#if you don’t like a fic you can just close out of it that’s what you do

[muniimyg]

♡ 05: i bet we'd have really good—

series m.list // taglist

note: wowie,, thank u for 1.5k and for being so patient 💛 i’m so happy to be ending this mini fic and to have been interacting with u all :) my apologies if this ch sucks LOL i'm so sick rn but i'm tired of rewriting n writing... so enj !!! it's been so fun and i can't wait for more fics to come in 2025 !!! kisses my kitties😽💓

⏱️ this part goes thru time skips!

💭 which bed chem jk moment was ur fave?

warnings: tension/slow burn (friends first yk),, mean!jk trying to figure out how to be nicer to oc,, jk calls oc baby and kitty !!! teasing/dry humping (bc jk has glasses on. jk plays with her titties/nipples & jk cums thru his sweatpants),, jealousy (v teeny tiny),, virginity talk/actual sex; oc loses her virginity to jk (jk eats her out/fingers her, ass slapping, dirty talk, rawdogging,, missionary, doggy, blowjob/headpushing & face cumshot)

//

it’s been a week since jungkook kissed you, and he has made it your problem.

truth be told, he has made a game of this—hovering without hovering… just close enough to test the line. whatever way he plays, jungkook is always shameless in the most subtle and maddening ways.

sometimes his hand brushes yours as you walk, light and fleeting… and it’s impossible not to notice the way his fingers twitch. it’s like he’s debating whether to grab it or not.

you don’t make it any easier on yourself, either.

there’s this suffocating tension between you two and some days are better than others… like today.

“why are you so quiet?” you ask, glancing at him over your shoulder.

he tilts his head, feigning confusion. 

“why? does the silence make your heart race?”

you scoff, rolling your eyes, and that’s when he strikes—his foot nudging yours mid-step. it’s just enough to throw you off balance, making you stumble slightly, your bag slipping again.

“jungkook!”

he’s already reaching out, catching the strap before it can fall. 

“careful,” he says, his voice all mock concern, but the way his lips twitch gives him away.

you glare at him, yanking your bag out of his grip. 

“you’re the one who tripped me.”

“prove it."

"seriously?"

"if you can't prove it... you have to kiss me. you know, as compensation for accusing me so unjustly." he says, wide-eyed and innocent, though the corners of his mouth are curling into a smirk.

it’s infuriating, but it’s also... not. 

not when he’s looking at you like that, like he knows exactly how to get under your skin and is thoroughly enjoying it.

“do friends kiss?” you narrow your gaze at him. “do friends trip each other over? do friends—“

“do friends wait for each other?” jungkook leans towards you. “mhmm? do friends have ulterior motives—”

“you have ulterior motives?”

“oh, absolutely.”

friendship. 

it’s odd to say the least—the way you and jungkook have fallen into this friendship. that’s what you’ve both agreed on. 

friends. 

but the lines are blurry. 

so blurry they might as well not exist at all… because what kind of friends kiss on the cheek as casually as saying hello? what kind of friends text each other goodnight every single evening, or linger too long in conversations that could end with a simple goodbye?

the rules of your agreement feel more like suggestions—ones jungkook seems intent on bending just enough to keep you guessing. and you let him, which might be the strangest part of all.

… because deep down, you know this isn’t just friendship. not with the way he looks at you, his gaze lingering a second too long, or the way his touch always feels like a question he’s waiting for you to answer.

but maybe that’s the thing about blurry lines—they give you just enough room to pretend you don’t already know where you’re headed.

yet, even with all his teasing, there’s a hesitancy to him sometimes—a split-second pause when your hands brush, a quiet shift in his expression when he catches you looking at him. it’s like he’s still figuring out how to balance whatever this is between you, testing the waters but not wanting to dive in too fast.

and honestly?

you feel the same.

it’s why you let him get away with stuff like this. why you don’t pull away when his hand accidentally-on-purpose brushes yours for the third time in as many minutes. why you don’t tell him to stop following you to your study spot or showing up outside your class with some excuse about “just being in the area.”

because the truth is, you like having him around. 

you like the way he keeps you on your toes… even if it’s by trying to trip you up, only to catch you before you fall.

and maybe—just maybe—you like the way his smile softens sometimes when he thinks you’re not looking.

tonight, the group decides on a night out.

the street food spot everyone agreed on is already buzzing when you get there, the warm glow of string lights crisscrossing above the narrow alleyways, casting soft shadows on the busy stalls below. the air is alive with the scent of sizzling tteokbokki and freshly steamed hotteok, mingling with bursts of laughter and the occasional pop of oil from a nearby grill.

you arrive late as usual. 

by the time you weave your way through the crowd, the others have scattered, splitting up to hunt down whatever caught their eye. 

that’s when you spot him.

jungkook leans lazily against a lamppost near the edge of the main street, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other holding a stick of half-eaten odeng. the glow from the lights above reflects faintly in his dark eyes, making them look warmer than usual, though his expression stays comfortably neutral—like he’s been waiting.

but he doesn’t mind.

“you’re late,” he says as you approach, not even bothering to straighten up. his voice is low, unbothered, but there’s something teasing in the way his lips twitch into the barest hint of a smirk.

“i’m literally 5 minutes late.”

“still late.”

jungkook takes one last bite of the fish cake before tossing the stick into a nearby bin. he steps closer, casual but deliberate, and before you can come up with a snappy reply, he leans down and presses a quick kiss to your cheek.

it’s smooth—too smooth.

it’s like he’s been doing it forever.

you barely have time to register the warmth blooming in your chest before he’s grabbing your hands, shoving them unceremoniously into the front pocket of his hoodie along with his own.

“jungkook—”

“your hands looked cold,” he says simply, his tone light, like this is the most natural thing in the world.

his fingers shift slightly, brushing against yours, and though his expression stays neutral, you catch the subtle curve of his mouth—the smug kind he tries to hide but never quite manages.

you roll your eyes, more out of habit than anything else, and let out a sigh...

but you don’t pull away.

“i have gloves.”

“they're ugly."

you glare at him.

"... and you have me."

the air stills.

“what?” he asks, his shoulder bumping yours as he starts walking, steering you toward the first row of stalls.

“nothing.”

but the corner of your mouth twitches. you try to hold back your smile.

he catches it, of course. 

his grin widens, soft and slow.

jungkook nudges you again, this time with more intention. you can feel the warmth of his hand through the fabric, steady and sure, even as the cold night air bites at your skin.

you can't help but give in. a laugh escapes your lips as you nudge him back. jungkook laughs too, but pulls you close at the very last second.

he breathes you in.

the first stall serves fresh tteokbokki, steaming and spicy. the scent alone makes your stomach growl, but jungkook is already a step ahead, paying for the food before you can reach for your wallet.

“you didn’t have to do that,” you say, trying to grab a pair of chopsticks from the tray.

he beats you to it, of course, picking up a piece of tteokbokki with the kind of exaggerated precision that makes you squint at him. then, he places the chopsticks in between your fingers.

“feed me," he says.

“absolutely not."

he steps closer. 

“okay, fine. i’ll feed you—”

you shove the tteok in his mouth. 

he chews, chuckling and enjoying your choice. 

“you’re so annoying,” you tell him as he swallows.

“really? am i?”

“really. you are."

jungkook shrugs. 

then, he takes the chopsticks and picks up a tteok, and feeds you. he watches closely as you chew, his wide eyes fixed on your face in a way that makes you feel exposed.

“how annoying?”

in between chews, you fixate on his smirk. as he leans into level with you, you almost choke at how his nose nearly brushed yours. you can feel the weight of his gaze, daring you to say something.

“jungkook…” you warn, your voice flat, but your hands betray you. they reach up to cup his cheeks, and though your intention is to shove him back, you don’t.

instead, your thumbs press lightly against the soft skin of his jaw as you squint at him.

“what’s this smile?” you ask, narrowing your eyes. “what are you so excited over, bestie?”

his expression flickers for a second, his brows twitching in annoyance at the word. you know he hates it when you call him that. bestie? who are you even talking to?

“your lips look cold. can i warm them up for you?” he asks suddenly, his voice dropping low enough to send shivers down your spine.

you scoff, warmth creeping up your neck. “nice try—”

“no, no, i insist,” he interrupts, tilting his head slightly, pretending to think it over. “don't want you to be all cold and shit.”

“jungkook.” your tone is sharp, but it’s laced with amusement, and he knows it.

“what?” he murmurs, leaning in closer, his lips curving into a smirk. “you said you want to take things slow. i’ll kiss you real slow—”

your jaw drops. 

“you’re impossible.”

he stands back up with a grin, his hands still in the pocket of his hoodie, keeping yours snugly tucked inside. he rocks back on his heels, clearly pleased with himself. 

“let’s not pretend we don’t know what we know.”

“i don’t know much,” you retort, but the small smile tugging at your lips betrays you. “i’m not a nerd—”

“yah! hurry up!” taehyung’s voice booms from a stall across the street, breaking the moment. you glance over to find him waving dramatically, his other arm slung around yoongi, who looks less than thrilled. 

“we found the mandu!” taehyung adds.

“mandu sounds good,” jungkook says as he gives your hands a small squeeze. then, he gently pulls you toward the others. "let's go." 

“stop dragging me around,” you complain, though you don’t actually try to pull away.

“you’re walking too slow.”

but you aren’t. 

you know you aren’t and so does he… but you let him hold your hand anyway.

a week later, jungkook feels like he might piss himself.

he leans against the edge of his desk, scrolling through his phone for the 5th time in as many minutes. his thumb hovers over the screen, debating whether to check his messages again, even though he knows there’s no point. 

you haven’t replied yet.

the fundraiser for marine conservation is tonight, and he’s been pretending it’s no big deal... but fuck.

he was so nervous when he asked you to go with him and now he feels like all his efforts are being wasted.

...

“so, uh,” he starts, his voice a little too casual, “there’s this fundraiser gala thing on friday night. save the dolphins thing—a-and… it’s no big deal but—”

you glance at him, eyebrows raised. 

“yeah? sounds fancy.”

he shrugs, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “i guess it is. it’s a black-tie kind of event… and i, uh… i was thinking... maybe you’d want to come with me?”

you blink, caught off guard by the sudden invite. 

“i hate dolphins.”

“i know.”

you sigh, pretending to be burdened by his request. “but i’ll go. if you want me to.”

“i do want you to.”

“okay.”

“good,” he breathes, glancing over with a lopsided grin that he hopes hides how nervous he actually feels. “you’ll make me look good. people are suckers for pretty dates.”

“oh, so you’re using me as a prop?” you tease, though your lips twitch into a smirk.

“obviously,” he replies smoothly, though his grip on the wheel tightens slightly. “but, hey, it’s a dinner, you get to see my in a tux which is practically dessert—.”

you shake your head, laughing softly. 

“you’re ridiculous.”

“so ridiculous that this can count as our first date?” he presses, glancing over again, this time with a flicker of uncertainty he hopes you don’t catch.

after a beat, you sigh dramatically, turning in your seat to face him. 

“it’s a date.”

just as he’s about to make another comment, you lean over and press a quick kiss to his cheek, catching him completely off guard. his hands freeze on the wheel for half a second before he recovers.

“you missed—”

you laugh and hit his chest. then, he gets out of the car, helps you out, and walks you to your doorstep. 

...

now, as he sits alone in his room, the anticipation bubbling just under his skin, his phone buzzes on the counter. his heart skips for a moment before he grabs it, only to feel it sink as he reads your message.

yn [4:31PM]: nurse said it’s food poisoning  yn [4:32PM]: she gave me some meds to help but i literally feel like shit  yn [4:33PM]: i don’t think i’ll be able to make it tonight, baby :( i’m so sorry nerd [4:34PM]: don’t apologize. i’ll be over in a bit yn [4:35PM]: what ?? no !! get ready for your event. it’s important nerd [4:35PM]: so are u yn [4:36PM]: i’ll survive. go save the dolphins :p

his brows knit together as he reads it again, leaning back into the couch with a frustrated sigh.

he knows he shouldn’t feel disappointed—you can’t control being sick, and it’s not like this event means anything special. 

at least, that’s what he’s been telling himself.

still, he stares at the message for a long moment, debating whether to reply right away or wait a few minutes so he doesn’t seem too eager. his fingers hover over the keyboard before he finally types out a response, keeping it short and light, like he’s unbothered.

nerd [4:40PM]: get some rest. i’ll be telling everyone you ditched me tho  yn [4:41PM]: be sure to let the dolphins know too 🙂

he lets out a chuckle, but the weight in his chest doesn’t go away. 

he tosses his phone onto the coffee table and rakes a hand through his hair, wondering why the idea of showing up without you feels so much worse than he’d expected.

then, his phone buzzes with messages from the fundraiser committee. 

yet, he can only think of you… it’s a sinking feeling in his chest. 

you’re sick. 

the thought of going to that event while you’re home feeling miserable doesn’t sit right with him.

he sighs, grabbing his hoodie and pulling it over his head. he knows this is unprofessional and such an pussy excuse but—forget the event. 

it’s you that matters to him the most right now. 

so, jungkook calls his event and lets them know that something came up. he tosses aside his tux and puts on comfier clothes before heading to the kitchen to make you some chicken noodle soup.

before he heads out, jungkook hears a familiar groan from the living room. he turns, already annoyed, knowing exactly who it is.

jimin and taehyung are stretched out on the couch, looking like they’ve been hit by a truck. 

their faces are pale, eyes glassy with fever, and they groan as they shift under the blanket. it’s obvious they’re just as sick as you, if not worse.

“yo, jungkook,” taehyung calls out, voice nasally, “did you make soup? be a good boy and give us some—” 

jimin, equally pitiful, sits up a little and gives jungkook a pleading look. “yeah, we’re starving, man. plus, you’re not gonna leave us to die alone, right?”

jungkook raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“you won’t die from starvation.”

“how are you so sure?”

“cos i’ll kill you first,” jungkook snorts. “you guys got my girl sick with that stupid omelet you made her.”

the two of them groan in response, sitting up slowly. taehyung rubs his face with his hand. “we didn’t mean to! bro, look at us. you think we wanted this? we’re sick, too, you know.”

“yeah,” jimin adds, “there’s two friends sick here for you to take care of.”

jungkook just looks at them, his gaze hard. 

“who do you think i’m gonna choose right now?”

jimin squints, looking him up and down. “don’t you have that gala tonight?”

jungkook hesitates for a split second, but quickly shakes his head, giving them a dismissive wave. 

“it got canceled.” he lies. 

then, he turns away to head out the door. before he leaves he yells; “i’ll text yoongi hyung to make you some soup. don’t bother me. not coming home tonight.”

about 25 minutes later, jungkook stands in front of your doorway and his gaze falls on you as you open the door.

you're wearing his oversized t-shirt, hair up in a messy bun, and a pair of shorts—looking exhausted and a little pale. his stomach churns with worry, but he keeps his cool as always.

"what are you doing here? the gala..." you trail off, but before he can answer, you quickly turn and rush to the bathroom.

"shit," he mutters under his breath, following you at a steady pace.

when he enters the bathroom, you're already kneeling over the toilet, retching. his heart drops, but he doesn’t flinch. moving to your side, he gently pats your back.

“it was this bad?” he grumbles, a frown pulling at his lips. “why were you downplaying it through text?”

you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, barely acknowledging him.

“i’m fine, seriously. just... just a little nausea.”

“fuck, ___..” he snaps, but his voice isn’t angry, more like exasperated. "this is stupid. you can’t be alone if you can’t even handle standing up to get the door without throwing up. are you fucking serious?." his eyes are narrowing now, the concern clear despite his snappy tone. “what the hell, ___?"

you sit back on the floor, leaning against the wall, your face pale. 

“i already bailed on the date. i couldn’t let you bail on the gala entirely.”

he shoots you a look, incredulous. 

“you think I’d rather be at a gala without you? honestly?”

“i just—"

“shut up,” he interrupts, his voice softer but firm. "you need someone. i’m here. deal with it."

there’s no room for argument in his voice.

you give him a tired smile despite the situation, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“you shouldn’t be here, though.”

“say that again.”

your lips tighten.

then, you gag and rush back to the toilet bowl. jungkook remains by your side, rubbing your back as you deal with another wave of nausea.

the moment is quiet except for the soft sounds of you breathing in between. for a second, it almost feels like everything has stopped, like it’s just the two of you in your small bathroom, nothing else in the world mattering.

after 40 minutes of hovering over the toilet, jungkook gets you settled on the couch.

he brings you water and asks if you’re down for some food. he brought over chicken noodle soup and you need to have something in your stomach before taking your medicine. you simply agree and wait for him to serve you. 

as you eat the soup, he scrolls through netflix and plays something. he talks for most of it and it helps distract you from feeling the full extent of your sickness. after you’ve eaten some of the soup he brought, you ask him to grab the medicine from your bag. 

“can you grab the other medicine bottle from my bag? the one the nurse gave me?”

jungkook, of course, doesn’t hesitate. 

he gets up and finds your bag in your bedroom. he pulls open your bag and begins rummaging through it, looking for the bottle. when his hand brushes against something thick and solid, he pulls out a book titled, “everything you need to know about dolphins a to z.”

his eyebrows furrow for a second as he stares down at it.

he doesn’t know why, but a strange warmth spreads through him. it’s pretty obvious why you have this book—but seeing it in your bag... it makes him pause.

his lips tighten slightly as he puts the book back down in your bag, quickly hiding his reaction. he doesn’t want you to see how much it’s affecting him right now.

when he returns with the medicine, his expression’s back to its usual, nonchalant self. as much as jungkook wants to pretend like he didn’t see it or that seeing it didn’t matter—he can’t. 

to him, it mattered. 

it mattered a lot.

a few days later, you’re sitting across from jungkook in the library. 

the late afternoon sun streaming through the tall windows and casting a golden glow over the table. textbooks and notebooks are scattered between you, his handwriting messier than yours but still oddly charming. you’re mid-sentence, asking him about his opinion on a the newest theory you learned during your lecture when he suddenly tugs off his crewneck, revealing the black t-shirt clinging to his frame underneath.

it’s warm in the library, the kind of cozy heat that sneaks up on you, and he doesn’t think twice about it. 

but you do.

“woah—” you blurt out, your question forgotten as your gaze catches on his arms. you've seen his tattoos before but for some reason... they look different to you now.

they appeal different to you.

jungkook looks up from his notes, brows raised.

“what?”

you blink, trying to refocus, but your eyes betray you, flickering back to the ink winding its way down his arm. 

“your tattoos,” you say, almost dazed. “they’re... really hot.”

“think so?”

“yeah,” you admit. “gets me horny. ”

you then feel the warmth crawl up your neck as the words leave your mouth. you quickly look back down at your notes, hoping the earth might just swallow you whole.

jungkook freezes for a moment, the tips of his ears turning the faintest shade of pink. then he shakes his head, a small, lopsided smile tugging at his lips. it’s not his usual confident grin—it’s softer, like he’s caught off guard but not in a bad way.

he doesn’t say anything, just ducks his head slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching like he’s trying to hold back a laugh.

you try to ignore the way he shifts in his seat, casually stretching his arms behind his head like he’s showing off—not that he’d ever admit it...

for the next two weeks, jungkook suddenly seems allergic to long sleeves. 

he starts showing up in short-sleeved t-shirts, rolling his sleeves higher than necessary when he wears his uniform jacket, and leaning in just a little closer when he knows your gaze will drift.

“you’re shameless,” you mumble one day, catching him flexing—not subtly—while reaching for a book on the top shelf.

“what?” he asks innocently, glancing down at you with those wide eyes that don’t match the smirk tugging at his lips.

you roll your eyes, biting back a grin.

“you’re annoying.”

“why? are you horny?” he says, his voice low enough to make you want to shove him.

you don’t answer, but the way you avoid his gaze—and the small smile tugging at your lips—says enough. he notices, of course, because he always does.

after a few moments of silence, you huff at him.

"is everything you say always so... dirty?"

he shrugs.

"you brought up being horny first..."

"yeah, but—"

"you think i'm dirty?" jungkook interrupts you. "should i shower?"

you scoff at him. before you can say anything, he adds;

"you’d join me though, right?"

a month later, jungkook does it again. 

you find yourself standing in the middle of your apartment—he shows up.

your phone is clutched tightly in your hand as you try to blink away the tears threatening to spill. the call you just had—a frustrating, heart-wrenching argument with your family—leaves you feeling raw and small. the weight of their words presses heavily on your chest, and all you can do is stare blankly at the mess of papers scattered on your desk.

a sharp knock on your door pulls you out of your thoughts. you freeze, wiping at your cheeks hastily, but the door creaks open before you can say anything.

"is that my hoodie?"

"jungkook—"

“you haven't been answering my texts all day,” jungkook says, stepping in without waiting for an invitation. he’s holding a bag of takeout.

"everything okay?"

“i’m fine,” you say, your voice shaky despite your best efforts to sound convincing.

he narrows his eyes at you, placing the takeout and hoodie on your coffee table before crossing his arms.

“yeah, no.”

you try to argue, but he’s already moving, shrugging off his jacket and plopping onto the couch like he owns the place.

“whatever it is, you don’t have to talk about it right now,” he says, pulling out containers of food. “but you do have to eat. and i’m not leaving until you do.”

your throat tightens at his matter-of-fact tone, his presence somehow both comforting and overwhelming. he doesn’t pry, doesn’t demand to know what happened.

“you didn’t have to come,” you murmur, sinking onto the couch beside him.

“yeah, i did,” he replies, handing you a pair of chopsticks. “and don’t even think about pretending you’re not hungry.”

a small, shaky laugh escapes you, the tension in your chest loosening just a little.

“you’re so annoying.”

“friends are supposed to annoy each other. learned that shit from you.”

jungkook’s door swings open with a suddenness that startles him. 

the faint squeak of the hinges cuts through the quiet. he’s mid-motion, towel slung around his neck, tugging a loose white shirt over his head when you stroll in without so much as a knock. he’s also wearing grey sweatpants… 

wet hair, white shirt, and grey sweats? 

the holy trinity.

“you know,” he begins to scold you. “boundaries exist for a reason.”

he shakes his damp hair as you plop onto his bed like it’s yours.

“boundaries?” you scoff, grabbing your plushie. your precious hello kitty plushie. “this is practically my second home.”

he doesn’t argue, just lets out a quiet chuckle as he pulls the hem of his shirt down. 

holding up the plushie like it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever seen. “can i take her home today?”

“sure,” jungkook says, his voice carrying that infuriating mix of teasing confidence and barely veiled challenge. he leans against his desk, arms crossed, watching with a smirk as you clutch the hello kitty plushie tightly to your chest, as if it’s your only lifeline against his charm. 

“can i be your boyfriend today?”

you groan, throwing yourself back onto his bed with a dramatic sigh, the plushie landing on your face. 

“seriously? you’re really holding this poor plushie hostage?”

he laughs, low and amused, pushing off the desk and taking a few steps closer. 

“a deal’s a deal,” he says lightly, but there’s a glint in his eyes as he towers over you. “you can take her home—when you’re my girl.”

you yank the plushie off your face, sitting up sharply. 

“do you think we’re better friends?” you huff, your tone indignant but your heart racing under the weight of his gaze. 

jungkook crouches slightly, leaning in until his face is just a few inches from yours. his smirk softens into something more playful, but the shift in proximity makes your stomach flip. 

“i think so…” he murmurs, his eyes flickering between your face and the plushie pressed against your chest. “aside from me trying to kiss you every chance i get and you being horny every time you see my tattoos—”

you narrow your eyes at him, holding the plushie tighter, as if it’s a shield against the way he’s looking at you. 

“you’re unbelievable.”

“and yet,” he starts, his voice dropping an octave as he moves even closer, one hand bracing on the bed beside your knee, the other reaching out to gently brush his fingers over the plushie’s soft fabric. “here you are.”

his free hand slides around your waist, tugging you just slightly toward him, and your breath hitches. “but if you don’t want her…” he teases, his voice trailing off as his face inches closer to yours. his gaze dips briefly to your lips, and before you can fully process it, he’s leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek.

except you shove hello kitty between you two just in time.

“nope!” you say quickly, holding the plushie up like a barrier, your cheeks flaming as you hear him laugh, the sound vibrating through the air between you.

“seriously?” he says, pulling back just enough to raise an eyebrow, though his grin never falters. his hand stays firm at your waist, his thumb brushing the fabric of your shirt in slow, lazy circles. “you’re really using her to block me?”

“you started it,” you shoot back, glaring at him even as your grip on the plushie tightens.

“fair,” he admits with a chuckle, straightening up slightly but keeping his hold on you. his other hand moves to tap the plushie’s head. “but the deal still stands. not my girlfriend, not your hello kitty.”

“you’re ridiculous.”

he tilts his head, his grin softening, though his hand still lingers at your waist, his warmth impossible to ignore. 

“i don’t know,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost coaxing. “sounds like a pretty good deal to me.”

you glare at him again, this time with less heat, and shove the plushie into his chest.

“you’re insufferable.”

he laughs, taking the plushie from your hands but not letting you go.

“maybe,” he says, “but you’re still here.”

hours later, the room is quiet except for the soft scratch of jungkook’s pen against paper and the occasional shuffle of his chair as he shifts at his desk. you’re curled up on his bed, the hello kitty plushie still clutched against your chest, your breaths slow and steady as sleep overtakes you.

he glances back at you every now and then, a small, unspoken fondness softening his features. when you stir, rubbing your eyes and sitting up, he turns back to his notes, feigning nonchalance.

you pad over to him, your steps muffled against the carpet. without a word, you slip onto his lap, one arm draping lazily over his shoulders as you pluck his glasses from his face.

“good nap?” he asks, his voice a mix of amusement and exasperation as you slide the frames onto your own nose. “those—”

squinting dramatically, you nag him; “ugh, how do you even function with these? everything’s blurry.”

“that’s because they’re prescription, genius,” he says, reaching for them, but you lean back, keeping them out of his reach.

“maybe i’ll keep these,” you tease, poking at the side of his head. “you can’t study without them, can you?”

“give them back, or i’m kicking you off my lap,” he warns, though his hands settle firmly on your waist instead of following through on his threat.

“yeah, sure... because you hate this so much.”

“try me,” he challenges, his grip tightening just slightly as if to prove his point.

“you’re so bossy,” you grumble, sliding the glasses off and placing them haphazardly on his desk. “happy now?”

“ecstatic,” he says dryly, though his lips twitch upward.

you lean closer, your face just inches from his, your playful smirk softening into something quieter, more genuine. 

“you know, you’re really cute when you’re all serious, studious, and grumpy.”

“and you’re kind of annoying when you don’t let me finish studying,” he shoots back, though there’s no real bite to his words.

“fine, fine,” you say, preparing to climb off his lap with exaggerated dramatics. “go be a nerd. i’ll be over there cuddling hello kitty—”

“i could use a 5 minute break.”

you fix your posture, perking up. 

“really?” you tilt your head at him. “i mean… i’d hate to distract you.”

“really?” he mocks you. “you’re sitting on my lap and moving your hips and yet—you’d hate to distract me, huh?”

you nod innocently. then, you shrug and confess;

“i’m bored.”

“what do you want me to do about that? this final is really important—f-fuck. ___, don’t move like that.”

you shift again. 

“like what?”

“you know what you’re—”

“what am i doing?” you ask, leaning your body closer to his. you caress his face and pout at him. “is 5 minutes even considered a break? don’t you need more time?”

“more time for what?” jungkook lowers his gaze at you. 

“i don’t know,” you giggle. “what do you wanna do?”

jungkook can’t take it. 

playing cat and dog or whatever this bullshit is. 

you’re on top of him, prettier than ever. you’re wearing a low-cut tank top with a fucking bow in the middle… and he can’t breathe anything in except you. what is he supposed to do right now? 

“___… if you don’t get off me—”

“if i don’t get off you… what?”

you smile at him softly. shifting again, you drag your hips towards him. his eyes widen. 

“i might cum.”

you pout. “really?”

jungkook swallows. 

“keep moving your hips like that and you’ll find out soon.”

“oh…”

a beat. 

“like this?”

before he knows it, you’re humping him. 

he grunts as he feels himself harden under you. you bite your bottom lip as you drag your hips back and forth. you feel the pressure against your clit as your clothes rub together. 

jungkook hisses at your pace. 

“f-fuck..”

as he bucks his lips, he places his hands on your waist, helping your movement. you let out a few breathy moans and jungkook feels like he could die. 

you’re so pretty. 

his hands tighten around you when he senses that you’re close. 

“am i doing this right? it feels—feels g-good.”

“yeah? feels good, baby?” jungkook breathes.

“mhmm…”

“do you feel my dick?” he asks. “feel how hard it is against your fucking pussy?”

“i do,” you moan. “so big, jungkook. can i take it soon?”

he hisses. 

“promise me,” you whine. “promise me that you’ll fuck me soon.”

jungkook’s breath hitches. 

he was wrong. 

that time he ran his mouth about your virginity being too much or a burden or something—fuck was he wrong. 

it’s not a burden.

it’s the greatest privilege he could ever be given… now to have you like this? begging like that? holy shit is he more than ready to give you anything and everything you want. 

“promise, baby,” he says. “promise it’s gonna be me.”

you nod, happy with his answer. 

and just as you’re about to continue, you take his hands to your tits. first, he squeezes them… then you guide them to the strap of your tank top. taking the cue, jungkook tugs your straps down, revealing your bare tits. 

“___…” he moans. “shit.”

you bring his hands to your tits again, helping him cup them. as you hump him with more intensity, jungkook’s mouth parts. your tits bounce up and down and it sends shivers down his spine. your tits are so full in his hands and so fucking perfect up close. he loves all of it—the shape, the size, the way it feels… so soft. he’s always been an ass type of guy but holy shit—your tits are a game changer for him. 

nevertheless, he tries to focuses on you. 

“bouncy.”

“yeah?” you pant. “you like them?”

jungkook nods pathetically. 

he fights shutting his eyes. he wants to remember all of this. every detail. 

how hard he is right now. how hard your nipples are and how they feel being played in between his fingers. he runs his thumb around them, pressing, squeezing, and tugging… he loves how your moans sound—like they’re music to his ears… he can’t… he can’t picture anything else. he can’t hear anything else. he can’t breathe anything in but you.

“jungkook…” you cry, feeling yourself about to climax.

“s-shit,” he hisses as you begin to whimper. 

the humping is great. 

amazing in fact—but the way you’re whimpering right now? 

fuck.

