#it’s not wrong to do things that are just for you even if you can’t feel attraction in the same ways

[luveline]

Missing hotchner reader❤️❤️

hotch and spencer have to work together to look after you when things get really hard. fem, 3.3k

cw cptsd episodes and descrips of abuse

Adoption isn’t as permanent as people might think —they can give you back anytime they want. So when the oldest Hotchner started hitting you, it wasn’t that different to a previous placement, nobody was watching over you, and you were so afraid of losing your new brother that you didn’t say a word. 

You knew, reasonably, that if Aaron was to find out about how his father (your father) had been treating you, he’d report it to your caseworker or the police or somebody and you would be removed from the Hotchner household. And Aaron was the first person you’d ever met to care about you, really care, maybe even love, so you hid it all away and you told him that things were fine. You do it for years.  

You move out, you go to college. Aaron moves you into a nice apartment a few streets away from his own, and for a while, life is good. You meet his coworker, Spencer, and you get along. Spencer takes you on dates to cinemas and patisseries and he buys you cuddly plushies with hearts sewn into their hands at Valentine’s. By all accounts, things should be good. 

You can’t breathe, is the problem. Somebody has their hand raised to hit you again and you can’t do anything about it, you just have to take it, because you’re useless, because you deserve it, because you’re a drain on everything and everyone and you aren’t worth the trouble, you deserve the hit. You’re so sorry.

“I know,” someone murmurs quietly, a sensation on your shoulder. You wait for it to close around the back of your neck. “I know. It’s alright.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say, barely, a breath of sound. 

“You don’t have to be sorry, you didn’t do anything wrong.” 

But you did, you did, he was in a bad mood to begin with and you hit his glass of scotch right off the table, smashed glass and wasted drink and a bad mood made worse. He should’ve hit you by now. He’s waiting for you to sit up. He doesn’t like to hit the back of your head, but he will if you cower long enough.

“Honey,” the voice says, right by your ear, “I’m not going to hit you, do you hear me? I am never, ever going to hit you.” 

“I’m really sorry.” 

“I don’t care that you knocked the glass over. I don’t care at all.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Can you look at me? I promise,” —he emphasises until his voice burns— “I am not going to hit you.” 

Aaron sounds upset enough to force your gaze. You look at him through your lashes, ready to shut your eyes if this is a trick, but he has his hands flat in front of you and he’s completely still. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, so unlike himself, “I wouldn’t hit you over a glass. I wouldn’t hit you if you did it on purpose. I wouldn’t hit you if you smashed every piece of glassware in this apartment for fun.” 

He’s hit you for less. 

“Sweetheart,” he says again, waiting for a reaction you can’t give, “do you want me to go away?” 

It’s a good question. Do you want him to leave? Immediately, everything inside of you says No. He’s gonna hit you just like the last time you smashed his drink, out of the blue, ‘cos didn’t mean to doesn’t matter. But you don’t want Aaron to go. He’s the only person who’s ever loved you properly. 

“It’s okay, just hit me,” you say, staring at him, pleading with him not to even as you ask for it, “it’s my fault.” 

“Not gonna hit you,” he says, reaching for you now, even when you flinch, he holds you by the arms and he stares at you hard. 

“It’s okay,” you say. 

“It’s not okay. It won’t fix anything.” 

“I deserve it.” 

“No, you don’t.” Aaron rubs your arms in tandem, shaking his head, a trace of panic in his eyes you’d missed until now. 

It’s Aaron. Aaron’s never hit you. 

“You never deserve to have someone put their hands on you,” he says, practically murmurs, “I’m sorry I let that happen.”

“I lied to you.” 

“I know. I know you did, honey.” He shakes his head gently. “It’s not your fault.” 

“I hit the glass over,” you say, And he hit me so hard I couldn’t hear right for hours. You still remember the way it shocked you, because you’d started to expect it but you were still surprised he’d bother with such a hard hit, that he could get that angry about it.

“I thought it was just me,” he murmurs, sorry, clutching at you like he needs you to listen. “I never should’ve left you in that house, but I thought it was just me. It was only ever… me.” 

You already know —you’ve had this conversation before. He’s apologised already. 

He cups your cheek. “I’m sorry.” 

“You’re not angry with me?” 

“No. I’m never angry with you.” 

You come to yourself in fits. You’re kneeling on the floor not far from the table, the mess of glass, half still intact and cupping a few sips of scotch. Aaron’s kneeling right next to you, still in his suit, hasn’t been home long, you were waiting for him. You used your key because you didn’t want to be home alone. Today’s been a bad day. You’ve felt stringy and strange for hours and you knew seeing Aaron would set it right. That Aaron would make you feel better through force of will. 

And then you’d knocked his drink off the table and both of you had startled, and he’d said, “Wait, don’t, you’ll hurt yourself,” but all your brain heard was You. 

You. What could be said to mean more than that? 

“You’re not gonna hit me,” you whisper. 

“Never.” 

“Can you help me up?” you ask, half apart from yourself. Your head is back, but your legs won’t cooperate. 

“Where do you want to go? The kitchen?” he asks, leaning so you can wrap your arms behind his head. He lifts you up with some effort on his part, adjusting you, and leading you together to the kitchen to sit you at the island bar. “Sit tight. I’ll clean the glass, okay? It won’t take long.” 

You don’t want him to go, but you don’t wanna say no. 

Time away from him is good, in a way. It makes you remember who you actually are outside of the bad memory. It hammers home that this is Aaron’s apartment, your big brother, your number one supporter. There’s a picture of you and Jack right there on the fridge stuck by an alphabet magnet. Aaron’s never hit you before and it’s not going to change now, because he is nothing like his dad. 

He’s never really seen you act like this, though, and you aren’t excited for what he has to say next. He has a penchant for seeing you at your worst and building you back up again. It shouldn’t be his problem, but it is. 

He brushes the glass into a dustpan and unloads it into a bag, which he trashes. You watch him wet a paper towel and wipe it across the floor for the shavings. 

When he’s drying his hands on a towel, you summon the courage to apologise. “Aaron, I’m… I’m sorry. Sorry.” 

He closes his eyes. He doesn’t look much like the other Hotchner’s. He’s dark-haired like his mother, and he smiles with all kindness. You never saw anything so soft at home, not unless he was there to visit. It’s a wonder he ever bothered getting to know you, already living his life very much outside of the household, and shouldn’t he have moved on? If it were you, if there were another kid in the house right now, could you go back? Knowing how you were treated? 

“I love you,” he says. “You know that?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Do you think you could understand why I don’t want you to say sorry, or be sorry, because of that?” 

You smile weakly. “Yeah.” 

“Yeah? Because if Jack were in here today, and he had hit that drink over, you couldn’t have hit him. Could you?” 

“Of course not.” 

He’s mildly guilty for the example, you can tell, but it cements the sentiment in your mind and he can see that. “When you love someone, you don’t hit them. We just can’t do it.” 

“I just… just– you– I got all mixed up in my head.” 

“I know.” 

“Thought you were him,” you say tightly, quietly. 

“I know. Is that the first time you’ve had something like that happen? Like you weren’t sure where you were?” 

Your face crumples of its own accord, heat clogging your nose and throat and lining the backs of your eyes. “No… but it hasn’t been that many times…”

“The bad panic attack at work a few weeks ago, was that like this?” 

“No, that was just that I couldn’t breathe right. I– I had one with Spencer.”

Aaron frowns, but he speaks kindly, “When was that?” 

“A couple of days ago…” You stare at your hands.

“We don’t have to talk about it. But I need to make sure you’re okay.” 

“He told me to tell you, but it– I thought he’d break up with me, after, but he hasn’t, so I’ve just been waiting.” 

“Honey, I don’t think this is the sort of thing that could make Spencer break up with you. He cares too much.” 

“You don’t understand, I– I begged him not to touch me, Aaron. I really scared him.” 

With Spencer, it was late. You asked him to stay the night on a limb, and you’d forgotten he was there sleeping beside you, met him in a dark hallway, where he asked what you were doing out of bed. It’s late. You shouldn’t be up. 

His hand had settled just behind your neck. He won’t touch you there anymore. 

“If there’s something you want to tell me–”

“I want it to go away,” you say. 

“It’s not going to be that easy.” He takes a big, deep breath. “You could’ve told me this was happening,” he promises. 

“I didn’t want you to know that I– lied so much. Sometimes I can’t believe I let him do it.” 

Your tone, quiet and calm and a juxtaposition to the ache in your chest, couldn’t hurt him worse. You're familiar with the pain on Aaron’s face, how it makes him do this sorry smile, how he tries hard not to give it away. “If anyone let him hurt you, it was me.” 

“What?” 

“I knew he was unkind to you. I knew he shouted. I didn’t try hard enough to get you away.” 

“Aaron–”

“If you’re going to blame someone, it has to be me.” 

It’s ridiculous. If you hadn’t had Aaron, you would’ve been completely miserable to the marrow of your bones. He’s the last person on earth you’d blame for the way you’re feeling now, so when a tear wells in your eyes, when it hits your cheek in a splash, you let him tut and wrap his arms behind you. 

“It’s my fault,” you insist, hiding your face in his shoulder. 

“No.” 

“It’s my fault, I hit the glass–”

“No, no, it’s not your fault.” 

“I’m really s–sorry.” 

“It’s gonna be okay, honey. Just breathe. Just take a deep breath for me. I promise you I’m not mad about the glass.” 

“Maybe you should be.” 

He holds your forehead to his chin, clutching you to him, reassuring and a little too tight. “I’m not mad at you.” 

You can’t make yourself believe him. 

—

Spencer isn’t expecting to get waylaid by Hotch at Rossi’s dinner party. He can’t think of what he did wrong. You’re happy with him, clingy lately, which he loves, and as smart and sweet as ever, and work is great. Spencer’s a good agent and a better profiler. 

Hotch looks so serious that he follows him in silence, squeezing his coke neck like a lifeline. 

“I want Y/N to be assessed for PTSD, and I need to know that you’re going to support her,” he says simply. 

Spencer searches the backyard for you. You’re laying down in the grass with Jack, Henry, and Penelope. It’s getting late, barely any sunshine left, but nobody’s wanted to ruin the fun and call it a night yet. You don’t fuss as Jack throws himself sideways across your chest. 

“Did something happen?” Spencer asks. 

“She had an… event. She told me about a similar incident with you the other night. That she panicked and got confused about who you were.” 

Spencer nods. “Yeah, I– yeah. I caught her by surprise.” 

“That’s the only time it’s happened?” 

“Yeah. She’s told me a little about it.” 

“About the episode?” 

“Everything. And it’s obvious?” He enthuses it with apology, worried he’ll offend Hotch if he says something too blatant, but desperate to be honest. “Most of the time she’s this– she’s amazing, she’s like this light, and then sometimes it’s like she thinks I don’t like her? Like I don’t want to be near her, or like she thinks I’m gonna hurt her.” 

Hotch lets his eyebrows rise a little. “Yeah.” 

“She cried so much that I didn’t know what to do.” 

“I wouldn’t worry about that part, she already told me you made her feel better,” Hotch says quietly. Neither of them mention what they know, how you’d begged Spencer to stay after the episode, how sorry you’d been, how desperate Spencer was to calm you down. “But if you can’t do it in the long run, you need to know now. I can’t start this with her and have you duck out halfway through. I know,” —Hotch gives him a fond smile, half-knocking the wind from him— “that you care about her, and I know it’s not my place to come to you on her behalf, but I’m going to do it anyhow, and you know why I am.” 

“What do you mean?” he says, though he knows. 

“I’m saying I think she’s going to get worse before she gets better. She’s not well right now.” 

“I know she isn’t.” 

“I trust you, Spencer. I care about you, too. But she’s going to be my priority, and if you can’t be there for her then it has to be done now... I’m worried she’s going to get really low.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says genuinely. Spencer’s not defensive, only urgent. “Hotch, I more than care about her.” 

Hotch nods. “Okay. Good, because I need your help. You have to vet these doctors for me, I have a preliminary list. I’ll send it to you.” 

“Wait, have you talked to her about this?” 

“I said we’d talk to a doctor. I promised I’d talk to you about it. She’s… I don’t know, she’s scared.” 

Spencer straightens up. You have nothing to be scared of with him, not his reaction, not his lack of support. He wishes Hotch had had more faith in him, but none of this is about him. Someone hurt you, and now you have to put yourself back together again. 

The kids have disappeared. Penelope’s climbing onto her feet and offering you a hand, but you stay laying down in the grass. 

“I really care about her,” Spencer says. 

Hotch clasps his shoulder. “Are you going, or am I?” 

“I’ll take this one, please.” 

“Sure.” 

Spencer trudges around the side of the yard, past the bench and the tables and the string lights on the patio to where you’re laying in the bluegrass, eyes nearly closed. “Is this seat taken?” he asks, nudging your hip with his shoe lightly. 

“No, sir.” 

Spencer sits down in the grass. He finds your wrist to hold. 

“You okay?” 

“Did Aaron talk to you about the doctor?” 

“Yeah, he did. You want to go?” 

“What do you think?” 

Spencer rubs your pulse. “I think it’s good. If you were having headaches, we’d go to the doctor.” 

“Headaches that make me not know who you are.” 

“Especially that kind.” 

You turn a bit and give him an amused smile. “Sorry I was too scared to say more about it.” 

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” Spencer brings a cautious hand to your cheek. He sees the flicker of hurt it brings —you don’t like that he’s careful how, but how can he not be, remembering the way he’d touched your neck and the wound it seemed to inflict in the dark— but he tries to caress it away. “I’m with you,” he says, “I care about you. I want to take care of you, as much or as little as you might need that from me.” 

Your eyes fall closed. “It might be nice.” 

“What would?” 

“To be taken care of by you.” 

“I’ll try my best.” 

You cover his hand with your own. JJ laughs across the yard, and Jack and Henry shout battle cries. Hotch says, “Jack! Not so rough, buddy!” and makes you laugh. 

“Did he intimidate you?” you ask. 

“No more than usual. He said I have to decide if I can do this with you.” 

You squirm and attempt to sit. If Spencer weren’t nervous about touching you, he’d force you back down. “He shouldn’t have.”

“No, he should. But I already decided.” Spencer finds your fingers, lacing them with his. “It wasn’t really a decision, actually. I want to do this with you, but only if that’s okay with you.” 

You nod slowly. “I already said it’d be nice if you took care of me,” you whisper, letting your face dip downward. 

He chances a kiss pressed to your temple. 

You laugh under your breath. “I know you didn’t sign up for this.” 

“Did you?” he asks, giving your back a rub like a wave. 

“It’s different. I knew what was happening to me.” 

“Angel, you didn’t have a choice,” he says, so quiet he’s surprised when you hear it. “I know you’re… What?” he asks, perturbed when you shake your head. 

“You and Aaron…” 

You never finish. Spencer can’t make you. He holds your shoulder until the tension under his hand unfurls, relaxing his touch when you decide to lay down in the grass again, quietly asking him to lay with you. 

“Be ready for Jack to use you like a trampoline,” you warn, taking his hand. 

He has a feeling Hotch will keep Jack away for a while. 

Spencer traces the back of your hand with his thumb, over and over. He’s sorry he didn’t know you five years ago, sorry you were alone, sorry someone put their hands on you. He’s sorry you learned to anticipate physical abuse in the wake of mistakes. He’s sorry he can’t take it away from you, ‘cos from the second you took his hand at that park a street from his apartment he’s been a goner, all you had to do was jump up on the lip of the fountain and trust him not to let you fall. He remembers how that felt, the zinging sparks travelling from the palm of your hand into his, the romanticism of two arms stretched apart and your slow circle. And when you fell in, you didn’t blame him, you just laughed and scrambled back out, squealing excitedly about your wet shoes. 

It’ll get better, he thinks. Even if it gets worse first. You’ll feel better soon. 

He turns his cheek into the grass and beckons you forward for a kunik kiss, nose pressed to yours, wanting to kiss you like he would if you were at home together, and knowing this is enough too. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

“It’s getting cold.” 

Spencer agrees, but neither of you attempt to move. 

[wriokitty]

Sukuna is not good at apologizing.

And you? You’re not good at letting go of grudges. The end result is a pretty nasty predicament—you’re mad at him, he’s mad that you’re mad at him, and you’re mad that he’s mad that you’re mad at him. It’s a full circle. The start point and the end point meet and you just don’t know where to begin.

He could always apologize, of course—that would be a lovely start. But he won’t. (He really should, though, you think. It’s his fault).

“Hey,” he says gruffly, “scoot over. ‘S my side.”

You’re taking up the entire bed. A petty, childish, and last resort sort of method to keep him away from you for the night because you don’t think you can handle dealing with him in such close proximity. And of course, you certainly won’t be taking the couch, so that naturally leaves only one option: him.

“Hey. Did’ya hear me?” He scowls, looking at you with deeply creased, deeply furrowed brows and an intense glare that makes you want to throw a pillow at his face. You refrain, however—but only because someone has to be the emotionally intelligent one of the two of you, and it certainly won’t be him. “I said move over—I’m tired as fuck and I wanna sleep.”

“Then sleep,” comes your unhelpful reply.

“They teach you this in the first grade,” he smiles thinly, eyes narrowed into slits as he gives you a sarcastic look, “but you actually have to lay down to sleep. Can’t do that if you hog the entire damn bed.”

“I’m sure they taught you what a couch was in first grade, too,” you counter—and as if to double down on your juvenile, stubborn display of spitefulness, you angle your body to take up more of his side of the bed. “Go ahead and use that if you wanna lay down so bad.”

“And they also teach you in first grade that the couch is bad for your damn fucking back, so move the fuck—”

You cut him off sharply with a rather snobby tone. “That’s not in the first grade curriculum. I don’t know what first grade you went to, but maybe that would explain some of the loose screws in your head.”

He’s had enough. Sukuna is not good at apologizing. And on most days, he’s not that good at being a boyfriend, either. Not by the general standards, anyway. He doesn’t say sweet words or coddle you very much. Sometimes, he’s awkward about affection and doesn’t quite know how to initiate physical touch. And, on most days, he can’t communicate his feelings properly, so they tend to come out wrong. Typically, that manifests in rough, unintentionally harsh words.

He’s not proud of it, but it’s not a switch he can exactly flip off in one day.

But one thing he is good at, however, is worming his way into your soft spot, anyway. It’s a very peculiar, very distinct part of you that for some unknown reason, opens up for him and puts up with his bullshit regardless of what that bullshit is. Fifty percent soft, sweet affection, and one hundred percent stupid, foolish devotion.

He wouldn’t trade it for the world.

He debates it for a moment—because sometimes even Sukuna doesn’t dare test your limits—before he ultimately decides to go for whatever plan he’s scheming. It turns out his plan involves all two-hundred-something pounds of his bulky, muscled figure draping itself over your body with an exaggerated sigh from him. You flinch, gasping in shock, and he simply gets himself comfortable.

Sukuna is not good at apologizing.

Yet, somehow, he’s even worse at reading the room, evidently. You clearly don’t want him near you, but here he is, arguably closer to you now than he is on the average night.

“Sukuna!” You hiss, trying to push him off as you grumble under his weight, “get off! You asshole, you’re too heavy for—”

“Heavy?” He gasps, “this is considered body negativity.”

“Oh fuck off,” you scowl, “you’re doing this on purpose.”

“Doing what, exactly?” He asks smugly.

Despite it all, there’s something surprisingly gentle about the way he lays on you. His head is perfectly situated to rest against your collarbone, his hands delicately have your hips in their hold, and half of his body is slotted between your legs to keep a good brunt of his weight off of you.

More than anything, he’s a weighted blanket than he is an aggravating boyfriend that you’re trying to avoid.

“Is everything a joke to you?” You glare.

He glares back. Equally as hard, equally as intense, but infinitely more infatuated underneath it all. “No,” he grumbles, “just don’t like goin’ to bed mad. So ‘m here whether you like it or not.”

Some part of you can’t help but soften at that. A small, fractional, tiny amount of you thinks…oh. Oh.

(And yes, there are certainly better ways to express: I would like to go to bed without being mad at each other because I love you too much, but he’s not perfect. Nowhere near it. That much is a known fact quite abundantly by now. But you know what he means, and in you’re being honest with yourself…well, it’s enough.

He’s always enough, even when he seems like he shouldn’t be.)

“I’m still mad at you,” you grumble stubbornly.

Your arms wrap around him tightly.

“And I’m still fuckin’ tired and sleepy. What’s your point?”

He tucks his head into the crook of your neck and inhales your scent.

You’re mad at Sukuna. And he’s tired of it. Sometimes, he’s not good at apologizing, and sometimes you’re stubborn about accepting it. In the end, your limbs tangle in bed like this, anyway. You think that’s the only part that really matters.

You sigh, pulling up the blanket to cover yourselves. (Mainly you. He just happens to be there, too, of course. But this isn’t for his warmth, too—it’s just for yours. How cold he is or isn’t through the night is of no concern to you.)

“Night,” he mumbles quietly after some time, “and…and sorry, or whatever. I…well, I just…you know?”

You snort softly at his attempt, giving in and letting your fingers weave into his soft, familiar strands of hair while he relaxes at the feeling.

“We’ll talk in the morning. I love you.”

He smiles a little into your neck. It’s barely-there, but it undoubtedly exists.

“Love you too.”

“A lot, right?” You ask cheekily.

It’s quiet for a moment. You think he’s going to tell you to shut up, or just go to sleep, already. Instead, there’s a hushed mumble of, “yeah. A lot. Now goodnight.”

(You fall asleep rather quickly after that—and admittedly, much easier than you would have if his body was on the couch and not with you.)

Cliche fights before bed that end with a begrudging petty cuddle sesh are my guilty pleasure. My crack if you will

[ja3yun]

Pillow Talk | L.HS

bf!heeseung x gf!reader warnings: fluff, smut (mdni), unprotected sex, cream pie, oral (m.rec), nipple play, mentions of alcohol and insecurities, pet names (baby), not proofread, lmk if i missed anything! w.c: 6.2k synopsis: after a night out with friends, heeseung's insecurities surface, making him question his worth as a boyfriend. with some reassuring pillow talk and a night spent wrapped in one another, he's determined to prove himself a/n: hi! happy valentine's day to my loves <33 i hope you spend the day surrounded by love - romantic or platonic. i love valentine's day more than anything so this is my gift to you! if you think you've read it before, it's because you have! this is a reupload that won the poll so enjoy!

“Baby?”

A soft, lazy groan vibrates through the stillness of the room. Your body which is still heavy with sleep feels the tender pressure of a hand shaking your arm gently, followed by the familiar brush of petal-soft lips against your shoulder. The gesture is soft but something about the way he calls for you feels different, slightly urgent even though there is no panic in his tone.

“Baby, can you wake up for a minute?”

There’s something off in Heeseung’s voice - something unsure and a tad bit unsteady. His breath catches, then leaves him in a long, heavy exhale, like he’s trying to let something go but can’t. Even with your eyes still closed, the sound of it tugs at your chest, finally stirring you from sleep. The last remnants of drowsiness fade, replaced by a quiet kind of worry.

You shift under the blankets, forcing your eyelids open. The world is still blurred at the edges, softened by sleep, but your focus lands on him immediately. From what you can make out thanks to the streetlight outside, his face looks drawn - tired, but more than that. Troubled.

A slow blink and rub of your eye clears the haze from your vision.

“Heeseung?” Your voice is quiet, thick with sleep but there’s an undercurrent of concern. “Are you okay, baby?”

The silence between you stretches and the silence of the midnight hour amplifies everything - the rustling of sheets, the hum of the city, the way his fingers twitch slightly against the fabric. 

He seems…nervous.

Last night, he’d gone out with friends. It was just supposed to be dinner, a break he’d needed after weeks of drowning in work and deadlines. But now, the faint flush on his cheeks and the pink along the bridge of his nose tell you he had more than just a couple - that much is obvious. What’s not obvious is why he’s still awake, sitting here like something’s eating away at him.

His hand drifts to your hair, sweeping a few strands away from your face, and for a brief second, his lips twitch, like he might smile. It’s something he does without thinking, a habit that’s settled into him over time. Even now, even like this, he pauses to take you in - soft, half-asleep, so stunningly beautiful.

Still, the weight in his eyes doesn’t lift.

