso youâd rather hurt me?â
the words hit you harder than they should. you werenât prepared for them, werenât expecting the weight they carried, the way they landed with a finality that made your chest ache.
your throat tightens, and for a moment, you donât know what to say, donât know how to fix whatever just cracked open between you. but caleb doesnât look away, doesnât take it back, doesnât even flinch as the meaning behind his own words settles over him.
his gaze flickers, the muscle in his jaw tightening before he exhales sharply, like heâs regretting letting you see this part of him.
âare you saying⌠youâre jealous?â the words feel too fragile, too uncertain, but they leave your lips before you can stop them.
for a moment, he doesnât move.
doesnât breathe.
you expect him to deny it, to roll his eyes, to throw some dismissive remark at you like he always does. you expect him to do what heâs best at, pretend it doesnât matter.
but he doesnât.
he just watches you, his silence heavier than any answer he could have given. and thenâslowly, carefullyâhe smirks.
âif you want me to say iâm jealous, i will.â
his voice is smooth, effortless, light in a way that only makes your stomach twist. it should be reassuring, should make this moment feel less like a breaking point, but it doesnât.
because itâs too easy. too casual.
like heâs still pretending.
like heâs still keeping you at a distance.
your fingers curl into fists at your sides as the frustration rises, your voice barely more than a murmur. âyou could have just lied.â
caleb exhales sharply, tilting his head slightly, and then he moves.
too close. you're too close together for just friends.
your back presses against the wall before you even realize youâve stepped back. his presence is everywhere, surrounding you, his warmth pulling you in even when you know you should push him away.
and then his hands are on your face, fingers cupping your jaw, steady and warm, grounding in a way that makes it impossible to think.
your pulse jumps, a sharp inhale catching in your throat as his amethyst eyes lock onto yours, the distance between you disappearing entirely. thereâs no teasing in his gaze this time, no smirk, no sarcasm.
just heat.
just certainty.
his thumb brushes against your cheek, slow, deliberate, like heâs memorizing the feel of you, like he needs to. and then, his voice drops lower, softer, barely above a whisper.
âi am jealous, baby.â
a pause.
a beat of silence so heavy you can feel it in your ribs.
his fingers tighten just slightly, his grip firm but careful, like heâs making sure you donât move, like he doesnât want you to look away.
you're trying to not cry now but you missed everything you never had.
and thenâ
âmore than you think possible.â
#caleb#love and deepspace#love and deepspace drabbles#love and deepspace caleb#caleb love and deepspace#love and deepspace mc#love and deepspace headcanons#love and deepspace fic#l&ds caleb#lnds caleb#lads caleb#caleb x mc#caleb x you#caleb x reader#caleb smut#caleb headcanons#caleb drabbles#l&ds x you#l&ds x reader#l&ds#lads#lads x y/n#lads x mc#lads x you#lads headcanons#lads drabbles#lads x reader#lads zayne#lads mc#zayne
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Synopsis: Nick has been your best friend for so long, but you canât seem to get a long with his brotherâChris. You try to mess with Chris and it backfiresâŚ.badlyâŚ.
Warnings: illegal street racing, stupid driving, tension, smut with so much plot it hurts, street racer Chris, BIG MASSIVE SHLONG CHRIS, size kink, bulge kink, dick-wad Chris, p n v, raw sex, riding (wink), and more....
A/N: THIS IS OVER 5.2K WORDS. THIS IS NAWT A QUICK READ. Now, get in the car bitches, we're getting HORNYYYYYY!!!!
With love and bigs tits, Rose
ââââââââââââââââââââ
âHey, cute jeans!â I wave, my lips curling into a grin as I squint my eyes at himâChris. He rolls his tongue, shaking his head as he stalks off further down the street. Ha.Â
Itâs one of those rare occurrencesâIâm hereâat his street race, for god knows what reason.Â
All I ever do is mock him. In fact, thatâs why I call him cute jeans. The first time Nick and I had shown up at one of these dumb things, Chris thought I was a stranger from behindâand my jeans? Damn.Â
He had to be a real asshole and hit on me.Â
That night was fun for more than one reason. It sparked somethingâsomething I didnât know existed.Â
After that, my teasing only got worse. Chrisâs ego couldnât handle staying silent, he always had something smart to say.Â
âCome to watch me again, huh? Gonna record it for later, I bet,â Chris winks. My mouth snaps shut as I go to say something back. Heâs already goneânot giving me a second to respond before shutting the door to his car and speeding down the road.Â
Typical.Â
Itâs still bright out. The sun sinks lower into the horizon as more people crowd the deserted street by the minute.Â
âOkay, letâs just take a couple more pics and then weâll go. I know you hate this,â Nick huffs, adjusting the leather jacket heâs wearingâthe same coat that inspired this whole photoshoot. But you couldnât blame him, he did look hot as fuck.Â
Even if his looks resemble a certain idiot lurking nearby.Â
Part of me is burning with spite. I hate letting Chris have the last word. But my brain sparks with an idea, a brilliant idea.Â
How much would it cost him if I stayed around?Â
Those stupid bets were always placed in his favor. No one could deny he was goodâreally good. He drove on the street like he owned it and he never even seemed nervous.Â
âI kinda wanna stayââ My words are interrupted as I feel an arm rest down on my shoulders. I look over to see Beck, a girl I love seeing.Â
Sheâs vibrantâespecially with her signature red lip that seemed to draw all eyes to her. I always blossom off her confidence, loving to sit next to her when she showed true female power all with one swing of that stupid flag in the air.Â
âHow are ya, girlie? Havenât seen you in months,â she puffs, hugging me a little bit closer before dropping her arm back to her side.Â
I smile over at her. âPretty good, you still stomping on egos?â I question, the glint of mischief in her eyes reflecting back as she gives me a slow nod.Â
âOh, always. Especially Chrisâand itâs just for you.â She boops my nose as her words drag through the wind, the sound of tires screeching starting to muffle the chaotic hum of the crowd forming.Â
Nick stares down at the camera lens, scrolling through the pictures I had taken of himâthe reason why we were here, pretty much. âActually, I think we got enough. But are you sure you wanna stay? I can come back and get you laterââ
Beck brushes on Nickâs shoulder. She scrunches her nose at me while licking over her teeth. âI got her, Nick. Go home and post those pics, Iâll return her to you safely after tonight, donât worry.âÂ
âAlrightâŚâ Nick sighs, reluctantly hugging me and wandering back towards his car to head home.Â
âSo whyâd you wanna stay? Finally like cars?â Beck interrogates.Â
I shake my head vigorously, laughing as she smiles at me. âFuck no, I justââ
âYouâre gonna mess with him, arenât you?â
Her question rings through the air as a speeding car flies byâracers already warming up.
