#i almost screamed when i saw him on the keyboard

[whenstarsundress]

Can you write the “left on read” scenario for Caleb? Thank you so much, u are SO talented 🤎

the fight had been bad. you hadn’t even been yelling or screaming at each other. it was worse. it was cold and calculated, like two strangers standing at opposite ends of a battlefield.

in the end you had told him you needed space and caleb, ever the soldier, nodded once like he was taking orders. but you saw how his jaw clenched and how his hands had curled into fists at his sides.

when you walked out you had ridiculously thought he’d chase you. he didn’t. he never did.

hours passed. then days. then almost two weeks. and you came to a point where you felt like this was the end.

until he sent a message.

we need to talk.

you saw it. you didn’t reply. you left him on read. just for now. just to give yourself a breather and think about everything.

caleb didn’t even granted you five minutes before the next message came.

don’t leave me on fucking read.

your shaking fingers hovered over the keyboard. a minute, then another until a knock echoed through your apartment. a heavy, gloved fist hitting your door like a warning. you barely had time to open it before caleb walked in.

his uniform was soaked from the rain and he carried a storm behind his eyes.

“don’t ever do that again,” he said quietly, deadly.

“do what?” you asked, heart pounding.

he didn’t answer. just stared at you like you’d ripped out his spine and he was somehow still standing. “you left and i let you. that was a mistake.”

your breath caught. “caleb—”

“no.” he stepped closer. “you don’t get to shut me out. not after everything. you don’t get to leave me on read like i’m just some name in your phone.”

the air between you crackled. he looked like he was seconds from falling apart or snapping you in half. maybe both.

you wanted to take a step back, but he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into his chest. he held your face like it was fragile glass, when he breathed. “you’re not walking away. not again.”

his mouth crashed onto yours and nothing about the kiss was sweet. it was war. teeth clashed. gloves still on. he pulled you closer, hands roamed over your body like he staked claim.

his voice broke only once, “i can’t lose you.”

and when you whispered, “then don’t”, he let go.

not of control, but of everything else. the fear. the pride. the silence.

your back hit the wall hard, but caleb didn’t even blink. one gloved hand wrapped around your throat, holding it possessively. as a warning.

“you think i’m going to let you go without a fight?” his breath was hot under the controlled rage. “you don’t get to leave me on read and walk away like i’m nothing.”

his thigh slid between yours, forcing you open. you gasped, but he was already on you as he kissed you again, his tongue invading like he was conquering territory. he tasted like rain, heat and that unmistakable metallic edge of danger.

“you’re mine,” he whispered against your mouth. “say it.”

“i’m yours,” you whispered dizzy.

he smiled cruelly and satisfied. his gloved hand slid down your body, trailing heat over your shirt, your stomach, between your thighs. the leather rubbed against your clothed core and you whimpered.

“i should punish you for ignoring me,” caleb said darkly. “but that’d mean not touching you. and i’m too fucking weak for that.”

you barely had time to blink before he had your pants halfway down and your leg hitched around his waist. “condom?” you managed breathlessly.

his eyes met yours, black storms behind them. “not today. today i need you raw.”

you had no time to protest as he pressed into you in one hard, brutal thrust. you cried out and clawed at his soaked jacket, your spine arching off the wall. he didn’t pause or gave you the time to adjust.

he knew his good girl could take it.

“you’re tight,” he muttered, hips slamming into you. “tighter than i remember. did you think about me while you were gone? did you touch yourself and cry into your pillow?”

your only answer was a sob. he groaned, “fuck. i missed that sound.”

he gripped your ass with both hands and lifted you higher, pinned you harder. you could feel the tension in every muscle. how close he was to snapping. but caleb didn’t lose control—he held it like a weapon.

his thrusts stayed steady and devastatingly deep. every time he bottomed out, you swore you saw stars. every time he pulled back, you begged for more.

“you gonna come for me?” he whispered, dragging his gloved fingers up your neck again. “or should i keep fucking you until you forget why you walked away?”

“caleb—!”

“say it.”

“i’m yours,” you moaned, head falling back. “i won’t walk away again—please. caleb, please!”

and that was it.

he growled—actually growled—and snapped his hips faster and harder. you came around him like a tidal wave, screaming his name as your nails raked down his back. he followed seconds later, panting and biting into your shoulder.

but even after? he didn’t let go. didn’t pull out and didn’t soften. he held you against him like a man who knew how easily he could lose everything.

and in the silence he allowed his voice to crack, to show that even a man like him can break.

“don’t leave me again.”

[mamoushiou28]

When your fav plays the same instrument as you

[maskedbyghost]

Part 2 of fuck buddies with Simon (now with extra emotional damage)

You didn’t text him, you didn’t call, you didn’t chase.

But you did send one final message.

“This is the last time, Simon. I can’t keep doing this. I don’t want to be someone you only need when you’re lonely or angry or tired. I wanted you, not just your time or your hands or your body. You don’t have to say anything—I’m just letting you know I’m done. Please don’t come back. I won’t open the door.”

Then you blocked him.

Phone, socials, everything. And not in some dramatic, screaming, flinging-plates kind of way.

And for the first few days, nothing happened. No messages, no banging on the door, and no surprise visits in the middle of the night. Just silence.

But on Simon’s end?

Hell broke loose.

He didn’t even notice the message right away. He was halfway through watching a game when he opened his phone and saw it sitting there, timestamped four hours ago. He read it once, then again, and then stared at it like maybe if he glared hard enough, the words would disappear.

But they didn’t.

He tried to reply, of course. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard for longer than he’d admit. But when he hit send, the message didn’t go through.

His jaw clicked tight. Something cold and ugly twisted low in his chest. He tossed his phone onto the couch and paced. He thought about showing up at your place but didn’t. Not yet. Not when he didn’t even know what he was going to say.

It hit him, slowly. That you weren’t bluffing. That you meant it this time.

That he fucked it. Bad...

A month later

You’re sitting across from a guy who actually listens when you talk. He laughs at your jokes, asks you questions. He looks at you like he’s interested—not just in your body, but in your thoughts, opinions, and favorite takeout order.

It’s... weird. Not bad weird. Just different. Good, even.

You're at a quiet restaurant, corner booth, tucked into a little space with candlelight and soft jazz playing overhead. You’re just reaching for your drink when you hear it.

The click of a safety being flipped off, before your date goes still.

“Don’t move,” a voice says, low and dark behind him.

You know that voice.

Your blood runs cold before you even look at him.

Simon stands there, one hand is braced on the back of your date’s chair. The other? Holding a gun pointed directly at the side of the poor guy’s head.

“Simon—what the fuck are you doing?” you hiss, scrambling out of the booth.

“I just wanna talk,” he says, voice way too calm for someone with a loaded weapon in hand.

Your date is sweating, hands raised. “Hey, man, I don’t want any trouble—”

“Did I ask you what you wanted?” Simon snaps. Then he smiles. Smiles. “You’re gonna get up and leave. Right now. No questions. Go.”

The guy doesn’t argue. He bolts so fast he almost trips over a chair.

You stand there, staring at Simon like you’re seeing him for the first time. And in a way, you are.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you ask, shoving him back. “Are you insane?”

“I said I just wanted to talk,” he mutters, sliding into the booth like he didn’t just commit a felony in front of three tables.

“Jesus, Simon. You scared the hell out of him. You scared me. You don’t just pull a gun on someone because you’re feeling jealous!”

“I’m not jealous,” he says, lying through his teeth.

“Get out.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“You don’t get to show up here like this. You don’t get to throw a tantrum just because I moved on. You made it clear how you felt—or didn’t feel. Remember that?”

Simon’s hands are curled into fists on the table. He looks like he’s about to explode. But instead of yelling, he just leans forward, jaw clenched so hard.

“I fucked up,” he says. “I know I did.”

“Yeah,” you say coldly. “You really did.”

-

Aftar that, he doesn’t text you. After all, he is still blocked, so he can't.

So he writes notes. Slips them under your door, even though you never respond.

"I miss you." "I keep thinking about what you said. You're right. I treated you like shit. I don’t know how to fix it, but I want to try." "Still can’t sleep. I keep rolling over expecting you to be there. You're not."

You don’t write back.

Then the gifts start showing up. A bouquet of roses, your favorite. A playlist on a USB drive. A book you mentioned once, two years ago, that he somehow remembered.

He shows up to your building sometimes. Just sits on the steps, waiting, but not in a creepy way—he knows to keep his distance. But he’s there. Rain, cold, whatever. He waits.

One night, you come home late, and he stands when he sees you. “I’ll go if you want,” he says quietly. “Just... let me know you’re okay.”

You don’t say anything. Just unlock the door and go inside.

He doesn’t leave for another hour.

Two months in.

He catches you on your way to work.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” he says, walking beside you like he belongs there. “Just... give me a chance to make it right. Let me earn it.”

You stop walking. Look at him.

He looks rough. The beard’s thicker, the eyes are darker, and the weight of regret sits heavy on his shoulders.

“You can’t fix this with flowers and sad eyes,” you say. “I needed you. And you made me feel like a mistake.”

“I know,” he says, voice cracking. “I know I don’t deserve another shot. But I’m still gonna try. Every day. Until you tell me to stop.”

“And what if I never change my mind?”

“Then I’ll still keep showing up.”

He means it.

You can see it in the way he looks at you now—not hungry, not possessive. Just wrecked. Like he lost something irreplaceable and knows it.

You don’t let him follow you to work.

But for the first time in weeks, you don’t feel as angry. Not because he’s forgiven. Not even close. But because he finally looks like he’s suffering the way you did.

Three months.

You’re out with friends when he shows up again. This time, unarmed thankfully.

You’re tipsy, laughing, leaning into someone else’s shoulder—some other guy’s—and Simon sees it before you do. You turn and there he is, standing just far enough to not make a scene, but close enough to make your heart drop.

You think he’s going to come over. Ruin the night. Scare the guy off again.

He doesn’t.

He just nods at you. One short, respectful tilt of his head. Then he walks away.

No words, nor begging, trying to guilt you into anything.

And that gets to you more than the thousand apologies he could’ve offered.

Four months.

It’s your birthday.

You don’t tell anyone. You keep it lowkey on purpose, like if no one says anything, you can just pretend it’s any other day. You don’t want the reminders. You don’t want the well-meaning texts from people who don’t know what you’ve been dealing with. You definitely don’t want to wonder whether or not Simon remembers.

But he does.

You find out when you get home and there’s a small package sitting at your door. No note. No name. Just your initials written on the wrapping in the handwriting you know better than your own.

You think about throwing it away. You almost do, but curiosity wins, and inside the plain brown paper is a little black box.

You open it and your breath catches.

It’s that necklace you once pointed at in a store window downtown—months ago, maybe even a year. A tiny silver ghost on a chain. You made some stupid joke about how it looked like him: “emotionally unavailable, disappears without warning, weirdly endearing.”

He didn’t laugh at the time. Just rolled his eyes and muttered something like “you’re annoying” under his breath.

You never mentioned it again, but he remembered.

You stare at it for a long time. You don’t cry, don’t smile either. You just sit there on your hallway floor, turning the necklace over in your hands until your legs go numb.

Then you put it back in the box and tuck it in the drawer by your bed.

You don’t wear it, but you decided to keep it.

And the next day, for the first time in months, you catch yourself wondering how he’s doing. Like maybe he’s not just doing this to win, maybe he means it.

Still, you don’t reach out.

Not yet...

Five months.

He finally knocks.

It’s late. Not obscenely so, but enough that you’re in sweats and no bra, and part of you is tempted to pretend you’re not home.

But something in you says open the door.

So you do.

Simon looks like hell. Wet from rain, hair flat to his skull, hands shoved into his jacket like he’s trying to keep himself from reaching for you.

“I wrote it down,” he says, holding out a thick envelope. “Everything I wanted to say. Everything I should’ve said before.”

You stare at it like it might burn you. “Why now?”

His throat bobs. “Because I thought giving you space would be enough. But space doesn’t mean silence. It doesn’t mean I stop showing you I care. I just... I didn’t know how to love you the way you deserved.”

“And now you do?” you ask, arching a brow.

“No,” he says. “But I’m learning. And I’ll keep learning, with or without a second chance.”

You take the envelope. You don’t invite him in. But you do say, “Good night, Simon,” soft and tired.

And he smiles, just barely.

You read the letter that night. You weren’t going to, but you do.

It’s messy. Honest. Full of crossed-out lines and little notes scribbled in the margins. He writes like he talks—short sentences, straight to the point—but you can feel how badly he wants you to understand.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel disposable. That’s not what you are. That’s not what you ever were.”

“I never knew how to show you I gave a fuck. That’s on me.”

“I kept thinking if I didn’t say anything, you wouldn’t expect anything. But you did. And I should’ve met you there.”

“I think about your laugh. I hear it sometimes when I’m dead tired. It makes me hate myself.”

“I’m not asking you to come back. But if you ever do, I swear I’ll never leave you wondering again.”

You fall asleep with the letter in your hands, crumpled a little at the edges.

You don’t message him the next day.

But the next week?

You text one word.

“Coffee?”

PART 3

-----------------------------------------------

do we still hate him guys??

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay

[cosmosluckycharms]

Bug Like Angel

pt5

Animal noises

hey guys warning might be ooc cause i am writing this half asleep

"SHOOT- I'M LATE AGAIN!"

You had band practice with the others today

Why are you always late?

You promised them, and you accidentally slept through your alarm. Again.

You forgot Lyla was down for today too, she was focused solely on the anomalies today, so she couldn't wake you up.

Shit.

You scrambled around in your room getting ready for the day.

You put on your clothes and quickly do your hair.

You tried looking for your guitar and forgot you left it downstairs.

You ran downstairs and almost tripped.

You stopped when you saw everyone eating breakfast at the table.

Without you.

It made you less mad that they were together without you, you were used to them being together without you.

It made you sad how you never even realized.

"..You guys have been having breakfast together? Without me?"

They all went silent. You could see the guilty looks on their faces. As soon as Dick opened his mouth to talk, you shut them up.

"Why would you even-" You stopped yourself, you had things to do. "You know what? This is a problem for future y/n."

You grabbed your keys and put it in your bag while you ran around trying to finish getting ready.

"Alfred, I'm gonna be gone till later, I promised my friends I'm gonna be at band practice"

You ran into the bathroom to finish brushing your teeth.

"Also if one of them shows up at the door, please let them in! Hobie's my ride today!" You called out from inside the bathroom

"Alright, young miss." you heard Alfred say from the kitchen.

You did your makeup quickly and put on your shoes.

You grabbed your bag that had your guitar picks inside, along with some essentials like money, a hairbrush, makeup, etc.

You just needed your phone, which you had left in the kitchen.

As soon as you run out of the bathroom and into the dining room you get jumpscared.

"Boo." Hobie jumped, scaring you.

You screamed before play hitting him

Okay, screw you too, spidey-senses!

While you explained to Hobie you were almost done getting ready, you could slightly feel the others glaring at you and Hobie.

it wasn't them trying to figure him out,it was them judging him.

Damian couldn't understand, why were you hanging out with someone like him?! He's too punk and crazy looking, it's so dumb you were excited to hang out with him.

He snapped out of it as soon as he saw you and Hobie about to exit the manor.

He was about to demand to know where you were going, but suddenly as soon as you were about to walk out the door, you felt Hobie pull on the back of the collar of your shirt.

"Hm?" you asked Hobie

"Don't you think you're missing something, Tinkerbell?" Hobie asked, pointing to your back.

"what do you mean? I have everything, I think. I have my lipgloss and everything.." you started rambling to yourself for a bit, checking the mental checklist you had for yourself.

After a few moments, you realize you thought you had your guitar with you!

You did not!

You ran to grab it, everyone looking at you both.

You grabbed your guitar and said bye to everyone.

Jason does not like Hobie.

He didn't even get to introduce himself to your family.

He straight up ignored all of them, besides Alfred, to see you!

He didn't like how excited you were to just be around him.

He didn't like how naturally you guys play fought like siblings.

He didn't like how close you guys seemed.

He didn't like how he walked around like he's been here before.

He didn't like how he had a nickname for you.

He needed to know who this guy was.

But how?

He followed you both to your practice. While dressed in a red hood.

Oops.

He watches as you both get into your car and go to a place to practice music.He sees a tiny 12-year-old girl with short black hair playing electric guitar, like you.

He sees a blonde girl with half her hair of hair shaved off getting her guitar ready while talking a curly haired boy with big doe eyes.

He sees the boy next to her getting his keyboard ready while awkwardly flirting with the girl.

He sees a boy with stupidly luscious hair getting the amps up and ready.

He can see them all getting slightly anxious, he assumes it's because of you being late.

He didn't know its because they could all sense someone watching them.

Finally, you and Hobie walk in and immediately feel the presence.

You text Miguel that you feel a tiny bit anxious and send him your location.

Better safe than sorry!

After an hour or two of playing, you all decide to sit down and take a break.

The feeling someone was watching you was still there, it just died down the slightest bit.

After a while, Pavitr finally spoke up.

"Am I the only one feeling that someone watching us?"

Immediately you all said different variants of yes.

It was so strange, why would anyone watch you guys?

You assumed it was maybe a kid on the street who was listening to your music, but that didn't explain your spidey senses going off.

As soon as you were about to talk about it, all your spidey senses went off, and someone popped up in front of you.

Red Hood, or your brother, Jason Todd.

Immediately everyone got up and gave you knowing glances.

Sure, you never told anyone about your family's identities, but technically everybody in the spiderverse and their moms knew.

Something about you being a mix of two multi-verses.

"Woah! No need to get so defensive!" Red Hood said, putting his hands up.

"why are you here?" you asked, glaring at him dead in the eyes. Well, he was wearing a mask so you looked at him where his eyes were supposed to be.

"Can't someone drop by for a visit? You guys were great, by the way," he said. You weren't sure what he wanted.

At this point, you had Peni hidden behind you. Sure, he wouldn't ever do anything to any kid, but it was a force of habit you had to protect her.

You didn't notice Hobie slowly moving beside you to protect you if anything happened.

"Welp, I just came in to check on regular civilians, nothing wrong with that," he smirked. he knew he was getting under your skin.

"well, it's a good thing we don't need help. Goodbye." you shooed him away like he had done multiple times to you.

He scoffed and left.

You all let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

It was getting late anyway. You should all start packing up and go out someplace to eat.

It was your turn to choose which place to go, and you immediately chose Batburger.

As soon as you all ordered and sat down, you all immediately started talking about why Red Hood popped by.

Your friends all knew about the neglect from everyone, no one understood why they were here.

Why now?

The topics changed throughout everything, from school drama to plans for the future, to plans for future hangouts.

Everything was great, you all grabbed your meals and were eating the mountain of food you guys ordered.

"I'm telling you, the food in my universe is so much better!" Miles argued with you.

"it's so not! It's greasy!" You argued back

"like batburger isn't?" Miles smirked, you both played arguing.

You gasped dramatically. "YOU TAKE THAT BACK!" you play slapped Miles.

"LISTEN DINGBAT I SAID-" Miles rudely pointed his finger in your face.

"GET YOUR FINGER OUT OF MY FACE!" You and Miles started throwing fries at each other's faces, everyone else at the table laughing at how stupid you guys are.

Suddenly, your spidey senses went slightly off. Not enough for you and Miles to notice, but the others stopped laughing.

You didn't understand until you heard a very familiar voice.

"Is there a problem here?" You looked up and saw your other brother, Dick, looking at you guys with his stupid signature smile.

The same smile that made the hairs on your neck stand up.

Immediately you and Miles straightened up. Not in fear, but because you didn't want him to see you enjoying yourself.

"No, Richard."

You see him flinch at the use of his full name and not his nickname. His smile slightly faltered, but not enough for anyone other than you to notice.

"All alright then." he started walking away and you noticed behind him were your other siblings, Tim and Damian.

Shit.

You needed to get out of here.

Gwen immediately noticed you looking slightly panicky and immediately started holding your hand to calm you down.