“Hee,” you murmur, a little more awake now. “What’s wrong?”

His gaze drops. His lips part slightly, hesitation tightening his shoulders. Seconds drag by before he finally speaks.

“Do you think I’m a good boyfriend?”

The question makes you blink. Once. Then again.

“What?”

His eyes meet yours again, uncertain, searching for an answer without you having to utter a word. “Like…am I doing enough?”

That shakes the last bit of sleep from your mind. You sit up slowly, instinct guiding your hand to his chest, where his heartbeat is steady but tense under your palm. “Heeseung, of course you are. Why would you even ask that?”

The words even feel too simple for what you really mean. Because the truth is - he’s not just a good boyfriend. He’s everything.

Sure, there are hard days. Moments when life is messy, when you argue or when things feel overwhelming. But even when you test one another, he never makes you feel anything less than loved. It’s not just about grand gestures with him - it’s in the little things. The way he remembers details you don’t even remember telling him. The way he texts you just because. The way he looks at you when he thinks you won’t notice - like you’re irreplaceable.

And maybe that’s what hurts the most; seeing doubt where there should never be any.

Sitting here in the dim half-light, you can see the weight he’s carrying - the slight hunch of his shoulders, the way his lips press together like he’s holding something back. And yet, even through the uncertainty in his eyes, he’s still reaching for you. Not just for comfort, but to make sure you’re okay, too. Still scared he’s not the perfect boyfriend. 

That’s who Heeseung is. He loves deeply and gives even when he feels empty.

Your fingers trace gently along his jaw, warmth meeting warmth as you take him in. “Heeseung,” you murmur, steady, soft. “You’re the best boyfriend I could ever ask for. You know that, right?” A pause, letting the words sink into him, but they don’t reach where you need them to. You try again, a little more pointed. “What’s going on, baby? What’s making you feel like this?”

His gaze flickers, doubt clouding his eyes, but your words seem to seep into the cracks, softening the tension in his face. The quiet between you is tough and unfamiliar. The bedroom you lay in is usually brimming with laughter. It’s so strange to see him like this.

Although you don’t have all the answers as to why he’s so heavy, you’ll hold him through whatever storm is brewing in his mind - just as he’s done for you more times than you can count.

Heeseung exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes drift, landing somewhere in the soft glow of the room before he finally speaks. “At dinner…the girls were talking about their boyfriends. About how they don’t really pay attention to them, or like, they never ask about their day, or forget things that matter. Always late, always distracted, y’know?”

“And what has that got to do with you?” You ask slowly, genuinely not seeing the correlation.

His brows knit together, lost in thought, and you can see the spiral beginning - the way he’s already picking apart every moment in your relationship, analysing each time he might have been tired, distracted, or anything less than perfect. You know him too well. His heart is so full of care that the idea of falling short - of disappointing you - feels absolutely unbearable.

But where he sees gaps, you only see love. Commitment. A kind of attentiveness that most people can only dream of. Genuinely, people yearn for a man like Heeseung, so it hurts to see him like this.

Heeseung has never been that boyfriend. The one who forgets anniversaries, who doesn’t show up when it matters, who brushes off your feelings like they’re an afterthought. If anything, he’s the opposite.

You remember the countless nights he’s sat with you, listening, no matter how exhausted he was, his eyes never leaving yours. The way he never lets a single date slip by unnoticed, whether it’s a quiet dinner out or a handwritten note tucked beside your coffee cup before he heads out. The way he remembers things you don’t even remember telling him - your favourite parts of a book, a song you mentioned offhand weeks ago, the smallest details that make you feel seen in a way no one else ever has.

A breath of laughter escapes you - soft, incredulous, not mocking but disbelieving. “Baby,” you say gently, warmth laced in every word. “Those things? The things they were talking about? That’s just…what most guys do at some point.”

At that, Heeseung shrinks a little, his shoulders drawing in as though your words only confirm his worst fears. His face falls, vulnerability flickering across his expression. You see the downward spiral start again, but before he can fall too deep, you reach for him. Your palm finds his cheek, thumb brushing over his skin in slow, reassuring strokes.

You don’t let him sit in those thoughts for long.

“But you - you’re the rare 0.0000001% that isn’t like that,” you continue, your voice steady and confident in your own declaration. “Hee, you listen to me even when I’m rambling about the same thing for the hundredth time. You show up for me, no matter how tired or stressed you are. I don’t think you’ve ever missed a date, let alone forgotten one.”

His lips part slightly, like he wants to argue, but the words don’t come. His eyes meet yours, uncertainty still lingering, but something in the way you’re looking at him keeps him quiet.

“You’ve never turned up late to anything, not once,” you add, a small smile tugging at your lips as your hand drifts down, resting against his chest. Beneath your palm, his heartbeat is vibrating with love. “You’re thoughtful in ways those girls were probably wishing for when they were talking. And even when things get rough, you never make me feel like I’m alone in it. You’re always there, Heeseung. Always.”

Heeseung exhales, slow and deep, your words finally settling into him. There’s still hesitation in his eyes, but the pressure in his shoulders has shifted, loosened just a little. He shakes his head, the smallest of smiles ghosting across his lips. But you can tell - he’s still trying to let go of the doubt entirely.

“I just…” He pauses, glancing down as if searching for the right words. “I don’t ever want to take you for granted. I never want to be that guy who doesn’t pay attention. Who makes you feel like you’re not important.”

“You could never,” you whisper, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips, letting it linger just long enough to feel the warmth of him. “The fact that you want to be a good boyfriend already proves that you are one.”

Heeseung lets out a soft laugh, his breath warm against your lips as you peck his lips once more to punctuate your reassurances. He bites his lip, giving you that boyish, slightly embarrassed smile that always makes your heart flutter.

“You think so?” he asks, his voice quieter now, almost like he’s seeking reassurance even though he knows he’s already got it.

You raise an eyebrow playfully, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “I know so,” you tease, letting your fingers trace gentle circles on his chest. “I mean, come on - how many boyfriends out there get worried in the middle of the night about whether they’re doing enough for their girlfriends? You’re basically setting the bar impossibly high for everyone else.”

Heeseung chuckles again, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “Oh, so now I’m the standard, huh?”

“You’re more than the standard, you’re the dream.”

Grinning widely, your boyfriend leans in to kiss you once again, this time more confident and at ease. It’s not like Heeseung to be vulnerable like this, the mix of alcohol and the early hours playing a massive part in his sudden change in behaviour. But he is so thankful that you aren’t judging him or deflecting his concerns in a passive moment even though you could have. It speaks volumes of your love and adoration for him, and that makes him feel more loved than anything else in the world.

His pretty lips melt with yours, your love blooming through each passing breath and brush of his nose with yours. His palms find a place on your waist as he guides you to crawl onto his lap, the sheets that were keeping you warm in your cocoon of sleep now long gone, the heat from Heeseung’s love now flooding your bloodstream. 

His hands slide up your waist, fingers exploring the curve of your sides before resting at the small of your back. The heat of his touch burns through the thin fabric of your pyjamas, setting you alight under his fingertips. He pulls you closer, guiding you to straddle his lap with ease and you can feel the beat of his heart and the ridge of his cock all at once - lust and love both present.

The kiss deepens and you find yourselves in a rhythm, the kind where neither of you is in a rush, savouring the moment for all it’s worth. His lips move with yours in an intoxicating way, every caress from his tongue sends shivers along your spine. He tastes like something familiar, something safe and beautiful - like home.

“I love you so fucking much, baby,” he murmurs into the kiss, his voice dripping in longing, each word brushing against your lips like a secret meant only for you. His breath fans over your face and the way he speaks, the pure adoration in his tone, makes your chest swell with so much emotion you feel like you might physically combust. It’s a confession he’s made a thousand times yet each time it feels like the first because he means it just as heavily each time.

If there was ever a reason for your heart to exist, for your lungs to keep breathing, it is to love Heeseung. Your heart is to keep you alive, but if you can't love him like this, there's no reason for it to keep pumping.

Nodding at his confession, you smile against his lips, a sound of contentment escaping you as you press closer to his chest, wanting to feel every inch of him. You want to be as close as physically possible to this man. Your hands find their way into his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as you deepen the kiss, pouring all your love into it. 

“I love you too, Hee,” you whisper between kisses, your voice low, filled with a yearning ache that matches his. “Always.”

His hands tighten around you, holding you as though you might slip away, his kisses becoming more urgent, more desperate. It’s the last few worries working through his brain, finding an escape in your comforting embrace.

Hands roaming your now fully alert body, Heeseung grips and caresses every inch of you he can, his fingers dancing along your back as his nails drag down ever so gently, just enough for you to feel the bite. He needs you under his skin. He needs you part of him. He needs you full stop.

Every brush of his lips, every gentle tug of your lower lip, every graze of his teeth sends a thrill through you, making your skin hum with electricity. His hand moves up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze dark with emotion, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

“I know we just had a sappy moment and I don’t want this to take away from it, but I’m horny as fuck right now.”

A sharp laugh escapes you, breaking through the moment, and you shake your head at Heeseung's bluntness, though the heat in the room is unmistakable. His words might’ve caught you off guard, but they don’t surprise you - it’s just so him to switch from vulnerability to desire. One of the many, many, reasons you adore him.

You grin goofily at him, your hands still tangled in his hair. “Oh, really?” you tease, your voice light but laced with that same unspoken tension that’s been building between you. “I never would have guessed with your cock poking my thigh.”

You both look down and see Heeseung’s member semi-hard, concealed only by his boxers. It makes you bite your lip in lust as you reply moments that his thick cock has taken you to the stars, has made you arch your back as your heart tries to leap from your chest and shout how much you love his inches pounding into you.

Heeseung's cheeks flush a deep pink, only adding to the alcohol flush he still has blushing over his features, but that signature mischievous grin appears on his face, his embarrassment melting into amusement. He lets out a soft chuckle, his eyes flicking between your teasing gaze and the obvious evidence of his desire pressing against you.

"Well," he says, his voice dropping an octave, his hand tightening slightly on your waist, "you can’t blame me, can you? I mean, look at you." His tone is playful, but there’s no mistaking the hunger behind his words as his eyes drag over your body, drinking in every inch of you. His lips find their way to your neck, teeth working in tandem to nip at your skin before he speaks again. “Y’know, I guess I should prove that I’m a good boyfriend, not just say it.”

A part of you wants to tell him that he proves it every day, that he is even proving it right now, but you know what this will lead to and you’ll be damned if you don’t let him continue. So you play along, smirking as you feel his mouth move south, kissing over your collarbone.

“I think you should,” you giggle out in a moan as his teeth sink into you. The sound escapes your lips, a mixture of laughter and desire, and you feel his cock twitch at the sound, a primal response that only fuels the fire igniting between you both. 

Any noise you make is Heeseung’s favourite song.

With a swift motion, Heeseung peels your tank top off, revealing your breasts. He ogles at them, memorising every mark, line, and curve of them as if he doesn’t study them every day. If he was set the challenge to draw them from memory, he could pass with flying colours.

Attaching his mouth to your right nipple, he teasingly bites around the peak and flicks it with his tongue before wrapping his lips around it, sucking gently as though he’s savouring a fine wine; your body has the same effect as alcohol on him anyway. 

The sensation sends an electric jolt through you, arching your back and pushing your chest further into him, a silent plea for more. Heeseung's hands grab hold of your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive skin, heightening the atmosphere in the room.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he mumbles against your skin, punctuating each word with soft kisses. The way he admires you - like you’re a masterpiece and he’s not even worthy to be standing in the museum you decorate - fills you with a sense of pride. You never feel more beautiful or worthy than when you’re in your boyfriend’s arms. 

You can’t help but tilt your head back, surrendering to the desire-filled feeling crashing over you as he lavishes the skin on your body.

His mouth moves from your breast to your collarbone, trailing kisses that leave a path of fire in their wake. As he nips at your skin, you feel a rush of warmth pool low in your belly, the heady mix of desire and adoration overwhelming. Heeseung's fingers dig into your hips, anchoring you to him, and you can feel the way his body responds to yours - hard and insistent against your thigh. 

“Am I proving myself?” he asks playfully, pulling back to look into your eyes, his gaze dark with lust and mischief. His lips glisten slightly, and you can’t help but admire how he looks at this moment - wild and undone, completely lost in the taste of you.

“More than you know,” you breathe, a smile creeping onto your lips as you lean in closer, brushing your nose against his. The closeness feels intoxicating, every heartbeat syncing with his own. “But I think there’s a way you can really prove it to me.”

With a playful glint in your eye, you push him back gently, manoeuvring him to lie flat against the sheets of your shared bed. You straddle him, your knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his hips as you trap him. 

Leaning down, you place a teasing kiss on his lips before trailing your mouth lower, down his chest, relishing every inch of skin you encounter. He tastes like a mix of his body wash and perfume. You take your time, letting your lips brush against his abs, ghosting and teasing while feeling the taut muscles beneath your fingertips as you draw nearer to where you want to be.

“This doesn’t feel like me proving I’m a good boyfriend if you’re doing all the work,” he laughs, his voice rich with playful sarcasm.

“Just relax,” you murmur, looking up at him through your thick lashes, “I’ve got this.” With that, you grip the waistband of his boxers and edge them down, revealing him fully. The sight of his arousal makes your heart race even faster. Fuck, he’s so delicious. The air is thick with tension and anticipation, and as you wrap your fingers around him, the knowing of what’s to come sends shivers down your spine.

“Seriously, Y/N, why don’t I-”

You interrupt him, your voice playful yet sultry, “I’m literally in love with your cock, so if you want to ‘prove’ you’re a good boyfriend, you’ll let me suck it.” You smile innocently up at your boyfriend, and the mischievous glint in your eyes only heightens the intensity surrounding you.

 When you say you love his cock, that isn’t even enough to convey just how much you worship it.

For the past year, this single cock has taken you to heaven and back, lifting you past the clouds and into galaxies that haven’t even been explored yet. Heeseung has done more for your pleasure than any self-exploration or rose toy could ever hope to give you. If he wants to talk about women’s complaints about their boyfriends, unsatisfying sex is more common than not, and he has yet to disappoint you.

When you first started dating, the chemistry between you was so strong that you found yourselves lost in each other’s arms on the very first date. Even then, while you still had so much to learn about one another - your likes and dislikes, how you moved with one another - Heeseung somehow pressed every button inside you, fine-tuning spots you hadn’t even discovered. He is so attuned to your needs, both physically and mentally.

That is how you know he is a cut above the rest.

With a teasing grin, you peel his boxers down further, whisking them off and throwing them to the floor. You take a moment to admire him, the way his dick stands eager and glistening. It’s a sight that always sends a rush of heat straight to your cunt, making it purr and mewl out to be stuffed.

Leaning in closer, you let your breath ghost over the tip of his bell, watching as he shakes out a breath in response. The tension in his body is palpable and it fuels your desire even more. You love to see him wriggle beneath you - it makes you feel good. Probably a people-pleaser trait that you’ve developed. But if it’s Heeseung? You want to do your very most to please.

You give him a slow, teasing lick, starting from the base and moving up to the tip, taking your time to savour the taste of him. A low groan escapes his lips, and the sound makes your heart race, sending a thrill of pleasure coursing through you.

“Y/N,” he gasps, his voice thick with desire, “you really don’t have to-”

But you cut him off again, looking at him with pleading eyes. “I want to,” you assure him, your voice a whisper as you lean in, capturing his tip in your mouth. The warmth of you envelops him, and you hollow your cheeks, sucking gently as you begin to take him deeper.

Heeseung’s hands find their way to your hair, fingers threading through it as he guides you softly, his breaths turning into heavy pants. You love the way he watches you, eyes dark and filled with admiration and lust. As you take him deeper, you let your tongue swirl around the tip, teasing and tantalising him, every flick sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body.

Gathering your hair into a ponytail and threading his fingers through your strands to make sure he doesn’t miss a bit, he begins to tie your hair up. He does this; one, so he can see your pretty lips wrapping around him, and two, because he knows how annoyed you get when your hair is in your face. It’s partly the reason why he always carries a bobble on his wrist, for spontaneous times like this. 

The black bobble has come in handy more times than he can count; parties, work events, in the car, you name it. You love to suck his cock, there was no denying it, and you will take any opportunity, hence why he is always prepared.

With each slow movement, you can feel Heeseung tense. You watch him closely, revelling in the way his mouth falls open, struggling to find the words to express what he’s feeling - though, his face does enough explaining. His chest rises and falls, each breath coming faster than the last as you continue to work your mouth around him. 

“That’s it, baby,” he breathes, his voice shaky as he tries to keep control. You can sense his yearning and quite honestly, it makes you feel so powerful. With every moment that passes, you grow more determined to show him just how much he means to you.

You start to pick up the pace, your head moving faster as you slide him deeper into your mouth, allowing your lips to wrap around him snugly. You can feel the muscles in his thighs tense, his body urging you on as he struggles not to bust a load in your mouth right here and now. The raw desperation in his eyes only ignites your need for him, and you find yourself lost in the rhythm of it, moving in sync with the unspoken connection between you.

“Y/N, please, I’ll not last long,” he murmurs, his voice thick with the urge as he bites his lip, a look of pleasure painting his features. You can tell he’s holding back, wanting to let go but trying to let you take your time. The contrast of his restraint against your eagerness sends a rush of heat through you, and you can feel the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips as you squeeze his thighs.

Instead of slowing down, you push him fully down your throat, the bell of his cock sitting exactly where your voicebox is located, and you swallow. It’s something you know he loves more than anything and thanks to a lot of practice paired with patience from your boyfriend, you perfected it. 

Your throat gags at the intrusion of his cock as it tries to gulp down, Heeseung thrashes beneath you, holding in his breath and he tenses, toes curling in desperation. 

“Jesus, fuck,” he gasps out through gritted teeth, the intensity of the sensation overwhelming him. His fingers grip your hair tighter, a mix of pleasure and desperation coursing through him as he feels you take him deeper than ever. The warm heat enveloping him is almost too much to bear, and he can't help but thrust his hips slightly, seeking that delicious friction that drives him wild.

You can feel every shudder and quake of his body, the way he fights against the urge to let go. With each swallow, you tighten your throat around him, your body instinctively reacting to his need. The vibrations from your throat send delicious, torturous vibrations through his entire length, and you can tell he’s so fucking close.

“Y/N,” he moans, his voice laced with an intoxicating mix of desperation and awe. “You’re so fucking perfect.” The way he breathes your name is music to your ears, fueling your desire even more. The rasp in his tone along with the tiny giggle that pushes out, showcases the glee he is feeling within himself. It’s a beautiful contrast to how this rude awakening started.

Determined to push him over the edge, you pull back just slightly, letting the tip of him rest on your tongue as you swirl it around his knob, dipping it past his slit a few times before diving back down, taking him fully once more. Each movement is deliberate, each glide of your lips sending him further into the abyss of pleasure. The sound of your lips slurping and the wetness of your mouth fills the room, creating an intoxicating rhythm that both of you are losing yourself in.

“Please, stop,” he begs, his eyes squeezing shut as he loses himself in the moment. “I can’t hold back much longer.” You revel in the power you have over him, the way your actions leave him breathless and needy. It’s a perfect feeling, one that makes you want to do this forever, to draw out his pleasure as long as you can.

But just as you think he might tumble over the edge, Heeseung suddenly pulls you off of him, his chest heaving with short breaths as he fights to regain control. His gaze is dark, filled with desire and a hint of desperation, and it sends a thrill through you as he locks eyes with you.

With a swift motion, he pulls your face up to his, capturing your lips in a feverish kiss. It’s a clash of passion, sweetness and raw hunger as his mouth moves against yours. He can taste the remnants of your earlier actions on his tongue but he doesn’t care, he’s never been one to care about that, unlike some men.

Again, a reason why he’s a cut above the rest.

As you kiss, his fingers find home between your legs, feeling how wet you are just from sucking his cock. The feeling makes him smirk, his ego growing along with his arousal. He pushes your shorts and underwear to the side and you gasp into his mouth as you feel the heat of his member sliding against your pussy. 

“I need you so fucking bad,” Heeseung breathes between kisses. You can feel the urgency in his words, the way his body reacts to yours, the heat radiating off him, makes your heart race faster, and you instinctively press against him, seeking that sweet friction. “Let me fuck you, please, baby.” Heeseung is whiny and desperate, which means you know he’s close, seeking out that sweet release.

And you are more than happy to give him it.

You break the kiss just long enough to whisper, “Fuck me, please, Hee.” 

The invitation drives him over the edge, losing control completely, and you can see the flicker of determination in his eyes as he moves to claim you, each moment stretching out as you both surrender to the overwhelming connection that binds you together.

With pure greed, Heeseung captures your lips again, his mouth moving against yours with urgency. When his mouth finds your breasts again, he takes your right nipple into his mouth, sucking gently before nibbling around the peak, his tongue swirling and teasing as he sends waves of pleasure through you.

Slipping into your heat, Heeseung’s cock finally stretches you open, a gasp in harmony orchestrating around your bedroom. Your eyes roll back as he fills you to the hilt, the exquisite sensation sending electric pulses of pleasure coursing through every part of your body. Heeseung pauses for just a moment, letting you adjust to his size, his breath coming in heavy pants as he watches you. 

“God, you feel amazing,” he murmurs, his voice thick with need as he slowly pulls back, only to plunge deep again. Each thrust is a slow exploration at first as he seeks to bring you both to that blissful peak. The sensation of his cock sliding against your inner walls sends waves of pleasure through you. Heeseung's eyes never leave your face, drinking in the sight of you lost in ecstasy, each gasp and moan drawing him deeper into the moment.

Heeseung's hands grip your hips, fingers digging into your flesh as he finds a steady rhythm, pushing deeper with each jerk of his hips, trying to prove to you just how great of a boyfriend he can be, how he will give you everything he has; mind, body, and spirit. 

Your body instinctively responds, arching into him, craving more as the world around you fades into the background. The sounds of skin slapping against skin echo in the quiet room, punctuated by the choir of your shared gasps and moans. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans, his voice low and husky, thick with pleasure as he quickens his pace. It doesn’t matter how many times he fucks you, your walls will always welcome him in the most delicious way. 

You can feel the tension building within you with each thrust. The urgency in his movements builds, each movement charged with desperation and longing as he works hard to drive you both to the brink. He leans down, capturing your lips in another messy albeit loving kiss, stealing what little breath you have left.

As he kisses you, his hands roam down to your thighs, lifting your legs higher to allow him even deeper access. The shift in angle has you moaning like a pornstar as he hits that sweet spot inside you. You can feel the pressure building, the familiar tight coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter within you, urging you closer to release.

“Y/N,” he breathes against your lips, his voice low and breathy, filled with both desire and admiration. “You’re everything to me.” The words resonate deep within your chest, and they only serve to heighten the intensity of your love for him. “I want you to cum for me,” he murmurs, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing in perfect time with his thrusts, his thumb pressing down on your sensitive bud.

The sensation of his fingers combined with the friction of his cock sends you spiralling toward the edge. With each stroke of his cock and each slow circle of his thumb, you can feel the heat pooling in your core, a delicious tension building that threatens to overflow.

“Hee, I’m so close,” you gasp, nails digging into his back as the sensations overwhelm you. Heeseung groans in response, his thrusts growing more frantic, his desire matching your own as he chases that high alongside you. “Just a little more, baby, you can take it,” he urges, his voice thick with need, every thrust a promise of the pleasure to come.

Your breaths come in sharp bursts as the pleasure builds to an unbearable peak, the world around you narrowing to just the two of you. With every movement, Heeseung brings you closer to the edge, the rhythm of his hips and the precision of his fingers drawing you nearer to bliss. Your body begins to tremble, the coil inside you winding tighter as Heeseung’s pace quickens, urgency fueling every thrust.

“Let go for me, baby,” he whispers, each word enveloped with need, and that simple command pushes you over the edge. With a shriek, your body explodes in pleasure, waves of ecstasy crashing over you as you shatter beneath him.

The sensation washes over you, and as you lose yourself to it, you can feel Heeseung following closely behind, his own release spilling into you as he groans your name, ropes of his cum painting your walls, the heat adding to your pleasure and making your cunt try and swallow each drop. 