My eyes trace towards the track, seeing a sleek red sports car in the distance doing donuts. Of fucking course. Chris was always doing some dumb shitâillegal street racing or doing fucking donuts while the other racers were repeatedly drifting around the corners or fixing up their cars.Â
Heâs so cocky.Â
I whisper back to her as I watch his car tires mark the pavement. âDamn right.â
___
Chris is already fed upâI can tell by the way his jaw clicks and his nostrils flare when I catch him in the corner of my eye.Â
And Iâm looking directly at him, a stupid smile covering my face as I put my money on the bet table. Itâs twenty bucks, but it was twenty bucks I was willing to spend, or rather waste. Chris hasnât lost in a whileâhonestly Iâm not sure if he ever has.Â
âWhat do you think youâre doing?â Chris huffs, pulling me by the arm as he drags me to the side of the road by his car.Â
He roughly shoves me. The feeling of his car pressed up against my backside leaves my eyes twinkling with prideâIâm really getting to him. Just like I planned.
I shrug. âJust placing my bets. Isnât that what everyone does at theseââ
âWhy are you here? Whyâre youâ,â as his eyes stare into mine, his rough tone falls silent, his scowl curling into a smirk as he analyzes the subtle twitch of my nose. âHuhâjust cominâ to watch, right?âÂ
I nod to his question, my pride sinking to my feet as I try to stand up tall. Chris presses his body against mine, making my weight lean against the car once more. I swallow thickly as his hand drops from my arm.Â
What is he doing?
âYou know, I meant it, right?â he tuts, his eyes tracing your figure with no shame. âThese jeans⌠baby, they look so good on you.â His voice gets deeper, his head falling forward as his lips graze my ear. â-bet theyâd look better off though, hm?â Â
Fuck.Â
I wish it didnât make something inside the pit of my gut burnâbut it did. God, it really fucking did. My heart is hammering against my chest, the pulse in my neck pounding in my ears as slight butterflies in my stomach make it harder to breathe.Â
Shoving my body quickly, I manage to escape his hold. âShut up. Youâre such a cocky prick,â I spit, my arms folding across my chest as I try to keep a stern expression.Â
Chris lets out a dry laugh, grinning like heâs already won. He takes a couple steps forward, letting his hand travel into the ends of my hair, âAnd yet, you love it. I can practically hear how nervous Iâm makinâ you, itâs a real ego boost,â he husks.Â
âYou donât make meââ My lips fall open further, motionless as his hand moves to my neck, his cold fingers brushing against my pulse as my eyes go wide.Â
âNot nervous, huhâŚâ His head leans towards the side as he stares all over my face. His eyes linger on my lips as I try to look away.Â
But itâs impossible. Chris swerves his head, not letting my eyes leave his as he just stares at me.Â
âChris, stopââ
âWhy? Do I make you too nervous?â he urges, licking over his teeth and letting his hands drop down to his sides.Â
I feel a wave of heat caress up my spine and over my shoulders. âDonât you have some stupid race to lose?âÂ
The taunt seems humorous to him, the last resolve of my dignity peeking through mumbled words as he wipes over his mouth.Â
âAlright, alright. Guess Iâll go try to lose, butâI might need your help.â He shrugs, walking off with a wink.Â
Uh oh.Â
Help?
___
I canât tell what the fuck is going through his brain. Part of me regrets stayingâbut another part of me is sickly invested in whatever this twisted game is.Â
Nearly all bets had been placed. Stacks of money rested on the plastic table with a heavy baisâmost were betting on Chris.Â
It had to be at least two grand.Â
He wouldnât give up two grand for some petty argument with me, right? Noâthat would be insane. Absolutely bonkers.Â
âŚright?
I watch as Beck stands in the middle of the dark street, the only glow coming from the blue streetlights above. The sun had set quickly, the stars and moon doing nothing compared to the headlights from all the cars.
My legs hurt. I didnât realize I had been clenching every muscle for the entirety of the countdown to the actual race. The cold bleachers sting against my skin in the night airâmaybe I wouldâve dressed warmer if I thought I was gonna stay. But noâI was stuck shivering in jeans, a purple lace bra peeking from under my black top, and a letterman jacket.Â
The front row gave the best view, but I had no one to shield the bitter breeze. But it was worth it. This way I got to sit by Beck the entire time.Â
âRacers ready?â she shouts, her voice prominent over the reviving engines as she holds the flag in the air.Â
Chris is on the side closer to me, his boyish smile apparent as I stare at the side of his face. The other guy was one of the better onesâthe bets had some sort of hope in him, a large stack of bills showing that he had a decent amount of skill.Â
My mouth waters as I see Chris run a hand through his hair, his head turning and his eyes catching mine. Holy fuck. He looks absolutely dreamyâthereâs not an ounce of anxiety, pure confidence radiating from him.Â
And it makes it so hard to look away.Â
âWait, I got one more bet I gotta place,â Chris announces.Â
What?
