#just a little something to ease into things

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Only I Get to Lift You

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Rating: T (Teen)

Warnings: Mild jealousy, light angst, fluff, playful possessiveness

Summary: With TikTok supposedly on the verge of being banned, you’re determined to convince Paige to do the Jacked and Kind trend as a farewell. Paige refuses, saying she won’t even post her drafts, unlike the rest of your teammates. So, you ask someone else...

“C’mon, Paige, please?” I whined, leaning my full weight against her as we sat on the couch in her dorm.

Paige groaned, not even looking up from her phone. “Nope.”

I pouted. “It’s a farewell to TikTok. You have to do it with me.”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t have to do anything.”

“Paige—”

“No.”

I let out a dramatic sigh, flopping against her. “Everyone else has done it! Ice, Azzi, Sarah, Jana—”

“And that’s exactly why I don’t need to do it,” she cut in. “I don’t even post like that, Y/N. I have like… a hundred drafts, most are ads that having been set to drop yet.”

I gasped. “And you’re not gonna post the non ad drafts?!”

“Nope.”

I sat up, scandalized. “You’re the worst.”

She smirked. “And yet, you’re still in love with me.”

I grumbled under my breath before pushing off the couch. “Fine. If you won’t do it, I’ll just ask Jana.”

Paige quirked a brow. “Jana?”

“Yup,” I said, grabbing my phone. “She’s tall, she’s strong, and unlike some people, she actually likes to have fun.”

Paige snorted. “Go ahead then. Have fun.”

Oh, I would.

Convincing Jana had been way easier.

“You wanna do a TikTok trend with me?” she repeated after I explained.

I nodded. “Yeah, you just lift me on your shoulders for the ‘Jacked and Kind’ thing.”

She smiled. “Okay, sure.”

Easy.

Sarah started the music, and I grinned at the camera as we recorded.

Jana crouched, letting me carefully climb onto her shoulders. She stood with ease, my legs dangling as I gripped her head for balance.

Everything was going great—until I saw Paige standing across the gym, her arms crossed, staring hard.

I could tell exactly what was happening in that pretty little head of hers.

Something clicked.

Something possessive.

And suddenly, the video was no longer cute to her—it was personal.

The second I hopped off Jana’s shoulders, Paige was right there.

“Redo it.”

I blinked. “Huh?”

She gestured at my phone. “The TikTok. Redo it. With me.”

I stared at her for a second, then smirked. “Ohhh, now you wanna do it?”

Paige clenched her jaw. “Only I get to lift my girl on my shoulders. No one else.”

Azzi, Ice, and Sarah cackled in the background.

Jana, bless her heart, just looked amused. “I mean, I don’t mind—”

“No, you’re good,” Paige said quickly. “We’re doing it again.”

I bit back a laugh. “Oh, so when Jana does it, it’s a problem?”

“Yes,” Paige said without hesitation.

Sarah whistled. “Damn, she’s pressed.”

Paige ignored her, just crouching down. “C’mon, up you go. Alright, run it back,” she said.

I rolled my eyes, but agreed to letting etting Sarah re-start the sound. We waited for the sound to start playing.

Once the sound started playing Paige stood, her grip on my waist firm, like she needed to prove something.

I smiled as the song restarted, she lifted me up with ease. With me now resting on her shoulder, Paige smirked up at me, squeezing my calves. “Now it’s cute.”

I laughed, shaking my head. This girl was ridiculous.

But, honestly? I loved her for it.

The second I posted the TikTok, I knew it was over for Paige.

The comments were rolling in within seconds:

@paige4mvp: “FINALLY she did the trend, took her long enough ”

@wnbabuckets: “Paige, just go ahead and clean out those drafts while you’re at it.”

@uconnfancam: “Bueckers, drop the drafts, we BEG.”

I scrolled through the flood of replies, laughing to myself as I sat on the couch. Paige, who was sprawled across my lap, raised an eyebrow at my amusement. “What’s so funny?”

I turned my phone toward her, showing the endless comments demanding that she post the TikToks she had sitting in her drafts.

Paige groaned dramatically, throwing her head back. “Ma, I told you they were gonna start on me the second you posted it.”

I smirked, playing with the ends of her hair. “Well, maybe if you actually posted anything instead of letting your drafts collect dust, they wouldn’t be on your ass like this.”

She huffed, crossing her arms. “I don’t even have that many—”

“Paige, you have like 105, and I'm pretty sure 50% of em are yet to be released ads and sponsors.”

She sat up, giving me a look. “How do you even know that?”

I gave her an innocent smile. “I may or may not have taken a little peek while you were editing our video.”

Paige groaned again, flopping dramatically against me. “You’re the worst.”

I laughed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “And yet, you still love me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she mumbled. “Whatever, you say baby.”

A few hours later kk had convinced me to do a TikTok Live with her

“Alright, y’all, what’s up?”

I grinned at the screen as KK adjusted the phone, setting up the TikTok Live. The chat was already moving at lightning speed, comments rolling in about the Jacked and Kind TikTok.

@paigeismybabymama: “Y/N, YOU SNAPPED WITH THAT POST ”

@kkfanclub: “KK AND Y/N?? ELITE LIVEEEEEE”

@paigeslockscreen: “Where’s Bueckers?? She still hiding from the comments??”

I laughed as KK read that one out loud. “Nah, she and Jana are building something new once again. Probably about to break our damn apartment, from the way they are yelling at each other.”

The camera shifted slightly, showing Paige and Jana sitting on the floor, surrounded by wooden planks and an instruction manual that Jana is reading out loud only for paige to tell her to slow down or she's not making any sense.

KK snickered, before adding fuel to the fire. “Hey, P boogers! The chat said you need to come out of hiding and post your drafts.”

Paige didn’t even look up. “Tell them to mind their business.”

I smirked, leaning toward the phone. “Y’all heard her—keep commenting about it.”

More comments flooded in instantly.

@nukebueckers:“POST THE DRAFTS, PAIGE. STOP PLAYIN.”

@wnbawatchparty: “NAH, WE AIN’T LETTING THIS GO.”

Paige sighed dramatically, setting down the drill and turning toward me. “Y/N, baby, you’re supposed to have my back.”

I gave her an innocent shrug. “I am. I just think you should give the people what they want. Cause its also what I want”

She squinted at me, then at the phone. Then, with a mischievous grin, she stood up, stretching her arms above her head.

The chat immediately went wild.

@paigebiceps:“NAH WAIT WHY IS SHE BUILT LIKE THAT”

@fypuconn:“PAIGE IN THE SPORTS BRA AND GREEN PJS HELLO????”

@wnbabuckets: “IS SHE ABOUT TO DO A TIKTOK ON LIVE???”

I raised an eyebrow as Paige walked over to me, now standing directly behind the couch. She leaned down, resting her chin on my shoulder. “You wanna put on show for TikTok, baby?”

I smirked before turning to look at her. “You trying to redeem yourself?”

She grinned, kissing my cheek. “Something like that.”

The chat was moving way too fast now.

@paigefanclub: “SHE CALLED HER BABY AGAIN BYEEEE”

@jukebueckers: “NOT HER BEING ALL FLIRTY ON LIVE—”

@y/nnation: “SOMEONE SCREEN RECORD THIS”

KK, who had been watching with amusement, shook her head. “Nah, this is actually crazy. Go ahead, do the trend again, since Paige wanna prove something.”

Jana, who was still trying to assemble the furniture, looked up and smirked. “Oh, this I gotta see.”

“Alright, P baby. You ready?” I say as I stood up going to stand in the middle of the floor.

She smirked. “Always, ma.”

Paige stretched again, showing off just enough muscle to make the chat go feral. Then, with zero hesitation, she reached down and grabbed my waist.

I let out a small yelp as she lifted me effortlessly, settling me onto her shoulders like it was nothing.

The chat? Absolutely losing its mind.

@paigeisstrong: “I KNEW SHE WAS STRONG BUT DAMN”

@y/nluver:“THE WAY SHE JUST PICKED HER UP LIKE THAT—”

@uconnfans:“OH SHE OWNS YOU FR”

I laughed, holding onto Paige’s head for balance.

The two of us did the trend flawlessly, Paige flexing way more than necessary, making sure to show off just how effortlessly she could hold me up.

As soon as we both finished, she had a menacing idea to toss me back down onto the couch. Letting out a yelp, as I landed on the couch I sat up only for Paige to put me in her lap. Her hands lingering on my waist as she pulled me close. “That good enough for y’all?” she teased the camera.

The chat was a mess.

@fypnation: “PAIGE JUST BE LIFTING READER LIKE A FEATHER, HUH?”

@wnbastans:“THE WAY SHE HOLDS HER???? THIS AINT EVEN FAIR”

@paigebucketsss: “YEAH OKAY, THEY’RE IN LOVE. WE GET IT.”

I grinned, leaning into Paige. “See? Was that so bad?”

She hummed, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Not if I get to do it with you.”

KK gagged in the background. “Alright, that’s enough of that. Y’all got the people going insane.”

Jana, still struggling with the furniture, snorted. “At least someone’s getting something done today. Paige please come finish helping me.”

Paige just smirked, wrapping her arms around my waist. “So, what I’m hearing is… I should post at least one?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Paige, just post your damn drafts already, and go help Jan.”

She sighed, pretending to think. “Ehh… maybe I’ll just keep making y’all wait, and fine give me the drill,”

The chat lost it again.

And I just shook my head, knowing damn well she was never gonna let this joke die, or post them damn tiktoks.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[gf2bellamy]

Hello !!

I really enjoy your writing and thought that I’d submit a request for a Spencer Reid x Reader fic :)

Essentially, Spencer and Reader just recently moved in together and are getting ready to go on a date. Reader is putting on makeup around the time Spencer finishes getting ready, and Spencer just takes a moment to admire her and says some sort of sweet comment?

(Sorry if that isn’t broad enough)

Thanks! 🫶🏻

- B

admiration — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: nothing i think ? a/n: thank you so much for your request B !! <3333 i love it such an adorable idea ! i hope you like this

You stood in front of the bathroom mirror, rummaging through your makeup bag. Your brows furrowed in concentration as you dug past mascara tubes, eyeliner pencils, and a stray hair tie. 

“Where is it?” you mumbled to yourself, frustration creeping into your voice. 

Finally, your fingers brushed against the smooth tube of your favorite lip gloss. Triumphantly, you pulled it out, unscrewed the cap, and paused for just a second to look at yourself in the mirror. A small, excited smile tugged at your lips. 

Tonight was another date night with Spencer—one of many you’d shared—but the excitement never faded. Even now, standing in the bathroom of your shared apartment, it still felt just as thrilling as the very first time.

Spencer always had a way of making things special, whether it was a night out at a fancy restaurant or an evening spent curled up on the couch with a stack of books and takeout. 

You leaned in slightly, applying the gloss with careful precision. Just as you capped the tube, you heard Spencer’s voice outside the door. 

“Hey, I’m ready,” he called, followed by a soft knock. 

A small smile played on your lips as you glanced toward the door. “You can come in.” 

Spencer slowly opened the door just as you finished applying your lip gloss, the soft click of the handle barely registering as you focused on your reflection. But when the silence stretched longer than expected, curiosity got the best of you. 

You turned to find him standing in the doorway, staring. 

His lips were slightly parted, eyes wide with something that looked a lot like awe. He wasn’t even trying to hide it—his gaze traced over you with the kind of admiration that sent warmth blooming in your chest. 

You tilted your head slightly, a small, amused smile forming on your lips. “Spencer?” 

Spencer blinked, seemingly snapping out of whatever daze he had fallen into. “You—uhm. Wow.” His voice wavered slightly, his brain clearly scrambling to form a coherent sentence. 

You bit back a smile, amused by his flustered state. He always did this—always got a little tongue-tied when you dressed up, like he was seeing you for the first time all over again. 

“Well, thank you, Dr. Reid,” you teased, stepping forward until you were close enough to catch the faint scent of his cologne. Your hands moved to his tie, adjusting it with practiced ease. “And you look very handsome yourself.” 

He smiled shyly at your compliment and then his voice softened. “You know…I’ve read about beauty before. Poets, philosophers, even mathematicians have tried to define it, to measure it, to explain what makes something—or someone—beautiful.” 

Your hands paused on his tie as your breath caught slightly. 

His gaze never wavered as he continued. “But I don’t think words could ever really capture what I feel when I look at you.” 

Your heart practically stopped. The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache in the best way. 

For a moment, you just stared at him, your fingers still lightly resting against his tie. 

Then, a small, breathy laugh escaped you as you shook your head. “You always know exactly what to say, don’t you?” 

Spencer smiled sheepishly. “Not always. Just when it comes to you.” 

You exhaled, feeling warmth spread through your entire body. 

“Well,” you murmured, smoothing your hands down the lapels of his suit, “you’re pretty impossible not to love, you know that?” 

Spencer’s expression shifted—his eyes softened. But instead of responding right away, he did something else. 

He leaned in, pressing a feather-light kiss to your forehead, lingering just long enough to make your heart swell. 

“I love you too,” he whispered against your skin. 

[deadsetobsessions]

He’s existed for an eternity. He will exist for longer than that. Danny Fenton’s ruled the Zone longer than he’s been fully alive, by a long shot. Still half alive.

Immortal. He can’t die- not when he’s already half dead- and his age stays and stays stagnated. Un-aging. True immortality, unlike the claims of those newborn gods who borrow power from a deeper force than even they could comprehend.

A god dies when there are none left to venerate them. Danny dies when death ceases to be reality, which in itself is death…

It’s easy, once his mortal life had faded far away. He slips into roles- protection, of course, never forgotten- and traipses around to live in universes even as he kills them by simply existing. One day, a little fairy catches his eyes. It fluttered about meaninglessly, gathering dew drops and sap. It taught him two lessons.

“Why do you work yourself so?” Death had asked the little fairy.

The little fairy, only seeing the facade of a placid young boy that Death had donned to imitate the days where he was fully alive, had answered fearlessly. “I enjoy the work! My court needs those supplies, and I’m happy being able to help while doing something I love.”

“Oh.” Danny remembered being like that once. It was why his essence thrummed with Protection, even in Death. He had forgotten, even as a halfa, how to be alive. He knew how to be living, but he’d forgotten how to be alive.

Still, the boy had another question.

“Are you not afraid of me?” He’d met people like these before, on the rare occasions he personally guided souls, and they were unflinching in his presence.

“No, you are just a child. Say… won’t you tell me your name?”

“Danny,” Death answered truthfully. Death doesn’t like to lie. “Danny Fenton.”

“Danny-” the little fae freezes, malicious grin falling from its face as it trembled like the blades of grass it stole dew from. “No- no, no! Why- why can’t I take your name?!”

“I am also known as Death,” Danny admitted, watching as the fairy’s magic imploded on itself. One could not own death. He learns a lesson that day too. If he disguises himself, if death is disguised as harmlessness, as just ‘one more’, as an object of greed, those living would happily run towards Death himself.

As the little buzzing fae backed away, the flowers on its extremities withered. Danny caught its wrist before it could dart away.

“Tell the ruler of your court to come,” Danny said gently, ectoplasm easing away from the trembling little thing.

“Yes, yes, please, I will.” Danny released the fluttering thing and bid it leave.

----

"That's how you met Oberon?"

Danny laughed, plucking the little Robin from a jump and shadowing to the ledge two buildings ahead.

"Not so, little sparrow. That was how I met Tatiana."

"The queen?!"

"The queen. Remember this, if nothing else, when you play with Royalty, there is very little they wouldn't stoop to in order to ensure their wants."

"Okay. Does that include you too?"

See? Danny knew the little sparrow was smart, somewhere beneath that fanboy-driven dumbassery.

"Yes."

"Soooo... what do you want, Danny?"

"To know what it is to live again. Death tends to be cold, you see."

"...Can I help?"

A flash of fangs, a slow, meaningful smile. "You are already helping, little sparrow. Even your Bats are helping. I have not felt joy in centuries."

"Oh."

Robin's comms buzzed. "Ask him about how he met Oberon, Timsy!" Jason's voice came through loud and clear to Danny.

"Oberon?" Danny cut in, enjoying the vibrant activity his chosen nightlife observed. "Oh, I beat him at poker. Actually, I own a quarter of his palace."

[thebarneschronicles]

Closer To Home IV

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 8.7k

Synopsis: The storm changed everything. A week spent trapped together, moving around each other like it was second nature. Mornings spent wrapped in his warmth, nights spent unraveling under his hands. And now, the words you’ve been swallowing for months are fighting to break free and you don’t know how much longer you can keep them in.

You love him. And he knows it. But love has never been easy for Bucky. And if you say it—if you let yourself finally speak the truth—will it pull him closer, or will it send him running?

Trigger Warnings: Emotional breakdowns; Angst, banter, and all the feels. Surprisingly no smut this time around... but their chance will come!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Author’s Note: The words are out... now we can focus on their other shenanigans. Loving to see your thoughts about this story and my ask box is always open if you wanna know more. P.S.: There'll probably be more updates this week, but I'm not setting it in stone. B xx

--

“Just kiss me. Keep my mouth shut, will you? Do it until I forget my name.”

The kissing had worked. The slow, lingering press of his lips, the desperate way his hands had explored your skin like he was learning you by touch alone—every moment had distracted you from the pressing truth of your feelings. And when he finally took you, when he split you open at your very core only to put you back together again with every roll of his hips, every whispered praise against your lips, it had done its job.

You hadn’t said it.

Those three little words that kept haunting you, lingering on the tip of your tongue every waking moment since Bucky Barnes had stepped into your life.

I love you.

They could cement everything you had built together or crumble it into dust. And yet, they pressed behind your teeth, growing heavier each day, aching to be voiced, desperate to reach his ears.

You loved him.

God knew when it had happened. Was it when you first read his files, when he was still just a name and a tragic history? Or when he first looked at you—really looked at you—after you were assigned to work alongside him and Sam? Maybe it was the day he effortlessly picked up the stack of reports you had been struggling to carry, flashing you that small hesitant smile he wouldn’t normally share with anyone.

Or was it that first night he offered to walk you home?

No. Who were you kidding? It had happened long before then.

It had crept in through stolen glances over mission briefings, through late-night talks over cups of coffee you always made for him without asking, in the hopes of stealing just a moment of his time. It had settled in the quiet, in the routine of his grumbled, "Morning, doll," when he found you in the communal kitchen, in the way his tired eyes softened when you gave him that worried look as he walked in, battered and bruised from a fight.

And now, it was torture.

Because you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

The snowstorm had come and gone, the city slowly crawling back to life after nearly a week buried in ice. You and Bucky had spent those days together, and you had been blindsided by just how easy it had been—how natural it was to cohabitate. As if this was something you did all the time, as if domesticity had always been woven into the fabric of your relationship.

In the midst of unspoken feelings and a push and pull you actively ignored, you learned things. That he liked to watch you cook, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, incapable of hiding he was mesmerized. That he didn’t mind washing the dishes afterward, sleeves rolled up as he worked in comfortable silence, so long as you kept him company. That he’d rub your ankles while you lounged on the couch after hours spent bustling around the house, his strong hands kneading into your skin with practiced ease, relishing in the way your breath hitched when he squeezed just right.

He was the perfect boyfriend.

Except he wasn’t your boyfriend.

Because you couldn’t call him that. Could you?

You groaned, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes, your head dropping onto your desk. Hours had passed, and you still couldn’t concentrate on anything. Your mind was consumed by the what-ifs, spiraling around the impossible tangle of your relationship with a 1940s super soldier who carried more trauma than you could count on both hands.

Fantastic. Just great.

The faint scuff of boots outside your door jolted you back to reality. You lifted your head just as Sam Wilson leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, an all-too-knowing smirk tugging at his lips. He held a file in one hand, but the amusement in his eyes told you he had other priorities.

"Well, did I just catch you napping on the job?"

You snorted, leaning back in your chair. "I wish. And good morning to you too, Sam. How can I help you?"

"Mission stuff," he said, tossing the file onto your desk. "Figured I’d go over it with you before Barnes shows up to derail our day with his useless questions. Also, wanted to check in—how was your week harboring a former assassin cyborg in your apartment?"

You pressed your lips together as memories of those days surged through your mind—his touch, his warmth, the way his eyes held you like you were something he never wanted to lose, the hunger in them when you straddled him. You hesitated, caught up in the memories, which was enough to set Sam off.

"Did you talk about it yet?" he pressed.

"About what, exactly?" you asked, feigning innocence.

"Oh, I don’t know—your big ol’ feelings? The fact that you two have been dancing around the subject for months? Did you ask him to be your boyfriend yet?"

With the playful lilt in his voice and the mischief dancing in his eyes, it was hard to believe this man was a war veteran—let alone Captain America.

You rolled your eyes, tapping your nails against the desk. "Don’t you have aliens to fight, Cap? Kittens to rescue? Children to kiss?"

"I’m Captain America, not a politician," Sam shot back, dragging out a chair and dropping into it with a pointed look. "So, that’s a no?"

You exhaled sharply, rubbing at your temples and urging the flush on your cheeks to go away. "We didn’t really… talk much. Not really."

Sam let out a long whistle, shaking his head. "Damn. Didn’t think Barnes had it in him."

"Sam—" you groaned.

"Oh, come on. You spent a whole week holed up with Terminator, what do you expect me to do? Just sit back and not pry?"

"You are way too invested in my love life for someone who has yet to offer a single useful piece of advice."

Sam grinned, leaning forward. "Alright, spill. What happened during the storm?"

You hesitated, glancing down the hallway to make sure Bucky was nowhere in sight. When the coast was clear, you exhaled, shoulders sagging. "We stayed at mine for most of it, but one night, we went to his place, and… I kind of lost it."

Sam’s smirk faded. "Lost it how?"

You swallowed hard, fingers twisting together. "I broke down, Sam. Full-on sobbing, ugly crying—everything. He wanted to know why, and I just—" Your voice caught, and you forced yourself to push through it. "I told him. That I know about Hydra. The torture. And... I saw the way he lives, like he’s punishing himself. Like he doesn’t think he deserves anything good. It wrecked me."

Sam’s expression tightened, but his voice stayed level. "And how did he handle it?"

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. "I didn’t give him the chance. I was about to say ‘I love you,’ and I panicked. So instead…" You sighed, dropping your gaze. "We slept together. More than once. And now everything’s a mess because I’m—" The words caught in your throat, heavy and terrifying. "Because I’m in love with him. And he knows. But I haven’t said it to him yet."

Sam blinked, then let out a low whistle. "Damn. Maybe I should start brooding—chicks love it."

You shot him a glare, but your heart wasn’t in it. He held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. So you’re in love with him. What’s the problem?"

"Everything," you whispered, the weight of it pressing against your ribs. "I love him, Sam. And I haven’t told him because… I don’t even know if I should."

Sam’s teasing faded, his voice softer now. "Why not?"

You swallowed hard, staring out the window as if the answer was somewhere out there. "Because I don’t know if he’ll stay. He’s lost so much already. People, time, parts of himself. What if I tell him, and it’s too much? What if it pushes him away? Or worse—what if he doesn’t feel the same?"

Sam exhaled, shaking his head. "You really are in your own head about this."

"That’s helpful," you shot back, voice thick with sarcasm.

He leaned forward, forearms braced against the desk, voice steady and certain, that way he usually got when he was about to drop some wisdom. "Look. This is Bucky we’re talking about. Yeah, he’s been through hell. More than anyone should have to survive. But you know what else? He’s still here. He’s choosing to be here, with you. And if you love him, and he already knows—because trust me, he knows—then saying the words isn’t going to send him running."

Your chest ached, emotions clawing their way up your throat. "How do you know that? Because this… this is eating me alive, Sam. I just want him to stay. I want to love him. And I’m terrified he won’t let me. There have been so many times I almost said it, but I had to choke it back because…" Your voice cracked, a tear slipping free before you could stop it. "Because I know this will either be everything or it’ll be the thing that breaks us. And I don’t know if I can face it if it’s the latter."

Sam’s expression shifted, his voice unwavering yet gentle. "Maybe you should let him decide that."

“And what if he decides it’s not worth it?” The words barely made it past the lump in your throat. You dropped your gaze, unwilling to let Sam see the way your lips trembled, the way your hands clenched into fists against your lap.

“He’s had enough people deciding everything for him to last a lifetime,” Sam said, his tone edged with something firm. “Don’t be another one on that list just because you think you know what he'll do. Maybe, if you actually ask him about his feelings, he’ll surprise you.”

“You sound awfully sure of something you know nothing about,” you muttered, but the usual fire in your retorts was absent. It was just exhaustion now, doubt curling into your bones.

“Who said I know nothing?”

That got your attention. Your head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “Sam... What do you know?”

“Nothing,” he replied too quickly, the picture of innocence as he shrugged, but the smirk tugging at his lips gave him away.

“Samuel, I will call your sister.”

Sam’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before he recovered, but you caught it. He clicked his tongue, feigning nonchalance. “Yeah, about that—maybe don’t. You know Buck had a thing for her back when we were in Louisiana, right?”

Your jaw fell open. “He what?”

Before Sam could respond, heavy footfalls echoed down the hallway. You barely had a moment to process the revelation before Bucky strode into your office, his expression mildly suspicious, his vibranium arm clutching a pastel pink bag. The contrast of the bag’s soft color against his all-black ensemble was so stark it nearly gave you whiplash.

“There you are,” Sam boomed, standing with a grin as he clapped Bucky on the shoulder. “What’s in the bag, Barnes? Something sweet for your sweetheart?”

Bucky shot him an unimpressed look before his eyes landed on you, and his features softened instantly. “Breakfast. For her, not for you,” he clarified, lifting the bag slightly. Then his brows drew together, scanning your face with quiet concern. “Why are you crying? What did he do?”

“I’m not crying,” you rushed to say, though the evidence of your damp cheeks begged to differ. “It’s allergies,” You quickly wiped them with the back of your hands, forcing a smile. “What did you get?”

“I got you a bagel from that place you like,” Bucky said, stepping closer, his voice laced with something almost hesitant. "They didn’t have coffee, so I got you, uh… a strawberry matcha? The girl at the counter said you'd like it." He shifted slightly, as if bracing for your reaction.

You froze for a second, staring at him. The idea of Bucky—gruff, no-nonsense Bucky—standing at a café counter and listening to drink recommendations was almost too much. But then the weight of it settled in your chest: he’d gone out of his way. Remembered your favorite bagel. Chosen something new just because he wanted to bring you something—God, you were in too deep.

“That’s really sweet, Buck.” You pushed yourself up from your chair, unable to stop yourself from leaning in, rising on your tiptoes and pressing a kiss to his cheek. His skin was warm beneath your lips, his stubble rough against your fingers. “You didn’t have to go through all that trouble.”

