#i just want to talk about him for the rest of my life

[leriexoxo]

Unknown Number

Idol! Chan x Stay! Reader

Tags: strangers to something more, voice kink, phone sex, anonymous sexting, slow reveal, idol!Chan is lurking, dirty talk, mystery man AU, smut 18+, blindfolds, unprotected sex, thigh riding, dom chan, praise kink, oral (f receiving) fingering

Word count: 5.4k

Summary: It starts with a text. A no-name number. A bold stranger in the dark. He saw your comment in a chaotic Stay group chat—“those fingers could ruin my life”—and now he won’t leave you alone. But maybe you don’t want him to. Because his texts are flirty, filthy, and just the right kind of fucked up. Because his voice notes make your thighs press together. Because he talks like he already knows what you sound like when you come. And the worst part? His voice sounds dangerously familiar.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

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The first text came at 12:43 AM.

Unknown Number:

hey. you awake?

You didn’t recognize it. No name. No contact photo. Just numbers. But something about the timing—and the boldness—had your curiosity flaring.

You hesitated, thumb hovering. Then answered.

You:

who’s this?

Unknown Number:

just a bored stranger. saw your number in that stay gc. figured you wouldn’t mind the company.

You blinked. That group had been pure chaos, a flood of usernames and selfies and people throwing their numbers around like confetti. You almost forgot you’d joined it in the first place.

You:

wow. bold of you to admit you’re creeping in there like that lol

also… which one were you? i don’t remember you posting anything

A pause.

Then—

Unknown Number:

i didn’t

i like watching more than talking

especially when the girls are that pretty

Your stomach dipped.

Flirty. Shameless. You should’ve blocked him.

Instead, your lips curled.

You:

so what—you just stalked and picked the first girl who looked like she’d be down to text a stranger?

Unknown Number:

no. i picked the one who made that comment about chan’s hands during that encore stage.

you said, “those fingers could ruin my life” and i haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

You froze.

Your heart stuttered. You remembered typing that. The GC had been flying, no way to know who’d even seen it. And now it was echoing back at you from some faceless man in the dark.

You:

you’re a menace.

admit it. you get off on lurking. Chan would be horrified.

Another pause.

Unknown Number:

maybe, but i think he’d understand

You:

oh yeah? why’s that?

Unknown Number:

because if i were him, i’d want to know exactly who says that kind of stuff about me.

especially if she meant it.

Your breath caught.

You:

…and do you?

mean it?

Unknown Number:

every word.

but you tell me—should i be worried you’re the type to flirt with strangers this easily?

You smirked at your screen, heartbeat kicking faster.

You:

maybe i just have a thing for mystery

or maybe i like the idea that some stranger out there is thinking about me when he should be sleeping

Unknown Number:

you should stop saying things like that

You:

why?

Unknown Number:

because now i’m wondering how you sound when you’re out of breath

You stared at the message a beat too long. It’s not even what he said—it’s the way he said it. Like he already knew he could be the one to pull that sound out of you.

You:

that’s a bold thing to say to someone you’ve never met. you don’t even know what i look like

Unknown Number:

don’t need to.

i like your brain first.

your mouth second.

the rest is just a bonus.

Your breath stuttered in your chest. Who was this guy?

You:

you talk like you’ve done this before

seducing strangers through a screen

Unknown Number:

i don’t.

just bored. and maybe a little curious.

You:

curious about what?

Unknown Number:

what kind of girl sends texts like that about chan’s fingers

and whether she texts even filthier things when she’s comfortable

You bit your lip, grinning.

You:

maybe you’ll find out if you don’t scare me off first

Unknown Number:

oh baby, if you scare easy… you wouldn’t have replied to me at all

The way he called you baby shouldn’t have made your stomach flip like it did. It wasn’t even a real person. You didn’t know who was on the other end. And yet—you couldn’t stop.

⸻

Day 3

Unknown Number:

still thinking about the way you said “ruin my life”

i wonder how far you’d really let someone take that

You:

depends on who it is

Unknown Number:

so if it were chan? you’d let him?

You:

you ask a lot of questions for someone hiding behind a fake number

Unknown Number:

maybe i’m just trying to find the perfect way to ruin you myself

Day 6

The texting hadn’t stopped.

It was not constant—but it was regular. Little things. Late-night provocations. Random check-ins. Sometimes he was sweet. Sometimes unhinged. But always flirtatious. Always suggestive. And always reading you too well.

Unknown Number:

you at work?

You:

yeah, bored af… why?

Unknown Number:

just picturing you trying to act normal after everything you said last night

like a good girl pretending she didn’t admit she wanted to be choked

Your fingers paused mid-typing.

You:

you’re twisted

i like it

Unknown Number:

i know you do

you’re just as fucked up as me and i haven’t even told you the worst parts yet

A few seconds of his typing bubble coming and going, before the next text dropped.

Unknown Number:

what’s the dirtiest thing you’ve ever imagined about him?

No warning. No easing into it. Just dropped into your messages like a match on gasoline.

You stared at the screen, thumb hovering. You could’ve played coy. Could’ve brushed it off. But it was late, your inhibitions were low, and this was him—your anonymous stranger, your chaos comfort. The one person who let you say anything without judgement.

So, you gave him the truth.

You:

i think about riding his thigh way too much, like full on grinding in his studio, late at night.

headphones on, shirt off, music playing like nothing’s wrong, but i’m coming on his leg while he pretends to mix tracks

There was silence after that. No typing bubble. Nothing.

For a minute, you wondered if you’d finally gone too far. Made it too real. But then your screen lit up again—except this time, not with a message.

A voice note.

You stared at it.

The little waveform pulsed quietly, like it was waiting. And before you could think twice, you pressed play.

It started with a low breath. Like someone trying to keep their cool and failing.

Then—

“Fuck… you’re gonna kill me.”

The voice was deep. Gravel and heat and something so raw it skated straight down your spine. Familiar. Not too familiar—but something about it made your skin prickle.

“I shouldn’t be imagining it, but now I am,” the voice continued. Rough. Lazy. Wrecked. “You bouncing on my thigh, making those soft little noises you don’t even know you make…”

A pause.

Then a quiet, throaty chuckle.

“…and you expect me to sit still and pretend nothing’s happening? Baby, if you ever climbed on me like that, you wouldn’t be leaving the studio for hours.”

The recording cut off with the sound of a sharp inhale, like he was about to say more—but stopped himself.

Your heart pounded.

It wasn’t just the filth. Wasn’t just the way he said baby like he already owned your body. It was the tone. Something in it that teased the edges of recognition, like a song you couldn’t quite place. Not a perfect match—but a ghost of one. You frowned, replayed the voice in your mind, again and again.

And failed to ignore the stupid, impossible thought that whispered— No. It couldn’t be.

Could it?

You:

that voice

have we met before?

The message stayed unread for a few minutes.

And then—

Unknown Number:

not yet

—

You shouldn’t have replayed the voice note.

But you did.

Over and over. Lying in bed with your knees pulled to your chest, phone pressed to your ear like it held answers. And maybe it did—just not the kind that made sense. Because that voice did something to you. Tugged on a thread you didn’t know was loose.

Low. Deep. That exact kind of rough that spilled into your dreams when you thought about Chan whispering filth behind your ear.

Except… this wasn’t a fantasy anymore.

You’d said his name in front of a stranger. Described yourself melting on Chan’s thigh. And he hadn’t flinched. Hadn’t pulled away.

He’d responded like he’d wanted it. Like he was the one holding your hips down.

And God—that voice.

You tapped open a random behind-the-scenes video. Just to compare. Just to check.

Your breath hitched.

No. No way. Not possible. You were being insane.

Still… your chest felt too tight.

You:

i’m spiraling, don’t mind me

just casually obsessing over that voice note. you sound so familiar it’s driving me crazy

No reply. For hours.

But what you didn’t know—what you couldn’t know—was that while you were busy unraveling, so was he.

Because you’d told him your name once. Offhanded. Way back on Day Two, when he called you baby girl in a text and you laughed, saying—

“you don’t even know me, my guy. it’s [Y/N], by the way.”

And that was all it took.

He went looking. Lurking. He searched through the GC again, found your profile. Clicked your socials.

And then he saw you.

Saw the face behind the dirty little texts. The smile that curled when you teased. The thighs you said you wanted to ride his with. The lips. The eyes. The one bikini pic you posted with zero shame and a caption that said “it’s too hot out” like you didn’t just set his whole body on fire.

He stared at your selfies so long he forgot to breathe.

And when he finally responded— It wasn’t with a text.

It was another voice note.

You saw the waveform and your stomach flipped.

Pressed play.

“Just saw your page.”

His voice came out lower this time. Slower. Like smoke and honey and trouble.

“You’re real pretty, y’know that?”

A pause. You could almost feel him grinning.

“Exactly my type. That mouth of yours would look even better wrapped around my fingers.”

You choked on air.

“If I had you in front of me right now, baby… I’d ruin you. You’d be soaked just from hearing the way I breathe your name.”

Your pulse skipped.

“Should I say it? Should I moan it for you next time?”

Click. It ended there.

You stared at your screen like it had slapped you. Your thighs pressed together on instinct, heat crawling up your neck. He knew now. He’d seen you. And suddenly, it wasn’t just a game anymore.

It felt like a trap.

And you were walking right into it.

You:

what else did you see?

Unknown Number:

enough to want more

every. single. night.

You didn’t respond right away.

You needed time to breathe, time to cool down—except, you didn’t. Not really.

You were already wet before the voice note ended.

Already playing it back in your head like it was your favorite late-night playlist. That voice, so low and thick in your ears. That cocky little pause before he asked if he should moan your name.

You almost said yes.

Almost begged for it.

But instead, you smiled—schemed.

You weren’t stupid. He’d seen your socials. He was definitely stalking now. You had no doubt he’d clocked your Chan obsession.

So you decided to play a little.

Test the limits.

You:

i keep wondering what you’d sound like really moaning my name

like… if i had my mouth on you

would you curse? or say something soft in… korean maybe?

Three dots. Then nothing.

A beat.

Then the voice note came in. You didn’t even hesitate this time.

Click.

“…you’d hear both,” he rasped, already sounding out of breath. “I’d be praising you in English and cursing in Korean. You’d earn every damn syllable.”

Your mouth went dry.

“But you’d have to beg for it,” he added. “On your knees. All needy, telling me exactly what you want. Exactly how deep.”

Click.

Your core throbbed.

Still—you had a goal tonight. And it wasn’t just soaking your panties.

So you pushed further.

You:

you’re so good at dirty talk

you sure you’re not some secret idol who’s had media training or something?

you kinda sound like you know how to use a mic

You smiled as you sent it. Waited.

Unknown Number:

haha! you’re cute

That’s it? No voice note this time. You narrowed your eyes, smirking.

You:

i’m serious though, i listened to one of chan’s old vlives today

he’s got a sexy ass voice, kinda deep like yours when you talk slow. you two could be twins

You watched the “read” receipt pop up instantly.

No response.

You:

wait…you’re not him, right?

imagine

Nothing.

Your phone stayed silent for almost ten whole minutes.

And then it buzzed again—another voice note.

You could already feel the grin spreading across your face as you hit play.

“I’m not him,” the voice crooned, low and slow like warm silk. “But if I was… you think I’d let you get away with saying shit like that without consequences?”

You bit your lip hard. The recording continued.

“You’d be bent over that couch before you finished the sentence, baby. Face down. Ass up. I’d remind you exactly what my voice sounds like when you’re full of me.”

Click.

You didn’t realize your thighs had clenched together until your muscles ached.

And still—you weren’t done.

You:

you’re really good at this

whoever you are

maybe too good, maybe i should be scared

Unknown Number:

then stop teasing or i’ll make you say my name while you come

Your pulse jumped.

And for the first time all night… you wondered if maybe, just maybe, you already had.

⸻

Your legs were already trembling.

You’d been edging yourself for the past ten minutes—hand under the sheets, replaying that voice note like it was a playlist you couldn’t live without. Every time he said baby in that ruined growl, your fingers slipped lower. Every time he whispered what he’d do to you, your breath hitched.

And then you got brave.

Your thumb hovered over the record icon. You didn’t think. You just pressed.

You let the silence hang for a second—just your breathing, soft and needy. You let him feel how real it was.

Then you whispered, voice hushed, drenched in heat:

“Wanna know how I sound when I imagine Chan fucking me?”

Another pause. Then a soft, teasing whimper. Just enough to make his imagination snap.

“I moan his name like it’s the only word I know,” you purred. “I picture him grabbing my throat, whispering dirty things in that deep voice and accent, and I can’t help it. I’m already dripping.”

You let your breath hitch again. Just once. Just enough.

“I imagine him pushing me up against the wall in his studio, whispering ‘good girl’ against my mouth, and I lose it. I come just from his voice.”

Click.

You stared at the screen, heartbeat in your throat. No regrets.

He didn’t answer immediately.

But when he did—oh, God.

It was instant.

Unknown Number:

baby.

Another voice note dropped in seconds later.

You didn’t even brace yourself this time. You wanted to hear him break.

Click.

“You really wanna play that game?” His voice was pure gravel now, thick with restraint. You could hear the tension, the crack in it.

“Do you have any idea what you just did to me?”

You bit your lip.

“I’m not gonna last if you keep saying shit like that. Fuck—you’re dangerous.”

Another pause. A breath. Something almost like a growl.

“You wanna take this further?”

Your breath caught.

“Take a chance on me. Meet me. Let me ruin you for real.”

You blinked, heart hammering now for a different reason.

Then the final blow—

“I’ll tell you my name in person,” he said, voice dropping to a whisper. “But you’ll be screaming it by the end of the night anyway.”

Click.

You stared at your phone, stunned. Soaked. Shaking.

Unknown Number:

yes or no

one word baby, and i’ll tell you where to find me

You didn’t text back. You couldn’t. Your hands were shaking too hard to type. So you hit the call button.

Just like that.

Your thumb hovered for half a second before it connected. And then it rang. Once. Twice.

He picked up.

“Fuck,” he breathed—just that.

And it hit you low.

His voice—real, not filtered through a voice note. It filled your ear like silk-wrapped sin, deep and slick and raw.

“You really called me,” he said, almost laughing under his breath, like he couldn’t believe it either. “God, you sound—”

“Wrecked,” you rasped. “I sound completely wrecked.”

His inhale was sharp. You could barely get words out.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” you whispered. “Your voice—your fucking voice—it’s like every fantasy I’ve ever had about Chan, but worse.”

He choked. “Worse?”

You whimpered softly, dragging your palm across your soaked core, no longer caring if he could hear.

“He ruins me,” you breathed. “In my head, he’s so mean. Doesn’t even give me time to adjust. Just whispers, ‘take it,’ and—”

“Jesus Christ,” he growled.

“—And I do. I take it like a good girl. Like I’m supposed to.”

He was silent. But you could hear his breathing—heavy, desperate. Like his hand was wrapped around himself already.

You swallowed, voice dipping lower. “I imagine riding his thigh and crying when he doesn’t let me come. You think I’m sick for that?”

“…No,” he rasped. “I think I wanna see it.”

You bit your lip hard. “You’d really watch me fuck myself stupid over your voice?”

“I’d hold your hips down,” he said. “Make you say please. Make you scream.”

And you moaned. Right into the speaker.

Soft. Real. Honest.

He gasped—just a little. That sound did something to him. You felt it.

“Say it again,” he whispered. “Say my name.”

“Chan—” It slipped. You didn’t even think.

And he shuddered.

“Fucking hell. Say it again.”

“Chan—” breathy, broken.

“Keep going.”

“Chan, please,” you whimpered. “Please, I need—fuck—I need you inside me, I can’t—”

His voice broke, cracked, fractured in your ear. You still didn’t hear it. You didn’t notice.

Because in your head, this wasn’t real. There was no way your ultimate fantasy, your favorite idol, the man who owned your soul with one smirk on stage—was the stranger breathing ragged into your phone right now.

There was no way Chan could be real. No way he’d call you baby in that exact voice. No way he’d whisper—

“Say yes.”

Your lashes fluttered.

“To what?” you asked, dizzy.

“Say yes,” he repeated. “To seeing me. Let me prove what I’ll do to you.”

You swallowed hard. You wanted it. All of it.

Still clueless. Still soaked. Still talking to the one man you thought was impossible.

“yes.”

⸻

The car ride felt longer than it was.

Your thighs stayed pressed together the whole time, hands fidgeting in your lap. You kept reapplying lip balm even though it was perfect. Kept checking your phone even though he hadn’t messaged again—not since you said yes.

Just one message. “Penthouse” One pin drop location.

No name still. No other clue.

But you went. You had to.

You reached the building—quiet street, upscale high-rise. Your heels clicked softly against polished marble floors as you made your way through the lobby, every step heavier than the last.

Penthouse suite.

Of course.

He had money. You knew that already. The voice, the confidence, the way he said he’d show you what your fantasies felt like in real life—he wasn’t bluffing.

You stopped in front of the door.

Stared.

And then, hand trembling, you raised your knuckles and knocked once.

Silence.

And then—

The door opened. Your heart stopped.

The man standing there was familiar.

Too familiar.

Too—

“���Chan?” you whispered, eyes wide, stomach lurching.

He leaned against the doorframe, black hoodie hanging off one shoulder, hair messy like he’d been running his fingers through it for hours. His chain glinted in the soft hallway light.

One corner of his mouth curved up.

And that voice—that voice that had ruined you all night—slid through your skull like molten sin.

“Surprise, baby.”

You froze.

Mouth parted. Eyes locked on his. Brain not catching up.

You were standing face to face with Bang Chan.

Your idol. Your obsession. Your late-night fantasy.

The man who whispered filth into your ear like it was made for you.

“You’re—” You choked. “No way. There’s no fucking way—”

Chan stepped closer. Just one slow, predatory step.

“You called me Chan when you moaned,” he said, dark eyes locked on your lips. “You knew.”

“I—I thought I was just—I didn’t think—”

He laughed softly, jaw flexing. “But it was always right there in front of you baby”

You backed up a step, but his hand shot out—gripped your waist. Firm. Steady. Possessive.

“I’ve been dying to touch you since the second I saw your profile, Y/N. You think I didn’t notice the way you talk about me online? You practically begged me to ruin you.”

Your knees buckled slightly.

“Now,” he murmured, dragging you inside and shutting the door behind you, “I’m gonna make good on every filthy thing we both said.”

Your back hit the wall.

“But this time,” he whispered, voice all gravel and heat, “you won’t be able to pretend it’s just a fantasy.”

His mouth hovered inches from yours. Pupils blown.

Close enough to feel the heat, to smell the faint trace of his cologne—clean, smoky, dark. Your pulse thudded in your ears, wild and loud. You still couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t breathe.

Chan’s hand slid from your waist to your jaw, slow and steady, like he was testing how much of you he was allowed to own. His thumb grazed your bottom lip, tugged it slightly, eyes never leaving yours.

“Still think this is a dream?”

You shook your head, barely.

“Good,” he whispered. “Because I don’t want you waking up anytime soon.”

You leaned in, lips parted, waiting—begging—for his mouth.

But he smirked. Didn’t kiss you.

Instead, he leaned to your ear, breath hot against your skin, and whispered—

“You thought about me in this hoodie, didn’t you?

Your stomach dropped.

“Imagined me pulling it off, pressing you into my mattress—making you forget your own name.”

You whimpered, thighs clenching together.

“I heard every sound you made earlier,” he murmured. “You didn’t even try to hide how wet you were.”

“Chan—” you whispered, but it cracked.

“Mm. Just like that. Say it again.”

“Chan—”

He groaned.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he muttered, leaning back just enough to look you over. His gaze dragged down your body—slow, heavy, hungry. “Fuck, you’re exactly my type. Pretty little mouth, skin I wanna bite, and thighs begging to be spread.”

You shivered, hands gripping the front of his hoodie.

“Touch me,” you whispered.

“Not yet.”

You blinked. “W-What?”

His mouth was at your neck now, barely brushing your skin. Not kissing. Not biting. Just hovering.

“You already gave me everything over the phone, didn’t you? Your moans. Your voice. Every filthy thing you wanted me to do.”

His voice dropped to a sinful purr.

“So now I wanna watch you beg.”

You gasped.

“You gonna let me see how desperate you get for me? Right here, baby. Against this wall.”

You swallowed hard. Your hands slid down his chest, fingers trembling.

He grabbed your wrists—lightly, but enough to stop you.

“Mm-mm,” he hummed, lips brushing your cheek. “I said beg.”

“Chan, please,” you whimpered, arching your back just slightly, pushing your chest against his. “You don’t know how badly I need you.”

“No,” he said, low and lethal. “I do. And that’s why I’m not giving it to you yet.”

His hand slid up your thigh—almost. Almost.

Then it stopped.

“You think I’m cruel now?” he whispered. “Wait until I’m inside you and still not letting you come.”

You whined—loud.

And he laughed, dark and breathless. “There she is.”

Then finally—finally—he kissed you.

Not soft, Not sweet.

Claiming.

Tongue first. No warning. Hands gripping your hips like he owned them. You barely got a breath in before he pressed you harder into the wall, lips devouring yours like he’d been waiting a lifetime.

You moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed it whole.

And then—he pulled back, chest heaving.

“One more chance to back out, baby,” he said, voice wrecked. “Because after tonight, things are gonna be different.”

“Please—”

He led you down the hallway with his hand on your lower back—no words, no teasing now, just heat radiating off his body like it was built to burn you.

The lights were low, but his room still felt rich. Sleek lines, black sheets, cool-toned walls. And you—blinking at your reflection in the floor-length mirror across from the bed—trying to remember how to breathe.

“Sit,” he said, and you did.

The bed dipped beneath your weight, silk beneath your fingers. He stood in front of you, hoodie still on, eyes dark and patient like a man who already knew how the night would end.

But then—you stilled when you saw what was in his hand.

A blindfold.

You looked up at him, breath catching.

“Trust me?” he asked softly.

You nodded. He stepped closer, brushing hair away from your face before tying the fabric around your eyes. Not too tight. Not uncomfortable. But enough to change everything.

“You don’t need to see me tonight,” he whispered against your cheek. “You’ve heard me. Felt me. Begged for me.”

He guided you backward, hands careful on your shoulders, until you were flat on the bed.

“Tonight,” he whispered, breath ghosting your throat, “you only get sound. And touch. And need.”

You whimpered, arching instinctively, trying to find his mouth, his hands, anything—

But he just laughed. Dark. Low. Almost cruel.

“Desperate already?” he murmured.

“Chan, please—”

“Mm. That’s the one.”

Then his hands—warm, wide—slid down your sides. Slowly. Reverently. But he still hadn’t really touched you.

Until— He moved.

Positioned you without a word. Straddled his thigh between your legs, gripped your waist, and pulled you flush against him.

You gasped—sharp, involuntary.

The muscle flexed beneath you. Solid. Hot. Right where you needed him.

“There,” he whispered. “Didn’t you say you thought about this?”

You nodded frantically, blindfolded and panting.

“Riding my thigh while I whisper all the things I’d do to you?”

“Fuck,” you whimpered, already grinding.

“That’s it, baby. Show me.”

He let you move. Just watched. Let you use him, breath heavy and dirty in your ear as he spoke.

“You’re soaked, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you cried.

“Messing up my pants like a good girl. Gonna leave a stain right there, huh?”

He flexed again.

You whined.

His lips brushed your ear.

“You want my cock already, but I’m making you come just like this. Wanna hear how greedy you sound.”

You moaned—loud, desperate.

“Shh,” he whispered. “Or I’ll stop. We don’t come until I say so.”

“Chan, please—please—”

But he stayed still, hand pressing lightly on your lower back.

“You’ll come when I let you. Not a second before.”

And that broke you.

Your body shook, thighs trembling as he slowed you down, holding you in place.

“You wanna be good for me, baby?” he breathed, lips against your neck. “Take the blindfold off and get on all fours.”

You froze.

He tugged the blindfold free.

You blinked, dazed, ruined.

“Turn around,” he said. “Now.”

And you did.

Hands on the sheets. Ass up. Back arched.

You looked over your shoulder—heart stuttering when you saw him standing there, hoodie off, black tank hugging his chest, chain catching the light.

“You’re gonna take me now,” he growled, stepping closer, voice low and possessive. “Every inch. Every word. Every fantasy.”

“And after that?” you whispered, eyes wide, skin burning.

His smile turned sinful.

“You’ll never think of me as your idol again.”

You felt his body behind you before you heard him move.

A warm palm smoothed over your back, from the dip of your spine to the curve of your ass. Gentle. Reverent. Worshipping. He breathed slow, like he was grounding himself. Like if he wasn’t careful, he’d devour you whole before he even got inside.

“You’re perfect like this,” he murmured. “Fuck, baby. Do you even know what you’re doing to me?”

You tried to answer, but the words melted on your tongue when he leaned down—chest grazing your back, lips brushing your neck.

“You let me hear you. Let me tease you. Let me own your body before I ever saw your face.”

His fingers slid under the waistband of your underwear, dragging slow.

“And now that I have all of you…” He kissed your shoulder. “You’re not leaving my bed until I’ve ruined you.”

You whimpered.

He laughed, breath hot and low.

“Still so shy? After everything you said to me?”

You turned your head, lips parted. “I want it. All of it.”

That broke him.

The sound he made wasn’t human.

He tore your underwear down and off in one swift pull. Fingers gripped your thighs—tight. Spreading them wide. Exposing you completely.

“Fuck me…” he breathed. “So wet. And you haven’t even been touched yet.”

“Chan—”

He dropped to his knees behind you.

And licked a stripe up your center.

You screamed.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled against you. “Sing for me.”

He devoured like a man starved—tongue precise, relentless, cruel. Two fingers slipped inside, curling just right. Your moans turned messy, hips jerking, hands clawing the sheets.

“That spot?” he rasped. “Right there?”

“Yes—yes—please—”

He spanked your ass once, hard.

“Then take it.”

You shattered—body convulsing, legs trembling, gasping his name like a lifeline. But even through your orgasm, he didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. Didn’t let you rest.

“One more,” he ordered. “I want you crying before I even fuck you.”

Your vision blurred. Your thighs trembled. You came again—harder, louder, incoherent.

And then— He pulled away.

You blinked back into the world to see him standing over you, eyes blown black, jaw clenched.

He grabbed your hips, dragged you up and back, and lined himself at your entrance.

“Last chance to run.”

You shook your head, tears on your lashes. “Want you.”

He thrusted in—slow, deep, unrelenting.