My brows furrow, my face scrunching as I watch Beck relax the flag back down to her side. âMake it quick.âÂ
Chris nods at her words, my stomach flutters as he stares directly back at me, leaning his head out his window while licking over his lips. âWanna make a bet, sweetheart?â he asks.Â
I look around me, my shoulder sinking slightly as I take in the amount of people staring at me.Â
Heâs holding up the race to embarass me. Fuck.Â
As I stare back at him with squinted eyes, he clicks his tongue on the side of his mouth. âIf I win, I get to take you for a drive. Deal?â
âWhat?â I exclaim, throwing my hand in the air as I motion to the bet table, âWhy the hell would I agree to thatââ
âYou bet against me, remember?â he points.Â
My lips smack shut, the lump in my throat gathering thicker as I try to swallow. âIâll even give you the chance to make sure I lose a round. We gotta bet or not?â he questions, his eyes twinkling as the blue lights illuminate his sharp features. Â
If he had to lose one of the three rounds, that put more hope into the other racer. And if the other race won, Iâd be more than content. Getting to call him a loser would definitely irk him more than anythingâespecially if it was true.
I hear boos chant around me. âHurry up and race!â someone says from behind me.Â
My body stiffens as I hear the chorus of disapproval. âDeal!â I shout, biting on my inner cheek.Â
Chris looks at me with a daunting grin, his hand squeezing on the wheel as he nods. âAârightâready. Sorry for the hold up.âÂ
Beck rolls her eyes, holding up the flag once more.Â
âRacers ready?â she glares at Chris, continuing on as he revs his engine in response, â3â2â-1, GOââ
My heart drops as I watch the smoke from the tires scratching the street float around Beck. She saunters over, settling beside me as I lean forward, my pulse pounding in my ears as I watch them race side-by-side.Â
As the car rounds the corner and starts nearing the finish line, Chrisâs car zooms just slightly in front of the other vehicle, only seconds of a difference.Â
I canât wait to call him a fuckin loser.Â
Beck walks back out, the flag raising in the air as both cars position once again. âAlright, race two. Ready, setââÂ
âHey!âÂ
Stomping her heels on the pavement, Beck scowls at Chris as he shouts towards my direction. I look over, my face burning as I feel the crowd stare down at me.Â
I didnât know much about racing, but I knew enough. This wasnât normalâthis was the prime way to piss people off.Â
As I go to ask what he wants, Chris curls his finger, motioning for me to come closer.Â
The fuck?Â
I hesitantly stand up, my arms wrapped tightly around my torso as I walk up to his car window. Chris stares up at me with devious eyes. He obnoxiously chews a piece of gum, his jaw bone protruding with each movement.Â
âWhat the fuck do you want?!â I whisper-yell, catching angry eyes boring onto me as I take a quick glance over my shoulder.Â
Oh, these people are madâfucking furious, even.Â
âKiss me.âÂ
I do a double take, my eyes blinky slowly as I watch him lick over the bottom ridges of his teeth, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel.Â
âWhat?â I breathe out, a dry laugh heaving from my lips.Â
He canât be seriousâŚ
âHowever long you kiss me is however long Iâll wait to start drivinâ. Didnât you want me to lose? Câmon pretty girl, you saw the bet tableâuse your head, alright? Itâs just a kiss,â he taunts.
This is how he was gonna give me the chance to make him lose a roundâI shouldâve known.Â
I shake my head, cringing as I hear the booâs from the crowd get louder.Â
âIâm startinâ,â Beck says, holding up the flag. â3ââ
âYes or no? Itâs up to you,â he shrugs, his eyes drawing over my face as my lips smack open and shut.Â
â2ââ
The noise of his engine revving makes my anxiety settle. This is my chanceâmy only chance at that.Â
âFuck it,â I murmur, taking a long stride towards him.Â
â1âGO!âÂ
I crash my lips onto his, my hands on either side of his jaw. His lips meet mine with a hard urgency, the rhythm of my movement panicked and rushed.Â
My breath hitches in my chestâI donât know if itâs because I forgot to breathe or if itâs from the feeling of his hand traveling up and tangling around the back of my neck, pulling me impossibly closer as he slips his warm tongue into my mouth.Â
I nearly forget everything, gasping for air as I pull back quickly, moaning as I feel his mouth hungrily chase mine.Â
Never in my life had I been kissed like thisâso passionately and rough.Â
âHey! This gotta be breakinâ some rulesââ
Fuck.Â
The person yelling from the crow makes me pull back into reality. I stand up, watching as Chris slowly flutters his eyes open at me with a grin so cocky my hand twitches with the urge to slap him.Â
Why did that feel so⌠good?Â
Before anyone can say a thing, the other car slowly halts back to the starting line.Â
Had we really been kissing that long?Â
My fingers mindlessly float up to my tingling lips, my head feeling lighter as the surroundings start to spin a bit. Itâs like he put some drug in his mouth that immediately became addicting. I want more.Â
âSee? I kept my word,â Chris points out, âNowâyou gonna keep your word if I win? Lemme take you for a drive?â I swallow thickly, nodding slowly. âGood. Now go sit down and cheer for me real loud, alright?âÂ
I donât have time to respond before Beck interrupts with the same question, starting to count down. I quickly stumble back towards the bleachers, a sigh of relief pushing through my lips as my head bobbles between my shoulders while I sit down.Â
The loud cars barely register in my brain. All I can focus on is how light everything feels, how my lips are swollen and pulsing.Â
âCâMON!!!âÂ
Chants behind me draw my attention back to the road. What the fuck? Itâs not even closeâChris is speeding around the corners way smoother than the first round, almost as if he had beenâ
Oh fuck.