“I wanted to,” he murmured, echoing something you had said to him so many times before it almost felt like second nature now. For a moment, Bucky just stared at you, his blue eyes tracing your face like he was trying to decide on something. Then, before you could fully process what was happening, he shifted slightly, tilting his head, and brushed a kiss against your lips.

It was soft—so soft it almost didn’t feel real. But it was enough to send your mind reeling, your breath hitching in your throat as a jolt of electricity raced through you. When he pulled back, his expression was unreadable, and you were too stunned to speak. Your fingers gripped the paper bag, anchoring yourself to something, anything, to help you process what had just happened.

And then Sam’s voice shattered the moment.

“Ah, look at the two of you. My favorite couple,” he said with a dramatic sigh.

Your entire body stiffened. “Sam,” you hissed, heat flooding your cheeks.

“What?” Sam shrugged innocently, though the smirk tugging at his lips said otherwise. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking. Right, Buck?”

Bucky didn’t so much as flinch, but his jaw tightened slightly, a tell tale sign of his annoyance that only you seemed to notice.

“Sam, we haven’t even—” You started, grasping at some semblance of control over the rapidly unraveling situation, but Sam cut you off with an exaggerated groan.

"For the love of God, Barnes, put her out of her misery already," Sam groaned, nudging him with an elbow. "Tell her she’s your girlfriend. Tell her she’s got you wrapped around her finger. Do us all a favor."

You wanted to die. Right there. Spontaneously combust and vanish from existence.

“Anyway, that’s my cue to leave,” Sam said, grabbing the file he’d initially dropped on your desk.

“But we haven’t even discussed—” You started, grasping at the one thing that could spare you from the awkwardness sinking into your chest.

“We can discuss it later. Right now, I’ll leave you lovebirds alone to talk.” Sam said with an infuriatingly knowing look before turning toward the door. He paused, glancing over his shoulder with a wicked grin. “Oh, and by the way… I told her about Sarah.”

Bucky inhaled sharply through his nose, exhaling in a long, put-upon sigh. His tongue flicked over his bottom lip, annoyance now evident. “Sam…”

“Consider it payback for flirting with my sister. And what’s a little jealousy? It adds spice to the relationship,” Sam teased, stepping just out of Bucky’s immediate reach.

Bucky turned fully toward him, which only made Sam laugh, hands up in mock surrender. “She threatened to call her, man! I had no choice.”

Bucky turned back to you, groaning softly as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I swear, he lives to torment me,” he muttered.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound easing some of the tension in your chest. “So… Sarah?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

His head shot up, his blue eyes widening, genuine worry flickering across his face. “Nothing happened,” he said quickly. “With Sarah, I mean. There’s—there’s nothing to tell.”

You bit back a grin, warmth curling in your chest at his obvious distress. Reaching out, you took his hand, squeezing it gently. “Relax, Buck. I’m not upset. Honestly, I’m just shocked you had any interest in anyone besides that waitress before I threw myself on you.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly as your words landed. “You didn’t force me into anything,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost tender. His thumb brushed slow circles over the back of your hand, grounding you in the moment.

“Good,” you teased, pulling the pink drink bag closer to you with a smirk. “Now let’s try this strawberry matcha you so lovingly procured for me.”

You did it. You got over the awkwardness by skillfully dodging the subject. You nearly sighed in relief—right up until Bucky let out a noise, half scoff, half laugh, before his amusement faded into something else as he stepped closer.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” he mumbled, moving behind you with a calculated slowness, his presence looming but never overbearing. His arm slid around your middle, pulling you back against him, and your breath hitched as his chest pressed against your back. “And it won’t work.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, your voice unsteady .

Bucky held you in place, his lips brushing your ear as he leaned in closer, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. “Why were you crying?” he murmured, low and insistent, his lips trailing down to press the faintest kiss to the curve of your neck.

Your knees felt like they might give out, your eyes fluttering shut involuntarily. You sent a silent thank-you to the universe for the secluded corner your office was tucked into, sparing you the humiliation of anyone catching you like this—being thoroughly undone by your super soldier.

“Sam told me I suck at my job,” you lied, barely managing to string the words together.

Bucky chuckled, the vibration of it reverberating against your back. “You’re a terrible liar,” he said, finally twisting you around to face him. His arms circled your waist, holding you securely, leaving no room for escape—not that you wanted to.

“And your interrogation tactics are crap,” you shot back, trying to mask your flustered state with sarcasm. Your hands instinctively slid up to rest on his shoulders, fingers brushing against the soft fabric of his shirt.

“We’ll see about that,” he warned, his voice teasing but his gaze unwavering as it flicked over your face.

You took a moment to really look at him, letting your eyes trace over every detail—the softness in his gaze, the faint smirk tugging at his lips, the roughness of his stubbled jaw that you knew would scrape deliciously against your skin. Your heart raced as you took him in, suddenly overwhelmed by how effortlessly gorgeous he was. “God, you’re handsome,” you blurted, your voice quiet but sure. “It’s unfair.”

His smirk deepened, though his expression remained serious. “Compliments will get you nowhere,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “I will make you tell me.”

You considered his words, tilting your head as you let your nails trail lightly through the hair at the nape of his neck. “Maybe,” you said, your lips curving into a sly smile. “Maybe we can do it over dinner?”

Bucky’s brows raised slightly, a flicker of interest crossing his face before he recovered, the smirk returning in full force. “Are you asking me out, or is this another attempt to dodge the question?”

“Maybe both,” you quipped, tugging him just a little closer, your noses nearly brushing.

His gaze softened, his arms tightening around you. “Dinner, huh?”

“Dinner,” you confirmed, your heart thundering as the word hung between you.

The look in his eyes told you he was already on board, but his voice stayed teasing as he finally replied. “Fine. Your place. I’ll bring the food. But don’t think this means you’re off the hook.”

You laughed, leaning your forehead against his, but your insides twisted with the promise of the conversation that awaited you. 

–

Instead of leaving work together, Bucky had, surprisingly, let you fend for yourself. You walked the few blocks back to your apartment with a jittery sensation that only grew more restless as you thought about how the night would unfold.

There was no avoiding it. Tonight, you'd have to talk about it, define your relationship once and for all, and you had no idea how it would play out. Or if you were prepared for it.

By the time you reached your door, you were wound so tight with nerves you were unable to sit still. You headed straight for the kitchen, hoping to lose yourself in the steady rhythm of baking. Soon, the rich scent of cinnamon and apples filled the small space, wrapping around you like a hug. The pie had barely cooled and you had just gotten finished spritzing your perfume when Bucky’s knock came at the door. You smoothed your hair one last time, and opened it with a breathless smile.

There he was. Casual, but devastating in his dark Henley and leather jacket, black jeans hugging his frame in all the right places. He had a bottle of whiskey tucked under one arm and a stack of takeout bags in the other—Thai food, from the place you’d offhandedly mentioned wanting to try. How did he remember it? You had no idea.

“You look nice,” he said, his voice soft, warm, and entirely too casual for the buzz of energy humming between you. His blue eyes swept over your frame, lingering just a second too long. You had thrown on a simple outfit after your shower—soft jeans and an oversized sweater that slid teasingly off one shoulder—but the way he looked at you made you feel like you were naked and exposed.

“Thanks,” you murmured, your cheeks heating as you lifted onto your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. He tilted his head slightly, deepening it for just a moment, accepting the way your hands cupped his cheeks to keep him steady, before pulling back with a sigh.

He couldn’t resist giving you another once over, before he got distract. “What’s that smell?” Bucky asked as he stepped inside.

“Apple pie,” you said, closing the door behind him. “I figured I’d take care of dessert since you were handling dinner.”

His brows lifted. “Apple pie? That’s awfully domestic…”

You shrugged, feeling the blood heating up your cheeks. “Thought it might remind you of home—or, you know, simpler times.”

Bucky hummed, setting the food and whiskey down before reaching out and tugging on the hem of your sweater. “Looks good on you.”

“Domesticity or the sweater?” You joked, closing the door behind you and leaning on it as you watched him. It never failed to catch you off guard—how effortlessly he settled into your space. Dropping the bags on the counter, peeling off his gloves and jacket, rolling up his sleeves. He moved like a man who belonged, who knew he was home, as much as he refused to call it home. The sight of it stole your breath.

His lips quirked. “Both.”

Dinner was easy, the two of you falling into a comfortable rhythm that felt as natural as breathing. He teased you about the mountain of spring rolls you’d pulled onto your plate (“Is that all for you, or am I allowed to have one?”), and you ribbed him right back for always stealing bites off your plate instead of sticking to his own. The laughter came easily, and for a while, the tension simmering under the surface felt like a distant echo.

That was, until Bucky leaned back in his chair, his expression shifting from playful to intent.

“So,” he said, folding his arms over his chest. “Ready for the Spanish Inquisition?”

You groaned, your head dropping into your hands. “Oh, come on. Can’t you let me off the hook?”

“Not a chance,” he said, his voice laced with humor but his eyes sharp. “I already let you off. Twice.”

The covert mention of the night you broke down didn’t go unnoticed. Lifting your head, you rested your chin in your hand, meeting his steady blue gaze with a pout. The stare-off felt like a challenge—like you were daring him to back off while he silently willed you to break. The only question was who would give in first. And you had no doubt—it would be you.

You’d do anything Bucky Barnes asked you to. Sighing, you pushed back from the table and stood. “Fine. If you’re going to interrogate me, we’re at least going to make it fun.”

"Fun?" His tone was doubtful, but the slight twitch of his lips gave him away. "In my experience, interrogations usually involve dark rooms and torture."

"Not this one. As tempting as it’d be to watch you try all that Winter Soldier stuff on me—" You cut yourself off before saying too much. This was already giving away enough. "We’re playing Truth or Drink." You nodded toward the whiskey he’d brought. "Grab your liquor, Sergeant, and meet me in the living room."

You plopped down on the soft rug in front of your couch, crossing your legs, an arm leaning over the soft cushions as you settled in. The rug’s texture was a comfort beneath you, grounding you for what you suspected was about to be a very revealing game. Bucky followed, setting the whiskey and two glasses down on the coffee table before sitting across from you, all the way down the other side of the couch.

“You’re so far away,” you complained, leaning forward slightly.

“It’s on purpose,” he said with a smirk. “Can’t let you distract me. I’ve got a mission here.”

His teasing tone made your stomach flip, but you masked it with an exaggerated sigh, rolling your eyes as you reached for the whiskey bottle. “Fine, Barnes. Let’s get this over with.” You poured a generous amount into each glass and handed him one. “You wanna go first, or should I?”

“Ladies first,” he said smoothly.  Ever the gentleman—even when he was expertly deploying psychological and emotional blackmail.

Resigning yourself to your inevitable demise, you pretended to think, tapping a finger against your chin. “Alright. Tell me a story about you and Steve.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “That’s not a question.”

“Fine. Would you please tell me a story about you and Steve?”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he took a slow sip of whiskey. “What kind of story?”

“I don’t know... Something interesting. Something no one else knows. Something fun.”

For a moment, Bucky’s gaze drifted, lost somewhere in memories you’d never be able to touch. Then, a small, genuine smile pulled at his lips, and your chest ached at the sight of it. “Alright… Before the serum, before the whole ‘Star-Spangled Man with a Plan’ schtick, when he was just a scrawny kid, Steve used to put newspapers in his shoes to make himself look taller.”

You grinned. “That’s adorable.”

“Yeah, well, not so adorable when it rained and he forgot to take them out.” Bucky snorted, shaking his head. “One time, we got caught in a downpour on the way to a dance. Steve walks in, shoes squelching, and suddenly the whole place smells like wet dog and cheap ink.” He chuckled, eyes shining. “God, the way people looked at him. I had to convince the bouncer we weren’t trying to stink up the joint on purpose.”

You laughed, watching the way his shoulders eased, the usual tension in his frame loosening as he let himself revel in a memory that didn’t hurt to hold onto.

Then, before you could stop yourself, you blurted, “Do you think Steve would’ve approved?”

Bucky blinked, confused. “Approved of what?”

“Us,” you admitted, voice quieter now. “Me. Being with you.” You hesitated, fiddling with the edge of the couch cushion. “I mean, we only met a few times before… y’know. And from everything I’ve heard, he was pretty protective of you.”

For a second, you thought he might deflect, but instead, Bucky’s answer was firm. Certain. “Yeah. Steve would’ve approved.”

Your heart did a little flip.

“He would’ve liked that you take care of me,” Bucky continued, his voice softer now, the burn of his unvoiced gratitude not going unnoticed.

Something inside you melted. “See, this is why you need to sit closer.” You scooted forward, shifting toward him. “I need to kiss you and I can’t.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nice try, doll, but you’re not getting out of your turn that easily.”

You groaned. “Fine. What’s your question?”

“When was the last time you dated someone?” His eyes glinted with something unreadable, but his tone was casual. “Before... this.” He gestured again, this time between the two of you.

You scoffed. “That’s what you wanna know? Out of all the things?”

“Just answer the question, sweetheart.”

You groaned, pulling at the fluffy rug beneath you. “I don’t know, four, five years ago? I lost count. Last real relationship I had was before I got into this whole ‘girl in the chair’ thing. And it didn’t go well.”

Bucky frowned. “Why?”

“Communication issues,” you said vaguely, then sighed. “And the fact that he had a habit of sleeping with anything that breathed within a three-mile radius—except me. Which included both his best friends. And my roommate at the time.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up before he could school his expression back into something more neutral. “What do you mean ‘except you’?”

You shrugged, forcing nonchalance. “Exactly what it sounds like. He thought I wasn’t... good enough. Or at least not good enough for him.”

Bucky’s jaw ticked, something dangerous flashing in his eyes, but before he could open his mouth, you cut in, “You’re overextending your turn, Sergeant. I’m the one asking questions now.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, visibly annoyed that he couldn’t dig deeper into that revelation, but he nodded. “Fine. Go ahead.”

You hugged your knees to your chest, eyeing him. “Did you really have a thing with Sarah?”

Bucky groaned, tipping his head back against the couch, exhaling like a man who’d just been handed a life sentence. “I knew you wouldn’t just let this go. I swear to God, I’m gonna kill Sam.”

You grinned, biting back a laugh. “That’s not a no.”

Bucky rolled his head to the side to glare at you, but there was no real heat behind it. It made you want to kiss him. But then again, everything made you want to kiss him. “There was no thing,” he huffed, shifting so he was facing you more fully. “We flirted. That’s it. Nothing for you to worry about.”

“I’m not worried,” you said, though the way you hugged your knees closer and half-smothered your smile into your arm made him smirk.

“Sure. You’re jealous, though.”

You wrinkled your nose. “So what if I was?”

Bucky hummed, his smirk widening as he leaned in slightly, voice dropping to something infuriatingly smooth. “It’s cute.”

“Ugh. Shut up.” You stretched your leg out, nudging his thigh with your foot to change the subject. “Your turn.”

Before you could pull away, Bucky’s hand wrapped around your ankle, firm but warm. In one effortless motion, he pulled your leg over his lap, drawing you in like it was the most natural thing in the world. His thumb brushed absently against your shin as he settled back, casual as ever. But the way his fingers found the muscle of your calf—slow, deliberate, kneading just right—was anything but casual. A shiver ran up your spine. If he noticed, he didn’t say a word.

He stayed quiet long enough for your nerves to start creeping in. Then his grip tightened, just slightly. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, deliberate. “Did you ever think we’d be a one-time thing?”

Your breath hitched. “Us?”

His fingers traced slow, idle patterns against your calf—deceptively nonchalant. But the way his touch set every nerve in your body on fire? Not even close.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “This… thing we’re doing. Did you think it’d last? Or did you go in thinking it was just for one night?”

You hesitated. Out of all the things he could’ve asked, this hadn’t even been on your radar.

“I…” You exhaled, shifting slightly, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was. How warm his hands were against your skin. “I never thought of it as a one-time thing.”

His gaze flickered—sharp, assessing, unreadable. “Why?”

You huffed, trying for annoyed, but it came out breathier than you wanted. “Why what?”

His smile was slow, knowing. “Why’d you think it’d be more?”

Your throat tightened. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Reading me.”

“Why?”

“Because some things need to stay a secret.” You swallowed. “Some things… you don’t need to know. It’s too much.”

His grin widened, dark amusement curling at the edges. “I’m sure I can handle it.”

You curled your fingers into the rug beneath you. “Fine.” The word felt heavier than it should. “Just don’t be mad if you don’t like it.” You pressed on before he could interrupt. “This, you… it was never something I could walk away from.”

His fingers stilled—just for a second—before resuming those slow, maddening circles. “And that’s a bad thing?”

You scoffed, mostly to deflect. “For me? Yeah.”

His thumb pressed deeper into your skin. “Why?”

You sighed, dropping your head back against the couch before meeting his gaze again. "Because I got attached. One kiss, and I was already in too deep. And now? Now, I don’t know how to want you halfway. If you had only ever wanted me for a night, I would’ve taken it. Even if it broke me.” Your voice quieted. “And now we’re here, and it’s been months, and if this goes wrong—” You swallowed hard. “If you suddenly realize you don’t want this, or me, or that it's all too much— I don’t think I’d come out the other side in one piece.”

Bucky didn’t speak right away. Just watched you, unreadable as ever. Then, his thumb traced a slow, deliberate path along the curve of your knee, sending another shiver down your spine. “I know”, he said after a moment. Then, softer—raw, stripped of bravado:

“That’s what scares me.”

His words burned, low and true, cutting deeper than you expected. It wasn’t hesitation. It wasn’t doubt. It was something else entirely.

It was honesty.

And in that moment, you felt it—the shift. He was cracking open, piece by piece, letting you see the soft, bleeding parts of him that no one else had ever touched.

He let you see him. All of him. Let you peer in for as long as you wanted, as if he had made peace with it. That there was no wall you couldn’t bring down, so he just accepted it.

And maybe that was the real weight of it. Not the sex, not his past, not your willingness, but this—this terrifying, aching certainty that he could ruin you. That you’d let him. That if he asked, you would lay yourself bare at his feet and never ask for anything in return. He knew that if he asked, you would give him everything. Every last piece of yourself, until he was whole and you were the one bleeding.

Silence stretched between you, thick and humming. His eyes stayed locked onto yours, searching, waiting. And you realized—this was the test. Not the chase, not the tension, not even the words you hadn’t yet spoken. The test was whether you could hold his gaze, whether you could sit in the weight of this moment and not look away.

Your breath came shallow, chest tight, but you didn’t look away.

You couldn’t.

Not when his fingers curled just a little tighter on your thigh, like he was feeling the way you trembled. Not when his gaze flickered down, tracing the shape of your lips, the quickening pulse at your throat, the way your body betrayed you in ways your words refused to.

His voice was softer this time, but no less intense. “You know… I don’t do halfway either.”

Damn him.

The air between you turned electric. Your pulse hammered against your ribs, a warning and an invitation all at once.

“Bucky…” Your voice barely cleared a whisper, but he heard it. His fingers slid a little higher, grazing the sensitive skin of your thigh.

“What?” His tone was laced with challenge, teasing, but his eyes—his eyes were dark. Intent.

You let out a shaky breath. “Don’t… don’t play with me, okay?”

His smirk faltered, something shifting in his expression. “Is that what you think? That I don’t feel the same way? That this is some kind of game?”

“I don’t know.” You swallowed. “You’re hard to read.”

“I’m easier than you think.”

You shook your head. “I can’t read you right now.”

Bucky hummed, tilting his head slightly as you shifted, letting your arm rest against the couch behind him, seeking another point of contact. Your fingers slipped into the soft strands at the nape of his neck—an experiment, really. His lashes fluttered shut, just for a second, and your stomach flipped. Gravity, that’s what he was. A force pulling you in, impossible to resist. God, you wanted to climb into his lap and devour him whole.

“You can read me,” he murmured, eyes still closed. “You’re just scared you’ll see something you can’t ignore.”

Your heart pounded. “You always say that… Like you’re so sure I’ll wake up one day and decide you're a monster.” Your voice was quieter now. “That I'll finally see you the way you see yourself. It's not going to happen, Bucky.”

“That’s not what I mean.” He finally looked at you, his voice quieter now, but no less sure. “I mean… you’ll finally let yourself believe I feel the same way about you as you do about me.”

Your stomach flipped violently.

The air thickened, pressing in from all sides, and suddenly, you weren’t sure if you could breathe right. His words settled deep, threading into places you weren’t ready to touch—places that made you want too much, feel too much. It was too honest, too real, and if you let yourself linger there, you might drown in it.

So, you did the only thing you could. You swerved.

You sucked in a breath, forcing a smirk. “You really gotta stop saying things like that.”

His brow lifted slightly. “Like what?”

“Like… things that make my heart feel like it’s about to explode.” You made a vague, fluttery motion near your chest. “It’s very inconsiderate. You should warn a girl before you go throwing around words like that.”

Bucky huffed out something that almost sounded like a laugh, but he didn’t take the bait. His gaze stayed steady, unyielding, like he was waiting for you to actually sit with what he’d just said.

Nope. Not happening.

Instead, you let a wicked grin curled at your lips, a lifeline in dangerous waters. “Okay, I have a good one.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, wary but intrigued. “Go on.”

You bit your lip, leaning in like you had a secret too tempting to resist. “That first night we had sex… was that your first time since the ’40s?”

For half a second, he just blinked at you, like he couldn’t believe the words had actually left your mouth. Then, with a groan, he tipped his head back against the couch. “Jesus Christ.”

He laughed, but you caught the way the tops of his ears tinged red, his cheeks following suit. “That bad, huh?”

You gasped, swatting at his chest. “I never said that.”

He smirked, reaching for his drink. “Can you get me another one? I might not recover from this.”

You laughed, fingers curling tighter in his hair before dragging down the back of his neck, feeling the way he shivered under your touch. “If I tell you the truth about it, your ego will get so big we’ll both suffocate in this room.” You tilted his chin up with a knuckle, your lips brushing his in a soft kiss. “Come on, tell me.”

He took a slow sip of his drink, but you saw through him. He was stalling, rolling the words around in his head, figuring out how much to give away. Your heart picked up pace, watching the way his jaw worked, the way his fingers flexed.

Finally, he exhaled. “Yeah,” he admitted, voice quieter. “It was.”

You swallowed, lips parting, but before you could respond, he continued.

“I didn’t even remember how good it felt. Not until—” Bucky sighed, leaning back into your touch as if it steadied him.

“Until?” You urged him on, your nails dragging lightly against his scalp.

“Until I had you naked under me, wrapped around my fingers.” His eyes darkened, and his voice dipped lower, sending a shiver down your spine. “You were so wet and so… warm. When I—”

“I remember,” you cut him off, voice barely above a whisper, pressing your mouth to his shoulder to ground yourself.

And you did. You remembered the way he had frozen, realization crashing over him like a wave, the way his breath had hitched when he finally understood what it would feel like to be inside you. The memory sent a delicious shudder through you, and when you glanced down, you found his hand still on your leg, fingers tracing absentminded circles over your skin.

“So do I,” he admitted, his laugh coming out breathy, almost disbelieving. “Thought about it more times than I’d like to admit.”

You bit your lip, sliding your palm over his stomach, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. “You don’t have to just think. You can do it again,” you murmured. “Anytime. Anything you want, you can do it to me. You know that, right?”

His breath hitched, those piercing blue eyes locking onto yours, holding you captive. In that moment, you understood—he wasn’t letting you slip away. Every dodge, every joke, every attempt to steer the conversation elsewhere, he unraveled it effortlessly, guiding you right back to where he wanted you. "Why do you offer me so much?" His voice was low, edged with something unsteady. "Your body. Your trust. Why do you give yourself to me so freely?" The illusion of a lighthearted game shattered, the bourbon forgotten on the table, its amber warmth abandoned in favor of something far stronger—the charged air between you. It pulsed with the weight of everything you refused to admit, with the inevitability of what came next.

It felt like being caught in a storm’s eye, a vacuum where time stretched and condensed, where the world outside ceased to exist. There was only this moment, this man, and the unrelenting gravity of his presence. You could either surrender and give him the truth he was so keen to obtain, or wait for him to relent, to spare you, to step back and let you escape once more.

But you knew—God, you knew—he wouldn’t. His gaze was unwavering, his body coiled with the kind of patience that promised he could outlast you. He would outlast you. He had outlasted every single person in his life, why would you be any different? He wasn’t just waiting; he was chasing, methodical and unshakable.

And you? You were already lost. Because deep down, past all the resistance, you knew there was only one ending to this. You would give in. You would tell him what he wanted to hear.

Because how could you not?

Your chest tightened under the weight of his stare, each word peeling you open. "I want you to take it. To have me." The confession felt too vast, too exposed, but you forced yourself to continue. "You always hold back. Always deny yourself of everything good. I don’t want that for us. If you—if you don’t want this, it won’t be because I never gave you the choice."

His expression didn’t waver. “Is that the only reason?”

“I—” Your inhale was shaky, your eyes searching his.

“Do you only want this because you think I need something to hold on to?”

“No.” The word ripped from your throat, immediate, your head shaking, your voice cracking under the weight of it. “No, Bucky. That’s not… I don’t want to be some rehabilitation for you. I want to be with you. All of you.” 

Your fingers twisted into his shirt, clinging to the fabric like a lifeline, like letting go would unravel you completely. “You don’t understand… I chose you, even when you never asked to be chosen.” A breathless, humorless laugh escaped you, sharp and fragile all at once. “But I couldn’t help it. With you, it’s like I finally—” You exhaled shakily, searching for the words, for air, for him. “Like it’s finally right. It fits. We fit. It’s like I was always meant for this. Meant for you.”

The confession scraped against your ribs, raw and aching, and you blinked hard, forcing back the sting behind your eyes. “I’ve never felt like this. For anyone. Never trusted anyone enough to—to let myself be claimed, to be theirs” Your voice barely held, a whisper on the edge of breaking. “But with you, it just… happened. You looked at me and it was over. I want you to be the one I belong to.”

Bucky’s lips parted, his breath shallow, but his voice was firm. Certain. “Because you love me.”

The moment he said it, you felt it—the trap snapping shut around you with perfect precision. You had to hand it to him; he was a damn good interrogator. You hadn’t even suspected that this was where he was leading you. Your breath hitched, emotions rising too fast to control, clawing at your throat like something primal, something desperate. His hand was still on your ankle, grounding, waiting. But he let you move, sensing the shift, the way your body coiled like a spring, the way your lips trembled as you fought against the inevitable.

“You’re not being fair,” you choked out, voice cracking as you turned your face away from his unwavering gaze.

“I just want to hear it, doll.”