You both moaned—his hands squeezing your hips so tight you knew you’d bruise.

“So fucking tight,” he growled. “Like you were made for me.”

You whined, head dropping.

He started slow. Intentional. Torturous.

Then leaned over, mouth at your ear, one hand wrapping around your throat.

“Gonna fuck you so deep you’ll forget your name. Gonna fill you so full you’ll know who you belong to.”

Your moans spiraled into sobs. You were wrecked. Completely gone.

And still—he praised.

“Good girl. Taking me so well. Look at that pretty pussy swallowing me whole. Just for me.”

You lost track of time. Of the room. Of anything but the sound of your bodies slapping together and his voice dragging you through every layer of hell.

Then he flipped you. Straddled you.

Fucked you facing him. Eyes locked. One hand holding your face.

“I wanna see you come again,” he whispered. “Right here. Look at me while I ruin you.”

You nodded, tears spilling, body ready to shatter.

He slammed into you—hard, deep, ruthless.

“Now,” he ordered. “Now.”

And you screamed.

Came harder than you ever had. Back arched. Vision gone. World spinning.

He held you through it—kissed your forehead—whispered filth you couldn’t even process.

Then he followed you—coming with a groan so low and raw it vibrated through your bones.

He collapsed over you, breath tangled in your skin.

You lay there, chest heaving, both of you coated in sweat and bliss and something dangerous.

Then— A kiss to your temple.

—

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was dangerous.

Your bare skin still touched his, tangled in sheets that smelled like sex, sweat, and the kind of risk you weren’t supposed to crave. His fingers traced lazy lines down your spine, like he didn’t want to let go. Like he was still memorizing how you felt stretched around him.

Neither of you spoke.

Because what the fuck was there to say? He wasn’t your friend. He wasn’t just a stranger. He wasn’t even just some faceless number anymore.

He was him.

And he knew exactly who you were now too. You could feel it in the way he looked at you. Like you were something forbidden he couldn’t stop tasting.

You shifted, chest rising and falling against his, still breathless.

“I probably should go,” you murmured.

His hand flattened against your lower back.

“Should you?” he said.

But he didn’t move. Didn’t let go. Didn’t stop you either.

You pulled away slowly. Found your shirt in a messy heap on the floor, sliding it over your head without bothering to fix your hair. Your thighs still ached. The inside of them still sticky. You weren’t sure if you were shaking from pleasure or adrenaline or both.

“Is this the part where I pretend this didn’t happen?” you asked, voice light but not teasing.

He propped himself up on one elbow, eyes dragging across your figure.

“You don’t have to pretend.”

A beat passed.

Then another. And then—

“I probably should’ve stopped this,” he added, quieter this time.

“But you didn’t.”

You turned to face him fully now, shirt barely covering anything, mouth still swollen from the way he kissed you like he wanted to destroy you.

“No,” he said. “I didn’t.”

You stepped toward him, slow.

Deliberate.

He watched you like prey—like the only reason he hadn’t pounced again was because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop the second time.

“I’m not asking for anything,” you said, standing between his knees now. “I know what this is.”

His gaze flicked up.

“What is it?”

Your lips twitched.

“Stupid. Risky. Completely fucking insane.”

He smiled.

And fuck, that smile—you could feel it between your legs.

“But you want more,” he said.

It wasn’t a question.

“I do,” you breathed.

“So do I.”

You swallowed hard.

The air between you practically buzzed.

No confessions. No declarations.

Just need.

And beneath it all, the low, simmering thrill of getting away with something you shouldn’t.

“So what happens now?” you whispered.

His hand slid up your thigh. Not possessive—familiar.

“You wait for me to text you,” he said. “Then you come back. Let me fuck that fantasy out of you again.”

Your breath hitched.

“And if I don’t?”

He smirked.

“Then I’ll send you a reminder.”

His fingers dipped between your legs through your shirt, slow and cruel, and you nearly collapsed right there.

“I’ll see you again,” he added, voice rough against your throat now. “You know I will.”

You kissed him. Hard. Brief. Addictive.

Then slipped from his grip like a storm cloud—messy, dark, full of promise.

You didn’t say goodbye. You didn’t need to.

The second the door shut behind you, your phone lit up.

Unknown Number:

Next time, I want you riding my face before you even say hi.

Your smile was sinful. And your reply came fast.

You:

Next time’s too far away.

-~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: ‘Unknown number’ portrays one of my most vivid imaginations about how i wanna meet Chan 😩 we’re all delulu so dont look at me like that! But yeah, Chan is always lurking? Well i hope he lurks and finds this fic too 😏😏❤️❤️

Taglist: @tsunderelino @innieandsungielover @inlovewithstraykids @reignessance @jeonismm @sttnficrecs @herejusttemporary @krssliu @kenia4 @miilquetoast @thackery-blinks @leeminho-hall @suga-is-bae @butterflydemons @inejghafawifesblog @malunar28replies @minchanlimbo @mal-lunar-28 @breakmeofftbr @itvenorica124 @slut4junho @deepblueocean97 @thequibbie @yaorzu-blog @imagine-all-the-imagines @just-bria @mischievousleeknow @universeyuto @ifyxu @melanctton @thelostprincessofasgard @binniebb @sillylittlecat1 @darkwitchoferie @m-325 @headfirstfortoro @imseungminsgf @ihrtlix @vernorica123 @hwangjoanna @swordswallower2000 @niki007 @yxna-bliss @firelordtsuki @justwonder113 @mbioooo0000

[humanjarvis]

piece of you

synopsis: with his good looks, talent, and intellect, caleb is the aerospace academy’s golden boy. but he was yours first, and he’ll stay that way.

tags: possessive clingy spoiled reader manipulates caleb, college party, reader handles their jealousy in an unhinged way, crocodile tears, caleb is attentive and sweet and unsuspecting, inspired by “piece of you” by shawn mendes

word count: 1.3k

a/n: i’ve been holding onto this mental music video for years and now i finally get to bring it to life :3 was originally going to write this from his perspective but i was like wait a second. he's the "you" that everybody wants a piece of

Beer, music, and sweat. The typical college party.

To celebrate the end of the semester, one of the student groups at Skyhaven’s Aerospace Academy had rented out a club for the night. And Caleb, ever the giver, had thoughtfully invited you to tag along.

A chance to visit him, to have fun together, to make sure everyone around him kept their hands to themselves—who were you to refuse?

There was only one problem: he was running uncharacteristically late, held up by a final flight assessment that’d been postponed due to weather. Which meant that you were here alone.

His friends, Gideon and Patrick, had spotted you and called you over, but while they drone on about school and flit watchful eyes at you from time to time, it seems more like they’re babysitting. You’re sure he put them up to it.

“Professor docked me on the last turn. I nailed it over and over in practice, but I totally choked on the real thing—couldn’t get it tight enough.”

“Same, man. I honestly think there was something wrong with the test aircraft. It’s so old, all the controls seemed laggy.”

It’s nice that they like planes. So nice. But you get enough of that sort of talk from your star pilot already. Where is he? you sigh in frustration as you unlock your phone yet again. 

Lucky for him, it chimes just before you can send a stream of angry faces.

special agent apple: Just pulled up :D I’m on my way.

Moments later, a beam of moonlight flickers by as the doors slide open. And when Caleb steps through, nodding casually at the bouncers, everyone’s chatter fizzles out into a hush. 

All eyes are on him. Because Caleb, still in his flight uniform, looks good.

Like, even better than normal.

With his unzipped jacket, windswept hair, and the leftover adrenaline boosting his confidence, he’s a fantasy come to life. And as the guests watch him like he hung the stars in the sky, you realize you’re not the only one who’s daydreaming. 

Neutral violet eyes scan the crowd and light up when they meet yours. Brushing off the people clamoring for his attention, including a disgruntled student body president, Caleb heads straight toward you.

“Sorry I’m late, pip-squeak,” he greets as he leans down to ruffle your hair. “Aced the flight after the storm passed, though. Everything alright here?” he asks, squinting at his gossiping friends behind you.

“Yes,” you huff, folding your arms over your chest. “You have some world-class babysitters. You should give them a raise.”

Caleb’s eyes twinkle. “I should, huh? Maybe it’s not that they did a good job, but that someone was on their best behavior while they were waitin’ for me.”

“You wish. I have a list of crimes to commit tonight. I was just saving them for when you got here so I could blame it all on you.”

“Oh? You tryin’ to get me banned, pip-squeak?” he chuckles. “I guess it would be my fault for inviting you. But if I’m guilty, then you’re my accomplice. We’ll get kicked out together.” 

“Whatever,” you sigh, rolling your eyes in pretend annoyance. The air feels lighter, now that he’s here. “How was the rest of your—”

“Hey, Caleb!” a deep voice interrupts. Trying to find its owner, your eyes land on Caleb’s basketball friends, all huddled at a table in the corner of the room. When he spots them, he waves briefly before turning back to you. “Just a sec,” he says, ruffling your hair again. “I’ll be right back. Keep yourself out of trouble, okay?”

***

Ten minutes. Ten whole minutes.

You could be obnoxious at times. Childish, demanding. Spoiled.

But at no point, under any circumstance, should Caleb spend ten minutes away from you when you’re in the same room. 

The guys on his team are talking his ear off, and he’s letting them! Joining! As if you didn’t fly all the way to Skyhaven just to see him. 

You’re already glaring at him so hard you’re surprised you haven’t gotten heat vision yet. But as some tall brunette—the sports writer for the student newspaper, you recall—saunters over to him, you decide those powers would really come in handy right now.

She enters the conversation with an ease that makes your jaw clench.

And as she rests a coy hand dangerously close to Caleb’s dog tag, laughing at some dumb joke he should be telling you, the intermittent twitch in your eye becomes constant.

This won’t do. 

Your bloodshot eyes are nearly unrecognizable in the chipped bathroom mirror.

You had to be thorough tonight. Since you were kids, Caleb had taken care of you when you were sick—meaning he’d seen your attempts to fake sickness and knew your tells like the back of his hand. One overdramatic sniffle, one exaggerated groan, and he’d know something was off. 

In the fifteen minutes since you’d been holed up in the club’s bathroom, you’d smudged your makeup, mussed your hair, coughed until your voice was hoarse, and disheveled your outfit. Now, only the finishing touch was left. Recalling the ending of a sad romance you’d watched last week—the husband never remembered his poor wife after the accident—you shut your eyes for several seconds, and the tears roll down your cheeks like raindrops.

Perfect.

Pressing one hand to your temple and the other to your stomach, you stumble out of the bathroom in feigned dizziness, a pout on your face as you search through the crowd. 

Caleb is still with his teammates, chatting casually with the sports writer, but the way his eyes frantically scan the room betrays his nerves. Once his panicked gaze finds you hobbling toward him, he immediately rushes forward, wrapping an arm around you and cradling your head. “What’s wrong? What happened? I was keepin’ an eye on you, but I looked away for one second and you were gone.”

“Hurts,” you mumble, slumping into his arms and clinging to his jacket. “Think I drank something bad.” If plain ice water counts.

Caleb’s face darkens for a split second before he masks it with a soft frown. Previous conversation—and conversation partner—forgotten, he lifts you effortlessly and carries you through the sea of students. 

They part for him with the urgency of subjects making way for their king. And as your body jostles from the force of his hurried steps, you know you made the right decision tonight.

Caleb didn’t need that kind of admiration. Not from anyone but you.

Thanks to the path cleared for him, Caleb reaches the exit in seconds. And as you lie there limp in his arms, about to get your way once again, a boldness overtakes you. Smugly, you raise your head to lock eyes with the pouting sports writer, throwing her a shameless wink that Caleb would never think you capable of. Not when you were in dire need of his care. 

Her mouth dropping open in outrage is the last thing you see before the doors slide closed behind you. 

Satisfied, you nuzzle into Caleb’s neck as he carries you to his car and buckles you into the passenger seat. 

“You did the right thing, findin’ me right away,” he murmurs. “Just a few more minutes, and I'll get some medicine for you. I'll take care of you, just like I did back then.”

“Thank you,” you mumble feebly. “I didn't mean to ruin your night. I just don’t know what happened,” you whimper, using his short trip to the driver’s side to force fresh tears into your eyes.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he says firmly, gaze fixed on yours as he switches on the ignition. “How could you have known you’d get sick? It’s not like you planned it.”

“I guess,” you sniffle, hiding your smile with your shirtsleeve. “Still, though, I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, pip-squeak. Now, let’s get you home.”

As his doting smile gives you butterflies, you can see why people like him so much. But unfortunately for them, you like him more.

[talaok]

How it was

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: After Abby's attempt at Joel's life, he's in the hospital, and while you try to navigate through the difficult feelings having almost lost him bring up, his mind seems to be on a much different, inappropriate, thing.

Warnings: talk of Joel almost dying, mentions of blood. Smut| oral sex (m receiving), attempt at fingering (lol), talk of f receiving oral, and Joel's dirty mouth.

a/n: i haven't watched the new episode yet bc im tired of crying but what i can tell you for sure is that did not happen, my baby is fine and ellie has never been happier.

"Well good mornin' to me"

You were bent over the armchair tidying what had transformed into your bed for the past ten days when you heard him.

His raspy morning voice had you turning around with a smile.

You let go of the blanket in your hand as you walked closer to his bed.

The rising sun was filtering through the windows of the hospital, illuminating his upper body with a golden light.

His face was still bruised and swollen and they hadn't yet taken his stitches out.

A bittersweet feeling filled your heart every time you looked at him, every time he winced as he sat up, every time you watched him struggle to walk for more than ten steps... it hurt, and yet it filled you with joy.

He was alive- he'd come so very close, the closest he'd ever come to the end of it all, and he had survived- he was still here, with you.

"Good morning" you beamed, taking his hand in yours as you sat on his bed "How're you feeling?"

He smirked, but you felt him squeeze your hand tenderly "Would feel a lot better if you turned around and showed me that view again"

You could only roll your eyes, chuckling softly.

"Really baby, you feeling any pain? You need something?"

His lips formed a soft small smile as he brought your hand to his mouth to leave a kiss on it.

"'M great babygirl, dontcha worry"

You very much doubted he was great, but you nodded nonetheless.

He never wanted you to worry, which was silly, because there was nothing else you did these days besides worrying.

"Now c'mon, give me some sugar"

"Joel" you protested immediately "I don't wanna hurt you, let's at least wait to see what the nurse says about the stitches"

You talked as if your protests had ever been anything but futile, as if the moment he gave you those sweet puppy eyes and his honeyed voice called your name you weren't already leaning closer.

"I don't care if it kills me darlin', just give me a kiss"

You stopped dead in your tracks, your mouth an inch from his, your breathing one with his.

"don't joke about that"

You knew it was just a stupid joke. But nothing was really a joke anymore, not since you witnessed him being carried into Jackson unconscious, his bloody face beaten to a pulp, his body so close to being lifeless... you knew that image would haunt you for the rest of your life.

"'m sorry, doll" he apologized, his eyes looking into yours with all the care and love inside him "'m here" he promised, squeezing your hand.

You closed your eyes for a moment, holding back the tears threatening to spill.

"Don't scare me like that ever again"

Your tone was serious, matter of factly, because it all was true. You knew, with terrifying certainty, that if anything like that were to ever happen again, you wouldn't survive it.

"I won't" he murmured, your hand in his the only thing grounding you "I promise you, darlin'"

There were so many more things to say, so many things you had to talk about, so many feelings, fears, and hopes bubbling inside you, and yet all you could do at that very moment was press your lips to his, kissing the man you'd feared losing forever, just to lose yourself in him.

The kiss was sweet, soft, tender even.

You didn't wanna hurt him, his lips were still cut and his cheeks were still bruised.

But despite it all, the feeling of kissing him was exactly the same. If there was one thing that hadn't changed, it was the way he made everything else disappear, every hurt, scare, and sadness dissipated into thin air when his lips were on yours- when his stubble grazed your face, his hands held you, his scent hugged you tight...

It always became just you and him.

And then Joel groaned in pleasure, and in what you knew from experience to be frustration.

Your mouths were still connected, just as your hands, only his tongue was now sloppily tasting you deeper, as his other hand, his injured, tired hand, found your thigh, slowly traveling up and up until two of his fingers infiltrated between your thighs, rubbing your cunt through your jeans.

You couldn't help but huff a laugh.

There he was, bedridden and barely alive, and he was still trying to get in your pants... quite literally.

"Joel" you chuckled.

He didn't answer, instead, he only compelled his head to lean forward to deepen your kiss as his hands started fighting with the button holding your jeans together.

The angle was uncomfortable and he was very clearly struggling, but you just sighed into his mouth, silencing your amusement.

It took about a full minute for him to unbutton your pants, but once he finally did, he slid two of his fingers beneath the fabric as quickly as he could, which wasn't a lot given the position.

You obeyed his silent command to spread your legs, but even as his fingers reached your clothed slit, he couldn't do much more than try to caress your pussy.

"Baby" you murmured with a smile as he desperately tried to pleasure you "do you really think now's the time?"

"yeah," he breathed without missing a beat.

Just then his fingers drew higher and came in contact with your clit, making you stifle a soft moan.

But the jeans were too damn tight, and he really had no space to work with.

"take 'em off"

You couldn't help but grin.

He had not changed. Not one bit.

"Joel I can't exactly take my pants off in here right now"

He groaned, his big brown eyes pleading you.

"why not?"

You laughed as you took his wrist in your hand and started leading his fingers off of you, to which he protested with a frustrated noise deep in his chest.

"Because baby... not only is the door open" you said, glancing at it " but anyone could come in at any moment"

He groaned, his hand on your thigh now.

"That never stopped us before"

He earned himself a pointed glare with that one.

You weren't gonna be caught pantsless as your barely alive husband fingered you. No way in hell.

"Then put a sock on the handle or somethin'"

An amused snort left you at that.

"This is hospital baby, not a frathouse"

Those deep brown, expressive eyes of his were completely shadowed with lust- the man was desperate.

Ten days of no sex and he was already looking like a deprived, starved man... not to mention the fact that he had begun to touch you inappropriately on day two.

He almost died, and instead of wishing to watch the sun rise again or listen to birds chirp in the morning, all the man seemed to think of was pussy... yours specifically.

"please sugar"

Goddamn, those damned puppy eyes.

Those two words were all you needed before you got up and started towards the door.

You heard him groan behind you.

"You're gonna leave your man layin' here blueballed?"

You laughed softly as you closed the door, hoping to god that the nurses would get the hint and not come in.

You didn't answer, you just walked back to him, watching his eyes sparkle with excitement once you took the blanket off of him.

How the man still looked hot in a hospital gown was something that needed to be studied.

His left leg, where he'd been shot, was bandaged completely, while the naked right one showed off his hairy thighs, which made warmth spread low in your belly... yeah maybe you'd missed sex too.

Silently, your hand went to the skin that was covered by the very hem of his gown, slowly trailing up and up and up until you cupped his hardening manhood through his boxers.

"fuck" he breathed, struggling to prop himself further up on the bed to get a better view.

You raised your eyebrow, shooting him a look- the last thing you wanted was for him to hurt himself.

"You've got to listen to hear if anyone's coming and warn me if that's the case, ok?"

He nodded mindlessly, his sole focus on your hand stroking his dick.

"yeah- sure" he murmured, urgency and need straining his voice.

Yeah, you were fucked.

Nonetheless, you hiked his gown up and pulled his underwear down- his cock was hard as a rock and you hadn't even done anything more than put your hand on it.

You bent over, looking to the side at him as you slowly, oh so slowly, started kissing his tip.

He twitched in your hand as your tongue darted out to kitty lick him, precum leaking from him just in time for you to taste it.

You were looking at him with those godforsaken sexy eyes you'd get as you finally wrapped your mouth around him, and Joel... Joel was in another universe already.

He groaned, shifting his hips up with a painful grunt as you hummed around him, starting to bob your head as you fit more and more of him inside your mouth.

"Fuck me-" he couldn't help but moan "fuck that feels good darlin'"

He strained his neck as his head fell back against the cushions, his eyes shutting close as his tip hit the back of your throat, making you gag.

He was fisting the blanket so hard his knuckles were white as chalk, and his breathing was so erratic that he was half sure the doctors would run in at any moment because the monitor would pick up him having a heart attack.

"Jesus Christ" he groaned.

Your mouth felt better than anything on this earth at the moment. You were sucking him so tight and god but you had him so deep inside you.

"Just like that" he breathed, watching your eyes water as you forced almost all of him down your throat.

It had been four years and you still couldn't get all of him in- at this point you'd given up trying- He was just too damn big.

"so good for me sweetheart" he grunted, observing his cock go in and out of you "Such a good girl-fuck"

Your hand had found his balls, massaging them tenderly- which meant Joel was pretty much done for.

"Goddamnit-- I'm gonna- I-"

He erupted, filling your mouth with his spent before he could even finish the sentence- and you were more than happy to swallow it all up.

He was breathing heavily, watching you with half-lidded eyes as you smiled up at him, before tucking him back in his boxers and putting the blanket back on top of him.

All sounds from outside suddenly filled the room again, reminding you of where you were... and what you'd just done.

"What did I do to deserve you?" he asked, smiling as you reached his side again.

"beats me" you teased, leaving a quick kiss on his lips.

He groaned from deep in his chest, his hand coming up to stroke your cheek.

"We still need to take care 'f ya darlin'"

"no, we don't" you immediately shook your head.

A side of his lips twisted into a smirk as he got an idea.

You didn't wanna take off your pants, and it's not like he could much to change position given his state, so that meant only one thing...

"Sit on my face"

And yes that idea made you hornier than you already fucking were, but unlike your husband, you still had some sense of decency left in you.

"I'm scared to hurt you when I kiss you and you think I'm gonna sit on your face?"

He looked at you for a moment, trying to figure out if there was any way he could convince you- unfortunately, the results came back negative.

"A man can dream" he sighed as he guided you down for another kiss.

"Let me get a taste at least"

Your lips parted in stunner- he really was desperate today.

"Jesus baby" you huffed, your mouth betraying you with a smile "H-how am I even supposed to do that, you really shouldn't force your hands to struggle too much, it could be bad for-"

His eyes sparked with mischief as he murmured "There ain't nothing wrong with yours though, ain't that right sugar?"

Heat crept up your face as you understood, but seeing the unadulterated need in his iris, the strain in his voice as he whispered 'Just a taste'... in seconds your own hand was in your panties.

"This is dirty..." you murmured, eyeing the door as your fingers delved between your folds, gathering up your slick.

"we've done worse" he breathed, his eyes only on what was happening beneath your jeans.

The worst part was that you actually had.

You swallowed thickly as you pulled your hand out of your pants, guiding your glistening fingers to Joel's mouth.

He wasted no time opening his lips, sucking greedily on your digits, a groan rumbling from deep in his throat at the taste.

You bit your lip, watching the scene unfold as you pressed your thighs together to relieve some of the burning pressure.

He would have probably gone on for god knows how long if you hadn't pulled your fingers out of his mouth.

His cock was hard again and he was goddamn tired of being in this hospital bed.

He wanted to go back to his old life. To his house, his wife, his daughter.

He wanted to get back to waking you up in the morning with his tongue between your thighs- not... this.

So he brought your head down, guiding you for yet another kiss that overflowed with all the hopes and dreams he had about it all going back to how it was.

"fuck me-" he groaned in between desperate kisses "I miss our life- I miss... shit babygirl, I your pussy"

You laughed softly into his mouth before leaning away, a devious spark in your eyes.

"Tell you what...I'll wear a skirt tomorrow" you murmured, ghosting his lips "and I think the weather might be a bit too hot for panties"

The groan he let out at that caused a nurse to worriedly rush in.

[dior-luxury]

If you dont mind, i will love to request for the first year students (minus Ortho cuz he is the baby™ and we respect that) with a s/o that tells them that they love them out of nowhere and at random times

Like, both can be just hanging out or even studying together and s/o suddently just look at them with a cute smile and tells them that they love them

Please :3

S/O Tells Them They Love Them Out Of Nowhere

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . fluff/slight comedy - gn!reader .

- [𝐜𝐡.] first years

- [𝐩:𝐬] Romantic Confessions . Mild Language . Blushing/Flustered Characters . Soft Moments/Slice of Life . Unprompted “I love you” Confessions . Emotional Vulnerability . Minor PDA (Kisses on cheek/forehead/lips mentioned) . Heartwarming Overload/Tooth-Rotting Fluff . Sebek Volume Warning (Sebek yells. A lot.)

Note: This request is so cute!! Thank you so much for requesting this anon—now I'm in love with this prompt 😭Honestly, I loved how this turned out (Sebek made me laugh, Lol), and I 100% am going to be making more parts for this!

Ace Trappola

It had started off as an ordinary afternoon—one of those chill days where the sun peeked lazily through the windows of the Heartslabyul common room, casting a warm glow over the floor. Ace was sprawled out across your bed with his arms tucked behind his head, flipping through a deck of cards he had pulled out for fun, while you sat beside him with a book open on your lap, though your attention had been drifting away from the words for a while now.

He was talking about something silly—probably poking fun at Cater’s latest selfie spree or mocking Riddle’s latest ���unbirthday party” decorations. His voice had that playful, teasing lilt that always made your lips curl into a smile. You glanced over at him, watching the way his brows danced with amusement, the corners of his lips twitching as if even he couldn’t fully contain his own jokes.

And it just hit you. Like a wave of warmth crashing into your chest.

“I love you,” you said softly, your voice barely above the gentle rustling of the pages in your lap.

Ace blinked. The cards slipped from his fingers and scattered across the blanket, forgotten. “Huh?” he sat up halfway, caught between surprise and disbelief, eyes narrowing playfully. “Where’d that come from?”

You just smiled, shrugging a little. “I don’t know. I just looked at you and... I felt like saying it.”

His mouth opened, like he wanted to throw out a sarcastic reply, something teasing and cool—but it didn’t come. Instead, he looked at you for a second longer, and his usual smirk melted into something softer, something real. His ears turned the faintest shade of red, and he rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes like a shy high schooler in a romcom.

“Tch… you can’t just say that outta nowhere, you dork,” he muttered, though there was no bite to his words. “You’re gonna make my heart explode or something.”

You leaned in closer with a grin, resting your head on his shoulder. “Good. Then I’ll say it again. I love you.”

“Ughh, you’re trying to kill me, I swear.” But despite the groan, he slung an arm around you, pulling you in with an exaggerated sigh. “Guess I’ll die happy, though. I love you too, alright? So stop being all cute or I’ll have to kiss you till you forget how to talk.”