It worked.

Everyone looked at each other, almost to say "Let's go."

You all left and decided to go to a park to calm down.

You all lay down on the grass in quiet. It was nice.

You don't mind doing anything with them, as long as you are together.

You wish you could stay in this moment forever.

After a while, you and Peni ended up falling asleep.

Noir came and picked up Peni.

Gwen, Miles, and Pavitr had to go home to their respective universes.

Hobie took and carried you home, there's no way he was gonna leave you lying in the middle of Gotham at night.

He made sure to carry everything you had with you into the manor.

Alfred let Hobie in as soon as he saw you being carried by him.

As soon as he got inside, Jason offered to carry you to your room, but Hobie had already started walking toward's it.

"Nah, sorry mate. She's knackered right now and moving her around might make her go mad."

As soon as he got to your room, he dropped you off on your bed took off your shoes and tucked you into bed, kissing you on the forehead, something that he's done to all the spider kids as a form of affection.

As soon as he went downstairs, he started getting questioned by everyone there.

"Who are you?" asked Damian.

"Wouldn't you like to know, weather-boy?" Hobie teased.

"Why is she so attached to you?!" Asked Jason.

"I ain't got a scooby doo," Hobie replied.

Soon, the questions turned into everyone yelling at Hobie for no reason.

You woke up from the commotion.

You went downstairs to see Hobie having a serious face.

That was not a good sign.

You kept walking further until you were on the same floor as everyone else.

"What's going on?" you asked rather meekly.

No one heard, so you spoke louder.

"What's going on?"

Still, no one heard, so you had no choice but to yell.

"WHAT IS GOING ON?!"

Everyone stopped to look at you. Everyone but Hobie was surprised to see you speak that loudly. They weren't used to you using that tone.

Everything was silent and tense for a moment.

"Well? is anyone gonna say anything or are you all gonna act stupid?" You were cranky. You needed a nap.

"We don't want you hanging around those guys anymore." your father, Bruce said.

"I don't care. I still am gonna be with them," you said.

"You don't have a choice," Damian added, agreeing with his father.

"Well nothing is stopping me, I'll still see them," you replied, glaring at Bruce.

"You're under my roof. You can make your own decisions when you aren't living here." Bruce said, rather mad you won't be obident.

"Maybe I don't want to live under your roof..." you muttered, thinking no one would hear.

"What was that?" you heard Dick say, clearly expecting you to crumble and apologize.

"Maybe I don't wanna live under your roof!" you turn to look at Hobie. He looks proud.

"Then leave." you hear Tim say.

"All alright." you start walking to your room to pack your essentials.

Everyone suddenly looks shocked. They weren't expecting that. You felt Hobie put a hand on your shoulder and help you pack. You grab your phone and see you never replied to Miguel's texts where he asked if you're okay.

You reply to him and tell him you're alright. You ask him if you can stay at his apartment because of family problems.

He immediately replies and says yes.

You finish packing up and go downstairs.

You didn't say bye to anyone as you left.

You went to a random abandoned building to use your bracelet to make a portal to Miguel's universe.

Hobie tagged along, to keep you safe.

As soon as he saw Miguel take you inside, he waved bye and went to his universe.

As soon as you got inside, you broke down.

Over how tired you are, over how your family treated you, and how you just wanted a hug.

You fell asleep hugging Miguel that night

hi guys this is kinda bad but like idk i might make a fluffy oneshot of the spiderkids js hanging out cause reader deserves a break idk

tags (please let me know if i missed anyone!): @bath1lda @mariadvorak @coralaura @tsxukikami @hjgdhghoe @coffeeaddictxd @cxcilla @kaitense1 @star-girl-interlud3 @sukaretto-n

[uppersidedreaminnn]

ENOUGH FOR YOU ★ S.JY

SYNOPSIS: jake has been on tour for two months now. awhile you should feel happy for him. your boyfriend living his dream, performing in front of thousands, city after city—there’s something else growing inside you. a quiet, creeping insecurity that he’s slowly slipping away.

PAIRING: idol!sim jaeyun x reader

GENRE: angst, hurt & comfort, feelings of insecurities, long distance relationship.

WORD COUNT: 1.5k

likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated. let me know your thoughts!

the soft breeze brushes against your skin as you make your way home, the sky above dipped in rich pinks and oranges. it’s a beautiful afternoon—the kind that should make you feel at peace. and in some ways, it does. you smile to yourself, still floating from a client meeting that went surprisingly well. for once, the day felt like a win.

but just as you reach your apartment building, something stops you in your tracks.

a dog. a golden retriever, chasing after a ball that rolls to a stop right by your feet. his golden fur gleams in the light, tail wagging, tongue hanging out joyfully. you chuckle and crouch down, picking up the ball and tossing it again. the dog watches you intently before dashing after it like a bullet.

you pause, watching him go.

the golden retriever reminds you of jake.

that same playful energy, that same affectionate sparkle in his eyes. that warm, golden presence that always filled up any room he was in — and lately, one you’ve been missing more than you care to admit.

still smiling from the interaction, you make your way upstairs to your apartment, the image of the retriever lingering in your mind. as soon as you’re inside, you settle into the couch and reach for your phone almost instinctively. jake.

your fingers hover above the keyboard, wondering if he’ll even have time to read it. but you decide to text him anyway.

"hi, baby."

you pause, taking a moment to type your next words.

"you’re probably really busy... anyway, i had a good day today—something went right for once."

you add a smile emoji. then:

"oh, and i saw a golden retriever on my way up. he reminded me of you."

you chuckle softly at yourself.

"the universe keeps finding ways to remind me that you’re not here."

then, after a pause:

"don’t forget to rest, okay? and eat something before the show. i can’t wait to see you perform tonight. good luck, baby."

you stare at the screen for a second before sending it. you were about to get up when another thought strikes you, and you add:

“i’m proud of you.”

it’s been over six hours.

three since enhypen’s concert ended.

you’re in bed now, phone on your chest, the quiet glow of your room doing nothing to calm your nerves.

you know firsthand how busy jake is.

you know this is what dating an idol looks like—crazy schedules, endless traveling, demanding rehearsals.

you know.

but it doesn’t stop the ache from building in your chest. because it wasn’t just this text. it hasn’t just been today. it’s been happening a lot lately—short replies, late responses, sometimes none at all.

out of instinct, you grab your phone and open social media, hoping to feel some sort of presence from him. you scroll through the fancams and concert clips from today. you pause when you see jake. your heart swells at the sight of him on stage, glowing, confident, ethereal.

you continue scrolling until an upload catches your eye.

a video. a fan holding their banner that reads: “jake, i love you. say it back.”

and jake... he reads it. smiles. winks. says it back into the mic with that playful charm you fell in love with.

"i love you," he says, voice soft and flirty, the crowd screaming in return.

you try to brush it off.

but then you keep scrolling through the account. her videos are full of clips— him smiling in her direction, glancing her way multiple times.

your chest tightens the longer you watch. it’s not like this is new. you know it’s part of the job. fanservice. it’s expected.

still, something in your chest twists cruelly.

you open the comments, something you knew would do nothing to make you feel better.

"no bc he wants you," the top comment reads. you frown at the remark, but continue scrolling.

"i'd risk it all for jake," another person writes.

"girl, jake was looking at you all night."

you close the app.

you stare at the ceiling, lost in thought. you realize it’s not just that fan interaction that hurt.

it’s the silence from him. the long stretches of not knowing what he’s doing, how he’s feeling, or even if he misses you as much as you miss him.

at first, you were sure you and jake would never be the couple that drifts apart just because you’re physically apart, but now? doubt has crept in, gnawing at you.

you roll over, burying your face in the pillow.

why hasn’t he texted back?

you sink deeper in your bed, your emotions consuming you. you hate feeling like this— clingy, overly sensitive.

you try to remind yourself that you’re his girlfriend, that you matter. but right now, it just feels like you’re fading into the background of his world. like some quiet afterthought.

the night passes with no reply.

the next day isn’t much better. you decide to distract yourself with work, smile when needed, pretend like you’re not checking your phone every twenty minutes. pretending you’re not crumbling a little more inside, as you see your last messages to him.

it’s late in the evening now. you’re on the couch, laptop open, busying yourself with work, when your phone rings faintly from the other side. you reach for it instantly, eyes reading who the caller is.

jake.

your heart leaps, your thumb freezing just before answering. you take a beat too long and the call ends before you could even answer. you stare at the screen, waiting for another call.

minutes pass.

no call back.

you slump into the couch, your chest heavy with disappointment.

you don’t even know how long you sit there—just watching the screen like it might somehow blink to life on its own.

eventually, you open your messages app and text him.

"hey… just checking in. why didn’t you call back?"

you don’t expect a response, already in the motion to closing your phone.

but then—he reads it. and a few seconds later, three dots appear on the screen, a reply.

"hi. i’ll call back now, baby."

and he does. his name flashes across the screen again. you answer this time, even though your heart is beating painfully in your chest.

"hi," you whisper.

"hey," jake says, his voice soft.

you take in his appearance. his tousled hair, plain shirt draped on and glossy eyes.

he smiles. "i’m just leaving the hotel now. we’re headed out again, so i might not have long."

your smile falters a little.

"oh," you manage to say.

"how have you been?" he asks, eyes lighting up. "did you get that client? what’s her name again?"

you nod slowly. "catherine," you respond. "yeah, we got her."

jake grins at you. "that’s amazing. i knew you would."

you shift slightly. you know now’s the time to express to jake how you’ve been feeling the last few days. who knows when you’ll next be able to talk to him like this. so though the words are heavy on your tongue, you force yourself to speak them.

"jake," you begin, taking a breath. "why haven’t you texted me back?" you ask softly.

his face drops as he registers your words. he bites his lip, clearly caught off guard. you know that habit—it’s what he does when he’s trying to find the right words.

"i’m sorry, y/n," he finally settles on saying. he’s looking at you intently, eyes filled with guilt as realization creeps up on him.

"i got caught up with the guys after the concert. i didn’t even think to check my phone. i didn’t see your messages until just now," he murmurs, almost ashamed.

you nod again, but something in you cracks open, and you don’t have to force the next few words out anymore.

"we’re supposed to be a team, jake," you whisper.

his eyes widen, opening and closing his mouth, trying to find the right thing to say.

"i’ve been waiting for you to reach out lately," you breathe out, your voice shaking, but you continue.

"it feels like i’m always the one reaching out. like… like i’m the only one trying sometimes."

"y/n…"

before he can continue, someone off-camera calls his name.

"jake, come one. we gotta go!"

he swallows hard, turning his head to the voice.

"y/n, i promise i’ll message you, okay? please wait for me. just—please?" he says firmly, pleading.

and the screen goes black. the call ends.

you stare at the empty screen, whispering to nothing, "okay."

hours pass, and you’ve already gone to bed for the day.

when you wake up the following morning there’s a string of messages waiting for you, a stark contrast to the lack of messages lately.

"y/n, i know you’re asleep now, but i can’t stop thinking about what you said during the call," the first text reads.

"i don’t even know what to say. i’m so, so sorry. i never meant to make you feel like that."

"i should’ve been better. you’ve always been there for me, and i’ve been letting the distance win. but i never stopped thinking about you."

"you’re right. we’re a team. and i’m going to do better. i need to do better."

"i love you more than anything. please let me prove that."

finally, your eyes read the last message he sent.

"wait’s over, sweetheart. i’m coming home to you."

there’s a photo attached: a blurry photo of a plane ticket, jake’s face peeking in, smiling gently.

your heart stirs—this time not from pain and uncertainty, but from appreciation. you let out a deep breath. he’s making it up to you.

maybe this ache won’t last forever. maybe, just maybe, it was worth waiting for someone like him.

[pinkboaclub]

More Than Enough

Summary: You and Harry are best friends, when he's too involved in his school work, you offer to help him take a break.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: smut, nerdrry, college Harry and reader, virgin Harry, nervous Harry, slight sub? if you squint hard enough

Harry sat hunched over his desk, surrounded by piles of textbooks and notes. His glasses sat on the tip of his nose, the glow from his laptop reflecting off the lenses as he typed away furiously.

Suddenly, interrupting the tapping of his computer keyboard, there was a knock at the door. Harry glanced at the clock. It was almost midnight. Who could it be at this hour? He cautiously approached the door and peered through the peephole, his breath catching in his throat when he saw Y/N's tear-stained face. He quickly unlocked the door, allowing her to stumble in, her eyes red and puffy from crying.

"Hey, are you okay?" Harry asked with genuine concern, taking in her disheveled appearance. Her normally bubbly demeanor was nowhere to be found.

Y/N sniffled, her voice trembling. "Jake...he was such a jerk again," she said, her words heavy with emotion.

"What happened?" Harry questioned, his heart sinking as he led her to his bed, where she immediately hugged him.

"It's nothing. I just need to get away," she murmured into his chest, her breath hot and shaky. The weight of her body against his was comforting, and Harry wrapped his arms around her instinctively. They sat in silence for a few moments, her trembling gradually subsiding as she took deep breaths. The room was quiet except for the occasional sniffle from Y/N. Harry felt her warmth and the softness of her hair under his chin.

"You can talk to me, you know," he offered gently.

Y/N pulled away and looked at him, her eyes glistening. "We had sex last night," she began, her voice barely a whisper. "And he was just...an asshole afterward."

The words hit Harry like a ton of bricks, a pang of jealousy shooting through his chest. He had known for a while that she and Jake were intimate, but hearing it from her lips was something else entirely. He had had a crush on her since they were children, and the thought of her being with someone else was like a knife twisting in his heart. He had always been too shy to tell her how he truly felt, afraid of losing their friendship or making things awkward.

Y/N noticed the sudden tension in Harry's body and paused. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come here so late," she said, her voice thick with apology. "It's just that he didn't care about me at all. He didn't even give me any aftercare. When I brought it up he started screaming at me...and I didn't want to be alone."

"You can always come to me," Harry replied, his voice tight. He didn't know what to say next. He had never been in a relationship, or had sex with anyone, so his knowledge on advice to give was limited.

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes searching his. "Could I...spend the night here?" she asked tentatively. "I just want to hang out and forget about everything for a while."

"Of course," Harry responded without hesitation, his heart racing at the thought of her being so close to him all night. He knew he had a big project due at the end of the week, but he'd manage, for her. "I just have to work on a project, but I'll be really quiet. You can sleep if you want."

Y/N managed a small smile, wiping away the last of her tears. "Thanks, Harry," she whispered, sliding into one of his oversized t-shirts that she found in his drawer. It smelled faintly of him, and she liked it. She slipped under the covers, leaving a space for him.

A couple hours went by and Harry had gotten to a point where he felt too tired to continue working.

He walked to the bathroom to prepare for bed. When he returned, Y/N was curled up, fast asleep. He set the water on his nightstand and took a moment to admire her. Her hair spilled across the pillow, and her bare legs were tangled in the sheets. Her face was serene in slumber, all traces of the pain from earlier gone. He felt a surge of protectiveness towards her.

He gently took off his glasses, placing them on the nightstand, and slid into bed next to her. Her eyes remained closed, but she snuggled closer, as if she knew he was there.

For a while, Harry simply watched her sleep. The soft rise and fall of her chest, the gentle way she breathed, it was mesmerizing. He had seen her in various states of dress before, but there was something so vulnerable about her now that made his chest ache. Her beauty was not just in her looks, but in the way she made him feel. The way she looked at him with those big eyes, the way she laughed at his nerdy jokes, the way she sought comfort in his arms. He knew he loved her, and the realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

For the next couple days, she stayed in his dorm, rambling to him as he worked on his project. He didn't mind at all, he loved hearing her voice as he worked.

Y/N pouted, sitting up on the bed. She leaned back on her elbows, the t-shirt she was wearing riding up to expose her smooth stomach. Harry's eyes followed the movement, and he felt his cheeks grow hot.

"You're no fun when you're working," she said with a teasing smile. "How about a little break?"

Harry sighed, glancing over at her. "I really need to finish this," he replied, his eyes lingering on her.

Y/N giggled, rolling her eyes playfully. "Come on, Harry," she said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and walking over to him. "Just a couple minutes, please? You need a little break."

When she climbed off the bed, Harry couldn't help but steal glances at her as she approached. She leaned over his chair, her chest brushing against his shoulder, her perfume filling his nostrils.

"Come on, Harry," she whispered, her breath hot against his ear, "just five minutes."

Her hand slid onto his shoulder, gently massaging the tension out of his muscles. Harry's eyes darted to the screen, then back to her. She leaned in closer, her breasts pressing against his arm as she traced her fingers along his neck. He swallowed hard, trying to focus on his work.

"You're so tense," she murmured, her voice like a siren's song. "Let me help."

Her fingers moved down his neck, tracing the line of his collarbone before sliding down to his chest, her touch light and teasing. Harry's heart thumped in his chest, his eyes darting from the screen to her face. She looked down at him, her gaze filled with mischief and something more...something that made his stomach do flips.

"You're always so worried about school," she said, her voice dropping to a seductive purr. "You need to relax, Harry."

He chuckled nervously, his cheeks flushing deeper. "I'm fine, really."

Y/N leaned closer, her eyes twinkling. "No, Harry, you're not fine. You're stressed to the max," she said, her voice a silky caress. "You know what you need?"

"What?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

Y/N's smile grew more playful. "Some mind blowing sex" she whispered, her eyes dancing with mischief. "It's time you had some fun, let off some steam."

Harry's cheeks turned a deep shade of red as he stuttered, trying to form a coherent response. "I-I've got it under control," he said, his voice barely audible.

Y/N's hand didn't stop its gentle exploration of his chest, her touch sending electrifying sparks through his body. She leaned closer, her lips dangerously near his ear. "I'm sure I could find someone who'd love to take care of you," she whispered, a teasing lilt to her voice.

Panic shot through Harry like a lightning bolt. He had always feared this moment, the moment when Y/N realized his feelings and set him up with one of her friends. It would be humiliating, a clear sign that she didn't return his feelings. His heart raced as he tried to think of a way to divert her attention back to his work, anything to keep her from setting him up with someone else.

Before he could form a coherent thought, she took the matter into her own hands. She straddled his lap, her legs curling around his waist as she sat down, her eyes never leaving his. "Or, I could help you relax," she murmured, her voice softer than a whisper. "I find it hard to believe you're not roaming around campus, being a ladies man."

Her warmth engulfed him, and Harry's breath hitched in his throat. He could feel the heat from her body, the softness of her thighs pressed against his own. His body seemed to have a mind of its own.

"You know I'm not..." Harry stuttered, shelled her eyes, her hands moving to his chest.

"I know girls are throwing themselves at you...I think you just don't see it," Y/N whispered, gently bringing a hand up to his cheek.

Her touchsent a spark through his body. He closed his eyes, his breathing ragged as he felt her lean in closer, her soft curves pressing against him. His heart hammered in his chest, the reality of the moment slowly setting in.

"Is this okay?" she whispered, her breath warm against his mouth. Y/N's eyes searched his face, looking for any sign of protest.

"Yes…but–," Harry replied, his voice trembling with a mix of desire and fear. "I've never...you know."

"I know, Harry," Y/N said with a gentle smile, her eyes filled with understanding. "You're perfect, Harry," she assured him, her hand sliding up to cup his cheek. "You're kind, you're smart, you're..." she trailed off, her voice filled with emotion.

He took a deep breath and nodded, his eyes meeting hers. He leaned in and rested his forehead on hers "Okay, 'm just nervous I won't be good enough for you." he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N chuckled gently, her thumb brushing against his cheek. "You're already more than enough, Harry," she assured him, her voice filled with sincerity. She leaned in and kissed him, her lips soft and gentle. It was a kiss filled with warmth and comfort, the kind of kiss that told him she didn't care about his lack of experience, that she was here for him, with him.

