#just go pass out in bed and i’ll go out and face this ‘real world’ you keep going on about

[anythinggoesbutme]

The Final Frame

Xander Hawthorne x Max Hawthorne (née Liu)

Warnings: Mild sexual content, playful teasing, light language, wedding day fun, themes of nervousness and intimacy.

Synopsis: At Max and Xander’s wedding, a long-standing family tradition takes an unexpectedly daring turn, leading to hilarious reactions, heartfelt moments, and a celebration of love that’s anything but ordinary.

Song: “You Make My Dreams (Come True)” — Daryl Hall & John Oates

Word Count: 3,010

Tag List: @anintellectualintellectual @aria-filomena @angelnextdooor @runningoutofink8 @saythewordheiress @lyrrrr @laurencelovesbooks @sp3ncerre1dsw1fe

Series Masterlist: Click Here

Eighteen months had passed since Lyra and Grayson’s wedding, and somehow, it was finally Xander and Max’s turn to tie the knot.

The girls were gathered around a big table in Max’s suite, half-buried in place cards, stray flowers, and tangled ribbon. Avery, who was now five months pregnant, sat cross-legged on the floor, reworking the seating chart for what felt like the twentieth time, grumbling about last-minute changes. Lyra, four months along, was fussing with small centerpiece decorations, rolling her eyes every few minutes. Libby focused on tying tiny bows onto napkin rings, her brow furrowed in concentration.

Max sprawled across a chair with her legs dangling over the side, lazily spinning a pen between her fingers and watching them all like a cat plotting something dangerous.

Then she sat up suddenly, her eyes sparking.

“So,” she began, almost too casually, “about the Polaroid tradition…”

All three heads snapped up instantly.

Avery’s mouth dropped open. “Absolutely not,” she said sharply, pointing her pen at Max. “Max. No. He’s too innocent. He cried last week because a baby duck got lost in the park.”

Lyra let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “He literally calls squirrels his little buddies. He still thinks Santa Claus is real and writes him letters every year.”

Libby covered her mouth, trying not to laugh. “He said he hopes the Easter Bunny ‘is getting enough rest in the off-season,’ Max. You can’t do this to him.”

Max only smiled wider, her whole face lighting up like she’d just discovered the world’s greatest prank.

“Oh, come on,” she said, voice low and teasing. “I’ll keep it… mostly PG-13. I promise. Just a little harmless fun.”

Avery dropped her head into her hands with a groan. “You’re going to kill him before he even makes it to the vows.”

Lyra muttered under her breath, picking at a rose petal. “He’s going to pass out right there at the altar.”

Libby started giggling, giving in. “At least have someone ready to catch him when he falls.”

Max just threw her head back and laughed, absolutely delighted with herself.

“He’ll survive,” she declared, eyes gleaming. “Probably.”

Max didn’t wait for anyone’s approval. The moment the room went quiet, she calmly stood, pulled a small bag from under the table, and stepped into the bathroom.

When she came back out, she wore simple black lingerie — elegant, minimal, more teasing than explicit. A long Jedi cloak hung from her shoulders, and she carried a lightsaber in one hand, the plastic glowing faintly.

She didn’t say a word. Just met their stunned stares with a smirk.

Avery raised her hands helplessly, resigned. Lyra muttered, “Of course,” under her breath. Libby let out a low whistle, shaking her head.

Max set up the camera on the dresser, checked the angle, and moved into place.

Photo one simple.

Max stood facing forward, cloak draped over her shoulders, only the outline of her lingerie visible beneath. She held the lightsaber casually at her side, her expression calm but amused — like she was sharing a private joke with the camera.

Photo two was more relaxed.

She sat on the edge of the bed, legs crossed at the ankle, cloak open just enough to show the delicate lace detail. She leaned slightly forward, chin in her hand, eyes soft but direct.

Photo three was unexpected.

She turned her back to the camera, glancing over her shoulder, cloak slipping off one side to reveal a single strap of her bra. The lightsaber rested across her lower back, almost like an afterthought.

Photo four felt intimate.

Max sat on her knees on the bed, cloak pooled around her hips, one arm resting lightly across her chest, the other hand gripping the lightsaber handle beside her. Her expression was unguarded — warm, mischievous, almost affectionate.

Photo five said everything.

She stood again, cloak mostly closed now. In her free hand, she held a small note in bold black ink: “I love you, dork.”

Her smile was real this time — wide, bright, all teeth and laughter, the kind that only Xander ever really saw.

The ceremony was held outdoors, under a bright, cloudless sky that looked almost too perfect to be real. Rows of chairs curved around a simple wooden arch draped in wildflowers and small strings of lights that twinkled like stars.

Guests filtered in wearing everything from classic suits to subtle touches of cosplay — a lightsaber pin here, a tiny Captain America shield there. It was exactly the kind of offbeat, joyful chaos Max and Xander would have wanted.

Avery and Lyra, both noticeably pregnant now, floated around greeting guests and smoothing last-minute details. Libby was on photo duty, snapping candids and trying to corral the occasional rogue groomsman.

Max waited behind the archway, veil in place, hands fidgeting at her sides. Every now and then she muttered to herself, eyes flicking up toward the guests. She looked excited, perfectly herself — the kind of barely-contained energy that had always defined her.

When she finally stepped out, the music started — and it was actually a gentle acoustic version of one of Xander’s favorite songs. He watched her approach like she was the only thing in the world, wide-eyed, lips parted, barely breathing.

Max’s smile softened when she saw him. For all her mischief and noise, there was something quietly fierce in the way she looked at him now — like she was seeing him and only him.

They reached each other, hands clasping immediately, thumbs brushing over knuckles.

The officiant guided them through the vows first — surprisingly sweet, heartfelt words that left both of them blinking back tears. Max’s voice shook only once, when she promised to “never stop dancing like an idiot in the kitchen,” and Xander let out a shaky laugh that made half the guests sniffle.

Then came the rings. The officiant turned to Max.

“Max, do you take Xander to be—”

Max cut in sharply, her voice loud enough for the entire crowd to hear.

“I do not—”

Xander’s eyes went huge. He looked like he might actually faint.

A hush fell over the guests.

Max paused, relishing the beat of stunned silence, before she finished with a wicked grin:

“—without a song first.”

A few people gasped — then the speakers exploded to life with the opening beat of “Thrift Shop.”

For a moment, there was nothing but chaos: shocked laughter, cheering, a chorus of delighted shrieks, as Max threw fake money up in the air. Xander staggered back a step, both hands flying to his hair, eyes wide with relief and manic joy.

“THAT’S MY SOON-TO-BE WIFE!” he yelled, nearly doubling over laughing.

Libby threw her hands in the air, Avery wheezed into her hands, and Lyra looked like she might collapse from laughter. Even Grayson had his head tilted back, actually laughing out loud. Nash roared, clapping Xander on the back.

Max started dancing right there, loose and fearless, the veil bouncing behind her. Xander didn’t hesitate — he joined her immediately, arms waving, moving with the same chaotic energy they always shared.

When the song faded, they were both out of breath and grinning like lunatics.

The officiant cleared his throat, looking like he was trying desperately not to laugh.

“…So, should we continue?” he managed.

Max finally slipped the ring onto Xander’s finger, hands still trembling with laughter.

“I do,” she said then, quiet but sure, her smile almost gentle.

Xander’s eyes went glassy as he slipped the ring onto her finger.

“I do,” he echoed, his voice rough and overflowing with relief and love.

When they kissed, the cheering was so loud the wildflowers on the arch shook.

And for a few perfect seconds, there was only them — two best friends who had just fallen in love.

First Delivery

The reception buzzed with music and laughter, but Xander’s world shrank to the single envelope Avery slipped into his hand while no one was looking.

He sat down on a nearby bench, fingers trembling as he peeled the envelope open.

The Polaroid fell into his lap. Max stood tall, the black Jedi cloak cascading down her back, barely concealing the elegant black lingerie she wore beneath it. The soft glow of the lightsaber she held added an almost ethereal quality, but all Xander saw was the exposed skin — curves and lace, a side of Max he’d never imagined.

His mouth fell open, eyes wide like he’d just seen a ghost.

A flush swept his face, warmth pooling in his ears.

He felt like the entire room had suddenly shrunk to nothing but this photo, burning itself into his mind with impossible clarity.

Instinctively, his eyes darted toward the group of men standing nearby — Jameson, Grayson, and Nash, his older brothers, already casually chatting.

“Is… is this normal?” Xander’s voice cracked as he raised the photo slightly, practically shouting across the room. “Is this… what you all got at your weddings?”

Jameson smirked, shaking his head slowly.

“Welcome to the club, little brother,” he said, voice low but heavy with meaning.

Grayson laughed, clapping Xander on the back with brotherly amusement.

“Yup, this is just how it goes,” he said.

Nash winked.

“Better get used to it.”

Xander staggered back, clutching the photo like it was a ticking bomb, his heart pounding as the image replayed in his mind — Max, like he’d never seen her before, bold, fearless.

Second Delivery

A few minutes later, before Xander could recover, Libby appeared, holding the next envelope as if it were a secret scroll.

“Xander,” she called gently. He looked at her like a deer caught in headlights, hands still trembling from the first photo.

“Please,” he whispered, voice already broken.

Libby just smiled, pressed the envelope into his hands, and retreated.

He peeled it open, hesitant, peeking as if he was checking for a jump scare.

Max sat on the edge of a bed in this one, cloak sliding halfway down her arm. Her legs were crossed elegantly, lightsaber resting across her lap. Her expression was somewhere between playful and intimate, a small smirk playing on her lips.

Xander audibly whimpered.

“Oh, stars—” He slapped a hand over his eyes, then peeked again, unable to stop himself.

He turned, looking for his brothers again, but they had abandoned him temporarily, leaving him to his private meltdown.

“Why would she— How did she— When did she—” he sputtered to no one, the words piling up in his throat.

Third Delivery

By the time Lyra approached, Xander had hidden himself in a corner, still clutching the first two photos like they were cursed artifacts.

Lyra walked right up, eyes gleaming with mischief, and held out the third envelope.

“No,” he whispered instantly, backing up a step. “Lyra, no. You don’t understand—”

She ignored him, slipped the envelope into his pocket, and patted his shoulder firmly. “Good luck, Jedi.”

He slid it out, cracking it open like he was defusing a bomb.

This time, Max knelt on the bed, cloak pooling around her hips. One arm was draped across her chest, but it felt even more intimate than before. Her gaze was soft but fiery, the lightsaber resting by her side as if she’d just won a fight — or invited him to join her after.

Xander’s eyes went so wide they looked cartoonish.

He staggered to a nearby chair and collapsed into it, breathing hard, hair sticking up at odd angles from him raking his hands through it.

“I’m gonna die,” he wheezed, pressing the photo to his chest. “She’s going to actually kill me.”

Fourth Delivery

Avery snuck up with the fourth photo just as Xander was trying to recover, fanning himself with a napkin.

She placed the envelope in front of him, gave him a single look, and bolted — smart woman.

Xander groaned, cracking it open.

Max stood with the cloak wide open now, revealing her full lingerie set in sharp, elegant detail. The lightsaber was balanced over her shoulders, head tilted back in bold, fearless joy.

Xander looked like he was going to faint on the spot.

But before he could even process it, Max’s mother — standing a few steps away — caught a glimpse.

She gasped so loudly the entire group turned. Her face twisted with shock and horror, hand flying to her mouth.

“MAXINE LIU!” she screeched, voice slicing across the reception.

Max, sipping a drink across the lawn, turned slowly and raised her glass like she was saluting a queen.

Her mother stormed forward, sputtering. “This — this is a wedding, not your… your… movie set! This is shameful! Disgusting! How could you embarrass your ancestors like this?!”

Max just blew her a kiss. “Hi, Mom!”

Xander half-stood from his chair, eyes darting between Max and her mother, whispering frantically, “Oh no, oh no, oh no—”

Fifth and Final Delivery

Finally, Lyra approached again, expression almost gentle this time.

Xander shook his head frantically, hands up. “Please, no. I can’t take another one. I literally can’t—”

Lyra pressed it into his hands anyway and backed away quickly.

He cracked it open with trembling fingers.

Max sat cross-legged, cloak open but graceful, the lightsaber laid carefully across her lap. On her thigh, in bold lipstick, the words: “I love you, dork.”

Xander’s breath left him in one sharp exhale.

He set the photo down gently, hands shaking, a stunned, almost reverent smile blooming on his face.

He looked up, scanning the crowd, and finally found her. Max stood near the edge of the dance floor, laughing with her friends, radiant and completely herself.

His eyes softened, and he whispered under his breath, almost like a prayer: “I really, really love her.”

The night finally began to wind down, the lanterns glowing softly overhead, the last notes of music echoing across the lawn. Guests clustered around the edge of the dance floor, tossing handfuls of flower petals into the air, ready to send Max and Xander off.

Max stood by the archway, veil draped over her shoulder like a cape, watching Xander carefully.

He was trying to keep up the wide-eyed, goofy smile he always wore for her — but he looked wrecked. His hair was sticking up wildly from all his nervous fidgeting, his cheeks still flushed from the endless photo deliveries, and his eyes were slightly glazed, like he hadn’t fully returned from orbit yet.

Max’s smile faltered for the first time all night.

She stepped toward him, catching his wrist lightly. “Hey,” she said softly, so only he could hear.

He turned to her immediately, shoulders relaxing just at her voice. His eyes searched her face — and for a moment, all that panic flickered into something else.

Max lifted a hand to his cheek, brushing her thumb across his jaw. “I went too far, didn’t I?” she murmured, the mischief finally gone.

Xander blinked, his throat working. “I… I love you,” he said, the words tumbling out almost helplessly. “But you… you really— you surprised me.”

She let out a small laugh, breathless, then leaned in to press her forehead to his. “I forget sometimes you’re not as used to all this chaos as I am,” she admitted, her voice soft and sincere. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like you had to… survive your own wedding.”

His lips quirked into a wobbly, crooked smile. “I mean… I did almost pass out. Multiple times.”

Max huffed a gentle laugh, eyes bright with warmth. “I’ll make it up to you. No more surprises tonight. Just you and me. Okay?”

Xander exhaled shakily, like her words alone finally let him breathe again. He nodded, leaning forward to steal a quick kiss.

The crowd began to cheer and whistle, a few people chanting their names.

Max turned to face them, slipping her hand into his. “Ready to disappear, Jedi?” she teased gently, her mischief returning just enough to make him smile.

He squeezed her hand tight. “As long as it’s with you.”

They ran forward together, through the tunnel of petals and cheers, laughter echoing behind them. Xander kept glancing at her, as though to make sure she was still really there, that it was finally just them now.

When they reached the getaway car, Max stopped him, tugging him close by the lapels of his jacket.

“For the record,” she whispered against his lips, “you looked pretty damn hot clutching those photos like your life depended on it.”

He let out a strangled laugh, then kissed her — a little desperate, a little relieved, and all-in.

And when they pulled away from the venue, petals still stuck in Max’s hair, Xander couldn’t stop smiling.

Because at the end of the day, no matter how wild the day had been, it was always going to be them: his chaos and his calm, his surprise and his safe place, all in one.

They all stood together at the edge of the drive, petals still in their hair and champagne glasses half-drained, watching Max and Xander’s car disappear down the winding road.

Grayson slipped an arm around Lyra’s waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. Nash bounced on his heels, already looking like he was planning the afterparty. Avery leaned into Jameson, her hand resting lightly on his chest, while Libby clutched her camera, snapping one last photo of the taillights disappearing into the dark.

There was a moment of sweet silence, a collective sigh at another Hawthorne wedding finally wrapped.

Then Jameson tilted his head, a devilish gleam lighting up his eyes. “Do we think Xander even knows what’s supposed to happen on a wedding night?”

Avery’s jaw dropped. She smacked his arm so hard he nearly spilled his drink. “Jameson!”

He just laughed, rubbing the spot, totally unfazed. “What? I’m just saying — if he could barely handle the lingerie photos, how is he supposed to—”

Avery slapped her hand over his mouth before he could finish, her face bright red, but she was half laughing too.

Nash doubled over, wheezing. Grayson shook his head, trying and failing to hide a smirk. Lyra snorted so loudly Libby almost dropped her camera.

Jameson finally peeled Avery’s hand off, smirk still firmly in place. “I’m just concerned for his well-being, Heiress. That boy might actually combust tonight.”

Avery rolled her eyes but pressed her face into his chest, giggling despite herself.

Grayson raised his glass, voice wry. “To Xander — may he survive the night.”

Nash whooped, Lyra let out a sharp whistle, and Libby finally managed to snap a final candid of them all, laughing together under the fairy lights.

[jooyeonsvape]

-lonely for you (l.jy)

genre; angst, smut, slow burn

pairing; jealous!jooyeon, idol!jooyeon, actress!reader, afab!reader, established relationship

w/c; 2.5k

synopsis; missing jooyeon is the worst feeling in the world. although Y/N loved being an actress and it’s her passion, sometimes she puts her career over her boyfriend. jooyeon sees a post before a concert about Y/N on a romantic dinner with her male costar and tries to get to the bottom of it.

warnings; slow burn, jealousy, angry joo, cursing, oral (m receiving), possessive sex, some praising, unprotected sex, very soft core, face fucking.

A/N: i’m finally back with a joo fic!! i was supposed to post this like 4 days ago but my old draft deleted >; i tried writing in 3rd person but i actually hate it so i’ll be going back to 2nd pov!!

{ xdh masterlist }

jooyeon’s hand always found it’s way to the small of Y/N’s back when he holds her close in his arms, it was comforting. every morning his breath could be felt against the side of her neck while he sings lowly in her ear to wake her up, like her own alarm clock, “good morning my dear.. go out and see the sun shining and hear the little birdies chirping for you..” it was always the same tune over and over until Y/N’s eyes finally open.

jooyeon snickers in her neck, giving it a few kisses when she stretches and asks him to give her 5 more minutes.

Y/N opens her eyes but soon realizes it was another jooyeon dream and yearns for the moment she can wake up in her boyfriend’s arms again. everytime they’re apart, she remembers the little things that she takes for granted and promises herself she will appreciate his quirks, even if they drive her crazy.

the hotel bed is lonely and cold without jooyeon, especially at night when it’s time to sleep. Y/N rubs her eyes with the back of her hand and rolls over to check her phone.

♡ baby boy ♡: sent a voice message..

Y/N’s eyebrow furrows seeing that it was sent at 6 a.m and hits play.

“good morning my dear.. go out and see the sun shining and hear the little birdies chirping for you-”

a single tear falls from her eye as she hears the raspy morning voice of jooyeon singing, knowing he missed her just as much as she missed him.

“-it’s been 2 weeks without you so we’re halfway through this darling, message me when you’re awake.”

with Y/N's busy schedule of filming for 16 hours a day, then going straight home to pass out immediately, it left very little time to have a conversation with jooyeon, much less a phone call. he understood, but he'd also be lying if it didn't hurt him to not even get a goodnight message.

"Y/N has a new boyfriend apparently, it's all over the internet." jiseok gives his usual throaty chuckle, and points the phone to jooyeon who sat infront of a big mirror, while getting his hair styled for their next show.

he didn't confide in his band members about how much her lack of presence killed him every second of the day, so they made little jabs at him throughout the day and he just had to fake laugh.

jooyeon darts his eyes in curiosity at jiseok's phone that was still held to his face and sees Y/N with her male lead at the bar after shooting. he grabs the phone so tight, his knuckles turned white and the members look at each other with worried expressions when his breathing gets deeper.

the article shows pictures of the two laughing while drunk and the mans arms wrapped around jooyeon's girlfriend when they leave the bar.

he already had to bare seeing them flirt and kiss on screen, now he has to see it in real life too? Y/N knew jooyeon was the jealous type and territorial but she still pushed his boundaries.

“jooyeon where the fuck are you going?” jungsu tries to stop the boy from leaving but he pushes him out of the way, silently exiting the stadium their show is being held at.

jooyeon looks at his phone and sees the time is 6pm so he’ll be at Y/N’s suite in the little village she’s filming at in 3 hours.

Y/N stumbles across the threshold of her hotel room with the help of her co star who was also drunk, but is more aware of his surroundings. “it’s a good thing we have a free day tomorrow, i don’t think you’ll be able to walk,” he leads her to the bed with a laugh and lays her down. “i know you miss jooyeon, but drinking isn’t going to solve the problem, let’s not make this a regular occurrence.” he always spoke like a dad and it was different for Y/N considering she babysits xdinary heroes everyday.

jooyeon clicks the close button impatiently on the elevator door to her hotel and turns his head to the staircase, the hauntingly familiar face of Y/N’s costar was leaving just as the elevator doors shut. he bites the inside of his lip then closes his eyes tight nervously, the back of his head tingling and knew a headache was coming on.

the walk to her hotel door felt like a mile when it was only a few feet from the elevator and his mind wouldn’t stop telling him she was unfaithful. his fist hovered over the door, not daring to knock when he gets flashbacks of her male lead’s satisfied smile as he left the hotel.

he tries to control his emotions and strength, knocking gently but wanting to bust the door down and immediately start accusing.

Y/N whines at the knock, assuming her costar left something so she pulls her body that felt like 1000 lbs off the bed and opens the door with a pout. she opens her eyes that were previously squinted, as wide as she could. “j-jooyeon?”

Y/N rubs her tired eyes but still sees her motionless boyfriend standing infront of her. she pokes his shoulder, then his cheek, “are you real?” although she feels much more sober from shock, she couldn’t help but question if this is a dream.

“Y/N…” she could tell there was hidden tears just by his shaking voice so she wraps her arms tightly around his waist, his chin resting on the top of her head. “please tell me it’s not true..” his tears couldn’t help but escape by her embrace and she pulls away with confusion. “what baby? what happened?” her heart rate escalated by the lack of context in his voice but he pushes her away with tears still streaming, “are you fucking your costar?” his yells echoed throughout the hotel halls and she brings him inside, slamming the door.

“not only am i famous, but you’re famous, in a secret relationship, can you be a little bit more smarter?” Y/N had her usual angry face when she’s yelling at jooyeon and he sits on a chair, his face in his hands.

“look at the latest news, you don’t mind being in a scandal as long as it gets your show views huh? i could’ve at least gotten a heads up Y/N, i feel like i’m dying.” he throws his phone with the news article up on the bed so she could read it.

her eyebrow raises while she reads and sees the picture that bothered jooyeon the most, the mans arm around her shoulders. “joo, look, he was guiding me. we were off to another bar and i kept stumbling into everything so he didn’t want me to get hurt. it wasn’t a romantic gesture at all, in fact he was just talking about you.”

jooyeon sniffles when she speaks and looks up with tears dripping off his eyelashes, “why are you getting drunk with a man without me anyway Y/N?” his tears wouldn’t stop so she grabbed her phone and pulled up a group photo she took of the whole cast. “it wasn’t just the two of us, that’s just what fans got, i promise-” she kneeled down infront of his body and pouts, wiping his red cheeks. “-and he brought me inside my hotel room because without him, i probably wouldn’t have found it myself.”

jooyeon sniffles again, her touch making his body settle down and his breathing regulate. “promise?” she smiles at her hard headed boyfriend and leans in to give him a kiss. “i promise, you can search my phone if you’d like.”

he shakes his head at her request and stands up, helping her up as well. “fuck.. i’m pitiful.. i came all the way out here and left the boys on stage by themselves for nothing..”

Y/N sighs when jooyeon told her he left the concert and crosses her arms with a stern expression. “call the members and apologize, they’re probably worried about you.”

his guilty conscience didn’t let him argue and he does as she says, while Y/N lays back on the bed, her headache getting worse as the room still spins.

after jooyeon was done getting scolded by the members, he looks at his girlfriend with a sigh, “can i-uh, spend the night? i’m too tired to go all the way back to seoul.” he knew she was annoyed with his immature jealousy, but he really did miss her and wanted to cuddle her for at least one night.

“come here,” was all she replied, watching him take off his shirt and pants then hurriedly cuddles close to her. “i’m sorry, i’ll never do this again,” he whispers in her ear while nuzzling his face in her neck, his long dirty blonde hair cascading over her shoulder. “i’m too drunk to care right now, i’ll yell at you tomorrow,” Y/N mumbles while jooyeon holds her and she felt his chest move when he chuckles at her cuteness.

the next morning, Y/N wakes up to the sound of the door closing and her body jolts awake. “jooyeon..” she whispers to herself, seeing his clothes off the floor, he really left without telling her goodbye?

only pieces of what happened last night was coming back to her and she jumps off the bed, running out the door to catch up to jooyeon. Y/N’s nightgown was just a long t-shirt with shorts and she didnt even bother with shoes in case he left before she could talk to him.

when the elevator door opened, her eyes searched out the lobby to find her boyfriend, “JOO!!” everyone’s heads turned to her when she yelled, including jooyeon who was at the front door, holding a plastic bag in his hand. “Y/N? what are you doi-“

before he could get his sentence out, she jumped in his arms, her legs wrapped tight around his waist and he grunts from the breath getting knocked out of him. “don’t leave yet, it’s still early, please.” jooyeon could feel his shirt growing wet indicating she was crying so he holds her close to his chest. “come on,” he whispers, walking to the elevator with her still wrapped around him and tries his best to hide her face so no one in the lobby could take pictures of them.

when they were alone in the elevator, he held up the bag he had delivered and gives her a kiss on the cheek, “i wasn’t leaving just yet, i bought headache medicine and breakfast on doordash.”

Y/N wipes her cheeks and a sheepish blush spread across her face going all the way to her ears, “oh.. i thought you left without saying goodbye..” jooyeon puckers his lips for her to kiss and he hums when she complies. “i wouldn’t do that to you baby.”

he held Y/N all the way to the hotel room, setting her on the bed with a grunt, “take this medicine, your head always hurts after a night of drinking.” she does as he says and takes the 2 pills he hands her with a cup of water. “i’m off today joo, you can leave whenever you want.” she watches as her boyfriend plates eggs, rice, and toast, then he walks towards the bed. “i’ll leave tonight if thats the case,” jooyeon had a bright smile on his face, when he hands her the plate and when he sat next to her, he leaves a soft kiss on the tip of her nose.

Y/N couldn’t help but blush at the kiss and holds his hand tight while they eat, not wanting to let go of his warmth for a second. “what should we do all day?” jooyeon finally spoke up after eating, setting his dishes to the side of the bed. “well, considering we can’t be seen out together, i guess we can just stay in bed together and watch movies,” Y/N speaks with a mouthful of rice in her mouth.

jooyeon lays on the pillows next to her, folding his arms behind his head and hums, “my favorite activity.”

at the dorms they always had the members constantly interrupting their alone time so it was kind of refreshing to jooyeon not having 5 other people walking in every 10 minutes and bothering them.

Y/N hurries to eat so she could be in his arms again, setting her plate to the side with a satisfied smile, “thank you for breakfast, and the medicine.” she immediately engulfs jooyeon in a hug which he happily accepted, his hand going to the small of her back like always. “of course, it’s my apology for last night, i got in my own head.”

she got an idea after he speaks and begins to kiss his jawline, “can i apologize to you for making you so uncomfortable you had to come all the way here?” jooyeon raises an eyebrow at her kisses and his adams apple flinches when he feels her lips on it. “you don’t need to apologize darling,” he mumbles but her lips on his skin already had him wrapped around her finger.

Y/N sneaks a kiss on his already panting lips while letting a hand trail down his slim body to his belt buckle and he impatiently thrust his hips up. the pair haven’t had sex in 2 weeks so she knew he was needy but she also wanted to go slowly and take him all in so she held his hips down.

“i love you,” she whispers in his mouth and jooyeon grabs the back of her neck so she was looking in his eyes, “i love you.”

Y/N takes off his shirt with his help while her other hand begins to palm his clothed dick gently, putting pressure on it every so often and his body jolts from the movements. “please..” she smirks at his neediness for her and kisses his chest, making sure to leave bites on the tan skin.