And he did, actually—smack dab on your cheek, nose, forehead, lips—everywhere until you were laughing, half-flustered, half-giddy. That night, Ace couldn’t stop randomly blurting out “I love you more” every time you smiled at him, just to fluster you in return.

Deuce Spade

Deuce was always a little tense when he studied—he took his grades seriously, especially after his “delinquent past” days. So when the two of you sat in the library, books and notebooks spread out around you, he was hunched over his notes with his brows scrunched in concentration, muttering formulas under his breath like sacred chants.

You watched him in quiet admiration. The way his lashes lowered as he focused, how his hand moved quickly across the page, how his tongue poked out just a little when he was really trying to work through a problem—it was adorable. You couldn’t help it.

“I love you.”

The words left your lips soft and natural, like a leaf floating on the surface of a still pond.

Deuce blinked once. Then twice.

He slowly looked up from his notebook, pen frozen mid-stroke. “H-Huh? W-What did you say?”

You giggled, resting your chin in your palm as you looked at him with those warm, unfiltered eyes. “I said I love you. Just felt like reminding you.”

His entire face lit up like someone had flipped a switch. A deep crimson blush climbed from his neck to his ears, and he nearly dropped his pen. “W-Wha—you can’t just… drop that on me while I’m doing algebra!”

You laughed again, reaching out to poke his cheek gently. “But your reaction is so cute.”

Deuce groaned into his hands, completely flustered. “Y-You’re really unfair sometimes...”

But he peeked through his fingers at you, and the softest, sweetest smile curved his lips. “I love you too. A lot. I—I mean, like… it just makes me really happy to hear that, even if I get all weird and… yeah.” He was rambling now, but you could feel the sincerity in every word.

A few moments passed. Then, very shyly, he leaned over the table and pressed a featherlight kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll study twice as hard now. I wanna be someone worthy of those words.”

You swore your heart skipped a beat right then.

From that moment on, every time you said “I love you” randomly—during walks, between classes, even when you were both brushing your teeth—Deuce’s whole face would always light up like a firework. And no matter what, no matter how surprised he looked, he always said it back, even if his voice cracked a little from being caught off guard.

Because deep down, it meant the world to him that you loved him, just the way he was.

Jack Howl

It was a quiet afternoon in the Savanaclaw lounge, sunlight streaming in through the windows and casting golden patches across the floor. Jack sat beside you on one of the larger couches, a textbook propped open in his lap while he scribbled notes with furrowed brows. He was always so focused when he studied — sharp eyes scanning the page, tail occasionally twitching in concentration. You’d been flipping through your own notes, not really absorbing the words, more focused on the soft, peaceful aura around him.

You looked up from your notebook and rested your chin on your hand, just watching him. His ears flicked slightly, clearly noticing your gaze, but he didn’t look up right away. He was too used to your presence — comfortable, secure.

You smiled softly, the kind of smile that came from a full heart.

“I love you, Jack,” you said, your voice quiet but warm, like a summer breeze.

His pen stopped mid-word. Slowly, his head turned to look at you, those pale green eyes widening just slightly. “Huh?” he asked, blinking like you’d snapped him out of a trance.

“I said I love you,” you repeated, still smiling. “Just felt like telling you.”

Jack’s ears turned a little pink at the tips, and a faint flush spread across his cheeks. He cleared his throat and looked away for a second, trying to hide the tail wag he couldn’t quite stop. “You can’t just say that out of nowhere like that…” he muttered, ears twitching. “You’ll catch me off guard.”

“But I like saying it when you least expect it,” you said, leaning a little closer to bump your shoulder against his.

He glanced at you again, the corner of his mouth quirking up despite his efforts to stay composed. “Yeah, well… I like hearing it. Even if it throws me off.”

You grinned and leaned your head on his shoulder, and he adjusted his posture so you could rest there more comfortably. After a long pause, you heard him mumble — so quiet it could’ve been mistaken for a breath — “I love you too.”

And even though he returned to his textbook soon after, the way his tail curled around your ankle said it all.

Epel Felmier

The two of you were sitting under a big apple tree just outside the school gates. Epel had insisted you come with him to his favorite quiet spot — away from the noise of the dorms, where the air smelled fresh and the breeze danced through the leaves like a soft melody. He had a knife in hand, carefully peeling one of the apples he’d picked just for you, brows furrowed in concentration.

You watched him, utterly charmed by how focused he looked, how gentle his hands were despite the sharp blade. You reached out and touched his knee lightly to get his attention.

He blinked and looked up. “Somethin’ wrong?”

You shook your head, smiling up at him with that bright, sincere expression he could never quite prepare himself for. “I love you, Epel.”

He nearly dropped the apple.

His eyes went wide and a sharp flush bloomed across his cheeks and ears. “Wha—?! W-Where’d that come from?!”

You just shrugged, grinning. “I wanted to say it. I love you.”

Epel opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t find the words fast enough. He stared at you like you’d knocked the wind out of him — as if those simple words meant more than a thousand grand gestures. He turned his head quickly, ears burning. “You can’t just go around sayin’ stuff like that outta nowhere! You’re gonna give me a heart attack!”

“But it’s true,” you said, giggling as you leaned into his side. “I love you. Even when you’re blushing like a tomato.”

“I ain’t blushin’!” he huffed, but his hand twitched before he awkwardly reached over and grabbed yours. His fingers were a little shaky, but he held on tight.

“…I love you too,” he mumbled, voice low and soft, like it was meant only for you. “Even if you say it when I least expect it… I ain’t ever gonna get tired of hearin’ it.”

He finished peeling the apple and offered it to you, trying to act cool despite his still-burning ears. You took it happily, giving him a kiss on the cheek that made his blush flare right back up again.

And he knew in that moment — with the apple trees swaying and your laughter beside him — that he’d never want anything else but this.

Sebek Zigvolt

The library was unusually quiet that day — well, even more so than usual. You and Sebek were tucked away in one of the far corners of the library, seated at a heavy wooden table stacked with textbooks, scrolls, and your combined notes from Professor Trein’s most recent lecture. Sebek sat rigidly across from you, pen moving with exact precision as he muttered formulas under his breath, brows furrowed in focus.

“It is vital that I maintain my grades for the sake of Lord Malleus’ honor!” he’d proclaimed earlier, thumping his chest with such intensity that half the dorm had turned to look. You were just happy to study with him — even if his dedication bordered on theatrical.

You were supposed to be reviewing your charms notes, but instead… you found yourself watching him. His hair glinted under the soft lantern light, and his eyes, fierce and serious, flickered across the page like a soldier reading a battlefield map. He looked so intense, so Sebek — and for a moment, your heart swelled so full of affection, it felt like it might burst.

So you leaned your elbow on the table, tilted your head slightly, and let the softest smile curve your lips.

“I love you, Sebek.”

His pen snapped in half.

He jolted back in his chair with such dramatic force that the back legs almost lifted off the ground, green eyes wide as dinner plates. “WH-WHAT?! You—YOU—!!” he sputtered, one hand clapped over his chest like he’d just taken a blow to the heart.

You blinked innocently. “I said I love you.”

“OUT OF NOWHERE?!” he barked, flushing so deeply that the tips of his ears glowed red. “I—W-WHAT COULD POSSIBLY COMPEL YOU TO UTTER SUCH WORDS WHEN WE’RE IN THE MIDST OF STUDYING?!”

You just giggled, leaning forward. “Because I was looking at you… and I realized I really love you. So I said it. That’s all.”

Sebek’s jaw worked for a moment, like his mind was trying to buffer. He looked down at the ruined remains of his pen and then back at you, flustered beyond belief. “Y-You cannot… you mustn’t say such things so suddenly! I-I am a knight! A guardian of the great Lord Malleus! I must remain vigilant, composed, and… and—!!”

His voice softened at the end, the panic in his expression melting into something far more tender. He looked away, shoulders stiff but trembling slightly as he gripped the edge of the table.

“…But…” he muttered, voice almost too low to hear, “…I suppose… there is no harm… in expressing your affections. Especially when they are… directed at me…”

You smiled again, resting your chin in your hand as you watched him squirm.

“Say it again,” he blurted suddenly, eyes still averted.

You blinked. “Huh?”

“I said…!” His voice cracked slightly. “…Say it again. Just one more time.”

You leaned closer, soft and slow like a breeze brushing through the trees. “I love you, Sebek.”

This time, he didn’t shout. He didn’t flail. He simply stared at the table, his face glowing red as he gripped the edge like it was the only thing anchoring him to reality. And then, after a few seconds, he nodded—almost imperceptibly—but with the seriousness of a knight taking a vow.

“I… I love you as well,” he said, firm and proud. “More than any mere declaration can express.”

You could tell it took everything in him to say that aloud, but the sincerity in his voice made your heart melt.

Later that day, as you were leaving the library together, he awkwardly offered his hand to you — and though he tried to act composed, his fingers trembled ever so slightly when yours slipped into his. He didn’t say another word about your random confession… but he walked beside you all the way back to Ramshackle in complete silence, lips pressed into the smallest, most bashful smile you’d ever seen.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Start A New

Fandom: The Pitt

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x F!Reader

Summary: In a tragic car accident, Jack loses his wife, who was your best friend, and you lose your husband, the father of your child. Now both of you navigate life together and co-parenting your daughter, Evelyn, while also trying to figure out your feelings for each other.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who loved the first part! Now here's that happy ending you all wanted...

Undeserving (aka Part 1) | The Pitt Masterlist

Jack tried to get some rest. He really tried, but he kept going over his argument with you. Did you really not see how much he loves you and Evie? Do you really not know how heartbroken he'd be if you left?

He sighs and checks the time on his bedside. It's almost noon and Evie usually takes a nap around this time. It might be a good time for him to talk to you again so Evie doesn't see if things get heated.

He kicks off his blankets and drags himself out of bed. He exits his room and heads to the kitchen. You're there again, looking at your laptop. He hopes you're not looking at apartments again, but it's likely.

"Can we talk?"

"You should be sleeping."

"I can't. My mind is going all over the place," he takes up the empty chair beside you. He glances at your screen and, sure enough, you were looking at apartments.

He rests his arms on the dining table, "Please, don't leave," he says in a broken, pleading tone.

You fully face him, "Jack, I love you. I really do, but...I feel bad. You were my Anna's husband. She was my best friend. The one she was supposed to grow old with. I feel guilty that she's not here, that you and her never got to have kids and grow old together. I feel bad for practically replacing her."

"You're not-"

You hold your hand out, "Let me get everything out...please."

He nods, "Okay."

You take a deep breath, "I feel guilty for being here when she couldn't be. I also feel guilty for loving you when it should be Andrew here helping me raise Evie. I feel guilty for taking up your space, your time. I-I feel like I don't deserve you. You're such a good, loving, caring man and I shouldn't be taking over your life the way that I've been these past few years.

"That's why I want to move out. But also, my therapist think it'd be good for us to live separately. We've become too dependent on each other because we lost our partners in the same accident. We need space in order for us to have a healthy relationship. And I really hope you understand that."

He gulps and nods, "I get it...but fuck, sweetheart. You and Evie are the first and last thing I think about when I wake up and go to sleep. I'm gonna be honest, it's gonna fucking suck not having you two around all the time."

You reach out and place your hand on top of his, "Again, this isn't happening any time soon. I still have to find a place."

"Have you looked at places nearby?"

You nod, "Yeah. I don't wanna be too far from you."

That brings a small smile to Jack's face, "That's something at least," he murmurs. He leans in and presses his lips to your head, "I love you so much, sweetheart." He turns his hand up and laces his fingers with you.

"I love you too," you whisper. You lean back to look at him, "We'll get through it." you cup his face with your free hand, your thumb grazing over his five o'clock shadow, "We've gotten through worse."

He chuckles and shakes his head, "Yeah...we have."

_____________________________

In the upcoming months, you continued to apartment hunt. Jack would accompany you to provide input. You looked at various apartment complexes within two to five miles away from Jack's home.

You eventually found a place just three blocks away from him and much closer to the park the three of you frequented.

Leaving Jack was hard, but you knew it would be good for you two. Evie took it hard, obviously. She didn't want to leave her Uncle Jack Jack and her cries brought tears to your own eyes.

Jack held Evelyn close as he explained everything, "You'll still see me, honey. I'm not going anywhere. We'll still go to the park together and have family time. I'm not leaving you, baby. I promise," he holds her tighter and you see tears welling up in his eyes as Evelyn sobs, "I promise, Evie. I'll always be here for you and mommy."

When move in day came, Jack helped you as much as he could. When he was at work, some of the day shift nurses and doctors came to help you.

Robby grunted as he set a box down, "So...I heard you two confessed your love."

You rolled your eyes, "Yes. We did."

"You know, usually when people love each other like you do, they move in together. Not move out."

"We need the space and more independence. We did everything backwards, Robby." You explained as you begin to unbox the box he brought in.

"I know. But don't tell Abbot I told you this, but he's been really anxious about this. He doesn't know what he's going to do without you girls."

"We'll figure it out eventually. We've spent a majority of these past few years always at each other's sides and we weren't even officially together. It's going to be a big change, but we can get through it. After everything we've gone through, especially Jack, I think we'll make it out okay."

The doctor nodded, "I hope so 'cause now his bitchin' is even more sad and depressing."

You giggled and shoved his shoulder, "Get back to work, doc."

He salutes you, "Yes, ma'am!"

_________________________

Three months living in the apartment with just you and Evelyn was a rough start. Evie was constantly asking for her Uncle Jack Jack and you had to explain that you couldn't go to his house every single day.

Eventually, she got used to it being just you and her. Some nights did feel lonelier than ever. You had to fight yourself on not inviting Jack all the time. But so far, he'd been coming over once a week and you've been going to his the same as well.

It was an adjustment for sure, but you three of you eventually used to it.

Any downtime he had during his shifts, Jack would call you, wanting to hear your voice or see Evie via video chat. You thought things would be tense for a long time between you and he. But, thankfully, it was only tense for the first month and you two fell back into how things were before. You'd joke around, share about your days, but now it's coupled with some flirtatious banter.

It was weird in the beginning, hearing him flirt with you and you flirt back. But now it's second nature with you two. Your flirtatious banter would be silly or cute or downright sinful, but only when Evie wasn't around.

Jack: what're you wearing?

You snort when you read his text. You text him back:

You: aren't you supposed to be working?

Jack: was thinking about you and I'm on my lunch....so what're you wearing?

You take a selfie of you wearing one of his old Army shirts and reply to him with that.

Your phone suddenly starts ringing and you laugh, answering it, "There's no way I'm having phone sex with you while you're at work."

"Well can I come over after my shift and we can have real sex?"

You clasp your hand over your mouth to muffle your laugh. You look beside you to see Evie still passed out after you two started watching a movie.

"Won't you be exhausted?"

"I'm wound up today and sex is a great relaxer." You can hear the smirk in his tone.

"Yeah? Says who?"

"Me, I'm a doctor, remember?"

"Last time I checked, you're a doctor in medicine. Not sexology."

He hums, "Fine. You caught me...I just miss you."

You soften your voice, "I miss you too. I miss you a lot but...this time apart has been good for me."

"I know, but don't get too comfortable. Once your lease is up, you're moving back here. Got that?"

You chuckle, "Are you sure?"

"Of course, I'm sure. I want us to be whole again. It's so fucking quiet in the house now. Fuck, the other day, I had Bluey playing in the background just so it feels like you two are around still."

That tugs on your heartstrings, "Jack-"

"Shit. I gotta go. They need extra help and we're already down a doctor. I gotta go sweetheart and I'll talk to you later, okay? I love you."

"I love you too, Jack. Bye." He ends the call and you lay back in bed. You bury your face into his shirt, wishing it smelled like him again.

_____________________________

It felt like deja vu. You're at the park, sitting on the picnic blanket with Dana like you had all those months ago. Jack and Evie are playing on the playground like they always are.

Dana, feeling the same sense as you goes, "Funny to be here with you guys again but now you and Jack are together. Separate, but also together."

You nod, "I know. Weird, right?"

"That was a rough patch you guys went through, but look at you now. You two have gone through a lot and keep overcoming it. Shows how strong the two of you are," Dana lifts her bottle of water as if giving you a cheers and sips from it.

You smile at the older woman, "Thanks. None of what the both of us have gone through was easy, but we did it together. Loving him is easy. I still feel sad and guilty sometimes. For Anna. For Andrew."

"They would've wanted you two to be happy," Dana says with confidence.

"I know, still doesn't mean I don't feel bad about it sometimes." You sigh, "Therapy has helped a lot though."

"That's good, honey. Really good."

"Sweetheart!" you look up and see Jack looking your way, "You want ice cream?"

"Rainbow pop please!" You glance at Dana, "You wany anything?"

"I'm good."

"Just one for me, baby!"

"Got it!" he gives you a thumbs up and guides Evie to the ice cream truck.

Dana wistfully sighs, "You guys are so fucking cute. I really am happy you two are together."

"Thanks, Dana. I am too."

______________________________

Three Years Later

Evie was at a sleepover at her friend's apartment in the same complex. So that meant you and Jack had the place to yourselves since Jack was off that day.

After a few rounds of sex, you two were just cuddling in your bed. Your head is resting on his chest, his arm wrapped around you and tracing lines along your back.

You two were laying in a blissful silence when Jack slid out of bed, "Where you going?"

"I wanna grab something from my pants," he grabs his jeans from the floor and found what he was looking for in his pocket.

He sits back in bed and presents you with a tiny box. You immediately sit up and look at him with wide eyes, "Jack..."

"Sweetheart, you already know how much I love you. There aren't really words that I can say that you haven't heard before. I love you and Evie so much. We've gone through hell and back. Our lives have been intertwined since that night. I didn't expect to fall in love with you, but I did. I didn't expect to love Evie as much as I do.

"I love the life we've built together, even though the start of it was unconventional and, frankly, extremely traumatizing-"

You snort, "What a way to propose, baby."

"Well I didn't necessarily say the words yet, did I?"

He opens the box to reveal a gorgeous ring. The cut was perfect and it was a ring you definitely see yourself wearing forever, "Y/N, will you marry me?"

"Of fucking course I will," you press your lips to his and you feel him smiling into the kiss, "I love you," you mumble against his lips.

He breaks the kiss, grinning, "I love you too," he takes the ring out of the box and slips it onto your finger.

You look at how it sits on your finger. You didn't think you'd be wearing another wedding ring again, yet here you are.

You giggle and Jack looks at you, "What's so funny?"

"I can't believe you proposed with your dick out and made a comment about our shared trauma."

He shrugs, "Well isn't our entire relationship built on unconventional and traumatic events?"

You roll your eyes and climb onto Jack's lap, "Shut up and make love to your fiancee."

He smiles wide, "No need to tell me twice."

_____________________

"DID HE DO IT?! DID HE ASK YOU TO MARRY HIM?!" Evie asks as into the apartment after her sleepover. Jack follows her inside, chuckling.

You hold up your left hand, "He did, baby!"

"YAY!" Evie wraps her arms around you and then gasps. She turns to Jack, "Can I call you dad now?!"

Jack looks at you. You two have talked about it before. You're okay with Evie calling Jack her dad. He practically is.

He softly smiles at the six year old, "Yeah, honey. You can call me dad." Evie launches herself at Jack and he catches her. He hugs her tight.

It's funny. You and Jack thought you were undeserving of each other, but turns out, you were just what the other needed this whole time.

[chronicowboy]

as much as i adore buck getting soso eye twitching let's unearth the chainsaw jealous when ravi starts gushing about eddie, i would like to offer an alternative in which buck is soso unbelievably happy that ravi finally understands and buck is slowly indoctrinating the world one by one into the eddie diaz is perfect agenda and he's wearing this feat like a badge of honour. anyway he's just so excited to finally have someone to talk to about eddie who's willing to listen and who gets it and he's just rambling away about everything he has platonically filed away in a very platonic file labelled things that make me love eddie (platonically). meanwhile ravi is soso sure he and buck are on the same page about having a huge fucking crush on the guy, but ravi's been hesitant to bring it up because he knows what buck is like. one night though he gets a little too tipsy, gets a little too comfortable, and the personality gushing slowly bleeds into and god his ARMS and at first buck is like YEAH have you ever noticed the way his canines poke out when he smiles and ravi is nodding vigorously when he says i want him to bite me and buck is nodding right back until his tipsy brain catches up like hmmm that's suspicious anyway. and soon it devolves from doesn't eddie go the prettiest shade of pink when he blushes to ravi going i swear to god i have never seen an ass as perfect as his and i'm an ass man and buck is agreeing of course because it was like one of the first things he noticed about his best friend eddie diaz but why is ravi noticing it? i mean it's totally normal for a straight guy to check out a hot guy's ass, except it isn't. wasn't that the whole point of his conversation with maddie? so is ravi not straight? or is he just appreciating eddie diaz's ass? and buck's still puzzling all this out when ravi moves onto eddie's thighs and says god i'd bury myself between them for the rest of my life man do whatever the hell he wanted. and buck explodes.

[ggukivrse]

the art of pretending - jjk | 03

summary. when you and jungkook show up to your much anticipated graduation trip and realise neither of you had the guts to tell your friends about your recent break up, there’s only one thing you can do to keep the trip from falling apart: pretend.

but somewhere between fake kisses and real feelings, you start to wonder if letting go was ever the right choice at all.

pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre/warnings: exes to lovers, fake dating, idiots to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, (eventual) explicit sexual content, swearing, pov switches (1), jk is an acts of service king and a pathetic simp for oc, ft. seokjin, namjoon, hoseok, jimin, taehyung, yoongi + four female ocs

word count: 5.5k

notes: i procrastinated the shit out of this chapter omfg, i’m so sorry for the wait. tysm to my bae isa @page-isa for beta-reading and providing me with concerts on call while i wrote lolol. likes, comments, reblogs, asks and feedback are so so appreciated!! enjoy reading my loves <33

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⤷ chapter three — ivy

i could hate you now / it’s quite alright to hate me now / but we both know that deep down / the feeling still deep down is good

The knife makes a soft thunk against the cutting board as you slice through the last of the strawberries, bright red, juice bleeding out onto the wood. You scoop the pieces into a bowl with the others — kiwi, pineapple, blueberries, a few slices of watermelon. Colourful. Easy to share. Refreshing enough for the heat outside, you hope.

A headache throbs behind your temple. It’s been sitting there since you woke up, dull but insistent. Usually, you would've had a few painkillers in your purse for this exact situation, but you had been certain that you'd be fine on the trip.

You let out a soft sigh. If it weren’t for your own spectacular decision-making.

You tilt your head back gently, reaching up to rub your forehead with the back of your wrist, careful not to smear fruit juice across your skin. The cool tile under your bare feet helps. A little.

From the kitchen, you can just about make out the voices outside.

Laughter and chatter carries faintly. Someone shouts something you can't quite make out, and there's a burst of response.

You should be out there with them. You would be, on any other day. But you’re not risking it — not with your head pounding like this, like your brain is bruised beneath your skull. One hour under that sun, and you know you’ll spend the rest of the day curled up in the dark, miserable.

Well... at least, that’s the excuse you went with.

You haven’t talked to Jungkook since last night.

Not after you walked away, leaving him with nothing but the weight of his own words and the silence you wrapped yourself in.

'I figured… you’d be here.'

Like it was obvious. Like he still knew you. Like he hadn’t made the choice to not be part of your life anymore.

Last night, your anger had been sharp. You’d felt it in your jaw, your chest, your hands. But now, it’s dulled into something muddier.

You’d been telling yourself he’d moved on — that whatever the breakup had done to you, it hadn’t touched him the same way. That he was fine. Probably relieved. Probably already halfway into his next chapter, while you were still here, trying to rewrite your ending like it didn’t hurt. And maybe that assumption had made it easier. Easier to be mad. Easier to hate him a little.

But then last night… he said he came here for you. Like he missed you. Like you still mattered.

And that? That messed with things.

Because how are you supposed to stay angry at someone who walked away, then looked you in the eye like they never wanted to? How are you supposed to keep the space intact when he was the one reaching across it — gently, quietly, like he didn’t know he was doing it?

You’d built your resentment around the idea that he let go easily. That he wanted out more than he wanted you. But now, with the weight of his words still sitting heavy in your chest, the whole picture feels harder to hold. Blurrier.

Turns out, hate’s a lot easier when you think the other person never looked back. And you're clearly a weak link.

The sound of the sliding door pulls you out of your thoughts, and you don't have to look to know exactly who it is.

There’s a soft pad of bare feet on tile, a steady, unhurried rhythm you’ve heard a thousand times before. You keep your eyes on the bowl of fruit in front of you, pretending to rearrange a few pieces like it matters.

“Hey,” Jungkook says, his voice calm.

You don’t turn around. “Hey.”

There’s a pause, just long enough for you to feel it.

”You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine,” you answer, automatic. Then you exhale, conceding a little. “Just a headache.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him move closer. He’s wearing black swim shorts that cling slightly at the waist, water still darkening the edges. A loose white t-shirt hangs off his frame — a little translucent from where it’s stuck to his chest.

His hair’s damp, curls pushed back from his forehead like he ran his fingers through it and let it dry that way. He smells faintly like sunscreen and chlorine and the heat outside.

“Did you drink enough water?” he asks.

A laughing breath tumbles from your lips before you can stop yourself. You shake your head, mostly to yourself, and glance at him over your shoulder.

He raises an eyebrow, like he already knows why you're laughing.

“You say that every time,” you say.

“Because every time, it’s true,” he says, not missing a beat.

His tone is easy, but his eyes search your face like he’s still trying to make sure. You give him a look — not annoyed, just tired — and sip from the water bottle already in your hand.

“Yes,” you say. “I’ve had water. It’s probably nothing.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond right away. He just leans against the counter beside you, one hand bracing the edge. A droplet of water slides down the inside of his veiny forearm.

You pretend not to notice.

“You take anything for it?” he asks eventually.

You shake your head. “Didn’t bring any.”

He scoffs, low and amused. “Oh, so smart.”

You roll your eyes. “Thanks. Really helpful.”

He grins — not wide, not smug. Just soft around the edges. Familiar. The kind of grin he probably doesn’t realise he’s making.

He reaches into the drawer next to you without asking, pulling it open with a scrape of wood on wood. You glance sideways, eyebrows pulling together.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking if this place is stocked like a normal rental or if we’re screwed,” he says, sifting through half-empty tea boxes, a roll of foil, batteries, and a mostly dead flashlight. “And… yeah. Screwed.”

You exhale through your nose, more of a puff than a laugh. “Should’ve figured.”