Your chest ached. You squeezed your eyes shut, fingers curling into the fabric of your own sweater like you could hold yourself together if you just squeezed hard enough. “You know why I can’t.”

“I actually don’t.”

“You’ll leave. It’ll be too much…” you whispered, the words barely more than a breath. “You’ll run. And I don’t want to lose you because of my stupid feelings.”

Silence stretched between you, thick, suffocating. The air felt electric, charged with everything you weren’t saying. When you finally dared to look at him, his expression was unreadable, something soft, something searching. And then, just the slightest tilt of his lips—sad, knowing.

“Doll…” His fingers trailed slowly up your calf, not teasing this time, but tethering. A lifeline. “I’m here.”

“Until when?” The question was a wound, raw and bleeding. The first tear slipped free before you could stop it. The second followed before you even realized it was there. Bucky’s grip faltered, his fingers tightening—then loosening—like the words had landed somewhere deep, somewhere fragile.

Then, he let out a rough, breathless laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Until you’re done with me.” His voice was quiet, resigned. Like he already knew the ending to this story before it ever happened. “Until you don’t love me anymore. Until you realize what a mess I am and find someone better.”

Your breath stuttered, your heart hammering against your ribs so hard it hurt. “There’s no one better. No one else.”

You didn’t push him away when he reached for you, cradling the back of your neck with steady, careful hands. His touch was warm, unshakable. The kiss that followed was a collision—of fear, of longing, of too many unspoken things. It was salty with tears, but it tasted sweeter than anything you’d ever known. Bucky cupped your face, thumbs chasing away the stubborn wetness on your cheeks, lips moving slow, deliberate, like he had something to prove to you. And you let him. You let him tilt your head back, let him drag a hand down the length of your throat, let yourself drown in the sensation of him.

He tasted like bourbon and longing and home, and you drank him in like he was the only thing keeping you alive. 

You couldn’t get enough.

Not when he pulled you onto his lap, not when he tangled a hand in your hair and tipped his head back against the couch, letting you take what you wanted—what you both wanted. Not when your kisses turned frantic, desperate, until your lips were bruised and swollen from the way you couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop.

“You ready to tell me now?” His voice was a rasp against your lips, breathless, hungry. His fingers tangled into the hair at the nape of your neck, his free hand dragging under your sweater, fingers mapping the heat of your skin. “I wanna hear it, sweetheart. Do you know how badly—” he pressed a kiss to your jaw, your throat, your shoulder, “—how badly I’ve wanted to hear it? Since that night at my apartment? You were crying for me, and I—”

He was unraveling. And so were you.

You barely had time to react before he moved, pressing you down against the rug, his hands burning paths down your thighs as he spread them open, pressing himself against you, a shuddering breath escaping his lips as he hovered above you.

“Tell me you love me,” he demanded. “You want me to take what I want, don’t you? You want me to claim you? This is it, sweetheart. This is what I want.”

Your breath caught. This version of him—raw, unfiltered, pleading—it stunned you into silence. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, his name barely more than a whimper on your lips as his mouth found your skin again, leaving bruises, leaving proof.

Your hands were trembling, your pulse a thunderous rhythm beneath your skin. Fear curled in your belly, a living thing, coiling tight around your ribs, squeezing your lungs. You had never been so afraid of words before, of the weight they carried, of the way they could change everything in an instant.

“C’mon, sweetheart, say it,” he murmured, his voice a rough whisper against your lips. His hands gripped your waist, grounding himself in the reality of you, as if touch alone wasn’t enough. “I already know, doll. I just—I need to hear it.”

His voice was softer this time, but no less commanding, no less desperate. His eyes searched yours, stormy and endless, as if he were trying to commit you—this moment—to memory, afraid you might slip through his fingers like sand.

His breath hitched, fingers tightening ever so slightly, his forehead pressing against yours. “Give me something real,” he rasped, his voice thick, aching. “Let me hold onto it.”

“James—”

“Say it.” His voice cracked, a raw, broken thing, like he was shattering before your eyes. “Please, doll. I’m begging you.”

Your lungs burned, your heart a frantic drumbeat against your ribs, an erratic melody of terror and longing. Your throat closed around the words, refusing to let them go, but you knew—God, you knew—you couldn’t hold them in any longer. Not when he was looking at you like that. Like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

“I love you,” you finally breathed, the confession slipping from your lips like an exhale, fragile and trembling. 

The effect on him was instant, visceral, breathtaking.

A sharp inhale. A flicker of disbelief, of something breaking and rebuilding all at once in his expression. His hand tightened at the nape of your neck, his forehead falling to rest against yours as if the weight of your words had stolen his balance. His breath was uneven, shuddering against your lips, and for a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak, just held you there in the space between heartbeats.

His lips parted, but no words came out—not at first. His breath hitched, his fingers curling slightly against your skin like he was afraid to let go. Then, finally, in a voice so raw it nearly shattered you, he whispered, "Say it again."

“I love you.”

[entitled-fangirl]

Another Stark.

Cregan Stark x wife!reader

Summary: Cregan's wife had always been able to see things that were unexplainable. for better or for worse. Definitely for worse.

Warnings: this is spoooooky, talking to ghosts, cursing, hypothermia, drowning, etc

A/n: based on an ask!

Masterlist

.................................................................

"Feeling alright?" Cregan's voice broke the silence.

She was in her own little world like she often was. She was an odd one, often staring at dark corners or even occasionally conversing with nothing. It was like a trance, one she couldn't snap out of alone.

"Love?" He tried again, dragging a hand up her spine and rubbing at the back of her head.

She snapped out of it in a small fright. 

"There you are," he smiled. His fingers massaged lightly. "Off in your dream world, hm?" At her hum of agreement, he got comfortable next to her on the cold floor. "Are you feeling alright?" He repeated. "Are they being kind?"

'They' were the spirits she often spoke to in these dark corners. Cregan had a small doubt the first time she spoke about it, worrying for her mind. But after she had told him something they had told her that she shouldn't have known, he realized just how much she could see.

And occasionally, the spirits were unkind. They didn't have the ability to do anything, rather, hurt her mentally.

So, asking if they were being kind was a fair question.

"Hm, I think so," she answered.

"You think so?" He could listen to her talk forever.

"I think so."

"Tell me more. Please. Tell me about any of it. I want to hear you."

She looked back to the shadows, almost getting lost in a trance. "He wants me to go with him."

"Hm?" He tried to ignore the way panic moved up his spine. "Go where? Who does?"

"He does," she said, gesturing to the corner. "He wants me to go."

"Love, where?" He said, sitting forward with more concern. "They've never asked you to go anywhere before." He peered over to the dark area as if expecting to see something himself. He never does in these situations.

"He doesn't like when you stare."

A breath left Cregan's lips, a physical show of his walls wearing down. This had to be the most frightened he'd been for these situations.

Often times, there were easy ways to ease her mind. Like a few nights ago-

"Cregan," she softly whispered, pushing on his shoulder to wake him. "Cregan."

He woke with a start, jumping slightly at her nervous breath. "What is it?"

"Tell her to go away."

He was used to odd things like that. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her into his chest and lifting his head, vaguely yelling at something to 'fuck off.'

She slept peacefully after that.

"He doesn't like when I stare?" He drew out each word, wanting to catch her meaning.

"He doesn't like you."

Fuck, he breathed. "Who is it?"

"He looks like you. He said his name is… Bennard."

"My love," he redirects sternly. "Listen to me carefully." He takes her hands in his, speaking when her eyes finally find his. "You must stop talking to him. I want you to ignore him."

"But he looks so much like you-"

"-I know," he cooed, "I know. It's natural for him to look alike. He is my uncle. But Bennard is dangerous."

"The uncle who usurped you?"

"Exactly."

She was entirely correct in her description of Bennard. His father, Rickon, had always commented how alike the two looked. They were northerners through and through.

"He's so angry-"

"-Naturally, love. He tried to take the North from me and I had him imprisoned." He waited a moment before coming up with an idea. "Let us retire, hm? You must be exhausted."

"The sun is still out."

"Not for much longer. C'mere."

The two left his solar, not before Cregan could look back one more time with the most defying glare he could muster. As if his uncle would be able to see the absolute hatred in his eyes for daring to speak to his wife. "You'll forget about him in the morning, my sweet wife. I'm sure of that."

…

But the morning was not so quick to come.

Cregan grumbled, slightly woken from sleep as he blindly reached out to pull his wife closer.

But the bed was empty.

There was still warmth to the furs and linens she'd just been on. She hadn't been gone long.

He sat up with a slightly concerned groan, brushing away his hair and rubbing out the sleep from his eyes.

She was nowhere to be found.

So he stood, throwing on an acceptable tunic to be out in the halls of Winterfell. And when he found the nearest guard, he inquired about her.

"She was seen leaving the castle last I saw, my Lord."

Oh fuck. Cregan's worst nightmares were coming to fruition. "In a trance?" He didn't want to ask but he knew he had to.

The guard nodded.

That means she wasn't properly dressed for the cold weather that laid outside the doors. He'd last seen her in her favorite shift he'd pulled from the bureau.

That was nothing near warm enough for her out there. The sun still had an hour or two until it would rise. He needed to hurry.

He stomped back into his chambers, moving as fast as he could to dress. Boots half laced. Cloak more on one shoulder than the other. Hair askew. He didn't care. He circled back around to grab her cloak.

He barely got his gloves from a servant before he'd ran out to the stables.

…

He rode throughout the Godswood, his head on a swivel as he yelled out for her.

He luckily had a bit of a trail of her bare feet in the snow. It was his last resort to getting her back. 

She only ever snapped from her trances when someone else brought her back. It made him all the more determined.

After a while, he realized where she was being led.

The pond.

…

"Y/N!" He screamed as he dismounted his horse.

She was entirely entranced, standing on the edge of the frozen pond.

He approached carefully, like trying to near a frightened animal. He took slow, slow, steps, the snow crunching under his boots. 

Her feet were completely bare, the skin red. No doubt she has hypothermia. "Love," he breathed, stepping a bit closer. There was only a few feet between them now. Surely, he could grab her if he was quick enough.

But she took a step out onto the lake.

"No, no, no," he cursed, stepping to the last bit of dirt he could before reaching the lake. He stretched out, trying to grab her arm before she got too far, but he was inches off. He took the smallest step onto the ice, which made cracking sounds under his boot. The ice was rather thin at the edge. He looked out to the center, seeing that it was far from being frozen over. 

She was sure to fall through at any minute.

"Wait," he tried again. "Love, wait." It hurt him physically to watch her inch closer to her death. 

He had only a few choices. Risk both their lives by rushing onto the lake and grabbing her. Or wait for her to die on her own.

And he wouldn't let that happen.

Especially when she began to journey further.

He'd had enough, stepping out onto the ice. The sound of cracking ice hardly deterred him from getting a few steps out. 

But the ice caved through. His leg fell in, the ice cold water seeping through his pant leg. He caught himself from fully falling in, sitting in concern that more ice was sure to break after it.

When he decided to try again, he got up onto his knees and slowly stood. The ice cracked again, traveling down the pond towards her. Under her feet.

The slight shift in weight snapped her out of her trance. Like waking from a nightmare, she looked around. Her legs shook with realization. She took a step back to turn around but her legs gave out. She fell onto her knees and the cold began to make her numb. "Cregan?" She cried.

He held out a hand to attempt to reassure her. Though, it needed just as much reassurance himself. "Stay there. Just stay for a moment." His eyes were glued to the winding split in the ice that could continue at any moment. "I need to think."

"I didn't mean to," she began to sob, her body shivering. "I didn't… he told me to. I thought…"

"Calm yourself. Don't go into hysterics," he firmly commanded. His head tilted as he tried to ignore the stinging of the soaked fabric against his leg. "My uncle?"

She sniffed. "I thought it was you. You look so alike."

If Bennard Stark was still alive, Cregan would skin him. "I understand." He groaned. "Here's what I want you to do. You're going to stand. And you're going to walk to me."

"No-"

"-You're going to walk to me," he said even firmer. "Can you do that?"

She choked through another sob and nodded. Everything was numb and standing would be difficult. But she was determined to get to Cregan. She managed to stand on shaky legs, though stepping would be another problem. Her head perked up to the center of the pond like her name had been called.

"No," he broke though. "Ignore it. Only listen to me."

She was already on the edge of being whisked away again, her voice getting dreamy, "But he said-"

"-I don't care what he said."

It was a tone Cregan so rarely used that when in play, it caught the attention of everyone around him.

Which snapped her back to. "Sorry," she slurred.

He shook his head, holding a shaky hand out. "Just come here. I need to get you warm."

She managed a few steps, shaky as hell, but she'd done it. The cracking sound under her kept the panic in Cregan but the slow closure of the space between them began to soothe it. 

"Almost," he smiled forcibly to keep her calm. "Almost there. Good."

But one step caused a shift in the frozen lake.

Cregan panicked, determined to get her to him before they were bound to plunge into the icy water. He stepped forward with a clunky boot, which finally broke it though. 

She fell in.

He was frozen for a moment, utterly lost as he watched the ripples in the water fade.

She was gone.

Oh fuck. She was gone.

He dropped down by the place she fell. His arm reached in blindly, trying desperately to grab her. Any part. To feel her beneath his palm. "What have I done?" He whispered to himself. "What h- What have I done?"

Preparing to fully go in himself, his hand finally grasped her. He pulled immediately.

She came to the surface, her body in completely shock.

He pulled her out, holding her to his chest desperately and pushing away from the broken ice with his feet until he deemed it safe enough.

He held her in his lap, panting hot breaths against her neck in relief that he'd found her. The water began to slowly seep through his own clothing but he didn't care. He was desperate to warm her, even if that meant sacrificing some of his own warmth.

Her lips were an odd shade of grey, her skin faded from its usual lively tones. It sickened him.

He rocked her slightly, muttering under his breath small praises that she was still with him. That she was still breathing.

…

"I thank you for your work," Cregan smiled at the septon.

He hated The Seven. Didn't believe a word of the teachings. The Old Gods were the only gods as far as he knew.

But maybe their priests had an ability that he didn't. Like cleansing castles. They surely seemed to think so.

He wouldn't truly know until his wife woke.

But the septon had promised to expel all demons, ghosts, and anything alike from the grounds of Winterfell.

Who was he to deny an offer like that?

Anything to get his uncle as far away as possible.

"Of course," the septon nodded. "It's an honor to be trusted by a Stark. The Seven smile on you."

They fucking better, he thought. "How kind."

"Even now, Cregan Stark, they've chosen to bless you."

He was getting pretty done with other worldly things for a while. "That's nice. Someone, please walk him to his room."

"I mean it," he continued, even as a servant politely steered him away to the guest quarters. "All seven regard you highly."

He walked away, physically shaking his head to push the nonsense from his mind. That septon was so adamant about it. It planted a seed of doubt in the northerners mind. Bless him? What does that m-

"Milord. Lady Stark is awake."

Cregan's jaw went a little slack. Blessed, indeed. "T-Thank you. I'll go there now."

…

"Feel alright?" He asked even now, days later. It felt like a mantra at this point. 

"I told you, 'm fine," she sighed, curled up in the furs with a bowl of soup in her lap.

"I know you have. Can't help but worry. You can't blame me, can you, pretty girl? Hm?" His hand smoothed over the curls in her hair from the pillow. He could stare at her all day like this. Comfortable, clean, content, alive.

"He just looked so much like you," she remarked, still not over the scare from days before. "Like you, but older."

His hand moved down to cup her cheek, rubbing the skin affectionately. "I'd rather you wait for me to age then try to join that one so soon."

It was his soft attempt at lightening the tension. And it worked.

Her lips quirked up. "Maybe."

"Maybe? What if I said I kicked him out? Banished him forever?"

She was growing more amused now. "I'd say you're a liar."

He leaned in, laying the softest of kisses to her lips. "Then I tell such truthful lies, my love. For I've banished all that ails you. Perhaps I'll banish the snow next."

She never did see Bennard Stark again in Winterfell. Or anything else for the matter. The dark shadows were just that. Dark shadows. Nothing more.

And if she willed it, Cregan would scare the darkness off next.

...............................................................

Taglist: @alyssa-dayne @twinkletwinklenotastar @kidd3ath @yujyujj @misswynters @cosmosnkaz @sithapprentice @kaniromi @lovemesomevesey @its-jackie-bb @thorins-queen-of-erebor @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn @callsignwidow @a1lexh-blog @alyssa-dayne @ethereal-athalia @ashovertheriver @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom @dozcan123 @wangjiangelangel @kamitargaryen @aegonswife @lv7867 @helpmedecideaname @cherryheairt @classicsimpforaaronwarner @purple-1995

[igbylicious]

consumed: first taste (san x reader)

pairing: vampire San x f reader

rating: 18+

genre: smut, angst, vampire au

summary: You were supposed to be nothing but a pleasing meal to sate San’s unruly appetites. He was never supposed to lose himself in you. (prequel to ‘consumed’ but no context necessary)

wc: 6.8k

general warnings: dubcon w/ vampiric persuasion, blood drinking, supernatural strength, alcohol consumption, pov switches, your blood is like catnip to vampires, San is obsessed with you 👍 (and almost kills you by accident 😬 )

smut warnings: rough sex, piv, marking, biting, pussy job, cum shot (stomach), cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, creampie, unprotected sex, somnophilia if you squint, nicknames for reader (darling, good girl, love)

a/n: reader uses she/her pronouns and wears a dress

a/n²: welp i told myself i’d ease back into tumblr real slow but the brain weasels demanded to post this fic as soon as it was finished oop. hope you enjoy ♡

The thing is, San has a soft spot for humans.

Wooyoung always teases him it’s because he grew up in the countryside; his parents kept chickens and goats, the farm two miles over had a herd of Hanwoo. He’s used to being surrounded by livestock; already had a soft spot for them when he still was human himself.

Maybe Wooyoung has a point. It never mattered to San that any of those animals might end up on his plate; that didn’t stop him from laughing in delight when the chickens tried to jump on his shoulders, or break out in a dimpled smile when the cows meandered over for headpats if he stopped by their field.

Now, San will admit; humans, for all their inferiority, are still more… entertaining than the livestock he grew up around. More complex. He’s still young enough to remember the fleeting depths of a mortal life, turbulent emotions packed tightly into a mere century, often less.

They have their enjoyable charms — and San can’t deny he enjoys humans the most when they enjoy him.

The other members of his coven never really understood; Hongjoong scolding San for playing too much with his food, increasing risk of exposure. Yunho winking knowingly at him, thinking they are the same because he does play with his food. Or Jongho’s bafflement, who sees feeding as little more than a practical necessity.

And Seonghwa? Seonghwa always smiles with love at his fledgling, the approving mother whose sons can do no wrong in his eyes. Humans are a curiosity to him, not quite worthy of San’s fondness but enough to permit him his eccentricities — as long as San does so responsibly.

San does. He picks his hunting grounds with care.

Nightclubs are among his favourite, the alcohol and drugs doing much of the work for him to take his fill without consequence; but if he wants something quieter, more personal, then a nice hotel bar fits his needs perfectly.

It has the same element of alcohol, while access to a private space is just an elevator ride away. And even if something does go awry, the disappearances of people on their travels is easier to cover up. (See, Hongjoong? There is no need to scold San like an eighty year old child. San knows what he’s doing.)

Besides, if someone comes to a hotel bar alone… they are always looking not to be. Who is San to deny a lonely soul the pleasure of his company, in exchange for a little sustenance?

Smooth jazz breezes through the luxurious interior of the grand hotel that San chose for tonight’s hunt.

He crosses over the elegant floor tiles to the bar with its marble countertop, the soft tinkling of glass and snatches of murmured conversation reaching his ears. If he focused, he could hear every word perfectly, from the man ordering his drinks at the bar, to the couple privately whispering on the other side of the room, to the gabble of ladies chatting in the corner.

San takes place at one of the art deco stools nearby a lonesome man, at a nice corner seat that allows him clear view of the venue.

Behind the bartender, who is fixing a gin and tonic, large gleaming windows expose the skyline of Seoul. The windows cover the full length of the room and reach all the way up to the high ceiling, allowing for a panoramic view of the city at night, alive with glittering, artificial lights that drowns out the stars — for human eyes, that is.

San can still see the faint constellation dotting the night sky, though even his supernatural vision can’t appreciate their full beauty in the bustling cities of humankind. Thankfully, these cities bring something of their own to appreciate.

He breathes in a deep whiff of air, catching notes of drinks and food, perfume and cologne, but all of those are swept away by the overpowering scent of human. His gaze wanders over the venue, eyeing the scattered people chatting or staring at their phones, then back to the other man seated at the bar.

The lonesome man looks appetising enough to meet San’s standards, even if he smells a little bland. Not unpleasant though, and just as San considers whether the sweet eye-candy weighs up against a so-so meal, his attention is noticed.

The man gives San a slow smile and, well… he has had far worse fare in the past.

Like his scent, the lonely man is a little bland in conversation, but San tries to find it in himself to look past the boredom. He’s hungry enough for it, anyway. His body craves sustenance, impatient for fresh blood. He’s not used to the way he’s been rationing, not wanting to get scolded by Hongjoong again. (That’s how their coven operates; Hongjoong keeps his brothers in line, so Seonghwa can be their forever indulgent mother in peace.)

While San bargains with himself to accept this easy meal, pretty but uninteresting, it happens.

A new presence enters the bar.

Tendrils of a luscious scent wraps around him, singing to his deepest, most primal instincts. San draws a shuddering breath, his chest glowing as his lungs fill up with the sudden rich fragrance that invades his senses. It overwhelms all else, his companion’s voice fading into a far distance.

A blurred figure moves in the reflection of the windows, and the world slows down to a crawl as San turns his head to see this alluring creature in the flesh. To see you.

You’re a vision as lovely as the sunrise, glowing with a brightness that blinds San to all but the sway of your hips as you walk past. His heart pounds at this feast for the eyes as well as his soul, wrapped up in an elegant cocktail dress, and his hunger rages at him to pounce when you glance back at him with a cheeky, inviting smile. Already his canines threaten to elongate, and San bites down a frustrated growl at his poor show of control, like he’s some teenage boy popping a boner at the mere sight of a little cleavage.

You make a point of arching your back as you sit down just a few seats away. San hears you order a whiskey, licking his lips at the thought of that smokey flavour dispersed through your fragrant blood.

San barely hears the man next to him anymore.

The boring handsome man tilts his head, perhaps sensing that he is about to lose his one-night stand. (What is his name again? Did San ever really remember it?) “So… I’ll be going up to my room …” he suggests, the implication obvious.

“Sure,” San hums, trying not to be unkind but he can barely think, starved and agitated; his world is turned upside down, like you and your blood are the ones consuming him from the inside. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Oh. I, ah, I thought… perhaps…” the man tries, dejectedly.

San tears himself away from you, giving his former target a mournful smile. “I can’t, not tonight,” he soothes, giving a light outward push of his pheromones. “But… if I happen to make it here tomorrow… and if I happen to see you…”

His ambiguous promise and coercive pheromones are enough to render the man pliant, his disappointment morphing into a hazy smile. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe I’ll see you,” he says, his speech a little slurred as though drunk, and he slinks off. Leaving San free to aim all his attention at you, the delectable meal that just fell straight into his lap.

…but your attention is not aimed solely at him, San is a little miffed to discover.

You’re slowly nursing your whiskey with your phone at your ear, staring off at the city skyline while you chat away at some inconsequential nobody, undeserving of the pleasure of your voice.

Sharp jealousy stabs through San’s heart like a wooden stake. Angry hunger coils deep in his stomach, to tear apart the worthless lowlife on the other end of the line for daring to keep you from him. To throw you onto the bar and claim you right here and now, to sink his fangs in your neck and his fingers in your tight cunt as he proves that whoever you’re talking to, they could never give you what he can, drowning you in sublime ecstasy as he takes his fill.

—Fuck, wait what’s wrong with him? San tightly squeezes his eyes shut, trying to reign in his hunger. He hasn’t been this volatile since he was a Newborn, with Mother Seonghwa’s blood pumping fresh through his veins. He feels dizzy, weird, this is—

“Okay, so when you texted ‘hot guy’, how hot are we talking? Spill.”

A distant voice pierces through San’s dark discorded thoughts. His eyes snap open, meeting yours.

“Hm… the weather has been pretty balmy. Can’t remember the last time we had a summer like this,” you muse to the person on the phone. You take another slow sip of your drink, licking your lips as you put the now-empty glass back down, never breaking your studious gaze away from San.

San’s strange dizziness evaporates in the blink of an eye, all his agitation relaxing into slow amusement now he knows the true motive of your phonecall. Sweetened indulgence fills him at your little game. Cute. Thinking you can toy with him like this, oblivious to his true nature; that his augmented hearing allows him to listen in on the full conversation, not your side alone.

“Girl, then what the hell are you doing, talking to me? He can’t rizz you up while you’re on the phone!”

You giggle, “Oh, I think this nice weather will stick around for a while, I’ll have all the time in the world to check out the local sights. Besides, what good ever came out of rushing anything?”

San scoffs lightly, shaking his head in amusement. He orders another drink from the bar — and sends one your way too. You blink in surprise when the bartender brings you a new whiskey, but then pause your conversation to tip your glass in thanks.

You make a good show of pretending to be unaffected by him, but San is fully tuned into you now. All other noises have faded away, allowing him to sense even the slightest speeding of your heartbeat. He did not think it possible, but your scent sweetens even further at his attention, enriched with whole new depths of tangy aroma as your arousal stirs.

“What was that?” the voice on the phone demands. “Mr Balmy Summer is looking at you, isn’t he? Babe, hang up the damn phone or I’ll do it for you. I swear, if your bratty ass ruins a sure thing just because you wanna—”

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, a silver tinkling sound that dizzies San all over again. “Too bad you have have to go… Talk to you later, alright?”

You smile at San as you put down your phone. “Thanks for the drink,” you say, a lively gleam in your eyes. “I suppose I owe you now.”

San’s hunger flares anew at the suggestive purr in your voice, urging him to take all he is owed. No one is watching. No one would notice a chaste kiss on the neck, lips lingering, a subtle hand on your mouth to stifle your moans as fangs pierce flesh. You’d like it. He knows you would.

Temptation plucks at the weakened strings of San’s self-control — but he manages to overcome it, Hongjoong’s warning for discretion yanking him back.

Besides… you had a point. What good ever came out of rushing anything? A treat like you deserves to be enjoyed at his leisure.

“Nothing owed,” he says with a grin, the one he knows makes his dimples pop. Predictably, your eyes light up at the sight of them. “I like taking care of people in need.”

