#he's about as subtle as a brick to the face

[vorgothic]

Harding: Emmrich's a sophisticated guy. A real romantic. If you wanna get his attention, you're gonna wanna be subtle. Smooth. Sweep him off his feet.

Rook: Say no more.

Harding: 🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️

Bonus

I wonder what he's thinking...

[elikajinnie]

Forbidden Taste - L.H

P: Slytherin!Heeseung X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Teasing, Hurt/Comfort, Suggestive Content, Angst, Misunderstandings, Jealousy, Myung Jaehyun Cameo, Incorrect Use Of Amortenia.

Synopsis: You’re not popular at Hogwarts, so why is Lee Heeseung, Slytherin royalty, so intent on having you? You don’t know, and you don’t question it—until jealousy and a pink potion threaten everything.

a/n: WHAT A JOURNEY IT HAS BEEN! Thank you all <3 all the members are now completed! (i changed the plot for this so many times, its insane)

want to read the other members? -> masterlist

--

You weren’t massively popular at Hogwarts, but people knew you. Not in the way that they’d scream your name in the corridors or seek you out during mealtimes, but enough that when your name came up in conversation, there’d be nods of recognition. Oh, yeah. Decent flyer. Smart enough to keep up in classes, but not obnoxious about it. You built your reputation in small, deliberate ways—early on, too. By the time you hit your third year, you realized it wasn’t just about house points or grades. If you didn’t carve out your place here, Hogwarts could chew you up and spit you out.

So, you made connections. Little alliances. You weren’t a name in bold letters, but you weren’t invisible either. A compliment here, a conversation there. Small, calculated acts of charm to ensure you weren’t just some shadow skulking through the hallways. Yet you never overdid it. Just enough to make sure you wouldn’t be forgotten.

And honestly, that was fine. You had your friends and housemates, the people who mattered to you most. The ones you could collapse with after a particularly grueling Potions lesson or laugh with over Butterbeer-flavored Bertie Bott’s Beans in the common room. It wasn’t the spotlight, but it was enough.

It’s weird how quickly that balance can shift, though. How one incident—one person—can flip everything upside down.

It really was funny—hilarious, even. You had no answer as to why he suddenly latched onto you, why he started pursuing you of all people. Lee fucking Heeseung. One of the most popular Slytherins in his year, practically Hogwarts royalty.

Usually, people would trip over their own feet for the chance to be seen with him. Heeseung had everything: pureblood lineage, one of the best Beaters Hogwarts had seen in years, a face straight out of Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Wizards list, and a charisma that could charm the scales off a dragon. He was smart, too—top of his classes in subjects he actually cared about—and everyone knew his family was filthy rich.

He was the kind of person others orbited around. Someone whose presence turned heads the moment he walked into a room. The kind of guy you were perfectly fine staying away from because people like him didn’t care about people like you. And yet, for some inexplicable reason, he chose you.

All because you ran into him one day.

It wasn’t even that dramatic of an encounter. You were late for Transfiguration, books piled in your arms, hurrying down the corridor like your life depended on it. And then—bam. You’d slammed into what felt like a brick wall. Except brick walls didn’t have arms that steadied you as your books tumbled to the floor, and they definitely didn’t have sharp jawlines and a gaze that pinned you to the spot.

“Sorry!” you’d muttered, scrambling to pick up your books, too flustered to even look him in the eye. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t throw out the kind of snarky insult Slytherins were known for. He just… watched you. And when you dashed off down the corridor, cheeks burning with embarrassment, you thought that was the end of it.

Except it wasn’t.

After that, Heeseung started showing up. Everywhere.

At first, it was subtle. A glance in the Great Hall that lingered too long to be coincidental. A smirk when you passed him in the corridors. Then it escalated. Sitting at your table in the library, asking casually about your Charms essay while his friends shot curious looks your way. Offering to walk you to class, claiming it was “on his way” even when it clearly wasn’t. Stealing a seat beside you in Herbology, leaning closer than necessary to peek at your notes.

It didn’t take long for people to notice. Whispers started following you wherever you went, growing louder with every interaction. Your friends pestered you for answers you didn’t have, and his admirers glared daggers at you from across the room.

And all you could think was, Why? Why you? Out of all the girls fawning over him—purebloods, Quidditch stars, girls far prettier and more polished than you—what on earth made Lee Heeseung decide you were worth his attention?

You tried convincing yourself that it was a joke. Some elaborate Slytherin prank that you’d accidentally wandered into. Any day now, you’d wake up to Heeseung laughing in your face, surrounded by his friends, as he revealed that all of this—every smirk, every casual wave, every time he leaned in close enough for you to catch a whiff of his expensive cologne—was just for his own entertainment.

But the days passed, and the teasing you braced yourself for never came. If anything, Heeseung’s attention only intensified.

“I could help you with that, you know,” he offered one day during a particularly grueling Potions class. You’d been furiously scribbling notes, trying to keep up with Professor Slughorn’s lecture. Heeseung was perched on the edge of your shared table, his hand propping up his chin as he watched you.

“With what?” you asked without looking up, determined not to let his lazy, amused tone fluster you.

“Your notes,” he said, gesturing at your parchment. “Your handwriting’s awful. What if you can’t read it later?”

You shot him a glare, but he just grinned. “I’ll manage,” you said, shoving your notes further away from him for good measure.

Moments like that became your new normal. Heeseung showing up uninvited, weaving himself into your day like he belonged there. Offering to help you study, sneaking your favorite dessert onto your plate in the Great Hall, throwing an arm around your shoulders like you were long-lost friends.

And yet, despite your initial resistance, you found yourself softening. Heeseung wasn’t as insufferable as you’d assumed he’d be. Sure, he was cocky—he wouldn’t be Lee Heeseung if he weren’t—but he also had this disarming charm about him. He listened when you spoke, remembered the little things you mentioned in passing, and had a way of making you laugh when you least expected it.

You acted normal around him—or at least, you tried to. You didn’t show how much he affected you, how your pulse quickened when he leaned in close, the playful smirk on his lips as he talked to you about some trivial thing. You didn’t let it show when he’d take your books without asking, holding them effortlessly with one hand as if they weighed nothing, and you definitely didn’t let him see how your cheeks burned when he casually brushed his fingers against yours as he handed them back.

You didn’t react when he helped you in Potions either, his voice low in your ear as he whispered which ingredients to add next, his breath warm against your skin. Even when your heart stuttered, you kept your face neutral, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much he got under your skin.

And Merlin, did he love to push.

He’d ditch his friends without a second thought, his usual crowd of Slytherins calling after him as he veered off to sit with you instead. You’d hear their muffled complaints from across the room, but Heeseung didn’t seem to care. He’d just flash them that infuriatingly perfect smile—the one that screamed, I know exactly what I’m doing,—and plop down next to you like he’d been there all along.

“Don’t you have other people to bother?” you’d mutter, barely glancing at him as he propped his chin on his hand, watching you with an intensity that made it impossible to focus on anything else.

“Why would I, when you’re so much more interesting?” he’d reply smoothly, the corners of his mouth tugging upward in a way that sent your stomach into an uninvited freefall.

But you didn’t give him the satisfaction of a blush or a flustered response. Instead, you’d roll your eyes and pretend to be annoyed, even as you caught yourself glancing at him when you thought he wasn’t looking.

The truth was, Heeseung made it harder and harder to ignore him. He wasn’t just persistent—he was thoughtful in ways you didn’t expect. He remembered the tiniest details, like how you hated licorice wands or how you preferred studying in the library’s quieter corners. He went out of his way to make your day just a little easier, sliding your favorite pastries onto your plate at breakfast or swapping out your worn-out quills with brand-new ones from his bag.

It was infuriating. And endearing. And confusing.

Maybe it was the way he always seemed to know when you needed cheering up, or the way his voice softened when he spoke to you, or the way he looked at you—like you were the only person in the room that mattered.

But you weren’t ready to admit it. Not to yourself, and definitely not to him. So, you kept acting normal, pretending like he didn’t affect you as much as he did.

At this point, even your friends couldn’t keep quiet about it. Every time Heeseung walked into a room and made a beeline for you, their eyebrows would raise a little higher. When he’d flash you one of his trademark grins or casually sling an arm around your shoulders, their teasing smirks were impossible to miss.

“So, are you two a thing, or what?” one of your friends finally asked during a late-night study session in the common room.

“No,” you said quickly, maybe a little too quickly, and their skeptical look said it all.

“Well, he certainly thinks you are,” another chimed in, grinning as they flipped through their Charms textbook. “You do realize half the school thinks you’re secretly dating, right?”

You rolled your eyes, brushing it off. “He’s just… like that. It’s probably some sort of game to him.”

But even as you said it, you weren’t so sure. Because if this was a game, Heeseung was playing it far too convincingly.

And then he went and completely blindsided you.

It was after Defense Against the Dark Arts, a class you shared with him. You’d just finished stuffing your notes into your bag, about to make your way to the library, when he appeared beside you, his usual confident grin plastered across his face.

“So,” he started casually, leaning against your desk. “Want to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?”

You froze, blinking at him like you hadn’t heard him properly. “What?”

“Hogsmeade,” he repeated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You. Me. A date.”

Your brain stuttered at the word. A date?

“You’re joking,” you said, though your voice sounded a little less confident than you would’ve liked.

“I’m not,” he said simply, tilting his head and watching you with that annoyingly earnest expression that made it impossible to tell if he was messing with you.

“I… I can’t,” you stammered, feeling your cheeks grow warm. “I mean, thank you, but I don’t think—”

“Don’t think too hard about it,” he interrupted smoothly, cutting off your attempt at a polite rejection. “I like you. You like me—don’t even try to deny it,” he added quickly, smirking when you opened your mouth to argue. “So why not give it a shot?”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. “Heeseung, I—”

“Before you say no,” he said, leaning in closer, “think about this. What’s the worst that could happen? You have a good time with me? Sounds like a pretty low-risk situation, if you ask me.”

It was infuriating how he made it sound so simple, like agreeing to a date with him wasn’t the most intimidating thing in the world.

“I’m serious, Heeseung,” you said, trying to sound firm. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“And I’m serious,” he countered, his voice dropping slightly. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

The way he said it wasn’t pushy or aggressive—it was confident, certain, like he already knew you were going to say yes eventually. And maybe that’s what threw you off the most.

You glanced at him one last time before turning to leave the classroom, your lips pressed into a tight line.

And of course, he followed.

“Hey, wait!” he called, his voice echoing down the corridor as you walked ahead, refusing to look back.

“I said no, Heeseung,” you said over your shoulder, quickening your pace.

“And I said I’m not taking no for an answer,” he shot back, his footsteps ringing louder as he hurried to catch up with you. “You didn’t even give me a proper reason!”

“I don’t need to give you a reason!” you replied, exasperated, keeping your gaze fixed forward.

But he wasn’t giving up. He was persistent—too persistent. You could hear him muttering under his breath, probably running through a list of arguments to convince you, but before he could get another word out, you heard a loud, unmistakable yelp.

Pausing mid-step, you turned just in time to see Heeseung stumble over a loose stone jutting out of the floor, his arms flailing to keep his balance. He caught himself at the last second, straightening up and brushing off his robes like nothing happened.

“Smooth,” you said, unable to stop the amused quirk of your lips.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he muttered, jogging a few steps to close the distance between you.

But the second he got close, you picked up your pace again, determined not to let him win.

He didn’t stop, though. Heeseung was like a particularly annoying shadow, trailing after you with single-minded determination. Except this shadow seemed to have the worst luck imaginable.

Not five steps later, you heard a startled “Hey, watch it!” from a much shorter Ravenclaw student as Heeseung nearly crashed into them.

“Yeah, yeah! Sorry!” he called over his shoulder, not even slowing down as he kept his focus on you.

You didn’t bother hiding your grin this time, though you kept walking.

And then, just as he was about to catch up again, you saw it—a ghost floating lazily through the corridor ahead.

“Heeseung,” you said without stopping, your tone almost warning.

“What?” he asked, completely oblivious, his gaze fixed on you instead of what was in front of him.

You didn’t answer. You just waited for it to happen.

Sure enough, he strode directly into the ghost—a particularly dramatic one, judging by the loud whoosh and Heeseung’s subsequent startled shiver as he stumbled back.

“Bloody hell!” he exclaimed, swiping at his robes as if it’d help.

“Maybe if you watched where you were going…” you said, finally stopping to face him, arms crossed over your chest as you raised an eyebrow.

He shook his head, his focus snapping back to you almost instantly. “I’ll watch where I’m going when you stop running away from me,” he said, his voice laced with determination.

You rolled your eyes, but before you could turn away again, he stepped closer, this time careful not to trip over anything or crash into anyone.

“Look,” he said, his tone softer now. “I know I’m being persistent. But it’s only because I really want you to say yes. Just one date. That’s all I’m asking. If you hate it, I’ll back off. But I think we’ll have a good time.”

For the first time, you hesitated. There was something about the way he looked at you—earnest, hopeful—that made it hard to brush him off like before. Heeseung wasn’t just being cocky now; he was being sincere. And it was that sincerity that made your resolve waver.

“One date,” he repeated, holding your gaze. “What do you say?”

You sighed, stopping long enough to turn and face him properly. His eyes were wide, his expression almost pleading but still holding that annoying confidence that made him, well, Heeseung.

“Fine,” you said, crossing your arms. “One date. But if I don’t enjoy it, that’s it. No more asking, no more following me around, no more…” You gestured vaguely toward him, “…whatever this is.”

His face broke into a grin so smug and victorious that you instantly regretted agreeing.

“Deal,” he said without hesitation. “But don’t worry, you’re going to love it.”

“Don’t push your luck,” you muttered, but the way his grin grew wider told you he’d already won this round.

“Alright, then,” he said, taking a step closer. Too close. You could feel the faintest brush of his robes against yours as he leaned in. “This Saturday, Three Broomsticks. Noon. I’ll even buy you Butterbeer.”

“Wow, how generous of you,” you deadpanned, but your heart was doing that annoying fluttering thing again.

“You’ll see,” he said, his voice dropping lower, teasing. “I’m full of surprises.”

Before you could fire back a snarky response, his hands moved, one settling on your waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your breath hitched.

You weren’t sure what he was saying—something about how the Three Broomsticks had the best treacle tart, or maybe how he’d already booked a spot with Madam Rosmerta—but the words blurred in your head. All you could focus on was his hand, warm and firm, holding you in place. And his body, so close to yours that you could feel the faint heat radiating off him.

Your mind raced, trying to decide if you should pull away or just let him keep talking.

“…don’t tell me you’ve never tried the cinnamon hot chocolate there,” he said, his lips curving into another grin.

“What?” you blurted, blinking up at him, trying to drag your attention back to his actual words.

He chuckled, the sound low and soft, and you hated how it made your stomach flip.

“You weren’t even listening,” he teased, his thumb brushing lightly against your waist before he pulled back, giving you just enough space to breathe again.

“Maybe if you weren’t so close, I’d be able to concentrate,” you shot back, though your voice came out a little weaker than you’d intended.

Heeseung didn’t look fazed. If anything, he looked even more pleased with himself, like he knew exactly how flustered you were and wasn’t planning to let you forget it anytime soon.

“Guess I’ll have to tell you on our date, then,” he said, stepping back fully now, his smirk still firmly in place.

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks burned as you turned away, determined not to let him see just how much he was getting to you.

“Saturday,” he called after you as you started walking again, his tone light and cheerful. “Don’t forget!”

You didn’t answer, but you didn’t need to. The truth was, no matter how much you tried to deny it, you knew you wouldn’t forget. Not with the way your heart was still racing.

Saturday came faster than you expected, and by the time you were standing in front of the Three Broomsticks, you were already second-guessing your decision. Why did you agree to this again? Oh, right—because Heeseung was annoyingly persistent, and some traitorous part of you was curious to see what a date with him would actually be like.

You adjusted your scarf, the chill of the winter air biting at your cheeks. The sound of chatter and clinking glasses spilled out of the tavern, and for a brief moment, you considered turning around and pretending you’d forgotten. But before you could so much as take a step back, a familiar voice called out behind you.

“You’re early.”

You turned to see Heeseung approaching, dressed in his usual green-and-silver scarf, his black coat tailored perfectly to him. His hair was slightly tousled from the wind, and he wore that same confident smile that made your stomach twist in ways you wished it wouldn’t.

“I’m on time,” you corrected, crossing your arms.

“Early, on time—same thing,” he said, coming to a stop in front of you. His eyes scanned you briefly, and for a second, you thought you saw something softer in his expression. “You look good.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you immediately regretted your decision to wear something classy. “Don’t start,” you muttered, brushing past him toward the door.

He laughed, catching up to you easily. “What? It’s a compliment!”

“Yeah, yeah.” You pushed open the door, grateful for the wave of warmth that greeted you as you stepped inside.

The Three Broomsticks was busy, as it always was on weekends, but Heeseung didn’t seem the least bit fazed. He waved to Madam Rosmerta, who greeted him like they were old friends, and led you to a small table near the window that had somehow been left open.

“See?” he said, pulling out a chair for you. “Perfect spot.”

You hesitated for a moment before sitting down, mumbling a quiet, “Thanks,” as he slid into the seat across from you.

For a few moments, it was quiet—well, as quiet as it could be in the bustling tavern. You busied yourself with looking out the window, watching as students milled about in the snow-covered streets of Hogsmeade.

“So,” Heeseung said, breaking the silence. “What’s your go-to order here?”

You glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Why do you care?”

“Because,” he said with a grin, leaning forward slightly, “I want to make sure you actually enjoy this date. Remember? You said if you didn’t, I couldn’t ask again.”

“Still sticking to that, by the way,” you reminded him.

“Noted,” he said, looking far too amused for your liking. “But I’m confident you’ll have a good time.”

“Of course you are,” you muttered, but you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

You ended up ordering Butterbeer and treacle tart—not because you particularly wanted it, but because he wouldn’t stop raving about it earlier that week.

When the drinks and food arrived, the conversation started off slow, but much to your surprise, it wasn’t awkward. Heeseung had a way of keeping things light and entertaining.

And, annoyingly, he kept making you laugh.

After you finished at the Three Broomsticks, Heeseung didn’t let the day end there. Instead, he insisted on taking you around Hogsmeade, claiming it was his duty to make sure you had the full experience.

“This isn’t my first time here, you know,” you said as he led you down the cobblestone streets, passing shop after shop.

“Yeah, but it’s your first time here with me,” he countered, flashing you that same cocky grin that had you rolling your eyes for the tenth time that day.

Still, you didn’t protest when he pulled you into Honeydukes, pointing out his favorite candies and piling a small bag with sweets you hadn’t even asked for. “It’s on me,” he said when you tried to argue, waving you off like it was nothing.

Next, he dragged you to Zonko’s, where he spent far too much time marveling over the prank items and showing you his favorites with the enthusiasm of a first-year discovering the place for the first time. You couldn’t help but smile as he rattled off stories of the chaos he’d caused with them in the Slytherin common room.

And then, just as you were debating whether or not to call it a day, it started snowing.

Soft, delicate flakes drifted down from the sky, blanketing the streets and rooftops in a thin layer of white. The air grew quieter, the hustle and bustle of Hogsmeade fading into the background as people paused to take in the sight.

You stopped walking, tilting your head back slightly to watch the snow fall. For a moment, you forgot about Heeseung entirely, your mind quieting as you focused on the tiny snowflakes melting against your skin.

When you finally looked back at him, he was staring at you.

“What?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He didn’t answer right away, his eyes soft as they searched your face. Finally, he said, “You.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What about me?”

“You’re just…” He trailed off, taking a step closer. His voice was quieter now, more serious. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

Your breath caught in your throat, and before you could even think of how to respond, he closed the space between you, his hand gently reaching for your scarf.

You stood frozen as he adjusted it carefully, his fingers brushing against your neck as he tightened it slightly to block out the cold. His touch was warm, his movements unhurried, and when he was finished, his hands lingered for just a second longer than necessary.

“There,” he said softly, his gaze meeting yours again. “Wouldn’t want you catching a cold.”

You felt your cheeks grow warm, and it wasn’t from the weather. “You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, but your voice lacked its usual bite.

“And yet, you’re still here with me,” he teased, a small smile tugging at his lips.

You didn’t respond, turning your gaze back to the falling snow. But as Heeseung slipped his hand into yours, giving it a gentle squeeze, you didn’t pull away, cause you didn’t feel the need to fight him.

The rest of the walk through Hogsmeade passed in a comfortable silence, your hands still entwined as the snow continued to fall around you. You didn’t know how Heeseung managed to make it feel so… easy. Like holding hands with him was something you’d been doing for years. Like the tension that had built between you over the past weeks had melted away as quickly as the snowflakes on his coat.

He led you to the outskirts of the village, where the streets grew quieter, and the noise of other students faded into the background. The path was lined with trees dusted in white, their bare branches glistening under the faint light of the afternoon sun.

“It’s nice out here,” you murmured, your breath visible in the crisp air.

“Yeah,” Heeseung said, but when you glanced at him, you realized he wasn’t looking at the trees or the snow-covered landscape. He was looking at you again.

“What?” you asked, your voice softer now, a little less defensive.

He shrugged, his lips curling into that small, genuine smile you were starting to recognize—the one he didn’t use often, the one that wasn’t for show. “Nothing. Just… you seem different today.”

“Different?”

“Yeah,” he said, his thumb brushing lightly against the back of your hand. “Less scary.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out. “I’m not scary.”

“Tell that to everyone else who’s too afraid to talk to you.”

“Maybe I just don’t like wasting my time,” you said, smirking up at him.

“Well, lucky me, then,” he replied, his tone teasing. “You must think I’m worth it.”

Before you could say anything, though, he stopped walking, turning to face you fully. His free hand reached up to brush a stray snowflake from your hair, and you froze at the tenderness of the gesture.

“You’re really something, you know that?” he said, his voice low, his gaze steady on yours.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “You keep saying things like that,” you mumbled, trying to sound annoyed but failing miserably.

“Because I mean it,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

And then, before you could overthink it, he leaned in—not too fast, not too slow. Just enough to give you time to pull away if you wanted to. But you didn’t.

The kiss was soft, warm, and fleeting, like a snowflake landing on your lips and melting before you could fully feel it. When he pulled back, his face was close enough that you could still feel his breath against your skin.

“I’ll take that as a yes to a second date,” he murmured, his tone teasing but his eyes holding that same sincerity that had caught you off guard from the start.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you just rolled your eyes and tugged him along, back toward the village.

But the small smile on your face told him everything he needed to know.

As you and Heeseung continued down the snowy path, oblivious to everything else around you, neither of you noticed the three figures hidden just out of sight, watching your every move. They stood together, concealed by the shadow of the trees, their eyes trained on the way you and Heeseung interacted, the way your hands fit together so naturally.

It didn’t take long for the bitterness to fester. One of them, a girl with dark brown hair and a scowl that could cut glass, clenched her fists at her sides, watching the way Heeseung smiled at you, how easily he made you laugh.

"Of course she’s with him," she muttered under her breath, her voice laced with venom. "She always has to go after what’s not hers."

Beside her, another figure—taller, with blonde hair—narrowed her eyes at the scene. "We’ve all been trying for years. Why her? What makes her so special?" Her voice was low, barely controlled, and her gaze burned with resentment.

The third figure, a quieter one, with sharp eyes and a calculating expression, stood back, observing the situation silently. She was still for a moment before she spoke, her voice calm but filled with hidden malice. "Maybe it's time we remind him who belongs by his side."

The girl with the dark hair stepped forward, fists still clenched, the fire in her eyes growing. "Let’s see if we can’t change his mind."

They lingered in the shadows, watching as Heeseung pulled you closer, speaking in soft tones that made your smile widen. The sight of the two of you together twisted in their hearts, their jealousy and rage bubbling over. They knew that this wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

None of you could have predicted what would happen next.

--

The next few days were a blur of contentment. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been this happy, or this at ease. Heeseung had truly surpassed every expectation you’d set for him. He was everything you didn’t know you needed in a boyfriend—gentle when you were stressed, confident when you were unsure, and always there to make you smile, even on your worst days.

When you studied together in the library, he’d always find ways to make learning feel less like a chore. Whether it was cracking jokes during boring Potions readings or helping you with Transfiguration, his presence made even the most tedious subjects bearable. And when you were working on homework together in the common room, you’d catch him looking over at you, that amused glint in his eye as if he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have you.

You’d even gone to his Quidditch match that weekend, which turned into one of the most exciting games you’d ever watched. Heeseung had played brilliantly, his focus unshakable as he zoomed around the pitch, expertly dodging Bludgers and scoring goal after goal.

When the match ended, with Slytherin emerging victorious, Heeseung found you in the stands, grinning widely as he jogged over to you.

“Good game?” you teased, unable to contain the excitement in your voice.

Heeseung shrugged, feigning modesty. "You know, I couldn’t have done it without my good luck charm."

Your heart fluttered as he slipped his Slytherin Quidditch jersey over your head, his hands lingering on your shoulders just a little longer than necessary. "This is for you," he said, his voice low but playful. “You made me win.”

You blinked, looking down at the jersey, which was too big for you but somehow made you feel like you were wearing a piece of him. “I didn’t do anything—”

“Yeah, but you were there," he interrupted, his fingers lightly brushing your cheek as he grinned. “That’s all I needed.”

But Heeseung had one problem—he never knew when to stop kissing. An innocent kiss shared with you would quickly turn into something far more passionate, the kind of kiss that left you breathless, with your heart racing in your chest. His lips would press against yours, and before you knew it, he’d pull you even closer, deepening the kiss with a soft but urgent intensity.

His hands would find their way to your waist, tugging gently as he pulled you closer, and you couldn’t help but melt into him. His kisses weren’t just kisses—they were all-consuming, leaving you dizzy.

It wasn’t long before his hair would become messy, stray locks falling into his eyes as he kissed you with that playful but determined energy. By the time you pulled apart, your lips would be sore, swollen from his insistence. And your neck? Covered with small, dark marks—hickeys left behind as reminders of every moment he couldn’t quite control himself around you.

But the world wasn’t fair to you.

One day, everything changed. You had walked up to Heeseung, as you did every day, eager to see him after class, to share a laugh, maybe steal a quick kiss. But when you rounded the corner, you froze.

There, in the hallway, Heeseung was kissing a Slytherin girl—her hands tangled in his hair, his arms wrapped around her in a way that was so familiar, so intimate, that it felt like a punch to your chest.

Your breath caught in your throat, your body frozen in place, as you watched the scene unfold in front of you. The warmth of his kisses, the tenderness you thought was reserved for you, was now being given to someone else.

And when Heeseung finally pulled away from her, noticing you standing there, your heart shattered.

He didn’t even look surprised to see you. His eyes met yours, cold and indifferent. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice flat.

You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t breathe. You felt as though the ground had been ripped from beneath you, leaving you dangling in the air, completely lost.

Then, the words you never expected to hear came tumbling from his mouth.

“I never had feelings for you,” he said, his tone casual, almost dismissive. “I never loved you.”

Your world tilted. The person you had trusted, the one who had made you feel special, had never felt the same. All those moments meant nothing. They were nothing but lies.

The pain surged through you like a tidal wave. You felt your chest constrict, your eyes stinging with the heat of unshed tears. Your voice broke as you screamed at him, “How could you? After everything?!”

But it didn’t matter. He didn’t care.

The girl with him—her smirk stretched wide, malicious and triumphant—stepped closer to Heeseung, hanging off his arm like she had every right to be there. Her eyes flicked to you, cold and triumphant, as if she reveled in your pain.

You didn’t even recognize the version of Heeseung standing before you. The boy you thought you knew—the one who had held you like you were everything to him—was gone. In his place was someone who didn’t care at all.

You turned on your heel, running away before the tears could spill. Your heart was breaking with every step, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look back at him, at them. You didn’t want to see the cruel smirk on her face, or the emptiness in his eyes.

You were heartbroken, yes, but beneath the sorrow was a rising tide of anger—burning, raw, and uncontrollable. How could Heeseung break your heart like that? After everything, after acting like you were the only woman in his life, like you were the one he couldn’t live without?

The memories played on a loop in your mind, tormenting you. The way he would pull you close and whisper that you were perfect for him. The way he’d laugh at your jokes, even the bad ones, and say that you made his days better.

It had all been a lie.