Y/N scoots further down the bed to continue the kisses on his flat stomach, unbuckling his belt while doing so, and exposing his happy trail. she looks up at her boyfriend who had his lip tight in his teeth, examining her every move.

she slides his pants off so jooyeon was now in just his underwear and she kisses the imprint of his dick through the fabric. “i missed you,” she whispers, pulling at the waistband so his member flops out, hitting his stomach.

Y/N grips the base, jooyeon hissing at the contact of her hand and breaths heavy, his eyes fluttering close when she begins to jerk him slowly. her hand felt so much better than his own and he’s been in need for her touch.

she begins to pump faster, making sure to flick her tongue on his tip so it didn’t feel left out and finally wraps her lips around it. she moves her head down slow so she could take him all in, soon the familiar feeling of his tip hitting the back of her throat as she bottoms him in her mouth.

when jooyeon’s dick was engulfed in her throat, she then begins to bob, letting him get used to it first so he didn’t cum too fast. his hand finds her hair like it usually did and he pulls gently on the strands, refraining from bucking into her throat.

Y/N lays her tongue flat on the side of jooyeon’s dick while continuing her bobbing and never breaking eye contact, even when she gags as his tip hits the back of her throat fast.

she pulls away with a pop then spits on his dick, jerking it fast in her hand and pumps faster with his rising moans. she goes back down on him but he couldn’t take it anymore, he holds her head steady and bucks up, grunting at her gagging. “f-fuck baby, i’m already close, your mouth is heaven,” he mumbles, his back arching off the bed but stopping himself at the last second and pulling out of her mouth with a pained groan.

she smirks at the swollen tip infront of her face, catching her breath from the mouth fucking. “alright, i’m ready,” jooyeon whispers, sliding his tip through her lips again to repeat the actions. he bucks his hips slow at first but fastens his pace, his face scrunching in pleasure. “almost… there…” he groans, pulling away at the last second again, panting while he feels his dick throbbing.

jooyeon grabs Y/N’s hand and pulls her up to his chest, “i don’t think i could trust myself to do that a third time baby girl, i need to cum in you.” his simple words made her already wet core grow wetter and he takes her shirt off, throwing it to the ground.

“so beautiful,” he mumbles to himself while flipping her on her back so he could admire her breasts, “all mine.” he spreads her legs then settles in between them with a smirk, rubbing her clothed clit before sliding the thin fabric down her legs so she was fully exposed, “i love you.”

“i love y- fuck” before she could finish her sentence he slid his very veiny and hard dick inside of her, barely giving her time to adjust.

jooyeon leans down and kisses her lips desperately when he begins bucking his hips, holding one of her legs up high in the air. “look at me the whole time.” his teeth were clenched from pleasure and she didn’t dare look away from his eyes.

her body felt like it would go through the mattress with every deep and hard thrust jooyeon gave her, his eyes never leaving hers. “fuck i needed this so bad baby, you’re so good,” he spits out, his dick pumping faster in her pussy, his free hand gripping the side of her neck. “please faster joo,” she whimpers, bucking her own hips so his tip hit her gspot at a fast speed.

Y/N looks down for a second to see his dick disappearing inside of her but the hand on her neck went to her jaw, “i said keep looking at me,” jooyeon growls, positioning her head so she couldn’t leave his darting eyes.

she gulps and nods fast, moaning loud at the feeling of his rough bucks inside of her, he knew exactly where to hit to make her body shake. “you’re mine Y/N, i’m the only one who can make you feel this good.” jooyeon’s loud groans made her pussy clench around him and he kisses her lips rough while his hip movements get sloppier.

“you’re the only person who knows how to make me feel good,” Y/N chirps back after the kiss, whining at the warm feeling build in her abdomen while he keeps eye contact.

jooyeon’s pupils dilate and his mouth hung open wide, cumming deep inside of Y/N, no sound escaping his mouth. she arched her back, bucking her own hips fast while he rides out his high, and cums around his sensitive dick. “fuck joo,” she yells loud, continuing to buck while he stays still, letting her fuck herself on him.

her body goes limp under jooyeon and she pants with small whimpers still leaving her mouth, rubbing his hip while he pulls out slowly. the feeling of him exiting her made Y/N sad and she wraps her arms around his sweaty body with a sigh.

“i love you,” jooyeon mumbles tiredly, holding her close to his chest, his breathing becoming less shallow. “i love you more, i missed you so much, i can’t wait to do that all day.”

[frombookstoretobookstore]

In Sickness and In Health

Abbot x Sick!Reader (Platonic) Robby x Reader (Because who doesn't want to be cared for by this hunk)

Masterlist

You’re trying to listen to Robby as he gathers the day shift before things get too busy, you really are. However, you’re working harder to hold in the chest rattling cough that’s plagued you for the past 24 hours.

You lean against the nurses’ station, one hand on the counter the other on your knee as a pained cough finally rattles past your lips, another two or three escaping with it. 

You hear Robby pause slightly, him and Dana shooting you a look of concern.

“Wrong pipe,” you wheeze, pointing to the cup of crappy hospital coffee next to. You must be convincing enough as they both turn their attention back to the meeting.

Robby ends the meeting and people start to disperse. You offer him a small thumbs up as you drink the coffee, begging the warmth to sooth your throat.

“Don’t be stupid, I can see your forehead veins.” Dana mutters as you look up and glare at her, daring her to call your bluff. “Be a real shame if someone told Jack.”

Your eyes widen and before you can plead with her not to tell him, another fit of coughing doubles you over and makes your head swim.

“I think I’m about to eject my lungs out of my damn face.” You groan, sucking up a disgusting amount of snot before righting yourself, the world swimming slightly.

“You shouldn’t even be practicing medicine with the number of cold meds in your body, let alone be here.” She hisses over the counter, knowing how stubborn you could be.

“I’m fine.” You wheeze, placing your head over your arms on the counter, begging your body to pull it together.

“How the hell did you get this past Jack” Robby asks as he tips your head back, hand on your forehead.

You groan and bat his hands away. “I’m fine.” It comes out as a whine, your sinuses throbbing with each word.

What you don’t see is the silent conversation between Dana and Robby, both already knowing that you’re anything but fine. You stumble slightly as the world tilts, Robby supporting you by your elbow.

“Alrighty, let’s get you to South 4. Dana, fluids please.” You try to bat off Robby again as he guides you towards an open bed, Dana chuckling from behind.

You go to reassure him once again that you’re fine, that not even Jack noticed. But the world lurches and you stumble, your knees buckling.

“Alrighty kiddo, you’re done.” Robby says as he scoops you up, carrying you towards the trauma room. The world is swimming, and you try your best to stay awake, but the universe slowly closes in.

You wake to Dana sitting on her phone next to your bed, her feet propped on the edge of the bed. You groan and turn to fully face her, your body not responding quite as fast as you need it to.

“You move anymore, and I’ll put you in soft restraints. Nearly decked Robby when we put your IV in.” She doesn’t look up, her no nonsense tone enough to stop you from moving. A groan escapes your lips.

“Way to go. You’ve got influenza A kid. We’ve got you on fluids as you dehydrated yourself chugging coffee.” She laughs as she removes her feet from the bed and leans onto the bed, brushing hair out of your face.

“Please tell me you didn’t call him. He’ll kill me for not telling him and himself for not noticing.” You groan, your throat still scratchy and raw from coughing. Another cough rattles your chest.

“Going to work with a 100-degree fever, are you stupid?” Jack says as he rushes in, his hand on your forehead as he checks the saline bag you’re hooked up to. You groan, sending a glare to Dana. She holds up her hands in mock defense.

“If you’re going to shoot the messenger, aim for Robby.” She says as she pats your hand as she gets up to leave. “He barely got out that you’d passed out before this one freaked.”

“I didn’t pass out.” You say groggily as Jack takes a seat next to you, “I just got suddenly tired. Get that shit out of my face.” You bat at Jack as he starts shining his pen light in your eyes, his hands coming to put pressure on your sinuses. You groan at the pressure and pain.

“Wouldn’t be surprised if you develop a sinus infection.” He’s gone full clinical as he assesses you, talking out loud to no one in particular. “Well, they’ve got you on fluids, we’ll get you on an anti-viral as well. Add in some fever reducers and rest, you’ll be fine.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, and you scrunch your nose.

“Get out of here, I don’t want you getting sick.”

“I don’t’ get sick.”

You groan at his steadfastness, his unrelenting worry oozing from his eyes.

“Just discharge me and I’ll sleep it off on the couch, I’ll be fine.” You groan, pulling the blanket up to your chin, suddenly cold.

“You aren’t sleeping on the couch hotshot; I’ve got a full healing regiment I’m keeping you to once I get you home.” Jack smooths back your hair as you groan.

“I can manage.” You cough, turning away as to not cough directly in his face.

“Doesn’t mean you have to. You’re sicker than hell, let me help you out on this one.” He speaks. 

“Just get me home, and I’ll be fine.” You whine; another cough makes your tired lungs hurt.

“As soon as we finish hydrating you, be a good girl and finish that saline.” He laughs as you weakly put up a middle finger. “There’s my girl. I’ll get your discharge paperwork done and then you’re getting the full Abbot treatment once we get home. I don’t care if you don’t want to, you lost autonomy privileges when you snuck that sickness past me at shift change today.

You only groan at the pain in your head. “Stop talking, you’re hurting my head with your ego.”

“Love you to!” He says with a laugh as he goes to get you discharged so he can care of you at home.

-----------

Lmk what you think! This was purely self indulgent because I'm sick and love the idea of that man taking care of me.

[cutehoons02]

After concert!

*pairing: idol Heeseug x fan Girl

*trope: opposite attraction

*synopsis: What would happen when your best friends for your birthday give you the ticket to the concert of your dreams as well as the Enhypen with the VIP option? You were in seventh heaven to go see your favorite band especially your favorite idol Heeseung, but what happens when he never stops looking at you during the concert and during the VIP meeting and finally a member of the staff asks you with an excuse to follow him because a band member wanted to see you?

*tags: A lot of tension, Heeseung is perverted but also sweet, fluffy moments, needy Heeseung, needy protagonist, a lot of kisses, suckers, finger sucking, masturbation, protected sex,cowgirl, possession, pet names (baby,pretty girl,good girl) (Hee)

8.7k(🎤) 💌The request and ideas were written by @goldenretrieverjakezgirlbaby for this story (thanks a lot for your help)

(English is not my native language)

You were looking at yourself in the mirror for the umpteenth time, trying to ensure every detail of your outfit was perfect. Behind you, your best friends were lying on the bed, giggling as they teased you. — You’re more nervous than if you were about to step on stage with them— Stella joked, tossing you a pillow. You sighed, crossing your arms with a pout. "Can you believe it? I’m about to see Enhypen live! Not just live, but up close! It’s been my dream for years!" You were wearing a black skirt, paired with a custom T-shirt for the occasion: a red heart with the words "If you say" printed on it. Your hair was loose, with two braids framing your face. On your feet, a pair of comfortable shoes—because sure, you’d be sitting in the VIP area, but you already knew you’d be singing and dancing nonstop. 'You should bring us with you,' Emma said, pretending to pout. "At least one of you! Come on, join me!” you tried to convince them, making your classic puppy-dog eyes, hoping they’d give in. But the two friends burst out laughing. — Stop with the big eyes! You know there were no more tickets! But don’t worry, you’ll make friends with someone else. Enhypen fans are everywhere,— Stella reassured you. You let out a dramatic sigh, but in the end, you smiled. They were right. After all, that night was an incredible gift, and even if you were going alone, nothing could ruin your mood. Before leaving, you hugged them tightly. "I love you. You’re the best friends in the world." 'We know,' Emma replied with a little grin. 'And remember: take videos of everyone, not just Heeseung! I want to see Sunoo, got it?' — And don’t forget Jay for me!— added Stella, winking at you. You burst out laughing. "Okay, okay, I’ll send you all the videos you want!" Then, with your heart racing from excitement, you grabbed your bag and left the house. What you didn’t know was that once you passed through the stadium gates, your life would change forever.

The sunset illuminated the stadium, and the soundcheck was almost finished, with all the members interacting with the audience. You were in the front row, and you could see them so closely it didn’t feel real. The girls next to you screamed every time a member appeared, and you shot them a disapproving look. When it was Heeseung’s turn to walk toward you, you admired him carefully without shouting or taking videos—you just wanted to observe him more closely. You had seen him everywhere on metro screens for various ads and even in some bars, while the fans next to you kept screaming and acting like fools. You rolled your eyes and shifted your gaze to Heeseung, and he started laughing as you glanced at the girls sitting next to you. You smiled shyly at him because he had singled you out in the crowd. When Heeseung moved to the other side of the stage, everyone screamed his name and started filming, but then some girls began pushing and yelling to get his attention. However, his focus remained on a girl sitting down, carefully watching him but also throwing glances at the other girls. He scanned you from head to toe and thought you were really cute—no, scratch that, beautiful. You were wearing a skirt and a T-shirt with a print from an old summer album, your hair was loose with two small braids, and your gaze had been fixed on him for a solid few minutes. He licked his lips as if it were the most natural thing in the world—an instinctive gesture, normal for him. But at that moment, with thousands of phones pointed at him and you looking at him with those deep eyes, it seemed anything but innocent. And you? You didn’t know whether to sink into the ground out of embarrassment or smile again. The girls next to you kept screaming, trying to get his attention in every way possible. You exasperated, rolled your eyes, and looked away from him for a moment. But just then, Heeseung burst out laughing. Surprised, you turned your head again, only to find him staring at you with an amused expression. He had noticed you. Among thousands of people, his gaze had landed on you. Embarrassed, you flashed a shy smile.

The stadium lights, the rhythm of the music, and the energy were simply electric. The concert was a dream come true.

Enhypen was incredible. Every detail—from their perfectly curated looks to the inhumanly synchronized choreography—showed the dedication and hours of training behind it all. You were there, completely captivated by their presence on stage.

You sang, danced, recorded videos, and took photos, without being able to stop for a second. It was impossible not to get swept up in it. Every song flowed through your veins: Moonstruck, Pass the Mic, Polaroid Love… all etched in your mind and on your phone’s memory.

But amid all the emotions of the night, there was one that made your heart race in particular.

Heeseung.

Was it just your impression, or… did he linger just a little longer every time he passed near your section?

The girls next to you screamed whenever he came close, desperately trying to get his attention. But you had the feeling that, among all of them, his gaze always returned to you.

No, it couldn’t be, you thought, trying to rationalize. There are thousands of people here—why would he look at me?

And yet, it happened again.

Another song, another lap around the stage, and Heeseung found another reason to pass by your area. This time, as he danced, he shot a glance in your direction. A second, maybe less. But enough for your heart to race uncontrollably.

If he could make you feel this way from a distance… what would happen when you met him at the meet & greet with your VIP pass?

The thought made you catch your breath.

And for the first time since the concert began, the thought of what might happen next excited you even more than the show itself.

The concert had just ended, and you were still buzzing with adrenaline. Slightly sweaty, heart pounding, you made your way to the VIP area to meet Enhypen.

As you entered the area, you took a few minutes to freshen up: fixing your braids, touching up your makeup, and spritzing a bit of your favorite perfume. Around you, other girls were doing the same. After all, in just a few minutes, you’d be seeing Enhypen up close, with only some barriers separating you from them.

Each fan had an assigned number and had to remain in their spot. While you waited, you began chatting with the girls around you, talking about the experience you’d just had, your favorite songs, and, of course, who your bias was.

Suddenly, a wave of excited screams filled the room.

You leaned forward slightly and saw Enhypen coming down to interact with the fans. They were right there, in front of you.

Your heart jumped into your throat.

Since you had one of the last numbers, you had to wait a bit longer before they reached you. In the meantime, you kept talking with the girls next to you to distract yourself from the growing anxiety.

A few minutes later, the first member to reach you was Jay.

<<Hey!>> he greeted with his usual confident smile.

Timidly, you asked if he could sign a T-shirt for your friend.

He grabbed the marker, but before signing, he looked at you with a mischievous grin. <<And where’s your friend? Didn’t she have the courage to come?>>

You chuckled, already feeling your cheeks warm. “She has an exam tomorrow… but she loves you!”

Jay nodded theatrically. <<Then we forgive her. I hope this signature brings her good luck>> he joked, signing the shirt with his neat handwriting.

One down.

“If they’re all this friendly, I can relax a bit,” you thought.

After Jay, it was Sunoo’s turn. His radiant face looked even more stunning in person, and he wasted no time signing the album you brought. 'Shall we take a photo?' he asked enthusiastically.

Of course, you agreed. You took a quick selfie, and he made a heart with his fingers before moving on to the next person.

Next up was Sunghoon. With his calm and mysterious demeanor, he took the marker and signed the T-shirt you were wearing, next to the event logo. -This T-shirt looks great on you,- he said, giving a smile while writing his name.

A chill ran down your spine and that was just the first three.

There were still four members left, including him. Heeseung.

And with each passing second, the wait became even more nerve-wracking.

When Jungwon and Niki arrived at your turn, instead of asking for the usual photo, you threw out a different idea.

“Let’s do a BeReal?” you suggested with an amused smile.

Jungwon’s eyes lit up with excitement. --Oh, that’s a cute idea!-- he exclaimed, moving closer to get into the shot. Niki nodded right away and pulled a funny face before the photo was taken.

You chatted a bit more with Jungwon, finding him easygoing and sweet. He asked you about your experience at the concert, your favorite performance, and even what had brought you to study in Seoul. He seemed genuinely interested in getting to know you, which surprised you.

After a few minutes, Jake arrived.

As soon as he approached, it seemed like all the fans around you lost their minds. With his usual sunny smile, he chuckled and exchanged a few jokes with you while signing your T-shirt.

But then something happened that made your blood freeze.

Behind him, almost as if he had been waiting for his moment, Heeseung appeared.

And from the very first moment, his eyes were only on you.

A shiver ran down your spine.

Jake made a joke to Heeseung about how much he was in demand with the fans, and Heeseung responded with a sarcastic comment that somehow seemed directed at you.

'I want to sign the T-shirt too,' he said, slightly shifting his gaze toward you with that sly smile of his.

You stood up slightly, ready to make room for him to sign the top of your T-shirt, just like Jake and Sunghoon had signed your shoulders.

But Heeseung did something unexpected.

He crouched down slightly and, through the gap in the barrier, reached out his hand. He grabbed the hem of your T-shirt and gently pulled it toward him to get a more stable surface to write on.

But in doing so, his fingers brushed your skin, right on your stomach.

A light touch. Almost accidental.

But enough to send a wave of warmth to your cheeks.

The fans around you held their breath for a second. Some recorded the scene with their phones, while others exchanged incredulous glances. It was just an autograph… or was there something more?

You, frozen, watched him as he was almost kneeling in front of you, focused on writing his name on your T-shirt.

When he stood up, he locked eyes with you and, with his usual flirty expression, asked:

'Shall we take a photo together?'

You, still slightly shaken, nodded without saying a word.

He took your phone and, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, lowered the screen to check the saved photo of him on your background. A mischievous little smile appeared on his lips. 'Oh? What’s this?' he asked, showing you the picture of him you had saved.

You felt like dying of embarrassment. Had that just happened?

'So, am I your favorite?' he asked, his voice a little lower and more playful.

Other fans were waiting, and you had to let him go. But before he took the photo, you decided to tease him a bit.

“Maybe… or maybe I change the screen to a different photo of all seven of you every day,” you replied with a smile, trying to recover from the tense moment.

He looked at you for a second, squinting as if he were trying to figure out whether you were lying or not.

Then he took the photo with you and finally moved on to the next fan.

But still… every time he could, he would glance back at you.

As if, for some reason, he just couldn’t stop looking at you.

You were both stunned and ecstatic at the same time.

The evening had already been incredible on its own, but what had happened with Heeseung left you in a state of complete confusion. Was it just a game to him? A way to entertain the fans?

Lost in your thoughts, you were leaving the stadium when a big, burly man, clearly part of the security team, approached you.

-Excuse me, miss, we found your ID on the ground. Could you follow me for a moment?-

You looked at him, surprised. My ID?

Maybe it fell out when you showed your tickets at the entrance…

"Oh, sure!" you replied, following him without asking too many questions.However, as you ventured deeper into a more restricted area, anxiety began to rise. Why is he taking me here?

When you reached a side door, a staff member, with a kind demeanor and a sweet smile, greeted you.

'Hi! Could you check if your ID is really in your bag?' she asked. Confused, you opened the notebook where you usually kept your documents... and the ID was there.

You stared at it, puzzled. "But..."

She smiled even more. 'Actually, it was just an excuse. One of the members asked to meet you.'

Your heart skipped a beat.

"...What?"

'Heeseung asked to meet you after the concert.' You burst out laughing, more from shock than anything else. "You're joking, right?"

The girl shook her head. 'No, it's all true. If you want, you can go into that room. But first, you need to sign a confidentiality agreement and leave your phone with us.'

You swallowed hard. An agreement?

"Can I read it first?" you asked, growing more nervous.

'Of course, take all the time you need.'

She handed you a tablet with the document, and you began scrolling through the text, making sure to understand every point.

Main points of the agreement:

Total confidentiality – You couldn’t share any details about the conversation or the meeting with Heeseung, nor talk about it online or with friends.

No recording – No photos, videos, or audio. You had to hand over your phone before entering.

Duration of the meeting – It was specified as a private meeting, with no commitments or obligations.

Termination of the agreement – If you felt uncomfortable, you could leave at any time.

Number of fans he had met – 0, no names were listed, and you had to write yours at the top of the box along with your phone number.

You read it carefully. Nothing seemed strange or dangerous, but it still felt surreal. Why does Heeseung want to see me?

In the end, after taking a deep breath, you agreed and signed the contract.

The staff member took your phone and sealed it in an envelope, then smiled. 'You can go in.'

She opened the door, and as soon as you stepped inside, you saw him.

Heeseung was sitting on a couch, legs slightly spread, a cold drink in hand, and his hair still damp. His posture was relaxed, but his gaze was fixed on you. Slowly, he set the bottle down on the table beside him and, with a sly smile, said the first thing that made your legs shake.

'I thought you wouldn’t accept.' You approached slowly, almost with fear and disbelief.

Heeseung rose from the couch with a smooth movement, leaving the drink on the table. He was tall and relaxed, but his gaze was hypnotic. He extended his hand with a slightly mischievous smile.

'Maybe you already know my name... and maybe you know everything about me,' he said in a low, slightly amused voice.

You immediately blushed but you didn’t want to seem like a shy, fan-girl with no character. So, you looked up and, with a somewhat timid but bold smile, replied: "I know all about Enhypen, not just about you."

He chuckled, raising an eyebrow as if he hadn’t expected such a response. 'Oh? So, I’m not your favorite?'

Without lowering your gaze, you confidently extended your hand toward him, palm open. "Y/N."

As soon as your hands touched, both of you felt a sudden shiver. A flash of something unexplainable, electric.

He stayed for a moment, staring at you, his thumb gently brushing your skin, and said, 'Nice to meet you, Heeseung.' Then, almost as if he wanted to mask it, he ran a hand through his hair and briefly looked away.

'I wanted to meet you because…' he paused, almost as if considering how to say it. 'I couldn’t stop looking at you.'

Your heart skipped a beat. You swallowed, trying to remain calm, but your voice came out a bit more uncertain than you intended. "So… it wasn’t just my imagination?"

Heeseung laughed, tilting his head slightly. 'No. I really was always looking at you.' The way he said it, so simple and direct, left you speechless for a moment.

'In fact,' he continued with a smirk, 'I always looked for a reason to go to your side of the stage.'

You stared at him with a skeptical expression. "Oh, so it was all calculated?" you teased, crossing your arms.

He laughed again, a low, captivating sound, before shaking his head. 'Maybe yes… or maybe no.'

Now that he was right in front of you, so close, you could truly observe him. His skin is still slightly damp from the concert, his dark eyes seemed to glow, the way his lips always curved into that expression halfway between playful and provocative.

And then, without thinking too much, he did something that completely threw you off. He took your hand and placed it on his cheek. The warmth of his skin against your palm made you hold your breath. Your fingers brushed the edge of his jawline, the slight roughness of his post-concert skin tangible beneath your fingertips. It was real.

In a barely audible whisper, the words escaped your lips. "You... you’re real." Heeseung closed his eyes for a moment under your touch, then slowly reopened them. 'Yes. I’m real.'

Then, he lowered his voice a little, his gaze turning more serious and intense.

'And we can do whatever we want.'

You burst out laughing, a light and innocent sound, even though the atmosphere in the room had turned electric, charged with something dangerously intense. "So, Heeseung…" You tilted your head slightly, watching him with a provocative smile. "What do you want to do with me?" For a moment, he seemed taken aback, as if he hadn’t expected your boldness. Then he lowered his gaze, biting his lip slightly before letting out a low laugh, almost amused but also pleased. 'You’re bolder than I thought.' His finger brushed the edge of your shirt, exactly where he had signed his name just moments ago. A light touch, almost imperceptible, but enough to make you hold your breath. You didn’t move and when he noticed, something in his gaze shifted. With a slow and calculated movement, he slid his finger along the hem of your skirt, his fingertip tracing a small circle on your exposed skin. Then, without breaking eye contact, he lowered his finger to your thighs, barely grazing them, leaving you breathless and with a racing heart. You stared at him, trying not to be overwhelmed by his game, and teased him with a mischievous smile. "So?" Your voice was barely a whisper. "Is that all?" His eyes darkened slightly, his lips parted as though he was about to say something, but then he hesitated. Finally, in a low, husky voice, he whispered against your skin. 'I want to kiss you.' Your lips curled into a slight smile, your heart pounding in your chest, but you wouldn’t make it easy for him. 'Is that it?' He stiffened for a second, as if your question had caught him off guard, then tilted his head to the side, eyeing you with a mix of amusement and authority. Did he seem shy? Maybe for a second. But only for a second. 'Don’t joke with me.' His voice had deepened, turning more dangerous. You bit your lip, amused by his reaction, but inside, you felt an ever-increasing surge of tension, almost unbearable. "I’m just trying to understand…" you shrugged, feigning innocence. "What else do you want from me? Why me, out of all those girls?" He narrowed his eyes, his jaw slightly clenched, and then, with a pout that almost seemed cute, answered with disarming honesty: 'I want to touch you. I want to have you for myself.' And in that moment, you realized he wasn’t playing anymore. The tension in the air was so thick, it almost felt like you could touch it. Your eyes locked with his as, without hesitation, you whispered: "You can kiss me." Heeseung tilted his face slightly, his gaze moving from your lips to your eyes, as if memorizing every one of your reactions. His hand slowly rose to your cheek, brushing it with a delicacy almost unnatural for the desire you saw in his eyes. Then, slowly, he lowered his face toward yours. His lips met yours in a kiss that started light and soft as if giving you time to get used to the sensation of him so close. But you didn’t want caution; you wanted to feel him for real. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. His scent enveloped you, his presence seemed to consume you. After a few seconds, you felt him smile against your lips, and then, with a slow, almost cruel motion, he bit your lower lip. A soft moan escaped you, and that was exactly what made him lose control. With a fluid motion, he slid his tongue against yours, deepening the kiss without hesitation.

His fingers glided across your skin, his hand resting on the small of your back, pulling you even closer to him.

You lifted yourself slightly onto your toes, trying to bridge the height difference between you, and he noticed immediately.

'You’re really small,' he murmured against your lips, chuckling as he traced small circles with his fingers on your exposed stomach.

He teased you, his tone provocative, amused. You pulled away slightly, catching your breath, and lifted your gaze to meet his.

"And you’re bold," you shot back, but your voice sounded more innocent than you had intended.

Heeseung chuckled softly, his eyes shining with dangerous satisfaction.

Your back hit the wall with a dull thud, your breath caught by the intensity with which Heeseung had pushed you against it.

It wasn’t violent; it was desperate.

His eyes burned with a barely contained desire, and before you could say anything, he lowered himself to you, his mouth finding your neck.

A shiver ran through your body as his lips brushed the sensitive skin beneath your ear, leaving behind slow, provocative kisses.

Then, the first bite, you moaned softly, your fingers instinctively gripping his shirt. Heeseung smiled against your skin, his warm breath caressing you as he continued to torment you with gentle bites and sucks, alternating them with sweeter kisses.