Without another word, she stood up, taking Harry's hand in hers and leading him over to the bed. She sat him down on the edge, her eyes never leaving his as she knelt between his legs. The anticipation was palpable in the air, a delicious tension that made his heart race even faster. He watched as she reached for the hem of his t-shirt, her eyes never leaving his as she lifted it over his head. She gave him a seductive, cheeky smile.

Y/N leaned in and kissed Harry's chest, her lips warm and soft against his skin. He gasped, his hands reflexively reaching out to grasp her shoulders. She giggled against his skin before moving lower, her breath hot against his abs. Harry's stomach tightened, his body responding to her every touch. When her kisses reached the waistband of his sweatpants, she looked up at him again. "Can I?" she asked, her eyes gleaming.

He nodded, his throat dry with anticipation. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband and slowly pulled them down, revealing his erection. Harry couldn't believe this was happening, his best friend, the girl he had loved for so long, was about to give him his first blowjob.

Y/N took him in her hand, stroking him gently as she licked her lips. She leaned in, her breath hot on his skin as she kissed the tip, and then took him into her mouth. Harry's eyes rolled back in his head, his body trembling with pleasure. She was surprisingly adept, her movements smooth and confident as she took him deeper, her tongue swirling around him. He had read about this, watched it in porn, but the reality was so much more intense, so much more overwhelming than he could have ever imagined.

Her eyes locked onto his, watching his reaction, her own excitement clear in the way her pupils dilated and her cheeks flushed. He was lost in the sensation, his mind a haze of pleasure as she worked her magic on him. He didn't know how long it lasted, but it was like nothing he had ever felt before. Her hand cupped his balls, rolling them gently as she took him deeper, her throat tightening around him.

As Harry's breath grew more ragged, Y/N sensed he was close and she picked up the pace, her mouth moving faster and faster. He could feel his orgasm building, his body tensing as he tried to hold back, not wanting this moment to end. But it was too much, too intense. He came with a gasp, his body arching off the bed as she swallowed every drop, not breaking eye contact.

For a moment, there was silence, just the sound of their breathing in the quiet room. Then Harry looked down at her, his face flaming red. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, his voice thick with embarrassment. "That was...quick."

Y/N looked up at him with a knowing smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "It's okay," she said, her voice low and throaty. "It's your first time. Plus, it tells me that I did a good job." She cheekily chuckled

Her words made him blush even deeper, but she didn't let him dwell on it. She stood up, her own shirt sliding off her shoulders with a smooth grace that left Harry's mouth watering. Her bra followed, revealing breasts that were full and perfect, with perfect nipples that were already hard with arousal. He had seen her in a bikini before, but this was different. This was intimate, this was real, and it was just for him.

"Let's not worry about that," she said, her voice a soft purr as she stepped closer to him. "Let's just enjoy each other, okay?"

Her words washed over Harry like a warm wave, and he nodded, unable to speak. Y/N leaned in and kissed him again, her tongue slipping into his mouth, tasting of him. Her breasts were soft and warm against his chest, and he couldn't help but cup them, she moaned into his mouth.

"I can...eat you out," Harry murmured, his voice filled with a need that surprised even himself. "of course, if you want...I want to make you feel good...only if you want me to."

She chuckled as he stumbled over his words and simply placed a finger on his lips to quiet him.

"Shh, Harry, it's okay," she murmured, her eyes full of affection. "I want you to eat me out," she replied, Harry's heart stopped, hoping that he could be good enough."But not tonight, I need to ride you." Her voice thick with desire.

Her words sent a fresh wave of excitement through him. Harry nodded, his hands shaking slightly as he helped her out of her panties. He took a moment to admire her, her legs spread before him, the smooth skin of her inner thighs begging for his touch. He had never seen anything so beautiful.

Y/N straddled him, her knees on the bed on either side of his hips. She took his face in her hands, looking into his eyes with a fierce determination. "You're going to love this," she whispered, her voice low and seductive.

With that, she positioned him at her entrance, the tip of him nudging against her slick folds. Harry's heart was racing, his entire body tense with anticipation. He could feel the warmth of her, and it was all he could do not to thrust upwards and take her in one go. Y/N moaned loudly at just the feeling of his tip at her hole.

Slowly, she lowered herself onto him, inch by agonizing inch, her eyes never leaving his. Harry's eyes rolled back into his head as he felt her tightness enveloping him, her wetness coating him as she slid down. It was like nothing he had ever felt before, and he had to bite his lip to keep from crying out. She was so warm, so wet, and so tight around him. It was almost painful in its perfection.

Y/N began to move, her hips rocking back and forth in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Harry's eyes widened, his hands gripping the bed sheets tightly as she took control. He could see the desire in her eyes, the way they filled with lust, it was like watching a wild animal.

Her breasts bounced with every movement, and Harry couldn't help but reach out to cup them, his thumbs brushing over her nipples. She gasped then smiled at his now boldness. Her hips buckled slightly at the contact. He watched as she threw her head back, her hair cascading over her shoulders.

He watched her, her body moving in a rhythm that was both mesmerizing and overwhelming. He had never felt anything so intense before. The way she took him in, the way she moved, it was like nothing he had ever imagined.

Y/N leaned down, her breath hot against his ear. "You like that, Harry?" she whispered, her voice dripping with seductive sweetness. "You like feeling me tight around you?"

Her words sent a shiver down his spine, and Harry could only nod, unable to form coherent sentences. He had never heard anyone talk to him like that, especially not her. It was like something straight out of a porno, and he was living it.

"Tell me," she whispered, her eyes staying on his, "Tell me what you want to do to me."

Harry couldn't resist. "I want to fuck you," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "I want to make you scream."

Y/N stopped her movements, his words stopping in her tracks, but turned her on incredibly. She could feel his cock pulsing inside her, and she found herself even more turned on by his unexpected assertiveness.

"I want you to fuck me too."

He sat up, lifting her with him so that she was straddling him as he leaned back against the headboard. His hands found her hips, and he began to guide her movements, his thrusts growing more forceful. The sound of their bodies colliding filled the room, mingling with their gasps and moans.

Her nails dug into his shoulders, her movements growing more erratic as she approached her climax. Harry watched her face, the pleasure etched into every line and curve, and knew he was giving her what she needed. Her eyes squeezed shut, her mouth opened in a silent scream as she came, her body spasming around him.

"God, Harry...your'e so fucking good."

Y/N's eyes snapped open, her cheeks flaming red as she looked down at him. The words had slipped out, unbidden, and she felt a thrill of excitement at his raw desire for her. She had never seen this side of Harry before, and she liked it. A lot.

With a sudden shift, she pulled away from him. Harry's cock slipped out of her, glistening with her juices, and she stared at it for a moment, feeling a sudden rush of power. He looked up at her, his eyes filled with a mix of confusion and hope.

"Did...did I do something wrong?" he asked, his voice thick with arousal and a hint of vulnerability.

"No," Y/N breathed, her voice laced with wonder. "No, Harry, you didn't." She took a moment to compose herself, then leaned in and kissed him hard, her tongue delving into his mouth, tasting him deeply. When she pulled away, her eyes searched his, looking for any signs of doubt.

Her hand slid down to his cock, stroking it gently. "You just made me feel so good," she murmured, her voice thick with satisfaction. "I thought maybe you'd want to get a better angle."

With a naughty smile, she climbed off his lap and turned to face the end of the bed, getting on her knees in front of him. Harry's eyes widened as she leaned forward, her round ass in the air, presenting herself to him. He had never seen her like this before, so open and willing, and the sight was almost too much to handle.

Y/N glanced over her shoulder, her eyes meeting him with a sultry. "I thought you wanted to fuck me?"

Her question was all the invitation Harry needed. He moved behind her, his hands on her hips as he aligned his cock with her wet entrance. She gasped as he pushed in, filling her completely. The new position was intense, and Harry took a moment to adjust, his hands tightening on her waist as he found his rhythm.

Y/N looked over her shoulder, her eyes dark with need. "Yes, Harry, just like that," she encouraged him, her voice a breathless whisper. "Fuck me hard, baby."

Her words encouraged something primal in Harry. He gripped her hips tighter, his thrusts becoming more powerful. Her encouragement was like a drug, pushing him to give her what she wanted, what they both needed. Her moans grew louder, filling the room, and Harry knew he was giving her exactly what she craved.

"Yes," she hissed, her voice low and needy. "Just like that, Harry." He could feel her tightening around him, her muscles contracting as she approached another orgasm.

The feeling was too much for Harry, the way she responded to him, the way she begged for more. His own climax was building, a pressure that threatened to overwhelm him. He watched her in the mirror, her breasts swinging as he fucked her, and he knew he couldn't hold out much longer.

As she came again, her muscles tightening around him, it was like a trigger for Harry. He thrust into her one last time, feeling the warmth of her cum around his cock. He couldn't hold back anymore. He exploded, his orgasm ripping through him like a wildfire, his vision blurring as he filled her with his seed. Y/N's cries of pleasure only served to heighten his own release, her body milking him for every drop.

When the waves of pleasure finally subsided, they both collapsed onto the bed, panting heavily. Y/N rolled onto her side, her body a warm, sweaty mess against his. She looked up at him with a satisfied smile, her eyes gleaming. "That was...amazing," she murmured, her voice filled with awe.

For a moment, Harry just stared at her, his heart racing. Then, it dawned on him. He had just had sex with his best friend, and she had liked it. No, she loved it. The realization washed over him like a warm, comforting blanket. He leaned down to kiss her, his hands stroking her hair gently.

"Thank you," he murmured against her lips.

Y/N giggled, the sound light and airy. "Feeling less stressed?"

"Much," Harry managed to breathe out, his chest still heaving. He couldn't believe what had just happened. It was like a dream, a fantasy come to life. He looked at her, her hair a mess around her flushed face, her body glistening with sweat, and his heart ached.

Y/N propped herself up on one elbow, her hand reaching out to stroke his cheek. "You okay?" she asked, her voice filled with genuine concern. He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers.

For a moment, they just laid there, their breathing heavy and ragged. Then, she leaned in and kissed him again, a soft, gentle kiss that spoke of affection and care. She pulled back, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. "You know, Harry," she said, her voice teasing, "that was your first time. You're supposed to get all the aftercare."

Her words brought him back to reality, and he remembered the conversation from earlier. Jake had been cruel and had denied her what she needed after they'd had sex. Harry felt a surge of protectiveness. He sat up, his eyes searching hers. "Did Jake never...you know, take care of you after?"

Y/N's smile was sad, a little wistful. "Not really," she said, her voice a soft sigh. "But that's not what tonight is about. Tonight is about you."

"No, no, I want to care for you."

Y/N's eyes lit up at Harry's insistence, and she couldn't help but smile. Despite his inexperience, he was eager to learn, eager to ensure she felt loved and satisfied. She laid back, allowing him to hover over her, his eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and concern. He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her neck, his soft touches leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

He slid off the bed and walked over to the sink, his body still shaking with the aftermath of their passion. He grabbed a wet washcloth, his movements a little awkward, his cheeks reddening at the thought of what he was about to do. He returned to her side, his eyes meeting hers with a tentative look.

"Let me," he murmured, his voice soft and gentle. He reached out with the washcloth, touching her gently, carefully cleaning her up. His touch was featherlight, almost as if he was afraid she'd break. Y/N watched him, her heart swelling with affection. He was so sweet, so considerate, and it was clear that he was trying his best to take care of her.

As he wiped her thighs and her inner thighs, his eyes met hers again, filled with uncertainty. She reached up, taking the washcloth from his hand, her fingers lingering for a moment before she placed it on the nightstand. "You don't have to," she said softly, her voice filled with emotion. "You've already done so much."

But Harry was insistent, his eyes determined. "I want to," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I want to take care of you." He took a deep breath, his hands shaking as he gently parted her folds, using the cloth to clean her up. He was clumsy at first, but she didn't care. The way he looked at her, like she was the only person in the world that mattered, made her feel cherished.

She leaned forward, grabbing his forearm and kissed him. "I love you, Harry," She pulled away and stared deep into his eyes. "Thank you." They had said it a million times before, I love you, but the way she looked at him made him feel like this time was different, like she meant it more than ever before.

Harry felt his heart swell with emotion, "I love you too, Y/N." He whispered, his voice hoarse. He kissed her again, this time more tenderly, savoring the taste of her on his lips.

tag list !

@mema10 @lizsogolden @harrrrystylesslut @tulips4harry @cloudyluun @dipmeinhoneyh @tchlamqtsgf @maudie-duan @gilwm @mads3502 @girlslovejahseh

[renren-006]

Hells Kitchen | Frank Castle x Fem Reader

plot: foggies little sister falls for the punisher

a/n: I'm currently watching Daredevil and I’m on season 2 and already loving it!!

Foggie originally shot down the idea of hiering his little sister to work for Nelson and Merdock, Matt disagreed.

You were the first person they hired to work for them, even before Karen, which was only a day later, she came onto the job. You liked her well enough. Your job mainly was keeping up with their advertising, answering phones, and occasionally writing blogs about the “fine work” of Nelson and Murdock. You went to school for media studies and quickly realised how competitive the market was, so you asked your brother for help. Foggie hated the idea of you working for him, not because you were terrible at what you did or that he hated you. Foggie wanted you nowhere near anything crime-related, including the desk you now sit at with your laptop open, reading through the news and blogs.

When the ordeal with Fisk happened, Foggie sent you home to your mother. You agreed, but only for a month or two. When you got back, it was the tail end of the legal matters, and Foggie agreed to let you stay until further notice, so really forever. He hated to admit it, but he missed having his sister around.

“You so missed me” you joked as you pulled you chair out at the tiny desk in his office. Foggie let out a laugh.

“Sure kiddo”

“You’ve always been bad at lying,” you told him, knowing full well that your brother could never for the life of him learn to lie to you. You were only a few years apart, and even then, you two always shared a close bond. Foggie smiled, and nodded his head in defeat. “Speaking of when were you going to tell me Matt was Daredevil”

The tapping sounds from the keyboard stopped. That day forever went down in the history books for making Franklin Nelson look like a fool. Mat choked from the other room, and your smile turned wicked. You looked at him through the glass and waved. Thankfully, Karen was getting coffee and didn’t notice.

-

Foggie didn’t have to worry until Frank Castles shit in Hell’s kitchen started. it was a few days in when you met him face to face.

He was limping back to wherever he lived when you saw him from up in front of you. He cursed slightly when you walked up to him faster than he expected.

“You’re bleeding” you dumbly said, “you probably already knew that”

“I did,” he said, and a small chuckle escaped his lips. Frank was not one to chuckle. You walked closer, showing him you had no intent to harm him, and lifted his arm to help stabilise him.

“ain’t got to do that” he told you grunting.

“yea sure let me just let the guy bleeding and beaten walk home and maybe die in a ditch” you told him sarcastically. “let me get you home” Frank had little energy to fight you off and half a mans to let you take him home. he did in fact let you walk him to his building! refusing to let you see where he lived and the scattered guns.

“Thanks doll,” he said as he closed the door. For a moment you forgot you heard sirens, or that you smelled of blood and gunpowder, or that you knew in your heart you just helped the man that’s been shooting up Hell’s Kitchen get home.

When you walked into the law office the next day, you saw one look at the papers and decided to head home. Foggie asked why and you gave him a short answer that you didn’t realize how sick you felt till you got there, “The summer heat will do that to you Frankie”. “Don’t call me Frankie”

The second time you met Frank was when he somehow ended up on your fire escape. Your lamp lights were on in your small apartment. You walked out from your bedroom in nothing but a sleep shirt and went to find him looking through the window into your home, waiting to catch your eye. You almost screamed when you noticed him.

“How did you find me?” You asked him, slightly shocked.

“Fallowed ya”

“that’s creepy…” you told him, “and maybe a little charming,” as you opened the wider window so he could slip inside. Frank did his best to reach your couch, clutching his side as he did.

“Again?” you asked. You grabbed the first aid kit under your skin before he could answer. You walked back over and next in front of him, well, swear of how it looked. “I’m going to look now.” He only nodded and leaned his head back.

It wasn't until Frank was in the hospital that you saw him next. You walked in along with your brother, Mat, and Karin. He lighted up when you saw him, and you couldn’t help but walk further past the line of “do not cross” and found yourself holding him.

“hey my girl” he said i. your ear. you smiled and breathed him in.

“I got worried”

“What could you be worried about?” Doggie said, “Get back over here, sis.” You looked back towards your brother and then to Frank. He nodded his head, knowing you had to step back. Your hands were still in his handcuffed ones when you let go and walked back.

“how the hell do you know him?” doggie asked.

“That’s…not really the issue right now, Fog,” you told him, “we can’t let him get the death penalty…”

Mat agreed with you, wanting to keep him out of death and possibly jail. You knew what he had done, you were not oblivious. You knew why he did it; some of you agreed with his methods and others didn’t. Frank was a complicated man, you knew that from the first moment he arrived outside your window.

Frank only agreed to talk to you in the end, and Karin wanted to be able to stand by your side when he did. He allowed it, feeling more at ease around the two women than the men. You wondered if he knew Mat was the masked Daredevil and how he would feel knowing he was doing what he could to keep him alive. Would he be happy, or would he be angry?

Leading up to court, many emotions flooded through you. Seeing him take the stand that day, how his eyes were trained on you the entire time, sent chills down your spine. You saw “the puncher” come out when he stood and yelled on the stand. For a brief moment, you wondered who the man was if you didn’t know him. Frank kept his eyes off you the rest of the time and refused to see you after. Frank Castle was an interesting man.

“Hey, my girl,” a voice said from your balcony. You whipped around to find Frank sitting in your window sill, neither entering nor exiting. You took a moment to breathe him in.

“What in the hell are you doing here?” you asked after realising he was on the run and in your apartment. “if someone sees you”

“no one will”

“Frank” you said sternly. You both knew where your conversation was leading. You were concerned for him ad he could see that.

“I've got to finish this,” he told you, staring at the ground. “They discover justice for what happened to them”

“I know,” you said, walking closer to the window. “But how many more people must die before you’ve justified it?” Frank's head slowly looked up at you, anger and confusion rested on his face. He didn’t know what to make of what you said, what you were implying. “I believe in what you do, Frank, killing those who would end up hurting more than they already have. This killing…all of this killing frank…”

“I’m sorry it scares you…but I have to do it or no one else will”

"I know that too. i do, i just…im scared you will loose yourself in it. promise me you won’t” You said, both of you moving closer and closer together.

"I won’t,” Frank said as he lightly touched your face.

“Promise me,” you said, holding his hands there. Not wanting to break any space with the man in front of you.

“I swear to you, y/n, I won’t lose myself. Frank said I also promise to return to you, tracking your facial movements. You smiled up at him, knowing he meant what he said.

A small kiss lingered on your lips as you watched Frank descend down your fire escape into Hell's Kitchen and the fight you knew was awaiting him. You would wait for him, stitch him up, and hope he would stay.

[bernardsbendystraws]

You Don’t Own Me

P1 P2 P3 P4 P5 P6 P7 P8 P9 P10 P11 P12 P13 P14 P15 P16

Chris Sturniolo lives by his own rules, refusing to be controlled. Some see him as a rebel, a troublemaker—but is that the full truth? Meanwhile, Y/N is focused on making the most of her last year of high school, determined to have a normal teenage experience. But when their worlds collide, they realize they may have more in common than they ever expected.

WARNINGS: Mentions of drinking, drunk driving, mentions of death, Chris being a dick, perv mentions.

A/N: Chris is fucking mean in this lmao. Also, don't go for walks with people you don't trust at 2 a.m. like...yeah, just don't do that!

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

P4: Nipple Perv

wc: 1900+

My head hurt from endless thoughts. I was trying to comprehend what happened—what made Chris so mad? What made Matt so closed-off? 

I couldn’t figure it out. Clothes and miscellaneous items are sprawled in a mess around my room. I was trying to clean, have some sort of organization since my mind felt so helpless. 

“Fuck!” I hear Baylen screaming at his computer through the walls, the loud game effects echoing through the vents in the house. 