“You know what you need?” he says, straightening up. “Cold compress. Or a wet towel.”

“I’m not that desperate.”

“You say that now,” he murmurs, stepping away and heading toward the sink. He grabs a dish towel from the rack, runs it under cool water, wrings it out with practiced ease.

He turns, holding it out to you — not pushing it into your hands, just waiting, giving you the option.

You hesitate.

You want to say no. You should. But your head throbs again, dull and pulsing behind your eyes, and maybe your pride’s not worth it right now.

You reach out, take it from him.

His fingers brush yours, just for a second. Your grip's not as steady as you’d like.

You fold the cloth once, press it to the side of your head, and close your eyes for a second. The coolness helps. Not enough, but it’s something.

When you open your eyes again, he’s still there, simply watching.

“What?” you ask.

He shakes his head, but there's a small smile on his face. "Nothing."

You narrow your eyes at him, but no further words leave your mouth.

He leans a little heavier into the counter, arms folded, eyes flicking over the kitchen like he’s killing time — like he knows you well enough to wait you out.

The kitchen settles into a soft hush, filled only by the faint hum of the fridge and the occasional burst of laughter from outside.

You keep your eyes forward, focused on nothing, the damp towel warming slowly in your hand. You can feel him looking — not staring, but thinking. Sitting on something.

He shifts his weight slightly, arms still folded across his chest. Then finally, he says, low and cautious, “Hey.”

You glance over, just barely. “Yeah?”

He hesitates, just long enough for you to brace yourself.

“About what I said last night.”

You blink, eyes flicking back to the counter.

Jungkook keeps going anyway. “I didn’t mean to… dump that on you, or say it like that. I wasn’t trying to make things harder. I just… I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think.”

You let the silence hang a moment, long enough for the words to settle.

“It’s fine,” you say eventually, quietly. “I’d already forgotten about it.”

He nods, lips pressing together. “Still. I’m sorry.”

You don’t answer this time. Just give a small shrug, like it’s not worth talking about.

Another hush washes over the kitchen, this one heavier.

You both sit in it for a moment, like neither of you knows exactly where to go next, but he shifts slightly and clears his throat.

A beat passes. You watch him out of the corner of your eye as he squints at the counter.

“So...” he says, dragging the word out just enough to be obvious. “Are you gonna tell me what’s in the bowl, or do I have to guess?”

The question is stupid. It’s clearly fruit. But it works. It’s light enough to crack the silence without pretending it wasn’t there.

You don’t say anything for a second. Just press the cloth a little firmer to your temple and exhale, slow.

“Fruit,” you say. "Strawberries, kiwi, watermelon, pineapple. Some other stuff."

Jungkook leans over to peek into the bowl, then reaches for the spoon. You slide it away before he can grab it.

He blinks at you, a beat of surprise. “Seriously?”

“I didn’t say you could have any.”

“Since when do I need permission?” he asks, brow raised.

You give him a flat look. “Since always. You just never listened.”

He grins like that’s not even close to a deterrent. “C’mon. I kept you from passing out on the kitchen floor. That’s at least worth a bite.”

You shift the spoon just slightly further out of reach, not smiling — not fully — but your mouth twitches like it’s thinking about it. “One bite.”

“I’m starving.”

“Should’ve thought of that before cannonballing off the deep end for an hour.”

He steps closer — not too close — but enough to peer over your shoulder again, dramatic and exaggerated. “You’re telling me I generously helped your migraine and you’re gonna gatekeep the fruit bowl?”

You roll your eyes. “Fine,” you mutter, sliding the spoon toward him with one finger. “You can have some. As long as you take the rest out to the others.”

He grabs the spoon like it’s a prize, already scooping a chunk of watermelon into his mouth. “Deal,” he says around it.

He chews slowly, gaze still fixed on the bowl, like he’s giving the fruit his full concentration.

Then he nods once, eyebrows furrowed. “It’s good.”

You say nothing, just shift the towel slightly against your temple, adjusting it where it’s starting to lose its chill.

He takes another bite — slower this time, as if he’s savouring the taste.

You glance over at him, just briefly. The light from the sliding door paints a soft sheen across his skin, catches in the damp ends of his hair. His profile is calm, unreadable. You know that look. He’s thinking about something he won’t say.

“You gonna take that out?” you ask eventually, nodding at the bowl.

He looks up like he forgot it was in his hands. “Yeah. Right.”

Jungkook lingers for a second longer than necessary, still holding the spoon. Then, finally, he turns toward the door.

Just before he slides it open, he pauses, glancing back over his shoulder.

“If you still feel bad later… I can run into town, grab something.”

"I can take care of myself, Jungkook.”

"I— right. I didn't mean it like that." He lets out a sigh. "Just don't die, yeah?"

You nod, and the door slides open again, letting in a gust of sun and the very distant echo of your friends yelling over music.

You let out a slow breath and rest both elbows on the counter, head still heavy.

And even though the ache behind your eyes is still there — stubborn and dull — it’s softened now. Just a little.

Your headache is mostly gone.

Not completely — there’s still a faint buzz behind your right eye — but it’s somewhat bearable now. The dull kind of pressure you can forget about if you keep still and breathe slow.

What really helped, you think, was the nap. A quiet hour stretched out on the couch with the curtains drawn halfway closed and the cold cloth still folded gently against your forehead.

You don’t remember falling asleep. One minute, you were lying there, your arm slung over your eyes to block the light, and the next, you were waking up to the distant sound of laughter outside, the ache in your head a few degrees cooler.

The towel was still cold when you stirred. Not freezing, but fresher than it had any right to be after an hour against your skin.

You hadn’t put it back in the freezer.

You’re almost sure you didn’t move at all.

Which means… someone had to have changed it amidst your slumber.

You’re not sure how you feel about it. If it even happened. If it means anything.

It shouldn’t. You tell yourself that. It shouldn’t mean anything.

But something about it sticks in your chest.

You’d asked for space — not out loud, not exactly, but in all the ways that mattered. In how you walked away, in how you haven’t reached for him since. And yet… here you are. Picking apart the temperature of a towel like it holds any real weight.

You’re trying not to read into things.

Really, you are.

But it’s hard when the lines keep blurring.

Pretending in front of the others is one thing. A mutual act, a lie with rules and boundaries. But the quiet moments are harder — the ones where no one is looking. Those feel like the truth, leaking out in small, inconvenient ways.

And now here you are.

The beach is stretched out before you in all its sleepy, golden haze. You’ve only been out here for ten minutes; just long enough to settle on your towel and feel the sun warm the backs of your legs.

When you stepped out of the house, the last serve of a makeshift volleyball game had just hit the sand. Taehyung and Hoseok stood dramatically with their arms raised like they'd won the Olympics, while Jimin fell to his knees with an exaggerated groan, sand puffing up beneath him. Seokjin declared the whole thing rigged.

Now, the energy has dipped.

Yoongi is passed out with a bucket hat covering his face. Seokjin’s sitting near the cooler, sipping something canned and cold with his arm lazily slung around Haeun’s waist. Everyone else lies scattered across the sand

The air smells like sunscreen and salt. The ocean hums steady in the background, lapping up against the shore.

And beside it all — Jungkook is somewhere behind you.

You haven’t looked directly at him since you laid your towel down, but you can almost feel his presence.

You shift on your stomach, resting your cheek against your folded arms as you watch Ari walk toward the water, her ankles sinking into the wet sand with each step. The back of your neck is starting to warm. A little too much.

“You're gonna get sunburnt,” comes Jungkook’s voice, low and close behind you.

You don’t lift your head. Just let out a small noise, somewhere between a sigh and a groan.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” he replies, not unkindly. “Do you really wanna deal with a migraine and a sun burn at the same time?”

You squint forward, not at anything in particular. The sun is still high, still hot. That tell tale sting is starting to spread across your shoulders, the heat clawing at your skin.

But still, you don’t move.

“I’m too comfortable,” you mumble into your arms.

Behind you, there’s a pause. A quiet snort. The soft click of a bottle opening.

“Then don’t move,” Jungkook says. “I’ve got it.”

You could say no. Could roll away, wave him off, insist on doing it yourself. But you don’t. Whether it’s the heat, the sleep still clinging to your limbs, or just the fact that resisting feels like more effort than it’s worth — you stay where you are.

You hear him kneel beside you in the sand, shifting his weight until his shadow falls across your back.

A second later, the first touch of sunscreen lands cool and smooth on your skin, right between your shoulder blades. His hands follow, spreading it across your back with steady, practiced pressure.

You tense at first, your body instinctively stiffening beneath the weight of his palms. But it’s not like you don’t know how he touches. You do. That knowledge is in your bones, no matter how much time has passed.

He’s methodical about it. No lingering, no hesitation — just slow, firm strokes. Across your shoulders. Down the curve of your spine. It doesn't feel like anything more than it is. It shouldn't.

Still, you keep your face turned away, your sunglasses hiding the part of you that can’t stop reading into this.

He’s just doing it to show the others.

His hand drags slightly higher, toward the back of your neck — just above where your bikini strap cuts across your skin — and slows.

His fingers brush lightly over the spot where your tattoo is inked into your skin: small, fine-lined, nothing dramatic. Just a single, understated flower.

His birth flower. A small tiger lily.

He’s quiet for a beat. Long enough that you notice.

It was years ago. You’d gotten them together after a night out with the group — a bit drunk and feeling impulsive. You’d been walking past a tiny tattoo studio near campus while on the way home, a place you’d both seen a hundred times but never gone into. And for some reason that night, you did.

It was an idea that made sense at the time.

He has your birth flower on the back of his neck too, low enough to hide beneath the collar of a hoodie. Yours a mirror of his, but a small bit higher.

You never talked about what they meant. Not out loud. They weren’t anything too special. Just... markers of time. Of who you were to each other then.

And now here he is, brushing sunscreen over it like he’s trying not to think about the fact that it’s still there.

You feel his fingers hesitate — just for a second — right over the ink. His thumb grazes the edge of it, subtle enough that you almost miss it. But you don’t. You feel everything.

Then he clears his throat softly and moves on, his hands smoothing down the rest of your back with the same quiet efficiency as before. Like nothing happened. Like it didn’t matter.

And maybe it doesn’t.

But the tension in your jaw says otherwise.

By the time he’s finished, your skin feels slick and protected, the burn averted. But something else lingers — not on your back, but under your ribs. Low and restless.

"Thanks," you mumble.

He lets out a small hum in response, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. For a second, you think he's going to say something, but instead, he scoots over to his own towel placed a few feet away from yours.

Minutes slip by in a blur of warmth and white noise.

You stay there, cheek pressed against the crook of your arm, letting the sun soak into your back. The sounds around you start to flatten — laughter, crashing waves, the thump of footsteps on sand — all melting together into something distant and slow. You’re not sure how long you lie there, half-awake, thoughts drifting somewhere between now and then, between what was and what isn’t anymore.

You don’t notice the shape that settles beside you until it casts a shadow across your towel.

“Wow,” Kiara says, dropping onto the sand with a dramatic exhale, “you’ve been so boring today.”

You lift your head slightly, squinting at her through your sunglasses. “Rude.”

“I’m serious,” she says, unbothered, propping herself up on her elbows. “You’re usually all over the place. But today?” She sighs. “Nothing. It’s been tragic.”

You snort, the sound muffled by your arm. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“I’m just saying,” she says, nudging your leg lightly with hers. “You’re throwing off the group dynamic."

You laugh for real this time — small, but genuine — and lift yourself slightly off your towel. Your head feels better, the pressure dulled to a faint hum. Manageable.

"You are good though, right?"

“I’m fine,” you say, rubbing at your temple with the back of your hand. “Just needed a break.”

“Well,” she drawls, sitting upright, “if you’re feeling human again, please tell me you’ll play one more round of volleyball.”

You blink. “Volleyball?”

“Yes,” she says, as if it’s obvious. “We need even teams, and I’m tired of getting stuck with Taehyung. He's genuinely a lost cause.”

You hesitate, and she watches you closely. Then, with a tilt of her head, she adds, “If you're feeling well, that is. Jungkook said that you had a headache earlier. He told all of us to keep it down when he saw you walking out, so I figured you were dying or something.”

“Oh,” you say, voice a little thinner than you’d like. “Right.” You force a breath through your nose. “I’m okay now. The nap helped.”

“Good,” she grins, bright and unbothered. “Because I refuse to lose to Jimin and this asshole again." She glances over at Jungkook with narrowed eyes, and you hear him chuckle. "My dignity can’t handle it," she adds, voice dropping a tiny bit.

You laugh and push yourself upright, brushing sand from your arms. “Fine. But Kiara, if someone spikes the ball at my face, you'll be the one that ends up dead.”

She beams, grabbing your hand and pulling you up to your feet. “No promises, but sure.”

She lets go of your hand as soon as you’re steady, then turns and jogs toward Hoseok to try and convince him to play too.

You dust off your legs with a sigh, flexing your toes in the warm sand. The heat radiates up through your soles, grounding. The sun is relentless now, painting everything in gold and glare.

You glance sideways toward the towel a few feet away.

Jungkook is still there, stretched out on his back with one arm slung across his forehead, shielding his eyes from the sun. From here, he looks peaceful. Like the ocean and the warmth and the quiet are all he needs.

You hesitate, then step closer.

“You playing?” you ask, voice light, careful.

Jungkook peeks one eye open, blinking up at you. “Nah,” he says, dragging the word out. “Too tired.”

You pause. Your first instinct is to roll your eyes. Maybe push. Maybe say something along the lines of 'Scared I'll beat you?'

But you don’t.

You open your mouth, but the words dry up before they form. Instead, you just give him a simple, “Alright.”

You turn toward the lazy line drawn into the sand (their version of a volleyball net), pretending you don’t hear the voice in your head asking why you even bothered in the first place.

It's not like you care.

You’re sitting on the edge of the pool, ankles skimming the surface, the pads of your feet just brushing cool water. There’s a half-empty glass of something fruity beside you on the tile. Hoseok’s cracking up mid-story, animated like always, throwing his arms out as he re-enacts some tragic college memory that has you clutching your stomach with laughter.

You’re glowing. Not in the cliché way — not some poetic, golden-hour kind of glow — but in that real, visceral way you used to around him. Like the air is lighter in your lungs when you’re surrounded by the people who get you. Like joy just leaks out of you without asking for permission.

And Jungkook?

He sits beside you. A little too close. Not close enough.

His legs are in the water too, knees bent, toes flexing every now and then as Namjoon speaks beside him, something low and thoughtful and typical of Namjoon — philosophy or music or that book he never shuts up about. Jungkook nods, murmurs something back, throws a quiet smile when Namjoon teases him for zoning out, but his attention never really leaves you.

You.

Laughing like you used to, shoulders shaking, head thrown back.

You reach out mid-laugh, fingers curling instinctively around Hoseok’s arm as you recover, and Jungkook’s heart does this pathetic little stutter in his chest. It shouldn’t matter. He knows that. Hoseok is family — your friend, his friend, everyone’s friend — and nothing more. But it’s the way you touch. So easy. So natural. So unguarded.

Like the version of you that still belongs to everyone else hasn’t changed.

The version of you he gets, though?

Guarded. Quiet. Careful.

And he deserves it. He knows that.

But still, it hurts.

It’s stupid, really. How he sits here, nodding along to a conversation he’s not even hearing, all while tracking your every laugh like it’s the air he breathes; like he’s parched and it’s the only thing that could quench it.

He doesn’t mean to do it. He tries to stop. But it’s been a month — just a month — and already he’s forgotten how to breathe in a world where your joy doesn’t belong to him.

Your fingers swipe at your eyes, wiping away tears from the laughter, and Jungkook can’t help but notice how your guard drops when you’re surrounded by them. How you’ve drawn a clear line around him, and only him.

You talk to everyone but him with that voice. The one that dances. The one he used to fall asleep to on long nights when sleep wouldn’t come unless your words wrapped around the edges of his mind first.

Now?

You barely look at him unless you have to.

Even now, you’re angled slightly away. Just enough to remind him that he lost access to something no one else even realises is sacred.

And he let it happen.

He chose this. And fuck, does he regret it.

It’s a strange kind of punishment — being near you like this. Close enough to hear your laughter, to count the freckles on your shoulders, to smell the sunscreen on your skin — and still feel completely shut out. He’s sitting in the middle of everything, surrounded by friends, summer heat, fading sun — and yet all he can think about is how badly he wants to reach for you, and how he can’t.

A splash breaks Jungkook out of his thoughts, followed by a sharp, familiar voice.

“Jimin, seriously, if you drop that in—”

“I’m not gonna drop it!”

He twists just slightly enough to see Jimin in the pool, chest deep, both arms stretched upward to keep Yasmine’s baby pink digital camera above the water. The strap is wrapped twice around his wrist, but he still moves like the thing’s made of glass, carefully navigating the shallow end of the pool.

He’s grinning, eyes curled into crescent moons behind the camera as he wades closer.

“Smile!” he shouts, voice echoing a little off the tile.

Jungkook barely has enough time to throw up a casual peace sign before the shutter snaps.

Jimin squints at the screen, adjusting the angle slightly before lifting the camera again.

“One more! The lighting’s really good right now.”

The sky is washed in that honey-orange haze that only happens for a few precious minutes before dusk. The pool reflects it all — golden ripples catching light, soft shadows stretching across the deck.

You sit still beside Jungkook, your laughter cooling into a smile. Your hand brushes your hair back absently, and it takes everything in him not to follow the movement.

Jimin lowers the camera again, brows lifting. “Wait, I wanna get one of just you two."

You hesitate, eyes flicking toward Jungkook for the briefest second. He meets your gaze and he can see the hesitance swimming in your mind.

But before he can open his mouth to tell Jimin that the picture isn't needed, you adjust your legs, turning slightly so your shoulder brushes his.

It’s not much. But it’s not nothing.

Jungkook lifts an arm, pausing for half a second, then lets his hand settle at your waist, fingers just grazing the curve of your side.

You lean into his touch, your shoulder slipping under his arm, your hand moving to rest on his knee, and Jungkook's heart trips. No warning, no rhythm. It just skips — sharp and stupid and immediate.

Because this feels familiar. And fuck, he’s missed this.

“Okay,” Jimin calls. “Say cheese!”

You smile.

Click.

He turns his head ever so slightly to sneak a glance at you, and his breath catches.

Your smile isn’t fake. Not forced. Not the stiff, polite kind you’ve been tossing his way when the group’s looking. It’s real — soft and bright, with your eyes crinkling at the corners and your nose doing that little scrunch it always does when you’re genuinely happy. Your eyelashes catch the light, casting faint shadows on your cheeks.

Click.

The sound barely fades before something reckless flickers in Jungkook.

His hand tightens slightly at your waist, like he’s grounding himself, or maybe trying to stop himself from doing exactly what he’s about to do. He knows he shouldn’t. He’s not entitled to moments like this anymore.

But God, you’re right there. Glowing. Laughing like you used to. And it’s killing him.

He watches the way your lips part slightly after your smile, the way your eyes dart to the camera and then away again. You look happy — not with him, but still. And it’s that exact version of you he aches for. The one that used to look at him like that on purpose.

He should look away.

He should remember that you're not his anymore. That whatever you're doing right now — playing pretend, leaning into the role for the sake of everyone else — isn’t real.

He tells himself not to do it.

Tells himself to breathe. To sit still. To just let this moment exist without taking anything from it.

But he doesn’t listen.

He never could, when it comes to you.

So before he can think twice — before reason has a chance to claw its way back in — he leans in, slow and quiet and aching.

And presses a kiss to your cheek.

It’s soft. A touch more than a breath, less than a second.

His lips barely linger, but it’s enough. Enough to remember. Enough to want

Click.

To his surprise, you don’t flinch or pull away.

You just… sit there. Letting it happen.

Jimin chirps something about the photo, already moving on, flipping the camera around to show Taehyung and Yasmine as they ask him to take a similar picture of them too.

But Jungkook barely hears them.

He can’t hear much over the pounding in his chest, anyway. Can’t think beyond the feel of your skin under his lips, the way your shoulder fit under his arm like it still belongs there. Like nothing’s changed.

Maybe that’s why his voice comes out quieter than he means it to.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, eyes fixed straight ahead. “Habit.”

You don’t look at him. But you don’t move away either. Your hand stays on his knee, almost as if you know that the second either of you move, the moment is over.

The air goes still between you. And for the first time all day, Jungkook lets himself breathe.

Not fully. Not the kind of breath that fills your lungs and clears your head. But something. Something real enough that it almost feels like hope.

Then you shift.

Just slightly.

Your hand slides off his knee, fingers brushing the fabric of his shorts as you pull away.

You stand up slowly, brushing the back of your hand across your cheek where he kissed you, like you’re wiping away sweat — or maybe just trying to reset the moment.

You don’t say anything. Just pick up your drink, half-finished and watered down by melted ice, and move toward Haeun and Ari near the deep end who welcome you with a small wave of their fingers.

Jungkook watches you go.

He should feel stupid. Regretful. Humiliated, even. But he doesn’t. Not really.

Because for one second — just one — you didn’t pull away.

You let him exist beside you. With you. Like maybe some part of you remembered, too.

And maybe that means nothing.

Maybe it was just muscle memory.

But maybe — maybe — there’s still something left to hold onto.

Even if it hurts.

Even if it’s only for one more week.

Even if all he gets now are seconds.

And he’ll take them.

Because when it comes to you, he always would.

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[reveriebae]

The Hypnotist's Plaything [part 1]

pairing(s) : Hypnotist! San x reader

word count : 2732

summary : You don’t know his name. You don’t know why you said yes. One touch from him and your mind shuts off—your body his to use, bend, and break. He says you were made for him… and under his spell, you believe it.

genre : smut

warning(s) : Hypnotism / Mind control (non-consensual, dubcon themes), Stranger sex, Somnophilia / mindless submission, Public initiation / street setting, Degradation & praise, Dumbification, Rough sex, Choking (asphyxiation), Spitting, Cunnilingus, Multiple orgasms, Squirting, Biting & marking, Creampie, Power imbalance, Size kink, Possessive behavior, San being a cocky, filthy soft dom. Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N : This fic has been in my draft for 8 months and I think I'm gonna make the part two of this one like— right neowwww😏

Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!

🪐smut under the cut🪐

“You okay?”

The voice stops you.

You blink, looking up. There’s a man standing in front of you. His eyes are deep, a dark brown that almost looks black in the dim streetlight. His lips quirk into something soft, almost amused, but not quite kind. He’s not smiling like someone who’s concerned. He’s smiling like someone who already knows the answer.

You don’t respond right away.

Because when his hand touches your shoulder—just barely brushing it—something shifts.

Warmth.

Pressure.

Then fog.

Your mouth opens, but nothing really comes out. You forgot what you were even about to say. The thought just slips through your fingers like smoke.

He steps closer, still holding your shoulder so lightly, but it feels heavy. Anchoring. His touch feels like it’s crawling deeper into your skin, soft but possessive. You know, somewhere in the back of your mind, that you don’t know him. That you were just walking home. That he’s a stranger.

But it doesn’t feel like that anymore.

“You look a little out of it,” he says, cocking his head. His voice is honey-slick, low, and calm, almost like he’s talking you into something. “Wanna come over? My place is nearby.”

You shouldn’t.

You absolutely shouldn’t.

You feel your lips part. And before you can even process the question, your body answers for you.

“…Yeah. Okay.”

His smile sharpens just a little.

“Good girl.”

He turns, still gently guiding you with his hand on your shoulder. Your legs move automatically, obediently, like you’ve been doing this your whole life. Like he’s not a stranger. Like he owns you already.

---

The apartment is quiet. Sparse. Cold in color but clean.

You don’t remember the walk here. You don’t even remember his name—did he say it?

“You can sit,” he says, nodding to the couch. You obey. Instantly.

Your heart should be pounding. But it’s not.

There’s a calm haze settled over everything, like you’re watching your body from a distance. Like you’re floating and sinking all at once. The only thing grounding you is him—and that damn hand that keeps finding your shoulder again, fingers curling over the curve of it slowly. Every time he touches you, the fog gets thicker. Your body gets warmer.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he murmurs, crouching in front of you. His hand slides up to your neck, his thumb resting under your chin. “The way your mind just shuts off when I touch you. Like flipping a switch.”

You nod slowly.

You don’t know why. But you have to.

“Pretty thing,” he whispers, gaze flicking down to your lips. “I didn’t even have to say much. You wanted to follow me.”

Your breath stutters.

No, you didn’t. You didn’t even know him.

…Right?

“Say it,” he commands softly. “Say you wanted to.”

“I… wanted to.”

“Say you want me to touch you.”

You swallow hard. Your thighs press together instinctively. “I… want you to touch me.”

His smile deepens. And this time, it’s full of intent.

He leans closer, lips brushing your ear.

“You don’t even know me, but your body’s already mine.”

He doesn’t rush.

His fingers trace your jawline like he’s studying you—like you’re a canvas he’s about to desecrate. “You feel warm,” he murmurs. “Do you even realize how soaked you are already? I haven’t even done anything yet.”

You blink at him, lips parted, breathing shallow. Your thighs press together tighter.

“I love how fast it works on girls like you,” he continues, voice low and smooth. “One touch. One command. And now?”

He leans closer, lips ghosting over your cheek, barely touching. “Now you’d do anything I say.”

His hand trails down, slow, until it rests on your thigh. His thumb strokes the inside of it—once, twice. You shiver.

“You’ll let me spread your legs, won’t you?”

“…Y-Yes.”

“You’ll let me play with this pussy in my living room like a dirty little doll?”

“Yes…”

“That’s a good girl.”

He grips your thighs and spreads them apart, slowly, watching your face the whole time. You let him. You want to let him. Your underwear’s damp—completely, shamelessly wet—and when his fingers graze over the fabric, your hips twitch up toward his touch without meaning to.

“Oh my,” he breathes, mockingly soft. “Look what I found.”

He pushes the fabric to the side.

His fingers slide through the slickness so easily it’s obscene.

“You’re dripping,” he says, licking his lips. “You don’t even know me, and your little pussy’s begging for me. You’re soaking my couch, sweetheart.”

You whimper.

Then gasp when he rubs his thumb over your clit—firm and slow.

“That feel good?” he murmurs. “Can’t even think, can you?”

“N-No…”

“You don’t need to. Let me do the thinking for you.”

---

His fingers work you slow at first, but relentless. Circling, pressing, teasing your folds until your head tips back and your hips rock against him.