Between breaths, you barely found the strength to whisper a question that was consuming you from the inside:

"How many times have you done it?" You felt his smile curve against your skin before he even spoke. He paused for a moment, his eyes meeting yours with a hint of genuine shyness.

'It’s the first time with a fan.'

Your expression must have betrayed your skepticism because Heeseung chuckled softly, leaving another kiss just above your collarbone.

'I don’t really like these kinds of things,' he continued in a lower, rougher voice. 'But when I saw you under the stage... I wanted to get to know you. I wanted to have you all to myself.'

Your heart skipped a beat."I don’t believe you."

You just couldn’t trust those words. A guy like him? The flirt, the idol who drove millions of fans crazy?

Heeseung barely shook his head, as if he had anticipated your reaction. Then he sank his teeth into a more sensitive spot on your neck and sucked hard enough to make you flinch.

'Did you read the contract?' he whispered with a hoarse voice, his lips still pressed against your skin.

"Yes," you replied with difficulty, trying to catch your breath.

'And how many fans was it written that I had been with, before you?'

Your mind quickly went back to the contract you had signed. There was a number. Zero. You stiffened slightly. Heeseung pulled back just enough to look at you, a cocky smile on his lips.

'It was true.' He was teasing you.

And without thinking, you reached a hand into his hair and pulled slightly, making him groan softly against you.

His eyes darkened when they met yours.

'You’re cute when you do that.'

"I’m not cute."

'Are you jealous too?' he chuckled softly, his voice full of amusement.

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the frantic beating of your heart.

You would never give him the satisfaction of a response. But Heeseung didn’t seem willing to let you go.

He moved closer again, his mouth back on yours—and this time, the kiss was even deeper. His lips came back to you, hungry and sure, while a shiver ran down your spine. He chuckled against your skin when his hands moved more decisively down your sides, tracing the curve of your body with an audacious touch.

A barely audible groan eluded you when you felt the touch of his hands creep under your skirt. He giggled against your neck, the hot breath making you shudder. "So sensitive already?” he whispered, his fingers sliding light on your butt as if to test your reaction.

You looked down, your cheeks on fire, and he seemed to enjoy it even more. With a sharp movement, he squeezed you by the hips.

'Jump up' he ordered, his voice lower, almost hoarse. You hesitated for a second, embarrassed, but the intensity with which she looked at you made you give in. You clung to his shoulders, and he lifted you up with ease, gluing you to himself. Your back crashed into the wall with a light thud, while his hands clasped you tightly against his body.

You felt its length press against your warm center, even through the layers of clothing, and your breath stuck in your throat. 'Baby,' he muttered with a crooked smile, the tone barely darker, 'you're so fragile... I could bend you as I want.'

A shiver ran through your back, but instead of backing away, you looked at him with a spark of defiance in your eyes. “And what stops you?”

He laughed quietly, his eyes shining with something dangerous. Then his fingers found the edge of your panties, stroking them with slow, deliberate movements. He felt how soaked they were already and raised an eyebrow, amused.

'So wet just for me?' You bit your lip, trying to hold back a reaction, but he wouldn't let you. With an expert touch, she pushed her thumb against your sensitive clitoris, making you arch your body instantly. "H-Heeseung..." you gasped, holding on to him more.

'Shh,' he whispered, bringing one hand under your butt to hold you still while the other continued to explore you. When you felt the first finger slip inside you, you gasped and he giggled again, pleased to see you so lost in his touch. 'So tight... ' he whispered, her voice full of desire. 'I'll ruin you.'

Heeseung walked slowly around the room, holding you firmly in his arms. Every step was safe and controlled, while his fingers moved inside you with maddening slowness. The contrast between his firm grip and languid touch drove you crazy. Your hands clung to her dark hair, pulling them slowly in a desperate attempt to have more friction, more intensity. He laughed against your skin, his warm breath caressed your neck.

'So impatient,' he whispered, nibbling softly at your earlobe. 'Look how you hold me. Do you like it that much, mh?' The heat that spread through your body was overwhelming, and you looked away, your face turned red. Feeling your embarrassment, Heeseung smiled amused.

He sat on the big bed, keeping you above himself without ever stopping the movement of his fingers inside you. When he added another, deeper, your body flinched at him, snatching another low, smug laugh.

'Oh? Do you like this too?' he asked, his voice full of malice.

'Don't say you're shy when your body is practically begging me to continue.' He blatantly teased you, and you, in an attempt to regain at least some control, lowered your head towards her neck, leaving a light kiss on his skin before nibbling it softly. You could feel him stiffening for a moment, before his free hand grabbed your hair firmly, pulling you back slightly to make you meet his gaze.

'What a good girl...' he muttered, dark irises shone with desire.

'But do you really think you can provoke me like that and get away with it?' Your mouth opened to respond, but a sudden movement of his fingers, faster, deeper, made you gasp faintly against his lips. Heeseung laughed again, his tone authoritarian but amused.

'Oh, you're so sensitive... Tell me, do you like it when I touch you like that?' You looked down, biting your lip. You didn't want to give him that satisfaction.

'Don't you want to answer?' he murmured, increasing the pace without any mercy. The increasing pressure made you grab the fabric of his T-shirt with trembling fingers.

'No need, baby. Your body is already speaking for you.' You knew you couldn't resist him much longer. Your legs began to tremble around his hips and the feeling growing in your belly became overwhelming.

"Hee... I -”

'I know,' his voice was a whisper against your ear. 'You're so cute when you try to hold yourself back, but I want to hear you let go for me.'

One last, precise movement of his fingers was your end. The pleasure exploded inside you in an uncontrollable wave, and your body squeezed around its fingers as a moan escaped from your lips. Heeseung watched you with dark eyes full of satisfaction, his breathing heavy as he pressed you against himself.

'So beautiful,' he whispered, leaving a slow kiss on your temple. 'And all mine.'

Heeseung watched your flushed face, breath still broken by the former pleasure. With a satisfied smile, she brought her wet fingers close to your lips, gently tracing the outline with her tip before whispering in a low, hoarse voice: 'suck.'

You stiffened slightly, the heat rose from the chest to the cheeks. Heeseung's eyes shone with malice as he waited, patient but dominant, for me to obey. “I ... never did, " you muttered, looking down slightly.

He laughed softly, that low, enveloping laugh that made you vibrate inside. With his other hand, he gently stroked your chin, forcing you to look at him.

'Oh, how cute,' he whispered, tilting her head slightly.

'You are so shy, but look how well you took my fingers before...' Swallow empty, feeling even more embarrassed under his intense gaze. But part of you wanted to please him, wanted to see him satisfied. So, hesitantly, you slowly squinted at his lips, leaving him room to push his fingers between them. You wrapped them with your tongue, savoring the slightly sweetish and salty flavor of your essence. You sucked them gently, licking softly while he watched you with dark, piercing eyes. His chest rose with a deeper breath, and his free hand crept through your hair, stroking it with slow, relaxing movements. 'Good girl,' he muttered, the tone low and velvety.

The compliment made you cringe, and you nodded quietly, maintaining eye contact with him as you continued to suck softly. When he felt it was enough, Heeseung withdrew his fingers from your mouth slowly, leaving a thread of spit connected between them and your slightly swollen lips. Before you could say anything, he pressed his lips against yours in an urgent, ravenous kiss. His hands went down to your hips, squeezing you with more force as he drew you even closer to his warm body.

The kiss was deep, almost possessive, and you couldn't help but get carried away, responding with the same intensity. In the brief moment when you took off to catch your breath, you whispered against his lips, short of breath: "You taste of me...”

He smiled at your lower lip before biting it flat, pulling it slightly before releasing it.

'And I like it,' he replied with a grin. Then, without giving you time to replicate, he began to slowly move his hips against yours, rubbing himself slowly with slow but firm movements. The contact made you gasp, a muffled groan escaped from your lips as he continued to kiss you, swallowing every sound you could make.

'You're so responsive...' he whispered between kisses, his voice charged with desire.

'You like it when I move like this, don't you?' The heat in your belly became unbearable, and all you could do was hold on to him even more, completely lost in his touch. The rhythm between you became slow but full of tension, your bodies moving in unison in an increasingly pronounced rocking. With every slightest movement, you could feel his excitement growing beneath you, the hardness pressing against the light fabric of your little skirt. The warmth enveloped you, and a little amused smile grazed your lips as you looked at him with eyes full of mischief.

"Do you like it, Hee?” you muttered, tilting your head slightly as you continued to move slowly over him. He raised an eyebrow, his smile widened into a smug grin.

'Are you kidding me?' he asked, his voice low and veiled with desire. You didn't respond right away, biting your lip as you moved just a little harder against his thick cock that by now your poor pussy felt so good under him. A subdued growl escaped from his lips, and in an instant his hand slid under your butt, grabbing you with a firm grip that made you wince. He lifted you slightly, forcing you to stop, and his gaze became darker as his thumb traced small circles on your exposed skin.

'You know' “he began, tilting his head as his eyes slowly slid over you,

'I've always liked this little skirt of yours'

Your breath became shorter when his hand slid down the light cloth, stroking your hips before stopping on your thigh. 'Every time I came to the side of your sector to see you dance and sing my songs...' he paused, letting his fingers graze the edge of the cloth. 'He always got up too much for my taste.'

A shiver ran down your back at his tone, so confident, so authoritarian. But before you could answer, you felt a little slap on the bare buttock. Nothing strong, just a light blow, more provocative than punitive. A little gasp escaped from your lips, and your eyes opened wide as you looked at him, surprised. He smiled, clearly amused by your reaction.

“Why did you do it?” asked slowly, the voice a little uncertain. Heeseung lowered his face until he touched your ear, his voice now a warm and possessive whisper.

'Because from now on, these beautiful legs will only be seen by me.' Your heart beats faster in your chest, and your body responds to his statement more than you want to admit. And yet, in the next moment, his attitude changed slightly. His eyes, still intense, seemed for a moment sweeter, and his hand, which just before had grasped your skin firmly, now gently stroked your back.

'Baby..' he muttered, his voice lower, almost uncertain. 'Do you want to take my pants off?' The contrast between his authoritarian tone from just before and the slight hesitation with which he asked you for that gesture sent you completely into a tailspin.

The heat on the cheeks became oppressive, and you slightly lowered your gaze, biting your lip. You couldn't answer right away, but at the end, you nodded quietly, your voice a shy whiff.

"Yesp” A satisfied smile curved his lips. 'Good girl.' Heeseung lifted slightly, leaving you room to pull off his pants. With slightly trembling hands, you grabbed the edge of the fabric and lowered it flat, when the pants slid down his legs, your eyes stopped on her tight-fitting boer Your breath stopped for a moment, and the heat on your cheeks became even more intense. Heeseung immediately noticed your fixed gaze, and a mischievous smile painted on his lips as he leaned towards you.

'That's the effect you've been doing to me... since the first time I saw you sitting at the soundcheck.' His voice was low, and deep, as if he were confessing a forbidden secret. You looked at him, biting your lower lip with a mixture of embarrassment and satisfaction. Part of you still felt shy under his intense gaze and you lowered his hand and brushed his erection over the hot boer Heeseung breathed sharply, your abs twitching under the gentle touch of your fingers.

The sound that came out of his lips was deep, and throaty, and for a moment you seemed to lose control. "I can...?" you asked slowly, your fingers moving just above the cloth. He did not hesitate for a second before answering, his voice more hoarse than usual.

'Yes ... please.' A little amused smile eluded you as you gently grabbed the edge of his boer When the fabric slipped away, his breathing became heavier. Your gaze rests on his cock, imposing, slightly curved, the warm skin crossed by light veins and covered with a thin moisture of whitish liquid. Without realizing it, you slowly licked your lips, and Heeseung did not let it slip.

'Do you like what you see?' he whispered, his tone provocative but loaded with expectation. You just lowered your hand, slowly touching him, savoring the way his body reacted under your touch. Heeseung closed his eyes for a moment, his jaw clenched as a subdued groan escaped from his lips. 'Continue...' he muttered, his voice slightly trembling. Heeseung seemed completely lost in you.

His eyes were ajar, his lips slightly open as his chest rose in irregular breaths. Still, all you were doing was slowly moving your hand along his cock, exploring it with a mixture of curiosity and shyness. His voice, deep and broken with pleasure, filled the room.

'Not—' he gasped, slightly clutching the sheets under himself, 'not too hard... go slow.'

Nod slowly, biting your lip as you followed his command, your hand moving more gently. Now and then, his voice became more authoritarian, as if he wanted to regain control of the situation, but his own pleasure seemed to betray him.

'Yes, so...' he whispered between heavy breaths, his hand resting on yours, guiding you in the rhythm he preferred. 'Good girl.' Those words made you feel even hotter and you felt your poor pussy even more stimulated and dripping from seeing the guy of your fucking dreams make him feel good with just one hand of yours, and the way he was looking at you - lost, vulnerable, completely at your mercy - made you unconsciously squeeze your legs.

Every deep moan of his, every sigh of his body under your touch, made you feel like you were discovering a side of him that no one else had ever seen. After a while, his breathing became even more irregular and you felt his body vibrate under your hands. Heeseung gently grabbed your wrists, holding you for a moment as the pleasure overwhelmed him altogether. A throaty moan left his lips as his body arched slightly, the heat of his excitement pouring over his taut abdomen and you watched him spellbound as he cleaned out in his abdomen the splashes of his cum and stood motionless for a moment, his chest rising and lowering heavily as he tried to recover. Then, he opened his eyes and looked at you with a sly smile. 'You're such a good student.'

The blush on your cheeks increased, and you slightly lowered your gaze, fiddling with your fingers. ” Today I'm trying a lot of new things... "

You admitted softly, your voice shy but sincere. He laughed softly, his expression sweetened as he watched you with a mixture of affection and amusement. Then he came up and, with extreme sweetness, kissed your forehead. 'Then let's see what else I can teach you.'

His hands grazed your skin with a delicacy that contrasted with the way he looked at you—his dark eyes, burning with desire.

'Do you want it?' he whispered against your lips, his voice hoarse and deep. You nodded quickly with a barely hinted smile, raised your hand and gently took your chin between your fingers, forcing you to look straight into your eyes.

'Tell me,' he ordered in that authoritarian tone that made you tremble. Inhale slowly, feeling your body getting warmer and warmer under his intense gaze. "Yes, I want you."

A smug smirk made space on his lips as he picked up a condom and unrolled it over himself with a confidence that made you bite your lip. Your gaze remained glued to his gestures, and he immediately noticed.

'All yours, Baby. You can do whatever you want.' His confidence made you feel thrilled, but he also wanted to test you, and make you give in completely to him. His hands rested on your hips, stroking the light fabric.

'Get up a little bit so that I take off this fucking skirt and this little t-shirt, I can't wait to see you completely naked around my cock!"

You burst out laughing, hitting his chest lightly with your hand, but he took the moment to grab the edge of your shirt and lift it over your head, revealing your body little by little. His eyes lowered on your curves with admiration and desire, and his breathing became heavier. "You are incredible..." he muttered, letting his fingers slide slowly down your skin. Then, with a mischievous grin, he added: 'Perfect at every point.'

You felt the heat rise on your cheeks as he ducked down to leave a warm kiss on your skin, right there where your heartbeat was most frantic. His hands clasped around you more firmly, and in an instant he lifted you slightly, supporting you in his arms as your breaths intertwined.

When you felt him finally pushing himself inside you your warm walls began to wrap his cock inside you, and a subdued moan escaped from your lips, immediately followed by his. His eyes met yours, dark and burning, while his body moved against yours with an almost unnerving slowness.

'Is everything okay?' he whispered, his thumb stroking your side gently. Nod slowly, clinging to him as the wave of sensations swept over you. "Yes ... continue." His hips rose slightly and you turned more violently on his cock while your vaginal walls completely excited and covered in slime took him almost completely inside you, your breasts ribboned every time his cock entered you; every time you pushed against him, a thrill of pleasure ran down your back, and your moans came out involuntary.

He, with a mischievous smile, mocked you for your reaction, but even he did not seem able to resist. His body trembled under yours, responding to your every movement. Every time you approached, he would bend down to kiss you on the breast, his kisses becoming more and more intense and full of passion. His hands caressed your skin with a sweetness that contrasted with the strength of his desire.

'You're amazing,' he whispered between breaths, his voice hoarse and low. 'I didn't think you'd be so... beautiful and good at taking my cock.' The pleasure grew, and with each movement, you felt the wave of pleasure enveloping you more and more. When he finally touched the right spot, a scream of pleasure eluded you, and his eyes became even more intense.

'Do you want them to hear you?' he asked.

"Yes, yes...Hee is too much' He smiled with a smug air, gently caressing you.

'You're not as shy as I thought you were,' he muttered, your every movement getting faster, more intense, and you felt that the pleasure was overpowering you. With a last gasp, you whispered to him that you were about to arrive. He gently took you in his hands, touching both of you and making you feel even closer to him. When his breathing became even more frantic, he leaned toward you, kissing you with impetus, his tongue exploring yours with an intensity that gave you goosebumps.

'Feel how much I am inside you,' he muttered against your lips, the tone warm and deep.

'Feel what you make me feel.' His words made you falter, but the passion and desire you felt made you stronger. You responded with a groan, pushing at him with greater intensity, your body instinctively reacting to his unspoken commands. Every word, every whisper, made you feel like you were experiencing something unique, and intense, and all you wanted was to let go completely. "Don't stop," you whispered to him, your body trembling with desire. "Let me come, please Heeseung."

Heeseung held you tight against him, his eyes dark and burning with desire. 'You're so small compared to me...' he whispered with a cheeky smile, the tone low and provocative.

'I could break you at any moment, you know?' His voice made you shudder. You knew it was just a provocation, but the way he said it, with that disarming confidence, made you lose your mind. His movements became deeper and deeper, more intense, each push sending waves of pleasure down your back. You stuttered broken words, unable to formulate coherent sentences, and this seemed to amuse him.

'What are you trying to say, baby?' he laughed softly, with that mocking, charming tone.

'Can't you even talk? Am I making you feel so good?' You nodded weakly, biting your lip to hold back the moans, but he didn't seem willing to let you hide anything.

'No, no ... I want to hear from you.' His hand slid between your bodies, finding your most sensitive spot. A single expert touch was enough to make you gasp and let slip a louder groan. "Hee-I'm going to -"

He smiled, stroking you with slow, torturing movements.

'I know, baby ... come for me.' And when the wave of pleasure swept over you, a scream of ecstasy filled the room. Your body shook above him, your hands clinging desperately to his broad shoulders. Heeseung didn't stop moving, dragging you through orgasm as his breathing became more erratic. With one last deep moan, he completely immersed himself and doused all his condom with his cum that he absolutely wanted to squirt into you but he didn't know you and he knew exactly how much he was risking, his body straining as he let go.

He held you close to him, his face tucked against your neck, his warm breath on your skin. You stayed like this for a few moments, hearts beating in unison, the silence broken only by the labored rhythm of your breaths. Then, when you finally got up slightly, you felt a sudden feeling of emptiness that left a shiver on your skin. It was a reality that you should not forget: he was Heeseung, an idol, a star that everyone admired.

You ... just a student who loved it. Yet at that moment, in his arms, none of this seemed to matter.

The idea of seeing him everywhere, wherever you looked, made you feel a little trapped as if fate was playing a bad joke on you. Every time you crossed his eyes, even on a giant screen, there was something that struck you deep, as if it had left an indelible mark on you. And yet, you knew that for him you were just one person among a thousand others, one night among many, one of the many experiences that he could easily forget, while you remained to brood, to try to come to terms with your heart that did not seem to want to know to "forget"

It had been a month since that magical night and that afternoon you were quietly working in the bar outside the university campus until you saw him come in, but you were not ready for that voice that made you stop suddenly.

That voice that had tormented you in your dreams and in your days, like a melody that you could not get out of your head, but that now seemed even more real, closer. Your colleague, with her innocent smile and a little complicit, had no idea what was going on inside you.

He had no idea how much that simple request for ' an iced coffee' had made you falter.

Your colleague asked Heeseung his name and he said to write,

'Do you want to go out with me?'

and he had thrown it at you as if it were a game as if he had no idea of the effect it had on you, the world around you seemed to have stopped. Your mind was trying to reason, but your feelings were a whirlwind difficult to contain. How could you answer that? How could you pretend that everything was normal, when the guy of your dreams, the guy you had seen everywhere and tried to avoid, from the first moment he entered the bar was looking at you with that challenge in his eyes?

You made that coffee, put the ice in it, and wrote those words on the glass... everything seemed so simple, but inside you, there was a total confusion. Every move seemed executed in a dream, every gesture you did as if automatic, but your heart was completely out of control. When you turned around to pass the glass to your colleague and stood in front of him, it was as if the whole world had stopped again. His eyes were on you, and his smile, with that slight air of defiance, hit you right in the chest.

He passed the marker to you as if he wanted to continue that game, but his look told you everything: he was waiting for an answer.

It was all so surreal. You looked at him, your heart pounding in your chest, and with a smile, you couldn't hold back, you turned a little more toward him.

And your question... 'Is it a yes or a no?' it struck you as a small provocation, but also with a sweetness that almost made you melt.

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‘LOVE AND LATTES | kang dae-ho x reader

PAIRING: kang dae-ho x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: during the games, dae-ho promised to take you on a proper first date. now that you had both successfully made it out, he was going to keep his promise

CONTENT: fluff, literally the tiniest bit of angst, kinda corny, trauma, kissing on the first date smh, reader is implied to be black

AUTHORS NOTE: tryna get a lot of fics out for u guys bcs almost 400 likes on my first ??? omg yall r so sweet i swearrr, tysmm !!! ngl this might be kinda bad bcs im too tired to read over it …

word count: [2.5k]

IT’S been around 3 days since you got out of those hellish games, and you still can’t seem to process it. There was so much death, you felt guilty for taking the money, but it was your only chance at having a way out.

After surviving and splitting the money with a good handful of people, you found yourself dropped off in a dark alleyway. With only a large duffel bag at your side, you felt lost, unsure of where to go.

Eventually, you made your way to a bus station and caught a ride back to your apartment. It took a while to adjust to being in the real world again, a world where a gun wasn’t being held up to your head every hour of the day.

You remembered how you met the sweetest boy there. Kang Dae-ho. He was everything you could’ve asked for. The perfect man, met at a perfectly terrible time. Your mind flashed back to the end of mingle game.

‘I swear, when we get out of here I’m gonna take you on a real date. No guards, no games, just us two and the future ahead of us, okay?’ Dae-ho promised, cupping your face gently in his hands.

‘I love you with all of my heart, and I wanna see you when this is all over. We can move in with eachother and spend everyday in eachothers arms.’ He rambled with tears in his eyes, ‘I can’t lose you.’

Now in the present day, you wished you’d spend more time with him. You thought back to the last day in the games, when you wrote your number on his hand, hoping it wouldn’t be wiped off by the guards before he got home so you could live out the future you planned.

As the days passed, you lost hope in being able to reunite with your lover. Memories of him flashed through your mind. “Fuck, Dae-ho.” you whispered, “If only I had one more day with you..” and as if on cue, you heard your phone ring.

You stared for a couple seconds, confused as to who it could be. ‘It wouldn’t be Dae-ho, would it?’ With an ounce of hope left in your mind, you hurried and clicked the green answer button.

Silence lingered, then you heard a voice that made your heart explode.

“Hello?” Dae-ho’s wavering voice sounded “Is this you?”

You jumped up in joy, feeling a huge smile stretch across your face.

“Oh my God, Dae-ho!! It’s actually you!!” You exclaimed. “I missed you so much I thought we’d never talk again.”

A relieved sigh came from the other line, followed by a slight laugh. “I missed you more. How have you been? Where are you? Do you want me to come over?” he bombarded

“Okay woah, I can tell you missed me. I’m doing good, well better than I was a couple days ago, I’m at my house, and yes, I would love for you to come” You answered

The line went quiet for a moment, making you wonder if you’d lost the connection. Just as concern started to creep in, Dae-ho spoke again “Do you remember that promise I made before we got out?”

Of course you remember, his words have been playing on repeat in your mind like a record. Your heart skipped a beat as you thought of it actually coming true. You muttered a quick ‘mhm’ for him to continue.

“Tomorrow, meet me at the cafe down the street from that big market. I don’t know where you stay, so if it’s too far tell me and I’ll call you an uber.” he planned, “Dress up, even though I know you’ll look amazing in anything” You felt the butterflies in your stomach form as he carried on about what’ll happen the next day.

As the conversation came to a close and you got ready for bed, you found yourself thinking of any possible scenario that could happen tomorrow, good and bad.

‘What if my hair doesn’t cooperate?’

‘What if he doesn’t like how I look anymore?’

‘What if he’s setting me up?’

All these unlikely events start to run through your mind and it caused you to be overwhelmed with everything happening. When drifting off to sleep, you hope that everything turns out right.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

You woke up to a constant ‘ding’ blaring through your room every 10 seconds. Immediately, you pressed the power button on your phone thinking maybe you’d accidentally set an alarm. When it didn’t subside after this, you groggily opened your phone to locate the noise.

There were about 15 notifications from Dae-ho, them all texting you as if you’d died in your sleep or something.

A pool of ‘are you awake?’ and ‘are you okay?’ flooded on your lock screen. Not wanting him to worry any further, you decided to text him back

‘goodmorninggg, i’m up now sorry 😭 im okay, how are you?’ You typed, half asleep.

Immediately, your message was read and the bubbles on the left side of the screen appeared.

‘I’m okay. Why do you sleep so late? You scared me.’ the message read. You hadn’t even realized the time. ‘2:26pm’ the clock read. You always had a bad habit of sleeping in but it had gotten unusually bad after getting back from the games.

You quickly apologized in your message, explaining your situation to which he swiftly understood. As the conversation progressed, you discussed your date. You were the type of person that needed to know every detail before doing something, especially something like this.

The both of you decided to meet there at 7pm, to give you time to get ready, and to dress up—but not too much. To be honest, you weren’t sure if you guys had the same definition of too much but you decided to put it aside for now.

Immediately after you guys finished discussing the details, you rushed to get ready. Even though you had 4 hours, it didn’t seem like nearly enough time to see him.

The closet was your first thought, since you basically lived by the rule of getting dressed first, doing hair, then putting on makeup. You scanned your closet for anything that would impress Dae-ho.

It took about 30 minutes alone to pick out an outfit. You decided on a long black dress you bought for your halloween costume that you never got the chance to wear, due to the pickup for the games occurring the same day. You picked out jewelry and a coat to go with it, since it was the beginning of winter.

After getting dressed, you gathered all your makeup supplies and rushed to the bathroom. Doing your makeup took longer than you wanted it to, but you wanted everything to be perfect since this was the first time you’d see him outside of life-or-death situations.

Every wing of eyeliner had to be just right, your lip gloss needed just the right amount of shine, everything had to reflect how much you cared.

The hair was the part you’d been dreading. You didn’t know if it was the detangling, or getting your part straight, but it gave you a headache just thinking about it.

After stalling for about 20 minutes, you finally built up the strength to start on your hair. Pinterest was your best friend for situations like this. You quickly opened the board labeled “hairstyles” and scrolled through them to find the perfect one.

You’d found this beautiful blown-out hairstyle that would look amazing with your outfit and makeup. Since you knew it would take a long time, you silently braced yourself, this wouldn’t be an easy task. You grabbed the blow dryer, flat iron, heat protectant, and got to work.

In about 2 hours, you had finally finished at 6:50pm. The cafe was about 7 minutes away from you, so you grabbed your stuff and walked out of the door.

The drive there was the worst part. Your stomach was doing somersaults. Even though you’d seen eachother at your literal worsts, it still felt so scary. With all these anxieties flashing through your mind, you managed to push them to the back and keep a confident facade.

As you pulled up, you sent a quick text stating your arrival. You fidgeted with the ends of your dress absentmindedly, spacing out and hoping for the best.

The ding of your phone sent shivers down your spine as a text popped up reading ‘Perfect. Come inside and turn to the left, I’m here.’

You felt like throwing up as you walked up to the entrance of the café. The strong smell of caffeine and pastries hit your nose as you searched for Dae-ho in the warm lights.