My lips purse as I clench my teeth. He’s so fucking annoying.

“Sweetie!” My mom’s voice yells through the house. Sweetie—I know she’s not talking to me, she’s talking to him. “Do you want the protein bowls for dinner?” 

Ugh. My least favorite thing ever. But, since it was Baylen’s favorite, it didn’t matter. Nothing I had to say ever mattered in this house. 

My eyes drift across my room. I see an old picture frame on my dresser covered in dust. The familiar face stares back at me–dad. I missed him. Everything was better when he was around. He understood me.

“Yeah, can you do the brown rice and…” 

I drown out the sound of Baylen’s yelling. My hands rub along my face as I feel my eyes burn with tears. No. I refuse to cry. It won’t do anything except make it hurt more. That’s all it ever did. 

“Fuck this,” I mumble, walking over to my bay window and sitting on the cushions. It was the place I loved. Honestly, I fell asleep in this spot almost as much as my bed. 

My nose scrunches as I sniffle. I try to take deep breaths while pulling the window open, the fresh air making my mind feel clearer within an instant. This is what I needed. This is always what I needed. 

The slight shuffling of movement makes me squint my eyes open. Chris—well, Chris and Trevor. 

Trevor’s tongue is hanging out from his mouth with harsh pants, his tail wagging as his paws trot on the sidewalk. He looks content. Chris, however, looks less than thrilled. His face is tight, his brows furrowed, like he’s in a deep thought—or maybe just frustrated. 

Trevor halts on the grass of my front lawn, his nose twitching as he sniffs sharply. My heart seems to beat louder in my chest as I watch Chris’s face turn toward my direction, his eyes landing on me. 

Like a deer caught in headlights, all I can do is freeze. 

As Chris’s eyes float up to mine, I can feel the heat of his gaze, sharp and annoyed. He’s glaring at me, staring through me as if I did something unspeakable. 

The weight of the silence is heavy. Trevor, blissfully unaware of the tension, sits down on the grass, looking up at me with big, expectant eyes, probably waiting for me to come out and pet him. 

But that wouldn’t happen—not with the way Chris was looking at me. His eyes appear even colder, his jaw tensing as he shakes his head, tugging on Trevor’s leash before pulling him further down the sidewalk. 

What did I do?

___

The air is thick with something unspoken as I sit across from Matt, my fingers tracing the rim of my empty water glass. Chris had stormed out again as soon as I had walked in the house, even though it had nearly been a week since the last time we saw each other. 

I stare down at Trevor as my fingers hover over my computer keyboard. His strange behavior lingers in my mind, gnawing at me, demanding answers. 

Matt exhales deeply, rubbing a hand down his face before finally speaking. “You really wanna know?” 

My eyes shift over to him. I nod slowly as I pull my hands into my lap, rubbing my thumb over my palm as I try to take a quiet breath. “I mean, yeah… I feel like… like I did something wrong,” I let out. 

Matt’s jaw tightens. A rough sigh leaves his mouth, his hand rubbing over his lips before running through his messy hair. “Trevor… he’s not usually like that with people,” Matt says, his voice quieter now. “Not since—” He swallows, eyes flickering away. “Not since our mom.”

My stomach twists. “Your mom?”

Matt nods, drumming his fingers against the table, as if the movement might help him push through the words. “She died about a year ago with our um… our other brother. Car accident.”

“Oh,” I whisper. Guilt coils in my chest, details binding together as I reanalyze the home surroundings. It all made so much sense. 

“It just hurts, you know? It felt like—like seeing a ghost,” he remarks, his tongue prodding against his cheek as he stares down at the table. “That’s why Chris freaked out. He—he’s really relied on Trevor since everything happened. I mean, Trevor doesn’t even do that for him, I guess…” 

A lump forms in my throat. “I’m sorry, Matt. I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” He offers a small, tired smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s just… complicated.”

Complicated. That feels like an understatement.

I let the silence stretch between us, my mind whirling. Finally, I straighten my spine. “I should talk to Chris.”

Matt’s mouth twists. “Good luck with that.”

___

Chris sits on the porch steps with his arms crossed. He doesn’t acknowledge my presence, but the shift in his posture lets me know that he’s aware. 

“Hey,” I say, my voice softer than usual. 

Nothing. 

Taking a deep breath, I sit down on the steps next to him, watching his spine straighten as his jaw tightens. “Listen, I—I didn’t know about Trevor. About your mom,” I say. 

Chris exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Doesn’t change anything,” he tuts, his tongue clicking on the roof of his mouth. 

My heart thumps as I try to take a deep breath. What could I change? Trevor’s acts of affection? He’s hurt, I know he’s hurt—but what was I supposed to do?

“I was just trying to say I’m sorry…” I whisper. 

My shoulders slump as he lets out a humorless laugh. “Yeah? For what?” he questions.

“For…” I falter, unsure how to phrase it. “For whatever just happened in there. For upsetting you.”

Chris finally turns to look at me, his expression hard. “You didn’t upset me.” 

I scoff. “Really? Because you ran out of there like you saw a ghost.”

His jaw tightens. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Then help me understand,” I snap. My face scrunches, my nails clawing into my palms as I try to take a deep breath. “I understand you’re hurt, but I’m trying to apologize. I didn’t make your dog do that—”

His eyes harder, his gaze flooding with hate. “You don’t get it,” he huffs blankly, his nostrils flaring. 

I feel my body shrink into itself under his stare, a lump gathering in my throat as my stomach churns. “I’m sorry. I’ve said I’m sorry, I don’t know what else you want me to—”

My body freezes as he leans in closer. 

“You and your stupid partying and drinking—like it’s all some big fuckin’ joke.” His words make my chest feel heavy as I struggle to keep my eyes on his. “Like people don’t fucking die because of it. Do you know how many people die from drunk drivers? From stupid people like you who think alcohol is fun? My mom and my brother–” His mouth opens and shuts, his lips pulling into a tight line as he turns his gaze back towards the street. 

Oh.

Oh. 

My chest tightens, his words slamming into me like a punch to the gut. I swallow the lump in my throat, my eyes tearing as if I’m a child being scolded. 

“Forget it,” he says, his voice rough. “Just go home.” 

And for once, I don’t argue. 

___

My body twists in my bed sheets restlessly. Chris’s words swirl in my head, replaying over and over until they blur together, tangling with my own thoughts.

I should be angry. I am angry. He had no right to throw that in my face, no right to act like he knows me. He didn’t even know why I was walking home the night we met—it was because even I knew drunk driving was stupid. 

A sharp knock at my window makes me jolt upright. What the fuck? 

I push my blankets off, heart hammering as I shuffle toward the window. When I pull back the curtain, I’m met with Chris’s face, his expression unreadable. 

My mouth drops open as I slide the window open as quietly as possible, the cool night breeze whistling by my ear. “What the hell—what’re you doing here?” I whisper-shout. 

Chris shrugs, “Come on a walk with me.”

“A walk?” I repeat, my palms resting on the bay window cushion seat as I lean to get closer. “Are you insane?” I question. 

“Sure,” he stares blankly. “Now can we go for a walk?” 

The repeated question makes my head tilt. “Why the fuck would I go for a walk with you at…” My eyes shift across the room, looking for my phone to tell the time. 

“It’s a little after 2 a.m., your favorite time to go walking apparently,” he says, offering a small smirk with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Although, maybe this time you should wear more, um—” He clears his throat as his eyes drift to the side. “-clothes.” 

Oh shit. 

I always sleep in a big T-shirt and sweats. Of course I had to be wearing a thinner white one right now, of course it had to be so cold my nipples were practically poking through the material. 

“Oh my fucking god,” I mumble, reaching over and grabbing a sweatshirt before pulling it over my head. “Perv,” I mutter, shaking my head in disbelief. 

“If I was a perv, I would have asked you to wear less clothes, actually,” he points out. 

“Chris, why are you here? I’m not going on a walk with you at—”

“I brought Trevor.” His hand tugs upwards, showing a leash. Am I really about to go for a walk with an asshole just because he has a cute dog?

My eyes squint as I lick over my teeth, sliding my feet into my sneakers that I had left discarded on the floor. “Fine. You’re lucky I like your dog and I can’t sleep,” I announce, climbing through my window before slowly sliding the glass pane back down, leaving just a crack open. 

“Lucky, hm? Would that have been a better name than Trevor?” he taunts, holding out the leash. I grab the hope cautiously, my eyes softening as I see the dog’s tail wagging from the corner of my eye. 

Chris walks forward towards the sidewalk, peering over his shoulder as he waves his hand for me to follow. “You coming?” 

What the fuck am I doing. 

[snowwybear]

𝗣𝗢𝗩: 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗻𝗶𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝗰𝗸𝗲𝗿 | 𝘃𝗼𝗹 𝗜𝗜

Warnings: fluff, suggestiveness, nudity

𝟏.

Over the last few days Vinnie has seemed upset, his texts back were dry and whenever you called him his voice just seemed emotionless. You decide to visit him in person to make sure he was okay and if he needed anything. Walking into the apartment you noticed how quiet it was. Normally there was music in the background, Vinnie screaming or just the sound of his keyboard. But nothing, it was dead quiet.

Entering his bedroom you saw him sitting on his bed gently stroking Hera, his face was expressionless.

“Hey”. You said quietly while slowly sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Hey” He sighed out not looking up at you.

“Are you okay?” You tilted your head at him hoping to catch his gaze.

“Not really, I just feel upset”.

You moved your legs up onto the bed and started also patting Hera in hopes to connect with Vinnie.”Do you wanna talk about it”?

He shook his head no and sighed deeply. He stopped stroking Hera and lay down on his back. He put out his arms and made grabby hands towards you. You got the message and crawled your way over to him, snuggling up to his chest.

“I just wanna cuddle you until I feel better”.

“Okay”. You giggled, kissing his jaw.

You stayed cuddled up in his arms for a few minutes until you realised something was missing. You sat up (much to Vinnie’s dismay) and looked towards the end of the bed to find Hera chilling. You moved towards her and picked her up, hearing a little ‘meow’ as you moved her. Once in your arms you moved Hera to Vinnie’s chest and lay back down in his arms. “There. Now we can cuddle you better”.

Vinnie chuckled before muttering a ‘thank you’ and placing a kiss on the top of your head. He rubbed up and down your back and occasionally gently caressing your butt before switching over and patting Hera for comfort. You stayed in his arms until he felt better, and eventually he did.

ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

𝟐.

You entered the bathroom, closed the door behind you and turned on the shower. Within a matter of seconds you hear the swing open revealing your boyfriend standing in the door way.

“Are you having a shower?” Vinnie asked slightly out of breath as he just ran over to the bathroom as soon as he heard the water running.

“Yes” You laughed at how ridiculous you boyfriend is.

“Can I join you?” He smirked making his way over to you.

You shook your head and placed your hands on his chest stopping him from whatever he was planning. “No, I’m actually planning on showering”.

He pouted. “Why? I promise I’ll be good”. His hands found your waist

“Babe every time we shower together we almost always end up having sex. I need to was my hair”.

He rolled his eyes and groaned. “Excuses, excuses”. He moved his face into your neck and started leaving small kisses.

“I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself”. He said into your neck.

Ugggh, you hated the effect he had on you.

“Fine, you can shower with me”. You groaned. Vinnie smirked and removed himself from you. “But only if you promise to keep your hands to yourself”.

“Promise”. He replied

You undressed and stepped into the shower under the water. You let the water fall onto your body, the warmth soothing your muscles. You felt a slight cold breeze hit your legs before noticing Vinnie’s presence in the shower. You peaked over your shoulder to have a quick glance at your now naked body. Naked Vinnie is always a sight.

You were still basking in the warmth of the water when Vinnie placed his hands on you waist. You jumped a little when his cold hands touched your skin but settled once you realised it was just Vinnie. Vinnie started kissing your shoulder before making his way towards your collar bone.

“Vinnie”. You warned. He continued to place kisses on your body and move his hands settling them dangerously near your core.

“Vinnie!” You squealed while moving his hands. Vinnie just laughed and placed another kiss on your cheek.

“I’m joking calm down”. He said.

He moved his hands off your body, turned around and grabbed the shampoo from behind him. He gave a quick slap to your ass before squeezing the shampoo into his hand and gently massaging the product into your hair. “See. I’m just trying to help”.

You moaned at the feeling of Vinnie’s fingers gently massaging your scalp. Vinnie slapped your ass again. “Don’t do that”.

You just laughed at him. He stopped massaging your head for you to wash the shampoo out of your hair before repeating the same thing with conditioner. Once your hair was all washed you turned around to face Vinnie. You wrapped your arms around his neck and gave Vinnie a sweet kiss.

“Thank you baby”. You say before giving him another kiss.

“You’re welcome. Now can we have sex?”

[lysaisland]

come a little closer

The agency was quiet today. No ungodly yells of Dazai do your work! or periodic screams (that always seem to come from the medical wing). No national emergency, or mafioso chaos.  Not even Kenji could be seen running around, trying to convince Atsushi to help him invite Hanako 2 into the agency. It had been a while since he last tried that stunt with the cow. You hummed to yourself at the thought.

Only the fluttering of the curtains could be heard over your steady breaths and tip-tapping of your keyboard. It was only you and the president in the building today. A few rooms away,  you could hear his solemn voice, on the phone most likely.

You were informed, earlier, that the main body of the detective agency was away, on a mission. Their absence made evident with the rare peace.

Usually, Haruno would be with you on a slow day like this, but she had to call in sick. Bless her poor soul. There was a sick bug going around lately. You made a mental note to stock up on vitamins on the way home. 

It was not the worst, being alone. You liked to bask in the silence anyway. It was refreshing. You reached for the plate of cookies on your desk, freshly baked from the bakery across the street. They were dusted with a sprinkling of icing sugar. A disk of chocolate-y glory, you mused. 

Suddenly, the door swung open with a flourish. Mouth still full of biscuit, your head cracked up to face the intruder. You rolled your eyes fondly as you recognised who it was. 

“Guess who solved the mystery before everyone else and got to come back early!” Ranpo declared. 

“Ah. I wonder who,” you said dryly after a swallow, “I don’t think I could ever guess.” 

He landed heavily on the desk next to you, legs crossed. His hands lazily held his head as he looked at you. 

“How was the mission, Ranpo?” 

“Same old, same old! Nothing that I couldn’t handle.” You listened contently as he spoke, nodding every so often. You noticed how his eyes wandered around your desk, examining every nook and cranny. A sly thought began to form in your mind. Maybe, for once, you could pull the wool over his eyes. 

“Say,” the detective said, your name coming out like a song in his voice, “can I have one of those?”

“One of what?” With a grin, you reached for a cookie and took a bite out of it. It was sweet. The chocolate coated your mouth deliciously. 

“One of your cookies obviously.” Amused, Ranpo was in front of your desk now. He held his hand out, bold and expecting. You let out a soft giggle. 

“Mmh. But, these are mine, and I’m not very willing to share. Say please.”

There were only two left after all. 

He leaned across your desk. A rush of vanila. Your eyes met his, from underneath his cap. Seafoam green. They were clear and calm, but so full of thought. They were gorgeous. 

You could feel your heart start to pick up speed at the sudden closeness. Your nails scratched the surface of the wood. 

Ranpo's hand reached for your face. The touch was so gentle that you almost didn’t feel his fingers brush the corner of your mouth. Your eyes widened at the thought of wanting him to pat your face like a lover, with affection. 

“What was that for?” Your voice rang out shockingly steady, as you stood up from your chair. The two of you were now face to face, with only the desk between you, and the plate in the middle. 

You could feel your face heat up when he moved to lick his finger. 

“Icing sugar.” He shrugged, and you could swear you saw a flicker of a smirk on his, otherwise, nonchalant face. 

“Rampo,” You tilted your head with a small smile, unwilling to look like the only fool, “come a little closer.” 

He raised his eyebrows, but obliged anyway. 

Your hand reached out swiftly to grab his tie. His hands scrambled to steady himself on your desk as you pulled him even closer, cheeks almost touching. 

“Say please.” You whispered into his ear. You could see his ears start to turn a satisfying shade of red. 

“Please.” He mumbled, not a tinge of arrogance. Honestly, you were surprised the great detective gave in so easily. 

“Good.”

He turned his head to face yours, you suddenly let go of his tie and pushed a cookie between his lips. As you stepped back, you could see the red creep into his cheeks. He was a sight to behold, you had certainly paid him back in kind. A hand went to cover his face as he crunched on the sweet treat. His ears were still an indicator that he was still affected. 

Laughing, you wondered if you should do this more often. 

“Not fair.”

“If you say so Ranpo.”

[luvserie]

SKZ When They Get Mad At You

Warnings: They're all basically assholes, blood(Chan), swearing, Changbin MIGHT be cheating?(might make a pt2)

Part 2 HERE

Note: Hi yall! I know I haven't posted in a while but I promise I'll start being more on top of it. Please feel free to send requests if you want!

REMINDER! THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION AND IN NO WAY CORRESPONDS TO THE ACTUAL MEMBERS OF SKZ

Bang Chan

You woke up to find your boyfriend's side of the bed empty. You yawned, used to Chan leaving you alone in the dead of the night to work on music. You leaned over to check the clock, and sure enough, the time read 1:24AM. You wrapped your blanket around you before sleepily trudging over to the living room, where Chan was working his songs. He was wearing headphones, so he jumped a little when you tapped him on the shoulder. "Babe, I'm a little busy. Go back to bed, okay?" Bang Chan gave you a small, tense smile before turning back to his work. You shrugged, thinking he would be fine with you sleeping next to him instead, since you never stayed in dreamland that long without the warmth of his body. You walked to the kitchen, grabbing a mug and filling it with milk from the fridge before microwaving it. As you walked back to Chan, half-asleep, you didn't notice your blanket slowly slipping down until it was too late. Your foot stepped on it and you plunged towards the floor. A sharp pain bloomed in your temple, and when you reached up tentatively to touch it, it felt wet. Your stomach dropped as you saw the large blotch of red on your finger. You had also spilled almost all the warm milk on Chan laptop and legs, destroying the keyboard. Oh, and Chan was panicked, too. Just not about you. He was livid, basically screaming at you. "Oh my god, Y/N!" He yelled. "I told you to go to bed, why couldn't you have fucking listened?! And milk, of all things, too! Did you really need me to come back to bed so bad that you had to destroy my fucking laptop?" "I-I'm s-sorry." You were on the verge of tears, looking at the mess you made. "I d-didn't mean to. I c-can...I can fi-fix it." You ran to get paper towels, but when you were starting back, Chan stood in your way. "Out." He commanded, eyes directing you to the door. "Right now." You nervously laughed, disbelieving. "Chan, it's 1:30 in the morning. I can't-" "Out. Now." Chan basically spun you around and marched you out the door and into the apartment building hallway, slamming it behind you despite your cries and protests.

Lee Minho

"Four hundred dollars?" Lee Know yelled incredulously. "You spent four hundred fucking dollars on dresses?" "You told me to get something nice for myself." You were standing in front of Lee Know, feeling like a child getting scolded. The dresses in question were at your feet, thrown there haphazardly by your fiancee in his chaotic rage. "Yeah, one thing. We're stretched thin enough as it is with the wedding costs, how are we gonna afford all of this?" He shook his head disappointedly. At this point you were sick of being accused. "Well, if your parents hadn't called me a 'gold-digging brat who puts out for money,' maybe mine would be paying." You reminded Lee Know of his mom's first words to you when you announced your guys' engagement. After hearing those awful words, your parents had insisted that if they were paying for the wedding, the groom's parents had to be uninvited. However, you had known how much Minho wanted his parents to be there on his wedding day, so you guys agreed to pay for it yourselves. "Do not bring my mother into this." Lee Know's voice turned cold. It's not her fault she was right." "...What." You grit out, daring him to say it one more time. "I mean, with all of this, I'm starting to believe her. First the expensive alterations on that old wedding dress, then the custom-made cake you want, and then the luxury catering." Lee Know shrugged. "At this point, you're basically living off my paycheck." "Lee fucking Minho, take that back. First of all, that wedding dress has been in my family for YEARS, the custom cake is because your parents have at least 28 collective allergies that I'm 100% sure are half made-up, and, don't forget, the luxury catering was your idea. And second of all," You take a small breath before picking up you bag, keys, and phone. "You don't need to pay for any of that, because I'm calling off the wedding." And with that, you leave the apartment, you leave the building, and you leave the love of your life behind. And you don't even care.