As the waves of pleasure finally begin to subside, you find yourself still tangled together, your breaths mingling in the now warm air. Heeseung’s arms are wrapped securely around you, holding you close as his heartbeat gradually slows, though the lingering electricity between you remains palpable. You can feel the aftershocks of your climax coursing through you along with the final jumps of his cock, each pulse a gentle reminder of the ecstasy you just shared.

Heeseung gently pulls out, and a soft whimper escapes your lips at the loss, but he’s quick to pull you into his embrace, cradling you against his chest. His fingers brush through your hair, and you can’t help but smile, the afterglow of your connection illuminating your heart. 

“So...did I prove myself,” he breathes, a satisfied grin spreading across his face as he meets your gaze. There’s a playful glint in his eyes, his brows wiggling. You’re so happy to have this Heeseung back, the worries and doubts are long gone.

“You never had to prove anything, Hee. You prove yourself every single day.” Your voice is earnest and raw, meaning every word. Your hand comes up to cradle his cheek as you stroke his flushed face. “I love you so much, baby. Please never doubt yourself like that again.” 

Heeseung’s eyes soften at your words, a bashfulness coming over his features as he leans into your touch. The sincerity in your voice wraps around him like a comforting blanket, easing away any lingering insecurities. 

“You really mean that?”

“Of course, I do,” you assure him, the depth of your love for him echoing amongst each syllable. “You are everything I have ever wanted and more. I don’t just say it for the sake of it, you know. You really are perfect for me, Hee. Perfect in general.”

His heart swells at your declaration, a grin lighting his face the way the moon lights up the room. “Well, I guess that means I should keep doing what I’m doing, yeah?”

“Abso-fucking-luty, “ you giggle, kissing his chest before you settle your head there, listening to his heartbeat, the one that beats only for you. “Just keep being mine.”

“Always.”

[chleem]

Wonder what is going on with casual!drew and reader in valentine’s :////

⋆.˚ Warnings: angst w/ a side of fluff (read at own caution

word count: 3.5k

──── 𝜗𝜚 ─────

As you made your way to checkout, you weren’t so sure anymore. 

It was your first Valentines’ with Drew, your casual relationship for…more than five months now. 

He was next to you, mindlessly pushing the cart, AirPods in one ear, eyes focused on the snack aisle. 

You couldn’t help but feel…disappointed? Sad? Weird?

It was casual, yes, but it was Valentine’s day. 

Valentine’s wasn’t just another day. It was the day, the one where people at least tried to show they cared—whether with a gesture or a simple acknowledgment. 

And while you’ve convinced yourself you were fine with the way things were between you two, a small part of you had hoped for something, anything. 

A hint that maybe, just maybe, Drew felt differently about you today.

No. He didn’t. 

Starting with this morning, no text. No call. 

Well, only one, and it was ‘dinner at yours?’

Okay, you had to admit, that got you a bit excited, because maybe he got something planned? 

But as the hours passed, there was nothing.

You didn’t see him at any point during the day, except for lunch. He was with his friends, laughing, hanging out, acting like… he would, on a normal day. But then, at one point, you could’ve sworn he flirted with that one girl.

The hours leading up were just bumping into couples in hallways, boring lectures, etc. 

And now here you were, walking through the aisles of the supermarket with Drew, sharing AirPods, grabbing groceries like it was…just another day. 

Maybe it was. You weren’t sure. 

As you walked toward the checkout, it was clear—he hadn’t even mentioned it. 

You glanced at him again, trying to gauge if maybe he was just oblivious, or if this was exactly what he wanted—no pressure, no expectations. 

Causal, casual, casual. 

But what you felt wasn’t relief; it was…you weren’t sure. 

Finally, mustering up the courage, you nudge his side, getting his attention. 

You could feel his blue eyes staring down at you as you both neared the end of the aisle. 

"Drew?" Your voice barely above a whisper as you looked ahead. God, were you nervous?

“Yeah?” His hand pushes on the cart, fingers drumming gently to the beat of I’ll make love to you. 

“…do you know what day it is?”

“Friday,” he answers almost immediately, and you can hear the slight confusion in his voice. 

Oh wow. So…he really doesn’t know?

“Right,” you say, your voice almost flat as you try to play it cool. “Friday.”

“Yeah?” This yeah was definitely a confused one. 

You and Drew exit the snacks aisle, making your way to the checkout counters. It's silent for a few steps, the air thick with the awkwardness, until—

"Something wrong?”

His voice is softer now, a little more tentative. He’s trying to figure out what’s going on, and part of you wants to just brush it off—tell him it’s no big deal.

You glance over at him, his blue eyes searching your face for some kind of answer, but you’re not sure of what to say.

Tell him and have him get you something last minute? 

That would…feel much more worse. 

But just as you’re about to settle on saying nothing, the seasonal aisle catches your eye. 

Aka, The Valentine’s aisle. Bright reds and pinks, heart-shaped boxes, plush bears, and cards scattered across the shelves. Everything screams Valentine’s and stands out like a neon sign, as if to make sure you’re fully aware that today was supposed to be special for someone.

It feels like the universe is saying, Here, you can’t ignore it anymore. 

Drew follows your gaze,

“Oh,”

He whispers, as if realizing. 

You watch his back, your eyes scanning the t-shirt that outlines his muscles, hoping to see anything—anything that might indicate he’s getting it now. Maybe a shift in his posture, a tightening in his shoulders, like he’s finally clued in. 

But no. Nothing. 

He stands there for a beat, his hands still resting loosely on the cart. 

In your AirPods, it’s now playing What a girl wants. 

You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath, until he turns back around, his eyes meeting yours, and there’s…a smile on his lips. 

A smile that, for the first time today, seems like maybe he does get it. 

“Okay,” his hands leaves the cart, wrapping around your waist. He pulls you close to him, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. 

Drew’s height towers over you, and he’s looking down at you with that, signature- almost smitten look of his. 

You rest your arms on his chest, the rhythm of his heartbeat matching the quick thrum of yours.

Is he gonna say it? Will you be my Valentine-

“Happy Valentine’s, y/n.”

Your heart skips a beat. 

But then, your eyebrows furrow, and the frown on your face betrays you, unable to hide the disappointment that creeps in.

You expected something more. You wanted him to say it, to choose you in that moment, to make this first Valentine’s together something that felt significant. 

And yet, it’s just… casual.

You pull back slightly, giving him a soft, but hesitant smile, the silence hanging heavier than before. You can’t help but wonder if he realizes how much this matters—or if it matters to him at all.

Drew seems to notice, and the hands on your waist gives it a slight pinch, “what?”

You take a deep breath, trying to shake off the embarrassment that’s clouding your chest. 

Fuck- you really thought he was gonna say it?

No- no, it’s just casual. 

“Happy Valentine’s,” you whisper to him, barely above a murmur. Without giving him a chance to respond, you pull away from his arms, your hands gripping the cart.

Suddenly, you just want to get out of here. You don’t even know why— you just do. 

The wheels of the cart squeak as you push it forward, your pace quickening slightly as you make your way toward the checkout. 

Drew doesn’t follow immediately, but you can hear his footsteps behind you as he catches up.

His hands overlap yours on the cart, and you feel his chest press against your back as you continue toward the long line of checkout. His presence is undeniable now—warm and familiar.

He doesn't say anything at first, and for a moment, it feels like he's waiting for you to make the first move, to give him a sign that everything’s okay—or to tell him what’s wrong.

His fingers tighten around the handle of the cart, his hand large compared to yours. 

“It’s Valentine's day, right?” 

You can hear his smile, even though you’re not looking directly at him.

“Yeah,” you reply quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “It is.”

“Okay…you mad?”

The line moves forward, so Drew gently pushes you and the cart forward. 

His breath hits your ear every time with how close he is, and you could feel yourself going limp, harder to stay upset now. 

“I’m not mad.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“…you wanna go back and forth like this?”

His tone is light, but you can hear the frustration that peaks out. He’s trying to keep it casual, trying to play it off, but you can tell he's getting frustrated too.

Before you can say anything, the cashier cuts in with a sharp “Next!” 

Drew steps back, the pressure of his body against yours vanishing, but his warmth lingers, as if it’s still tied to you.

The two of you move synchronously, like this routine is one you’ve done a thousand times. You start unloading the items onto the counter, the soft beeps of the register filling the silence between you.

But then, as you reach into the cart to grab the next item, your fingers brush against something familiar... condoms. 

Blood rushes to your cheeks, even hotter than before.

Oh, it’s not just any kind—it’s labeled Valentine's Special. 

The packaging is red and glossy, with hearts and some playful wording plastered across the front.

His hands come in contact with yours, and when you look up, it's Drew, gently taking the box from your grasp. 

“It was the last one...” he murmurs, so casually, but there's a teasing curl of his lips as he pretends to inspect the box. 

He then places the Valentine's special box on the counter, its vibrant, awkwardly festive packaging sitting there between you and the cashier like a beacon of... well, awkwardness.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, no longer upset, rather, more self-conscious than ever. 

It’s one thing to buy condoms, but another to buy different flavors or special packaged-ones. 

Drew doesn’t seem embarrassed at all. In fact, he looks almost too relaxed, like he's having fun with it.

Knowing you’re too focused on that Valentine’s condom on the counter, Drew finishes loading the rest onto the counter, the cashier bagging up the items. 

“How would you like to pay?” the cashier asks, breaking the silence.

“Card,” Drew responds, pulling out his wallet and swiping the card without a second thought. 

Drew finishes the payment, grabbing the bag, his eyes flicking to you with that amused smile on his face again.

One of his hands lingers on the small of your back, his fingers just barely grazing the skin there as he guides you towards the exit. He then leans in, his voice low and teasing, “excited, baby?” he whispers, the words almost like a soft joke.

As soon as you feel like the cashier is out of earshot, you can't help yourself, gently scolding him, although, the smile on your lips betray you, “Drew!”

He chuckles softly, not even the slightest bit rattled by your reaction. 

“Thought we, we’d try something special,” he shrugs. 

The supermarket doors open automatically, and you feel his hand slip down into the back pocket of your jeans, as he reaches for his car keys.

The feeling of his fingers brushing against your ass sends a jolt through you, making you yelp. 

The ticklish sensation makes your body instinctively pulling away just a little, which only makes it harder for him to look for his keys.

He lets out a soft laugh, the sound warm and amused, but his hand stays right where it is, maybe lingering a bit longer. 

Drew knows you’re ticklish, and he knows there’s no need to keep his car keys in your pocket.

But he does it anyways, all the time. 

“Hey,” you murmur, your hands going to rub your ass, where he touched. 

There’s still a smile on his lips as he finally pulls his fingers out of the tight back pocket of your jeans, pressing the ‘start’ button for his car. 

The sound of the car beeping open echoes in the quiet parking lot, and the trunk lifts automatically.

You both start walking toward the car, and Drew tosses the big bag of groceries into the trunk in one smooth motion, closing it after. 

Then the soft thud of the car door, as both of you settle in—Drew sliding into the driver’s seat, and you into the passenger’s. 

The familiar scent of his car hits you immediately, and its weirdly comforting in a way, but also stirring. 

Almost immediately, as Drew starts driving out of the parking lot, one of his hands rest on your thigh, the touch gentle yet grounding. 

Casual, casual, casual. 

You reach forward and press play on his car screen. 

Playing, Every breath you take. 

“Fucking classic,” Drew murmurs under his breath, eyes focused on the road ahead. 

A smile tugs at your lips at his comment, and you find yourself resting your head gently on his arm, surprisingly comfortable.

For the rest of the way back, the two of you just... settle into the silence. The music drifts through the air, and the shared playlist seems to pull you both into a space where words aren't necessary.

——

Once you stepped out the elevator, a girl stops you, her smile wide as she catches your attention.

Drew watches, as the two of you go on about…actually, he lost interest the moment she opened her mouth. 

He gives you a soft tap on your waist, and it immediately pulls your attention back to him. When you meet his eyes, he cocks his head toward the bag of groceries, a silent hint that he's going to head to your dorm first. 

You give him a quick nod, before returning to the conversation with the girl, maybe your classmate? Or friend? Drew didn’t care. 

As Drew makes his way down the hall, the sound of your voice fading behind him, he finally reaches your dorm. 

But…he stops dead in his tracks, his gaze falling to the floor in front of your door.

There, at his feet, is a large bouquet of roses. Bright, bold, and impossibly out of place in the otherwise quiet hallway.

What…the fuck? 

For a second, he just stands there, the usual confidence draining from his posture as he takes in the unexpected sight.

Drew then notices a small, white card tucked in amongst the flowers. His expression flickers, a quiet moment of hesitation before he slowly bends down.

His hand reaches for the card, fingers brushing lightly over the petals before finally gripping it. 

Drew’s eyes scan the words written on the card, his brows furrowing deeper with each sentence.

It slowly comes to his realization that this is a love letter…for you!

He blinks, re-reading the opening line. “‘I’ve liked you, y/n, for a very long time, please accept this…’” 

His grip on the card tightens, jaw clenched. The words on the card are so sincere, so lovingly—what the fuck?

Drew flips the card over, almost desperately, hoping to find any clue as to who might’ve sent this to you. 

And there it is, written in neat handwriting: Mike.

His mind scrambles for a moment, trying to place the name.

Mike…mike…mike…who the…

Then, it clicks.

Mike. That first-year at the bar. The one you bumped into a few weeks ago, the one at the library. 

It’s him. The guy who's clearly interested in you, and now he’s made his move with this…this huge bundle of flowers and cringey confession. 

His mind races, the feelings of frustration, confusion, and jealousy— all fighting for control. 

But, what he’s feeling right now isn’t what’s concerning. 

What’s concerning, is what to do with these roses? 

Then, he hears footsteps, coming his way, and slightly panicked, he crumbles the card up, forcing it into his pocket.

You stand there, only a few steps away, your eyes flickering between the roses on the floor and Drew bending- well, practically kneeling next to it now.

Closing the distance, you bend down next to him, eyes focused on the roses. 

And Drew sees it, clear as day; the way your eyes light up, that soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips, and the faintest flush on your cheeks— shy, happy, embarrassed, he didn’t know.

Your hand touches the roses, almost too delicately, and then, you meet his eyes. 

Drew's breath catches. There's something in your eyes—something that feels like…like the entire world is reflected in them.

He’s stunned, his words stuttering out, ”you—“

“Are these for me?” you ask, barely above a whisper. 

“Yeah... they are,” he finally mutters, his voice quieter than usual.

Drew couldn’t help but admire the way you looked- his attention now solely focused on you, as if everything else in the world had faded away. 

You turn to him, eyes soft and full of warmth as you say, “Thank you.”

As if feeling the weight behind those words, you laugh softly, trying to play it off. 

But Drew knows you better than anyone. You’ll cherish these roses till they wither away, he knows it.  

But then your words- ‘thank you,’ flash through his mind, and he lifts his eyebrows slightly, confused. 

“You ordered these…no?”

You thought he was the one that gave you the roses. 

His heart races for a split second as he considers how to handle this.

Then, he decides fuck it, a grin tugging at his lips as he shakes off the knot in his stomach. 

The last time he’d seen you this excited, it was after you won that hotdog-eating contest, and honestly, he would kill to see you that happy again. 

With a gentle shrug, he smiles, “you like it?”

You smile even wider, “very much.”

You pick up the big bouquet of roses from the floor, hugging it tightly to your chest. 

Drew’s grin softens, and he leans in just slightly, his eyes sparkling as he catches your gaze. “Really?”

You stand up, still hugging it as if it might disappear if you let go. “Mhm.”

Drew stands up, “no you don’t,” he whispers, but not a single cell in his body believed you didn’t like it; it’s painted all over your face. 

“I do! I love it,” you say, your voice growing all soft and genuine. 

He stood there, watching you, almost as if time had slowed. 

Standing here, outside your room, with you, with how you cradled the roses to your chest with such tenderness—it made something change inside him, something deep he couldn’t quite place. 

There was something about you in this moment, the sincerity in your smile, the way you looked so... happy.

Drew didn’t expect to feel so conflicted. 

He’d always been the one to keep things light, casual, to avoid feeling too much. 

Was this what it felt like to want more than just the surface? To actually care?

Drew opened his mouth to say something, to make a joke, to deflect—but he couldn’t. He was struck by how genuine you were, how completely different this moment felt from everything else.

“Thank you,” you whispered again, and the words hung in the air, almost as if you were thanking him for more than just the roses.

Were you? Were you thanking him for more than just those roses?

And maybe, just maybe, Drew realized that he was starting to get a little too comfortable with the idea of something more. 

Something more, with you. 

Aw, fuck. 

And he did it, he cuts own his thoughts off, "Prove it.”

Those words practically echo between you two, a challenge wrapped in a husky whisper. 

You glance up at him, a little taken aback, but Drew notices it, the way you quickly recover.

You take a small step forward, "Prove it?”

Drew’s smile is a mix of teasing and something deeper. "Yeah," he murmurs, his eyes scanning your face. "Show me, show me you really mean it.”

Without thinking, you tilt your head just slightly, and then, just as Drew anticipated, you close the gap, pressing your lips to his. 

His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you in, as the kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, more alive than any of the other moments you'd shared before.

In that kiss, there's no pretending, no games. At least for Drew, there’s no pretending. 

Actually, not a time was he pretending. When he’s kissing you, those kisses are full of all that’s unsaid, and Drew finds himself lost in it. 

And soon enough, the only thing that matters in this moment is the dent forming in Drew’s pants. 

Also…the huge bouquet of roses and grocery bag in the way, almost like a wall. 

He reluctantly pulls away, breathless, eyes flickering between your lips and the flowers. 

Silence flows through the both of you, until Drew speaks up, his voice soft, and in his ears, sounding a bit whimper-like.

“...I'm not hungry anymore." 

You’re not?” you ask, your voice a bit higher than usual.

“I am, but, for something else." 

“…but I’m hungry…” you reply, your words soft, and Drew catches the little pout forming on your lips.

He freezes for a second, seriously contemplating whether he should prioritize his appetite or yours.

Drew decides against it- laughing, the sound low and warm, “Okay- okay.”

Your smile returns, and you reach into his pocket for your dorm keys, hands close to his erection that pokes evidently against his jeans. 

Your eyebrows raise briefly as you take the keys out, unlocking your room. 

Drew watches you, amused but also slightly captivated by how you’ve turned this moment into something playful. But that’s your charm—the way you could take something as intimate as this and make it feel light, effortless. It’s always been that way with you.

But clearly- that guy, Mike, clearly saw something in you too. 

That thought makes a strange twist in his gut, yet, Drew quickly pushes it aside, not wanting to spoil the mood.

The roses might be from someone else, but this moment? That’s all his.

After all, it was Valentine’s Day. 

And it goes without saying, love is in the air, and nothing could ruin it. 

Or- casualness is in the air, or… whatever’s going on between you two. 

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

is there a difference between 'will you be my valentine?' and 'happy valentines.'? i wonder...

elevator | other | official oneshot | extra 1 | extra 2 | extra 3

casual taglist: @maybankslover @rafeyswifey @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @amb3rsaurus @bananaminn @rafecamerons-national-anthem @milky321 @drewnationalgf @iraslore @ursogorgeous13 @jamimers @hockeybabe87 @jqtsblyth @virgochaos @wolvestitches @dontblamethedrunkcaller @thoughtdaughter0

edit: i forgot they got airpods in during shopping...pretend they took it off once they got in the car, okay? ok.

[dreaminguponlilypads]

PUNISHMENT.

Simon “Ghost” Riley x reader

pt. 2

happy birthday to me lol, you guys have starved for a fic long enough so i shall feed you. tell me if you want pt.2

You had never thought someone like Ghost would ever look twice at you.

You were quiet. A recruit who blended into the background, more comfortable observing than being in the spotlight. You had your own demons—self-doubt, anxiety, the constant nagging thought that you weren’t enough. That you’d never be enough.

But then he came along.

He had seen you when no one else did. Not just as a soldier, but as a person. His patience, his quiet reassurances, the way his hand would linger at the small of your back or how he’d pull you into his warmth after a rough day—it had all been real. Or so you thought.

Until you saw the messages.

Soap: Congrats, ya big muppet. Can’t believe yer actually gonna do it.

Gaz: Who would’ve thought a lost bet would end up here?

Price: Never seen you so whipped, mate. From bet to buying a ring—hell of a journey.

Soap: Aye, remember when he was grumbling about even asking em out? Now look at him.

Your stomach twisted as you read and reread the words.

A bet.

It had all started as a joke.

The relationship that had saved you, that had made you feel wanted, seen, loved—had started as nothing more than a game to him.

You wanted to be angry. Wanted to storm up to him, demand an explanation, throw the damn phone at his chest. But you couldn’t.

Because how could you be mad at something you had already feared deep down?

Of course, it had been too good to be true.

You had spent so long convincing yourself that Simon really wanted you, that he really saw something in you. But now? The gnawing insecurity that he had helped you fight off came roaring back with a vengeance.

Your hands were shaking when you set his phone back on the table.

You needed to get out of here.

-

Simon knew something was wrong the second he walked into your shared quarters.

He found you standing there, arms wrapped around yourself, eyes red-rimmed like you had been holding back tears. His stomach dropped.

“Love?” His voice was low, cautious. “What’s wrong?”

You forced out a shaky breath. “Was it all a bet?”

Silence.

Your heart clenched as you watched his expression flicker—confusion, realization, then something that almost looked like fear.

“Where’d you hear that?” His voice had taken on that measured tone he used in the field. Like he was calculating his next move.

You let out a hollow laugh. “Does it matter?” You lifted his phone slightly before setting it back down. “Your team’s got quite the sense of humor.”

He cursed under his breath. “It’s not what you think.”

You swallowed hard. “Then tell me what it is, Simon. Tell me why the man who made me believe I was worth something only asked me out because he lost.”

His eyes darkened. “It was a stupid bet. A joke between the lads. I didn’t think—I didn’t know—” He exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. “I never expected to fall for you.”

You flinched at the choice of words. “But you still lied.”

“I didn’t lie—”

“You didn’t tell me,” you shot back. “That’s the same thing.”

His lips pressed into a tight line. “I was ashamed.” His voice was quieter now. “Didn’t want you to think—” He cut himself off, jaw clenching before he forced himself to look at you. “Didn’t want you to think this wasn’t real.”

Your breath hitched. “But it wasn’t real. Not at first.”

His silence was all the confirmation you needed.

You had spent so long fighting off the belief that you weren’t good enough. That you weren’t worthy of someone like him. And now, every whispered fear, every creeping doubt, had been proven right.

You felt yourself withdrawing, curling inward, that familiar weight of insecurity pressing down on your chest. The walls you had let him tear down were rebuilding themselves brick by brick.

“I need to go,” you choked out, turning towards the door.

His hand caught your wrist, firm but careful. “Baby, please,” he murmured. “Don’t shut me out.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, breathing ragged. You wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe that everything he had done for you, every loving caress, every whispered reassurance, hadn’t just been out of guilt or obligation.

But how could you?

You pulled your wrist free, ignoring the way his fingers lingered, like he couldn’t bear to let go.

“I can’t do this right now,” you whispered.

And then you walked away, leaving Simon standing there with his hands clenched at his sides, the weight of a ring box in his pocket feeling heavier than ever.

[mr-tony-stark]

Tony’s eyes flicked over Clint as he told the story, trying to look for tells to see if he was lying at all.  It seemed like he was telling the truth, but Tony had been burned by people in the past that he’d thought cared about him.  Almost fatally.

“It’s a problem because dating fans is  -” he let out a breath.  “Look.  For starters, if I date someone who’s a fan, then I can’t trust that they’ll do things based on what they actually want over what they think they need to to keep me in their life.  It’s the same as how teacher’s can’t date a student.  There’s a power dynamic that’s really skewed in the wrong way.  And I already have to worry about that just because of the amount of money I have.  Clint - I don’t think you realize how much power fame and money comes with.  I’ve slept with people by pointing at them and beckoning them over.  We didn’t even need to speak.  The money and fame was enough for all their common sense to fly out the window.  That’s bad enough if it’s a one time thing.  In those cases, as long as we’re keeping it fairly vanilla the hope is they have a good time and end up with a story they can tell for a while.  But long term?  It’s just a really fucked up dynamic”

He shook his head.  “And on my side, how can I trust that person?  How can I know that they even care about me as a person and not the celebrity they built up in their head?  I hear from Margot that you used to talk about me - and yes, you’re right, I’m famous, but so is Tom Cruise and I never talk about him - and I can’t help but think you’re only here because young you fantasized about it and went for it as soon as you got a chance.  I mean you’ve put up with me doing some pretty shitty things, Clint.”