“Oh? I didn’t realise I was in need,” you smile slowly, tilting your head to rest in the palm of your hand, elbow on the marble countertop. Your neck is on full display, leaving San with no choice but to contemplate the delight of your exposed jugular.

San licks his lips, trying to remember why he didn’t want to rush. “Yeah, I think you are,” he says, his voice deep and smooth. “Of a little attention, maybe.”

“‘Maybe’? So you’re not sure then?” you tease, but your heartbeat jolts, heat searing through your veins. “I didn’t take you as someone with a lack of confidence.”

San takes his drink and stands up, unhurried as he walks over and sits down right next to you. His knee now brushes against yours. He wonders if you realise you’ve leaned in closer.

“Confidence is not an issue,” San hums, darkened eyes tracing the motion of you raising your glass to your lips. “I just like to get to know people a little more before making too many assumptions.” “I’d like to know you more,” he doesn’t say, but he doesn’t need to.

“You don’t make too many assumptions?” you ask, coyly brushing your foot against San’s leg. Your heart pounds. “Then what do you assume?”

San’s intense gaze is heated as he looks you over, his nod slow but decisive as he comes to his conclusion. “That you deserve someone who’ll take good care of you tonight.”

“Hm,” you hum, lazily circling your fingertip over the rim of your emptied glass. “That’s a fair assumption.”

San’s smile widens with a flash of teeth. He recognises an invitation when he hears one. “I could take care of you. Could treat you real good. Give you everything you deserve.”

There’s the tiniest hitch in your breath when his hand rests on your knee.

Your head spins from just a light touch. Fuck, this guy wasn’t kidding about his confidence. His dark eyes have you pinned, his overwhelming aura threatening to swallow you up whole. “Everything…” You savour the way the word tastes on your tongue. “Bold. You think you have what it takes?”

Your handsome stranger doesn’t answer, gently rubbing his hand over your leg instead while the other clasps your chin. Your breath hitches a little sharper as he leans in for a kiss, slow but assured you will accept him.

Anticipation buzzes under your skin, all else fading from existence as his lips slot over yours perfectly; warm and soft, pressing into you with a firm, languid intensity that has you melting into him. You taste the liquor on his breath, inhale the dizzying scent of his cologne, smokey vanilla along with something you can’t quite identify, alluring and irresistible, a strange fuzziness coating your mind. More drunk on him than you could ever be on the alcohol. The kiss is far too brief but he lingers close, gently nudging his nose against yours.

“What do you think?” he murmurs, a light rasp in his voice that sparks through you, igniting a pulse of heat between your thighs. “Want to give me a try?”

You shudder, struggling to keep up your facade of nonchalance. You had your fun leading this stranger on a playful chase, but he is right behind you now, breathing down your neck, his claws catching on your heels. You’re struck by the distinct feeling that he’s been the one playing with you all along; merely entertaining your need for a chase, a sleek panther who knows he’s leading his prey into an inescapable trap. He could have gone for the kill at any time.

To think, you hadn’t even meant to pick up a one night stand. You were just looking for a fun flirtation to chase off the boredom, maybe pick up a few drinks free of charge. Get a little confidence boost before your work conference kicks off tomorrow.

A stolen kiss at most, you’d told yourself — but your handsome, perfect stranger has stolen his kiss, and you’re aching for more of his thievery.

“…I’m willing to give you a chance to prove it,” you say, a poor final attempt at pretending to be in control.

He knows it too, a cocky curve to his smile that has no right to be so attractive. Dammit, you don’t even know this guy’s name. And so you ask, shivering as he murmurs “San. Call me San,” in your ear. His eyes burn hotly when you give your own name in turn.

“So, San… do you want to get out of here?”

His grin widens, and you can’t help but feel like a mouse who has pried open the cat’s maw, crawling between rows of sharpened teeth of their own free will. Offering yourself up to be devoured whole.

San does not hesitate for even a second.

Your mouth is claimed in another kiss, rougher than before, and that fuzzy feeling returns as his odd cologne washes over you again, flooding your brain. Like a fog rolling over your consciousness, the world disappears in a blur. All you know is your mysterious stranger, San. San. You cling tightly onto his wide shoulders, deepening the kiss with a needy moan.

The wet heat of his lips is scorching, and you whimper when he breaks away, his giggle dizzying. “Fuck, maybe I overdid it a little,” he laughs huskily, his words as confusing as his insistence to pry your lips off the freckled expanse of his neck. “Sorry about that, darling. Come, let’s find some privacy first.”

“San…” you whine, and he groans at the sound.

His name sounds perfect from your pretty lips, the crotch of his pants uncomfortably tight already. You’re so beautifully responsive, grasping at him with needy fingers after barely a nudge of his pheromones; like this chance meeting was meant to be, you were meant to be found by him. Fuck, you smell so good. You didn’t need the extra push to be compelled, he knows that — but San just couldn’t help himself, couldn’t afford any risk to have you slip through his grasp. He has to taste you.

Still, he eases back on his preternatural influence. Already he notes the bartender’s raised eyebrow; there is no need to draw more attention as he guides you to the hotel’s wide hall and into the elevator.

You stumble only once on the way there, and again when San crowds you into the cabin before the door even fully opens. You fall into him with a broken moan and shakily press the button for your floor. He shudders at how your skin burns up under his touch, radiating heady arousal in deep waves, just for him, all for him.

He roughly turns you around, your hands pressed against the mirrored elevator wall as his arms lock around your waist. He burrows his face in the crook of your neck with a growl, taking a deep inhale of your pure scent, no longer blemished by food and drinks and other, inferior humans.

You’re something special, that much is undeniable by now. More than just a quick meal — though that won’t stop San from taking his fill. No, it’d be a crime against his morals not to feed from you, like leaving an exquisite culinary dinner untouched to be wasted and thrown out in the garbage.

He laps at your pulse point, whining impatiently as he grinds against your backside. Soon. Soon he will familiarise himself with every fragrant note of your blood, a sure feast for his discerning palate.

"W-wait,” you suddenly whimper, pushing at his hands. “Stop, I—”

Your eyes lock with his in the mirror, but San already knows what’s wrong. Bitter tints of confusion and doubt taint your sweet aroma; his feathery touch of pheromones has worn off, leaving your emotional state vulnerable to crash down. A budding anxiety is etched into your face as the ecstasy starts to fall away, trying to comprehend what is happening to you — but you do understand one crucial thing;

A predator has his lips pressed right against your jugular.

“I— I think I left my phone downstairs,” you stammer, uselessly squirming against your hunter’s grip. “I have to go back.”

San growls into your neck, yanking you closer. He’s transfixed on your face in the mirror, how you whine at the sudden firm pressure of his fingers on your clothed slit, bunching up your dress. How you shudder and relax in his hold as he flares his scent again, generously this time. Enveloping you with him until all doubt is washed away, leaving only the certainty you are right where you belong.

“Shhh,” he murmurs, rubbing circles into the growing dampness of your panties. “I’ll take real good care of you tonight. You want to be taken care of, don’t you?”

You whimper, instinctively arching into his hand. “Y-yeah.”

“Are you sure you need to go back?” San purrs, his tongue darting out to tease against your frantic pulse.

Your eyes roll back with a decadent moan when San’s fingers push past your underwear, finding slick arousal. “…I… mgh, ah ahh… N-no, need to stay, stay… San…”

He groans at the stuttered plea of his name, desperate with want. “Good, such a good girl,” he rasps, pulling his hand away from your leaking cunt. You whine in complaint and it’s not easy to deny you pleasure, but San needs something of you on his tongue before his self-control shatters apart.

He sucks off his glistening fingers with an indulgent moan; your slick is not what he truly seeks, but it’s enough to tide him over.

The elevator opens with a soft ‘ping’, and the way to your hotel room is a messy scramble, your lips unwilling to part from San’s heated skin. So deeply entangled that you almost trip over one another, until San puts his preternatural strength to its best use and hoists you up with ease. Instinctively you curl around him, burrowing your face into his shoulder as your legs lock around his narrow waist. He doesn’t even know if he and you were seen, too distracted by more important things;

Things like your gasp when San shoves you against the door the instant he’s made it inside your room. Or the way his fingers push into your soft thighs, your body pliant to his touch. You cling onto him with an eager moan as he rolls his hips into you, dragging his achingly hard cock against your soiled panties.

Your head rolls back against the door, and everything inside San sharpens at the sight of your vulnerable neck. A wild snarl lacerates across his face, his vision narrowing with jagged intent.

“S-San, please—”

Bright and searing, your desperate voice cuts through San’s blind hunger. He presses his forehead into your shoulder with a whine, sinking his teeth into his own bottom lip to drive off his frenzy for just a little longer. Not yet. He promised he’d take care of you and fuck, he will do just so. He will give you everything you want, all of him, anything to repay your unvolunteered generosity of sustaining his life.

With a few urgent, long strides, San carries you over to the hotel bed, falling into the soft sheets of Egyptian cotton together.

The breath is knocked out of your chest with a sharp moan as San descends on you, swallowing all your noises with his hungry mouth, famished for you. He forces your thighs apart with his knee, groaning in satisfaction when you spread yourself open for him willingly. San vaguely hears fabric rip as he pulls at your dress and his own clothes, but he pays it no mind, too caught up in the slide of skin against skin, the arch of your spine pressing your chests together, the wet heat that slicks up his fingers as he rubs between your lower lips. You cry out when he finds your clit with every stroke.

Fuck, the room is hot. San feels dizzy, his body like a furnace, endlessly burning with your cries to fuel him. “What do you want, darling?” he rasps between kisses. Two of his thick fingers press inside you, curling in search of the spot that twists your face into wretched pleasure. “How do you want me? Tell me, I’ll give it to you, I’ll give it all.”

San doesn’t expect you to answer, the way you’re gasping and trembling underneath him, already overwhelmed by this small taste of his boundless gratitude. No, he expects to take matters in his own hands, to seek out your pleasure points by chasing the rich arousal in your scent — but then your hand suddenly presses against his chest, and San freezes as you try to push him off.

Frustration itches at him like an ache. Why? Why would you push him away? San’s brow knits with agitated hurt, trying to understand why you’d refuse him now. Isn’t he giving you exactly what you desire, feeding into your cravings so he can sate his?

You whine when San doesn’t budge. “Please, wanna—” you strain, uselessly trying to move him, “—on top, please—”

Oh.

You grasp at San’s chest, your plea jolting through him; all irritation and distress is pushed aside at the realisation he misunderstood you for the second time tonight. San melts into a pleased, languid smile, now knowing better than to think you would ever deny him — so why would he deny you? He pulls you along as he lays on his back, leaving you to straddle him just as you want.

“Of course, of course you can, my darling,” he coos, his eager fingers creating indents in your sides as he firmly rocks you into him. “That’s it, take me,” he rasps as his flushed cock pushes at your entrance, “take whatever you fucking want. It’s all for you, anything for a sweet, perfect thing like you, f-fuck—”

His voice breaks into a low groan as you sink down on him, your plush cunt swallowing him up. You’re still so tight — but even your body seems to understand that you’re meant for him, leaking around his aching cock as your snug walls part for him, inch by delicious inch.

You bow over with a whimper when you bottom out, arms shaky as your hands lean on his chest to steady yourself. The roll of your hips starts slow, testingly, your eyes fluttering shut like you’re trying to memorise the feeling of him, every vein rubbing inside your twitching cunt.

San lets out a pained groan from the effort to allow you this moment. His fingers dig harder into the soft meat of your waist, leaving deep crescents. Hunger roils through him, growling at him to try and break the skin under his nails, lick your blood off his fingers. It’d be so easy to tear into a vulnerable human like you…

The animalistic urge claws at San’s ribcage, rattling to break free. He burns with the effort to hold it off, gritting his teeth, a hint of fangs prodding at his bottom lip.

You gasp at the force of his grip on your waist, eyes snapping open. But there is no fear as you clasp your hand over San’s, all wiped away by the hazy veil he’s drawn over your mind. No, San’s desperation only brings a dazed smile to your face, fingers squeezing around his hand encouragingly — blissfully unaware of the violent struggle behind his heated gaze.

San can’t tear his eyes away from your smile; your innocent delight at his relieved whine when the roll of your hips finally picks up.

“Oh you’re needy, aren’t you?” you tease, brushing your thumb over his bottom lip, and you giggle when he instinctively snaps at your fingers, trying to catch skin between his teeth.

You’re right, of course. San is needy. For you, more of you, more than the warmth of your sweet cunt leaking around his cock, more than your pitched breaths as pleasure builds. Your head falls back when you find an angle, shameless moans spilling past your pretty lips.

Unlike San, no inhibitions hold you back; riding him with mindless intent, sweat beading on your skin as you bounce in his lap, lost in the pleasure of him.

San aches from it, down to his core, shaken by the perfect equilibrium of your desperation matching his, needing him as much as he needs you. Your eyes squeeze shut, face contorting with pleasure like the way he fills you up goes beyond the physical, nourishing an empty aching cavity inside your soul.

And for one quiet moment… San’s violent hunger is appeased.

It’s the eye of the storm as he looks up at you in your blissful state. Time dilates and stretches to a slow crawl, all sound dampened into a dreamlike hush until he can hear only two things; your ragged breaths, echoing in his head like soft whispers, and the thumping of your heart, rapid and slow all at once.

He sits up to wrap his arms around you, unable to bear the distance between his mouth and your body.

You whine at the strength of his grip, forced into a shallow rut. “Please,” you gasp when he noses at your neck to seek out your pulse again. “Please.”

“Sweet, smells so sweet…” San groans, clutching tightly onto your wriggling body. Soft lips and sharp teeth tend to your delicate skin. Should he here…? Now…? Your heartbeat pounds faster, faster, the drum of it sending a sharp rush through him. His grip tightens, like you might slip from his grasp like a dream. Eagerly he suckles at the tang of your sweat, his canines scraping over heated flesh — until your rich scent is invaded by a sour note, and a whimper of pain cuts through his ravenous haze.

Slowly, he comes back to himself, just enough to realise you’re barely able to breathe, smothered bruisingly against his chest.

He feels his nails digging into your skin, your weak attempts to create enough space for your lungs to pull in air. It takes a long, strenuous moment before San can convince himself to relax his hold, but your eyes tear up, your breaths wheezy, and sharp lashes of guilt break you free.

“Shh, it’s okay, darling, it’s okay,” San murmurs soothingly, apologetically gathering you in his arms again; gentle this time. He encourages you to tuck your head under his chin, his hand stroking your sweaty hair. “It’ll be better now, I know just the right spot for a tasty thing like you.”

You make a faint, confused noise at his phrasing — but it turns into a startled yelp when San tosses you onto your back.

Firm hands knead your thighs, pushing your knees up against your chest as he spreads them. San groans as his cock slides through your glistening folds, sucking him in every time he rubs over your entrance. He lets out a pleased hiss when you grab at his ass, trying to pull him even closer, to split you apart on his cock.

You whine in frustration when he resists. “Please, inside, inside me, please,” you sob, begging deliriously for him; but this is your one desire he’s too selfish to fulfil.

Still, San does not leave you wanting. Your mouth falls open as he ruts against your needy cunt, whimpering as the underside of his slick cock catches your clit. San bucks harder into you; he does not intend to last. Sweat drops off his face onto your trembling body, arching up as you desperately claw at him — until all your whimpered moans are strangled in your airways, your cunt clenching around nothing as you convulse underneath him. San’s eyes roll back with a snarl at the overwhelming spike of arousal in your scent, his hips stuttering as he finds his release together with you, spilling hotly over your stomach.

He gives you no time to catch your breath; San yanks your hips up and dives down to plunge his tongue in your weeping hole. Revelling in the taste of you, purely you, unsullied by his seed. He laps at your fresh slick as your cunt flutters around his ceaseless tongue, drinking in your hitched cries.

Half-lifted off the bed, there’s nothing you can do but succumb to San’s feast — but you don’t resist even when he lowers you back down, instead freely allowing him to devour you. Your fingers tangle through his hair, desperate to keep him right where he is, but again San is forced to disregard your wishes.

He groans as he sucks a messy wet patch into the soft meat of your thigh, inhaling deeply. Here, the blood just underneath vulnerable skin sings out to him, right here.

San catches your arousal on his fingers, then smears it generously over his chosen spot. It’s time.

His thumb rubs at your clit, almost absent-mindedly while he uses his other hand to easily pin down your waist. “P-please, please,” you mewl, uselessly bucking against his hold.

“Do you want it, darling?” San rasps, his pupils completely dilated as he looks up at you, at the beautiful wreck he’s turned you into.

Your teary eyes cause a twitch in his cock, your hair a mess, lips puffy from his earlier kisses. You sob at his question, furiously nodding your head. “I do, I do.”

San hums blissfully at your consent, even if given in ignorance of what that truly means. Finally, his fangs sink into your thigh—

—and releases with a startled growl when your blood hits his tongue.

With shaking eyes, he stares at the crimson rivulet trickling down your marred thigh. He knew you’d taste sweet, he knew, but… but…

The last ragged thread of San’s self-control snaps. You cry out as his fangs plunge back into you with a feral groan, far greedier than he ever intended to be. Your scent had called San like a beacon, but nothing prepared him for the divinity pouring forth from your broken skin.

He disappears into his hunger, in the way you convulse against him with pleasure and pain. Too deep under San’s control to fully grasp what’s happening to you.

With visceral clarity, San remembers the first time he ever fed on a human being. Arteries torn apart by his fangs, fresh blood bursting in his mouth. He’d never tasted anything like it, pure vitality in liquid form — but he never thought of blood as more than food before now. Never thought of it as beautiful.

Your moans grow weaker as San takes and takes from you, though he is always sure to give too, his thumb still on your swollen clit, coaxing you towards your peak.

San has always prided himself on his self-control, feeding with discipline; knowing when he’s had enough and when to release his prey back into the world. He tries to treat you with that same discipline, he really is, but there is no taking his lips off of your skin, not when you whimper and shake underneath him, feeding him your cresting pleasure as if it is his own.

Your steady climb pulses through your blood, thrumming vibrantly, until you fall apart with one last burst of energy. He whines at your gasped cries of his name, jolting against his steel hold on your waist, your essence flooding with a rich heat that warms him from the inside, saturating his own inferior blood with your perfection.

Finally San manages to tear himself away from the fresh wound on your thigh, contenting himself with sucking your slick off his fingers instead. He groans at the mingling of tastes. His stomach is full, his body sated, and yet San still finds himself hungry.

He should stop. His tongue darts out to lap at the bite mark. He has to stop. His red-smeared lips suck at the dried blood that dribbled down earlier. Why can’t he stop—?

A stubborn grogginess clings to your consciousness, struggling against your body’s attempt to wake. There’s a nagging headache that filters through the fog, a faint pain in your chest, and a more immediate throbbing on your thigh. Your hands feel cold, but there’s a welcoming warmth pressed against your back, a solid presence spooning you. Th-the guy from last night? Memories only come back to you in pieces, strange and blurry. Dammit, why is it so hard to think?

Ragged breaths fall on your ear, joined by a soft whimper when you feel a hard pressure against your ass. Clumsy fingers grasp at your thigh, and you wince as they dig into that painful mark to lift your leg, opening you up.

A thought of alarm tries to form in your head, that something isn’t right, but the thought is snuffed out by a whiff of your handsome stranger’s cologne. You’re dizzy, too weak to question the soothing warmth that seeps through your mind and body.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” the man whimpers between nips at your neck. San, your shattered memory faintly remembers. “I don’t usually feed twice, but— but fuck, you— you’re—”

“F-feed?” you gasp, trying to understand what he’s saying. His canines are strangely sharp as they scrape over your skin. Like they’re…

The thought flees away from you as he rocks his hips, his thick cock nestled between your sensitive, fluttering walls. You moan lowly, struggling to catch your breath even at the light stimulation. Everything feels so heavy, so sluggish, you can’t move—

“I’m sorry.” San tenderly strokes your arm. “Sorry sorry sorry—” babbling pleas until he silences himself by plunging those sharp canines in your neck.

There should be pain, some distant part of you realises. It should hurt, to have him break through skin and flesh, sucking at the wound. There’s a numb ache, but it comes from far away, just like the sparks of pleasure of his cock rubbing against your sweet spot with every upstroke. You feel fuzzy and safe, like you are exactly where you belong. Something about that doesn’t make sense, but you can’t question it.

San’s moans raise goosebumps on your skin, muffled whines as he shudders and spills inside you. He stays there, but his teeth finally detach from your neck, replaced by gentle kisses.

“S-Sannie…” you sigh out as blackness drifts into your vision.

His voice is the last thing you register before consciousness fades again, softly murmuring, “So sweet… Fed me so well, my love…”

You pass out with a smile.

San snaps out of his euphoria when you go limp in his arms, his own heart racing as yours grows fainter, slowing down until he can barely sense your weak pulse. Panic grabs at his throat as your pulse continues to fade, along with your shallow breaths.

“N-no, wait,” he stutters, sitting upright and taking your feeble body with him, clutched tightly against his chest. “Don’t— no—”

Cold dread trickles down his spine, freezing his newly imbued blood. Mindless, San presses frantic kisses against the wound on your neck, like he can return all he drank from you. Too much, he took too much. He can’t hear your heart anymore over the hammering of his own, guilt rippling through him with nauseating waves. He hasn’t killed any prey in decades, and you are so so much more than mere prey. Fuck.

“Don’t go, don’t go, I’ll do better,” he chokes, brushing his knuckles over your cheek. “I’ll take care of you, I promise, promise. J-just don’t go. I’ll keep you safe, please don’t go.”

San nuzzles into the crook of your shoulder with a soft whine, his eyes prickling. He fucked up. He fucked up. Tonight, the most perfect creature fell straight in his lap and he instantly lost you again to his own brutal impulses.

His arms tighten around you, willing you back to him — and some part of you must have listened, a weak moan escaping past your lips.

San’s heart soars as you blink at him with bleary eyes, unfocused and confused. You try to move, but San shakes his head, keeping you in place. “Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he reassures, squeezing his arms. “You’re back, you’re okay.”

He breaths heavily, but slowly calms as he hears your heartbeat again. Weak, but hanging on.

San has always prided himself on his self-control. On his ability to feed with discipline. To know when he needs to release his prey back into the world. That’s the way of things, how it has always been.

He can’t. He can’t let go of you, ever again.

You stare up at San with shaky eyes, but there is no fear in them, no anguish over your close brush with death; still safely enveloped in the comforting influence of San’s pheromones. How could he ever take that safety away from you? No, no it’s better you stay by his side. You need to stay.

“I’ll do better,” San promises, gently kissing your temple. “You’re safe, you’re safe now. I’ll take real good care of you, okay? You’re right where you belong. Always.”

[0cta9on]

For The Cameras

Length: +6k words

Genre: Fluff

IVE Gaeul x Male Reader

(Author's Note: Thank you to the buyer for purchasing this commission! If you are interested in purchasing a commission from me or simply want to leave a little tip, read this post first and then head on over to my ko-fi page!)

【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★

Somehow, despite this strange man you’ve never met before snaking his hands through your shirt, all you can think about is what you’re going to say to her. Will a simple “hello” suffice? Should you open with an old inside joke? A cliche “long time, no see”? Will she even remember you after all these years?

“Dude,” the strange man mutters, his deadpan eyes staring at you, but not quite looking at you.

“O-oh, sorry. Were you saying something?” you ask nervously.

“I need you to speak into the mic to check if it’s working properly,” he says, pointing at the collar of your shirt.

You peer down and notice a black fuzzy ball sticking out from your collar. If he hadn’t pointed it out to you beforehand, you would have definitely jumped and made yourself look like an even bigger fool than you probably already do. “R-right. Uh, hello? One, two, three, testing?”

He looks back at a man some distance away, fiddling with knobs on a small black box as he listens to your audio through his chunky headphones. A tense moment passes before he flashes a thumbs up in your direction.

“All right, you’re all good,” he utters before walking off without another word, leaving you completely stranded amidst this flurry of chaos. Screaming children running around, the distant rumble of roller coasters, a food stand selling trendy overpriced products every two steps—normal things you would see at an amusement park. What’s not normal is the couple dozen people around you handling all kinds of expensive-looking camera and audio equipment. If you had to bet, the fuzzy little ball clipped to your collar probably costs more than your rent.

You had no idea what you were getting into when you first signed up for that fan event. Winning a chance to film a variety show with a member of IVE seemed too good to be true, but after you found out that you would be filming it with her, entering the event was a no-brainer. By some stroke of luck, you’re now here in the middle of an amusement park, all but abandoned while jolly children’s songs and the incessant beeping of walkie-talkies makes it difficult to hear yourself think.

“Hey you!” A booming voice somehow cuts through all the noise, and you suddenly find yourself face to face with another man you’ve never met before. Unlike everyone else, however, he seems much more relaxed, even happy to be here. Despite his bulging muscles barely contained in his Hawaiian shirt, his steps are lightweight and peppy compared to the scrambling of footsteps of his subordinates, and the wrinkles outlining his wide smile are a testament to his years of experience in… whatever it is that he does.

You let out a sigh of relief as his demeanor puts you at ease in an instant. “Hello, sir,” you greet him.

He forcefully takes your hand into a firm handshake, almost jerking your arm out of its socket. “I’m Mr. Park, I’m the production director of today’s shoot!” he says, his voice loud and boisterous. “You must be our star for today!”

“I-I wouldn’t say that,” you mutter bashfully.

“Nonsense!” he guffaws. “I just wanna give you a quick little rundown of what we’re gonna be filming today. Basically, you’re just gonna go around the amusement park, hang out and talk with the idol, maybe even flirt a bit, y’know, play it up for the cameras.” Mr. Park punctuates his explanation with a hearty chuckle and a friendly elbow to your rib. What a guy.

“Uh, yeah, sure, I can do that—”

Suddenly, he pulls you close, donning a deathly serious expression that sends a chill down your spine. “If you do anything to ruin today’s shoot, I have a six foot hole in the middle of the woods with your name on it, if you catch my drift.”

Before you even have time to process what he said, Mr. Park walks off like nothing happened, his pearly whites gleaming as if he didn’t just threaten to end you moments before. You figured there would be some oddballs in this industry, but you didn’t expect it to be this insane. If things are like this after barely an hour here, you can only imagine what her daily life is like.

“There she is!” You hear Mr. Park’s voice in the distance as a group of burly men all clad in black approaches the set. Judging by their appearance, you can tell that they’re bodyguards, which means the person their protecting is—

“Hello, Mr. Park! It’s nice to see you again!” The two bodyguards at the front part, giving way for Gaeul to walk through and shake hands with Mr. Park. Your breath catches in your throat at the mere sight of her and all the greetings you’ve rehearsed in your head all morning flutter away like butterflies.