Turning left as he instructed, you were met with his beaming face, looking like he’d seen the most beautiful sunrise. His eyes widened in awe, and for a moment, he seemed frozen. The corners of his mouth curled up into an infectious smile, and you felt a rush of warmth, knowing that in this moment, you had completely captivated him.

Almost immediately, he jumped up and gave you an engulfing hug. You didn’t know if it was because you were used to the smell of blood being around him, but he smelled astonishingly good. It was like the best mixture of his natural scent and a very expensive cologne.

As he pulled back slightly, you noticed a beautiful bouquet of flowers in his hands—delicate white lilies mixed with soft pink roses. “These are for you,” he said, a hint of nervousness in his voice. “I thought it was only right for our first date.”

His hair was down to his neck, loose and messy, quite different from the bun you were used to seeing him in during the games. The collar of his shirt was casually unbuttoned, too. He looked effortlessly flawless.

“You look… wow. You’re so beautiful,” Dae-ho complimented, sending electric shocks through your veins. A rush of shyness met your face—he really thought of you like that?

“It’s so good to see you,” you said, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment and delight. “You look amazing too. I mean, I always thought you were handsome, but just… wow.” You took the bouquet from him, inhaling the sweet fragrance of the flowers.

His laughter danced through the air, a sound that brought you so much peace and clarity. “I’m just glad I could pull myself together after… well, everything.” His smile faded a bit, and you felt the silent weight of shared trauma hovering between you.

“Let’s not think about that tonight ,” you suggested softly, taking a seat across from him. “We deserve a night where those horrible games are the last of our worries.”

“Agreed,” he said, leaning forward, his gaze intensifying. “Tonight is about us, and starting fresh,together.”

As you scanned the cafe, adorned with twinkling fairy lights and the faint piano covers playing in the background,you felt the tension from earlier gradually melt away. You could see other people laughing, having the time of their lives. It felt surreal to be part of such a normal scene after everything you had both endured.

The waitress came up to your table and you both ordered drinks; he went for a dark roast coffee while you chose for a sweet vanilla latte. “It’s nice to be able to actually enjoy these little things.” you ranted, “After everything, I never even thought we’d get here.”

Dae-ho's eyes sparkled with that familiar warmth. “I’ve thought about this moment every day since I got back,” he admitted. “Dreamt about sitting across from you in a place that feels safe, where we can just be us.”

That sentiment made your heart swell. You immersed yourself in his beautiful sunkissed eyes. “What do you want for us, Dae-ho?” You asked, knowing that his answer could make or break you.

He hesitated for a moment, his expression solemn. “I want to build a life with you, whatever that looks like. It could be road trips everyday and always having new experiences together, or a cozy apartment with a beautiful family and no worries. I want us to share everything, the good, the bad—everything.”

The sincerity behind his words wrapped around your heart like a warm, familiar blanket. “I want that too,” you said softly, placing your hand over his. The connection was electric, sending sweet shivers up your body.

As you sipped your drinks, Dae-ho leaned in closer, a serious look in his eyes. “You know, I’ve thought about you every single day since we got out. I really missed you.”

“Really? I missed you too,” you replied, voice full of veracity. “It’s been hard without you.”

He took a long pause, as if he was searching for the right words. “I never realized how much I wanted someone like you in my life. Just knowing you were out there somewhere gave me hope.”

You felt your heart pang at his words, you spent all your life searching for a love like this, it felt so good to finally have it. “It was the same for me too. Every time I felt like giving up I had to remind myself of us, and our future.”

A soft smile grew on his face. “I knew we’d find our way back to each other. I just didn’t know how much it would mean to finally be here, like this.”

“Me either,” you said softly. “I was nervous about tonight. I worried that maybe everything would feel different.” You thought back to earlier and how stupid you were for thinking he would see you differently. This is genuinely all you could've asked for.

Dae-ho shook his head with his eyebrows fixed in a furrow. “I was nervous too, but being with you feels right. I could really see us living a perfect life someday”

Your heart swelled with warmth. With him, you felt like you can just be yourself without any fear. He was genuinely your safe space.

“I promise we’ll stay connected. No matter how hard things get, we’ll keep fighting for each other.” You swore, knowing how your past relationships ended and wanting to break the cycle.

“Thank you, really. It means the world to me,” Dae-ho said sincerely, his eyes meeting yours. “I just want us to have a future, no matter how hard it'll be.”

“Yeah, me too,” you replied, feeling a sense of calm settle over you. “It’s comforting to have someone you know will be there for you, even on the darker days.”

His smile deepened, and for a moment, everything else faded. Just the two of you were in the room—focused on your shared promise. Nothing else mattered in this moment, you were ready to finally create a new beginning.

Silence in the air was broken as he finally spoke up, “I want to build a life where we support each other through any and everything." he grinned. “Even the small moments matter. Like cooking together and trying not to burn the kitchen down.”

You chuckled softly, picturing you both in the kitchen attempting to cook and leaving something in the oven too long. “I can definitely see that happening.”

“And if we accidentally set the place on fire, at least I’ll have an excuse to scoop you up and look all heroic while I rescue you.” he joked, his expression growing more playful

Laughter erupts from you and your eyes sprinkle with joy, causing Dae-ho to lean in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You know, I really missed your laugh. It makes everything feel so much brighter.”

“Really?” you asked, feeling warmth spread through your chest, “I missed yours too, it’s cute.”

The atmosphere felt light, almost euphoric, as you both relaxed into the comfort of eachother's presence. “Believe it or not, I was really so nervous for tonight,” Dae-ho admitted, his voice softening as he brushes his hair back behind his ear. “I thought I’d forget how to talk to you.”

“Trust me,” you said, voice tender, “I was nervous too. But I realized that after everything, who else could understand us like this?”

“Exactly,” He said before taking a sip of his coffee. “I feel like I can be myself around you, like I’ve never been able to with anyone else. It’s so freeing.”

“Freedom and love. Isn’t that what life’s really all about?” you said, your voice filled with hope and longing. You felt a warmth in your heart as you spoke, realizing that these two things were what you truly cherished.

As the conversation flowed, you exchanged stories, laughter, and memories—you shared dreams and fears, and slowly the nervousness slowly melted away.

“I can’t believe we made it out,” he said, his voice stern. “I can’t stop thinking about the others we lost… what they would’ve did if they made it out too.”

A brief silence enveloped the moment, both of you remembering the friends that didn’t make it, the faces of people who had shared brutal experiences with you.

“I think they’d want us to live, like really live,” you said firmly, squeezing his hand gently. “To make the most of us getting out, we owe it to them.” Dae-ho silently nodded, the thick atmosphere slowly leaving.

As the evening progressed, you lost track of time, so caught up in the warmth of shared smiles and nervous laughter. You could hardly believe this was the same man who stepped up and took initiative at every rough point during the games, willing to sacrifice himself for everyone's safety.

The night ended slowly as Dae-ho walked you outside to your car. The stars twinkled like tiny beacons in the dark sky above. “It feels different tonight, doesn’t it?” you said, glancing up at the stars. “Yeah, it really does,” he replied, his voice soft but full of warmth.

As you strolled along, flowers in hand, you both shared stories from before you met, your voices mixing with the soft hum of the night. Every smile and nervous chuckle made you feel a little lighter. You realized how much you valued this moment, this time together, away from the chaos and pain that had once consumed you both.

You exchanged glances, and you both understood something unspoken between you. “I never thought I could feel this way again,” you said, a hint of vulnerability in your voice. Dae-ho stepped closer, his gaze steady. “Neither did I. But I’m glad we’re here together.”

Finally, you paused beneath a big, ancient tree. Its branches stretched out like arms, swallowing you both in its shadow. Dae-ho turned to you, his eyes beaming in the starlight. His stare locked onto yours, and he took a step closer, face inches from yours.

"I wish this could last forever baby, I love you." he whispered, breath caressing your skin. Then, without another word, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, gentle kiss. You felt a spark of connection, and your heart skipped a beat as you kissed him back, the warmth of his lips sending shivers down your spine. The kiss deepened, and everything else faded away, leaving only the two of you, lost in the sweetness of the moment.

As the kiss lingered, time itself seemed to stand still, the world around you fading into a beautiful blur. When you finally pulled away, his eyes searched yours, a mix of desperation and love radiating from him. "Whatever happens, I'll always be here" he said softly, his hand still cradling your face. You smiled, knowing that no matter where life took you, this memory would be a cherished part of your story, a promise of what could be.

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 In Pink Sheets.

Spencer Reid x Avoidant!BAU!reader

series mastelist | main masterlist

Summary: After spending the first night with Spencer, doubts arise about the nature of your behavior at work from now on. How could you not make it obvious that you two had already passed all the bases?

Words: 3k.

Warnings & Tags: +18 (for suggestive talk, they are naked lol, aftercare? but no explicit). fem!bau!reader. established relationship. reader is overthinking and being dramatic (literally me). first “I love you” yep. making out interrupted. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: Literally my sheets are pink, this is personal and pure fluff to try to fix my tortured heart.

The world outside barely existed. The light filtering through the curtains felt softer, the air warmer, the distant clatter of construction dull and unimportant. Everything that mattered was here, wrapped up in the quiet rise and fall of Spencer’s chest beneath your cheek. Your pink sheets tangled around you felt almost too soft, like they might dissolve if you moved too quickly. But you didn’t want to move anyway. Not yet. Please.

His arm was placed gently around your back, and his fingers drew simple circles against your skin. You could feel his heartbeat, steady and rooted, as your breaths gradually came into sync. It was the closest you had ever been to a state of pure bliss.

You moved slightly, just enough to feel him tilt his chin down, to feel him sweep over you with a careful gaze that made you feel completely seen and literally naked. His breath caught, his throat cleared slightly, and you knew what was going to happen before he even tried.

“Don’t even think about asking if it was good,” you murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to his skin. “It wasn’t good. It was perfect.”

You definitely knew him a lot.

His chest shifted under you as a soft, nervous laugh escaped him, breaking the quiet. It wasn’t the kind of laugh that carried confidence or certainty—it was shy, almost unsure, and it made you lift your head slightly to look at him. His cheeks were flushed, a faint pink that spread up to the tips of his ears, and his lips curved in a sheepish smile as he avoided your gaze.

“What’s so funny?” You asked gently, your voice low and curious, tilting your head to study him.

He glanced at you then, his eyes meeting yours for just a second before flickering away again, as though the intensity of the moment made him squirm. His fingers, which had been tracing lazy circles on your back, paused, and you felt him take a breath like he was gathering his words.

“It’s just…” he started, his voice soft, hesitant. “I guess I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that…this is real. That you’re here. That we’re here.”

His words hung between you, vulnerable and raw, and you felt your heart ache with a warmth so deep it was almost overwhelming. You reached up, brushing your fingers along his jaw, coaxing his gaze back to yours.

“Hey,” you said softly, your thumb tracing the curve of his cheek. “I’m here. This is real. You’re finally in my bed, and now I’m probably going to have to figure out how not to smile so much at work.”

A slow, genuine smile spread across Spencer’s face at your words, and for a moment, you both just looked at each other, as if savoring the perfect reality of the moment. He exhaled, his tension easing slightly, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—something that hinted at both excitement and uncertainty.

“You think you’re going to be able to hide that smile?” He teased, his voice a little more confident now, but still carrying that softness that made your heart flutter.

“Probably not,” you replied, the hint of a smile tugging at your own lips. “But I’ll try. For the sake of professionalism, of course.” You raised an eyebrow as you added, “It’s not like anyone needs to know I had a…very good moment.”

“Moment?” He smirked, eyes glinting with amusement. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

You bit your lip, feigning innocence as a faint heat rose in your cheeks. “I didn’t want to be too explicit. You might not be able to handle it.”

“Oh, it’s far too late for that,” he quipped, his grin widening into something sly, the corners of his mouth betraying his growing confidence.

It's hard to believe that this is the same shy, awkward boy who, before he started dating you, could barely look you in the eye without stuttering or turning red.

Your eyes narrowed slightly, your tone playful but sharp as you leaned in closer. “Well, aren’t you bold now?” You tilted your head, studying him with mock seriousness. “I think I might have corrupted your innocent soul.”

And in a way you already had. For some reason, you had the genius that everyone told their secrets to because they thought he had no one to air them with, telling everything to you and having to hide his own secrets. Two months of dating and sneaking kisses were under a thousand keys, and no one suspected anything. Thank God.

It was common knowledge, especially for someone like Reid, who could recite all the FBI rules without a problem, that romantic relationships were off-limits between coworkers. Even though you understood the logic from day one and knew that feelings and professionalism could be a dangerous mix, you still couldn't help but fall for someone like Spencer without return.

However, it wasn't your fault. I mean, who wouldn't fall in love with someone they see every day and who is clearly the perfect man? You just blinked, and there you were, already dreaming about him and feeling butterflies every time you heard his nervous laughter or ramblings on different topics. If your team hadn’t noticed the way your gaze lingered a little too long or how you always seemed to brighten when he entered a room, it was pure luck.

“You know,” you began thoughtfully, breaking the silence, “I read something once…about how people can always tell when two people have…slept together.”

Reid tilted his head slightly to look at you, his brows drawing together in curiosity. “Oh?” he asked, his tone both amused and intrigued. “And where exactly did you read that?”

You hesitated for a moment, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious under his gaze. “Um…” you started, biting your lip as your cheeks warmed. “It was in a magazine.”

His eyebrows lifted, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a barely contained smile. “A magazine?” he repeated, the question laced with playful skepticism.

You rolled your eyes, groaning softly as you buried your face in his chest. “Okay, okay, I know. It’s not exactly the kind of reading you’d respect, but I was sixteen, okay? It was one of those random magazines my mom had lying around the house.”

Spencer chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest beneath you. “I’m not judging,” he said, though the amusement in his voice made you peek up at him skeptically. “I just find it fascinating that a teen magazine would tackle…body language.”

Of course, he definitely wasn't the kind of person who read gossip or fashion magazines in his spare time. It was possible to believe that he had never even opened one in his life and had only seen them from afar, hanging next to the newspaper.

You groaned again, pulling a pillow closer as if to shield yourself from his teasing. “It wasn’t exactly a scientific study, okay? It was more like—‘How to Spot When Two People Have Chemistry,’ or something equally ridiculous. But it stuck with me for some reason.”

For some reason? Or because when you were bored, you played at analyzing people and their relationships?

His eyes softened, and though he was still clearly amused, he propped himself up slightly, leaning his head toward yours. “Okay, so tell me—what did this magazine say?”

You sighed dramatically, though you couldn’t keep the grin from your face. “It said people can’t help themselves. They look at each other differently. Their body language changes. The way they smile, how close they stand, the way their energy shifts. It’s like this unspoken, glowing secret, and apparently, everyone can see it.” Especially profilers.

His lips twitched again, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced with something softer. “So, according to this magazine, we’re giving off some kind of…post-coital signal?”

“Oh my, when you put it that way, it sounds even worse.” You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “That's something an old scientist would say.”

He laughed quietly, pulling your hands away so he could see your face. “Hey, I’m just trying to understand you. But I guess I can see the logic in that. People do give away a lot without realizing it.”

You exhaled, relieved that he wasn’t outright laughing at you. “Exactly,” you said, your confidence returning slightly. “And now I can’t stop thinking about how obvious we’re going to be at work. Like, what if everyone knows the second we walk in?”

It's easy to imagine your coworkers looking at you funny as soon as the elevator opens, Morgan making some jokes about your goofy smile, and you laughing in a way that makes it seem like you're not owning up to everything.

He smiled, his expression softening. “Well, if it’s true, then I think it’s more about them noticing how happy we look. Not anything…incriminating.”

“Just tell me, why would you be happy on a Monday morning?” you asked, tilting your head and narrowing your eyes in playful suspicion.

He gave a small shrug, his tone matter-of-fact. “Honestly, for us, is there even a difference? We work almost every day—it’s like weekends don’t exist.”

You chuckled at his answer, the playful spark in your eyes never quite fading. “I guess you’ve got a point here, Dr. Reid. But still, Mondays are supposed to be miserable, right? Isn’t that like, the universal rule?”

“Well, if we’re being honest, I think that’s just a myth. I mean, when you get to spend your weekends like this…” He gestured between the two of you with a light, affectionate movement, “Mondays don’t seem so bad.”

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes with a teasing smile. “And that’s exactly why everyone’s going to know what we’ve been up to when we show up at work. It’s like you have a neon sign flashing above your head saying, ‘I had an amazing weekend.’”

Spencer chuckled softly, shaking his head as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “I don’t know if that’s true. I think we’re good at keeping things under wraps,” he said, his voice light but carrying that hint of uncertainty.

It was a good argument; he had two months in his favor.

“Just...don't point your feet at me or hug me so closely." You said with surprising seriousness. “The magazine says those are clear signs.”

“I’m not going to do anything that makes you uncomfortable,” he said quietly, his voice gentle and reassuring. “Feet and hugs, noted.”

Wow, he was taking it so seriously that it made you feel tender.

“Maybe we should act like we hate each other, put on a show.” You said, raising an eyebrow, unable to suppress a sly smile.

He gave a gasp, looking confused. “Oh, I’m not much of an actor, but if you want…”

You cut him off with a playful scoff. “It was a joke, sweetheart. I’m not really trying to pull off some dramatic office rivalry.”

“Good,” he replied quickly, his voice almost too serious, “because I don’t know how to act like I hate people I love.”

He…what?

You blinked, stunned. “People you what?” you asked, your tone catching in surprise.

His cheeks flushed a deep red, eyes darting away as though he were trying to escape the weight of his own words. “I…people I love,” he stammered.

You stayed silent, studying him, your gaze softening as the words lingered in the air between you. It was clear that this wasn’t something he said lightly, and his vulnerability made your heart ache in a way that was both comforting and new.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Spencer turned toward you, his eyes meeting yours with a fierce intensity that stole the air from your lungs. His breath was shaky, his words barely more than a whisper, but they struck you like lightning. “I love you,” he said, his voice full of quiet sincerity, each syllable wrapping around you like a promise.

He said it. He really said it.

“You love me,” you whispered, your voice shaky, as if the very sound of those words was too much to fully comprehend. You repeated it, a little louder this time, trying to grasp it, to make it real. “You, Spencer Reid, love me.”

He nodded, his eyes soft but unwavering, the faintest trace of a smile curving on his lips. “I do. Me, Spencer Reid, I love you.”

A soft, breathless laugh bubbled up from your chest, and before you could stop it, the smile that had been lurking there finally broke free. It was impossible to keep it in, not when everything inside you was overflowing with a joy you hadn’t known was possible.

“God…” you exhaled, your heart swelling with warmth. “I don’t think I can hide this smile now.”

The air between you both felt charged, like a fine thread of connection weaving you closer with each passing second. His gaze was soft but unwavering, a silent promise in his eyes that made everything else fade into the background. The gentle rhythm of his breath mingled with yours, and before you knew it, your hand instinctively found the back of his neck, your fingers brushing the soft skin there. You pulled him just a little closer, as if the pull of your desire and your heart was impossible to resist, a gravity stronger than any force you’d ever known.

He shifted beneath you, guiding you to lie on top of him. His hands were warm against your skin, and you could feel his pulse, steady and strong, under your fingertips. Slowly, your lips met in a kiss—tentative at first, as if testing the waters, but it deepened quickly, drawn by the magnetic force of everything left unsaid, all the things you were only just beginning to understand.

“You love me,” you whispered between kisses, the words tumbling out in disbelief, as if the very idea of it needed to be reaffirmed with each touch. “You love me.”

Spencer’s response was immediate, his hands finding your waist and pulling you closer, his lips skimming the sensitive skin of your jaw, his breath hot and urgent against your ear. “I love you,” he breathed softly, the words coming out as a promise, each syllable wrapped in a depth that made your heart ache.

You kissed him again, this time with a softness that felt more vulnerable, more like a question—one you didn’t need an answer to, but you couldn’t help but ask anyway. “You love me,” you murmured, not sure if you were trying to convince yourself or him. But as you pulled him closer, his lips finding yours with a quiet urgency, you knew, deep in your bones, that it was true.

His lips found yours again, this time with a fervor that left you breathless. The kiss was deep, desperate—both of you giving in to the craving that had built up between you, a need so raw and powerful that neither of you could hold back. His tongue swept against yours, slow at first, savoring every moment, every sensation. But the deeper the kiss became, the faster it escalated, a fire starting to blaze where there had once been only a flicker.

“I do,” he whispered, the words coming out in a low, steady stream as his hands slid up your back to cradle your face. His touch was gentle but firm, as if he wanted to hold you forever, as if the very act of touching you was something sacred, something worth cherishing. “I love you, I love you, I love you…”

The repetition of those words stirred something deep inside you, a quiet happiness that blossomed with every echo. You smiled against his lips, your heart swelling with warmth, and for a fleeting moment, you felt invincible, as though nothing in the world could touch you. It was just him and you, here, in this sacred space, and you didn’t care about anything else. Not the noise, not the chaos, not even time itself. Nothing mattered except this, except him.

His hands gently slid the sheet that still covered part of your body, the coolness of his fingertips contrasting with the warmth of your skin, and you couldn't help but shiver at the contact. You responded with a kiss, your lips meeting his in a passionate embrace. His mouth was everywhere: your lips, your neck, your jaw, tasting, exploring, claiming. It was as if time had stopped and there was nothing but the two of you, lost in this world of sensations and feelings.

But then, as if the universe couldn’t bear to let you stay in this blissful bubble for even a moment longer, there was a sudden, sharp buzz. It broke through the air with an almost cruel precision, pulling you both out of the fragile world you had created. You groaned into Spencer’s mouth, breaking the kiss reluctantly, your forehead resting against his. His chest was heaving beneath you, both of you struggling to regain control of your breaths, your bodies still humming with the aftershocks of the kiss.

The buzz came again, persistent, urgent. Your eyes flicked to the phone on the bedside table, and your stomach sank as you saw the name that appeared on the screen: Hotch.

His expression mirrored yours, frustration creeping across his face. “It’s a text…” he muttered, but he didn’t reach for his phone. He simply sighed and buried his face in your neck, the sudden weight of reality settling between you both.

You kissed his forehead softly, your fingers threading through his hair. “Not now…please,” you whispered, as if pleading with the universe to give you just a few more minutes of peace.

He chuckled lightly, but the sound was laced with a hint of frustration. “I’m sorry.”

You gave him a mock frown, but the smile tugging at the corners of your lips betrayed you. “How dare you,” you said with a sigh, unable to fully suppress the warmth in your chest.

Before you could kiss him again, another buzz came—sharp and relentless, interrupting the fragile peace. Spencer groaned, reaching for the phone with a resigned sigh. He checked the message, reading it without making any effort to sit up or pull away from you. You could see the familiar irritation flicker across his face as he absorbed the contents.

“It’s a case,” he said softly, his voice heavy with disappointment. “They need us. Now.”

And just like that, it's time to say goodbye to soft pink sheets and sweet kisses and hello to body language techniques for hiding the memories made in your bed and the fact that Spencer Reid loves you.

[gyubakeries]

HtBDaSTGYM presents: Method 1 - Love Potions

test subjects: kim mingyu x f!reader

word count: 2.9k

contents: college au , friends to lovers , love potions , lowkey witchcraft , verkwan cameo , cookies as a plot device , crack treated seriously , this is just Silly , the slightest bit of angst , inspired by descendants 1

verification: Trust Me Bro

sources: thank you serena ( @gotta-winwin ) and ally ( @lovetaroandtaemin ) for helping me finish this fic with your motivation + inspiration 🩷

series masterlist

seungkwan, focused on his assignment due in four hours, startles in his seat when you plop down onto the chair next to him, a guttural groan leaving your lips. he’s pretty sure the librarian shoots a dirty glance in your direction, followed by passive aggressive motions towards the bold ‘keep quiet’ sign in the library.

“what did kim mingyu do this time?” seungkwan sighs, voice dropping to a whisper. you slam your head on the table, immediately cursing and rubbing your forehead at the impact.

“he’s being too nice,” you whine. “it would be so much easier if he was a mean asshole who wasn’t the literal human embodiment of a golden retriever!”

“so this is wh​​at first world problems sound like,” seungkwan mutters. he then puts his pen down to turn his body and face your figure, currently slumped over the table in defeat. “look, if his existence bothers you that much, stop being around him!”

“it’s not a bother,” you click your tongue. “it’s annoying because i like him so much and can’t do anything about it.”

“why not?”

“seungkwan, have you looked at me?” you deadpan. “mingyu is way out of my league. there’s no way he’d like someone like me.”

“then make him like you,” seungkwan shrugs.

“and how do you suggest i do that, genius?” you roll your eyes and scoff.

seungkwan simply smiles in response and clasps his hands together. you only have a few moments to feel extremely terrified before seungkwan says, “let dr. boo teach you how to.”

“this feels like a scam.”

“please don’t hurt my ego.”

“.... alright.”

—

for seungkwan’s ‘masterclass’, he drags you out of the library, assignment forgotten, and into his dorm room. his roommate, hansol, doesn’t even spare a glance at seungkwan’s strange antics, as if he’s seen this play out multiple times before.

seungkwan takes you into his room and instructs you to sit down in the middle of his bed.

“okay, enlighten me,” you look up at seungkwan expectantly.

“the most fool-proof method of getting your crush to like you back, pause for dramatic effect,”seungkwan mutters under his breath before continuing, “is by making a love potion.”

there’s silence for a few moments, only to be interrupted by hansol loudly munching on chips while leaning against the doorframe. you raise an eyebrow at him, and all he says is, “watching seungkwan be delusional is my favorite hobby.”

“i’m not being delusional!” seungkwan argues. “my methods are tried and tested.”

“yeah, right,” you snicker. “who exactly has tested your methods?”

“i have!” seungkwan says with pride. “the love potion is real. ask hansol.”

“hey man, don’t turn this on me,” hansol raises his arms in defense. “i haven’t been given any potion.”

“remember that one week when you begged me to bake you cookies every day?” seungkwan hums. “what do you think was in those?”

“no way,” hansol’s eyes are wide with surprise. “i just thought your grandmother passed down some killer cookie recipe.”

“she did,” seungkwan nods, facing you. “that’s where i got my love potion recipe from. does it sound legit enough?”

“not even close,” you shake your head. “but i’m desperate, so teach me.”

“i’ll be glad to,” seungkwan chirps, and you momentarily think to yourself, what have i gotten myself into?

—

“hey, y/n! good morning!” the familiar voice makes you whip your head back, butterflies going crazy in your stomach as mingyu walks up to you. he looks effortlessly handsome in a simple hoodie and jeans as he comes to a stop next to your locker, canines peeking through when he smiles.

“how was your weekend?” he asks, and you pray to every divine presence watching that you aren’t a blushing mess.

“oh, it was fine,” you reply. “just trying out new things.”

“like what?” mingyu asks, and somehow, the ever-present twinkle in his eye seems even brighter. you wrack your brain to come up with any answer that won’t give away exactly what you’ve been doing over the weekend.

“a new recipe,” you finally reply. “you know, the tiktok recipes are becoming too interesting not to try.”

“but i thought you said you were terrible at cooking?” mingyu’s eyebrows furrow, and you mentally kick yourself for your flimsy lie. making seungkwan’s love potion-infused cookies hadn’t been easy, given your lack of basic cooking skills, but you had managed to scrape together a batch of cookies that were edible, not burnt, and baked all the way through.

“i had some help,” you smile. hoping that you sounded convincing enough.

“so, what’d you make?” mingyu asks, and you nearly sigh with relief. you had been thinking of ways to bring up the cookies in conversation, but thankfully, mingyu did all the work himself.

“i made some cookies,” you reply, and mingyu’s eyes light up.

“please tell me they’re choco chip,” he gasps, squealing when you nod in confirmation.

“would you wanna…. try them?” you offer hesitantly, not knowing just how much you could ask of mingyu before he got suspicious. fortunately for you, mingyu was like a giant dog whose tail starts wagging the instant he hears anything about food.