And when he slips two fingers inside—deep and curling—your mouth drops open with a moan so filthy you almost don’t recognize it.

“That’s it,” he whispers. “Let me feel how stupid I’m making you.”

He curls his fingers just right, hitting that spot that makes your body jolt—and you clench around him like you’ve never wanted anything more.

“Sensitive already? God, you were made for this.”

You nod, eyes glassy. You are. You want him. You want more. You want to be used, praised, ruined—whatever he wants, you’ll give.

“You gonna cum for me, baby?” he asks, mouth dragging along your throat. “Let me make a mess of you with just my fingers?”

“Y-Yes, please…”

“You’re such a good girl.”

His pace speeds up. His palm grinds against your clit now. Your body arches, thighs trembling, head swimming with heat and fog and that overwhelming pressure building so fast you can barely breathe.

“You gonna cum all over my fingers like a filthy little mindless fucktoy?”

“Y-Yes—!”

And when it hits, it’s hard—blinding.

You cum with a choked cry, clenching around his fingers like your body’s trying to keep them inside. Your walls flutter, hips jerking as waves crash through you—soaking him, soaking yourself, shuddering with helpless pleasure while he watches you unravel.

And then?

He pulls his fingers out. Slowly.

Wet. Shining.

He brings them to his mouth. Sucks them clean, eyes locked on yours.

“Hmm,” he hums, licking the taste from his knuckles. “Just like I thought.”

Your body’s still twitching from the orgasm, but San doesn’t give you time to recover. He lifts you from the couch, lays you flat against it with a smirk tugging at his lips.

“You cum like that from just my fingers?” he teases, brushing your cheek. “Baby, we’re just getting started.”

He settles between your legs—again. You expect him to unbuckle his belt. You want him to. But instead, he lowers his head and lets his tongue flick—just once—against your clit.

You gasp, legs jerking.

San chuckles, looking up at you. “Sensitive, huh? That makes this more fun.”

His hands grip your thighs and pull you open wide—completely exposed, dripping, helpless. Then his mouth dips back down, licking a long, slow stripe through your folds, so agonizingly gentle it makes your hips chase him.

But he pulls back.

“Aw, already trying to grind on my face? That desperate for more, sweetheart?”

“Y-Yes,” you pant, voice trembling. “Please—San—”

He freezes.

Then smirks. “San, huh? You guessing now?”

“I—I don’t… I don’t know why I said that…”

He leans in, licking your clit with a maddening swirl.

“Oh baby,” he purrs against your heat, “you just guessed right.”

You whimper.

“Say it again,” he commands. “Beg properly.”

“San… please… please eat me out, I need it, I need your mouth, I—”

“You need it?” he interrupts, raising an eyebrow. “God, you sound pathetic. Soaked and begging for a stranger’s tongue? You are gone.”

Then his mouth drops again.

This time, he doesn’t tease.

He devours you.

His tongue laps over your clit in firm, steady strokes, pressure building until your back arches and your cries echo through the room. He moans into you like your taste is addictive, like ruining you is his favorite fucking hobby.

And all the while?

He’s talking.

Between every lick, every sinful flick of his tongue—

“You were made for this.”

“Feel how messy you are? You’re dripping onto my fucking chin, baby.”

“God, listen to you—moaning like a bitch in heat.”

You’re losing it.

Completely.

Your fingers claw at the cushions, at his hair, at your own thighs. You can’t stop moving. Your mouth is wide open, babbling filth right back at him:

“S-San, oh my god—don’t stop, please don’t stop—fuck, I’m gonna cum again—your tongue feels so fucking good, you’re so good at this, you’re making me so dumb—”

“Shhh,” he teases, dragging his tongue slowly, deliberately over your clit, “You don’t have to think anymore. Just make those cute little sounds for me, pretty thing.”

“S-So close—! Please, please let me cum, I’ll be good—”

He moans into you again, lips sucking your clit with perfect pressure. You snap, convulsing around nothing, head thrown back, scream raw in your throat as you cum again—harder this time. Wetter. Filthier. You’re shaking uncontrollably, legs closing around his head, but he doesn’t stop.

He rides it out with you. Drinks you in.

Only after you’re twitching, limp, broken open and gasping for air, does he lift his head.

His mouth glistens with you.

He wipes it with his thumb, then leans up and presses that thumb to your lips.

“Suck.”

You do. Instantly.

He watches you with half-lidded eyes and a cocky smirk.

“There you go,” he whispers. “Now you know my name. Now your pussy remembers it too.”

You’re barely conscious—floating on overstimulation and slick heat, heart racing, skin fever-hot. San lifts you off the couch like you weigh nothing and plants himself on it, legs spread, bulge thick and heavy under his jeans.

He undoes his belt slow—deliberate—watching your eyes the whole time.

“You want it, don’t you?” he murmurs.

You nod, too dizzy to speak.

“You’re gonna ride it—but I’m the one moving you. Understand, baby?”

“Y-Yes, San…”

His hands slide down your hips, grip your ass tight, and pull you onto his lap. You can feel him, thick and hot between your folds, rubbing against your soaked entrance but not pressing in yet.

“You’re so wet, fuck,” he growls. “Just from my mouth and fingers? You’re easy, huh?”

You don’t even deny it.

You can’t.

And then he pushes inside—slow, but deep. The stretch is overwhelming. You cry out, body going stiff at first, then limp as he bottoms out, cock buried to the base.

“Holy shit,” he hisses, gripping your ass harder. “Tight as hell. Gripping me like you were made to sit on this cock.”

You moan, legs shaking, mouth open and useless.

San smirks.

“Too dumb to speak now?” he coos, brushing his lips along your neck. “That’s okay, baby. You don’t need words.”

Then he starts moving you.

Big hands gripping your hips, pulling you up just an inch—then slamming you back down.

Again.

And again.

The sound of your soaked pussy hitting his lap echoes in the room—wet, loud, filthy.

“You hear that?” he whispers in your ear. “That’s the sound of your cunt loving every second of this.”

Your head falls onto his shoulder. You can’t stop moaning—every bounce forcing another whimper, another gasped “fuck—San—feels so good—can’t—”

He groans, burying his face in your neck, licking up the sweat on your skin.

“You feel perfect,” he pants. “So fucking warm—so dumb for me.”

He kisses down your collarbone, then sucks a mark onto your chest. His hands never stop moving you, bouncing you on his cock like a ragdoll. One hand comes up to grope your tit—squeezing, pinching, licking and sucking your nipple until you’re trembling in his lap.

Your pussy clenches.

Hard.

“Ohhh fuck, baby,” he growls, “you’re gonna cum again, aren’t you? Just from riding me?”

“I—I can’t hold it—San, please—!”

“Don’t,” he whispers darkly. “Don’t hold back. Cum for me like a good little fucktoy.”

And you do.

Your head throws back, eyes rolling, mouth open in a silent scream as your pussy clamps around him, milking his cock. Your whole body trembles, overwhelmed and wrecked, as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through you.

San groans deep in your ear.

And finally—

He slams you down one last time, grinding his cock into you deep.

“Fuck— I’m cumming—”

You feel him pulse inside you, hot and thick, cock twitching deep as he fills you up completely.

His arms wrap tight around your waist, holding you flush to him, cock still buried inside.

“Good fucking girl,” he breathes. “You took it all.”

You’re still twitching in his lap, cock still buried deep inside you, when San lifts you again—this time rougher, greedy, like he’s done playing nice.

“Face down,” he growls. “Ass up.”

You blink, fucked-out and foggy. “Wha—”

But he’s already moving you, flipping your boneless body over the couch. Your chest presses into the cushions, ass in the air, pussy still dripping and spread wide open for him.

“You think we’re done?” he snarls behind you, spitting on his cock. “No, baby. I just started.”

He slams back inside in one thrust—hard.

You scream into the cushion.

The wet sound of skin slapping skin fills the apartment. His pace is brutal now—hips snapping into yours, hands gripping your waist like a man starved.

You can’t even speak—just gasp, moan, babble.

“Ohmygod—San—so deep—so rough—I can’t—”

“Yes you can,” he growls. “You will.”

One hand grabs your throat from behind, pulling you up just enough for your head to tip back, arching your spine. His grip tightens—not enough to cut off air completely, but enough to make your eyes flutter.

You clench around him so hard it makes him groan.

“Fuuuck, baby… choking you makes you squeeze me like that?”

You whimper.

“God, listen to you—babbling like a little cumdump. Drooling all over the cushions like a broken toy.”

“D-Don’t stop, please—feels so fucking good—can’t think—can’t—ahhh—!”

Your hands claw at the couch, searching for anything to hold. The fabric, the edge, even your own hair—anything to ground you as he pounds your g-spot over and over, making your vision blur.

Then—

He bites your shoulder.

Hard.

You cry out, body shuddering.

His tongue licks the spot right after, soothing it.

“Fucking delicious,” he growls.

Then he flips you again—onto your back.

He climbs over you, pins your wrists above your head with one hand, the other sliding under your thigh to yank it up.

“You gonna fucking squirt for me, baby?” he pants, cock rubbing through your folds again. “Make a mess all over my cock?”

Your body’s already convulsing.

“I—can’t—fuck—I’m gonna—San—”

He thrusts in again.

Deeper. Harder.

Faster.

You’re screaming.

Eyes rolling. Body spasming.

Your pussy clenches so tight it’s almost painful, and then—

You squirt.

Hot, soaking, spraying out between your thighs with each thrust.

“Yes, fuck yes—make a mess for me—fucking soak me, baby—fuck—”

San’s moaning now—loud, raw, desperate. His teeth sink into your neck, your tit, your shoulder—marking you over and over while you cry under him, soaking the couch, completely helpless.

And when he cums again, it’s violent.

His whole body tenses. He growls into your throat, burying himself deep inside you, cock twitching, pumping more hot cum until you’re overflowing.

He collapses on top of you, both of you drenched, gasping, ruined.

“Holy fuck,” he breathes against your lips.

You can’t even answer.

You just moan, clinging to him, twitching with aftershocks, a sloppy, squirming mess under his heavy body.

He chuckles softly, kisses your cheek.

“You’re not walking tomorrow.�

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

can i request 201, 221, and 223 with dom wooyoung from your prompts list please? maybe hubby wooyoung with baby fever as an idea but it can be anything that comes to your mind! i’m just a sucker for soft dom wooyoung😣💗

➯a/n: oh my gaaaahd 🤭 i love this, I LOVE THIS THANK YOU ANON

Baby Fever

❥Jung Wooyoung x fem reader

201 + 221 + 223: praise + creampie/breeding + body worship

✈︎queued for: sun. 18th

(>ᴗ•)genre: smut

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: not proof read, soft and intimate turned a bit rough, wedding night, pet names, lots of talk about having children, super soft dom wooyo, forehead touches (i can't help it-), wooyo borderline obsessed with having kids

♡masterlist !♡

18+. MINORS, GO AWAY.

ෆ

Wooyoung, your boyfriend, told you up front when you started dating that children were non-negotiable for him. If you didn't want kids, you wouldn't work out; because he's always wanted to be a father. And since you've always wanted to be a mother, that wasn't a problem for you.

And the more he got to know you, the more he knew. He knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. He knew he wanted you to be the mother of his children.

He always talked about getting you pregnant, knocking you up, filling you with his babies — you get the idea. Even though you were on birth control until the moment was right, he always said how beautiful you're going to be when you were carrying and how much of a wonderful mother you will be.

And Wooyoung, now your husband, is fucking over the goddamn moon at the fact you got off your birth control a week before your wedding. You've been together for a long, long time. You've moved in together and gotten married and built a life and one thing is missing —

"How many again, Babe?" Wooyoung asks with a giddy smile as he kisses across your neck, down to your shoulder.

It's your wedding night, and he's practically buzzing with happiness.

"You know how many kids I want~" You laugh softly at his eagerness, pushing back his hair to get a good look at him.

"Tell me again anyway," he smiles as looks up at you.

"Let's have... three?"

His eyes light up. "Three?" Usually, the answer is two. You'll love them no matter the gender, but you always fantasized about a little boy and a little girl. "Really, three?"

"Yeah, what if the two get on each other's nerves?" You giggle as he wraps his arms around you tightly, burying his face in your chest, "plus, more of me and you would make the world a beautiful place."

He almost forgets that he's already balls deep inside of you until he throbs, your words shooting straight through his heart and then downward.

"I love you," he says it like it's the first time he's ever done so. Like it's an admission and not a reminder of what he's told you a million times, what he's shown you over your years together. "I can't believe I'm so lucky," he hums as he resumes kissing every inch of skin on your shoulder, rolling his hips slowly.

You close your eyes blissfully, wrapping your legs around him to hold him impossibly closer.

"My gorgeous wife," he moans into your chest, leaving kiss after kiss after kiss as he slowly thrusts into you. His hands rub up and down your sides, caressing you like you're the most precious thing in the world.

Because to him — you are.

"All mine," he grins, lacing his fingers with yours and watching your ring catch the light.

"And you're all mine," you say with a moan, free hand draping over his neck as he leans back up and rests his forehead against yours.

Not a hint of anything other than pure adoration as he traces your features. "You're so pretty," he blushes ever so slightly as he starts thrusting faster, breathing in your gasps as your jaw drops. "You'll be the prettiest mama ever."

"Fuck- Young-" You stutter as he sets a fast pace, grazing against your g-spot every time he bottoms out. He pecks your lips softly, going on to kiss all over your face shockingly gentle for the way he pounds into you. You squeeze his hand tightly, eyes brimming with tears from the intensity.

He hasn't cum for a week, which is unheard of for the man. He's usually on you every chance he gets; but ever since you got off your birth control he's been 'saving' it all up. You tried to tell him that's not how it works, but he just pouted and insisted that he'd be able to fill you up at least four times on your wedding night.

"Don't cry," he hums before placing another kiss to your lips. "You're taking me so well, Babe~ I tried to be gentle, I'm sorry but- ah, fuck~" He wraps one of his arms under your knee, holding it up and driving himself deeper. "It's been so long! I just need to fill you up, I need to, I need to," every soft plead comes with a kiss and a rough thrust.

"It's okay, l-love," you say between his kisses, arching off the bed when he hits a particularly tender place inside of you. "Give me your babies any way you want to~"

His breath catches in his throat as he realizes that he can actually do that. He can actually get you pregnant, "oh, fuck... I'm gonna- fuck!" His eyebrows press together, suddenly slammed with his orgasm. He plunges deep, trembling as he spills his seed inside of you. The first time he ever had the chance to do so and have it be effective.

The fact of that alone is making him hard all over again. Images of you all round and glowing with his child flashing in his ecstasy filled brain.

He's already grinding into you again before his first orgasm is even over.

Wooyoung has the worst case of baby fever ever, and you're the only one he wants the cure from.

ෆ

[zorangezest]

omg pls talk about skybound soundwave hes so lovely hes so evil. Ive been gushing about starscream and this latest issue with them its so perfectly awful <<33

OH SKYBOUND….THE COMICS THAT YOU ARE…….

im just. THE WRITING IN THIS SERIES??? EVERY character thematic is getting nailed in the head, optimus’s melancholy, arcee’s rage, beachcomber’s philosophy, DUDE I WAS GAGGED AT HOW GOOD THAT BEACHCOMBER ISSUE WAS…how he chose not to revive everyone because he knew they carried the war wherever they went im just. Insane??? And Optimus?? Optimus in this series?? His character has always felt like the sage serious leader but in Skybound he just has so much….heaviness? It reads so well that he carries a quiet sadness all the time. THAT SCENE WITH HIM AND ELITA WHEN HE HAD TO CHOOSE BETWEEN EARTH AND CYBERTRON??? OK KICK ME IN THE GUTS WHILE IM DOWN WHY DONT YOU SKYBOUND???

And soundwave……Bro……..SOUNDWAVE……….…I JUST……………soundwave’s character has always been for a backdoors-background role, communications officer and all the nitty gritty finer workings behind the scenes, quiet and passive and going along with the narrative wherever it takes him—his character always feels guided along by the tomfoolery of the rest of the ensemble. but skybound made him such an active brutal threat like dude. they slapped him right on the frontlines killed off his cat for ten-something issues straight up had him rip out starscream’s guts and declare himself the leader. lies and cheats the favour of thundercracker and preaches his deluded greater good by razing everything lesser in his way to the ground. dude. he is evil. he burns cities. he is delusional. I haven’t seen a take on soundwave’s character before that ever made him so loud about being evil. I would fight for skybound like they were my country

NOT EVEN TO MENTION THE WHOLE DYNAMIC HE HAS WITH HS CASSETTES DUDE I THINK SKYBOUND WAS THE FIRST TIME HE WAS EVER EXPLICITLY REFERRED TO AS A FATHER TO THEM. BY MEGATRON NO LESS. HUGE. ABSOLUTELY HUGE FOR SOUNDWAVE NATION (ME) (I AM THE NATION) rest in pieces frenzy you were not the favourite child LMAO the emphasis they put on the familial themes of soundwave character is so very upfront HE STRAIGHT UP CALLS THEM. A FAMILY. KILLING MYSELF. ENGRAVING THE SKYBOUND WRITERS ON MY COMMEMORATIVE PYRAMID. ITS LIKE THIS SERIES WAS MADE FOR ME. THEY GAVE SOUNDWAVE BITE AND SASS

also can I just say starscream and soundwave have my favourite dynamic. they hate each other so much it’s so funny

and now that megatron’s back in the picture OUGHHHHHH. OUUUHGGGGGG OUUGHHHGGG. i am so so curious with this recent reveal that he can mind control his wielders. what does that mean for soundwave?? Does it mean everything?? Does it mean nothing at all?? I FEEL SO BAD FOR STARSCREAM OF ALL THE CHARACTERS BRO GOT TRASHED BY SOUNDWAVE AND THEN TRASHED BY MEGATRON. BRO DIDNT EVEN WANT TO DO THIS IN THE FIRST PLACE GET HIM OUTTT. somehow, incredibly, skybound made it so that soundwave has more deeper rooted evil than starscream and I for one am SEATTTEDDDDDDDD

like when I read this part for the first time i think I laughed out loud he just looks so miserable. bro is an instrument for someone else’s destruction and he’s having the worst time of his life

also!! skybound gave this panel to the world which is pretty much what the inside of my head has sounded like for six months

while I’m at it can I just….the art style for skybound ohhhh my god. The heavy gritty inking, the incredible, incredible stylized sfx, the vibrant colours they use for backgrounds and for palettes. This is my favourite art style of any comic series I’ve read recently and it’s such a huge inspiration (the big ol switcheroo fight comic was heavilyyyyy inspired by how skybound stylizes sfx and colours….) i just cant get enough of it. The way texture is hatched the way they made these clunky metal robots so fluid and expressive…..

also I just. Really love how they draw cliffjumper specifically. like this is a 50 year old man with a retirement plan

that’s a long textpost!! Wow!! the brainrot is Terminal!! round of applause skybound for making soundwave the Warmongering Maniac he deserves to be!! i am extremely stoked to see what’s in store for our dear characters!!

[mahmahmahmysharona]

When you and Bob have your first time…twice (pt. 2)

Bob Reynolds x Avenger Reader (Part 6/6)

*smut warning*

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5

You and Bob managed to get past your seemingly failed attempt at sleeping together pretty quickly.

If anything, it calmed you. You knew now that it couldn't be rushed, especially for the both of you. Too much pressure and one of you might implode — and considering one of you is arguably the most powerful person in the universe, it wasn't really a risk worth taking.

So, you let it be. For exactly a week, until you were sent out on a last minute mission.

It went terribly.

The fact that they saw you coming wasn't your fault — but Ava's near-miss and subsequent injuries were.

You were supposed to be covering her. But then you got distracted trying to reload a gun, and before you knew it she was on the floor, a blade sticking out of her side because she wasn't able to ghost-out in time and you weren't paying attention to warn her.

She stayed conscious, which was a good sign, but the return back to the tower was horrific, watching Yelena switch out bloody bandages and trying to keep her awake.

You, meanwhile, were a mess. You cried when you thought nobody was looking. How could you be so stupid? You had only one purpose in life — only one thing you were really good for — and you failed at that, too. If you couldn't help protect your team, then what was the point?

Ava could read your mind, telling you, "It's okay. It's not your fault." She was even cracking jokes by the time you arrived back. You smiled and nodded, but the smile faded as soon as you helped get her down to rest and you returned to your room. When you caught yourself in the mirror, you were taken aback. You hadn't even realized the extend of your own hits. You looked like shit, which only added to your dismay.

Then, right on cue, the door creaked open. Bob. He stepped inside, just as he always did after you got back.

You were certain you'd never seen anyone else in your life make the expression he made in that moment: like their heart is climbing up through their throat.

"I heard things went bad," he said. He moved towards you, but you stepped back. You didn't want to be held right then. You didn't deserve it.

"I'm just...gonna take a shower," you told him. You didn't even wait for a response. You went into the bathroom, stripped your clothes, and stood under the water, trying to scald yourself of your misery and guilt.

What good are you?

By the time you got out and wrapped a towel around yourself, you expected Bob to have given up and returned to his own room. But when you stepped out, he was still there, sitting on a chair and playing with his fingers. Of course he wouldn't give up on you. And then you feel even worse for thinking he might have done.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, standing up.

God, you thought. You don't deserve any of this. Him. Them. This job. Your eyes welled up with threatening tears, and you wiped them away before they even had a chance to fall.

"I failed to do my job, it's as simple as that," you said. "Now Ava's in for a difficult recovery, and the team won't trust me."

"Of course they will."

You shook your head. "I'm only valuable because of what I can do, not because of who I am. And now I've just proved I can't even do that. Maybe they don't even need me."

You laughed, because it was all you could bear to do. You didn't even know what you needed, what would lessen some of the burden that had been nipping at you since you stepped foot back in the tower.

But Bob did. He saw you standing there, all your well-concealed self-hatred finally coming to the surface, and there was only one way he could think to stop it in its tracks.

He reached forward and took your arm in his hand, pulling you towards him. When you reached him, he wrapped his other arm around your waist and kissed you deeply.

You stumbled a little, not expecting this, and from Bob of all people. But he had you. He always had you, and as he kissed you, you found yourself melting under his grip.

It took a lot of strength to reach up and wrap your arms around his neck, but you managed. Then you were on each other, pressed against one another as close as you could without wondering when the universe might collapse in on itself between you, right there.

He was pulling you out of your own mind, like you had done for him so many times before. It was intoxicating for you both. You wouldn't have been surprised if things had stopped there — if you had both pulled away from the edge before you'd toppled over it — but you were surprised when you suddenly felt his hand drop down to the back of your thigh, dripping the skin there through your towel.

"I need you," he said into your ear. You could feel the words slipping into you and making your spine tingle. "Can I have you now?"

"Yes." You think you said it. Maybe you didn't say anything at all. But suddenly, you felt his hand gripping the towel at your back and tearing at it, pulling it free and dropping it to the ground beside you. Jesus, was this real? You only needed to look at his eyes, which looked you up and down with almost painful reverence, to confirm that it was.

Then he was on you again, his palms dragging against your bare skin and leaving trails of goosebumps all over as he kissed you harder, faster. He moved you around to position himself on the side of the bed, using his hands to bring you to him until you stood between his knees.

He pressed his kisses against your stomach, your ribs, the mounds of your breasts, leaving you breathless and gripping onto his hair just to keep yourself upright. But that was nothing compared to what he did next, dragging his lips down to where your thighs met, where you were already wet and waiting for him.

When his tongue found you, you gasped. Despite all the things you'd done, all the chaos you'd seen, nothing had thrown you as much as the feeling of his tongue lapping at you, grabbing handfuls of your thighs and pressing you onto his mouth even more.

"Holy shit," you breathed, pulling at his shirt. You wanted it gone. You wanted him to be as exposed as you, ready for you to climb on top of him and take him in. But he wasn't letting you, instead grabbing your hands and pulling them down by your sides, holding you there.

You wondered briefly if this was still Bob. But then he loosened his grip and ran his thumb across your wrist, and you knew it was. This was just a new side of him you never even knew he had.

Honestly, Bob didn't know he had this in him either. It astounded him that at times he wasn't able to put one foot in front of the other without messing up, but now, he had you wrapped around his little finger. He hated having such little control over his own life, always at the mercy of the darkness that hid inside him. But now, he was taking control, and there wasn't anything dark or regretful about it. In fact, he thought he could have burst into a ball of light right then and there, listening to the sound of your whimpers.

"Please," you said. "I want— I want you."

When his mouth left you, you were finally able to wrestle his shirt off of him. And as he leaned back, you took the chance to press him down onto the bed and mount him, taking his face in your hands and pressing your mouth against his like it was the only oxygen in the room.

Underneath, he shifted to remove his pants, and you finally felt his hard length pressing against you. You ground down onto him, earning a moan from him into your neck. There was no rush, but you felt as though you might pass out if you didn't have him soon. You reached down and freed him from his underwear, your breath hitching in your throat as you felt him bound against your core.

He was already reaching down, positioning himself at your entrance. "Jesus," he breathed. "You're perfect."

"You couldn't bring yourself to say anything to that. What was there to say? Instead, you gently perched at the tip of him, then lowered yourself onto him, slowly.

Someone whimpered. Someone gasped. It was hard to tell anything anymore, since the only thing you could focus on was how perfectly he fit into you. How good it was to feel him in the pit of you. As you rocked yourself on top of him, rising and falling with the lift of his hips, his hands found your face and used it to lower you down to meet him.

He kissed you, your bodies grinding together in a quickening pace, desperate to get closer, deeper. But there was nowhere else to go. Nobody had ever got this close to you before, and you hoped he could tell that just by the pounding of your heart. (He had to feel that too, right?)

When you felt one of his hands slip between you both, his thumb finding your core and caressing it, you could barely stop yourself from letting out a yelp. Instead, you settled for moaning his name, and he suddenly reacted with a new urgency.

You were growing close and wanted to tell him as much, but there was no way in the world you could form any sort of words right now. Instead, you grabbed his free hand, locking your fingers together and squeezing it tight. You found the wave, finally letting out a small cry as you finished. When you came to, his hand had found the base of your throat, and he was whispering in your ear feverishly, "I'm gonna— Can I—"

"Yes, yes, please."

That was all he needed. He buried himself in you, shuddering with his final thrusts and pressing his face into your shoulder. You waited until you were fully certain he was through — and then a few moments longer to catch your breath — before lifting yourself off and settling on the bed next to him. Between you both, your hands found each other.

"You didn't break anything," you told him after a while. "What does that mean?"