“jungkook,” you breathe, trying to catch your breath. “a-are you close? mhmmm… f-fuck!” 

you hump him faster and harder. he lets out a few moans before sharply inhaling—

“o-ohh,” jungkook moans. “nghhhh… fuck.”

you grind on him slowly, easing his release. his crotch area is wet, making an obvious stain on his grey sweatpants.

he throws his head back. you lean over and kiss his neck. he bites his lip, attempting to hide his smile. 

a silence fills the room. 

you two are in total disbelief. 

then, you shift and he places his hands on your waist again. 

“did you cum?” 

he lets out a chuckle. “yeah. did you?”

“i think so? i don’t know.”

“sorry,” he sighs, a little disappointed you didn’t get to finish. “do you wanna—”

“it’s fine that i didn’t come. i had fun…”

jungkook shakes his head. “no, it’s okay. i can—”

“can i see?”

jungkook blinks at you. 

“what?”

“you came right?”

“yeah—”

“can i see what your cum looks like?”

some days with jungkook are so easy, it’s almost laughable.

the dynamic feels less like a friendship and more like a game you’re both playing—teasing, flirting, seeing how far you can push before one of you finally gives in.

but then there are days like this.

it’s been 3 month and a half since the kiss, and the comfort between you has grown in a way that makes everything feel light, almost effortless. you’re more yourself around him, and he’s let down his walls in ways you didn’t even realize were there. 

still, sometimes, you push his buttons just a little too hard.

today is one of those days.

it starts with a series of texts.

your usual banter that, for whatever reason, strikes a nerve.

maybe he’s stressed, or maybe you’re just too good at knowing exactly how to get under his skin. either way, it doesn’t take long before his responses turn clipped, each word laced with an irritation you’re not used to seeing from him.

yn [1:41PM]: C₄₃H₆₆N₁₂O₁₂S₂ nerd [1:48PM]: 😳 yn [1:50PM]: am i speaking ur language  nerd [1:53PM]: fluently, yes yn [1:54PM]: cool. dohwan taught me it  yn [1:55PM]: what does it mean nerd [1:59PM]: not funny. yn [2:00PM]: why am i laughing then seen yn [2:01PM]: aw don’t get all mad nerd [2:08PM]: not mad. jus uninterested in this topic. yn [2:10PM]: i’m sorry seen yn [2:14PM]: sorry :(  yn [2:15PM]: jungkook !!! yn [2:16PM]: wanna make out? typing… nerd [2:21PM]: yes

you don’t mean for it to escalate, but by the time you realize he’s genuinely annoyed, it’s too late to fix it over text. you bite your lip, staring at your phone, debating your next move.

and then, because you’re you, you grab your bag and head straight for his lab.

jungkook’s reputation precedes him on campus.

professors practically gloat about having him in their classes, like his achievements are trophies they get to display. it isn’t just his grades or his research—it’s the way he carries himself. sure, he's a little antisocial but he's focused, driven, and somehow still effortlessly cool.

you always knew he was smart, but seeing him in his element, tucked away in the chemistry lab during his solo hours, is something else entirely.

the lab is a world of its own.

notes scrawled in sharp, precise handwriting cover the workspace, surrounded by neatly labeled vials, bubbling solutions, and meticulous arrangements of equipment.

jungkook stands at the center of it all, wearing a crisp lab coat with the sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the ink decorating his forearms. protective goggles perch on his nose, and his brows furrow as he scribbles something into a notebook. he’s intimidatingly focused, and for a moment, you hesitate in the doorway.

he notices the movement immediately, his sharp eyes snapping up to meet yours. for a beat, his expression doesn’t change, and your stomach churns with nerves under his scrutinizing gaze.

“what are you doing here?”

“i, uh…” you shift awkwardly, trying to find your footing under his intense stare. “i wanted to check on you. you seemed upset earlier.”

jungkook exhales, a hand dragging through his dark hair, slightly disheveling the strands sticking out under the goggles. his posture stiffens slightly before he stands straighter, folding his arms across his chest. 

“i’m fine,” he says, the words clipped and automatic, like he’s said them a hundred times before.

he doesn’t look at you again after that, instead turning back to the dense notebook in front of him. his pen taps against the edge of the table, a sharp, rhythmic sound that fills the silence between you.

you glance around, taking in the scrawled notes and bubbling glassware, and suddenly, you feel like an intruder.

this isn’t just a workspace; it’s his domain, and you’re a trespasser.

“right,” you whisper. “sorry. i just—”

your words catch as his head snaps up again, this time really looking at you. his dark eyes flick to the way you stand there, hands shoved deep into your jacket pockets, shoulders hunched slightly, and chewing the inside of your cheek.

the tension in his jaw softens, and he exhales again, but this time, it’s quieter, almost resigned. his shoulders relax as he sets the pen down, giving you his full attention now.

“do you want a tour?” he asks, his voice losing some of its earlier sharpness.

you blink at him, caught off guard. 

“really?”

he shrugs, a small, almost reluctant smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“yeah. just… don’t touch anything.”

you hesitate, unsure if this is a genuine offer or just him humoring you. but the way his gaze lingers—softer now, like he’s extending an olive branch—makes you take a small step forward.

“you’re sure?” you ask cautiously, your weight shifting between your feet.

“wouldn’t have offered if i wasn’t,” he says, already turning to gather a few items from the cluttered table.

his words are casual, but there’s something unspoken in the way he says them. it’s as if he’s acknowledging your effort without outright saying it, inviting you into a space you know he doesn’t share lightly.

“okay,” you say softly, stepping closer as he gestures to the setup in front of him.

jungkook guides you through the lab, his hand casually finding its way to the small of your back as he gestures to the next setup. the touch is subtle but grounding, the heat of his palm against your waist sending a quick flutter of awareness through you. his fingers rest there, steady, as he moves you along with a quiet confidence, his focus more on the equipment than the way your heart picks up its pace.

“this is my catalytic synthesis project,” he starts, motioning to the crowded workspace. his tone is calmer now, almost instructional as if falling into the rhythm of explaining makes it easier to let his guard down.

as he starts detailing his work, his body language shifts. his shoulders loosen, and the furrow in his brow disappears as he picks up a flask of pale yellow liquid. his hand moves with precise confidence, holding it up to the light as if to showcase his work.

“what does that even mean?” you ask, leaning in closer to inspect the array of equipment.

“it’s about creating biodiesel,” he explains, holding up a sheet of paper covered in equations and diagrams. “basically, i’m optimizing the reaction process to make it more efficient. fewer byproducts, higher yield.”

you blink, squinting at the equations like they might magically make sense. 

“that’s cool… i think. but how do you even do that?”

he chuckles, the sound low and surprisingly soft. 

“this,” he says, holding the flask again. “this is the feedstock. it’s like the base oil we start with. i mix it with methanol and a catalyst—”

“wait,” you interrupt, raising a hand. “what’s a catalyst?”

his lips twitch into a small grin, clearly amused by your cluelessness. 

“a catalyst is a substance that speeds up a chemical reaction without being consumed in the process.”

you nod as if you understand, but the tilt of your head gives you away.

jungkook sets the flask down and leans a hip against the table, crossing his arms loosely. “okay, think of it like this. imagine you’re cooking something. the catalyst is like the pan—it doesn’t get eaten, but it helps everything cook faster.”

“ohhh,” you say, the metaphor finally clicking. “why didn’t you just say that from the start?”

he raises an eyebrow, biting back a grin. “because i thought you were smart enough to keep up.”

“wow,” you deadpan, crossing your arms. “i come here to check on you, and this is the thanks i get?”

he shakes his head, a quiet laugh escaping him as he nudges your shoulder lightly with his. “first of all, you annoyed me. second of all, you’re the one who wanted a tour. i’m just giving you the full experience.”

“oh, sorry—” you let out a shallow laugh. “should i leave then—”

jungkook shakes his head and points to another setup—a small beaker bubbling over a hot plate. 

“look! this is the reaction in progress. that bubbling? that’s the methanol reacting with the oil. and over there,” he gestures to a series of tubes and a larger flask, “that’s where i separate the biodiesel from the glycerol. basically, the good stuff from the leftovers.”

you narrow your eyes at the apparatus. “this still sounds like you’re making moonshine.”

jungkook snorts, shaking his head. “i’m not making moonshine.”

“sure,” you mutter, your lips curving into a teasing smile. “that’s what someone making moonshine would say.”

he rolls his eyes, but the faint smile pulling at his lips betrays him. 

“you’re really annoying today.”

“you like me, though,” you shoot back, leaning against the table with newfound confidence.

jungkook pauses, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment too long. his lips part, and you catch a flicker of something in his expression—something softer, almost vulnerable.

“yeah,” he says quietly, almost under his breath, before turning back to his work. “i guess i do.”

as you lean over a neighboring table to inspect a beaker filled with an ominous-looking solution, your elbow bumps against it, sending it teetering dangerously close to the edge. the moment stretches out, everything moving in slow motion.

his words catch you off guard.

what did he just say?

holy—

“shit!” you yelp, reaching out instinctively to steady it. but before you can, the beaker tips over completely, the sulfuric acid inside spilling onto the floor—and dangerously close to your feet.

jungkook moves faster than you expect, his hand darting out to grab your arm as he yanks you backward with enough force to make you stumble into his chest. the acid splashes onto his hand as it hits the ground, and the sharp crack of shattering glass fills the room.

he flinches, a quiet hiss slipping through his teeth as he pulls his hand back.

“oh my god, jungkook!” you gasp, panic knotting your stomach. his hand lingers briefly on your arm before he steps away, already moving toward the nearest sink.

“stay there,” he orders, his voice clipped but steady, as he flips on the cold water and thrusts his hand under the stream.

your eyes are locked on his injured hand, where faint discoloration is already starting to show.

“are you okay? does it hurt?” you ask, your voice shaky.

“it’s fine,” he says tightly, jaw clenched as the water rushes over his skin. “are you okay? nothing got on you, right?”

you take a step closer, your gaze flicking between his face and his hand. he looks calm—too calm—but the way his lips press into a thin line tells you otherwise.

“no. nothing got on me… jungkook,” you say softly, guilt and worry twisting in your chest. “i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean to—”

“don’t,” he cuts you off, shaking his head as he grabs a paper towel to dry his hand. his voice isn’t harsh, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s holding something back. “this is why i don’t give tours.”

you wince, the weight of his words making you shrink slightly. “i—i’ll make it up to you,” you blurt, your voice desperate to fix this. “whatever you want.”

he glances at you then, finally letting out a soft, exasperated laugh. his expression softens, the corners of his lips twitching into a faint smirk. 

“you’re giving me that much power?”

“jungkook,” you warn, narrowing your eyes, but your voice wavers. you’re still too focused on his hand, your own tightening into fists at your sides. “this is serious. do you want to go to nurse or hospital or something—”

“relax baby,” he says, his tone lighter now as he flexes his fingers experimentally. “it’s not that bad. really. it was just sulfuric acid.”

“acid—”

“stop,” jungkook sighs. “seriously. it’s okay.”

“you shouldn’t have done that though,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. 

he shakes his head, smiling faintly—half amused, half surprised by your concern. 

“what, and let you burn yourself instead?”

a beat.

"i'm dating a klutz," he chuckles, the words slipping out so naturally it takes you both a second to realize what he’s just said. his eyes widen slightly, but instead of backpedaling, "guess i should get used to you fucking my shit up, right?"

your chest tightens.

dating?

jungkook clears his throat. 

“don't over think it," jungkook grumbles.

"jungkook—"

he doesn’t let you finish, his jaw tightening.

“___, what are you doing here if you don’t think we’re dating?”

“what does that even mean?” you fire back, crossing your arms defensively. “you can’t just say shit like that and expect me not to overthink it.”

“then maybe don’t think so much,” he mutters under his breath. "you're good at that anyway."

“don’t think?!” you huff incredulously, stepping closer. “jungkook, you’re impossible.”

he glares at you, setting down the equipment with a loud clink. “and you’re confusing. ___, you’re acting like—”

“acting like what?”

“like you don’t want this.”

the tension doesn’t ease as you both leave the lab. 

he grabs his bag, muttering something about not wanting to talk here, and before you can argue, he’s already halfway down the corridor. you jog to keep up with his long strides, half-annoyed, half-confused, as he leads you across campus.

the walk is silent, save for the occasional rustle of leaves or the faint chatter of students in the distance. his jaw is tight, his shoulders stiff, and you can tell he’s barely holding himself together.

“jungkook...” you try, your voice softer this time, but he doesn’t respond, doesn’t even glance back.

by the time you reach his place, your confusion has morphed into frustration. 

he unlocks the door without a word, stepping inside and leaving it open for you to follow.

you hesitate for a moment, then step in, the familiar scent of his space wrapping around you. before you can say anything, he drops his bag on the floor and turns to you, his expression unreadable.

“sit,” he orders, pointing to his bed.

your brows knit together.

“i’m not a dog,” you snap, but the weight in his tone makes you obey anyway. you sit at the edge of his bed, crossing your arms and glaring up at him.

he exhales sharply, running a hand through his already messy hair. his pacing starts then, a restless back-and-forth motion across the small room. the air feels heavy, thick with unspoken words and the lingering tension from earlier.

“okay,” he starts, his voice low and strained. “let’s just… get this out in the open.”

you raise a brow, waiting for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. instead, he keeps pacing, his hand dragging down his face as if he’s trying to physically pull the words out of himself.

“get what out in the open?” you prod, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “jungkook, what’s your deal? one second you’re fine, and the next—”

“fine?” he cuts you off, his tone sharper now. he stops pacing to face you, his hands planted on his hips. “you think i’m fine?”

you blink, taken aback.

“well, no, obviously not. but you’re also not making any sense—”

“you want to talk about making sense?” he scoffs, a bitter laugh escaping him. “you’re the one who’s impossible, you know that? one minute you’re here, acting like we’re—like this is something, and the next you’re…”

“the next i’m what?” you challenge, standing now. “go ahead, say it.”

jungkook looks at your sternly. then, he gives you his heart.

“i can’t keep doing this, ___. i need to know—are you in or are you out? because i get the whole wanting to make me miserable part. i get it. i’ve been awful to you. i’ve put words in your mouth and i’ve said shit that i can’t take back… but i’m trying. it feels like you aren’t.”

the weight of his words crashes over you, leaving you rooted in place. you want to respond, to say something, but the lump in your throat won’t budge.

he steps closer, his eyes searching yours.

“just… tell me what you want. because if you don’t want me, i need to know now.”

the silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating. you feel his gaze burning into you, his desperation palpable.

“i don’t know how to have you,” you say, your voice breaking slightly.

his shoulders drop, and for the first time since this started, he looks less angry and more… hurt.

“what do you mean?” he asks, his tone gentler now.

“i don’t know,” you breathe. “i’ve never… gone this far. guys give up after the chase… you’re… you’re still here. what happens now? sex?”

he shrugs. "is that all you want?"

"no."

"then no."

silence.

“___, i'm here. i've come this far and i want to go further. sex or not—whatever,” he says, taking another step closer, his hand reaching out to lightly brush against your arm. “is that what scares you?”

you nod.

“am i… am i supposed to just—” your chest tightens, and the room feels too small, too charged. his words hang in the air, and you know there’s no going back after this. “i don’t know—”

“why are you here, ___?”

“you asked me that already.” you retort.

“yeah, and you didn’t answer,” he shoots back.

you sigh, exasperated. “i’m here because—i don’t know… you’re my friend, okay? or whatever.”

his laugh is sharp and humorless. “friend. right.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“it means i don’t want to be your friend,” he says plainly, his eyes burning into yours. “i haven’t wanted that for a while now.”

your breath catches. “jungkook—”

he steps closer, and for a moment, you think he might kiss you. but he stops just short, his voice low and rough. 

“i want you to stop pretending like there’s nothing here. i want you to stop running every time i get close.”

you open your mouth to argue, but the words catch in your throat.

“again, if you don’t want this—me—then tell me,” he continues, his voice softening. “but don’t keep showing up, acting like i don’t drive you as crazy as you drive me. don’t… please, don’t make me feel stupid.”

the room feels too small, the air too thick.

jungkook’s hand lingers on your arm, his touch grounding even as your heart races wildly. his dark eyes search yours, flickering with emotions you can’t fully decipher—hurt, hope, frustration.

“you don’t have to know everything right now,” he says softly, his voice carrying a steadiness that contrasts with the storm raging between you. “i’m not asking for perfect, ___. i’m not even asking for easy. i just…” he exhales shakily, the vulnerability in his tone cutting through your defenses. “i just need to know you’re willing to try.”

your throat tightens, his words hitting you in a place you’ve tried so hard to ignore. the thought of trying—of letting yourself fall completely, with no safety net—terrifies you. but the thought of him walking away? it’s unbearable.

“i want you,” you whisper, the fear laced in your voice so raw it feels like you’ve just exposed every guarded corner of yourself. “i want you, jungkook.”

his fingers trail down your arm, stopping just above your wrist. 

“say it again,” he says, his tone almost exasperated, but not unkind. “please?”

you bite your lip, the weight of his words pressing down on you. everything about this moment feels pivotal, like a single word could either shatter or rebuild everything between you.

“i want you, jungkook,” you admit, your voice trembling but resolute. “i… i want us.”

his expression softens, relief washing over his features like a tidal wave.

“good,” he murmurs, stepping closer, so close that his scent—clean, familiar, entirely jungkook—invades your senses. then, his hands come up, gently cradling your face as he tilts your chin up to meet his gaze.

“i… i want us too. i think it’s all i ever really wanted. to be yours…”

his thumbs stroke your cheeks, and before you can overthink it, he leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. the tension in the room shifts, softening but no less charged.

“does this mean i get to take hello kitty home today?” you whisper, your voice barely audible. 

“is that all you really care about?” he says, a small, lopsided smile tugging at his lips. 

“i care about other things.”

“like what?”

“like you.”

and then he kisses you.

you and jungkook have been dating for 6 months when you suddenly say; "happy 6 months, baby! wanna have sex?"

jungkook practically jolts out of his bed and takes the plushie. he places it on his desk and turns hello kitty over to face the wall. (no, you haven't taken it home. for some reason, it suits being in jungkook's room more than yours).

you laugh as he turns back to you and says;

"good timing, ___. i'm ovulating."

jungkook can't breathe.

… and you? you never expected it to feel this way. 

the thrill of it… the intensity—the intimacy. 

as jungkook towers over you, he pulls his shirt over his head. the minute his chest is bare, your hands find your way to roam around his body. his abs, his biceps, and down his—

“wait,” jungkook pleads, eyes hungrily looking into yours. “wanna take this slow with you. wanna do it right for you.”

you nod slowly, understanding what he means. 

the truth is; your virginity is your virginity.

there isn’t much to it aside from that the fact that it’s not taken. you were never wronged but you were also never pursued right… sure, it’s special… but it isn’t everything. 

jungkook treats it like it is though. 

you don’t mind. 

for the past 6 months, he's been really careful with how he acts around you sexually. sure, a few pussy eating moments and heated make outs have been happening... but not the full thing. actually, you've never really seen jungkook's dick yet.

he refuses to let you give him a blowjob.

said something about how easy it is for him to cum at the thought of you—he isn't ready to embarrass himself in front of you just yet.

but today, at your 6 month mark, it's different.

jungkook can't hold it in anymore and you showed up extra pretty. you planned this, didn't you?

(yes.)

gently, he helps you undress.

he takes your shirt off for you and takes a deep breath when you arch your back for him to unclasp your bra. nervously, he does so. then, he tosses your bra aside and takes in the view. 

the prettiest fucking tits he’s ever seen. 

jungkook reaches, cupping and squeezing your boobs. you watch him as he does so, unsure of what to do. 

he then lowers himself, placing kisses over your tits and down your stomach. positioning himself more comfortably, he finds himself in between your legs. lifting them up, he takes your pants off… then, his eyes flicker from you to your panties. 

his fingers play with the hem of your panties. then, he scrunches them together, tugging them up so your folds are exposed. 

“fuck,” jungkook groans. “so pretty…”

“yeah?” 

“yeah,” he breathes, watching your pussy begin to swell. “think your kitty can be good for me? think you can be patient? that’s it… good kitty.”

you tilt your chin down to look at him. 

he’s licking his lips, lowering himself down to your pussy. 

“be a good kitty, okay?” he says, as he begins to massage your pussy with his hands. your panties are still on so the friction of the fabric make you a little annoyed. 

aren’t you having sex soon?

shoudn’t this shit be off be now?

“jungkook—”

“i know, baby,” jungkook pouts at you. “i know it’s hard to wait… look at your pussy… so wet and your panties aren’t even off.”

“i get more wet than this?”

“if i play my cards right, yeah.”

you whimper. “please, jungkook… just.. take them off.”

“you want me to?”

“yes,” you huff. “want you to take my panties off.”

he nods slowly… as if he’s thinking about something—considering something.

then, he decides to give in. 

jungkook tugs your panties down entirely, leaving your pussy out in the open. he throws his head back in admiration. it’s like he’s been hit by cupid or something.

without warning, he buries his face inside. 

jungkook begins with a couple licks and spreading your folds a part. his tongue brushes against your clit—up, down, side to side—everywhere. god, you feel him everywhere. after a few licking and sucking moments, he pulls away and rubs his thumb against your clit. he spits on your pussy—letting his saliva drool down slowly. 

you watch. 

“you like that, baby? you like when i spit in your pussy?”

tongue-tied, you nod obediently. 

he grins before giving in again. 

jungkook eats you up, devouring every inch of your pussy. before you know it, he’s shoving a finger inside you as he sucks on your clit. you almost yelp at the sensation—a feeling completely new to you. 

“ohhh… yeah… f-feels so good, jungkook…” you moan, throwing your head back. 

honestly, the added finger burns. 

but he’s gentle with it. he moves his finger inside you with lots of intentions. he gradually shoves it in deeper and deeper too.. it just… it feels good. 

so good. 

you throw your head back and grab a fist full of his hair. 

“uh, uhhhh… mhmfffph—” you moan. “ohhh…. f-fuck…”

jungkook looks up and watches the way your lips twitch. how your body reacts to him eating you out… and it all just boosts his ego. 

he’s so glad to be here. 

jungkook then pulls away, taking his tongue out of the equation. he focuses on fingering you, making sure you’re enjoying the way it feels. you two catch each others gaze and continue to look into each others eyes. 

as jungkook picks up the pace fingering you, you bite your lip and love the way his eyebrows furrow in concentration. 

“f-fuck,” you utter. “i’m gonna—o-ohhh!”

you cum on his fingers. 

jungkook pulls them out, taking your cum and spreading it around your folds. he massages it in like lube before taking his fingers to his mouth. 

he tastes you. 

then, before you can catch your breath, jungkook leans down and kisses you. 

he kisses you deeply. 

when he pulls away, you ask; “c-can we…”

jungkook chuckles. 

“soon,” he assures you, tucking your hair behind your ear. he presses his lips against your cheek. 

then, his lips find yours with a hesitance that feels almost reverent, like he’s afraid to ruin something sacred. and then, slowly, he deepens the kiss—tentative at first, but with a growing confidence that feels utterly jungkook.

it’s the kind of kiss that feels like discovery. like he’s studying every angle, every curve, every reaction, cataloging them in his mind like a scholar with his favorite subject. his hands hold you as if you’re delicate but unshakable all at once, his thumbs brushing tenderly against your jawline.

when he tilts his head, changing the angle, it’s with a deliberate slowness, as though he’s savoring the moment, pulling apart the layers of this kiss to commit it to memory. you can feel the way his lips curve faintly against yours, like he’s smiling, like he’s finding joy in every second of this new experiment.

and you realize—he’s not just kissing you. 

he’s learning you.

nerd.

you gasp when he pulls you closer, your arms instinctively wrapping around his body. his lips part slightly, and the way he kisses you now feels like a question, like he’s asking for something without saying a word.

he’s meticulous, like he wants to explore every inch of you through this kiss, leaving no detail untouched. the way he holds you is tender but firm, grounding you while setting your pulse on fire.

when he finally pulls back, his breathing is uneven, his forehead pressing lightly against yours. his eyes flutter open, and they’re soft, full of something you can’t quite name but feel all the same.

“i want you forever,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with awe, as though he’s just unraveled the world’s most beautiful equation. 

you giggle at him. “great. can we start now?”

“way to kill the mood—”

“please, for the love of god!” you squirm. “fuck me already.”

jungkook can’t help but laugh. 

but he gives in. 

jungkook shifts out of his pants, revealing his hard cock. 

you stare at it.

it's pretty.

it's thick all around and his tip looks like it's angry. you like the way it looks though... looks delicious. his cock has you completely mesmerized. you almost want to crawl to it but he saves you the journey as he brings it close to you. 

truth be told, jungkook's a little nervous.. he doesn't want to fuck this up.

“you know…” he begins, as he jerks himself off in front of you. “i want to be mean. like, really fucking mean. i want to make you beg. i want to make you choke on my fucking cock and have you scream my name but—fuck, ___… i look at you and i can’t…. i can’t even do all i want with our fucking foreplay because i fold so easily when it comes to you. you want me to fuck you? fine. i’ll fuck you.”

“be mean,” you whimper. “come on. don’t be a pussy. just because this is my first time—f-fuck! holy shit, jungkook—”

jungkook has slowly puts his cock inside you. 

you gasp for air. 

he caresses your face as you adjust to him being inside you. then, he drags his tongue around your neck. he sucks on it a bit, causing you to grip the sheets.

“o-oh my… j-jungkook…”

“you okay, baby?” he asks, slightly moving himself in deeper. 

you take a deep breath and exhale from your mouth. “f-fuck…”

he’s so big. 

you can feel every curve of his dick and vein. when his tip entered, it felt funny. like, uncomfortable but also really fucking good. as he begins to thrust in and out, you breathe through the sharpness of his movement. 

“hurts…” you confess. 

jungkook shifts, and kisses your neck. against your skin, he murmurs; “i’m sorry, baby… do you want me to—”

“no,” you tell him, as you open your legs wider. you wrap yourself around him and hold on tight. “think… think i’m okay. can you move more?”

jungkook nods and kisses you once more. 

he begins to fuck you.

slowly but surely… he begins to drill himself into you. 

missionary isn’t his favourite but having you this way… especially for your first time? god, did he love this. as you dig your nails into his back, you whimper every time he thrusts back inside you. 

“f-fuck,” you moan. “jungkook… it’s…”

“what?” he almost panics. “a-are you okay?”

“yeah,” you breathe. “it feels good now… can you… go harder?”

jungkook hisses, feeling like he could lose his mind. 

“can we switch position?” he pitches.

you agree.

jungkook then pulls out of you, and you suddenly feel the emptiness. he goes on his knees and takes you by your waist, guiding you to turn over and go on all fours. 

doggy. 

jungkook helps you position yourself before angling himself. he licks his hand and spreads your entrance. he then guides his dick inside you. as he begins to thrust, you suddenly feel him reach around and start to rub your clit…

and oh my god. 

does it feel heavenly. 

“oh,” you hum. “feels so good.”

jungkook leans over, and kisses your shoulder. as he pulls away, he takes his other hand and grabs a fistfull of your hair. he pulls your hair back and you moan at the tightness. 

“you like that, my little bitch?” he grunts as he fucks you. 

he feels your pussy clench. then, he smriks. 

“oh? you like being called a little bitch, huh?” jungkook then takes his hand off your clit and uses it to slap your ass. "my fucking cockslut. always so fucking horny but you're just a little dirty minded virgin, right? not anymore, okay? i'm taking it. taking all your sticky fucking cum. you're all mine, baby. you know that, right? you're mine, bitch."

smack. 

your pussy tightens around his cock again. 

smack. 

you moan his name. 

“jungkook…”

he inshales shaprly and moves both hands and grabs your waist. he pulls you into him with each trust, adding more intensity. 

jungkook fucks you harder and harder and you can’t help but love the way it feels. you moan his name, whimpering pleads like; “please… please, fuck me harder.” you can’t help it… it’s the way that his hard cock feels inside you that make you say shit like that. it’s the way that his hands roam around your body and you feel him everywhere… because he is everywhere. 

his mind goes dizzy. 

he goes blank actually. 

then, when you reach back and wrap your arms around the back of your thighs—jungkook feels like he might lose it. 

how do you know how to move like that?

god, you’re so hot. 

“mhmm. that’s it…. fucking me so good, nerd.”

then, jungkook loses it. 

like… really. 

he fucks you harder and harder until you’re whimpering his name and almost near tears. he doesn’t realize how hard he’s fucking you until you’re near climax—

“i’m cumming!” you cry. “baby, i’m gonna—ahh, a-ahhh! fuck..”

it happens so fast. 

suddenly, you cum and you lose your balance. 

jungkook helps you lay down properly. he gets on top, continuing to fuck you in missionary. he fucks you through your orgasm. as you catch your breath, you feel him hiss against your skin. 

“fuck.”

just then, jungkook pulls out. 

as he jerks himself off, you tug on his hand and pout at him. he tilts his head, a little confused but quickly catches on. 

“cum right on me?”

(i mean, camaraderie)

a few seconds later, jungkook straddles your face. 

he places his dick inside you mouth and you focus on licking the tip of his dick. you do it softly, not adding much pressure. it sends shivers down his spine… then, you use the topside of oyur tongue to add more stimulation. you dig your face deep, licking his balls a little. 

he moans. 

you suck him off—slow but so fucking intense. 

jungkook can’t take it.

he places one hand on the back of your head and helps control how deep you take him. 

his dick reaches the back of your throat and it’s fucking toe-curling for jungkook. you take him in so good. as you suck him off, he can’t help but not last long. 

“ahh–aahhhh.. f-fuck—” jungkook moans deeply. “nghhh.... fuck, ___! holy fucking shit...”

jungkook pulls out seconds later and cums all over your face.

as his cum drips down your face, you catch it with your finger and look at it. 

“ohh,” you pant. “that’s what cum looks like…”

jungkook rolls his eyes at you before dipping his head low and kissing you. you two laugh as you pull away, completely in disbelief of everything that had just happened.

1 month later...

“you’re such a bad boyfriend,” you say, crossing your arms dramatically as you sit on the couch, watching jungkook fiddle with the back of your laptop.

he pauses, turning his head slowly to look at you over his shoulder. his glasses are sliding down his nose, his hair is a bit messy from pushing it back so many times, and he looks entirely unimpressed.

“bad boyfriend?” he repeats, sounding genuinely offended. “you asked me to fix your laptop. i'm a chem major, not tech.”

“smart boyfriends are supposed to be well rounded."

he glares at you. "again. you asked me to fix your laptop. i'm doing my best, baby."

"yeah, but like... i asked you over an hour ago,” you tease, leaning back and pretending to sigh. “you’ve been ignoring me ever since.”