Clint blinked in surprise at his words a blush forming on his cheeks. “First of all, why would it be weird? Everyone knew who you were, but that’s not the point,” he spoke waving his hand. “Okay so—-“ he rubbed the back of his neck and sighs. “First time I heard of you was through Margot. I was… around 20 at the time? Ish?” He spoke and nodded a bit.

“Not sure, anyways… I had always been unsure of my sexuality and then Margot was watching you on tv and well—“ he sighs obviously flustered. “I thought you were hot,” he spoke and nodded. “And I let a comment slip about how I definitley knew I was bisexual, because you were hot to me,” he spoke and waved his hand.

“I never like searched for you or anything, but from there on Margot teased me about thinking her like, idol, was hot. I never brought it up. But when she talked about you I would always mention, well he’s hot there’s that,” he explained. “So yes, I was talking about you but I wasn’t a fan,” he spoke and nodded a bit.

“So it’s just— an embarrassing story really of how I realised I was bisexual-“ he spoke waving his hand. However something hit him. “Wait— why is this a problem?” He asks.

[zuzu-tries-to-write]

Title: Can’t Stand It

Summary: Bakugo keeps seeing you with Todoroki, and it pisses him off more than it should. At first, he doesn’t understand why—until he sees you two getting too close, and the jealousy finally hits him. Unable to hold back, he confronts you, and one heated moment later, he’s got you pinned against the wall, kissing you like he’s been dying to do it all along.

____________________________________________

Katsuki Bakugo wasn’t the type to dwell on things. If something pissed him off, he dealt with it—fast.

But this?

This was different.

It started small. Just a casual glance across the training grounds when he saw you standing next to Todoroki, the two of you talking between drills. Nothing serious. He wasn’t paying attention.

Until it happened again.

And again.

And again.

Every damn time he turned around, you were with that icy bastard, talking, laughing, looking way too damn comfortable. It wasn’t even like he was looking for you—his eyes just found you on their own, like his brain was wired to notice.

At first, he brushed it off. Who cared who you hung out with? It wasn’t his business.

Then he saw Todoroki hand you a bottle of water after training, and something in his chest tightened.

Then he caught you sparring together, Todoroki’s hand on your waist as he corrected your stance, and his jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

Then, worst of all, he saw you sitting next to him during lunch, leaning in close to whisper something, your shoulder pressed against his like it was the most natural thing in the world.

That was it.

That was the moment everything clicked—the moment something inside him snapped.

He was jealous.

Not just annoyed, not just irritated—jealous as hell.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, and for the first time in his life, Bakugo didn’t know what to do with himself.

So he did what he always did when his emotions got too loud. He acted.

You barely had time to react before he was storming across the cafeteria, his whole body tense, his expression thunderous. He didn’t stop walking until he was right in front of you and Todoroki, casting a shadow over your little moment.

You blinked up at him, confused. “Bakugo?”

His hands curled into fists. He didn’t trust himself to speak—not yet.

Todoroki glanced at him, unfazed as usual. “Something wrong?”

Bakugo ignored him completely, his gaze locked onto you. “Come with me.”

You raised a brow. “Uh, why?”

“Because I fucking said so.”

He saw the flicker of irritation cross your face, but before you could argue, he grabbed your wrist—not rough, but firm—and pulled you to your feet.

“Bakugo, seriously, what the hell?” you protested, but he wasn’t listening.

He was already dragging you out of the cafeteria, through the empty hallway, until he found a quiet corner, away from everyone else. Only then did he finally stop, releasing your wrist and turning to face you, his expression unreadable.

You huffed, rubbing your wrist. “Okay, are you gonna explain why you just kidnapped me from my lunch, or—”

“Why the hell are you always with Todoroki?” he cut in, voice low and sharp.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

His jaw tightened. “You’re always with him. Talking to him. Laughing with him. Sitting with him.” He exhaled sharply, fists still clenched. “Why?”

You frowned, crossing your arms. “Because we’re friends? And he’s nice? What’s it to you?”

Bakugo grit his teeth. He didn’t have an answer. Or rather, he had one, but he sure as hell didn’t want to say it out loud.

But his silence must have said enough, because your expression shifted, something clicking in your eyes.

“…Wait.” You took a small step closer, your voice slower, more careful. “Are you… jealous?”

His whole body tensed.

Shit.

You stared at him, watching the way his jaw locked, his hands trembled, his entire body practically vibrating with barely restrained emotion. And suddenly, you saw it—really saw it.

The way his eyes had been following you. The way his irritation had been growing. The way he was standing so damn close right now, his breath uneven, his shoulders tense.

He was jealous.

The realization made something flutter in your chest.

A slow smile curled at your lips. “You are.”

Bakugo scowled. “Shut up.”

You stepped even closer, tilting your head up to look at him. “I didn’t know you cared so much.”

“I don’t.” It was a lie, and you both knew it.

You grinned, reaching up to tug lightly at the collar of his uniform. “Then why are you so mad?”

His breath hitched.

And then he snapped.

His hands grabbed your waist, yanking you forward, and before you could react, his lips crashed against yours.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful. It was desperate, heated, filled with all the frustration and want he had been bottling up for god knows how long.

You gasped against his mouth, but he didn’t let you pull away. His grip was firm, his fingers digging into your waist as he deepened the kiss, his body pressing flush against yours.

You melted into him, your hands sliding up to fist into his shirt, pulling him closer. His lips were rough and hot against yours, moving with a fierce intensity, like he was making up for lost time.

He nipped at your bottom lip, making you let out a soft noise, and that was all it took for him to lose control. His hands slid up your back, holding you like he was afraid you’d slip away, his body pressing you against the wall, completely caging you in.

It was overwhelming, intoxicating, everything you didn’t realize you had been waiting for.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath heavy, his grip still firm on your waist.

Your heart was racing, your mind spinning, but you still managed to smirk. “Well. That was unexpected.”

He let out a breathless, irritated laugh. “Shut up.”

You grinned, reaching up to brush your fingers over his jaw. “Make me.”

His eyes darkened, and before you could even blink, he was kissing you again.

[a-d-nox]

pac/pap: a letter from your future spouse

take what resonates leave what doesn't - nothing is 100% for you because these aren't personalized so please no angry comments or dms about what i am saying not being a good fit for you or that you "don't claim" just keep scrolling if that is the case. be kind, self reflect, and have fun.

last pac/pap: a love life check-up

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pile 1

i wonder what you’re doing right now. are you chasing a dream you’ve started to question? laughing with friends who see only parts of the real you? or are you like me - reflecting on the strange twists life keeps throwing your way, trying to make sense of how it all fits together?

i don’t have all the answers, but i know this: our story is unfolding exactly as it should. the setbacks, the detours, the heartbreak - it’s all shaping us, preparing us for the moment our lives finally align. even in the moments when you doubt that there is light ahead, know that i see it clearly. you’re the hope i keep reaching for, even in the dark.

i often imagine meeting you for the first time. maybe it’s ordinary - a passing glance, a casual conversation. but there will be something unshakable about it. something in the way your smile catches me off guard or the way your voice pulls me in. i’ll know it’s you. and even if i don’t say it right away, you’ll feel it too.

right now, i’m still figuring things out. life’s been throwing me in every direction, and i’m just holding on, trying to steer clear of what i can. the funny thing about fate is how it works even when you don’t see it coming. every choice i’ve made, every chance i’ve taken, has brought me closer to you.

when the time is right, i’ll be ready to step up for you, for us. i’m not the person i was yesterday, and i’m still becoming the person i want to be. there is one thing i know for sure: when we meet, i’ll choose you - again and again, every day, through every celebration and every challenge.

yes - there will be celebrations. i want to laugh with you until we can’t breathe, to celebrate to our wins, big and small, and to hold you close when the night winds down. i want to share your joy, your dreams, and every quiet moment in between. you’re the person i want standing next to me through it all.

until then, i’ll keep working on myself, learning from the lessons life throws my way, and holding space for you in my heart. when fate turns in our favor and our paths finally cross, i’ll be ready to give you my love, my devotion, and my whole damn soul.

yours,

future spouse

pile 2

i’ve been lost before. trapped in my own cycles, chasing goals that felt hollow or moving too fast to notice what i was really missing. there were times i poured my energy into the wrong things, thinking that success or control could fill the void. but life has a way of humbling you, of forcing you to stop, slow down, and face the truth: none of it matters without you.

you’re the one who will make me want to be better - not out of obligation, but because i’ll see in you everything i’ve been searching for. you’re my anchor and the softness in need in my life, the one who shows me that love isn’t about perfection or performance, but about presence. when i look at you, i’ll see everything i didn’t know i needed - warmth, patience, and a kind of beauty that radiates from the inside out.

i know i’ve taken the long road to get to you. sometimes i’ve been stuck, unsure of what to do next, afraid to leave what felt comfortable, even when i knew it wasn’t enough. but you’ll be the one who changes that. with you, there will be no fear, no hesitation - only a deep, undeniable pull that i can’t resist.

you have this power, don’t you? to nurture and create, to transform whatever you touch into something extraordinary. you’re a queen in every sense of the word - abundant, radiant, and endlessly giving. i want you to know this: you don’t always have to give. you don’t always have to hold everything together. with me, you can let go. you'll be able to lean on me. i’ll be the one to carry the weight when you’re tired, to remind you how much you’re worth, even when the world forgets.

i know i’ll mess up sometimes. i’ll stumble, i’ll falter, and i’ll get caught in my own head. but i promise i’ll never stop trying. i’ll never stop choosing you. even in the moments when it feels like we’re standing still, i’ll be there, holding your hand, reminding you that we’re exactly where we’re meant to be.

there’s no moving on from you. no walking away, no running from the love i know we’ll have. you’re the one i’ll keep coming back to, again and again, because you’re home. and when we’re together, i’ll spend the rest of my days showing you just how much you mean to me.

my heart is your's,

future spouse

pile 3

if you’ve felt a restless pull in your heart, know that i feel it too. i’m not the kind of man who sits still for long - i’ve always chased what makes me feel alive, even when i didn’t fully understand what i was after. somewhere along the way, i realized what i’ve been searching for is you.

you’re the spark in the distance, the promise of something more. i can feel your energy even now, calling me to move, to grow, to become the man you deserve. i’m not perfect—sometimes i charge ahead too fast, speak before i think, or get caught up in chasing every wild idea that crosses my mind. but one thing i know for sure: when i meet you, everything will fall into focus.

you’re the kind of person who could make a man rethink everything. your passion, your curiosity, your fire - i want to match it and watch us both burn brighter together. with you, every day will feel like an adventure, every moment full of discovery. i want to know your mind, your dreams, and your wildest ideas. i want to be the one who makes you laugh so hard you forget to breathe and who listens when you need to share the thoughts you’ve never spoken aloud.

but i also want you to know this: i’ll be the one who gives you space when you need it. life isn’t always about the chase; sometimes, it’s about the stillness. when the world gets too loud, when the fire feels like it’s burning too hot, i’ll be there to remind you to rest. i’ll be your calm in the chaos, your quiet in the storm.

i know we’ll make mistakes - together and apart. we’ll say the wrong things, take the wrong steps, and sometimes, we’ll need time to figure it all out. but isn’t that part of the beauty? love isn’t about perfection; it’s about showing up, learning, and growing side by side.

i can’t wait to see where life takes us, to chase the wild unknown with you by my side. you make me want to dream bigger, run faster, and still, somehow, savor every single moment. i’m ready to throw myself into this with you, no hesitation, no regrets.

until we meet, i’ll keep searching, learning, and preparing for the day when i get to call you mine.

yours always,

your future spouse

[starlightkyeom]

hit replay | x.mh

(where your ex moves into the empty unit in your apartment building and maybe the relationship isn't over after all)

pairing: xu minghao x afab!reader genre: exes to lovers, neighbors to lovers | fluff, romance, smut rating: explicit, minors DNI word count: 12.7k (this was less than 4k yesterday idk) warnings: mentions of food & drinks, talk of the previous relationship, massages (f. receiving), body worship, light nipple play, fingering (f. receiving), briefest hand job, protected sex, they're just very soft for each other, that's it, reader doesn't use gendered language but has female anatomy

a/n: thank you to the amazing @camandemstudios for hosting The Lonely Hearts Collab ❤️ make sure you check out all the amazing fics! this ended up much softer (and longer) than i thought it would, but i'm not mad at that. we all need soft hao for love day. i hope you enjoy it!

taglist: @tinyelfperson, @dokyeomkyeom, @miriamxsworld, @hongrizon, @klecksstorys, @gyuminusone, @aaniag, @straykidswhoo789, @kimseokgen, @beomesbabe, @haolistic, @vanishingboots, @harry-the-pottypus, @pyeonghongrie, @nuttywastelandmentality, @writingbarnes, @gyuhao365, @jjin-kun, @divinityyy, @dibidibidismynameisleeknow, @tinkerbell460, @aidanjoon, @cookiearmy, @kaepjjangiya, @lostmembrane (join my svt taglist here)

Sometimes you think your life should come with one of those signs like they have in workplaces. You know, the ones that say how many days since the last accident? The ones that people always seem to use as memes? You think that might be appropriate in your case, too. Except, instead of days since the last accident, it would count days since you’d last seen your ex. The man who shattered your heart. The one you can’t seem to get over no matter how hard you try. 

Days since I last saw Minghao: 396

You’re not sure why your brain counts the number. Not sure why you can’t just put it out of your mind. Move on, for real this time. Of course, that’s not the same number as the days since he broke your heart. No. Unfortunately, you’ve run into him a couple of times since then, despite him moving away. A consequence of you still having a number of friends in common. And you can’t even blame them for keeping in touch with him. He didn’t really do anything wrong. Not to them and not even really to you. The two of you just…grew apart. 

Thinking back on it, even years later, you still can’t really pinpoint where it all went wrong. You remember falling for him, entirely too hard. Back when you didn’t think he took much notice of you. Always too absorbed in his latest project. You were friends, kind of. More on the periphery of each other's circles. Until you went to an art show with some mutual friends. Until you saw yourself in several of his works. None of your friends seemed all that surprised. They just let you have your little moment. 

It all happened kind of fast from there. You learned that Minghao wasn’t always one for showing his feelings in words, but he showed them in a million other ways, as long as you knew where to look. He showed them in the little things he did to make your life easier. In the way he incorporated you into his art, sometimes without it even being obvious. In the way he quietly made space for you in his life. 

Things were great, until they weren’t. And it still feels sudden all these years later. Even if it maybe, possibly, wasn’t sudden at all. 

You remember finding a new job. The kind of job you never thought you would land. The kind that Minghao instantly encouraged you to follow. Except it meant much more normal hours where Minghao kept weird hours. Sometimes he wouldn’t come to bed until the sun rose and other times he had been at work for hours when you woke up. Something about inspiration and lighting and just letting it all come together. Neither of you notice when it starts getting harder to make time for each other. At least, you didn’t notice. Only focusing on making the most of the time you do have. 

So, when Minghao tells you that he thinks you need to talk, you’re completely caught off guard. Haven’t seen all the signs that may have been there. He tells you he’s got the opportunity of a lifetime to further his career and it means he’s going to be leaving your city. Leaving the country entirely. Tells you that it’s been great and he still loves you, but he’s got to do this. Tells you that he thinks it’ll be right for both of you because you’ve been growing apart, haven’t you? You’ve both been prioritizing other things like work and friends over each other. He’s going to take this chance and he hopes you’ll understand. 

Maybe you do actually remember it falling apart after all. 

But, it’s time to cast aside your walk down memory lane. Time to leave everything behind in the old year and get ready to ring in a new one. A feat you tried last year as well and seemingly didn’t succeed at. This is the year, though. New year, new me and all that. You take one last look at your outfit before rushing out the door. Your slightly eccentric (and totally loaded) neighbors are having a party up in the penthouse of your apartment building. And even though you normally hate anyone with that kind of money, they’re actually cool and incredibly kind. They go out of their way to understand their privilege and involve themselves directly in charity. You can’t even hate that they’re barely older than you and have it all. Plus, who are you to turn down a party like this for the new year. 

The party is in full swing when you get there. Soyoon always does an excellent job of setting up a party, too. She makes sure there’s an area for people to dance and for people who want things a little quieter. And she always stocks up on top shelf drinks with so many snacks you could make an entire meal out of it. It only takes her a second before she’s waving you over. You weave through the people to get to her, so focused on your friend that you don’t notice anything else. Though you should. 

“Hey! You finally made it!” she says and pulls you into a hug. 

“Worrying I wouldn’t show?” you joke back. 

“No,” she says, smiling her megawatt smile. She indicates to someone. “I wanted you to meet your new neighbor I mentioned, the artist…”

Something drops in your stomach when you register that she says artist and you slowly turn to see the person she’s indicating. Hoping against all hope that you don’t recognize them. Instead, you see the lean figure of someone you know well. Dressed all in black and still looking like one of the most fashionable in the room. The black also works well to offset his blond mullet. It’s not a color you’ve seen on him before, but you’d know him anywhere. 

Days since I last saw Minghao: 396 0

Fuck. 

“Minghao,” you say softly, immediately kicking yourself for the way it comes out. 

“Yeah, oh. I thought you hadn’t met yet,” Soyoon says with a slight frown of confusion. 

Minghao is quick to answer, casual as can be. “I hadn’t run into her yet but we knew each other once, years ago.”

“Oh, how fun! Shall I leave you two to catch up?” she asks. 

You say no just as Minghao says yes. Soyoon looks confused, but ends up leaving the two of you alone anyway. It’s the last thing you want and there’s nowhere to go. At this rate, you’re going to get a much different start to your year. 

When you wake up well into the first morning of the New Year, your brain feels a little fuzzy. Not hungover though, so you can thank past you for that. You cannot thank past you for anything else. Not when the night before comes rushing back to you and you remember. Remember kissing Minghao, not just at midnight. Remember admitting that you still think about him. Remember wondering if he was single. Don’t remember asking him why he’s back now and without a word to you. Not that he owes it to you. It’s been years, after all. You just can’t believe that the mysterious new resident two doors down from you is none other than the ex you can’t seem to forget. 

Thankfully New Year’s Day is really about recovering from the night before and getting ready to face the rest of the year. It also gives you time to figure out what you’re going to do about Minghao. You’re sure there’s something in there about second chances. About how people change as they grow. It’s not for you, though. The more time you spend thinking about the night before, the more you realize that things are better left alone. This isn’t some great sign to revisit a painful past. It’s a way of telling you that it’s okay to finally figure out a way to move forward in your life. 

You’re just going to ignore that the person you’re moving on from lives two doors down from you. Shouldn’t be a problem at all. 

As you’re considering what you want to do for food, the doorbell rings. You’re not expecting someone and your heart plunges a little. What if it’s Minghao stopping by to talk about the night before? You can’t exactly remember all of your conversation, so you’re not sure if there’s something else that you need to talk about. You’re not prepared for any of it. When you open the door, it’s not him. It’s just someone delivering from one of your favorite take-out places. 

“I didn’t order anything,” you say, confusion clear on your face. 

The delivery guy only shrugs and shows you his phone. It’s your name and address. “I just deliver the orders I get. The tip was nice, too.”

“Oh, well, thanks,” you say and accept the bag of food. 

You decide to eat it on your couch so that you can settle in and binge something truly awful on TV. As you ponder who could have sent it, you think about Soyoon and how she loves to do this kind of thing. Yes, that seems likely. You’ll have to send her your own little thank you and thank her in person the next time you see her. Sending a text wouldn’t do it because she always says that doesn’t feel as personal. Eccentric, but endlessly kind. She’s definitely the kind of person that would want to make sure her guests are taken care of after such a great party. All feels much more calm as you settle in and your mind stays firmly off Minghao. 

The whole idea of keeping your mind off Minghao works for a while. You see him around the building and he’s always perfectly polite, but never forces a conversation. Says hi in passing and smiles. That’s just kind of how he is. It’s not that he doesn’t have plenty to say, he just doesn’t chase after anyone for a chat. Doesn’t see the point in forcing something when both people aren’t interested. Honestly, it’s a bit disarming because as well as you knew him once, it’s not what you’re expecting. There are times when you even consider if you should strike up a conversation with him. At the very least, there are things left unsaid from New Year’s. Things you know that you should get out of the way. Especially when Soyoon asks for details on what’s going on and you’re not really sure how much to share. 

But, then life catches up with you, as it seems prone to do. Things pick up at work and you find that you’re back into your routine without a second thought. That’s always the thing about the new year. It starts and it’s kind of slim on holidays while you’re getting into it. It also seems unspoken that people just don’t take time off then. Not when so many take time off around the holidays. (Something you also did, taking off the two days after New Year’s so you wouldn’t have to go back for a short week. Best decision you’ve made in a long time.)

You blink and January fades into February. Your brain is somewhere else entirely when you rush into your favorite coffee shop by your office, running a little bit late because you’re heading in on the weekend. The shop is decorated for Valentine’s Day already, like it seems to be every year once the calendar hits February. Something in you fights rolling your eyes. It’s not that you hate the holiday, it’s just that you’re a little bitter for another one spent without a partner. As much as you may say it doesn’t matter, it feels like it would be nice to have someone. Even if all you did was stay in to have a nice meal or play a game or watch something on TV. Just a moment for the two of you in the midst of all the chaos. When the barista asks for your order, you shake away the thoughts and give it, pulling your phone out to tap and pay.

“Oh, it’s covered,” she says and your brow furrows. 

“What?” you ask.

“Someone already covered your order today,” she repeats.

“But how did…” you start to ask under your breath and trail off. 

“Did you need anything else?” she asks brightly. 

“No, I guess not,” you say and put away your phone.

As you head down to wait for your order, your brain whirs into action. Who is out here just somehow paying for your order? You cast your eyes around the shop and nobody looks familiar. Well, a few people do in that way that regulars stick out when you’re also a regular. Nobody seems to be paying attention to you, though, or giving you any indication that they paid for your order. It shows up on the counter before you can think any further about it. 

The rest of the week goes in a similar fashion. Your coffee order is taken care of any time you stop in and the barista only smiles when you ask her who’s doing it. The only answer she gives is that you’ll realize it if you think about it. Not entirely helpful. At work, you get a surprise lunch just as you’re on the verge of a breakdown over a project. Mingyu, one of your closest friends even outside of work, offers lunch as a break and you take it without question. After all, the two of you were friends before becoming coworkers so it’s not unexpected that he would realize you’re feeling burnt out. Another of your friends asks you to go with him to a show you’ve been wanting to see and won’t even let you pay him back for the ticket. There are other little things, too. Things that you wouldn’t normally notice, but it’s like everything is going your way. It makes you a little wary. Mostly, though, it just makes you grateful. It feels like such a good way to start the year.

It isn’t until the weekend that you finally put it all together. Saturday morning comes and you let yourself sleep in after being out a little later the night before to go to the show. There’s an unexpected knock at the door that gives you a little deja vu back to New Year’s Day. You yawn and stretch as you get out of bed and head to the door. This time, there’s no delivery person waiting for you. There’s just a basket, clearly put together very thoughtfully. You bring it inside and start to look through what’s in there. A calming tea. A bath bomb. Some chocolates. A candle. A book that you've never heard of and somehow know you’re going to love. It’s the perfect kit to have the best and most relaxing day. 

And that’s when it hits you. The coffee, the lunch, the show, all the little surprises. It’s all coming from one person. The one person who likes to let his actions speak louder than his words. The one person who clearly hasn’t just been letting you be since the party. This is Minghao all over. You’re a little surprised at how easily the realization clicks into place. Also a little surprised that it didn’t click sooner. Maybe you had forgotten more about him than you thought. Maybe he wasn’t the only person taking up residence in your mind anymore. 