You paced the empty corridor, your thoughts spiraling into a storm of hurt and rage. Your fists clenched at your sides as tears streaked down your face. You wanted to scream, to cry, to find him and demand answers. How could someone who seemed so perfect turn out to be so cruel?

The image of him kissing that girl was seared into your mind, taunting you. The way she had smirked at you, so smug and triumphant, like she’d won some twisted game. The way Heeseung had looked at you—not with the warmth and love you were used to, but with indifference, as if you had been nothing but a fleeting amusement.

The days after that were some of the hardest you’d ever endured. You refused to let Heeseung see how much he had broken you, refused to let him or anyone else know how deeply his betrayal had cut. Instead, you buried your pain beneath a carefully crafted mask. You laughed with your friends, answered questions in class, and even managed to pull off smiles in the Great Hall. To everyone else, it was like nothing had happened.

But when you were alone, the mask slipped, and the weight of it all came crashing down. The nights were the worst, when you lay in bed replaying the moment over and over, like a cruel, inescapable nightmare. The sound of his words—I never loved you—echoed in your mind, shredding your heart all over again.

One afternoon, during Potions class, the pain overwhelmed you. Heeseung had walked in, all casual as if nothing had happened. He didn’t look your way—not even once—but that didn’t stop the memory of his betrayal from stabbing at your chest.

Your hands shook as you measured out ingredients for your potion, your vision blurring as hot tears threatened to spill. You couldn’t take it anymore. Quietly excusing yourself, you fled the classroom, muttering something about needing the restroom before anyone could stop you.

The moment you stepped into the dimly lit bathroom, the tears you’d been holding back came rushing out. You leaned against the sink, gripping the edges tightly as sobs wracked your body.

You didn’t even notice Moaning Myrtle until her soft voice broke through your cries.

“Rough day?”

Startled, you looked up, your tear-streaked face meeting the ghost’s translucent figure. She was floating by one of the sinks, her usual pout replaced with something almost... sympathetic.

You sniffled, quickly wiping your face. “Sorry, Myrtle. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Myrtle shook her head, hovering closer. “You’re not disturbing me,” she said quietly. “I know what it’s like to cry in here. To feel... forgotten.”

Her words hit you harder than you expected. For once, she wasn’t mocking you or complaining about her own misfortunes. She was just... there, watching you with a sadness in her ghostly eyes that mirrored your own pain.

“I just don’t get it,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “How could someone say they cared and then... and then throw it all away like it meant nothing?”

Myrtle tilted her head, her gaze softening even more. “Boys are awful,” she said matter-of-factly, her tone holding a mix of understanding and bitterness. “They make you feel special, and then they break you."

You let out a shaky laugh, though it was more bitter than anything else. “Yeah, well, he’s the worst of them.”

Myrtle floated closer, hovering just beside you as you leaned over the sink, your tears falling freely now,and she stayed there, silently watching as you poured your heart out in the empty bathroom.

When you finally wiped your face and straightened up, Myrtle gave you a small, sad smile. “He’s not worth it,” she said softly.

You nodded, your throat too tight to speak, and with a final glance at your tear-streaked reflection, you left the bathroom.

--

You kept watching hopelessly as Heeseung changed right before your eyes. Despite being a Slytherin, he’d always been different—sharp, confident, but never cruel. He treated others with respect, even when it wasn’t expected of him, and it was one of the reasons people gravitated toward him so easily.

But now… now he wasn’t the same.

You started noticing it in small things at first. He’d snap at younger students who accidentally got in his way, barking out insults that made their faces crumple in embarrassment. He’d push past others in the corridors with an air of arrogance that felt alien, not sparing them a glance or apology.

Then, it became more deliberate. In Potions, you overheard him taunting a Gryffindor girl for botching her assignment, his words dripping with disdain. During Quidditch practice, he shouted at his teammates with a venom you’d never seen before, his frustration palpable even from the stands.

It didn’t just confuse you—it confused everyone.

Heeseung had always been popular, not just because of his looks or his Quidditch skills, but because he was charismatic. He had a way of making others feel comfortable, seen, and valued, even if they weren’t in his social circle. But now, that warmth was gone.

You overheard students whispering about him. “What’s gotten into Heeseung?” one Ravenclaw asked her friend as they passed you in the hallway. “He’s acting like a total git lately.”

“I know,” her friend agreed. “He’s not like this. It’s so weird.”

And it was weird. Heeseung wasn’t like this. He wasn’t the type to knock books out of a first-year’s hands and keep walking, or to purposely humiliate someone in front of their peers just to get a laugh. But that was exactly what he was doing now, and every time you saw it, you felt that ache in your chest grow deeper.

What had changed?

You wanted to convince yourself it didn’t matter anymore. He wasn’t your problem. He had made that clear when he kissed someone else and shattered your heart in the process. But as much as you tried to turn a blind eye, you couldn’t.

This wasn’t just about you anymore.

Heeseung’s behavior was affecting everyone, and the boy who had once made you laugh until your sides hurt was now someone you barely recognized. Watching him spiral like this hurt more than you cared to admit.

But the question remained: why? What had turned him into this unknown version of himself?

The answer to that question was revealed to you one day, completely by accident.

You were on your way to your common room, distracted as you dug through your bag, mentally ticking off the homework you still had to finish. You weren’t paying attention to your surroundings, not until someone grabbed your arm and yanked you into an empty classroom.

You yelped, stumbling as you turned to face your captor. “What the—”

A Slytherin girl stood before you, her wide eyes darting nervously toward the door, as though she was afraid of being followed or heard. She placed a finger to her lips, hushing you before you could finish your sentence.

“What is your problem?” you hissed, yanking your arm out of her grip.

“Shh!” she insisted, glancing toward the corridor one last time before shutting the door behind her. Her actions were suspicious, like she was about to do something she wasn’t supposed to.

You crossed your arms, glaring at her. “Care to explain why you just dragged me in here?”

She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “You’re Heeseung`s girlfriend.”

The mention of his name immediately sent a pang through your chest, but you held your ground. “Was,” you corrected sharply. “Not anymore.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Look, I don’t have a lot of time, so just listen. Heeseung’s not himself.”

You frowned, your skepticism evident. “I’m aware of that. Thanks for pointing out the obvious.”

“No, you don’t get it.” She leaned in, her expression serious. “He’s not himself because he’s under the influence of Amortentia.”

The words hit you like a slap, leaving you momentarily speechless. “What?”

She nodded, her voice urgent now. “That girl—Yoonhee—she’s been dosing him with Amortentia for weeks. That’s why he’s been acting so different.”

Your heart raced as you processed her words, disbelief swirling in your mind. “You’re lying,” you said, your voice trembling. “Why would she do that?”

The Slytherin girl let out a humorless laugh. “Why do you think? She wanted him, and she didn’t care how she got him. But it’s not just about making him fall for her. She’s using the potion to influence him, to turn him into someone else. She’s controlling him, and you’ve seen the result.”

Your mind reeled as the pieces began to fall into place. The sudden change in Heeseung’s personality, the cruelty, the way he’d dismissed you so coldly—all of it made a sick kind of sense now.

“She’s dangerous,” the girl continued. “And if someone doesn’t stop her, Heeseung’s going to be completely lost.”

You stared at her, your emotions a whirlwind of anger, confusion, and disbelief. “Why are you telling me this?”

She hesitated, guilt flashing in her eyes. “Because it’s wrong. I thought about staying out of it, but Heeseung doesn’t deserve this. And... neither do you.”

Your fists clenched at your sides as rage surged through you. The betrayal you had felt from Heeseung was now redirected toward Yoonhee, the girl who had manipulated him, stolen his free will, and shattered your heart in the process.

If this was true, then Yoonhee had taken everything from you—and from him.

You took a deep breath, meeting the girl’s gaze. “How do I stop her?”

The Slytherin girl’s lips pressed into a thin line before she said, “I’ll help you, but we have to act fast. The longer she keeps him under her control, the harder it’ll be to break him free.”

You suddenly narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms. “And how do I know I can trust you?”

She sighed, running a hand through her hair in frustration. “Look, I get why you’d be suspicious, but I don’t have anything to gain from this. I’m only telling you because…” She hesitated, looking almost embarrassed before continuing. “Because I’ve seen how Heeseung was with you. And then I’ve seen him with Yoonhee. And it’s not the same.”

Her voice softened as she spoke, her gaze meeting yours. “What you and Heeseung had—it was real. It was... cute, even. He was different when he was with you. Like he couldn’t stop looking at you, like you were the only thing that mattered. I swear, he practically had hearts in his eyes whenever you were around.”

Your heart clenched at her words, the image of Heeseung’s affectionate smile flashing in your mind.

“But with Yoonhee?” she continued, her tone sharp. “It’s fake. Everything about it feels wrong. He doesn’t look at her the way he looked at you. There’s no warmth, no care. It’s like... like he’s just going through the motions, like a puppet on strings. And the way she parades him around, acting like she owns him—it’s sick.”

Her voice grew quieter, tinged with guilt. “I should have said something sooner. I should’ve stopped it when I first realized what she was doing. But I didn’t, and now things have gone too far. I just... I couldn’t keep watching it anymore.”

You studied her face, searching for any sign of deception, but all you saw was genuine regret.

“You really think what we had was real?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded firmly. “I know it was. Anyone with eyes could see it. Heeseung doesn’t look at anyone the way he looked at you. And if you still care about him, even after everything, then you need to help him. Because what Yoonhee’s doing? It’s not love. It’s control. And it’s destroying him.”

Taking a deep breath, you nodded. “Okay. I’ll help. But if this turns out to be some kind of trick…”

“It’s not,” she said quickly, her eyes steady and resolute. “I promise.”

“Good,” you said, squaring your shoulders. “Because if she thinks she can get away with this, she’s dead wrong.”

After speaking with Hyejin who had revealed everything—you went straight to the library, your mind set on one thing: finding an antidote to Amortentia.

You scoured the shelves, your fingers brushing over the spines of dusty Potions books, each title longer and more complicated than the last. "Advanced Alchemical Properties of Magical Infusions," "The Elusive Art of Potionmaking," "Rare Remedies and Their Applications"—none of them seemed to promise the straightforward answers you were hoping for.

Potions had never been your strong suit, and as you flipped through yet another heavy tome filled with convoluted instructions and obscure ingredients, you groaned in frustration.

Why did Potions have to be so complicated? Couldn’t it be more like Herbology—straightforward, clear, and easy to follow? You were confident you could have whipped up a solution in no time if that were the case. But instead, you were drowning in endless jargon about precise stirring techniques, moon phase timings, and ingredient substitutions.

And the worst part? Heeseung had always been the one to help you when Potions overwhelmed you. His natural skill in the subject had been your saving grace more times than you could count, and the irony wasn’t lost on you that now, when you needed help the most, he was the one you were trying to save.

After what felt like hours of fruitless searching, you let out another groan, slamming the book in front of you shut. “Why are there so many books on Potions?” you muttered under your breath. “Why can’t this be simple? Just a page with ‘Amortentia antidote’ in big bold letters—how hard would that be?”

You stared at the pile of books in front of you, exhaustion creeping in as you realized just how out of your depth you were. You needed help, and you needed it fast. But who could you turn to? Heeseung was out of the question, and you didn’t trust Hyejin enough to rely on her completely.

You racked your brain, thinking of anyone who might have the skill and knowledge to guide you. Your mind flashed to someone unexpected—someone you hadn’t considered at first but who might be your best shot.

Professor Slughorn.

He wasn’t exactly your favorite teacher, but he was an expert in Potions, and if anyone could point you in the right direction, it was him. The problem was convincing him to help without spilling the entire truth. After all, you couldn’t exactly admit that a student was brewing and using Amortentia without risking expulsion for everyone involved.

Still, you didn’t have many options. If you couldn’t find the answer here, then you’d have to take the risk and ask for guidance.

You were just about to leave the library, your mind still swirling with frustration, when you collided with someone. The impact sent you stumbling back a step, your bag nearly slipping from your shoulder.

“Oh! Sorry about that!” you said quickly, steadying yourself.

“No, no, it’s my fault,” the other person replied, their voice warm and apologetic.

When you looked up, you were surprised to find yourself face-to-face with Myung Jaehyun, a Gryffindor student. You didn’t know him particularly well, but you knew of him—he had a reputation for excelling in Potions, often earning praise from Professor Slughorn.

The proverbial light bulb practically lit up over your head as an idea struck you. Jaehyun could help.

You smiled, stepping closer to him, which made Jaehyun’s cheeks flush slightly. He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze for a moment. “Um... something wrong?”

“No, not at all,” you said, your tone light and friendly. “Actually, I was just thinking... you’re good at Potions, right?”

He nodded. “I guess? I mean, yeah, I’ve always done well in class. Why?”

“Well,” you said slowly, leaning in slightly, “I was wondering if you could help me with something. It’s just a tiny matter, really.”

Jaehyun blinked, clearly intrigued. “Uh, sure. What do you need?”

“I’m looking for a book,” you explained. “One that has information about antidotes for Amortentia.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Amortentia?”

You nodded, trying to keep your expression casual. “Yeah. I, uh... just need to look up something for a project.”

Jaehyun seemed to consider this for a moment before his face lit up. “Oh! I know exactly what you need.” He walked over to a nearby shelf, scanning the rows of books with practiced ease before pulling one out. He handed it to you, flipping it open to the right chapter. “Here. Chapter 14, page 237. It has a detailed section on love potions.”

You took the book from him, relief flooding through you. “Thank you so much, Jaehyun. This is exactly what I needed.”

Jaehyun hesitated for a moment, then cleared his throat. “If you want... I could help you with the brewing process. It’s tricky, and, well, I’ve done similar antidotes before.”

You practically jumped at the offer, your enthusiasm catching him off guard. “Really? You’d help me?”

“Of course,” he said, smiling shyly. “When do you want to start?”

“As soon as possible,” you said quickly. “This is kind of... urgent.”

“Alright,” Jaehyun agreed, his smile growing more confident. “Let’s meet in the Potions classroom after dinner. I’ll bring the ingredients we’ll need.”

You nodded, clutching the book tightly. “Thank you, Jaehyun. Really. You’re a lifesaver.”

He rubbed the back of his neck again, his blush returning. “It’s no problem. I’m happy to help.”

With a grateful smile, you hurried out of the library. You finally had a plan—and someone to help you execute it.

After dinner, you made your way to the Potions classroom, your nerves buzzing. As you stepped inside, you saw Jaehyun already at one of the workbenches, his sleeves rolled up and his hands deftly working.

When he noticed you, he offered a small smile and gestured for you to sit next to him.

“You’re early,” you said, setting your bag down on the bench.

“Wanted to get a head start,” Jaehyun replied, his voice warm. “I figured the quicker we get this done, the better.”

You nodded, settling into the chair beside him. As you looked around the dimly lit classroom, a thought occurred to you. “Is it even okay for us to be here after class hours?”

Jaehyun chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Don’t worry. Professor Slughorn lets me stay after hours pretty often. He says it’s good-spirited of me to practice brewing and experiment.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Good-spirited, huh? That’s... surprisingly nice of him.”

Jaehyun shrugged, still focused on grinding the ingredients in front of him. “He’s not so bad. As long as you don’t blow up the classroom, he’s pretty lenient.”

You laughed lightly at that, feeling a bit of the tension in your chest ease. As Jaehyun began measuring out a vial of liquid and carefully adding it to the cauldron, you watched him work.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” you asked, not wanting to just sit idly.

He glanced at you, his eyes crinkling slightly in a smile. “Sure. Can you chop those gurdyroots? They need to be sliced thinly—about this size.” He held up a perfectly cut piece as an example.

“Got it,” you said, grabbing a knife and the roots. You carefully started cutting, doing your best to match the size Jaehyun had shown you.

Occasionally, Jaehyun would give you instructions or correct something you were doing, his tone always patient and encouraging.

“You’re doing great,” he said at one point, glancing over at your neatly sliced gurdyroots. “I might have to recruit you as my brewing partner from now on.”

You snorted. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself. Potions and I have a... complicated relationship.”

Jaehyun laughed, his warm, boyish chuckle filling the room. “Well, you’re doing fine tonight. Just keep that up.”

The antidote was slowly coming together, the cauldron emitting a faint shimmer as the ingredients combined.

“Do you think this will work?” you asked softly after a while, watching the potion swirl in the cauldron.

Jaehyun looked at you, his expression serious yet kind. “If we follow the instructions exactly, it should. Potions like this are tricky, but I’m confident we can pull it off. And if something goes wrong, we’ll try again.”

His reassurance eased some of your worry, and you nodded. “Thank you, Jaehyun. I mean it. You didn’t have to help me, but you are.”

He shrugged modestly, his cheeks tinged pink. “It’s nothing. Besides, it’s kind of nice working on something like this with someone else for a change.”

You smiled at that, feeling a bit lighter for the first time in days.

After some time the potion was finally done. The cauldron shimmered with a silvery glow, and Jaehyun carefully ladled some of the antidote into a small flask. He corked it tightly and handed it to you, his smile warm but cautious.

“Here,” he said, placing it gently in your hands.

You stared at the flask, relief flooding through you. “Thank you, Jaehyun,” you said, looking up at him with a grateful smile. Without thinking, you leaned in and hugged him tightly.

Jaehyun stiffened for a moment, clearly caught off guard, but quickly relaxed and awkwardly patted your back. “You don’t have to thank me. Really.”

“I do,” you said, pulling back and clutching the flask to your chest. “I owe you one. Big time.”

Before he could respond, you turned and hurried out of the classroom, determination burning in your chest.

The Great Hall was buzzing with the usual hum of students talking and studying. You scanned the room until your eyes landed on Hyejin, sitting at a corner table with books and parchment spread out in front of her. She looked like she was drowning in notes, a quill tucked behind her ear as she scribbled furiously.

You approached her, sliding into the seat across from her. She glanced up, her brow furrowed in confusion until she saw the flask in your hand.

“You’ve got it?” she asked, her eyes widening slightly.

You nodded, setting the flask on the table between you. “I’ve got the solution. Literally.”

Hyejin’s tense expression softened, and she let out a small sigh of relief. “That’s good. Really good.”

You noticed her Herbology textbook then, along with her chaotic notes. The scribbled diagrams of plants and ingredients were barely legible, and she had several crossed-out answers on her parchment. She caught you looking and groaned, slumping back in her chair.

“Don’t judge me. Herbology is not my strong suit,” she muttered, rubbing her temples.

“Do you need help?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Hyejin gave a humorless laugh. “Desperately. Professor Sprout’s quizzes are impossible, and if I don’t pass the next one, I’m doomed.”

Smiling, you reached into your bag and pulled out your own Herbology notes. “Here. These might help.”

Her eyes widened as she saw the neat, color-coded pages you laid in front of her. “Oh my God, you’re an angel,” she said dramatically, grabbing them like they were a lifeline.

You laughed, leaning over to point out some of the key points. “Okay, this section on Venomous Tentacula—just remember that its sap is only dangerous when exposed to direct sunlight. Write that down.”

“Thank you,” Hyejin said softly after a while, looking up from her notes. “For this. And... for everything else.”

“You’ve already done plenty to help me,” you replied with a small smile. “It’s the least I can do.”

--

The next day, you sat on your bed, nervously fiddling with the hem of your robes. The weight of what was about to happen pressed heavily on your chest. You had given the antidote to Hyejin that morning, entrusting her with the task of breaking the spell that had bound Heeseung to Yoonhee. She’d reassured you with a confident smile that she could slip the potion into his drink during lunch, all without raising suspicion.

You could have been there yourself to witness it. You could have stood nearby, watching from the shadows to make sure everything went as planned. But the truth was, you were scared—terrified, even.

You couldn’t face Heeseung. Not now. Not after everything that had happened. What if the antidote didn’t work? What if he still didn’t feel anything for you, even after the spell was broken? What if... what if he hated you?

The thoughts spiraled in your mind as you sat there, staring at the wall of your dormitory. You felt ridiculous for being so anxious, but the idea of seeing him again, of looking into his eyes and not knowing what you’d find there, was almost too much to bear.

So you’d chosen to wait. To stay here, in the safety of your room, and let Hyejin handle it. She’d promised to relay everything to you afterward, and you trusted her.

A soft knock at the door startled you out of your thoughts.

“It’s just me,” your roommate said, poking her head inside. “You okay? You’ve been in here all morning.”

You nodded quickly, forcing a smile. “Yeah, just... not feeling great today. I think I’ll skip lunch.”

She gave you a sympathetic look before leaving, and you sighed in relief once the door closed again.

The waiting was unbearable. Minutes felt like hours as you sat there, your mind playing out every possible scenario. You tried to distract yourself by flipping through a book, but the words blurred together on the page.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, there was a knock at the door again—this time more urgent.

You jumped up, your heart racing as you opened it to find Hyejin standing there, slightly out of breath.

“It’s done,” she said simply, stepping inside and closing the door behind her.

You stared at her, your throat suddenly dry. “And? Did it work?”

Hyejin nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “It worked. I saw it in his eyes the moment the potion broke. Heeseung... he looked so confused at first, like he didn’t know where he was or what was happening. But then Yoonhee tried to cling to him, and he pushed her away.”

Your breath hitched. “He did?”

“Yeah. And he asked her what she’d done to him. She tried to play innocent, but you could tell she was panicking. I don’t think anyone else noticed—it wasn’t exactly a scene—but Heeseung wasn’t buying her act. He left pretty quickly after that, though. I think he needed time to process everything.”

You sank back onto your bed, your mind reeling. Relief, hope, and dread all swirled together in your chest. Heeseung was free. He was finally free.

But now what?

Hyejin sat beside you, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Give him some time,” she said softly, as if reading your thoughts. “He’s going to come looking for you. I’m sure of it.”

You nodded, your hands trembling slightly as you gripped the edge of your bed. All you could do now was wait—and hope that when Heeseung finally found you, the boy you’d fallen for was still there, waiting for you too.

You didn’t leave your room for days. The sick, uncomfortable feeling in your body refused to go away. It was as if the weight of everything—your heartbreak, the fear—had finally caught up to you, pinning you to your bed and draining you of energy.

Your housemates noticed. They brought you food, their class notes, and even small trinkets to cheer you up, but nothing seemed to work. You mumbled thanks to them, forced weak smiles when they tried to joke, but the truth was, you felt numb.

Hyejin came by often, sitting on the edge of your bed and filling you in on everything happening outside the confines of your room.

“Yoonhee got caught,” she said one afternoon, her tone tinged with satisfaction. “Slughorn found out she’d been brewing Amortentia, and she’s been given detention for weeks. There’s even talk about revoking her Hogsmeade privileges for the rest of the year.”

You managed a faint smile at that. “Good. She deserves it.”

Hyejin nodded firmly. “She does. And honestly, people are starting to avoid her now. Her little group of friends isn’t as tight as it used to be. Guess that’s what happens when everyone finds out you’ve been manipulating someone with a love potion.”

Your smile faded as the conversation shifted to Heeseung.

“And... Heeseung,” Hyejin started carefully, watching your reaction. “He’s been... different.”

You stiffened slightly but said nothing, letting her continue.

“He’s been asking about you. Like, constantly. He’s desperate to find you. I think he’s even checked the library three times in one day,” she said with a small laugh, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “He’s back to being... well, himself. But he looks miserable, and honestly, he’s really worried about you.”

Your chest tightened. You wanted to feel relieved, but instead, the sick feeling only deepened. You hated how much you still cared, how even hearing about Heeseung made your heart twist painfully.

“I don’t know, Hyejin,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “I just… I can’t see him right now.”

Hyejin sighed softly, reaching out to squeeze your hand. “I get it. I do. Take all the time you need. Just... don’t shut yourself out completely, okay?”

You didn’t respond, simply looking down at your blanket as Hyejin stayed with you a little longer.

It wasn’t until one evening, when the common room was quiet and your dorm was empty, that you finally let yourself cry. The frustration, the sadness, the guilt—it all poured out of you in heavy, silent sobs as you clutched your pillow.

You were happy Yoonhee had faced punishment. You were relieved that Heeseung was free from her influence. But you were also scared—scared of facing him, scared of what he would say, and scared of how much you still loved him, even after everything.

Before you knew it, the day of the annual Christmas Ball at Hogwarts had arrived. Normally, you would’ve been excited. Your mother had even sent you a beautiful golden gown, one that shimmered like sunlight when you first pulled it out of the box. You’d twirled in front of the mirror, imagining how the soft fabric would float around you as you danced.

But now? Now you had lost all reason to go.

The thought of attending made your stomach churn. The idea of walking into that grand hall, of possibly running into him—it was too much.

Unfortunately, your housemates had other plans. They weren’t about to let you stay locked up in your dorm forever, wallowing in shame and fear. After days of patient encouragement, they finally pulled you out of bed, insisting you at least attend a few classes. Begrudgingly, you relented, figuring it would stop their nagging if nothing else.

The morning started off easy enough. You didn’t have any classes with Heeseung today, which gave you some peace of mind. Still, you couldn’t shake the paranoia that he might show up out of nowhere.

And, honestly, that paranoia wasn’t entirely unfounded.

It was as if Heeseung had a built-in radar for you. More than once, you caught a glimpse of his dark hair in the corridors, his eyes scanning the crowds as if he were searching for someone. For you.

Every time, you ducked behind corners or slipped into empty classrooms to avoid him. It was harder than you expected, given his persistence. You had to wonder if he’d memorized your schedule or something.

By the time your last class ended, you were exhausted—not from the lessons, but from all the hiding and running. You slumped into your seat at dinner, barely touching your food as your housemates chattered excitedly about the ball.

“You’re still coming tonight, right?” one of them asked, nudging your shoulder.

You hesitated. “I don’t know...”

“Oh, come on,” another chimed in. “Your mom sent you that gorgeous dress! You have to go.”

You sighed, poking at the mashed potatoes on your plate. “I’ll think about it.”

But even as you said it, you doubted you’d actually go.

As the evening drew closer, you found yourself back in your dorm, staring at the golden gown hanging from your wardrobe. It truly was stunning, the kind of dress you’d dreamed of wearing to an event like this.

For a moment, you almost let yourself imagine it—dancing under the enchanted ceiling, laughter and music filling the air.

You shook your head, turning away from the dress. You weren’t ready for that.

Just as you were about to crawl back into bed, however, your dormitory door burst open, and your housemates barged in with determined looks.

“Nope, we’re not letting you sit this one out,” one of them declared, grabbing your arm and pulling you to your feet.

“What are you—”

“Listen,” another interrupted, ��you don’t have to stay the whole night. Just come for a little bit. Wear the dress, take a few pictures, and if you’re really miserable, you can leave. Deal?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the hopeful, pleading looks on their faces stopped you. They just wanted you to have fun, to feel normal again, even if only for a little while.

“...Fine,” you muttered, earning cheers from the group.

Before you knew it, they were helping you into the golden gown, fixing your hair and makeup, and hyping you up like you were royalty.

“You look amazing,” one of them said, beaming as they adjusted the final curl in your hair.

You didn’t feel amazing, but you forced a small smile.

Your housemates dragged you down the corridors toward the grand hall, their excitement became contagious. Despite your initial reluctance, you found yourself starting to feel... a little excited, too.

When you finally stepped into the grand hall, your breath hitched. The space was utterly transformed, shimmering with holiday magic. Snowflakes drifted lazily from the enchanted ceiling, disappearing just before they touched the ground. The chandeliers sparkled like stars, and the tables were adorned with golden centerpieces. Everything looked like it had been plucked from a dream.

But then you saw him.

Heeseung.

He was standing near one of the refreshment tables, laughing softly at something a fellow Slytherin said. Emerald green suit, tailored to perfection. His hair, slicked back, revealed his sharp jawline and those intense eyes. But as your gaze lingered on him, you noticed something else—he looked tired.

It wasn’t until he glanced your way and his eyes locked onto yours that you realized you’d been staring.

Your heart jumped in your chest, and before you could even think about turning away, he was moving. Heeseung’s long strides cut through the crowd like a magnet pulled him toward you.

“Oh no,” you squeaked, panic bubbling in your chest.

You instinctively turned to your friends for help, but all you saw were their grinning faces and two very obvious thumbs up.

Ah, so they planned this.

You shot them a silent glare, but before you could even consider fleeing, a firm hand grabbed yours. Heeseung’s grip was gentle but insistent as he pulled you away.

“H-Heeseung—!” you started, but he wasn’t listening.