You didn't look at him, but you could hear him smiling. "It means it was perfect," he said, exhausted. "Was it— good for you?"

"Of course."

Everything else — the mission, the dread, the future — that would come back to you. It would never go away. But now it was different, because you had each other. Two fucked-up peas in a pod, trying to find some grasp on reality. He was your reality now, and he was rolling over to press his lips against your cheek.

You regretted nothing.

(That's the last of this miniseries, but open to requests if anyone has ideas for Bob one-shots they want to see!)

Tag list: @purplefluffycows @i-shall-abide @avengersinitiative2012 @tatsunesworld @lovelyypythoness @yujyujj @tortilla-chips-and-allioli @thek8archive @k1ttyjuice

[mintyys-blog]

HEADCANONS | dc characters

IMAGINE THIS: you’ve just bought lingerie for the first time, feeling bold and sexy—only for your man to get so eager he accidentally rips it in the heat of the moment. You’re not thrilled, especially since it cost a small fortune.

warnings ; sexual themes, swearing

💋 dc masterlist

Kindly respect my work. No reposts, translations, or rewrites — AI-generated or not — without my consent. © @mintyys-blog

YOUNG JUSTICE

BART ALLEN

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, trying not to squirm. The lingerie is…barely there. Silky, soft, and strappy in a way that makes you feel like a work of art. It’s the first set you’ve ever bought, and it was not cheap—one of those online boutiques with names you can’t pronounce and checkout pages that hurt your soul. But it was worth it. You feel sexy. Confident. Nervous. And then the world blurs, the air shifts, and suddenly— “Babe I brought nachos!” Bart barrels into the room, holding a takeout bag in one hand and a smoothie in the other. He’s halfway through a sentence when he looks up— And everything. Stops.

The bag almost slips from his fingers. He stares at you like he’s never seen you before. “…I—uh—hi,” he croaks. You raise an eyebrow, pretending to be unaffected. “Welcome home.” He’s in front of you in a blink, dropping the food somewhere behind him (you hear a splat and pray it wasn’t the guac). “You—oh my God, you look—you’re trying to kill me. That’s what this is. Murder by sexy.”

You laugh nervously, tugging at the hem of the sheer fabric. “I just thought I’d surprise you…” He cups your face like you’re fragile glass. “I think I’m in love. Again. Every time I blink.” You lean in to kiss him, and he practically vibrates in place—hands skimming your waist, your thighs, your back— Then he fumbles with a clasp, tugs too hard and— RIIIP. You both freeze. “…Tell me that wasn’t—” You glance down. The strap is done. You look back up. “BART.”

“I didn’t mean to! My hands just—my brain short-circuited and my fingers were like, ‘GO!’ and I couldn’t stop them!”

“That bra cost me seventy-five dollars!” His eyes go wide. “Seventy—That’s so many burritos!” You narrow your gaze. “Not helping.”

“I’ll buy you ten more. No—twenty. And they’ll all be delivered by someone not me, because I’m clearly a liability.”

You cross your arms. “You ruined my moment.” He wraps his arms around your waist and rests his head on your chest with a dramatic sigh. “I ruined my moment, too.” You roll your eyes. “…You still owe me nachos.”

“They’re probably warm from the speed friction.”

“…If the guac exploded, you’re dead.”

WALLY WEST

The glow from the TV flickers across Wally’s face, his tongue poking out slightly in pure concentration as he mashes buttons on the controller. He’s on his headset, talking trash to someone online—probably Roy. “Bro, I literally ran circles around you—get good,” he brags, leaning forward like that’ll make him faster.

You’re standing in the doorway, draped in deep red lace and matching silk. The set took you a full hour to choose and about 90 seconds of panic before you finally put it on. You’d planned this—waited for the perfect moment.

And this? This is it. You lean against the doorframe and clear your throat. “Wally.” He grunts distractedly, still playing. “Yeah, babe—two secs. I’m almost—HA! HEADSHOT!—okay what’s—”

He turns around mid-sentence—and promptly dies in-game. And in real life? He might as well have. The controller hits the floor. His headset dangles off one ear. His jaw? Gone. Completely unhinged.

“Oh. My. God.” He blinks rapidly like he’s buffering. “Are you—are you trying to give me a heart attack?” You smile sweetly, doing a little turn. “I just wanted to surprise you.”

“Surprise me? This is like a full-on emotional ambush. That—wait, is that new? Is this lingerie?” You nod. “Bought it today.”

“You bought that?! You paid actual money?!” He’s already on his feet—controller forgotten, game beeping in the background.

He rushes to you, hands running reverently over your sides, your waist— And then? You feel it. A yank. A snap. Then: RRRRIIIP. You freeze. He freezes. You look down at the torn bra strap dangling pathetically. “…Wally.” His soul visibly leaves his body. “Oh no.”

“That was an eighty-five dollar bra.”

He holds up his hands like he’s negotiating a hostage situation. “Okay, okay, don’t panic—wait, I’m panicking. Because you looked like a gift from heaven and I just tore open the packaging like a rabid dog—” You glare. “I’ll buy you another one!” he rushes out. “Two! Ten! I’ll run to France and get one from some fancy boutique with a name I can’t pronounce!”

“You’re not getting off that easy.”

“I’m not trying to get off at all anymore, apparently.”

You pause. Then smack his arm. “Don’t make jokes.”

“…Too soon?” You sigh, already turning away. “You’re lucky I love you.” He’s behind you in a flash—literally. “You’re right. And I’ll prove it. With overnight shipping, a heartfelt apology, and a foot rub.”

“…And?” you say over your shoulder. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “And I’ll let you kill me in Mario Kart tonight. No blue shells.” You glance back. “…Deal.”

JAMIE REYES

You’re sitting on the bed, heart pounding, dressed in the delicate lingerie you just bought—feeling bold and a little nervous. Jamie steps into the room, eyes instantly drawn to you like you’re the only thing in the world.

“Wow,” he breathes, stepping closer. His hand finds your waist, pulling you in. Your lips meet in a soft, lingering kiss that quickly deepens—his hands moving carefully, but with growing urgency. He reaches behind your back to undo the clasp of your bra, fingers fumbling as you both get lost in the moment. You can feel the warmth spreading, his breath hitching against your skin.

Suddenly, a subtle hum buzzes from Jamie’s arm. The scarab is waking up, sensing his rapid movement. Before he can finish, the scarab whirs to life, its alien energy surging from his back, it’s ‘arms’ stepping in. With a mechanical snap, the fabric gives way— SNAP! The bra strap tears clean off, falling loosely against your skin.

Jamie freezes, eyes wide and apologetic. “Uh… that wasn’t me.” You blink at the torn lace in disbelief. “The scarab just ripped off my seventy-five dollar bra.” Jamie grins sheepishly. “Yeah, it kinda stepped in to help… for ‘optimal speed.’ Guess it thought you needed to get undressed faster.” You can’t help laughing despite yourself. “Your scarab has terrible timing.”

“I’m sorry! But hey, we still got the kiss, right?” He leans down and captures your lips again, slower this time. You wrap your arms around his neck. “Yeah… we got that.”

And maybe next time, you’ll let him handle the lingerie… before the scarab decides to “help” again.

ROY HARPER

You hear the heavy clunk of Roy’s boots outside your bedroom and take one last glance in the mirror. The red lace hugs your body perfectly, delicate straps framing your curves. It’s bold, a little scandalous—and it cost you a small fortune. But the way Roy’s been teasing you all week? Yeah, this is payback.

“Babe?” he calls, clearly not expecting anything out of the ordinary. You settle yourself on the bed, back arched just right, pretending not to care as the door swings open. Roy stops cold. The cocky grin drops off his face and is immediately replaced with slack-jawed awe.

“Holy sh—” He rubs his face like he’s making sure he’s not dreaming. “Okay, what’s the catch? Are you real? Is this a prank? Am I being filmed?” You smirk. “Surprise.”

He’s across the room in two strides, boots forgotten, jacket hitting the floor without a thought. “I—I didn’t think you could get hotter, and now you’re just showing off.” You reach for him, hands in his hair as he kisses you hard, hungry. His fingers are already sliding over your sides, tugging you closer, warm and rough and needy.

Then he’s fumbling with the bra, frustrated, muttering against your lips, “Why do these things have, like, advanced security measures—who invented this clasp—” You start to laugh—right before he gives it one solid pull and— RRRRIP. You freeze. He freezes.

“Roy,” you say in a low, dangerous voice, pulling back. “Tell me you didn’t just—” He holds up the torn strap like a guilty puppy. “I—I panicked! I was overwhelmed! You looked too good! My brain shut down, I acted on instinct—”

“That was eighty-nine dollars, Roy.”

“Eighty-nine?! For that tiny thing?! Babe, you could’ve gotten a grappling hook for that price!” You shove his shoulder. “I was going for sexy, not tactical.”

He looks at the scrap of lace in his hand, then back at you, clearly trying not to laugh—or cry. “Okay, okay, my bad. I’ll fix this. I’ll sew it—wait, no, I’ll buy you another. Like, five. In every color. Hell, I’ll wear one if it makes you feel better.” You raise an eyebrow. “You in matching red lace?”bHe gives you that classic crooked grin. “Babe, I’d rock it.”

“…You better. Or you’re paying for lingerie and dinner.” He kisses your neck, voice low and teasing. “Anything you want, gorgeous. Just… maybe keep the next set away from my hands. At least until I earn them.”

BAT BOYS 🦇

TIM DRAKE

The soft lighting of the bedroom glowed against your skin, casting shadows over the delicate black lace that hugged your body. You’d been nervous picking it out—this was your first time wearing lingerie for him. For anyone. But the look in Tim’s eyes when he walked in? Worth it. His mouth parted slightly. His eyes scanned your form like he couldn’t believe it. “You look…” He cleared his throat, stepping toward you. “You look incredible.”

You smiled, cheeks warm. “Took me forever to pick this out. But I figured you’d appreciate it.” “Oh, I do,” he said, kissing you slowly. “I really, really do.”

Things escalated quickly—your lips moving together, his hands running down your back, across the thin straps. He kissed down your neck, breathing heavy. And then— RIP. You gasped. Your bra dropped to the floor in a tangle of lace. You stepped back, blinking in stunned silence.

Tim was still riding the high, panting a little, eyes dark. “I thought you’d like that. You said it was hot in that book you were reading, remember? The guy ripped everything off the girl in that scene—you said it was intense.”

You stared at him, heart sinking. “Tim. That was fiction. That was a fantasy—in a book. I didn’t say I wanted you to actually rip my stuff in real life. Especially not this.”

He paused, realization slowly dawning in his face. “Wait. Was that… was this expensive?” You stepped back, arms crossed over your chest. “That bra alone was ninety dollars. I saved up for it. I’ve never worn anything like this before, and you ripped it—”

“Shit.” He dragged a hand down his face. “I thought I was doing something romantic. Like… spontaneous. I didn’t mean to ruin it. I just—I thought you’d think it was hot.”

You looked at the shredded lace in his hand. “Tim! It’s only hot in fantasy! If I had a millions of dollars to spend, sure I wouldn’t mind, but I’m not rich!” Silence settled between you. Then—softly—Tim exhaled. “You’re right. I messed up. I got caught up in trying to be… I don’t know. Sexy? And I didn’t think it through.”

You watched him for a moment. You could tell he was genuine—mortified, even. And that was the thing with Tim: he didn’t screw up often. But when he did, it ate at him. He looked up at you, eyes sincere. “I’ll replace it. I’ll go with you next time. I won’t assume again. You deserve better than some dumb book move.”

You sighed. “…You really thought you were giving me the ‘chapter seventeen treatment,’ huh?” A weak smile tugged at his mouth. “I did. Minus the… you know. Consent. And budget awareness.” You shook your head and stepped toward him. “You’ve got a lot to learn about lingerie, Drake.” He reached for your hand. “So teach me. Just… maybe not tonight. I think I’m banned from lace until further notice.” You smirked. “Correct.”

JASON TODD

You stand just inside the doorway, heart pounding as Jason walks in, leather jacket thrown carelessly over his shoulder. The soft, black lace you’re wearing feels like it’s daring him—like a challenge. He stops dead in his tracks, eyes darkening. “Damn,” he mutters, voice low.

Before you can say anything, he’s across the room, hands on your waist, pulling you closer. His lips find yours, rough and demanding.

When he reaches behind you to undo your bra, you see a flicker of hesitation. His fingers fumble awkwardly over the tiny hooks—he’s trying to be gentle, you know he is.

But Jason’s hands aren’t made for delicate work. With a frustrated grunt, he tugs too hard— SNAP!

The tiny metal hook breaks off in his fingers. The bra strap slips and hangs uselessly. You pull back, eyes narrowing. “Jason.” He looks down at the broken hook, cheeks flushing. “Shit. Sorry.” His rough hands close into fists. “I didn’t mean to—”

You sigh, a small smile breaking through. “I know. But this thing was expensive. Like, way more than I wanted to spend.” Jason reaches out and brushes a stray hair from your face. “I’ll buy you a new one. Maybe something tougher. Or I’ll just stay away from the clasps.”

You chuckle, leaning into his touch. “Next time, just leave the tricky bits to me.” He grins, eyes sparkling. “Deal. But you owe me a rematch in bed.” You bite your lip. “You’re on.”

DICK GRAYSON

You barely make it past the front door before Dick’s lips are on yours, hands gripping your hips like he’s been waiting for this all night—which, to be fair, he probably has. His jacket hits the floor. You tug his shirt over his head. You’re both breathless, laughing in between kisses that are quickly turning desperate.

You let him guide you to the bed, still wearing the silky little lingerie set you spent way too much money on—something just barely modest, lacy and black, and cut high on the hips.

He groans when he sees it.

“Holy hell. You wore this for me?” he whispers, voice low and reverent.

You smirk. “Who else would I wear it for?”

That does something to him. His mouth crashes against yours again, his hands roaming lower—gripping your thighs, stroking up, teasing. And then—

RIP.

You blink.

“…Did you just—?”

Dick pulls back, still panting, holding the torn panties in one hand like a goddamn trophy. “Sorry. I got excited. They were in the way.”

You sit up, staring at him. “Dick. Those cost me fifty-two dollars.”

He pauses, looks at the fabric in his hand, then back at you. “That little piece of fabric was fifty-two dollars?”

“Yes! They were French. Imported. Do you know how much scrolling I had to do for those? They weren’t supposed to last ten minutes!”

He winces. “Okay, that’s on me. I got carried away. But—” he crawls toward you with that stupid, beautiful grin “—you were literally melting into the mattress. I didn’t think we had time for subtlety.”

You raise a brow. “You could’ve just taken them off like a normal person.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he murmurs, kissing your neck again.

You sigh dramatically, arms wrapping around his shoulders. “You owe me new ones. And I’m picking them out.” He kisses the corner of your mouth. “Fair. But I reserve the right to tear them off if they’re that hot again.” You narrow your eyes. “You’re buying two pairs.”

OTHER DC CHARACTERS

JOHN CONSTANTINE

John’s sitting in the dark like always—shirt wrinkled, tie loosened, cigarette burning low, and the faint smell of cheap whiskey clinging to the air. Classic Constantine.

You step into the room quietly, letting the light from the hallway hit the lace you’re wearing—sheer, black, strappy. Sexy without being obvious. Expensive without looking like it. Imported. Hand-wash only. You hadn’t planned on dropping that much money on one outfit… but something about John just made you reckless.

His gaze lifts from the rim of his glass—and immediately locks on you.

“Well, fuck me sideways,” he mutters, cigarette falling from his lips and into the ashtray. “You plannin’ to kill me, love?”

You smirk, stepping closer. “Depends. Are you gonna play nice?”

“Not bloody likely.”

He’s on his feet before you can blink, whiskey forgotten, hands on your waist, mouth claiming yours in that familiar, hungry way. You moan into the kiss, fingers fisting in his shirt as he walks you backward toward the couch.

His hands skim under the lace, rough palms sliding over expensive fabric. “You’re gonna drive me straight to Hell lookin’ like this,” he mutters, voice gravelly, accent thick. “Bet that bra’s got a bloody name. Probably cost more than me rent.”

You hum, teasing. “So maybe don’t destroy it, yeah?”

“Right,” he whispers against your throat. “Be gentle. Got it.”

Except he’s not. Because of course he’s not.

You feel the tension in his hands—fingers fumbling with the back clasp—and then, in one sudden, impulsive tug:

RRRRIP.

You freeze. “John.”

“…Bugger.”

You step back, looking down at the torn lace in horror. “John. That bra cost me a hundred and twenty dollars.”

He blinks. “You what now?”

“One. Twenty. Dollars.” You hold up the mangled remains. “Do you know how many enchantments I had to reverse to even buy it without bad luck sticking to me?”

He has the nerve to look sheepish. “In me defense, you were makin’ all sorts of sounds. Thought the bra was negotiable.”

“It was not.”

He raises his hands in surrender, grin tugging at his lips. “Alright, alright, love. I buggered it up. I’ll make it up to you. Take you shopping meself. Hell, I’ll even charm the register clerk into givin’ you a discount.”

You cross your arms. “With actual magic or with your ridiculous accent?”

He winks. “Bit of both, maybe.” You narrow your eyes, but the corners of your mouth are twitching. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“Oh, I’m more than lucky, sweetheart,” he says, pulling you in again. “But if I buy you a new one… does that mean I get to take that one off, too?” You sigh, dramatic. “Without ripping it.”

“No promises,” he murmurs, already pressing kisses along your jaw.

HAL JORDAN

You’re lounging on the bed when you hear the front door open—keys hitting the counter, boots thunking onto the floor, and then a low whistle from the hallway.

“Well damn,” Hal’s voice cuts in, cocky and smooth as ever. “That for me, sweetheart?”

You stretch just a little, letting the soft, sheer fabric hug your curves just right. “Who else would it be for?”

He leans against the doorframe, grinning like he just got handed his birthday and Christmas present in one go. “God, you’re gonna kill me in that thing.”

You smile, cheeks warming under his gaze. “Then don’t just stand there.”

In a flash, he’s at the edge of the bed, crawling up over you with that signature pilot confidence. His mouth crashes into yours, hands skimming over your waist, then up—fingertips teasing the edges of your brand-new, ridiculously expensive bra.

“Jesus,” he murmurs. “You look insane in this. Soft, delicate… unreal.”

“Mm-hmm,” you breathe. “So maybe be gentle with it?”

He gives you a cocky smirk, reaching for the clasp behind you. “C’mon, babe. I know what I’m doing—”

SNAP.

You feel it before you even see it—the unmistakable tear of lace and the ping of metal. You sit up fast, eyes wide. “What the hell was that?”

Hal pulls back, a tiny, destroyed hook clasp hanging between his fingers. “Uh… that may have been the bra.”

You stare. “Hal. That bra was ninety dollars.”

He blinks. “Wait. Ninety? For that little thing? I could make one with my ring in three seconds—”

“Do not,” you cut him off, holding up the mangled strap like a corpse. “I picked this out, I was excited, I wanted this to be nice. Not a green-construct emergency wardrobe situation.”

“…Okay, fair.” He lifts his hands, giving you a sheepish grin. “I got too eager. That’s on me. But I’ll replace it. Hell, I’ll take you shopping. I’ll sit through every fitting room session and give serious feedback.” You narrow your eyes. “No dumb comments?”

“Only tasteful ones,” he promises, leaning in with that mischievous glint. “Though if you want me to rip the next one off too, we can make it, like, a planned thing.”

You huff—but you’re smiling. “You’re lucky you’re hot.” “Damn right I am,” he murmurs, mouth finding yours again. “Now let me make it up to you. No bra required.”

KON EL KENT

You waited until he got comfortable—shirt half unbuttoned, lounging on your bed, completely unsuspecting.

Then you stepped out of the bathroom wearing the set you definitely splurged on: delicate, deep red lace, a strappy bra that practically sculpted you, and matching panties with tiny gold accents. You’d barely moved and he was already staring.

“Whoa,” Kon breathed. His whole body stiffened. “You look… Holy crap. Babe.”

You leaned against the doorway, giving him a little spin. “You like it?”

“Like it?” He sat up so fast the bed creaked. “You look—insane. Unreal. Like, heart actually stopping.”

You giggled and walked over slowly, one knee on the mattress as you crawled toward him. “I bought it for you.”

“Oh my god.” He grabbed your hips like he was holding treasure. “Okay. I love you. Officially. Completely. Forever.”

You laughed and leaned in to kiss him—long, heated, needy. His hands slid up your back, down your thighs, everywhere at once. He was usually careful, always hyper-aware of how strong he was, but tonight?

He forgot.

You felt the tug before you heard it. A snap, then a louder RRRIP. You blinked. “Wait—”

Kon looked down just as the center strap of your bra broke in two, the delicate lace falling like paper.

“Oh no,” he whispered, holding up the ruined piece. “That was—was that expensive?”

You stared at him.

And then came the second mistake.

He slid his hands down your hips, groaned, and tugged the panties off in one smooth, superpowered motion.

Rip.

Both sides.

“Kon!”

He froze, both pieces of the ruined panties dangling from his fingers. “…Okay, okay, I did not mean to do that one.”

You stared at him in wide-eyed horror. “That whole set cost me almost two hundred dollars!”

His eyes widened. “You spent two hundred— oh, babe. I’m so sorry. I just—your body does something to my brain, I swear. My powers—my instincts—my everything just short-circuits.”

You groaned, flopping onto your back dramatically. “That was supposed to be a sexy night. Now I’m naked and furious.”

Kon leaned over you sheepishly, brushing a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll buy you a new one. Multiple. A full drawer. Hell, I’ll go to Earth’s fanciest store and ask the poor saleslady what looks best on my supermodel girlfriend.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You better. And you don’t get to touch them until I say so.” He winced, but nodded. “Punishment accepted.” Then he paused. “…Can I still cuddle you while you’re mad and naked?” You gave a long sigh. “…Fine. But I’m still filing an emotional damage report.”

EOBARD THAWNE

You don’t even hear him arrive—one second you’re standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the delicate lace and satin straps, the next… he’s behind you. A red and yellow blur, a smirk against your neck, and hands already slipping over your hips. “What’s this?” he murmurs against your ear. “Trying to tempt me, sweetheart?”

You smile, slow and smug. “Didn’t think you needed much tempting.”

Eobard laughs, low and hungry. “You’re not wrong.”

He spins you around and kisses you hard, hands gripping your thighs before you can even protest. You’re off the ground in a second—legs wrapped around his waist, back pressed to the nearest surface, his mouth on your neck, then your chest, then lower.

But when he tugs at the bra—rip.

And when his fingers hook into your panties—rip.

You gasp. “Eobard! That set cost me a hundred and sixty dollars—”

He groans, irritated, already pressing his hips against yours as he slides between your legs. “I’ll buy you another damn pair. Just shut up and let me enjoy this.”

You glare. “It was imported.”

He nips at your jaw. “So are half the enemies I murder. Does it look like I care?”

You pout, crossing your arms even though he’s pinning you in place. “I liked that set. It had embroidery.”

He finally pauses long enough to meet your eyes—his gaze dark, electric, and unrepentantly hungry. “I’m going to ruin whatever you wear anyway,” he murmurs, brushing his lips just over yours. “You should know that by now.”

Your pout softens, just a little. “You’re an asshole.”

“Mm.” He grins. “And you’re still kissing me.”

You do.

Because no matter how fast or reckless he is—when he looks at you like this, when he touches you like you’re the only constant in his broken perception of time—you always kiss him back. (But you will send him a very expensive link to that lingerie set tomorrow. He’ll grumble, then buy five.)

[paarksunghoon]

resignation (7)

SUMMARY: For the last six years, you’ve dedicated your career to ensuring Park Sunghoon never misses a day of work in his life. But you’re tired of endless days that seem to blend together, and seeing him living his fun, luxurious lifestyle makes you think about what else you might be missing out on. When Sunghoon finds your resignation letter on his desk, he does everything in his power to convince you to stay.

NOTES: this chapter is also unedited. sorry y'all

WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: mutual masturbation, phone sex, dirty talk.

SERIES PLAYLIST + SERIES MASTERLIST

***

Sunghoon has grown far more bold ever since having dinner with him for the second time. You don't shy away or make a fuss about it when the two of you are alone together, and it scares you just how much you enjoy being in his company without the pretext of making sure he’s on track to succeed at his job. 

He calls you after work to talk about anything but for the first time. Sunghoon keeps you company on the phone while you make dinner, and the two of you remain on the line while you brush your teeth before putting yourself to bed. He does the same, too, informing you of his meal and that he’s the kind of guy who needs a sweet treat before he goes to bed. 

He’s just as bold on the phone as he is in person. 

“Is it bad that I want to touch you?” 

“What?” 

“I just…I miss touching you. I’ll go crazy if I’m not near you.”

“You’re insane. Are you drunk?”

“Stone cold sober,” he tells you when you’ve settled into your sheets. It sounds like Sunghoon’s rustling in his bed sheets to sit up and rest against his headboard. “Can’t believe you’re so far from me.”

Is it normal for you to get worked up over Sunghoon’s voice? 

“I haven’t stopped thinking about the night you slept over. God, you were so wet. You look really good when you come and you sound even better.”

His words echo in your mind and you grow more aroused with every word spoken. Sunghoon speaks like he’s got the raw honest truth that needs to be shared, or else it’ll make him go mad. His voice is breathy and light. It almost makes you think he’s troubled by it. You sit upright, too. Your pillows act as a brace for your back as you cross your legs and keep your phone by your ear.  

“I can’t stop thinking about eating you out in your office either. Do you know how long I’ve been fantasizing about that? I can’t believe you let me eat it during work hours.”

“You’ve thought about it?” you ask in disbelief.

“Yeah. More times than I’d like to admit.”

“H-How long?”

Sunghoon lets out a breathy laugh. “Years, maybe. Definitely when you came into the office wearing the long purple dress. You looked so good waiting for me.”

You can’t help when you clench around nothing and roll your hips in the air. There’s no doubt your cunt is sopping wet by Sunghoon’s words alone, and his confession leaves you aching for his touch. 

“I don’t know what it was about that dress. It was backless. You wore high heels, too. The kind I’d never seen you wear before. You looked different than you usually did.” 

You put your phone on speaker and close your eyes as you let your middle finger ghost over your covered slit, imagining it was Sunghoon touching you instead. It takes you right back to the morning he fingered you for the first time when you feel how wet you are. You almost feel shameful for getting horny over the sound of Sunghoon’s voice. But it’s deep and seductive, and you can’t help it. 