“ignoring you?” he scoffs, turning back to the tangled mess of wires. “i’m literally upgrading your RAM so you can stop complaining about how slow it is. if anything, i’m the best boyfriend.”

you hum thoughtfully, pretending to consider it. “debatable. the best boyfriend wouldn’t make me sit here in silence while he nerds out over motherboards or whatever.”

“okay, first of all,” he says, setting the screwdriver down and turning to you fully now, “it’s not ‘whatever.’ this is your motherboard’s lifeline. without it, you don’t get to binge your little dramas.”

“so you’re saying you’re not doing this for me—you’re doing it for the laptop?”

“i’m doing it so you don’t keep stealing my ipad to ‘watch just one more episode’ and kill my battery in two hours,” he fires back, but there’s a little smirk tugging at the corner of his lips now.

you tilt your head, grinning. “i think you just proved my point.”

“fine,” he says, pulling his glasses off and tossing them onto the table. “what do i have to do to reclaim my best boyfriend title, huh? flowers? chocolates? fixing this annoying laptop isn’t enough?”

“hmm,” you pretend to think. “i’d say… maybe you stop being a nerd for five minutes and come cuddle me instead.”

he rolls his eyes but moves toward you anyway, tugging you into his lap without hesitation.

“there,” he says, wrapping his arms around you as you snuggle into his chest. “am i forgiven, or do i need to sit in front of a claw machine and lose $200 again?”

“hmm,” you hum, grinning as you tap your chin. “hello kitty does look a little lonely. but maybe she deserves a friend when you really screw up.”

“you’re planning for that?” he asks, incredulous.

“not planning,” you tease, shrugging. “just preparing. i’ve already picked cinnamon roll for when you really drop the ball.”

he stares at you for a long moment, narrowing his eyes. “you know, this feels like extortion. i bet you mess with me on purpose just to stock up on plushies.”

“maybe,” you say sweetly, poking his cheek. “but you can’t prove it.”

he sighs, leaning his head back against the couch dramatically.

“great. i’m dating a scam artist.”

“you’re dating a genius,” you correct, grinning.

“genius or not,” he counters, tightening his hold on you, “you’re stuck with me.”

you tilt your head up to look at him, biting back a laugh at the slight pout on his lips.

“wow, jungkook, that’s so nerdy of you.”

he groans, letting his head fall against your shoulder.

“i’m never fixing your laptop again. let me know when you need help naming all the isomers of butanol—"

"baby, did you hear that?"

"hear what?"

"you put the dolphins to sleep. good job! yay, your marine conservation bullshit finally came in handy—"

"wanna break up?"

"meanie."

"you're mean."

"sure, let's break up," you tell him. "how about never?"

"never?" jungkook asks, tucking your hair behind your ears. "sounds good."

you glance at him, a playful smirk tugging at your lips.

"it's you, me, and the fucking dolphins forever, nerd."

[sonarspace]

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆STUDY BREAK (FT. GOJO)

꒰ synopsis. being in the same class as gojo satoru was bad enough; having him as the professor’s insufferably smug assistant made it worse. content. college au. nsfw. (teasing. slight praise kınk. fıngering. oräl. p in v. multiple ōrgasms.) wc. 5.3k. an. to clear up any confusion 😭.. satoru’s a senior student + the professor’s assistant in the course you’re both taking. (fic is kinda all over the place so idk if this works but let’s pretend like it does).

there’s something about gojo satoru that drives you insane. not in the fun, heart-fluttering way that comes with a secret crush or the thrill of banter. no—this is the kind of insane where you want to hurl something, preferably at his stupidly smug face.

“class,” he drawls, leaning lazily against the desk at the front of the room, his shirt slightly rumpled like he doesn’t give a damn—and he doesn’t. “these papers? a mixed bag. some of you really impressed me. others… well.” his lips curve into a smirk. “let’s just say the recycling bin was hungry.”

you groan inwardly, already sensing where this is going. he’s done this before, holding your work hostage like it’s part of his routine entertainment.

“and here,” he continues, brandishing a paper like a prop. your paper. “is a prime example of someone… almost getting there. strong ideas, decent execution, but the conclusion? oof. fell harder than my GPA sophomore year.”

a few students laugh. your jaw tightens, the heat in your chest bubbling up into something sharp and biting. he doesn’t have to name you; everyone knows exactly whose paper he’s waving around.

“anyway,” he finishes with a shrug, tossing the paper onto the desk like it’s disposable. “there’s potential. keep at it.”

you don’t even wait for class to end before your resolve solidifies: you’re going to kill him. maybe not literally, but metaphorically? absolutely.

you don’t plan on storming to his dorm room. it just… happens. one moment, you’re replaying his smug grin and the way his eyes gleamed when he mocked your paper, and the next, you’re standing outside his door, your fist raised to knock.

he answers quickly, and the sight of him makes you falter. his hair is damp, sticking out in soft tufts like he just got out of the shower, and his plain white t-shirt clings to him in a way that’s almost—no. you shake the thought away.

“well, this is unexpected,” he says, leaning against the doorframe with a grin that’s all teeth. “if you wanted private tutoring, you could’ve just asked.”

“don’t flatter yourself,” you snap, brushing past him into the room without waiting for an invitation.

he whistles low under his breath. “feisty tonight. to what do I owe the pleasure?”

you spin to face him, your hands clenched at your sides. “what is your problem with me?”

he blinks, his smirk faltering for a fraction of a second before returning full force. “problem? sweetheart, i don’t have a problem with you.”

“you humiliate me in class,” you say, your voice rising. “you make these comments, you single me out—what, are you that bored with your life?”

“humiliate?” he echoes, feigning a wounded look. “i think you mean ‘motivate.’ you’re one of the smartest people in that class. if i don’t push you, who will?”

“that’s bullshit,” you fire back, stepping closer. “you don’t ‘push’ anyone else.”

“because no one else is as fun,” he replies easily, his grin tilting into something sharper. “the way you react, the fire in your eyes—it’s addictive.”

your breath catches, the heat in your chest spreading to your cheeks. “you’re insufferable.”

“and yet, here you are,” he says, his voice dropping just enough to make the air between you feel heavier. “in my room. alone.”

“because you drive me crazy,” you snap, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

his eyebrows lift slightly, as if he’s genuinely intrigued by your outburst. “good crazy or bad crazy?”

he takes a step closer, too close. the kind of close that makes your pulse stutter and your instincts scream at you to step back—but you don’t. instead, you stand your ground, your jaw clenched as he waits for your answer, his gaze steady and almost daring.

“what does it matter?” you mutter, your voice quieter now, the heat of your earlier anger ebbing into something more uncertain.

“it matters,” he says, his voice low as his eyes flicker to your lips. “because I need to know if I can do this.”

before you can ask what he means, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours like he’s giving you the chance to pull away. but you don’t. his hand finds your waist, tugging you closer as the kiss deepens, his mouth hot and insistent against yours.

it’s like a dam breaking. weeks—months—of tension and unspoken words all come crashing down in a rush of heat and urgency. his other hand slides into your hair, tilting your head to kiss you deeper, and the sound you make in response is embarrassing and needy, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

you should stop this. you should push him away, tell him he’s crossed a line. but the way his thumb brushes against your waist, the way he tilts his head just right, the way he kisses like he’s been waiting for this moment as long as you have—it’s addictive. you can’t stop. you don’t want to.

but then reality slams into you like a cold gust of wind. what are you doing? your chest tightens as the weight of it crashes down all at once, the heat between you dissolving into something sharper, more terrifying.

you pull back abruptly, your breathing uneven. “i can’t.”

he blinks, his expression softening from one of heat to confusion. “what?”

“this—this is a mistake,” you stammer, backing away. your hands feel clumsy as they fumble behind you for the door. “i shouldn’t have come here.”

“wait.” his hand reaches out, almost instinctively, but you’re already opening the door, your chest tight and your mind racing as you step out into the hall. you don’t look back, even as the warmth of his touch lingers on your skin.

────

you avoid him after that. in class, you sit as far from him as possible, claiming a seat in the back corner, close to the door. the usual tension he brought to the room—his teasing remarks, his piercing gaze when he caught you rolling your eyes—feels conspicuously absent. he doesn’t call on you, doesn’t glance your way, doesn’t even acknowledge you.

it’s been weeks since that night in his dorm, and as the semester nears its end, the distance feels heavier with every passing class. his silence, once the thing you desperately wanted, now presses on your chest like a weight. you wonder if he regrets it, if he’s just as caught in the what-ifs as you are—or if he’s already forgotten.

the final project looms, deadlines creeping closer, but the distraction isn’t enough to stop the quiet ache that’s settled in your chest. you remind yourself it’s for the best. boundaries were crossed, a line you know you shouldn’t have stepped over. it doesn’t matter how he made you feel, how his kisses left you breathless and yearning. none of it matters.

and yet, every time you leave class, you rush, head down, praying he won’t stop you. and every time he doesn’t, the ache grows.

when class ends today, the air feels heavier than usual. your peers chatter around you, their voices blending into background noise as you pack your things quickly, eyes fixed on the door. if you can just slip out unnoticed, avoid another day of walking the tightrope you’ve been balancing on since that night—

but then a hand wraps gently around your wrist, warm and familiar.

“you’re avoiding me,” he says, his voice low and steady. there’s no edge to it, no teasing grin or smug undertone. just quiet certainty, like he’s stating a fact.

you freeze, your heart thudding in your chest. it’s been so long since he’s said anything to you that the sound of his voice directed at you feels foreign.

“i’m late,” you mumble, tugging your wrist weakly in an attempt to free yourself. “let me go.”

“you don’t have any classes after this,” he says, his grip loosening but not letting go. his eyes meet yours, calm but resolute. “i checked your schedule.”

your jaw tightens, irritation flashing through you. “you shouldn’t have access to my schedule.”

“probably not,” he admits with a shrug, a hint of the old satoru creeping into his voice, “but i’m me.”

you open your mouth to snap at him, to tell him to back off, but he cuts you off first. “come have coffee with me.”

you blink, caught off guard by the casual offer. “what?”

“coffee,” he repeats, his tone light, as if this is perfectly normal. “you like coffee, don’t you?”

“that’s not the point,” you snap, yanking your wrist free from his grasp. “what is this, some weird apology?”

“it’s not weird,” he says, his smirk faltering slightly now, his expression open and strangely earnest. “it’s just coffee. with me.”

you stare at him, struggling to find the right words. “gojo,” you begin, your voice heavy, “you and i are not friends.”

his face falls, the shift so quick and unexpected that it makes your stomach twist. you see the way his shoulders tense, the way his gaze drops for just a moment, but you force yourself to look away. without giving him a chance to reply, you turn and push past him, your steps quick and unsteady as you leave the classroom.

the ache in your chest grows with every step, and even as you round the corner, out of sight, the image of his expression lingers. there’s no relief this time. only guilt.

────

you don’t know why you’re here. no, that’s a lie—you know exactly why you’re here. the memory of his expression, the slight drop of his shoulders at your retort, has been looping in your mind, making it impossible to focus on anything else.

your feet carry you down the familiar path to his dorm, the ache in your chest twisting tighter with every step. before you can talk yourself out of it, your fist is already knocking on the door.

it opens almost immediately, and the sight of him steals the breath from your lungs. his white hair is a mess, sticking up in chaotic directions, and his glasses are perched crookedly on his nose. there’s a faint crease on his cheek, like he’d been leaning against a book, and his shirt hangs loosely off one shoulder, rumpled from sleep or hours spent working. he looks… soft. disarming. almost painfully cute.

“coffee,” you say, holding up the cups like a white flag. “can i come in?”

his lips twitch, a hint of a smile breaking through the haze of surprise as he steps aside. “bribery, huh? didn’t think you had it in you.”

his dorm is as cluttered as you remember—papers and notebooks sprawled across his desk, a blinking laptop shoved precariously to one side. you set the coffee down on the edge of the desk, your gaze catching on the scrawled notes and dense blocks of text.

“grading?” you ask.

“research,” he replies, dropping onto the edge of his bed with a tired sigh. his hand rakes through his already-messy hair, making it stick up even more. “finals prep. you know, glamorous TA things.”

you hand him a cup, your fingers brushing against his as he takes it. the simple contact sends a jolt up your arm that you stubbornly ignore. “thought you could use it.”

he hums as he takes a sip, his lashes fluttering briefly before he lets out a quiet sound of approval. the noise is so low, so soft, it makes your stomach twist. you glance away quickly, your grip tightening on your own cup.

“about the other day,” you start, the words quiet and tentative.

he glances up, the coffee still in his hands. his expression is unreadable, but his fingers still against the cup, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. “you don’t have to explain,” he says, setting his cup down on the desk. “if you don’t want this—if i got it wrong—just say so.”

“it’s not that,” you blurt, the words tumbling out too fast, too raw. warmth floods your cheeks, creeping down to your chest. “i just… i don’t know what this is.”

he doesn’t respond immediately, doesn’t fall into his usual teasing deflection. instead, he stands, crossing the small space between you with deliberate steps. his gaze holds yours, steady and unguarded, and it makes your stomach flip in a way you can’t control.

“let me show you,” he says softly, his voice low, uncharacteristically serious.

he’s so close now, his hand brushing against yours, his touch light, almost hesitant. and then his lips are on yours, and everything else fades away.

this kiss is nothing like the first. there’s no uncertainty, no restraint. his hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him as his mouth moves against yours, hot and insistent. your grip on the coffee slips, the cup hitting the floor with a dull thud as your hands find his shoulders, clutching at the fabric of his shirt.

when his hands slide under your shirt, the roughness of his palms against your bare skin makes you shudder. he guides you backward, his body pressing into yours until the backs of your knees hit the mattress. you sink down, the weight of him grounding you as he follows, his lips trailing fire along your jaw and down your neck.

his hands are everywhere—tracing the curve of your waist, brushing the underside of your ribs, exploring like he’s memorizing every inch of you. when he pulls back to look at you, his lips are curved in a wicked, breath-stealing grin.

“you’re infuriating,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough as his eyes rake over you, drinking in every detail.

“you’re worse,” you manage, though your voice is barely more than a whisper.

his grin widens, and his laugh is warm against your skin as he dips his head, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear. “you’re already so worked up. it’s cute.”

“shut up,” you snap, though the way your hips arch into his touch betrays you.

“make me,” he challenges, his lips brushing against yours before descending lower, kissing down your collarbone and tugging your shirt higher with every inch. his hands roam greedily, tugging the fabric over your head and tossing it somewhere behind him without a second thought.

his mouth is back on you immediately, nipping and kissing along the swell of your breasts as his hands work the clasp of your bra. when it comes free, his lips part in a satisfied hum, his hands kneading your soft skin like he’s savoring every second of this.

“so fucking perfect,” he mutters, his voice husky as he leans back slightly to take in the sight of you. his gaze is heavy, filled with something dark and hungry that makes your stomach twist in the best way.

“stop staring,” you grumble, though the heat in your cheeks betrays the sharpness of your words.

“can’t help it,” he says, his grin tilting into something softer, more genuine. “you’re gorgeous.”

before you can respond, his mouth is back on you, his tongue flicking over your nipple as his other hand trails down your stomach, fingers dipping just beneath the waistband of your pants. your breath hitches as he pauses, his gaze flicking up to meet yours.

“can i?” he asks, his voice quieter now, his expression serious.

you nod, and he wastes no time. his fingers hook under the fabric, tugging your pants and underwear down in one swift motion. the cool air against your bare skin makes you shiver, but the warmth of his hands is there immediately, coaxing you to relax under his touch.

“look at you,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick as his hands part your thighs, his gaze drinking in every inch of you. “so fucking pretty.”

your cheeks flush, and you try to turn your head away, but his hand cups your chin, gently coaxing you to meet his eyes. “don’t hide from me,” he says, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “not tonight.”

his other hand slides between your thighs, his touch featherlight at first, teasing. when his thumb brushes over your clit, a jolt of heat shoots through you, and your hips buck involuntarily.

“sensitive,” he murmurs, his lips curving into a wicked grin. “i barely touched you, and you’re already squirming.”

“shut up,” you snap, your voice shaky as your fingers clutch at the sheets beneath you. but the way your body reacts—arching into his touch, chasing the pressure—makes it clear that his teasing isn’t far from the truth.

“you don’t really want me to, do you?” his voice is low, almost a growl, and the sound of it sends a shiver down your spine. “i think you like when i talk to you like this. when i tell you how good you’re doing, how fucking beautiful you look right now.”

your chest heaves as his fingers dip lower, sliding through your slick folds with infuriating slowness. every movement feels deliberate, calculated, like he’s savoring every second. when his fingers finally slip inside you, the stretch makes your head fall back, a gasp tumbling from your lips.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, his thumb circling your clit as his fingers begin to move, slow and deliberate at first. “you feel so fucking good, baby. so perfect.”

your hands fly to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he curls his fingers, hitting a spot that makes your vision blur. “oh my god—gojo—”

he tuts sharply, his fingers pausing inside you, his thumb stalling its maddening rhythm. your head snaps up, breathless and confused, to find him staring down at you with a dark look, his lips curving into a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“no,” he says firmly, his voice low and commanding as he tilts his head. “say satoru.”

“w-what?” you stammer, your heart racing as his fingers remain perfectly still, the tension building with every passing second.

“not ‘gojo,’” he says again, his free hand sliding up to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward his. his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, his grin sharpening. “say satoru.”

you hesitate, your breath hitching as your body trembles beneath him. he presses his fingers deeper, curling them just enough to make your toes curl, and your resolve shatters.

“satoru,” you gasp, your voice breaking on the syllables.

his smirk widens, something dark and triumphant flickering in his eyes. “good girl,” he murmurs, his thumb resuming its slow, torturous circles on your clit as his fingers pick up their rhythm again, harder this time, deeper.

your head falls back against the mattress, your body arching into his touch as the pleasure builds again, higher and hotter than before. his name tumbles from your lips like a mantra, breathless and needy as he drives you closer to the edge.

“that’s it,” he coaxes, his voice dripping with praise as his free hand slides down your body, his touch possessive. “just like that, baby. let go for me.”

the coil in your stomach tightens to the breaking point, and when he curls his fingers just right, pressing against the perfect spot, it snaps. your orgasm crashes over you, white-hot and overwhelming, and his name spills from your lips in a broken moan.

“satoru—fuck—”

“that’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice rough with approval as he works you through the waves of pleasure, his movements slowing but never stopping until your body goes slack beneath him, trembling and spent.

he pulls his hand away slowly, his gaze fixed on you as he brings his fingers to his lips, licking them clean with a deliberate, satisfied hum. “even better than i imagined,” he says, his voice dripping with arrogance, his eyes gleaming as they roam over your flushed, trembling body.

you blink, your breath still uneven as his words settle over you. “wait—” you say, your voice catching slightly. “you’ve thought about this?”

his grin widens, slow and deliberate, and he leans down, bracing himself on his forearms so his face is just inches from yours. “oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, “you really think i haven’t?”

your cheeks flush even hotter, your pulse racing as his words sink in. “you’re—” you stammer, at a rare loss for words. “you’re ridiculous.”

“ridiculous?” he repeats, feigning offense, though the wicked glint in his eyes never falters. “i’d say i’m a man of focus. you’ve been in my head for weeks, driving me insane with that sharp mouth and the way you look at me when you think i don’t notice.”

“i don’t—” you begin, but his lips curve into a knowing smirk, cutting you off.

“you do,” he insists, his tone softening just slightly. “and every time you glared at me, every time you rolled your eyes or bit back some little retort, all i could think about was how much i wanted to shut you up. like this.”

his lips capture yours again, and this kiss is slower, heavier, laced with an intensity that makes your toes curl. his hands roam, sliding over your bare skin with a reverence that feels almost out of place against his words.

when he finally pulls back, his gaze is still on you, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “and now that i’ve got you,” he says, his voice dipping into something darker, “i don’t think i’ll ever get enough.”

the weight of his confession leaves you breathless, and before you can respond, his lips are trailing down your body again, his hands parting your thighs as he settles between them.

“what are you—” you start, but his eyes flick up to meet yours, and the look in them steals the rest of your words.

“relax,” he murmurs, his lips curving into a soft, almost mischievous smile. “i’m not done tasting you yet.”

his hands slide to grip your thighs, pulling you apart with ease as his lips descend, brushing over your inner thighs, teasingly slow. his tongue flicks out, hot and wet against your skin, and when his mouth finally finds you again, you feel your body arch instinctively, your breath leaving in a sharp, unrestrained gasp.

he’s relentless. his tongue drags up your folds in a languid stroke before circling your clit with maddening precision. his mouth is hot, the slick, wet sounds mingling with your soft moans, and his breath—warm and uneven—fans against your skin with every movement.

his hair brushes against your thighs, soft and messy, and your fingers thread through it again, tugging sharply enough to make him groan against you. the vibration of it sends a jolt of pleasure straight through your core, and your hips buck against his mouth.

“satoru,” you gasp, but it’s barely coherent, your voice breaking as he latches onto your clit, sucking just enough to make your toes curl. “oh my—”

the cold press of something against your inner thigh pulls you out of the haze, just barely. it’s sharp, unfamiliar, and you glance down—his glasses. they’re still perched on his nose, slightly crooked, the metal frame fogging faintly from the heat of his breath. he’s so lost in the moment, so focused on the way his tongue works against you, that he hasn’t even noticed.

your hand drifts down, brushing against the cool frame, and you slip them off without a word. the absurdity of it—the way he’s been eating you out with his glasses still on—makes you want to laugh. the corners of your mouth twitch, and a soft sound bubbles up in your throat, but then his tongue presses flat against your folds, dragging up in one slow, deliberate motion, and the laugh dissolves into a sharp moan.

your head falls back against the pillow, your hand tangling back in his hair as you toss the glasses onto the bed with the other. the noise they make as they hit the mattress is faint, drowned out by the obscene wet sounds of his mouth, the low hums of satisfaction he lets out as he devours you.

“fuck,” you whimper, your thighs trembling as his tongue flicks against your clit again, faster now, more insistent. your body arches instinctively, chasing the pressure, and his hands tighten on your thighs, pulling you even closer to his mouth.

he growls against you, the sound low and rough, vibrating through you in a way that makes your toes curl. his tongue dips lower, teasing your entrance before sliding back up, and the sharp scrape of his teeth against your swollen clit has you seeing stars.

“so fucking sweet,” he mutters, his voice muffled against your slick skin. “can’t get enough of you, baby.”

you can’t respond, can’t think. the only thing you can focus on is the way his tongue works against you, precise and relentless, building the heat in your stomach until it’s unbearable. your fingers twist in his hair, pulling harder, and the groan he lets out in response sends you spiraling.

“satoru—” his name falls from your lips like a prayer, breathless and broken. he doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, his mouth dragging you closer and closer to the edge until you can’t hold on any longer.

your orgasm hits you hard, ripping through you in waves that leave your entire body trembling. your hips jerk against his hold, your moans loud and unrestrained as you ride it out. his tongue slows, working you through every aftershock until you’re left panting, boneless against the bed.

when he finally pulls back, his chest is heaving, his lips and chin glistening with your slick. his hair is a mess, strands sticking up where your fingers had tugged, and his eyes—those impossibly bright blues—flick up to meet yours, gleaming with satisfaction.

“twice,” he says, his voice low and teasing as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

he sits back on his knees, his hands smoothing over your trembling thighs as he takes in the sight of you—flushed, panting, your chest rising and falling as you try to catch your breath. his grin is lazy, self-satisfied, like he knows exactly what he’s done to you.

“you’re staring,” you mutter weakly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“hard not to,” he replies, his tone low and full of amusement. his fingers trace lazy patterns on your skin, his touch soft, teasing. “you look so fucking good when you come.”

your cheeks burn, and you want to glare at him, to tell him to shut up, but the words catch in your throat as he reaches for the hem of his shirt. in one fluid motion, he pulls it over his head and tosses it to the side, the movement effortless and maddeningly confident.

your eyes follow the shift of his muscles, the way they ripple under his skin, lean and defined. a faint sheen of sweat glistens across his chest, catching the dim light, highlighting every sharp line and curve. your gaze drifts lower, down to the sharp ridges of his abdomen. the faint trail of white hair starting just below his navel draws your attention, leading your eyes further, until his hands move to the waistband of his boxers.

he doesn’t rush. he hooks his thumbs under the fabric, dragging it down slowly, deliberately, letting the anticipation coil tighter in your stomach. as the fabric falls away, your breath hitches.

he’s fully bare now, and your mouth goes dry.

his cock is… breathtaking. thick and flushed a deep pink at the tip, already leaking beads of precum that catch the light as they drip down the length. it’s long, the kind of length that makes your thighs press together instinctively, wondering how he’ll fit, but the heat pooling low in your stomach burns hotter, overriding any hesitation.

his hand wraps around it, and he strokes himself slowly, his thumb swiping over the head to collect the wetness there. the motion is deliberate, almost lazy, and the soft groan he lets out sends a shiver down your spine.

you’re staring—you know you are—and he notices, his lips curving into a wicked grin as his eyes flick up to meet yours.

“don’t worry, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing as he leans forward, the head of his cock brushing against your folds, slick and hot. “i’ll make it fit.”

his words send a shiver through you, his voice low and dripping with confidence. the weight of his cock against your folds, hot and heavy, is enough to make your hips twitch instinctively, chasing the friction. but he doesn’t push in right away—of course he doesn’t. instead, he drags the head up and down your slick, letting it catch on your clit with every pass, teasing you until you’re squirming beneath him.

“satoru,” you whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders. you’re not above begging at this point. “please.”

his grin widens, his head dipping to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “what’s the rush, baby? we’ve got all night.”

“satoru,” you repeat, more insistently this time, and he groans at the sound of his name on your lips, his cock twitching against you.

“fuck,” he mutters, his voice tight now, losing some of that smug edge. “you sound so pretty when you beg.”

he lines himself up, his hand still wrapped around the base as he presses the head against your entrance. the stretch is immediate, a sharp, overwhelming mix of pleasure and pressure as he pushes in slowly, inch by inch.

“holy shit,” he breathes, his voice rough as his head falls forward, his hair brushing against your cheek. “you’re so fucking tight.”

your fingers clutch at his shoulders, your breath catching as he sinks deeper, the fullness stealing every coherent thought from your mind. he pauses halfway, his free hand sliding up to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward his.

“you okay?” he asks, and there’s something softer in his voice now, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of discomfort.

you nod, your voice shaky as you answer. “yeah. just—keep going.”

his jaw tightens, and he exhales slowly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before he starts to move again. every inch feels impossibly deep, your walls stretching around him, and when he finally bottoms out, you both pause, your breaths mingling as you try to adjust.

“fuck,” he groans again, his voice strained as his hips twitch against yours. “you feel so good. better than i ever—” he cuts himself off with a shaky laugh, shaking his head. “shit, you’re perfect.”

you can barely respond, the stretch and fullness leaving you trembling. but then he starts to move, pulling out almost entirely before sliding back in with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips. the drag of his cock against your walls is enough to have you moaning, your head falling back against the pillow.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, his voice rough and approving as he sets a steady rhythm. “good girl. taking me so well.”

your hands trail down his back, your nails scraping lightly against his skin, and the groan he lets out sends a fresh wave of heat through you. his movements quicken, the sound of skin against skin filling the room, and every thrust has him hitting that perfect spot deep inside you, making you cry out.

“satoru—” his name falls from your lips again, and he leans down, his teeth grazing your neck as he thrusts harder, deeper.

“you’re gonna make me lose my fucking mind,” he growls, his hands gripping your hips tighter, holding you in place as he drives into you. “you feel so good—so fucking perfect for me.”

the coil in your stomach tightens with every roll of his hips, the pressure building higher and higher until it’s unbearable. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing in tight circles that make your vision blur, and your moans grow louder, more desperate.

“come for me,” he demands, his voice rough and low in your ear. “let me feel you.”

the command sends you over the edge. your orgasm rips through you, your body arching into his as you cry out, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer. your walls clench around him, and the sensation makes him groan, his thrusts growing erratic as he chases his own release.

“fuck—” he gasps, burying himself as deep as he can go as he comes, the heat of him spilling into you, thick and warm. his head falls to your shoulder, his breath ragged against your skin as he rides out the last waves of pleasure.

the room is quiet except for the sound of your heavy breathing, the air thick and charged as he finally pulls back, his weight pressing into you as he collapses onto the bed beside you. his arm slides around your waist, pulling you against his chest as he presses a soft, lazy kiss to your temple.

“told you i’d make it fit,” he murmurs, his voice still rough, but there’s a hint of smugness there, his lips curving into a small grin.

you can’t help the laugh that escapes you, your body still trembling against his. “you’re such an asshole.”

“yeah,” he agrees, his tone light, teasing, as he brushes a strand of hair from your face. “but you like it.”

you roll your eyes, but there’s no heat to it, your lips curving into a faint smile as you bury your face against his chest. “shut up, satoru.”

“never,” he replies, and the warmth of his laughter vibrates through you, grounding you as your breaths slowly even out.

an. gojo with glasses... *hnnggghh*

DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR REPOST MY WORK ON OTHER PLATFORMS!

[olive-main]

Hi, hope you’re well! Saw your request for angst ideas. If you’re interested: Reader has been part of the Inner Circle for years, like an og member. Post war she watches Az fall in love with Elaine or Gwyn. She’s known they’re mates, but he’s always told her he loves her as a friend, and nobody else knows they’re mates. She watches as his relationship grows, maybe they’re having a kid or whatever, this can be all the angst you see fit. She’s finally had enough and decides to leave (either for work as an emissary or for herself). Maybe as she starts to rebuild, Az and the IC realize how much her loss impacts them. But when they go see her, she’s thriving. Ending can be whatever floats your boat, maybe she’s with Eris or thriving in Day as Lucien’s advisor, or something else all together.

To Love and Let Go

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: An unrequited love, and a one sided mating bond. What will reader do when she can no longer watch Azriel fall for another female who isn’t her?

Wc: 2.9k (gah dayum)

A/N: ok, this is the longggest fic I've written to date, but I don't hate it...and I may be persuaded to write a part two with multiple endings bcs I'm indecisive asf. Requests are still open and highly encouraged since I'm on break and have a bunch of free time, clearly.

__

The stars are mocking tonight, their gleam far too bright for the storm brewing inside you. Velaris has always been beautiful, but tonight the city feels suffocating. The laughter of your family echoes around the River House’s dining room, filling the space with warmth and joy.

You sit at the edge of the long table, wine in hand, your smile carefully in place. Cassian is in the middle of one of his stories, something about Azriel and a drunken spar decades ago. The table erupts in laughter, and you can’t help but glance at him.