He didn’t stop until he’d guided you to a quiet corner of the hall, away from the prying eyes of your fellow students. The noise of the ball faded into the background as he turned to face you, his hands still holding yours.

Your breath caught.

Up close, he looked even more handsome, but those tired eyes, paired with the slight downturn of his lips, made your chest ache. He looked... vulnerable.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. He just stared at you, taking in every detail—the golden gown that hugged your figure, the way your hair framed your face, the faint shimmer of your lips.

“You look beautiful,” he said softly, his voice hoarse, almost as if he hadn’t used it in days.

You blinked, momentarily stunned. You weren’t sure how to respond, your thoughts still scrambling to catch up with the fact that he was here, holding your hands, looking at you like that.

Finally, you managed to mumble, “You look... good too.”

The corner of his mouth twitched up into a small, tired smile. “Thanks,” he said, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.

Heeseung’s gaze softened as he opened his mouth to speak. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. For—”

You cut him off, shaking your head. “No, Heeseung. Stop. It wasn’t your fault. It was Yoonhee’s. You didn’t ask for any of this.”

He blinked, stunned by your words, but his expression quickly shifted to one of concern. “Then... why?” he asked softly, his voice trembling. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

You looked down, biting your lip, unable to meet his gaze. But he wasn’t having it.

Gently, he tilted your chin up with his fingers, forcing your eyes to lock with his. His touch was soft but firm, his eyes desperate. “Please,” he murmured, his voice low and pleading. “Please look at me, Y/N. I need to see you. All of you. I need to understand.”

You swallowed hard, his intensity making it difficult to breathe. Your heart pounded in your chest as you searched for the right words.

“I...” You hesitated, but his unwavering gaze gave you the courage to continue. “I was scared, Heeseung. Scared that... you wouldn’t like me anymore. That whatever we had before was gone. And it hurt. It hurt so much that I didn’t know how to face you. I felt so... drained. So tired. I had no energy for anything. It was like everything good was just gone.”

He listened intently, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek as tears spilled from your eyes. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t try to justify anything. He just... listened. Like he always did.

When you finally finished, a silence hung between you, heavy.

And then, without warning, Heeseung wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tightly against his chest.

You froze for a moment, startled, before slowly relaxing into his embrace. His scent—familiar and comforting—washed over you, and you felt like you could breathe again.

“Baby...” he whispered into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “I would have waited forever for you to feel okay again. Because you’re the only woman I love in this world. The only one I’ve ever loved. And nothing—nothing—is ever going to change that.”

Your breath hitched as his words sank in, the sincerity in his tone breaking down the walls you’d built around your heart.

“I want a future with you,” he continued, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. His hands framed your face, his thumbs gently wiping away the tears that had fallen. “I don’t care about anyone else. I never did. It’s always been you. Always.”

His words left you speechless, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

“I love you,” he said, his voice steady and sure. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that to you if I have to.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you nodded, a shaky smile breaking through. “I love you too, Heeseung,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Heeseung’s lips curved into a soft smile, his eyes glistening with relief and adoration. Without another word, he leaned in slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away if you wanted. But you didn’t. Instead, you closed the gap between you, meeting him halfway as his lips pressed against yours in a kiss.

Your heart raced as your hands instinctively reaching up to grip the front of his emerald green suit. His arms wrapped securely around your waist, pulling you closer, like he was afraid to let you go. The kiss was slow, deliberate, as if he was reassuring you that this was real, that he wasn’t going anywhere.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you breathless, his forehead rested against yours. Heeseung’s smile widened, his thumbs gently rubbing circles against your sides.

“I’ve been waiting to do that for so long,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with affection. “And I’ll never stop, as long as you let me.”

You laughed softly, your cheeks warming as you looked up at him. “You’re so dramatic,” you teased, though your tone held no malice.

“Maybe,” he admitted with a playful smirk, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

But before either of you could say anything more, a loud burst of laughter echoed from the main hall, reminding you both that you weren’t exactly in a private setting.

Heeseung chuckled, glancing over his shoulder before looking back at you. “Come on,” he said, grabbing your hand. “Let’s go somewhere quieter. I’m not done with you yet.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips quirking up. “Oh? And where exactly are we going?”

He grinned mischievously, tugging you gently along. “You’ll see,” he said, his tone light and teasing.

Heeseung led you through the dimly lit corridors, weaving between tapestries and statues until you reached a secluded alcove. It was quiet, away from the bustling energy of the Great Hall, and the faint sound of music and laughter felt like it was miles away.

Leaning casually against the stone wall, Heeseung tugged you closer by your hand, his other arm snaking around your waist as he grinned down at you. “Now this,” he murmured, “is more like it.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, feeling a bit giddy as he twirled a strand of your hair between his fingers. The way he looked at you, like you were the only person who mattered, sent your heart racing.

Before you could respond, you found yourself leaning up, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that was soft at first, but quickly deepened. His hand tightened on your hip as he pulled you flush against him, and you reached up, tangling your fingers into his perfectly styled hair, making it deliciously messy.

Heeseung groaned softly against your lips, the sound sending a thrill through you as his hand slid to the small of your back, holding you steady. The kiss was everything—intense, like he was making up for all the lost time, for all the days you’d been apart.

When you finally pulled back, both of you breathless and slightly disheveled, he let out a low chuckle. “There goes my hair,” he teased, his voice husky as he glanced at you, his lips still red from your kiss.

You smirked, smoothing down the strands you’d mussed up. “I think it looks better this way,” you quipped, earning a playful roll of his eyes.

“Yeah?” he said, leaning in to nuzzle his nose against yours. “Well, if it makes you happy, I guess I’ll allow it.”

Heeseung's playful nature shone through as he leaned in, his nose brushing against yours, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "I could get used to this," he whispered, his breath warm and tickling against your skin. "You looking all beautiful and mussed up."

You smiled, feeling a rush of excitement at his words. "Well, if you like it, I might just keep it this way," you replied, a hint of challenge in your voice. "Although, I think I might enjoy seeing the look on your face if I went back to being perfectly put together."

With a playful roll of his eyes, Heeseung leaned in again, his lips meeting yours in a gentle kiss. But this time, his hands went to your dress, his fingers trailing along the neckline, subtly revealing more of your skin.

You giggled into the kiss, a sound of both pleasure and surprise. "Naughty boy," you teased, trying to hit his hand away, but Heeseung was unmoved, his focus solely on you and the kiss.

His hands continued to tease, gently tugging at the fabric of your dress, revealing more of your shoulders and collarbone.

"You know I can't resist you," he murmured against your lips, his voice low and seductive. "Especially when you look like this."

"I know you can't," you replied, your voice soft and filled with affection. "And I'm glad I have this effect on you." You could feel his fingers trace the curve of your waist.

Heeseung's eyes lit up as he saw the skin that had been revealed. With a smile that held both mischief and anticipation, he leaned in, his lips grazing the newly exposed skin.

He started with soft kisses, his lips brushing against your neck, his breath warm and enticing, a gentle tease, tracing the curve of your collarbone.

"You smell so good," he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. "Like honey and spice."

His hands rested gently on your waist, his touch firm, as if you were something delicate he couldn’t risk breaking.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured softly, his voice barely above a whisper as his lips pressed a lingering kiss to the base of your neck. “Do you know that?”

His words made your cheeks flush, and you shook your head slightly, your hands gripping his shoulders for support. “I’m not—”

“You are,” he interrupted, his tone so sure that it silenced any protest you could muster. His lips returned to your skin, brushing over your shoulder where the fabric of your gown had slipped just slightly.

“I could do this forever,” he whispered against your skin, his voice carrying a hint of a smile. “Just... adore you.”

You shivered at his words, warmth pooling in your chest as you gazed at him. There was nothing rushed or impatient about him—just pure affection, as though he was savoring every moment with you.

“You’re impossible,” you mumbled, but the smile on your face betrayed the teasing edge in your voice.

Heeseung looked at you then, his dark eyes filled with so much love it made your breath catch. “And yet, here I am, completely yours,” he said with a boyish grin, leaning in to press a kiss to the tip of your nose, making you laugh softly.

A sudden scream sliced through the moment, making you both freeze. You turned to find Yoonhee standing in the hallway, her eyes blazing with rage, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, hatred radiating from every inch of her.

You quickly adjusted the straps of your dress, feeling a flush of embarrassment but finding comfort in the way Heeseung immediately wrapped his arms around you, holding you close.

"Yoonhee," Heeseung said, his voice calm but firm, his body still shielding you. "What are you doing here?"

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she stepped forward, her heels clicking sharply against the stone floor as she walked toward you. "You," she spat, her voice seething with venom. "You ruined everything. You always ruin everything."

The words stung more than you expected, and you felt yourself shrinking back, but Heeseung’s grip tightened around you, giving you strength.

"If you didn`t exist," she continued, her voice rising. "Everything would have been perfect. Heeseung would have been mine. I would have had everything I wanted."

You shook your head, unable to comprehend the depth of her bitterness. "Yoonhee, What are—"

But she wasn’t listening. Her gaze never left you, her eyes full of hatred as she took another step toward you. "You don't deserve him. You’re not good enough. You’re nothing compared to me."

Heeseung, his expression hardening, finally stepped in to talk. "Enough, Yoonhee."

Her glare shifted to him, but there was no remorse in her eyes. Instead, she let out a bitter laugh. "Oh, really? You think you can just shut me up?" She turned back to you, her face twisted with anger. "You think you can steal him from me and everything will be fine? You don’t know him like I do."

You swallowed, your throat tightening at her words, but Heeseung’s presence kept you steady. His voice, low and firm, cut through her words. "You’re wrong, Yoonhee. You’ve always been wrong. This isn’t about you, and it never was. I’m with her because I want to be. You’re the one who needs to let go."

For a moment, there was silence, the tension thick between the three of you. Yoonhee stood there, fuming, but Heeseung didn’t flinch.

"You can’t do this, Heeseung," she hissed, her voice full of desperation now. "You don’t even know what you���re giving up. You think she cares about you? She’s just playing you like everyone else. She’s not even worthy of you."

Heeseung’s expression softened, but there was no uncertainty in his eyes. "You’re wrong, Yoonhee. She’s everything to me, and I’m not walking away from her."

Yoonhee’s shrill scream filled the room, and before anyone could react, she lunged at you. Her hands shot out, grabbing your arm and yanking you away from Heeseung with surprising strength. You stumbled back, her nails digging into your skin as she tried to shove you down. Her eyes were wild with fury, and for a moment, you froze, too stunned by the violence of her attack to respond.

But then, something inside you snapped. All the weeks of anger, hurt, and confusion flooded back. The betrayal, the humiliation, the endless nights of crying and wondering what went wrong—it all surged up at once. This was the girl who had stolen Heeseung right out of your life. The one who had used Amortentia to control him, to warp his feelings, to hurt you. The one who had made you feel small and insignificant.

No, you wouldn’t let her do this anymore.

With a fierce yell, you shoved her off, your fist flying instinctively. The punch connected with her cheek with a satisfying thud, the force sending her staggering backward. Her eyes widened in shock, hand flying to her face as she stumbled and almost fell to the ground.

Yoonhee gaped at you, her breath coming in short, furious gasps. "You... You bitch!" she snarled, voice shaking with rage.

But you stood your ground, heart racing, every ounce of your being wanting to scream and lash out. You felt the heat of your own anger, the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You weren’t backing down anymore. "No," you said, your voice trembling but fierce, "you don't get to do this. You don't get to ruin everything for me and Heeseung. You don’t get to play with people’s feelings."

Yoonhee glared at you, hands trembling with fury. "You think you’ve won, don’t you?" Her voice was a low hiss. "You really think he’s yours? He’s not. He’ll always come back to me."

Heeseung stepped forward, voice cutting through the tension. "You’re done. I’ve told you before. I’m with her, not you."

Yoonhee looked between the two of you, her face flushing red with humiliation. The silence that followed was deafening. She was seething, but there was no more fight left in her. She stood there for a moment, glaring at you, and then, with a final look of disdain, she turned on her heel and stormed away.

You let out a breath, feeling your body go limp, the tension draining from your limbs. Heeseung moved towards you immediately, his arms wrapping around you as he pulled you close.

"Are you okay?" he murmured, his voice soft and concerned.

You nodded slowly, though your heart was still racing from the confrontation. "I’m okay," you whispered, your voice hoarse. "I just... I don’t know what came over me."

Heeseung pulled back slightly, cupping your face in his hands and looking into your eyes. "You did what you had to do," he said gently. "You’ve been through so much because of her."

"And besides I like seeing that side of you," he said, his voice warm and genuine. "The way you stood up for yourself."

You smiled, feeling a rush of warmth fill your chest at his words.

"I’m proud of you," he whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face.

You held him tighter, feeling grateful for everything that had brought you to this point. "I love you," you whispered.

"I love you too," he replied.

a/n: i feel emotional now

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[seumyo]

BAKUGOU KATSUKI ✰ THE DRESS CODE

Bakugou was in a bad mood.

It was stupid, really. Absolutely stupid. But he couldn’t help the scowl on his face as he approached your desk.

“Oi,” he snapped, crossing his arms. “What the hell are you wearing?”

He had taken his time this morning, making sure the maroon shirt he picked out was one he actually liked. It wasn’t over the top or anything—just a plain shirt with a white skull on the back, paired with some casual black pants.

But it was the principle of the matter. You were supposed to match. That was the whole damn point.

The UA student council had this dress code specifically to celebrate Valentine’s Day. Maroon for those who’re in a relationship, blue for those in a situationship, green for those in the “friend zone,” black for those who are admirers from afar, and the plain school uniform for those who are more inclined in their studies to even bother with romantic relationships.

Was this your way of subtly denying him as your boyfriend? It wasn’t like you two were in hiding—and it’s not like he doesn’t mention that you two are seeing each other whenever someone pesters him about it.

You looked up, eyes wide and innocent. “Huh? My uniform?”

Bakugou’s brow twitched. “Yeah, I can see that. Why?”

You blinked, clearly not understanding what he was getting to. “Because… it’s Friday?”

“Did you forget what today is?”

You stared blankly at him, confusion written all over your face.

“...Friday?”

“Valentine’s Day!” he barked, causing a few of your classmates to glance over in amusement. He jerked his thumb at his own shirt—a simple red tee with a black skull printed on the back. “Maroon’s for people who are dating. Thought we were gonna match.”

You felt as though your soul just left your body.

“Oh... oh.” Your hands flew to your mouth. “I... I didn’t know! You never told me!”

“Didn’t think I had to. It’s common sense.”

“And you don’t even like Valentine’s Day! So... I thought we weren’t doing the dress code thing...”

That was true. But still! He was adamant on making you look like the one in the wrong here.

“Well, I am,” he pouted. So subtle it could be mistaken for his signature grimace. “And I heard from Ears that you were planning on wearing maroon, you idiot.”

“I told her—I was thinking about it, though.”

Bakugou’s shoulders sagged, the irritation draining a little. “Yeah, well... I went and did it. Thought it’d be obvious we’re together if we matched. You had a shirt with a golden dragon on the back, too, right?”

Your heart fluttered, your gaze finally meeting his. He remembered. The realization hit you like a ton of bricks—Bakugou Katsuki, the loud, brash, and unapologetically stubborn hero-in-training—your boyfriend, wanted to show off your relationship. Publicly. On Valentine’s Day.

A moment in history!

You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Instead, you jumped to your feet. “Wait here!”

Before he could argue, you bolted out of the classroom, leaving Bakugou standing there, baffled. He turned to find his classmates blatantly eavesdropping.

Mina’s eyes were practically sparkling. “Awww, Bakugou, you wanted to match with [Name]?”

Kaminari snickered. “Dude, that’s so cute.”

Kirishima grinned, throwing an arm around Bakugou’s shoulders. “You really have gone soft, man.”

Bakugou’s eye twitched, and he shrugged Kirishima’s arm off roughly. “Shut it, Shitty Hair. I just didn’t wanna look like an idiot wearin’ maroon by myself,” he grumbled. “And Sero’s wearing green—‘nd I don’t see anyone picking on him!”

“Cool it, man,” Sero laughed, shaking his head. “The incident still stings.”

“We salute you, brave soldier,” Kaminari replied.

Mina sighed dramatically, resting her chin on her hands. “Young love...”

His cheeks turned crimson. “Mind your own damn business!”

Before his embarrassment could escalate, you came running back, slightly out of breath, with something red clutched in your hands. You unfolded it and slipped it on—a maroon cardigan. It hugged your frame just right, with allowance to spare, the color bringing out the warm shimmer in your eyes.

You looked at him, your fingers fiddling with the buttons. “I had this in my locker. Does this work?”

Bakugou stared at you, his irritation disappearing like a factory reset process. You looked... cute. Really cute. But he wasn’t about to say that out loud. He cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Yeah... s’fine, I guess.”

Your face brightened, a smile breaking across your lips. “Really?”

He looked away, his voice gruff, though there was no heat in his reply. “Whatever.”

Their moment was interrupted by Mina’s dramatic squeal. “And they say romance is dead!”

Kaminari gave a thumbs up. “Didn’t think Bakugou could be such a romantic.”

Kirishima laughed. “Man, who knew you’d be such a softie?”

Bakugou’s eye twitched, and he spun around, his hands sparking. “One more word and I’ll kill all of you!”

His classmates laughed, not the least bit intimidated. They could see right through him—Bakugou Katsuki was completely, undeniably, head-over-heels for you.

Turning back to you, his voice softened, his anger dissipating. “C’mon, let’s go. Cafeteria had those stupid snacks you wanted.”

Your smile never wavered as you followed slightly behind him.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Katsuki.”

“Yeah, yeah... Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Bakugou hopes the next Valentine’s Day to come is when he can properly match with you. He won’t let you forget this time around.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[remiratboi]

Filled

Masterlist

Arranged Marriage Trope ~ 2.8K Words

Wolf-Hybrid!HusbandXHuman!GNFatReader

CW: Arranged marriage, distant relationship, mild bdsm, mild dom/sub vibes, dominant personality more than anything else, masturbation, knotting, size kink, breeding. Honestly it’s pretty tame compared to a lot of my stuff.

It was an arranged marriage. Two powerful families, a long time feud, and a wedding to forge the peace. It wasn’t unique, but it was uniquely awful for you.

Your new husband was a large, stoic wolf hybrid. He was gorgeous, you couldn’t deny that. He was well over 6 feet, and his tight black dress shirts did little to hide the muscles he touted. His fur was dark grey, like a misty mountain range. Sometimes you imagined touching it.

You felt dwarfed, which wasn’t something your chubby ass had experienced much. So that was nice.

But that’s where the positives ended. Yes, you looked great on his arm, a slinky black gown to match his silky black slacks and shirt, but you had no connection.

He seemed uninterested or unwilling to get to know you. You figured, if you were going to have to spend your lives together, you could at least develop a friendship. It wasn’t the love filled marriage you’d dreamed of, but it could still be a partnership, nonetheless.

You tried everything you could think of to seduce the absolute brick of a man. You flirted with him during every interaction you could. You brought him little treats you had baked while he worked. You rubbed his shoulders after a long day. Nothing seemed to make him warm to you.

He seemed comfortable having you around, but also seemed to have no interest in interacting with you, unless you initiated it. It was starting to drive you mad.

You’d noticed little things about him that were more subtle. Things you didn’t realize he’d do. He always protected you when he was around. You were… clumsy to say the least, and the amount of times he’d caught your dumb ass as you were about to fall was kind of comical. It got to the point he always had a hand hovering around you. At your lower back, your hip, your thigh. It was almost like he gravitated around you.

Then there was his eyes. He didn’t express much on his face, in his dangerous line of work, he couldn’t. But that didn’t stop his eyes. You’d learned to read him from watching his eyes. You’d be in meetings together, and without fail you could guess his response. The subtle ways his brows furrowed when he was interested, and listening intently. Or the fire that flashed when he got annoyed.

You noticed his eyes when he looked at you as well. You couldn’t tell what it was, but there was a distinct, unique look in his eyes when he looked at you. And a faint blush to his cheeks when you caught him staring.

You’d started thinking maybe something would come of you two after all, but despite your ever boldening efforts, nothing happened.

Finally, after nearly a year of this new life, you were pent up, and frustrated. You shared a bed, which made any sort of self pleasure extremely difficult. Normally you could time things for when he was busy, or showering. But one night, much later than you would have liked to be asleep, your cunt throbbed.

You squirmed lightly in the large king size bed. He lay mere inches from you, soft snores rising from his chest. His face was serene, calm. You didn’t get to see him at peace very often. You’d begun to cherish seeing him like this.

You couldn’t focus long enough to go to sleep. Your thighs were sticky with your arousal. You wanted to be fucked. It had been so long. Prior to the wedding, you’d been told he’d expect you to fulfil certain… duties. But he’d never touched you in that way aside from a chaste kiss at your wedding.

You’d spent years of your life before meeting him, fearing the tyrant man you’d likely marry, and sometimes, dreaming about the handsome man you’d marry. But you were met with him, something you’d never expected or imagined. Uninterested.

You whined softly to yourself. You were desperate. He was asleep… right? You listened to his breathing. It sounded even. His soft snores solidified your decision.

You turned to lay on your back, a hand snaked down to gently rub your aching clit. You almost moaned out loud, your other hand whipping to your mouth to cover it. He was so close. He was so beautiful. You wanted him. It surprised you how confident you were in that asseratation. You spun your fingers in circles on your small bud while gazing at his face.

You imagined his hands on your body. Those huge, strong hands. What things had he done with those hands? The idea of such violence colliding with your soft, pliable body, had you stifling another moan.

You dipped lower and sunk two fingers into your cunt. You couldn’t help a whimper slipping through. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough. You wanted him to fill you, you wanted him to take you. Why couldn’t he just want you back?!

You groaned in frustration, your fingers desperately pushing in and out of you. You were starting to think you wouldn’t be able to cum while staring at his face, wanting him so badly.

“Please…” you moaned his name before you could stop yourself.

His eyes snapped open. You yelped and scrambled to pull your fingers out of your body, your positioning clear.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” He demanded, his voice dark, an edge you couldn’t place to it. He turned to look at you, his eyes raking down the thin sheet that covered you. Your pj shorts were pulled to your knees, your tank pulled up and over your chest. All that stopped him from seeing you on full display was that barely there sheet. You felt your nipples harden and his eyes flashed down from yours to stare.

“Answer.” He gave no room for argument. His eyes didn’t leave your chest.

“I, uh, I must have been having a bad dream. Sorry I wo-” he didn’t let you finish. He ripped the sheet off of your body and before you could even react, he climbed on top of you, pinning you down underneath him. He held your hands above your head in one thick fist, his knees in between your legs, holding them open. His other hand lightly caressed your round, soft tummy.

“Do not lie to me.” He whispered into your ear, leaning down so his face was next to yours. “You have one more chance to explain why you are almost naked, moaning out my name like a slut.”

Your cheeks burned. You turned your head and squeezed your eyes hoping maybe that would make it all go away.

His warm breath on your face told you it wouldn’t.

“I… I… I was just…” you didn’t know what to say. I was just fingering myself while desperately thinking about you fucking me?! Yeah… no.

He stared at your face. You peeked up at him, surprised by the slight smirk you could see playing in his lips. You had thought he was furious? But maybe…

“I was touching myself.” You spoke softly. Embarrassed still. Even with your soaking cunt spread open for him.

“What were you imagining?” He replied, not missing a beat.

“You.” You practically whispered. He groaned above you.

“Show me what you were doing.” He leaned back and let go of your wrists. He sat back on his calves, kneeled in between your thighs still. You looked up at him, eyes wide with uncertainty. He nodded curtly towards your exposed pussy. He brought his hands up to massage idly at your thick thighs. His thumbs ran along stretch marks and dimples near your hips.

You squirmed, hesitant to perform such a vulnerable action in front of another person. He turned his face from the flesh of your thighs he was handling, up to yours and caught your gaze. “This is your final warning. Do not push me, love.” His tone, deadly. You found your cheeks burning even hotter at the casual term of affection he’d used.

You couldn’t pull your eyes from his, but slowly lowered your hand down to your clit. You rubbed yourself unenthusiastically.

Your husband who had never seemed as wolf-like as he did now, tsked at you. “I don’t think pathetic movements like those were what made you moan my name.” He reminded you again of your embarrassment.

You whimpered and a shudder ran through him. You reached your fingers further, and pressed two shallowly into your cunt. You were surprised by how much more wet you had become. The fear, the uncertainty of his next move, had you on edge like never before.

“Now, tell me, no don’t stop moving.” He interrupted himself when you paused. “That’s right, now tell me, why were you imagining me while fingering yourself? Why were you staring at my face while trying to make yourself cum?” You thought your cheeks couldn’t have gotten more red and hot until he had said that.

“I, please, just let this go, and we can pretend nothing happened.” You begged him, pleading eyes gazing up at his unimpressed ones. “I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t listen very well, do you?” His tone was threatening. He flipped you over in the blink of an eye, and pressed your soft, round body into the bed. You felt his rock hard cock press into your ass from behind through his pyjamas. Your eyes flew open at the realisation of how turned on he was.

“Does that make you less self conscious, love?” He asked, patronisingly, grinding his hips against you. “You might even get a reward if you’re a good slut for me.” You felt yourself get even wetter, if that was possible.

“I was thinking about you fucking me, because I think I might be in love with you, and you never even give me the time of day, and we are just laying in this bed every night, so close and yet so far and I hate it and I don’t know what to do!” You shouted in a chaotic, blubbering stream. You gasped a breath after the words had finished tumbling from your mouth. You hadn’t really meant to say quite that many words…

For a long moment, your wolf hybrid husband was motionless above you. Your face was pressed into the mattress. Tears began to prick the edges of your eyes with each second that dragged on.

“But… I’m a monster?” He asked quietly. “I thought maybe you were just horny and wanted a quick fuck with a warm body.” He flipped you around, your face inches from his. He stared at you with large, round eyes. The stern, controlling man who held you seconds ago was gone, replaced by a shy puppy. “You love me?” He asked. You could see uncertainty flash through his eyes.

“You’re my husband.” You replied, the doubt clear even as you said the words.

The handsome man looking down at you scoffed. “That doesn’t mean anything. You didn’t choose me. You didn’t get to have a say. I didn’t want to take advantage of our situation. I know…” he trailed off. “I know there are unfair expectations for physical relations in arranged marriages, but I swore I’d never be that kind of man, I’d never push you to do anything. I promised myself I’d never let you know how desperately I wanted you.” His eyes widened as he seemed to realise what he said as he said it.

“You’re my mate, I think.” You spoke softly, uncertain of yourself as well. You reached up and pressed your hand against his face. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back into your touch.

When he opened his eyes again, they were solid black. “Those are dangerous words, love.” He smelled your arousal on the hand that cupped his face. You hadn’t registered it was the hand previously fingering your cunt.

“I like danger.” You said despite its cheesiness. It worked. Your mate chuckled.

“You like monsters too?” He asked again. A smirk had replaced his wide eyed surprise. His hard cock pressing against your soft tummy reminded him of your current predicament. You nodded enthusiastically at his question.

“Who would have thought, my precious, little human mate would be a desperate slut for wolves.” You dipped your head at his words but he pulled your chin back up, dragging your eyes to meet his.

“I love you too, I have for a very long time.” He kissed you, long and hard. The first real kiss you’d ever shared. You felt yourself gripping him everywhere, both of your hands touching the others bodies. He squeezed your hips, fingers and claws digging into your flesh.

He nipped down your neck, not breaking the skin, but enough to leave a trail of marks. You felt his hand go to his waistband, and he groaned as he released his cock. You had known it would be big, but big didn’t even begin to describe the behemoth in front of you. You felt your face pale.

The wolf above you licked his lips. “I know you can take it. One of the reasons I like my partners to be a bit thicker, better to manhandle, eh?” He teased you.

You looked between his face and cock, and his apparent disregard of your concern just made you wetter.

“I can smell you, slut.” He looked down at you with smug eyes. “Yeah, you’ll take me alright. Even if it have to make you.” A dangerous glint flashed in his eyes, and you felt the head of his dick at your entrance.

You second guessed yourself. You started trying to protest, but he covered your mouth with one large hand. “Now now, none of that. As you said, you’re my mate. You’ll love it.”