You suddenly feel like a little kid again, waiting at her front door so the two of you can go look for frogs or build a castle out of anything you could find in the forest near your houses. Before she was Gaeul, one of the stars of IVE and adored by billions of people around the world, she was simply Gaeul, your best friend that was never afraid to get her hands dirty for the sake of adventure. She was the girl that made your world feel a little less lonely.

And yet, despite her being right in front of you for the first time in years, the distance between you has never felt so far.

As Gaeul and Mr. Park approaches you, you inhale a shaky breath, trying your best to calm your nerves.

“...and this gentleman over here,” Mr. Park explains as he gestures towards you, “is the lucky fan who you’ll be spending the day with!”

You catch her eyes, and for a moment, everything around you seems to vanish. You know deep in your gut that it’s her, but she looks so… beautiful. Instead of the oversized hand-me-downs from her brother, she’s wearing clothes that actually fit her properly—a flower top, a pink cardigan, and a frilly black skirt that shows off her legs in a way that baggy cargo shorts never could. Her hair and makeup is perfectly and meticulously done up, you would mistake her for a doll if you walked by her too fast. Every trace of the Gaeul you once knew is gone—except for her eyes and the way they still light up when they meet yours.

“H-hi,” you stutter, extending a trembling hand towards her. “It’s, uh, nice to meet you.”

She pauses, glancing down at your hand before looking back up at your eyes. A smile creeps up on her glossy lips, and then the scent of strawberry shampoo assaults your senses in the most pleasant way possible as she wraps her arms around your neck in a warm embrace.

“It’s nice to see you again, small fry,” she says softly.

In a past life, you would’ve been annoyed by that silly little nickname—it’s not your fault that your growth spurt hit you later than hers did—but hearing it after so long fills you with an immense amount of happiness that you can’t quite describe. She still remembers you.

“Ehem,” Mr. Park clears his throat, reminding you of the involuntary audience witnessing your reunion. With heat racing towards your cheeks, you reluctantly free Gaeul from your arms. “Do, uh, do you two know each other?”

“He was my best friend back in middle school before I became a trainee,” she explains, beaming. ”We were inseparable back then.”

Mr. Park approaches you, his expression growing dark just like it did before. “Kid…” he mumbles, his voice low. Suddenly, he grabs onto your shoulder with a vice-like grip and lifts you off the ground until your legs are dangling helplessly in the air.

“U-uh, Mr. Park? W-what are you—”

“You. Are. A. Godsend!” he exclaims, now back to his cheery self. “This’ll be great for ratings! I can see the headlines now: ‘IVE’s Gaeul reunites with childhood friend after he wins a fan event!’ If I wasn’t happily married to my wife of seven years, I would kiss you right now!” Finally, he drops you back on your feet and hurriedly struts away, yelling at the staff members. “Let’s get this show on the road, folks! Time is money and I don’t wanna lose a single penny!”

Gaeul pats your shoulder, not even trying to stifle a laugh at your bewildered expression. “Are you alright? Mr. Park has a few screws loose, but I promise you he’s nice.”

Her touch immediately puts you at ease as you let out a chuckle of your own. “Well, my dignity is at an all time low, but what’s new?”

If you had to embarrass yourself in front of a member of IVE, at least it’s the one that’s already seen you at your absolute worst. Like no time has passed at all, the two of you slip back into comfortable patterns of banter. There’s so much you want to tell her. Milestones she missed, horrific first dates, and a plethora of other Gaeul-less memories that you know she’ll tease you for.

“I still can’t believe it’s you, small fry,” she says. “You look great.”

“I’m not sure if you can call me that anymore,” you playfully shoot back. Getting your growth spurt before she went off to be an idol would’ve saved you a childhood of torment by her hand, but hey, better late than never.

“Oh whatever, I’ll call you whatever I damn want to.”

With a smirk, she walks off as Mr. Park calls on the two of you to get ready for filming. You always imagined your reunion to be a little more peaceful, maybe on a random chilly evening at a coffee shop, but the specifics don’t matter to you. What matters is that Gaeul is finally here, right in front of you.

You can finally do what you failed to do back in middle school.

______________________________________________________________

You’re wise enough to know that not everything you see on these kinds of shows is real, but you never realized just how scripted it all is. From the activities you do to the things you say, you feel more like a robot following commands than a regular person spending the day at an amusement park. Gaeul takes everything in stride, seemingly used to this kind of environment, but not having the freedom to properly speak to Gaeul leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

“Listen up, you two!” Mr. Park calls out from behind the camera. “You’re gonna look through the gift shop, try some things on, give a few compliments, big reactions y’know, really play it up for the camera and whatnot. Oh, and Gaeul?”

“Yes?” She tilts her head.

“Keep calling him that little nickname, uh ‘teeny fry’ or whatever it is.”

She cracks a little smirk in your direction. “Sure thing, Mr. Park.”

You sigh, masking your dismay with a neutral expression. “Why are we going to the gift shop first? Isn’t this what people do last?” you ask Gaeul.

She responds with a simple shrug. “I’ve learned not to question things and just go with the flow.”

“Huh?” You dramatically gasp in faux shock. “Are you sure you’re the Gaeul I know? Because I’m pretty sure I remember you annoying the substitute teacher with questions about frogs until they stormed out in the middle of class.”

“That’s different!” she exclaims. “Besides, that was so long ago, I’m basically a different person now.”

“Yeah, I noticed. You actually dress like a girl now.”

“Oh my god, don’t even remind me!” Her cheeks turn a cherry red as memories of her tragic middle school fashion choices come back to haunt her. “It’s a miracle that I even got casted in the first place looking like that.”

You let out a laugh. “You look good now though. Seriously.”

“Just good?” Gaeul says, offended. She steps back and gives you a little twirl, showcasing her entire outfit in all its glory. “Last time you saw me, I was wearing my brother’s old cargo shorts, and you’re telling me that I only look good?!”

“I-I didn’t— I mean…” There’s so many things you want to say, words and phrases rehearsed over years of imagining what your reunion would be like. Finally, you have the opportunity to say it out loud to her face. So just say it.

“Y-you look bea—”

“ALRIGHT, PLACES EVERYBODY!!!’ Mr. Park shouts. Before you can finish your thought, Gaeul hurries to her spot where the director told the two of you to start. You shake your head, coming to your senses and following her to your spot. Not great timing, but there will be other chances later.

Once the cameras start rolling, the two of you enter the gift shop, looking around at all the overpriced products the shop has to offer. T-shirts, headbands, hats, mini figurines of the amusement park’s mascot, just about anything a child could want and a parent would dread to buy. Like Mr. Park instructed, you do your best to give off big reactions, but frankly, this place is the least exciting part about going to an amusement park. Gaeul, on the other hand, plays it off like a true professional.

“Wow, look at this place!” she exclaims, her voice an octave higher than her regular speaking voice. “Oh my gosh, everything is so cute!”

“Y-yeah, wow! So cute!” you awkwardly parrot. Thankfully, the cameras are mainly following Gaeul, so your poor attempts at acting go unnoticed by the crew.

Gaeul takes one of the shirts off the hangers and puts it to your chest. “What do you think about this shirt, small fry? I’ll buy it for you if you want!” she says, punctuating her statement with a wink.

You chuckle in an attempt to hide the heat creeping up your face. “I’d rather launch myself into the sun than wear that ugly shirt,” you quip.

“CUT!” Mr. Park barks. “Hey kid, the park is allowing us to film here for a discounted fee, so maybe don’t talk bad about their merchandise.”

“A-ah… Right, sorry…”

Gaeul stifles a chuckle, putting the shirt back on the hanger. “It’s okay, they can just edit that part out,” she says in an attempt to console you. Unlike seconds before, her voice is back down to her usual tone.

“Uh, why are you doing that thing with your voice?” you ask.

“What thing?” She stares at you with a curious expression, one that holds not even a hint of joking.

“Uh… Nevermind.” Like she said, learn not to question things.

“Alright, let’s try this again, without the sass this time,” Mr. Park says, gesturing specifically to you. “Action!”

In an instant, Gaeul springs back into her idol persona, cheerfully skipping through each aisle and pointing out every little thing. “I wish I could buy everything in the store!”

“You probably could with your net worth,” you instinctively joke. Remembering what happened before, your eyes peer carefully towards Mr. Park, who thankfully smirks at your little jest. Relieved, you decide to do what he said before and try some “flirting”.

You grab a frog headband from one of the shelves and hand it to Gaeul. “Why don’t you try this on? I think it would look cute on you.” Something about talking to her this way leaves an odd, warm feeling in your stomach. Not bad, per se, but different.

She takes the headband from you and tries it on. “What do you think, small fry?” she asks, posing more for the cameras than for you. “Am I stealing your heart with this look? 

A rush of heat floods your head at her idol fan service. It’s not the first time you’ve seen her do this kind of thing, but there’s a huge difference in seeing it through a screen and seeing it in person, directed right at you. You thought you would cringe or laugh, but you’re not even sure how to react anymore with the pounding of your heart in your ears.

“U-uh, sure, yeah, whatever…” you mutter. You expected a witty comeback from her, poking fun at your barely coherent mumblings, but instead, you feel Gaeul’s arm link with yours as she pulls you towards one of the mirrors hanging on the walls. In all the confusion, she somehow managed to put a dog headband on your head.

“Ah, we look so cute!” she exclaims, her high-pitched voice ringing in your ears. 

You stare back at the reflection, forgetting all about the cameras as you take in every single detail. Gaeul linking her arms with yours, smiling at you with that silly little frog headband on. It’s almost as if you’re looking into a portal to an alternate universe where Gaeul never moved away. Where the two of you ended up as a… couple.

That warm feeling fills your stomach at the thought—but this time, it’s mixed with guilt. Gaeul never accomplished her dreams in that universe, and for what? Sure, you get more time with her and grow up alongside her, but she doesn’t become that big star that she always dreamed about being. There’s no point in clinging onto “what if’s”. Life played out like this and now you have to accept it.

“Hey.” Gaeul nudges your side, her voice back down to its usual octave. Her eyes gaze at you with worry. “You alright? Mr. Park yelled ‘cut’ a minute ago.”

You shake your head, ridding yourself of stray thoughts. “Y-yeah, I’m fine,” you reassure her. “Being in front of cameras has got me a little nervous, I guess.”

“Don’t worry about it, you’re doing great. Nice job playing it up for the cameras,” she compliments before walking off to the next filming location.

Yeah… Just for the cameras…

______________________________________________________________

The ferris wheel stands high and mighty, casting long shadows on the park grounds. It is the quintessential amusement park ride that everyone loves, including you. Stuck in a small, cramped box high in the sky, with a perfect view of the setting sun, it’s all so… romantic.

Scratch that thought from your mind. You’re not here for any ulterior motives other than filming this show and catching up with an old friend. That’s it. Nothing else. 

“So, obviously we can’t fit an entire camera crew in one of those boxes, so we went ahead and fitted it with some cameras and mics to properly capture everything,” Mr. Park explains to you and Gaeul. “Just do what I said—act natural, big reactions—and everything should be smooth sailing from here.” Sounds contradictory, but you’re not about to talk back to a guy that threatened to bury you deep in the woods.

After he finishes explaining, the ride attendant helps you and Gaeul into the ride, and you begin your ascent into the sky. It feels like cruel irony, finally getting the chance to spend alone time with Gaeul, but not actually getting to spend alone time with her.

With a sigh, you muster up the biggest fake smile you can and start to act. “Wow, ferris wheels are so fun, I can’t wait to—”

“You can drop the act now,” Gaeul chuckles.

Your head tilts in curiosity. “What do you mean? Didn’t Mr. Park say that—”

“I convinced some of the crew to turn off the cameras this time around,” she explains. “We’ll have to ride again and play up the reactions, but for this time at least, we can just talk.”

You let out a sigh of relief and slump back into your seat. Finally. “Thank God for your influence, I don’t know if I could keep up the acting.” She smiles, mimicking your movements and lazing against the seat across from you. “Yeah, that’s probably one of the things I like least about this job.”

“Man, it must be tiring putting on a mask every single day for the cameras.”

She shrugs. “It could be worse. At least I get to do this with you, small fry.” Gaeul flashes a bright smile at you, and unlike the smile she dons while the cameras are rolling, you can feel the genuine warmth travel from across the booth. “So, have you been after all this time? I’m sure you have a bunch of stories from the years we’ve been apart.”

“So many,” you reply. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“How about high school? I never got to properly experience it for myself, y’know.”

“Right, wow, okay.” You sit up, barely able to contain your excitement at the chance to properly talk about things with her. “So, freshman year, I—”

“Is that the first one?”

“Yeah, it’s the first one,” you answer, chuckling at her curious expression. “So, freshman year, it’s a new school, whole bunch of new people, and obviously you weren’t around anymore, so I decided to join a school club.”

“Wow, really? You were basically attached to my hip all throughout middle school, I never thought you’d actually go out of your way to join a club,” she teases. “What club was it?”

“It was, uh…” You clear your throat, suddenly feeling very embarrassed under her gaze. “...the esports club.” You brace yourself for the incoming barrage of mockery and laughter, but instead, you’re met with Gaeul’s eyes brightening with awe.

“That makes so much sense, you always were good at video games!” she compliments. “How was it, were you any good?”

With your ego now inflated, you smirk and cross your arms. “Not to brag, but I did carry my team to 2nd place of the state championships,” you boast.

“Hey, that’s amazing!”

You can hear it in her voice, plain as day, that there’s not a hint of sarcasm or malice behind her words—she’s genuinely impressed by your silly little esports accolades. Being part of that club did little to boost your popularity and only served to make you the target of some bullying, but it was also some of your most cherished memories from high school. When you felt lost navigating that new environment without Gaeul, that club was the only thing keeping you together.

“Oh, I have to ask—what were school dances like?” Gaeul inquires, a glint of curiosity in her eyes.

You let out a heavy sigh as you think about all the bad experiences at each school dance. If the esports club was the highest high of your high school days, then school dances were your lowest lows.

“They were… not great. For me, at least. I was probably an outlier for that kind of thing,” you mutter, sinking back into your seat as the weight of those awful experiences pulls you down.

“Oh… sorry,” Gaeul says, your gaze drifting to the side. “Why, did you have a bad date or something?”

“I had no date, Gaeul. I was in the esports club,” you clarify. “Besides, I never bothered trying to ask out a girl during high school anyways.”

“Why not? You’re a nice guy, I’m sure any girl would’ve been lucky to go out with you!” she exclaims.

You chuckle. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but there wasn’t really anyone I wanted to ask to a school dance.”

“Really? Not a single person you had a crush on?” She leans into you with curiosity, not realizing the proximity of your faces. You can see every single detail of the visage that you grew up with, analyzing how much has changed and yet still stayed the same. Those big, round eyes that light up when you mention frogs or crack a clever joke. The puff of her cheeks every time  she tries—and fails—to hold in a laugh. The curve of her pretty lips whenever she calls you “small fry”. Remnants of your childhood together, still visible on the face you haven’t stopped thinking about ever since she left.

You lean back in your seat, the lack of space becoming too overwhelming. “I-I, um…”

“Aha! You did have a crush on someone!” she shouts excitedly. “Who was it? You better tell me their name, or else!”

“U-uh, h-her name? Um… Uh… A-autumn,” you sputter out nervously, too frazzled to think straight. Great job, you idiot. ‘Autumn”? Now she’s gonna know that you have a crush on—

“What a pretty name! Was she cute?”

“Huh?” Dumbfounded, you decide to take it and roll with it. “Uh, I mean, yeah, she was cute.”

“What was she like?”

“She was…” You pause, collecting your thoughts. The ferris wheel nears its peak as rays of sunset peek through the window, lighting up your carriage with an evening glow. “She was unimaginably amazing. She was strong and confident and determined and never let anyone’s words affect her. Whatever she wanted to accomplish, she could do it and make it look easy. She was also incredibly kind and hilarious and curious about the world around her, always asking questions with this admirable crave for more knowledge. And she was…”

At last, your carriage is lifted to the highest point of the ferris wheel. Like a spotlight, the setting sun projects the last of its light onto Gaeul’s face, illuminating her like the star that she was born to be. Mother nature paints her with the most beautiful shades of golden brown, casting an aura that only you get the luxury of seeing.

“...she’s beautiful.”

“Wow,” Gaeul breathes. The light from the sunset fades as it falls behind the horizon, yet Gaeul continues to glow with an aura that only you can see. “You must have really liked her, huh?”

“Y-yeah, I did…” you utter softly. “...but it was never gonna work out. She had big things planned, and I was always too nervous to ask her out anyways, so… it’s whatever.”

“That sucks.” She leans her head against the window and takes a deep breath. The excitement she held in her expression earlier disappears, revealing something more real, more vulnerable. “I’m actually kinda jealous of you, y’know.”

“Really? Why?”

She sighs. “I never got to experience any of that for myself—clubs, dances, crushes… all of it. Once I became a trainee, every single day was dedicated to training, with barely any time for fun or enjoyment or a social life. Some days, we’d barely even have time to eat or sleep.”

You always saw Gaeul as this bright ball of energy, even when she was on your screen as IVE’s Gaeul. To see her like this is something else entirely.

“When things were the hardest, I’d think about you,” she says, a melancholic grin growing on her lips. “I’d think about all the fun adventures we had and imagine all the new adventures we could’ve had. I wondered what you were doing, if you were even thinking about me…”

Every single day.

“I’d pray that when I wake up the next morning, I would be back in my old bedroom and you would be waiting outside my door like you always did, and then we’d run off to the forest and do whatever we wanted. No expectations, no late nights, just pure freedom.”

The urge to comfort her makes your heart ache. You want to hold her in your arms and tell her what you really feel. Tell her that the day she left was the day that your entire world came crashing down. Tell her to take your hand and run away with you, live the life that you’ve been dreaming of since you were kids. Tell her how much she means to you and that you never want to be away from her again.

But you don’t. You bite your tongue, suppressing all the feelings threatening to bubble up. She worked hard to get where she is, pouring blood, sweat, and tears into the dream she’s been talking about since the two of you were kids. You’re not going to ruin that for her just for your own selfish reasons.

“On the bright side, look where you are now!” you say in an attempt to cheer her up. “World famous Kpop star, loved by billions all over the world. A-and I turned out okay too, so, y’know… Everything is good.” Despite your attempt to sound cheerful, the weight of your true feelings seeps into your words. The carriage fills with a heavy tension that hangs in the air.

“Yeah,” she mutters, her gaze falling to the darkening scenery outside. “Everything is just… great.”

______________________________________________________________

“ALRIGHT PEOPLE, LAST SCENE OF THE DAY! AFTER THE TEST RUN, WE ONLY HAVE ONE CHANCE, SO LET’S MAKE IT COUNT!” Mr. Park yells, his voice the epicenter of all the commotion.

After a couple more hours of rides and other attractions, it was time to finish filming the final part of the episode, the fireworks show. For the most part, the last couple hours of filming went smoothly, aside from the fact that Gaeul wouldn’t talk to you when the cameras weren’t rolling. The shift from her idol persona back to her regular self was eerie enough already, but seeing all that faux joy disappear the second Mr. Park yelled “cut” filled you with an all-new kind of dread. Is this it? Are you just going to finish filming and leave things like this, without knowing if you’ll ever get the chance to see her again?

You spot her in the distance, getting her makeup touched up by her makeup artist. The sea of frantic staff members never seems to end, but you push through anyway, determined to patch things up before the night ends.

“Gaeul!” you call out to her. “Can we ta—”

Her brick wall of a bodyguard stops you in your tracks with a firm grip on your shoulder.

“Ms. Gaeul would like to be left alone.”

“I just need to—Ah!” His grip tightens on your shoulder until you feel like it’s about to be ripped from its socket.

“I said, she wants to be left alone.”

You huff in frustration. “Look man, my best friend in the whole entire world is upset with me right now and I need to fix this, so would you please cut me some slack and let me talk to her for five fucking minutes!?” Despite the pain in your shoulder becoming borderline unbearable, you muster up the most threatening look you can. Thankfully, his grip on you loosens and your arm somehow doesn’t pop off from your body. Did he actually get scared by the look you gave him?

“It’s okay, Mr. Kim,” Gaeul says, walking out from behind him. Go figure. “I got it.”

Her bodyguard backs off, giving the two of you some space to talk. “Thanks, I was worried Mr. Park would have to CGI me a new arm,” you joke, trying to ease the tension. Gaeul’s lips curl slightly into a grin as she shakes her head at your dumb joke. It’s not much, but it’s progress. “Can we talk—”

“Follow me.” She walks off without another word, away from the filming location. Not wanting to get on her bad side again, you follow her in silence.

Gaeul leads you through the bustling crowds, down a narrow, unlit pathway tucked between two food stalls. The sounds of the park grow fainter with each step until all you can hear is your own breathing and the echo of your footsteps. As long as you’re able to clear the air with her, it doesn’t matter where she takes you. You’d gladly walk all the way to the ends of the Earth if it means you won’t part on bad terms.

Finally, Gaeul stops at a small, secluded lookout point. A sturdy railing, its paint chipped from years of wear and tear, stretches across the edge of the platform, offering a view of the whole amusement park below.

“Back when we were trainees, the company let us visit this exact amusement park as a reward for doing well on a monthly evaluation,” Gaeul explains, leaning against the railing. “We ended up finding this quiet little area. It gives the best view of the fireworks show.”

You take your spot next to her and look out at the park below. Multicolored lights dance freely in the night sky to the unpredictable tune of the park goers’ joyous screams. You can’t help but grin at the thought of a younger Gaeul being able to relive a piece of her childhood that she missed out on.

“It must have been a lot of fun,” you say.

“I wouldn’t really know.”

“Hm? What do you mean?” 

A pensive escapes her lips into the open air. “I mean, it was fun, but… I just couldn’t stop looking for your face in every person we passed by.”

“Oh.”

“While the others were watching the fireworks, I was looking down at the crowd, hoping that I could see you again.”

“I-I, uh… I’m sorry, Gaeul—”

She lets out a hollow snicker, the sound barely carrying any amusement—just exhaustion. “What do you have to be sorry for? I should be the one apologizing. Back in the ferris wheel, when you said that ‘everything is good’, I just… I don’t know, I just broke down. Hearing you say that made me feel like you… forgot about me.”

“Hey,” you utter gently, placing your hand on her shoulder. “It doesn’t matter how long it’s been; you’re my best friend, Gaeul. I would never forget about you. Not a day has gone by where I haven’t thought about you.”

She turns to you, a cute pout on her lips and her eyes glistening with tears. “Really?”

“Of course, dummy,” you chuckle. “And it’s kinda hard to forget you when I see you literally everywhere.”

Gaeul rests her head on your shoulder, her chest rising and falling with gentle laughter. “I’m sorry for being an idiot and ignoring you all day, small fry.”

Tentatively, you wrap your arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. “It’s okay. I’m just glad I was able to talk to you before the day ended.” You feel her snuggle into your side, the warmth from her body a thousand times better than you could ever imagine it. The pounding of your heart echoes in your ears, screaming at you to say something.

You gulp in an attempt to quell your nerves. “A-actually, I’ve also, uh, been an idiot today. There’s something I need to tell you that I should’ve told you earlier.”

She shifts to look up at you, her eyes beaming like stars in the night sky. “What is it?”

“I-I, um… Gaeul, I—”

A ball of fire shoots upwards into the sky and bursts into a sparkling flurry of bright red. More follow soon after, whizzing past and painting the indigo sky with an array of colors. Gaeul excitedly climbs up the railing to get a better view, her expression filling up with a joy more genuine than any reaction she showed in front of the cameras. 

Your heart aches as you look up at her—you love her. You love her so much that you want to scream it from the top of your lungs until your voice grows hoarse. Today could be the last time you ever see her. You need to tell her. Forget about all the consequences and just say it.

Gaeul turns to look down at you, a smirk playing on her lips. “This angle seems a bit familiar, don’t you think?” she teases, ruffling your hair. The chilly night air enters your lungs. Every color of the rainbow reflects against her perfect skin. All caution is thrown to the wind.

You push yourself onto your tippy toes and press your lips against hers.

The kiss couldn’t have been more than a second, just a mere peck, but the feeling still lingers on your lips like electricity. A long moment passes with nothing but the crackling of fireworks filling the space between you. The overwhelming heat against your cheeks makes it nearly impossible to make out her reaction. Is she disgusted? Upset? Angry?

Yet, all of your worries melt away as Gaeul falls into your arms, capturing your lips in hers once again. Years of pining and waiting, watching her fancams until the ungodly hours of the night, showing support for her in any way you can without ever knowing if she’ll notice your efforts, all of it culminates into that sweet, tender kiss. Tomorrow brings a plethora of unknown challenges, but all that matters is right now, in each other’s arms where you’ve been dying to be.

You break the kiss for a moment, a truth you’ve been waiting to release resting on your tongue. “Gaeul, I love you—”

“I know,” she interrupts, her voice light and airy. “I love you too, small fry. So, so, so much.”

Your lips break into a smile so wide your cheeks start to ache. “Not that I’m complaining, but how did you know—”

“Autumn? Really?” she teases, her hands cupping your cheek. “You might as well have confessed to me in that ferris wheel.”

You sink your face into her touch, treasuring every second of warmth. “I wish I did. Maybe then we would’ve had more time to be like this before we have to say goodbye.”

“I’m never, ever leaving your side again, you hear me? The company will just have to deal with it.”

You let yourself get lost in her lips once again, with no intention of ever finding your way back. The road ahead will no doubt be filled with hardships and uncertainties, but there’s no one else you would rather start this adventure with than the girl that made your world a little less lonely. 

[4linos]

empty words

hwang hyunjin x fem!reader

synopsis: you thought you’d tell him about the pregnancy with excitement, but his cold rejection shatters your hopes. Now, with everything crumbling, you must figure out how to move forward.

warnings: asshole!!! hyunjin, pregnancy/pregnant mentions, huge argument & just overall really angsty.

wc: 1338

You sat on the edge of the bed, the test still warm in your hands, its small white stick almost mocking you as it proved everything you'd been afraid to admit. Positive. You knew it deep down, didn't you? The nausea, exhaustion, and little, subtle changes in your body. But seeing it in black and white made you feel as if the world had stopped. Your heart raced in your chest, a deafening thrum that overshadowed everything else. You'd imagined this moment numerous times before, but none of them matched the crushing sense of terror and uncertainty that gripped you right now.

What were you going to do? You didn't even know where to start. You'd hoped to start a family with him someday. Hyunjin. You imagined him holding the test, his face beaming with excitement, making plans and talking about everything you two could do to prepare. But now that you saw the reality of the situation, you're afraid.