“I’ve always thought you were attractive. I love assertive women. I love when you put me in my place and argue up the wall until one of us gives up. It drives me fucking crazy when you get mad at me because all I can think about it how good the sex would be.”

You whimper quietly. It catches over the phone and Sunghoon hears it.

“Are you horny, baby?” Sunghoon asks like he can’t believe you feel the same way too. 

“Yeah.”

“Me too. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

He breathes heavily and emits a quiet moan. You’re afraid to admit how incredibly attractive Sunghoon’s moans are and settle for biting your lip while prodding your covered cunt against your opening. 

“Remember when we fooled around the night you stayed over? My dick was so hard for you. I was ready to take off your clothes and fuck you right then. 

But it was late and we had work. You looked at me like you wanted it. I could see how badly you wanted me. Did you see how badly I wanted you too?” 

After moving your panties to the side, you take the underside of your fingertips and glide when back and forth over your soaked pussy. You pass your clit with every swipe and jolt at the euphoric feeling while pretending it’s Sunghoon’s hand. You could come from just this if you tried hard enough. 

“You’re a little quiet. Are you okay?”

“I…” you trial off, finding the courage to speak. “I like hearing you talk.”

Sunghoon hums. “You like hearing how horny you make me?”

“God yes.” It comes out like you’re desperate for it. 

“I can’t wait to fuck you. For real, this time. We’ll have all the time in the world for foreplay, but this time, I’ll be able to fuck you without anything or anyone interrupting.” 

When you hear wet sounds on the other end of the line, you can’t help but moan. You picture Sunghoon spreading his precum all over his cock with his hand shaped like a fist, twisting his wrist so that his thumb reaches his tip. You picture him with his phone put on speaker in order to use both hands to jerk himself off. 

The echoes of his wetness splashing makes you put a single finger inside of you. When you listen carefully, you hear Sunghoon’s heavy breathing and the way he’s touching himself. You picture what his face would look like with his eyes closed and mouth wide open.

“I think you want that as badly as I do. I’ve got a place by the countryside. How about a weekend getaway? I’ll fuck you for the entire weekend if that’s what you want.”

Sunghoon hisses and you picture him with his hips in the air as he squeezes himself at the base. Your reference of his print from the first time helps you imagine how big he is without his clothes on. Big and thick. You push your finger deeper inside you and pull your wrist out, just to push it in again. 

“I could fuck your perfect pussy in my bed. I’ll take you on my couch while we’re watching a movie. We’ll do it in the shower and in my car.”

He wants to fuck you this badly? Sunghoon’s words falter with every passing sentence. It sounds like he’s losing his grip on sanity the more he jerks himself off. You come to the conclusion that if you can hear Sunghoon touching himself, he could likely hear you getting off too.

Why does that make you feel excited? 

You feel crazy when you think about what he’s saying. Why does it sound like Sunghoon has been thinking about this for a while? And, God, how is he able to bring out this side of you? 

“I can’t help myself when it comes to you.”

Sunghoon’s hand picks up the pace and he moans, unashamed. His deep grunts push you to add another finger inside and recall the girth of his own. You think about what he’d look like touching you in the quiet of your room on your own bed sheets instead of his. You imagine Sunghoon’s naked chest hovering over you while his face contorts into an expression of pleasure when he fucks his fingers inside of you. 

Thinking about him like this makes you feel exhilarated. Your chest heaves up and down and you can’t help but roll your hips and push them towards your fingers. You reach the deepest parts of yourself and moan out loud, covering your mouth when you realize how loud you sound.

“Yes, yes, yes.” Sunghoon whimpers on the other end. “Keep going. You sound so fucking good.”

It’s not hard to listen to him. Moaning against your palm is like second nature when your fingers push themselves in and out. Sunghoon grunts and you imagine himself fucking his hips up in the air while his other hand tries to chase after his balls to squeeze them. He must be jerking himself off fast and quickly by the sound of slapping. 

Imagining what it would feel like to go all the way with him pushes you over the edge. Sunghoon’s words get to you, and you think about his dick ramming inside of you like he’ll die if he doesn’t fuck you properly. He sounds mangled and desperate to touch you without interruption. Something tells you he wouldn’t care if somebody walked in on him pleasuring you, but you know Sunghoon wants you all to himself just as badly.  

You come with panting breaths and Sunghoon moans, too. The way you moan together sounds euphoric. So much, in fact, that you picture him on top of you as he finishes alongside you. You scrum able to grab your phone and take him off speaker so you can hear Sunghoo’s moans directly in your ear, and pretend he’s moaning while on top of you.

“I’m gonna, shit, holy shit—”

Sunghoon moans loudly when he comes. You imagine his hand working overtime to push out every last drop with his eyes wired shut. He could either be squirting ropes out his tip until it splashes on his abdomen. Or, his come could come out like a slow fountain and drip all over his dick until it seeps past his base. The urge to see him orgasm overtakes your every desire. It’s not fair that he’s seen you naked twice and you haven’t seen him named at all. 

“You’re perfect.” 

You snort. “Give me a second to calm down before you coddle me, would you? And what am I, a booty call when you can’t get off?” 

“You’re more than that to me, and you know it. You just like giving me a hard time.”

“Someone has to.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“When am I not?” 

He chuckles. “We should probably sleep. Work, you know?”

“You can be so awkward sometimes.” You laugh and pick up the phone to put it by your ear. “And, um…you sound really good. You know, when you, like…yeah.”

“When I what?” He’s teasing you and he knows you know it. 

“You know!” 

“I do, but I want to hear you say it.” 

Your cheeks warm up and you find your courage. “You sound really good when you moan. I just…jesus.” 

“And you sound like a fucking angel every time I make you come.” 

“I’m going to hang up now,” you say hastily with your bottom lip caught between your teeth. He laughs. “Goodnight, Sunghoon.”

“Night, love. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

***

Maybe you’re losing your goddamn mind. 

It’s hard to keep work separate from whatever’s going on between you and Sunghoon because every moment in his office feels like a lion stalking its prey. He’s professional in all sense of the word, except when he winks at you when nobody’s looking. You can’t count the times he’s snuck a kiss when the two of you are alone in the break room. 

Is this a situationship? Is it casual dating? Would he describe this as either? 

These questions have circled inside your mind from the minute you let him bury his fingers deep into you. You’re the kind of girl who likes a distinct answer with a clear label. You like stability and clarity, not the back and forth that you see in Netflix dramas. 

Even so, you can’t help but relish the time you spend with Sunghoon. He’s giving you the kind of attention you’ve been secretly yearning for during your years away from home. It felt scary to jump into the deep end without knowing how far you’d fall, but Sunghoon makes you think the risk is worth it. 

“Did I lose you?” 

Sunoo’s voice cuts through your phone and you blink twice while staring at yourself in the mirror with a tube of mascara in hand. His voice brings you out of your thoughts.

“Sorry, I got distracted.”

“Thinking about lover boy, aren’t you?”

“He’s my boss, Sun.”

“A boss you’re fucking.”

“We are not fucking!” 

“Yet.” 

You close the mascara tube. “You’re so insufferable. I don’t know why I bother to update you on my life when you have plenty of action back home.”

Sunoo laughs. “It’s ’cause you love me and have no friends.”

“Yah. No need to rub it in. I’m pretty sure I’m becoming friends with my neighbor who watches Pochi for me when Sunghoon needs me to stay late.” 

“That’s good. See, you aren’t totally helpless when it comes to your social life.” 

You sigh. “Yeah, I guess. It’s been hard juggling work and my personal life. It feels like every person I hang out with is a product of my job. Everybody wants a meeting to connect with me, but nobody gives a shit about me.” 

“Don’t say that. I know I tease you a lot, but that’s because I love you. People don’t see how great you are.”

“Ha. Maybe. Quitting Park Inc. will give me more time to think about my life. I don’t care if I have to work in a library for a year. Anything is better than a job where I won’t grow.” 

“It sounds like you’re doing the right thing.”

“Am I?” You sigh into the phone. “I have no backup plan. I’m quitting on a whim and the money I’ve gotten from Sunghoon will last me for a while, sure, but then what? It’s not like I can crawl back to this company if I don’t find anything better.”

“You’ve been thinking about quitting for months,” Sunoo reminds you. “This isn’t a rash decision. We’ve spent a lot of time talking about this. You’re not happy working at this company and it’s about damn time you have a life outside of work.”

“I know. It’s just…different, I guess. I’ve gotten used to this lifestyle and catering to other people, you know? I’m not alone, but I feel really lonely.” 

Sunoo hums with sympathy. “I wish I could see you everyday.”

“You’d get sick of me.”

He laughs. “No I wouldn’t. But don’t tell anyone that.” 

“He took me to dinner last night, you know?”

“Sunghoon?”

“Mhm. There’s a Spanish place not far from my place. We looked at it for a company event in the summertime.”

“Like a food tasting?”

“Yeah, exactly that. Sunghoon ordered all of the menu, practically. We talked to the manager about it because they knew we were coming in, but he told me to order anything that looked good.”

“How much did you eat?”

“Too much, Sun. Sunghoon kept telling me not to worry about the price because it’s expensive anyway. I’m pretty sure Sunghoon might be the manager’s new favorite person.” 

“That sounds like a date.” 

You click your tongue. “I don’t know. Probably not. He held my chair out for me.”

“That was a date.”

“Sure. We had a few of their signature cocktails, too. Really good. Top shelf kind of stuff. We need to finalize their menu before I leave for good.”

Sunoo chuckles from the other end of the line. “You are so in denial.”

“Shut up. Did you eat breakfast yet?”

“I’m actually walking downstairs now. Riki’s up early because he has class and then dance practice later this evening.”

“Is that your sister?” A deeper voice flows through your ears.

“Hey, Riki. How are your classes and practice?”

“I resist the urge to fall asleep on my desk,” he says, which makes you laugh. “Dance is great. We’ve got a showcase in Seoul in a few weeks. You should come!”

“I’d love to. Text me the details, yeah?”

“Bring whoever. There’s gonna be a few scouts, but it’s not a huge thing.”

“I’ll be there.” 

“You two are disgustingly supportive of each other,” Sunoo says.

“Don’t act like you don’t worry about her,” Riki says, no doubt teasing Sunoo while the latter rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m kind of stuck with her as a sister, so I have to.”

You laugh. “Don’t lie. You love me.”

“Debatable.”

You smile when you hang up the phone.

***

Yang Jungwon is fifteen minutes early.

You see him sitting in the lobby of your floor by the time you step out of your office to refill your water bottle before the interview. He’s got a piece of paper in his hands and he looks like he’s reading over the material thoroughly. Jungwon sits with a briefcase by his feet and dresses like he might as well be a business partner of Sunghoon’s. The secretary lets you know he’s waiting for the interview and you’re more than pleased to know he hasn’t arrived last minute. 

Sunghoon is nowhere to be found, either. Even though each candidate has no inclination as to who they’ll be working with, you know Sunghoon’s curiosity will get the better of him. You’ve scheduled a meeting with a client out of the office and he won’t come back until well into the day.

An unfamiliar feeling settles in your chest when you look at him. He looks the way you did before you were hired. Nervous, ambitious, and hopeful. Looking at him makes you think about when you arrived at the interview much earlier than the set time and how you tried to push down your anxiety to appear more sure of yourself. 

The years seem to have flown by the more you focus on work. A strange sense of nostalgia and longing lurks within you as you watch Jungwon from your office. Facing the fact that you will be replaced in a month feels oddly daunting. By the time you approach him, he stands up and bows respectfully. 

“Thank you for taking the time to meet with me,” he says, putting the stray paper away. “I appreciate your time and consideration.”

“Thank you for coming. Let’s talk inside my office.” 

He follows you inside and takes a seat in front of your desk when you beckon him to feel comfortable. It feels strange to be on this side of the interview; you kept a low profile during your first few years as an assistant until working with Sunghoon was as easy as counting to three. Becoming an invaluable asset and accumulating the fine details of how this company operates and the business it does feels like you’re far too integrated to leave. But you’ve always been Sunghoon’s right hand and nothing more. 

Still, facing the reality that you’re parting ways with this job feels unnatural. 

“How are you, Jungwon?”

“I’m great, actually.” He puts the briefcase on the ground and smoothes over his pants. “I’m really looking forward to our conversation.” 

“Thanks for coming in on a Tuesday morning.”

“It’s my pleasure. I’m sure you have more pressing matters.” You hum. Hearing corporate speak from such a young man reminds you of the person you were six years ago.

“Tell me about yourself.”

He gulps. “I’ve just graduated college and have always held an interest in being in management. I wasn’t sure what field I wanted to go into, but Seoul has so many great opportunities I was afforded to discover during my time at university.” Jungwon takes a deep breath and twiddles his thumbs. 

“Throughout my years at internships, venture capitalism caught my interest the most. It was fun, if I may speak candidly. I extended my internship throughout the summer before I graduated and liked being part of a team that sets up success for clients I believe in.” He watches you look down at his resume sitting atop your desk. 

“You have great experience and your university courses align with what we do here.”

“I tailored my education during my last year of university because I know this is what I want to do for the foreseeable future. I want to learn from the best and become great at what I do without losing my head.”

You hum. “This job can get hectic, don’t you think?” 

“I think any job can get that way, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t worth it. My days were long and difficult, but I loved getting the experience to solve problems and make things happen for businesses. I enjoyed being part of it, even if I only contributed a small portion.”

Jungwon talks like he’s got the entire world ahead of him. It makes you wish you could see yourself like that too.

“Frankly speaking, this assistant position is much more than filing papers and running errands. There will be elements of that from time to time, but the person you’ll be working under likes to see how well his assistant can juggle the fine details before anything else.” 

“I’m not held to a position,” Jungwon says with a smile. “I really like learning from other people and the best way to do it is to surround myself in an environment that teaches me. Even if I’m getting dry cleaning one day and sitting in on meetings the next, I’d like to think all of those tasks will lead me to become great at my job.”

“It’s a stepping stone, for sure. As you know, Park Inc. is the biggest venture capitalist firm in Asia and there is little room for error. How do you approach obstacles?”

“There’s no getting around bad days or lapse of judgment. We all make mistakes and it’s up to us to learn from them. I would consider myself somebody who sees the big picture for what it is. I’m also somebody who needs to focus twice as hard when it comes to the fine details and executing steps before we reach the end goal. It’s hard, especially when I’m in the beginning stages of my career, but I have the determination and ambition to succeed.” 

Jungwon gives you near perfect answers when you ask him questions. Sunghoon thrives off of organization and somebody who can keep up with his routine. It’s hard to separate who you are with this job because you’re the longest assistant Sunghoon has ever had, and you think that counts for something. 

A part of you looks at Jungwon like he’s a younger version of you. It’s as if you’re peering into your past; the concept of being incredibly motivated to jumpstart his career makes you wonder where your wide-eyed ambition went. His big, round eyes look at you with curiosity and his body language shows eagerness. You ponder on all the reasons why you’re giving your job up. You don’t find this position fulfilling anymore. This everyday routine doesn’t make you happy like it used to. 

There’s hesitance in leaving the company you’ve worked for during your six years living by yourself. It was lonely, at first, with the knowledge that you’d be leaving your family and grade friends behind. Your parents and Sunoo helped you pack your belongings, but it seemed like he was the only one genuinely emotional about the move. While he swayed anywhere between excited for your next chapter and sad that you’d be far away, your parents seemed eager to get you out of the house. 

Calls came few and in between. They’d driven you in a U-Haul truck with everything you owned and helped put the boxes in your apartment, but that was that. They had called a couple of times to make sure you were settled in because your relatives and neighbors had asked about it. But other than that, it seemed like most of their focus shifted onto Sunoo. 

It wasn’t surprising, either. The three of you weren’t that close as you grew up. Getting used to secondhand treatment and the absence of parenthood was easier when you eventually left your hometown. Long gone were the days where you’d drive past your high school and relive memories of being forgotten at pickup or after extracurriculars. The impending doom of loneliness that came with moving to a brand new city without knowing a single soul was better than living with two people who were supposed to love you, but didn’t. 

Having a set routine and focusing your attention on Sunghoon was a big reason as to why your adjustment wasn’t as hard as you thought it would be. Your time was spent worrying about getting the hang of your job, and eventually catering to his needs. There wasn’t any time in your day to think about how lonely you were sitting in your apartment every weekend while everyone on your social feed was out of their house. 

Befriending your neighbors and people you’ve met through work was your saving grace once the loneliness started to make its presence known. By this time, you knew Sunghoon like the back of your hand and work wasn’t keeping you from sleeping. You didn’t have to worry about impressing him because you’d been working under him long enough to know what he needed and how he operated. All that was left was you and your thoughts alone. Thinking about your life apart from your career was scary. 

But even with new challenges and shortcomings, you’ve grown over the last few years. You’re not the timid person you were when you lived with your parents. This job has forced you to come out of your shell and broaden your worldview, inevitably teaching you how to become a more confident person. This job is filled with entitled men who know nothing of struggle, and being able to move past harsh criticisms and sexist behavior taught you what it meant to be a stronger person. 

It feels bittersweet to hear Jungwon talk about why he wants your job so much. You don’t feel as excited to come into the office and contribute to your company like you all those years ago. It’s become monotonous and predictable. You know Sunghoon’s life better than you know your own. You know his medical history (in case of an emergency), you’ve gotten to know his immediate and distant family (because his entire family is in the venture capitalist business), and you’ve spent enough time with Sunghoon to get to know his quirks and habits. It’s time to let this phase of your life pass.

Who are you when you’re not his assistant? You’re having trouble figuring that out.  

“Thank you for your honesty and for your time,” you tell Jungwon earnestly. He stands when you do and bows politely. 

“If I may be honest once more,” Jungwon begins, “this is the best interview I’ve ever had.” 

That makes you stop in your tracks. “Really?” 

He nods. “I don’t mean to come off like I’m trying to sway you, or anything. I know how competitive this business is. But I appreciated how easy it was to talk to you and I enjoyed having a conversation instead of listing all of my strengths and weaknesses over and over again. 

“It’s easy to get lost in the stress of this job. It sounds like you really care about what you do. I know we don’t know each other, but I get the feeling you’ve seen a thing or two and learned from it. Maybe this is crossing a line. I don't know. But honestly, it felt like I was talking to an older version of me, in a sense? So, yeah, I loved our interview.” 

“Thank you, Jungwon.” You try to remain neutral and keep your mouth shut to prevent yourself from being too honest with a candidate. “I had a wonderful time with you, too. Let me walk you to the elevator.” He follows behind you to the silver doors and smiles politely at you before stepping inside. 

“For what it’s worth, I’m happy to have met you.” 

The elevator doors close. Sunghoon, who apparently made his way back into his office without letting Jungwon see, is sitting at his desk and looking at his computer. It takes a few strides before you round the corner and knock on his door. Sunghoon beckons for you to come in. 

“How’d it go with the candidate? Did you lay it on thick or keep it casual? Jaeyun was betting on the former, but I think otherwise.”

You’re grateful that his office faces yours and cannot be seen from the floor lobby. Sunghoon looks at you in concern when your bottom lip starts to wobble as you walk closer to him, and you can barely see a thing when tears start to gather in your waterline. 

“Baby?” Sunghoon says gently. “Are you okay?” 

That goddamn term of endearment makes the dam burst. 

It doesn’t help that you don’t cry in front of people. Not ever. There is a mix of embarrassment and shame stirring in your chest when Sunghoon looks at you as your tears fall one after the other. It keeps you standing where you are and unable to move your feet to walk any closer to him. Sunghoon springs up from his chair and stands in front of you within three steps. He encircles his arms around your body and pulls you into his chest like he’s done it a million times before, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. 

You keep your voice and sniffles low, but you let the tears freefall. It feels like you’re being sheltered and comforted at the same time. You can’t help but think how odd and uncomfortable it feels to be held like this after years of healing on your own. You couldn’t name the last time you’ve leaned on somebody else for support when you’ve felt like crying. And as unfamiliar as this feeling is, you don’t want to run away from it. 

Sunghoon doesn’t speak, either. He doesn’t do or say anything except rubbing your upper back with his palm in an attempt to soothe you. You don’t see his furrowed eyebrows or feel how his throat clenches at the sound of you sniffling against him. He doesn’t care if his clothes dampen with your tears, nor does he care if he has to stand like this for hours just to get you to stop crying. 

It feels so good to let yourself depend on him. You allow your head to fall onto his chest and remain there until your cries subside. Sunghoon keeps you between his arms and moves his free hand to the back of your head like he’s trying to tuck you further into him. It feels nice to be comforted like this, especially when you’ve been pretending you’ve been perfectly fine all along. 

“What happened?” Sunghoon asks delicately. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I don’t like seeing you cry.” 

“I met with Jungwon.” You sniffle and then hiccup. 

“Yeah? Was the interview that bad?” You shake your head. 

“N-No. The opposite.” 

“But you’re in tears, love.” 

You hiccup again. “I used to be ambitious and passionate. I used to look forward to the future. Jungwon told me this was the best interview he’s ever had and I can’t remember the last time somebody believed in me.” 

“Oh, love.” Sunghoon cups your jawline and gently tilts your head upwards to look at him. “You’re still ambitious and passionate. That side of you is still there, but it’s time for a change and you know it.” He kisses your forehead. “There’s so much to admire about you. I knew I wanted you to be my assistant when I knew how eager you were to learn and experience life. Do you remember the first time we met?” 

You nod. “You were obsessed with that stupid orange tie.” 

“Yeah,” he laughs. “I was, wasn’t I? Ditching it was the second best decision I made.”

“What was the first?” Sunghoon smoothes over your cheeks with his thumbs. 

“Hiring you. I like being around you, and I like who I’ve become with you by my side. Jungwon isn’t the only person who believes in you, dove. I do, too.” 

You let out another choked sob, not caring how your mascara is probably running down your cheeks or how buffy your face has gotten. Something about the way he looks at you while he says the most kind and caring things stirs a part of you that yearns for validation and acceptance. For years now, you’ve learned to keep yourself in check and to become as independent as possible to avoid being disappointed by other people. But Sunghoon looks at you like he’d be there for you in a heartbeat. 

His pet names don’t soften the blow to your heart, either. You’ve never been keen on nicknames in the first place. Terms of endearment sounded appealing, but only in television and books. Hearing Sunghoon talk to you like you’re somebody he cares about makes you realize just how much you care for him, too.

You’ve fallen for Sunghoon, but have been keeping this realization locked away in fear of being rejected. You can handle rejection and unrequited love, but the weight of knowing you’d need to do the work in order to move on is what scares you. You’ve never felt so intensely about someone before. This is the first time you could ever say you’ve fallen in love with somebody, and you can’t help but think Sunoo was right all along. 

Is this what it feels like to be in love? To yearn for somebody so much that you’d do anything to keep them within your grasp? Is love meant to feel like you’re flying high above the clouds and afraid that you’ll have to fly closer to the ground if Sunghoon doesn't love you back? Is this what others feel when they speak of being on cloud nine? 

“I…” 

Sunghoon locks his eyes with yours. He doesn’t pressure you to speak. The words I love you are sitting at the tip of your tongue, but you can’t seem to get yourself to say it just yet. It doesn’t feel right with all of these insecurities floating around in your head. You don’t want to be rejected and still have to see him after today. 

“I’m grateful for you,” is what you settle on. “Thank you for believing in me that day.” 

Sunghoon kisses your nose. You hate that you love the way his lips tickle and you loathe the way your heart rate picks up. 

“I think we should go to lunch and forget about work for an hour or two. What do you say? You’ll be proud to know I’ve taken care of all my meetings and outstanding priorities.” 

“I’d like that.” 

You’re honest with him, too. You want to be selfish and continue spending time with him while your heart remains fragile. 

He lets you. 

***

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[alisonsfics]

you are my sunshine

pairing: bucky barnes x thunderbolt!reader

summary: a team bonding day is just what the thunderbolts need after a string of rough missions. you set aside all your other stress and make one goal for the day: get bucky to finally kiss you.

word count: 1.7k

warnings: extremely soft and fluffy bucky

A soft knock on the door brought you out of your thoughts. You already knew it was him. His metal fist making an echoing sound as it knocked against the wooden door.

You swung the door open.

“Hey, Bucky.” You said. Your smile made him weak in the knees.

Then he saw it.

A yellow sundress with small white accents ending right below your knees. The way it hugged your waist, made him crazy. It perfectly outlined your figure, like it’d been poured on as a liquid.

He just wanted to melt into you.

He sunk his nails into his thighs to stop himself from reaching out and grabbing your waist. “I…uh, hi,” he mumbled incoherently.

You watched his gaze roll down your frame, barely able to look you in the eye. “You’re allowed to compliment me. I won’t be offended.” You tried to encourage him.

He let out a sigh. “I don’t even know where to begin. You look like sunshine in human form.” He was in awe. You were like a magnet drawing him in, and he couldn’t pull himself away. And he didn’t want to.

Your heart swelled. That may have been the nicest thing Bucky, or anyone else, had ever said to you. “Anyway…uhh, the rest of the team wants to leave early. They sent me to check if you were ready yet.” He explained.

You nodded. “I’m ready.” You said, sweetly. “I’ll take this for you.” Bucky said, taking your tote bag out of your hands and leading the way to the car outside.

Bucky carrying your bag full of beach supplies made you feel like there were butterflies bursting out of your chest. You didn’t know why. It was so surprisingly domestic, which wasn’t a look you saw on him very often.

After your last mission, which had been a rough one. The team decided to rent a house close to the beach for the weekend.

It was nice to see Bucky recharge being in an environment that wasn’t life-threatening at every turn. You both had spent all of last night giggling and playing card games til midnight. You could feel his hardened exterior chipping away as he opened up to you more and more.

You walked down the driveway to the car where the rest of the team was hanging around. The girls cheered when they saw you. All of you piled into the car.

Alexei, naturally, was driving. Yelena was in the passenger seat and in charge of the aux cord. You were squished between Bucky and John in the second row, while Ava and Bob were sitting in the third row.

Bucky started telling you some goofy story about growing up in Brooklyn. Seeing him happy made you happy. It was like when you saw a baby or a puppy and it was so cute that you got cuteness aggression.

Watching Bucky gush about his happiest memories was like that.

It was like your skin was electric, and you physically couldn’t sit still. You wanted to hug him, or hold his hand, or pepper kisses all over his face.

You tried to restrain yourself. He’d probably think you were crazy if you did all those things. You tried to tone it down and still get your energy out.