He slowly worked his head into you, and it was already breathtaking. You felt fuller than you’d ever felt, but anxiety at his size rose even further. Before you had a chance to protest, he started pushing deeper.

He wasn’t rough, but he definitely wasn’t gentle. He fucked into you with shallow thrusts, each pushing deeper than the last, until you could feel his knot battering at your entrance. The stretch was overwhelming, but you could feel the shadow of pleasure behind it.

Once he was at his full length, minus the knot, he started fucking you in earnest. He bent your legs up and over his shoulders, and practically folded you in half. It felt amazing to be so easily manoeuvred. Any stress you’d carried about being too big for him, melted away with each desperate caress he gave you. It was like he couldn’t touch enough of you at once.

The pain from his size kept fading, but the pleasure only built. Soon you were loudly crying out with each thrust. He grunted above you. He spoke of filling you with his seed, breeding you.

You could feel your orgasm growing as his thrusts got rougher. His hand snaked up to your neck, and you watched a wicked smile cross his face. He pressed into your neck, squeezing your throat. Your hands raised to his arm, trying to pull him away. It was almost comical, your tiny fingers prying at his thick muscular arm.

You started seeing spots and panic filled you. Your husband stared directly into your eyes as you struggled beneath him.

“Good pet, you can do it, don’t worry.” His comforting words sounded like they were too far away. You felt his knot pushing against your cunt. You tried to scream, but no sound could move past his fist on your neck.

Everything collided at once. Your vision was fading and your orgasm rising in front of you when he slammed his knot deep into your pussy. You screamed, even though no sounds came out. You both came, hard. He released your throat, and peppered you with kisses while you rode out to spasms.

Hot cum poured into your battered cunt as his thrusts turned erratic and staggered. He couldn’t move much due to his knot, but he did what he could. You felt the huge pressure drag up and down the entrance of your pussy. He came for so long, longer than your entire orgasm. You were coming down while he was still filling you up. You gripped each other's bodies, sweat and saliva mixing.

He collapsed to the side, pulling you up and on top of him, his cock still wedged deep inside you. You moaned involuntarily at the movement.

“Hmmm, I hope that was better than your fingers.” He hummed, amused. You grinned down at him.

“Marginally.” You teased. He looked up at you with offence and you winked, leaning down to kiss him again. You didn’t think the excitement of that was going to wear off any time soon.

[eddies-ashtray]

♡ meet cute.

There’s this alcove out behind the school. It’s deserted and quiet, right around the corner from the outside door to the woodshop. You can normally count on it being empty, a shaded refuge when you need a break during the school day. A secret place to slip away to when things get to be too much.

Once, Daniel Adams was there throwing wood scraps in the dumpster just before the bell signalling the end of second period. But he didn’t disturb you, just went back inside without a second glance. Other than that, it always lacked a population. 

Until today. 

When you round the corner, you see the trade off clear as day; a small pouch of white powder transferred from a heavily ringed hand being swapped for a thick wad of cash. 

The guy receiving the pouch slips it into his jeans pocket before he sees you. Then his green eyes make contact with yours and he books it back down the alley before crashing through the door to the shop. Subtle.

The guy with the cash is left there alone, but seemingly unperturbed by his customers sudden exit. You imagine you might run away too, if you were buying ketamine right behind your school at 11am on a Tuesday. 

You recognize him before his curly head whips around to locate the source of alarm. What other guy at Hawkins High has chipped black nail polish and avoids barbershops? More importantly, who else sells drugs at your school? Eddie’s got that job dominated. 

“Shit.” Is all he says when he spots you there. His tone is flat, deadpan. 

You ignore him in favour of sitting cross-legged on the pavement, gravel crunching beneath your soles before you press your back against cold brick. 

You just want him to go away. To be alone. 

Staring down at your scuffed Chucks, you begin to pull at a loose thread at the bottom of your frayed pant leg, winding it around the tip of your index finger until it turns white, then unwinding it so the blood comes rushing back with warmth. 

When you hear his heavy footfalls, you think maybe your luck hasn’t run out and he might be leaving. But the crunching of gravel does not recede down the alleyway.

Black Doc Martens enter your vision. You stop pulling at the loose thread and stare at the boots for a second before your gaze meanders up to his face. 

“Please don’t tell anyone, alright?” Eddie’s tone is non-threatening and hopeful. 

“Wasn’t gonna.” You shrug, couldn’t care less about the drug habits of the people you go to school with. Or how they acquire said drugs. Who would you tell anyway? The cops? Fuck that. 

Despite the confirmation of your silence Eddie stays put, feet shuffling across gravel, rocks scraping beneath the thick soles. 

You avert your gaze, will your voice not to break when you say, “Will you please just go?” But it betrays you, cracking just slightly on the final syllable. As your teeth dig into your bottom lip, you hope he doesn’t notice. 

Eyes burning and staring intently at a triangle-shaped pebble, you hold your breath, think, don’t say it, don’t say it, please don’t say it. 

“Are you okay?” 

Fuck.

Unwillingly, your face crumples and you bury it in your hands, face warming from being watched as you break down. Tears stream down your face silently, thick and hot as they wet your palms and slide down your wrists. 

There’s the crunch of gravel again, but he isn’t walking away like you expected anyone might. Who’d want to stick around with a stranger having an emotional breakdown? 

But then you feel warmth at your side as he crouches down and leans against the wall beside you, nearly shoulder-to-shoulder. 

Any remaining energy you had has been spent on your short exchange with him, so you have none left to plead with him anymore. But as the tears keep coming and your shoulders keep shaking, you find that you don’t mind his presence so much. He doesn’t touch you or invade your space in any way, doesn’t ask why you’re crying or try to stop it. 

Eddie just sits with you. Stares out at the swaying trees in the forest beyond the school and silently sits. Even though your skin isn’t touching it’s like he’s holding your hand. 

While you never bought into any of the rumours you’d heard whispered about him in the corridors, you were never completely sure of his kindness. Though now you see he wears his eccentricities as armour. It seems Eddie is softer than the tough iron of his armor would suggest. 

His motives now are clear: he doesn’t want to leave you alone in the state you’re in. Which is more kindness than anyone at this school has ever shown you. 

In actuality, it’s the most attention anyone at this school has ever shown you. Unlike Eddie, you’re mostly just ignored, left alone. Eddie isn’t going to let that happen now. 

The pair of you are probably quite the sight. And not just because you’re openly sobbing next to him. The Freak and the Loner Girl. If you were seen together you’re sure your bored peers would have some more rumours to spread. 

When your tears dry up and you’re left with a snotty nose and dry eyes, you look out at the forest in silence with him. Staring out blanky at the shedding foliage, your breathing slows and the wind whistles. The wind kissing your cheeks is strangely comforting. Or maybe it’s just Eddie. 

In your periphery, you see him shift as he pulls his ringed hand out of the pocket of his jacket. Eddie–who you’ve only just noticed smells really good, like leather and fresh rain–shoves his hand beneath the leather to dig around in an inside pocket. 

For one silly, brief moment you think he might be about to offer you a small pouch of white powder. 

Then he pulls his hand out. It’s a tissue. 

Eddie Munson is offering you a tissue. 

The metalhead keeps tissues in his jacket. And drugs. But also tissues. 

Looking from the tissue to him, Eddie gives you a soft reassuring smile. You take it from him gingerly. “Thank you.” 

Eddie nods shortly. “Yeah.”

“You, um, you didn’t have to sit with me,” you say once you’ve wiped your nose clean, looking at him fully for the first time since you broke down. His eyes are so dark. You’ve never been close enough to notice until now. 

“I know.” A beat of silence follows his sweet sincerity where all you can hear is the sound of the trees gently whooshing in the wind. “But I’ve seen you around. You’re alone a lot.” 

“Oh.” He’s seen you around? 

“You don’t deserve to be, by the way,” he adds quickly. “Especially not…now.” 

You look away with a small smile and a soft breath through your nose. Though his delivery is a little awkward, the sentiment causes warmth to flood your chest. 

“Right,” you reply, chuckling a little as you meet his eyes again. When he smiles this time, a dimple pops into his cheek. Pretty eyes and dimples?

Smacking his thighs resolutely, Eddie pushes himself up off the pavement to stand in front of you, offers you his hand. You stare up at him, your own hands twitching in your lap, buzzing with anticipation. 

“C’mon,” Eddie prompts, nodding his head to the side. “Let’s go.” 

“Where?” 

“Anywhere you wanna go.” 

Drawing your lip into your mouth, you chew on it contemplatively. 

You don’t have to think long about your answer. Why on Earth would you stay here and wallow when this sweet, kind boy with melted chocolate for eyes is offering you his hand?

[katsukikitten]

You're a spicy little Omega, so combative most mistake you for an Alpha. You hold eye contact like one, gaze as sharp as any knife, even the strongest Alpha struggle not to bare their teeth at you.

And your scent, comforting to beta and omega alike but to Alpha, oh to alpha you smell too intense. Dizzying, headache inducing, and some even take it as a threat.

You worsen it by purchasing this pheromone perfume your friends have. Their scents doubled, so pleasant it has even you wanting to corner them so you know it will only worsen yours. Spraying it onto your throat and wrists, dabbing behind your ears with a deadly smile on your face as you can already smell the spice of your attitude stinging the air.

Paths are cleared for you, Alpha turning their faces away, covering their nose, something that used to make you cry in the dead of night throughout highschool but now you embrace it. Use it to your advantage and you avoid less fights this way although your throat says otherwise.

Walking through the shopping district followed by a few Omega and Beta that subconsciously want to avoid the Alpha gaze in the busy streets even with the patrolling heroes.

Confident in each of your steps until you suddenly smell smoky caramel, a warm body pressing you against cold brick in the alley way. You're not sure when you were pulled and pinned so quickly but your claws find his back and teeth his chest, he's smart to protect his throat.

"Could smell ya half way cross the city. Been looking everywhere for you." He's growling, displeasure dripping from the syllables as he presses his cheek to yours. Forcing you to present your throat that he presses his nose into. Inhaling deeply and when you finally register his cock throbbing against your leg you freeze for a moment.

Something you've never done since you presented as an Omega. Your friends talked about this. About this moment in time where an omega will just melt for an alpha, how it's out of their control, a subconscious primal thing. Something you scoffed at, something you never wanted to happen, something you knew would never happen with the way alphas sneered down at you. How they'd grip their napes and turn their heads away from you because you were just a little "too much" even when you took suppressants, they claimed you were too combative.

You feel your knees go weak, legs turning to jelly but your jaw releases only to bite at the juncture of his throat in warning. You've ripped out glands before and you'd do it again.

This is when you'd be met with a warning bite of their own but instead his body presses more into yours. Hips bucking, long groan that makes a subtle shudder snake up his spine. Tongue peaking from behind his lips to lap at your throat a moment, palms popping against brick as he loses his hold on his restraint.

Katsuki has never felt like this, never chased the scent of an Omega and if he was honest he preferred to fuck alphas, so to have been pulled off his patrol route cause he caught wind of something like a dog has him conflicted.

A little angry.

Bakugou didn't lose control like this, at least not anymore.

Canines elongated, points scrapping your skin, salivating over your scent as he huffs over your sensitive gland. Eyes stinging with frustration to not rip up your pants and underwear, to pop every button on your blouse to see those fat tits in the low light.

"Got me in damn near tears I want ya so bad." A growl in your ear, bruising grip on your ribs, saliva from the Alpha dripping onto your throat.

The sound of it has you completely limp in his hold, this was not what the perfume was supposed to do. It was supposed to keep everyone at bay not invite the most aggressive and combative alpha hero to make claim of your body.

This sure as hell isn't what you wanted.

So why do you tilt your face away that much more so that Katsuki can have more skin to nose at your throat?

[jungkoode]

Strings Attached (to my heart) #2

→ PAIRING : Spider-Man!Jungkook x F!Reader

→ RATING: Explicit, 18+.

→ DATE POSTED: February 13th, 2025.

→ SUMMARY : You were a journalist at Yonsei University when you started noticing the strange coincidences between your favorite bumbling freshman and Seoul's newest superhero. The way Spider-Man's voice cracks on 'noona' exactly like Jungkook's does. The way they both bring you the same snacks, have the same nervous energy, the same tendency to ramble when flustered. You tell yourself it's just a coincidence, because the alternative means admitting something you're absolutely not ready to deal with.

→ TAGS : second person perspective used, female pronouns used, college au, spider-man au, noona kink, slight age gap (he’s 21, she’s 24ish),, virgin jungkook, first time, inexperienced jk, sexual content, explicit content, breast play, praise kink, crying during sex, crying after sex, embarrassment kink, humiliation kink, slight dom reader x sub jungkook, pining, jungkook has a big fat crush on you, secret identity, touch starved, desperate jungkook, gentle domming, aftercare, emotional intimacy, fluff and smut, Korean setting, university setting, oral sex, oral receiving, cunnilingus, fingering, multiple orgasms, face sitting, sexually inexperienced jungkook, post-coital confession, afterglow, blowjobs, swallowing, sexual education, jungkook has supportive friends, explicit sexual content, friends giving sex advice, being walked through sex, spidey stamina, tender sex, first time giving oral, first time receiving oral, learning sex, being taught sex, breast worship, nipple play, handjobs, naked cuddling, confessions, jungkook is a shy baby, soft smut, explicit nsfw, comfort and reassurance during sex, superhero secret identity reveal, bathing/washing, caretaking.

→ PLAYLIST: set the vibes.

→ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 13.5k

→ A/N: Welcome back to part 2 of our Spidey!JK saga, where things get even steamier and somehow even more emotional?? 😭 Y'all's response to part 1 absolutely blew me away, so I had to deliver on that promise of exploring certain... scenarios... with those spider powers 👀 This part really dives into the tender dynamic between our confident noona and her adorably earnest hoobae as they navigate his first time(s) together. Fair warning: this is probably the softest explicit content I've ever written?? Like, I didn't mean to make it this emotional but here we are, sobbing over Jungkook being the most precious baby while getting railed walked through his first experiences. Special shoutout to Jimin and Taehyung for being the real MVPs with their mortifying but ultimately helpful "sex ed lesson" 😭 . Also can we talk about how Spiderkook thought he was being subtle this whole time?? Sir, you're about as subtle as a brick through a window, but it's okay because you're cute. As always, enormous thanks to my cat who encouraged me to finish this through my 7th cup of cofffee of day 6. Your enabling is appreciated 🫶 Hope you enjoy part 2 of this wholesome filth! 🕸️

→ PREVIOUS

He's trailing behind you again.

You don't even have to turn around to know it's him—his footsteps are too eager, too bouncy, like a puppy who hasn't quite figured out how to walk without tripping over its own paws. Something in your chest tightens at the familiar sound, a mix of fondness and guilt that you try to squash down.

"Noona!"

You sigh, but it's the kind of sigh that's more amused than annoyed, even if you'd never admit it. You should shut this down. You really should. After what happened in the library closet, you shouldn't be encouraging whatever this is.

"Jungkook," you say without looking back, your voice flat. "We've talked about this."

"About what?" he asks, his tone all wide-eyed innocence, like he doesn't already know.

Like he hasn't been following you around campus with those doe eyes and nervous energy ever since that day.

"About you following me around like a lost duckling," you reply dryly, finally glancing over your shoulder.

The moment you do, you regret it.

Because there he is: Jeon Jungkook, Yonsei University's most persistent freshman, clutching yet another plastic convenience store bag like it's a peace offering. His hair is a mess—floppy and windswept from the autumn breeze—and his big doe eyes are practically sparkling with excitement. He looks so young, so earnest, that it makes your stomach twist with guilt.

You're his sunbae. You should be setting boundaries, not letting yourself get caught up in the way he looks at you like you hung the moon.

"I'm not following you!" he protests immediately, though the way he trips over his own feet as he rushes to catch up kind of undermines his argument. "I just… happened to be walking this way! Totally normal! Not weird at all!"

You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Right. And the snacks?"

"Oh! These?" He holds up the bag like it's Exhibit A in a court case. "They're for you!"

"Jungkook," you groan, stopping in your tracks so you can turn to face him fully. "You keep giving me snacks, and I'm gonna get fat."

The gasp he lets out is so dramatic it actually makes you laugh, the sound escaping before you can stop it. This is the problem—he's too endearing for his own good, making it impossible to maintain the professional distance you should.

"Noona!" he exclaims, looking genuinely horrified by the very idea. "Your weight is literally perfect! And even if you gained weight—which you're not just because I bring you snacks sometimes—"

"Every day," you interject pointedly, trying to ignore how your heart flutters at his earnest defense.

You shouldn't find it charming. You're supposed to be the mature one here.

"—you'd still be beautiful and—uh—you—it'd be okay!" he stammers, his words tumbling over each other in his rush to reassure you. His cheeks are already turning pink, and it only gets worse when he realizes what he just said out loud. "I mean—you're already—uh—"

You should stop this. Should remind him that you're his sunbae, that this kind of attention isn't appropriate.

Instead, something reckless and wanting unfurls in your chest as you watch him flounder.

"Well," you interrupt with a smirk, deciding to mess with him despite the voice in your head screaming that this is a bad idea, "if I gain weight, maybe my boobs will grow."

The way his eyes widen is almost comical.

His mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water as he struggles to find something—anything—to say that won't make this worse for him. You know you shouldn't enjoy his flustered state this much, shouldn't feel this rush of power at how easily you can reduce him to a stammering mess, but...

"Your boobs are already per—uh—ah—" He cuts himself off with a strangled noise, his face going beet red as he realizes what almost slipped out. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean—I wasn't trying to—I mean—"

The library closet flashes through your mind—his desperate sounds, the way he trembled against you, how beautifully he fell apart. You should feel worse about that than you do. Should regret taking advantage of his obvious crush.

Instead, you find yourself saying: "Jungkook."

"Yep?" His voice cracks on the word, and his big doe eyes dart between yours like he's waiting for some kind of divine punishment to rain down on him. He looks ridiculous—and ridiculously cute—and it takes everything in you not to let your fondness show too much.

You roll your eyes and snort softly, warring with yourself. The responsible thing would be to send him away, to maintain appropriate boundaries.

Instead, you hear yourself saying: "Come by my apartment tonight."

His eyes somehow get even wider. "Your… apartment?" he echoes weakly, like he can't quite believe what he just heard.

The pure shock in his expression should be a wake-up call—a reminder that you're his sunbae, that you shouldn't be inviting him into your personal space like this.

"At eight," you add anyway, watching as his brain visibly short-circuits trying to process this information. "Yeah?"

"Y-y-y-yeah," he stammers, choking on his own spit in the process because of course he does. "Your apartment? At night?"

You nod slowly, biting back a smile as his face flushes an even deeper shade of red.

There's a voice in the back of your head reminding you that this is dangerous territory—that after the library incident, you should be putting distance between you, not drawing him closer.

"Okay," he says quickly, nodding along with you like some kind of bobblehead doll. "Yeah! Okay! I can—I can do that." He swallows hard, his voice strangled as he adds, "Eight o'clock. Your apartment."

He looks so flustered—so completely overwhelmed by the mere idea of being invited into your personal space—that something mischievous sparks in your chest, drowning out the guilt.

You shouldn't tease him any more than you already have today—you really shouldn't—but the way he looks at you, all eager desperation and nervous energy, makes you want to see just how far you can push him.

"Bring condoms," you say offhandedly as you turn back around and start walking again, even as your conscience screams at you that this is crossing a line.

The sound Jungkook makes is somewhere between a gasp and a choke—a strangled little noise that has you biting your lip to keep from laughing outright.

You don't have to look back to know exactly what expression he's wearing: wide-eyed panic mixed with sheer disbelief and just a hint of something else... something darker that reminds you too much of how he looked in that closet.

You should feel worse about this. Should feel guilty for teasing your hoobae like this, for playing with his obvious feelings. Instead, you find yourself turning back, unable to resist watching him fall apart.

"I—I—what?!" His voice cracks so hard on the word that it echoes slightly down the street.

He's standing there frozen in place, clutching the snack bag like it's the only thing keeping him upright.

His mouth opens and closes uselessly for several seconds before he finally manages to croak out: "Condoms?"

"You don't want to?" You tilt your head innocently, watching as his entire body stiffens at the question.

There's a twisted satisfaction in seeing how easily you can affect him, even as a small voice in your head reminds you that you're supposed to be the responsible one here.

"I want to!"

The words burst out of him so fast they practically trip over each other on their way out of his mouth—and then his eyes widen in horror as he realizes how eager that sounded.

“I mean—I—uh—yeah? Yes? I really—I really want to." He bites his lip nervously before adding in a much quieter voice: "...Please."

The way he looks at you then—like some kind of kicked puppy who just admitted all its secrets—makes heat pool in your stomach. You shouldn't want this. Shouldn't want him. He's your hoobae, for fuck's sake, barely out of his military service and looking at you like you're everything he's ever wanted.

But instead of letting him off the hook (because where's the fun in that?), you raise an eyebrow and say simply: "Good."

He nods frantically at that—as if agreeing with you might somehow save him from further embarrassment—but then hesitates when something seems to occur to him.

The guilt starts creeping back in as you watch him fidget, so obviously inexperienced and eager to please.

"Noona?" His voice is soft now—almost shy—as if whatever he's about to ask might actually kill him.

"Yes?" You stop walking again and turn fully toward him, trying to ignore how your heart clenches at his nervous expression.

"Where... where can I... uh..." He trails off awkwardly before finally blurting out: "...Buy them?"

This time, you choke on your spit.

Because fuck—the reminder of just how unversed he is hits you like a punch to the gut.

You're terrible for this, for teasing him when he's so clearly out of his depth. For wanting to see him fall apart again, even knowing you should be protecting him instead of corrupting him.

"Jungkook," you say after a long moment of stunned silence, your voice softer than intended.

"Yes?" He looks at you hopefully, and god, you're going straight to hell for the things you want to do to him when he looks at you like that.

"I was joking."

The look on his face when those words sink in is priceless—a mix of disappointment and relief so intense it almost makes you feel bad for teasing him this much.

Almost.

Because underneath that relief, you can see it—the way his eyes darken slightly, the subtle shift in his posture that tells you he wanted it to be real.

"...Oh," he says softly after another long pause, and something in his tone makes your chest flutter.

"But not about coming over tonight!" You call back as you start walking again, before you can do something stupid like take it back. Before you can give in to the urge to tell him you weren't entirely joking after all. "Bring me jajjangmyeon!"

Behind you comes another strangled noise—and then hurried footsteps as Jungkook scrambles after you once again.

"Noona!"

You keep walking, trying to ignore the way your heart races.

Jungkook bangs his head against the wall of Taehyung's apartment, each thud punctuating his words: "I. Hate. My. Self."

"Why?" Taehyung doesn't even look up from his game controller, thumbs moving rapidly as he dodges an attack on screen. "You're gonna get laid."

"Finally," Jimin adds helpfully from his spot on the floor, leaning back against the couch as he mashes buttons. "About time someone popped that cherry—"

"It's NOT like that!" Jungkook's voice cracks embarrassingly, and he seriously considers webbing both their mouths shut. Why does he have friends? Who allowed this? "She just wants to hang out!"

"At night?" Taehyung snorts, still focused on the game. "In her apartment?"

"Alone?" Jimin adds, grinning as his character lands a critical hit. "Just the two of you?"

"She literally said she was joking!" Jungkook protests, sliding down the wall until he's sitting on the floor, knees pulled up to his chest like some kind of oversized puppy. "About the... you know."

"The condoms?" Taehyung supplies helpfully.

"Shut up!"

"Maybe," Jimin says thoughtfully, pausing the game to turn and look at Jungkook properly, "she was joking about joking."

Jungkook freezes. "No way."

"Yes way."

"...You think so?" And god, he hates how hopeful his voice sounds. How pathetically eager.

"Bro," Taehyung says, finally setting down his controller to fix Jungkook with a look. "You already nutted in your pants grinding against her in a library closet."

"DIE." Jungkook buries his face in his hands, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole. "I hate you. I hate both of you. So much."

"I mean," Jimin continues, completely unbothered by Jungkook's death threats, "she obviously knows you want her. Like, it's not exactly a secret."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jungkook peeks through his fingers, suspicious.

"Dude." Taehyung gives him a flat look. "You follow her around like a lost puppy."

"I do not—"

"You bring her snacks every day—"

"That's just being nice!"

"You literally stalk her as Spider-Man—"

"I'm PROTECTING her!"

"From what?" Jimin snorts. "Paper cuts? Bad coffee? The dangers of journalism?"

Jungkook makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. "I hate this conversation. Can we go back to you two failing at Mario Kart?"

"Nope," Taehyung says cheerfully, turning to face him fully now. "This is way more entertaining. So, what are you gonna wear?"

"What?" Jungkook blinks. "What do you mean, what am I gonna wear? Clothes?"

Jimin and Taehyung exchange a look that makes Jungkook's stomach drop.

"Oh no," Jimin says slowly. "No, no, no. You are not showing up to your potential deflowering wearing your usual disaster outfit."

"My WHAT—"

"The oversized hoodie and ripped jeans combo," Taehyung clarifies. "It's cute for class, but for this? Absolutely not."

"I'm not getting deflowered!" Jungkook protests, his voice reaching a pitch that probably only dogs can hear. "She just wants jajjangmyeon!"

"Right," Jimin drawls. "Because girls always invite guys over at night for noodles."

"Some do!"

"Name one time—"

"I don't have to name anything! This isn't—she's not—we're not—" Jungkook makes a frustrated noise, running his hands through his hair until it's sticking up in all directions. "She probably just wants to talk about Spider-Man again."

Another loaded look passes between his friends.

"What?" Jungkook asks suspiciously.

"Nothing," they say in unison, which is never a good sign.

"What?!"

"It's just..." Taehyung starts carefully. "Maybe she wants to... confirm her suspicions?"

Jungkook's blood runs cold. "What suspicions?"

"You know..." Jimin waves his hand vaguely. "About your... nighttime activities?"

"My what—OH." Jungkook's eyes widen in horror. "Oh no. Oh fuck. Oh god. You think she's gonna—"

"Interrogate you?" Taehyung supplies helpfully. "Probably."

"While you're vulnerable?" Jimin adds with a grin. "Most likely."

"Post-orgasm?" Taehyung continues. "When your guard is down?"

"I'm going to throw up," Jungkook announces, pulling his knees tighter to his chest. "I'm actually going to be sick."

"Relax," Jimin says, reaching over to pat his knee sympathetically. "Maybe she just wants to fuck you."

"That's not relaxing!" Jungkook squeaks. "That's the opposite of relaxing! That's—that's—"

"Hot?" Taehyung suggests.

"Exciting?" Jimin adds.

"Terrifying," Jungkook corrects weakly. "What if I... what if I'm bad at it?"

Another loaded silence fills the room.

"Well," Taehyung says slowly, "you've already set the bar pretty low with the closet incident—"

"I'm leaving." Jungkook starts to stand up, but Jimin grabs his arm and yanks him back down.

"No, you're not," Jimin says firmly. "You're going to sit here and let us help you not completely fuck this up."

"I don't need help!"

"You came in your pants from some light grinding."

"That was—it wasn't—she said it was cute!"

"And that's great," Taehyung says patiently. "But maybe this time we aim for something a little more... impressive?"

Jungkook groans, letting his head fall back against the wall with a thud. "I hate this. I hate all of this. Why couldn't I just be normal?"

"Normal is overrated," Jimin says sagely. "Now, about those clothes..."

"We're not having this conversation."

"We absolutely are," Taehyung declares, standing up. "Come on, let's raid my closet. You're not showing up looking like a freshman who just rolled out of bed."

"But I am a freshman who just rolled out of bed!"

"Not tonight, you're not," Jimin says, grabbing Jungkook's other arm to haul him up. "Tonight, you're going to look like someone who might actually know what to do with a woman."

"But I don't know what to do with a woman!"

"That's what we're here for," Taehyung says cheerfully, already heading toward his bedroom. "Sex Ed with Taehyung and Jimin, now in session!"

"Kill me," Jungkook mutters, but he lets himself be dragged along anyway. "Just... someone please kill me."

"After you get laid," Jimin promises. "Now, let's talk about foreplay..."

The noise Jungkook makes is probably audible from space.

But then he’s sitting cross-legged on Taehyung's bed, face buried in his hands as his friends settle on either side of him.

The game controllers lie abandoned on the floor, forgotten in favor of what Taehyung has dubbed "Operation: Don't Let Jungkook Embarrass Himself (Again)."