Seo Changbin

You crawled into bed, frowning playfully at your already fast-asleep boyfriend. He must be tired from today's schedule. You think, admiring his face. As you snuggle under the covers next to him, you hear a buzz from the side table. You reach for your phone, checking if someone messaged you, but accidentally grab Changbin's instead because you guys both have blue phone cases. You're about to put it back when a notification pops up. Side Hustle: Hey Bin! Just checking in to see if we're still meeting up tmrw at 2:30PM! 💘 "Whatcha looking at?" Changbin's sleep-addled voice says from behind your shoulder. You turn the phone towards Changbin so he can see the message. "Who the fuck is 'Side Hustle' and why are they texting you this late at night? With a heart emoji, no less?" You almost snarl. Changbin's face betrayed his surprise as he snatched the phone out of your hands, turning it off and turning on you instead. "She's-" "She?!" You whisper-yell, absolutely livid but not wanting to awaken the other members. "Yes, she. She's a client at my side job. Why were you even looking anyways? Do you distrust me so much that you have to check my phone when I'm asleep?" Changbin looked at you with disgust. "Should I? I know for a fact that idols don't have enough time to have two jobs, and even if they did, the company wouldn't let them interact with girls for fear of any dating rumors." You return Changbin's glare with fervor. Why was he lying to you? "So either you're cheating on me, which I'm leaning towards, or you're lying for some inexplicable reason. Which is it?" Changbin huffed in disbelief, running his hands through his hair angrily. "Don't pretend to know about my life." That comment hits hard, especially because most of the time you and Changbin were attached at the hip. "Am I not a part of it?" This time you huff in disbelief when Changbin doesn't answer. As you get your phone and head to the door, you turn back. "For the record, Changbin," You grit out. "Fuck. You." And with that, you slam the door behind you.

Hwang Hyunjin

"Angel, I'm home!" You called to your boyfriend. You set down the groceries and took off your shoes, noticing that your boyfriend hadn't come to greet you yet. "Maybe he's still at work?" Opting to unload the various veggies and fruits later, you made your way to your guys' shared room. "Love? You there?" "Where the fuck have you been?" You hear Hyunjin's voice from behind you. You whip around, unprepared for the agression coming from your normally serene boyfriend. "I stopped at the store to get groceries. Didn't you get my text?" "No, I didn't. Just like you didn't remember about our appointment with JYP's PR team. I hope bell peppers and strawberries were worth not being able to go public." Hyunjin brushed past you, leaving you scrambling for an apology. "Shit, I am so sorry! I got caught up at work and then I just wanted to get home, and it completely slipped my mi-" "Save it." Hyunjin's tone is so cold it sends shivers down your spine. "What's done is done." You know persisting won't help your case, but you try anyway. "No, wait. I'll email the PR team and explain, please. I know how important this meeting was for you, I promise I'll make it up." "You can't." Hyunjin sighs. "You know what my manager said? He said that if you couldn't bother to make the meeting, were you really worth risking my career for?" You swallow the lump in your throat, You can hear the sadness in Hyunjin's voice, the defeatedness that you caused. "And y'know what?" Hyunjin finally looked at you, eyes sad and angry and disappointed all at once. "I think I might agree with him."

[scoutofmymind]

Saw that someone said Luigi’s Reddit had a post where he eluded to a pretty heavy drinking habit in college, which then makes me think about drunk ex!luigi. I’m sorry, but you write angst too well

Unlearn Me — { Luigi x Reader}

Content: SFW, angst, yearning, slight pining, mentions of canon back pain, ex’s reminiscing, heartbreak all over again.

Wc: 4,336 (holy shit)

Notes; Two semesters of carefully crafted distance crumbles at 3AM in the computer lab when your final project implodes hours before the deadline, leaving you with no choice but to seek help from the one person you've been avoiding since the breakup.

Before we continue, I cannot ignore that wildfires continue to ravage Los Angeles, countless families have lost their homes and livelihoods. I urge you to consider supporting those affected through any of these donation links, additionally, Roadogs on Instagram is looking for fosters for mass evacuations of shelter dogs in California.

Foster or donate if you can. xo.

Now, let’s go.

"Mother fucker," you curse, attacking your keyboard with increasingly desperate keystrokes.

Each combination might be the one to salvage this disaster, but deep down you know it's hopeless — your software has corrupted itself into oblivion, taking six months of work with it.

"You can ask for an extension," Emma suggests, her voice carrying the weight of exhaustion that matches your own. Your roommate had burst into the media center still wearing her pink silk pajamas, immediately launching into a nervous tirade about after-hours permissions and potential expulsion risks.

Her constant hovering and worrying grates on your last nerve, and you tell her to leave.

Predictably, she refuses.

"Listen, I'm not just gonna leave you here on your own." She leans across your workspace, her body pressing against your laptop screen until it tilts halfway closed. You freeze, fingers suspended above the keys, terrified of losing what little progress you've made in this digital archaeology expedition. "There's - like - a murderer on campus."

"One girl said she was followed home," you gently remind. Under normal circumstances, Emma's mother-hen routine would be endearing — charming, even. But right now, with your project in shambles and deadline looming, her protective hovering feels suffocating. "Not murdered, Em."

"May as well have been." Emma fixes you with that look — the one that screams why am I the only rational person here? While her nails tap nervously against your desk. "Probably hasn't left her room since. And you know what? Smart girl.”

You scrub your hands over your face, your eyes fixed on the projector's word vomit — an endless stream of error messages and unintelligible code painting the drywall from a tired projector like some twisted modern art piece.

Not exactly what you were going for.

Emma stands mesmerized, "How did you even do this?" She watches the cryptic display crawl across the wall, her eyes tracking each line as if she could decode it. "This reminds me of-" she catches herself, the name hanging unspoken between you. She's learned that lesson the hard way. "This is wild.”

You can't help but notice.

Notice how she almost speaks his name, how these meaningless strings of letters and numbers somehow bridge the gap to memories you've tried so hard to bury — promises whispered under star-sprinkled skies, fingers intertwined beneath the cosmic glow.

Moments that felt eternal then, ephemeral now.

Your gaze drifts to your phone, lying face-down like a surrender.

You blink several times, trying to clear the ghosts from your vision before speaking, your voice emerging barely above a whisper, as if the words themselves might shatter something in the air, "Should I text him?" You ask, offering the idea as if it was something too controversial to be spoken aloud.

Emma shifts her weight, both from exhaustion and the sudden weight of responsibility.

Your night's trajectory now rests in her hands — she who has witnessed every shade of you, from triumph to devastation. Her own memories of him surface: the way he'd raid her ice cream stash only to replace it with a premium pint the next day, how he'd tackle the dish mountain without prompting, those small gestures that made him feel like family.

"He was my favorite boyfriend of yours," she'd told you once, in a moment of wine-honest conversation. "He was a good boy."

A good boy who made a couple mistakes.

But those mistakes had compounded like interest on a debt you never agreed to pay, until the rift between you and Luigi widened into an ocean.

Everything good had been pulled out with the tide — your trust, your shared future — swept away to depths where no light could reach.

"I-" Emma's hand finds the back of her neck, her expression cycling through a slideshow of conflicted emotions. You can see her internal struggle; the desire to crawl into her bed warring with her loyalty to you. And she knows you well enough to realize you'd stay here until sunrise if necessary. "I mean — babe, I love you, but you can't fix this." The admission seems to pain her, as if acknowledging your limitations feels like betrayal. "We aren't techies."

You stare helplessly at your gutted gallery, stripped bare by your own accidental digital vandalism. Your artwork, your portfolio, your future — all reduced to incomprehensible strings of code projected onto an indifferent wall.

"Do you think he'd come?" The question escapes before you can stop it, your eyes magnetized to your phone as if your stare alone could resurrect that old text thread, buried beneath months of careful silence.

"Of course he would."

A soft, defeated whine escapes you as you turn back to glare at your corrupted work, as if you could intimidate it into fixing itself through sheer force of will.

Emma's voice softens, "Hey, he's mature enough to understand you've exhausted your options."

A violent shudder runs through you at the thought of Luigi being your last resort.

You'd managed to exile the visceral memories — the heated arguments that left you gasping for air, the promises that turned to vapor in the morning light.

"Which are?"

Emma looks down at her Pokemon-clad self, then back at you. "Me." She gestures vaguely in your direction, "and you."

The campus sleeps around you, everyone else lost to their dreams or late-night calls home. Just the two of you remain, trapped in this dimly-lit purgatory on a Wednesday night, while error messages mock your existence with their endless scroll.

"Slim pickin's," you mutter as your fingers betray you, finding Luigi's contact with muscle memory that refuses to die.

How many times had you pressed these same digits before?

But this is different.

Different because you haven't spoken since that night in your kitchen, when you stood with your back to him, voice steady despite the trembling in your hands, "So, we aren't going to try to figure this out?" You asked, and he’d responded with some pretentious comparison about your relationship being like corrupted code, fundamentally flawed, destined to fail its own quality test.

The irony isn't lost on you — the very metaphor he used to end things is now the thread that might pull you back into his orbit. Your only connection besides the elaborate dance of avoidance across campus, treating each other's paths like holy ground neither dares to tread.

Opening the thread, you're greeted by your last exchange — your final words to him blazing across the screen in angry blue bubbles: "I want my fucking shit back or I'll make your life a living hell." Such poetry. Your new message hovers in the text box, simpler, desperate in its brevity.

Hey need help with somethin. U up??

You thrust your phone at Emma like it's burning your fingers, watching her eyes widen as they catch on those months-old texts — digital artifacts of your rage that should have been scrubbed before tonight's desperate plea. "Jesus," she whispers, amusement dancing in her expression. "I'd still be licking my wounds if I were hi-"

The familiar buzz cuts through the air, a notification chime that once made your heart leap but now makes it sink.

"What'd he say?" You mumble, gaze fixed on the mocking projection that bathes the room in its sickly digital glow, code continuing its relentless march across the wall.

Emma settles into a chair, hunching over your laptop's makeshift altar. "Said he's at Ruddy's." She squints at a fresh message. "He said 'what do you want?'" She deepens her voice into a cartoonish baritone, making him sound like a caveman discovering text messaging for the first time.

You can't blame him for the cold response — you’d scorched that earth thoroughly.

But a selfish part of you wants to delete the whole exchange, pretend this moment of weakness never happened, go back to the careful choreography of avoiding each other's existence.

But you can't.

The corrupted gallery looming on the wall is a stark reminder that pride is a luxury you can't afford right now.

His icy reception is the natural consequence of your scorched-earth campaign, those venom-laced messages sent in the throes of heartbreak and confusion.

You'd played the role of the woman scorned perfectly, even though you'd written your own tragic script.

"Just send him a picture." You wave listlessly at the wall, where your work continues its digital decomposition, folding in on itself like a dying star. The error messages stretch into an endless serpent of nonsense, each iteration making less sense than the last.

The artificial shutter sound of Emma's photo breaks the silence, followed by the soft swoosh of sending. The wait feels eternal until-

Ding

Emma's attention snaps to your phone resting on her thigh, her eyes widening. "He's typing like he-"

Sorry;m,, I’m fucked uo

Up

I am

fucked up

Emma clicks her tongue and rises, crossing the room to lob your phone into your lap, screen up. "Guess some things don't change." You manage a weak half-grin, memories flooding back unbidden — Luigi stumbling into your dorm in the small hours, wrapped in whiskeys warmth, all soft edges and desperate hands.

"Well, make up your mind." Emma's yawn threatens to unhinge her jaw, arms wrapping around herself like armor. "Are we done here, or are you gonna have him come take a look?"

I’n be there son

I’ll be rherw soo

I’ll be there soon

You stand to wrap your arms around Emma’s shoulders who reluctantly curves her arms upward to squeeze your shoulders. “Go home.” She seems reluctant to listen, staring at your phone screen as if it would take her home itself. “I promise, I’ll be just fine.”

The space between you pulses with that unique warmth reserved for someone who shares your roof, your darkest secrets, and the monthly struggle with Con Edison. "Just don't make any brash decisions."

"Oh, Em." You press a kiss to her forehead. "You think I'm so much cooler than I am."

Emma's laugh follows her as she spins toward the door, collecting pieces of herself like breadcrumbs — the scarf draped over a chair, the coat hung forgotten, the backpack abandoned when the day still held promise.

Each item a marker of how long this digital nightmare has stretched, from sunshine to moonlight.

And as if summoned by cosmic irony, the lab door swings open to reveal Luigi. "Oh - hey, E." The surprise flickers across his face before he schools his features back to neutral.

"Hey, Lu." Her greeting carries the easy familiarity of their old routine, like NPCs in a cozy game exchanging preset dialogue, their paths crossing exactly as programmed.

"You g'na help me with this?"

Emma shakes her head, patting his shoulder as she passes — a gentle handoff. "I did my time." You want to protest, but words fail as you absorb the sight of him, eight months of careful avoidance crumbling in an instant.

"Ahh-" Luigi waves, feigning disappointment through the druken haze. "Need a walk back home?"

Ever the shepherd, guardian of late-night wanderers.

It didn't matter who you were — friend, stranger, ex-lover’s best friend and roommate — his self-appointed mission to ensure everyone's safe return never wavered.

You'd once wondered if it stemmed from some deeper anxiety, his mind unable to rest until every sheep was accounted for in its fold.

Tonight though, the alcohol has mercifully dulled that protective instinct. Emma's potential disappearance into the night ranks lower on his list of concerns than usual, although Emma herself had been the one earlier to warn you of the murderer on campus.

"You still got my location," Emma reminds him — a callback to conversations past, to the day she'd granted Luigi permanent access to her whereabouts, a level of trust you'd wisely withheld.

"Right."

She presses a kiss to her fingers, flashing you a peace sign with the same hand before it briefly lands on Luigi's shoulder. Then she's gone, disappearing into the snow-globe world he'd just stumbled in from. He stands before you now, arms hanging like dead weight, his eyes somehow both wide and narrow.

"Hey," you whisper.

"Hey."

You gesture weakly at the wall where your work writhes in digital agony. "So, uh — remember that time you salvaged Professor Wren’s entire thesis when her drive crashed?"

Luigi's eyes follow your hand, professional interest temporarily overriding the awkwardness. He steps closer, squinting at the corrupted display, "Jesus," he mutters, "what did you do to it?"

"Would you believe me if I said nothing?" The laugh that escapes is more nervous than you'd like. "It just. - it started disintegrating during final checks."

He's already pulling out his laptop, muscle memory from countless late-night tech rescues. The familiarity of it hits you in the chest — how many times had you watched him do this same thing, hunched over his keyboard, bottom lip caught between his teeth in concentration?

"I can try," he says finally, not quite meeting your eyes. "But no promises. When's this due?"

"Tomorrow at nine."

"Of course it is." He drops into the chair beside you, close enough that your elbows almost touch, but enough of a distance to still feel far away. “Okay, walk me through what it's supposed to look like when it's not — uh - whatever this is."

For a moment, Luigi stares at the corrupted display where red pixels bleed and stutter across the wall. His fingers hover over his keyboard, then pause. "Wait. This is your circulatory modeling project? The one you were-“ He cuts himself off, remembering this was before the eight months of silence.

"Yeah." You swallow. "It was working perfectly until an hour ago. Real-time hemodynamics, pressure differentials, vessel elasticity. Everything." Your voice cracks slightly on the last word, feeling more helpless when you verbalize it.

He nods, already typing with uncanny precision despite the slight sway in his posture. "Show me the base code. Did you save any backups?"

"Three. All corrupted." You lean forward, careful not to crowd him as you pull up the mangled files. "It's like something got into the core simulation and just - I dunno - started rewriting them."

"Hm." His eyes scan the screen with that laser focus he somehow maintains no matter how much he drinks, that familiar furrow appearing between his brows. "These values are cascading. One corrupted variable triggering a chain reaction through the whole system." He glances at you, slightly overshooting before correcting. "When's the last time it ran correctly?"

You check your phone. "6:43 PM. I have a screen recording from then."

"Good. That's good." He pulls up a second window, his typing still flawless even as he reaches with his free hand to steady himself against the desk. "We can compare the execution logs, maybe isolate where it started going wrong." His fingers fly across the keys with a precision that seems to mock his clearly inebriated state, and for a moment, it feels like those eight months never happened. "I'm going to need coffee for this." He looks up at you from where he sat, “Or more booze.”

You land on coffee, your feet carrying you down the familiar path to the kitchenette.

The fluorescent lights flicker dimly at this hour, casting strange shadows across the linoleum, the lab's overpriced espresso machine hums to life under your touch, its gentle whirring a counterpoint to the distant sound of Luigi's typing.

Suddenly you're back in that first year, both of you hunched over at 3 AM, him teaching you the proper way to pull a shot: “You're murdering it, stop torturing the beans”, your quiet laughter echoing through empty halls.

"Got it.” His voice carries down the corridor, slurred but triumphant, snapping you back to present.

You return to find him illuminated by screen-glow, his tie loosened and dark hair disheveled. The paper cup lands in front of him — double shot, one packet of raw sugar.

He doesn't stir it, never has.

Instead, he tips the cup back, and you hear that familiar crunch of sugar crystals between his teeth, a sound that used to drive you crazy, until somewhere along the way it became endearing.

Still, the jumbled code taunts you from the screen, though its chaos seems less threatening now. Under Luigi's touch — steady despite the alcohol — your final project is slowly remembering its original shape.

"You should have texted sooner," Luigi murmurs, tilting his head back to collect the last sugar crystals from his cup. The movement exposes his throat, his collar wrinkled where he's been tugging at it all night.

"Well," you say, watching the way his fingers dance across the keys, each stroke precise despite his obvious intoxication, "takes a minute to swallow something as big as my pride."

The corners of his mouth twitch upward, eyes never leaving the screen where broken code is knitting itself back together under his attention.

"Oh," he huffs out a laugh, the sound low and dangerous in the quiet lab, "I've seen you swallow far bigger things before."

It strikes like summer lightning — quick, bright, and leaving the air charged in its wake. The innuendo lands with no real bite, yet you find your jaw slack, a startled laugh shaking loose from your chest.

"Kidding," Luigi says, his eyes flicking from screen to you and back again. There’s a ghost of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, softened by the alcohol but still sharp enough to cut. You wave him back to his work, grateful for the blue glow of monitors that hides your flush. "You kinda set that up perfectly, though."

He squints up at the projection where your broken code still bleeds across the wall, letting out a soft grunt of frustration at some digital roadblock. "Just mean — ya know, you could have caught me two beers deep instead of seven."

You shrug a shoulder, watching as the projection slowly crystallizes into something recognizable. "Seems you work better under such conditions."

The lie tastes metallic.

You both know the truth.

Luigi would have come if he was sober as sunrise or drowning in bourbon. Would have come with broken ribs or pneumonia or his heart barely beating. Would have traced these familiar hallways blind, deaf, or dying — because that's what the two of you do.

Have always done.

You've seen him at rock bottom, curled into himself on cold bathroom tiles at midnight, trembling hands pressed against his mouth as if he could physically hold back the pain that wracked his body. Watched him try to explain to puzzled doctors how someone so young could hurt so constantly, the frustration in his voice when they suggested it was all in his head.

You were there through the trials of medications, the nights when existence itself seemed too heavy to bear.

And you've seen him soar; standing tall in that charcoal suit that made him look older, more polished, shaking hands with tech giants who saw in him what you'd always known was there, his future spreading out before him like a golden road, brilliant and boundless.