You rested your hand on his thigh. He stuttered for a second, then jumped back into his story. His hand slowly inched over towards yours, letting his pinky brush against your own. It was like being zapped by an electric current.

You both froze for a second, catching each other's eyes. Embarrassed, you both looked away.

The car pulled up to a red light. You refused to look at Bucky, but you knew he was watching you. Your face burned under his gaze.

“Everybody, say cheese.” Yelena said, holding up her phone to talk a selfie of the group.

You smiled quickly sticking bunny ears up behind Bucky’s and John’s heads. Ava tried to stifle a giggle as she noticed your small prank. Alexei stuck out his tongue and held up a rock n roll hand.

“Bucky, scoot in. I can only see like half your face.” Yelena said.

He turned, resting his arm along the seat behind you. “Hey, no bunny ears for me.” He said, finally noticing as he scooted closer to you. He was shoulder-to-shoulder with you. If he’d been any closer, he would’ve been in your lap.

“Is that what you’re doing?” Walker asked, grabbing your hand and pulling it down. He glanced over your head at Bucky, who nodded at him. They both quickly put bunny ears behind your head.

“You’re a bunch of children.” Yelena teased as she snapped a couple photos.

When you got to the beach, Alexei, Bob, and Ava all dropped their bags and quickly ran down to the water. The rest of you starting setting up the beach chairs and towels.

“Hey, Bucky. Can you put some sunscreen on my back?” You asked. It took a lot of effort to hide your smirk as Bucky got flustered.

He finally looked at you, realizing you’d taken off your sundress and were standing before him in a white bikini. His pupils grew. His mouth felt dry as his eyes raked across every inch of your skin.

He tried to memorize every detail. He never wanted to forget the golden glow that the sun gave your skin. Or the way your bikini perfectly fit your body. Angelic— was the only word he could think of to describe it.

He’d gained Yelena’s and John’s attention by now. Watching as he fumbled around his words, not a single coherent sentence leaving his lips.

��I think what Bucky is trying to say is that you look amazing.” John said. The compliment was sincere even though his main goal was embarrassing Bucky.

“Sorry, doll. Yeah, I can help ya.” He said. He spread his legs, patting the place between them on his lounge chair. Realizing where he wanted you to sit, it was your turn to be flustered.

Still, you sat down. His thighs were pressed up against your hips. Your stomach turned in knots. A warmth starting to pool in your belly.

A sudden cold stinging on your back. Except— it wasn’t from the sunscreen. It was his metal hand.

Oh fuck— you hadn’t thought about how soothing his hand would feel on your burning skin. You felt unbelievably hot. Like you expected to see steam evaporating off your skin. But the cold jolt of Bucky’s metal digits provided a relief that made you melt into his touch.

“Sorry, doll. My hands are a little cold.” He had a cocky smile plastered to his face. The smug soldier knew exactly what he was doing. He heard the sigh that left your lips as he massaged your back, rubbing in the sunscreen— the same sigh you’d tried to disguise with a cough.

“It’s alright…feels nice,” you whispered, so only he could hear you.

He rubbed in the last bit of sunscreen, then let his hands sneak around your waist. He rested his chin on your shoulder, pressing his chest against your back. “Make yourself at home,” you teased him.

“Maybe I will,” he retorted, nestling his face into your neck.

“Alright, come on lovebirds. Say cheese for the camera.” Yelena said, standing in front of you both.

You squinted at the camera, the bright sun making it impossible to open your eyes. You held your hand above your eyes to block the sun.

Without thinking, Bucky took his sunglasses off his head and slid them on your nose.

Your hands ghosted over his hands resting on your stomach as you both posed for the picture. “Okay, I’m done. Proceed with your canoodling.” She teased.

You turned over your shoulder; your face only millimeters from his. “You want to go swim?” You asked, pretending like you didn’t see his eyes flick down to your lips.

He licked his lips and quickly nodded his head. “Last one there is a rotten egg, super soldier.” You mocked before you took off sprinting towards the ocean. You couldn’t outrun Bucky, you knew that, so you were shocked when he hadn’t passed you yet.

Then, you felt your feet lifted up off the ground. You squealed as Bucky threw you over his shoulder. He ran down to the water, trying not to drop you as you squirmed.

He made it to water and softly placed you down beside him. “That is cheating. You’re disqualified from the race.” You said, poking your finger into his chest.

You waded into the water, and Bucky followed behind.

John and Yelena watched from their beach chairs. They both had books abandoned in their laps because it was just so much more entertaining to watch you and Bucky pretend like you weren’t in love.

“No way they’re leaving this trip without hooking up, right?” John said, looking over at Yelena. “Oh absolutely not. I’d say by the end of the day.” She countered. John raised his eyebrow, “wanna bet?” he asked, reaching his hand out.

“Oh, you’re so on.” She said, quickly shaking his hand.

“It feels so nice to just relax and not have any missions to worry about.” You said, talking to Bucky as you both walked deeper into the ocean. His hand brushed against yours, sending a jolt through your body. “Mhmm,” he responded, softly.

You went to step forward, but it was deeper than you expected it to be. Your foot slipped against the loose sand, but you felt two hands grab your forearms.

Bucky held you up, keeping you from falling under the water.

At the same time, you both realized how close you were standing. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you even closer til there was no room between the two of you.

“Would you be mad if I kissed you?” Bucky asked. His voice came out soft; so soft he wasn’t sure whether he’d spoken the words or thought them.

“Mad? Oh definitely not. I’d encourage it.” You replied.

He chuckled before leaning in and pressing his lips against yours. Your bodies melded into one. To Bucky, you felt the missing puzzle piece of everything he’d ever wanted in life. His lips curved into a smile as he kissed you.

“I win!” You both heard Yelena scream. You both pulled apart and saw her jumping up and down and sticking her tongue out at John.

“Looks like our friends had bets on us.” You said, giggling.

“I’m really not surprised.” He said, leaning back in to kiss you again.

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[autrytonic]

Dutch recruits a small shy girl and Arthur kicks Micah’s ass when he won’t leave her alone??

^^ the reader be like

Missy Mouse

Content below the cut.

You’re minding your own business near the edge of camp, fiddling with a loose thread on your sleeve and trying to stay invisible.

It’s easier that way.

Folks in this gang are loud, rough, and too quick to talk over you—or laugh at you.

That’s when you hear boots crunch behind you.

“Well, well,” a grimy voice drawls, oily as ever. “Ain’t you just the quiet little mouse? Always hidin’ in corners like you think we won’t notice.”

You keep your eyes low, stomach twisting. You try to step away, but he crowds you without touching, towering close just to make you squirm. “Ain’t gotta be scared, sweetheart. I don’t bite, unless asked real nice-like.”

Your throat tightens, heart hammering. Before you can think of what to say, or even breathe right—

“Micah.”

Arthur’s voice cuts through like a knife. Low, sharp, dangerous.

You glance up and see him standing not far off, arms crossed, jaw tight. He’s looking at Micah the way a wolf looks at a coyote sniffin’ too close.

Micah scoffs. “Just havin’ a little fun, Morgan. Ain’t no harm in teasin’.”

Arthur steps forward, slow and heavy. “Ain’t no fun if she don’t look like she’s laughin’. Back off.”

Micah hesitates, eyes narrowing. “You gettin’ soft on Missy Mouse?”

Arthur doesn’t flinch. “Ain’t about bein’ soft. It’s about bein' a gentleman. Now move on.”

The tension crackles between them. Finally, Micah huffs, muttering something under his breath as he walks off, boots kicking dust.

Arthur waits until he’s gone before turning to you. His voice softens a little. “You alright, darlin’?”

You nod, small and unsure, and Arthur just gives a faint grunt, like he’s thinking of Micah's audacity. “You come sit by the fire if you want. I’ll keep an eye out.”

He doesn’t wait for your answer. Just walks ahead, but slow enough that you know it’s an invitation.

You linger for a moment, watching the dust settle where Micah had been. Your fingers are still trembling, knotted into the fabric of your skirt.

But Arthur had seen you, not past you like the others. Stood up for you. That meant something.

Quietly, you step after him, your boots barely making a sound as you follow the path toward the fire.

He’s already there, seated on a log, elbow resting on one knee, hat tipped back just enough for the firelight to catch the concern in his blue eyes.

When you approach, he glances up, then pats the log beside him.

“Ain’t gonna bite,” he says gently. “You just sit here a spell. Don’t gotta talk if you don’t want to.”

You ease down next to him, feeling minute beside his broad frame. The heat from the fire, and from him, slowly thaws the chill under your skin.

For a while, there’s only the crackle of burning wood and the distant murmurs of the rest of camp.

Arthur reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a little cloth bundle. “Here. Miss Grimshaw made some biscuits this mornin’. Got one left.”

He holds it out to you—awkwardly, like he ain’t used to offering such things—and when you take it with both hands, he nods once and looks back at the fire.

“I seen the way you get quiet when folks get loud. Can’t blame you. This life… it’s loud, messy. But you ain’t invisible, alright?”

You blink, biscuit untouched in your lap, and peek up at him. His jaw works for a second like he’s searching for more words, but none come.

Instead, his hand shifts ever so slightly on the log between you with his palm up; inviting.

Your heart flutters.

You set the biscuit aside and, hesitantly, place your hand in his. His calloused fingers curl around yours, careful and warm.

He doesn’t look at you. Just stares into the fire, thumb tracing small circles against your hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Ain’t nobody gonna mess with you while I’m around,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “You got my word on that.”

[unabashegirl]

Love Island — part 6

Author's note: Hey lovies ❤️ I hope you're all getting some rest and taking care of yourselves. If you had a great week, I’m so happy for you—and if it was a tough one, I’m really sorry. But hey, you made it through, and that counts for something. 💛

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The beauty room was quiet, the hum of fluorescent lights the only sound accompanying Y/N as she wiped away the remnants of her make-up. The day had been long and emotionally draining, her mind replaying every interaction, every glance, every word. Harry’s behaviour, or rather lack thereof, gnawed at her. She’d seen him laughing with Sophia earlier, their heads bent close as if sharing a secret, and the sight had felt like a knife twisting in her chest.

The door creaked open, and Y/N’s eyes flicked up to the mirror. Harry stood there, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his shorts, his usual confident demeanour replaced by something hesitant. She turned back to the mirror, focusing on her reflection as she continued wiping off her make-up.

“Y/N,” he started, his voice soft but steady. “Can we talk?”

Ah, Harry. The king of timing. Nothing like waiting until the absolute worst moment to finally address the elephant in the villa

She didn’t respond immediately, finishing with her make-up wipe before tossing it into the bin. Finally, she turned to face him, arms crossed. “Talk about what, Harry?”

He took a tentative step forward. “About today. About… everything.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her expression guarded. “Now you want to talk? After ignoring me all day?”

Harry winced, running a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t ignoring you. I just… I didn’t know how to approach you.”

“Approach me?” she repeated, her tone sharp. “Harry, you’re my partner. We’re supposed to be in this together. And yet, you’re off entertaining Sophia while I’m left wondering where we stand.”

“It wasn’t like that,” he said quickly, his voice rising slightly. “She asked me to go on the date. I didn’t have a choice.”

“And after the date?” Y/N shot back. “Did you have a choice then? Because you chose not to come talk to me. You chose to avoid me, Harry.”

He sighed, his shoulders sagging. “You’re right. I should’ve come to you. I should’ve explained everything, but I was… scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Of making things worse,” he admitted. “I knew you were upset, and I thought if I gave you space, it might help. Clearly, I was wrong.”

Y/N’s gaze softened slightly, though her stance remained firm. “You can’t just shut me out, Harry. That’s not how this works. If we’re going to survive in here, we need to communicate. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

He nodded, stepping closer until there was barely any space between them. “You’re right. I messed up, and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel ignored or unimportant because you’re not. You’re the only one I care about in here, Y/N.”

Her eyes searched his, looking for any sign of insincerity but finding none. Slowly, her arms uncrossed, and she let out a sigh. “Do you like her, Harry?” she asked suddenly, her tone firm. “And I mean be straight with me. No bullshit.”

Harry froze, his eyes darting away as he hesitated. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted after a long pause. “I like spending time with you, Y/N. But I… I guess I just want to keep my options open for now.”

“Ah, the classic ‘keep my options open.’ Translation: I like you but not enough to close the shop.”

Her expression faltered for a moment, the bluntness of his words cutting deeper than she expected. She straightened, her walls going up again. “Right. Well, thanks for being honest, I suppose,” she said, her voice quieter but edged with hurt. “But don’t expect me to wait around while you figure out your options, Harry. I’m not a backup plan.”

“Backup plan? Y/N isn’t even the plan—she’s the main event, Harry!”

Harry’s face fell. “Y/N, it’s not like that—”

“Then what is it like?” she interrupted, meeting his gaze with a steely resolve. “Because right now, it feels like I’m the one doing all the work to keep this going. And if you’re not all in, maybe we’re wasting our time.”

Harry opened his mouth to respond but faltered, unable to find the right words. Y/N shook her head, turning back to the mirror. “You know where I stand. Prove to me that I’m wrong about you, Harry. Otherwise, don’t bother.”

For the first time that day, Harry didn’t know what to say.

The next morning, Y/N and Chloe were sprawled out on yoga mats on the villa terrace, catching their breath after finishing a Pilates YouTube video. The sun bathed the terrace in a warm glow, and the faint sound of birds chirping added to the calmness of the scene. Y/N wiped her forehead with a towel, her expression distant.

“Nothing like a bit of Pilates to stretch the legs and spill the tea.”

Chloe noticed immediately. “Alright, spill. You’ve been quiet all morning. What’s going on?”

Y/N sighed, sitting up and crossing her legs. “It’s Harry,” she admitted, her voice tinged with frustration. “Last night, we had a chat. I asked him straight up if he liked Sophia, and do you know what he said?”

Chloe raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“He said he wants to keep his options open,” Y/N said, her voice cracking slightly. “I mean, what am I supposed to do with that? I feel like an idiot for even caring at this point.”

Chloe sat up, her face serious. “Y/N, listen to me. You cannot let him see you sweat. If he wants to keep his options open, fine. Let him. But you need to act like you couldn’t care less about him or Sophia.”

Y/N frowned. “Easier said than done. I don’t know if I can just switch off how I feel.”

“You don’t have to switch it off,” Chloe said, her tone firm but encouraging. “You just have to fake it for now. Trust me, guys like Harry hate feeling like they don’t have control. If you act unbothered, it’ll throw him off completely. And in the meantime, you’ll give yourself space to figure out what you actually want.”

“Chloe, handing out advice like smoothies. And she’s not wrong. Nothing shakes a lad like a girl who’s unbothered.”

Y/N bit her lip, considering Chloe’s words. “So, what? Just pretend like I don’t care?”

Chloe nodded. “Exactly. Smile, laugh, chat with everyone else, and don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you upset. Time will do the rest.”

A small smile broke through Y/N’s conflicted expression. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” Chloe admitted with a grin. “You’ve got this.”

Y/N took a deep breath, the weight on her chest feeling slightly lighter. “Alright. Let’s see how unbothered I can be.”

Chloe laughed, nudging her playfully. “That’s the spirit. Now, how about we reward ourselves with a smoothie?”

Harry stood at the kitchen counter, his hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. The morning sun streamed through the villa’s glass doors, casting a warm glow over the open-plan space. Lucas joined him, rubbing sleep from his eyes and grabbing a mug from the cupboard.

“Nothing like a cuppa first thing,” Lucas muttered, pouring hot water into his mug. He turned, leaning against the counter, and nodded toward the terrace where Y/N and Chloe were mid-stretch, their workout mats rolled out on the tiled floor. “Well, they’re looking pretty good this morning, aren’t they?”

Harry chuckled, taking a sip of his tea. “Yeah, they’re putting in the work, that’s for sure.”

Lucas tilted his head, watching Chloe as she effortlessly moved through a set of lunges. “Chloe’s got some legs on her, mate. Proper strong. Bet she could kick a ball further than me.”

Harry snorted. “Wouldn’t be hard. Your kick’s shocking.”

Lucas smirked but didn’t argue, his eyes still on Chloe. “Fair play, though. She’s got this, like, natural confidence about her. Proper attractive, you know?”

Harry raised an eyebrow, hiding a grin behind his mug. “You’ve got it bad, haven’t you?”

“What can I say?” Lucas replied with a shrug, setting his mug down. “Anyway, enough about me. Did you sort things out with Y/N last night?”

Harry’s smile faltered, and he stared into his tea as if the answers might be swirling in the cup. “We talked,” he said slowly.

Lucas’s eyebrows shot up. “And? What happened?”

“She’s not happy, mate,” Harry admitted, leaning against the counter. “Asked me straight up if I liked Sophia. Told her I wanted to keep my options open.”

Lucas groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh, Harry. Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s the truth,” Harry said defensively. “I don’t want to lead her on if I’m not sure.”

“Right, but you’re not exactly making it easy for yourself, are you?” Lucas countered. “Y/N’s not the type to just sit around and wait for you to make up your mind. If anything, she’ll use this as fuel to move on.”

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know. Chloe’s probably in her ear right now, telling her to forget about me.”

Lucas glanced back at the terrace, where Chloe and Y/N were laughing between stretches. “If she’s smart, she’ll listen. Chloe doesn’t mess about.”

Harry’s jaw tightened as he looked out at Y/N. She was glowing in the morning light, her hair pulled back and her smile wide as she joked with Chloe. “I just… I don’t know what to do, mate. I like her, but Sophia… she’s got this vibe, you know? Makes me wonder what else is out there.”

Lucas shook his head. “You’re playing with fire. If you’re not careful, you’re going to lose Y/N and not even get a chance with Sophia. Girls talk, mate. And no one likes a bloke who can’t make up his mind.”

Harry didn’t respond, his eyes fixed on Y/N as she stretched her arms above her head. The thought of her pulling away, of her laughter directed at someone else, left a sour taste in his mouth. He took another sip of tea, trying to shake the feeling.

“You’ve got to figure it out, Harry,” Lucas said, his tone serious. “Because right now, you’re playing a game you might not win.”

The sun blazed down on the villa as the Islanders gathered on the lawn, coffee cups in hand and nerves bubbling under the surface. In the center of the garden stood a brightly colored spinning wheel, its glossy paint glinting in the sunlight like a harbinger of chaos. The air hummed with a mix of anticipation and dread.

Y/N adjusted her sunglasses, leaning back lazily as Chloe leaned closer.

“I’m telling you now, this game is going to start World War Three,” Chloe muttered, her tone low but laced with amusement.

Y/N let out a small laugh, though her stomach was already knotting. Across the lawn, Harry was lounging on the beanbags, his body sprawled out casually as Sophia leaned in close, whispering something in his ear that made him grin.

“It’s 10 a.m., and the Islanders are already sweating. Not from the heat, though—oh no. This morning, we’ve gifted them a little something we like to call Lips Don’t Lie. Because nothing says ‘good morning’ like breaking hearts before brunch!”

“Here’s the deal: spin the wheel, land on ‘Snog,’ ‘Spill,’ or ‘Steal.’ Kiss someone, confess your darkest secret, or swipe a kiss from another Islander’s partner. Oh, and there’s a lovely stack of truths in those envelopes, just in case things weren’t messy enough.”

“Alright, Y/N,” Lucas called out with a cheeky grin. “You’re up first!”

The group erupted into chants, and Y/N stood, her shoulders squared as she approached the wheel. The handle felt cold under her fingertips as she spun it sharply, the clattering sound making her heart race.

It landed on ‘Spill.’

“Easy one to start with,” Chloe teased.

Lucas, practically vibrating with excitement, grabbed an envelope. “Alright, Y/N,” he said, his grin devilish. “If you had to recouple with someone other than Harry, who would it be?”

The crowd fell silent, all eyes on Y/N. She felt Harry’s gaze burning into her, but she kept her expression cool.

She tapped her chin thoughtfully, dragging it out. “Hmm… Lucas,” she said finally, turning to him with a sly smile. “You always know how to make me laugh.”

Laughter rippled through the group as Lucas dramatically clutched his chest. “My dream finally comes true.”

“Y/N keeping it light and breezy. But don’t worry, Harry—Lucas is just here for the bants. Or is he?”

Harry’s jaw clenched, his mug of tea now forgotten on the table beside him.

“Your turn, mate!” Callum called, his grin wide.

Harry stood, brushing off invisible lint from his shorts before giving the wheel a forceful spin. When it landed on ‘Snog,’ the group erupted with cheers and whistles.

Sophia’s eyes lit up before Harry even moved. Without a moment’s hesitation, he crossed the garden and kissed her, slow enough to make the others holler in delight.

Y/N felt Chloe nudge her hard. “Don’t react,” Chloe hissed. “He’s doing it to get a rise out of you.”

Y/N tilted her head, feigning indifference. “Couldn’t care less,” she said smoothly, though her nails dug into her palms.

“Oh, Harry. If this were chess, you’d be playing checkers. Y/N? Ice cold.”

Sophia’s turn was next, and the wheel landed on ‘Spill.’ She sauntered over to the stack of envelopes, picking one like it held her winning lottery numbers.

Tom read aloud, “Sophia, who do you think is your biggest competition in the villa?”

Sophia smirked, her gaze drifting lazily over the girls before landing squarely on Y/N.

“Y/N,” she said confidently. “She’s stunning, and, let’s face it, everyone seems to fancy her.”

The group erupted with laughter and gasps, while Y/N shot Sophia a sweet, unfazed smile. “Aw, thanks, babe,” she said lightly.

“Sophia, dishing out backhanded compliments like cocktails. But let’s be honest, she’s right. Y/N’s still the main event.”

Max spun the wheel next, landing on ‘Snog.’ Without missing a beat, he turned to Y/N. “Sorry, Harry,” he said with a mischievous grin before kissing her, lingering just long enough to turn the group rowdy.

When Y/N sat back down, Chloe clapped her on the back. “Legend.”

Harry’s expression didn’t flinch, but his eyes burned into Y/N’s as she casually sipped her water.

Finally, Tom pulled an envelope from the truth pile, holding it up dramatically. “Time for a big one!” he announced.

The group quieted as Tom read aloud, “One Islander confessed: ‘I still think about kissing Y/N.’”

The garden froze.

Amber’s mouth dropped. “Who said that?!”

The boys erupted into teasing accusations, whistles flying as Lucas turned to Harry with a smirk. “C’mon, mate. You’ve got guilty written all over your face.”

Harry’s jaw tightened as he glared at Lucas. “Didn’t hear my name, did you?”

“Oh, Harry. Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt, and your face says it all.”

Chloe leaned into Y/N’s ear, whispering, “You’ve got him rattled.”

Y/N shrugged, her voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “Not my problem.”

“Whew, what a morning! Secrets revealed, kisses stolen, and Harry’s mood hitting boiling point. And we haven’t even had lunch yet. Buckle up, folks—this villa’s about to erupt.”

The villa was quiet after the chaos of the game, with most of the Islanders scattered in their own corners, trying to digest the truths and dares that had been laid bare. Y/N was perched on the edge of the terrace, her foot tapping against the ground as her mind replayed every moment of the game—Harry’s snog with Sophia, the truth bomb about someone still thinking of kissing her, and the way Harry’s eyes had burned into her the entire time.

She heard footsteps approaching and sighed. She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Not now, Harry,” she muttered, her tone tired but edged with annoyance.

“Yeah, well, I think now’s the perfect time,” Harry said, his voice low but charged. He moved closer, stopping just a step behind her.

Y/N whipped around, her frustration spilling over. “What do you want, Harry? Haven’t you had enough fun for one day?”

His jaw tensed. “I came to talk because clearly, we need to. But if you’re going to start throwing digs, I can walk right back out.”

“Oh, how generous of you,” she shot back, crossing her arms. “Do you want a medal for gracing me with your presence after ignoring me all day? Or is this just damage control because you know how bad you looked out there?”

Harry’s brows knitted together, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “You’re acting like I’m the only one who played the game! What about you? Max kissed you, and you didn’t seem too bothered about that.”

“Don’t you dare,” Y/N said, stepping closer as her voice dropped dangerously. “Max kissed me because you made it very clear where you stand today. I didn’t ask for it, but I wasn’t about to stop him just to protect your fragile ego.”

“Fragile ego?” Harry repeated, his voice rising. “Do you even hear yourself right now? You’re the one who’s been sulking and throwing me daggers all day, acting like I’ve done something unforgivable when all I did was follow the rules of a stupid game!”

“Stupid game?” she fired back, her tone cutting. “So kissing Sophia—grabbing her like you couldn’t wait to get your hands on her—that was just for the rules? Funny how you didn’t hesitate even for a second.”

Harry took a step closer, their faces now inches apart. “And what about you, huh? Smiling and laughing with Max like you were enjoying every second of it? Don’t act like you’re above playing games, Y/N.”

Her heart was pounding, her anger mixing with something else entirely—something she didn’t want to name. “You don’t get it, do you?” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “I didn’t want to play any games. I just wanted to feel like you cared. Like I wasn’t just… replaceable.”

Harry’s expression softened for a moment, but the tension between them was still thick. “You’re not replaceable,” he said, his voice quieter but no less intense. “You think I don’t care about you? I can’t even look at you without losing my head, Y/N. And yeah, I messed up today, but don’t for a second think that means I don’t want you.”

She blinked, caught off guard by the rawness in his voice. “Then why—”

Before she could finish, Harry reached out, cupping her face in his hands and pulling her into a kiss. It wasn’t soft or tentative—it was full of all the anger, frustration, and desire that had been constructing between them.

For a second, she resisted, her hands pushing lightly against his chest, but then she gave in, gripping his shirt as she kissed him back with equal intensity.

The world seemed to blur around them, the only sounds their ragged breaths and the faint hum of the villa in the distance. When they finally broke apart, both were breathing hard, their foreheads resting against each other.

“That’s why,” Harry said, his voice rough.

Y/N swallowed, her emotions a whirlwind. “This doesn’t fix anything,” she whispered, though her hands were still clutching his shirt.

“I know,” he replied, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “But it’s the truth.”

She pulled back slightly, her eyes searching his. “Then prove it, Harry. Because I’m not doing this halfway.”

He nodded, his gaze steady. “I will.”

As the distant chatter of the other Islanders drifted toward them, Y/N stepped back, her walls slowly rebuilding. “Good,” she said quietly before turning and walking back inside, leaving Harry standing there, watching her go.

“Well, if we were playing ‘Lips Don’t Lie,’ those two just failed spectacularly. But will Harry make good on his promise, or is Y/N setting herself up for more heartbreak? Stay tuned, folks. It’s about to get messy.”

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