"Okay," Jimin says, his tone shifting from teasing to something more serious. "First rule: stop overthinking."

"I'm not—"

"You are," Taehyung cuts in gently. "We can literally see you spiraling. Your whole face does this thing when you're in your head too much."

"What thing?" Jungkook peeks through his fingers suspiciously.

"Like you're trying to solve quantum physics while having an existential crisis," Jimin explains. "It's not cute."

Jungkook groans. "How am I supposed to not overthink? She's—she's her, and I'm just—"

"A superhero?" Taehyung supplies helpfully.

"That's different! That's not—I mean—" Jungkook makes a frustrated noise. "Spider-Man is cool. I'm not cool. I'm just... me."

"And she likes you," Jimin says firmly. "Not Spider-Man. Well, maybe Spider-Man too, but she doesn't know that yet. She likes awkward, rambling, snack-bringing you."

"How do you know?"

"Because," Taehyung says patiently, "girls don't usually let guys they're not into grind against them in library closets."

"Can we please stop bringing that up?"

"No, because it's important," Jimin insists. "She initiated that. She guided your hands. She told you it was okay. That means she's attracted to you."

Jungkook swallows hard, his face heating up at the memory. "But what if... what if she expects me to know what I'm doing now?"

"Then be honest," Taehyung says simply. "Tell her you're nervous. Tell her you want her to show you what she likes."

"Girls love that shit," Jimin adds. "Being all vulnerable and asking for guidance? That's hot."

"Really?" Jungkook looks between them skeptically.

"Really," they say in unison.

"Plus," Taehyung continues, "she already knows you're inexperienced. And she still wants you there. That means something."

Jungkook chews on his bottom lip nervously. "Okay, but... what if... what if I..." He trails off, face burning.

"What if you what?"

"What if I... finish too fast again?" The last words come out as barely a whisper.

"Then you use your mouth," Jimin says matter-of-factly.

Jungkook chokes on air. "My what?"

"Your mouth," Taehyung repeats calmly. "Seriously, learn to eat pussy. It's like, the number one life skill."

"Oh my god." Jungkook falls backward onto the bed, covering his face with both hands. "I can't believe we're having this conversation."

"Better us than you figuring it out on your own," Jimin points out. "Now sit up. This is important."

"I don't want to."

"Jungkook."

"No."

"Fine," Taehyung sighs. "Then we'll just let you go in blind and probably accidentally bite her cl—"

"OKAY!" Jungkook bolts upright. "Okay, I'm listening. Just... please be less graphic."

"No can do," Jimin says cheerfully. "This is detailed instruction time. Now, the most important thing to remember is—"

What follows is possibly the most mortifying yet educational thirty minutes of Jungkook's life. His friends, for all their teasing, are actually... helpful. They explain things clearly, answer his (extremely embarrassing) questions without judgment, and even draw diagrams that make him want to die but also kind of make sense.

"And remember," Taehyung says finally, "it's okay to laugh if something awkward happens. Sex isn't like porn. It's messy and weird sometimes."

"And communication is key," Jimin adds. "If you're not sure about something, ask. If something feels good, say so. If something doesn't, speak up."

Jungkook nods slowly, processing everything. "Okay. Yeah. I can... I can do that."

"And for fuck's sake," Taehyung says, "breathe. You look like you're about to pass out."

"I might," Jungkook admits weakly. "This is... a lot."

"It is," Jimin agrees, patting his knee. "But you've got this. And hey, maybe nothing will happen tonight. Maybe she really does just want to eat jajjangmyeon and talk."

"Right," Jungkook says, though his voice wavers slightly. "Just... normal hanging out."

"But if something does happen," Taehyung adds with a grin, "at least now you know where the clit is."

"I hate you both so much."

"You love us," Jimin corrects. "Now, about those clothes..."

Jungkook flops back onto the bed with another groan, but this time, it's less panicked and more resigned. Because yeah, okay, maybe his friends are right. Maybe this won't be a complete disaster.

Maybe.

Probably.

Oh god, he's going to throw up.

"Stop spiraling," Taehyung says immediately. "I can see you doing it."

"I'm not spiraling!" Jungkook protests. "I'm just... mentally preparing."

"For what? The worst possible scenario?"

"Yes!"

"Which is?" Jimin prompts.

"I don't know! Everything? What if I trip and break her lamp? What if I say something stupid? What if I accidentally web her ceiling fan? What if—"

"Okay, new rule," Taehyung interrupts. "No spider powers in the bedroom unless explicitly discussed beforehand."

"Oh my god."

"He's right though," Jimin says thoughtfully. "Save the web-shooting for later. That's like, advanced kink territory."

"I'm leaving," Jungkook announces for the hundredth time. "I'm actually leaving this time."

"No, you're not," they say in unison, each grabbing one of his arms to keep him in place.

"We still haven't picked out your outfit," Taehyung reminds him.

"Or talked about protection," Jimin adds.

"Or—"

"Fine!" Jungkook throws his hands up in defeat. "Fine. Just... please stop saying 'web-shooting' in relation to... that."

His friends exchange matching grins that make him immediately regret everything.

"No promises," they say together.

Jungkook screams into a pillow.

The doorbell rings, loud and obnoxious, startling you out of your focus.

You pause mid-sentence, fingers hovering over your laptop's keyboard as you glance toward the door. When did the bell get so loud? It's like it's mocking you for forgetting—or pretending to forget—that you invited him over.

You sigh, pulling off your headphones and letting them rest around your neck as you shuffle toward the door.

Your bunny slippers scuff softly against the floor, and you tug at the hem of your tank top absentmindedly. You're not exactly dressed to impress—grey sweats, a loose tank top, hair probably a mess—but whatever. It's your apartment. Comfort trumps everything else.

(Though a small voice in your head reminds you that maybe you should've put on something less... revealing. Something that doesn't show quite so much skin, doesn't blur the lines between sunbae and…)

You open the door, and there he is.

Jeon Jungkook, standing in the hallway in his own grey sweats and an oversized hoodie, looking like he just stepped out of a cozy loungewear ad. His hair is slightly damp, curling at the ends like he'd rushed to shower before coming over. He's holding a plastic bag in one hand, and his other is shoved awkwardly into his pocket. For some reason, he's staring off to the side, like he's too nervous to look directly at the door.

But then his gaze shifts—quickly, immediately—and lands on you. And just like that, it's like all the tension in his body melts away. His shoulders drop slightly, and there's this soft little exhale that escapes him as his lips curve into a sheepish smile. The pure relief in his expression makes your stomach twist with guilt.

"Brought jajjangmyon as you requested, noona," he says, holding up the bag like it's some kind of peace offering.

The way he says "noona," all shy and reverent like it's some sacred title only meant for you—it shouldn't make your chest feel warm, but it does. It really shouldn't.

You bite back both a smile and the urge to tell him to go home, to forget about whatever this thing between you is becoming. Instead, you step aside to let him in, watching as he hesitates for half a second before shuffling past you into the apartment, his sneakers squeaking softly against the floor.

You close the door behind him and turn to find him standing awkwardly near the entrance, clutching the bag like it's a lifeline. His eyes dart around your apartment—taking in the cluttered desk with your laptop still open, the half-empty mug of coffee on the table, the blanket draped over the back of your couch—but they always seem to come back to you.

Like he can't help himself, like you're some kind of magnet he can't resist.

And then there's this moment—a brief flicker—where his gaze lowers slightly, catching on your tank top and sweats. It's subtle, almost imperceptible, but you notice it anyway. The way his jaw tightens just a fraction before he quickly looks away again, like he's afraid of being caught staring.

It reminds you too much of how he looked in that closet, all desperate want and nervous energy.

He clears his throat. "Uh... nice place."

You snort softly, trying to ignore the way your skin prickles under his gaze. "It's a mess."

"It's cozy," he says earnestly, and when he looks at you again, there's something warm in his eyes.

Something that makes you want to push him away before you do something stupid like pull him closer.

You shake off the feeling and motion for him to follow you further inside.

"C'mon," you say over your shoulder as you walk toward your desk, needing distance. "I need some help with something."

"With what?" he asks immediately, trailing after you like an obedient puppy.

Always so eager to please, so ready to do anything you ask. It would be easier if he wasn't so genuine about it.

You glance back at him briefly and smirk, falling back on teasing because it's safer than acknowledging whatever happened. "Carrying all this food to my desk."

His lips twitch upward into another sheepish smile as he holds up the bag again. "I can do that."

Of course he can.

You roll your eyes but don't say anything else as you plop back down into your chair and gesture for him to set everything on the table beside your laptop. You need to focus on something—anything—other than how domestic this feels, how naturally he fits into your space.

As he unpacks the containers of jajjangmyon with meticulous care—like each one is some kind of precious artifact—you can't help but watch him out of the corner of your eye. There's something about seeing him here—in your space—that feels... different.

Dangerous.

Like this is some kind of alternate universe where Jeon Jungkook isn't just that awkward freshman who follows you around campus with snacks and stammered compliments but someone who actually belongs here.

It's stupid. You know it is. But still.

"You didn't have to bring all this," you say finally, breaking the silence as he sets down a pair of chopsticks beside one of the containers. Your voice comes out sharper than intended, an edge of defensiveness creeping in.

"You asked for it," he replies simply, glancing up at you with those wide doe eyes of his.

Always so earnest, so sincere. It makes something in your chest ache.

"I was joking."

"I know." He smiles softly—just barely—but there's something about it that makes your guilt surge.

“Then why’d you bring it?”

“Because…” He hesitates for half a second before shrugging lightly. “Because I wanted to.”

There's something so simple—so pure—about his answer that it catches you off guard for a moment. You don't know what to say to that, so instead, you just grab one of the containers and pop it open with a quiet "thanks," trying to ignore how your hands shake slightly.

He sits down across from you without being asked—like this is normal now—and starts unpacking his own food while sneaking occasional glances at you when he thinks you're not looking. Each glance feels like a weight on your conscience, reminding you how badly you're handling this whole situation.

The silence stretches between you as you both eat, broken only by the soft clicking of chopsticks against containers.

Something’s... off.

Jungkook's usually endless chatter is conspicuously absent, replaced by this heavy quiet that makes your skin crawl.

You glance up from your food to find him staring intently at his container, his fingers fidgeting with the chopsticks like he's trying to work up the courage to say something.

There's a tension in his shoulders that wasn't there before, a nervousness that reminds you too much of how he looked in that closet, and—

Oh.

Oh.

The guilt hits you like a slap on the fucking face.

Because what kind of sunbae are you? Getting off on making your hoobae squirm? Letting him grind against you until he came in his pants? Who even are you? Was it worth the power trip?

God, you’re insane. You are out of your depth. You are disgusting.

And now he's sitting here, all quiet and nervous, probably thinking about it too, probably wondering if you're going to acknowledge it or pretend it never happened and—

Something ugly and defensive rises in your chest, a need to push him away before he gets too close. Before you can fuck this up any more than you already have.

"So," you start, your voice deliberately casual as you type random nonsense just to look busy. Your fingers move across the keyboard without purpose, just needing something to focus on besides the way he keeps sneaking glances at you. "Did you tell your friends about our little encounter?"

Jungkook chokes on his noodles, face immediately flushing red. "I—what?"

"You know," you continue, still not looking at him because you can't handle those doe eyes right now. "The closet thing. Did you brag about it? Tell all your freshman friends how you got felt up by a senior?"

God, you sound cruel even to your own ears. But it's better this way, right? Better to push him away now before this gets even more complicated. Before you let yourself get used to having him in your space, all soft smiles and eager eyes.

"N-no!" he stammers, sounding horrified. "I wouldn't—I mean, I did tell Jimin-hyung and Tae-hyung, but—"

"Of course you did," you cut him off with a sharp laugh that doesn't sound like you at all. "Bet they were impressed, huh? Their baby Jungkookie getting action in the library?"

His breath hitches audibly, and you hate how the sound makes your chest tight. You're doing this for his own good, you remind yourself. He deserves better than some senior who gets off on making him cry.

"It wasn't like that," he says quietly, and you can hear the hurt in his voice. "I just... I needed advice—"

"Advice?" You finally look at him, raising an eyebrow even as your nails dig into your palms. "What kind of advice? How to last longer than three minutes?"

The moment the words leave your mouth, you see him physically flinch. His eyes go wide, glassy with unshed tears, and something in your chest fractures.

You're the worst. The absolute worst.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, voice cracking. "I didn't mean to—I know I was pathetic—"

"Stop," you say immediately, panic rising in your throat because you can see it coming—the way his lips tremble, the way he's looking at you with such raw emotion.

Don't say it. Please don't say it.

But he's already spiraling, words tumbling out between hiccupping breaths: "I know I'm inexperienced and awkward and probably really bad at everything, but I—I really like you, noona, and I—"

"What's next?" You spit out, desperate to stop the confession you don't deserve, nails drawing blood from your palms now. "Gonna cry? Beg? Whimper noona until I take pity on you?" A harsh laugh scrapes your throat. "What would you even do if I told you to get on your knees right now?"

Silence.

You snort, turning back to your laptop, relief flooding through you because finally, finally he's going to realize what a terrible person you are and—

Fabric rustles. The soft thud of denim hitting floorboards. Your fingers freeze over the keyboard.

He kneels between your spread legs, palms on his thighs. The overhead light catches the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.

"Okay."

Your pulse thunders. "Okay what?"

"However you want me." His voice quivers but doesn't break. "However you need."

The cursor blinks mockingly on screen. You suddenly can't remember your Wi-Fi password. Your thesis topic. Your own name.

"What are you doing?" Your voice comes out strangled.

"You asked," he whispers, voice trembling but determined. "If I would get on my knees for you, noona."

"I was being cruel," you say quickly, but your mouth feels dry. "I was trying to hurt you."

"I know." His hands shake where they rest on his thighs, tears tracking down his cheeks. "But I'd still... I'd still do anything. Even if you're just being mean. Even if you're trying to push me away."

Your breath catches. "Jungkook—"

"I bought them," he blurts out suddenly, face burning red. "The condoms. Even though—even though you said you were joking. I just... just in case. Because I wanted—I wanted to be ready if you..." He hiccups, more tears spilling over. "If you ever actually wanted me."

The guilt chokes you. "Stop it."

"Please don't push me away," he begs, voice cracking as he shifts closer, forehead pressing against your knee. "I know I'm pathetic. I know I'm just some stupid freshman who came in his pants the first time you touched him, but I—I can't stop thinking about you. About how good you made me feel. About how much I want to make you feel good too."

You stare at him, caught off guard by his desperate honesty. "You don't know what you want."

"I do," he insists, looking up at you through wet lashes. "I think about you all the time. When I'm alone, I—" He cuts himself off with a hiccup, shame coloring his cheeks. "I touch myself thinking about your hands. Your voice. How you said I was good for you."

A broken noise escapes you—something between a laugh and a sob. "Jungkook, we can't—"

"I'll be better," he promises frantically, hands hovering near your thighs like he's afraid to touch. "I'll last longer. I'll learn how to... how to please you properly. Just please don't—don't regret what happened. Don't hate me for wanting you so much."

You drop your head into your hands, overwhelmed by his raw honesty. He's still crying, shoulders shaking with barely suppressed sobs as he kneels before you like some kind of devoted supplicant.

"I practiced," he confesses in a broken whisper, and you can hear how much it costs him to admit this. "After... after the closet. Trying to—to last longer. Because I was so embarrassed about... about how fast I..." He hiccups, pressing his burning face against your knee. "Jimin-hyung and Tae-hyung, they tried to help. Gave me advice. Told me how to... how to be good for you."

"Jesus, Jungkook," you breathe, because what are you supposed to say to that?

"I know it's stupid," he rushes out, words tumbling over each other between hiccups. "I know you probably think I'm just some dumb kid with a crush, but it's more than that. You make me feel... you make me feel like I could be good enough. Like maybe being inexperienced isn't... isn't the worst thing in the world."

Your fingers find their way into his hair without permission, and the broken sound he makes at the contact nearly kills you. He leans into your touch like he's starving for it, tears still flowing freely.

"When you touched me," he continues, voice barely above a whisper, "in the closet... it was the first time anyone ever... and you were so gentle. So patient. Even though I was pathetic and came too fast and probably squeezed your breast too hard—"

"Stop calling yourself pathetic," you interrupt, tugging gently at his hair until he looks up at you. His face is a mess of tears and vulnerability, and something in your chest breaks. "God, Jungkook. You weren't pathetic. You were adorable."

He makes this wounded sound, like your words physically hurt him. "But I—I ruined it. Made it weird. Got too desperate and needy and—"

"That's what made it beautiful," you admit softly, thumbs brushing away his tears. "How honest you were. How much you wanted it. Wanted me."

His breath hitches, fresh tears spilling over. "I still do," he whispers. "Want you. So much it hurts sometimes. Even if you're being mean, even if you're trying to push me away... I just want to be close to you."

Your hands tremble slightly as you cup his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. His skin is feverish under your palms, tears still flowing freely as he looks up at you with those devastating doe eyes.

"I'm sorry," you murmur, watching as he blinks in confusion. "For being cruel earlier. I just... I felt so guilty. About taking advantage of you. About wanting you when I shouldn't."

"You weren't," he says immediately, desperately. "Taking advantage. I wanted it so bad, noona. Still want it. Want anything you'll give me." His voice cracks on another hiccup. "Even if—even if it's just this. Just letting me be close to you."

"Jungkook..." Your thumbs brush away fresh tears, but they're quickly replaced by more.

"I know I'm not good enough," words spilling out between quiet sobs. "Know I should probably be with someone my own age. Someone who won't have to teach me everything. But I—I want it to be you. Want you to show me how to... how to make you feel good. How to be what you need."

Your heart clenches at his words, at how earnestly he offers himself up to you.

“Baby," the endearment slips out again, making him shudder. "You don't have to try so hard."

"I want to," he insists, hands finally settling on your thighs, grip trembling but determined. "Want to learn everything. How to touch you. How to... how to use my mouth. How to make you cum. Please, noona."

His voice breaks on the honorific, more tears spilling down his cheeks.

"I like you so much. So—so much it hurts. Can't focus in class because I keep thinking about you. Can't sleep because I keep remembering how you touched me, how you looked at me like I wasn't just some stupid freshman."

"Jungkook—"

"Please don't tell me to stay away," he chokes out, panic clear in his voice. "I know I should. Know it's wrong because you're my sunbae and I'm just—just me, but I can't. I can't." His fingers dig into your thighs desperately. "I'll do anything. Be anything you want. Just please don't push me away."

Your heart aches at how broken he sounds, at the raw desperation in his voice. "Baby..."

"I dream about you," he confesses in a rush, like he's afraid you'll stop him. "About—about your hands. Your voice. The way you said I was good for you. Nobody's ever—nobody's made me feel like that before. Like I’m good enough. Just Jungkook.”

He's rambling now, words tumbling out between hiccups and sobs. "I know I'm probably terrible at everything. Know I should've lasted longer, should've touched you better, should've—should've been more in control but I couldn't. Can't think straight when you look at me like that. When you call me 'baby' and touch my hair and—"

You can't take it anymore. Can't handle how earnest he is, how desperately he's trying to convince you not to reject him. Your hands slide from his tear-stained cheeks into his hair, and he makes this broken little sound that goes straight to your heart.

"Noona," he whimpers, looking up at you through wet lashes. "Please."

You lean down, your heart thundering in your chest as you press your lips to his.

It's soft at first—tender, careful, like you're afraid he might shatter if you push too hard. His lips are warm and slightly salty from tears, trembling against yours as he makes this tiny, desperate sound in the back of his throat.

When his mouth parts on a shaky exhale, you can't help but deepen the kiss. Your tongue slides against his, and the way he gasps—soft and surprised, like he can't believe this is happening—makes heat pool in your stomach. His hands clench against your thighs, fingers trembling with nervous energy as he tries to match your rhythm.

God, he's so fucking precious. So earnest in the way he responds, letting you guide him with gentle pressure and encouraging hums. When you thread your fingers through his hair, he whimpers into your mouth, tears still tracking down his cheeks even as he kisses you back with clumsy enthusiasm.

You press harder, something possessive and hungry unfurling in your chest at how pliant he is, how desperately he tries to please you. Your other hand cups his jaw, tilting his head to deepen the kiss further, and he just melts for you. His mouth is sweet and eager, and you want to fucking devour him—want to swallow every little hiccupping sob and breathy moan he makes.

You shouldn't want this. Shouldn't want him. He's your hoobae, for fuck's sake—this eager, crying freshman who looks at you like you hung the moon. But the way he trembles under your touch, the way he gives himself over so completely... it makes you want to wreck him. To take him apart piece by piece until he's sobbing for an entirely different reason.

When you finally pull back, he chases your lips with a broken whine that goes straight to your core. His eyes flutter open, glazed and desperate, tears still clinging to his lashes like diamonds.

"Noona," he breathes, and his voice is wrecked—all raw and pleading in a way that makes you want to kiss him stupid again.

You shouldn't.

You really, really shouldn't.

But god help you, you do.

Jungkook's brain is absolutely short-circuiting.

Like, full system failure, blue screen of death, please-restart-your-computer levels of malfunction.

Because this? This can't be real. This has to be some kind of fever dream or maybe he hit his head on the way over here because there's no way—absolutely no fucking way—that you just kissed him.

But you did. You actually did. Your lips were on his, soft and warm and real, and now he's kneeling here like an idiot, staring up at you with what he's sure is the most pathetic expression ever because holy fuck.

He hadn't expected any of this. Really. After the whole teasing thing earlier (and the mortifying sex ed session with Taehyung and Jimin), he'd convinced himself nothing would happen. That's why he wore his comfy clothes—his safe clothes—even though yeah, okay, maybe he did buy condoms. Just in case. Because he's pathetic and hopeful and maybe a tiny part of him wanted to believe...

But no. He was fine with just bringing jajjangmyon. More than fine. He would've been happy just sitting here, watching you work, existing in the same space as you. That would've been enough.

Then you started pushing him away, and he just... broke. Started crying like some kind of oversized baby because apparently that's who he is now—someone who sobs at the first sign of rejection.

God, he's such a mess. Such an absolute disaster of a human being.

He apologized (between hiccups and tears because of course he did), but then you apologized too, and then—and then—you kissed him. You actually kissed him. With your mouth. On his mouth. While he was crying. Which should be embarrassing (it is embarrassing), but he can't even care because holy shit, you kissed him.

And now you're looking at him with this expression he can't quite read, your hands cradling his face like he's something precious instead of just some awkward freshman who can't keep his emotions in check.

"Stand up," you murmur, thumbs brushing away the remnants of his tears.

He scrambles to obey, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process because apparently his body has forgotten how legs work. His knees protest after kneeling for so long, and he sways slightly, hands hovering awkwardly at his sides because he doesn't know what to do with them.

Should he touch you? Is he allowed to touch you? What are the rules here? Is there a manual for this? Why didn't Taehyung and Jimin cover proper post-crying makeout etiquette in their weird sex ed lesson?

"Breathe," you remind him softly, and oh—right. That's a thing he should probably be doing.

He takes a shaky breath, then another, trying to calm his racing heart as you look up at him with those eyes that make him feel like he's simultaneously floating and drowning.

This is real. This is actually happening. Somehow, his pathetic, crying, disaster self has achieved... something. He's not sure what exactly, but something.

And he really, really hopes he doesn't fuck it up.

His tears haven't quite stopped—because of course they haven't, he's a walking emotional disaster—when you look up at him from your chair. His breath catches in his throat, expecting... well, he doesn't know what he's expecting. More kissing maybe? You to stand up? To tell him to stop being such a crybaby?

What he's definitely not expecting is for you to slide out of your chair and onto your knees in front of him.

His brain short-circuits completely when your hands find his hips, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his sweats. A gasp escapes him—embarrassingly high-pitched and needy—because holy fuck, are you—is this—what is happening?

You look up at him through your lashes, and his heart actually stops. "Is this okay?" you ask softly, thumbs rubbing circles against his hipbones through the fabric.

He nods so fast he probably gives himself whiplash, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks because he can't seem to get his body under control. Words fail him entirely—his vocabulary reduced to a series of choked sounds as you hook your fingers into the waistband of both his sweats and boxers.

Oh god.

Oh fuck.

This is actually happening. This is—

The fabric slides down his thighs, and Jungkook wants to die immediately because his dick is already hard. Like, embarrassingly hard. Because apparently his body is determined to humiliate him at every possible opportunity today.

A strangled whimper escapes him as cool air hits his exposed skin. His hands flutter uselessly at his sides, trembling with the effort not to cover himself as more tears track down his burning cheeks.

He's never felt more exposed in his life—standing here with his pants around his thighs, dick straining eagerly toward you like some kind of desperate compass pointing true north.

God, could he be any more obvious? Any more pathetic?

"I'm sorry," he chokes out, voice cracking. "I—it just—you just—"

“You’re okay.”

Your words are so gentle, so soothing, that it only makes Jungkook cry harder. Because how can you be this understanding? This tender with someone like him who can't even stop sobbing long enough to form coherent sentences?

But then—oh god—your thumb brushes against the underside of his cock, a slow, deliberate stroke from tip to base that makes his entire body shudder. And when you squeeze softly, testing, exploring? His knees nearly buckle.

He watches, transfixed, as your hand glides up and down his length with careful precision. Slow, so, so slow. The movement is hypnotic, making his breath catch on every upstroke, forcing tiny whimpers past his lips that he tries desperately to muffle behind his hand.

"Eyes on me," you command softly, and his gaze snaps to yours immediately.

His chest heaves with hiccupping sobs, tears still falling freely as he tries to process that this is real—that you're actually touching him, that this isn't just another fevered fantasy. His free hand hovers awkwardly in the air, unsure where it's allowed to land.

You chuckle—a warm, tender sound that makes his heart flip—and murmur, "Don't hold back those pretty sounds, baby. And here..." You guide his hovering hand to your hair. "Hold onto me if you need support."

The permission—both to touch and to be vocal—makes him whimper pathetically. His fingers thread shakily through your hair, careful and reverent, like he still can't quite believe he's allowed this.

"That's it," you encourage softly. "Just like that."

He can barely breathe as you maintain eye contact, your hand working him in slow, deliberate strokes that make his thighs tremble. Every touch feels electric—too much and not enough all at once.

"I'm s-sorry," he chokes out between sobs, fingers tightening reflexively in your hair. "For the—hic—crying, I can't—hic—stop—"

"Shh," you soothe, your free hand stroking his hip. "You're being so good for me."

The praise makes him whimper, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. His cock twitches in your grip, already leaking precum, and he feels his face burn hotter with embarrassment.

"Noona," he whines, voice cracking. "I'm—hic—I'm already so—"

"I know, baby," you murmur, and then your tongue flicks out to taste the bead of precum at his tip.

The noise he makes is absolutely wrecked—somewhere between a sob and a moan. His hips jerk forward instinctively before he catches himself, mortified.

"S-sorry! I didn't mean to—hic—to—"

"It's okay," you assure him, looking up through your lashes. "You can move if you need to."

He shakes his head frantically, still hiccupping. "Don't wanna—hic—hurt you—"

Your response is to take him into your mouth properly, and Jungkook's entire world narrows to the welcoming heat of your tongue sliding against his length. His legs shake so hard he has to grip your hair tighter just to stay upright.

"Oh god," he sobs, watching through tear-blurred vision as you take him deeper. "Oh fuck, noona, I can't—hic—it's too much—"

You hum around him in response, and the vibration makes his whole body shudder. He's babbling now, unable to stop the stream of desperate praise and broken pleas falling from his lips between hiccups.

"So good," he whimpers, "you're so—hic—perfect, I can't—please—hic—noona—"

Jungkook’s brain is mush. Absolute, scrambled, incoherent mush.

Because he’s seen porn—obviously he’s seen porn, military barracks aren’t exactly monasteries—but nothing could’ve prepared him for the reality of your mouth on him. The heat, the suction, the way your tongue swirls just beneath his tip every time you pull back—it’s obscene.

He’s pretty sure he’s hallucinating. Or dying. Or both.

His hips jerk forward involuntarily, a choked sob tearing from his throat as you take him deeper.

“N-noona—hic—’m sorry, I can’t—hic—can’t hold—”

You pull off with a filthy pop, and he nearly collapses right there.