There’s a lot to think about and you figure that you’ll use the time taking a bath to do just that. Well, you shower first to make sure you’re clean and because you didn’t do it after getting home the night before. But then, you’re ready to relax in the bath and just let your mind wander. Hope you’ll end up coming to a decision about what you want to do. There’s so much history. So many nights spent trying to figure out how things might have gone differently. Until it clicks. Minghao was right back then. You both needed that space. Needed the separation to go off and figure yourselves out. Needed to learn who you were as an adult before you could learn to make space for another person. When he left, it cleared a path for you to take chances you never would have otherwise. Maybe it did the same for him. 

That’s how you find yourself outside his door after the bath, the tea in hand because you know that it’s a brand he loves. Or, at least, he did once upon a time. He opens the door too quickly for you to second guess if this is a good idea. Or to wonder if he’s even home. His eyes seem to sparkle at the sight of you and at the tea in your hands.

“You got my care package,” he says, leaning against the doorframe. 

“And figured out who was behind all those wonderful things this past week,” you admit, causing his smile to slip into a more genuine one.

“About time,” he says under his breath.

“Can I come in for a cup of tea?” you ask and he regards you for a moment. That’s always been the hardest part about being around Minghao. He has a way of looking at you and peeling back all the layers. It’s like being naked in front of him. And you’re not as comfortable in front of him as you were once upon a time. It makes you shift on your feet and cast your eyes down.

He steps aside and you let out a sigh of relief at the movement. “Come on in.” 

Stepping inside his apartment almost feels like stepping back in time. Everything about the decoration feels familiar. There are a few things that you do recognize but mostly it’s just because it’s so inescapably him. Everything has a place and it looks like it could be featured in a magazine. But, it’s better than that. Better because it feels lived in, like a home even though it is straight from some aesthetic moodboard. You turn back to him when you recognize a figure that you gave him years ago. It makes your heart constrict that he kept it all this time.

“Did you want to share that tea with me?” he asks, noting the box in your hands.

“Oh,” you say, a little startled back into the present. You look down at your hands and then back to him. “Yeah. Well, if you still like it, that is.” 

“I do, yes,” he says and accepts the box from your hands. “You can go sit down and I’ll bring the tea out in a minute.” 

It’s so impossibly normal and also one of the most abnormal things in the world. The contradictions are making your head hurt, so you just do as Minghao suggests. Sit down on the couch in the living room and sigh. This is the most comfortable couch in the world. That’s another thing you remember about him. Everything fits his aesthetic and it’s never at the expense of comfort. None of that unusable furniture for him. Without even thinking about it, you pick an art magazine off the table. It’s the only thing that seems out of place and there’s a sticky note attached to it with an advanced copy for you to look over scrawled on it. That’s when the cover catches your eye, previously covered in part by the note. Minghao looks back at you, surrounded by some of his artwork. It seems like it’s a profile on him. He must be doing even better than you realized. 

“I hated posing for that,” he says softly as he appears with two cups of tea. 

You start a little in surprise at hearing his voice and drop the magazine back on the table. “I didn’t mean to…”

“There’s no need to be scared,” he says with a low chuckle as you accept the cup. “You can read it if you’d like.” 

“It seems like things are going well for you,” you comment, looking back at the magazine.

“Professionally, sure. Although I’m finding creating a little more difficult lately,” he says and you look at him. 

“Why’s that?” you ask and then shake your head.

“What?” he asks.

“We’re just…talking like no time has passed,” you say.

“I guess I thought that after that party and sending you the food the next day like we…” he starts.

“That was from you?” you ask, clearly surprised.

“Would…what?” he asks, shifting mid thought. “Yes?”

“Aren’t you sure?” you ask with a laugh.

“No, I’m sure. I just thought…well, we talked about it that night,” he says.

“I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I don’t remember exactly what we said that night,” you say and look down.

“Ah,” he says. “I guess that makes sense.”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Well, I figured we’d talk about everything when there weren’t people around and we could have time to ourselves. Then, I sent the food and just never heard from you,” he says. 

“You could have said something,” you tell him.

“I’m not always very good at that, the saying something part,” he says.

“You’re great at taking care of things I need, though. Everything the past week or so has been so thoughtful,” you say. 

“I know I should have talked to you. I just didn’t know how to start the conversation,” he admits. 

“It’s been a long time,” you say. 

Just as an awkward silence is about to fall over you, Minghao turns to face you. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Anything.” 

“Before we go down a path of talking about everything that happened back then and about how much I miss you now, do you think it’s worth it?”

You consider that for a long moment and miss the way Minghao seems to hold his breath. Miss the way he searches your face for a sign of the answer before you give it. Don’t realize how many ways your face has changed in the years since he really knew you. When you meet his eyes, you finally see that he looks unsure. All you can do at first is nod. 

“Is that a yes?” 

You take a deep breath. Ready yourself to jump in with both feet. “I think it’s at least worth having a conversation, yeah.” 

And so that’s what you do. You sit down and talk about all the things you wish you had said back when he left. All the things you could have done differently. All the ways you’ve changed since then. It feels good to say all the things that you’ve kept to yourself over the years. There’s something very open and honest about the way you talk. Somehow even more honest than back when you were in a relationship. Maybe because there’s no fear about the other person’s reaction or feelings. Or maybe it’s just because you’re much more mature now than you were back then. You’re not really sure. Not really sure it matters either. 

This is probably the most you’ve ever heard Minghao say at once. He even admits it’s because he knows that he’s going to have to do things that make him a little uncomfortable if he wants you to consider trying again. He’s also very understanding as he listens to everything. Not defensive when you point out how things could have gone differently. And you know you can’t be defensive when he points out the things you could have done, either. After all this time, you finally realize that it was very much both of you responsible for the way the relationship ended. Yes, Minghao’s the one that accepted a position that would take him far away from you. He’s the one that suggested that maybe the relationship needed to end. But, you also had your role in all of it. You also have to acknowledge that you got distant. Prioritizing other things in your life over him. No longer able to communicate as effectively as you had earlier in the relationship. Both of you had been growing at different rates and in different directions. 

Now, years later, you can realize that it’s something both of you needed. You had to separate to grow in ways you couldn’t do together. Had to be alone to learn the hard lessons, the scary things. To understand what you need and what you want and when to compromise. You’re no longer wearing the rose colored glasses of your early 20s. 

“So, what now?” he asks. 

“What do you want?” you ask and he sighs a little. “I know, I can’t make you be the only one to talk.”

“I want to know if you still have any space for me in your life and…” he says, but trails off.

“In my heart?” you guess.

“Yeah,” he admits softly.

It’s another crossroads. One of those moments you’ll look back on. You know that you need to be a little brave. “I never really got over you. Not fully.”

Minghao’s face brightens at that and he meets your eye with your favorite smile. The soft one that you always felt like belonged only to you. “Me either. I’ve lived all over the world since we broke up and I still get my best inspiration from you.”

That one sentence pushes all the air out of your lungs. Has you entirely speechless. You hold out your hand and he intertwines his fingers through yours without a word. “So we try?” 

“We try,” he agrees. 

Trying is both intimidating and the most comforting thing in the world at the same time. A weird duality just like the man you fell in love with all those years ago. Going on a date with someone that you dated for years and then broke up with years ago is like starting well into the relationship. There are all sorts of things that you already know about each other. Yet, there are also things you can’t assume. Things you may have known once may not be true anymore. Or it’s possible that you remember something that wasn’t true at all, even then. 

So, you start with the most obvious date night activity: dinner. It gives you something to do without being too distracting from a conversation. Minghao surprises you a bit, too. He’s somehow more thoughtful and more open all at once. He still doesn’t always know how to say what he wants to all the time, but he’s trying harder to get his thoughts out. You’re also trying much harder to meet him where he is rather than expecting something that just isn’t who he is. Another byproduct of how much the two of you have grown in your time apart. You can appreciate how well the two of you fit together now. Can appreciate how your individual strengths complement each other. 

After dinner, Minghao starts to suggest going back to the apartment building. You have another suggestion, though. There’s this Art After Dark event that the local art museum runs on the second Saturday of every month that you’ve wanted to check out. Life has been too busy until now. And you also can admit that some part of going felt a little difficult. What if you saw something that Minghao created? Or something that reminded you of him? Or what if there was just a piece of art that you couldn’t understand? You’ve always appreciated the beauty in creation, but some things just went over your head. 

The suggestion makes Minghao’s face light up. He’s heard of the event and somehow hasn’t been since moving back. Not that he’s been back all that long. Still, it’s nice to know that you’ll be able to experience something that’s meaningful to him for the first time. 

The drive over is quiet, mostly only filled with the sounds of the playlist Minghao picked. It’s not uncomfortable, though, far from it. You’re thinking of how easy it is being in his presence again, especially given how long you spent thinking you needed to avoid him. In the passenger seat, Minghao scrolls what looks like the website for the museum. Probably seeing what installations are there currently on display. Or what special events they have for the evening. Either way, you’re happy to let him prepare before getting there. It’ll only help you on top of it because he’ll be able to walk you through everything. (If you think about how pretty his profile looks in the low light, then that’s your business.)

Once you get there, you insist on covering the admission because Minghao paid for dinner without giving you the chance to even offer. It’s nowhere near even, but it’s the least you can do for now. They also check your IDs on the way in because there’s an open bar, apparently. You each grab a drink off of the tray going around and then head into the first room. Live music drifts softly through from somewhere you can’t see. It adds something nice. Something that makes the whole setting somehow more intimate when combined with it being less busy than during normal hours. Minghao doesn’t wait for you to ask him to lead the way, he just knows. You follow close to him, not quite brushing your arm against him. 

This has always been one of your favorite things about Minghao. Watching him at a museum or an art gallery is just special. He walks through and talks about the different artists, the influences, and the history. He can tell you about different periods of an artist’s life and why they might have created the way that they did. There is so much living in his brain that it puts the plaques with each piece of art to shame. Occasionally, you notice someone standing in the area stop and listen to the way he speaks about a piece. It’s endearing to watch him when he’s passionate. Somehow softer and less guarded. Some people might find it sexy, and you do as well. It’s just that you find him cute first. There’s nothing about him that sounds like he’s bragging or talking down about his knowledge. Minghao has always believed that art should be accessible to everyone. That it’s a gift for all people to enjoy. When he speaks about it, that comes across. It’s something familiar, something you’re glad is the same. 

Minghao always wants to know the pieces you’re most drawn to. He wants to let you walk into some of the rooms first so he can watch you experience the art for the first time. Wants to know if you’re drawn to the pieces that he expects. You are, mostly. Usually, you wouldn’t want this much attention on you, especially in a place that isn’t your normal comfort zone. But, Minghao makes you feel at ease. At least, until he starts talking about which pieces of art remind him of you and why. It makes you turn away a little to hide the way your cheeks flush. It just feels so intimate. Feels like he’s baring his soul. Feels like too much for someone who’s been a stranger to you for years. Although, can you really say he’s a stranger? Yes, things change. People grow. You and him have certainly both grown. Maybe you’ve grown into the people you both imagined you’d be back when you figured you had the rest of forever together. 

It’s not until the last room of the museum that you realize Minghao picked the path deliberately. He motions for you to go ahead of him and you assume it’s just so he can see your reactions to the art, like he has in other rooms. And it is, in a way. Just not for the same reason as any other room. Your attention immediately falls on a piece you recognize immediately. Not because you’ve seen it before. It’s because it’s you. Or, you should say that you know it’s meant to be you. It’s that same style of abstract art that you know belongs to Minghao. The same style that feels as familiar as if it was a polaroid of you. That’s not why it takes your breath away. It’s the fact that he must have painted it after you broke up because you haven’t ever seen it before. And here it is, hanging as part of a long term installment in the museum less than 20 minutes from your apartment 

“You knew this was here,” you say. 

“I had to double check,” he says softly as he follows you. Your feet bring you right to the piece without any other thought. 

Minghao uses art as an expression. Says it’s easier for him to convey the hard things that way, like so many artists seem to. Says he’s not good with words, could never be the kind of creative that writes poems or novels with long scenes expressing intense emotions. It’s so clear looking at his art that he doesn’t need to. So clear that his work is the reason people say a picture is worth a thousand words. You think you could have ten thousand words and still need more with this piece. And most of his pieces, honestly. You yearn to reach out and run your fingers along the canvas, to trace the lines that he uses. Instead, you take in each color and each stroke. It causes conversations from when you were both younger to come flooding back. You remember lying in bed and listening to him talk about his process. About when he brought something to the foreground versus leaving it in the back. About the choice to use a vibrant palette or something more muted and neutral. About how he could play with the different colors to express each emotion. In saying all of that, you remember hearing what he couldn’t say. It’s funny, in hindsight, to think about how Minghao always said he struggled with emotions. He just says what he needs to in a different way.

His feelings are crystal clear to you in this piece. The representation of you is front and center. The first thing your eye lands on when you look at it. Everything else is in the background. Like he’s saying that you’re the center of the universe in this piece. The colors tell you just as much. They’re rich with his affection. With tenderness and forgiveness. With yearning. Like a hand reaching out to pull you in. You even think he might have put a version of himself in the background, muted to throw you into sharper relief. It’s beautiful and passionate and incredibly raw. You may need to know him to see the last bit. It’s only then that you see the date on the piece. Just over a year ago, probably after you had seen him the last time before he popped up at the party in your building. 

Finally, you turn to him and find his eyes on you. Studying you, looking for answers before you give them again. And you see the nerves there. He’s grown so much, but he knows you have too. Doesn’t presume to know everything about you anymore. Your mouth curves into the most genuine smile. “It’s amazing, Hao. I don’t even know what to say.” 

“You like it?” he asks, a little less sure of himself than you’re used to. 

“I love it,” you assure him and turn back to it. “It might be one of the most expressive pieces of yours I’ve ever seen.” 

“I know I shouldn’t have been drawing inspiration from you, but I couldn’t stop myself after I saw you that time a year ago,” he says, confirming what you thought. “I was halfway through the painting before I realized it.” 

“No matter what, I will always be honored to inspire you.” 

“That’s a relief.” 

“You know, you’re much better at expressing your feelings than you think,” you tell him, looking over to see his reaction. His face is soft. 

“Only if you remember how to read it,” he says. 

“It’s all coming back to me,” you say and delight in the way he smiles. 

Minghao is a study in contrasts. He’s every bit of what you think about when thinking of an artist. Introverted, intelligent in a way not everyone can appreciate, thoughtful, sometimes a little intimidating to approach. If you don’t know him, he could seem cold or detached. When you do know him, though, he’s anything but cold. Certainly not intimidating. Although he can be guarded, he’s an open book to the people closest to him. He’s incredibly soft and caring. Willing to let all his defenses fall away for the right person. 

He takes hold of your hand, even though he’s not always one to seek out physical touch in that way. Not in public. “I want to give this another try. We’ve both grown a lot over the past years. You don’t have to make a decision now. All I want to know now is if you’ll be my Valentine.”

The way he says it doesn’t really sound like a question. It’s also infinitely more direct than you’re used to. You can’t help the teasing look. “That’s so corny.” 

The smile you get in response is worth it. Minghao only shrugs. “Sometimes, it’s worth it.”

“Yes, Hao, I would love to be your Valentine,” you say, fighting a bit of the urge to say that you’ll just be his again. 

Even though you know that rushing back into something is the last thing you need to do, you’re still excited. Feel lighter than you have in ages. It’s kind of like autopilot for the rest of the time you spend at the museum. And if it’s the best date you’ve been on in years, well that’s your business. It’s also your business if you get back to your apartment that night and think about all the things that happened that day.

Sunday dawns and the first thought in your mind is Minghao. Not exactly surprising after spending a whole day with him instead of continuing to avoid him. Yet, it’s not quite what you’re expecting, either. After years of protecting your heart, it shouldn’t be this easy to open up to him again. That thought does make you pause, just for a second. Then, you think about all the things you managed to cover just in one day together. There’s still plenty to talk about, but you can’t deny the obvious. You’re both so willing to be open and vulnerable. Willing to accept your faults to make sure things are different if you give it another shot. There’s definitely something to be said that he’s the first thing on your mind when you wake up. (And the last thing you thought about before falling asleep.)

It’s time to do things differently. Time to not overthink everything. You’re older and wiser now. Feel like you can trust your gut and the vibes now with more life experience. Instead of giving yourself time to second guess, you send a text to Minghao to ask if he wants to come over. It’s one of those catch up days. You need to grocery shop and run some errands, do some laundry, and do a little cleaning. Minghao loves quality time, something still true now. It’s nothing exciting, though, and you give him plenty of space to say no without it being an issue. All he asks is what time he should come over and if he should eat breakfast first. 

Which is exactly how he ends up at your apartment barely 20 minutes later.

Plenty changes and just as much stays the same. Minghao can cook, he never starves. It’s just not his favorite thing to do if left to his own devices. You offer to make him breakfast if he’s going to keep you company during a bunch of errands. While you cook, he keeps himself busy making tea for himself and coffee for you. Doesn’t have to ask how you like it since he covered your coffees for the past week at the shop by your work. Since Minghao likes acts of service just as much as quality time, he empties your dishwasher while you’re finishing up breakfast and tidies up around the kitchen behind you. There’s so much comfort in falling into patterns like that, even though it feels entirely different than before. 

Breakfast passes quickly and Minghao helps motivate you out the door. Points out the sooner you get things out of the way, the sooner you can come back and relax. You’re not shy in telling him that he makes an excellent point. The praise falls easily from your lips and you delight in the way it causes him to smile shyly. Some things really never change and you’ll never tire of pulling that out of him. 

Several hours later, you’re done with all your errands (in record time, no less, even though you took care of getting things for him as well). Back at your apartment, Minghao unloads your groceries for you along with the light lunch he insisted that you pick up. It should be scary to see him making himself at home in your life again. It’s not, though. It just fills you with an endless amount of warmth. You can’t help the way your heart flutters at him setting your food out on the table and calling for you to come join him before it’s back to checking things off your little list for the day. He just seems so comfortable helping you and sharing in your space. Content to let you set the pace and clearly pleased you texted to invite him over. 

After lunch, Minghao shoos you off to get your laundry started while he tidies up in the kitchen and living area. He’s not a clean freak by any stretch. Although he does like for everything to be in its place. You know he’s only doing it now to help you because he doesn’t mind. The warmth is going to be too much at this rate. You let yourself have hearts in your eyes over him for a second before disappearing into your bedroom to gather your laundry. 

Once you have your clothes in the washing machine, Minghao says he needs to get something from his apartment and returns with his sketch pad. He’s got a few ideas that he wants to plan out and hopes it’s fine to do with in your living room. You agree as long as he doesn’t mind you rotting away with your TV obsession of the moment. It’s in those quiet moments that you get the most answers. The comfort of being in a space with him, not saying much and yet knowing you could. Sometimes you feel like you have to fill a silence to avoid any awkward pauses. There’s this sense of anxiety about what the other person is thinking, even if you know it’s probably not about you. It’s not the case with him. Which tells you all you really need to know, doesn’t it? No matter how hard you’ve tried over the years to find someone else, to date and have it something more, it’s never been like this with anyone but him. 

You’re scared of what comes next. Scared of being hurt. Yet, this feels like one of those chances you just have to take.

The next week goes something like the weekend. You spend a lot of your free time with Minghao. Sharing all the things that have happened over the years. It’s easy to talk about shared friends or new ones. Not quite as easy to talk about all the work updates, though it feels just as important. The two of you stay up late having hard conversations in the quiet hours of the night. Talking about everything that’s different. Neither of you even shy away from past relationships. It doesn’t even feel that difficult. You both had lives since you broke up and those lives shaped you into these people now. Twice, he even shows up for lunch to get you out of the building for a break. The looks from your coworkers are both knowing and happy. Everything feels like it’s going toward the obvious conclusion. 

Somewhere in between all the time spent with Minghao, you also carve out time for dinner with your best friend. Need to carve out the time, you think, to get her opinion. She’s been with you since just before the relationship ended. Even though you know that you can make decisions for yourself, it feels important to get an outside perspective. The last thing you want is to rush back into something and end up in the same place as the first time. If nothing else, you know she’ll ask you the difficult questions to make you think. Make you answer if you’ve really thought out what a second chance for the two of you looks like. If you’re doing this because you want this now, in 2025, for if you’re just holding onto a past that felt comfortable. It can be easy to just stay in a bubble without considering what that looks like when the bubble breaks. When you have to go exist together in public or with friends, not just in your own little world.

She does all those things and is adamant: this isn’t like before. Tells you that you don’t need her to tell you what you already know. Instead of justifying everything that happened years ago, you acknowledge. You don’t make excuses because there aren’t any to make. Sometimes things don’t work. You and Minghao are different people now than you were years ago. Somehow, against all odds, you’ve grown into different people that have even better compatibility than you did when you were younger. As cliche as it is, he seems like your right person at the wrong time and the universe is telling you to hit the replay button now. It’s all the confirmation you need. You’re going to dive in and feel confident he’ll be there to catch you. 

By the time Valentine’s Day comes around, you’re both completely at peace and nervous for the date itself. It’s been the theme of the last week. Another set of contrasts that somehow work. You trust Minghao, more than you expect. But, you haven’t had a date for Valentine’s since just after you and him broke up. And it was a disaster. So, you’re trying not to set your hopes to an unrealistic level. 

But, he quickly proves that you don’t have anything to worry about. Before work, he shows up with flowers, coffee, and a pastry from a shop nearby. It’s really difficult not to just call out from work and spend the day with him. Admitting that makes him laugh and press a gentle kiss to your temple. It’s so sweet that you want to melt. Sadly, you have to go to work and he’s got two different meetings that he can’t miss, one with a museum curator and another with a prospective client. So, he’ll see you after work as planned. 

Work seems to drag and more than once, you consider leaving early. Probably would too if Minghao hadn’t been adamant that you couldn’t come by his place until after work. It makes you pout a little, which, in turn, makes Mingyu laugh at you when he stops by your desk. He’s just happy he doesn’t have to avoid bringing up Minghao anymore since they’ve been in touch the whole time. You’re so happy looking forward to the date that you can’t even get mad at your friend. Besides, it can’t have been an easy spot to be in all this time. 

Minghao takes your breath away when you actually show up after work. 

After quickly changing out of work clothes, you’re on his doorstep, waiting for him to answer. The second you step inside, you see why he had you wait. He’s decorated the entire space in a way he knows you’ll love. All your favorite colors and little things that are cheesy, but also adorable. There are also several paintings, both old and newer, that you know you inspired displayed around the living area. It feels like the perfect space to celebrate with him. All you can do is wrap your arms around him. He’s quick to pull you tight against him. There’s so much emotion. 

“The food is already on the way,” he says when you pull away from him. “Thank you for paying, even though you didn’t need to.” 

“You’ve been paying for everything. It’s my turn,” you say and smile, looking around his apartment. “And thank you for this. I know it’s not usually your style.”

“You like it. That’s all that matters,” he says as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. 

“Can I say something that’s maybe too honest?” you ask.

Minghao’s gaze on you is soft. “To me? Always.”

“I do like it, but I think I would like anything because I just like you. A lot more than I realized,” you say and watch him. Every part of you wants to look away. You already feel naked with his gaze on you when you’re not confessing to your feelings. 

Minghao reaches for your hand to pull you into him again. Lets the silence settle around you for a moment. He speaks without releasing you. “That’s good because I’m very much in love with you. So I’m glad you like me so much.”

That makes you pull away, eyes wide. “You’re in love with me? You’re sure?” 

“Does that scare you?” he asks, studying your face the same way he studies his favorite artwork.

The answer is on the tip of your tongue before you even realize it. “No.” 

“You don’t have to know yet. You don’t have to love me back at all if it’s not right for you. But, I’m sure. It’s always been you for me and it’s always going to be you for me. I’m not going to waste a second chance by not telling you how I feel.” 

It’s overwhelming in so many ways. The Minghao you loved years ago couldn’t express himself this easily. It was you that had to be good at using your words and interpreting him through actions. At the time, you thought it was fine. Now, seeing him be strong for both of you, you realize that sometimes it’s nice to hear exactly what he’s thinking. It’s nice to just know without having to read his actions. It’s also his way of showing you that things are different. That he’s going to be the partner you need and he’s going to make sure both of you are the best versions of yourself. Somehow that simple statement, along with everything he’s done the past week, are the final piece. You know this is going to be a partnership and you know you’re in it. Whatever happens, happens. 