He was holding back.Â
I tried to mess with him and he played me with ease.Â
Part of me should be mad as he races near the finish lineâbut all I feel is excitementâanticipation.Â
My teeth clench into my lower lip as I watch him storm past the line, not even waiting for the other racer to finish before stepping out of his car and walking over.Â
Is he�
My eyes bulge as he walks in front of me, holding his hand out as an offer. âCâmon, you promised, yeah?â he urges.Â
I nod slowly, sliding my hand in his. He drags me to his car, opening the passenger door and shutting it after I climb in.Â
âChris! The moneyââ
Beckâs words fall on deaf ears as Chris slides into the driver seat, pressing his foot on the gas hard.Â
âYou didnât even get the moneyâwhatâre we doing?â I ask, looking behind my shoulder to see a crowd of people turned to our direction as we speed off further down the road.Â
âYou know, itâs not nice to try and tick me off,â he huffs, quickly glancing at me with a harsh stare.Â
Oh.
Oh.
âI donât know what youâre talkinâ abouââ
Chris lets out a vocal sound of disbelief, cutting me off, âYeah, you do. Fuckinâbettinâ against me, tryna get me to lose and shit. For what? Donât have a boyfriend to give you any attention, huh?â he asks, his hand reaching over and grasping onto my thigh.Â
He knows I donât have a boyfriendâI know heâs aware of that fact.Â
I stare down at his large hand squeezing my jean-clad leg. Something about his rough grip makes me shift in my seat, my thighs clutching together as I feel a wave of warmth settle into the pit of my stomach.Â
âYou like my hand on your thigh, donât you?â he says, smirking wider as I watch the blue streetlights cast a subtle glow on his cheekbones.Â
âIââ
âYou like it. Admit it.âÂ
Thereâs no room to argue as he trails his hand up further, his fingers tracing dangerously high as he gives me a rough squeeze. Fuck his hands feel good on me.Â
âChris whatâre youââ
âDo you know how it feels to constantly see you and know I canât touch you?â he starts, the car rolling to a stop by the side of the road as he rushedly shifts gears to park, â-youâre always fuckinâ teasinâ meâbeinâ a damn brat and I have to keep my hands to myself,â he grits, shaking his head as he stares down at me.Â
I swallow thickly as I shift in the seat. âChris, Iââ
âNo. None of that bullshit. Youâre always tauntinâ me. Whyâd you stay, hm? Why?â he questions, his tongue clicking on the roof of his mouth as his eyes deepen with intensity and dominance.Â
Silence. I canât fathom any words to say, my pulse drumming quicker as Chris pats his lap, adjusting his chair back.Â
âOver here. Now.âÂ
âChris, what are we doing?â I ask, hesitantly starting to climb over the center console.Â
His hands wrap around the underside of my thighs, pulling me quickly while I let out a slight yelp as he sits me down in his lap. His hands are firm on either side of my hips. âIâm done playinâ these stupid fuckinâ games. I justââÂ
The air is quiet. His eyes fall to my lips, his hands grasping just a little bit tighter around me. I can still feel the lingering sensation from his lips on mine earlier, the slight tingle still buzzing on the soft muscle as I let myself lean in closer.Â
âWe should stop,â Chris breathes, his tongue sliding between his lips as his eyes flicker up towards mine.Â
âWhy?âÂ
The question rolls off my lips with ease, my palms flattening against his chest as I lower my mouth to his neck, breathing over his pulse.Â
âBecauseââ He lets out a hiss. I place my lips on his neck, sucking gently as I massage my hand over his shoulder. âShitâwe gotta stop, babyâthis, thisââ His jaw goes slack as I find his sweet spot. His hands dig into my hips, the slight bulge growing beneath me making my lips curl into a smile as I gently grind myself on top of him.Â
âWhy do you wanna stop, Chris?â I ask, nibbling the bottom of his ear, âWhatâs got you so tongue-tied, hm?âÂ
âYouâre killinâ me,â he points, his gaze trained on me as he tangles his hand through my hair, pulling me back just enough to look at him, â-fuckinâ so annoying, so pretty and horrible, I justâI donât know how much I can hold backââ
âDonât,â I whisper, my hand gathering the material of his shirt in a fist as I watch him bite on his lower lip. His eyes trace over my face, one of his hands slowly tracing underneath my shirt, callusing beneath my bra.Â
âYeah? Donât want me to hold back, hm?â he remarks, his hips adjusting in the slightest, my mouth falling open as I feel him rut against me through the fabric of our clothes.Â
Fuck. I canât take this.Â
I lean forward, crashing my lips against his once more. Chris hums into my mouth. He furiously helps me peel off the bulky letterman jacket, the cold air feeling like relief compared to my burning skin.Â
âHoly fuck, slow down, baby,â he husks, his hands falling to my hips as I shameless grind myself against his hard bulge. But I canât get enough. â-âm not going anywhereâgonna stay and make you feel so good. Promise.âÂ
My heart drops as I feel his hand delicately caress over the purple lace covering my breasts. His nimble fingers trace around my hardened nub, a slight moan falling through my lips as I feel him smirk against me.Â