Now he sits here, seven drinks deep but coding like he's never been clearer, and you realize that maybe both versions are equally true.

Maybe that's what makes him Luigi — the ability to contain multitudes, to be simultaneously broken and brilliant, wounded and wonderful.

He catches you watching him and raises an eyebrow, the gesture slightly delayed, which means you must have been a bit too obvious. "What?"

"Nothing.”

His fingers pause on the keys, and even through the alcoholic haze, his gaze pins you like a butterfly to cork. "No, really. What?" The words have a slight blur around their edges, but his focus is knife-sharp.

You could deflect again, but there's something about 4 AM and code that glows like dying stars that makes honesty feel less dangerous, perhaps you’re finding comfort in the fact that Luigi is drunk, although you’re stone cold sober.

"Just thinking about that time in the Thompson building bathroom." Your voice comes out softer than intended. "When you couldn't stand up, and I had to convince the janitor you had food poisoning."

He doesn't flinch from the memory like he used to.

Instead, his mouth curves into something caught between a smile and a grimace. "You told him it was from the cafeteria." His fingers resume their dance across the keyboard, but slower now. "Got the whole place investigated by health services."

"Yeah, but got us three days off while they checked fucking everything.” you remind him.

"Got me through that week," he corrects quietly, and for a moment, the mask of that brilliant-drunk-techie slips, showing the man underneath who still remembers what it feels like to be held together by nothing but someone else's faith in you.

Then he blinks, and the vulnerability is gone, replaced by that familiar crooked grin. "Though I maintain the cafeteria deserved the inspection anyway."

The projection flickers, another section of code healing itself under his touch, and you wonder if he knows you'd do it all again.

Every bathroom floor, every late-night crisis, every moment of putting him back together - you'd choose it every time.

"Speaking of which," you venture carefully, watching his hands move across the keyboard. "How's the new treatment working?"

His right shoulder shifts in what might be a shrug, but there's a shadow of a real smile playing at his mouth.

Not the sharp, defensive one he wears like armor, but something softer, more genuine. "Six months post-op and I actually slept through the night last week. First time in -“ he pauses, considering, "Fuck, I don't even remember how long."

The admission hangs in the air between you, weighted with the two years of 2 AM phone calls, of nights spent pacing, of pain medications that never quite touched the core of the problem.

Watching him try to code through hands that wouldn't stop shaking.

"Still hurts sometimes," he adds, almost absently. "But it's different now. More like background noise than a scream." His fingers still on the keyboard, and for a moment he looks almost surprised by his own words. "Guess that's what normal people feel like all the time, huh?"

The question carries an edge of wonder, like someone who's lived in darkness suddenly discovering dawn.

You watch him roll his shoulder — a gesture that used to be followed by a wince but now flows smooth and unconscious — and think about how strange it must be, learning to live without constant pain after it's become part of your identity.

"Though I kind of miss having an excuse to drunk-code at 4 AM" he adds, but you both know it's a lie.

The code blurs on the projection as silence settles between you, charged with something that's been building for ages — through bathroom floors and hospital visits, through triumphs and failures, through pain and healing.

The alcohol has stripped away Luigi’s careful boundaries, leaving raw honesty in their place.

"You know," Luigi says slowly, finally turning from the screen to face you fully, "I never thanked you properly. For all of it."

"You don't need to-"

Your diagram pulses back to life, the holographic heart rotating lazily against the wall.

Its red glow bathes the room in a surreal warmth, catching on the sharp angles of Luigi's face, softening them into something almost dreamlike.

The light flickers across his cheekbones, turns his eyes to amber, makes the whole moment feel suspended between reality and imagination.

"I do." His voice is quiet but firm, steadier than someone seven drinks deep should manage. "Because I've been thinking — now that I can actually think clearly without-“he gestures vaguely at his back, at all the years of pain, "I've been thinking about how you're the only constant. The only person who never-“ He trails off.

You lean a little closer, drawn by the vulnerability in his voice. "Never what?"

"Never saw me as broken." He turns himself toward you, and there's something desperate in his eyes, something the alcohol has finally given him the courage to show. "Never treated me like I needed fixing. Just stayed. Through everything."

Your lips part, but the words catch in your throat. He takes your silence as a sign, turning back to the screen with a sharp exhale that might be resignation or relief — you're not sure which would be worse.

"Lu,” you say softly, and something in your voice makes his fingers still on the keyboard. "Look at me."

He does, slowly, like he's afraid of what he might find.

The neon bathes half his face in crimson, leaving the other half in shadow, and you see the moment his carefully constructed walls start to crumble.

"Time hasn’t changed that much about me.” you say, each word deliberate, heavy with meaning.

His breath catches audibly. You watch the impact of your words ripple across his face — surprise, understanding, and something else, something that makes your heart race against your ribs.

"Hasn’t it?” Luigi is focusing on you now, the reason he really came here now practically completed but pushed aside until further notice. “Eight months is a long time to hold onto -“ he gestures vaguely between you, as if he can’t quite say what it was. Hopeless devotion, the right person, wrong time.

“Not long enough to forget.”

“Forget what?”

“You.”

His breath catches again, a sharp inhale that seems to pull all the oxygen from the room. When he speaks, his voice is rough and ragged, “Maybe that’s the problem.” His gaze drifts down to watch as you lick your lips, and back up again. “Maybe you should have.”

[armpirate]

Better than fiction | Choi San

Bf experience

pairing: Idol!Choi San x fem!reader

w.c.: 4.4k

Warnings: Smut, rough sex, oral sex (female and male receiving), masturbation (female receiving), protected sex, hair pulling, choking, dirty talk, dom!San x sub!reader. (Minors DNI! Refrain from reading if you're not +18, and ignore if you don't like this type of content).

Summary: You never thought what your boyfriend's reaction to you writing fanfic would be like, but you certainly didn't expect him to end up so jealous of himself to end up making your fantases come true

Aprox. time of reading: 19 minutes

MASTERLIST

Your blood stopped running for a few seconds. You could feel the way some parts of your body went numb, only keeping your attention on the live San started not that long ago, and that you decided to hear because his voice just had that calming effect on you. It didn't matter if it was through video call, audio messages, or those lives. You could hear him talking for hours and feel at ease all the time it lasted.

Except that day.

The way he made an understanding sound, followed by a scoff, that reached the deepest side of your brain, had you almost sitting at the edge of your bed, holding your phone with your two hands. The clicking sounds of his keyboard were the only thing that could be heard, while the chat went crazy, trying to distract him from his own curiosity.

There was a thick silence that made you aware of how hard you gulped, moving over the bed, feeling uncomfortable whatever the position it was.

"I see you, guys, are having fun" he teased with a honeyed voice.

That mocking tone, and the chuckle he let out after had you silently screaming, covering your mouth with the palm of your hand.

Even if he didn't know you were part of that small group of people that loved living in delululand, although you were already in your personal fanfic every day with him, you felt exposed, more like you'd never been before. It felt like you were caught doing something wrong, even if San wasn't speaking to you directly.

You didn't know how long you stayed in your bed, laying on your back as you stared at the ceiling. Only thing you were hoping for was that San didn't bring it up the next time you saw each other.

Basically because you were bad at lying, but San was also great at noticing when you lied to him.

You raised your phone to your face after feeling it buzz, biting your lip when you were aware of his name popping up at the top of your screen.

Sannie: Babe, did you watch the live? You didn't comment today...

You could imagine him pouting, with his lips pursed while he gave a lost kitten look to his screen. And he probably would've used his thinner voice if he had said that out loud directly to you.

Usually, you'd always leave a few comments. At first it started because you just liked teasing him, and seeing him getting nervous when your username showed up in the middle of the livestream. But it ended up being something he got used to, to the point of wondering if something happened to you if you didn't do it.

You: I did! But I was busy with work, so I just heard it while doing other things.

Sannie: Oh. Do you want me to go see you tomorrow better, then?

You: Nope, come here! You owe me a lot of cuddles

Sannie: I've only been away for a week...

You: Even a day is too much. Come here when you're done, pleaseeee.

San smiled when he looked at his screen, imagining your squared smile as you tried to convince him to go to your place for cuddles. Not like he needed much to be convinced, just the idea was convincing enough, but it was always cute to see him react like that -mainly because it was something you barely did.

"We're gonna order some food. Do you want anything?" Seonghwa's head peeked through his door.

San shook his head, not even trying to hide his playful smile as he got up from his chair "I'm going to Y/n's, so don't wait for me".

"Who's ever waited for you, any way?" Mingi teased, showing up in the corridor.

"I do" Seonghwa replied, looking back with an obvious expression.

Mingi rolled his eyes "He never leaves the house unless it's to see Y/n. And we know he never sleeps in when he goes to see her".

"Send a text when you get there" Seonghwa asked him, ignoring the boy behind him.

"And tell Y/n we said hi. You're gatekeeping her" Mingi complained, continuing his way to his room.

San simply smiled at that, pleased with the way all the members grew closer to you the longer your relationship went on. It always worried him that his friends and his significant other wouldn't get on well, but with you it was an automatic click.

Could be it was that you had that type of personality that molded into everyone else's easily, finding a bit of your humor and comfort in each one of the members. And while it sometimes made San jealous, deep inside he genuinely appreciated it.

You smiled widely when, after fifteen minutes, San knocked on your door with his arms opening big as soon as you stood in front of him. His arms wrapped around your waist, squeezing you to his body and lifting you a few centimeters in the air before he was moving you back inside, kicking the door with his foot to close it.

"Did you shower?" after digging your nose in his neck, you could recognize the floral scent of his gel, which you loved.

Whenever that smell got into your system, your first reaction was to snuggle to him and hide your face on his chest. It really seemed like he got ready for those cuddles that night.

Not leaving you on the floor, but making you stand on your tiptoes over his feet -only covered with his white socks-, he started walking through the short corridor. "Yup, we had a schedule today. And I didn't want to go around all sweated" he tilted his head. "By the way, the boys say hi".

"It's been a while since I last saw them" you sighed. "Are you gatekeeping them from me?".

San rolled his eyes at that question, confirming that, in fact, you did spend too much time with them all during that year and a half.

"No, I'm gatekeeping you from them" he replied, stealing a peck from you. "Now seriously, we could plan something for the next time you're free" he suggested, stopping in the middle of your living room.

"Sure" you nodded, tapping his biceps so he'd finally let you stand on the floor again. "I'll prepare some snacks, why don't you look for something to watch".

His hands carefully put you back on the floor, while his lips were together as he saw your body disappearing behind the white door to your kitchen. He groaned, slowly taking a seat on the couch, resting his head over the backrest for a few seconds.

When he looked to his left, he could see that small surprise you prepared for him two weeks back, unable to control his thoughts as he remembered the weekend you spent together, barely moving from that corner before he left for the festival.

It was the physical reminiscence of how lucky he was to have you.

Your phone buzzed on the coffee table, having him lifting his head to look at it for a quick second before he went back to the relaxed position.

Until it finally hit him. He forgot his back in the dorm, which meant Seonghwa would be ranting at him for not announcing he arrived well, and for being careless enough to leave the house without the cell.

"Love, can I send a message through your phone? I left mine at the dorm".

"Sure" you mentioned, still places all the gummies and the cookies on a plate. "No, wait-" it was the only thing you were able to say when realization hit you.

Although you ran as fast as you could, it was already too late. Peeking over San's shoulder, you could see that he wasn't in your chats, but scrolling down a really different page. His first idea was to send the text and move on, but the notification at the top caught his attention.

You never hid your fan side. He knew you were part of the fandom as soon as you started dating, even before, so it wasn't anything new for him to hear you using Twitter slang sometimes, and knowing about some things long before he did. But that day there was an app he didn't recognize, with an ask from an anonymous person seemingly freaking out after what happened in the livestream that took place some hours back.

Time to close it all now. San will expose us to the rest of the members and, like that one, several other posts.

"Give it to me" but San moved faster, getting up from the couch to move the phone away from you.

"San x Y/n?" he frowned, scrolling down your page through some of the most recent one-shots you had posted.

He looked over some of the details, smirking when he noticed you chose the pictures where he looked best to top the stories that would come under them.

"For your own sake, stop reading" you asked, finally snitching the phone from his hands and hiding it on your back.

"Since when do you write fanfics?".

"You mean about you, or in general?".

"There's been others?" his eyebrows raised, but you could tell by the way he was smiling that he was just mocking you for your reaction. "Why are you so embarrassed? It's probably cute".

"No, it's not" you assured, scoffing after that confirmation.

"What? You paint me like a douchebag or something? Are they sad stories?" his head tilted to the side, with his smirk slowly dropping at that idea.

"No, they're actually fun for the people that read them" you muttered.

"I won't judge you. Honestly, if this is important for you, I want to know what it is".

Ever since you started dating there was nothing that he liked more than learning things about you, and adding them to his life just to make you happy. If you liked a cake with a certain flavor, he'd always manage to have it for any celebration you two made. If you liked one song in particular, he'd learn it and sign it to you, or add it to his playlist so you'd listen to it when you're together. Every small detail counted for him, and whatever it was you were hiding on your back was no different from all those things.

"They aren't sad stories. Cute neither" you nervously stated.

"Horror stories, then?" he frowned.

You shook his head, handing the phone to him "They're... explicit" you summed up.

San looked confused when he took your phone, clicking over one of the short stories. Seeing the warning in red had him gulping thick "dom!San, choking, spitting, rough sex...", eyeing you up quickly before he looked down at your screen again.

It was weird to read about himself in that context, never thinking he'd end up doing it, and even less because it came from you. When he found out earlier that evening that fans were writing that type of content, he wasn't entirely surprised, but it didn't cross his mind the idea of you being part of that niche. However, there he was, supporting his weight on his lower back -which was laying against the backrest of the thick armchair in front of your couch- while he read through one of the stories.

His heart pumped against his chest, a bit harder with every line he read. Every description, every detail, everything was so realistic yet seemed so unreal at the same time. He could almost touch the sexual tension between the two characters, before the San of the fanfic forced the main character into a rough sloppy kiss that almost made his knees tremble.

He could feel your eyes on him. And the only thing he was hoping for is that it wasn't as evident how much he liked what he was reading, while he hawked when his throat went suddenly dry at the roughness that was represented in the fanfic.

"I can delete it all" you assured him. "I will..."

"Do you like this?" he interrupted you, finally lifting his gaze to yours. "Are you into being treated like that?".

"Well, I don't know" you hesitated, confused by his question. "It's just fiction" you shrugged, stepping towards him.

"No, Y/n. Be honest. Do you think our sex boring?".

Fiction sex was blatantly different from your real sex. On fiction sex you were able to dig on those kinks you didn't know you had, but that had your whole body burning just at the thought of doing them with San. While real sex was just you two, loving each other.

"What? No" you stepped towards him, cupping his face with your hands. "They're just dumb stories I write when I'm bored".

"Or when you're horny" he muttered.

"Look, they're just fantasies, that I didn't even try. I like the idea of them, because I think it'd be hot, but that's it"

"Why didn't you tell me you liked that?"

"Because I don't want you to feel uncomfortable with it".

Despite his looks, San was the most gentle and careful person you had ever met. He'd stop the whole thing if something that he thought would hurt you or bother you happened, and you appreciated that. You loved the way he looked after you in every single aspect of your relationship. That was why you never mentioned the idea of having him spanking you, and even less choking you through sex. It'd be crossing a limit for him, and just like San took care of you when you had sex, you wanted to take care of him.

"So you do want to try it?" he asked, lifting one of his eyebrows.

After licking your lips, and softly pressing them, you ended up nodding shyly, lowering your gaze to your feet.

Something about that story didn't allow him to think straight. Maybe it was the way he could imagine you squirming and twisting with pleasure, or how loud and desperate your moans would sound -when usually they were little whispers you gifted to his ear. Or could be it was the slightest glimpse of jealousy he felt over the San in the fan fiction, who was able to pleasure his girlfriend better than he did.

He didn't give you time to react, holding your wrist before he dragged you to your bedroom. You had no time to process anything that was happening, before he made you turn on your feet and make your lips collide. San was demanding, moving your lips over yours, not giving you any other choice than trying to keep up with his pace as he held your neck with his two hands, slightly letting his fingertips dent on your skin.

A moan burned your throat when his tongue sneakily moved between your lips, meeting yours for a brief second before he was dominating the way they twirled, having your core begging for him in a matter of seconds.

He left you hanging in the middle of a fast breath, turning you around so your back was stuck to his hard chest. His hands traced the curve of your waist, with your knees trembling at the soft touch as his fingers kept moving up, taking with them the thin fabric of your old t-shirt. Once the piece of clothing was gone, his palms covered your exposed breasts, making your back arch almost perfectly.

There was something so strange at being controlled that way, or feeling like you didn't have to worry about anything because San knew perfectly what to do. And you loved it. You could feel the pool in your panties as time went by slowly, and the way your heart raced in your chest when his fingers pinched your nipples before he went back to pressing your tits with his palms.

"Did you ever touch yourself thinking about this, hmm?" his voice sounded unrecognizable. It was harsh and raspy, making its way to your guts and clicking to one part of your brain that almost made you moan the answer.

San didn't know if he wanted to know. He could understand you touching yourself because he was away, but because he wasn't pleasuring you like he should? He couldn't deal with that.

He didn't let you answer. As he saw the way you gulped and took a deep breath to let him know, his hand flew to your covered pussy, sliding his fingers over it until it was completely covered by his palm.

You desperately seeked for his lips, this time starting the sloppy kiss. Trying to keep your balance while standing on your tiptoes, while your head went in circles was suddenly the most difficult task.

Although you knew San had you.

He grinded against you, letting you feel his growing bulge against your ass while his hand slipped inside your panties. He wasn't able to hold back the moan when your wetness coated his fingers as soon as he slid them through your slit, just being able to think of how good his cock would slip in and out of you with barely any effort.

"Can you feel how hard you made me, babe?" the circles on your clit were barely leaving any room for your brain cells to work properly, although you were still able to pick up some of the things he said. "Time for you to do something about it, right?"

Your hips collided against the headboard with every deep thrust he made, making you feel completely trapped between the wall and his body, thinking that probably your pain senses were too fucked by pleasure to be able to feel hurt at the way it kept bouncing against the hard surface.

San enrolled his fingers on your jaw, moving your head up slightly to give your back the perfect curvature, so your pubic bone would come up against the bottom of his cock and giving his thrusts the perfect angle so his tip would end up rubbing against that spot that had you whimpering and grinding against him in a matter of seconds.

"All this time wanting to try this, and you're barely able to take it" he groaned, with a shaky voice due to the power of each one of his movements.

All the times you thought of being in that situation, San was harsh, he was animalistic, just like he was being in that moment. But you didn't count with the extra threat that were his hips. You should've known better than pushing a dancer, mastered in body rolls and hip thrusts, to his limits. He found the best position for him, having you completely caged so his only worry would be pounding in and out of you, concentrating on the killing move of his hips, letting you feel all of him inside of you, but also making your skin clap every time.

You scratched your thighs, having nothing else to your reach as your head was held up "Please" you moaned. You don't know what you were begging for. Pleasure just felt a little bit too much to contain it for any longer, you just wanted it to blow and have it leaving your system.

"Please what?" San forced your body a bit higher, sinking his teeth on your collarbone. "Use full sentences, babe".

"Please, don't stop" you begged, your voice cracked in need.

He wasn't going to stop. And even less after seeing you like that. There was nothing that could make him prouder than seeing you being a mumbling mess for his cock, sure that he was closer to losing himself completely to his most basic instincts just to have you looking like that for the rest of the night.

The echo of the slap made you squirm rather than the itch that his palm left after it, making your pussy instantly clench around him, with your walls closing tight around him as if you didn't want him to leave you empty ever again.

"You take me so fucking good" he hoarsed, circling your swollen clit with two of his fingers.