Dinner passes quickly and the food is great, like you know it will be. It’s also nice not to have to cook or clean anything up. Even nicer to have the space to enjoy each other’s company without going out to dinner like every other couple for the holiday. And Minghao clearly enjoyed setting his table just right for the two of you. After dinner, you suggest watching something. Minghao lets you pick and the two of you settle onto his couch. Without overthinking it, you adjust to put your legs over his lap. He lets you get comfortable before putting his own hands back down and absently tracing patterns into the fabric of your pants. For a fleeting moment, you imagine him using your body as a canvas. Shaking your head to clear the thought, you focus back on the TV.

After a while, you start to feel a little uncomfortable. Not with your legs in Minghao’s laps. That’s providing a lot of comfort. You’re stretching out your neck and rolling your shoulders without realizing it. It’s been a long week at work with too much time hunched over a computer. 

“Do you want a massage?” Minghao asks, interrupting the show. You look over at him with raised eyebrows. “You keep rubbing your neck and rolling your shoulders.”

“Of course you noticed,” you say with a chuckle. 

“Maybe a massage would help,” he offers again. 

You bite your lip in consideration. You haven’t so much as kissed Minghao since you started to spend time together again (since you’re ignoring any drunk kiss that happened at Soyoon’s party for New Year’s Eve). It’s only been a kiss to the cheek here or a temple kiss there. This is definitely more than that. You want to go slow, but you also miss the way he feels. You remember the massages after long nights of studying. 

“Yeah, that sounds great,” you say. 

The warmth in his eyes when you agree is familiar. Older and wiser, sure, but still familiar. He gets up off the couch and reaches a hand to you. “Come on, let’s go into the bedroom so it’s more comfortable.”

You place your hand into his and follow him. It’s the first time you’ve seen his bedroom and it’s so simple. A few pieces of his art sit in the corner. For the most part, you can tell he only uses the space to sleep.

“I’m going to get some lotion. You can get settled,” he says and places a soft kiss on your temple. 

Once he disappears, you make a decision. You remove your shirt and bra so that your back is bare when you lay down on his bed. You settle on the bed with your head up by the pillow so that you can collect part of his sheet around your chest. It’s a little awkward, being half-naked and wondering how to position yourself. It only takes Minghao a few moments before he’s coming back through the bedroom door. His breath catches when he sees you. 

“I hope this is okay,” you say, carefully turning to look at him. “My shoulders and neck are so tense that I wanted you to be able to reach them easily.”

He gathers himself quickly and crosses over to his bed. Sits down next to your hip and runs a hand gently across your back. Like he’s testing if you’re actually there. “As long as you’re comfortable, then I’m happy.” 

“I am, yeah,” you say softly. 

“Okay, then let me take care of you,” he says, just as soft.

Without another word, he moves to straddle your body, using his knees on either side of you to hold the majority of his weight. Gently, he brushes your hair off your neck and over to the side. It’s enough to make you sigh and close your eyes. You hear him open the lotion to put some into his hands. Always so thoughtful, he warms it before putting his hands on your back. He starts just below your shoulders and works his way up, feeling for knots and increasing the pressure as needed. Barely a minute passes and you already feel like you could melt into his mattress. It’s definitely not just the release of tension that has you so comfortable that you could drift into sleep. No, it’s the person with his hands on you. It’s the care he shows with each movement. 

Before long, you really are drifting in between the land of being fully awake and asleep. It’s not that you could fall asleep on him. You still feel each movement. You’re just incredibly relaxed. Each of your muscles melt under the gentle touch of his nimble fingers. Even when he digs into a knot, it still feels relaxing. Professionals should be thankful that he took up art instead because he could put them all to shame. Though, admittedly, you’re biased. And you haven’t ever found the thought of a stranger massaging you to be that relaxing. There’s always the initial awkwardness before settling in. None of that happens with the person you know you trust more than yourself. 

He bends down to your ear and his breath alerts you before he says anything. “Going to fall asleep on me, sweetheart?”

His tone is light, almost teasing. It’s also confident, but not in the cocky way. He’s proud of the way he can relax you so easily. Your brain is a little foggy and maybe that’s also a good thing. You turn towards his voice and wind your arm up so that you can place a hand on the back of his head. His eyes aren’t just filled with warmth when they meet yours anymore. There’s desire there now, too, the same desire building within you. You pull him towards you and kiss him. Slow, almost lazy, at first. It quickly deepens into something more. 

It’s an awkward position, though. Minghao moves off of your back and you take the chance to also reposition, turning over and sitting up. There’s no awkwardness anymore and you don’t bother pulling the sheet with you when you face him. He takes a second to drink you in. Swallows hard as his eyes travel over your chest. In the next moment, he pulls you toward him so that he can kiss you again. You position your legs on either side of his hips to allow you to press tight against him. His kiss is urgent, tongue tangling with your own as the two of you meld into one. You wind one of your hands into his hair, only playing with the ends of it at first, wrapping pieces around your fingers. 

Minghao pulls back like it’s the last thing he wants to do. Both of your chests rise and fall quickly to catch your breath. “Are you sure?”

“That I want this?” you clarify.

“That you want this with me,” he says, still a little breathless. 

“Yes,” you say. 

“Are you really sure?” he asks again. He’s checking for consent and also giving you an out.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” you confirm. 

You think that he’s leaning back in so that he can kiss you again. Until he uses a hand to tilt your head to one side and kisses along your jaw. He carries his kisses down your neck and across your collarbone. Like he’s mapping every inch of your body. Committing it to memory or maybe making up for the lost years. When you were younger, you found it difficult to accept this kind of attention. Always worrying there was some kind of imbalance. Now, all you can do is moan out your appreciation for the way Minghao worships every inch of your skin. You’re not in a rush and he’s clearly not either. You run your hands through his hair, allowing your nails to scrape lightly against his scalp and shudder at the way he moans into your skin. Do it again just to feel the way his lips vibrate. 

His hands find their way to your hips and he grips hard. Anchoring you in place and also checking to make sure it’s all real. That it’s all happening. That none of this is another one of his dreams. Every time you run your nails along his scalp, it’s a reminder that it is happening. That the two of you really have found your way back to something. In that moment, he knows that he’ll risk his heart to not spend the rest of his life wondering what could have happened. Be vulnerable now and hope it’ll work out. 

Spurred on by the soft sounds falling from your lips, Minghao moves from your collarbones down to the hollow between your breasts. You arch into his mouth and dig into his scalp, just for a second. It’s the only thing he needs to feel. Quickly, he moves his mouth over to your nipple, taking it into his mouth. Swirling around it and nipping it lightly. He moves one of his hands from your hip to take the other nipple between his fingers. Can’t have either feeling left out. It’s embarrassing how much it turns you on, like you’re some kind of horny teenager. His fingers are so nimble, so intentional in the way they tease you that you can’t help it. He swaps his mouth to your other nipple, replacing his fingers. You’re not sure what you want more.

This time, you pull back. Still kind of breathing shallowly even though you hadn’t been kissing him. His eyes are wide, pupils blown, and a little concerned. You’re quick to reassure him, hands moving to the hem of his shirt. “Can I? I don’t want to be the only half naked one anymore?”

“Of course,” he says with a smile. 

You pull the shirt up and over his head, thankful that he’s not overdressed to make it more complicated. For a second, the sight of him renders you speechless. Gently, you run your finger along his chest and down the muscles of his stomach that weren’t there when you dated him last time. The way he shudders under your touch only spurs you on. There’s a scar along his side that you don’t remember. It’s smooth to the touch, just slightly raised.

“Beautiful,” you whisper confidently. 

He can’t stand it anymore. He takes your face in his hands and pulls you into him. Kisses you again, slowly but with so much intensity that it makes your heart skip several beats. You still fit in with him like you were made for each other. He uses the kiss to shift both of your bodies and disentangle your legs. Dips you backwards until your head hits the pillow without his lips leaving yours. Once you’re lying back, though, he breaks the kiss again. Resumes kissing down your body. Makes sure to kiss away any insecurities in the process. Whispers praise into your skin that feel like a salve. This is Minghao, your Minghao. You’re safe with him. Loved. Cherished. Supported. It’s overwhelming to feel all of that come rushing back after years spent apart looking for it in someone else. Of course it’s always been him. 

Normally you’re somewhat ticklish, and you do have to fight a little nervous laugh as he kisses down your stomach, especially when his face is so close that you can feel his eyelashes against your skin. But, there really isn’t anything funny about this. Not when Minghao looks up at you while kissing your body. Seems to be mapping your reactions just as much as your skin. He pauses with his hands on your pants, silently asking for permission. Checking in to make sure that you’re still okay with this. You nod and he kisses your stomach again before unbuttoning your pants. Pulls your pants and underwear down in one fluid motion. He takes a moment to appreciate you, laid out before him. Any remaining nerves disappear. You’ve never seen someone look at you with that much love in your life. It’s overwhelming in the best way. Until Minghao resumes kissing down your body and it’s a different kind of overwhelming. His breath ghosts across your core as he places slow, open mouthed kisses along your thighs. 

Nothing has really happened, but by the time he settles between your legs, you’re already worked up. Wound so tightly that you think he could have you coming with just a touch. You consider if that would be too fast for half a second before catching sight of Minghao. He looks up at you, hair falling into his eyes, and you don’t care what happens. Don’t care how fast anything happens because it’s him. Can hardly believe that this beautiful person wants to put your needs before his own. His eyes narrow like a siren, full of focus and desire, and it takes your breath away.

“I don’t want you to hold back,” he says. “I’ve been waiting years to taste you again.”

“You wha - fuck,” you hiss out. 

He effectively short circuits your brain with one move. He doesn’t bother teasing you, just goes straight to licking into your wet cunt. Uses two fingers to spread your lips open so that he has better access. There’s no concern for building up to something. He wants to taste you and that’s exactly what he’s going to do. When his nose hits your clit, it makes you groan out and snap your thighs around his face. His groan in response vibrates through your pussy. Makes him use his thumb to rub circles on your clit without slowing his speed licking into you. It’s entirely too overwhelming in the best way. In just moments, Minghao has you writhing underneath him, gripping onto anything within your reach. His hair. The sheets. The pillow. Anything. The tension builds entirely too fast and you’re not really ready for it to be over. Not ready to have it end. 

You’re not sure if he has the same thought or not, but Minghao pulls back to look at you. The moan at the sight of your wetness all over his lips and chin is immediate. Somehow it makes him even sexier and you can’t take your eyes off him. Can’t look away as he wipes the back of his hand over his mouth. With careful movements, he pulls himself up your body and lies next to you on his side to face you. Winds an arm under your neck. Places two of his fingers against your mouth and you suck them in without a thought. Swirl your tongue around his slender fingers with your eyes locked on his. Smile at the way it seems to be affecting him. With what looks like regret on his face, he pulls his fingers from your mouth and moves his hand down between your legs. Runs his middle finger up your still wet folds before inserting it. 

“Minghao, fuck, you can’t just…” you start, only to have your words cut off. 

You’re kissing again and it’s the most heated yet. The taste of you lingers on his lips. Seems to mark him as yours. You realize that maybe he’s not teasing you because he meant what he said. He’s been waiting too long for this to go slow with you. There’s plenty of time to slow down later. This is what both of you need now. He slides another finger into your pussy and pumps even faster. Doesn’t let you pull away from the kiss, catching every sound you make and adding his own sounds. The tension builds, even faster than before. In no time at all, you’re coming all over his fingers. Gasping for breath as you break the kiss and he gently pumps into you to guide you through the orgasm. 

When you can catch your breath, you look over at Minghao. Appreciate the way he just watches you. He gently brushes a piece of hair out of your face and then leans in for a soft kiss. You’re not letting him get away with that, though. Not now. Not when he just had you coming harder than you can remember in a long time. You knock the kiss up in intensity and he lets you lead. Lets you set the pace and meets every kiss with the exact right amount of pressure. Your hands are everywhere on him while you kiss, exploring all the lines and the muscles that feel a little foreign. The only obvious sign of the passage of time.

He pulls back just long enough so that he can pull his pants and briefs off. Doesn’t even look where he tosses them in the room. All he can think of is connecting his lips with yours again. About making up for all the years in between, even if you both know that you needed that time apart to find your way back. You wind your hand down between your bodies and grip his dick in your hand. Slowly run your thumb over the tip and find there’s already precum there. It fills you with so much satisfaction to know that he’s as turned on as you are. It’s a little diary, but you spit quickly in your hand. You run your hand up and down his cock a few times, twisting your fist around him. Checking to see what kind of pressure and speed he likes. 

“I just want…fuck, sweetheart,” he groans out as you run your thumb across his tip again.

“What do you want, Hao?” you ask, making your eyes as big and innocent as possible.

“I want to be inside you, want to feel you around me,” he says and your breath catches. “I don’t want to cum from a handjob like some teenager.”

“Fuck,” you say with a nod. “Yes, please, yes.”

He rolls away from you for a second to reach for his nightstand and returns with a condom and some lube. Rips the condom open with his teeth and then rolls it onto his cock. You’re about to ask him how he wants you when he pulls back and spreads your legs open. He looks at you as he lines himself up at your entrance. For a moment, he just looks at you. Then, he pours some of the lube onto the condom. Makes sure this is going to feel good for you.

“I want to watch you fall apart,” he says, voice thick with desire.

“Please,” you say softly. “I need to feel you, Hao.” 

Minghao lines himself up and presses his tip against your entrance. You’re a little sensitive from his tongue and his fingers. Still wet from that and from the intensity of the kisses afterwards. You wrap your legs around his waist as he angles into you. He leans forward, arms on either side of you so that you’re caged in. He’s sliding in so slowly, so carefully. It’s the first time he’s even come close to teasing you. Or maybe it’s just so that he can draw it out. Either way, you want him buried inside you. Can’t stop from wrapping your legs tighter around him. It’s hard to have him looking at you with so much intensity. So much eye contact. You catch the chuckle at your impatience with your lips. 

It works, though. He bottoms out with one final thrust and you would scream it if not for his lips on yours. You let him set the pace even though it’s just slower than you want. The sensitivity just makes everything feel more intense. Each time either of you breaks the kiss to catch a breath, your eyes are on each other. Uttering praise and promises into the space between the two of you. More Minghao than you, which is incredible. A steady stream of both coherent and incoherent thoughts. Somehow it all makes sense to both of you. All seems like it’s exactly right. And true to his word, when the tension builds in your body again, Minghao breaks the kiss entirely. Watches the way your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open. Appreciates every sound you make. Later he’ll tell you that he’s never seen anything more beautiful than you in that moment. For now, all he can do is watch and pick up his own pace. He wants to follow right behind you.

There’s less build up this time when you fall over the edge, toes curling and back arching. It’s even more intense too, something you didn’t think was possible. Hazily, you feel Minghao’s thrusts falter in their speed as he comes hard just after you. You try to take over the rhythm, but your body feels spent. After his final thrust, he offsets his weight so he’s not lying fully on top of you without pulling out either. Your breathing syncs up with his as you come back to the bedroom and the reality of what just happened. 

You can’t help yourself. His hair is a little wet with sweat and you reach out to brush it away. Think about how this may be your favorite hairstyle he’s ever had. He catches your hand before you even realize his eyes are on you and he kisses your palm. It makes you smile at the care in his eyes. When he releases your hand he props himself up to slowly ease out of you. You figure that you should get up as well before he presses your shoulder gently down.

“I’ve got you,” he says. 

And he does, doesn’t he? He’s shown you with his actions and even followed it up with his words. He does have you and you think he’ll probably always be there. You hear the water running from the attached bathroom and then watch him return with a wet washcloth. The bright light behind him highlights his silhouette like an angel. That’s not where it stops, though. Instead of letting you clean yourself up, he sits on the bed and runs the cloth carefully over your body. It makes your heart hurt to have him taking care of you like this, so tender and full of such pure affection. Once he finishes, he tosses the washcloth over to the nightstand. You pull him into you so that you can cuddle close. 

Even though you could probably stay like that for the rest of the night, you know that you either need to change the sheets or figure something out. You run a hand over his arm thoughtfully. That’s when it hits you and you turn your face to his. “Do you wanna go sleep in my bed with me and we can deal with your bed tomorrow?”

His laugh is light, easy. “Inviting me to bed on the second date, what will the neighbors say?” 

You swat at his arm without any real force. “That you’re incredibly lucky, I expect.”

“They’re right about that,” he says, any teasing gone in the completely honest statement. It’s a little too much for you, at least for a minute. Minghao, in his infinite wisdom, lets you have the moment. He moves from the bed and helps you up with him. Even helps you track down your clothing that’s gotten more scattered than you realize. 

It’s so easy to fall back into a rhythm with him even though it feels entirely different. Familiar and new. Fitting for the enigma that is the man before you. Which is when it hits you, just as he’s reaching the door to the hallway. Minghao stops to turn around and see why you’re not right behind him. 

“Are you coming? I don’t really want to have to break into your place,” he says with another light laugh.

“Been working on your cat burglar skills during the past few years, have you?” you joke back and he just shakes his head. Closes the space between you and collects you into his arms.

“I think that’s your wishful thinking about wanting a cat,” he says and you laugh.

“Could be,” you concede.

“Shall we?” he asks when he releases you.

“Just a second,” you say and he regards you with clear curiosity. “Earlier you told me that you loved me and…”

“It’s okay,” he says quickly. You mistake it for him thinking you don’t feel the same.

“No, I need to say something,” you say and he swallows anything else. “I love you, too.”

“I know,” he says with a smile that has you rolling your eyes. Of course he knows. You’re entirely smitten and once again, the last one to know. “And how lucky am I to have someone who loves me like you do as a Valentine? To be loved by someone that I love as much as I love you?” 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Hao.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day. Here’s to a lifetime more of these.”

“I can’t wait.”

[steveseddie]

come sleep with me

written for @steddielovemonth day 14 “come sleep with me: we won’t make love, love will make us” | the @steddiebingo kissing booth mini event, prompt: mutual pining | the @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt: love

rating: t | wc: 915 | no cw | tags: friends with benefits, mutual pining, idiots in love

read on ao3

Any other day Eddie would be thrilled to have Steve like this– half-naked under him, flushed and squirming from Eddie kissing all over his chest. 

Part of him sure is interested, but the rest knows that when Steve called earlier and asked him to come over, he probably should’ve said no. 

But if there’s something Eddie isn’t good at, it’s telling Steve no. 

Otherwise, how would he end up hooking up with Steve on the regular while knowing fully well that he was setting himself up for heartbreak?

So Eddie said yes, and he came over despite being physically and mentally exhausted from an entire week of awful nightmares. He thinks he’s doing a decent job at shoving it all away to pay attention to Steve. That is until he feels Steve’s hand grab hold of his neck and use it to pull him up so he can look at his face and ask– “Hey, what’s wrong?” 

Eddie shakes his head, his hair falling around them. “Nothing,” he lies. Badly if the way Steve arches an eyebrow at him means anything. Eddie heaves out a sigh. “I– I haven’t been sleeping well. I’ve had nightmares all week. I’m so tired and there’s just so much in my head right now–”

Of course, Eddie doesn’t expect Steve to act mad or disappointed but he’s still surprised by how gently he brushes Eddie’s hair off of his face, his eyes soft as he stares up at him. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

Eddie lets out a snort. “Yeah because telling the guy you’re making out with that you can’t stop thinking about demobats ripping into your flesh is such a turn-on,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

Tugging at Eddie’s hair, Steve half-heartedly rolls his eyes. “I meant earlier, Eds.” 

“I guess I was hoping that this was what I needed,” Eddie admits, shrugging. 

“What you need is sleep.”

Eddie sighs. “Yeah, I know.”

When Steve gently shoves Eddie off of him, he takes that as his cue to leave. Especially when Steve walks over to his closet and puts on some sweatpants. Now that he knows nothing is happening between them tonight, it makes sense that Steve is getting ready for bed.  

Which means Eddie should probably get out of his way. 

He just found his jeans and is about to put them back on when Steve tosses something at him. It lands at his feet– a pair of sweatpants.  

“Do you need a shirt too or are you sleeping shirtless?” Steve asks, still rummaging through his closet. 

Eddie stares blankly at his naked back. “Um, what?” 

“Do you want to borrow a shirt?” He asks, glancing at Eddie over his shoulder. His lips tug up into a smirk when he adds, “I have a Tears for Fears shirt you’d look great in, I think.” 

Eddie takes too long to think of a comeback and Steve frowns, probably expecting him to jump at the thought of wearing a shirt of a band that plays anything other than heavy metal. And he would, if he wasn’t busy trying to wrap his head around the fact that Steve seems to think he’s staying over. 

He’s never done that even after they started hooking up. 

Steve’s eyes dart to the jeans Eddie is holding in his hand. “You weren’t planning on sleeping in those, were you?” He asks with a chuckle. 

“No, I– I was gonna go home.”

Steve’s mouth twists downward. “Why?” 

Because they don’t sleep together. They have sex and then Eddie leaves. It hurts every time, but he knows it would hurt more if he stayed and woke up next to Steve –or, god forbid, in Steve’s arms– only for it not to mean anything to him.

“I– we never– we don’t do that–”

“I know,” Steve says, sucking his lip between his teeth. “But what– what if I want us to do that?” 

Eddie blinks. “Sleep together?” 

“No, yeah,” Steve rubs a hand against his neck, “but also, um– other things.” 

Eddie’s breath hitches. “Like?”

“Like going on dates and cuddling and holding hands, maybe not in public but like, in front of our friends if you’re okay with that and–”

“Steve, Stevie, are you– are you saying you want to date me?” Eddie asks, his voice an octave higher, his heart threatening to beat right out of his chest.

“Yeah,” Steve softly admits and Eddie can’t help but gasp. “But I– I promise I didn’t feel this way when we started this, and I was going to say something to you, but I was nervous that you didn’t–”

“I did! I do! Feel that way. Since before we started this, even. If anyone should’ve said anything, it’s me,” Eddie stammers out. “I thought I was setting myself up for heartbreak when you eventually found someone else and stopped wanting me–”

“I wouldn’t, I won’t. In fact,” Steve says, starting to smile. He moves closer to Eddie, one of his hands brushing against his fingers. “I’m crazy about you, Eds.”

“Jesus, Steve,” Eddie mutters, and then he’s cupping Steve’s face and bringing him closer so he can kiss him squarely on the lips. It’s not the first time they’ve kissed, but it’s definitely different.

“So,” Steve starts, pulling back only enough to get the words out. “Is that a yes?” 

“To dating you?” Eddie asks, their lips brushing together. Steve nods. 

And well, Eddie still can’t say no to Steve, so he says–

“Yes.”

[cherrycheolkat]

• random slutty CUTE thoughts - seungcheol •

the valentine’s day one with clumsy cheol

seungcheol has big plans for valentine’s day, but everything seems to be going wrong - he just wants to make it the best valentine’s day you’ve ever had, no matter what

seungcheol had plans for your valentine’s day evening - he planned the food, the jewelry, the flowers, literally everything PLANNED

but now he’s lying on his back in a hospital bed because he tripped in the bathroom - he wasn’t even showering - he just slipped and whacked his head on the tile and maybe got woozy when he saw some blood

it was so embarrassing, literally everything about tonight was supposed to be sexy

but when you come into the hospital room, worried and squishing his cheeks, asking if he’s ’okay’ and ‘what can you do’ - all he can think is how you’re so cute when you’re worried about him, cooing over him and petting him, calling him ‘baby’ and kissing his forehead - he certainly doesn’t hate it

plus, he’s usually the one who’s protective, but you’re kind of scary when the nurses can’t answer basic questions, like whether it’s a serious head injury or a mild concussion

he’s annoyed when the doctor says he needs to stay the night because he can literally imagine everything he planned sitting at home and going to waste, but at least they say you can stay the night too

you had planned for that, of course, and already brought some extra clothes for yourself and for him, plus a tablet full of downloaded shows and movies and the pillow he likes and an extra blanket

it’s funny to him how a few things from home and having you curled against him make a hospital room seem almost homey

he’s almost okay with things, but also he isn’t at all - tonight was important - he had been waiting to tell you something and this wasn’t the romantic evening he had planned

but when you lean up to kiss him, your warm lips pressing to his, he immediately feels all the warm, quivering feelings you always make him feel - he loves those feelings dearly

you lean back slowly, smoothing his hair and staring at him quietly for a few moments, he returns your gaze, adoring the gentle way you look at him, like he’s someone truly special to you

you lean down again, kissing his cheek softly, “you’re so sweet for planning everything,” you whisper

he flushes slightly, “you weren’t supposed to see that,” he whines

you just smile, “but i did and it was so perfect” —

he stops you, “i know, but then i fell and ruined everything”

you shake your head, “you didn’t ruin anything, cheol,” you assures him, “it’s just a special story we can tell everyone one day,” she smiles, “the day i realized i was completely in love with you,” you kiss him again, lingering for a moment before pulling back

his eyes were large, “i was supposed to confess today!” he whined again

you laugh softly, “so go ahead then - it’s not like we can’t realize it the same day”

he shakes his head, “no, i’ve known - i just wanted to tell you today so it’s romantic…special,” he pouted

you nod, “ah, so you wanted it to be memorable when you told me?” you giggle, “there’s nothing memorable about today, i guess”

he knew you were joking, but he still sulked, and you press closer, “cheol,” you stroke his cheek, “really, i mean it, i love you,” you whisper, “just you,” you press another kiss to his cheek

“maybe i’ll pick another romantic day,” he exaggerated his pouting, making you laugh softly

you nuzzle close, “at least i told you as soon as i knew how i felt”

he sighs, “i knew at christmas when you picked the matching necklaces and refused anything else they had”

she laughed, “that? can it be something else?”