âTake those cute jeans off, câmon. Be a good girl for meâjust this once, alright?â he grins.Â
I nod slowly, awkwardly shifting as I pull down the denim while kicking off my shoes. Chris gets impatient, yanking the clothing to his own accord before planting me back on his lap, his jacket now discarded.Â
âHoly fuck, look at these legsâwould look so good wrapped around me,â he whispers, brushing my hair to the side as his lips graze my neck, â-while I fuck you deep and hard.âÂ
Oh my god.Â
My mind is numb, every inch of my skin pulsing with a hot sensation of greed. Chris stares at me with lust, his hand moving in the corner of my eye. âWant me to touch you? RightâŚ.here,â he breathes, the pad of his finger resting directly over my bundle of nerves.Â
I nod slowly, looking at him with hooded eyes as he starts to slowly circle the digit with a light, feathery touch.Â
âMore,â I moan, pulling his shirt into my fists as I watch him smile at me.Â
âYeah? What do you want, hm? Want my big dick in you? Want me to stretch you out and make you cum over and ovâ
âPlease,â I whisper, my hips moving for me as I struggle to stay still.Â
Chris looks down, gesturing for me to take control. I hesitantly fumble with his jeans, pulling out his hard length as my mouth starts to water.Â
Fuck. Heâs big. Noâheâs huge.Â
As I go to pull my underwear to the side, Chris stops me, placing his hand around my wrist.Â
âUh-uh,â he tuts, â-take âem all the way offâwanna see all of you when I fuck your guts.âÂ
My thighs tense from his words, my hands quickly sliding the fabric down my thighs and discarding them without a single care. Chris pets over the top of my thighs, his eyes hungrily staring down between my legs. âFuckâare you sure you want this? IâŚgod, I canât believe this is happeningâŚâ
I grab his hardness in my hand, spitting and dragging the lubricant up and down his shaft. Chris grits his teeth. His hands pinching into my sides as he lets out a deep groan. âYouâre so big,â I whisper, mostly talking to myself.Â
My eyes bulge as I feel Chris lift me with his hands on either side of my waist, placing me so my dripping entrance is directly aligned with his tip. His eyes bore into mine with dark passion. His jaw tense as he leans forward, kissing along my neck.Â
âYou gonna take it all fâme?â he dares, massaging my sides but keeping me from sinking down onto him.Â
âChris, pleaseââ
âGotta promise to take it all, sweetheart. Been teasinâ me all day already, I donât need anymore of that, alright? Justâjust gotta promise to let me stuff you full,â he purrs, sucking on the sensitive part of my neck just below my ear.Â
âI promise, justâmmphfââ He slowly loosens his grip, letting me lower myself. I feel his tip nudge past my entrance, the stretch of his size making my body tense as my legs tighten to a halt.Â
âThaattâs it, doinâ so good, justâjust relax,â he praises, brushing my hair behind my ear, â-gotta be a good girl and keep your word again, yeah?â
âY-yeah,â I stutter, slowly starting to take more of him. A broken cry falling through my lips as I feel my body stiffen again.Â
Chris is patient. His eyes are trained on my face as his hands massage over my body. âYou got it, câmonâjustâholy fuck,â his hand lingers down to my stomach, my top so messed up that itâs bunched over my breasts. Heâs not just admiring the skin, heâs worshipping the bulgeâthe distinct imprint of him inside of me as I hover over the last bit of his length.Â
âLook at that, sweetheart, I meanâfuckââÂ
I shriek as I feel him lift his hips upward, burying himself inside of me completely. My hands grasp onto his shoulders, my eyes teary as I watch him bite on his lower lip. âGodâsuch a good girl, takinâ me so good,â he compliments, slowly helping me as I start to ride him.Â
I feel him reach deep inside of me, my eyes staring up at the ceiling of the car while my body tenses with a wave of pleasure collapsing over every beating pulse of my skin. This is even better than that damn kiss. Iâve never felt like this before. Not ever. Itâs like an adrenaline rush, so overbearingly good that it feels addicting. Â
âHowâs that, baby, hm?â he hums, smiling down at the sight of his length plunging into my guts with each thrust as my movements quicken.Â
âIâitâs, IââÂ
What the fuck was I saying?Â
Everything feels so light, so impossible.Â
âThatâs it, fuckkkkkâlook so good ridinâ me like this, keepâ-shit!â he seethes. My walls tighten around him, my nails digging into his shoulder through his shirt as he lifts his hips to meet my movements.
His lips parted with pure ecstasy.Â
âFuck, fuck, I,â My words are cut off my a moan.Â
Chris laughs dryly, his grip becoming tighten as he really puts in the workâusing me like a ragdoll as he furiously fucks himself into me. âMmmm, th-ere,â he rasps, smiling as I let out small shrieks and moans between each snap of his hips.Â
Heâs so deep. Iâd never felt this good in my life. Thereâs a buzzing in my ears, spots in my vision as I feel my body ruthlessly convulse with the overwhelming sensations.Â
How the fuck is he so deep?