“yes! i’d love to try some,” he nods eagerly, and you couldn’t be any quicker in pulling out the box of cookies from your bag. mingyu watches closely as you open the lid, the smell of warm, fresh cookies filling the air. he doesn’t hesitate to reach into the box and grab a cookie, immediately taking a huge bite out of it.

you watch with bated breath as mingyu chews on the cookie, humming with satisfaction as his eyebrows scrunch together.

“y/n, these are heavenly,” mingyu groans. “do you mind if i take another one?”

you remember seungkwan’s instructions from earlier that week. the more cookies he eats, the stronger the effect of the potion is.

“of course! take as many as you want,” you grin, holding the box out for mingyu. he takes the box from your hands and reaches in for another one. you only watch (with heart-eyes) as mingyu finishes three cookies within five minutes.

“these are seriously so good,” mingyu sighs, closing the lid on the box. “do you think i could take the rest of these home?”

seungkwan’s voice speaks up from a corner of your brain. ‘the potion will work in your favor only if you are the first person mingyu sees after eating the cookies. you can’t let him have it anywhere else, or he’ll be in love with someone else.’

“no!” you reply, wincing at how loud your voice sounded. “i mean, i was saving some for myself too….”

you hate how quickly mingyu’s smile fades, shoulders drooping instantly as he hands the box back to you. “i see,” he says, looking dejected. “you can have these back.”

“i could make you some more!” you offer, trying to bring back the smile you loved seeing. “you can come over this weekend, and i can make you some more cookies, if you’d like.”

“really?” mingyu asks. “i won’t be too much of a bother?”

“you’re never a bother to me,” you say, and you hope that mingyu can tell that you really meant the words.

“awesome! i’ll see you on saturday,” mingyu grins. “i have to get to class now, but text me what time works for you, yeah?”

you frown. seungkwan had mentioned that the potion takes a couple of minutes to work, but mingyu’s behaviour was still normal.

“sure! but, uh, do you have anything you want to tell me?” you question, wringing your hands together with nervousness. mingyu stays silent for a while, his eyes locked onto yours, and for a second, you think that the potion really has worked, but the only answer that leaves his lips is: “great cookies! you’ve underestimated your cooking skills.”

as mingyu walks away to get to his class, it’s your turn to feel dejected as you think, why on earth did the cookies not work?

—

“something probably went wrong in the baking process,” seungkwan assures you over the phone, later that week, two hours before mingyu was scheduled to come over to your apartment.

“you told me your recipe was easy! what could’ve gone wrong?” you throw your hands up, frustrated.

“maybe ask yourself that,” seungkwan rolls his eyes. “my recipe is perfect, maybe consider that you did something wrong?”

you sigh. you did end up doing something wrong with five batches of cookies before the last batch had turned out good, so it wasn’t too unbelievable of a proposition.

“fine, then at least tell me what i should do now,” you plead. “this is probably my last chance to make this work, and i can’t screw it up.”

“don’t worry, i’ve got you,” seungkwan comforts you. “get the ingredients ready, i’ll guide you through every step.”

an hour later, the cookies were baking away in the oven as seungkwan busied himself with doing karaoke in his room, and you cleaned up the kitchen. the bottles of ‘magical’ ingredients seungkwan had given you, labelled unicorn vanilla essence, fairy chocolate chips, and pixie cocoa powder, were now empty, so you sweep them into the trash. the names did sound a little sketchy, but you’d rather stay silent than question seungkwan’s credibility.

“are you sure it’s gonna work this time?” you ask seungkwan, and he shoots you a glare before moving to pause his music.

“y/n, there’s absolutely nothing that could go wrong,” seungkwan says. “i guided you through the entire thing. now, just trust the process and let the magic do its thing.”

“okay, got it,” you nod. just then, the oven timer rings, and you hurry to grab your mittens to take the tray out of the oven. you carry the tray over to the cooling rack on your kitchen counter, the smell of cookies wafting through your apartment, when your doorbell rings.

“wait here, kwan, i’ll go check who’s at the door,” you tell your friend before hanging up and heading over to the front door, mittens still on your hands. you open the door, and then your jaw drops.

“mingyu?”

“hi!” mingyu chirps. he looks good; good enough to make your brain short-circuit when he smiles at you. you’re so caught up in your thoughts that it takes you a while to realize that he’s also holding out a bouquet of flowers for you.

“you didn’t have to—”

“i wanted to,” mingyu cuts you off. “you’re making me cookies, and i felt bad for showing up empty-handed, so i got you these flowers. you said you liked tulips, right?”

you blush instantly, smiling bashfully as you take the bouquet of tulips from mingyu. “i love them, thank you. please, come in.”

mingyu trails behind you as you lead him into the apartment. you mentally kick yourself when you see a blanket strewn haphazardly over the couch, immediately going over to fold it to make your living room look more presentable. “excuse the mess, i wasn’t expecting you for…. another hour.”

it’s mingyu’s turn to look flustered as he scratches the back of his neck. “i’m sorry for showing up this early— i was excited to meet you.” when he sees your eyes go wide at his words, he quickly adds on, “and the cookies. i was really excited to meet the cookies and eat you! oh. i mean—“

“it’s alright!” you cut him off, saving him the awkwardness. “why don’t you take a seat? i’ll bring the cookies out.”

mingyu merely nods, his cheeks just as red as you imagine yours to be.

he’s probably just embarrassed, because there’s no way he likes me. the love potion didn’t even work on him! you grapple with your reasoning for some more time before settling on a version that made sense. a version that, unfortunately, didn’t involve mingyu feeling the same way you did.

ignoring the urge to cry, you head into the kitchen to pile the fresh cookies onto a plate. while you’re focused on arranging them in a pretty way, you fail to realize when mingyu enters the kitchen.

“they smell so good,” mingyu says, right next to your ear, and you can’t help but startle. mingyu smiles sheepishly, moving away from you to keep a comfortable distance between both of you.

“sorry, i keep surprising you,” mingyu apologises. “i only came into the kitchen to see if you needed any help.”

“don’t worry, you’re good,” you assure him quickly. you don’t even care about the sudden jumpscares mingyu has been giving you, not when the excitement and nervousness rising from your love potion-cookies overwhelms every other feeling.

not being able to hold back any longer, you grab the plate of cookies from the counter and slide them over to mingyu. “you can make it up to me by having these cookies.”

mingyu’s smile becomes even brighter, something you never thought was possible, as he reaches for a cookie. he doesn’t even hesitate to bite into it, and for a moment, you feel guilty for feeding him a potion without his knowledge.

“they’re even better today!” mingyu’s gasp of contentment interrupts your thoughts. “they’re fresh, warm, and the perfect amount of chewy,” he continues, raving on and on about how the ‘sea salt enhances the chocolate perfectly’ like some cookie connoisseur.

on a normal day, your chest would be swelling with pride at how mingyu, a die-hard foodie, complimented your food, but you had the love potion to worry about.

impatient and curious, you make your first mistake by blurting out: “is it working?”

at the confused expression mingyu shoots you, you can only bite your tongue at the wrong choice of words.

and then, your second mistake:

“i meant, i—uh, used some new ingredients for these cookies,” you quickly add to cover up your lie. “i just wanted to check if they were able to—”

“—make the love potion you put in these cookies?” mingyu raises an eyebrow, and your jaw drops. your heart is soon to follow when you see mingyu’s smile morph into something upset and betrayed.

“how did—how did you know?” you ask, wringing your hands together.

“y/n, there’s literally an instruction booklet in front of you that says, ‘love potion-cookies,’” mingyu sighs. “it’s pretty obvious.”

horrified, you stare at the recipe laid out in front of you. there was no way you could save yourself now. so, you decide to own up to your actions.

“mingyu, look—”

“i knew your plan,” mingyu stops you. “i knew it the day you first gave me the cookies.”

“h-how?”

“people have used it on me many times,” mingyu admits, sounding annoyed. “what sucked was that i used to fall ‘in love’ with them momentarily. even though it’d wear off in a few hours, it wasn’t the best feeling.”

“but how could you tell that—that my cookies had the potion?” you ask him, wondering why on earth mingyu would agree to eat cookies laced with potential magic ingredients.

“i’ll be honest, seungkwan’s recipe is a bit different, so i couldn’t tell at first. i only recognized the flavor of unicorn vanilla essence after the second cookie, and i knew.” mingyu reveals.

“but why didn’t it work on you?” you’re more frustrated than confused. if you did everything right both times, why hadn’t it worked on mingyu? “is it really so impossible for us to be together that not even borderline witchcraft can help me?”

“y/n—”

“this was my last resort, because i was so tired of pining after you for months and still being seen as a friend by you—”

“listen to me—”

“maybe i was never destined to even find love, because whose luck is this bad—” this time your rant is cut off by mingyu’s hands cupping your face and his lips meeting yours.

for approximately three seconds, your body freezes. you wish you could move, kiss him back, do something, but you can’t be blamed for taking a few extra seconds to process that you’re being kissed by someone you’ve liked for almost two years.

when your brain finally starts working again, you lean in closer to mingyu, placing your hands on his shoulders for some leverage as you balance on your toes to kiss him back properly.

mingyu is the first to pull away, and he even leaves a soft peck on the tip of your nose. his hands move from your face to your waist, and you allow yourself to be hugged close to him.

“the potion doesn’t work on me because i already like you back,” mingyu explains, and a heavy weight lifts off your chest. “i was too scared to confess to you, so i was kinda glad that you tried to make some move.”

“wait, so— how long have you felt this way?” you question, feeling like an idiot who can’t stop smiling.

“ever since we got paired up in the cooking contest at the college fair,” mingyu chuckles, and your eyes widen at that memory.

“oh god. that’s so embarrassing,” you complain, leaning forward to rest your head on mingyu’s chest and hide your face from him.

“hey, seeing you cry before you got to cutting the onions was hilarious!” mingyu adds on in a teasing tone, and you playfully punch his arm.

“it stung my eyes real bad! you had to be there to know,” you defend yourself, to which mingyu replies, “i was there. it really wasn’t that bad.”

“are you trying to get me to lose feelings for you right after i confessed?” you pout, and mingyu simply laughs before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“okay, let’s never bring that day up again,” he says, and you nod in agreement.

“do you think you could make me some more cookies, though? like, at least once a week.”

“are you insane? i’m never going near an oven ever again. you are the chef in this relationship.”

“it was worth a try, i guess.”

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[snail-day]

Higuruma doesn’t mean to snore. It’s not a regular thing, just something that happens when he’s really exhausted. Which, unfortunately, is most nights these days.

You can always tell when it’s coming. The stiff roll of his shoulders when he gets home. The way he sighs before he even reaches the couch. The absent look in his eyes when he loosens his tie, letting it hang around his neck as he plummets onto the couch. His hand always finds yours, though, with a tired squeeze, saying I’m here, I just need a second.

You love him, truly. But you do not love the way his snoring rattles all of Tokyo.

He had warned you - sweetly, a little mortified - once you both got comfortable staying over. “Just wake me up if I’m snoring, okay?” he’d said while brushing his thumb over your knuckles in bed, voice soft in the dark. “I’d rather lose a few minutes of sleep than ruin yours.”

Easier said than done.

Because tonight, he's gone. Fully dead to the world. Face buried in the pillow, one hand still resting on your tummy from when he passed out mid-conversation. You swear you can feel the walls vibrating from the sound he’s making.

Poor you, who's still wide awake. Staring at the ceiling with the sheets bunched in your fists, debating if you should shake him or just go sleep on the couch out of spite.

Your brain spins with all the dumb scenarios: What if you wake him and he feels bad? What if he thinks you’re mad? What if he wakes up and insists he should sleep on the couch forever? What if - ?

So you start small. Gentle. A tap to his shoulder.

Nothing.

A louder snore. Louder than before, a defense mechanism perhaps.

You try again. A real shake this time. “Hig… baby…”

A sleepy groan. His dark brows furrow as he lifts his head, hair mussed, cheeks faintly pink.

“What’s wrong, love?” His voice is so low it’s nearly a purr, scratchy from sleep. A second later: “Oh shit.” A dry cough, eyes widening in a guilty sort of panic. “I was snoring, wasn’t I?”

Before you can even answer, he’s wrapping you up, an arm slung around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. His warmth swallows you whole, and his mouth brushes against your skin in slow, apologetic kisses: cheek, shoulder, jaw.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, lips ghosting your temple now. “Didn’t mean to keep you up. You should’ve hit me harder.” A small, self-deprecating laugh. “Can’t believe I was ruining your sleep. Can’t believe someone as pretty as you still puts up with me.”

You open your mouth to answer, but he’s already gone again. Heavy and warm and snuggled around you. Instead of a snore. A light sigh escapes within five minutes. Much better to the house rattles.

The next morning, you wake up alone in bed.

But on the counter, when you finally manage to stir and decide to start your day.

A coffee. The exact way you like it. Still the perfect temperature. Next to it, a note in his careful handwriting:

“Sorry for keeping you up. I’ll try to be quieter tonight. Let me make it up to you at dinner? - H”

P.S. You're still the prettiest thing I've ever seen half-awake.

[froggiewrites]

Wanting

Pairing: Sanji x Reader

NSFW

Summary: You have never wanted anyone more than you want Sanji. You don't want to admit it, but as you end up alone together on a new island, the universe seems determined to make you. Warnings: Smut, There Was Only One Bed, Possessiveness (a bit from both Sanji and Reader), Reader really matching Sanji's energy on the horniness here Word Count: 5.6k Crossposted from Ao3

You had never wanted anyone more than you had wanted Sanji.

You hated to admit that tragic, embarrassing fact, but it was true all the same. You wanted him. You had always known you’d liked Sanji, from the moment you met and he threw himself at your feet, knew you found him endearing and silly, but wanting him? That was different. Wanting was real. Wanting was demanding. Wanting had you pacing the deck after yet another dirty dream about your silly little cook, trying to calm down enough to be able to face him at breakfast.

Your bare feet hit the grass of the Sunny’s deck as you pray that this will pass, that you’ll be able to see your dear friend without yearning for him so deeply it threatens to rip a hole in your chest, but every time you close your eyes you can still feel his lips against yours and see his face twisted in pleasure. You huff with frustration, throwing yourself down to lay on your back and stare at the sky. Maybe the morning sun will burn out your retinas and you won’t have to worry about seeing his face at all anymore.

“You alright down there?” His voice is still raspy from sleep, and your eyes shoot open as you use all the willpower you have not to rub your thighs together.

“Sanji!” Your voice is an octave higher than you would have liked to admit. “Hi! Good morning! Um, yeah. I’m uh–I’m fine. Peachy.”

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about his hands reaching down to grab you. Don’t think about how his dick would feel in your mouth.

Fuck. Damnit.

“Are you sure? You’re a little red.” You finally look up to see his face, his hair a little mussed and his eyes softened with concern. You want to kiss him. God, you want to kiss him.

“I’m okay, I’m just, uh. A little hot. That’s all.” You focus anywhere but his eyes, those beautiful kind eyes, because you know if you focus on his eyes you’ll do something you’ll regret. Or maybe you wouldn’t regret it at all, because you’d finally know what his lips feel like.

No. Not now. Not ever. You are not all hot and bothered over Sanji. Not your dear friend Sanji, who is looking at you with so much care it makes you physically ache.

“Do you want to come inside? I can make you something to cool you down.”

You picture being alone together in the kitchen, his practiced hands and talented fingers moving with such purpose as he slices and dices, just to make something to please you. You picture those fingers moving with a different purpose, working for a different pleasure. If you go in that kitchen you fear you’ll do something you can’t take back. “I’m alright! I just need to lay here.” Your voice definitely just audibly cracked.

His face falls a little at the idea that you won’t come with him. You try not to let your heart flutter at the idea he wants you around. That he wants you alone with him. “Alright, well come on in if you change your mind, okay? I’ll do–make. I’ll make anything you want.”

What was that?

Your imagination, surely.

“Of course, Sanji. I’ll let you know if I need you–anything.”

“Right.”

“Yeah.”

You stare at each other for a moment before he turns and walks into the kitchen without even a goodbye, and if you didn’t know better you would think the tips of his ears were red. Surely not, though.

You cover your face and groan, rolling onto your front to block out the world. You hear sets of footsteps pass as your other crewmates wake up and decide to leave you to your misery instead of asking. A small mercy, but one you’re grateful for.

Once you finally manage to drag yourself off of the ground, your thoughts filled with simple, unsexy things like cold showers and paint drying, you make your way to the kitchen for breakfast. You come in only on the tail end of the meal and conversation, hearing Nami’s voice dictating how things are going to go on the next island.

“—need to make sure we aren’t separated. There’s an island-wide curfew, and we need to make sure that none of us break it. We don’t want to risk drawing attention to ourselves.” You can’t see her face but you are familiar with the scathing side-eye she’s almost certainly giving Zoro and Luffy right now.

“Why are you looking at me?” Zoro’s voice is defensive in the way it only gets when he knows whatever he’s being accused of is inarguably true.

Nami sighs. “It’s too early for this. Anyway, we’re going to pair up to make sure no one gets stranded alone on the island just in case we miss curfew. I wrote all of our names on pieces of paper, and I’m going to draw–”

“Why do you get to draw?”

“Yeah I wanna draw! I’m the captain!”

“It doesn’t matter who–”

You tune them out for your sanity as you retrieve your plate from Sanji’s outstretched hands. He gives you a soft, sincere smile that cuts to your core. He looks so wonderful like that, when he isn’t trying to woo you and he’s just being…Sanji.

“I kept it warm for you.” He leans closer so you can hear him over the din of voices behind you. Your eyes are level with his chest, his shirt unbuttoned halfway so you can see his entire torso. You need to look away. You need to stop ogling.

You don’t.

“Thank you,” you murmur distractedly. You don’t know if you’re thanking him for the breakfast or for the clear view of his happy trail.

His chest gets closer, and you feel his warm breath against your ear. “Of course. Anything for you.” He’s so close. You could so easily put your lips against his neck. You could bite him right now, make him make such wonderful noises right here in front of everyone.

“Hey, are you two even listening?” Nami’s annoyed voice rings out from the table behind you.

You both stand at attention like navy soldiers the moment she calls for you. Her tone means business. That silly argument earlier seems like it soured her mood for the entire day.

“Of course, Nami!” Your tone rings false, and she gives you a dour look that you shrink under.

“Ugh. Whatever. Important bits: we’re staying paired up on this island. Be back before dark. Don’t draw attention to yourselves. Got it?”

“Yes, Nami!” You both chorus.

“Great. I’ll start pulling names.”

Your captain pouts. “But I–”

“I’m pulling names.”

“Awww.”

The pairs came quickly: Brook and Usopp, Franky and Robin, Luffy and Chopper, and Nami and Zoro (to Sanji’s audible displeasure). You laugh along with everyone else for just a moment at Sanji’s fit before you realize what it means.

“God, if it pisses you off that much then just switch partners with me!” Zoro’s voice is filled with annoyance, his eye turning to you.

Sanji pauses for a moment, his eyes finding yours, and you can see pure and utter euphoria hit him when he realizes. The fury at Zoro’s suggestion hits a moment after. “No way in hell, mosshead!”

The bickering continues, as it always does, and you try to calm your thoughts once again. A day alone with him. A date, perhaps. You imagine at first walking hand in hand while shopping, stopping in a cafe to enjoy together, and other simple domestic things that make a small lovesick smile make its way onto your face.

And then you remember your dream, hear his lovely voice cry out in a broken whine, and your silly daydreams turn to dark alleys and frantic, fumbling hands taking what they need before you’re caught. You imagine getting to run your hands down his torso, following the teasing trail of hair you saw earlier down, wrapping your hands around him and making him whimper.

You stop your thoughts because you are in front of an audience and are going to lose your sanity if you allow yourself another moment of this.

Sanji and Zoro have stopped fighting, and the crew is pairing off as everyone decides their tasks for today. Zoro has been designated Nami’s shopping bag holder, and his protests fall on deaf ears as the conversations continue without him. You and Sanji will be grocery shopping, of course. He has the list ready to go, which means all you need to do is keep him company and try not to get jealous when he inevitably hits on a stranger. You can do that, grit your teeth and give tight-lipped smiles that hopefully hide the taste of iron on your tongue. Maybe if you’re lucky she’ll reject him, refuse to give him the time of day, and he’ll turn to you as he licks his wounds. He’ll find comfort in you, and you’ll gladly give it. You can ease the sting of rejection as he eases the yearning ache in your chest.

As the crew moves to leave the kitchen, Zoro begins to lean over to you, presumably to make some gruff joke about how miserable your day will be with Sanji, wearing a smug grin hiding the boyish amusement he gets from teasing the man he would never admit is his friend. Before you can hear it, give him a soft laugh and a roll of the eyes, your vision is filled with the soft blue of a slightly unbuttoned shirt and there’s a large, gentle hand on the small of your back.

“I said hands off, mosshead.” Sanji’s voice holds more hostility than you’d expect. Most days even their worst of fights have an air of levity to them that they would never admit, but this has real anger behind it, venom spitting from his lips in a way you had never heard. The hand on your back presses firmly, commandingly, in a way that makes your knees weak. “Let’s go, angel.” His voice softens, then, not filled with the candied sweetness he saves for his usual flirtations, but the type of tender sincerity and affection saved only for a small inner circle you are forever grateful to be a part of.

“What, I can’t talk to her? Possessive pervert.” There’s less anger behind Zoro’s words and more confusion, but you can hardly hear it as the door slams firmly shut behind you. Sanji’s breathing is labored with anger, his shoulders drawn tight, but you hardly notice over the feeling of his fingertips on your back, brushing just above your ass, so close to moving lower. His hand moves to your hip instead, grabbing firmly, not enough to bruise but enough that you couldn’t leave if you wanted to.

“Sanji? Are you alright?” Your voice is hesitant as you try to keep the lust out of it, but he seems to take it as discomfort. His eyes widen, his hand immediately leaving you, and you can’t help but let out a soft whimper at the loss. He, of course, takes this as pain.

“Oh god, darling did I hurt you? I’m so sorry, I–”

“You didn’t hurt me, Sanji, I’m fine. I was just worried about you.” You give him a reassuring smile, teeth only slightly clenched from concentrating on anything other than how strong he felt, on how good it felt to be held, on the feeling that his fingerprints have been burned onto your skin even though the fabric of your shirt.

His face is troubled, his eyes watery from even the idea of hurting you, but he relaxes when you take his hand in yours, gently rubbing his knuckles with your thumb. “I’m fine. I just can’t stand the idea of you running off with mosshead and him getting you lost. He’d probably leave you alone in the woods somewhere.” The words ring falsely in your ears. He hates to admit it, but he trusts Zoro to protect you, no matter the situation. The safety of the crew is one of the few things they’ll always agree on. He does not and would never think Zoro would leave you for dead.

“He wouldn’t do that.”

Sanji goes quiet, unable to bring himself to disagree, to lie to your face a second time. What was he thinking? “Yeah, I…I know.” His voice is weak and strained, but before you can pry further he starts to walk ahead, pulling the grocery list out of his pocket, clearly shutting down the conversation. You stare longingly at his back for a moment, at his broad shoulders, before following in his footsteps.

Shopping is tense, at first, as he tries and fails to calm down, but you eventually find a rhythm. You both fall into each other, a brush of the hands here, a hand on the arm there, the pull so magnetic you cannot help but follow it. Eventually you find yourselves walking hip to hip, you holding his arm, pressing it to your chest incredibly deliberately as he tries and fails to pretend he doesn’t notice. He keeps sneaking glances at you out of the corner of his eye, and you revel in the attention, preening under his wanting gaze. Your thoughts are about nothing but him, nothing but his shining blue eyes lingering on your chest, nothing but the hard stops he keeps making so your tits press even harder into his bicep.

He’s looking at you. God, he’s looking at you, no one else. Your chest tightens at the idea it could always be like this, that he could be yours.

Neither of you notice how late it’s gotten until the sun is already more than halfway behind the horizon. You’re reluctant to break the tension as he pulls you closer when you walk past a group of rowdy drunks, but you remember Nami’s warnings and your blood runs a little cold.

“Um, Sanji? Do you know what time it is?”

He checks his watch with no sense of urgency, clearly not grasping the situation. “It’s almost nine, why?”

“Curfew is at nine thirty, isn’t it? And the ship is…” you think for a moment, “about an hour away?”

He stops in his tracks, causing your chest to press against him again. “Ah.”

A beat of silence.

“Nami’s going to kill us.”

“I think you’re right.”

“The marines will notice us if we’re out past curfew.”

“Right again, my dear.”

“We’re fucked.”

“Mhm.”

More silence, stretching further and further as reality sinks in.

“I…guess we should find somewhere to stay?” Your voice is a little meek.

“I guess so.” He tries to keep his tone even, but there’s something almost mischievous behind it, something you can’t place. The ends of his lips twitch into an almost smile before he stops it. You don’t know what he’s thinking, but you pray it’s something perverted. Maybe today he’ll get brave and act on it and you’ll have an excuse to throw yourself at him, give into the feeling you’ve been fighting all day.

You both attempt to find an inn with two open rooms, but the first three are fully booked with drunks who have beaten you to it. The curfew inches ever closer, and you still have nowhere to stay. If you stay on the street and get caught by the marines, you know Nami will kick your ass for alerting them to your presence. She probably already will for how long you’re delaying your journey. You focus on Sanji’s arm resting around your shoulders to ground yourself and ignore the dread creeping in and settling in your bones.

You finally find an inn that will take you, but you immediately run into a problem. Or what you’ll pretend is a problem.

“Please tell me you have availability.” Sanji’s voice is tinged with desperation as the clock ticks down.

 The woman working the desk seems exhausted, having clearly dealt with much worse customers than yourself earlier. “Is a queen bed okay?”

“A queen bed, like singular?” You put on a good show of acting confused and a little upset, hiding your giddiness well.

“Oh, are you two not–” Her eyes are lingering on where you’re connected, your arms wrapped around his. “I’m sorry, I assumed–well. Um. We only have one room left, I assumed you would want to share it.”

“One room?” Sanji’s voice gets a little loud, and a stranger would mistake this for anger or upset, but you can hear excitement in his tone. He glances at you again, at your face, at your chest, at your legs, admiring you for just a moment, certainly imagining something that would make you flush. “Only one room?”

“I’m sorry, there’s nothing else I can do. We really only have one. If that doesn’t work–”

“It works.” You both speak quickly. You pretend you don’t see him visibly fist pump when he thinks you aren’t looking. He pretends he doesn’t see you excitedly rock on your feet, a visible twinkle in your eye. The woman hands you a set of keys, and you’re both off.

As you walk to the room, you talk around it, pretending you both aren’t absolutely thrilled by this turn of events. 

“I can’t believe they only have one room. I know it’s busy, but this place is massive. It’s hard to believe it’s fully booked.” You try to sound annoyed, but a giggle makes its way into your voice as you imagine being tucked into the single bed with Sanji’s arms around you.

“It’s ridiculous. And with only a queen bed? Not even two twins? Or a king? It’s the most inconvenient it possibly could be.” He can’t fight his smile when he says only a queen, as he imagines both of you having nowhere to run except into each other. He could cry at the idea of having an excuse to hold you close, to feel you pressed against him with your head resting on his chest. It’s so domestic he could pretend it was real.

You both perfectly match each other’s steps in this liar’s dance even when the door closes, even when there’s not a single person to call you on it but each other. You cannot admit that you want this, out of fear that it might shatter the feeling of giddy excitement surrounding you both. You cannot put to words what is happening, lest you make it real. Real has worries attached to it, questions of the future and what this all means and what it changes. If you stay quiet you stay in the dream, where instead the only thing you have to think about is the pounding of your heart and the comforting heat of another next to you.

“I can sleep on the floor,” he says, visibly upset by the idea. He has to offer you the choice, he is a gentleman, but his eyes are pleading for you to deny the idea and welcome him into your bed.

“Don’t be silly, Sanji. You don’t need to ruin your back, there’s plenty of room for the both of us.” You leave out the internal pleading for him to come closer as soon as humanly possible. He can’t know how you may be even more desperate for him than he is for you.