Azriel sits across from you, his shoulders relaxed, his shadows soft and relaxed as they curl lazily around him. He’s laughing—quiet and rare, but enough to tug at your chest in a way you’ve never been able to stop.

Beside him, Gwyn is radiant. She laughs, bright and genuine, her hand resting on his arm as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. His hand shifts, fingers brushing over hers in a way that’s intimate, tender. Simple. Devastating.

You lift your wine to your lips and down the rest of the glass in one burning gulp.

You’ve known for years that Azriel isn’t yours to have. When the Cauldron whispered of your bond, it hadn’t been the joyous revelation you’d dreamed of. Instead, it had been a curse.

You feel it even now—that golden thread tying your soul to his, pulling taut every time you see him. But Azriel never acknowledged it, not once. How could he when he didn't even know it existed?

“You’re my best friend,” he’d told you long ago, sitting beside you on a rooftop in Velaris, the two of you cloaked in silence and shadows. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

And you’d smiled. Smiled and tucked the truth deeper inside yourself, burying it so far down you almost convinced yourself it wasn’t real. Almost.

The conversation shifts around you, but the words blur together, distant and unimportant. You force yourself to stay, to laugh when you’re supposed to, to nod in all the right places.

Across the table, Gwyn leans closer to Azriel, whispering something in his ear. He smiles at her, that soft, secret smile you’ve seen so many times over the years. But it’s never been for you.

The ache in your chest spreads, sharp and relentless, until you can’t bear it any longer. You push your chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the floor.

“Everything okay?” Mor asks, her brows furrowing as she studies you.

You nod quickly, forcing a tight smile. “Just need some air.”

No one questions you, and you’re grateful for it. You slip out of the room and onto the balcony, the cool night air rushing to meet you. The stars stretch endlessly above, and for a moment, you close your eyes and pretend this life isn’t yours.

But the bond hums faintly in the back of your mind, tethering you to someone who will never feel the same way.

—

You grip the balcony railing, the cool metal grounding you as you draw in a shaky breath. The quiet should feel peaceful, but it doesn’t. Not with the sound of their laughter spilling through the open door behind you, not with the bond thrumming painfully in the back of your mind.

You’ve endured this for years. Watching Azriel laugh, fight, live, all while pretending your heart doesn’t shatter every time he smiles at someone who isn’t you. Gwyn. Elain before her, and Mor long before that. All the women who could never feel what you feel for him—but were lucky enough to have his attention anyway.

And then there’s you, his best friend. The one he trusts, confides in, leans on. Just never in the way you ache for. Even before the bond snapped, you’d been in love with the Shadowsinger. He was always the calm amongst the chaos of your family, the one you could seek refuge in.

The sound of footsteps interrupts your thoughts. You don’t need to look to know it’s him. His shadows reach you first, curling gently around your wrist, hesitant and curious. They always do that, as if they sense the things he doesn’t.

“Are you okay?” Azriel’s voice is soft, warm in a way that makes it harder to breathe.

You release the railing and turn to face him, your mask firmly in place. “I’m fine. Just needed a moment.”

His brows pull together, his hazel eyes studying you in that unrelenting way of his. “You’ve seemed… distracted tonight.”

You force a laugh, shaking your head. “I’m not distracted. Just tired, that’s all.” The lie was easy on your tongue, a lie you’ve repeated more times than you can count.

His shadows shift, curling tighter around you. “You can tell me if something’s wrong,” he says, his voice low, careful.

You want to laugh again. Wrong? Everything is wrong. Your mate is standing in front of you, looking at you with concern while his love sits inside, waiting for him. He doesn’t even feel the bond that’s been tearing you apart for years. How could you possibly tell him the truth?

“I’m fine, Az,” you say again, stepping back, putting distance between you. “Go back inside. Gwyn’s probably wondering where you are.”

Something flickers across his face, but it’s gone before you can place it. He hesitates, his shadows brushing against your hand one last time before retreating.

“All right,” he says quietly. But he doesn’t look convinced.

You watch him go, his wings casting long shadows across the balcony as he disappears into the house. The bond hums faintly, pulling at your heart even as you stand there alone.

—

A part of you wants to blame yourself for never telling him about the mating bond. It was known Azriel always longed for a mate, so much so he had made the bold claim of Elain being his mate once upon a time. Now, he's with Gwyn under that same notion. Unfortunately, your heart had wanted him to love you without the influence of the bond.

Your thoughts persist as you force your eyes shut, trying and failing to fall asleep.

Instead, you lie awake in your bed, staring at the ceiling as the weight of it all presses down on you. You’ve built your entire life around the Inner Circle, around him. And for what? To watch him build a life with someone else? To keep breaking your own heart over and over again?

No.

When dawn comes, the decision is already made.

—

“Are you sure about this?” Feyre asks, her hand resting lightly on your arm.

You stand in the foyer of the River House, your bags already packed and waiting by the door. The soft morning light filters through the windows, casting golden hues over everything. It should feel warm. Comforting. But all you feel is the ache of goodbye.

“I’m sure,” you say, and your voice doesn’t waver.

Rhysand stands a few paces away, arms crossed, his violet eyes sharp and assessing. You were like a sister to him, someone he’d protected and seen through every phase of life. “You don’t have to do this,” he says gently. “We can figure something out. If you need time off, time for yourself—”

“I need more than time, Rhys,” you interrupt, forcing a small smile to soften the blow. “I need space. A fresh start. This is the right move for me.”

You’d rehearsed this conversation a dozen times, carefully framing your departure as a professional opportunity. An emissary position in Day Court. Helion had been eager to accept your offer, praising your skills and promising a new challenge that you could sink your teeth into.

It wasn’t a lie. You would thrive in Day Court. But it wasn’t the whole truth either.

Feyre’s grip on your arm tightens, her lips pressing together as if she’s holding back an argument. “I just… I don’t want you to feel like you’re running away,” she says softly.

You glance past her, your eyes catching on the open archway leading to the dining room. You can feel him in there, his shadows faint even from this distance. The bond pulls, a sharp tug against your ribs.

“I’m not running away,” you tell her, even though part of you wonders if that’s exactly what this is. “I’m choosing myself for once.”

Rhys nods slowly, his expression unreadable. “If that’s what you need, then we support you. Always.”

A lump rises in your throat, but you swallow it down, turning to hug Feyre. “Thank you. For everything.”

—

Azriel watches from the shadows of the dining room as you leave. He doesn’t mean to linger there, doesn’t mean to eavesdrop—but he can’t help it.

He hears Feyre’s quiet goodbye, Rhys’s reassurances. He sees the way your shoulders straighten as you step out the door, as if you’re carrying a weight none of them can understand.

Something twists in his chest, sharp and unfamiliar.

He doesn’t understand it. You’ve left Velaris before, gone on missions and trips for weeks at a time. But this feels… different. Permanent.

For a moment, he almost steps forward, almost calls out to you. But then the door closes, and you’re gone.

—

The Day Court is a world apart from Velaris.

Here, the sun always seems to shine, casting a golden glow over Helion’s sprawling palace. It’s vibrant, full of life, and for the first time in years, you feel as though you can finally breathe.

Helion welcomes you with open arms, praising your work and throwing you headfirst into new projects. The days are busy, your nights peaceful, and slowly—very slowly—the ache in your chest begins to fade.

You make new allies and friends. Lucien, especially, becomes an unexpected source of comfort. He understands unspoken bonds, the pain of being tied to someone who doesn’t want you. For the first few weeks, most, if not all your time was spent by his side.

“You’re free now,” he tells you one evening, the two of you sitting on a balcony overlooking the Day Court gardens. His amber eyes glint in the fading sunlight. “It doesn’t feel like it yet, but it will. One day.”

You smile, a real smile, and let the words settle in your chest.

—

Back in Velaris, the Inner Circle feels the void you’ve left behind. Cassian complains loudly during training sessions about how things don’t run as smoothly without you. Mor keeps suggesting trips to Day Court, half-joking but half-serious. Even Feyre finds herself reaching for you during meetings, only to realize you’re no longer there.

And Azriel…

Azriel notices most of all.

He misses the quiet way you steadied him, the way you always seemed to know what he needed before he did. The balance you brought to the group. To him.

At first, he tells himself it’s just an adjustment. You’ll be back eventually. But as the weeks stretch into months, he begins to realize just how deeply your absence has cut into his life.

The shadow of the bond hums faintly in the back of his mind, but he doesn’t understand why.

Not yet.

—

It’s Feyre who suggests the trip.

“You’ve been working too hard,” she tells Azriel, shooting him with a look that leaves no room for argument. “We all have. A visit to Day Court will do us some good. Besides, it’s been too long since we’ve seen her.”

Azriel hesitates but eventually agrees. He tells himself it’s curiosity, that he just wants to see how you’re settling in. Since you’ve left his relationship with everyone, Gywn especially, has grown distant. He tries to find you in her, comparing the small things that shouldn’t matter—and every time it only makes his heart sink.

When they arrive, they find you in the Day Court gardens, laughing at something Lucien has said. The sunlight catches in your hair, your face glowing with a happiness Azriel hasn’t seen in years.

The gardens are breathtaking, a vibrant sprawl of golden blooms and gleaming fountains that seem to echo the brilliance of the sun overhead. But Azriel doesn’t see any of it.

His focus is entirely on you.

You look radiant, the golden hues of Day Court seeming to highlight the confidence you’ve gained in your time away.

Lucien leans closer, his expression soft yet intent, and the sight makes something dark and ugly twist in Azriel’s chest. It’s not the first time he’s seen Lucien or been jealous of the male, but this—this—feels different. He used to feel that pang of jealousy when he blindly pined for Elain, now with you it returned with a greater force.

He doesn’t understand why these feelings have suddenly spread through him. You’ve always been his friend. His anchor. But as Lucien reaches out to brush a stray hair from your face, Azriel feels like he’s watching something slip through his fingers.

“Az?” Feyre’s voice pulls him back. She’s watching him with careful eyes, her brow furrowing.

He shakes his head and straightens his posture, forcing his expression back into neutral territory. “I’m fine.” But he isn’t.

Before Feyre can press him further, Lucien notices their approach and gives a low whistle. “Well, well. Velaris sends its finest.” His tone is teasing, but there’s warmth in his amber eyes as they flick toward you.

You turn, and when your gaze lands on Azriel, your smile falters. It’s a subtle shift, but he sees it. Feels it.

“Rhysand. Feyre. Azriel,” you greet, inclining your head slightly, your voice polite but distant. As if they were strangers and not the family you chose all those centuries ago.

He hates it.

The reunion is cordial at first, filled with pleasantries and talk of work. Lucien stands close to you, his presence steady, his hand occasionally brushing yours in a way that grounds you. Azriel’s shadows stir restlessly, but he forces them into submission.

“You’ve done well here,” Feyre says warmly, her gaze sweeping over the garden. “It suits you.”

“Thank you.” Your smile is genuine, though it doesn’t quite reach Azriel. “Helion has been… generous with his trust.”

“And with his emissary’s time,” Lucien adds, grinning at you. “She’s a natural. Can’t imagine how Day Court managed before she arrived.”

The praise makes you duck your head slightly, a faint blush blooming across your cheeks. Azriel’s jaw tightens.

“Sounds like you’ve been keeping busy,” he says, his voice lower than usual.

Your eyes flick to him briefly before turning back to Lucien, but there’s something guarded in your expression. “I have. It’s been… fulfilling.”

The word stings more than it should.

—

Eventually, Feyre and Rhys drift away with Lucien, leaving you and Azriel alone amidst the golden flowers. The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken words.

“You’ve been… different,” he says finally, breaking the silence.

You glance at him, your arms folding across your chest. “Different how?”

He hesitates, searching for the right words. “Happier,” he admits.

The softness in his voice almost makes you falter, but you stand your ground. “I am,” you say simply.

His shadows curl around his feet, agitated. “You left so suddenly,” he says, his tone sharper now. “One day you were there, and the next you were… gone. No warning. No explanation.”

You raise an eyebrow, bitterness creeping into your voice. “I told you I needed space. I told all of you.” You pause for a second, staring at a cluster of white lilies. “Why does it matter now, Azriel?”

“Because I miss you,” he says, the words raw and unguarded. “We all do. But me… I—” He stops himself, jaw clenching.

You laugh softly, but it’s a hollow, bitter sound. “You miss me now? After I’ve finally started to find peace? After you’ve built a life with Gwyn?”

His shadows surge forward, brushing against your arm, but you shake them off. “Don’t do this, Azriel.”

“You’re my friend,” he says, and the words make your heart twist painfully.

You whirl to face him, your eyes blazing. “No. I was never just your friend, Azriel. I was your mate.”

The truth spills out before you can stop it, sharp and cutting. He freezes, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief.

“What?” His voice is barely a whisper.

You laugh again, a broken sound. “The Cauldron tied us together centuries ago, but you never felt it, did you? You never even noticed.”

His shadows pull back, retreating like they’ve been burned. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it didn’t matter!” you snap, your voice rising. “You didn’t want me that way, Azriel. You never did. And I wasn’t about to force something on you that you didn’t feel.”

He stares at you, his usually stoic face cracking with something raw and uncertain. “I—”

But you shake your head, cutting him off. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve moved on.”

“You’ve moved on?” he echoes, his gaze flicking toward the direction Lucien went. His voice lowers, dangerous. “With him?”

“Yes,” you say firmly, though the word feels heavy. “Because he sees me, Azriel. He knows what it’s like to be unwanted. To feel second-best.”

The words are a dagger between you, and you can see the way they strike him, the way his shadows twist and writhe.

“Is that what you think?” he asks quietly, his voice breaking. “That you were second-best?”

Your throat tightens, but you refuse to back down. “I don’t think it. I know it.”

For a moment, neither of you speak. The bond hums faintly in your chest, but it’s different now—fading, unraveling as you finally let go of the male who could never love you the way you deserved.

“I’m happy here,” you say softly, your voice steady. “And you… you have Gwyn. You have your life in Velaris. Let that be enough.”

Azriel doesn’t argue. He just stands there, his shadows a chaotic storm around him, as you turn and walk away.

This time, you don’t look back.

Aaannd scene XOXO ~

[perdidosbucky-yyo]

I apologize in advance for the person this fic turned me into 😮‍💨😍😩

Bucky’s hand reaches out to touch you, your heart skipping a beat as he adjusts the strap of your dress on your shoulder. His touch lingers for a second more

“Can you blame me, baby? You walk in and suddenly it's like no one else exists,” his tone is softer, yet serious when he says this. Your heart skipped a beat when he called you baby. The weight of his attention felt in every fiber of your being. Bucky only ever called you baby when he wanted to really affect you. Reminding you of the pull he had over you.  

THE SEXUAL TENSION IS PALPABLE and Bucky is so charming 🤭

Bucky clicks his tongue as he eyes you closely, “I didn’t, but I felt like it,” he shrugs cooly. “Didn't like the way he was looking at you.” He adds, his thumb rubbing small circles on your waist.

I-

God damn he is just yummy and so protective 🥹🥵

Almost instantly, a protective grip pulls you away from the drunk guy. A familiar warmth encases you as Bucky pulls you into his chest, your back to him. Your hands find their way to hold his arms to ease the displeasure the drunk had caused

“What the—what’s your problem bro? We’re just—” Bucky doesn’t let him finish, “Shut up. You’re not doing anything. You’ve got two seconds to back off or we’re going to have a problem,”

 “You and your compliments,” you give a breathless laugh, letting your guard down for once and going with the flow. Bucky can sense it. Sense the way there’s a shift between you, the blossoming of something bigger being accepted and not pushed away by you anymore.

“Plus, if I’m going to fall for the most beautiful girl in the world, I have to know how to fight right?” Bucky says this like it's the most obvious thing, smirking at the way you don’t hide the smitten grin he elicits from you.

This made me feel bubbly and warm 🤭 I would be constantly blushing next to that man

“Only for my girl,” he says this like a promise. His right-hand goes up to gently brush against your cheek. You lean into the touch, that same hand cupping your cheek in response.

In the clear slot where his identification should be is a polaroid picture from the weekend camping trip. You’re in that picture sitting next to Bucky on a couple of logs surrounded by your friends and peers. There’s a bright smile on Bucky’s face, his arm around your shoulder as you make bunny ears behind his head.

“If you want something use your words, sweetheart,” he mutters against your lips, you suppress a groan, “You know what I want. I don't have to say it,” you retort impatiently. Bucky shakes his head, smiling despite himself, “I want to hear you say it,” he dips his head to the crook of your neck, his teeth nipping at the skin. The hands on your ass give it a light squeeze emitting a small gasp from you. You can feel the shit-eating grin on your neck.

👁️👄👁️ I want this energy I need it, I love the way you write

“Y/n, I…I wanted to give you some time. Time to figure things out—to figure out what you wanted. I tried pretending I was okay with pieces of you, but I’m not. I want all of you. I want to be yours,” Bucky confesses with sincerity. You reach out to interlock your hands with his, a floodgate of emotions engulfing you. 

JUST WHEN THINGS CAN'T GET ANY HOTTER WE GET THIS FLUFFY MOMENT I LOVE IT😭

He is so needy and precious and he knows what he wants and I love it I love it I love it

Lines Crossed

Pairing: Athlete!Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader (College AU)

Summary: You and Bucky have danced around the lines you've placed ever since that weekend camping trip. Months later, when Tony Stark hosts an extravagant party, he finally makes a move to cross them.

Word Count: 9.3k

Warning(s): 18+ mdni / drinking / jealousy / forced proximity / smut / female reader / drunk jerk (stranger) / tension / will they won't they oh they will 🫣❤️‍🔥 / sex w/protection / pet names / sprinkles of possessive + protective Bucky so be prepared / there's a build-up so enjoy ❣️

Prompt: oops, we were just hiding in this closet, but then the close proximity get us too turned on not to fuck

a/n: Please be kind this is my first time writing something like this. 🥺🩶 I decided to challenge myself and join @mercurial-chuckles‘ smutty September fest. A tad late on the deadline because Hurricane Helene decided to take the power out. 😭 This is a standalone fic, but you can most definitely read it (and is intended to be) as a continuation of the events of A Night of Frights & Delights. Likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!! ❤️❤️

part one backstory // divider // ambiance 🤍

You step into the foyer of the Stark Manor, a grand staircase greets you, its golden railing glowing underneath an ornate chandelier. Various guests mingle around the manor, the buzz of conversation accompanying the music that pulses throughout. Everything about the sight in front of you screams old wealth and elegance. 

Your eyes scan the luxurious home with an expression of awe. Despite being invited before, you had never come to one of Tony’s parties. Choosing the comfort of your bed and your favorite show instead. However, this time knowing a certain captain of the baseball team would be here—and your history with him—well you just had to come. 

As you take it all in, your gaze locks on a pair of beautiful blues. The very same ones you were thinking of all day. And by the way he was looking at you, you knew he was awaiting your arrival just as much as you had been waiting to see him. 

There was no denying he most certainly had been. 

Bucky had arrived about half an hour earlier with some of his teammates. His impatience grew by the second at your absence. He was dying to see what you wore for the party. You denied him any sneak peeks, which only fueled his excitement. He tried distracting himself by greeting anyone he could and making conversation, but he continuously gravitated to the foyer, waiting for the moment you stepped in through those doors. 

When you finally did, Bucky knew with the utmost certainty that the wait was worth it. When his eyes met yours you knocked the air straight out of his lungs with the black dress you were wearing. The satin dawning your body accentuated your silhouette perfectly—and the high slit at your right leg showed off the right amount of skin. The way you did your hair and your makeup complimented you perfectly, and Bucky was losing his goddamn mind because of it.  

Sincerely, he was close to whisking you away and keeping you all to himself. 

You looked nothing short of beyond stunning. Bucky had been holding back for months, staying within the lines you drew that night in the tent, and honestly, he deserved a medal for that. It’s the hardest thing he's ever done. What he felt for you couldn’t measure up to anything else in his life. Never had he felt so over the moon in his feelings for anyone. Yet, you brought on those sentiments by just being you. He was sure if he wasn’t in love with you yet, he was damn near close to it. 

And right now, seeing you in that dress, his mind is going to places it shouldn’t. Places that only belonged to him and his bed on those nights you left him wanting more. Thoughts and scenarios where the night ends with him tearing that dress right off you and showing you just how serious he is about wanting you. 

He’s not so sure he can be on his best behavior tonight. 

Bucky discards the drink he had been holding and saunters over to you. Your heart races in your chest when you see the way his blues darken when he rakes his eyes over your form—shamelessly drinking you up. You take in his figure as well, the all-black suit giving him an aura of class and sophistication that was stirring something dangerous within you. 

Bucky cleaned up good, real good.

He stops a mere foot away from you, his eyes twinkling with intentions both of you long for. You didn’t realize you had been holding your breath until his voice broke you out of your trance. 

“There’s no way I’m letting you leave my side tonight, not in that dress,” Bucky’s voice is deeper than usual, contrasting the charming grin on his face. You roll your eyes playfully, “I don’t need a babysitter, Bucky,” you reply amused at the thought. Having Bucky by your side all night would definitely lead to you two enjoying each other’s company in other ways. 

Not that you would object if it did. 

Bucky’s hand reaches out to touch you, your heart skipping a beat as he adjusts the strap of your dress on your shoulder. His touch lingers for a second more as a light chuckle escapes him. “Maybe not you sweetheart, but I might. Someone’s going to have to keep me in check tonight. I already have a hard enough time keeping my hands off of you and now you walk in looking like a masterpiece and I'm supposed to keep my hands to myself?” He bites his bottom lip for a moment, almost as if to stop himself from saying too much. 

“Something tells me you’re going to lay it on thick tonight, aren't you?” You tease him, all the while your body thrums with the way he compliments you. Bucky always knows exactly what to say to make you feel like the only girl in the room. An effortless gift he had only when it came to you.

“Can you blame me, baby? You walk in and suddenly it's like no one else exists,” his tone is softer, yet serious when he says this. Your heart skipped a beat when he called you baby. The weight of his attention felt in every fiber of your being. Bucky only ever called you baby when he wanted to really affect you. Reminding you of the pull he had over you.  

The spell you two were under was suddenly broken by Darcy, who rushed over to where you were standing and linked your arm with hers. “Sorry! I’m going to steal her away for a bit there Bucky!” She says unapologetically as she tears you away from the man who looks like he could have devoured you if your friend hadn't interrupted. Your protests fall on deaf ears so you're left waving a small—but not definite—farewell to Bucky. 

It seemed Bucky’s friends had been waiting for the right moment to steal him away too. As soon as you were in another room Sam and Steve went up to Bucky and dragged him to whatever antics the baseball team was up to. His disappointment matches yours, but if there was one thing he had proven all these months was that he had a lot of patience. He knew you two would end up crossing each other’s paths more than once tonight. It was only a matter of time. 

“You forgot you promised to stick by my side tonight. My ex is here, I need the support,” Darcy reminds you with a slight pout. She looks like a ball of fire with the way she pulls you through the crowd in her crimson dress. Her eyes dart to every guest looking to avoid her ex at all costs.

“I didn’t forget. I was just saying hi to a friend,” you explain emitting a snort from Darcy, “A friend? If he’s just a friend than I’m the Queen of England.” You roll your eyes, a small huff of a laugh leaving your lips. Darcy wasn’t wrong. You and Bucky weren’t just friends, but you also weren’t anything more—and that was by your account. 

You and Bucky have fallen into a grey area of what you are to each other. At first, after the camping trip, you tried avoiding him. Not because what happened upset you—but because you couldn’t trust yourself around him after that. Making out with him in that tent made you realize that what you thought had been an annoyance towards Bucky was actually the beginning of a deep-rooted crush. One that bubbled to the surface after that night. 

Avoiding him altogether was an impossible task when he lived in the other apartment in the duplex you rented. Especially after he insisted on giving you rides back and forth from campus with the excuse that now that you two were friends it's only natural for him to be more friendly. By his definition, it also included things like buying you food on days he knows you’ve been too busy to get something for yourself, walking you to your classes whenever he has the chance, and going with you to art exhibitions to dabble in your passion with you. 

Oh, and it also included kissing you mercilessly during tutoring sessions. 

Around the time that fall semester began, Bucky asked you if you could tutor him on a few subjects. He hadn’t done the greatest academically last semester and he wanted to keep his grades up before baseball season started. You were hesitant at first, but ultimately gave in when you realized how sincere he was about needing the help. 

Tutoring Bucky meant spending lots of time with him after classes. The sessions were innocent at first, but after the first time kissing on your bed, Bucky made it a tradition to have his lips on yours, and his hands wandering your body at every session. He even stopped hosting parties at his place, preferring being in your room and getting drunk on the taste of you. 

Bucky was too infatuated by you to ever want to do anything else. Studying was an afterthought whenever you were around, and yet he was doing better than he ever had before in all his classes. Being someone you could be proud of was honestly the best motivation he could ask for. 

Deep down you knew you were falling for him. There was a bit of apprehension on your part as you hadn’t known Bucky to ever have a girlfriend. From what you can remember, ever since you’ve known him, he was the kind of guy who preferred flirting and casual encounters. And there was no guarantee you would be the one to break that. So to keep yourself safe you drew those lines—built those walls up high to guard your heart. Bucky respected those lines and never crossed them. No matter how badly he wanted to. 

Some days, like today, made you want to say screw the lines and just give in to what you desired most. However, when that desire included lowering those walls you put in place, you weren’t brave enough to risk it—so you didn’t. Instead, you and Bucky danced around those lines until it drove you both mad. 

Your thoughts follow you for the next hour as you stay by Darcy’s side. Bucky has this natural way of consuming your mind lately—and your sketchbook. You wish you had it with you right now because when your feelings decide to overflow you channel that intensity onto the paper. For months, every page had been filled with graphite drawings of Bucky. His smile, his eyes, his determined expression when studying, his confident stance during baseball games, and everything else that sparked the creative fire in you. You found a lot of solace in drawing him. 

Bucky was undoubtedly your favorite muse. 

You're so lost in your thoughts you don’t register you’re in the kitchen of the manor until the guests around you cheer. It seems Darcy and Thor have fallen into a friendly competition of sorts to see who could down more shots than the other in one minute. A group of spectators and friends have gathered in the kitchen to watch the showdown go down. Your eyes dart to Jane who only gives you a half-amused, half-exasperated look. She is not looking forward to having to drive those two home later.

Contrary to your friends, you weren’t drinking much tonight. Bucky’s lingering presence at the party was all your senses needed to feel like you were in a daze. For appearances, however, you decide to grab one of the red solo cups to blend in with the rest of those around you. 

“Hey, Y/n! Enjoying the party?” A male’s voice comes from your right and when you turn to see who it is a friendly smile appears on your face. It was Ian Boothby, a fellow art major at your university. You’ve had him in enough of your classes to consider him a friend. 

“Hey, Ian. Yeah, I’m having a good time. Are you?” Your question is a catalyst for a much longer chat with Ian. The two of you fall into light conversation about the semester, art, and other relevant topics. It's a nice breath of fresh air compared to the thoughts that had been consuming you tonight. Especially when he tells you the story of one of his painting mishaps causing you to laugh along with him.

Soon after, a hand snakes its way around your waist, and when you smell that familiar woody muskiness you know exactly who it is. 

“Having fun without me, sweetheart?” Bucky’s voice has a slight edge to it as he speaks, his lips forming a smirk. You face him and the look in his eyes stills you. 

Bucky does not look pleased. 

“Bucky, hey man. How’s baseball prep?” Ian beats you to it by addressing Bucky first. Bucky's eyes flick between you and Ian before he presses you into his side by the hold on your waist. This does not go unnoticed by Ian.

“Boothby, it's going good. How’s the cross-country season treating you?” Bucky asks, his tone giving away how uninterested he is in continuing this conversation. If Ian picks up on the animosity he doesn’t show it as he goes on and on about the sport. Bucky’s impatience grows the more he speaks and his hold on you gets a little more firm. When Bucky’s expression finally gives way to how he genuinely feels Ian finds a way to excuse himself and exit the conversation.

A beat passes before you finally speak, “Ian’s my friend. You didn’t have to scare him off like that,” you say with slight annoyance. Bucky clicks his tongue as he eyes you closely, “I didn’t, but I felt like it,” he shrugs cooly. “Didn't like the way he was looking at you.” He adds, his thumb rubbing small circles on your waist.

“Oh? And how was he looking at me?” 

“Like in the way only I should be.” 

The possessiveness in his voice catches you off guard. The air electrifying around you both at his words. You weren’t going to drink, but you suddenly felt the need to. You take a sip of the substance in your cup, the bitter liquid doing little to ground you. Bucky can tell how he’s affecting you and joins you with his drink. His eyes never leave yours as he gulps some of it down. 

You have to stop yourself from inhaling the entire thing in one go. 

“Ian’s harmless. He’s just comfortable with me because he’s an art major too. I’ve had a lot of classes with him,” you do your best to continue the conversation and ignore the way your body heats up when Bucky gives your hip a possessive squeeze. Massaging the area afterward in gentle strokes.

“You do a lot of bonding over paint?” Bucky’s response is slightly mocking, licking his lips to catch a drop of alcohol that wanted to escape. His eyes twinkle with mischief as he relishes the way you're looking at him now. Your gaze trained on his lips. When you realize he’s noticed, the heat from your body goes straight to your face.

You wouldn’t let him have the upper hand though. Never. 

“Well, when you have to sketch someone’s naked body you obviously become friendly,” your reply causes Bucky to choke on his drink, the hand at your hip falling as he uses it to grab a few napkins from the granite counter behind him to wipe at the mess he made. You hide a wicked grin behind the rim of your cup. 

He narrows his eyes at you, “Excuse me? What does that mean?” He knows what you mean, but he’s giving you a chance to tell him you're joking. He’s not hiding the jealousy that crawls up his spine at your revelation. 

“It means Ian’s a nude model for some of my classes. He may not look like it but underneath those layers, he’s got the most gorgeous—” Bucky cuts you off with a fierce kiss, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you into him. There’s been plenty of times you’ve shut him up with your mouth and it was his turn to return the favor. Because hearing you talk about the naked body of another man gets under his skin in ways he wasn’t used to.  He wasn’t going to just stand there and hear another word of it. 

The kiss catches you by surprise, but soon your drink is discarded in favor of pulling him closer by his blazer. Not caring who sees or what anyone thinks, since it’s the first time you’ve ever kissed in front of others. Your craving for him was far too loud to ignore anymore. Your lips stay locked until your lungs burn begging for air.

Bucky pulls away with a smug smile, his voice an octave lower as he moves to whisper in your ear, “You’re playing with fire, sweetheart. I know you love getting a rise out of me, but just so we’re clear—next time you want to mess with me like that—I’ll make sure you can’t even stand after I’m through with you,” his declaration causes a shiver to make its way up your spine. 