How the hell is he hitting against the perfect spot over and over and overâ
âYou cumming already?âÂ
His question pulls me back to reality. I nod dumbly, my mouth drawing open as I let out a long moan, my thighs quivering as I rock myself against his movement.Â
âOhâIââ
âMy name, sweetheart, wanna hear myâmy name, câmon,â he urges, the squelches getting louder as I feel my body burn with euphoria.Â
âChris, Chris, IâIâmy god,â I cry out, my hips slowly rolling to a stop as I feel him pause his motions.Â
I donât have time to reactânor to recover. I feel Chris hold me tightly, flipping me over so my back hits the seatâhis cock brutal as he drills himself inside of me.Â
âTake it, fuckinâfuckinâ take it,â he chants.Â
My hands scramble into his hair. I pull his face into my neck, letting my teeth sink into his shoulder. Every rut of his hips leaves me breathless, my body seizing as I feel his hardness drive into me over and over again while his pelvis slaps against my clit.Â
âIâm gonnââ
âWait. Wait for me, Iâmââm so close, baby, so fuckinâ closeââ
I clench around him, the buildup becoming too much as he continues to drown every inch of my body with pleasure. His desperate tone lingers in the air, his breaths shaking as his hips lose slight momentum.Â
âWherâ-where do youââ
âIn-inside, please, justâjust let me cum,â I plea.Â
Chris huffs, his thrusts becoming erratic and somehow deeper. âCu-cum with me, Iâshittttttttt, so fuckinâ good, so⌠so fuckinâ good,â he seethes, a warm sensation flooding inside of me as I feel my body convulse once more.Â
My limbs fall lifelessly. Our motions fall lazier, eventually pausing to a halt. Chris gently removes himself, pulling me into his arms tightly and positioning back into the seat with me on his lap.Â
His hand finds the back of my head as I lean onto his shoulder, petting through my hair as we both try to catch our breath.Â
âHoly shit,â he whispers. I let out a light laugh, flinching as I feel my stomach burn from soreness. âYou good there?â he asks.Â
Nodding into the crook of his neck, I lift myself to stare at him once more. My eyes trace from his sweat ridden face, seeing a clear imprint of his hand on the fogged-up car window. My nose crinkles as I inhale deeply. âIt smells like sex, Iâm sorry,â I let out.Â
Chris stares at me incredulously. âSorry? That was fuckinâ perfectâbetter than the money if you ask me. I mean⌠I donât know if Iâll be able to keep my hands to myself anymore,â he teases, flashing me a grin as he combs my hair behind my ear.Â
My lips curl with excitement. âOh really? You like takinâ me for rides?âÂ
He nods firmly, biting on his lower lip. âMhm. And you seemed to really like ridinâ.âÂ
I let out a light laugh, shrugging my shoulders before ruffling his hair playfully. âOnly with you.â
Chris cocks an eyebrow at me, âOnly me, huh?â I nod shyly, letting out a brief hum. His eyes linger on mine before falling back to my lips. âYou do ride good. Maybe you should be the racer,â he taunts.Â
âMaybe,â I whisper, â-maybeâŚâÂ
âLetâs get you back in those cute jeans though, yeah?âÂ
#sturniolo triplets#chris sturniolo#sturniolo x reader#sturniolo fanfic#nick sturniolo#the sturniolo triplets#sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo au#chris sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo headcanon#chris sturniolo imagine#chris sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo x reader#christopher sturniolo#christopher sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo imagine#matt sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo x you#matthew bernard sturniolo#matthew sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo#sturniolo headcannons#matt sturniolo au#sturniolo headcanon#sturniolo imagine#sturniolo triplets smut#sub!chris sturniolo#sub!matt sturniolo#Spotify
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big beefy number one pro hero deku is absolutely smitten with you, his chubby little girlfriend, and yeah you're a little bit of an airhead sometimes but that makes you all the more endearing to him.
prior to meeting you he used to feel embarrassed whenever he'd ramble too long about heroes or quirks. after some time people would drown him out after he started his disjointed babbling, not wanting to listen to him ramble. with you it's different, the first time it happened he went to apologise to you. jirou once told him he should try and apologise if he realised he did it to strangers afterwards- especially now that he's a pro hero.
so he goes to stammer out an apology after realising he spoke to you uninterrupted about all might's golden age for five minutes and you tilt your head and giggle at him. izuku draws in a breath. "why are you apologising deku? i really liked hearing you speak. what about his other ages?"
izuku felt like he was malfunctioning, "what?"
you bite your lip to stop yourself from giggling again. who knew pro hero deku is so cute? "like the silver age and the bronze age? are those all the ages or is there like a platinum age too?" izuku grins, you're so interested in what he has to say he can't help it. "wait was is all might's quirk again? he's like strong right? that's his quirk."
izuku pauses for a second before barking out a laugh. you pout and glare at him feigned annoyance. 'she's so adorable and ditzy. i need to speak to her again.'
you constantly praise him, not just for hero work either, and ever single time it makes his entire face red. it doesn't matter that you've been dating for four years now and izuku's brought an engagement ring, he still gets flustered with all the compliments.
people compliment him all the time, it comes with the job, but when you do it it means so much more. " 'zuku you're so brave!" "i don't understand this at all izuku, can you explain it too me? you're the smartest person i know." "you're so pretty." "your hair is so soft." "you're the best hero ever!"
a light sheen of sweat covers your forehead after being manhandled by your boyfriend into the cowgirl position, he loves holding onto your love handles and moving you up and down on his cock, with each bounce your body jiggles. you'll lay in bed with your face buried in his chest as you trace the scars on his arms with your fingertips lightly, "you're so strong izuku." you turn to face him and your chubby cheeks lift as you smile. "i'm so proud of you." his heart skips a beat. he's never loved anyone more than he loves you.
izuku gets possessive of you, he doesn't like people touching you. you're his. before you he never thought he would be jealous or possessive but then you came into his life and he nearly broke the glass of champagne he was holding when he saw todoroki talk to you. he knows todoroki doesn't like you like that, he's liked yaoyorozu since ua but he was too close to you and izuku hated it. his legs moved before he could think, walking up to you both with a forced smile on his face. he wraps his arm around your soft waist, tightly, and kisses your forehead. you smile sweetly at him and lean into his body. izuku brought you home earlier than you thought he would that night, holding onto your thick thigh with one hand while his other hand is on the steering wheel, driving you both home.
his jealous nature was cemented a week after when he saw kaminari talking to you. not just talking to you- flirting with you. if izuku was holding a glass like he was last time he most certainly would of smashed it in anger. you don't even realise what kaminari is doing and izuku knows you don't.