With his eyes fixed on you the whole time, he was able to tell the exact moment you were going to cum. He saw that spark in your eyes, momentary and fast, but strong enough for him to see it before your eyes went blank with a long moan, that sounded in sync with the way your legs trembled and your body convulsed on his.

He wanted to drink the last drop of your high, moving your neck so your face would be towards him, taking your lips in his with freedom while you blindly followed his moves, weakly sucking on his lower lip.

At that point you could only feel the way San moved on the mattress, dragging your body along with his until the two of you were kneeling in the middle of the bed. Although he tried to let go of that caring side to please you, you could sense it was still there, taking over him for a brief moment as he made you roll on the bed and lie on your back, carefully to not hurt you, and making sure at all times that you were okay.

One of his hands rested on your stomach, caressing the spot between your belly button and your pubes as he waited for you to recover. When you looked up to him, you felt so small... San was big, but that night he felt twice his size. The way he looked at you, brushing his hair back to expose some of the sweat drops that stopped right on his eyebrows, giving you what you had named as his "stage gaze" had your pussy throbbing again.

Your body squirmed when he leaned over, moving his tongue over your clit to steal a whine from you before he sucked on the bundle of nerves.

He swore one day he'd be completely addicted to your taste.

San slipped his full length back again, only warning you with his tip pressing on your entrance before he was stretching you out in that new position. He was completely lost in the way you looked, eyebrows slightly furrowed, lips parted as you weren't able to breath through your nose anymore, and tits bouncing with every thrust he made. Only to go feral when he lowered his eyes a bit more to find his cock covered in your arousal whenever he moved it out, hiding himself in your walls not even a mini second after. Whole shaft was shiny with your juices, with some white thicker cream on the base.

"The mess you made on my cock..." he scoffed, squeezing your flesh. "My girl does love to be treated like a hole meant to be used by me only, hmm?".

At the lack of response from you, other than the way your fists closed on the sheets and some of the whimpers you tried to keep hidden in your mouth by pressing your lips together, San moved his fingers around your throat again. His digits' pressure on your skin tightened with every thrust, giving you one thin line that allowed air to make it to your lungs. His left hand kept you glued to the bed, that squeaked under you a little bit louder as time went by, while his other hand hooked around your knee, keeping it as high and spread as possible.

The eye contact, the grunts, and his cock rubbing deliciously on your walls... All of it was the perfect mix for a ticking bomb in your guts that started a countdown to wipe everything out.

"Are you going to cum again for me?" he teased, recognizing that spark in your eyes again. "Let go, babe. Cum around me".

He combined those words with the twirls the fingers on his right hand were doing on your clit, feeling it throb on his digits before you reached your orgasm with a loud moan, arching your back in a way he thought it would break.

"Come here and make me cum now, love"

You crawled on the mattress to where he was, smirking at him as you took the condom off. He growled over you when your lips wrapped around him, barely giving him any time to get used to the subtle breeze in your room before he was feeling warm again. Your head bombed fast, eager to feel the way his cock twitched against your tongue when you least expected, while your hand matched the movements of your mouth.

San guided the way your head moved, with his fingers grasping on some of the lock of your head to move you a bit faster, while his hips just buckled against your mouth. He just needed one last flick of your tongue on one of his veins, and he was already spilling his seed in your mouth with a deep moan.

You still licked him off for a bit more, cleaning him completely, until there was no trace of everything you had done.

"Spit it here" he hollowed his hand at the height of your lips.

You bit your lower lip, moving your body to be on the same height as he was and confront that confused expression he was giving you.

"I swallowed it" the pride and playfulness in your voice made him smile, and break character almost instantly.

He moved right after you did, placing his hands on your hips while your arms wrapped around his neck.

"Was it better than fiction?" his head tilted as he asked that question.

"It was better than fiction" you admitted, playing with the sweaty locks on his nape. "Did you like it, too?".

San nodded, curving his lips slightly "More than expected, actually".

Before you could smile widely in relief, your boyfriend leaned over to kiss you, gently and caring, moving his lips sweetly over yours to get rid of any drop of his saltiness. "Let's clean ourselves, and let me give you those cuddles you were asking for earlier, alright?".

San helped you move out of bed first, holding your hand carefully so you wouldn't fall, joining in front of you right after. He stopped midway, having you looking at him confused. "Let me tell Seonghwa I arrived well. I forgot to send him the text".

"Go, I'll wait for you in the shower"

As he stepped away from you and turned around, you couldn't help yourself. Your palm smacked against his ass, having him turning at you surprised, giving you an eye smile before he shook his head and made his way to the living room.

It was a good thing he found out about fanfiction after all.

[appleblueberry-pie]

You asked Yan!Miguel requests and I shall deliver

Yan!Miguel with a spider!reader that wasn't bitten by a spider but rather was experimented on (Alchemax still doing shady stuff) and has the same superpowers as Miguel (only that their venom is deadly).

However even after surviving the tragic things their canon indicates, they're a ball of sunshine.

oh yeah. it's all coming together.

MINE, ALLLLL MINE.

Miguel was having mixed feelings. He was coming to a point where it was hard to focus on his important work. It was hard to ignore his anxiety stomachache. Hard to ignore the usual annoying people that just wouldn't leave him alone in his man cave. And it was especially hard to forget about you. It wasn't ever possible to not think about you, but he just couldn't push you to the back of his head for at least two minutes. It was hurting him. It was also hurting his technology he kept destroying(he crushed two keyboards and threw his printer).

Why can't he just figure you out? Since Jess found you in your universe and immediately gave you the green flag to help his team of spider-people, he's found out so many things about you. But every time he is given an answer about one thing, it just digs him into a deeper hole of realization that he really doesn't know you. For starters, there's no legal government information of you anywhere. He's been watching you through his monitor for at least 2 hours a day, and most of your day consists of you beating ass. Like you have no other thing to do in your life, not to mean it in an insulting way.

It's just weird, because almost all spider-people have lives outside of them being spiders. But the more he observes you, your superhero life just reminds him more and more of....himself. You didn't have the obvious genetically-enhanced spider build that usual spiders do. Which was taller and slimmer. You were for sure taller(he did his research, you sprouted by 6 inches in height), but you were more on the muscular, bigger side. And this way, you would benefit more for close combat to take down enemies, instead of almost entirely relying on your webs. Similar to how he was. Another example to further explain, is he was watching you on his monitor while you had a mission to bring another universe's Green Goblin back to their universe. He found that your webs were obviously bio-engineered. Either you made these yourself, or someone made them for you. So, you were physically more powerful than the usual spider, had bio-engineered webs, and the way you fought.....

You had chased down that Green Goblin like he killed your family. It's not an exaggeration. GG was fast, but you were faster. He took multiple jerks around corners and through narrow alleyways, flying to get away from you. But you caught him. Slammed his body into the brick wall, damaging it. He screamed bloody murder to get away from you, and you just kept hitting him. He watched as your fist collided with his face multiple times. And when you finished, he saw you basically unhinge your jaw to show your long, venom-dripping, white fangs. They showed beautifully through the video footage lighting. They had to hurt when they protruded, it had to. But you didn't seem to care about anything in that moment besides finishing off your prey. You sunk your fangs into his neck, piercing them into his flesh as deep as you could, your regular teeth almost breaking into his skin as well. GG's scream of excruciating pain faded into complete silence. Miguel watched the man go limp in you arms. Was he dead? You held him to your body as close as you could to hide your catch from anyone who could've found the both of you. It concerned him so much with how you went about finding him, he had to interrupt you by calling your watch. You seemed to snap out of whatever trance you were in and removed your teeth from the now limp villain.

"Hello?" Your sweet voice rang through his watch and he couldn't find the right words to tell you to just bring the poor guy back to base. When you did, three doctors had to help resuscitate Green Goblin. What the hell did you do? You were asked this multiple times and you just felt more and more guilty when people continued to say it to you. Miguel decided to step in and remove you from the emergency room and just told you to take a few days off. All he could say to you is you deserved it, so you took his word. He immediately turned his monitors back on when you went back home, because it wasn't the end of your continuous mysteries.

When you go home, you clean up and then disappear. This wasn't news to him. But it was confusing because the cameras couldn't catch where you possibly went, even at different angles. It was somewhere in your bathroom. You'd open the shower curtain, step into the shower, close it and then not come out for the next 5 minutes. You did this once every two weeks. Other times when you were gone for the day, he tried to find the secret room you obviously had and...nothing. He couldn't find a damn thing. The wall was solid, it didn't seem like it was hiding anything. He scanned it multiple times with different gizmos he had up his sleeve, but nothing. So, after installing a small robotic fly that he placed into your home, he got lucky and managed to slip into a room hidden behind your shower when you went in at the dead of night. The room was almost entirely dark and all you had in there was countless metal bottles of some sort of a glowing serum and you would inject it into your shoulder. Something very similar to what he does to himself. He was surprised to next week with this information. What made it worse was that right after you injected yourself, you found his fake fly. So now you know someone was watching you. He can only hope you don't find out it was him who implanted it.

But now he was sure. You were just like him. It made him as happy as it made him frustrated because you had him all figured out. You knew he used injections, that he wasn't a natural spider, you probably also knew he loved you to the moon and back. He had a soft spot for you, and it showed so much it was pathetic. You could walk into his cave and call out for him with your siren song, and he would immediately turn off everything and drift your way, sweet nicknames for you sliding off of his tongue like sugar. He only ever wanted to please you. And he felt like you knew this. But even with everything he just found out about you just today, he still seemed in the dark.

All he knew is that you were a happy-go-lucky sweet girl. He didn't know why you did the things you do. Why you inject yourself, and why you are so predatory and ruthless when you basically hunt villains down. So, he asks you.

"Miguel?" He swipes all of his holographic screens away and turns off the rest of his devices, making a 180 to fully face you as you hop onto his platform. The smell of Empanadas wafted up his nose as you give three separate containers to him. "The cafeteria guy said he had extras, so I brought as many as he would let me for you. I know you don't eat much since you're really busy." His heart swells with affection as he coos at your sincere kindness, opening one to take his first bite. "Ohhh, querida, you didn't have to."(My dear)

You watch him place the rest on his desk and he finishes chewing to talk to you. "Thank you......So.....I wanted you to see me so that I can talk to you about how you handle the anomalies in other universes, and maybe even the regular villains in your own universe." You nod understandingly and Miguel had to ignore his increasing heartbeat at your eyes staring up at him.

"I'll be honest with you, amor. When groups are out to capture an anomaly, I usually don't have to monitor them because I have other people to do that for me. But Jessica and I sent you off on your own, knowing how much we can depend on you to carefully capture the anomaly with no troubles, which I know you don't. But, still, I take precautions and monitor you every now and then to make sure if you're alright or if you need any support. But when I see you through the my screens....you are....particularly rough with them. And it's more rough than the usual spider would be." You seem to know what he was talking about and advert your gaze, messing with your suit. (Love.)

"Y/n, you almost killed Green Goblin the other day." You purse your lips and nod in agreement. "Yes, I....."

You hesitate to speak. You didn't want anyone to know about your past. Did he have to know? You guessed so, since you are a part of a really big multiverse-saving company. It was so hard to escape Alchemax when they fucking tortured you every single day for their own pleasures. That stupid serum you can't live without? You stole enough to live for the next 3 years. And that's all you really needed. You took an Alchemax worker's apartment that you found deep in their records, knowing that if you fake your emails and his work, you could live in secret. You didn't want to live on like this forever. You knew that after those three years ended, then they ended. And you would follow.

Your only hope for the rest of your life is to live in secret and to help people as much as you can before you died. The serum just makes you a little.....violent. Just the way that the scientists liked it so that you could run on it for longer than usual. So, here you are. But how are you supposed to explain that to your boss?

"......Y/n?" He softly calls your name, concern etching his face as he reaches out to touch your hand. He almost didn't want to, not knowing how you felt about it. But when his finger very lightly grazed your warm and soft palm, you blinked back to life, grabbing his hand back. A breath entered his lungs and he seemed to be reborn at your sudden advancement to his touch.

".....Yes. I do have something to tell you." His eyebrows scrunch as he nods and pulls up a random chair to sit and wait for you to talk. You told him everything. About how you are an experiment on legs, how you were from Alchemax, and that they were the people that really owned you. And you being a spider-person is just you doing as much as you can for the city you loved so dearly. How you only had three or less years to live with the serums you had hidden in your home. How you literally don't care if you die anytime before that, and you're doing your part in life that doesn't make you as useless as you thought you were.

Miguel watched you say all of this. He watched your face. He watched how you....really didn't care. You were so calm about all of these life threats that you continuously had hovering over your head. You live life every day as if it was your last. What if someone burned your house down? What if Alchemax found you?? What would happen to you then?

"I can help you. Lyla." He almost seemed to work on autopilot. "Bring me documents of the chemical makeup of my own serum for me. While you're at it, turn all of the equipment in Floor 4's laboratory on for me." All of his tech equipment were back on again as he pulled his own serum, meant for next week, out of his drawer. "Miguel...?" "Y/n, can you bring me one of your own serums? I'll be in the lab when you come back. Find me on the fourth floor. Lyla can show you the way."

"Miguel!" He pauses and looks down at you. You shake your head as a shaky smile is brought to your face. "I don't need you to do this for me. I'm fine with the way things are." Miguel scrunches his face and steps towards you. "Qué? Te estás escuchando a ti mismo? Y/n, I don't want you to die. Nobody wants you to die. Y-you need to be here, No entiendes? Do you want to be a spider for the rest of your life, violently killing people the way you were taught? You can be given a regular life. A new life, here with me! You deserve more than just....being a machine. Because you're more than just a weapon. You're human."(What? Are you hearing yourself?)(Don't you understand?)

Miguel went too far with his speech. He said too much. Every word that continued to spill out of his lips dug him into a farther hole. You were crying, but it still didn't help the fact that you now know that he probably is infatuated with you. He tries to save face by saying more, but instead, his hand reaches out to wipe the tears off of your face. It couldn't possibly be real, the way you leaned into his touch. Your wet face touched his palm and he stuttered endlessly. Fuck, he had to get out of here.

"I'm sorry...I didn't mean to say that to you. It was unprofessional." You shake your head and lift your face out of his hands, staring up at him with those glistening eyelashes, your beautiful shiny eyes looking up at him. "No.....I'm glad you told me that. I.....thank you." He looks away bashfully and takes a step back....another....and then another until he walks off out of the cave to go down to the laboratory.

What is he going to do about you? He loves you too much to let you continue doing this horrible job. It was killing you.

Something feels off about this, but I am going to post it anyways because it's been bothering me like a collar tight around my neck all day. Needed this badly.

[ya-killin-me-smalls]

dumb little sanmos ficlet I finished last night

"You're falling asleep."

"Mm? No 'm not."

"I saw your eyes close."

"I was just resting them, man."

"You're driving."

Right. Yes. Very true. But the desert seems to stretch endlessly into pitch-darkness, not a sign of life in sight outside of the car. As boring as it is eerie. Deimos could probably sleep the whole way and as long as he kept his hand still they'd stay going straight just fine.

"Deimos."

His head jerks up. Definitely nodding off that time. "I'm up," he says anyways, then yelps and pulls to the side of his seat when Sanford pinches his side. Hard. "Dude—!"

"No sleeping!" Sanford isn't even looking at him, typing away on his phone, but still reaches a hand over to block Deimos from resting his forehead against the wheel out of frustration. "Look, there's a motel a couple miles after this next exit. We'll spend the night there and head out first thing in the morning."

On any other night, he'd protest. Nothing makes his skin crawl more than a sleazy motel room in the middle of nowhere. With their dingy carpets and their suspicious dark stains and their weird smells and creepy employees. And that's not even mentioning that one time he woke up to a roach crawling across his face. Not his manliest scream.

But still, a used mattress does sound more comfortable than a car accident right about now. He takes the exit.

—————

The lights in this place make him look like he has jaundice.

The guy at the counter also has jaundice.

"You boys just passing through?" he asks, typing almost annoyingly slow on the keyboard in front of him. No one under fifty should type that slow.

"Something like that," Sanford replies, setting a wad of cash on the counter.

The man quirks a brow at him, then at Deimos, and then the other brow rises to join the first. "Uh-huh… Well, lucky for you, we've still got a room available for the night." Sanford slides the cash over, and then the man hands him the key. "Try to keep it down, yeah?"

—————

There isn't any of the normal motel must smell, but the carpet is twice as dingy. More importantly though…

"One bed?"

"One bed."

Deimos whistles lowly. "Just our luck, huh?"

Sanford grunts in the affirmative, dropping his duffle bag by the door. The room is chilly, the heat of the day long gone and the heater under the windowsill either not on or broken entirely. "We've shared the truck bed before. I'd consider this an upgrade."

"Yeah, but that was a truck bed. This is a bed bed."

"And?"

He… doesn't have a follow-up to that point. Not one that'll make any sense, at least. Deimos sets his own bag down. "Think they got hot water?"

"Not even a little bit."

"Guess I'm staying bloody then."

That gets him side-eye from Sanford even with the shades on, the way his brow raises just a little bit and his lips pull into a thin line conveying the look just fine. "You're sleeping on the floor then."

"Aw, c'mon, it ain't even that much blood."

"The entire lower half of your face is red."

Deimos sags, then pouts, and when Sanford only holds his stare he sighs and shuffles off toward the bathroom.

The water isn't warm. It isn't necessarily cold either, a small win, but it definitely isn't warm. Coupled with the cold air in the room though, it might as well be. He gets dressed quickly, cargo pants and a t-shirt to save himself extra steps in the morning, Sanford polite enough not to look too much until he has his pants on. An odd little courtesy considering the situations they've found themselves in before. Sanford has given him mouth-to-mouth more than once and Deimos has had to help hold Sanford's guts in his abdomen on their way to evac. Exposed skin is the least that they've seen of each other.

That fact doesn't change his own hangups about sharing a bed. It's one thing to fight and bleed together, one thing to cram themselves into tight spaces for hours on end to avoid being detected, one thing to spend days at a time together with nothing but the words between them to pass the time. It's an entirely other thing to share each other's warmth for the sake of comfort. The floor is right there. They could sleep in shifts. It's wholly unnecessary to share the bed but Sanford is already halfway under the covers and patting the other side, beckoning Deimos over as he towels off his hair.

"You tell Doc we're gonna be late?" he asks as he slots himself in at the edge.

"Yep. Told him you were passing out like a princess at the wheel." There's no malice in Sanford's voice, light and teasing. The room feels a lot warmer all of a sudden.

"Hilarious." Deimos tosses the towel to the floor, a yawn derailing whatever other insults he'd been planning to throw at Sanford. "Just you watch, we're gonna go home with head lice."

"Better than letting you wrap us around a tree."

"Hey, I happen to be a great sleep-driver."

"There aren't even any trees out here, but you'd find one."

"Nuh-uh."

"Nine dead, twenty-three injured."

It gets a laugh out of Deimos, easing the tension in his shoulders and letting exhaustion drag him down to lay on his crappy pillow.

Scratch that. This is a great pillow. He's stealing this.

He hears Sanford turning off the bedside lamp as his eyes fall shut, sleep eager to take him for the night. Pulling an all-nighter the day before wasn't his greatest decision, far from his worst, but the effects of it are catching up to him quickly despite how cold he is now that he's stopped moving. And he's right on the cusp of sleep, ready to let the darkness pull him in, when Sanford grabs him with an arm around the waist and drags him over to the other side of the mattress. Deimos jolts and yelps, only a little bit undignified, trying to pull back but Sanford snakes both arms around him and Deimos has lost the fight before it's even started.

"Hold still, ya weirdo," Sanford grumbles, pulling the sheets up higher and hooking a leg over Deimos's.

"You could'a just said you wanted to snuggle, sheesh."

"Don't make it weird, D. You're the one that's over there shivering."

"Oh, I'm making it weird!"

"You are! I'm just trying to warm you up, it ain't snuggling."

"It so totally is."

Sanford lets go only long enough to reach behind himself and turn on the lamp, Deimos screwing his eyes shut with a hiss to shield them from the light. "Alright, popsicle, y'know what? I'm cold. Just humor me."