But then you’re looking up at him, lips glistening, and saying the words that unravel him completely: “It’s okay, Jungkook-ah. Noona wants to taste you.”

His vision whites out for a second. You want to taste him. Want him. His pathetic, trembling, overeager self. 

The thought alone makes his cock twitch desperately, more precum beading at the tip as he fights the urge to just—

"Please," he chokes out between hiccups, his filter completely gone. "Can I—hic—down your throat? Please, noona, I've wanted—hic—for so long—"

Oh god. Oh fuck. Did he really just say that out loud?

Taehyung and Jimin's voices echo in his head—focus on her comfort, ask what she wants, don't be selfish—but his horny brain has completely taken over, reducing him to this desperate, begging mess.

"I'm s-sorry," he stammers immediately, mortified tears streaming down his face. "That was—hic—so stupid, I shouldn't have—you don't have to—"

Then you swallow him back down, all the way to the hilt, and his brain restarts completely.

"F-fuck—hic—noona—" His voice breaks as his orgasm builds, violent and overwhelming. His grip on your hair tightens, probably painful (god, he's the worst, he's so fucking inconsiderate, he should let go, should—). "I'm c-cumming—hic—'m so sorry, I'm—hic—ah—!"

He tries to pull back, he really does, but you hold him in place, humming around him like this is exactly what you wanted.

His vision blurs with tears as he comes harder than he ever has in his life, a broken groan tearing from his throat that would normally send him into a spiral of embarrassment.

Stupid stupid stupid, his brain chants as he shakes through the aftershocks. So fucking selfish. So desperate. She probably thinks you're disgusting. Probably hates you now. Probably—

But then you're looking up at him through your lashes, swallowing deliberately, and his spiral breaks at the soft, approving sound you make. Like this is good.

Like he's good.

Your laugh—warm and tender—cuts through his panic as you pull off to press a gentle kiss to his sensitive tip.

"That's exactly what I wanted," you murmur, and his heart stops completely.

God help him.

Jungkook wipes at his tears with the back of his wrist, sniffling softly as he tries to gather what's left of his courage. His voice is still shaky, still thick with tears, but there's a determination in it that surprises even him:

"Please let me—hic—eat you out," he manages, his face burning but his gaze steady. "Want to make you feel good too. You've done it twice for me now, it's not—it's not fair."

"Jungkook," you start gently, "I'm fine, you don't owe me—"

"It's not about owing," he interrupts, surprising himself with his boldness. His hands tremble, but his voice stays firm despite the lingering hiccups. "It's not fair that—hic—that you get to taste me and I don't get to taste you."

The words come out needier than he intended, more desperate, and he feels his face heat further. But he doesn't take them back. Can't take them back. Not when he's wanted this for so long—wanted to know what you taste like, what sounds you'd make, if you'd guide him with your hands in his hair like you did in the closet.

"Please, noona," he whispers, eyes wide and earnest despite the tears still clinging to his lashes. "Let me try? I—hic—I'll do whatever you tell me to. I'll be good, I promise."

Your eyebrows shoot up, surprise evident on your face, and Jungkook realizes you'd misunderstood—thought he meant it wasn't fair to you, when really... god, how could he explain that getting to taste you would be the biggest privilege of his life?

A soft chuckle escapes you, warm and amused. "Since when are you so bold, young mister?"

His face burns hotter, but he doesn't back down. Can't back down. Not when the thought of tasting you is making his head spin with want.

"Since—hic—since you let me have something I never thought I'd get," he admits, voice wavering but sincere. "And now I just... want more."

The last word comes out embarrassingly needy, but he's beyond caring at this point.

"More?" you echo, that amused smile still playing at your lips.

"Everything," he breathes, the word tumbling out before he can stop it. "Anything you'll give me. Please, noona. I just—I want to know what you taste like. Want to make you feel good like you made me feel good. Want to—hic—learn how to please you properly."

Your expression softens at his earnestness, at how desperately he's trying to convey just how much he wants this—wants you.

"You really want to taste me that badly?" you ask, standing up and pushing back the strands of hair falling in front of his eyes.

He nods frantically, leaning into your touch like a touch-starved kitten. "More than—hic—anything. Please?"

The way he says 'please'—all breathy and desperate—makes something in your expression shift. Your thumb brushes across his bottom lip, and he parts them instinctively, wanting to show you just how eager he is to learn.

"Such a good boy," you murmur, and his whole body shudders at the praise. "Always so polite when you beg."

Your words go straight to his dick, which—obviously—twitches back to life because apparently it has absolutely no shame when it comes to you. Zero self-control. None. Especially when you say things like "good boy" in that voice that makes his whole body feel like it's on fire.

"Oh, hi again," you chuckle, glancing down at his rapidly hardening length.

Something possesses him then—maybe it's the lingering high from his orgasm, or maybe it's just the way you're looking at him like he's actually worthy of your attention—but his hands move on their own, fingers trembling slightly as they cradle your jaw. He guides your face back up, wanting to see your eyes, needing to see them.

Then he's leaning down, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss so soft it makes his chest ache.

When he pulls back, just enough to meet your gaze, his voice comes out as barely more than a whisper:

"Can I please, then?"

You nod with a smirk, and Jungkook's entire nervous system goes into overdrive.

Okay. Stay calm. Everyone stay fucking calm. His brain is firing signals in every direction like a broken switchboard—hey blood cells, maybe focus on making his tongue work instead of rushing to his dick again? Thanks.

You help him pull his sweats and briefs back up (and he tries very hard not to combust at how domestic that feels), then grab his wrist. His heart leaps into his throat as you lead him through your apartment, past the living room and—oh.

Oh.

That's... that's definitely your bedroom.

His eyes dart everywhere at once, trying to memorize every detail like he's studying for the most important test of his life.

There's a small plant on your windowsill (note to self: you like greenery), some photos on the wall (maybe he could get you a nice frame?), books scattered on your nightstand (he should ask what genres you—)

His mental catalog screeches to a halt as you sit on the edge of your bed, leaning back on your palms and looking up at him with that expression that makes his knees weak. Your eyes flick meaningfully to your sweats, and then:

"Take them off for me, Jungkook-ah?"

He actually chokes on his own spit, because what the fuck. How do you do that? How do you make simple requests sound like commands that make him want to drop to his knees and pledge eternal devotion?

Jungkook crouches down in front of you, his fingers trembling as they find the waistband of your sweats.

Oh god. Oh god. Is this happening? This is happening. He feels like he’s going to be sick. Or pass out. Or maybe combust entirely. His dick is already twitching against his thigh, and he’s genuinely terrified he might actually cum just from looking at you.

He swallows hard, trying to steady himself as he pushes the fabric down, watching with wide, reverent eyes as your sweats slide over your hips and down your legs. It feels surreal—like he’s in some kind of dream sequence or shooting a luxury lingerie ad. The way the fabric clings to your skin, catching briefly on your foot before sliding free under his careful fingers—it’s too much.

Too elegant. Too perfect.

And then they’re off, and he’s back on his knees, staring at you like you’re a goddess descended from the heavens. His gaze trails up your legs, over the soft curve of your thighs, until it lands on the black panties that cling to you in a way that makes his mouth salivate.

Oh god oh god oh god. He’s going to die. He’s going to die right here on your bedroom floor because there’s no way his body can handle this level of perfection.

But then—your fingertip touches his chin, tilting his face upward until he meets your gaze. His breath catches as you make a small beckoning motion with your finger, and he stumbles forward without hesitation, letting you guide him.

"You should start with kisses," you murmur softly, your voice low and inviting. "Come here."

His breath hitches audibly as you part your lips slightly, leaning back just enough to wait for him. He scrambles up a little higher, hands planting themselves awkwardly beside your thighs for balance as he leans in.

His lips meet yours again—soft at first, hesitant—but then you hum against his mouth, and it’s like something inside him snaps. His hands grip the bedspread tightly as he kisses you deeper, pouring every ounce of devotion and desperation into the press of his lips against yours.

Because this? This is everything. You’re everything. And he wants—no, needs—to show you just how much he means that.

Your lips move against his, slow and deliberate, guiding him like you’re teaching him a language he’s desperate to learn. Jungkook tries to follow your lead, tries to match the way your mouth parts just slightly, the way your tongue brushes against his bottom lip before retreating. He’s clumsy—he knows he is—but you don’t seem to mind. Every time he falters, you hum softly, tilting your head to show him how to angle his better, how to deepen the kiss without rushing.

It’s intoxicating. The way you taste, the way you feel—like you’re pouring all your patience and care into this one moment. He can barely keep up, his breaths coming in short, shaky bursts as his hands grip the bedspread tighter, knuckles white with the effort of not touching you anywhere else.

“Slower,” you murmur against his lips, and he nods frantically, trying to remember how to breathe as he adjusts his pace. Your tongue slides against his again—not too much, just enough—and it sends a shiver down his spine so intense he nearly collapses onto you.

He pulls back slightly, gasping for air as his chest heaves. His gaze flickers up to meet yours for a split second before snapping downward—and that’s when he sees it.

Your tank top has shifted slightly in all the movement, and now your nipples are peaked against the fabric, straining in a way that makes his brain completely shut down.

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck.

He’s going to cum in five seconds if he doesn’t look away—if he doesn’t—

“Jungkook,” your voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts like a lifeline, and then your hands are cradling his face again, forcing him to look back up at you. Your thumbs brush gently over his cheeks as you smile softly.

“Take it off for me,” you say simply, nodding toward your tank top.

His breath catches audibly as his hands twitch at his sides.

"I—I—” Words fail him entirely because what the fuck is happening? Is this real? Are you actually asking him to—

“Go on,” you encourage gently, your voice steady and patient in a way that makes him melt. “You can do it.”

He swallows hard and nods shakily, his trembling hands moving toward the hem of your tank top like it’s some sacred artifact.

He almost fumbles the hem of your tank top. He swallows hard, his throat dry as he grips the fabric and starts to lift it, moving slowly, reverently, like he’s unwrapping the most precious gift in existence. The soft material slides up over your stomach, then your ribs, and then—oh god—your breasts.

He freezes for a moment, tank top bunched awkwardly in his hands as his gaze locks onto you.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

They’re perfect.

Absolutely fucking perfect.

Round and soft and exactly how he remembers them from the closet incident—how they felt in his hands, how they fit so perfectly against his palms like they were made for him. He’s revisited that moment in his head a hundred times since it happened, but seeing them now? Bare and right in front of him? It’s so much better than anything his imagination could’ve conjured.

His mouth goes dry as his eyes trace every curve, every detail. The way your nipples are peaked just slightly, the way your chest rises and falls with each breath—it’s mesmerizing. He feels like he should say something, do something, but all he can do is stare like a fucking idiot.

“Jungkook,” you chuckle softly, breaking the silence after what feels like an eternity. “Go on.”

Your voice snaps him out of his trance, and he realizes with a jolt that he’s still holding your tank top halfway up your body like some kind of moron. His face flushes bright red as he scrambles to pull it the rest of the way off, nearly tangling it in your hair before finally tossing it aside.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out immediately, his voice cracking as he looks back at you with wide, panicked eyes. “I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t trying to—”

“Jungkook,” you interrupt gently, reaching out to cup his cheek again. “It’s okay.”

He nods frantically, still blushing furiously as his gaze flickers downward again—just for a second—before snapping back up to meet yours.

“You’re just—you’re so—” He cuts himself off with a strangled noise because there aren’t words for what you are.

Perfect doesn’t even begin to cover it.

You tap one of his hands where it's gripping the bedspread, and his gaze follows the movement before understanding clicks.

Oh.

You want his hand.

You're reaching for his hand and—oh fuck—pressing it against your breast.

He swallows thickly as his palm makes contact with soft, warm skin. It's exactly as perfect as he remembers from the closet, maybe even better because now he can actually see what he's touching.

His hand twitches automatically, squeezing slightly, and you hiss.

"Sorry!" he yelps immediately, trying to pull back, but you just chuckle and hold his hand in place.

"It's okay," you murmur, your voice gentle but firm. "Don't grab. You need to knead." Your fingers guide his, showing him how to massage properly. "And brush your thumb... here." You move his thumb to your nipple, and the soft sigh that escapes your lips makes his cock twitch violently against his thigh.

Fuck, that was hot. That was so fucking hot he might actually die.

"Roll it between your thumb and forefinger," you instruct softly, "and do the same with the other one."

Okay. Okay, he can do this. This is fine. This is totally fine. He's just touching the most perfect breasts in existence while trying not to cum in his pants. Again. No pressure.

His other hand moves up hesitantly to mirror the first, and when you make another pleased sound, his nonexistent tail practically wags. Each soft sigh that falls from your lips feels like a reward, like proof that he's doing something right for once.

He can't help himself—he leans in to kiss you again, unable to resist the way your mouth parts slightly with each breath. His hands work in tandem now, one kneading gently while the other plays with your nipple, and the moan you let out against his lips?

Yeah, that's getting filed away in his brain forever. Right next to his most precious memories, ready to be replayed approximately ten thousand times when he's alone.

Because holy fuck, the sounds you make. The way you feel. The fact that you're letting him touch you like this, teaching him how to please you—it's almost too much. Almost overwhelming in how perfect it is.

But he wants more. Wants to earn more of those sounds, more of those sighs, more of everything you're willing to give him.

"Noona, I'm gonna cum," Jungkook stammers against your lips when you finally let him breathe.

He doesn't even know why he says it—except that it's absolutely true. His cock is twitching violently against his thigh, ready to explode at any second because apparently that's just what his body does around you now.

You chuckle warmly, and he almost starts crying again because god, he's so fucking embarrassing. But then your hand is in his hair, stroking gently, and your voice is so soft when you ask:

"Is this your first time? With breasts?"

He looks away, cheeks burning as he nods shyly. He can't bring himself to meet your eyes, too afraid of what he might see there.

"That's normal then," you assure him, fingers still carding through his hair. "Everything feels more intense the first time."

He glances back at you, heart stuttering at the gentle understanding in your expression. There's no judgment there, no mockery—just warmth and something that makes his chest ache.

"You can cum while sucking and playing with my tits if you want," you murmur, and the eager moan that escapes him should be mortifying but somehow isn't. Not when you're looking at him like that, like his enthusiasm is endearing rather than pathetic.

You lean back onto the bed, and his mouth goes dry as he watches you position yourself. He follows eagerly, hovering over you before leaning down to take one nipple between his lips. The moment his mouth makes contact, your back arches slightly and your fingers find his hair again.

Oh fuck.

The sound you make—this soft, breathy thing—nearly sends him over the edge right there.

His hand finds your other breast, kneading and rolling the nipple between his fingers like you taught him, while his free hand fumbles desperately with his sweats, shoving them down just enough to wrap around his leaking cock.

He's so close already, pre-cum making his fingers slide easily as he strokes himself. Every little gasp and sigh you make sends sparks down his spine, making his hips buck into his own grip as he sucks and licks at your nipple like his life depends on it.

"Can I—" Jungkook chokes out between desperate pants, "Can I cum on your—your tits? Please?"

You nod softly, and he almost sobs with relief as he positions himself, straddling your waist. His hand works frantically over his length as he stares down at your perfect breasts, and then he's cumming with a broken moan, painting white stripes across your skin.

"I'm sorry," he stammers immediately, mortified at the mess he's made. But you just shake your head, reaching for some wipes from your nightstand.

"Stop apologizing," you murmur, but before you can clean yourself, he's already grabbing the wipes from your hand.

"Let me," he insists softly, carefully wiping his traces from your skin with reverent attention.

Once you're clean, he can't help himself—he leans down to press soft kisses against your breasts again. And again. And then he's back to sucking and kissing your nipples because how could he not? The content hum you make only encourages him further.

But then you're tugging gently at his hair, making him look up at you. "You can start kissing your way down," you tell him, and his face flushes crimson even as his cock twitches with renewed interest.

Yes. Fuck yes. Thank you god and jesus and buddha and whoever else is listening.

He starts trailing kisses down your stomach, each press of his lips deliberate and worshipful. When he reaches the edge of your panties, he pauses, moving to kneel between your thighs at the foot of the bed. His hands shake as he hooks his fingers in the waistband, and you lift your hips to help him slide them off.

Then you spread your legs, and holy fuck. The sight of your pussy—bare and glistening and so fucking perfect—draws a deep groan from his chest. You're so wet, so ready for his tongue, and he's pretty sure he's actually died and gone to heaven.

"Fuck," he breathes, staring at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Because you are. You absolutely are.

Jungkook’s gaze flickers up, and his breath catches when he sees you propped up on your elbows, watching him with a soft, almost amused look. Your fingers slide into his messy hair, carding through it gently, and his heart stutters in his chest. He swallows hard, his voice barely above a whisper as he asks,

“Can I…?”

You nod, your lips curving into a small smile. “Yes.”

Okay. Okay. He can do this. He just has to remember what Taehyung and Jimin told him—don’t overthink it, listen to her cues, focus on what she likes—but oh god, he really doesn’t need to think about Taehyung and Jimin right now. What the fuck, brain? Not helpful.

He shakes his head quickly, trying to clear the intrusive thoughts as he refocuses on you—glistening and beautiful and so fucking damp it makes his heart race. He did that. He got you like that. The realization sends a fresh wave of heat through him, and he feels his cock twitch against his thigh.

“Start slow,” you murmur softly, your fingers still threading through his hair. “Use your tongue first. Just… explore.”

He nods eagerly, leaning in closer until he can feel the heat radiating off you. His tongue flicks out tentatively, tracing a slow line up your folds, and the quiet sigh you let out makes him shiver.

“Good,” you hum encouragingly, and he nearly preens at the praise. “Now try circling around my clit—gently.”

He follows your instructions immediately, his tongue moving in slow circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves. The way your hips shift slightly in response sends a thrill through him, and he presses in just a little harder.

“Not too much pressure,” you warn gently, your hand tightening slightly in his hair to guide him. “Keep it soft for now.”

“Okay,” he mumbles against you, adjusting his movements until your soft hum of approval tells him he’s doing it right.

“Now try flicking your tongue,” you instruct softly. “Just there—yes, like that.”

The sound you make when he obeys is enough to make him moan into you, his hands gripping your thighs for support as he loses himself in the taste of you. Each little noise of pleasure that escapes your lips feels like a reward, spurring him on as he tries to remember everything you’re teaching him.

“Good boy,” you murmur again, and fuck—he’s pretty sure he could cum just from hearing those words alone.

Jungkook’s tongue moves with trembling focus, every flick and stroke guided by your soft instructions. The taste of you is overwhelming—sweet and musky and perfect—and he can’t get enough. His nose brushes against your clit as he laps at you, and the way your thighs tighten around his head makes him dizzy with pride.

“Slower,” you breathe, your fingers tightening in his hair.

He obeys immediately, easing the pressure as he circles your clit with featherlight strokes. The whimper you let out sends a bolt of heat straight to his cock, which is already leaking against his thigh again. God, he’s so fucking sensitive right now.

“Use your fingers,” you murmur, your voice strained. “Just one… inside me. Slowly.”

His breath hitches as he pulls back slightly, his lips glistening. He’s shaking so badly he can barely coordinate his hands, but he manages to press a single finger against your entrance, sliding it in with painstaking care. The way you clench around him makes his head spin.

“Good,” you gasp, hips lifting off the bed. “Now curl it—there—”

He obeys, crooking his finger upward, and the choked moan you release is the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. His cock throbs, but he ignores it, too focused on watching your face—the way your brows knit together, the way your lips part as you pant.

“Add another,” you say, your nails scraping gently against his scalp.

He slides a second finger in, marveling at how you stretch around him, how impossibly hot you feel. Your hips grind down against his hand, and he scrambles to keep up, curling and scissoring his fingers the way Jimin had described during their mortifying “lesson.”

“Fuck—Jungkook—” Your voice cracks, and he looks up to see your back arching off the bed, your free hand fisting the sheets. “Don’t stop, don’t you dare stop—”

He doesn’t. Couldn’t if he tried. Not when you’re falling apart above him, your thighs trembling as he works you closer. Your clit is swollen under his tongue, and he flicks it faster, matching the rhythm of his fingers.

“I’m close,” you warn, your voice pitching higher. “Keep going, just like that—”

He moans against you, the vibration making you cry out. Your hips stutter, and then you’re clenching around his fingers so tightly he can barely move them. The sound you make—a raw, unfiltered gasp—echoes in his bones as you shudder through your release.

He keeps licking, keeps fingering you through it until your hand yanks his hair back gently.

“Enough, baby,” you pant, chest heaving. “You’ll overstimulate me.”

He pulls back immediately, fingers slipping free as he stares up at you in awe. Your skin is flushed, your hair fanned out around you like a halo, and he’s pretty sure he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

“Come here,” you murmur, patting the bed beside you.

He scrambles up, still trembling, his sweats clinging to his hips. You reach for him the moment he’s within reach, pulling him into a searing kiss that tastes like you. His hips jerk forward instinctively, his cock grinding against your thigh, and he breaks the kiss with a whine.

“Shh,” you soothe, your hand sliding down to palm him through his sweats. “You did so well. Let noona take care of you now.”

He nods frantically, his breath hitching as you tug his sweats down. Your hand wraps around him, and he nearly sobs at the contact.

“Look at me,” you command softly, and his teary eyes snap to yours. “You can let go. I’ve got you.”

It takes three strokes. Three strokes and the way you’re looking at him—proud, affectionate, hungry—and he’s coming with a broken cry, stripes of white painting your stomach.

He collapses against you, boneless and spent, his face buried in your neck as you stroke his hair.

“Good boy,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his temple. “So good for me.”

He doesn’t have the energy to respond, but he nuzzles closer, his heart swelling so big it threatens to burst.

Twenty minutes later, after cleaning you both up with trembling hands and bringing you water, he's curled around you in bed, his nose buried in your hair. His cock is already stirring against your thigh because apparently his body has absolutely no chill when it comes to you.

"Noona?" he whispers, fingers tracing idle patterns on your hip.

"Hmm?"

He swallows hard, gathering his courage. "I need to tell you something."

You shift slightly to look at him, and his heart stutters at how soft your expression is. "What is it?"

"I'm..." He takes a shaky breath. "I'm Spider-Man."

There's a pause, and then you... laugh? Not mockingly—just this warm, gentle sound that makes his chest tight.

"I know," you say simply, reaching up to brush his hair from his forehead.

His eyes widen comically. "You—what? How long have you—?"

"Jungkook-ah," you interrupt softly, "you pulled me away from a bus from five meters away. And you're literally always wherever I am. And you bring me the exact snacks I mention wanting, even when you weren't there when I said it."

"Oh." He flushes, ducking his head. "Was I that obvious?"

"Extremely." Your fingers card through his hair, and he melts into the touch. "But it's cute that you finally told me."

He peeks up at you through his lashes. "You're not... mad?"

"That you're Spider-Man? No." You smile. "That you stalked me? Maybe a little."

"I wasn't stalking!" he protests immediately. "I was... protecting!"

"Uh-huh." Your tone is teasing, and he pouts until you lean in to kiss him softly. "Sure you were."

When you pull back, his expression has shifted to something more... heated. His cock twitches against your thigh, and you raise an eyebrow.

“So… since you’re not mad…”

“Yes?”

“Can we… go again?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Again?”

“Yeah,” he blurts. “I’ve got—uh—stamina. Like, a lot. Super… stamina. From the… you know.” He gestures vaguely at nothing. “Spider… stuff.”

You snort, clearly fighting a laugh. “Is that so?”

“Yes!” He nods frantically, hands flailing as he tries to explain. “I can go for hours! Days! Well, not days, but—I mean, I could eat you out again right now if you let me. Please? You don’t even have to touch me! I’ll just—I’ll jerk off while I do it. I can cum three or four more times, easy. Maybe five? Let’s try five.”

You stare at him.

He wilts slightly. “Or… two? Two’s good. Two’s cool.”

“Jungkook.”

“Yes?”

“Come here.”

He scrambles up immediately, eyes bright and hopeful. You cup his face, your thumb brushing over his pouty bottom lip. “You want to taste me that badly?”

He nods so fast it’s a miracle he doesn’t give himself whiplash. “Please.”

“Okay,” you say, flopping back onto the pillows. “But slowly this time. I’m not a superhero.”

He’s already scrambling down the bed, eyes gleaming. “Yes. Yes, okay, slowly. Got it. Thank you. Thank you.”

You snort as his lips find your inner thigh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously grateful,” he mumbles against your skin, and the vibration makes you laugh again.

Not done, he thinks, and this time, he’s grinning.

© jungkoode 2025

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

TAGLIST:

@cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @somehowukook @stuti2904 @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @rpwprpwprpwprw @jimineepaboya @ahgasegotarmy116 @chloepiccoliniii

[rainrot4me]

Rain’s Kinktober 2024 - 09

Jason the Toymaker x Female Reader - Cockwarming/Waxplay

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Creampie, vaginal, cockwarming, wax play, desperation, begging, wax dripping as a punishment, pain and pleasure, teasing, forced restraint, orgasm denial

Tag: #rainykinktober2024

Words: 2.7k

A/N: First time writing Jason!!! Ate him up fr

Jason was a very busy man.

His life was full of quick calculations and harrowing demands, unrest always eating away at him to finish whatever project he was up to.

His only relief? You, his perfect girl. In his eyes, you were chosen. His perfect playmate, his girl, exactly what he had been searching for.

You were hesitant at first, understandably so, but he brought out the best in you and coaxed out the reciprocated feelings he knew you had. It didn’t take long, the universe had already made up its mind: you were made for him. Jason spent all his time searching for the perfect playmate, testing so many girls that had let him down countless times, but you held. So, of course, being separated from you was incredibly difficult.

Running errands, collecting supplies, tidying his workspace- the redhead kept you by his side no matter what out of instinctual fear of losing you. Jason had searched his entire life for a girl like you, someone to be his perfect playmate; it would take hell or high water to get you away from him now.

So, of course, you were perched in his lap while he worked at his desk. Your head rested on his shoulder, body shifting and wrapping around him every time his hands moved to work on the tiny wax figurine he had in front of him. The fireplace was lit, fire crackling and popping in the brick hull, the lateness of the night surrounding you both in warmness. It would have been so wholesome, so comfortably domestic, if not for-

“Jason…”

The fiery redhead smiles.

“Yes, my lady?” He tries to hide the smirk in his voice, focusing on carving out the features of the doll he’s working on, the wax molding easily under his tools. You cling onto his back, nails digging into that pretty waistcoat he always wears, his muscled back sat straight as you tag at his white buttoned shirt. He can feel your thighs shake and tense as you try to adjust, to let some weight off of your knees as you straddle his lap. He knows you’re trying to be discreet, holding out the best you clench your gummy walls around him, a subtle hint. “What’s the matter, dear?”

“You know what…” You huff, burying your nose into the crook of his neck and taking deep, calculated breaths, trying to recenter yourself. Jason tilts his head, eyeing down at the oversized t-shirt you’re wearing that covers the pretty view of your body plastered against his. Maybe he likes to be a tease, to hear you say it instead of hiding your face in his neck.

You’ve both been here for about an hour, your body so heavy and tired from holding this position that you could cry. Every time you try to force yourself up, just enough to feel the swell of Jason’s cock nudge your insides, he grips your hips and holds you back in place. You try it again, rutting your ass just a little to nudge the divot of his cockhead against the swell of your cunt, but his low hum of warning stiffens you back against his chest.

Stupid doll, stupid Jason.

You’re nearly dizzy, your walls fluttering and clenching against him, but left unsatisfied altogether. “Are you done yet…? M’so tired…”

When he asked you to come sit with him while he finished working on his project, you didn’t expect to be hauled onto his lap with slacks unbuttoned and heavy cock lying against his hip so expectantly. You were giddy, placing your hands on his shoulders and slowly sinking down, but losing all of that excitement when he didn’t let you come up, holding you there as he began carving and smudging his metal tools on the toy.

That felt like forever ago now, your pussy gushing and twinging with need every time his length twitched with excitement.

“I’m nearly there, you’ll be alright for a little longer.” But you didn’t know if you would be, back aching and hips stuttering just to flinch upwards, knowing the movement would be useless. “Jason, please…”

The redhead huffs, setting his tools down and pressing back against the workbench chair, forcing you to sit up and look him in the eyes. The adjustment made you moan, his cock nudging just a little deeper inside, rubbing sweetly against that pocketed nerve. He rests his grimy hands on your hips, patting at your shaky thighs with an annoyed glare.