“no - it’s just when i knew you were really the person i love,” he strokes your cheek

you smile, “i guess it’s okay then”

he rolls his eyes, “i love you too,” he finally confesses

you nuzzle closer, enjoying his warmth, “i love you more”

he swats your arm gently, “i’m injured, let me win,” he pouts

you grin, “of course you win, my perfect cheol”

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ────

a/n: i just wanted something cute for cheollie

♡ kat

if you want to be tagged, go [here] my [master list] if you want to read more

[kissingmilfs]

𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓… | 𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒙 𝒂𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒂

18+ minors please dni

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ summary: sevika’s greediness gets you both in trouble with ambessa.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ content warnings: cnc (if you squint), spanking, and other stuff i don’t wanna spoil

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

you should have known better—of all people you should have known better. and you were doing well all day too. you had done all the things on your to-do list. even managed to get into the gym and followed the routine your girlfriends created for you. you’re not sure when it all went wrong.

maybe it was when you came home and saw sevika drinking milk straight out of the carton. it was messy and almost downright erotic. the milk trickles down sevika’s chin and on her skintight muscle tee. her muscles are more swollen from her recent work out too.

hearing you drop your gym bag and keys prompted sevika to tear away from the carton and give you a heated look that trails the length of your body. she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. sevika stalks towards you, her pupils dilating the closer she gets.

and you know better. no playing around without ambessa’s clear permission. you promise you do. so you awkwardly step away from sevika’s movements and shake your head.

“we can’t.”

sevika growls and immediately lurches out to grab you by the waist. “and why not? she’ll never know.”

you shake your head and pressing hands against sevika’s shoulders—a weak attempt to stop sevika from getting both of you in trouble. “sevika please…”

sevika tightens her hold on your waist almost to the point it bruises. she revels in your tiny whimpers and the slight frantic look in your eyes. she can deal with whatever consequences ambessa decides on. sevika just needs you now.

“oh come on baby…just a quick taste…she’ll never know…” sevika pulls you taut against her chest. “don’t make this hard, doll. you know what i want.”

your eyes widen at sevika’s firm tone. your teeth bite the inside of your inner lip. there’s a few hours before ambessa comes home. before you can even formally announce your thoughts, sevika’s fingers are rolling your gym shorts and underwear down your hips. instinctively, you bend your knees to step out of the shorts. sevika peels your underwear from their confinement. she does the unexpected and brings the crotch to her nose and takes such a big inhale.

“sevika…” you whisper faintly with evident shock making your voice sound shaky.

the woman in question lifts her eyes to yours. sevika’s pupils are blown out and she’s breathing heavy—similar to a feral beast. you don’t remember how it happened either. one second you’re staring in shock at sevika and the next second your face was buried in the pillows.

your voice is hoarse from the crying and begging. pleading that falls on deaf ears as sevika’s tongue is buried in your cunt and her fingers circling your clit. whining loudly for sevika not to leave any marks, or to stop before ambessa comes home, and more pitifully for her to make you come again.

you remember passing out with exhaustion once sevika has her fill of you. she falls asleep between your legs and you should know better. you should have woken her up. forced you both to shower and clean up the room. but gods above, you were so tired. drained.

your eyes shoot open hearing the front door slam close. you immediately sit up and see sevika’s gotten even more comfortable. her arms wrapped around your waist and literally drooling on your thigh. ambessa’s work boots threateningly inch closer and closer to the bedroom. the boom of each step fills you with dread.

“sevika…” you hiss lowly and shake her shoulder. “sevika wake up…she’s home…” you frantically attempt to find your clothes but then you freeze in fear and remembrance. “fuck, fuck, fuck.”

sevika barely wakes from her slumber. she mumbles something sleepily before tightening her arms around your waist. the looming footsteps stop somewhere in the living room. oh gods, ambessa’s definitely analyzing the scene of discarded clothes. you close your eyes tightly. waiting for ambessa to summon you and sevika. but it never comes.

instead the heavy steps belonging to ambessa and her boots eventually move towards the bedroom door. you find yourself holding your breath. ambessa’s rules are not to be challenged. sevika knows this and still finds continuous ways to get you in trouble. then ambessa knocks on the door. it’s not a loud knock but rather soft. it rouses sevika more out of her sleepy state too.

she frowns with a grumble hearing the knock. lifting her head with confusion written clearly on her face. grumbling even more, sevika rolls out of bed and reluctantly swings the bedroom door open. ambessa stands behind it with her arms crossed and an unusually neutral expression on her face. her and sevika are similar in height so they both catch each other’s gaze at the same time.

sevika sighs and rubs the back of her neck. there must have been some silent understanding because sevika stands aside without another word. ambessa takes one step into the room. her eyes immediately find yours and your naked form on the bed. something unrecognizable flashes through her golden eyes as she crosses the room to you. ambessa lowers herself on the bed. one hand comes out to grasp your jaw. you refrain from making any noise and instead wait for ambessa to say something.

ambessa rotates your head from one side to the other. she carefully takes account of the deep bite marks on your neck and shoulder. the hickeys have formed as purple wounds splotched anywhere sevika could muster. ambessa tuts her tongue disapprovingly.

“now what happened here, my love?” ambessa’s tone is alarmingly calm and unwavering.

your eyes nervously drink in every last expression on ambessa’s face. “i…i guess me and sevika happened…”

ambessa hums knowingly and nods. “i see that, dear. seems she really got you good.”

you, shamefully, drop your eyes. sevika all but snickers from her leaned position against the now closed bedroom door. “ah whatever. she had fun.”

“i did not give you permission to talk, sevika. i’ll deal with you later.” ambessa sounds…upset with sevika. more upset than she sounded with you. ambessa refocuses her attention. “i bet she was really convincing, huh? you probably told her you’d both get in trouble and she didn’t care, hm?”

a slow nod comes from you. ambessa is luring you into a false sense of security. but your brain is screaming not to fall for the trap. dropping your guard with ambessa never plays out well. the woman hums thoughtfully to herself. sevika is across the room with her arms crossed and staring furiously at the interaction. from the looks of it, ambessa is intent on blaming the whole thing on sevika. which she probably deserves but it wasn’t, as if, you hadn’t begged for sevika. begged and whimpered and moaned and scratched.

ambessa sighs and drops her hand from your jaw. her sigh is filled with exhaustion maybe even a hint of irritation. “what am i gonna do with you both, huh? i give one simple instruction and everyone decides they know better. you know, i’m entirely convinced you, sevika, enjoy testing my patience.”

her words are punctuated and hit the air as sharp as a new blade. you nervously track every time ambessa’s flexes her fingers, or taps them against her thigh. you can tell she’s thinking. deep in thought about your punishments. you knew it’d be futile and lost on deaf ears if you plead your case. nothing short of licking the ground ambessa walks on would make her listen or care. ambessa bend her neck to the left—crack—then to the right—crack.

“sevika, go get my boot shining kit.”

sevika grumbles at the command but regardless shuffles out of the bedroom and into ambessa’s suite. she returns rather quickly with a 4x4 black box with ambessa’s family symbol engraved in red on one side. ambessa scrutinizes sevika as if even the method of transporting the box is wrong.

ambessa let’s sevika approach the bed before commanding, “kneel.” she’s left no room for argument or sevika’s usual reluctance to submit to ambessa. now is not the time to defy ambessa’s authority. so sevika kneels with the box in hand.

“i see you can listen to instructions then, sevika.” a purely rhetoric statement meant to get underneath sevika’s skin. ambessa regards her with a tilt of the head. it’s fairly easily to recognize the annoyance and defiance in sevika’s grey eyes. the clear restraint it’s taking sevika not to retort back with a sassy remark.

“good.” ambessa comments. “open the box and pull out only the brush, cloth and wax. don’t even comment on what else is there.”

sevika huffs out her clear annoyance but drops her eyes to the box. resting it next to her kneeled legs, sevika opens the box, pulling out what ambessa instructed. she notices the other object but behaves. this time. ambessa watches her momentarily before turning her attention back to you.

her eyes and expression visibly become softer once she does. it’s no surprise and probably safe to say—ambessa has a soft spot for you. you’re the human embodiment of her heart. everything decent and right in ambessa’s universe is intertwined with your existence. you help the woman remember her humanity. however soft spot or not, ambessa rules are her rules. nonsensical or not—ambessa’s rules are final.

ambessa reaches out again but this time her hand encompasses your cheek. “darling…you know i have to punish you, right?”

you nod slowly with understanding. “yes, ambessa.” her confirmation of punishment does not stop you from leaning into her touch.

“it’s not entirely your fault and i’m aware. sometimes you can only seem to think with your cunt.” ambessa tuts her tongue as she sees you parting your lips in defense. “no, no. none of that. lay across my lap, dearest.”

you intake a sharp breath knowing whats to come next. outstretching on ambessa’s lap, you position your hips snug against her thighs. ambessa hums her approval. in this position with your cheek pressed against the mattress, you can catch a side glimpse of sevika. she’s already begun polishing ambessa’s black boots. knowing sevika she’s sporting a severe pissed off expression right now.

a shiver jumps down your spine once ambessa’s calloused hands grope your ass. eventually one hand comes to the dip of your back, adding pressure to keep you grounded. she guides you to take a deep breath. then as you exhale her hand comes down on your ass. it causes you to close your eyes and tense from the impact. but she bends forward and presses a kiss to your shoulder.

“keep breathing, my love. what’s your safe word?”

“sword.” you reply instantly without a second thought. that earns you another kiss on your shoulder. but the tender action is juxtaposed with ambessa’s hand leaving a stinging sensation against your left butt cheek. this time you don’t tense but breathe shakily through your nose instead.

ambessa smiles down at the way she feels your body react. she can feel you breathing deeply despite how unsteady it may be. your body isn’t bracing for each spank. she’s certainly trained you well. her hand alternates between each plump mound. after your mental count of 12, ambessa stops. her hand comes to soothingly trail across your skin. you whimper at the feeling. it feels comforting with how slow and delicate ambessa’s moving them, but at the same time it emanates low range stings across your skin.

“no more shining, sevika. you think you can use your head for something other than torturing y/n and figure out the mechanism in the box?” ambessa chides.

sevika, all but snarls, at the question and reaches into the box. her fingers find the black leather harness. curiously lifting it to her eyes, she inspects how small it is. certainly not meant for around the waist. ambessa watches sevika’s curiosity—wondering how long it will take the woman to figure it out. as sevika twists and turns and analyzes the contraption, she adjusts it in a way that clicks. seeing the lightbulb set out in sevika’s head—ambessa lifts one foot a few inches off the ground. sevika quickly gets to work securing the harness on the boot. it takes two attempts until she’s successful.

ambessa, lowering her foot, taps your hip once. “up, love. sit on my lap.” ambessa watches you wobbly lift yourself from your laid position. palms pressed against the mattress as the affects of the spanking still radiates off your skin. she doesn’t bother helping—somewhat enjoying you taking your sweet time. but eventually you secure yourself to straddle ambessa’s lap.

“did you know i missed you today, love?” ambessa casually utters as her hands find the swell of your ass pulling you closer.

your eyes eagerly lift to ambessa’s golden ones. “you did?”

ambessa hums as she gently massages and grips the reddened and now bruising skin. “it was such a long day. back and forth negotiations, uncooperative officials…ridiculous and foolishness.”

ambessa sighs and looks over your shoulder to sevika attaching now the hitachi vibrator to the straps, securing it with a button. it hangs from the top of the boot—resting parallel to the shoelaces. the dildo is already secured and upright in the harness. ambessa’s not too much in the mood for a harsh punishment (surprisingly). she did miss her girls, both you and sevika. she did want to come home and hold you against her chest and watch sevika ravish you. but now because of sevika’s greediness plans changed.

sevika huffs out once she’s done and sits back against the heels of her feet—eyeing her handy work. “this for the brat?”

you perk up, knowing sevika means you, and attempt to twist around to figure out what the woman is talking about. ambessa shakes her head disapprovingly, guiding you head to rest against her shoulder. you pout faintly but opt for obedience—listening to the conversation that transpires.

“and why would it be for her, sevika?”

sevika’s eyebrows push together in confusion. her focus drops to the harnessed boot then back to ambessa. “me? seriously?” to you, sevika sounds baffled as a scoff graced her words.

ambessa’s acknowledgment vibrates against you. “seriously. i’m not in the mood today, sevika. don’t take advantage of my mercy.”

“i hardly consider this mercy, ambessa! it’s humiliating.”

you can hear the irritated inflation in sevika’s voice and the scratch behind her throat. you’re almost desperate to learn what ambessa’s planned for sevika. and you’re not sure what happens next because the room is dead silent. you’re unexpectedly holding your breath with the thick tension filling the air. ambessa’s unnaturally still and you can barely tell if sevika’s in the same room anymore. it feels like an eternity passes before the sound of buzzing fills the room.

your body instinctively twitches with the familiar sound. and if only you could see the sight behind of you. sevika cockwarming the red dildo attached to ambessa’s shoe with the vibrator sending faint waves right to her clit. you’d probably be astonished sevika’s still holding a furious look while her cheek is pressed against ambessa’s knee. and ambessa is lovingly stroking sevika’s hair while keeping firm eye contact with the woman.

once ambessa’s convinced sevika won’t lash out again, she returns some of her attention to you. you’re beautifully still on ambessa’s lap. your eyes focused on nothing as you gaze over her shoulder. ambessa delicately runs her hand along your sides to jolt you back to her. the older woman guides you to look into her eyes once again.

“can you be a good girl and ride my fingers?” ambessa’s intonation didnt leave room for a, no. you knew it was a command but phrased as if you had much free will. you notice the way ambessa’s pupils gradually dilate the longer she takes you in. and why would you even say, no? you’re convinced her eyes are forming into hearts so you eagerly nod. anything to please ambessa. anything to have her forgiveness.

ambessa’s hands don’t even need to guide your hips upwards. the light touch is enough for the action to come second nature. and ambessa certainly doesn’t need to waste time getting you ready for her fingers. you’re still soaked from your romp with sevika. and the second ambessa’s eyes found yours—you felt the mess pooling even more. two fingers brush against your folds—spreading you open like the delicate flower ambessa thinks you are. her middle finger glides down without any regard to paying close attention to your throbbing clit. no, her middle finger finds solitude rubbing circles over your entrance. testing if you were indeed wet.

you realize ambessa’s laughing before the noise can properly hit your ear. and before you can form the thought to ask why—you realize your cunt is greedily sucking in ambessa’s finger without any effort from her. that produces a needy whine from you as you’re gradually filled with one finger by your body’s own doing. but ambessa isn’t done yet. you’re already so eager, so wet that ambessa wastes no time adding her ring finger.

ambessa is determined to do the least amount of work for the rest of the night. your hips don’t move yet—momentarily forgetting ambessa’s command to ride. it only clicks after ambessa’s still for a second too long. but when you hear sevika’s groan of pleasure—you needily react with grinding your hips forward.

“fuck…” you hear sevika grunt out as if she’s out of breath.

sevika’s, not necessarily out of breath, moreso she has the optimal view of your cunt stuffed with ambessa’s fingers. she can see how pathetically wet you are. you’ve already left a trail of slick on ambessa’s knuckles. sevika desperately wants to rise on her knees and lick ambessa’s fingers clean as you ride them. her mouth waters thinking about sucking on your clit and feeling you squirt down her throat.

ambessa’s two steps ahead of sevika. “don’t even try it, sevika.”

you furrow your eyebrows at ambessa’s admonishment but quickly realize you don’t care too much. your cunt is stuffed with ambessa’s fingers and you’re feeling too needy to get yourself off. yet you know ambessa won’t make it easy for you. but then you hear sevika’s disgruntled moan and your hips respond.

ambessa chuckles at the revelation. so she leans down quickly to turn the vibrator to the highest setting. sevika bucks her hips, groaning with the sudden intensity. her fingers flex and scrape against the woven fibers of the rug. each sound sevika makes entices your hips to move forward. it’s such a marvel sight for ambessa to witness. you eagerly grind your hips, whimpering into the crook of ambessa’s neck. the sounds of sevika’s deep moans paired with your high pitched moans sounds like the inside of a brothel.

this wasn’t exactly how ambessa anticipated her night of unwinding but she certainly cannot find the thought to complain. her body’s relieved of all tension. now left floating in utter bliss as she watches and listens to you both fall apart. all under her guidance and not moving an inch. and when ambessa feels you bite her shoulder in a loud pitched cry—she actually moans. if ambessa focused enough, the older woman is convinced she could come.

ambessa can see sevika’s resolve breaking. and she can feel yours shattering too. you’ve given up your half ass grinding. now actually lifting and sinking your hips on ambessa’s fingers. your hips and ass moving in a hypnotic, tantalizing motion that has sevika almost drooling at the sight.

sevika growls in frustration and takes it out by biting into ambessa’s thigh. not that ambessa minds. in fact she widens her legs in appreciation which causes her fingers to shift deeper inside you.

“close…i’m close…please…” the words stumble out of your mouth in a hazed rush. you’re not sure if you’re warning or asking.

both women reply in unison. “come.” that one simply word shatters you and the coil tortuously building within. your hips stutter their actions. your nails dig into the expanse of ambessa’s back as a moan is caught in the back of your throat. ambessa holds you close, pressing you securely against her chest as your body spasms with such intensity. you start seeing white and black spots in your vision.

after a few seconds, your body slumps against ambessa’s. the only sounds you can hear are the pounding of your blood and your heavy breathing. unbeknownst to you, sevika came a mere second after you. her eyes glued to your cunt clenching ambessa’s fingers.

ambessa is utterly filled with satisfaction from the scene that unfolded. despite her annoyance walking into the house earlier—now she can curl up with her two favorite girls and rest.

[heeluvv]

𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐖.ᐣ.ᐟ

pairing ﾒ stalker! sim jaeyun x reader

genre ﾒ smut

warnings ﾒ dubcon, gore (?), p in v, unprotected sex, mean jake, dom jake, degradation kink, etc.

natty's notes ﾒ mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

it starts small. subtle things. things you could brush off if you weren’t paying attention.

a missing sock. a door you swore you locked, just slightly ajar when you wake up. the nagging sensation that something in your room has been touched, moved, rearranged—so minuscule it feels ridiculous to mention. but still, the feeling lingers, sinking into your skin like an itch you can’t scratch.

then you start seeing things that shouldn’t be there.

a smudge of fingerprints on your bedroom window—too high up for you to have left them. a shadow in the corner of your eye that vanishes when you turn. at first, you tell yourself it’s nothing. paranoia. a trick of the mind.

until the first package arrives.

it’s small, wrapped neatly in brown paper, sitting on your doorstep like some forgotten gift. no name. no return address. just waiting. you hesitate before picking it up, a chill creeping down your spine, but curiosity wins. the twine is stiff, rough beneath your fingers as you pull it apart, and the paper peels away like dead skin.

inside, a finger. severed at the knuckle, the nail still painted that soft pink you recognize from earlier that day.

your stomach twists violently. your vision blurs at the edges, breath coming in ragged gasps as you fumble with the tiny note tucked beneath it. the handwriting is sharp, aggressive, like the words were carved rather than written.

“you let her touch you. so i took care of it.”

the world tilts. nausea rises in your throat. you know whose finger this is.

you saw her today. your coworker, yuri. the one who smiled too much, who laughed at all your jokes, who reached out—just once—to brush something off your sleeve.

you gag and drop the box, stumbling back, your pulse hammering in your ears. hands shaking, you grab your phone, fingers slipping over the screen as you try to dial, try to call for help—

but when you look down again, the box is gone.

the doorstep is empty. the blood is gone.

like it was never there at all.

the police don’t believe you.

of course, they don’t.

there’s no package. no finger. no proof.

the officer’s eyes flicker with barely restrained amusement as you try to explain, as you insist that it was real. that you saw it, that you touched it. but there’s nothing. no camera footage. no signs of a break-in.

“maybe you should get some rest,” they say.

you stop sleeping after that.

but the packages don’t stop.

the next one comes a week later. you don’t open it. you can’t. but the smell seeps through the paper—raw and metallic, thick enough to make your head spin.

you know what’s inside before you even see the note.

“he liked talking to you. not anymore.”

your hands tremble as you shove it into the trash, as you tell yourself to move, to leave, to run—but where?

he is everywhere.

you feel him in the spaces between your ribs, in the silence of your empty apartment, in the weight of your own shadow stretching long against the pavement.

you try to be careful after that. you stop talking to people. stop making eye contact. stop leaving your house unless you absolutely have to.

but he still finds ways to remind you that you’re his.

a handprint smeared against your mirror in the dead of night.

your window left cracked open, letting in the scent of something dark and decayed.

your bed, once familiar, feeling wrong when you wake up—like someone else has been there.

like someone else has been laying beside you.

and then, one night, he lets you see him.

it happens so fast you barely register it at first.

the door clicks shut behind you, the sound too controlled, too deliberate. the air shifts, thickening, suffocating, pressing against your skin like unseen hands. you know you’re not alone before you even turn.

but when you do—

he’s there.

standing in your bedroom doorway, head tilted, lips curled into a lazy, almost bored smirk.

your heart seizes, a strangled sound catching in your throat. his presence is wrong—he should not be here, he should not be here—but he is. perfectly at ease, as if he’s always belonged in this space.

as if he’s been here before.

your voice is barely a whisper. “how did you get in?”

jake laughs. soft. amused. like the answer should be obvious.

“sweetheart,” he murmurs, taking a step closer, slow and unhurried, his eyes never leaving yours. “i’ve always been here.”

the floor feels unsteady beneath you. you stagger back, reaching blindly, fingers closing around the nearest object—a lamp, small and fragile in your grip, but the only weapon you have.

he sees it. of course, he does.

his smirk widens, his eyes gleaming with something dark, something hungry.

“oh, baby,” he drawls, low and taunting, “do you really think that’s going to stop me?”

and then he moves.

his hand finds your throat with terrifying ease, fingers wrapping around the fragile column like they were always meant to be there. rough, calloused palms pressing in, tightening, cutting off the air before you can even think to take a breath. panic surges, a white-hot wave that makes your body jerk involuntarily, makes your hands scramble against his arm, nails digging in, desperate to loosen the crushing grip—

but it’s useless. he’s stronger. he always has been.

your mouth parts, a choked gasp slipping out, but there’s nothing—no relief, no air, just the slow, suffocating burn creeping up your throat. your chest heaves, lungs straining, a frantic, instinctual attempt to pull in oxygen that never comes. black spots bloom at the edges of your vision, and you realize, distantly, he’s enjoying this.

his other hand moves, slow, deliberate. reaching into his pocket, fingers brushing against the worn handle of something sharp—something deadly.

a knife.

the gleam of the blade catches the dim light as he pulls it free, the cool metal glinting with cruel intent. your body jerks again, a useless attempt to get away, but the grip around your throat only tightens, an amused hum vibrating in his chest.