Deimos narrows his eyes, hoping the warmth on his cheeks isn't as visible as it feels, and then reluctantly scoots in closer. "Pretty sure wearing a shirt would fix that for you."

"Nah, makes my nipples chafe."

"Aaaaaand going back to my side—" Deimos tries to pull back but his legs are still very much locked in place.

"I'm kidding!" Sanford teases, or at least it sounds like teasing, grabbing at the front of Deimos's shirt to keep him from moving away any further. "C'mon, what's got you acting all squirrelly?"

"Nothin' just- these places give me the creeps is all."

Sanford stares at him, unconvinced.

Deimos starts to fidget.

"You're such a bad liar."

"I'm… just tired?"

"Nah."

With a sigh, Deimos lets himself be pulled back into Sanford's arms. Sanford's strong, warm arms. "Just… forget it. I'll be good in the morning."

The light goes back out and then calloused fingertips card through the hair on the side of his head and warm lips press just below his hairline. Familiar. Something he wouldn't think twice about anywhere but a shared bed in a dingy motel.

"You know you can talk to me, right?" Sanford's voice sounds tired, a bit exasperated, his fingers tracing lazy patterns into Deimos's scalp that have his brain shutting down despite the thoughts that still try to race.

"Mmmm? Oh… Yeah, no, I know." Deimos tucks his head under Sanford's chin, pressing his cold nose into the crook of his neck. "I'm just tired, honest."

"If you say so… Gnight, D."

"Night."

—————

He's the first up. He's always the first up. Slipping out of the bigger man's hold with practiced motions and leaving the room almost silently.

The sun hasn't made it up over the horizon yet, just enough light in the sky for everything to be a deep blue, the chill from last night still lingering around him but not nearly as cold as it had been. Goosebumps rise up on his skin but the sensation is pleasant compared to his too-hot skin.

They've shared beds before, but that was because they were drunk and it was convenient to crash at each other's dorms instead of sending someone packing in the middle of the night. And sure, they probably cuddled in those instances and woke up tangled in each other's limbs, but they were drunk. Last night had been completely unnecessary, 100% intentional, inexcusable, honest-to-god cuddling. In a bed that's seen more action than Deimos ever will in his lifetime with a man that he'd live and die for in a heartbeat. That kind of cuddling.

Deimos fishes the cigarette pack out of his jeans and slides one of the sticks between his lips, then lights it with his thumb. That first hit of nicotine eases his nerves as he surveys the desert, watching the smoke drift away as he exhales and taking his idiotic thoughts with it.

It doesn't matter. Doesn't mean anything. Means even less when he hears the door behind him creak open and then his reason for breathing hugs him from behind and Sanford's face presses into the top of his head.

"You left me to freeze to death," Sanford mumbles groggily into his hair, and Deimos will pretend that he shivers because of the cold and not the roughness Sanford's voice from sleep.

"Needed a smoke." Deimos takes another long drag from his cigarette, sinking back into Sanford's hold as the man grumbles something that he can't quite make out.

He's never been a morning person, always taking a good half-hour or more to fully wake up. Not that Deimos minds. Not when it gets him featherlight kisses trailed slowly from the back of his ear down the side of his throat.

It doesn't mean anything. Sanford is just cuddly in the mornings. The content sigh that ghosts over his neck still makes him feel warm all over.

"Come back to bed," Sanford whispers, and the next kiss is a lot more deliberate, sloppy but it still drags this quiet, fluttery little whine from his lungs that makes Sanford smile against his skin.

"What happened to leaving first thing?"

"Ten more minutes."

"Doc is gonna be pissed."

"Five more minutes?"

……….Fuck it.

Deimos takes a final drag and then stamps his cigarette out against the railing, letting Sanford pull him back into the room and back to bed.

Back to the bed they shared.

Their bed.

"Mmmm so warm…" Sanford drags him down onto the mattress and buries his face in Deimos's neck, back to those soft little kisses as a hand strokes up and down his abdomen.

Deimos laughs it off, because if he doesn't he's going to make a fool of himself. "One of Nevada's Most Wanted right here, ladies and gents."

Lips migrate upward, dancing along his jawline and chin, just above and right below his mouth before moving to his cheek. Sanford has never kissed him on the lips. Probably never will, because this doesn't mean anything to either of them and it'd be silly to pretend that it does. Deimos turns his head back to snipe a few of his own along Sanford's jaw before a thumb on his chin guides him to lay his head back down.

"Let me," Sanford whispers against his temple, resuming that lazy path across the side of Deimos's face. His forehead, just below his eye, the bridge of his nose, back down to tease around Deimos's lips before returning to his neck.

The covers are pulled up over them and then Sanford tugs him in so their bodies are flush together. Hands slide up under Deimos's shirt and with a parting kiss to the back of his neck, Sanford finally relents and lays down fully.

"I uh… I'm pretty sure five minutes is up, man."

"Nope, it starts now. Had to warm you up first."

"And here I thought you were just happy to see me. Should'a known you were a heat leech," Deimos says dramatically, going to sit up but Sanford's grip is as firm as ever.

The quiet snoring coming from behind him tells him he's stuck.

—————

Five more minutes somehow turned into another hour before they actually hit the road, Sanford taking over on driving for the remainder of the trip.

"I'm telling you, it ain't snuggling if it's for survival."

"San, neither of us were dying."

"You should've seen how bad you were shivering last night. I technically did you a favor if we're being honest here."

"Listen, I ain't complaining. Like, at all. But we snuggled. We are snugglers. Grade-A, USDA-certified snugglers. And that last 'five minutes' was all for you, Casanova."

"You're thinking about it too hard."

"Nuh-uh. You're gonna have to start buying me drinks now. You actively owe me a drink for this morning."

It gets a hearty laugh out of Sanford as he reaches over and hooks his pinkie into Deimos's. "Deal. I want more than five minutes though."

The gesture doesn't mean anything. Sanford's smile shouldn't mean anything. The blush that creeps up Deimos's face isn't allowed to mean anything. "Deal."

[drefear]

Sister's Mister

Summary: Your sister meets Miguel O'Hara, a smart playboy that goes to your college and you so happen to have a crush on. When the two start to date, he begins to act weird towards you.

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4

TW: Drinking, insecurity, family, throw up.

“Where’s my curling iron?” Your sister screamed from the other room, stomping around with a clip in her hair and her dress half-tied. You lounged on your bed as she ran around, both living at home still as you were both still in college. She was 4 years older than you, currently getting her PHD in psychology as you were currently in your third year of your undergraduate. Your major was chemistry , wanting to experiment and become a scientist that worked with enhancement drugs. 

You were 21, while your sister was 25, and you two were very close. Sometimes too close. Same taste in tv shows, shared clothing styles, and sometimes even men… 

But your sister was going on lots of dates, while you were woefully single. The two of you differed there. 

She was always out and about, jumping from man to man, while you stayed home and preferred to be alone. 

The quiet of your bedroom was comforting, just your fingers typing your essay on your keyboard as the fan cooled you down in the middle of the summer. You were taking summer classes to get a head start in your fourth year, wanting to hurry it up and jump into a career. 

“Did you borrow it?” She asked again and you sighed, closing your laptop and putting it on your bed. Getting up, you saw her rushing around and trying to tie the back of her dress. 

“No, I hate curling my hair.” You folded your arms as you leaned on the doorframe and watched her bend down to clasp her heels. 

“Come out with us tonight, I heard that super hot guy in your honors chem class is coming.” She wiggles her brows at you. 

Laughing, you shook your head. “Gianna, I already told you, I have to finish this assignment.” 

We both know you’re almost done with it, so hurry up and then get dressed. Gwen’s picking us up soon.” She threw a navy blue dress at you and you just nodded. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea. 

It was a bad idea. You felt awkward in between all the sweaty, dancing bodies. You hated how close everyone was to you, practically on top of each other as the bass pounded into your ears. You sipped your gin and tonic, and found a seat at the bar, not wanting to constantly be bumped into by the group of other college kids in front of you. 

Gianna danced with her friends, who took you under their wing and tried to get you to be social, but it didn’t work. You stayed at the bar and watched. 

A hand on your shoulder made you turn and look into the chest of the man trying to get your attention. 

“Hey, you’re Gianna’s little sister, right?” 

 Gianna’s little sister.

That’s how you were constantly referred to, living in the shadow of your cool, popular older sister. You never minded before, but for some reason, it bothered you to hear tonight. 

“Yeah, she’s over there.” You pointed and looked back at his face. 

“She was talking to my friend for a while, he’s around here somewhere. I’m Peter, this is Hobie.” He pointed to the guy behind him and you finally absorbed the two men. 

Peter seemed like the normal straight white dude, light brown hair and a 10 o’clock shadow with the smell of axe body spray and a bright, wide smile. Hobie wore chains around his neck and a fishnet tank top with a black shirt underneath, wicks long and pointing in every direction. His piercings were shining in the club lights and the two couldn’t look any more different against each other. 

And here you were, the dress a bit tight on your front your sister’s thin, model-like frame. You had more plush to your thighs and butt than she did, as well as a fuller bust. The spandex fabric held you tight as you bit your bottom lip, shaking both of their hands. Hobie kissed the top of yours and you flustered a bit, Peter laughing. 

“My girlfriend is around here somewhere, and- oh, there’s Miguel.” He pointed and you watched as his eyes widened. “Oh boy…” You heard Peter chuckle as you turned to look at where he’d pointed and saw your sister in the arms of a big, muscular Greek god. You tilted your head and recognized him. 

“Miguel… O’Hara?” You said out loud. She wasn’t just fucking a guy from you chem class, she was fucking the smartest guy in your whole fucking major. 

“Yeah, you know him?” Peter asked and you just sighed, nodding. Unbeknownst to your dear sister, you’d had a massive crush on him since you saw him the first day, and now he had his mouth on her neck as they grinded against each other. 

The oxygen left your lungs as you felt your confidence deflate. Of course it would be him, you thought to yourself quietly and stood up. 

“Dance with me, girlie.” Hobie instructed and pulled you towards the swarm of gyrating people, not giving you much of a choice. You felt his hands fall on your hips as he guided you to the beat, watching your face as you blushed a bit from the close contact and effects of alcohol. “Relax, I got you.” He spoke and looked around, making eye contact with your sister as she smiled at something MIguel whispered in her ear. Your heart sank a little as you watched and Hobie smirked more, “You wanna make ‘em jealous, get closer to me.” Hobie whispered and you gulped, pressing against him as you saw your sister pulling Miguel towards you. You heard your name as you danced with the punk boy. 

“You know Miguel, right? Don’t you two have a class together?” She asked, and you were about to answer, but you didn’t even get a word out as he spoke. 

“Multiple, actually.” He nodded, eyes scanning up and down your body quickly, before smiling back to your sister. The two of them together looked like a famous couple, something you’d see in an ad for abercrombie. Wth his hand around her waist, you felt out of place, like you were interrupting even though they had approached you. Hobie’s hands slipped around you and you blinked back into the conversation. “Enough chatter, I’ve got a lady to seduce, yeah?” Hobie winked at your sister and pecked your cheek, making eye contact with Miguel. Wasn’t he Miguel's friend? Why would he want to make his friend jealous?

Your sister gave you a small thumbs up as Hobie pulled you away and continued to dance with you, watching Miguel stay focused on you over your shoulder. 

“Why did you do that?” You asked and he smiled down at you. 

“Cause ‘m bored, and Miguel needs a swift kick to the head. He’s blind if he can’t see that you’re the best lookin’ girl in the whole club.” Hobie’s words made you turn red and nod, “just have fun and forget him, he’s stupid.” He added and you leaned in closer, dancing with the rocker boy more. 

You left the club without your sister after watching her practically suck Miguel’s face off in a booth at the club, assuming she’d be leaving with him. And you’d been right, after getting an assuring text from her in the morning saying ‘BEST SEX EVER.’

You couldn’t hate your life anymore than you did at that second. 

Class went by as per usual, but instead of shamelessly gawking at the back of Miguel’s head, you tried to stay focused on anything but him. Which was working until you’d been dismissed and soon heard your name. 

Ignoring him, you felt tension in your shoulders. The last thing you’d wanted was to deal with the awkwardness of him asking for your sister’s number or asking about her life, or if you could put in a good word for him, or anything at all basically. You wanted to be left alone. 

Days later, you watched as your sister seemed to have more of a pep in her step, smiling at her phone all the time and seemingly wearing more perfume. She was definitely obsessed with him, but you also knew his reputation, and he was a player, a fuckboy. He slept with most of the sororities on campus and allegedly, even a few teachers. So when you opened your front door to see him holding a bouquet of flowers, wearing a dress shirt and smelling expensive, your jaw dropped. 

“Miggy!” Your sister called from behind you and jumped into his arms. You watched him twirl her around and just sighed, walking away. This had nothing to do with you, you told yourself, and moved into the kitchen to help your parents finish setting up the dining room table. 

“I didn’t know we were having Gianna’s new boyfriend over.” You glanced up to your mom, who just nodded. “Is this the official meet the parents night?” 

“Well, they’ve been seeing each other for a few weeks now, so we thought we should meet him.” Your dad added and you dreaded the world. 

The whole dinner felt as if it were in slow motion, your ears filled with white noise until you heard your father say your name. 

“Hello? Earth to the baby of the group?” He called out and your mom laughed, your eyes snapping up to him. “Miguel said you two have had a few classes together.” 

“Uh, yeah.” You mumbled and ate a forkful of whatever-the-fuck your mother made. Looking around, you saw your sister gazing at her new boyfriend, who was staring at you expectedly. “So?” You looked between him and your father, who continued. 

“So, Miguel said that there was recently a boy interested in you?” He asked and your eyes shot to Miguel, who wore an expression that was unreadable. 

“What? Who?” You jumped around mentally trying to think of someone. 

“Just a rumor that some guy has a crush on you.” He shrugged, as if it was no big deal and you shook your head. 

“I… I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“So you’re not interested in anyone?” Your mom questioned and you just kept your eyes on your plate, afraid to even answer. 

“Miggy, you should set her up with someone.” Your sister interjected and you just glanced up to her in shock, Miguel’s face mimicking your surprise. 

“I don’t know anyone she’d be compatible with.” He said and you frowned. Were you that unattractive in his eyes?

You continued to stab your food as your family talked, the peanut gallery fading to the background as you thought to yourself and wished that you were anywhere else. 

A text from your phone breaks your concentration and you look down to answer, agreeing to join a few friends for some drinks at their house later. What you didn’t see was Miguel’s eyes tracking your movements, watching you as you texted at the dinner table. 

“Honey, don’t be rude, we’re eating together!” Your mom chidded and you snapped your head up, nodding. “Sorry. I’m gonna finish early to get ready, a friend invited me over.” You mumbled quietly and you stood with your plate, leaving the table. 

Twenty minutes later and you were walking to the door as your family sat with MIguel in the living room. 

“Whose house are you going to?” Your sister asked as you grabbed your purse. 

“Just Miles.” You answered and Miguel’s body stiffened. 

“Miles… Morales?” He asked and your parents both glanced to MIguel, who looked upset. 

“Yeah, why?” You frowned in defense. 

“No reason, I’m just surprised that’s the type of person you hang out with.” He brought a beer to his lips, courtesy of your father, and his eyes challenged yours. Your hands balled into fists a bit and you looked angry. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You argued and your sister sighed loudly, putting a hand on MIguel’s thigh to try and de-escalate the situation forming. 

“Miles lived down the street from us for a long time, so they’re close.”

“He’s basically a delinquent.” Miguel said and your parents visibly began to think, which was never a good sign.

“He is not-” You tried to answer, but he continued. 

“He graffitis the walls near my internship, he skips classes, and he’s always stumbling around like he’s high.” Miguel’s words make your blood boil. 

“I’m sorry he’s not super popular or a frat boy, but he’s a good person and he’s smart, and he’s my friend!” You yelled, tears pricking your eyes as you squeezed them shut, then hating the silence that settled within the room. You looked around between everyone’s faces and found Miguel’s, still hard and on the offense. You sniffled and swiped your keys from the little dish in the doorway, looking at him again. “Shouldn’t you be less focused on me and more focused on banging my sister?” You hissed and left as your parents shouted your name in disgust, not even looking back when you slammed the door. You wiped your tears with your sleeve and ran to your car, getting in and driving off as fast as possible. 

The night was a blur, Miles and Gwen feeding you drinks to make you feel better after you told them you got in an argument with your sister’s new snot-nosed boytoy. 

“Who does he even think he is? Big and fuckin’...” You droned on, slurring your words as you laid your head in Gwen’s lap. She pet your hair as Miles drew something in his notebook, probably his girlfriend who was holding you as you drunkenly vented about your secret crush. 

“Mind if I invite some other friends?” Miles asked and Gwen shook her head while you were too distracted to even hear him. 

The door opened twenty minutes later and you saw Hobie walk in with a 12 pack of beer on his shoulder, and that made you smile. “Hobie!” Gwen got up and hugged the skinny-jean wearing boy, who set down the beers and then dapped up Miles. His eyes found you and he gave you a small grin. 

“Looks like you managed to get loose finally.” He handed you another beer and you happily took the bottle, taking a swig as you nodded. “You look absolutely fit.” His eyes took you in as you did a little clumsy twirl, watching another boy follow behind him. He was either Indian or middle eastern, with shaggy black hair and a big, white smile. “This is Pav.” Hobie introduced you two and he hugged you, taking in your outfit. 

“You look so nice, even drunk!” He added and you just laughed, enjoying the little bits of attention you got, not used to being the center of attention. 

Everything moved fast as you pumped music louder and the room became more and more full of people. Before any of you knew it, the entire place was packed and it had become a house party. Heavy music played and you danced wildly, swaying your hips and rolling your body to the beat as Gwen laughed and danced beside you. Pav and Hobie were currently occupying the couch, as Hobie had a girl on his lap and Pav talked excitedly to Miles about something he saw that day. The feeling of freedom coursed through your veins, intertwined with alcohol. It wasn’t like the night at the club, no, you were hammered and it felt great. The feeling was interrupted by vibrating in your pocket, to which you went to find a quiet place to answer the call. 

Stumbling into Miles’s room, you sat down and checked your phone. 

“Hello?” Your sister’s voice came through and you pouted. 

“‘M busy.” You sputtered out. 

“Are you drunk?” 

“...No.” You hesitated, knowing you were an incredibly shitty liar. Especially while you were trashed. 

“Oh my god, I’m coming to get you.” 

“No! ‘M happy!” You yelped, then threw your body down on the bed and stretched out. “I’m staying. Go suck Miguel’s dick or somethin.” You smiled at your funny joke. You were so funny. 

“No, we’re coming to get you, so stay there.” She spoke and before you could answer, she hung up. Sighing, you furrowed your brows and laid there for what only felt like a minute before you stumbled back out of the bedroom, finding the sliding glass door and making your way to the backyard. 

The grass felt good on your bare feet and you plopped yourself into it fully, laying back and spreading out in the greenery. 

“Get up.” The strong, deep voice was fuzzy in your mind and you just smiled, not recognizing it right away. 

“Lay down with me.” You answered and closed your eyes again, fingers playing with the blades of grass by your sides. “Look at the sky with me.” 

“Your eyes are closed.” He answered and you giggled. 

“The stars are so beautiful.” You rambled, and a large hand brushed against your cheek, eyes now opening to see Miguel crouching by your drunk, splayed out body. 

“So are you.” He answered and you felt your stomach tighten, nervousness pulling at your insides as you suddenly couldn’t breathe from butterflies. 

Not butterflies. Throw up.

And then you were hacking and wreching to the side of you into the grass, coughing up your dinner from before and feeling someone hold your hair back. A soft ‘oh my god’ was heard from the back door and soon you heard the hurried clacking of heels. Your sister bent down by Miguel and squeezed one of your hands, worry all over her face. That’s when everything turned black.