“My girl. You know you’ll get what you want, you just have to be patient.” He talks sternly, eyebrows furrowed just enough to make his harrowing green eyes bore into yours. You huff, trying your best to discreetly shift your legs a little wider to push him further to the hilt, rubbing against your g-spot.

Jason takes notice, snagging your upper thigh and holding you there as you groan, pleading with him. He lets out a hearty chuckle.

“Right. Seems we need a little incentive to stay still, huh?” Ruffling the bottom of your shirt up, Jason hauls the heavy fabric over your head, exposing the entirety of your naked body. You flush, embarrassed redness high on your cheekbones as he examines you. “Having a hard time listening today, dear?”

You shake your head, groaning a little when large hands press against your back to force you against his chest again, back into your original spot. You whine when his cock slips a little, tugging against your swelling entrance and beckoning for more. You stare into the fire behind you, the flames crackling and popping and warming your now exposed skin as you claw against his shirt.

You hear things shuffling, tools moving, and draws opening against his workbench, but you stay seated- defeated and all too pent up.

Until you hear the flicks of a lighter, the sparks snapping against the metal as Jason flicks a flame. You try to turn, to see what he’s doing, and his free hand presses you back firmly against him. “Jason?”

“Shhh, quiet, my dear.” Anxiety pools in your gut, unsure of what intentions he has as the lighter sounds extremely close to you and your bare skin.

“I want you to listen now, alright?” He cooes into your ear, widening his legs and shifting your weight a little as you nervously wait. You hear a subtle drip, drip, plopping against the wooden table behind you, the noise so ominous until you feel his arms press closer.

“Every time you move, try to sway those pretty little hips-” A sharp sting on your back has you jumping, clawing at his shoulders as the liquid- wax- runs down your exposed shoulders and onto your shoulder blades. “This’ll be your little punishment, alright?”

Another drop, then another trails onto your skin, hot stings of scalding wax dribbling and then hardening on reddened flesh. Jason has collected the excess wax from the doll he was working on, rolling it all together and holding the lighter underneath to melt the stuff right onto you. You shrieked, arching your back away from the sensation when you tried to flinch away again.

Until you sat still, forcing your chest against his, did he finally take the droplets away, setting the lighter back onto the workbench. “Good girl. See? You can listen.”

You panted into his neck, taking deep, settling breaths of his scent and centering yourself back. You didn't want to admit it, didn’t want to let him win over you- but as the wax dried and crusted onto your skin, you realized just how good it had felt.

After the initial shock, the initial wave of pain, the sting was euphoric and fun. You sat for a moment, contemplating just how serious he was as you felt him get back to work on his project. Did you dare?

But when you felt his hard cock twitch inside of you, flinching against your swollen walls, you knew you physically couldn’t restrain yourself any longer.

Pressing your hands against his chest, you dared to shift your hips, pressing your ass back far enough to shallowly ride him back and forth. Jason huffed, a tsk leaving his gritted teeth as you felt him reach for the lighter again, flicking the flame to life.

Before the first drop could even reach your skin, you shakily forced your hips up, snapping your ass back down with an obscene slap that echoed in the small workshop. Jason choked, your shrill moans as the wax dripped achingly slowly onto your bare shoulders, soaking their way down to your spine. You forced yourself back up, the redhead’s hands too occupied with the wax and lighter to force your hips still.

“Fuck- fuck, you little brat.” He groans, digging his heels into the floorboards as he tries to forcefully ignore the way his cock twitches and rings with excitement every time your ass makes contact with his bony hips. “I said-”

And then you’re sliding your hips up and down, snapping your ass back as you ride him with such depravity it leaves the redhead choking out a moan. He grits his teeth, wax sharply dropping lower and lower onto your back until the drops reach the plump curve of your ass, colorful liquid decorating your red skin. “S’too good, Jason- F-fuck you’re so- hah-”

His cock is swiping across your sweet spot, pressing in so hard you can’t help but let the tears pooling at your waterline trickle down your cheeks, face so puffy and red from built-up frustration. Jason seems to have lost some hold on the tools he was using to reassess you, the wax dripping across the swell of your ass and trickling down onto his clean slacks, staining the fabric. The sting is euphoric, every pinch of the burning liquid egging you to bounce your pretty ass faster.

Above you, Jason is lost, teeth gritted so tight he might chip a tooth at just how good the swell of your cunt feels constricting and tugging his veiny cock. He’s soaked inside of you so long you’re all warm and gushy, your arousal glistening down his length and pooling on his hips. He was satisfied just warming himself inside of your pretty cunt, but now that you’re moving and riding him as you need him, it’s all he can do not to give in to your minxy little rebellion.

“Jason- please, please. Just wanna- wanna cum so bad-”

Shit, the sweet sound of your tired voice sends chills all down Jason’s aching body, gnashing his teeth to withhold your desperate claws down his shoulders.

“[Y/N].”

“Jason-”

Using the last of his restraint, the redhead flames the light across the remaining stick of wax as close as he can, forcefully heating up the stick to a high degree. You’re bouncing on him, taking his cock all the way to the hilt each time, your thighs screaming for rest as they work over and over. Dropping the lighter onto his desk, Jason wraps around the small of your waist, holding you still for just a moment as he presses the stick of gooey hot wax right in the middle of your shoulder blades.

You cry out, pressing your bare chest as close to his as you can, and moan gutturally through the striking wave after wave of flashing pain. It’s only reasonable that he leaves you with a mark, the skin already turning red and blistered as the rest of the liquid dribbles down your spine and onto your flushed ass. It’s such a sight, your whines and labored cries moving closer to his ear as you nip at his neck. Jason groans, your lips pressing behind his blushing ears and sending chills down his body.

“Don’t cry when I give you what you want, my dear. I won’t- hah- I won’t stop now…” Wrapping his arms tight around your waist, Jason spreads his legs, digging his feet into the floor as he shifts your hips up onto him. You smile sickly, letting out a hearty moan when you feel his hips begin to snap up into yours, his cockhead ramming your cervix with cruel intent.

You gush around him, cunt shining with the sheen of your arousal and staining his nice clothes, the squelching, and slapping of built-up neglect obscene to listen to. The redhead claws against your back, fingernails digging into the trails of colorful wax and smearing the crusted liquid across your skin further. You huff, sobbing into his shoulder with every heavy thrust he delivers you, an even better punishment than the one before.

“Hah- Is it worth it? To be such a brat?” He pants, snagging a handful of your ass and digging his nails into the excess skin. You smile into his shoulder, sniffling your tears as the ache from your back subsides with the immense pleasure from your gut.

“Yeah.” You hum into his ear, nibbling the skin of his earlobe to make the man choke on his words. You dig your knees again, bouncing your ass down in time with his cock curving into the swell of your cervix and abusing the nerve over and over again.

Jason’s face is flushed, cheeks nearly matching the redness of his hair as his balls tighten and strain with every slap against your ass, his harrowing pace faltering just for a moment when you arch into it, tightening your gummy walls onto his veiny length. “Hn- My dear-”

Tears stain into his white button-up the same as the juices from your pussy stain his slacks, your cunt fluttering and constricting terribly tight around the hilt of his cock. Jason can feel his hips ache, his gut swell and knot every time the divot of his cock nudges your sensitive g-spot. He knows you’re close too, each bounce of your hips leaving you shaking for just a moment before you force yourself up to meet him again.

He leans close, sweat building across his brow as he pushes fiery strands out of his face to whisper close, “C’mon, dear, you wanted it so bad, now let me feel you cum with me inside, alright?”

It only takes a few more calculated thrusts up into your pussy before you’re snagging your fists into his hair, holding on for dear life as wave after wave of nauseating orgasms wracks your body. You cry into his shoulder, thick globs of tears staining your cheeks as your cunt clenches something awful around the thick girth still fucking its way inside you.

“Inside- inside, Jason- You’ve been in this long, don’ pull out now-” You choke, snarling into his neck.

That's all the poor, utterly feral redhead needs to cum. He’s clenching his eyes shut, digging his nails into the small of your back to force your hips impossibly closer down onto his cock as he delivers pulse after pulse of globs of cum up into your messy cunt. You rut your hips, riding out the crashing high that has Jason gripping you by the arms and forcing you off of his chest, staring with heavy, droopy eyes at the mess he’s made of you.

He trails his bright eyes down to the absolute mess of stains as his cock flinches and pulses, buried so snugly inside of you. You dizzily glance down, thighs still shaking as you’re met with the lewd sight of your pussy being absolutely stretched, lips so puffy and red as they grip so tightly around his girth. The sight is enough to make you moan again, weakly trying to sit your hips up and slide him out of you, desperate to see the mess he’s made inside also.

Until fingers dig into your hips, forcing you back down to the hilt and keeping you pistoned right there, unmoving. You feel the warmth of his cock back inside, cum soaking into your gooey arousal. “I’m not done just yet, my lady.”

Pushing you back against the workbench, Jason reaches for the lighter, another stick of wax held tight in his other hand. It’s not a moment before the droplets of fiery liquid are dripping onto your chest, running down the curve of your tits. His hips flex, nudging his cock in and out at a terribly infuriating pace, just barely reaching as far as it was.

“I say another round’s in order, don’t you, dear?”

Thanks for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

Thanks to my wonderful editors @h3llw1 and @solarbites!

[ikkyfics]

Strawberry Kisses

James Potter x f!reader

Summary: "Strawberries as sweet as a first kiss," James read aloud, his tone slightly playful. You smiled, leaning slightly against the table as if you were waiting for the comment that would follow. "Is that true?" he asked. His eyes, shining behind the lenses, were fixed on yours but quickly drifted to your lips. "You’ll have to try to find out," you replied, your voice carrying a soft challenge.

Warnings: muggle!au, fluffy, first kiss, cute flirts

Masterlist

The muffled sound of James’s footsteps on the soft grass was the only thing breaking the tranquility of that golden afternoon. The sun was already beginning to dip on the horizon, casting orange hues over the fields surrounding the village, a place so calm it seemed almost untouched by time. The brick houses, with moss-covered roofs and well-kept gardens, formed a kind of living postcard. It was the kind of place where the seasons dictated the rhythm of life, and now, at the peak of summer, the fresh fruit baskets at the gates of the houses signaled the sweetest time of the year.

James pushed his glasses up on his nose, his gaze fixed on the small table set up near the gate of the house next to his. He knew exactly who would be there even before getting closer, and the thought made a smile appear before he even realized it. You were crouched down, rearranging the baskets of strawberries with a care that seemed almost exaggerated, your quick fingers selecting the most beautiful fruits to place on top. He always noticed these small details about you—how your movements looked graceful even in the simplest tasks, or how you furrowed your brow slightly when you were focused.

James had always had a soft spot for you. An obvious crush, if anyone had asked, but one he pretended to hide behind an easy smile and casual remarks. Your relationship had never gone beyond stolen glances that lasted longer than necessary or playful flirtations that came across as innocent banter. You never backed away—in fact, it seemed you enjoyed the game—but until now, neither of you had taken a step further.

He stopped a few meters from the table, his hands in the pockets of his worn jeans.

"Hi," he said, and you looked up, surprised, but quickly regained your composure. The sunlight illuminated your features in a way that almost made him lose track of the conversation, but he managed to keep his smile intact.

"Hi, James," you replied, your voice carrying that familiar warmth he adored. "Came to buy strawberries?"

"Something like that," he replied, walking over to the table. "Thought I’d support the local business."

You laughed, tilting your head slightly as you stood up. "Really? Because the last time I checked, you weren’t much of a fruit fan."

He shrugged, pretending indifference. "I can change my mind."

You narrowed your eyes, as if trying to figure him out. "Well, strawberries aren’t for everyone. You have to like the sweet and the tangy, you know? Not everyone can handle it."

He smiled, one eyebrow raised. "I can handle more than it seems."

Your smile grew, and James felt his heart race a little. You pointed to one of the baskets. "These are the best. Picked them this morning. Nice and fresh."

He carefully picked one of the fruits, admiring its red hue and natural shine, but it was the small sign next to the baskets that really caught his attention. "Strawberries as sweet as a first kiss," he read aloud, his tone slightly playful.

You smiled, leaning slightly against the table as if you were waiting for the comment that would follow.

"Is that true?" he asked, turning his face toward you. The light tone from before had shifted, taking on something deeper, more serious. His eyes, shining behind the lenses, were fixed on yours but quickly drifted to your lips. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but you noticed.

"You’ll have to try to find out," you replied, your voice carrying a soft challenge.

He took a step closer, putting the strawberry back in the basket as if the fruit was no longer the most interesting thing there. There was something electric in the space between you now, something that seemed to pulse with its own energy. The golden sun reflected off his glasses, but not enough to hide the way he was looking at you. That gaze held something new, something that wasn’t just playful, and your stomach gave a small leap.

"Is that how it works?" he asked, his voice low, almost husky. "I buy a strawberry and find out?"

You laughed, crossing your arms and tilting your head, but he noticed the slight flush creeping up your cheeks. "Depends. Maybe you’ll need more than one."

He raised an eyebrow, the smile returning to his face, but this time it was softer, more intentional. "And if I don’t just want the strawberry?"

The question hung in the air, and you felt your heart race in a way you couldn’t control. James took another step, and now the space between you was minimal. He lowered his gaze to your lips for a moment, noting how soft they looked, before raising his eyes back to your face.

"Maybe," he said, his voice even lower now, "I just want to know if the comparison is fair."

You couldn’t help but smile. "Well, James, I think that’s a question only you can answer."

Before he could respond, you picked a strawberry from the basket, turning it between your fingers as if considering your next move. James's gaze stayed fixed on yours, attentive to every gesture, but the corner of his lips still carried that smile – half amusement, half something more intense. Without breaking eye contact, you extended the strawberry toward him, holding it gently by the green tip.

"Taste it," you said, the simple word carrying an unspoken subtext that didn’t need any explanation.

James chuckled softly, a sound that seemed to warm the air between you. He tilted his head slightly, as if analyzing the offer, before stepping closer until his fingers were almost touching yours. He didn’t take the strawberry from your hand; instead, he lowered his head, biting into the fruit directly. His lips brushed lightly against your fingers, and the warmth of that unexpected touch made your breath falter.

He chewed slowly, his eyes locked on yours as if he wanted to prolong the moment just to watch your reaction. When he swallowed, he smirked, his voice husky with a playful note that couldn’t completely mask the intensity behind it.

"Sweet," he admitted, nodding with exaggerated approval, as if evaluating something serious. "But..." He let the word hang in the air, a glint of mischief dancing in his blue eyes behind his glasses.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms and slightly tilting your hip to the side. "But what?"

James stepped closer, closing the gap between you even more. The world seemed to stop spinning around you; there was only the muffled sound of crickets in the distance and the warmth of the afternoon wrapping around you like a blanket. His gaze dropped to your mouth, so openly and deliberately that you felt your cheeks burn.

"But I think something's still missing," he murmured, his voice lower now, almost a whisper. "I need a better reference. Only then will I know if that sign’s claim makes sense."

You tried to think of something to reply, but the words seemed to have disappeared entirely. There was something about the way he was so close now, how the golden sunlight reflected off the messy strands of his black hair and made his eyes seem even brighter, that simply took the air from your lungs.

"Oh, really?" you managed to say, your voice softer than you intended.

He nodded slowly, the smile on his face becoming gentler, more genuine. "Only a kiss can tell me if these strawberries are as sweet as they say."

The statement was so simple, so absurdly direct, but said with such sincerity that your heart skipped a beat. You didn’t respond, but you didn’t pull away either. Your eyes met his, and there was something in that look – a mix of expectation, confidence, and an unexpected vulnerability – that made everything around you disappear.

James leaned in, closing the final inches between you. When his lips touched yours, it felt like the entire world took a deep breath and held its air. The kiss was soft, almost hesitant at first, as if he wanted to savor every second, every detail.

His lips had the faint sweet and tangy taste of the strawberry, and the warmth of his touch made your heart race so fast it seemed to echo throughout your body. At first, you hesitated, but soon let yourself be carried away, as if something deep and instinctive was responding to the moment. Your hands, almost without you realizing it, slid to his chest, finding the soft fabric of his shirt as your fingers curled slightly, as if wanting to anchor themselves there.

Your heart felt like a storm – a mix of nervousness and a desire you didn’t know you could feel so intensely. You noticed how he held you so carefully, but at the same time firmly, as if he wanted to make sure you wouldn’t leave. The pressure of his lips, the way he adjusted his movements to match yours, everything seemed absolutely perfect, as if that moment had been written before you even met.

When James pulled away slightly, his face still so close to yours, you couldn’t help it – his name slipped from your lips, soft, almost a whisper. "Jamie..."

He stopped, the smile on his lips growing even brighter, but with something more – something that spoke of surprise and genuine pleasure. The blue of his eyes seemed even brighter now, as if reflecting the sunlight in a way that made you lose yourself for a moment. "Say it again," he murmured, his voice husky but full of tenderness.

You smiled, still breathless, feeling the warmth spread across your face and chest. "Jamie," you repeated, the name coming out almost like a confession.

He laughed softly, that warm sound wrapping around you like a blanket on a cold night. "I could get used to hearing you say my name like that," he teased, his smile taking on a mischievous edge as his eyes dropped to your mouth again.

You shook your head, trying to ignore how much that declaration made your heart tighten in a way so sweet it almost hurt. "You're impossible," you replied, but your voice was full of affection that betrayed any attempt to sound indifferent.

"Impossible?" He raised an eyebrow, his smile widening. "Well, in that case, I think it's my duty to say something equally impossible."

You blinked, confused. "What?"

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes sparkling with a hint of provocation. "That kiss," he began, his voice deliberately slow, "was even sweeter than the strawberries."

Your face immediately flushed, and you tried to protest, your hand lightly swatting his arm. "James!"

"It’s true!" he insisted, laughing as he raised his hands, as if defending himself. But before you could say anything, he lowered one of his hands to hold you by the waist again, pulling you closer.

The second kiss came before you could even finish breathing. He didn’t ask for permission, but the gesture was so natural that you didn’t mind – in fact, you loved it. Your fingers found their way back to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart, which seemed to be racing as fast as yours. This kiss was deeper, more assured, as if it were a silent declaration of everything he felt and everything you wanted to feel.

When he pulled away this time, both of you were even more breathless. He looked at you with a smile that mixed satisfaction and tenderness. "Now I’m sure," he said, his eyes dancing in a way that made your legs feel a little weak. "You’re officially sweeter than any strawberry I’ve ever tasted."

You opened your mouth to retort, but you just laughed, shaking your head as your face grew even warmer. "You really can’t stop, can you?"

"Stop?" he repeated, as if the idea were absurdly ridiculous. "When it comes to you? No chance."

He brought one of his hands to your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek, and the gesture was so gentle, so full of affection, that you felt your eyes well up with the intensity of the moment.

"How about we make a deal?" he asked, his playful tone softening slightly.

"What kind of deal?"

"You agree to go out with me," he started, leaning in just enough so that your noses almost touched, "and I promise that, at least once, I’ll try to behave."

You laughed, a light and sincere sound, before nodding slowly, your eyes fixed on his. "I agree."

The smile he gave in response was so dazzling that you had to bite your lip to contain the wave of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

"Great," he said, stepping back just enough to grab a strawberry from the basket and bite into it with a satisfied smile. "After all," he murmured, winking at you, "we need energy for all the adventures ahead."

And with that, he extended his hand to you, his eyes still shining with that mixture of confidence and sweetness that made you wonder how you’d resisted for so long. When you took his hand, you knew you would never again doubt how sweet life by his side could be.

[orphicmeliora]

Thinking about harbouring the most atrocious crush on him.

He's the dearest friend you've had since forever and you don't remember when or how this thing started but it hits you like a ton of bricks in the middle of the night, sitting on the kitchen counter and him making whatever shitty blend of coffee he's thought of. He's never been good at that.

Your gorgeous, gorgeous man.

Not yours. Not yours. Not yours. You chant in your head but it's a fruitless endeavor. Your foolish heart always mistakes his one act of kindness, one sweet smile, his gentle assurances, and the way he focuses his undivided attention on you, for something more. For something like... Love.

He does that for everyone! You tell your heart, but the stupid thing never listens to reason does it?

He looks at you, curiosity apparent in his eyes probably wondering what the hell is going on in your head and you realize you haven't said anything in the long while you've been admiring staring at him. And so you open your mouth to say something, God, anything at all. But then—

He tilts his head, his hair swaying with the motion and falling perfectly into place like dominoes, the action so endearing you have to catch your breath you didn't realize you'd been holding and clutch the counter in a death grip lest you do something idiotic like rush into his arms and melt in his embrace.

Gods above, how you'd love to do just that.

"Are you alright?" He asks, so kind even though you're acting quite pathetic. You're acting as if it's been 9 long years apart instead of the 9 hours you hadn't seen him. His mother really raised him to be a gentleman, you think. And a heartbreaker, you add a beat later. You can only imagine how you look to him, like a deer caught in headlights, hair, a tangled mess and—oh God you're wearing your ugliest pyjamas! You just wanted to dig a hole and lie in it for eternity.

Still he looks at you so affectionately.

He moves forward, each step feels like a hammer against your heart as he moves closer to you. You gasp, wide-eyed you look around vehemently for something to stop him. You're not prepared for this. You know the proximity, his scent engulfing your senses would turn you into a bigger fool.

But you find nothing and now he's standing so close, towering over you even with the added height of the kitchen counter. He's so ridiculously tall. He's perfect. He's within reach and your hands tremble. Every bone in your body wanted to assimilate into his.

"Why won't you look at me?" He can't be this oblivious. Surely, he must have suspected something, it's not like you're being subtle.

You breathe deeply to calm down but even that comfort is stolen from you as his scent surrounds you and diffuses into your blood and messes with your brain. As if his presence alone wasn't enough.

"Have I done something wrong? Is that why you're avoiding me?" His fingers graze your chin and you have to bite back the indecent sound you almost let out. He lifts your head and you feel the self-restraint snap inside you.

"Yes!" You yell in his face. Desperate now, you wanted to hide far, far away from him. Being around him was too dangerous. He was too dangerous.

"Oh," His tone is so despondent, your heart wrenches at the thought of him being sad because of you. His hand falls from your face and you mourn the loss, the grief buried for the time being for other important emotions. "Please tell me what I did so I can fix it right away. I can't stand the thought of you being mad at me."

You wanted to cry.

Your chest feels tight and heavy and you can't breathe properly. All you know is that you have to get out of here and now. So you say the first thought in your head then turned swiftly and ran like they were rats hot on your trail.

"Stop being so attractive!"

You know your mind will never let you live it down but you think screaming into a pillow might help.

[monzamash]

needed me — lando norris

"sorry for the cuddling. i'm usually not this clingy." lando norris x you rating – mature; mostly fluff with a sprinkle of innuendo masterlist

The weekend had been rough. From beginning to end, it was a scrap for Lando – nothing going his way, no silver lining to salvage. Waste of fucking time, he growled once his helmet came off and was shoved into his trainer’s arms, barely even glancing your way. Disappearing into hospitality, never resurfacing until he was ready to leave the track. Alone.

Darkness blanketed the Bahrain skies, black clouds ominously looming above and painfully complimenting Lando’s race. It was poetic in a way and you found comfort in the dimly lit gloom, curling up in your hotel bed with a book and glass of wine. You needed it to distract you from the phone taunting you on the bedside table. No new notifications, no texts, no calls – radio silence from the one person you couldn’t stop thinking about.

The click of your hotel door opening made your heart skip, the shadow of the man you had become all too familiar with slinking up your walls until he appeared in the door way – all hoodie clad and cosy. You closed your book and sat up against the mountain of pillows, a soft smiling lining your lips as Lando shyly shuffled across the carpet beneath his sneakers.

“Am I gonna have to revoke your key card privileges?” You asked, watching him kick off his shoes and jumper while you flipped open your duvet, summoning him under the warm covers.

Lando shook his head, curls falling into his eyes as he sighed deeply and crawled in beside you, “Please don’t. I’ll never recover.”

You hummed in amusement, hanging your arm out over the pillows and pulling him into your side. He was warm to the touch always, nuzzling into your neck as soon as he was close enough – annoyingly clingy in the best way. He was your friend first, maybe more now but you never spoke about it.

Having him this close was all you needed, it was what you craved on those lonely nights and you assumed by the way he always came to your room after a long day that the feeling was mutual.

“I needed to see you… couldn’t sleep,” He whispered into the air, eyes focused on the intricately detailed ceiling above.

“Neither could I so you made the right call."

Your tone was light, almost airy and Lando was broken from his distant gaze and brought right back to you – a grin teasing his lips. The sudden realisation that you wanted him here hitting him like a tonne of bricks.

“Sleeping in your bed is always the right call.”

The blush that roared across your face was disguised by the darkness you laid in, fingers mindlessly brushing through his dense curls that tickled your cheeks. Lando’s fingertips drew shapes on the forearm that kept him tucked into your side – his mind finally slowing down enough to enjoy the silence. Comfortable, effortless silence that made him feel like he was home.

“You comfy?” You asked, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his nodding head.

Lando closed his eyes and burrowed deeper into your embrace, “Sorry for the cuddling – I’m usually not this clingy,” He whispered in return, causing your eyebrows to rise and a quiet scoff to slip from your lips.

You could see the devilish smirk plastered across his sweet face when you looked down, rolling your eyes and giving his curls a playful tug, eliciting a moan.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Your question wasn’t prying and Lando knew that – and maybe tomorrow in the harsh light of day he would have to but right now, with your soft, inviting lips taunting every ounce of self-control he had left, he shook his head. Subtle but you caught it, along with the glimmer in his eyes that told you he couldn’t bear to relive any of it this soon.

“Do you wanna kiss about it instead?” You asked, blinking a couple of times before Lando was lifting his head from your shoulder and meeting you in the middle.

“Yes please,” He mumbled before capturing your lips, hands grasping your face to bring you closer – desperation and adoration in every single searing kiss he pressed to your skin.

[suntoru]

─ ✰ COUNTDOWN TO YOUR LOVE!!

✧˚ · . 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 most definitely does not have a crush on his best friend. so what’s this feeling when somebody else is planning on confessing to you?

— warnings: oblivious gojo af, fluff, mild violence, might be ooc, please be nice i have only watched like the first episode of jjk, idk what else

— author’s note: is it shittily written? yes. but is it finished? also yes. HAPPY NEW YEAR MY LOVES &lt;;33

“guys, guys, brace yourself for the tea i have!! nanamin is gonna confess to y/n tonight at the new years party!!”

“huh?! seriously?” nobara gasps theatrically, her eyes widening in interest. she springs up from the couch, tail -imaginary or not-wagging in anticipation as she eagerly leans in for the juicy gossip.

*chokes* "...what?" gojo gags on his tea, coughing violently. he's surely joking. there's no way. "y/n, as in like, my best friend, y/n?"

“i know, right? i was surprised too!! after all, i was sure mister nanami was more interested in marrying his paperwork than finding real love, but that’s what i heard!” yuji spills, enthusiasm radiating from every word.

"that's... great." gojo manages to mutter, and for once, he has nothing ese to say.

“it’s about time, he’s pushing thirty, and he’s still single… as the youngsters say, he has… L rizz.” nobara laughs boisterously with her hands on her hips, thoroughly entertained by her own joke. meanwhile, yuji cocks his head in confusion at his friend's delusions. …is she going senile?

“well, aren’t you also single…?”

'hush, yuji! the point is, there's gonna be some spicy drama!" nobara squeals, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "we're talking romance unraveling like a well-scripted k-drama!! get ready for some flashy love confessions, and hopefully, a heart-fluttering kiss scene!!"

11: 56 PM

fuck, why can't i focus? gojo groans as he loses yet another round of mario kart to nobara. the image of you lingers in his mind from earlier that day, engaged in conversation with the blonde. he can't ignore the subtle indications; your flustered demeanor, a slight tint of pink on your cheeks, your refusal to make eye contact. clear signs of a crush. you surely like him back, there's no denying it.

and he should be happy for his friend— should be, but all he can feel is an unexplainable tightness that grips his chest, like a weight he can't shake off. he can't quite put a pin on it, it's an unknown emotion, but it all feels ugly nonetheless. it must have been something he ate earlier. ...yeah, that's it.

as he tries to ignore the overwhemling feeling of dispair, his attention flickers to the lively scene, and there you are, donning one of those goofy 2024 glasses that make your whole demeanor even more endearing. a lopsided smile graces your face as you engage in cheerful banter with megumi, and just like that, a fuzzy feeling envelops him, coaxing a smile to creep up on his face involuntarily. but before he can revel in the moment, a sudden flick on his forehead disrupts his thoughts.