“You’re an angel, my dear.” His smile now is genuinely affectionate, filled with a fondness that makes your chest ache. He looks younger like this, unburdened. “Well, let’s not wait, hm? I bet you’re exhausted.” His hands reach for the buttons of his shirt, and you watch, enraptured, as he slowly undoes each of them, revealing more and more of his body to you. You’ve seen it before, due to his favor for open silly Hawaiian shirts, but you can’t help but swallow at the sight, eyes never daring to look away. He’s so beautiful. He’s so strong.

You wonder if he could break you.

You wonder if you could break him.

He slips the shirt off easily, his hands moving down to his belt, the clink of the buckle sending a shiver down your spine and breaking you out of your trance. You can’t let him undress while you stay fully clothed. It’s rude. You let your hands slide down to the hem of your shirt, swiftly removing it, and he stops in the middle of unbuttoning his pants to stare, jaw slacked. You can see him grow hard at the sight of your chest as his eyes bore holes into you. His gaze is burning, his pupils blown out, his breathing growing heavy.

“Sanji?” You reluctantly call out to break the spell, not wanting your masquerade to end quite this soon.

“Yes? What is tit–it?” His eyes haven’t moved a centimeter, honed in on where your breasts spill over your bra.

“You’re staring.” You keep your tone teasing. His eyes finally trail up to your face, where he finds a twitching smile as you try to hold back your giggles. His expression shifts from lustful to lovestruck as his eyes soften and his smile widens.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, breathlessly.

“So are you.” His smile widens further as he finally looks away from you, suddenly bashful. His cheeks are flushed slightly pink, and you finally break and huff out a laugh. It isn’t seeing you half naked that gets him, or the idea of sharing a bed, or the lustful thoughts he’s certainly been having all day. It’s a simple compliment, not even a particularly good one, that flusters your dear cook. It makes you want to take his face in your hands and place kisses all over it, with a tenderness that would make its way under his skin, marking him as well and truly loved. It makes you want to drop to your knees and worship him, take him into your mouth and not stop until he’s utterly spent and crying from the overstimulation. It makes you want him, in every meaning of the word.

But you don’t want to break the illusion yet, still a little nervous about being the first to step over the line, so instead you slide your thumbs beneath the waistband of your jeans and quickly step out of them. You make your way to the bed, making a show of throwing yourself onto your back, bouncing a little as his eyes eagerly take in the movement of your breasts, your thighs, every inch of you. After allowing him a moment to admire, you shift to pull the blankets over yourself, tucking yourself in. You’re going to play your part. But you’re allowed a moment of fun. You look up at him, doe eyes blinking and arms outstretched welcomingly. “Sanji, aren’t you coming to bed?”

He pauses for a moment, his eyes turning to your face, and in that moment you swear you can see into his head. You see dreams of the two of you intertwined, not sexually, but just…together. You see his head resting against your chest, eyes closed in absolute bliss. You see the soft sunlight of the morning bathing you both in gold, warming you to your bones. You see a different scene, the two of you in a more intimate embrace, bodies pressing closer than you thought possible, hips moving and hands everywhere, a tender moment that almost feels like worship. You see an entire life together, every little moment, and you see Sanji’s eyes fill with tears at the idea of it.

He rips his pants off, practically diving into the bed with you, and his arms wrap around your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He buries his face into your chest, nosing between your breasts, and somehow still keeping up this silly ruse, he mumbles, “This bed’s pretty small. Guess we’ll have to get even closer.” He pulls you tighter, and you’re almost sure he can’t breathe from how much he’s pressed his nose into your skin. You giggle, and you can feel him smile against you. He places a kiss right against your sternum, gentle and affectionate, before pressing one up slightly higher, then one higher than that, as he makes his way up to your neck. His facial hair rubs against your skin, the ticklish feeling making you laugh even more. He places one final kiss where your jaw meets your neck before pulling up to whisper in your ear. “Can I please kiss you? I think I’ll die if I don’t.”

“Please do,” you whine out. He doesn’t wait another moment before your lips crash together, teeth briefly clacking together in his excitement before it softens into something more tender and intimate. He groans softly into your mouth, lips parting, welcoming you in. You gladly accept, and he fully pins you beneath him and you explore each other’s mouths.

His hands slide underneath you, one pulling you upward into him as the other fumbles with the clasp of your bra. The moment it releases, he swiftly tosses it behind him, breaking your kiss to stare at your chest. His mouth is slightly agape as he pants, eyes wide, taking in the sight. He looks as though he wants to speak, but nothing comes out. The silence stretches out as he takes in every inch of your breasts, before he eventually reaches a shaking hand out to brush his fingers against your skin. He lets out a quiet breath of awe. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life. A goddess. I can’t believe this is happening.”

“You took the words out of my mouth, Sanji. This is a dream come true.” Your voice is quiet with the vulnerable admission, and his eyes leave your chest to meet yours.

“You dreamed of this?” He sounds like he really truly can’t fathom the idea.

“Dozens of times. Almost every dream I have is about you. Last night I–” You stop yourself in embarrassment, face flushing.

He leans closer with an intensity he usually saves for battle. “Last night? You dreamed about me last night?” His eyes are boring into you, stripping you bare, staring straight into your heart and soul.

“Yes,” you softly admit. “I dreamed about you last night. About this. The real thing is so much better.”

“Oh god,” he breaths out, before he kisses you again, hard and fast. His hands envelop your tits, groping and squeezing. You can’t stop yourself from keening into his mouth when his fingers brush against your nipples, and you can feel him grind against you when he hears. His hardness presses against your bare thighs, showing how badly he wants you. He grabs at you like you’ll disappear between his fingers, fade away like all of the dreams that have been haunting you.

Another pinch at your nipples makes you cry out, and you pull back, begging, “Sanji, please, more!” You want to feel his fingers inside you, his tongue, his cock. Any and everything he could give you you want, and you feel so sure that he would gladly let you take it. He would give you the heart out of his chest if you asked.

He moans as his bulge rubs against your thighs again. “Fuck, of course, angel. Whatever you want.” He slides lower, and you feel his fingers slide along the fabric covering your slit. He carefully traces a path up to your clit, lightly pressing against it through your panties, making you suck in a breath. His eyes travel between your face and his fingers, taking note of your reactions.

He eventually slides off your panties, letting out a soft noise of appreciation once he’s able to see all of you. He leans closer, mumbling something you don’t quite catch, before his mouth is on you.

“Ah, Sanji!” You cry out in surprise, your thighs clenching together, and you can feel him moan against you at the pressure. His tongue moves expertly, which you suppose makes sense; Sanji is a man who knows how to appreciate a good meal. His hands reach up to grip your thighs, not to pull them apart, but to pull you even closer, hooking your legs over his shoulders as he dives further into you. His nose brushes your clit, making you keen again, and you can feel him smile against your cunt. 

You feel a familiar tension building in your gut as his tongue shifts to your clit and he inserts a finger, then two, then three inside of you, curling in a come hither motion that makes you see stars. You get noisier and noisier as the coil tightens, and Sanji only grows more enthusiastic with every moan and cry he manages to pull from you. His hips are grinding desperately against the mattress beneath you. Your thighs continue to tighten around his head, and you worry you’ll crush him, but you imagine that’s the way he’d want to go.

With one final flick of Sanji’s tongue and push of his fingers, you come unraveled around him, nearly screaming his name as you’re hit with white-hot pleasure. His fingers work you through it, only stopping when your thighs go slack around him and you let out a soft whimper. He crawls up to see your face, to see the evidence of his work, and you can see he’s absolutely covered in your wetness, his facial hair soaked in you. His pupils are blown out, his eyes nearly entirely black and looking nearly maddened with lust. He kisses you, and you can taste yourself on his lips.

“Please, please let me feel you. I need to feel you around me. Please.” His voice is ragged as he pants, a whine behind it as he begs to fuck you.

“Please,” you whimper back.

His fingers hook below the waistband of his boxers, and he slides out of them slowly. His cock stands proudly, long and thick, leaking precum. He gives you no time to admire it, swiftly lining it up with your entrance and slowly pushing himself into you, moaning into your ear at the feeling.

“Darling, you feel heavenly,” he groans. He sits still for a moment, giving you time to adjust and just enjoying the feeling of you tightening around him. “I could never have imagined how perfect you are. The dreams never did you justice.” You try to move your hips, but his hands are holding you still. You let out a whine, pathetic and wanton, and his lips tug into a smile. “Are you ready, my dear?”

“Yes, god, yes.”

He pulls himself out slowly, before reentering a little faster, the next time a little faster than that, increasing his speed bit by bit until he’s relentlessly pounding you into the mattress. He mumbles endless praise for you that gets lost between his moans, only allowing you to make out princess and tight and perfect. The room is filled with these small praises and the sound of slapping skin. You lean up to kiss him, but he doesn’t let you, instead staring intensely into your eyes, determined to see your face when you cum.

He watches your face as your orgasm grows closer, his hips speeding up and his fingers reaching for your clit. His gaze is loving, admiring, nearly worshiping, and his words at some point turn into a prayer: for you, for him, for what you’ve created here in this room to last long after the door opens and you return back to a life where this becomes real. Your orgasm hits you harshly, making you cry out, and he watches enraptured as you come apart around him. He tries to keep his pace steady, but his hips stutter as he cums inside of you, filling you with warmth.

He stays like that, cock inside of you, eyes locked onto yours. The only sound in the room is your heaving breaths, the only sensation either of you feel is the warmth of the other grounding you here.

“I think I love you,” he murmurs. “Can I say that? Can I make it real?”

You wrap your arms around him, pulling his head to your chest, cradling him there. “Please do. I want it to be real. I want you. I love you.”

He adjusts, pulling out of you, crawling up slightly to fully make his home in your chest. His shoulders shake, and you hear a sniffle. You don’t say anything, simply running your hands gently through his hair, across his cheeks, down his back.

“I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you.” He nuzzles his face even deeper into you.

“I think I’ve wanted you just as long, even if I didn’t realize it.”

“I adore you.” His voice is thick with emotion, and you think maybe this confession is deeper and more difficult than his first. 

“I adore you too, Sanji. You’re one of the most wonderful people I’ve ever met.”

You sit there, basking in each other’s presence, enjoying a world where this gets to be real. You drift off to sleep peacefully, with the reassurance that when you wake this won’t just have been another troubling dream. Nothing is more real and grounding than his arms wrapped around you, his leg thrown over you, his lips still lightly pressed against your skin. You know you’ll see him tomorrow, shining brilliantly in the sun, and walk back hand in hand. You still dream of him, but the lovesick smile he gives you when you open your eyes is better than any dream you’ve ever had.

[luvnami]

olympics men's volleyball team captain ushijima is so real to me

“ushijima wakatoshi.”

not even his mother calls him by his full name, damn it. 

ushijima swallows the brick in his throat. he purposefully avoids your burning stare by fiddling with the straps of the gym bag in his hand, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. even though he’s much taller than you, he feels awfully small right now. 

it’s almost comical that you in your pink pyjama set, arms crossed over your chest, and bits of sleep still stuck in your inner corner is enough to make ushijima wakatoshi, captain of japan’s olympics men’s volleyball team, cower in fear. 

“you are running a fever. you are not going to today’s training,” you say firmly.

you stand between ushijima and the front door. if he tried, he knew he would have little trouble breaking out of the house. he figures that he could fireman lift you over his shoulder and dump you on the living room sofa. 

“it’s barely a fever, i’ll be fine. it’s not right for the team if the captain doesn’t show up.”

ushijima regrets speaking up. the look you’re giving him right now could kill. 

“what if you spread your fever to the other players? what if you pass out on court? who’s going to carry you to the hospital, ushijima? your face is red and you’re sweating. you’re going back to bed right now.” 

a pang of pain shoots through his heart. not even wakatoshi? come on! 

he sulks. it’s not obvious, but ushijima’s shoulders slump ever so slightly and he gives you a disgruntled look. 

“fine,” he mumbles. 

usually, your fiance doesn’t need reminders to take care of himself or the house. he cooks his own healthy meals, doesn’t let the dishes pile up in the sink, and reminds you to take your daily vitamins when you forget. however, even ushijima has his own shortcomings. he hates throwing out old items as long as they’re usable (you had to toss all his underwear that was worn through while he wasn’t home) and can be utterly stubborn when he’s sick, just like today. 

you march ushijima back to bed like a prison warden. you take his temperature, shove the numbers 38.2°C in his face, and tuck him in like you would a baby. 

“there,” you huff. “now rest.”

ushijima still wears an unhappy face. he hates it when he’s sick. it’s the one thing in the world that renders him helpless, and makes him more upset than when a player blocks his spikes multiple times in a row. 

he didn’t want to miss out on today’s training. but his head was throbbing when he woke up this morning, and he barely made it to the front door despite his knees buckling twice. ushijima lets his heavy eyes fall shut and his sore body relaxes, headache throbbing in the back of his head. you’re right. he should rest. 

ushijima just doesn’t want to admit that he feels weak.

[bucketgetter535]

This is not a cry for help (but it might be) PART 2

CW: Swearing/Drinking/Divorce

WC: 3.2k

Notes: I really tried to lean into the pov being like from Paige’s mind on this one so it does look a lil different. Plz send thoughts like anons are my fav part of the day

The morning light in the gym was too bright. Way too bright. Like, offensive. Paige blinked hard, dribbling aimlessly in her warmup shirt while Coach whatever-her-name-was barked at some girl from Arizona about defense.

Her body felt like it was moving underwater. Or in slow motion. Or maybe not at all. Her legs worked, technically. She could still shoot. Could still pass. Could still joke a little bit when someone missed a free throw and she muttered “yikes” under her breath loud enough for them to hear.

But everything felt wrong. Like her skin didn’t fit.

Azzi had tried to get her to eat at breakfast… again.

“You need something,” she’d said, handing Paige a banana like that was going to fix literally anything.

“I’ll eat at lunch,” Paige lied. She always lied about food when she felt like this. Food made things real. Hunger meant something was happening. If you ignored it long enough, it’d go away.

Azzi gave her that look. Not a mean look. Just the look. The “I’m not buying this but I’m too polite to fight you about it in front of the whole world at a buffet” look.

Whatever.

Practice went fine. Ish. Paige got through it without collapsing, so. Victory. She only spaced out twice and only got subbed out once for “looking like she’d seen a ghost,” according to the assistant coach with the intense eyebrows.

She skipped lunch too. Didn’t feel like being around people. Didn’t want anyone to ask if she was okay again. Didn’t wanna answer, didn’t wanna lie, didn’t wanna think.

By dinner, her stomach was doing gymnastics but she still couldn’t bring herself to go to the dining hall. She texted Azzi from bed:

Paige: can u grab me chips or smth

Paige: i don’t wanna go down there

Azzi didn’t answer for a while. Then, like, twenty minutes later, the door opened and Azzi came in with an armful of snacks. Not just chips. Crackers, peanut butter packs, those little pretzel things with cheese inside, even a mini chocolate milk.

Paige blinked at it all from her spot on the bed. “Okay… dramatic.”

Azzi dropped it all on her lap. “You’re not eating,” she said flatly.

“Thanks for the snacks, Mom,” Paige muttered, already popping open a bag of Doritos even though her stomach was like what are you doing.

Azzi sat on the edge of her bed, watching her. Not judging. Just watching.

“We’re friends now, right?” she asked suddenly.

Paige froze. One hand still in the chip bag. “…Sure.”

“So talk to me.”

“Nope,” Paige said immediately. She shoved a chip in her mouth. “Hard pass.”

Azzi didn’t move. “You’ve been weird since yesterday. You haven’t eaten. You’re quiet. You’re—”

“I’ve always been quiet.”

“You bothered me for fun every night for the past week. Now you’re not saying anything. That’s not ‘quiet,’ that’s different.”

Paige swallowed. Stared at the wall. She wanted to say I’m fine but even she was tired of hearing that one.

She opened her mouth to say something else (something dumb and off-topic and Paige-ish) but her phone buzzed.

Dad.

Her throat closed. She stood up way too fast. “Gimme a sec.”

She didn’t wait for Azzi’s reply. She was already out the door.

In the hallway, it was colder. Quieter. She hit accept and held the phone to her ear with fingers that felt kind of floaty.

His voice came through the line. Calm. Too calm. Again.

Something about him and her step-mom taking a break. About how he might move back into the old place for a while. About how he didn’t want her to worry but things were tense.

Paige nodded even though he couldn’t see her. Said “okay” four times in a row. Didn’t say anything else. Just listened and clenched the phone so hard her knuckles hurt.

When she came back into the room, her face was pale. Her eyes weren’t teary but she looked like she’d been hit in the stomach.

Azzi looked up fast. “What happened?”

Paige dropped onto the bed. She didn’t even try to joke. Just looked at the ceiling like it had answers.

Azzi was quiet. Then she said, “My parents are visiting tomorrow. You should hang out with us.”

Paige squinted at her. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want you to sit here feeling like this by yourself. And because my mom makes cookies.”

Paige snorted, but it sounded like a broken car. “Cool,” she said finally. “Cookies’ll fix my divorced family.”

“They’re chocolate chip,” Azzi added.

And somehow that made Paige feel a little better. Not, like, fixed. Not even close. But like someone had reached into the chaos of her head and held it still for half a second.

She didn’t say yes. But she didn’t say no either.

And Azzi didn’t press.

Which, of course, made Paige want to say yes. Which made no sense.

But what else was new.

–

Paige did actually intend on going with Azzi’s family.

Like, it just kinda… happened. One second she was making fun of Azzi’s outfit (“You look like a Target ad that lost custody of its fashion sense”), and the next, Azzi was elbowing her in the ribs and going, “If you’re gonna be this annoying, you might as well come with us.”

So. Here she was.

In the backseat of Katie and Tim’s SUV, squished next to Azzi, pretending not to notice how normal everything felt.

Which was insane. Because Paige’s life? Was not normal. It was the opposite of normal. It was a trash fire inside a tornado inside a therapy session she wasn’t ready to attend.

But here, Tim was making dumb road trip jokes, and Katie was humming to the radio, and Azzi was side-eyeing Paige like she could feel her trying to smuggle a bag of gummy worms into her hoodie pocket. (Success.)

“You’re gonna get ants,” Azzi muttered, flicking the hood.

“Ants deserve snacks too,” Paige replied.

Tim just laughed and said, “At least share with the driver.”

Which Paige did. Like, she actually did. She opened the bag and passed it forward without any snark, and that’s how she knew her brain was in complete crisis. She was polite. That was never a good sign.

Katie kept looking back at her, smiling gently like Paige was some kind of confused raccoon they were trying to rehabilitate. And Paige didn’t get it. Like, she was being weird and annoying on purpose. That was her whole thing. Why was Katie not sighing or side-eying or lowkey asking Azzi if she was “doing okay with that one”? Why was she being patient?

No one was patient with Paige anymore. Not even Paige.

Her phone buzzed again. She didn’t look at it. Then it buzzed again.

She looked.

Dad

Dad: Hey just checking in

Dad: Can we talk later?

Dad: I know you’re busy but I just wanna explain some stuff

Paige’s stomach dropped.

There was nothing in those messages, technically. But still, she felt sick. Like, full-on body tension, nausea-in-her-neck sick. Why did he need to explain anything? Why did he think that was what she wanted? Why was she here trying to be a person when back home her whole house was probably yelling or sulking or pretending nothing was happening?

She closed her messages. Opened Instagram. Closed it again.

She wanted to throw her phone in the lake they were driving past.

Azzi glanced over. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Paige said, too fast. “Just deciding if I’d survive if I leapt out of this car going 60.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Wanna bet?”

Azzi rolled her eyes and reached over to fix the hood Paige had pulled halfway over her face. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Thanks. I try.”

Her phone buzzed again.

Not her dad this time.

Stepmom

Stepmom: Paige I’m sorry but your dad is being so unfair. I need you to know this isn’t my fault. He’s making this way worse than it has to be.

Stepmom: Call me?

Paige slammed her phone face-down in her lap and stared straight ahead.

What. The actual. Hell.

Why was she in the middle of this? Why was she suddenly a referee? She was fifteen. She didn’t even have her permit yet. She couldn’t legally drive a car but apparently she was old enough to emotionally process a second imploding marriage in one household.

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t even blink.

Katie asked what kind of sandwiches everyone wanted from the place they were headed.

Paige mumbled, “Whatever Azzi gets.”

Azzi didn’t say anything, but her leg pressed against Paige’s for a second longer than necessary.

Paige didn’t move.

She hated how it all just… lived in her now. The tension. The guilt. The weird buzzing between her ears. The feeling that if she opened her mouth the wrong way, a sob might crawl out before she could smash it back down.

She wanted to be normal for one second. Just one.

But her chest was tight and her stomach was not okay and her stepmom was texting her like they were trauma buddies and—

“Hey.” Azzi’s voice. Soft. Only for her. “You’re scrunching your whole face again.”

“I’m vibing.”

“You look like you’re doing math with your eyebrows.”

Paige barked out a laugh that was 40% real and 60% panic. “Just calculating how many times I can poke you in the arm before you break my finger.”

Azzi deadpanned, “Once.”

Tim chuckled. Katie handed back napkins without asking. Paige took one and clutched it in her fist like it was holding her together.

She didn’t open her messages again.

But she also didn’t get out of the car when they parked. She stayed in her seat for an extra ten seconds, pretending to be very focused on tying her shoe.

Katie didn’t rush her. No one said anything.

Eventually, Paige followed them out. Gummy worms in her pocket. Anxiety in her throat. Azzi next to her, just close enough.

And that was maybe the only thing that didn’t make her want to scream.

–

The thing about girls under sixteen (like actually under sixteen, not those fake-ID-having TikTok girls who look twenty-four and could sue you if you breathed wrong) the thing about real fifteen-year-olds? They’re disasters. Loud, bored, overly confident disasters with scrunchies around their wrists and nothing better to do than play truth or dare in a dorm room they technically weren’t even supposed to be in past lights-out.

Someone brought alcohol.

No one’s saying who, obviously. There were alliances to protect. But suddenly there was this half-empty water bottle being passed around, filled with something that smelled like nail polish remover and made everyone cough on impact. Some of the girls were being dumb about it, like, fake-giggling and falling over like they were in a teen movie and not a national training camp with cameras in the hallways.

Azzi wasn’t drinking.

Of course she wasn’t. Paige could’ve bet her scholarship on that.

And Paige? Paige was drinking. Kinda. In, like, a casual “whatever” way. Not enough to lose her mind or her balance. Just enough to not feel this anymore. This weird gross tight ache in her chest that wouldn’t let go. Just enough to soften it.

It didn’t work.

The bottle came around again. Paige waved it off the third time and wiped her hands on her sweatpants. Everyone else was caught up in some dare about texting crushes and licking pillows and she was just… sitting there. Not tipsy enough to be stupid. Not sober enough to feel anything clearly.

She looked up and saw Azzi leaving.

No word. No announcement. Just standing up and slipping out like she always did. Quiet but confident, like the world would rearrange itself if she needed it to.

Paige followed.

Didn’t think about it. Didn’t check with the group. Just stood up in the middle of someone yelling “Wait are you really gonna text her?” and walked out behind Azzi like a shadow in socks.

Azzi was already down the hallway, near their door. Paige caught up fast because her legs were long and her body had one goal and one goal only: stay near Azzi. Whatever that meant. Wherever that led.

“You left,” Paige said stupidly.

Azzi gave her a look. “So did you.”

“Yeah but I only left ‘cause you did.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow and unlocked their room.

Paige followed her in like it was instinct. Like her feet just did that now. Like they had Azzi GPS installed.

“I didn’t know you were the party-following type,” Azzi said, grabbing her water bottle from the desk.

Paige flopped onto her bed face-first. “I’m not. I’m the Azzi-following type.”

Azzi snorted. “That’s worse.”

“You love it.”

Azzi sat on her own bed and looked at her. Paige peeked up from the mattress.

“Flirting again?” Azzi asked, not quite a smile but not not one either.

Paige flipped onto her back dramatically. “I literally haven’t even started yet.”

Azzi hummed. “You’re better at it tipsy.”

Paige blinked. “Wait. You noticed?”

“I’m not blind.”

“Oh my god.”

Azzi grabbed her blanket and threw it at Paige, who caught it and wrapped herself like a tortilla. “Also,” Azzi said slowly, “don’t flirt with me when I’m drunk.”

Paige blinked. Sat up. “Wait. What?”

Azzi leaned back against her pillow like this was a normal conversation. “I had a couple shots when you were doing that dare where you pretended to marry the shower curtain.”

“…Okay, first of all, I committed to that bit. That was Oscar-worthy.”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “Second of all… don’t flirt with me when I’m drunk.”

Paige stared. “Why?”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. She just looked at Paige.

Like, looked at her.

Like she was thinking about something she hadn’t decided to say yet. Like she was measuring it against all the other things she could say but didn’t.

And Paige—Paige, who was already warm from cheap vodka and soft lighting and maybe the fact that Azzi’s hair was a little messy and she hadn’t noticed—felt her cheeks go red.

Red.

Like blush red.

Oh my god.

What the fuck, she thought. Why am I blushing. What is this, a movie? Get it together.

Azzi tilted her head, like she’d seen the exact second it hit.

“Dude,” she said.

“I didn’t do anything,” Paige lied, voice three octaves too high.

“You’re blushing.”

“No I’m not.”

“You look like you ran a mile.”

“I have excellent circulation.”

Azzi smiled. It was small. Private. A little amused, a little something else.

Paige buried her face in the blanket and groaned. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

And Paige didn’t say anything because Azzi was right, and she didn’t have the energy to lie about it.

Outside, the hallway buzzed with the leftover chaos of fifteen-year-olds left unsupervised. Inside, the room was quiet.

And Paige was trying not to think about how close her bed was to Azzi’s. Or how her phone buzzed on the desk with probably another text from her dad or worse, her stepmom. Or how she could still kinda taste the vodka even though she only took two shots and hated both.

She pulled the blanket tighter around herself.

“Don’t flirt with me when I’m drunk,” Azzi had said.

Which meant—somewhere in that terrifying calm of hers—Azzi knew.

Azzi knew Paige had been flirting.

Azzi noticed.

And she didn’t say don’t flirt with me at all.

So, Paige did not stop flirting.

Even after Azzi said don’t, even after she admitted she’d had shots, even after Paige turned into an actual tomato in a hoodie. She just… couldn’t stop.

Something about Azzi made it impossible.

And maybe that was the vodka or maybe it was just Paige’s personality spiraling in real time, but either way, she was still at it. Throwing soft teasing jabs from her bed. Dropping stupid lines with fake confidence and hiding under her blanket every time Azzi looked at her for too long. Still saying things like:

“I’m pretty sure I’m your favorite person here, admit it.”

And:

“You liked that compliment. I saw it. You liked it.”

And:

“You think I’m cute, don’t you? It’s okay, it’s very common.”

Azzi just raised an eyebrow. Not annoyed. Just… studying her. Like she was trying to figure out what to do with this very unserious, very tired, mildly buzzed white girl flopped across the bed like a soggy pillow.

Then Azzi said:

“Come over here.”

Paige blinked.

Froze.

Literally froze.

“…What?” she said, like maybe she’d misheard.

Azzi patted the spot next to her on the bed. Calm. Chill. Like this was just a casual hey come over here real quick and sit very closely next to me even though we’re both fifteen and maybe possibly a little in love with each other in a terrifying teenage kind of way.

So Paige got up.

Her legs were weirdly heavy, like her body knew something her brain didn’t yet, but she crossed the room and sat. Next to Azzi. On her bed. Shoulder-to-shoulder close. That kind of close.

They were facing each other.

Which, like… why was that so intimate?

Why did sitting cross-legged, knees kind of brushing, faces only inches apart, feel like suddenly Paige had wandered into a scene from a coming-of-age indie film where the main character is like softly realizing shit?

Azzi was looking at her.

And now it was her turn.

Her turn to flirt.

“You talk a lot for someone who hides under blankets when I stare at her,” Azzi said.

Paige immediately looked down. “I literally don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure.”

“I don’t.”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what—”

Azzi reached out and tucked a piece of Paige’s hair behind her ear.

That shut her up.

Because.