You swallow hard, your mouth opening to say something, but no sound comes out. Bucky lets out a rough chuckle, ghosting his lips against your cheek before pulling away to stare at how speechless he’s left you. He’s blatantly savoring every second of it. 

You want to say something—anything. Something witty or playful, but the thought of him making good on his promise—the image it conjures in your mind—keeps you silent.

“Buck! You’re needed at beer pong! Tony’s team is winning and the bet is up to five hundred,” Steve rushes into the kitchen, breaking through the bubble you two were in. His eyes dart between you and Bucky with a knowing look. He has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling at the sight of you two. 

You start to register there’s still an extravagant party happening around you.  

Bucky sighs with slight irritation as he once again gets his moment with you interrupted. He reluctantly tears his attention away from you to call back to Steve, “I’ll be right there!” Steve nods in approval before going back the way he came. 

Now’s your chance to say something, but Bucky pulls away from your body before you can. A coldness replacing where his touch used to be. “Hold that thought, baby. Looks like my team needs their star player,” he winks at you before placing a tender kiss on your forehead, “you keep thinking about what I said while I’m gone,” he says in a gruff whisper, brushing his thumb across your bottom lip in a barely there touch. 

He knows he needs to leave before he takes this somewhere you can’t go back from. 

Bucky doesn’t give you a chance to say anything as he makes a smooth exit. Heading out of the kitchen in the direction of the beer pong game. Your body prickling with an ever growing sexual frustration. You were embarrassingly close to snatching Bucky away and giving in to all your desires in one of the many rooms of the manor. 

“You two need to get a room,” Jane seems to read your mind as she teases you. Appearing from behind you once Bucky was no longer in sight. You can’t deny her words, letting out a small huff, “I don’t know what good that would do. I’ve been clear about not wanting to take things further.” You explain to her, not sure if you could go back on your words for the sake of giving in to what you want now. Jane has had this conversation with you a few times before, and it appears she's hit her limit today. 

 “That man is absolutely head over heels for you. How can you not see that?” Jane shakes her head at you, wondering how she can make you realize what you already know yet deny. There's a vulnerability that overcomes you when you reply, “It’s not that I don’t see it. I just—I’ve never seen him be serious about anyone. The only thing he’s ever serious about is baseball.” Jane looks like she’s about to do something drastic at your denial. 

“Y/n, Bucky is serious about you. He’s literally all about you—he’s chosen you over baseball many times. I’m not around him like you are and even I can see it clear as day. Do you know Thor and like half of the baseball team thinks you two are secretly dating? Stop denying what you know deep down is true and just give in—be happy,” Jane tells it like it is, her tone leaving no room for argument or denial. 

For so long Bucky has shown you another side of him—one not many get to see. He’s given you priority and importance when he didn’t have to. Care and consideration when you needed it most. A shoulder to lean on and a steady support to rely on. Time and time again Bucky has demonstrated how much you mean to him.

Perhaps, you both have been something more to each other for a long time and Bucky’s kept his wishes at bay to make sure things developed at your pace. 

When it finally hits you, you almost feel exposed by how skillfully Jane can read you. At how easily she can see the situation for what it is and not for what your worries twisted it to be. If Bucky had made it clear to you how he felt, what was stopping you from taking things further than they had been before?

At this point, nothing, nothing was stopping you but yourself.

This realization follows you to the dance floor. A very drunk Darcy had pulled you to it along with Jane, babbling tipsily after losing the drinking competition to Thor. You had never seen a living room with such high ceilings before or enough room to host a makeshift dance floor and a DJ booth. The living space had been stripped of its furniture and supplied with top-notch equipment to make it resemble the inside of a club. 

At least in the near darkness, it resembled one.

You’re in a huddle of your closest friends, all of them letting the music guide their movements to their heart’s content. You sway absentmindedly, so you're not merely standing there awkwardly. The kaleidoscope of party lights strobe and kiss your skin with an array of colors as the music thumps around your body. 

A loud cheer catches your attention, the source of the sound coming from a table on the far left end of the room. Tony and his friends were boisterous as they made a shot against their opponent's team in beer pong—Bucky’s team. You had a clear view of it all from where you stood. 

Bucky’s team seems to be taking turns on who drinks every time Tony’s team makes a shot. They look amongst themselves until Bucky steps up and chugs the liquid in the red solo cup. It's like he can feel the shift in the air because as soon as the cup is away from his lips his eyes scan the space and find you, and suddenly it's like you two are the only two people in the room. 

You want him—all of him. You enjoy the teases, the banter, the back and forth, but you know you’d enjoy calling him yours more. 

The music picks up in tempo as your boldness grows. Keeping your eyes trained on him, your hips begin to sway provocatively, tempting him to say screw the game and make his way towards you instead. Bucky’s not even paying attention to the game anymore his eyes soaking up your every move as it fans the flames of desire between you. The atmosphere around you buzzes as the ground shakes due to the sea of dancing bodies, and yet nothing thrums within you more than your need for Bucky. 

The little show you’re putting on for him continues as you roll and wave your body in ways that seduce him. Ghosting your hand along the curves and dips of your figure showing him exactly where you’d like his hands to be. Bucky’s mind is reeling with everything he wants to do to you and none of it involves the dance floor and all of it involves you and him in some private corner of the manor where he can show you exactly what his hands are capable of. 

You are making it impossibly hard for him to concentrate on anything else. 

Slowly and with shady intentions a group of drunk guys circle the huddle of you and your friends like vultures. Finding their way to snake themselves into any corner or crevice they can fit into. Their bodies bumping and grazing against yours. There’s one guy in particular that has his sights set on you. Getting closer to you on the dancefloor and creeping his hands along your waist. You swat his hands away, but he doesn’t disperse immediately. The alcohol on his breath fanning your face causing you to gag. The more you dismiss him the more adamant he was about keeping you close to him. 

Almost instantly, a protective grip pulls you away from the drunk guy. A familiar warmth encases you as Bucky pulls you into his chest, your back to him. Your hands find their way to hold his arms to ease the displeasure the drunk had caused.

Bucky glares at the drunk guy, his gaze cold and unapologetic, “Alright, that's enough.” The drunk guy sneers, his words slurred, “What the—what’s your problem bro? We’re just—” Bucky doesn’t let him finish, “Shut up. You’re not doing anything. You’ve got two seconds to back off or we’re going to have a problem,” Bucky’s reply is sharp and menacing. He directs it to all the men that had swarmed you and your friends. 

Shifting you so you stand at his side, Bucky steps forward to let the guys know he’s not messing around. Your hold goes to his right arm where you’re watching the exchange unfold anxiously. You hope things don’t escalate, not wanting Bucky to get into a scuffle. You know he can handle himself, but the idea of him getting hurt in any way caused your heart to ache. 

The guys size Bucky up and it seems some of them think they can take him on. Until the strobing lights illuminate Bucky’s darkened gaze enough that in their drunk haze, they finally recognize him as captain of the baseball team. That means that fighting Bucky meant taking on the entirety of the team. And with the way Sam and Steve were looking over to see if they needed to step in, and Thor was already storming over—they knew they didn’t stand a chance.

It was comical the way the drunk men scramble to get away as fast as they could. Muttering incoherences and apologies under their breath. They don’t get far as Tony’s hired security for the night promptly kicks them out. 

Thor comes up to check on everyone, giving special attention to Jane who keeps assuring him she’s fine. You turn to Bucky, who’s already inspecting you to make sure you are alright, “Bucky I—” You almost tell him not to worry, that you had things under control, but in reality, you’re glad Bucky stepped in. 

“Thank you,” you say sincerely, Bucky’s tense demeanor softens at your words. He moves to get a better hold on you, his grip at your waist protective teetering on possessive. 

“You don’t have to thank me for that, sweetheart. I got you—always,” Bucky’s genuine response makes your heart flutter and your pulse quicken. Your senses are awakened by his proximity, completely enamored with the way he looks at you. 

“Plus, if I’m going to fall for the most beautiful girl in the world, I have to know how to fight right?” Bucky says this like it's the most obvious thing, smirking at the way you don’t hide the smitten grin he elicits from you. There’s a sparkle in your eyes as you stare at him, Bucky’s heart racing at the sight of it.

 “You and your compliments,” you give a breathless laugh, letting your guard down for once and going with the flow. Bucky can sense it. Sense the way there’s a shift between you, the blossoming of something bigger being accepted and not pushed away by you anymore.

“Only for my girl,” he says this like a promise. His right-hand goes up to gently brush against your cheek. You lean into the touch, that same hand cupping your cheek in response. Bucky has never felt more elated knowing that maybe finally you two can go to places he’s only dreamed of. 

“Yours?” You question him playfully, which causes him to chuckle, the sound a low rumble, “You and I both know you are, sweetheart. I told you I had all the time in the world to make you fall for me—and I meant it,” he smiles, an intense fire in his eyes that only accumulates when you respond, “You don’t have to wait any longer, Bucky.”

He wastes no second to connect your lips, kissing you with a loving purpose. His lips have a slightly bitter taste to them from the beer that still lingered there. And yet, the bitterness disappears when one kiss turns into two and then three. His arms encircling you to pull you into his chest, your hands finding their way to the nape of his neck.

Bucky pulls away to ghost his lips against your jaw until his lips brush against your ear, “Those little moves you were doing for me earlier, do them again,” his husky tone sends a shiver down your spine as he tugs you in to dance with him. Your bodies mold to one another, hips swaying in rhythm with the vigorous music. The beat allows you to gyrate and grind in ways that drive him to the edge of his control. 

His hand rests on the small of your back, holding you close, fingers splayed out as if making a silent claim. You can feel the way his gaze burns into you, the air getting hotter making it harder to breathe. Your hands trail up and down his arms as need be. The rest of the party fades away leaving you two alone in this space of this charged energy. Every lingering touch and longing glance is layered with unspoken urges that would soon intensify to the brink of madness. 

“You have no idea what you do to me do you?” 

“I do. I’m not immune to what’s going on between us, Bucky.”

Your body, your voice, the way you plead with your eyes for him to take this further—it causes a stirring within his pants—the fabric getting tighter the longer the dance goes on. He needs to get you away, to get you alone. Bucky needs to satiate this hunger for you that threatens to consume him or he is going to end up doing something Rated R on this dance floor. 

The throbbing between your legs agrees. 

An idea pops into Bucky’s mind when he glances at his group of friends. He increases the volume of his voice so you can hear him over the music, “The baseball team was going to host a game of hide and seek. Should we play?” Playful mischief glimmers in his eyes as he asks you. 

“Hide and seek? Seriously?” You raise a brow, wondering how that was going to work in a mansion full of a million rooms.

“Yeah, come on. It'll be fun,” Bucky draws you away from the dance floor and over to where his friends are mingling and taking a few shots. Steve sees Bucky approach and they have a quick whispered exchange. Your eyes dart between them, curious as to what they're discussing.

“Seems like we’re getting a head start,” he comments to you as he leads you away from the main party and down a few intricate hallways. His hold on your hand is firm, yet careful—almost as if he’s afraid you’ll get lost in one of the many corners of the manor. The thrum of the music fades the further you slip away from the party. Your pulse spikes, both from the adrenaline of the game and the heat that still simmers between you.

Bucky has been to Tony’s parties plenty of times before, so he knows the layout of the manor pretty well. The clicking of your heels along the marble floors echoes at the pace of the beating of his heart. He tries to focus on the expensive artwork that lines the halls instead of the way your hand perfectly fits in his. The artwork is what’s guiding his path through the manor and you are the best distraction he could ask for. 

“Where are we going?” Your voice echoes down the endless hallway. 

“Somewhere no one will find us,” he winks at you, your heart skipping a beat at his words, his pace steady and purposeful as he turns one more corner and slips you two inside a room. You're encased in darkness, blindly feeling for a light switch until Bucky uses the flashlight on his phone to illuminate the space. You faintly make out your surroundings. You seem to be in one of the many guest rooms of the manor. The attention to detail in the room was no short of the attention paid to the rest of the place.

You knew Tony’s family had money, but seeing how they splurged for a mere guest room, meant his family was beyond loaded. 

Bucky whispered something to you, but you didn’t catch it as he took you by the hand and ushered you into the room’s closet, clicking it shut behind him. He reaches up to turn on the small lightbulb to cascade the enclosed space in a soft glow, turning off the flashlight on his phone and putting it in his pants pocket. The tension is now thicker and more palpable in the small space, causing goosebumps to rise across your skin.

If you had a dollar for every time you and Bucky ended up in a tight space together, you would have exactly two dollars. While maybe strange, it somehow seemed fitting for you two. 

Bucky steps closer to you, your bodies inches apart, the dim light doing nothing to dull the intensity in his eyes, “Now that I’ve got you here—I think I did a good job with the hiding spot, don't you?” His heated whisper brings your breath to a hitch. 

You have to clear your throat to compose yourself, “I don’t know…We had a whole mansion to hide in, and you chose a closet?” You can’t help but tease him, trying to lighten the unbearable tension. 

“Would you rather go hide in the library? The wine cellar? The arcade?” His voice is dripping with mirth taking another step closer to you. He knows what you're doing, but he’s not going to let the tension die down—not this time.  

“The arcade sounds fun,” you quip, leaning back against the wall. 

“Hm, maybe, but I prefer the closet. It’s a lot more private and it has its…advantages,” he reaches out to pull your hand up to his lips, planting a soft kiss across your knuckles. You go to use that hand to lightly push at his chest, but he catches it in time and intertwines your fingers instead. Your heart is racing a mile a minute. 

“Maybe the closet isn’t so bad, but these heels…Worst decision I made tonight,” you shift slightly, not meaning to change the subject, but your heels are torturing you. In the quiet of the closet the pain begins to creep up on you, begging to be acknowledged. After hours of walking on them, dancing, and standing overall—your feet were killing you. You weren’t sure how long you’d be able to stand upright while hiding. 

“Are they hurting you?” 

“Yeah, a bit.”

“Lets get them off then,” Bucky slides his hand underneath your right thigh, eyes locked on yours, as he hikes it up against the outside of his leg. Your hips brush up against his front, your breath catching at the intimacy of the moment. He watches your every reaction as he slides his hand down the underside of your leg until he reaches the strap of your heel. He’s able to undo it effortlessly, relieving you of the discomfort, his fingers grazing your ankle as he slides your right heel off. His every touch leaves heat in its wake. 

“Bucky you really don't have to—” he cuts you off with a soft smile and half-lidded eyes, switching his hold from your right leg to your left one, “I want to, sweetheart. Just let me help, ” he removes the other heel with the same tantalizing tenderness he used for the first one. Putting them to the side where they won’t get in the way.

The relief you feel is immediate.

“Better?” 

“Much.” 

“Good.” 

A moment passes before he speaks, his voice quiet with an underlying devotion, “You don’t get the hold you have on me, do you?’’ His right hand dances along the outside of your thigh while his left plays with the strap of your dress, twirling it between his fingers. The hand at your thigh traces patterns onto it. Trailing intricate swirls across the flesh, along your hips, ascending to your waist, and all the way up to the space between your breasts. The touch lingers there when you let out a soft sigh. 

You honestly forget how to breathe. 

“Say the word and I’m all yours, Y/n,” his voice is rough as his lips ghost against yours—seductively grazing against them. Going so far as licking his lips with an invigorating grin to really drive you crazy.

Bucky is waiting for you to make the deciding move. When you realize this, you throw all caution to the wind, pulling him in for a desperate kiss. You waste no time in granting him access to deepen it. Bucky follows your lead ardently. His hands snake down your body to cup your ass and pull you impossibly close to him. 

Your hands get lost in his hair, a groan rumbling through him at the way you tug at it. You two aren’t sweetly kissing, you're devouring each other. Yearning for the other all night leaves no more room for taking things slow or holding back. You’re both now giving in to what you want most—each other. 

The heat between you intensifies until it crescendos to a boiling point. The aching between your legs imploring you to do something about it. You reach down to tug at the waistband of his pants, causing Bucky to let out a husky laugh. 

“If you want something use your words, sweetheart,” he mutters against your lips, you suppress a groan, “You know what I want. I don't have to say it,” you retort impatiently. Bucky shakes his head, smiling despite himself, “I want to hear you say it,” he dips his head to the crook of your neck, his teeth nipping at the skin. The hands on your ass give it a light squeeze emitting a small gasp from you. You can feel the shit-eating grin on your neck. 

“Bucky….I…” your words are cut off by a soft moan when Bucky��s left hand sneaks its way through the slit of your dress until he reaches the inside of your thighs. He massages the flesh there, his thumb brushing against the hem of your panties. 

Your arousal pools impossibly more, and the lustful haze only increases at the way you feel his hardened cock straining against his pants—right against your hip. 

“Mm? What was that, baby? Couldn’t hear you over those pretty noises you're making,” his every word drips with cockiness. 

“You're insufferable.”

“That’s my girl.” 

Bucky kisses your neck with more fervor. Sucking and nipping at the skin hard enough to leave marks. Your thighs involuntarily close together at the way he calls you his girl. He eases them back apart with his deliberate touches. Kneading the soft flesh in his hands as his breathing goes ragged along your neck, tickling your skin. He was on the brink of losing what little control he had left. 

You suck in a sharp breath, losing what little semblance of control you had left the higher his touch gets. He only goes so far, barely brushing across your clothed cunt to give you a taste of what he can do if you just let him hear it. You were desperate for more and he knew it. 

 “Fuck me, Bucky,” you manage to whimper out, hooking your fingers into his empty belt loops and yanking him towards you. Bucky lets out a low growl at the brief friction, his eyes darkening to an almost unrecognizable color. For a moment, his brain short circuits at your words, processing that you really said that to him accompanied by that alluring sound. He’s heard those sinful noises from you before, but never like this. Never with the assurance of more. 

“Say it again.”

“Bucky, please just fuck me already.”

You don’t have to tell him another time. Bucky crashes his mouth onto yours with a new intensity, mumbling lustful promises into your mouth. How he wants you, how badly he aches to make you feel good, how he yearns for his pretty girl to lose herself with him, and so many more things that make you dizzy. 

He moves to bunch up your dress, hiking it up your legs until it's bundled at your waist. His breathing strains at the sight—your black lacy panties luring him in—his muscles tensing at the growing need to be inside you. His left arm reaches down to hook his forearm under your knee and bring it up to his hip. You wrap that leg around him, steadying yourself on your other foot as you grind against each other. You can feel the way his cock aches to be freed and it causes you to arch deeper into him. Your moans mingle into one, the slight relief overwhelming you. 

Bucky takes his free hand and splays it at the small of your back, offering strong support as your bodies continue to grind against one another. A chorus of moans and yearnful whines erupt from you both. All of the pining and hunger for one another amalgamates into one as you continue to rub against each other. You swallow each other’s sounds, tongues tangling carnally as neither of you leaves any room for air.

“Do you have—?”

“Back pocket. Wallet.”

Your lips barely disconnect at the brief exchange. You reach behind him, patting down his backside until you feel the outline of his wallet in his pocket. You take hold of it and bring it forward. Meanwhile, Bucky decides to leave wet kisses along the valley of your breasts. You can barely contain yourself and your soft moans as you pull out the condom. The wallet almost slips from your grasp as the attention to your breasts causes you to tremble. 

You hold it tighter intending to put it back in his pocket when something catches your eye. In the clear slot where his identification should be is a polaroid picture from the weekend camping trip. You’re in that picture sitting next to Bucky on a couple of logs surrounded by your friends and peers. There’s a bright smile on Bucky’s face, his arm around your shoulder as you make bunny ears behind his head.

You love this picture. You have a copy of it taped to your bedroom mirror back home.

At your stillness, Bucky looks up to see what’s going on. When he notices you staring at the picture, he smiles fondly. " It's the only picture I had of us,” he utters softly, causing a warmth to spread throughout you. You gaze at him in tender awe, marveling at the fact that Bucky is real.

Why had you ever doubted he was anything but yours? 

You kiss him this time with all the unspoken feelings you’ve bubbled up and kept inside. The wallet falls from your hands, but it's no matter as Bucky kicks it to the side with his foot, and shudders at the way your lips claim his. This goes beyond lust. Your heart beats with reason, and that reason is the man in front of you. 

“Bucky, I want this. I want you. All of you,” you whisper passionately, your hands lowering to help him unbutton and unzip his pants, the foil neatly tucked between your fingers. A guttural moan leaves him when you push the layers of fabric down and free his cock, pumping it a few times to get a feel of it. His head falls to your shoulder, sighing softly in a near whine as you tear the foil open and roll the protection down his length. It twitches in your hands, his hips bucking at the contact. 

His arms are preoccupied with keeping you close and steady, so you gently guide him to your center. Moving your panties to the side as he tantalizingly slides along your folds before he slowly enters you. Your mouth goes agape at the sensation while Bucky has to do everything to make sure he doesn’t cum right then and there.

This was so much better than what he had imagined in his dreams. 

It's been too long since you’ve done this and the burn at the stretch causes you to cry out quietly. Bucky peppers your face with sweet kisses and whispers of devotion. Trying to do his best to comfort you as he lets you adjust inch by inch. The hand at the small of your back rubs circles into it with his thumb, your own hands shooting up to grip his biceps for support. 

“I’m not gonna last if you tighten up like that sweetheart,” he hisses a groan at how tightly your walls envelop him. You’re really making it hard for him to not come undone in a short amount of time. 

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, baby, just relax for me.”

His gentle words are accompanied by thrusts that are slow with a deliberate purpose. He’s careful with his pace as he wants this to go at whatever speed you need. It takes a bit, but his soft kisses and comforting touches coax the burn away until you're left with the ardent ache of needing more. 

“Faster, Bucky,” you plead breathily. He rests his forehead against yours.“Can you handle it, baby?” His question is full of loving concern, prioritizing your pleasure over everything.

“I can…fuck…please,” you assure him, your leg pulling him in tighter causing him to bottom out. Bucky curses and moans all in one. At your assurance, he picks up the pace of his hips, rocking them against you with a fiery velocity. The lewd sounds bouncing off the walls of the closet in waves. 

He gives it to you exactly how you asked him to. That man would do anything for you—just say the word and its done. 

Bucky is on cloud nine at the way you take him. The way your bodies mold and arch into one another’s like you can’t get enough. As if all you ever needed to consume to live was each other. When he goes to kiss you, you can barely kiss back as you’re too lost in the way he slams into you.

“Fuck, baby, if only you could see yourself. You’re so fucking gorgeous making those pretty expressions for me,” Bucky grunts out, drinking up the sight of your face. A string of mewls leaves your lips at the keen attention he keeps on you. Everything about you right now is a work of art in his eyes he wants framed and kept at his bedside. A constant reminder he’s the one who gets to make you look and feel so damn good.  

“Don’t stop, please don't stop.”

“Wasn’t planning to, sweetheart.” 

Your words egg him on to go harder, causing your back to press tightly against the wall. Hiking your leg just a tad bit higher to thrust into you at another angle. This was the best decision he ever made as he hits the perfect spot within you. One that leaves you clinging onto him desperately as your walls tighten on the brink of release. 

It takes a few more fierce drives into you until your orgasm hits you and you're cumming with a feverish intensity. Moaning Bucky’s name in a euphoric mantra that’s music to his ears. It's what brings him over the edge and he stills at the force of his orgasm, his head collapsing into the dip of your neck as he releases into the condom. 

“My girl. My sweet girl. You feel so good, baby,” Bucky softly whispers against your neck. Planting small kisses as both of you come down from your highs. Your arms wrap behind his neck to embrace him and keep him close to you. Bucky continues to mutter sweet praises along your skin, as your hands thread through his hair tenderly. Both of you steadying your breaths as you come back down to Earth. 

If it weren't for Bucky holding your right leg up, it would've fallen from its position at his hip long ago. You’re even more grateful for it now as your body felt completely boneless. And when he pulls out, its the grip he has on your body that keeps your knees from buckling.

Bucky lifts his head so his gaze locks on yours. His blues are swimming with a vehemence that steals your breath and causes your pulse to race.  

“Y/n, I…I wanted to give you some time. Time to figure things out—to figure out what you wanted. I tried pretending I was okay with pieces of you, but I’m not. I want all of you. I want to be yours,” Bucky confesses with sincerity. You reach out to interlock your hands with his, a floodgate of emotions engulfing you. 

“Bucky—” you start, but he’s not hearing it, afraid you’ll want to go back to a place that would devastate him. “Wait, just hear me out. Everything I ever did was to get you to notice me. From the moment we met there was just something about you that kept pulling me in. And I knew—I just knew I had to get to know you. And then one thing led to another and I fell for you—hard. Now I can’t imagine my life without you. There's only you. It’s always been you. Give me a chance, let me prove it to you every day, that I’m yours. That I have been for a long time,” Bucky’s tone borders on pleading, you give his hands a light squeeze to ease the worry in his features. 

“Bucky you have nothing to prove—”

“Y/n—” 

This time you stop him by clamping a hand over his mouth. 

“Bucky, you have nothing to prove because I’ve felt the same way for a long time. I just fought it for so long out of fear that maybe you weren’t serious about me. But I can see now I was wrong. I’ve been yours for a long time too, Bucky. I just pretended I wasn’t—and I’m done fighting it. I’m done being in denial. I want to have something serious with you. I’m ready for it,” your heartfelt confession immediately melts away the tension in Bucky’s shoulders. 

You wanting this as much as he did made him feel like he was on top of the world.

He mumbles something into your hand, the biggest grin on the other side of it. You laugh adoringly at the sight as you remove your hand to replace it with your mouth instead. Both of you sink into the kiss as a deeper devotion is exchanged. 

“Whoever is seeking is horrible at it,” you remove yourself with a light giggle, taking a jab at whoever the seeker of the hide-and-seek game is. A game that was long forgotten by Bucky until you mentioned it. 

Bucky smiles sheepishly, “About that…there's not actually a hide-and-seek game. And if there is they don't know we’re playing,” he confesses with a twinkle in his eyes. You shake your head at him, laughing in disbelief, “Bucky, then what were you and Steve whispering about?” Your curiosity is met with a boyish grin from Bucky, “I was just letting him know not to come looking for me. I wanted to get some alone time with you,” his hands find your hips again to give them a gentle squeeze.

Bucky is far from done with you yet. 

You roll your eyes lightheartedly at his revelation. Of course, he’d come up with a way to get you all to himself. Can you blame him? 

After a few more stolen kisses and lingering touches, you both start to compose yourselves. Adjusting your outfits and collecting your items from the ground. Thankfully, the guest room has its own bathroom where the two of you can clean up much better than in the small closet. Tousled hair, smeared makeup, and sweaty skin required a deeper attentiveness.

You both take your time in freshening up. The bathroom lighting does wonders to reveal every piece of evidence of your sexual encounter. You can now clearly see all the red marks that would eventually turn into hickeys that scattered your neck and chest. Bucky beams pleased at the markings he’s left as you scold him for making them so prominent. 

Bucky doesn’t give a damn. He’d gladly make more in an instant. 

By the end, all that's left is to get your heels on, which Bucky insists on helping you with. He offered to carry you for the rest of the party or even giving you his shoes, but you declined both options. You paid good money for these heels so whether you liked it or not, you were forcing yourself to wear them. 

Bucky helps you up onto the expansive marble counter. Lowering down onto his knees in front of you to slide your heels back onto your feet. Nimble fingers work the straps into place, making sure they're not too tight at the ankles. When he looks up at you, a devilish grin appears on his face. That spark of desire is back in your eyes when you see how good he looks knelt between your legs. Your mind was reeling with ideas as the heat once again pranced across your skin. Bucky’s gaze bore into yours, almost as if he could read your mind. He can’t help but get turned on again. 

You were in the same boat. 

“You know, I have a big stats test on Monday. I could use an emergency tutoring session right about now,” his tone is laced with suggestion as his fingers trace along your ankle. You hum, “Hm? Do you? I think I could accommodate that.” Your reply gives Bucky the go to start kissing up your legs until he reaches your knees. He never breaks eye contact as he places a tender kiss on each one before standing up and giving that same attention to your mouth.

“Perfect. Let’s get out of here, sweetheart,” Bucky mutters against your lips, the kiss a promise of the fun awaiting you for the rest of the night. Now that the lines were blurred beyond recognition, into something deeper, something real, you were both completely all in. 

[grimmsbride]

LOVERS ROCK [ daisuke / reader ]

keeping your relationship a secret from your coworkers was no doubt; thrilling. and also, very, very challenging. it didn’t help the two of you just loved to push your limits

tags / ooc characters | semi-public sex (everyone is asleep but still) | reader & daisuke are slightly inexperienced | soft-top daisuke | mentions of marks | cowgirl | dry humping | porn with little plot | they fuck with earbuds in | mentions of the other crew members | fluffy at the beginning | pre-established relationship | sex under the stars.. | pre-crash | chubby & poc coded reader (but anyone is free to read) | i don’t know the exact time period but modern music is mentioned | you guys love holding hands | etc.

notes / #bringbackdryhumping | reader is the same janitor reader in my previous fic (obviously). i got this idea randomly, daisuke seems like the type to take his partner to scenic places for dates. and well.. the nighttime screen is about as scenic as it gets on the tulpar. i hope you enjoy and as usual please excuse any grammar mistakes or typos 🫶🏾. i feel i made him very ooc, i’m used to see daisuke smut being quite submissive to the reader so i wanted to go a different approach.. i think in situations like this he may be a little more confident, especially if his partner is reciprocating to the feeling. if you have any thoughts on the manner let me know <3

The Tulpar was filled with mundane tasks. Wake up, clean, eat, shower, and go back to sleep— a routine that’s been ingrained into your body. A continuous cycle that would have bored you to death without your beloved music. You were grateful for your position, no matter how minuscule, yet you couldn’t deny the wish for something more.

And luckily it came true; in the form of a young man nonetheless.

You weren’t one to mix business and pleasure, it just seemed like a disaster waiting to happen. Coming across Tulpar and the demographic you expected to be on the ship — older people that certainly weren’t your type — you were quite confident you wouldn’t go against your usual code. But alas, you surprised yourself while falling for a certain intern.

As bright eyed and slightly clueless he was, Daisuke was a pocket of sunshine you’ve come to truly adore. Always there when he can be, even if it means a quick kiss when you’re cleaning or a gentle pinch when passing by to remind you of who was in your corner.

Keeping your growing relationship a secret from your coworkers was troublesome but extremely necessary. You couldn’t imagine the expressions the others would display, especially Jimmy who just seemed to be far too eager to stomp on just about anyone's happiness; no matter the size.