you listen to him talk intently and nod your head, you smile at him and laugh at his jokes. to some people they would think this would be you flirting back but you're not, you're just trying to be nice. kaminari has decided to talk to you and you want to be kind and listen to what he has to say and izuku has really admired that quality about you but right now he wishes you could pick up on the clear signs that kaminari is giving you.
izuku snaps when he sees kaminari look at your cleavage and glance at your body, his eyes lingering on your plush thighs. his voice is strained as he pulls you away from kaminari making some half-arsed, offhanded excuse as he takes you home immediately.
when he saves a small child and he gives them his award winning grin all he can think about afterwards is you. 'who are our kids going to look like? will they have my freckles? or maybe her hair? if they're half as cute as her they'll be the cutest kids ever.' he's already planning their bedrooms and his eyes drift to the baby clothes section at stores.
your boyfriend has the biggest breeding kink known to man and you get reminded of that as he folds your body into a mating press and groans deeply in your ear, "can't wait to see your soft body get softer puppy, promise i'll look after, you won't have to lift a finger." you loudly whine, grabbing hold of his large arms, every thrust causes a loud slapping sound with how wet you are. "you're gonna look so pretty puppy. i'm going to pump you full, make sure you don't spill any for me, just like the good girl you are."
izuku adores you and you feel exactly the same about him.
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Touch Starved
pairing: brahms heelshire x gender neutral reader tags: touch starved Brahms, you're a nanny, not movie compliant, just you delivering kindness to a man who's living in the walls, cute but also concerning, cause who wants a stinky, murderous man
You hadnât planned on taking care of anyone but yourself for a while, least of all a man hidden away behind old walls and silent halls. But fate has a funny way of leading you to the placesâand peopleâyou didnât know you needed.
The moment you stepped through the heavy wooden doors of the Heelshire estate, a sense of quiet trepidation mingled with an unexpected tingle of warmth. You were met by the echoes of distant footsteps (or so you thought) and the slow creaking of doors that seemed to open by themselves. There was supposed to be a doll, youâd been told. Brahms, a porcelain boy that you were to care for as though he were a real child. But as the days passed, you quickly realized you were not alone. You could feel itâa presence just out of reach. A low scuff against the floorboards when you turned your head, the flicker of a shadow across a mirror.
Every now and then, you caught sight of a shape in the doorway: tall and still, eyes peering through a masked face. Brahms. Not the porcelain doll, but a flesh-and-blood man, heartbreakingly silent and desperately lonely.
It was late one evening when you finally found him in the living room, crouched behind an old armchair. He might have fled if not for how gently you approachedâslow steps, outstretched hands, your voice calm but cautious.
You knelt down, heart pounding, meeting those wide, frightened eyes through the maskâs eyeholes. âYou must be Brahms,â you whispered into the stillness. Your words lingered, soft reassurance filling the space between you.
He didnât speak; you hadnât expected him to. But there was a distinct tremor in his shoulders as though he was holding back a flurry of wordsâor maybe sobs. Even behind the mask, you could feel the intensity of his longing for contact, for acknowledgment, for someone to look at him and not run away in horror.
So you didnât run. You didnât even back away.
You settled into a routine with surprising ease. Brahms was silent as always, but his presence began to make itself known through little gestures: the steady pattern of footsteps behind you as you moved about the estate, the slight tug on your sleeve when it was time for dinner, or a gentle tap on your shoulder in the afternoons when the house felt too big, too empty.
In response, you offered him wordless kindness. Meals at the table, always setting two plates so heâd know there was a seat for him. A folded blanket left on the sofa, just big enough for the two of you to share when the nights got cold. A record player with music turned down low, so he could sit near you without feeling overwhelmed.
At first, he was shy about receiving affection. Youâd see his shoulders tense whenever your hand hovered over his armâbut he never pulled away. Slowly, day by day, Brahms let himself draw closer to you. Where he once watched you from afar, now heâd sit at the edge of the same couch.
One evening, you found yourself in the library. The moonlight streamed in through stained-glass windows, painting the shelves in a kaleidoscope of color. You sat on the old, worn rug, a book splayed in your lap. You were reading quietly to him, your tone hushed and steady, when Brahms leaned closeâcloser than he ever had.
Your voice faltered for a split second, but you carried on. His breathing was unsteady. At last, carefully, you rested a hand on his knee. For an agonizing moment, you thought he might leap up and bolt into the hidden corridors. But instead, Brahms let out a soundâsomething between a sigh and a relief-filled moan.
He turned just enough for you to see his eyes through the mask, shadows dancing in the moonlight. Slowly, painfully shy, he laid his head against your shoulder, letting you cradle him gently. Brahms felt fragile, like an abandoned creature starved for love.
You ran your fingers through the strands of his hair that peeked out from beneath the maskâs edges. His shoulders relaxed little by little, tension melting under the warmth of your touch. If you had any doubts that your affection was what he so badly needed, they all drifted away in that moment.
Affection became your shared language. Brahms still didnât speak; you didnât need him to. The way he tentatively placed his hand over yoursâmasked fingers brushing yoursâwas worth more than a thousand words. When he was anxious, you felt it in the trembling press of his body against yours. When he was happy, you saw it in the more confident way he moved, as though it no longer pained him to be seen.
You took pleasure in the smallest rituals: combing through his hair by the fireplace, making him tea, encouraging him to hold your hand whenever he felt uncertain. He was ravenous for the smallest bit of kindness. Every fleeting touch on his arm or gentle brushing of your fingers along his back made him shudder in gratitude. You were more than willing to give it to him.
Eventually, one crisp morning, you convinced him to come outside with you. He hovered in the doorway, torn between the fear of the open world and the longing to stay by your side. But you simply offered your hand, palm upturned, and waited with all the patience you could muster.
He took it.