That was a thing.

And Paige felt the heat rise so fast in her face she almost got mad at it. Like… seriously? Still blushing? Grow up.

Azzi was still looking at her like she knew exactly what she was doing. Like she was testing something. Watching Paige short-circuit in real time.

“I think you’re cute too,” Azzi said softly.

Paige’s heart did something deeply stupid.

Like. Clenched. Or skipped. Or flipped over or something poetic and dramatic and very inconvenient.

Azzi tilted her head.

“Kiss me?” she said.

And it wasn’t really a question. Not in the way people usually asked things.

So she leaned forward.

Not fast. Not perfect. Just clumsy and slow and honest. A little scared. A little thrilled.

And when her lips touched Azzi’s, it wasn’t fireworks or explosions or anything cliché.

It was just warm.

And right.

And soft.

And it made Paige forget—for a second—that her phone had twenty unread texts from two angry adults back home.

It made her forget about court dates and yelling and Drew crying behind his door.

It made her forget how hard everything was supposed to be.

Because Azzi’s hand was on her cheek now.

And Azzi had kissed her back.

And Paige, fifteen and overwhelmed and unsure and everything else, felt like she could breathe.

Like, really breathe.

When they pulled back, Azzi didn’t say anything.

Just smiled. A little.

Paige blinked. “Okay,” she whispered, barely breathing. “That was… not bad.”

Azzi snorted. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Your idiot, though?”

Azzi shoved her lightly. “God.”

But she didn’t say no.

[b1eedthefreak]

On Every Page

daryl x reader

warnings: none just fluff :3

requested >o<

⸻

The run had been simple.

Just a gas stop and a scavenged storefront off the highway, nothing big. In and out.

You were laughing about something stupid teasing Daryl over his grumpy face, how he never actually said you were funny, just grunted when he was trying not to laugh and the moment had been so light. So easy.

Then the walkers came.

Just two at first, then a third shuffling out from behind an overgrown pump. You both took off, trained instincts kicking in without words, until you were sprinting back toward the car.

Somewhere in the middle of that blur, your bag slipped.

You dropped to grab it, fingers catching on the strap, trying to scoop up your scattered things, but the sound of a growl made your blood turn to ice.

“Shit—!” you gasped.

Then Daryl’s hand gripped the back of your shirt and yanked you upright, pulling you flush to his chest. He swung his crossbow with the other arm, firing clean into the walker’s skull without missing a beat.

“Run!” he growled.

You did.

Back in the car, panting, adrenaline spiking and then crashing all at once, you realized what didn’t make it.

“My journal,” you whispered, staring at your hands. “I dropped it.”

Daryl glanced at you, then back toward the trees. “Ain’t worth goin’ back for. I’ll get ya another one.”

You nodded, but it wasn’t the same.

Days passed.

You didn’t talk about it, not really. What could you say? That your chest ached a little when you thought about it? That losing that dumb little notebook felt like losing something real, something soft in this world that was never supposed to let you keep soft things?

You didn’t cry about it.

You just missed it.

All your little doodles. Your thoughts. Memories of him written down just for you. Little titles like apocalyptic soulmates or the best day: when he held my hand without thinking about it. Moments only you would remember, how he once tucked a flower into your hair, how you saw him smile at a butterfly once, soft and secret when he thought you weren’t looking.

Gone.

Until a few mornings later, when Daryl came into the room with his boots already tied.

“Gonna head out,” he muttered, pressing a hand to your leg. “Be back before dark.”

You blinked sleepily at him from your nest of blankets. “Everything okay?”

“Just want some air. Quick check up the road. Ain’t far.”

You sat up to kiss his cheek. “Okay. Be safe Dixon.”

He looked at you for a second, just long enough that you tilted your head.

“You sure you’re good?” you asked, lips brushing his scruffy jaw.

He nodded.

He didn’t tell you where he was going.

Didn’t tell you that something had been nagging at him for days, that every time he saw your face soften with that quiet kind of sadness, he heard your voice in his head again, whispering, my journal… I dropped it…

Didn’t tell you that he’d doubled back to the run site, tracing your footsteps in the woods, looking for the stupid little notebook you loved so much.

He found it snagged under a root, dirt-streaked and water warped, but still whole.

Maybe he meant to just make sure it was yours. That’s all.

But then it fell open to a page with his name scrawled across it.

And… yeah. Maybe he read a few more after that.

Maybe he stood there in the woods with shaking hands and heat crawling up his neck while he read your messy handwriting calling him the love of my life, or saw doodles of the two of you curled up under a blanket together with hearts all around. Maybe he choked up a little at a list titled reasons I’m glad I met Daryl Dixon.

Maybe he clutched the journal to his chest like it was a damn lifeline and whispered, “Jesus girl…”

When he got back, you were already asleep.

Curled up in bed with the blanket wrapped under your chin and one arm stretched out where he usually slept. The room was quiet, your little reading light still on, the scent of your shampoo lingering in the air.

Daryl stood in the doorway for a second, just watching you.

He kicked off his boots, slid in beside you, and gently pulled you into his arms.

You mumbled something unintelligible, face burying into his chest like muscle memory.

He held you close. Rested his chin on top of your head. Ran his hand slow down your spine like it calmed him more than it did you.

You stirred about an hour later, nose still squished against his shirt. “Mmmph…”

“Hey baby,” he whispered.

You blinked up at him, sleepy and warm and very much not awake. “You’re back…”

“Yeah.”

Your eyes narrowed a bit. “You smell like dirt.”

“Ran into some,” he muttered. “Got somethin’ for ya though.”

He reached behind him, grabbed the journal off the nightstand, and gently set it between you two.

You stared at it, eyes going wide. “Is that—?”

“Found it where we ran. Little beat up, but still readable.”

You gasped and picked it up like it was made of gold. “You found it?! Oh my God—I can’t believe—I thought it was gone forever—”

“I uh…” he cleared his throat. “Might’ve… read some of it.”

You froze.

He scratched the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to. Just wanna make sure it was yours. That’s all.”

“…What did you read?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just looked at you.

“That page,” he murmured, “where you said I was your soulmate or… or somethin’ like that.”

Your stomach fluttered. “It said apocalyptic soulmate, actually.”

He huffed a soft laugh. “That the only part ya worried I saw?”

“…Maybe.”

He tilted your chin up, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Didn’t know you wrote all that. ‘Bout us.”

You swallowed. “I didn’t mean for anyone to read it.”

He nodded. “I know. But… I’m glad I did.”

You blinked.

He looked like he wanted to say something else, something big, but all he said was,

“I ain’t never had somethin’ like that. Someone thinkin’ about me like that.”

You slid your hand up to rest against his heart.

“Because I love you,” you whispered. “Of course I think about you like that. I write about you ‘cause you’re the best part of my day. Every day.”

He closed his eyes and exhaled, like your words wrapped around his ribs and finally let him breathe.

Then he kissed your forehead, your nose, your lips.

You giggled sleepily against his mouth. “Does this mean you liked the Daryl’s hands are so pretty page?”

He groaned and buried his face in your neck. “Don’t start.”

You grinned and tugged him closer, pulling his arm across your waist as you snuggled in tight.

“Thanks for finding it,” you whispered.

“Yeah,” he murmured against your skin. “Thanks for writin’ it.”

⸻

[r-memberme]

anchor yourself to me | k.m

⎯⎯“I’d carry your grief if I could. But I can’t. So instead, I’ll carry you.”

warnings: mention of death, grief, heavy feelings and a heavy heart,

this is for you sweet soul <3

It started with the sound of the key turning in the lock. Quiet. Too quiet.

Klaus looked up from the couch, a book half-forgotten in his lap. It wasn’t the slam of the door, or the usual rustle of your coat falling to the floor, or your voice calling out with some dry remark about his taste in novels. It was silence. That aching, telling kind that dragged its feet through the room like a ghost.

You stepped inside like the world was heavier than your bones could bear. Hair windswept, face drawn. You didn’t even look at him as you walked past.

“Darling?” he asked softly, setting the book aside.

“I’m fine,” you replied. But your voice was paper-thin and cracked halfway through.

He stood, slow and measured. You’d told him before—sometimes you just needed space. But this didn’t feel like space. This felt like you were floating far, far away, and even breathing seemed like it hurt.

He didn’t follow. Not yet. Just watched as you disappeared into the bedroom and closed the door.

He let time pass, let the silence grow thick. But then minutes stretched into nearly an hour. The light outside faded to dusk, and he couldn’t sit still anymore.

He knocked once. No answer.

Then he opened the door.

You weren’t in bed.

He found you instead sitting on the cold bathroom floor, your knees drawn up to your chest, one hand fisted in the hem of your shirt, the other trembling against your lips like you were trying to keep something inside. But it was spilling out anyway—tears you hadn’t meant to cry, sobs you didn’t know how to muffle.

Klaus didn’t speak.

He just crossed the floor, knelt in front of you, and reached for your hand.

And when you tried to turn away—to hide your face, to apologize, to say again that you were fine—he stopped you with one arm around your shoulders, the other guiding your cheek against his chest.

“You don’t have to pretend around me, love,” he whispered, his voice low and unshakable. “You never have to pretend again.”

You broke.

There was no other word for it. The dam burst. Your body shook. Grief clawed its way out, raw and ugly and loud. And Klaus held you through all of it, like the flood of it could never scare him.

His hand moved slowly up and down your back, steady and warm. Not trying to hush you. Not offering platitudes. Just there. Solid. Real.

Time bent strangely in that small space. The tiles dug into his knees. Your tears soaked his shirt. The light overhead buzzed faintly, flickering every so often.

Still, he didn’t move.

He didn’t let go.

༊*·˚

You didn’t mean to speak.

The words just slipped out—hoarse, tired, shaped like a wound that hadn’t stopped bleeding.

“She used to hum when she folded laundry.”

Your voice cracked on the last word, and Klaus didn’t interrupt.

“She’d do it without even noticing,” you continued, blinking hard, eyes unfocused. “Just this quiet little tune… over and over. And I hated it as a kid, I used to tell her to stop. God, I was so—” You stopped, jaw clenched, grief swelling up too fast.

Klaus's hand found yours again, steady and grounding.

“Grief makes villains out of memories, sweetheart,” he said gently, his accent thick with emotion. “Even the kindest ones.”

You nodded slowly, as if that truth was something you’d been trying to name for days but couldn’t.

“I keep thinking—if I could just go back for one minute,” you whispered. “One minute to hear her hum again, to sit on the stupid couch while she folds towels… I swear I’d never complain about it. I’d never leave the room.”

You paused, swallowing hard.

“And now I’d trade anything just to hear it one more time.”

Klaus leaned in, his forehead touching yours, his breath warm and quiet against your skin. “There is nothing crueler,” he murmured, “than how the simplest memories become the loudest screams when someone we love is slipping away.”

You closed your eyes.

“I don’t know who I’ll be without her.”

And there it was. The truth. Your deepest fear, unwrapped like a secret you didn’t want to admit. Not even to yourself.

But Klaus—he didn’t flinch from it. He didn’t look away.

“You’ll still be you,” he said, his thumb stroking over the back of your hand. “But softer, maybe. Bruised in places no one can see. And I’ll be here to hold you together when it aches too much to stand.”

Your lip trembled.

“You don’t have to be strong for me,” he said. “You don’t have to be anything but exactly what you are—hurting, breaking, surviving.”

Then, softly, like he was giving you something holy:

“I’d carry your grief if I could. But I can’t. So instead, I’ll carry you.”

And for the first time that day, your breath didn’t catch—it released.

Not because the pain was gone.

But because it was seen. Heard. Held.

༊*·˚

“She’s really going to die, Klaus.”

The words came from you like smoke from a fire already dying out—thin, trembling, hollow in the middle.

You weren’t asking. You weren’t even crying yet. It was just the truth laid bare, soft and sharp all at once. You could’ve whispered it to a ghost, and it would’ve flinched the same.

Klaus said nothing at first.

Just stayed beside you on the couch, knees touching, his hand steady over yours—like he knew that silence, right now, was the gentlest thing he could offer.

Your throat worked around the next words, broken glass of memory catching in every breath.

“She used to sing to me in the car,” you murmured. “Not even real songs—just these silly little tunes she made up. I hated them. I was embarrassed. I used to beg her to stop before she rolled the windows down at a red light.”

You laughed, but it caught in your chest like it didn’t know where it belonged.

“But now… I can’t even remember the lyrics. I’ve been trying all week and—” Your voice cracked. “It’s like she’s already fading.”

Klaus’s voice was low, reverent.

“She’s not.”

You blinked at him through a veil of tears.

“She’s still here,” he said. “In your hands. Your stubbornness. The way you fold your clothes. Her voice, it’s still in your laugh even if you can’t hear it yet.”

You looked away.

But he wasn’t done.

“When my mother died,” Klaus began, eyes distant, voice like something pulled from centuries ago, “I couldn’t even say her name for decades. Not because I didn’t love her. But because it hurt too much to try.”

You turned back to him, startled at the rawness of it. He so rarely offered pieces of himself like this—never without reason.

“I was angry,” he continued. “Furious at the world for letting someone so warm vanish. And that anger—it stayed. It made a home in me. Until one day… I heard someone humming a tune I hadn’t heard since childhood.”

You waited, breath hitched.

“And I remembered,” he said softly. “Her hands. The way she tucked my hair back. The way she forgave me more times than I ever deserved.”

His hand lifted, thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. It didn’t feel like comfort. It felt like a vow.

“You will carry her,” he whispered, “even when she’s gone. In every laugh you inherited. In every kindness she taught you. In every heartbeat, I promise you, she will still be here.”

And that’s when the dam broke.

You didn’t just cry—you folded. Crumpled into him like grief was gravity itself. But he held you. Not like you were breaking. Like he’d been there before, and he knew how to keep you from shattering.

Klaus pulled you to him without asking. Without a single word.

It wasn’t for comfort, not really. And it certainly wasn’t for passion. It was instinct—his, not yours. The kind that said I will not let you float too far from shore.

One hand found the back of your head, fingers weaving into your hair, steady and sure. The other slid along your spine, slow circles etched into your skin like a promise you didn’t have to speak aloud.

He didn’t tell you it would be okay.

Because it wouldn’t be. Not for a long while. Maybe not ever in the way you needed.

Instead, Klaus said softly into your hair, “I’ll be here when it’s not.”

You could feel the tears start again. Not sharp this time. Just… heavy. Like they’d been waiting for someone to say the exact thing you needed without sugar, without denial.

He kissed your temple. Gentle. Reverent. Like you were breakable but beloved all the same.

A blanket came next, drawn around your shoulders like he was trying to shield you from the air itself. And then—without ceremony—he slid down, sat cross-legged on the floor, and tugged you down with him.

There wasn’t a clock in the room. Nothing but the tick of your breath and the way Klaus didn’t let go, not even once. The kind of quiet that made the world feel too big. The kind of closeness that made it survivable.

At some point—maybe hours later, maybe minutes—he whispered it, low and certain against your ear:

“Let the world break, sweetheart. I’ll hold what’s left of you.”

And just like that, you believed it.

༊*·˚

You woke up to sunlight.

Gentle, golden light spilled through the curtains, warming your cheek, painting the world in a hue that felt wrong somehow—too lovely for a day like this.

And yet, it was there. Quietly existing. Just like him.

Klaus hadn’t moved.

His arms still held you, one across your waist, the other tucked beneath your head like a vow. His chest rose and fell beneath your cheek in slow, steady rhythm. He wasn’t asleep. He’d been awake for hours, maybe all night, and when you stirred, he looked down as if you were the only thing worth watching in a world that had done its best to hurt you.

You didn’t speak for a long while.

There was no rush. No plan. Just the creak of morning and the ache in your bones.

But eventually, you whispered it. Raw. Honest. The truth of it catching in your throat like glass.

“I don’t want to do this without her.”

Klaus’s answer came after a beat. Low, steady. Certain.

“Then you won’t,” he said. “You’ll do it with every piece of her that lives in you. And with me beside you. Every step.”

He meant it. You could feel it in the way his hand tightened ever so slightly around yours. In the way he didn’t try to make it smaller or easier than it was.

Later, you’d talk about arrangements. About hospitals and signatures and saying goodbye. You’d dread it, but he’d stay beside you, his quiet reverence wrapping around you like armor.

For now, you let your head fall back to his shoulder.

And the sun kept rising.

༊*·˚

There was something reverent about the silence.

Not the empty kind. Not the hollow ring of loss echoing down endless halls. No, this was different—a hush draped in love, in preparation, in all the small things that grief demands before it breaks you.

You stood before the mirror in a simple black dress. One your mother would have liked. Timeless. Modest. Graceful.

But your hands were trembling.

“Come here,” Klaus said softly, not asking.

You turned, barely breathing, and he was already stepping in behind you.

His hands were careful—gentle as breath—as he fastened the back of your dress, the zipper rising slowly under his fingers. There was nothing suggestive in the closeness. No hunger. No heat.

Only devotion.

“You used to get ready with her?” he asked, voice low, as though afraid to break the memory before it surfaced.

You nodded, eyes burning. “She always ironed my clothes… even my socks. Used to hum while she did it—some old song from her childhood. I never learned the words. Just… the sound of it.”

You swallowed thickly, staring down at your hands.

“She would braid my hair for picture day. We’d fight about it, and she’d say, ‘You’ll thank me when you’re older.’ I never thought ‘older’ would mean this.”

Klaus brushed a curl behind your ear, fingertips trailing slow and feather-light down the curve of your neck. A steadying touch, meant to remind you: you are not alone.

“Thank her now,” he said. “In the way you show up. In the way you remember.”

You let out a shaky breath, trying not to cry. Not yet. Not before the casket. Not before the eulogy. But you leaned into him, pressing your forehead to his chest.

His hands slid around your waist, palms flat and grounding.

“She taught me how to be soft,” you murmured. “Even when the world wasn’t.”

“She taught you well, then,” he answered, barely above a whisper.

And in the mirror behind you, the two of you stood still—your black dress and his black suit. Grief-stricken, yes. But unbroken.

Together.

༊*·˚

The air was thick with lilies and silence. The kind of silence that doesn’t ask for permission, just settles into your bones and makes a home there.

You stood beside the casket, one hand gripping the edge like it might anchor you, the other clutching a crumpled tissue that hadn’t stood a chance. The room was full of people—faces from old photo albums, voices you hadn’t heard in years. But all you saw was her.

Her picture framed in white roses. Her favorite song playing too quietly in the background. Her laugh, suddenly unbearable in memory.

You couldn’t breathe.

Then—a hand.

Klaus.

He stepped up behind you without a word, his presence like shelter. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. His hand found the small of your back, warm and steady, and your lungs remembered how to work again.

You leaned into him like the only safe thing in the world was his body beside yours.

As people stood to speak, to cry, to tell stories—some real, some embellished—you stayed quiet. Until someone asked if you wanted to say a few words.

Your heart hammered.

“I… I don’t know if I can,” you whispered to Klaus, barely able to look up.

“You can,” he said, his voice low and sure. “And if your voice shakes, let it. That’s love, too.”

So you walked up.

And your voice did shake.

But you spoke.

You told them about bedtime songs and burned cookies. About the way she danced in the kitchen when no one was looking. About the long car rides with the windows down, and how you never felt more alive than when her hand was reaching for yours at a stoplight.

You didn’t remember how you finished. Just that you sat down and Klaus took your hand. Laced his fingers with yours and squeezed.

You didn’t speak again until the service was over. Until the final prayer had faded. Until you were standing at the graveside, watching them lower her down into the earth.

Your chest caved.

“I don’t know how to let her go,” you said, voice small, broken.

“You don’t have to,” Klaus answered. “You just… carry her differently now.”

And as the wind picked up, and a rose slipped from your hand into the dark, open grave, Klaus stepped behind you again—both arms wrapping around you this time.

A fortress of flesh and bone and unconditional devotion.

He didn’t speak after that.

He just held you, and held you, and held you—until you believed, for a moment, that maybe the world wouldn’t end.

Not today.

༊*·˚

The house was too quiet.

Not peacefully so—not the kind of silence that invites rest—but the kind that hummed behind your ribs and made the walls feel like strangers. Her scent still lingered faintly in the air, the ghost of jasmine and citrus, and it clung to everything like it didn’t know she was gone.

You stood in the doorway of her bedroom, the door barely cracked, afraid to go in.

Klaus stood just behind you. Close enough that you felt his presence in the warm brush of his breath against your neck, but far enough that you had to reach for him if you needed it.

You did.

You took his hand.

Inside, the room was untouched. A sweater tossed across the armchair. Her glasses on the nightstand. An open book with the corner folded in—chapter fourteen, half-read.

It hit like a punch.

“I don’t know what to do with any of this,” you whispered.

“You don’t have to decide today,” Klaus said, his voice a velvet balm.

“But it’s all her,” you said. “I look at the books she read, the coffee mug still in the sink, and it feels like she’s about to walk in and finish the story. And then I remember…”

Your voice cracked.

Klaus stepped in then. Properly. Firmly. Completely.

He turned you gently to face him, brushing his knuckles along your jaw.

“I know what it’s like,” he murmured. “To be surrounded by echoes. To wonder how someone so enormous could be reduced to absence.”

You looked up at him, eyes glassy.

“She was my whole world.”

“And now,” he said, “you carry the pieces of it. I know that weight. But you’re not alone in it.”

You nodded, even though your lip trembled. Then, without meaning to, you laughed—a small, helpless thing.

“She used to hum to herself while folding laundry,” you said. “Like she was on stage and the detergent bottle was her microphone.”

Klaus smiled. A real one.

“And if I ever rolled my eyes, she’d throw a sock at me.”

“She sounds like she had good aim.”

“Too good.”

The laugh became a sob. Then laughter again.

And Klaus just pulled you in. Not like the night before—when he was a pillar to keep you upright—but now like a harbor, ready to take whatever storm you needed to pour out.

You buried your face in his chest.

“I don’t know how to live in a world she’s not in,” you said.

Klaus pressed a kiss to your hair. “Then don’t live in it alone. Let me build something beside you. Even in the rubble.”

And he meant it. In the way his hand threaded through yours again. In the way he sat with you on the edge of her bed, just listening as you shared more stories. The good ones. The dumb ones. The ones that hurt to tell.

You didn’t move for hours.

Because grief didn’t demand motion. Not yet.

Only company.

And he never left your side.

༊*·˚

It was quiet.

Not the kind that settles, but the kind that echoes. That strange, disorienting silence after something enormous has ended and the world, impossibly, continues.

The funeral was over. The people were gone. The flowers wilting in their vases. The scent of lilies still clinging to your dress.

You stood at the window with your arms folded over yourself, watching the sky begin to change colors, knowing she would’ve loved it. The way the clouds had made space for that soft lilac light. The way it felt like the earth was holding its breath in reverence.

And then Klaus came behind you, wordless. His presence not loud or demanding—just there, as promised. As always.

He wrapped a blanket around your shoulders.

You didn’t move.

“I don’t know how to start again,” you whispered. “Not after this.”

His voice was low, steady. “You don’t have to start. You just have to stand. And I’ll stand with you.”

You turned to him slowly. His eyes found yours, and he brushed his knuckles across your cheek. Like you might crack if he wasn’t careful. Like maybe you already had.

“She should be here,” you said, voice breaking. “She should be here to see me grow. To see me fall in love. To see me… just live.”

Klaus’s hands found yours, anchoring them between both of his.

“She will,” he said softly. “Because everything you are—your stubbornness, your tenderness, your light—it’s all her. You’ll live, and she’ll be in every second of it.”

You tried to speak, but your throat closed.

He tugged you forward, pressed a kiss to the top of your head, then rested his chin there.

The sunset stretched through the glass, painting you both in gold and soft pink.

And there, in the hush of the first day after goodbye, you found something else:

The beginning of healing.

It wouldn’t be linear. It wouldn’t be quick.

But it would be real.

And you wouldn’t be alone.

Not with him beside you. Not with her inside you.

Not ever.

༊*·˚

Extra part:

It was tucked inside a book.

One of hers, of course—an old copy of “Little Women,” soft-spined and underlined, dog-eared in all the places that had once made her cry. You weren’t looking for anything. Just running your fingers along the pages like touching something she had touched might tether you to her a little longer.

And then you saw it.

An envelope.

Your name written in her handwriting.

Everything in you froze. As if the world narrowed to that one single shape, those curved letters—her voice, somehow, in ink.

Klaus was in the next room, but he must have felt it, the change in your breath. The stillness. The grief rising again, not loud now, but aching and tender.

He appeared without a sound, leaning in the doorway, watching as you turned the letter over in trembling hands.

“She left me something,” you whispered. “I didn’t know she did. I—I wasn’t ready.”

“No one ever is,” Klaus said gently.

You opened it.

The paper was soft from age, creased neatly, folded with care. And it began, not with hello, not with my darling, but with:

If you’re reading this, it means I’m gone. And if you’re crying, I hope you know it’s okay. I’d be crying too, if I were you.

But listen to me—really listen: You were the best thing I ever did. I want you to know that. No matter how much time we had, it wasn’t enough. But it was everything. You were my everything.

Promise me you’ll laugh again. That you’ll dance. That you’ll let people love you and you’ll let yourself love them back, without guilt. Especially that man I know is probably standing nearby. Yes, I saw the way he looked at you. And the way you looked back. Don’t pretend you didn’t.

You laughed through the tears, clutching the letter with both hands, shaking your head.

“She knew,” you murmured.

Klaus stepped closer, crouched in front of you, eyes searching yours. “Of course she did.”

You kept reading.

I’m sorry I can’t be there when you need me most. But I’ll still be here. In the way you stir your tea. In the way you hum when you’re nervous. In the way you hold people close, even when you’re hurting. That’s all me. That’s all you.

I love you. I loved you every day, and I will love you every day after this. You’re not alone. Not ever.

Your fingers pressed to your lips, the paper trembling in your lap.

Klaus leaned forward, his forehead resting gently against yours, voice a reverent hush:

“She never really left you. Not where it counts.”

You closed your eyes, breathing her in like you could still find her in the paper, in the words, in the air itself.

And maybe you could.

Because somehow, she felt closer now.

Dear sweet angel anon, you reached out with your heart cracked open, and I never took that lightly. This piece is for you, written with all the softness and warmth I could gather. I hope these words wrap around you like a safe place, even just for a moment. I’m so sorry you’re walking through something this heavy. I hope you never forget how loved you are — by those around you, by your mom, and even by a stranger who poured this story out for you. Thank you for trusting me with your ache. This one's yours.

[sharkie06]

Chat i think that we can all collectively agree that daryl would break down infront of you if he trusts you alot.. right? Right.

A cool fic idea would be the reader going on a run and failing to return on the day she left, but the rest of the group coming back the day of? And daryl gets real pissed, but when you return, he breaks down

Thank you! (Luv ur work) 🫶❤️🎀

A/N: AAAAAAAA HII, yes i definitely agree! i love that idea sm, and thank YOU 🫶🩵:) (also idk if responding to the ask tags you so i’ll tag just in case @livviewritess )

༄ Where is She?

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x f!Y/N

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Warnings: mentions of violence, lots of gore, lots of cursing, Y/N has she/her pronouns, the lineup, mentions of deaths (Glenn & Abraham), gun use, motorcycle crash

Background info: It’s only been a short while since the line up with Negan, not long after Daryl finally was returned to Alexandria, and the community is still taking the loss pretty badly. He was still recovering from his time at Negan’s compound, so when it was time for the next supply run, Y/N offered to go on his bike and let Daryl stay home and rest.

A/N pt. 2: Most of the beginning of this will be written in Daryl’s POV; I apologize if he’s a bit ooc at times, I haven’t written for him much yet but hope to get better over time :)

Daryl had been restless all day waiting for the group to return from the run they had gone on that morning. It was the first run Y/N had gone on since he returned home from the compound, and being apart after being together every moment possible left them both deeply uneasy. If Daryl hadn’t been bedridden by Y/N’s own orders, he would’ve been pacing the damn gate waiting for a sign, anything to hint at her return. Sitting in their shared bed, Daryl finds his thoughts drifting off, remembering the night of the lineup vividly once again.