How would he react? Would he be happy? Or would he be disappointed? Will he panic and push you away? Your mind swirled with questions, each one more pressing than the previous. You thought that, whatever happened, the two of you would be able to handle it together. You've always been able to handle things right? But now, with the test in your hand, everything seemed uncertain, as though a single word from him could shatter everything.

You shook your head, trying to focus. You couldn’t let this news get to you before you even told him. He’d be home soon, and you needed to figure out how to tell him.

You hid the test in the drawer and closed it, trying to push it to the back of your mind. Dinner. You should focus on dinner. You still had some time, so maybe you could make something nice, something that would ease the tension. You wanted everything to be perfect when he walked through the door, so you could tell him with some semblance of normality, of calmness. He would be okay, wouldn’t he?

But when the door clicked open, it was anything but normal. The usual excitement you felt when you heard his footsteps in the hallway was gone. It was like the air had changed, a heaviness settling between you before he even entered the room. He didn’t greet you with the usual teasing smile, didn’t ask about your day or tell you how much he missed you. Instead, he walked in, his face drawn, tight with something you couldn’t place. The warmth you were used to was completely absent.

"Hey, love, how was your day?" you asked, a little too cheerfully, hoping he would smile and make everything feel okay again.

He didn’t. Instead, he just grunted, his gaze flicking toward you briefly before he turned away, walking past you without saying a word.

"Do you want to have dinner now?" you asked, trying to fill the silence, trying to make things feel normal, even though everything in you screamed that nothing was normal. "I was thinking about making something, maybe pasta or—"

He scoffed, cutting you off. "You didn’t make anything?" His voice was sharp, colder than you’d ever heard it.

The words hit you like a blow in the face. You got so preoccupied with thinking about whether or not to take the test, swirling fear and anticipation, that you had entirely forgotten about dinner. You felt an overwhelming sense of shame come over you, yet it was nothing compared to how his words made you feel. You instantly looked down at the floor, avoiding his eyes, wishing you could just break down the tension in the air.

"I forgot," you confessed slowly, your voice small.

His expression darkened. Without saying anything, he turned toward the kitchen, his footsteps heavy and irritating. "I'll make something for myself," he murmured under his breath, turning away from you to begin gather food from the refrigerator. You stood there for a moment, watching him walk with displeasure with each stride.

Something within you stirred. Something was not right. You hadn't seen him this off in a long time. "Hyunjin, are you okay?" You tried again, your voice softer this time, and stepped closer to him, your heart racing in your chest. "You’re been acting distant... Is everything alright?

He didn’t turn around, but you saw his jaw tighten. His hands moved faster, the sounds of him grabbing pots and pans harsh against the stillness. Then, he scoffed again, this time louder, more frustrated. "I’m tired of everything," he muttered, not looking at you, his voice low but heavy with frustration.

"What?" You didn’t know if you had heard him correctly. Your breath caught in your throat as your chest tightened, a wave of dread flooding over you. You took a step closer. "What did you say?"

Hyunjin turned to face you then, his eyes cold, a deep frown etched on his face. "I said I’m tired of you. Tired of this. Tired of everything. The relationship. Everything about it. It’s been building up, and I just… I don’t know anymore." His voice was sharp, cutting through you like a knife. The words hit you harder than you had imagined.

Your legs went weak, but you held yourself upright, willing your body to stay steady. "What do you mean?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, like you were afraid that if you spoke too loudly, the fragile piece of reality you were holding onto would shatter.

"Hyunjin, you’re not making sense. This isn’t… you."

His gaze turned even colder, and he looked at you like you were a stranger. "I’m suffocated," he spat. "I can’t do this anymore. I can’t breathe when I’m with you. Everything feels like it’s just… weighing me down. I’m done."

The words struck you like a stab to the chest. Your breath caught, and the world around you started spinning. You wanted to scream, ask why, and beg him to stay. You couldn't lose him like way. But the hurt in his eyes and the finality in his tone told you it was already over. You swallowed hard, tears welling up in your eyes, but you held them back. Not yet.

"Hyunjin…" you muttered, struggling to maintain your voice. "What are you saying?" "You want us to break up?" He nodded, without a trace of emotion on his face. "Yes," he responded, almost coldly. "I don't want this anymore. You can keep everything, the apartment, all the stuff; I don't care. I just need out. I need to be alone."

A heavy silence hung between you, the weight of his words settling like a thick fog around you. You opened your mouth to say something, anything, to make this make sense, but the words wouldn’t come.

You can’t leave. You can’t do this to me.

But instead, you just choked on your breath, the sting of tears becoming unbearable.

"You want to leave," you whispered quietly, the finality of your words making your throat ache. "Then go." You did not want to show him how much he was hurting you just yet. You didn't want him to see the brokenness in your eyes. Hyunjin didn't hesitate. He grabbed his jacket and keys and proceeded toward the door without saying anything.

The slam of the door as he left rang around the room like a bullet punctured the air. You slumped to the floor, your body trembling, tears finally spilling freely as you held your stomach, your hand reflexively pressing against the growing life inside you.

The sobs wracked through you, each one pulling at your chest as you sat alone. You had pictured a future where the two of you were making a life together, but it seemed so far away. You'd never felt so small and alone.

"Why?" you cried into the emptiness.

And then, as your hand rested over your belly, you whispered, through your tears, "I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to do this alone."

//

[revelboo]

I'm waiting very impatiently for my boy. I will have an army of Waves.

Nice! Copter Wasp arrived today. I’m dying that they gave him a crotch stinger, though

Worker Bee Pt 18

Waspinator x Reader

• Swearing you grab at the electrical cord for the microwave to unplug because it’s smoking and sparking. And then you’re swearing because the cord is so hot it burns your palm. Grabbing a dish towel and yanking the plug loose, then turning to snatch the sprayer head for the sink, cranking the water on full blast and hosing the microwave down in a sort of mute panic. Aware of Waspinator lingering in the doorway, servos clasped together and thankfully keeping out of the way. Also aware of the fire alarm still screaming as your burned palm manages to break through the adrenaline kick.

• You’re just standing there staring at the little, food box and you release the sprayer suddenly to send it banging as it retracts back into place. And his antenna flatten back waiting for the anger. Had only been trying to prove he can take care of you. Had put your food things from the cold box in the small one. Added some of the snacks you call spoons for good measure and had made it beep and hum like you do. But it has gone wrong. “Little friend?” It’s then he notices your hand. How red and shiny your palm is.

• He’s right there when you turn, servos reaching and you walk past him, grabbing the broom from by the fridge and aggressively stabbing at the fire alarm until you knock it loose, and bending to awkwardly fumble the battery out of it with one hand. You’re definitely feeling the burn now, can’t close your fingers, skins feeling tight and throbbing with your heartbeat. And you’re pretty sure you’re about to start bawling again. Feel one of his hands catch at the back of your shirt. “I can’t right now, okay?”

• “Little friend hurt,” he insists, catching your wrist in his other hand to examine your hand. And your eyes are blank as you stare at him. “Waspinator trying to help.” Why does he always get things wrong? Knows something is wrong with him, that he doesn’t think quite right sometimes, but he tries. And it’s always wrong. Maybe he deserves to be hurt. Almost wishes you’d lash out instead of just looking at him like that.

• “It’s fine,” you insist, trying to tug free and freezing when he bends over your trapped hand, mandibles spreading and glossa sliding over your palm. Tensing for more pain. And surprised when the pain eases instead as he pins his antenna back and keeps laving your palm with his glossa. Numbing it somehow. Apparently bug breath has magic spit. Still disgusting even if you are slightly thankful for it. Those big optics flicking hesitantly up at you as his wings fidget. Calming enough to remember what he’d said before. About dating.

Previous

[layaispunk]

Teacher's pet

pairing: Professor!Joel Miller x Reader

summary: You fall asleep during Mr. Miller's class.

warnings: age gap (age not specified, but reader is in their 20s and joel is in his 40s), mentions of family conflict & insomnia, pet names, (darlin, sweetheart, honey)

wc: 1k

a/n: obviously ... inspired by the new pedrito content we got today

The low hum of Professor Miller’s voice filled the lecture hall, deep and steady, weaving through equations and theories about quantum superposition. He spoke with the kind of ease that only came from years of experience, his southern drawl giving life to concepts most people would struggle to grasp.

But you weren’t listening.

Your head rested against the cool surface of your desk, arms folded beneath it, as sleep tugged at your exhausted body. You hadn’t meant to drift off, but with the hall's dim lighting, the soft buzzing of electricity and Mr. Miller's voice ... it just happened. You hadn't properly slept in a while. Sleep didn’t come easy at home. It barely came at all.

And now, in the steady rhythm of Joel’s lecture, your body gave in.

You didn’t notice when his voice paused mid-sentence. Didn’t see the way his gaze lingered on you from across the room, brow furrowing. Most students in his class wouldn’t dare slack off - he had a reputation for being strict and demanding. But he knew this was different.

With a sigh, he set down the marker in his hand, rolling his shoulders before speaking again, this time a little softer.

"Alright, we're done for today. Don't forget about the test next week."

Students immediately began shuffling around, packing their thick quantum physics books in their backpacks. The shuffling of footsteps and quiet conversations faded together as everyone walked out the door.

Joel watched as students made their way out, but you haven't moved. While everyone else rushed to leave, you were sat there, with slacked posture, eyes shut on the table.

His jaw tightened. Something about it didn’t sit right with him. You were a good student, but you were struggling trying to keep up with everything lately, and he could tell you were burnt out. He leaned back against the blackboard full of scribbled physics drawings, as he quietly watched you. You were quiet- very smart, very hardworking, always paying attention. One of the few students who actually gave a damn about this class. Maybe that's why he'd taken a liking to you.

Not that he has favorites. But if he did ... well.

Joel took a deep breath and stepped closer, his boots tudding on the floorboards. He paused for a moment before crouching down beside you.

You stirred as he got closer, blinking up at him, eyes heavy, your cheeks crimson. He could see it now—the exhaustion in your slumped shoulders, the way you barely kept your head up.

He leaned in a little, his voice low, almost like a soft command. "Sweetheart, you with me?"

You blinked, your gaze unfocused at first. It took a few moments before your eyes finally cleared, slowly waking from the fog of sleep.

"Hey," Joel said quietly, not wanting to startle you. "You okay to drive home?"

You blinked again, looking up at him, and for a moment, you looked like you hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in days.

"Yeah," you said, voice barely above a whisper.

Joel raised an eyebrow. "You sure? I know we live pretty close ... I could take you home"

You hesitated, not wanting to accept his offer but not trusting yourself to drive in the state you were in. "Are you sure?"

"Ofcourse."

You nodded. "Okay. Thankyou, Mr. Miller."

Joel stood up, his eyes still locked on you. ‘Alright then. Let’s go.’

You took a deep breath, starting to gather your things, trying to shake off the fog that still clouded your mind. You moved slowly, packing up your notes and slipping them into your bag. Joel just stood there, arms crossed, watching you with somber eyes. He didn’t rush you - he knew better than that.

Finally, you stood up, your bag slung over your shoulder, as he gave you small nod, leading the way out of the classroom.

As you both stepped into the hallway, the silence between you felt heavy. Finally, Joel spoke, his voice low, barely above a whisper, "things bad at home again?"

You hesitated, feeling the weight of his question sink into you, but you shook your head slightly, eyes focused on the floor. "I don’t wanna talk about it."

Joel nodded, his respect for your boundaries clear in the way he didn’t push. His silence was enough.

When you reached his truck, Joel held the door open for you, waiting for you to slide in before he closed it softly. When he sat on the driver's seat and turned on the car, he cleared his throat. "If you want, you can ride to school with me tomorrow. Your car’s gonna be here, right?"

You nodded, still feeling disoriented. "Okay." You paused for a moment before asking, "Um, is there any chance I could stay in your class during lunch time?"

"To go over the material for next week's test?" he replied with a sarcastic tone. He knew you didn't need any tutoring for his class. You were his top student.

You raised your eyebrow, smirking. There was an unspoken communication between you two. You were completely transparent to him, and he knew why you wanted to sit with him during lunch time. He always knew. You had talked to him before, opened up about many things, mostly about the situation at home.

He offered that you could stay in his class as long as you like, and that he'd talk to the school counselor to excuse your attendance from other classes. You didn't like doing it often, because you hate feeling like a burden - though he had never made you feel like one.

He gave you a thoughtful look before answering. "'Course. You can hang around as much as you like, darlin'. We already talked about this."

You smiled, appreciating his offer more than he knew. You weren't sure how to thank him for everything.

After a few moments, you told him the exact street you lived at and before long, Joel was pulling into your driveway.

The streetlights casted a soft glow over the road, and when he stopped the truck, he turned to you, slowly, "I’ll wait for you here at 7:30 sharp tomorrow, alright?"

You nodded, smiling softly. "Thanks, Mr. Miller."

"Just Joel will do, honey. I'll see you tomorrow."

He gave you a small wink, watching you get out of the truck and walk toward your door.

He stayed still for a moment, eyes following you as you disappeared inside. Only then did he pull away, already planning on being there first thing tomorrow morning.

[kkentobox]

you’re an amazing writer!

sfw abc’s?

feel free to delete, no pressure!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀SFW ABC LIST! W/ JSCHLATT.

author’s note: thank you so much, my love! i hope i did you proud with this one <3 we got a gender neutral reader here! we also have a ted nivison nsfw and sfw abc list coming soon 😼 reblogs & likes are always appreciated! remember, do not steal or plagiarize any work belonging to kkentobox !

A + AFFECTION —- how affectionate are they? how do they show affection?

⠀⠀⠀⠀schlatt’s love languages are acts of service and quality time, i said what i said !! his affection always seems to revolve around those two, with the sprinkle of physical touch. he’ll tie your shoe laces when they come undone without a word. he’ll surprise you with a food and binge watch your favorite shows. he’ll take candid photos of you with the cameras he always carries. he’ll carry you with ease if you’re tired after walking too long. he’ll give you his phone without a worry as to why you want it. his actions say a lot more than he could ever express with words.

B + BEST FRIEND —- what would they be like as a best friend? how would the friendship start?

⠀⠀⠀⠀the friendship definitely forms through social media and from the beginning he’d be a pain in the ass. from spamming your phone at late hours with videos or teasing you about literally anything you do, especially if you’re a content creator. he’s definitely someone you can rely on during tough times and someone you can immediately go to when things don’t work out; he’ll be nice enough to offer solutions before comforting you.

C + CUDDLE —- do they like to cuddle? how would they cuddle?

⠀⠀⠀⠀schlatt is a huge cuddler! though it took him a while to actually admit and accept it, he physically melts when he’s in your arms. he feels very natural spooning you, but he would never put up a fight to be cuddled by you. whether he’s lying on top of you with his head in your neck or chest or being a little spoon, he’ll have a goofy look on his face.

D + DOMESTIC —- they want to settle down? how are they at cooking and cleaning?

⠀⠀⠀⠀schlatt being the classic american he is, does see himself settling down at some point. he doesn’t cook five star meals and has hired people to clean before, but he will step up his game for you if he sees a future with you. you’ll see him put more effort in grocery shopping with you, cleaning up the dishes if you cooked, accidentally getting on cleantok because he searched up helpful tips on cleaning.

E + ENDING —- if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?

⠀⠀⠀⠀he’s a very serious man about stuff like this, but he’d be blunt about it. he wouldn’t drag things on or sugarcoat anything, he’d cut straight to the point and just say what he’s already decided. it would be in the bedroom or living room where he can sit and properly look at you. he’d talk about how he came to the decision, what he’s feeling and apologize for doing it, but not feeling very sorry about it because ultimately it’s how he feels.

F + FIANCE(E) —- how do they feel about commitment? how quick would they want to get married?

⠀⠀⠀⠀schlatt is definitely someone who wants to take a relationship slow, he won’t put a ring on your finger in a year of being together. no longer than five years, but no earlier than two years for sure! something about him just gives off a very natural vibe, one where he kinda just lets everything fall into place on their own.

G + GENTLE —- how gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?

⠀⠀⠀⠀naturally with you, he’s very gentle with his physical touch. brushing your hair? he’s doing his best to not tug too harshly on the strands, kissing and whispering against your head if he accidentally hurt you. helping you with chores? he’ll roll up your sleeves or help you put your hair back. he’ll smooth over your clothes with soft hands in public without saying a word. often placing both of his palms against your cheeks to pucker up your lips, ready to place a lingering kiss.

⠀⠀⠀⠀emotionally, he tries his best to help you understand him. he knows how he is with communication and emotional intelligence, something he’s gotten better at since meeting you. though most of his emotions when it comes to you are always positive, there are moments where they aren’t; during those times, he still won’t take it out on you because he values your own wellbeing.

H + HUGS —- do they like hugs? how often do they do it? what are their hugs like?

⠀⠀⠀⠀i KNOW his hugs are the best thing in the world. with how big and broad he is, his body would wrap around yours just perfectly, like it was meant to be held by him. i can actually see him holding you very often in the privacy of your home, his arms lazily wrapped around your waist all the time like they’re glued there. when he’s talking to you, nine times out of ten, he’s all up in your space with a hug.

I + I LOVE YOU —- how fast do they say the L-word?

⠀⠀⠀⠀seeing as how it takes him a while to process and fully understand his emotions, he would definitely take his time with saying the l-word. he would feel it early in the relationship, but would overthink how you actually feel so he’d hold off on saying it for months. he might actually wait until he feels like you guys have reached a serious point in the relationship, but would still end up saying it in a very comfortable environment. maybe snuggled up on the couch watching a movie or getting ready to go out.

J + JEALOUSY —- how jealous do they get? what do they do when they’re jealous?

⠀⠀⠀⠀with feelings like his, he doesn’t always get jealous because normally you’re very quick to never let anything get to a point where it would make him jealous. but! let’s say he does get jealous for whatever reason, he doesn’t blame you ever. he’ll get a very strong urge to be possessive, give you a big kiss and grope you no matter if you’re in public. there are times where he just kind of wallows and gets quiet, feeling this ugly weight on his chest that doesn’t go away until you’ve given him enough kisses to get his mind off it.

K + KISSES —- what are their kisses like? where do they like to kiss you? where do they like to be kissed?

⠀⠀⠀⠀schlatt’s kisses are always very sweet but firm, just like his love for you! his favorite place to kiss you is your forehead, the habit coming natural to him because of his cats. he seemingly enjoys whenever you press a kiss against his cheek, especially near his chops. there are times in public or for filming purposes when he tends to get a little vulgar with his kisses just to fluster you. on plenty occasions, he’ll open mouth kiss you and hold you tight against him so you won’t move.. those would be my favorite idk about you guys.

L + LITTLE ONES —- how are they around children?

⠀⠀⠀⠀we have all seen how he acts around children, the man is a complete natural when it comes to kids. he’s very gentle, knows how to keep them entertained & is more than capable of keeping up with their attention span. i can definitely see him getting baby fever really bad, but it being cut short if he sees their boogers or something </3

M + MORNINGS —- how are mornings spent with them?

⠀⠀⠀⠀i am a firm believer that he likes to hit the snooze button as many times as he can, always trying to get those last few minutes of sleep in. he’ll hold on tight to you if you like to get up earlier than him, he refuses to let you go so you really have to beg him. his rosy cheeks and sleepy eyes never fail to lure you back in to the cozy bed.

⠀⠀⠀⠀once he’s gotten in those few minutes, he still won’t actually leave the bed until his tired mind realizes you’ve actually left, then he’s quick to get up to find you. mornings are usually when he’s the most clingy, having the tendency of rest his entire body on you even when you’re busy doing something. cooking breakfast? he’s got his arms around you, back flush against his chest as he mumbles into your hair that you should come back to bed. doing work? he’s sitting on the floor beside you so he’s at perfect height to rest his head on your lap.

N + NIGHTS —- how are nights spent with them?

⠀⠀⠀⠀schlatt likes to unwind before bed, what he prefers? watching you from bed as you prepare yourself for the night. attentive eyes memorizing your skincare routine, resting against the headboard as you walk around the room. sometimes when he’s missed you throughout the day, he’ll stand right behind you in the mirror and help you apply everything. holding your hair back rather than letting you tie it up, cleaning up your arms when the water dribbles down them, etc.

⠀⠀⠀⠀when you guys finally end up in bed, there’s quiet mumbles against each other’s skin in the darkness. the final whispers of the other’s day and how it went, what the plans are for tomorrow. i don’t see him taking up too much space on the bed in terms of moving, he prefers to keep himself wrapped around your body and just stays there throughout the night; shifting to your body movement in his slumber.

O + OPEN —- how would they start revealing things about themselves? do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?

⠀⠀⠀⠀privacy is something he values greatly, though he makes connections with people quickly, it takes him a while to reveal personal information. he doesn’t say anything until he truly believes he can trust you, then he’ll become more vulnerable. you’ll take note that he begins to share childhood stories, how he’s feeling mentally, his plans for the future, etc.

P + PATIENCE —- how easily angered are they?

⠀⠀⠀⠀schlatt’s online persona makes it seem like he would be quick to be angry, but i can see him being very patient. depending on the situation, how you guys got here & what the topic is about — he’ll be more calm on trying to have an adult conversation to work past things. however, during the rare moments where he’s more upset, he still wouldn’t dare yell at you, he’ll shut down instead after a couple minutes of arguing. he’s more firm than anything, trying to understand your feelings and thoughts, but if the conversation is leading you guys nowhere; he offers to take a walk with him in silence to gather your thoughts.

Q + QUIZZES —- how much would they remember about you? do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?

⠀⠀⠀⠀you would never guess he actually captures everything you tell him, but he has a very good memory! he’s always bringing up things that you had completely forgot you mentioned to him, like the one shampoo you told him you wanted to try months ago or the new restaurant you wanted to check out once it opened. looking through his notes on his phone, he has quick texts to himself of things you’ve recently mentioned or things he has on his to-do list like buy your cart on the website you’ve had opened for weeks.

R + REMEMBER —- what is their favorite moment in your relationship?

⠀⠀⠀⠀meeting his family is the first memory that comes to mind, being such an important milestone in your relationship that went flawlessly. his parents having loved you the second they opened the door, it warms his heart knowing how quickly you made such a special connection with his parents. he’ll be on the phone with his mother when she suddenly interrupts him asking if you’ve eaten for the day.

S + SECURITY —- how protective are they? how would they protect you? how would they like to be protected?

⠀⠀⠀⠀schlatt can actually be very protective over you, especially if you guys are at an event or around other content creators. of course, he lets you go off on your own to socialize, but he’ll always remain in eyesight to keep a close eye on your surroundings. in public, he likes to keep things minimal by keeping an arm around your shoulder, your arm wrapped around his or his hand on your lower back.

⠀⠀⠀⠀though physical violence would never be his first choice, he can definitely get rowdy if someone is taking things too far. if someone came up to you, being very persistent on taking you home with them, he’s intervene by giving them a “what the fuck are you doing?” look followed by a “they’re not interested, bro.” but if they continued to follow after you is when he’ll lightly shove them away. he does not play about your safety.

⠀⠀⠀⠀he, however, can take care of himself, but wouldn’t mind too much if you defended him. he’d be next to you with a smug look on his face as you spoke, almost proud that you have the courage to speak up for him.

T + TRY —- how much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?

⠀⠀⠀⠀he likes to make everything very sentimental rather than go big for everything. he knows you like the back of his hand, so his gifts are always something he knows you’ve love & use every day. the effort he puts into special occasions like anniversaries, birthdays, etc usually means a romantic meal at a fancy jazz restaurant/bar followed by a breathtaking view at an expensive hotel where the gifts are given. he tries his best to always put in sentimental value into everything he does, i am a acts of service schlatt truther!!!

U + UGLY —- what would be some bad habits of theirs?

⠀⠀⠀⠀there are times when he shuts down, whether it be from overworking himself, feeling overwhelmed with his work or feeling like he’s not doing enough. he won’t talk to anyone and just kind of brushes off your questions, a habit only he can take himself out of until he’s ready to talk. he can also get very defensive about his feelings, he sometimes can’t properly explain how he feels because he lacks the words to express himself, which leads him to feeling frustrated.

V + VANITY —- how concerned are they with their looks?

⠀⠀⠀⠀schlatt has said time and time again he doesn’t really do anything to himself. no cologne, no skincare, nothing to actually maintain an appearance aside from haircuts. he genuinely doesn’t care about any of that, which ultimately makes him more attractive that he just wakes up like that. you will always whine to him about how soft his hair or skin is without any effort on his side, just for him to laugh in your face.

W + WHOLE —- would they feel incomplete without you?

⠀⠀⠀⠀incomplete is a very strong word for someone as independent as him. he finds value in himself, knows who he is as a person and has been more than content with being by himself, but if he lost you? he’d miss you immensely, always being in a state of reminiscing what you usually did around the house, yearning for your presence. of course it would take him some time to get over it, to return how he was before, but there will always be a part of him that believes you took a piece of him he will never get back.

X + XTRA —- a random headcanon for them.

⠀⠀⠀⠀the man often carries something of yours. hair ties on his wrist or in his car, your favorite chapstick in his pockets, a polaroid in his wallet, a comfy pair of shoes and one of his old sweaters for you to change into in his trunk, your playlist ready to play on aux, a trinket (sonny angel, calico critter, etc) you’ve gifted him that he carries on his keys. you’re everywhere and he likes it that way.

Y + YUCK —- what are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?

⠀⠀⠀⠀schlatt wouldn’t want to be with someone who has to share their business with everyone. he’s a very private person, so i can imagine him being upset if he had a partner that was constantly telling the world about their arguments or personal information he himself would never put out there. it’s fine if someone is talkative and loves to share, just as long as it’s not going to affect him or the relationship personally. telling your best friend about your recent argument is one thing, telling an entire audience or his closest friends about it is another thing.

Z + ZZZ —- what is a sleep habits of theirs?

⠀⠀⠀⠀schlatt’s body will always find yours. he physically cannot sleep if you’re not snuggled up beside him. if he can’t feel you in his sleep, he’s immediately waking up. if you turn in your sleep, so is he, somehow finding comfortable positions with you while you’re both in mimi land.

[cceana]

Arcane Highschool!AU 2

characters - vi, caitlyn, jinx, sevika, ekko, jayce and viktor content - 6.1k words, part 1 here, established relationships except for vi's, Star athlete!vi x band!reader, Childhoodbestfriend!caitlyn, New kid!jinx x Class president!reader, Troublemaker!sevika x Tutor!reader, Artist!ekko x Muse!reader, Bestfriend!jayce, and Enemies to lovers!viktor

A/N - lmaoo.. sorry yall for not posting for like a really long time ;-; studied my azz off last week which was def worth it cuz i did so feaking well on that exam hehe. this was lowk rushed bcuz i rlly wanted to post. hope yall enjoy queens (> 3 <)

— Star Athlete!vi and Band!reader

The weeks following that unexpected late-night moment between you two felt different—charged with something new, something unspoken but lingering in the air. It wasn’t just the occasional brush of hands when walking side by side, or the way she’d glance at you across the cafeteria before looking away just a little too fast. It was the warmth in her voice when she teased you, the way she stuck around after practice just to sit beside you while you tuned your instrument.