“shhh, baby,” jake coos, voice deceptively soft, “you’re shaking.”

you are. trembling beneath him, limbs twitching as every nerve in your body screams at you to run, fight, escape—but you can’t. you can’t even move.

the knife touches your cheek, the first press so light it’s almost a caress. cold steel kissing burning skin. he drags it down slowly, tracing the delicate curve with the kind of care that makes your stomach turn, like he’s savoring every second.

a choked whimper escapes you, your body thrashing in his hold, but it only makes him chuckle. the sound is low, indulgent, mocking.

“you’re so fucking stupid sometimes, baby...”

his grip on your throat eases just enough to let you suck in a ragged breath, lungs screaming for air, but before you can even process the relief, the knife presses harder. not enough to cut—not yet—but enough to make his intent clear.

his eyes darken, gaze drinking in the panic spilling across your features, the tears clinging to your lashes, the helpless tremble of your body beneath his. his smirk is lazy, taunting, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement as he tilts his head.

“you never learn, do you?”

his fingers flex around your throat again, testing, controlling. the knife tilts, pressing just a little deeper—just enough to break the skin. a thin line of warmth trickles down your cheek, slow and deliberate, as he watches with the kind of fascination that makes your stomach lurch.

you try to whimper, beg, plead— but all that comes out is a strangled, broken sound.

he laughs again, soft and cruel.

“that’s okay, sweetheart,” he murmurs, tilting the knife, watching as more red beads at the surface. “you’ll learn eventually.”

“one way or another.”

the blade presses against your skin through the thin fabric of your shirt, its edge cold, unforgiving. you flinch, body instinctively trying to curl away, but there’s nowhere to go—nowhere to hide from him.

his breath is steady, unhurried, as he drags the knife downward, slow and deliberate, tracing the shape of your body with cruel precision.

"should we take this off?" he murmurs, but the question is meaningless. a formality. he doesn’t wait for an answer—he never does.

with one sharp flick of his wrist, the fabric gives way beneath the blade, splitting open like fragile paper, exposing your skin to the cool air. the ruined pieces of your shirt hang limply, a useless barrier between you and him.

he exhales softly, like he’s savoring the moment, his free hand brushing over your newly exposed flesh with an almost reverent touch.

"i've waited for this, baby..." his voice is low, thick with something dark, something possessive.

he leans in, lips grazing the shell of your ear before his tongue flicks out, warm and wet, lapping at the tears streaking down your cheek.

you whimper, the sound involuntary, humiliating. your body betrays you in ways you don’t understand, don’t want to understand. your pulse pounds beneath his fingers, a frantic, desperate rhythm, but your limbs feel useless, heavy, caught in the sickening haze of fear and something worse—something you refuse to name.

you should feel disgusted. terrified. and you do. but you also feel something else. something undeniable, something that twists deep in your stomach and pools lower, something that makes your thighs press together instinctively.

he notices. of course, he does.

his smirk is lazy, amused, like he’s already won.

"you can’t hide from me," he murmurs, his fingers tracing the fresh cut of fabric, dipping lower, teasing, toying. "i feel you, sweetheart."

his hand presses against your lower stomach, fingers splayed, possessive.

"i always do."

your body reacts before your mind can catch up. heat coils, shame burning through you just as fiercely as fear, because no matter how much you try to deny it—

you’re his.

and he’s going to make sure you never forget it.

without hesitation, he forces you down onto the mattress, the weight of his body pressing into yours, trapping you beneath him like prey caught in the jaws of a predator. his breath, hot and ragged, fans across your skin as he buries his face in the curve of your neck, teeth sinking in without mercy. the sharp sting tears a cry from your throat, but it only seems to spur him on, his mouth latching onto the delicate flesh, sucking, biting, marking. pain and heat blend together, leaving behind cruel bruises that will linger for days.

the knife he once held, gleaming and sharp, now lies abandoned on the floor, forgotten in favor of something far more brutal. both of his hands, large and calloused, clamp around your wrists, pinning them above your head with an unforgiving grip. you struggle, but it's useless—his strength easily overpowers your feeble attempts to break free.

"s-stop... please s-stop..." your voice trembles, choked with sobs, eyes brimming with tears that spill down your cheeks. the words come out weak, broken, barely above a whisper. you twist and writhe beneath him, desperate to shake him off, but every movement only seems to make him tighten his hold, his body pressing down harder.

shame creeps into your veins like poison when a sound betrays you—a soft, involuntary moan slipping past your lips at the way his mouth works against your neck. his touch is cruel, unrelenting, yet something about it ignites a twisted sensation deep inside you, something you don't want to acknowledge. you hate it. you hate him. but your body, treacherous and weak, reacts in ways you can't control.

his lips curl against your skin, a low chuckle vibrating in his throat. he knows. he feels it. and he revels in it.

"that's more like it," he murmurs, voice dripping with sadistic amusement, his grip on your wrists tightening until it hurts. "go on, beg some more. let's see how much you really want me to stop."

the words make your stomach twist in horror, but it's already too late. you've given him exactly what he wanted—a reason to keep going.

his hands fumble urgently with your pants, tugging them down along with your panties in a rough, impatient motion. he parts your thighs, a low groan escaping his lips as he reveals your most intimate place.

"oh fuck, baby…" he murmurs, his voice thick with desire as he presses his mouth to your core. loud, uncontrollable moans escape you, your body trembling from the sudden, relentless pace he sets.

his tongue explores you, harsh and hungry, savoring your taste as he grunts against you, the vibrations sending cold shivers up your spine. "p-please… uh--n-no.." you stammer, but your moans betray your true feelings. you surrender, giving in to the futility of resistance. your body revels in his dominance, his control sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

"fuck, baby, you taste so fucking good," he whispers, his voice a raspy growl against your flesh.

his tongue embarks on a sinuous journey along the quivering walls of your most intimate sanctum, his hand slowly relinquishing its vice-like grip on your wrist only to plunge his fingers into your depths. the intrusion sends a wave of sensation crashing through you, drawing a raw, primal scream from your lips as your back arches sharply off the mattress, every nerve ending alight with a bewildering mix of pain and pleasure. it's overwhelming, a tempest of sensation that leaves you confused, torn between the ecstasy and the agony, unable to discern what you truly feel. Your moans morph into loud, desperate sobs as you writhe beneath him, your body a canvas of conflicting emotions. "please!" you cry out, a futile plea for mercy or release—you no longer know.

"shut the fuck up, and take what i give you," he growls, his fingers increasing their relentless pace as he withdraws his touch from your body. his eyes, dark and predatory, meet your gaze, now glazed and unfocused from the onslaught of sensation. a harsh, mocking chuckle escapes his lips, his fingers never ceasing their brutal rhythm. "so fucking stupid, look at you. wanted me to stop earlier, only to be begging for more now, huh whore?" he taunts, his fingers delving deeper, reaching places within you that ache and throb, making it increasingly difficult for you to endure. your legs curl up to your chest in a futile attempt to protect yourself, but his pace does not decrease, his assault on your senses unyielding and merciless.

the tension in your body builds as you clench desperately on his finger, the coil in your stomach tightening like a vice with each passing moment. you're balancing on the precipice, the sensation overwhelming, your eyes rolling back as your body begins to tremble from the exhilarating high that's agonizingly close. but just as you're about to tumble over the edge, he cruelly withdraws his fingers, leaving you hollow and aching. a whine escapes your lips, a primal sound born of frustration and longing, but he merely tsks, his voice a low, menacing rumble. "bitches like you get told when to cum."

he fumbles with his pants, the sound of his zipper cutting through the air like a knife. he drags them down slowly, hissing as the cold air kisses the heated skin of his thick, hard cock. ropes of precum slide down his impressive length, glistening in the dim light. he leans down, his shaft sliding up and down your slick, eager flesh, but never quite entering. you can feel the heat of him, the pulse of his arousal, and it's maddening. his hand finds your throat, his grip firm, commanding. "beg for it, whore," he growls, his voice a dark, intoxicating whisper. "tell me you want it."

your voice is barely a whisper, your words broken and stuttering from the harsh grip on your neck. "p-please… i-i w-want… more…" you manage to gasp out, your eyes watering, your body trembling. he bites his lip harshly, his eyes flashing with lust and dominance as he enters you in one harsh, brutal thrust. his grip on your neck tightens as he holds himself up, his hips moving like a piston, each thrust hard and unyielding. he throws his head back, a guttural "oh fuck!" tearing from his lips, his body glistening with sweat, his eyes wild and feral.

your body convulses with each powerful thrust, spine arching, shoulders grinding against the headboard. a symphony of creaks and groans escapes the aged wood, but you're lost in a haze of sensation, too far gone to heed the bed's protests or make him stop. your body quivers beneath him, lungs burning as his relentless rhythm robs you of breath. he doesn't seem to notice, or perhaps he just doesn't care, lost as he is in his primal dance. his guttural moans and grunts fill the air, head thrown back, tendons taut in his neck, as he ravages you with a brutal, almost punishing, pace.

abruptly, his movements still. strong arms lift you effortlessly, your body slick with sweat, and he slams you against the cold windowpane. the glass shudders under the impact, but holds, and any fear of it shattering is swiftly eclipsed by the feel of him invading you once more, harsh and demanding. a loud sob wrenches from your throat as his hand finds its way back to your neck, fingers pressing firmly into your flesh.

"you like it baby, don't you?" he growls, his breath hot on your ear, his voice a low, taunting rumble. he thrusts deeper from this new angle, his body claiming yours with a savage intensity. "fucking you here, against the window, for all the world to see. so everyone knows you're mine." his words are a dark, possessive spell, casting a sinister shadow over your writhing, entwined forms.

the notion that you would one day find yourself entwined in a carnal embrace with your stalker was utterly foreign, completely outside the realm of your wildest imaginings. fear should be coursing through your veins, every instinct screaming for you to flee, to break free from his grasp. but you know, with a cold and heavy certainty, that escape is an illusion. there's no turning back now, no retracing your steps. his grunts, primal and guttural, crescendo into loud, echoing moans, his head draped heavily on your neck as he continues his relentless, brutal rhythm.

"you're going to cum when i tell you to," he commands, feeling your body tensing, teetering on the precipice of release. but you're not sure you can hold back the flood any longer. the sensation of his thick, hard cock driving so deep into you, striking that secret, sweet spot with every merciless thrust, is overwhelming. it's a storm building, a wave crashing, and when it breaks, it's cataclysmic. you feel it coming, and it's too late to stop. you explode around him, your screams filling the room, raw and ragged, your body convulsing violently with an orgasm that feels like it's tearing you apart.

"fucking whore," he growls, his voice a low, menacing rumble, his hips never pausing, never slowing. "you wanted to cum? now you're never going to stop." his relentless abuse continues, unabated, a storm of sensation that shows no sign of ending.

natty's notes ﾒ might not be everyone's cup of tea but it's mine so idc, hope you enjoyed!!

[bitchinbarzal]

Got you | J Hughes

summary: jack shows up in the middle of the night and you’re the only one he wants.

-

The insistent buzzing of your phone jolts you awake. Disoriented, you squint at the screen, the glowing numbers reading 1:37 am, before your bleary eyes focus on the name flashing across it.

Jack.

Your stomach twists. He never calls this late. Jack is the kind of guy who falls asleep with his phone still in his hand, mid-text, and wakes up at a reasonable hour with no recollection of what he was saying. If he’s calling now, something’s wrong.

You answer, voice thick with sleep “Jack?”

There’s a pause, just long enough to make your chest tighten. Then, his voice — low, quiet.

“Can you let me in?”

You don’t think. You just move. Throwing off the covers, you rush to your front door, unlocking it without hesitation. The second you pull it open, you see him stood with his hood pulled up, hands stuffed in his pockets, the dim hallway light casting shadows across his face.

“Jack—”

He steps past you, barely meeting your eyes, his movements stiff like he’s holding something back. He paces once before sinking onto your couch, elbows on his knees, hands laced together like he’s trying to keep himself from coming undone.

You close the door softly “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head.

Jack is rarely quiet. He’s the guy who always has a chirp ready, who fills silences with offhand comments or dumb jokes just to keep the energy light. But this is different. This is Jack stripped of all his usual defenses, and it unsettles you.

You sit beside him, close but not touching “Talk to me”

He exhales sharply, tipping his head back against the couch. For a second, you think he won’t say anything at all.

“I had a bad game”

Your heart aches at the way he says it. Like it’s more than that.

You frown “Jack—”

“I know” he interrupts “I know it’s dumb. I know it’s just one game, and I know I’ll bounce back, and I know it’s not the end of the world” His voice strains on the last part, and he shakes his head, jaw clenched “But I couldn’t shut it off. The way I played, the way I let the team down. I got in my own head, and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t know where else to go”

The last part is barely a whisper.

You exhale slowly.

So this is why he’s here.

He didn’t come for empty reassurances. He didn’t come for someone to tell him it’s fine, that it doesn’t matter.

He came for you.

For the quiet. For the comfort.

You don’t say anything at first. Instead, you shift closer, reaching for his hand. He tenses at first, but then exhales, letting you thread your fingers through his. You squeeze gently.

“It’s not dumb” you murmur. “I know how much you care. That’s not a bad thing”

He lets out a shaky breath, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against your skin “I just feel like I can’t get out of my own head sometimes. Like I’m never enough, no matter what I do”

Your chest tightens. Jack Hughes; rising superstar, face of a franchise, beloved by an entire city and yet, sitting here in the dim glow of your apartment, he’s just Jack. He is a boy who puts too much pressure on himself, who carries the weight of expectations too heavily on his shoulders.

You wish you could take some of it from him.

But all you can do is be here.

“You don’t have to figure it out alone” you whisper “I’m here. Always”

Something shifts in his expression. His fingers tighten around yours like he’s grounding himself in your presence. For a long moment, he just looks at you, something unspoken hanging in the air between you.

Then, he moves.

He leans into you, head resting on your shoulder, body finally relaxing for the first time since he walked through the door.

You stay like that. Wrapped up in each other, your fingers still laced together. You don’t fill the silence with meaningless words. You just exist beside him, letting him take what he needs.

And when his breathing evens out, when the tension in his body finally eases, you press a soft kiss to the top of his head and whisper

“I’ve got you”

And you do.

Always.

[kawhh]

Okay I am LOVING the dark blurbs but I can’t stop laughing at the idea of being Luke’s gf and just having the most perfect, healthy relationship. And you’re both just minding your business while watching dark! Quinn and dark! Jack lose their fucking minds

(I apologize in advance if this wasn't your exact train of thought and you meant more of them losing their minds with their own girls.)

I'm just fully cracking up enough at how they'd watch your relationship that I can't not take it this way.

It's like they're watching a nature documentary. Watching you both 24/7, fully stumped.

They'll sit there on the sofa together observing both of you interacting with each other. Confused about how Luke can just.. not watch you, not touch you constantly.

Their brother will just turn away from you if you're cutting something up? He'll just.. trust that you won't harm yourself accidentally? Won't burn yourself with the pan? He's even encouraging you to do things? Why? Why isn't he doing them for you?

He'll just let you leave the house? Without even asking for an explanation, demanding to come along? Or at least pretending he needs to go with you?

Doesn't spank you until you cry if you give him attitude?

Respectfully, what the fuck is wrong with their brother?

[synvil]

How Could I Forget? // Rafe Cameron

a/n : happy valentine's day <3 i hope you all have a wonderful valentines day, whether its by your lonesome, with gals or with your partner !

synopsis : You're starting to think Rafe won't ask you to be his valentine, much to your dismay, but he proves you wrong.

Valentine's Day.

The past few days leading up were pretty lonely nights, Rafe was always out on business or running errands and when he would make it home, you’d already be asleep or he’d be exhausted.

Even on days off, he tends to be preoccupied and it was hard to spend much time with him. But being the understanding girlfriend you were, you couldn’t really be upset at him. Rafe was hardworking, efficient and you had no choice but to let it go.

But with this being such a romantic holiday, you were really hoping he would be free and you could spend the day together.

Especially having Rafe ask you to be his valentine.

It’s stupid. You know it is. Yet something about the effort of still having your partner ask you to be their valentine despite already being together, is so romantic and cute and you just want to experience it.

Exiting the bathroom, you ruffle your wet hair with a towel after taking a hot shower, and exhale gently.

“Hey, babe,” As you reach the kitchen, Rafe strolls over and presses a kiss to your forehead, before walking back to the fridge. “Hey.” You smile and greet him back as you step towards the island and watch him. “Are you busy today?” You ask, tilting your head with a hum as you tap your fingers against the countertop, feeling your chest ache with excitement to spend time with him.

“Yeah, I have to run some errands and talk to Barry about some things.”

Immediately the sinking feeling pulls into your chest and you do your best to hide the disappointment lacing your eyes. "Oh.. You can't just take a day off to spend time together today?"

Rafe turns from the fridge after pulling out milk to put into his rather large tumbler mug of coffee. You notice he's been drinking a lot more coffee lately, on top of being so exhausted the last couple nights. He shares a half-apologetic smile as he pours in the dairy into the cup. "Sorry, it's important. But hey, Sarah and Kie said they were going to take you out today. Why don't you spend some time with them?" He secures the lid on both containers before setting the milk back into the fridge.

Your shoulders slump as your lips curl into a faint frown and you nod meekly in understanding. "I guess.."

Rafe notices the dejected expression over your face and purses his lips. He leans over the counter from across from you and tucks a strand of your wet hair behind your ear before cupping your chin to look up at him.

"Don't be sad, baby, I'll be done before you even realize."

Still, your eyes didn't meet his and he moves to cup your cheek. "I'll drive you to meet them before I go, okay?"

Managing to muster a small smile, you just exhale and stand up. "I'll go get ready then." You mumble and Rafe frowns, watching you excuse yourself to the bedroom. He exhales quietly, reaching into his wallet and pulling out his card before going over to the rack by the door where your purse hung.

He tucks his black card into your purse pocket and then pockets his wallet again before going back to his coffee to drink. “Hopefully that’ll cheer her up for a bit.”

“Be safe. I love you, angel.”

You sigh softly as you recall Rafe’s last words before he dropped you off.

Hearing your sigh, Sarah leans forward from her seat. “What’s up with the sad sigh?” She tilts her head and you blink, before frowning slightly. “Hey, did the guys do anything for you girls today?” You can’t help but ask out of curiosity, feeling the pang in your heart.

The two were surprised to hear the question and Sarah seems to understand what the problem was, and instead offering a sympathetic smile your way. “Yeah, tonight John B is taking me out to the beach to look at the stars and a picnic on the sand.”

Kie nods along, adding her own input. “JJ and I are chilling at his place with romantic comedies and snacks.” she shares and you purse your lip.

“but they did specifically ask you to be their valentine, right?”

Kie and Sarah share a glance before nodding a bit hesitantly. “Did Rafe not ask you yet?” Kie furrows her brows and you force your eyes down at your half eaten red velvet cupcake in dejection. “I barely even spent any time with him the last couple days. He’s been busy.”

Sarah can’t help but feel sorry for you, averting her eyes away from you as she reaches for your hand to hold. “I’m sure he’s planning something tonight. Don’t worry, okay?”

Kie scrunches her nose at the thought of Rafe. “Maybe. But let me know if he doesn’t, then i’ll whoop his ass.” Kie clenches her fist and you can’t help but chuckle, nodding at them. “We’ll see.”

After a few minutes, you decide to pay for your snacks, waiting until the topic moved on.

Excusing yourself, you slowly stand up and head to the counter of the small cafe you were in and decide to pay, reaching into your purse for your card.

“?”

Your brows furrow when you pull out a loose card outside of your wallet and recognize the black card to be Rafe’s. Your eyes widen in surprise before a faint smile laces your lips and you tap the card against the machine to pay before heading back.

As you wait for their conversation to finish, you grin at the girls and flash the card towards them. “Ready to go ladies?”

Sarah’s eyes light up at the sight and she beams. “Rafe’s card?”

“Yep. He must’ve snuck it into my purse.” You laugh a bit and Kie smirks. “Well, it’s our card now.”

The three of you share giggles. “Now let’s go shopping, and get you girls some cute outfits.”

“You’re getting one too.” Sarah winks as the two immediately stand and pull you to your feet.

“Wha-? But i’m not doing anything—“

“doesn’t matter!” Kie grins as they drag you over to the nearest store.

“Have fun tonight ladies!”

Sarah and Kie blow a kiss your way as you wave to them. “Happy Valentine’s babe!” Sarah winks as she calls out from the car. “You have fun too, sexy!”

An awkward smile builds on your face as you look at her in confusion, but she’s already driving away before you could inquire.

You shrug it off before heading to the front steps of the house and enter, dusting off your new red a-line silk dress that ended at your knees, that Sarah and Kie insisted you buy.

Even though you had a better time than you originally thought, you still couldn’t help the sadness that builds when you remember you didn’t have much waiting at home for you.

Sighing, you shut the door behind you and kick off your heels before stepping into the living room, surprised to see Rafe home.

“Hey, welcome home baby. How was your time with the girls?” Rafe immediately stands from the couch and you chew on your inner cheek and shrug weakly. “Fine.. I didn’t even know you were home.”

Rafe smiles as he looks at your new dress. “You look stunning baby. I see my card was put to good use.” He teases as he walks over to you and goes to wrap his arms behind your waist as he kisses your cheek. “Yeah.. thanks.”

He notices your quietness and distant behavior and furrows his brows. “Baby?”

Hearing him call you, you pout and look away, feeling all the emotions of sadness and disappointment from earlier returning in a rush. Rafe was home but he wasn’t texting you at all and if he’s been home, why did he send you away when you could’ve spent the time together?

“oh? is something wrong, sweetheart?”

Letting the pout grow further on your lips, you wipe your stray tears that began to brim your eyes and shake your head. “It’s nothing.. I just want to go to bed.”

Rafe stops you and spins you to face him, his hands on your shoulders. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

You finally look into his eyes and sniffle. “You’re such a jerk.” You harshly spat, taking him aback. “What—?”

“The least you could’ve done was say ‘Happy Valentines Day’ to me or something today. You didn’t ask me to be your valentine, or to spend time with me or got me a gift. You gave me your card by sneaking it into my purse instead of handing it to me, and i had to buy my own gift with it! And the past couple days we hardly even spent any time together because you’re always so busy with Barry and your business..”

You couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down your cheeks or from your words from spilling out your emotions but you were overwhelmed.

Rafe is stunned into silence for a moment, feeling his heart ached when he hears you explain. After another minute though, he speaks again.

“…I didn’t know this was such a big deal to you, angel.”

“Of course it is.. it’s a romantic holiday and you forgot.” You huff and Rafe lets his lips curl into a small smile as he reaches up to wipe your tears.

“Come here.”

He reaches down for your hand and intertwines your fingers with his and pulls you into his bedroom.

“I’m sorry for not giving you proper attention lately.” He whispers and pecks your temple before letting you open the door.

And the sight makes you gasp.

Every inch of the room, it’s completely covered in rose petals, pink and red balloons and as well as a bed covered in various gifts and snacks, such as charcuterie and chocolate covered strawberries for you, and a small board spelling out, “be my valentine?”

“How could I forget, baby?” Rafe murmurs as he watches your reaction with a soft smile and brings your hand up to his lips to kiss the back of it.

You’re speechless, unable to say anything as you stare at it all. The bed covered in gifts were from various stores you’ve been looking at recently, but you never had the chance to talk to Rafe about buying any of it.

“I… how did—“

Rafe exhales heavily as he looks over at the presents. “I had to talk to Sarah for hours and talk to the owners of these companies and stuff to get the right gifts and the best ones. I figured Sarah would know best about what you’ve been wanting.. And then I had to order all these rose petals and—“

You let out a small laugh, unable to do much else as you listened to him explain the reasoning for his distance the last few days. You’ll have to make a mental note to thank Sarah later.

“Wow.. i.. thank you, Rafe.. I’m sorry I..”

Rafe interrupts you with a soft kiss on your lips. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry too, angel.” You wrap your arms around his neck and smile, as his hands place themselves at your hips. “And I mean it, you look absolutely beautiful in this dress.”

"And since I neglected you today.." Rafe grins as he kicks the door shut behind him and pulls you to his chest by the waist.

"Why don't I spend this weekend making it up to you, yeah?"

a/n : agh this shouldn’t have taken this long, i’m sorry. i’m still recovering and going through a lot but please enjoy this! unedited.