Still, you couldn’t deny how thrilling it was at times. Pulling your partner into a quiet dark corner for a few extra kisses, or the secret looks the two of you gave each when in a public setting. The line was thinning longer and longer, close calls increasing as time passed.

And yet here you were, seated upon the living room couch; waiting for your beloved Daisuke.

Usually if the two of you wanted alone time when everyone was asleep you alternated between your bedrooms. At least there, there was a door and bed. But for some reason, Daisuke was adamant on spending some time out here; underneath the pretty nighttime screen.

Your eyes stared up at the blues and whites, head leaning back against the shoulder of the couch as music poured into your ears. Your thumb traced the little device, perfectly at ease.

That was until something delicately traced the back of your neck.

You swallowed a yelp, quickly turning with a jump to glare at the one responsible— who only grinned back at you.

“Daisuke! What if I had yelled?”

You stood up from the couch, watching the man walk around the before waltzing down the little steps. Within two strides he was standing in front of you, glancing down at you with the sweetest smile.

“But you didn't!” Daisuke chuckled the moment you lightly shoved his chest, catching your wrist in time before you could move it away. In doing so, he locked your fingers whilst his free hand went for the earbud occupying one of your ears. Pulling it out, the man then lifted it to his own, bringing himself closer to your form.

You met him, unoccupied hand sliding up to wrap your arm around his waist, laying your head against his chest. Between the melody of his heart beat and Tv Girl running through your ears, you were at complete bliss. As if you could fall asleep right then and there.

The two of you swayed, allowing yourselves to get caught up in each other rather than your surroundings. You felt his free hand sneak underneath your arm, pulling it higher until your hand was on top of his shoulder. After which, Daisuke’s hand found your waist, tugging you even closer and actually adding moves to your swaying.

You snorted softly, mumbling softly about him being corny to which the man only laughed. Silence continued after as the two of you danced slowly, carefully, as to hopefully not alert the others of your rather embarrassing nightly activities.

A step, another, and then a graceful stride. You wondered if Daisuke danced a lot back home. The thought caused you to laugh once again, just in time for your lover to twirl you.

Slithering his arm tighter around your waist, he pulled your back to his front, face being shoved into your neck.

Your eyes peeled open, staring up at the nighttime screen that stared back at you. “Dancing under the stars, huh?..”

“A perfect date.”

You smiled at his words, hand rose to reach back and lightly fuss with his hair. “Yeah, all girls love dancing at work while watching a blown up image of a fake sky.”

Daisuke laughed into your ear, the pitch perfectly going along with the music you shared.

“I told my dad I knew what the ladies wanted.”

You groaned softly, teetering between amusement and playful annoyance. You turned around in his hold, hands rising to hold his warm cheeks.

“You’re corny..”

Daisuke smiled, thumb tracing the small of your back, messing with the fabric of the top you wore. “And lucky for me, you’re into it.” You didn’t need to agree nor deny, given the sweet kiss you pressed to his lips was answer enough. He kneeled to meet you fully, tugging you so close as if wishing to melt into you. Your noses brushed against each other, cold tips warming as you consumed one another. You loved kissing Daisuke, not just because he was your boyfriend but more-so cause he was a damned good kisser.

His lips always moved so slow at first, before slowly picking up the longer you continued. A hand rose from your back to instead cup the back of your head, a shiver running down your spine the moment his fingers traced up your scalp; messing in your hair.

So desperate.. you two always were. The thought of any interruptions spurred you on to always savor each and every moment with as much as passion as possible.

And it seemed the both of you intended to do just that, as — ever so carefully — Daisuke walked backwards, leading you with him. Once close enough he was descending to the couch, taking you with him by the waist and pulling you onto his lap.

The two of you broke apart for a moment, gulping up the air around you greedily before smashing your lips together with even more vigor. Your hands were clutching his shoulders at this point, suddenly being reminded Daisuke wasn’t just some clueless man.

You shivered as you felt his hand glide, intruding your top to lay his fingers upon your warm skin. With each interlock of your tongues his fingers were digging into your flesh, a soft whine being pushed from his throat into your mouth. The sound alone caused your thighs to clench, moving carefully in his lap.

Which of course, was met with a hiss and a quick squeeze. You questioned this for a moment, before quickly realizing why it happened in the first place.

This only caused you to smile against him, lowering your hips fully before dragging them against him slowly.

Daisuke was off your lips in minutes, hands falling to your waist as a hushed groan escaped his bruised lips.

“Here?..” The man spoke gently, eyes flicking from between your bodies before back to your face. His eyebrows furrowed as you continued your languid drags, biting the inside of his cheek nervously.

You nodded slowly, leaning closer to press your lips to his ear. “Mhm.. here.”

“Then.. I want to feel— more. Please.” His words were sweet, allowing them to settle in the air for a moment before his fingers were curling to tug at your pants, allowing you to get the message. You stood up rather quickly, pushing your pants down and off, the bottoms pooling at your ankles.

You watched as Daisuke did the same, now only in plain boxers, a funny contrast to the gaudy everyday shirt he usually wore.

Stepping out of your pants, you caught his hands as you made your way back to his lap, brushing your clothed cunt right against his growing bulge as you sat down. It was your time to whine as you felt him through your thin fabrics, Daisuke capturing your lips rather quickly afterwards.

Slowly, you began that same languid pace, gripping his shoulders for stability as you dragged your hips back and forth.. back and forth. His nails were digging into your thighs, meeting your movement with a small, desperate thrust. Moans passed between the two of you, warmth, and music mixing into a sensation that you could only describe as euphoria.

Dramatic sure, but what else could you call it, exactly?

“Could come.. ju—just from this.” Daisuke mumbled the moment the two of you broke apart for air, his face falling to your neck to stamp wet kisses to your skin. He was gentle not to focus too much on a single area, worrying about leaving behind a mark. Though, it seemed rather contradictory given the location the two of you chose for your.. fun.

You were aching, panties surely soaked with arousal as that itch grew. You could only pant in his ear, unsure how exactly this felt so good. Maybe it was pent up, a mixture of stress and the misfortune of lack of alone time. Regardless, it wasn’t your job to figure it out at the moment.

The only job you had right now was to continue to chase this feeling, for as long as you could.

Daisuke pulled you closer if humanly possible, hips rising up from the couch as he ground up into you. He wasn’t lying early, despite zero actual contact he could feel himself twitching— begging for release. The effect you had on him was far too great, after all.

Desperate breaths escaped you, thighs shaky yet yearning for more. His touch, everything, you wanted to feel it all. Your fingers rose to curl into his hair, leaning into his ear as the softest more, dropped from your tongue.

Your words spurred him, fingers squeezing your flesh, nails tracing against those pretty marks that lined your hips.

“You want more?.. Of course, whatever you want.”

Daisuke could never deny you, no matter how small the request was. In minutes he was tugging his boxers down to his thighs, hand lazily dragging across his length. It was a pretty color, lighter than him, with a mole on the under side of his shaft.

The man then reached with his other hand to curl his finger on your panty, tugging it to the side and exposing your soft cunt to his hand. For a moment his finger gently circled your hardened bud, enjoy the pleasant noises you struggled to keep down.

But soon enough he was becoming as desperate as you, helping you position carefully, rubbing his weeping tip against your clit. Daisuke hissed, continuing to coat his dick in your arousal before finding your entrance, lining up, and raising his hips to push himself inside.

The both of you groaned, your eyes pinched closed as you sunk down. Your walls wrapped around his length perfectly, swallowing him up and keeping him deep inside. With each breath you released you clenched, causing the young man under you to struggle to keep his mind straight. Daisuke couldn’t help being so inexperienced, and well.. neither could you, given you felt a single movement would be enough to push you over the edge.

Your eyes slowly opened, gaze falling to his face, taking the time to map out his expression. Would it be corny to call him beautiful? Was it corny to find your lover beautiful in a such state? Under your mercy, as close as biologically possible? Maybe.. but you didn’t dwell on it long, instead deciding to graze your palms across his cheeks, thumbs coming to trace the moles on either side.

“I love you.”

Your words were earnest, laced with the sweetest honey. You smiled, watching his own signature smile cross his face, perfectly. Like any other time.

Daisuke pulled you even closer, a grip to your thigh as he leaned to just a breath’s away.

“See. Now you’re the corny one.”

Your lover swallowed the pretty laughter threatening to leave your chest, all smiles as his arms wrapped around your waist. Once tucked close and snug, his hips, the small thrust enough for the both of you to sigh into the other’s mouth.

Soon enough your knees were pressing against the cushions, hips rising and falling into his lap. With each drop, wet skin smacked against each other, certainly a worrying sound but the two of you seemed to no longer care.

You were too caught up in each other anyway.

Your fingers curled into his silky locks, crying out into his mouth as he stirred you up deeply. His length hit each spot perfectly, a mold made specifically for you. And what’s more, the moment a hand snaked under your skirt to drag his thumb across your nipple— you began to see stars.

Daisuke groaned into you, meeting each drop of your hips with desperate thrusts. You felt so good, way too good. He tried to keep his voice down as to avoid alerting the others, and hear you. You just sounded far too good to ignore.

Your shaky breaths, the way your voice pitched whenever his tip brushed against that special spot — don’t even get him started on the gasps you made when Daisuke went, just a little too deep. Alas he couldn’t focus on the growing list of reasons for his obsession you; bringing you complete pleasure was the main objective.

“You’re clenching me.. you’re going to come, aren’t you?” Daisuke drawled against your lips, pressing a kiss to them before dragging his own over to your ear. Each pant and groan hit it directly, the man at this point helping you rise and fall upon his cock.

“I want you to finish.. all over me.”

“Daisuke—!”

“Not so loud..” The intern spoke in a soft rasp, squeezing you close as his end grew closer. “I don’t need the others to hear you like this. It’s on—only for me, yeah?”

You shook your head rapidly, lip nearly bleeding from how hard you were biting down, your fingers digging into his shoulders— sure to leaves marks despite the shirt he wore.

Within moments you were seeing white, clutching him as you fulfilled his wish. Your arousal coated his dick and thighs, making a sticky mess that was surely on the couch by now.

Daisuke swore under his breath, bringing you onto his lap in one final thrust before filling you up. Luckily he remembered you took the pill as to regulate your period.

The two of you panted, in sync with each other and the music that seemed to still be blasting in your ears. How exactly your earbuds sustained that erratic movement, you will never know nor question.

You pulled back to glance at Daisuke, spotting the man already looking at you, smiling brightly.

You rolled your eyes, glancing down at the space between your two bodies.

“This is going to be so annoying to clean.”

Daisuke stifled his laughter, pulling you into a tight hug, eyes shining whilst he stared up at the screen;

“Maybe… I love you too, [Name].”

[galactic-magick]

I Love You, I'm Sorry: Viktor x Reader

Based off of this reply on my last Viktor fic:

@lillycore : Duddee, imagine after the final scene between Viktor and Jayce they just disappear (I refuse to believe they both died, I’m just going believe, until it’s confirmed, that they simply teleported somewhere else), leaving reader alone without a chance to confront Viktor and believing they both died. So now, reader is left to pick up the pieces of her closest friend and love of her life gone, while believing Viktor no longer loves her (he does though, he was just a little confused with everything, but he still loves her)

Words: 1.2k

Author's Notes: Thank you all so much for the notes and kind words on my last Viktor fic, it truly means the world to me as a writer to see so many people touched by my writing. I hope you enjoy this equally devastating part 2.

They’re gone. They’re really gone.

No family, no friends, not a single loved one of yours survived this damn war. All this world has done is take, take, take.

You’re haunted by the last time you saw your beloved Viktor—completely unrecognizable. He had turned himself into a monster, disappearing with Jayce trying to save him. You didn’t even get to say goodbye, you didn’t even get to tell him you still love him.

Or ask if he still loved you.

You don’t know what would hurt less, believing he stopped loving you, or believing he did everything he did while loving you.

-

“Why can’t she hear me?” Viktor shouts into the void. He’s been calling your name for what feels like an eternity, his voice no longer carrying to your world.

Jayce puts a comforting hand on his shoulder, “You don’t have vessels to speak through anymore. She probably thinks we’re dead. Well, maybe we are…”

“No, no, this can’t be the end,” Viktor shakes his head vigorously. “I have to get back to her. She...she needs to know I love her. She needs to know I’m sorry.”

He falls to his knees amongst the stars, cursing himself for everything. How could he choose the hexcore over you? Why didn’t he seek you out when he survived the explosion? How did he let himself descend so far into madness that he forgot about your importance to him?

He’s now desperate for you to hear him, pleading the forces that bind his consciousness to this astral plane for another chance. He searches this dimension he’s come to know so well, looking for a loophole or tear in the fabric, but it’s no use. Everything has been closed—his supposed eternal consequence for his abuse of power.

Jayce saved him from himself, a feat he will forever be indebted to him for, but what is the point of redemption if he cannot live it out in his own flesh?

Would there have been a body left for him anyway? Would you still have loved him as the monstrosity he became?

Why must he still be cursed with the full vision of the universe? He sees you continue your life so clearly, but he can’t touch you, can’t speak to you. Your form shines the brightest light he’s ever seem in this dimension, an achievement that is not easily matched. He wonders if you can feel him reaching out to you, some sort of spiritual pull back to him. He will do anything to find a way to talk to you again.

-

You’ve been having dreams—dreams you can’t explain. Ever since Viktor’s disappearance, he’s tormented you day and night, constantly occupying your thoughts without mercy. You can hear his voice, but it sounds so far away you can never make out the words. You just wish it would all stop. You wish you could just erase him and all of the pain from your memory.

Sometimes you still feel a presence, the feeling you used to feel when he was in the same vicinity with you, admiring you from across a room. It’s a familiar warmth that used to wash you with peace, whereas now it makes your heart ache. You suppose it’s a normal symptom of grief, subconsciously denying that he’s really gone.

You start to go through his things he left at your house, beginning with his various textbooks and notebooks he would bring over for studying. Seeing his scribbles and handwriting again brings tears to your eyes, a single drop falling onto the paper as you read.

You blink a few times, seeing a couple of letters on the page start to glow. You must be seeing things, hallucinating from sleep deprivation. You close the journal and open it again, but the glowing letters are still there.

You grab a separate piece of paper and write down each glowing letter, finding fifteen total.

“I - L-O-V-E - Y-O-U - I-M - S-O-R-R-Y”

This isn’t happening. It can’t be.

-

“It’s working! She got my message!” Viktor exclaims.

“How...how are you doing that?” Jayce asks.

“Tiny rips in space—not big enough for either of us to escape through—but certainly big enough to briefly touch that reality,” Viktor pauses, still waiting for a response from you, but it doesn’t come.

-

You close the journal and sob, praying for an end to this misery. Your mind is playing tricks on you, deceiving you to a level you never thought possible. Must you be haunted by this forever? Must you endure the aftermath of this trauma?

You open it once again, the letters still glowing, but they start to fade right in front of your eyes. A new set of letters begin to glow, so you write those down as well.

“I-T-S - M-E - D-A-R-L-I-N-G”

And then another set of letters.

“P-L-E-A-S-E - T-A-L-K - T-O - M-E”

Maybe you’re not imagining.

You’ve heard of magicians who can converse with the dead, and the possibility of other dimensional planes and universes. Viktor himself had some theories about it, although he never pursued proving them. Could it really be possible that your beloved was speaking to you?

“Viktor?” you say out loud. “Are you...are you alive?”

“I - D-O-N-T - K-N-O-W”

The pencil drops from your hand again as your head falls to the table. His consciousness is somehow alive, clearly, but there’s no way he can explain to you where he is and how to get him out one letter at a time. You’re nowhere near his level of intellect—even if he explained how to rescue him like you’re five years old—you fear you still would mess something up.

“Viktor...I can’t do this. You can’t do this to me,” you sigh, daring to look at the words again. “You abandoned me, and now my life is a living hell because of the destruction you helped cause. I want nothing to do with your war and stupid glorious evolution. So if you’re not here to take me away from this life, please go away.”

The same original words start glowing again, brighter each time they sequence:

I love you, I’m sorry.

I love you, I’m sorry.

I love you, I’m sorry.

“Love doesn’t do what you did. Love doesn’t abandon its humanity for power.”

Please forgive me.

“I do forgive you for everything, Viktor. That’s exactly why I need to forget about you, because I will never stop loving you and hurting for it if I don’t.”

With blurry eyes, you close the journal and throw it into the fireplace, regretting it almost immediately. You grab a stick and pull it out, your tears falling onto the soot-stained cover.

“Please, just...find a way back to me.”

I will.

[aventurineswife]

can i request boothill, aventurine, and jing yuan with a jealous gender neutral reader? every time the jealousy tag is added to a fic, it’s always for the character and leaves me wondering what the opposite would be like. feel free to delete if you’ve written something like this before and thank you for your service to the hsr community 🫡

Jealousy, Jealousy

Tags: Boothill x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Jealousy, Emotional Conflict, Fluff with Minor Angst, Romantic Tension, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Protective Partner, Light Humor (?).

Warnings: Mild jealousy and insecurity themes, Brief mentions of violence or conflict(?), Emotional vulnerability, Slight suggestive undertones (Aventurine's part).

A/N: Totally get you because there's not many fics out there where Reader is the ONE who's jealous 🫣, I did the opposite one where the characters were jealous so this my first time writing where the Reader is jealous. Hope you love it!

The smoky haze of the cantina mingled with the scent of leather and gunpowder, a typical night for Boothill. The Galaxy Ranger leaned against the bar, his mechanical fingers tracing the rim of a half-full glass of whiskey. You stood nearby, trying to keep your composure as a stranger—a suave-looking gunslinger—sidled up to Boothill with a sly grin.

“You’ve got quite the reputation,” the stranger drawled, tipping their hat. “A sharpshooter like you must’ve broken a few hearts.”

Boothill chuckled, showing his shark-like teeth. “Nah, hearts ain’t my target. Bullets don’t play favorites.”

The stranger laughed and leaned closer, their words drowned out by the raucous music, but their intentions were crystal clear. Your chest tightened as you watched Boothill’s sharp eyes glint with amusement.

“Hey,” you interrupted, your voice steady but laced with irritation. “Boothill, aren’t you forgetting something?”

He turned to you, eyebrow raised. “What’s that, partner?”

“That I’m the only one who gets to sit that close to you.” you said firmly, crossing your arms.

Boothill’s grin widened as he pushed the stranger back with a mechanical hand. “Well, ain’t that somethin’? Looks like I’m already claimed.” He stood, draping his arm around your shoulders. “Guess you’ll have to find another cowboy to sweet-talk.”

The stranger huffed and walked off, leaving you and Boothill alone. He leaned closer, his voice soft and teasing. “Didn’t know you were the jealous type, sugar.”

You jabbed a finger at his chest. “Maybe if you weren’t so charming, I wouldn’t have to be.”

Boothill laughed, his voice rich and warm. “Don’t you worry. You’re the only one who’s got a claim on this gunslinger.”

The roulette wheel spun, its clinking sound echoing through the luxurious casino. Aventurine stood at the center of attention, effortlessly charming the crowd with his flamboyant gestures and glittering smile. His eyes glinted as he placed another bet, drawing cheers from his admirers.

You stood on the sidelines, your jaw clenched as a particularly bold admirer leaned over, whispering something in his ear. Aventurine’s laughter rang out, smooth and melodious, but it only fueled the fire simmering within you.

You strode forward, catching his wrist just as he reached for another stack of chips. “Having fun?” you asked, your tone sharp enough to slice through his entourage's chatter.

Aventurine blinked, then grinned, clearly amused by your sudden intrusion. “Ah, my lucky charm,” he said, pulling you closer. “Jealous, are we?”

“Maybe I wouldn’t be if you weren’t flirting with half the casino.” you shot back, narrowing your eyes.

He raised an eyebrow, his expression equal parts playful and sincere. “Now, now. You know there’s only one person I’m truly invested in.”

“Then maybe show it more often,” you muttered, glancing at the crowd still watching him with longing gazes.

Aventurine chuckled and leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “If it helps, I only play games I know I’ll win. And with you, darling, the jackpot’s already mine.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips. Aventurine’s charm was infuriatingly effective, and he knew it.

The sun filtered through the branches of the garden, casting dappled shadows on the stone pathway. Jing Yuan reclined on a bench, his eyes half-lidded as he enjoyed the rare moment of peace. You approached quietly, only to pause as you spotted a young soldier eagerly engaging him in conversation.

“You’re so wise, General,” the soldier gushed. “It’s no wonder everyone looks up to you.”

Jing Yuan chuckled, his deep voice smooth as silk. “Wisdom comes with age, and age comes with its own set of burdens.”

The soldier blushed, clearly enamored. Your hands curled into fists as jealousy bubbled up. Jing Yuan noticed your approach, his gaze softening. “Ah, there you are,” he said, waving you over. “Come, join us.”

The soldier glanced at you but didn’t move, still lingering too close for comfort. You stepped forward, meeting Jing Yuan’s gaze with a pointed look. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Not at all,” he replied, patting the bench beside him. “We were just discussing the importance of patience in leadership.”

“I see,” you said, your voice cool. “Well, I hope the lesson was enlightening.”

The soldier finally took the hint and excused themselves, leaving you and Jing Yuan alone. He tilted his head, studying you with a knowing smile. “You seemed… displeased.”

“Maybe I don’t like sharing.” you admitted, crossing your arms.

Jing Yuan reached out, taking your hand in his. “You have nothing to worry about. My heart belongs to you, and no amount of flattery will change that.”

You sighed, feeling the tension drain away as his thumb brushed against your knuckles. “You’re lucky you’re so convincing.”

He chuckled, pulling you closer. “And you’re lucky I find your jealousy endearing.”

[lottins-only]

CROSS THE LINE | Jude Bellingham

pairing: jude bellingham x fem!reader, unnamed fictional RM player x fem!reader

word count: 3.1k

summary: after a fallout with your boyfriend, you find solace in a spontaneous night at the movies, where you run into his golden boy teammate. one thing leads to another and you cross the line.

A/N: first judith fic!! this was really fun to write. (very loosely) based on guilty as sin by taylor swift. let me know what yall think <3

warnings: infidelity (i don't condone it yall its just fun to write morally gray characters 🫣)

someone once told you there’s no such thing as bad thoughts – that it’s your actions that truly define you.

you wonder what they’d say if they saw you now: sitting up in bed with your boyfriend sound asleep beside you, staring at your phone with a pounding heart, silently hoping, waiting, for a message from someone else.

you wait and wait, but there’s nothing. your home screen stays empty, mocking you. you glance at your boyfriend. his shallow breathing fills the quiet room, steady and oblivious.

he has no idea you came home at 3 a.m. wearing his teammate’s jacket.

you'd stuffed it in the back of your closet as soon as you got home, a relic of a night that shouldn’t have happened. you'd scrubbed yourself thoroughly in the shower, trying to wash away the smell of jude’s cologne that clung to your skin. but it’s still there. not on your skin anymore, but in your mind, stamped into your memory to stay forever. 

the way the flickering lights from the movie theater screen cast shadows on his beautiful face, the fleeting feeling of his warm hands on yours as he handed you his jacket, the full body rumble of his laugh, the feel of his soft lips on yours.

you will never forget. how could you, when that was the first time in months you’d felt seen? desired. wanted. needed. it’s an intoxicating feeling, like stepping into the sunlight after living in the shadows for the longest time.

and now, staring at your phone, you feel it all over again. the pull. the wrongness of it all.

a buzz breaks the silence. your heart jumps into your throat as the screen lights up and a single message appears.

jude: you got home safe?

it’s innocent enough. simple. harmless.

you could ignore it. pretend you didn’t see it. block his number and put an end to whatever this is before it spirals into something else.

but instead, your fingers move on their own accord.

you: yeah. thanks for checking.

you press send before you can stop yourself. you lock your phone and put it on the bedside table before closing your eyes and willing yourself to go to sleep.

to your credit, none of this was planned. it all starts earlier that night. you and your boyfriend are supposed to have a date night, a rare opportunity to spend some alone time together. you pick out a dress he once says is his favorite and make a dinner reservation at his favorite spot.

but plans change quickly.

“babe, the guys just texted,” he says, barely looking up from his phone. “they’re hopping on fifa in a bit. you don’t mind if we raincheck, right?”

you stare at him dumbfounded as he flops down onto the couch.

“raincheck?” your voice trembles, the tears obvious, yet he doesn’t even glance at you.

“yeah. just tonight, we’ll do something soon,” he says dismissively.

it’s not the first time he’s blown you off, but tonight it stings a little more. maybe it’s the fact that he’s so indifferent to you and your feelings, he doesn’t even care to notice the relationship is teetering on the edge of a cliff. he doesn’t realize that you’re making an effort to save it while he’s unknowingly contributing to its unraveling.

you realized it too late, but you know now you’re not a partner to him, not really. you’re a glorified accessory, someone he can show off for external validation, a dependable constant in his life that’s only there to cheer him on and make him look good while he gives his attention and energy to the things he actually cares about: his friends, his family, and above all, his football.

it wasn’t like this in the beginning, but things changed quickly after he made the move to real madrid and became a bigger star. with every goal, every headline, and every paparazzi photo, you sank further into the background of his life.

you linger for a moment, waiting for him to change his mind, to look up and realize what he’s doing. but he doesn’t. so you grab your bag and leave without saying another word.

the cinema isn’t your first choice. you wander the streets for a while, debating whether to call a friend or just head home. but you need a distraction, something that can dispel all the thoughts running through your head. so before you know it, you’re buying a single ticket to whatever is playing next.

the theater is almost empty. it isn’t until you sit down and glance at your ticket that you realize you’re not seeing something new, but a re-release of a classic: Goodfellas.

halfway through the movie, you see a figure slip into a seat a few rows ahead of you. a few moments pass, and you feel a pair of eyes boring into the back of your head. it’s distracting, like an itch. you can't bear to ignore it any longer so you turn your head and look straight at the person. the figure quickly shifts his gaze, pretending to be engrossed in the screen. his features are hidden thanks to the hoodie he’s wearing, but his height and broad shoulders give him away as a man.

you hold your gaze for a second longer, just to make sure he gets the message, before turning back to the screen. but your focus is broken after that.

a few more moments pass and you notice the man stand and make his way out of his row. you let out a quiet breath of relief, assuming he’s leaving. but from the corner of your eye, you see the same figure moving toward your seat. your body stiffens immediately. why is he coming your way? maybe it was a bad idea to come to a nearly empty theater alone so late at night.

you watch as he stops in front of you and slightly crouches to not block the view of the screen.

“y/n?” he asks, voice low yet familiar.

“uh, yeah?” you respond warily.

“thought it was you.” he pulls back his hood, revealing the grinning face of jude bellingham.

a wave of embarrassment immediately washes over you. it’s bad enough that your boyfriend doesn’t love you and prefers to spend time playing video games with his friends, but now you have to run into his teammate of all people while you’re publicly wallowing in your misery—his kind, handsome teammate who always makes you flush whenever you cross paths.

this time is no different. your face grows warm as you stutter, “oh! h-hi, jude.”

you brace for the questions: why are you here alone? where’s your boyfriend? why do you have tear stains on your cheeks?

they don’t come though. instead, he gestures to the seat next to you. “mind if i join you? my seat over there was right under the AC; i was freezing.”

you nod. jude flashes you a smile as he takes a seat.

and then nothing. you watch the rest of the movie silently, the only interaction between you being an elbow nudge from him to offer his pack of candy.

he’s completely engrossed. he laughs silently at certain scenes, and in the more intense ones lets out small gasps. for someone else, it might’ve been annoying, but for you, who’s used to your boyfriend’s indifference to everything, you find his enthusiasm refreshing, maybe even a little endearing.

you spend the rest of the movie mentally going through the list of things you know about him : he's the same age as you (your boyfriend begrudgingly posted a birthday wish on his instagram story once), he can't drive (you see him being picked up by a driver whenever you visit valdebebas), he's genuinely nice (he always says hi when he sees you around, and he's politely held a door open for you once or twice), his spanish isn't the best (you once ran into him hopelessly trying to change his order at the canteen, sheepishly apologizing to the annoyed barista before you helped him out), and your boyfriend quietly holds a dislike for him because he's 'attention seeking' ( you secretly think its not his fault that he's charming and easygoing, that he has everyone he meets wrapped around his finger).

when the movie ends and the lights begin to brighten, he turns to you.

"do you wanna get ice cream?"

you hesitate for a moment.

"yeah. i’d love to," you say finally.

you exit the cinema, and when the fresh outdoor air hits you, you ask the question at the tip of your tongue.

"why and how are you here?"

"could ask the same for you," he grins.

"yeah, but—" you begin, but are immediately silenced by the sight in front of you. jude reaches into the pocket of the jacket he's layered over his hoodie and pulls out a dreadlocked toupee. with the straightest face, he carefully pulls down his hood, places the wig on his head, and adjusts it before pulling the hood back up.

you blink.

"you were saying?" the corners of his mouth twitch at your facial expression. without waiting for a reply, he starts walking, leading you away from the cinema.

you walk in tandem, still giving him a confused look. when you catch sight of his (fake) locs swinging along to the rhythm of his steps, you can’t help it; you burst out laughing.

“what’s so funny?” he turns to you, a mock hurt look on his face. “i’m part jamaican, you know.”

you pause your walking, doubling over and clutching your stomach as you laugh. he stands patiently, looking slightly amused.

after you catch your breath and fully recover, you continue walking.

“so that’s how you go places unnoticed?” you ask, still giggling.

“yup,” he says. “otherwise it’s a nightmare. need a bodyguard and stuff.”

you nod sympathetically as you stroll down the quiet street, the soft glow of streetlights casting long shadows on the concrete. jude walks with an easy confidence, his hands in his pockets while you glance over at him and his toupee every so often.

“so,” he says after a moment, glancing sideways at you, “what’s your excuse? why are you at a late night showing of Goodfellas all by yourself?”

your smile falters slightly. you look straight ahead, debating how much to share.

“just needed to get out of the house,” you say with a light tone.

jude doesn’t push, though the way he hums softly in response tells you he notices your answer is only a half-truth.

"what about you?" you ask.

"I like watching movies," he says simply.

when you give him a somewhat confused look, he pulls out his phone and opens the letterboxd app, showing you the extensive list of movies he's marked as watched. you skim through it and you’re surprised by the diversity. the list is seemingly filled with movies of all genres, from classic films to indie flicks. you didn’t expect this side of him, but somehow it makes sense.

as he enthusiastically explains the list, you can't help but feel endeared by the excited look on his face. you have the overwhelming urge to reach out and smooth over his furrowed brow with your finger. but for the first and only time that night, you don't act on that impulse.

you reach a small gelato stand located on a corner of the street, its neon sign glowing softly. jude steps forward and leans against the counter.