Once outside, Brahms let out a breath heâd been holding for years, it seemed. The sunâs warmth touched him through the fabric of his clothes, through the slight gap between the edge of his mask and his skin. You guided him to the garden, letting him feel the dew on his fingertips.
He never let go of your hand.
You paused by the rosebushes, a single white blossom catching your eye. You plucked it gently and offered it to him. Brahms stared at it for a long, reverent moment. Then, with trembling care, he lifted the bloom to his mask, as though inhaling a memory of a life he never quite had. Softly, you reached out, cupping his cheek over the porcelain of his mask. He leaned into your palm as though memorizing the warmth, the unmistakable proof that someone saw him, someone cared for him. In that private corner of the garden, with sunbeams turning both your breaths into pale mist in the cool air, you let him rest his masked forehead against yours.
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MOMMYS SMART GIRL.



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(wanda maximoff x fem!reader)
summary â you finally graduated, finally a real adult, but youâll always be wandaâs little girl.
warning(s) â drabble: age gap couple, smut, fingering(r!receiving), cunnilingus(r!receiving), tribbing, overstimulation, nipple suckling, mommy wanda, reader experience lil sub drop, aftercare! (18+)
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âYouâre such a pretty little baby.â Wanda praised, her fingers sinking deep inside you as your body rocked back and forth against the soft sheets below.
Today had been a very special day for you both. You had finally graduated college, a milestone that had felt so far away when you first walked onto campus, uncertain of what the future would hold. But here you were, already stepping into the next chapter with a corporate job lined up in the city. You couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment, of all the hard work that had led you to this moment.
But as much as this day was about you, it was also about Wanda. She had been your constant, your anchor, since freshman year. When you met, neither of you could have known the journey youâd embark on together. From late-night study sessions in her home office to early morning coffee runs, she had been by your side. She'd supported you through every breakdown, every tear-streaked face as you questioned your worth, your place in the world. And somehow, she always knew exactly what to say to pull you back from the edge.
Through every stressful exam, every late-night cram session, she had been there, not just as a girlfriend, but as your best friend. She knew your weaknesses and loved you anyway. She was your strength when you felt weak and your safe space when the world outside felt too big and too overwhelming. You could still remember the way she held you the night before your biggest presentation, whispering sweetest words of encouragement when you doubted yourself.
She always believed in you, even when you didnât believe in yourself.
âSuch a smart girl. Been so good all year, havenât you? Iâm so proud of you.â She cooed, as she curled her fingers, expertly brushing your walls with a soft pressure she knew you loved. âBut you donât have to use your brain now, okay? Let Mommy take care of you.â
âMhmm.â You managed to reply, your mind immediately emptied from her soothing words.
âGood girl.â She emphasised with one last kiss to your lips, before trailing down your body to your hips. There, she gently nipped your protruding bones before making her way to your thighs, biting and licking her way up to between your legs. She leaned down; a long, slow lick up your slit, her tongue pushed flat against your clit, as she circled your bundle of nerves.
The added stimulation was almost too much. Your head became even more fuzzy as you whined and twisted in each direction. Unsure of whether you wanted to escape her touch or draw her in closer. You reached down and grabbed her blonde curls, deciding you needed her closer, needed to finish, as you rocked your hips in into her mouth.
It took Wanda all but 3 seconds to recognise your slight tug and she released your clit, climbing back up your body, âWhat is it, baby? You donât wanna cum?â
You replied, âYes, Mommy. Just want you close.â
She shouldâve known, whenever you were so deep in this headspace, you had always wanted to feel Wanda close. Restraints hadnât worked out for you both the first time, leaving you vigorously upset being denied the chance to feel her close as you came.
She hadnât moved quick enough and you started to whine before she cut you off, âOkay, baby. Iâm right here.â She pressed herself over you, before deciding she wanted to come aswell. She moved your legs into position, spread far apart for her body to fit between, before pressing herself down against you. She tested the new position with a few rocks of her hips that had you head thrown back, mewling abashedly into her hair.
âOh, does that feel good, baby?â
Your response was another moan.
She rocked her hips harder, feeling herself build at the feeling of your clit brushing against hers. The sight of your breasts bouncing as she thrusted into you turned her on even more, her arousal building dangerously fast. She knew she couldnât be too hardâtoo roughâ with you right now. And so, she slowed, and held you in her arms, tucking her head into your neck as she whispered sweet nothings, âYouâre gonna make me cum. You feel so good, baby. You wanna cum with Mommy?â
She felt your hip snap up to hers, chasing the feeling as you began to fall over the edge, and she revelled in the way you curled into her form. She pulled back for a second just enough to be able to fit her hand between as she pressed hard circles against your clit, drawing out your orgasm enough until the pleasure became painful. Your body trembled as you sobbed carelessly into her curls. She was on you again, thrusting fast against your pussy. Her arousal now at its peak, and she too fell over the edge. Her own moans released into your curls.
Her movement slowed but didnât stop and the overstimulation caused you to cry out. She shushed you gently, stroking your cheek gently as she got off of you, and pulled you into her chest. âGood girl. You did so well, my love.â
You fisted at your eyes, the warm tears burning against your skin.
âYou know Mommy loves you, right?â She pulled you closer in, her bare breast flush against your cheek as she offered you one to suckle on, while her fingers wiping the remnants of your tears before pressing light kisses to your face.
You hummed in agreement. Your brain still unable to form proper words and also your mouth now busy attached to her nipple. But your eyes fluttered shut, suddenly not feeling so intense and emotional anymore. The calm buzz that usually followed after sex with Wanda finally set in.
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#dahlibae fics! âđâËâšâĄ#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda x reader#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff x y/n#wanda maximoff x you#wanda maximoff smut
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