She never said why she stayed. You never asked.

But you both knew.

It started with one call—past midnight, your phone buzzing against your nightstand.

“I can’t sleep,” she said when you answered, her voice rough with exhaustion.

You could hear the faint sound of cars passing outside, the rustle of her shifting under the covers.

“You’re calling me because you can’t sleep?” you murmured, trying to ignore the way your heart pounded at the thought of her thinking about you this late.

“Yeah,” she admitted. A pause. “Your voice is kinda nice.”

Heat rushed to your face. “Oh.”

“Don’t get a big head about it.”

You smiled, rolling onto your side.

From that night on, the calls became routine. Sometimes she ranted about her coach pushing her too hard. Sometimes you talked about your music, your fingers unconsciously tracing the melodies you’d played that day. Other times, you simply listened to each other breathe, neither willing to hang up first.

one day, she told you about a celebration party her teammates where hosting

She invited you.

“It won’t be the worst thing ever,” she had said, arms crossed as she leaned against your locker. “Just show up for a little bit.”

You’d raised an eyebrow. “Since when did you want me at parties?”

Her lips had twitched, almost like she was fighting back a smirk. “Since I realized you never leave that damn band room. It’s tragic, really.”

So here you were, awkwardly lingering near the kitchen, nursing a half-empty cup of soda while bodies moved and music pulsed around you.

And she? She was in the center of it all—laughing, drinking, surrounded by teammates who treated her like some kind of legend. She belonged here, in the chaos and the noise.

You? Not so much.

You should have left an hour ago, but something held you in place. Maybe it was the way she kept glancing at you between conversations, like she was making sure you were still there. Or maybe it was the warmth in her eyes whenever your gazes met.

Either way, you weren’t leaving just yet.

You had just decided to step outside for some air when you felt a strong hand wrap around your wrist.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

You turned, blinking up at her. She was closer than expected, her usual cocky smirk in place—but there was something else in her expression, something tense.

“Just getting some air,” you replied. “It’s suffocating in here.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Come on.”

Before you could respond, she was leading you out the back door, weaving through the crowd with ease. The cool night air hit you instantly, a sharp contrast to the heat of the party.

You leaned against the railing of the back porch, inhaling deeply. “Finally.”

She chuckled beside you, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “Didn’t think you’d actually come tonight.”

You shot her a look. “You asked me to.”

She was quiet for a moment, staring out into the night. Then, in a voice softer than you’d ever heard from her, she said, “Yeah. I did.”

Something about the way she said it sent your heartbeat into a sprint.

You shifted, watching her carefully. “Why?”

She exhaled slowly, running a hand through her hair. “Because I wanted you here.”

Your breath caught.

She turned to face you fully now, her expression serious—no teasing smirk, no sarcastic remark to deflect. Just raw honesty.

“I know I’m not the easiest person to be around,” she started, voice steady but laced with something vulnerable. “I’m stubborn, I’m hot-headed, and I probably piss you off at least twice a day.”

You huffed out a quiet laugh. “At least.”

Her lips quirked up slightly before she continued. “But you… you’re different. You challenge me. You don’t put up with my crap, and somehow, you still—” She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “I don’t know why, but I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Your heart pounded so hard you were sure she could hear it.

“I keep catching myself looking for you in a crowd,” she admitted, shifting her weight like she was forcing herself to stay still. “I wait outside your rehearsals, even when I could’ve left. I call you at night because your voice is the only thing that makes me feel like the world isn’t spinning too fast.”

She took a shaky breath.

“I like you.”

The words hung between you, thick with weight, with meaning.

“I don’t just like you, actually,” she corrected, her voice barely above a whisper now. “I—I think I’m falling for you.”

You stared at her, stunned, unable to form words.

Her fingers flexed at her sides, like she was bracing for rejection. “If that’s weird, or if you don’t feel the same, just—”

You stepped forward before she could finish, reaching for her hand.

She froze as your fingers slid between hers, as you squeezed lightly.

“You idiot,” you murmured, your chest aching with something overwhelming. “I’ve been falling for you this whole time.”

Her eyes widened slightly, like she hadn’t fully considered that possibility.

Then, after a beat, she huffed out a laugh. “God, we’re dumb.”

You grinned. “Yeah. A little bit.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, she looked nervous. “Can I—?”

You didn’t let her finish. Instead, you pulled her down into a kiss.

It wasn’t perfect—she was clumsy, caught off guard, but warm and sure the moment she realized what was happening. One of her hands came up to cup your face, rough and calloused but impossibly gentle.

When you finally pulled away, she was breathless, eyes flickering between yours.

“So,” she murmured, voice lower now. “Does this mean I can start calling you my girlfriend?”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you like it.”

You sighed dramatically, pretending to think. “Unfortunately.”

She grinned, lacing your fingers together. “Good.”

And as she pulled you back inside—back into the noise and the chaos of the party—it didn’t feel overwhelming anymore.

Not when she was right beside you.

Not when she was yours.

— Childhood Bestfriend!caitlyn

The days that followed felt like something out of a dream. The kind of dream you never wanted to wake up from.

She had been true to her word—she didn’t want to let you go again. Every morning, you’d wake up to a good morning text, and by the afternoon, she’d have already made plans for the two of you, whether it was a quiet café visit, a stroll through the city, or simply lounging in her estate’s massive library, reminiscing about the past between pages of old books.

She had slipped back into your life as if she had never left it.

And yet, there was something new about this—something deeper, sweeter

Like the way she’d always find an excuse to touch you, whether it was resting her head on your shoulder when she was tired, bumping her knee against yours under the table, or absentmindedly playing with your fingers when you sat next to each other.

Or the way she would wait for you. Even when she was drowning in responsibilities, she would insist on having lunch together, texting you just to tell you something random about her day.

Or the way she’d steal your snacks.

Without fail, if you had food, she would somehow find a way to take at least a bite. “Sharing is caring,” she’d say, plucking a fry from your plate before you could react. And if you tried to call her out on it? She’d just smirk, pop whatever she took into her mouth, and say, “You love me, so it doesn’t count as stealing.”

(And you couldn’t even argue. Because she was right.)

Then there were the nights.

Those were your favorite.

She was always busiest during the day, but at night? That was when she really let herself be soft with you.

Like when you’d both curl up on the couch, watching movies that neither of you paid attention to because she was too busy tracing lazy patterns against your arm, or playing with your fingers, or resting her head in your lap with the most peaceful look on her face.

Or the nights when she’d show up at your door unannounced, eyes heavy with exhaustion but still full of warmth as she mumbled, “Just needed to see you.”

You’d let her in without question, and she’d collapse onto your bed with a tired sigh, reaching for you without hesitation. “Come here,” she’d murmur, voice softer than usual, more vulnerable. And when you settled next to her, she’d just hold you, burying her face against your neck, breathing you in like you were the only thing keeping her steady.

Or—your personal favorite—the way she looked at you.

Soft. Fond. Like you were the most precious thing she had ever laid eyes on.

One evening, as you sat curled up on the couch in her study, she nudged you with her foot. “Hey.”

You looked up from your book. “Hmm?”

She grinned. “Let’s make cupcakes.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I want cupcakes,” she repeated matter-of-factly, already standing up and stretching. “And I want to make them with you.”

You laughed, setting your book aside. “Since when do you bake?”

“I don’t,” she admitted, offering a hand to pull you up. “But I’m a fast learner. Come on.”

You sighed but let her drag you to the kitchen. What followed was absolute chaos.

Flour on the counter, sugar accidentally spilled on the floor, a mess of ingredients neither of you fully measured properly. She kept getting distracted, flicking flour at you, grinning mischievously every time you yelped in protest.

At some point, she wrapped her arms around you from behind, resting her chin on your shoulder as you mixed the batter. “I think we make a good team.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s because I’m doing all the work.”

She hummed, tightening her hold on you slightly. “And you do it so well.”

Your cheeks burned. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it.”

You sighed dramatically. “Unfortunately.”

She laughed, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before pulling away. “Okay, okay, let’s get these in the oven before I distract you too much.”

Too late, you thought, but you didn’t say it aloud.

Instead, you watched as she carefully placed the tray in the oven, a proud gleam in her eyes despite the fact that neither of you had any idea if the cookies would even taste good.

It didn’t really matter.

Because moments like this—messy, chaotic, ridiculous moments with her—were worth more than any perfect, scripted day.

And when the cupcakes came out horribly burnt, she just laughed, tossed one to you, and said, “Guess we’ll have to try again tomorrow.”

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

— New kid!jinx and Class president!reader

Loving her was like standing in the eye of a storm—unpredictable, consuming, and just a little dangerous.

But you never wanted to be anywhere else.

She was everything you weren’t. But in the same way that she crashed into your life like a hurricane, she had also settled into it, leaving pieces of herself in all the places she had touched.

And now, she was everywhere.

You didn’t even know when it happened, but somewhere between her dragging you into trouble and worming her way into your perfectly structured life, she had become a permanent fixture.

No, more than that.

She had become yours.

Your mornings were different now.

Instead of waking up to your alarm and immediately drowning in responsibilities, you woke up to her texts.

chaos incarnate: WAKE UP chaos incarnate: pres, you better not be ignoring me chaos incarnate: hello?? chaos incarnate: fine. i’m calling you.

And then, not even a second later, your phone would start ringing.

You groaned, answering it without opening your eyes. “You’re the worst.”

“Good morning to you too, babe.”

You sighed, rolling over. “It’s four a.m.”

“Yeah, well, I missed you.”

Your heart stuttered, heat rising to your cheeks.

You hated how easily she did that.

“…We saw each other yesterday.”

“And? That was a whole eight hours ago.”

You groaned again, but this time, you couldn’t fight the smile spreading across your lips.

The entire school knew about you two.

Not because you told anyone, but because she made it impossible not to know.

She’d sling an arm over your shoulder in the halls, leaning in obnoxiously close just to see you flustered.

She’d steal your lunch, even if she had her own, just to make you roll your eyes and huff at her—because, according to her, you looked cute when you were annoyed.

She’d sit in on student council meetings—uninvited—kicking her feet up on the table like she belonged there, just to watch you glare at her.

And if anyone so much as looked at you for too long?

She’d pull you closer, smirking as she draped herself over you and drawled, “Mine.”

You pretended to be exasperated by it all.

You weren’t.

One second, she was smirking at you from across the room, her gaze sharp, teasing, full of something wild you could never quite pin down. The next, she was leaning against your desk, spinning a pen between her fingers as she sighed dramatically about how boring the student council meetings were, just to get a reaction out of you.

And sometimes—when no one else was around—she’d be quiet. Soft. Like a storm that had momentarily calmed, if only for you.

It was confusing. It was frustrating.

But it was also thrilling.

You never knew what she’d do next, but somehow, you always ended up right there with her.

“We’re skipping.”

You blinked up at her from your pile of papers. “What?”

She grinned, already grabbing your wrist, tugging you out of your chair. “I said, we’re skipping. Come on.”

You pulled back instinctively. “I can’t. I have to finish—”

“Boring,” she cut in, rolling her eyes. “You work too much. If you spend one more hour staring at those papers, you’ll turn into one.”

You crossed your arms. “And you get into trouble too much.”

She smirked. “Yeah? And yet, here you are, still standing next to me.”

You sighed, but the fight was already slipping out of you. With her, it always did.

She took advantage of your hesitation, intertwining her fingers with yours, and your heart definitely didn’t just stutter in your chest.

“Come on,” she murmured, giving your hand a squeeze. “Just for a little while?”

And just like that, you were done for.

The two of you ended up on the rooftop, the one place where no one ever checked.

She sat on the ledge, legs swinging slightly, looking up at the sky like she had never seen it before.

For a moment, she was quiet. Contemplative.

Then, without looking at you, she spoke.

“You know, you’re the only person who’s ever stuck around.”

The words were soft, but something about them hit harder than anything she had ever said before.

You swallowed, watching her carefully. “You don’t make it easy.”

She laughed, a little breathless. “No. I don’t.”

Silence settled between you, comfortable in a way you never expected.

Then, before you could think too much about it, you reached out, gently brushing your fingers against hers where they rested on the ledge.

She went completely still.

You hesitated, pulling back slightly, but she caught your hand before you could.

Her grip was tight—like she was afraid you’d disappear if she let go.

“You drive me crazy,” she muttered, shaking her head. “You’re stubborn, and you worry too much, and you never break the rules.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Thanks?”

She huffed, exasperated, before turning to face you fully.

And then—before you could react—she leaned in, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to your cheek.

Your brain short-circuited.

She pulled back, smirking at your stunned expression, but there was something warm in her eyes, something real.

“You’re mine now,” she declared, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

You opened your mouth—probably to protest, maybe to demand an explanation—but she just squeezed your hand again, tilting her head at you.

“…Unless you don’t want to be.”

You swallowed, heartbeat hammering in your chest.

And then, slowly, you laced your fingers through hers properly, squeezing back.

“…I think I do.”

Her smirk softened into something almost gentle.

“Good,” she murmured.

— Troublemaker!sevika and Tutor!reader

You weren’t sure when this became normal.

When tutoring sessions turned into something more—into lingering glances across textbooks, into stolen moments between classes, into a relationship that neither of you ever really talked about, but both of you knew was real.

It had started with her grumbling about the stupid school system, about how she didn’t need to study when she had “better things to do.” But now? Now, she was here—on time, every time, sitting across from you with a scowl like she hadn’t just walked across campus grinning at you like an idiot when she thought no one was looking.

She had changed.

Or maybe she hadn’t, and you were just seeing her differently now.

Either way, she was yours.

And that was enough.

“You’re staring.”

You blinked, realizing that, yes, you were staring, and, yes, she was very much aware of it.

“I’m not,” you lied.

She smirked. “Yeah? Then why haven’t you flipped the page in five minutes?”

You opened your mouth, then shut it.

Damn it.

She leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Didn’t take you for the distracted type, tutor.”

You sighed, closing the book. “Maybe if you actually studied, I wouldn’t have to get distracted.”

She scoffed, leaning back. “I do study.”

You gave her a look.

“Okay, fine,” she huffed. “I study when you make me.”

“Exactly.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

Instead, she tilted her head, watching you in that way that always made your stomach do something weird.

“Why do you even put up with me?” she asked.

The question caught you off guard.

Not because you didn’t have an answer, but because she sounded genuinely curious.

Like she didn’t understand why you were still here.

Like she didn’t realize how easy it was to love her.

You frowned. “Because I want to.”

She stared at you for a moment, something unreadable flickering in her expression.

Then, suddenly, she reached across the table, grabbing your hand.

It wasn’t gentle.

It never was with her.

But her grip was warm, steady, real.

“…Good,” she muttered, squeezing your fingers once before pulling away. “You’re stuck with me, anyway.”

You smiled. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Dating her meant learning to navigate her world.

The world of bruised knuckles and reckless grins, of sharp words and sharper instincts, of someone who had spent so long fighting that she didn’t know how to stop.

You didn’t mind.

She never hurt you—not really.

But sometimes, she’d show up to your study sessions with a fresh cut on her cheek, or a bandage wrapped around her hand, or a bruise blooming on her jaw, and every time, you’d sigh, pulling out your first aid kit without saying a word.

She hated it.

“You don’t have to—”

“I do.”

She huffed but didn’t pull away, letting you press a cotton pad to her cheek, wincing when the antiseptic stung.

“Idiot,” you muttered, brushing your thumb over her skin after you were done.

She smirked. “You love me.”

You didn’t argue.

Instead, you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the uninjured side of her face.

She tensed for half a second before melting into it, her fingers curling around your wrist, holding you in place like she never wanted you to leave.

“…Yeah,” you murmured. “I do.”

There were other parts of her world, too.

Parts that had nothing to do with fights or scraped knuckles.

Like how she always walked you home, no matter how many times you told her she didn’t need to.

Or how she’d steal your pens just to hear you complain about it, only to return them later with a smug grin.

Or how she’d grumble about studying, but when you fell asleep next to her, she’d pull a blanket over you without saying a word.

Or how she’d stay, even when she didn’t have to.

She wasn’t the best with words.

But she didn’t need to be.

Not when she loved you like this.

“Hey,” she called one day, leaning against your locker.

You raised a brow. “What?”

She didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, she shifted, suddenly looking a little… awkward.

Which was weird, because she was never awkward.

You frowned. “Are you—”

“I got you something,” she blurted out.

You blinked. “You what?”

She huffed, shoving something into your hands.

It was… a necklace. Simple, understated. Something you would actually wear.

You stared at it, then at her.

“…Why?”

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “Because I wanted to.”

You looked down at it again, running your fingers over the chain.

It was nice.

And it was from her.

Your heart did that weird thing again.

“…Put it on me?” you asked softly, handing it back.

She blinked, like she hadn’t expected that, before scoffing. “You really like making me do things, don’t you?”

You smiled. “Yes.”

She muttered something under her breath but moved behind you, fastening the clasp.

Her fingers brushed against your skin, and you shivered.

“…There,” she murmured.

You turned back to her, letting her see the way you were smiling. “Thank you.”

She shrugged, but her ears were red.

You grinned.

Then, impulsively, you reached up, cupping her face in your hands before pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose.

She froze.

“…You absolute menace,” she muttered after a second, her voice half-choked.

You laughed. “You love me.”

She groaned. “I hate you.”

But the way she grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers together as she pulled you down the hall?

That told a very different story.

— Artist!ekko and Muse!reader

The world felt different when he painted you.

Maybe it was the way his eyes softened as they traced your features, the way his lips quirked up ever so slightly in that absentminded, faraway smile. Or maybe it was the way he became so completely immersed in the moment, like nothing else existed except you, him, and the quiet hum of creation between you.

You weren’t sure when it had started—when you had become his muse, when his hands had memorized the slopes and curves of your expression more intimately than you ever could. But at some point, it became normal to sit in his studio, to let him paint you while the sun spilled golden light across the room.

At some point, it became home.

"Stay still," he murmured, his voice soft but firm.

You huffed but obeyed, shifting just slightly to get comfortable. “You know, I’m starting to think you just tell me that so I don’t walk away.”

He smirked without looking up. “Would it work?”

You rolled your eyes. “Obviously.”

He chuckled, dipping his brush into a fresh stroke of color. "Then I don’t see the problem."

You watched him work, watched the way his fingers moved with practiced precision, his brow furrowing in deep focus.

It was so like him—to get completely lost in his art, in the way he captured emotions in strokes of paint. You weren’t even sure he realized how much he gave away when he worked. The quiet admiration, the unwavering patience, the unspoken tenderness in the way he committed you to canvas.

The thought made warmth curl in your chest.

He loved you.

Even in the moments when he didn’t say it outright, you felt it.

“…You’re staring,” he noted after a moment, amusement dancing in his tone.

You smirked. "So?"

"So," he mused, dabbing a final stroke onto the canvas before finally looking at you, "stay still."

You scoffed but didn’t argue.

His gaze lingered, studying you like he was committing every detail to memory.

Then, suddenly, he set the brush down, wiping his hands on a cloth before standing up and making his way toward you.

Your brows furrowed. "Are we done?"

He hummed, stopping right in front of you. "Almost."

Before you could question him, he reached out, gently swiping his thumb across your cheek.

You blinked.

“…Did you just wipe paint on me?”

His lips twitched. "Maybe."

Your jaw dropped. "You menace—"

He laughed, grabbing your hands before you could retaliate. "It’s barely anything!"

"You smudged me!"

"You’ll live."

You gasped dramatically. “I can feel it on my face—”

"Would you like me to fix it?"

You squinted at him, suspicious. "How?"

He smiled. "Like this."

And then, before you could react, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your cheek, right where the paint had been.

You froze.

Your heart stumbled over itself, warmth blooming beneath your skin.

"...That doesn’t count as fixing it," you mumbled, embarrassed by how breathless you sounded.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his smile soft, fond.

"I disagree."

Loving him meant understanding the way he saw the world.

The way his hands itched to create, to turn fleeting emotions into something tangible.

The way he’d go silent for long stretches, caught up in his own thoughts, before suddenly dragging you into his latest project with that spark of inspiration in his eyes.

The way he loved you—not just with words, but in the way he painted you, over and over again, like he was trying to keep you forever.

And maybe, in his own way, he was.

One night, long after the city had gone quiet, you found yourself back in his studio, curled up on the couch while he worked.

You weren’t posing this time.

You were just there, watching as he sketched in his notebook, his focus unwavering even as the hours slipped by.

“…Do you ever get tired of painting me?” you asked suddenly.

He paused, looking up at you.

Then, without hesitation—"Never."

You stared at him. “You say that like it’s obvious.”

"It is obvious," he said simply, setting his notebook aside as he moved toward you.

You let him sit beside you, watching as he reached for your hand, tracing absentminded patterns along your fingers.

“…There are infinite things in the world to paint,” he murmured, his touch feather-light, reverent. “Landscapes, emotions, stories… But you?” He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against your knuckles. "You are my favorite."

Your breath caught.

You weren’t used to this—to his quiet, devastating sincerity.

He didn’t always say how he felt outright. He spoke in colors, in soft touches, in lingering glances over paint-stained canvases.

But this?

This was something else entirely.

“…You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, feeling your face grow warm.

He smirked. “And you love me for it.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t deny it.

Instead, you tugged him closer, resting your forehead against his.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

You just existed—wrapped in warmth, in paint-stained fingertips and whispered affections between the silence.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

— Bestfriend!jayce

There were moments where you still couldn’t believe this was real.

That after years of laughter, inside jokes, stolen hoodies, and whispered dreams of the future, you had ended up here—curled up next to him, his arm lazily draped around you, as if this had been inevitable from the very start.

In a way, maybe it was.

Loving him never felt like a sudden thing, never like some grand revelation that struck you out of nowhere. It had crept in slowly, weaving itself between every late-night conversation, every lingering glance, every touch that lasted just a little longer than it needed to.

And now? Now it was second nature.

He was yours.

And you were his.

“You’re doing that thing again.”

You blinked. “What thing?”

He smirked without looking up from his book. “The thing where you stare at me like I put the stars in the sky.”

You scoffed, shoving him playfully. “Get over yourself.”

He chuckled, finally turning his attention toward you. “Not denying it, though.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth creeping up your neck betrayed you. “Maybe I was just zoning out.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Or judging you.”

“Doubt it.”

You sighed, dramatic. “God, dating you is exhausting.”

“Right?” he teased. “Can’t believe you fell for me.”

“Yeah,” you muttered. “Can’t believe I did, either.”

His expression softened at that, his teasing smile melting into something fonder.

Then, suddenly, he reached out, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face before letting his fingers trail down, tracing the curve of your jaw.

“…Lucky me,” he murmured.

Your breath caught.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

You just sat there, the warmth of his touch seeping into your skin, your heart stumbling over itself at the way he was looking at you.

Like you were something rare.

Like he had been waiting his whole life for you.

“…You’re such a sap,” you whispered.

His lips twitched. “Only for you.”

The thing about dating your best friend was that nothing really changed.

Not in the way you expected, at least.

There were still late-night fast food runs, still study sessions that turned into existential conversations, still a constant presence at your side whenever you needed him (and even when you didn’t).

But there were differences, too.

Like how he held your hand without hesitation now, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Or how he hugged you longer, pressing his face into your shoulder like he needed to be close to you.

Or how he kissed your forehead absentmindedly whenever you did something that made him proud, as if he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

Or how he whispered, "Love you," so casually, like he had always been saying it.

Like he always would.

“Okay, real talk,” he said one night, sprawled across your bed like he owned it.

You hummed, flipping a page in your book. “Mm?”

“If we weren’t dating, would you still have a crush on me?”

You blinked, giving him an unimpressed look. “What kind of question is that?”

“A valid one.”

You sighed, setting your book down. “We are dating.”

“But if we weren’t,” he pressed, propping himself up on his elbows. “Would you still be into me?”

You narrowed your eyes. “What kind of answer are you looking for?”

“The truth.”

You stared at him, trying to figure out what he was really asking.

Then, with a smirk, you shrugged. “Dunno. You’re kinda annoying.”

He gasped. “Rude.”

“But,” you continued, reaching over to poke his cheek, “I’d probably be in love with you anyway.”

He grinned. “Knew it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up.”

“Hopelessly in love.”

You groaned. “Why do I even like you?”

He laughed, grabbing your hand and lacing your fingers together.

“…Because we were always meant to end up here.”

Your breath hitched.

The words were simple, said so casually, but they settled deep in your chest, spreading warmth through your entire being.

Because he was right.

Every moment, every choice, every little thing that led to this—it had always been leading you here.

To him.

To this.

To something more than forever.

— Enemies to lovers!viktor and reader

It still surprised you sometimes—how things had changed.

How the cold rivalry that once existed between you had melted into something warm, something constant, something that made your chest tighten in the best way whenever you so much as thought about it.

About him.

Once upon a time, you and him had been at odds with each other, a battle of sharp words and stubborn ideals. He was relentless, fiercely determined, a mind constantly working ten steps ahead. And you—well, you were the opposite. Passionate, chaotic, diving headfirst into the unknown with little concern for anything but discovery.

But now?

Now he was yours.

And God, you loved him.

“Stop working,” you whined, dramatically flopping onto his desk.

He barely spared you a glance, eyes still locked onto the notebook in front of him. “Can’t.”

“You always say that,” you huffed, watching as he furiously jotted down another equation, his pen moving like it had a will of its own.

“Because it’s always true,” he shot back, voice carrying that familiar unwavering certainty.

You rolled your eyes. “Five-minute break.”

“No.”

“Two minutes?”

“No.”

You sighed, tilting your head at him. “What could possibly be so important that you can’t take two minutes to—” You peered at his notes and blinked. “Wait. Is this…” You trailed off, recognizing the layout of a physics equation, the bold scrawl of hypotheses scattered between calculations.

He finally glanced at you, the sharp glint of his focus not dulled in the slightest. “I had a thought earlier and needed to get it down.”

You stared at him. “You had a thought so urgent that you couldn’t even pause for two seconds?”

“Yes.”

You exhaled, shaking your head. “You’re crazy”

“And you’re distracting.”

“You love me, though.”

A flicker of something softened his expression. He didn’t answer immediately, just studied you with those impossibly sharp eyes, the ones that always seemed to be unraveling the mysteries of the universe—except, in that moment, they were solely on you.