“pick whatever you want,” he says, winking as he passes you the menu.

“don’t mind if i do,” you say, raising an eyebrow. you ignore the way his words make you feel—warm and fluttery, like this is a first date between two single people.

after a moment of deliberation, you pick pistachio and hazelnut, watching as jude leans in to order the same for himself.

“you copying me?”

“nah,” he says with a smirk, passing your cone to you from the server. “just figured you have good taste.”

you wander away from the stand, both of you savoring your ice cream. for a while, you walk in comfortable silence. at one point, he removes the ridiculous wig from his head. it isn’t until you reach a park bench that jude breaks the silence.

"you know," he starts. "i haven’t seen you at a lot of games lately. everything good between you and your boyfriend?"

“‘your boyfriend?’” you tease. “why not call him by his name? you guys have beef or something?”

he stays silent.

you gasp half-jokingly. “oh my god! tell me everything, so i can sell the story to the tabloids.”

he lets out a laugh at that.

“you’re ridiculous,” he says, shaking his head, but there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“c’mon, spill,” you tease, nudging his arm lightly. “is he, like, selfish? does he refuse to pass during games?”

jude chuckles, shaking his head again. “nah, nothing like that. he’s a good player. talented, hardworking… you just start noticing things when you’re around someone all the time, you know?”

he says it carefully, almost hesitantly. you tilt your head at him. “notice things like what?”

he shrugs, his gaze dropping to his melting cone. “like… maybe he doesn’t appreciate what he’s got.”

the words hang in the air between you. you don't know how to respond, so you just gaze down at your own ice cream.

"sorry," jude says quickly. "didn't mean to overstep. i just—forget it."

"no, it's fine," you say quietly. "you're not wrong."

you sit in silence for a few moments. you feel him lean back against the bench, and the next time he speaks, his tone is lighter.

"my dad's coming to visit tomorrow," he says casually, an excited undertone in his voice.

"yeah? that's nice. does he come often?"

"not as much as i'd like," jude admits. "he's got my little brother to worry about in sunderland."

you smile softly. “what do you guys usually do when he visits?”

"usually we grab some food..."

he speaks about his bond with his dad, and also his close relationship with both his brother and mother. soon the conversation moves to childhood memories; jude tells you stories about growing up in birmingham, the football academy there, how he met his best friends at school. in return, you share stories of your own childhood, each one met with genuine curiosity from jude. you laugh, the conversation feeling effortlessly easy and natural.

it isn’t until you pull out your phone and glance at the screen to check the time that reality crashes back in. you have a boyfriend waiting for you at home. a boyfriend who hasn’t called, hasn’t texted, hasn’t even noticed that you’ve walked out of his house.

you lick the last remnants of your ice cream and are just about to crunch into the cone when jude gestures toward your chin. “you’ve got a little…” he says, trailing off as he points.

“oh,” you mumble while jude scans your surroundings for a tissue. finding none, he leans in and gently swipes at the bit of ice cream with his thumb.

“got it,” he murmurs, his touch lingering just a second longer than required.

what happens next can only be described as a a lapse in thinking, or maybe something you've been holding back all night. before your brain can catch up with your actions, you grab his hand and bring his thumb to your lips. you lick the ice cream away, your eyes flicking up to meet his.

jude freezes, his breath catching, his deep brown eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart race.

"i—" you start, but whatever explanation you're about to give disappears when jude leans closer, his hand hovering near your face, as if waiting for your permission.

you don’t pull away. you don’t want to.

his lips brush against yours, hesitant at first, testing the waters. when you don’t push him away or move back, when, instead, you lean into him, his kiss deepens. it’s slow and deliberate, like he has all the time in the world to memorize every inch of you.

the ice cream cone in your hand is forgotten, melting onto the pavement as your fingers tangle into his hoodie, pulling him closer. the world fades, leaving just the two of you in your little bubble.

when you finally pull apart, your breaths mingle in the night air and jude’s forehead rests against yours.

“jude…” you whisper, but you don’t know how to finish the sentence.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression serious. “tell me if I’ve crossed a line. i don’t want to make things harder for you.”

your heart flutters at the genuine care in his tone. you shake your head. “no, you didn’t.”

he doesn't keep his lips off you after that.

the next morning, you wake up feeling better than you have in months. there's a lightness in your chest, a warmth that’s been missing for what feels like forever.

you glance at your boyfriend, expecting to feel guilt or remorse. but there’s nothing. no pang of regret, no twist in your stomach. you feel... nothing at all.

you watch him roll out of bed and get ready for training. not a word passes between you as you sit down together in the kitchen to eat breakfast.

“so, what does your day look like today?” you try.

he doesn’t even look up, his attention entirely on his phone, scrolling with one hand while holding his fork with the other.

“i have a meeting at work that’s pretty—“ you start, but he cuts off.

“we’re doing penalty drills,” he mutters without looking up. “need to score more than bellingham so i can wipe that smug smile off his face. did you know he gets paid more than me?”

you just stare at him. you wonder what you even saw in him all those years ago. how had you overlooked the bitterness in his eyes, the envy? how had you missed it all along, his resentment towards anyone who seemed happier, luckier, more successful? his good looking face looks distorted to you now, forever changed to you to reflect the ugliness he holds inside. its as if you’re seeing him for who he really is for the very first time.

your phone buzzes on the table. without even checking, you know who it’s from.

jude: good morning :) sleep well?

you see it for what it is: an invitation to step into dangerous territory, to cross the line once more. a lifeline offering escape from the sinking ship that is your relationship.

you decide to take it.

you type a quick response and set the phone down. your boyfriend is grinning at an instagram reel now, completely absorbed.

you don’t speak to each other for the remainder of breakfast. this time it doesn't bother you at all.

[xoxochb]

okay okay hold on hear me out- guitarist percy :0 like.... sitting on his lap while he tunes/fixes his guitar (his hands AHHHHHHH-) and it turns into y'all doing things idk go wild also if ur taking emoji anons can I be 🪐 or 🐾 anon? ty lovely! :D

you can be whichever emoji, I don’t have either of them yet :)

cw: fingering, overstimulation-ish, thigh riding, swearing, percy is mean and teases reader, n this might be the longest smut fic I’ve ever written tbh…

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

you’re pretty sure he’s aware of what he’s doing to you. it’s utterly tantalizing watching percy tune his guitar so deliberately with his calloused fingers, at the mere thought you feel a rush of pooling heat in your core. your arms tighten around his shoulders at this— yet he does nothing to stop his movements with the stupid guitar. It makes you jealous that an inanimate object is receiving more attention than you are, and that he’s handling it with care. you grow father frustrated.

though you don’t say anything in hopes he’ll realize himself. but you’re pretty sure he’s far to oblivious to notice that you’re internally fighting your hormone demons. you shift your position on his lap so one of his thighs rests between your legs, the sudden patting of your own thighs having you realize the wetness of your poor panties. percy adjusts his arm around your waist with your new position, still keeping you close to him while his eyes never leave the instrument.

slowly, you begin to grind your hips, barely, but just enough for you to feel even a tad bit of friction. with your sudden movements, percy at last looks up to you.

“you alright, sweet girl?”

you nod. “‘m fine. continue.”

he knows that’s a lie. for first, your cheeks flush a pink hue and he can feel the progressive ragged rate of your breathing growing faster with every thrust of your hips along his thigh. you watch as his fingers still toy around with the guitar, having your hips move at a faster pace the more you look. you can’t help the soft whimper that escapes your lips at this point. it’s growing unbearable for you to handle.

“perce… can- will you-”

what you’re trying to say is beyond your capacity of understanding at the moment. the words quickly diminish off your tongue as soon as they come out. percy understands what you’re trying to get at, however, laughing and tossing (placing— whatever) his guitar to the side, placing both of his hands now on your waist as you continue grinding along him.

teasingly, he begins pecking along your neck, only adding onto the heat between your thighs. bitch. and you’re sure he’s aware of what he’s doing to you because at this point your intentions are entirely obvious and blatant. you manage to ask him once again to do something. he obliges to your advances and tugs down the zipper of your denim shorts, yet this isn’t enough, you plead for him to hurry his pace.

when he eventually manages to slip your shorts off, his hand instantly finds itself running along your clothed clit— and not to his surprise your lacy panties are drenched.

“gods, you’re soaked.”

“no fucking shit. I wonder why.”

percy laughs again at your clear frustration with him, kissing your jaw now. at a second slow rate he slides those off now too, shoving them into his pocket. you shudder at this. his finger trails from your waist, your hip, and down to your inner thigh, tormenting you with a light brush over your clit.

“percy… please.”

“have patience, sweet girl.”

you dig your nails into his skin in retaliation. he doesn’t react and goes on with his movements. absentmindedly, you whisper quiet begs into his ear until he gives into you and plugs a singular finger into you. you moan from pure pleasure, dipping your head onto his shoulder. your brain grows fuzzy like television static— you practically hear it too.

“perce- fuck- I…”

you’re not entirely sure what you were trying to say. but regardless of this, percy plugs a second finger into you, curling them in a way that makes your tummy twist into knots. you clench around his fingers and in return feel his smile against the skin of your neck. you grind into them as they reach a deeper portion of your insides, trying to reach your climax as you feel it creeping upon you. and percy doesn’t stop for a second, it makes your whole body burn with the sensation of utter pleasure.

your legs nearly give out from the trouble of holding yourself up with them. you’re sure they’ll hurt tomorrow. and not only are your legs a problem, you can’t fucking breathe, concentrate, function properly, do anything in fact, if you’re being completely honest. not until, mocking the trolly problem, like they conductor— in this case percy— had chose to hit you instead of five other people, your orgasm hits you.

you fist a handful of his shirt sleeves into your palms as you ride out the feeling— trying to prolong it as long as you possibly can before his fingers leave you (wanting more, ultimately). panting, you lift your head up to see percy who licks his fingers clean, you let out a quiet moan at the mere idea of that. his hands return, now, back around your waist to steady you as you come down from your high.

“doin’ alright, sweet girl?”

actually, no, you’re entirely wrecked. but it’s better to know that he chose to finger you instead of the damn guitar.

[puppym3]

pairing: changbin x afab!reader

wc: 3.4k

warnings: MDNI 18+, fluff, humor, a lot of cringy but cute back-and-forth, changbin almost burns the house down, oral (f and m rec), overstim, ingestion of certain fluid, they're in love fr

a/n: me going through my inbox is just a way for me to delay having to finish my lee know fic :( BUT I ENJOYED WRITING THIS SM thank you anon i love u

♡.﹀﹀ ﹀﹀.♡

The kitchen smelled like ambition.

Or maybe it was just the faint aroma of something on the verge of burning.

“Bin,” you called, watching your boyfriend juggle chopping onions, stirring a pot of boiling water, and checking the oven. His brow glistened with concentration, his tongue poking out in that adorable way he always did when he was trying too hard. “You’re gonna lose control of this entire operation.”

“No, I’m not!” Changbin barked, glancing between the stovetop and the cutting board like they were part of a high-stakes mission. “I’ve got this!”

It was a bold statement for someone whose onions were uneven, whose pasta water threatened to overflow, and whose oven timer was blinking aggressively like a silent SOS.

You leaned against the counter, trying to contain a smile. After weeks of playful jabs about his limited culinary repertoire, Changbin had insisted he’d cook dinner tonight. Secret lessons with Chan and Felix had boosted his confidence, but clearly, multitasking wasn’t part of the curriculum.

“I don’t mean to sound dramatic,” you teased, eyeing the smoke wafting from the pan, “but I think something’s dying over there.”

He whipped around, panicked, spotting the chicken in the skillet that was quickly approaching charred territory. “Oh no, no, no!” Grabbing the spatula, he flipped the pieces frantically, knocking a spoon off the counter in the process.

You couldn’t hold it in anymore; you burst out laughing. “You’re trying so hard! Look at you!”

“Stop laughing!” he pouted, eyes wide and a little frantic. “I’m doing this for you, you know!”

Your heart melted. He was a sweaty, stressed-out, multitasking mess, but he was your mess. Crossing the room, you leaned over and plucked the spatula from his hands, gently pushing him aside. “Okay, okay. Let me help before we set the smoke alarm off.”

Changbin groaned, leaning his head against the cabinet in defeat. “I really thought I could do it all.”

“You can do it all. Just… not all at once.” You grinned, tilting his chin up so you could look into his dark, sulky eyes. “But you’re trying, and that’s so sweet. You deserve a kiss for that.”

Before he could protest, you leaned in and pecked him on the lips. His scowl melted instantly.

“And another kiss for being so cute while you’re at it,” you added, stealing another quick one.

Changbin narrowed his eyes, a mischievous smile creeping onto his lips. “Are you bribing me with kisses to get me out of cooking duty?”

“Is it working?”

“Absolutely.”

The kitchen forgotten, Changbin pulled you close, his hands warm against your waist. His lips found yours, softer and slower this time, his earlier stress dissolving into something sweeter. But, of course, it wouldn’t be Changbin without a little chaos, his foot accidentally knocked into the open oven door, jolting both of you.

“Careful!” you yelped, pulling back as he winced.

“See? I can’t even focus on kissing you without messing something up.” He sighed dramatically, shaking his head.

“Oh, poor baby,” you cooed, stroking his cheek. “Maybe multitasking isn’t your thing, but you’ve got other talents.”

“Like what?” His tone was skeptical, but his grin was boyish, teasing.

“Hmm, let’s see…” You pretended to think, tapping your chin. “You’re great at lifting heavy things, making me laugh, being ridiculously hot…”

Changbin raised an eyebrow. “Ridiculously hot, huh?”

"Mmmhm, especially in this incredibly sexy apron. And in general, actually." You reached around him, giving his ass a little squeeze. "This is also a good asset."

He snorted, pulling you close and nuzzling his nose against your neck. "And my incredibly tall height? What about that?"

"Oh, I've always been attracted to short sexy men."

You squealed, bursting into giggles as he began to tickle your sides. He lifted you off the ground easily, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, kissing him soundly.

"See, lifting heavy things," you said breathlessly as he lowered you.

Changbin set you back on the ground gently, his grin widening at your flushed cheeks and breathless laughter. “I’m glad my assets are appreciated,” he teased, his deep voice dripping with playful arrogance.

“Oh, more than appreciated,” you shot back, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Adored. Worshipped. Cherished, even.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm as his hands slid to your hips, holding you firmly against him. “You better not be saying all this just to distract me from cooking.”

“Maybe I am,” you admitted, leaning closer until your lips brushed his ear. “Because I’d rather have you focus on me instead of burning down the apartment.”

Changbin’s breath hitched, his fingers tightening their grip on your waist. “Dangerous,” he murmured, his voice lower now, laced with something that made your stomach flutter. “You’re playing a dangerous game, baby.”

You tilted your head, brushing a kiss along his jaw. “Am I?”

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he turned, pinning you gently against the counter, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “You know I’m bad at multitasking,” he whispered, his lips a breath away from yours. “So if you want all my attention, you’re gonna get it.”

Your teasing grin faltered under his heated gaze, your heart hammering as his hands traveled from your hips to your lower back, pulling you impossibly closer. His lips met yours with more intensity this time, his earlier playfulness replaced with something deeper, hungrier.

The kiss deepened quickly, his hands roaming as he pressed you against the cool counter. You could feel the warmth of his body, the firmness of his chest against yours, and the way his lips moved with an urgency that made your knees weak.

“Changbin,” you breathed, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him even closer.

“Hmm?” he hummed against your lips, his mouth curving into a mischievous smile.

“You’re gonna forget about the stove,” you managed to gasp between kisses.

“Let it burn,” he growled, lifting you effortlessly onto the counter. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, anchoring him in place as his lips found the sensitive spot beneath your ear.

You gasped, tilting your head back as he kissed down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to send shivers racing down your spine. His hands slid under your shirt, his touch warm and firm as he explored the curve of your waist.

“You’re so distracting,” he murmured against your collarbone, his voice tinged with mock frustration. “How am I supposed to focus on anything when you look at me like that?”

“I could say the same thing about you,” you shot back, tugging at his shirt.

He grinned, stepping back just enough to pull his shirt over his head before diving back in, capturing your lips in another searing kiss. The combination of his warmth, his strength, and the way he was completely focused on you was enough to make your head spin.

Your fingers trailed over the toned muscles of his chest and shoulders, marveling at the way they tensed under your touch. “Ridiculously hot,” you muttered, earning a breathy laugh from him.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” he quipped, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke.

His hands gripped your thighs, sliding higher as his kisses became slower, more deliberate, each one drawing a soft sound from your lips. You tugged him closer, lost in the heat of the moment until—

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

You jumped, pulling back with a start as the smoke alarm screeched through the room. Changbin spun around, swearing under his breath as he hurried to turn the stove off, the chicken now burned beyond recognition.

"Fuck," he mumbled, grabbing the pan and moving it to the sink, a thick trail of smoke following in his wake.

You hopped off the counter, hurrying to open the window, hoping the cold winter air would help dissipate the smoke. After a few moments, the beeping finally stopped, leaving just you, dying with laughter, reeling from the adrenaline and Changbin, standing shirtless and slightly embarrassed, surrounded by a cloud of smoke.

"So much for dinner," he muttered, shooting you a sheepish smile.

"I can think of something else we can have for dinner," you said, crossing the room and wrapping your arms around his neck.

"What's that?"

You smirked, giving him a quick peck on the lips.

"Something that you can put all of your attention into," you whispered, feeling him shiver as your words ghosted across his lips.

"And what's that?" he asked, his voice lower now, thick with the desire you knew had been simmering between the two of you since the beginning.

"Me."

"You sure about that? I might just burn more than the dinner if I focus on you."

You grinned, tracing the edge of his jaw with your finger. "Well, it’s not like you're any good at multitasking anyway," you teased, lifting your chin defiantly. "I’m sure you can handle me just fine if you give me your full attention."

He let out a low chuckle, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed together. "Oh, I’m about to give you all my attention, baby. Trust me, you won’t be complaining."

A flutter of excitement washed over you at his words, and you couldn’t help but bite your lip, leaning in to whisper in his ear. "Good. Because if I’m the only thing on your mind right now, I might just make you forget everything else… including that chicken you ruined."

"Forget the chicken?" Changbin murmured, his lips brushing against your neck as he nipped gently at the soft skin there. "What chicken?"

You sighed, your breath hitching as his hands slid down to grip your hips, his thumbs brushing over the waistband of your jeans. "You’re getting bold, huh?" you teased, glancing up at him with a challenging look.

"Bold?" He raised an eyebrow, his voice dropping to a deep, almost sinful tone.

The air between you two grew thicker with tension as he pressed you up against the counter again, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that left no room for hesitation. The kiss was deeper, more insistent, as if he was trying to imprint himself on you, claiming you in every way he knew how.

You moaned softly against his lips, your hands sliding down his chest, feeling the way his muscles flexed under your touch. "Maybe you are good at focusing on just one thing," you teased, pulling away slightly, your voice breathless.

Changbin’s smile grew, his hand slipping under the hem of your shirt, sending a jolt of heat through you. "And I can assure you, you’re going to be my only focus tonight."

Before you could respond, he kissed you again, this time with more urgency, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that made your pulse quicken. His hands roamed lower, tracing the curves of your body as he pulled you even closer, his body pressing into yours as if he couldn't get enough.

You couldn't either.

You tugged at his belt, trying to free the buckle, desperate to feel his bare skin against yours. "You're not the only one who can get distracted," you panted, finally getting the stubborn thing undone.

Changbin grinned, his hands finding their way under the waistband of your jeans, squeezing the flesh of your ass and making you gasp. "Aren't you going to let me eat my meal up? You did promise me dinner," he teased, nipping at your bottom lip.

"Who says you're the only one eating tonight?"

"Oh, really? Is that a challenge, baby?" His hands were back on the button of your pants, quickly undoing them and sliding them down your hips. "Because if it is, I'm ready."

You leaned in, capturing his lips in a searing kiss, reveling in the way he groaned against you, the sound sending a rush of heat straight between your legs. "Bring it," you murmured, tugging at his belt loops.

"You don't have to tell me twice."

He grabbed your thighs, pulling you close, his hands firm and steady as he lifted you. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his hips, and your arms around his neck, clinging to him tightly as he carried you into the bedroom.

As soon as your back hit the mattress, he was on top of you, his hands roaming over your body, exploring every inch of you with an intensity that had your skin buzzing with anticipation.

"Now," he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "Where were we?"

You arched into his touch, desperate for more. "Right about here, I think."

He chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "That's right."

His hands were back under your shirt, sliding the fabric over your head before tossing it aside. You were already working on his buttoned pants, tugging the zipper down as he unclasped your bra, the garment quickly joining the rest of your clothes on the floor.

Changbin took a moment to admire you, his gaze trailing over your naked body, a fire in his eyes that had you aching for him.

"I'm definitely hungry now," he muttered, his voice thick with desire.

"So am I," you whispered, tugging at his waistband. "Take these off and feed me."

"Bossy." He grinned, quickly discarding his remaining clothes. "Is this better?"

You bit your lip, your eyes drinking in the sight of him, naked and hard and waiting for you. "Much better."

Without another word, he leaned down, his lips trailing over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You shivered, a soft moan escaping your lips as his tongue traced circles around your clit, teasing you relentlessly.

Your hands gripped the sheets, trying to anchor yourself, but it was impossible when his touch was setting every nerve ending alight. His fingers parted you, and his tongue swirled around your clit, lapping at you in long, languid strokes.

"F-fuck," you gasped, the pleasure washing over you in waves.

Changbin smiled against you, his eyes flickering up to meet yours as he continued his delicious torture, his tongue exploring every inch of you until you were a whimpering mess.

"Oh my god," you panted, your back arching off the bed as he slid two fingers inside of you, his movements slow and deliberate.

"This tastes way better than any burnt chicken," he murmured, his breath hot against you.

Before you could respond, he curled his fingers, finding the sweet spot deep inside you and making you cry out. "Shit, right there."

"Mmm, like that, baby?" he asked, his tone low and teasing.

"Y-yes," you moaned, unable to stop the string of whimpers that fell from your lips.

He picked up the pace, his fingers thrusting in and out of you while his tongue lapped at your clit, the combined sensations pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Your hands tangled in his hair, your hips bucking as the pleasure built, every muscle in your body tensing in anticipation.

"Changbin, I'm gonna—"

Your words were cut off by a loud moan as the orgasm crashed over you, his tongue and fingers guiding you through the wave of ecstasy.

You collapsed against the mattress, gasping for breath, your whole body tingling with satisfaction.

"God, you taste so fucking good," Changbin groaned, his lips moving over your clit in slow, lazy circles as he worked you down from your high.

"Wait- wait," you managed to say between gasps, tugging at his hair.

He pulled away, his eyes dark and filled with lust. "What's wrong, baby?"

"Nothing, just- fuck, I need a minute," you said, trying to catch your breath.

Changbin's lips curved into a mischievous grin, his eyes sparkling with a dangerous glint. "No can do, baby. I'm hungry, and you promised me dinner."

With that, he leaned down, his mouth finding your sensitive clit once again, his tongue moving with renewed intensity. You cried out, overstimulation making sparks shoot down your spine.

"Wait- fuck!"

He ignored your pleas, his hands gripping your thighs, holding you in place as his tongue swirled around your clit, his pace quickening. Your moans filled the room, the sound echoing off the walls as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

"Oh my god, Changbin," you gasped, your hands grasping at the sheets, the pleasure threatening to overwhelm you.

His fingers dug into your thighs, the pressure almost bruising as he pulled you closer, his tongue flicking over your clit, relentless and demanding.

"Changbin- I- fuck, I'm gonna—"

The rest of the words died on your lips, swallowed by the scream that ripped from your throat as the orgasm tore through you. He didn't stop, his tongue continuing to work over your clit, drawing the pleasure out until you were shaking and trembling beneath him.

"Holy fuck," you breathed, the room spinning as you struggled to catch your breath.

"That's what I like to hear," Changbin murmured, his lips grazing the skin of your inner thigh.

"Jesus, Bin, give me a second," you said, still gasping for air.

He grinned, sitting up and looking at you with a smug expression. "What's the matter, baby? Can't keep up with me?"

You scoffed, narrowing your eyes. "It's just, I think it's not fair if you get to eat and I can't."

He tilted his head, considering your words. "I guess you're right."

"And you know what's really not fair? Not being able to take a breather after a mind-blowing orgasm."

"You're the one who said I should put all my attention on one thing," he retorted, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Yeah, well, I didn't mean like that."

"Hmm, I think you did," he replied, leaning in and kissing the spot right behind your ear, the one that always made your toes curl.

"You're insatiable," you whispered, your breath hitching as his hand trailed over the curve of your waist, his touch leaving goosebumps in its wake.

You pushed him back, not giving him a chance to catch you off guard again, finding your way in between his legs. "My turn," you smirked, running your fingers along the length of his cock.

His breath hitched, his eyes following your movements intently, darkening with desire.

You leaned forward, kissing the tip before taking him into your mouth. He let out a low groan, his hand tangling in your hair, his grip firm but gentle.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned, his voice strained.

The taste of him was intoxicating, and you couldn't help but moan around him, the sound vibrating through your lips.

His grip tightened in your hair, pulling you closer as he let out a string of curses.

"Fuck, that feels so good," he gasped, his hips bucking against your mouth.

You looked up at him through your lashes, his expression making heat pool in the pit of your stomach. His eyes were closed, his jaw clenched, and his face was flushed with desire.

"Baby, please," he moaned, his voice low and raspy.

You continued to suck him off, working your tongue along the underside of his cock, reveling in the way he came undone under your touch.

"Fuck, I'm close," he warned, his fingers tightening in your hair.

You didn't let up, your hands gripping his thighs as you bobbed your head, taking him deeper with each stroke.

His grip on your hair tightened, his hips bucking erratically as he neared the edge.

"Baby, fuck, I'm gonna come," he groaned, his voice thick with arousal.

You moaned, the vibrations sending him over the edge. He came with a strangled cry, his release spilling down your throat.

You swallowed every drop, your eyes never leaving his as you worked him through his orgasm. The taste was addictive, and you couldn't help but lick him clean, savoring every moment.

"Fuck," he breathed, his body trembling.

"See, that's not so bad, is it?" you teased, sitting back on your heels and licking your lips.

"Not bad at all," he panted, a lazy smile playing on his lips.

You kissed the tip of his cock, smiling up at him. "Good."

"Fuck, you're gonna be the death of me," he muttered, his eyes glazed over with pleasure.

You grinned, crawling up the bed and settling next to him, your head resting on his chest. "Good."

He pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "You're amazing."

"I know."

"And so fucking sexy," he added, his voice dropping to a low, sultry tone.

"I know that too."

Before he could say anything else, you heard his stomach growl, making you giggle. "Maybe we should order some actual food."

"Mmm, good idea," he said, his lips curving into a lazy smile.

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

taglist for my lovelies : @loverbangchan, @reignessance, @imperfectlyperfectprincess1, @armystay89, @ihrtlix, @jiyeonslays, @lovestaysblogs, @jeyelleohe, @celebration88, @honeyybbuubblleess

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Apologies ~ Love That Burns

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST / EVERYDAY MOMENTS MASTERLIST

Word Count: 1,440ish

Summary: After living alone together for less than a year, you and Logan fight.

Notes: I know that CUDDLES had the most votes for next, but this was ready first. This fic goes with my series, Love That Burns! Please give it a read!

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks! 

Logan and you had been living at your old house for less than a year. Your relationship was getting better, but the rough patches were still rough. Lately, Logan had been working eighty-hour work weeks. When he came home, he would smoke a cigar and drink before turning in for the night. Logan was moody with you and barely helped around the house. It was frustrating as Logan had promised when you arrived, only to work part-time and that the duties around the house were for both of you to complete. Your frustration caused you to be moody as well, not helping with the situation.

It was late in the evening, and you were putting away a cold dinner that had been waiting for Logan as he arrived home. The tension was thick in the air. Logan’s boots were loud against the wood floor as he came into the kitchen and grabbed one of his cigars from off of the counter.

“I made dinner,” you grumbled as you closed the fridge. 

“Not hungry,” Logan huffed, placing the cigar between his lips. “Do you mind?” He motioned to the cigar.

You scoffed. “Actually, I do. Feel free to light the damn cigar yourself and take it outside. I’m going to bed.”

“What’s got you in a mood?”

“Are you serious?”

“I just don't think that I need to be snapped out for asking for a simple favor. I have been working overtime, and I just thought you could do something for me.”

“Do something for you? All I ever do is stuff for you! I make dinner every night, only for you not to come home in time or even eat it. Do you even eat?”

“I do, at the bar.”

“Alcohol isn’t food, Logan.”

“It seems to do the job just fine.”

“Logan… I… I miss you. You’re gone more than you're here. And when you're here, it's like you're still somewhere else.”

“The lumberyard is short-staffed. I have to work.”

“Yes, but you could still come back home to me instead of stopping by the bar. You go to the bar, and I stay up waiting for you with a wasted dinner. When you come back, you're tired and distant. You either go to bed before me or long after me. We barely talk anymore—“

“I’m trying here, sweetheart. This,” he motioned around the room, “is new for me. The not running, the not fighting is hard.”

“So, are you regretting coming here?”

"That's not what I said.”

“But it’s what you're feeling, isn’t it? This is all too much… I’m too much.”

“Now, wait a second; I never mentioned anything about you.”

“That's part of the problem. We came here to work on our communication, but you're shutting me out!”

“You knew that communication wasn't easy for me when we got into this. You can't expect me to change overnight.”

“I know that, but I thought that we were getting better. That we…"

“That we what? That we were going back to the way it was before, the first time we lived in this house? We've changed---I've changed. You can’t compare the two.”

“I'm not!”

“The pressure you are continually putting on me sure feels like you are.”

“I’m not trying to, but any pressure on you, Logan. If that’s how you're feeling, you need to be honest about it.”

Logan scoffed. “It’s not that easy.”

“It can be. If you come home and be home."

“What do you want me to do? Quit?”

“I’m not asking you to quit. You just need to find a balance.”

“I need to find a balance? Maybe what I need is different than you think.”

“Then tell me!” Your hands went up in flames at the frustration of this roundabout conversation. You quickly stepped back and stopped the flames. The tension in the air was thicker than it ever had been. “I... I’m going on a walk.”

“It’s too late for a walk."

“I’ll be fine.”

“Y/N—“

“Logan, let me go before we say something we both regret. I won’t be long. Just need to clear my head.”