"hey— ow, what was that for?" he whines, rubbing his forehead and directing a puzzled gaze towards utahime.

"you're so dense." she huffs in annoyance, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes at his apparent obliviousness. he looks up at her, confusion etched across his features.

"i- huh? whaddya mean by that?" he stares at her in confusion. utahime sighs in exasperation, irritation visible. "how stupid are you? do i have to spell it out for you? you. like. y/n." the words hang in the air. ...i ... like... y/n...?

and then it hits him like a brick wall. the reason behind stinging feeling in his chest. you being with nanami meant no more midnight snack runs, no more drunken gossip sessions, no more attempts to fluster you. those simple pleasures, the serotonin rush sparked by your mere smile, threaten to slip away.

the thought of losing you; his best friend, his one and only, shakes him to the bottom of his core. his heart, like a drum, pounds in his chest, a resounding beat of denial and awakening. ...no way... he couldn't... does he...?

could he truly say that the way he always seems to gravitate towards you in group gatherings, the way his eyes subconsciously find their way towards yours, the sudden surge of warmth he gets when you praise him was all truly platonic? perhaps he didn't acknowledge it before, but his heart has long declared what he only now comprehends: he loves you. he loves you.

he's loved you ever since you were five and he was seven, when you announced proudly to everyone that you were now his best friend for life. he's loved you when you were eleven and he was thirteen, when you sought refuge in his arms, tears streaming down your face because of a bully. he's loved you when you were eighteen and he was twenty, hung up on some random jerk who didn't even treat you right.

his eyes dart over to where nanami is, pacing closer towards you— he's going to lose everything if he doesn't move.

he can't lose you.

so he runs across the large room, dashing towards you, heaving and huffing. "FIVE!" everybody begins to chant. "gojo?" you good? need something?" "FOUR!" your voice is soft and sweet, like a honeyed daydream, etched with concern. how could he not have realized, it was you all along? it was always going to be you. "THREE!" "hey." he says breathlessly. "yeah?" you mumble, curious as to what he was about to say next. "TWO!" "slap me if you hate it." "hate what?" "ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!"

he pulls you towards him, using both hands to grab your face, planting a passionate on your plush lips, your eyes widening as everybody else cheers knowingly.

bonus!! earlier:

"you like him. gojo."

nanami simply states, a ghost of a smile on his lips. you feel your face heat up. how did he know? was it that obvious? that's so embarrassing... oh my god. you can't look him in the eye, you just want to shrivel up and disappear in the ground... "you're both so stupidly oblivious." he mutters under his breath.

©kaeffeinee 2023. do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works on any platform.

[atinylittlepain]

crying at night thinking about protective!joel getting angry when he finds out that you’ve started getting close to another man living in the boston QZ. and tess calling him out on his jealousy and obvious attraction to you.

tess to the rescue -- tesscue if you will

Looking

Joel Miller x f!reader

joel miller masterlist

He doesn't like the way she flirts with all their customers. But he's not jealous. No, definitely not jealous.

warnings | 18+ canon-typical violence, smutty implications, sexual harassment

.............................

“Since when is she running deals for us?” “Since all the feds like customer service with a smile.”

“Tess.”

“Is there a problem, Joel?” He grunts, taking one more look at her, the easy smile she’s giving the guard as she flicks some of her hair out of her eyes. He knows her well enough to know she’s putting on a show for this guy, and it makes his blood boil. Tess steps in front of him, blocking his view.

“Hey, is there a problem?” She enunciates each word slowly and clearly, obvious irritation in her voice. He shakes his head with a huff.

“No– no problem. Just don’t come to me when she gets herself killed by one of these fucking guards.” He shoves off the brick wall he had been leaning against, trudging off toward their apartment, not bothering to glance over to where she’s still playing it up to the guy. 

He tells himself that the only reason he’s pissed is that he still doesn’t trust her, the new addition to his and Tess’ smuggling operation, and he doesn’t want her pocketing pay behind their backs. But as the weeks go by of this new set-up, it becomes clear that he doesn’t need to worry about that. Whatever extra sweetness the FEDRA guards throw into their trades with her, she’s sure to share it with him and Tess. It had taken every ounce of his willpower not to laugh in elation when she brought home a bag of coffee the other day, offering it to him with the same smile she was giving to all their customers. Joel has no reason to be so pissed, so cold to her, at least no reason that he’d like to consider. Tess, however, seems to think otherwise.

“You keep staring like that and you’re gonna burn a hole through the back of her head.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Tess snorts, nudging his shoulder with hers where they’re standing a bit further down the alley, both of them watching her finish another deal with another guard. 

“Joel, we’ve been partners for what– five years now? In all that time I’ve never seen the look you get when you’re looking at her so maybe cut the bullshit, yeah? Because she thinks that you hate her.” He scoffs, toeing his boots into the cracked asphalt.

“Don’t hate her– I just– don’t like the way she acts– with these boys. She’s gonna get herself– I don’t know– jesus–  will you just drop it?” Tess puts her hands up as if in surrender, a smirk that’s all too smug for Joel’s taste stamped across her face as she shuffles out of the alley. He settles back against the wall with a sigh, keeping his eyes fixed on her and the guard. How long does it take to trade some fucking pills?

She’s good at what she does, Joel will give her that, letting out breathy giggles as the guard smiles at her, running her hand down his forearm before waggling her fingers at him as she turns to leave, the bright facade she had been using immediately falling away as she looks to Joel with a firm but subtle nod. He presses off the wall as she falls into step beside him, both of them weaving through the crowded streets of the QZ back to the apartment building. She lives a door down from him, their proximity was what had originally drawn her into their business, but most of her time is spent in his apartment now, working out new deals and supply chains with Tess. 

“Extra ration cards on top of the agreed on payment. And a date. But I’m not sharing that perk with you, Miller.” He huffs at her teasing, keeping his eyes focused on counting out the cards as he slumps down onto the musty sofa in his apartment. Tess is nowhere to be found, most likely off running some sort of scheme elsewhere in the QZ. 

“Hardly call that a perk, darlin. Don’t know why you even entertain those boys. Ain’t nothing but trouble.” She sighs, tilting her head to rest on her shoulder as she looks at him.

“Those boys happen to have A-one access to any and all supplies you could possibly want. You can scowl all you want, Miller, but it pays to be on their good side.” 

“Well then, when’s this date of yours?” 

“Tonight, don’t wait up, Miller.” He scoffs, muttering a low “wouldn’t dream of it” as she’s already walking out the door.

…

“Joel, what the fuck are you doing? You’ve been standing at that window all night.” His head whips around, grimacing at Tess before he promptly goes back to scouring the darkened streets outside his window.

“It’s late. She should be home by now.” Tess scoffs.

“Oh please. You just don’t want to consider that maybe she’s not home because she’s getting laid right now. I say good for her, getting some action and some more supplies in one fell swoop.” Joel doesn’t like the sound of that at all, Tess’ words moving him away from the window to grab his jacket and head for the front door. 

“What’re you doing now?” He glances at her over his shoulder, already halfway out the door.

“I’m glad you think this is funny, really. But I don’t. I’m going to look for her.” He closes the door before he can hear Tess’ exasperated exclamation.

“Fucking lovesick fool.”

…

He’s not sure where he should be looking, quickly realizing how stupid this is. It’s past curfew, so he sticks to the alleyways, ducking under the bright lights of the patrol cars whenever they roll by. He makes it a few blocks away from their apartment building before the reality of how foolish he’s being sets in. Just as he’s getting ready to turn heel back home, his ears prick to a shuffling sound coming from deeper down the alley. He moves toward the sound, sliding along one of the walls of the alley to stay in the shadows. His stomach twists when he hears a voice.

“C’mon, baby. You were so friendly this afternoon. Just let me have a little peek, huh?” Her voice answers, clearly laced with a strained distress.

“Just- just stop. It’s past curfew, what if we get caught?” The man laughs, and it takes everything in Joel not to sprint down the alley and take him out right then.

“You don’t gotta worry about getting caught when you’re with me. I run these streets. Now I suggest you quit being a little bitch and give me what I want.” He finally catches sight of them, dim figures in the outer reaches of a lone streetlamp. The man has her cornered up against the wall of the alley, his hands tugging at her clothes as she tries to push him off.

Joel moves before he can think, and in the blink of an eye, he has the man on the ground, bringing his fist down again and again as rage washes over him. The only thing that finally stops his blind rampage is a firm hand on his shoulder. He takes a shuddering breath, looking down at the man’s now pummeled face, a mess of blood, before looking over his shoulder to meet her watery gaze.

“We need to leave before someone comes looking, c’mon.” Neither of them speak as they hustle through alleys to get back to the apartment, but she holds Joel’s bloodied hand the whole way, tugging him out of his anger-induced haze.

…

“You came looking for me.” Her voice is a faint murmur as she keeps her gaze focused on his hand, daubing at his split knuckles with a damp rag in the bathroom of his apartment. He’s trying not to think too hard about the way she’s kneeling between his legs where he’s sitting on the lip of the bathtub, but his breath still catches when she finally looks up at him.

“I did.”

“Why?” 

“I was worried about you.”

“What? Joel, you don’t even like me.” He swallows thickly and she huffs at his silence, getting back to work at cleaning his busted hand.

“That’s not true.” Her hands still and she looks up at him again.

“It isn’t?” He shakes his head.

“No, it’s not. I– I like you, I do. What I don’t like is how you act with all those boys. It just– it makes me– fuck, it makes me nervous.” She sits back, fully looking at him, her brows raised in surprise.

“You? Nervous?” He huffs, not missing the crooked ghost of a smirk that spreads over her face.

“Those boys are no good, darlin. It may seem like a game to you– swiping a few extra ration cards here and there with a bat of your eyes– but I’ve seen what they’re capable of. That’s why I went looking for you– because the thought of something– of him– I couldn’t–” His rambles die in his throat when she places her palm on his thigh.

“Thank you, Joel. For– helping me tonight. You were right, at least about this one.” Her eyes fall and Joel feels worry kicking back up in his chest, bringing his hand to her jaw and coaxing her to look at him.

“He didn’t try anything else, did he? Are you– are you alright?” She sighs, but nods, her cheek pressing lightly into his palm.

“I’m fine. Got there just in time, Miller.” His shoulders slump in relief.

“I don’t want you doing deals anymore.” She opens her mouth to protest, but he presses on.

“We do just fine without all the extras. If they want pills so bad they can go through me. Tess has some new connections on the border of Vermont, could use your help mapping a route, I’m guessing. But no more of that cute shit, alright?” She grins, and he immediately regrets that last bit.

“So what I’m hearing is, you like me and you think I’m cute.” He immediately takes his hand away from her face as she laughs, her eyes crinkling up at his grumbling expression.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to tease–”

“Oh, I think you do, darlin.” That makes her laugh again and Joel has to fight off his own crooked smile. She sighs, taking one more look at his knuckles before standing and tilting her head as she looks at him.

“That’s the best I can do for your hand–” Joel’s breath stutters when she bends over, resting a hand on his shoulder as she brings her lips to his good ear.

“And for the record, I like you too, Miller.” He swallows hard before speaking, worried that his voice might give away more than he’d like it to.

“You do?” She pulls away only slightly, looking him right in the eye as she nods.

“Call me crazy, but I like ‘em a little mean.” It happens so fast, he thinks he’s been electrocuted by the bright zap of her lips smacking a kiss to his cheek. She’s already out the door when he brings his palm to where her lips just were. 

Maybe Tess was right.

[coldhndss]

One and only

Rin Itoshi

self-prompted

Rin is known to many as blunt and unfriendly. He doesn’t enjoy talking to new people and is almost always on the brink of losing it. Though, this slump that he’s currently in isn’t a reflection of how he always was. Rin used to be bright-faced, and pretty easily excitable.

You’ve known that from the start.

You and Rin used to chat with each other on the way home from school as kids. He’d tell you about how amazing his brother was at soccer, bursting with smiles; as though he was vicariously living through Sae’s talent on the field. When you questioned him about his own skill, he’d tell you that it doesn’t matter, and that his brother was simply better at playing than he was. He said that he'd settle for second place if it meant he'd get to see Sae in the spotlight beside him.

You would cheer him on from the sidelines, watching the local matches he and his brother used to play against other schools. To Rin, there was no one on the field but him and Sae. Though to you, there was no one there but Rin. 

You can’t recall when it started, but there came a day where you were no longer able to listen to Rin mentally lower his own skill in favour of seeing his brother succeed. He looked so oddly happy settling for second place that it frustrated you. You knew his talents; you knew how much he enjoyed winning. What made him put all of his trust in someone other than himself? Couldn’t he also strive for first place while cheering on his brother? None of it made sense…

All he used to speak about were things including his brother’s skill. You get it, younger siblings typically admire their older siblings. Though they shouldn’t think ill of themselves just to heighten the other persons social standing. After all, the two of you had grown up together. You used to talk all the time, play games with each other, have sleepovers, walk home together. It always meant a lot to you, but did it ever mean a lot to him?

He had you, but he also had his brother.  

You had him, and only him.

You noticed slight shifts in Rin’s personality. He stopped joking and smiling as much, though he never pushed you away. He became distant, as though something was constantly on his mind. You noticed his patience wavering, and his soft, subtle smile fading away.

It was as though you were reaching out for something that was no longer there.

Hanging around him started to feel like being around a brick wall. The two of you now had little to no interactions with each other. He would finish his work, and pack his bag immediately, leaving the classroom as though he had something more important to do. He wouldn’t offer his textbook when you forgot yours, and when you spoke to him about your interests, he seemed like he was listening, sure; but he wouldn’t pause what he was doing to give you attention, or even make it look like he had any interest.

“Maybe he’s just become bored of me”, you think to yourself. You know him. You know he wouldn’t tell you about his issues unless you pry. You also know that he would keep it to himself and go about it in his own cathartic way.

Despite this, you felt like he would snap instantly if you brought it up to him. Like he was a boiling pot brimming with water; and despite it having a lid, liquid still trickled down its sides.

Though… the thought of leaving him alone troubled you. It pained you to see him in such a state, and though he wasn’t showing any signs of wavering; you would at least put in the effort to find out what was troubling him, even if he pushes you away as a result of it. At least one day, when he finds that person who will put out the fire from under him, he’ll realise that your carefully chosen words were the shards of ice that would never melt in that boiling pot of water.

Classes had concluded for the week. Students were packing their bags, laughing, and making plans for the weekend. As usual, Rin was already halfway out of the door. Despite being close your entire life, an overwhelming feeling of loneliness dawned upon you as you realised that if you don’t do something now, you may never be able to again. Each step he took felt like another thread of a worn-out rope was snapping before your eyes, and you could no longer endure it.

“Rin..!” You called out to him. Your tone was shaky; you weren’t used anything like this.

The rest of the class had left by this point. He stopped dead in his tracks, his back facing you.

“What?” His voice was blunt. He had never been extremely upbeat, but the thought that he’d been bottling everything up behind the scenes pained you.

After a few moments of silence, he finally turned around to face you, looking you deadpan in the face. It was the first time you’d spoken to him face-to-face in weeks. His eyes looked empty, yet so full of unexplained emotion.

You twiddled with your fingers that were now glossed with sweat from your clammy palms while looking down at your feet. Why were you so nervous? You’ve spoken to him thousands of times.. What was different now? It lingered at the back of your mind; you knew you were too scared to interrupt this this friendship, although deteriorating. At one stage, it had been peaceful, even fun. Though at this point, it had become anything but peaceful.

“If you don’t need anything then I’m leaving.” He turned his back once more, but you refused to see him take another step.

“Wait.” You forced a strengthened tone despite your nerves. “I need to talk to you about something.”

Stepping closer towards him, you get a better look at his expression. His aqua eyes, once filled with so much passion, were now void of emotion.

“Um… I need to ask you something.” You stuttered on your words, heart pounding so loudly that you thought he’d be able to hear it.

Rin sighs, frustrated. He pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “Get to the point already, Yuu.” His patience is waning.

You take in a shallow breath, preparing to finally put your emotions on the line.

“Rin, um… have you been feeling okay lately?”

Shoot. That was such a bad question!

He looked at you as though you were speaking gibberish. His brows furrowed, and his gaze was now somewhat scrutinizing.

“I’ve been fine.” He immediately replied before turning back around. “Since that’s all, I’m leaving.”

No, you weren’t about to let this happen again. You reached out and grabbed his arm in the midst of his step. You wanted to say something, but your throat felt constricted.

To your surprise, he didn’t move your arm away. You knew something was bothering him. He wouldn’t push you away or insult you. It was as though he wanted the comfort of someone else, but he wouldn’t bring himself to ask for it.

Before you knew it, moisture had spread across your eyes, glossing your sight. A warm drop travelled down your cheek, giving way for a wave of tears. It became so quiet that the droplets of your tears tapping onto the ground were audible.

“Please.. don’t leave..” Barely being able to choke your words out, you were doing all you could to keep him listening. “I can’t stand seeing you like this… What happened to you..?”

He didn’t answer.

You continued to pry, raising your voice slightly.

“What happened to us?”

Suddenly, Rin turns around, and yanks his arm from your grasp.

“Are you trying to make me feel guilty? You really don’t know anything about me.” He scoffed. “I was stupid to ever befriend you as a kid. You probably still think I’m content with being second place, don’t you? How pathetic.”

You’d know if he told you. if he took the time to communicate his feelings, to let you hear his troubles. You had no words. What more could you say after that?

Though you did notice one thing; he was still here. He took the battering and didn’t leave. Somewhere in there, Rin you remember is still there. You decide against attacking him with words.

“You’re still here though. You’ve always been here.” Your hand fell down his arm, fingers intertwining with his. “You would’ve gotten rid of me by now if you really thought our friendship was stupid.” Your voice was soft as you spoke, careful not to be too harsh on him.

His eyes widened momentarily. It seems you struck a chord.

“No.. no way. It is stupid.. that’s why.. that’s..” He stuttered; his gaze scattered.

“Rin.. do I have to spell it out for you? I’m not going anywhere. Even if you call me stupid.” You smiled softly, hoping your words would break through the wall he built.

There it was. That look in his eyes that you’ve been yearning to see again for years.

Tears shone in his eyes, adorning a small gleam of light. His lips parted slightly as though he had something to say. He tilted his head and placed it on your shoulder, arms wrapping tightly around your back. You could feel the desperation in his grasp; like he was asking you to never let go. Slinging your arms over his shoulders and around his neck, you felt his breath grazing your neck.

“Why.. Why did you persist..?” He murmurs. Despite all this, Rin can’t seem to fathom why someone like you remained so insistent on digging out his troubles.

“I would never sit by and watch you drown in your own worries. Especially if I know that I can do something about them.” Even though you were holding him in your arms, you felt a little more confident knowing he technically can’t see you saying something so embarrassing.

You shift one arm up to his hair and gently caress it.

“I have no one else..” Your voice shook slightly  “You’ve always been there, even when you were mad. Why would I let you slip from in-between my fingers..?”

You hear a sniffle from Rin. “…You’re not going anywhere after that.”

[dancingbirdie]

I interrupt your daily schedules to present some purely plotless Astarion x gn! Reader smut. Courtesy of me listening to an oldie but goodie "What's My Name" by Rihanna ft. Drake during my morning commute.

Note that this is seriously NSFW so don't read below the break line unless you're a horny little gremlin like this pair or me since yeah I wrote it. :)

Like my smut writing? Find more here.

The Things We Could Do in Twenty Minutes…

Rating: MATURE

Pairing: Astarion x gn!Reader

Tags/Warnings: Oral sex (Astarion receiving), hand kink, slight praise kink, slight dom!Astarion/sub!Reader, public sex/exhibitionism

Summary: You and Astarion have been tasked with a scouting mission. You grow a little bored from waiting around and very horny watching Astarion play with his knife.

***

The two of you were leaning side by side against the alley wall. Watching. Waiting. Poised to strike whenever your quarry exited the tavern across the street. 

But it was late. You had been skulking about for hours. You were bored. 

And Astarion, gods damn him, was flush against you, smelling like temptation and sin. Subtle wafts of his signature bergamot, rosemary, and brandy scent teased your nose as his fingers idly spun his blade around in his hands. 

Your breath hitched as you watched him. Watched how gracefully those long, slender fingers absently played with the knife while his eyes scanned the street for any signs of activity. He was totally oblivious to your ogling, which was good because you could swear you were starting to salivate just watching him toy with his weapon. 

You wondered how those fingers would feel scratching against your scalp. Pulling your hair. Clasping your jaw. 

Fuck it, you thought. Throwing caution to the wind, you reached a hand forward to caress his chest. His head whipped around immediately to look at you, brow furrowed. It was an innocent enough gesture, but his eyes caught the look on your face, illuminated dimly in the silvery light of the moon. How your pupils were blown wide with unbridled lust. 

He smirked, one delicate fang peeking out from between his lips. 

“Can I help you?” he drawled. 

“You can actually,” you whispered. Your hand lightly traced down his chest, down his abdomen, before it stopped at the bindings of his trousers. 

You looked up at him beneath your lashes, your eyes beseeching.

“My, my,” Astarion chuckled, his voice like silk. “Wanting to play while we’re on the clock? Tsk. What would our comrades think?”

“It’ll make our cover seem more convincing, don’t you think?” you reasoned, licking your lips as you noticed the growing bulge between his legs. “Just two unassuming lovers, swept up in a moment of passion as they passed this dingy alley?”

“Our target should be leaving any moment now, darling. We wouldn’t want to miss our window of opportunity.”

“I give it at least twenty minutes before the tavern closes. And just think, the things we could do in twenty minutes…”

He gave a throaty laugh. “You make a very convincing argument. How could I ever deny you?”

“Is that a yes then?” your voice was husky, struggling to contain the urge to drop to your knees and taste him. You would wait for his consent. Of course you would wait. But you couldn’t deny the heady desires ratcheting up within you. 

“Yes,” he cooed, nuzzling your neck and planting a quick kiss against the fang marks he’d left earlier that evening. “Go on then, love.” 

“Thank the gods,” you groaned, immediately kneeling before him and undoing the bindings of his breeches. 

You captured him in your mouth as soon as his impressive length sprang free, tasting the salt and musk of him as you took him as far back as your throat would allow. Your eyes watered with the pressure of him pressing down your throat. It was the sweetest pain. 

You heard the muffled thump of his head as it hit the brick wall. You relished the tortured groan that spilled from his lips as you continued to gorge yourself on him.

Then a moan of your own vibrated against him as his hands moved to grip your hair. His fingers scratching against your scalp nearly had your eyes rolling back into your head. With your hands braced on his thighs, you continued to bob your head, sucking, licking and swallowing around him. 

He tasted like the purest drug you could ever inject into your veins. You would never tire of doing this for him. Of hearing and feeling how your mouth and tongue caused him to shiver and quake with pleasure. You could feel your own release building because of it, despite the lack of any stimulation to your groin. It didn’t matter. 

You had no desire for anything but Astarion’s pleasure tonight. 

“Look at me,” he growled suddenly. You felt his fingers clutch your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. 

You peered up at him as you continued to piston your mouth around his length, whining softly as you beheld the look in his eyes. 

“I want you to look at me while I cum in that gorgeous, sinful mouth,” he whispered, his hips beginning to buck into you, meeting your movements in perfect synchrony. 

You moaned again at his words, your mouth dripping with saliva and pre-cum as you continued to suck him. 

“Are you ready, darling?” he murmured, his other hand reverently stroking your hair. A stark contrast to the absolutely deplorable things you were doing to his cock. 

You gave a garbled assent, taking him in with a surge of passion as you anticipated the feeling of his release shooting down your throat.  

A few moments more and your anticipation was rewarded in full. You groaned as you heard him grunt. Felt his final, feral thrust into your mouth. Tasted the salty sweetness of his cum on your tongue. 

As he came down from his high, you gave him one last, obscene lick before removing your mouth. Slouching against the wall, utterly spent, he watched as you deliberately met his eyes and swallowed his cum with a gulp. He hummed his approval, grinning wickedly. 

“You naughty thing,” he crooned. “You’ll be the death of us both.”

You returned his grin with an impish one of your own before wiping your mouth clean on the sleeve of your shirt and rising to stand next to him once more. 

You surveyed the street. Scanned the tavern for signs of movement. Nothing was amiss. Your quarry hadn’t escaped.

“See?” you murmured, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Twenty minutes was all I needed.”

***

[daryltwdixon]

hello dear!! i dont know if your are still taking requests or not, but if do you i would really love to see you write something fluff with a drunk daryl and reader, where he totally forgot that they are dating and just start acting shy and awkward around her, i know its cliche but i really love how you write daryl and think it would be so cute to see something like that written by you😭, but i totally understand if you are busy, i hope you are having a great day!🥰

A drunk Daryl grows uncharacteristically shy around you, forgetting for a moment that you're together.

author notes: I just want to say its not v common for people who are drinking to forget who their s/o's are, but anything for you lolol, enjoy!!! x

thank you for the love!!!

The Alexandria dinner party is louder than usual, laughter spilling out into the quiet night. Someone had insisted on opening the last few bottles of wine, and you watch with amusement as Daryl, leaning against the far wall, swirls the red liquid in his glass like it’s some kind of trap.

“Never took you for a wine guy,” you tease, stepping closer. His eyes dart to yours, and the flush on his face deepens. You figure the alcohol’s working its magic, though Daryl had always been shy about these kinds of things—especially in a crowd.

“Don’t even taste right,” he mutters, setting the glass on a nearby table like it might bite him.

You grin. “Then why drink it?”

He shrugs, glancing at you sideways. The usual ease between you feels a little... off. His gaze flicks to your face, then away again, like he’s avoiding something. You tilt your head, trying to figure out what’s wrong, when his voice breaks the quiet.

“You look real nice tonight.”

The words come out low and shy, almost like he hadn’t meant to say them. You blink, surprised, but before you can respond, he fumbles to add, “Not that ya don’t always, but... I mean, yeah.”

“Daryl,” you say, trying to catch his eye. He’s looking anywhere but at you now, cheeks burning. “Are you okay?”

“‘M fine,” he grumbles, crossing his arms. But the way he shifts on his feet, the nervous way he rubs the back of his neck—it’s not like him. You step closer, studying him, until something clicks.

“Oh my god.” You can’t stop the laugh that bubbles up. “You don’t remember, do you?”

His brows furrow, lips parting in confusion. “Remember what?”

You can’t believe it. “You’re acting like we just met or something.”

Daryl stares at you, his eyes swimming with haze, but he blinks hard, trying to piece it all together. His eyes widen slightly. “Wait... we’re—?”

“Yes, Daryl,” you say, trying to suppress another laugh. “We’re together, at least I thought so,”

The realization hits him like a brick wall. His mouth opens, then closes, and for a second he just stares at you, dumbfounded. “Shit,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face. “I—uh... forgot.”

“Obviously,” you tease, stepping even closer until you’re standing right in front of him. “Should I be worried you’re forgetting about me already?”

“Nah,” he says quickly, his voice quiet but insistent. “Just... too much wine. ‘S all.”

You bite your lip, trying not to smile too wide at how bashful he looks. The Daryl you know is rarely this unguarded, and it’s endearing. But as you watch him glance down at you—his face still flushed and his nerves practically visible—you catch something softer in his expression. His hand drifts to the back of his neck again, but this time, a crooked grin follows.

“You’re... somethin’ else,” he murmurs under his breath, almost to himself. “Must be the luckiest som' bitch,”

The words catch you off guard, and warmth blooms in your chest. “Damn right you are,” you say softly, but there’s no teasing in your tone anymore.

His lips twitch, and he finally dares to meet your gaze. “Guess I don’t mind that.”

You smirk, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. The move makes him freeze for half a second before his face turns a deeper shade of red, but his hand brushes yours in a subtle, almost instinctive gesture. Even drunk, even shy, Daryl Dixon couldn’t hide how much he cared.

“C’mon,” you say, tugging lightly at his hand. “Let’s get you some water before you forget anything else."