“Yeah,” he murmured eventually, the intensity of it making your breath catch. “I do.”

It was rare, hearing it outright like that. He wasn’t one for grand proclamations, but when he did speak—when he let himself be honest—it always hit you like a tidal wave.

You swallowed, warmth pooling in your chest. “Then take a break.”

He sighed, exasperated but amused. Then, to your utter delight, he set his pen down.

“Two minutes,” he relented.

You grinned, holding out your arms. “Hug me.”

He stared. “…Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, like he was analyzing the request for its deeper meaning. Then, without another word, he leaned forward and pulled you against him.

You melted instantly, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. His arms were strong, steady—the kind of embrace that felt unshakable, like he would hold the entire world together if it meant keeping you safe.

“…Better?” he murmured.

You nodded against him. “Much.”

His fingers lingered at your back, just the faintest trace of hesitation before he fully gave in, relaxing into the embrace.

And neither of you let go.

Dating him had been an adjustment.

He wasn’t the kind to wear his emotions on his sleeve. He was driven, always looking forward, always chasing after the next big thing. His brain never stopped, his heart never wavered, his ambition burning like an unstoppable fire.

Which meant he showed affection in his own way.

Like the way he never actually said I love you, but instead muttered things like, don’t forget to eat or stay inside, it’s cold.

Like the way he pretended to be annoyed when you interrupted his work, only to immediately pull you back when you tried to leave.

Like the way he sighed every time you teased him, only to let you lace your fingers with his under desks, his grip never faltering.

And the thing was?

You wouldn’t trade it for anything.

One evening, you were in the library together, him completely immersed in his research while you doodled aimlessly in your notebook.

The silence was comfortable, the kind that had become second nature between you.

Then, suddenly—

“…You make me reckless.”

You blinked. “Uh. Excuse me?”

He didn’t look up, his fingers tapping idly against the table. “You make me reckless,” he repeated, almost contemplative. “It’s irritating.”

You squinted at him. “Are you… saying you love me?”

He hummed. “Statistically, it would be hard to deny.”

Your heart stumbled over itself. “Oh my God.”

He finally looked up, arching a brow. “What?”

“You just confessed your love for me like it was a scientific fact.”

“…And?”

You let out a laugh, completely endeared. “You’re unbelievable.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t look annoyed. If anything, there was something fond in the way he regarded you, something soft in the way he reached out, tapping his fingers against your wrist.

“…You already knew,” he murmured.

It wasn’t a question.

Because of course you knew.

You had known for a long time now.

But hearing it—even in his own, methodical way—still sent warmth flooding through your entire being.

You smiled.

“Yeah,” you whispered, reaching for his hand, lacing your fingers together. “I did.”

And if he squeezed your hand just a little tighter?

Well.

You didn’t mention it.

[blondrafe]

Semi rough sex with Drew Starkey

cw; smut, swearing, jealous dew at the start

The night creeped in through the blinds that didn’t think to be shut, another thought that seemed to slip out of both your minds. The room was dark minus a lamp that had been on and forgot to be turned off before the both of you left

Drew had been invited to an event for queer, and he brung you as his plus one as usual. Everything had been going well, the both of you keeping each other close the whole night. That was until Drew needed to go to the bathroom, and you had seen an old friend from school.

He just so happened to be a man, which should’ve been the first blinker in your mind just to not talk to him. But he came up to you first, and you couldn’t ignore him now, that’d be rude wouldn’t it? So you two started talking, and when Drew came back with both of your drinks, he wasn’t happy.

He acted civil of course, not wanting to seem rude. Especially since the old friend had been gushing over Drew the whole time since he came back, applauding him on his role in queer and telling him how well he’d done. But Drew just didn’t like how he was acting towards you. The guy was always brushing his hand towards your knee or thigh, and thought he was being discreet.

He wasn’t, and Drew noticed it all too well. So that’s why you were now propped up on all fours, naked and being pounded into the oblivion. Jealous sex was something Drew had a specialty in, especially when it came to you. “That guy thinks he can have you, touch you n’ shit.” Drew grunted, hands harshly gripping the flesh of your hips as he pounded harder.

You moaned in response, the sound peaking Drew’s ears. You had been moaning like you were staring in a pornography, you just couldn’t help it. Drew’s toned hips were drilling into the right spot that just felt so good, the spot that made your eyes roll and throat grow hoarse from moaning so loudly.

“Can’t have you though, cause your mine.” He growled, lifting a hand off your hips and trailing it under your stomach and down to your clit, rubbing the bud in harsh circles that made your hips jerk and squirm. You were only moaning louder now, occasionally whimpering when his hips hit just a little too hard.

Drew leaned down, stomach and chest pressing against your back. His breath came down hard against the crook of your neck, making you shiver in delight. For some reason, that was an odd thing that you loved. You’d been at this for about an hour, and you were on your third orgasm if the night.

And they were only coming quicker due to the back you were starting to get overstimulated, and you could feel a coil starting to tighten in your stomach. Your warm and silky walls squelched and tightened around Drew’s thick length, making my let out a guttural groan into your ear.

“Fuck baby, gonna cum again?” He cooed, knowing damn well you were. You nodded, biting on your lip as you let out a moan. Drew smirked, starting to rub harder on your clit and angle his hips just right so he’d be hitting your sweet spot every time.

His red mushroom tip was just abusing your sweet spot, making you cry out in bliss. You knew you’d be cumming in seconds, and you could feel the coil tightening to no end in your belly. “Oh drew—gonna cum!” You called out, voice full of pleasure.

The waves of your orgasm washed over your instantly, and you moaned each time. Drew groaned out, feeling your pussy milk him for all he was worth. “I’m gonna cum too baby, fuck.” Drew growled in your ear, slamming his hips into yours a few more times before his semen was spurting deep into you.

That’s when he started to ease up, hips slowly coming to a stop and his grip loosening too, as well as his hand leaving your clit. He pulled out, sitting back and watching his cum and your combined liquid drip out like a leaky water tap.

He smiled admiring his work before moving to lie you down, curling up behind you and spooning you. He rubbed your stomach and legs as he tried to ease your discomfort after such a harsh round, also trying to help you sleep. And it worked for both you and him, the two of you falling into a peaceful sleep in each others arms.

[andy-15-07]

Infinite Horizons

PAIRING: Reed Richards x reader

WORD COUNT: 1159 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The Baxter Building hummed with the quiet energy of invention. Fluorescent lights cast a cool glow over the laboratory, where papers, holograms, and whiteboards filled with intricate equations surrounded a single figure.

Reed Richards stood before a towering chalkboard, writing with swift, precise strokes, his mind working at a speed no ordinary person could match. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing forearms dusted with chalk. His dark curls were slightly tousled, and his eyes burned with concentration as he scrawled symbols in a methodical yet fluid rhythm.

You leaned against the doorway, watching him. Admiring him.

There was something about seeing his mind at work that left you breathless. The way his brow furrowed, the way he whispered numbers under his breath, the way his fingers absentmindedly tapped against his chin when he hit a snag in his calculations—it was mesmerizing.

And he hadn’t even noticed you yet.

Smirking, you finally spoke. “You know, Reed, most people don’t spend their Friday nights romancing a chalkboard.”

His hand stilled mid-equation. He turned, his sharp eyes softening the moment they landed on you. “Y/N,” he said, and just like that, the tension in his shoulders eased. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

You stepped forward, arms crossed, head tilted in playful scrutiny. “You were too busy proving the meaning of the universe to notice, Professor Richards.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Not quite. Just solving a little problem in quantum instability.”

You raised a brow. “A little problem?”

He turned back to the board and gestured at the dizzying array of symbols. “I’m attempting to stabilize the quantum field distortions in our multiversal gate. Right now, the energy fluctuations are unpredictable. If I can refine the equation, I might be able to prevent spontaneous breaches.”

You stared at the equations, pretending to consider them seriously. “Mmm, yes. Of course. Looks like... numbers.”

Reed laughed—a warm, low sound that made your heart flutter.

“You’re impossible,” he murmured, his fingers brushing over your wrist as he pulled you closer.

“And yet, here you are, madly in love with me,” you teased.

His lips quirked. “Madly.”

Your heart did an embarrassingly giddy flip, but you disguised it with another playful remark. “So, what happens if you don’t solve this equation?”

Reed sighed, running a hand through his curls. “Worst case scenario? Unstable dimensional rifts. Possibly reality imploding. Best case scenario? I get a headache and need coffee.”

You gasped dramatically. “A headache? We’re doomed.”

His eyes twinkled. “Not if you stay here and keep distracting me.”

You smirked but didn’t move away. Instead, you stepped behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek against his back. You felt him exhale, his muscles relaxing under your touch.

“Your brain is my favorite thing,” you murmured. “Well, one of my favorite things.”

His hand covered yours, fingers lacing together. “That’s comforting.”

“What’s the other worst-case scenario?” you asked, tracing lazy circles on the fabric of his shirt.

Reed hesitated, then sighed. “The math isn’t adding up. If I don’t find the missing variable, I can’t stabilize the distortions. Which means—”

“—which means no experimental travel through the multiverse anytime soon,” you finished.

He turned in your arms, facing you fully. “Exactly.”

You studied him for a long moment. “How long have you been at this?”

His silence was telling.

You groaned. “Reed. Have you even eaten today?”

He pressed his lips together in thought. “I had coffee.”

You placed your hands on your hips. “That’s not food.”

He exhaled through his nose, amused. “I was in the zone.”

“You always say that.”

“And it’s always true.”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed his hand. “Come on, genius. You’re taking a break.”

He resisted for half a second before relenting. “Fine,” he murmured. “But only because you’re bossy.”

You smirked. “And because you love me.”

He squeezed your hand. “That too.”

You sat cross-legged on the couch in the lounge, watching Reed as he leaned against the counter, sipping his coffee. The kitchen was bathed in warm, golden light, making him look impossibly soft despite the sharpness of his intellect.

“So,” you started, “what’s the missing variable?”

Reed sighed, rubbing his forehead. “That’s the problem—I don’t know. The math should work, but there’s a fluctuation that keeps throwing it off.”

You tapped your chin. “Couldn’t it be an external factor? Something you haven’t accounted for yet?”

He hummed in thought. “Possibly.”

“Have you considered... I don’t know, the energy signature of whoever’s opening the breaches? Maybe the anomaly isn’t in the math but in the source itself.”

Reed’s eyes widened slightly. “You might be onto something.”

You grinned. “Of course I am. I’m brilliant.”

He smirked, setting his mug down before walking over and placing his hands on either side of your head, trapping you in. “You are. And now, I’m going to need your help.”

Your brows lifted. “My help? In quantum physics?”

Reed grinned. “I need a second set of eyes. Even if they’re skeptical ones.”

You sighed dramatically. “I suppose I could lend my expertise.”

He chuckled and kissed your forehead. “Then let’s get back to work.”

Hours passed as you sat together in the lab, Reed scribbling equations while you sat beside him, offering insights where you could. It was a strange dance—you weren’t a scientist, but Reed valued your perspective. He thrived on discussion, on the challenge of explaining concepts in ways you could understand.

And you? You just loved watching him work. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, Reed froze.

Your head shot up from where you’d been resting it on your hand. “What? What is it?”

His eyes flickered with realization. “You were right.”

You blinked. “Obviously. But about what?”

He grabbed your shoulders, excitement radiating off him. “The anomaly wasn’t in the equation itself—it was an external force! If I adjust for the unique energy signature of the breaches, the entire system stabilizes!”

You grinned. “I mean, I did suggest that hours ago.”

He shook his head, grinning. “You did. And I was too busy overcomplicating it to listen.”

You leaned closer, whispering, “Say it.

He narrowed his eyes. “Say what?"

“That I was right.”

He sighed dramatically. “Y/N was right.”

You smirked. “And?”

His lips twitched. “And Reed Richards was wrong.”

You gasped. “A historical moment. I need this on record.”

He kissed you before you could gloat further, his lips warm and insistent. You melted into him, savoring the quiet triumph in his touch. When he pulled away, his voice was soft.

“You’re my favorite variable.”

Your heart clenched in the best way. “And you’re my favorite genius.”

Reed exhaled, resting his forehead against yours. “Thank you for keeping me grounded.”

You smiled, fingers brushing through his curls. “And thank you for reaching for the stars.”

And in that moment, with the weight of the universe pressing against him, Reed Richards knew—no equation, no discovery, no multiverse could ever mean more than you.

[heeluvv]

𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐓 ⊹₊⋆

pairing .ᐟ park jongseong x gf! reader

genre .ᐟ smut

warnings .ᐟ handjob, semi-public, nsfw, etc

natty's notes .ᐟ mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

you sit beside jay, heart thudding a little too fast as his mother refills your glass with water. she's been nothing but kind, his father equally warm, yet there's something about meeting his parents that makes you feel like you have to be perfect―like you have to earn their approval, even when jay reassures you they already love you.

jay, on the other hand, seems at ease, leaning back in his chair, one arm resting against the table as he skillfully steers the conversation. his confidence is intoxicating, the way he effortlessly switches between responding to his father's questions and throwing you soft glances in between. you know he's aware of the way your hand has been resting on his thigh under the table, fingers grazing lightly over the fabric of his slacks.

you start slow, a teasing stroke of your fingers over his inner thigh, feeling him stiffen just slightly beside you. his voice hitches mid-sentence, but he covers it quickly, reaching for his glass to take a sip of water. his mother doesn't notice, nodding along as he continues speaking, but you don't miss the way his grip tightens around the glass.

it's thrilling, watching him try to keep it together as you trail your fingers higher, brushing over the growing bulge between his legs. he clears his throat, giving you subtle warning glance, but it only makes you bolder.

you press the heel of your hand against him, the outline of his hardening length evident even through the fabric, and he exhales sharply, disguising it as a deep breath. his father raises a brow.

"are you alright, son?"

jay forces a tight-lipped smile, nodding quickly. "yeah―uh, just a little hot in here."

his mother hums. "maybe we should turn the air down a bit?"

"no," he blurts, just a little too quickly, before forcing another smile. "i mean, it's fine, really."

you bite back a smirk, fingers working deftly as you palm him under the table, relishing the way his muscles tense under you touch. his hand shoots down to grip your wrist, a silent plea for mercy, but you don't let up. instead, you lean closer, feigning innocence as you whisper, "something wrong, baby?"

his jaw tightens, his grip on your wrist loosening just slightly as he shakes his head, voice strained. "nothing at all."

his father nods, continuing on with the conversation oblivious to the way his son is barely keeping himself together beside you. jay shoots you one last look―part exasperated, part desperate― you grin, satisfied, knowing that this dinner just got a lot more interesting.

jay swallows hard, shifting slightly in his seat as if that will somehow lessen the way your fingers are working him through his pants. it doesn't. if anything, it makes things worse because now you know just how desperate he is, how much effort he's putting into keeping a straight face.

his mother is speaking again, something about a trip they're planning next summer, but jay barely registers a word of it. he nods when appropriate, forces out hums of acknowledgment, but all he can focus on is the slow, torturous way your hand moves, palming him, teasing him, setting his nerves on fire.

he exhales sharply through his nose when you finally manage to slip past the waistband of his slacks, fingers brushing against heated skin. his grip on the edge of the table tightens, his knuckles turning white.

"jay?"

his father's voice snaps him out of it, and he jerks slightly, his knee bumping the table hard enough that the silverware rattles. you suppress a laugh as his mother looks at him with concern.

"sorry," he mutters, clearing his throat. "just―uh, a cramp."

you press a little more firmly against him, wrapping your fingers around his length, and he nearly chokes on his own breath.

"a cramp?" his mother repeats, frowning. "are you drinking enough water?"

"plenty," jay grits out, his eyes darting to yours in a silent, desperate warning. his pupils are blown wide, a light sheen of sweat forming at his temples. he looks wrecked, teetering on the edge of losing control, and you love it.

"you sure? you look a little flushed," his father comments, eyeing him curiously.

"i'm fine," jay says quickly, voice slightly strained. "just―long day. probably just tired."

his mother tsks, giving him a loo of sympathy. "you work to hard, sweetheart. you should rest more."

"i'll―" his breath hitches as you stroke him just a little firmer, your thumb brushing against the sensitive tip. "i'll try."

he's slipping. you can feel it in the way his thigh tenses beneath your touch, in the way his breathing has turned shallow. he's so close, balancing between control and absolute ruin, and it's exhilarating knowing you have him like this, knowing that with just a little more, he'll completely fall apart.

"well, dessert should be ready soon! i made your favorite, jay" his mother stands, gathering the empty plates.

jay grips the edge of the table like it's last lifeline, his knuckles turning a shade lighter than the rest of his skin. his mother hums happily as she sets down dessert, her attention focused on explaining how she perfected the dessert this time around. jay tries to focus, he really does, but the way your hand subtly increase.

he snaps his thighs together, trapping your wrist in place, sending you sharp glare, but the slight twitch in his brow gives him away. you're getting to him. his pulse is a wildfire beneath your fingertips, a soft, erratic rhythm against his flushed skin.

"so, what do you think?" his mother asks expectantly, her gaze fitting between you and jay.

you take a bite, humming in approval. "it's delicious, mrs. park. so smooth and rich."

jay picks up his spoon with trembling fingers, trying to follow your lead, but the second he takes a bite, you move again. his leg jerks under the table, his lips parting in a silent gasp as your finger wrap fully around him, stroking him with a slow to fast, calculated precision.

his mother frown. "too sweet?"

jay forces himself to swallow, shaking his head quickly. "no, it's―" his voice cracks, and he clears his throat, forcing a strained smile. "it's perfect. really good, mom."

his father nods approvingly. "she worked hard on it. good to see you appreciate it, son"

jay grips his spoon so tightly it looks like it might snap in half. you, on the other hand, are perfectly composed, barely touching your dessert as you continue working him beneath the table. your fingers are relentless, teasing, pushing him closer and closer to the edge with each torturous stroke.

his breathing turns shallow, his thighs trembling slightly. he shifts in his seat again, but there's no escaping you. you're determined―so dangerously patient―and it's driving him insane.

"you're really tense, sweetheart," his mother comments suddenly, tilting her head in concern. "are you sure you're feeling okay?"

you suppress a grin as jay forces a tight-lipped nod. "y-yeah. just a long day."

your fingers tighten slightly, your thumb running over his tip, feeling the way he twitches in your grasp. he's close―so, so close, barely holding it together, his entire body on the verge of collaspe.

"maybe you should take a break from work," his father suggests. "you look like you're about to pass out."

"i―" jay exhales sharply, his breath coming out in a shaky stutter as you give him one final, purposeful stroke, and then―

he cums undone.

his muscles lock up, hsi jaw going rigid as his entire body tenses beneath the table. his grips the spoon in his hand like it's the only thing keeping him tethered to reality, his breath shuddering in his throat. his cum spills over your fingers, warm and messy, and you feel the way his thighs clench under your touch, his bpdy shivering as he fights to keep his composure.

his parents continues talking, blissfully unaware of the way their son is falling apart beside them. jay nods along weakly, his face flushed, his lips pressed together so tightly they're nearly white.

you pull your hand away, slow and deliberate, and bring your napkin to your lap, wiping your fingers clean with an innocent little smile.

"enjoyed dessert?" you murmur under you breath, just for him.

jay clenches his jaw, swiping his tongue over his lips before leaning in, his voice low and ragged.

"you're gonna pay for that later."

natty's notes .ᐟ hoped you enjoyed!

[plethorawrites]

Hey! Your work is amazing! Would you be willing to do a fic with Dick Grayson x reader where the reader owns a cat and they are moving in together or something and they introduce Haley and the cat. If not that's okay! Hope you have a great day/night!

Awww, this is an adorable idea! I love it sm. (TW: Slight mentions of blood.)

---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---_

"This is a bad idea," was the first thing you said as you settled into a crisscrossed position on your boyfriend's carpet.

"Such a cynical outlook," Dick muttered in response, with a sarcastic tone as his grip on Haley's collar tightened just a little bit, keeping her firmly on his lap to make sure she didn't get too excited.

She was the sweetest dog alive, in his opinion (and yours too, for that matter) but she tended to be a little rambunctious, jumping all over you the second you came over or chasing her tail in circles until she knocked over a plant and broke the pot.

That was usually more than tolerable for a few dog lovers like you and Dick, but your cat on the other, might have a different opinion.

"Just make sure she doesn't scare him, please," you urged cautiously, still holding your cat's nice carrier on your lap as you sat across from him on the floor of his living room.

He nodded. "Just make sure he keeps his claws to himself, too," he replied, mostly teasing but with just enough sincerity to make you verbally agree.

Your fingers tugged at the zipper, gently pulling it open until Haley could see your cat, curled up in the back of his cozy carrier. She immediately got excited, going from sitting in Dick's lap to nearly choking herself as she tried to scramble towards the cat.

Dick pulled her back into his lap firmly, ignoring the scratching of her claws as she whined, her singular front paw tapping his leg over and over as she tried to jump up and down.

Your cat, understandably, hissed at her. That just seemed to confuse her more.

You shushed him softly, carefully reaching into the carrier to pet him. "You're okay," you muttered, stroking his fur, which was sticking up from stress. "She's just a puppy, she gets eager."

"Yeah, she doesn't know how to tolerate an old man," Dick added.

Your cat was a senior by now, going on ten or eleven years old, with a few joint problems and an attitude to match. But you loved him and he had to admit there were a few times when he was over at your apartment and fell asleep, only to wake up with your cat lying on him.

You glanced at him, still petting your cat gently. "That makes two of us."

His mouth dropped open. "I'm barely three years older than you," he reminded you. "I'm not a dinosaur."

Before you could respond, Haley suddenly got excited again and with a bit of frustration at her inability to see your cat up close, she barked.

"Ow!" You pulled your hand back as your cat scratched you in response to the abrupt sound.

Dick's eyes widened. "Are you okay?" He asked quickly, unsure if he should move to help you or keep Haley further away than she already was to avoid making it worse.

With a grimace, you nodded. "Yeah, fine, he just got scared," you told him, examining your arm which was cut with two sharp, long lines, already bleeding.

"I think that's enough bonding for the day," he said. "We should clean that before it gets infected."

"Alright," you conceded with ease, zipping up the front of your cat's carrier and lifting him off the ground to put him on the kitchen island, as far away from Haley as possible.

Dick let go of his puppy and she immediately ran to the kitchen, making little hops and barks as she stared up at your cat. "Haley, no," he chastised, instantly making her sit down, tilting her head in confusion. "Lay down," he said sternly waiting for her to listen.

Thankfully, she'd been going to behavioral classes lately and had at least learned something. She laid down quickly and he sighed, standing up and helping you off the floor, before resting his hand on the small of your back and guiding you to the bathroom to take care of your cut.

Wrapping his arms around your waist, he lifted you onto the counter of the sink with ease before grabbing a washcloth and wetting it with warm water.

"So..." You drawled, rolling your sleeve up a bit more for him as he dragged the cloth over your skin. "That didn't go very well."

He clicked his tongue, focusing on your arm, trying not to hurt you as he wiped the blood off. "Definitely not," he agreed quietly, clearly equally as disappointed.

You were both hoping they'd get along or at least keep a fair distance from each other until they could start bonding. But apparently a young puppy and an old cat don't mix very well.

"What do we do?" You asked as he set the cloth down, searching for Neosporin. "I can't move in without my cat. And I'm not going to make him live in his carrier."

He nodded. "I know," he remarked. "I'm not gonna force Haley into a cage all day either. I don't get to spend enough time with her as it is." She got bored and lonely when he was away for a long time, working or out of town for some long family thing. He'd miss her too.

You winced when he spread the ointment across your arm, resting your head against the wall, watching him. "I really wanna live with you," you mumbled quietly.

He looked up from where he was unraveling a large spool of gauze, the kind he'd use on his vigilante injuries. "I really want to live with you, too," he responded, tearing the bandage and gently wrapping it around your arm.

Dick pulled your sleeve back down for you, his hand wrapping around your forearm, swiping his thumb back and forth across it as he started at you.

"They'll like each other eventually, right?" You asked. "They have to."

He shrugged, pulling you down from the counter, flush against him. "I hope so," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Come on, I'll give your cat some catnip or something to make him mellow out."

A subtle scoff left your lips. Your cat would never be the problem, in your opinion. But you refrained from saying that because you knew how defensive he was about Haley. As he should be. She was the sweetest. When she wasn't extremely riled up.

Walking back into the kitchen, you sat at the counter, turning your cat's carrier towards you to see how he was doing. Probably stressed, you figured.

Your eyes widened a bit, realizing it hadn't been fully zipped. And it was now completely open. Not to mention empty.

"Dick," you called, reaching out, smacking his arm in panic. "Dick. Where the hell is my cat?"

He furrowed his brows in confusion, before turning and realizing what you were talking about. He glanced around quickly for any sign of him. "Okay. Okay, don't panic," he said quickly, putting his hand on your shoulder. "It's a small apartment. He's here somewhere."

"Yeah, but so is Haley," you reminded him.

He could jump pretty high, sure. He had decent agility considering his age. But he was still a lot slower than an energetic puppy.

"She won't hurt him," Dick assured you. He didn't know that. He was just hoping. "I'll check the bedroom, you check the living room."

With a nod, you slid off the seat, rushing into the living room and searching for any sign of your cat. Under the couch seemed like a good option, but he wasn't there. Nor behind the TV. He wasn't in any of the open drawers of the TV standard.

"He's not here!" You shouted to Dick, throwing one of the couch cushions on the floor with a frustrated grunt.

"Relax!" He called back, from the bedroom. "I found him."

You rushed towards the room, eager to see your cat, hoping he wasn't scared under the bed or hiding in the closet. You pushed the door open, eyes going straight to Dick who had his arms crossed and his head tilted, staring at the bed in amusement.

Your gaze followed his and you immediately found your cat, curled up into a ball, right beside Haley on the bed. "Wha-" your mouth opened and shut in confusion as you took a step forward to scoop him up but then decided against it.

"Told you she wouldn't hurt him," Dick muttered sweetly, reaching out to brush the hair off your shoulder.

Haley perked up slightly, seeing them, but then put her head back down, resting it on your cat's fluffy stomach as he laid on the sheets, yawning.

You huffed, scrubbing your face and turning to him. "I got scratched for nothing," you complained with no real malice before wrapping your arms around him, burying your face in his chest. "Does this mean it's actually happening?" You murmured against him. "We're really gonna live together?"

He rested his chin on the top of your head, a smile tugging at his lips as he rubbed his hand up and down your back. "Yeah," he confirmed, his eyes watching his dog and cat cuddle. "We're really gonna live together."