Before Logan could argue more, you slipped out the back door and headed towards the trees. Logan remained still in the kitchen, his mind replaying the past few weeks and the argument that had just occurred. You were right, he had been distant and working more hours than he should. He was scared. In all honestly, Logan was enjoying the simplicity of life. But it was something that could be taken away at any moment. He couldn't allow himself to enjoy it more so he buried himself in work and alcohol, not ever considering the effect it would have on you.

~~~

You knew that Logan was scared to open up and enjoy life. You were scared, too. Your lives had continually been changed, ripping away your happiness. But you couldn’t let that stop you from enjoying life. You need to hold on to the good while you can, and not worry about the future.

You were so caught up in your own thoughts, that you lost track of time and where you were. It was still dark outside and even your flames couldn't help guide you in the correct direction. You knew that Logan was probably concerned and would begin searching for you. At least, you hoped. Finding a small clearing, you put together a pile of wood and lit it on fire. You sat against a nearby tree, hoping that Logan would find you.

~~~

Logan had practically paced a large path in the kitchen as he waited for you to return. It was past midnight now, with no word from you. It was growing concerned. What if you got injured? What if someone took you? What if you were dead? All of his worst fears came crushing through his mind, making him grow more concerned and more guilt-ridden. 

Logan went out the back, eyes searching through the darkness to see any sign of you. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. His heart clenched as the familiar smoke smell struck his senses. Logan’s eyes snapped open and caught sight of the smoke rising above the tree line. Thankfully, his legs moved before his mind could fully comprehend. All he could think about was that there was a possibility of something wrong with you. Well, more wrong than the fight you two had. He wouldn’t forgive himself if something happened to you.

“Y/N!” Logan yelled as he sprinted through the forest. “Y/N!”

When he broke into the clearing where the fire was, Logan stumbled to a stop. His eyes frantically searched for you, finally catching a glimpse of your feet on the other side of the fire. He rushed over and knelt beside your curled-up form. His hands roamed you for injuries.

“Y/N, honey,” he pleaded as he continued to search you for injuries.

“L—Logan?” You said groggily as you began to wake.

He breathed a little sigh of relief as you responded. “Come on, sweetheart. It’s time to come home.” With ease, he picked you up. You killed the fire as your arms wrapped around his neck.

“I knew you would find me,” you mumbled as you let Logan carry you home.

“Always, sweetheart.” Logan carried you all the way to bed and held you close as the two of you settled in.

“Logan? I—“

He quickly shushed you. “We’ll talk in the morning. Let me hold you. Sleep.”

“Okay… love you.”

He kissed your head. “Love you more.”

~~~

You were tucked into Logan's chest when you woke. He was already awake, not wanting to lose you from his grip.

“Morning,” you looked up at him.

“Morning,” he leaned down and kissed your head.

“We need to talk."

“I know… I’m sorry… For everything. I’m not meaning to be distant. I’m still figuring this whole thing out. How to just work and come home and be the man you need me to be… I’m sorry."

“I know. I'm sorry, too. I know that I need to be more patient.”

"I'm going to tell the lumberyard I can only work part-time like originally agreed upon. I’m going to be home for dinners and to help you around the house.”

“Logan, I just need more communication. If you're not going to be home, I need to know.”

“I’ll work on it. I promise.” He pulled you up to have better access to your face. “I love you so much, sweetheart. Thanks for sticking with me.”

“You’re stuck with me, Howlett, no matter what.”

[eatmyheartoutjpg]

𓇻 𝗦𝗠𝗢𝗞𝗘𝗗 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗦 ˢᵉᵛⁱᵏᵃ ˣ ᵍⁿ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 ;; Shortfic. Romantic, Established Relationship. You don't smoke, Sevika does. She likes to tease you about this fact in a more intimate way. 𝘼/𝙉 ;; I have written TOO much Ambessa and Silco fics recently.. and I also should pop back onto the wagon of headcanons b/c these short fics are taking me out

11.28.24 Masterlist

The Last Drop was alive with its usual chaos: drunken laughter, clinking glasses, and the occasional fights breaking out in the far bootjs.

But your attention wasn’t on the noise or the dimly lit crowd. It was on Sevika.

She was sitting close, leaning back in her chair with that signature air of confidence, her metal arm draped casually over the back of the seat. In her other hand was a cigarette, the small ember casting a faint orange light across her sharp features.

She exhaled a steady puff of smoke, the scent sharp and familiar, and it curled around you in lazy tendrils. It made your eyes water ever so slightly.

“You’re staring,” she said, her tone amused as she raised an eyebrow at you.

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “I’m not staring. I’m observing.”

“Oh, yeah?” Sevika leaned forward, her smirk growing. “And what exactly are you observing?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way her intense gaze made you feel nervous. “I don’t get how you can smoke so much without keeling over. Doesn’t it ever bother you?”

She laughed, low and rough, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. “Bother me? Nah. But I bet you wouldn’t last two seconds.”

Your nose wrinkled in response. “Not my thing.”

“Not yet,” she countered, her smirk widening as she took another slow drag. She exhaled deliberately, the smoke curling between you both as she leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a teasing murmur. “Maybe I’ll teach you.”

Your eyes narrowed, but your heart skipped a beat at the proximity. “And why would I want to learn?”

“Because,” Sevika said, shifting her chair closer so your knees almost touched. “You’re curious. Don’t lie.”

Before you could reply, she held the cigarette to her lips, taking another slow inhale. Then, in a move that was both unexpected and intimate, she leaned forward, cupping your chin gently with her metal fingers as her lips brushed against yours. You barely had time to react before she exhaled the smoke in your face, aiming for your mouth. Your eyes watered as it was too close to your face, curling into your senses. Her lips lingered int he same position, just enough to make your head spin.

You held back the urge to cough in her face, instead opting to wrinkle your face in discomfort.

The sensation was overwhelming. The warmth, smoke, and Sevika all at once. When she pulled back, you were left blinking, your breath caught in your throat.

“See?” she murmured, her smirk practically dripping with satisfaction. “Not so bad, is it?”

You coughed lightly, waving a hand in front of your face. “Not bad? You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” she replied, leaning back in her chair, clearly pleased with herself. “But you didn’t pull away.”

You glared at her, though the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you. “That doesn’t mean I liked it.”

“Sure it doesn’t,” Sevika said with a chuckle, her deep voice laced with amusement.

From that moment, it became a game for her. She seemed to delight in pushing your boundaries, finding excuses to involve her cigarettes in the most teasing, intimate ways. She’d hold one to your lips, her touch firm yet gentle, watching with a smug grin as you reluctantly took a hesitant puff under her watchful gaze.

“Relax,” she’d say, her tone low and enticing. “It’s just smoke. Breathe it in.”

On other occasions, when the two of you were caught up in the heat of the moment, she’d take it further. She’d inhale deeply, then pull you into a kiss that was deep and deliberate, the smoke transferring between you as her lips moved against yours. The combination of her intensity and the lingering taste of tobacco was dizzying, and you hated how much it made your heart race.

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” you accused one night, breathless after one of her smoky kisses, the smell of tobacco was the only thing you could recall.

Sevika smirked, her gaze heavy-lidded as she exhaled the remnants of her drag. “What can I say? Watching you squirm is the highlight of my day.”

Despite her teasing, there was an undeniable tenderness in the way she handled you. She was careful, always watching your reactions to make sure she wasn’t pushing too far. And when you’d finally had enough of her antics, you’d push the cigarette away with a grumble, only for her to chuckle and pull you into another kiss—this time free of smoke, just the warmth of her lips and the taste of her lingering grin.

Over time, you began to notice how much these moments meant to her. What started as playful teasing became something deeper—a way for her to connect with you in her own unique way.

It was in the way her hand would linger on your jaw, her thumb brushing your cheek as she held you close. It was in the rare softness of her gaze when you shared a laugh, her usual sharp edges melting into something almost vulnerable.

And it was in the way she’d murmur, after one of her teasing kisses, “You’re lucky I like you this much.”

“Lucky?” you’d reply, grinning as you leaned closer. “I think I’m the one putting up with you.”

Sevika would laugh, her lips curving into a rare, genuine smile as she pulled you against her once more. “Keep telling yourself that.”

And though you’d never admit it out loud, you were starting to think she might be right.

ˢᵉᵛᵉⁿ

[bokutos-babyowl]

Sleepy Bliss Sebastian Vettel X Reader!Verstappen 

Sometimes it is the arms of a “rival” to make everything fade into bliss. 

Sebastian Vettel X Reader! Verstappen

Content includes 18+ MDNI, age gap, somnophilia if you squint, and maybe some other things. 

Word count: 1012

You asked, and you shall receive. Here is the Seb fic, and there is more in the works for next week's picks.

Masterlist

Summery: Being Max's sister has not only had its ups but when you are tired in the day and the man that Max would kill slips into your bed. Your loyalty wavers in the sweet sweet bliss that is Sebs' arms. 

After a long day at the track hiding in the shadows hoping that the press would not know who you are, you snuggled in your warm blanket. Earlier in the day, when you were hiding away with your brother y, you did not feel your second keycard leave your pocket. Yet, the slow opening of the door said otherwise. Slowing walking in as you are on the brink of blissful sleep, you groggily look to see what the movement was in your bed. To no surprise, it was Seb, the one your brother said to stay away from, the one whose eyes are always glued to you in the paddock, the one who winks at you when he has a podium finish. 

He lays down on your bed and instinctively you snuggle up to his chest. “Meine kleine maus,” he whispers as you rub up against him.” Shhh Max, is in a room over”. Max’s biggest issue with all of this is his sister in bed with a rival and an older one at that. Looking down at you he can tell that the day has worn you out. With your brother's win, he was sure he was out partying and that he could give you all the destressing that you needed. 

“Mouse… trust me he is not here, and you need to let out the stress” he whispers in your ear as his hand runs down your body and to your core. On the edge of sleep, you slowly wake back up grinding into his hand. “Seb” you say with a whine in your voice. “I got you, Mouse don’t worry. I’ll take good care of you… just lay there,” he says as he disappears under the covers kissing down your body and nipping at your thighs, Causing you to open them just enough to fit his head between them. 

Grabbing onto his hair, pulling him closer as he blows air on your clit, mesmerized by how wet he already got you with just his fingers. Bringing his mouth down to your soaked pussy, you arc, pushing against him as he tastes you, eating you out like it was the last chance he would ever get to see you. Pulling on his hair he moans into you, you start shaking and he knows you are close. Adding his fingers and circling your clit, he pulls you over the edge.” Neuken Seb Please,” you moan so loud, that covering it does nothing to dampen the noise.  Cumming on his face as he continues to lap it up like the last meal on earth. 

Coming up from the covers he kisses you as you taste your release mixed in with him. “Feel better, Mouse?” he mumbles as he kisses down your neck. Moaning as he takes your nipple into his mouth. Slowly your hands try to undo his pants, to give him the release you can feel built up. Just as you get there he pulls your hands up and pins them above your head. “Nein maus, I told you this is for you not me,” he says looking into your eyes. Holding your arms in place with one hand, the other goes back to your core to rip one more orgasm out of you, Whimpering you start to feel the overstimulation as his thumb plays with your clit. Trying to wiggle out of his grasp you can feel yourself becoming undone. “That’s it, Mouse just one more. You can give me one more, right?” he says in your ear while your walls tighten in on his fingers as he keeps going through your orgasm. Winning, you fall over the edge once again, your limbs too heavy to move. Slowly he removes himself from you, walking to the bathroom to clean you up. When he gets, back you are sound asleep. “You did so well my little mouse” he whispers after cleaning you up, tossing the towel, and climbing back into bed with you. He kisses your forehead, holding you and falling asleep himself.  *** Waking up you feel a heaviness on you, opening your eyes to be buried in Sebs' chest. Moving, you can still feel him and you gently rub against him. Knowing it was a hard day from him coming in p4 yesterday, looking at the clock you have time to return the favor. As you slowly start to move down you can feel the soreness of your legs. Opting to slowly get him free with just slight movements you take him into your mouth, swirling around the tip before fulling taking him all in. You feel him twitch knowing he is starting to wake up, thinking you have time you add in a hand knowing that if you keep up deep thoating you will cough and wake him up. Finally, you get into a good rhythm and when you least expect it, you feel his hands on your hair before he pushes you all the way down causing you to choke. “Scheiße maus”. Coming back up to breath he pulls you to his mouth. Tasting himself on you he moves you to hover over his cock. Moving to suck your neck as he thrusts into you. Screaming his name, you hold onto him tightly, moving with him up and down. He takes your nipple into his mouth and bites down causing your cunt to grip tighter around his cock. ”you like that mouse don't you, don't be shy come for me mouse” he says as his mouth and hand wonder giving you more hickeys and bruises. He fucks you though your orgasm as well as slowly approaching his own.  When you feel him slow down you know he is close. Wiggling out if he grasps to slowly remove yourself from him much to his dismay. Only to slam down again this time taking control fucking him through his orgasm and giving you another. Falling from his high he grabs you close, whispering “My little mouse fuck I love you.” looking up into his eyes you kiss him one more time, your lips lingering on his “ich liebe dich Seb”

[nochedie]

intertwined, sewn together

pairing: sam winchester x gn!reader

genre: fluff

wordcount: 1k ish

summary: just some late night talking

a/n: hehe… um 😳 i actually haven’t written anything for 7 YEARS! and i haven’t ever written for spn before! so please be gentle with me 🙏 i am working on a soulless sam fic but it’s becoming pretty long soo i decided to just do a little fluffy drabble in the meantime! i have a migraine so im sorry if it makes little to no sense :) i read through a couple times and i cant tell if its bad or if i just hate my own writing (definitely the last one but it might be both 😌☝🏼) anyways i love sam and i needed some fluff! much love and please enjoy 🫶🏼

“do you ever think about… the future? for us?” you and sam were laying next to each other in the motel room double bed, alone in the room. dean was out at the nearest bar, and told you both not to wait up. you always cherished the alone time with sam.

he turned to face you, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “all the time.”

“and what do you think about?” you took in each and every inch of his face, the sculpt of his jaw, his eyes which held a look of admiration as they looked into yours.

“i think about… one day being able to just… live. you know? me and you. forever.” his voice held some sadness. and you knew exactly why. you could think about this all you wanted, but the life you led… it could never be normal. sam had tried before, he had tried to be normal, tried to live a normal life. but everything fell apart. you knew he still felt that pain. he wanted so badly to be normal. but he was a winchester.

“maybe we can’t live some suburban life. but we don’t need that to live, sam… sure, our job is dangerous but… well we’re still here, aren’t we? we’ve made it this long.”

“y/n…” you reached out to touch his cheek, and his eyes closed at the feeling, completely relaxing into your touch. “i just… every single day i wake up and worry that something is going to happen to you.”

“hmm… it almost sounds like you don’t think i can fend for myself. you know i can beat a vampire with my bare hands!” you definitely could not.

sam’s laughter filled the room almost immediately, “oh, suddenly you have super strength?”

“you don’t know what i have.” you feigned offence, pulling out of his grasp and turning your body away from him.

“um… what do you think you’re doing?” he spoke between chuckles, slipping his arms around your torso, pulling you flush against him. “let me see your pretty face, love.”

“only if you admit that i have fists of steel and i could absolutely kill a vampire with no weapon.” sam had killed gordon with nothing more than a bit of wire, so this wasn’t the most unrealistic claim.

“right. you’re right, honey. vampires watch out! y/n’s coming! with… maybe chicken wire?”

“you’re mean.”

he practically erupted into laughter, more of an endearing laughter than anything else. he gave you a tight squeeze from behind, pressing a kiss to your neck.

“turn around please, honey. i promise i’ll stop.”

you heeded his request, turning in his embrace so that your faces were but centimetres apart.

“there you are.” he took a deep breath in as he studied every inch of your face, taking in each small detail, each feature which made up the face he loved so much.

you slid one arm around his torso and rest the other on his chest, shuffling as close as you could and letting your eyes close.

“you getting tired?” sam reached over to turn off the bedside lamp, leaving only a sliver of light in the room from the outside street lights.

“just a little. but let’s keep talking, okay?”

“alright, love. what do you want to talk about?” he shifted onto his back and put his arm around you, leading your head to rest against his shoulder, while one arm kept resting on his chest.

“chicken wire.” you stifled a laugh.

sam looked up at the ceiling, a wide smile plastered on his lips. these were his favorite moments with you, and he adored how you could immediately switch his mood.

this hunt in particular had been tough, but it was over now, and this was your last night in the motel before heading to sioux falls in the morning to meet with bobby. the hunt forced sam into some uncomfortable thoughts. you had come far too close to danger, and it sent him into a spiral worrying about you. he hadn’t even thought about what he would do if he lost you, but it felt like he had been hit head on by the thought. he really couldn’t live without you, he knew that for a fact. tonight, he was really feeling it. all he wanted to do was hold you close and never let go. but this conversation with you, your optimism and your smile, just you, allowed sam to feel a genuine content.

“i love you.” he whispered, planting a kiss on top of your head.

you hadn’t realised how tired you were, and you had already drifted to sleep. after a few minutes, sam did the same.

****

you opened your eyes to see sam looking back at you, already awake. “good morning, love.”

“good morning.” you stretched your limbs, sitting up in the bed before looking around the room. “dean didn’t come back last night?”

“he did, he went out to pack up the car. you slept in pretty late.”

“hmm.. well we better get ready and hit the road, then?”

“or… we could cuddle for a bit.” he tugged on your arm, attempting to coax you to lay back.

“sammy.. you just said i slept in pretty late.”

“and did i say that was a bad thing?” cue two more arm tugs.

just as you were about to lay back down and into sam’s arms, you heard a few knocks, followed by dean’s voice through the door. “cars packed up, you kids have got fifteen minutes or i’m leaving you behind!”

“i guess no cuddling today.” sam has to suppress a whine as he reluctantly gets out of bed.

“do you think we have time for a shower?”

“oh, definitely.” you jump out of bed and grab sam’s outstretched hand, following him into the bathroom.

[sixerstanley]

Sealed With a Kiss - Teen Stancest ficlet

Hey all! I'm here with a bit of an appetizer, if you will, for a fic I've been thinking about for a while. The stans are 16/17 in this. Hope you enjoy! Please let me know what you think as I still have to work on the entire fic.

After Carla criticizes Stan's kissing, Ford offers to help him practice.

~~~~~~

“Ya sure ya still wanna do this, Sixer?”

Truthfully, Ford feels like he’s about to pass out—either that or puke. He isn’t used to this, isn’t used to sitting so close to Stan, not like this—not with him on Stan’s bottom bunk sitting cross-legged and Stan inches apart, their feet touching, and Moses, Ford can feel Stan’s breaths as he glances at his lips—

“Ford?”

He drags his gaze from Stan’s lips, back up to his eyes. They’re blown wide with…something, but Ford can’t exactly tell what.

“Uh…s-sorry,” he stumbles out, trying to shake himself out of it. “We can—we can still—”

A hand touches him gently, stopping the words from coming out of his mouth. Ford looks down at Stan’s hand intertwining with his own.

They fit perfectly, like they always did.

“Hey,” Stan says, voice quiet and serious, which is a bit odd to hear from him. “If you’re having second thoughts—”

“No,” Ford blurts out immediately. Stan's eyes grow a bit wider and he realizes his mistake, feeling his face burn up. 

“Uh…I just mean…” he trails off before taking a deep breath. He looks directly back at Stan with a newfound determination. 

“It’ll be a good thing for both of us. We can practice with each other and get ready for the real thing.”

Stan stares at him for a moment, Ford watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

It’s hypnotizing.

Then Stan is nodding. “Yeah. Sure, yeah. That makes a lotta sense.” He glances down at Ford’s lips for a split second, and Ford is really starting to question if he’s going to be able to do this without blowing his cover. “But to be fair, it’s not like I ain’t got the experience,” Stan says lowly, a teasing tilt to it.

Ford rolls his eyes. “Sure, but Carla still complained about it.”

“Hey. Watch it. At least I don’t need a robot.”

“You said you weren’t going to bring that up.”

“I say a lot of things.”

“Hey,” Ford starts, a significant weight to his words. “Are you sure you still want to do this? We don’t have to.”

Stan swallows again glancing down at Ford’s lips briefly. He tries not to stare at his throat again.

He fails.

“Nah,” Stan eventually drawls, although there’s an unusual bit of shakiness to it. “Like ya said, this will only make us better at it, y’know? It was a good idea of yours.”

An idea I had with no ulterior motives whatsoever, a small voice inside Ford’s head says. He internally tells it to shut up.

There’s a moment of silence before Stan leans in closer to Ford’s space. He feels his heartbeat start to increase like crazy, and he attempts to steady his breath. 

Stan places both of his hands on either side of Ford on the bed, crowding him. 

This is how I die. A heart attack from kissing my own twin brother.

“C’mon, Poindexter,” Stan murmurs, his voice soft and barely louder than a whisper. It sends shivers down Ford’s spine. “Show me what ya got.”

Now it’s Ford’s turn to swallow. 

He inhales deeply before he moves his shaky hands towards Stan’s face, cradling his jaw with his fingers at the back of his head.

He tries not to think about how good this feels so far even though they haven’t even started, tries not to think about how right it feels to be touching Stan like this, but it’s wrong, he shouldn’t feel like this, he shouldn’t feel this way about his own brother, he’s nothing but a disgusting little freak—

“Hey,” Stan’s voice interrupts the foggy cloud of thoughts in his head. It’s soothing, and calming in a comforting, familiar way. 

“Hey, hey,” Stan says again, moving one of his hands to Ford’s side, holding him. Ford tries not to jump at the sudden touch. “Relax,” Stan croons, lifting his other hand to Ford’s cheek.

And it really should be bad how grounding that is. How, at this moment, it truly feels like it’s just the two of them in the entire world.

“Relax,” Stan whispers this time, stroking Ford’s cheek with his thumb, and what can he possibly do other than positively melt under his touch?

He gazes directly into Stan’s dark eyes, and immediately, Ford knows this is it. This is the last moment he has to back out, to say no to this, and call it off without any permanent damage. 

This is the last moment he has before he finds out how Stanley kisses.

Every rational part of his mind is screaming at him, telling him to turn back now, but he realizes this could be his only chance to kiss the person he’s been in love with his entire life.

Any last bit of his resolve absolutely crumbles when Stan licks his lips, making them shiny and wet, and Ford leans in, finally pressing his lips to Stan’s.

He’s hesitant at first, not too sure what to do, but then Stan’s arms fully wrap around him, around his body, and his lips part a little bit and oh.

Ford can’t even bring it within himself to feel embarrassed about the small little whine that escapes him when Stan’s tongue swipes over his bottom lip, he needs more, he needs more, he needs Stan—

Their bodies draw closer together than ever, and Stan starts to press his weight against Ford as he lays down on the bed and just lets himself be kissed by his brother. 

This is wrong. We shouldn’t be doing this, a small voice in Ford’s head says.

But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t fucking care—he’s laying down with Stan’s sturdy body on top of him, and Ford does not care about right or wrong at this moment.

All he cares about is making sure that this never ends.

Ford opens up more for Stan, deciding to mimic the move he made earlier, a giddy feeling rising within him when he hears Stan groan in return. He wants to keep doing that, keep drawing noises out of Stan that he’d only been able to fantasize about before this.

Now that he has the real thing, he’ll never want to let go.

And that’s the real danger of it all, isn’t it? That this is supposed to be nothing but practice. Something to help the both of them when it comes to other people.

It would be selfish of him to keep these pseudo-lessons going. Stan is with Carla, and even if they break up, Stan is going to find someone else, because he always does, he’s Stan.

It would be wrong to continue this purely because of his own desires. 

Stan pulls apart from him, both of them breathing heavily. He looks down at Ford, hovering over him, and wow having Stan on top of him is going to fuel his dreams for decades to come.

“Was that…was that okay?” Stan asks, gently petting Ford’s hair with one hand, looking down at his lips again.

He should say something. He should stop this.

He needs to stop this.

But looking up at Stan like this, with his eyes blown wide open with what he can pretend is desire…Ford thinks he can be a little selfish. 

At least for a little while.

He’ll let himself have this for a bit, let himself know how Stan feels against him, how he tastes, how he sounds when he’s overwhelmed by pleasure.

Ford will memorize it if he has to. He knows he will. 

After all, Stan is going to end up with someone else. Someone who isn’t him.

Shouldn’t he be able to enjoy himself while it lasts?

“Sixer?”

Ford raises a hand to Stan’s face, cusping it gently. 

“I think we need a bit more practice.”

[darksigns-exe]

35. you know where to find me - jolly karlsson x readder

warnings: handjobs (m receiving), oral sex (m receiving), swearing, a little bit of angst

word count: 1.3k

note: for @baddestomens 🩷

masterlist | (not so) secret prompt fics masterlist | taglist sign-up

You’ve known Jolly for ages. 

Seeing him this defeated actually broke your heart a little. You know how much hope he had placed into this fledgling relationship. Sure, you can’t imagine that dating someone with a schedule as packed as his is easy, but that doesn’t mean that he deserves to be shot down like that. 

He’d shown you the messages when he’d shown up at your door late at night. She hadn’t even managed to tell him in person that this couldn’t work no matter how hard we try – her words. 

Being the ever faithful friend you are, you had offered him the pull-out sofa in your living room for as long as he wanted it. You’d prepared everything for him, after you had ushered him into the bathroom, insisting that a shower would make him feel at least a little bit better. 

By the time he re-emerged from the bathroom, you had put one of your pillows and your comfiest duvet out for him. The crease is still present in his brow, but he looks a little less broken. 

You wrap him into a tight hug, not allowing any discussions. 

“Get some sleep. You know where to find me if you need me.” you tell him, trying not to sound as if you pity him too much. 

He mumbles a quiet thank you, before you leave him alone for the night. He knows your place well enough to not feel like a stranger, he’ll be okay. 

You can’t tell how late it is when the door to your bedroom opens with a creak. Jolly pushes into your room, quietly closing the door behind him. 

“Do you mind if I sleep here?” 

You scoot over, without giving him a reply. Jolly doesn’t make a move forward until you pat the now empty side of the bed.

He finds a comfortable spot quite quickly, only shifting around for a few moments. You can barely make out the features of his face in the dim light, but the frown on his face is still so very obvious.

“I don’t want to feel alone tonight.” he says quietly. 

In all the years you have known him, you’ve never seen him like this. 

You reach out, placing your hand against his cheek. Jolly practically sinks into your touch. Deep down, you know that you shouldn’t do this, you shouldn’t even be thinking about this when he’s still hurting this much. 

You feel a hand curling around your waist. 

“Can I do something to help?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady. 

You can’t deny that Jolly is attractive, he’s charming and caring and really everything you’re looking for. And maybe that had been part of the reason why you had never tried to move this into a different direction. He gets fawned over by so many people that little old you can’t be that impressive.

You’re his friend. 

Friends don’t touch each other like this, though. 

Jolly’s hand dips under your shirt. 

Your thoughts are a constant loop of we shouldn't we shouldn’t we shouldn’t.  

His hand flexes on your waist, “We shouldn’t” he says quietly. 

“I know.”  

His hand slowly moves upwards, as if he’s waiting for you to tell him to stop. But you can’t, and you know that you won’t ask him to stop. 

You force yourself to sit up eventually. For a moment, you think that he looks a little disappointed that you’re breaking away from him so quickly. 

“Will you let me do something for you?” you ask, trying to hide the shakiness of your voice, behind a brave face. 

“I – yes. Sure.” he sounds just as nervous as you feel. 

“On your back.” you say then, already moving yourself into position, “This is – it’s not crossing any lines. It’s just —”

“Just something between friends.” 

You swallow down the stinging. Without you needing to say anything about it, Jolly seems to know what you want from him. He quickly slips out of his sweats and underwear. You feel your insides heat when you let your eyes wander across his body. You’ve seen him without a shirt plenty of times. Seeing him entirely bare now makes your head spin. 

His eyes stay fixed on you when you trail your fingers up his thighs. You feel his skin prickle beneath your fingers, hairs standing upright in the wake of your touch. 

You finally build up the courage to wrap your hand around his cock. 

Jolly draws in a sharp breath, and you can’t help but smile a little. 

His skin is warm under your palm. With a little spit, you soon find a comfortable rhythm. You keep your movements slow, trying to draw things out just a little bit. It’s selfish, really, but watching his breath quicken with every pass of your hand over the head of his cock is just too delicious. His staggered breathing quickly turns into moans. Jolly rubs a hand across his face, while the other grips into the duvet next to him. 

“Fuck, your hand feels so good.” he groans. 

You drag your thumb across the tip, smearing the precum that has leaked from his across his skin. His hips buck up against your hand so desperately. You almost want to give in and ask him if he needs more, but having this man at your mercy is just too good of a sight. 

You decide to keep one hand wrapped around the base of his cock, while the other works across his length in slow, steady movements. From the sounds he makes, it must be just enough to keep him on the edge, but not enough for him to finish. And that’s exactly where you intend to keep him for the moment. 

His sighs and groans fill your head with fuzz. You briefly consider slipping a hand between your thighs, but ultimately decide that this moment is just about him. 

“Getting close?” you ask after a while. 

You’re happy to keep touching him like this, but you also don’t want to turn a good thing bad. 

“Just a little more. I’m so close.” 

He sounds as if he’s barely keeping himself together at this point. If he wants more, you’ll give him more. You lean down, dragging the flat of your tongue across his tip. 

In response, Jolly draws in a shaky gasp. 

You had hoped that he’d react like that. You repeat the motion, until you’ve built up the courage to take him between your lips. It doesn’t take a lot of this for him to fall over the edge. 

Jolly spills across your tongue. The groans that fall from his lips are interrupted by curses in his native tongue. You can feel his thighs flex around you as he struggles against the instinct to push his hips upwards. 

You’re just as breathless when you pull away from him. 

His head is tipped back, his neck exposed so beautifully. 

You untangle yourself from him, returning to your original position next to him. Jolly stares at the ceiling for a moment longer, before he finally looks at you. 

“Thank you, dear. Fuck that was – that was so good.” 

His chest heaves, as he comes down from his high. You don’t think that he’s ever been more beautiful. 

“Always happy to help out.” you offer. 

The wording feels so clumsy, but you suddenly don’t know how to move on from this situation. In the corner of your vision, you can just see Jolly struggling back into his underwear. Once he’s done, he flips onto his side, patting the spot in front of him. 

“Come here, will you?” he asks softly. 

You can’t possibly say no to him. 

As soon as you’re within reach, he wraps an arm around your middle, pulling you even closer against him. 

“We’ll talk about this in the morning. You might have to give me a little while to get over this, but – I don’t think that this has to be a one time thing. If you want that.” 

His hand is so warm and comfortable on your belly, it eases the rabbit quick beat of your heart at least a little. 

“Try to get some sleep. We have all the time in the world.”

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