Daryl Dixon always thought he wasn’t scared of anything, that nothing could possibly rattle him now that the world had gone to hell. In fact, the only thing he ever worried about anymore was Y/N. So when Abraham’s body hit the ground, Y/N sitting stock still and shaking on her knees beside their friend, Daryl could only hear his blood rushing in his ears, his hands itching with the urge to go pull her into his arms. He wanted to take her away from the gruesome scene, take her back home where it was safe and let her find shelter in his embrace.

The whole group had watched in terror as Negan beat Glenn to death, the scene enough to make bile rise in Y/N’s throat, fighting hard not to puke and draw Negan’s attention to herself. The man could see her struggling and had started to mock her for it, bringing up his bloodied bat to her face, close enough that she could smell the parts of her friends that clung to the wood and wire. Daryl had instinctively reacted, sitting up and leaning back like he was about to try and stand but freezing when one of Negan’s men pressed the barrel of a gun to the back of his skull.

Negan had turned to Daryl then, the archer staring him down as the man had spoken to him. When Negan ended up taking Daryl, it was like a switch flipped in Y/N. She was suddenly kicking and screaming like her life depended on it, roaring with anger and thrashing wildly, trying to free herself of her restraints. Another of Negan’s saviors had simply come forward and knocked her unconscious with the butt of a gun to her temple, and when she awoke Negan, his men, and Daryl were nowhere to be found. Michonne had nearly had to drag her back to the RV, and Y/N hadn’t been allowed to go out and look for Daryl.

It had felt like a millennia had passed by the time Daryl had seen her again, nearly knocking his tired body to the ground just inside the gates of Alexandria as he returned home, Y/N almost just as much of a mess as he was, save for the black eye and other injuries sustained during his time at the compound. Now, Daryl couldn’t help but fear what could happen to her while he was stuck at home, unable to be there to protect her and watch her back. It’s not that he didn’t trust their people, but he felt he did a better job at it than anyone else.

Daryl’s torn from his thoughts as he hears the gates open, and suddenly he’s thinking damn with her orders, ‘m goin’ out there, standing up and limping his way down the stairs of their home, heading out onto the porch and gripping the railing as he heads down the front steps. His steps speed up and his anxiety grows as he doesn’t see her amongst the group that has returned from the run. Making his way through the group until he comes face-to-face with the now closed gate, Daryl can hear the now-familiar deafening sound of his heartbeat, thumping loudly in his ears, in his head as he turns and looks across the group once again.

He limps forward, grabbing Eugene by the collar of that damned jacket he always wore. That’s right; Eugene had gone out on the run with Y/N and the others, having wanted to start learning how to be more useful and Y/N had told the man she would help him learn to shoot on their run. Now, Daryl shakes him so hard by his collar that his own injured leg threatens to give out, Rick and Michonne running up to grab Daryl by the arms, being gentle but still trying to free Eugene from his grasp. “Where is she? I said where is she, asshole?!” Daryl’s visibly upset, tears pricking his eyes as he still reaches for Eugene, grunting and growling and trying to squirm out of Rick’s hold even as his friend is now partially supporting him, Daryl’s knee having buckled from the sudden weight he was putting on it.

Rick does his best to console Daryl, the archer eventually regaining his footing and shoving his friend, his found brother, off of him, stumbling back to Y/N’s and his house. Rick eventually comes into the house as well to see Daryl trying to load his crossbow and readying an overnight pack, grumbling softly to himself. “What are you doin’?” Rick asks his friend softly, sighing quietly when Daryl grunts and loads a bolt onto his crossbow. “What do ya think, genius? ‘m gonna go get my woman. Ain’t gonna let them leave ‘er out there like that. Ain’t no way in hell.” Daryl grumbles, standing up once again and trying to shove past his friend, who in turn steps back and in front of Daryl more directly.

The pair go back and forth for a while, Daryl getting increasingly frustrated and even starting to yell after a while. Eventually Michonne makes her way into the house and the three of them determine that Daryl will stay home and Michonne and Rick will go out and look for Y/N. They leave before the sun sets, with Daryl sitting and waiting on the front steps of his house, cleaning his crossbow while he keeps an eye on the gate and keeps an ear out for the sound of his bike or the sound of Rick and Michonne’s truck.

It’s nearly 6 in the morning the next day when Daryl’s woken up off his porch by the sound of the truck, then the gate opening. He rises quickly, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he carefully stands up, limping over to the truck with his crossbow slung across his back. He doesn’t notice that instead of two people in the truck cab there’s three, not until he sees his motorcycle in the truck bed, looking pretty banged up with the arm of a walker stuck in the front wheel. He doesn’t even have it in him to question what the hell happened when he sees Michonne and Rick carefully but quickly help Y/N out of the truck cab, Daryl’s attention immediately caught by the blood dripping down her head and her side, covering almost her whole arm on that side.

She’s rushed to the infirmary, where she gets stitched up and wiped down mostly. Michonne helps Daryl bring her back to their house and she gives Y/N a bath while Daryl does his best to clean up their bedroom. It’s nearly noon when Y/N finally wakes up, in fresh clothing and laying on her uninjured side in her’s and Daryl’s bed. Daryl himself is perched in a chair right up alongside the bed, leaning forward in a way that’s definitely gonna hurt his back when he gets up after sitting that way for so long, one of his hands holding her’s with their fingers interlinked while his other hand has his fingers on her wrist, a constant reminder to himself of her pulse, of the fact that her heart is still beating.

Y/N blinks hazily a few times, coughing quietly as she tries to sit up before laying back down right away, her coughing waking Daryl up quickly, like he had barely been asleep. “Daryl?” Her voice sounds rough, like she had been yelling so much that she was starting to temporarily lose it, though Daryl could tell by the tear streaks that were breaking through the dirt on her face when she was brought in that she had simply been crying a lot. He’s there already but her voice is like an on-switch for him and he’s sitting up quickly, wincing slightly at the pain in his back before her rises to sit beside her on the bed, leaning down and gently cupping the back of her neck.

He tilts her head forward slightly and presses the gentlest of kisses against the bandaged gash along her temple, his thumb caressing the side of her neck softly as he lightly presses his forehead to hers. “‘m here, sugar. Right here. Ain’t never lettin’ ya outta my sight again, I swear.” He knows he’s probably laying it on a little thick, but he’d damn near had a heart attack when she was brought in all bloody and bruised. “The hell happened out there, doll?” Daryl questions her softly, gently releasing her head and sitting up to give her proper space to breathe while also not moving from his spot by her side.

Y/N lets out a pained chuckle, wincing slightly as she clutches her side where she had bruised a rib. “‘s pretty funny actually, I uh.. I told the group to go ahead without me; I was just down the road a few miles with the bike, and wanted to stop at the one convenience store down there. When we went out and passed through there yesterday, I saw this damn gun behind the counter that I really wanted, but told myself I’d pick it up on the way home. Told them to go ahead cause I figured I could also loot it real quick then head home, but when I broke into the back it was full of maybe… 8, 10 walkers? Anyway, I panicked a bit, and when I got back out on the bike I took off too fast. Hit a walker when I was going maybe 30 miles an hour, the damn thing exploded all over me and the bike. His arm got stuck in the wheel and broke the chain, and the damn bike sent me flying I don’t even know how far. Felt like I broke my leg, so I got up long enough to climb up onto the store roof and waited, figured they’d send someone out for me. Then I heard the truck last night and used my flare gun, Michonne and Rick found me—” Y/N pauses in her story as she sees the deep annoyance in Daryl’s expression.

“Yer tellin’ me, you damn near died because you wanted to loot a place by yerself?!” His voice lilts off into almost a yell at the end of his question, his face growing a bit flushed with his frustration. He almost starts going on a tangent about “How could you be so reckless—” until he sees how her eyes grow misty, her bottom lip wobbling slightly in that tell-tale sign that he had gotten a bit too rough with her in the state that she was in. Daryl pauses and takes a deep, shaky breath, reaching in to gently sit her up and pull her forward into him, tucking her face into the crook of his neck and cradling her softly, like he was scared she would break.

“Look, ‘m sorry, doll. Just… ya jus’ had me so worried, thought I lost ya—” Daryl starts, and though Y/N can’t see his face on the account of her own being shoved into his neck, she can hear how his breath hitches at the end, can feel the tense shaking in his torso as he lets out another shaky breath. Y/N leans back carefully, bringing her hands up to cup his cheeks softly. He’s crying, something she hadn’t seen since long before this all started, and just like she had done back then, Y/N leans in and kisses away his tears, his hands wrapping gently around her wrists where she cups his face but he doesn’t pull her away, just holding her there softly as she comforts him. His eyes close as she leans in and he leans into her when she pulls him in.

Soft sobs wrack his body as he cries against her, finding comfort in her warmth and she lets him hide in her shoulder and then her chest, her fingers trailing loosely through the hair at the back of his head and her heartbeat drumming quietly against his ear. Slowly, it begins to rain outside and she continues to just hold him, knowing that at times like this something as simple as being there and holding him is enough for Daryl.

[crguang]

wasted with longing

You and Kafka have a simple, superficial relationship that benefits you both. You should have known that nothing is ever simple when she’s involved.

friends with benefits, smut, afab!reader, gp!kafka, vaginal penetration, blowjob, dom!kafka, 4.5k words

A/N: fuckboy kafka is real and we should all be running… towards her🤣 this will be a series! i’ll fine tune it when i wake up but this is for my very excited anons and mutuals <3

part two

this is the collective playlist, i’m still adding songs as i go: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4fNHJsbeJLC49Fa8ACVOwW?si=pgaCSUzVTgmXZ8OuQJWLKA&pi=u-9uwba0QiQlWH

You push open the door to your apartment with a tired sigh and step inside. Freeing your feet from the new boots you bought days before feels heavenly, you’re still breaking them in and the process is almost torturous, often leaving you sore by the evening. You put on the slippers you discarded that morning as you shrug off your jacket, placing it back into the tiny closet near the front door. The lights are off but you don’t bother turning them on, instead, you make a beeline for your bedroom and flick that switch on. It’s late, around 11 PM, and you’re itching for a shower before collapsing into bed after spending the afternoon on your feet. You open the window a crack to let the breeze in, seeing as the summer nights tend to leave you sweating. You discard some of your clothing on the way to the bathroom, holding onto them to throw them in the laundry basket next to the sink. Standing in your underwear, you turn on the shower and adjust its settings to room temperature before removing your clothes. You’re grateful for the peaceful moment when you step into the shower, simply letting the water hit your face and soak your body.

Today was particularly challenging; your boss was a jerk your whole shift, more demanding than usual, and you’d promised some friends that you would go out with them after work even though you just wanted to be home by then. Forcing yourself to socialize is mentally taxing and often leaves you with a headache at the end of the night, too. Under the refreshing water, you feel the knots of your muscles loosen slowly as if smoothed out by warm, gentle hands. Your head tilts towards the shower head. For a few minutes, you wash away the weight of the day, focusing on the pitter-patter in your ears deafening you to all but your thoughts. An impulsive one passes by, meant to be fleeting but it solidifies in your head until you can’t help but entertain the idea.

You wonder what Kafka is doing, if she’d come running if you called the way she often does once the sun sets. She’s been busy lately, you think; you haven’t heard from her in around two weeks and you’ve been too preoccupied with work to bother checking on her. You don’t know what she does for a living, only that your palms brush against new cuts across her skin every once in a while. The acknowledgment of their presence goes unsaid like many other things, locked in a messy closet to which you both hold the key yet refuse to organize. Still, she’s skilled in the ways of your body and works you out like no one else can, so you ignore a lot about her to prioritize how relaxed you feel after a couple of hours with her. Some parts of you, your heart and fingertips, twitch to understand her absences and inconsistencies. You try not to dwell on that confusing desire for too long lest you come to a conclusion you don’t like. Kafka’s enigmatic, she’s mysterious and rehearsed as to always keep the upper hand in whatever war she’s implicated in like the world is an open minefield and she can’t afford a single misstep. Every semblance of genuine conversation about her turns into a game she has to win and you’re getting tired of playing along. However… you have to admit that you could use the distraction tonight.

The thought doesn’t leave you as you finish washing yourself and step out of the shower with a clean towel around your frame. You look for your phone once in the bedroom, picking it up from where it was discarded on your dresser, then sit at the edge of your bed. It takes a bit of scrolling through your recent conversations to find Kafka’s contact. You refrain yourself from rolling your eyes at the last texts you’ve exchanged. She can’t be relied on for your impromptu needs and you wish the opposite was true as well, but you’ve learned to make yourself available whenever she seeks you out. It’s pathetic, you tell yourself, even as your thumbs hover over the screen’s keyboard. You recline on the mattress with a sigh and hold your phone above you, wondering if you should do this. It’s late, and though that’s usually when you see each other, Kafka has the habit of not replying until hours later. It’s irritating, especially when you scroll up to her last messages and notice how quickly you always answer them. You toss your phone on the bed and cover your face with your hands. You swallow a scream.

“Embarrassing, embarrassing,” you mutter to yourself, “no dignity at all.”

As you question your life choices and consider blocking Kafka’s number to make yourself feel more in control than you are, your phone buzzes with a notification. You turn on your stomach to pick it up, tapping open the screen.

You stare at the most recent text for almost a full minute before closing the device and sitting up straight. The coincidence of her messaging you while you’re debating whether you should text her first leaves you reeling for a moment. You hesitate, fiddling with the phone in your hands. You want to leave her waiting like she often does to you, but… Excitement creeps up your spine at the thought of seeing her. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Why not take what you need from her and send her on her way? This is what she’s good for, it’s how she regards you as well, so you give in to your impulses and craft the perfect text. Kafka’s reply comes almost instantly.

You can’t deny the flutter in your gut but you sure as hell can ignore it.

You make sure to be ready before Kafka comes knocking at your door. You lather yourself with your favourite lotion before pulling a tank top over your head and putting on pyjama shorts. You clean up around your apartment even if she never lingers long enough to get a good look at it, picking up dirty laundry and clearing the dishes. You don’t see the minutes tick by as you do your best to seem presentable. You check your teeth in the bathroom mirror, decide to brush them because you don’t have any mint, then tap your cheeks a couple of times, tilting your chin this way and that. You’re looking at your nails, wondering if you should clip them since they’re getting a bit long, when the doorbell rings.

You take measured steps towards the front door so as not to look too eager and shake your head at your antics. You turn the handle, revealing Kafka’s nonchalant expression on the other side of the door. She smiles at the sight of you, clad in her usual tight clothes and custom-made coat, and you have to suppress one from betraying your thoughts as you take her in. She does the same to you, gaze appreciatively raking over your figure before she even greets you. She still has makeup on, hiding the fatigue you know rests under her eyes, and she’s holding on to her pair of gloves instead of wearing them. You think she probably wrapped up whatever it is that she does and came to your apartment right afterwards.

You open the door wider and step to the side so she can come in. “You look tired.”

Kafka walks in and closes the door behind her with a foot. Her smile widens a touch, a self-assured edge to it. Her head tilts— you watch the loose strands of hair follow the movement— and her eyes drop to your chest for a deliberate second then lift to meet yours. “You look beautiful as ever.”

You don’t hide the annoyed roll of your eyes. You turn your back on her to lead her further into the apartment. She follows, slipping off her coat from her shoulders and discarding it on a sofa in the living room.

“You got rid of the painting?”

You look at where she stopped in front of the couch. She points to the far wall with her chin as she lays her gloves on top of her coat. You stand, dumbfounded. You used to have an abstract painting hung on that wall but stored it to install a TV instead. You’re mostly surprised she noticed; her lips are usually on yours instants after she’s stepped through the door.

“It’s here somewhere,” you gesture vaguely to the room.

“Mm… This coffee table’s different, too.”

“You broke the glass of the other one the last time you were here.”

Something in the way she glances at you, a cocky glint in her eyes, tells you she remembers.

“Right. What was it you said that night— ‘Don’t you dare stop?’”

You know Kafka revels in the flash of irritation that creases the bridge of your nose.

“I don’t remember that.”

“No?”

She makes her way to you, fingertips trailing on the back of the couch and amusement shining through her contacts, dusty pink swallowing the lilac at their edges, reminding you of carefully plucked calla lilies. Her slender fingers cup your jaw to tilt your chin, the nail of her index sliding across your skin, and you meet her stare with practiced ease. You hate how easily the anticipation of her touch heats the embers in your belly and you can’t stand knowing that she’s aware of her effect on you. Kafka brings you closer until all you care to see is the lustful, rosy shades of her irises. Her gaze lowers to the curves of your mouth.

“Need a reminder?” Her murmur is felt on your lips like the warm, inviting breeze wafting through the open windows.

You hook a finger under the waistband of her shorts and tug her forward. “Guess so.”

Her low chuckle is cut off by the kiss you plant on her lips. Kafka indulges your control over her, lets you back her up against the wall and pull her close with a hand around her neck. Her arm snakes around your waist, your body pressed to hers. She tastes sweet, like a sugary drink or a juicy fruit, and your tongue slips into her mouth to taste her fully. She welcomes it readily and allows it to swirl around hers before you feel her fingers curl around your throat. The pace shifts, hungry and hurried, as she effortlessly takes over the kiss, momentarily taking your breath away. You’re forced to follow her lead and exhale through your nose when she doesn’t release you. The hand on the back of her neck travels down her collarbone, pulling on the leather strap of her outfit so it slaps against her once you let go, and the hum that sounds from her throat softens your bones until you’re putty in her hands. Her shirt crumples in your grip while your fingertips tease the buttons of her shorts. Your world is reduced to the soft caress of her tongue in your mouth and the growing bulge beneath your palm.

Her hold on your neck relaxes slightly and you pull away enough to regulate your breathing. You stroke her over her clothes, drawing a sharp intake of breath from her. A pleased smile makes its way onto your face and your eyes blink open to stare at her swollen, peach lips.

“Someone’s happy to see me.”

Kafka traces the hollow of your throat with a rounded nail, smiling amusedly at your teasing tone. “Mmm.”

“Two weeks and a little kiss gets you worked up?”

“Were you counting?”

“Please. You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” You unclasp the buttons of her shorts and pull them down her waist to reveal the band of her pantyhose, toying with it and sighing in faux exasperation. “I suppose I could help.”

“Yeah?”

Kafka stares at you, anticipation in the way her lips unconsciously part, and you retain her lustful gaze as you withdraw from her body to put your hair up using the hair tie on your wrist. You raise a playful eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth, and her eyes narrow a touch at your cockiness. She doesn’t say a word, though, simply watches you lower yourself to your knees with that smile that says she’ll wipe that expression off your face soon enough. You start with her thigh-high boot, zipping it down to get it out of the way, then grip the edges of both her pantyhose and shorts to slide them off the rest of the way at once. Her layers annoy you on nights when your need is greater than your patience, but you enjoy teasing her like this; testing the elasticity of her boxers’ waistband, running the pads of your fingers over the thin fabric and along the thick of her bulge, pressing leisure, open-mouthed kisses on the soft flesh of her inner thighs. Kafka is a patient woman, her hand tangles in your hair but doesn’t pull. Her heavy stare makes you feel powerful despite being the one on your knees, she either doesn’t bother to hide her desire or she can’t— regardless, you’re her only way towards sweet release and she has no choice but to grant your petty wishes.

Your lips trace the outline of her length over her underwear. One hand cups her between her legs while the other kneads her plush thigh. You delight in the little hums Kafka doesn’t care to contain as you pepper kisses on her clothed cock, a thumb gently massaging her balls until you feel her twitch under your lips. Still, she doesn’t tell you to hurry along or pressure you in any way. Knowing that her cool demeanor is an act fuels the satisfaction in your gut. You pull at her boxers and free her hard cock, refraining from biting your lip at the sight of its prominent vein. You follow its pattern with your mouth and use a hand to curl around her base, eyes fluttering shut. You’ve done this so often, licked long stripes up to her tip and stroked her sensitive skin with teasing touches, that the feel of her against you is engraved in your gray matter. Your tongue swirls around her leaking tip to collect her pre-cum before taking her into your mouth. Kafka is so big you have to use your fingers to stroke what can’t fit past your lips. The weight of her cock on your tongue makes you so incredibly wet, you feel arousal trickling down your inner thigh. Her hips buck forward and her hand caresses your hair in a manner so fond you’d mistake her lust for care if you didn’t know any better. You work her up with quiet, muffled moans around her dick and she guides you down her length with one hand, unable to tear her eyes from your pretty face as you suck her off. You take as much of her as you can, feel the head brushing the back of your throat every few thrusts of her hips, and revel in the short, throaty moans spilling from Kafka’s lips.

“Mmhh… How pretty you look with your mouth full,” she manages to tease you in between low gasps, smugness dripping from her words. You give her sensitive tip a particularly harsh suck and bask in the uncontrolled jerk of her hips.

You look up at the crease between her brows and the rapid rise of her chest, her audible pants intoxicating you. With her head tilted to gaze down at you, strands of magenta hang in the air like threads of silk. You squeeze her base once to draw a longer moan from her. The taste of her bypasses your every thought, and you can only focus on her throbbing, wet cock filling your mouth. You stroke her with the same hungry pace, occasionally squeezing your thighs together to appease the heat between your legs. She’s so hard, so needy, you can’t help the indignant whine that escapes you when her fingers grip your hair and pull you away from her dick. A thin string of saliva connects her head to your tongue and breaks with the distance, falling onto your chin.

“Don’t pout, you’ll get your fill,” Kafka smiles despite her heavy breathing, urging you to stand with her hold on your head, “I’ll make sure of it.”

A tinge of irritation surges in your bloodstream at the cocky edge of her tone and the way your pussy aches for her touch. Her nose brushes yours once you’re on your feet, warm breath fanning over your lips. You hate that you want her, that your body responds to her by melting into hers as she steals the air in your lungs with a single heady kiss. You hate the way your thighs part almost immediately to allow her wandering hand better access to your cunt. You hate the amused chuckle that leaves her when she realizes you’re not wearing any underwear and rubs between your slit with a finger. And yet, you only get wetter under her ministrations, brows twisting with the pleasure she’s giving you. Her digit withdraws from your slick pussy, glimmering with your arousal, and Kafka stares at you with lidded eyes as she brings it to her lips to suck it clean. The wet sound of her mouth sends a jolt straight to your core. You need her to fuck you so badly, you can barely think before grasping the leather strap under her collarbones to pull her forward.

Your lips meet in a messy, heated kiss, her salty taste on your tongue and your slick on hers. You stumble down the hallway, losing pieces of clothing along the way, until you reach the bedroom and Kafka firmly pushes you down onto the bed with a hand on your bare chest. Her mouth is locked with yours and you feel her touch on your hips, across your waist, over your ribcage where your heart drums for her. Her thumb applies pressure on your erect nipple, drawing a needy sigh from you. You sneak around her chest to unclasp her bra and she assists you in sliding it off her arms to discard it on the floor. Her cock presses against your thigh while she teases your nipple between two fingers. You know you’re ruining the sheets beneath you but you can’t bring yourself to care; you get more desperate with every minute she’s not buried inside you, unable to contain the quiet whimpers that escape you.

“Kafka…” you breathe out in a whine, aware of how much it turns her on to hear her name out your lips. Her cock throbs on your thigh at the sound.

She plants kisses down your jaw and pinches your nipple a couple of times, the feeling delicious yet not enough. Her hum rumbles through her chest, “Mmm… Pleading already?”

Aeons, she’s infuriating. You wrap a leg around her waist and her length rests on your slit, but you bite the flesh of your cheek to keep in a breathy moan, not wanting to inflate her ego more than it already is. Kafka reaches down to rub her tip between your lower lips, almost groaning as your slick mixes with the saliva from your tongue. Your lungs stutter and you suck in a breath, nails digging into the expanse of her back. Her head grazes your aching clit, you arch further into her to repeat the action. It feels so good you forget all about who you’re dealing with until she speaks up again.

Kafka’s licks a broad stripe up your neck, then her mouth brushes the skin of your jaw on its way to your earlobe, pressing a kiss just below.

“You’re dripping…” Though her voice is close to your eardrums, you barely register the words she utters, lost in the pleasure of your clit sliding against the thick of her cock. “How much do you want this, mm?”

There’s a lick on the cartilage of your ear before she pulls away to look at you through the dull pink of her irises, eyelids heavy. The movement of her dick on your pussy comes to halt and it takes you losing that relieving friction to understand that she expects an answer.

“W-What?”

“Did you miss me this much?”

Your heel digs into her lower back to pull her closer, but her lips simply stretch into a knowing, teasing smile. She presses her tip against your twitching clit once, delighting in the flutter of her eyelashes and the beginnings of a needy moan that you refuse to let her hear.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you reply, but even you have to admit that your sentence lacks conviction or venom.

“Mm…” Kafka guides the tip of her cock to your gushing entrance and your next inhale gets caught in your throat. “Is it flattery if it’s true?”

“You w— Hah—!”

She pushes the head inside you, feeling you clench instinctively at the intrusion, and lets out a sigh of pleasure as your warm, tight cunt welcomes her cock. She watches a quiver go through your bottom lip and briefly bites her own. One hand digs into the plush of your love handle, the other sinks into the bedsheets next to your head. She slides another inch into you and your fingers tangle in her locks, tugging at the sensation of her length inside you, stretching you so well a breathless gasp spills from your mouth. Her smile is smug, pleased at your silence, and you swallow as you muster the strength to speak. Kafka leans closer, the tip of her nose against your cheek and her breath warming your skin. Slowly, she bottoms out completely and gives you a moment to adjust to the fullness. Something in the way her pants falter occasionally tells you that she needs that pause too. Her lips are on your jaw in a kiss way too soft, too gentle to be from her; her who means nothing to you aside from the pleasure she provides you.

“I missed you.”

You feel a buzzing sensation in your lower belly that has nothing to do with her cock nestled in your cunt. The words are murmured like a confession but you know they aren’t one, Kafka means to provoke you so that she can put you in your place, a game you’ve played since the day you met. You can’t explain why it’s as if your heartstrings are plucked and manipulated like those of an instrument, its melody disorganized and disharmonious. You don’t understand the sudden irritation that mixes with your arousal, sending a shiver down your spine.

You tug at her hair and her head follows the movement backwards, lips parting.

“I hate you,” you manage to utter through gritted teeth, and you’re frustrated to find that there’s no truth in what you’ve said.

Kafka’s growing grin turns mocking. “Aww. But you’re sucking me in…”

To prove her point, she withdraws from you just to thrust back in, her tip hitting that sensitive spot inside you. Her length rubs your walls with every thrust of her hips, rendering you speechless aside from the quiet whimpers that fall from your tongue, and your anger fades away, replaced by the desperate need to come. Your fingers messily swipe at your clit and your nails paint crescent moons on her back from how tightly you’re holding on to her body. Despite her own need, Kafka is determined to pull more lovely sounds from you. Her pace is tantalizingly slow but harsh in the way you prefer as she fills you to the brim. You feel her all around you, her lips on your jaw, the pads of her fingers sinking into your flesh, her cock buried deep inside your fluttering cunt. Her low moans and short groans hit your ears in sinful sounds that only make you wetter. Her breasts are flushed to yours, following the rocking of her hips.

“Fuck, fuck—“ you babble breathily, lost in the pleasure, “more…”

You don’t register Kafka manhandling you with an arm around your waist so that you’re straddling her lap instead, only that the change in position allows her to drive deeper into you. You moan brokenly as she grabs your hips and guides you down onto her cock in one go. Your thighs tremble, aching, and your orgasm is imminent. Kafka groans into your shoulder, bouncing you on her dick, the taut coil in her belly begging to snap. Your slick trickles down her length and your wet pussy swallows her cock, you clench around her like you dread she’ll pull out before you can come. She uses a palm to apply pressure on your lower stomach, feeling the faint outline of her bulge inside you, and the sensation pushes you over the edge. You cream on her cock with a cry. Your head tilts back and Kafka leans away from your shoulder to gaze at your cum drenching her girth. She knows how sensitive you get after an orgasm, can feel you twitch against her with the aftershocks, but she can’t help jerking her hips upwards to fuck your cum back into your pussy. She wants to see her own cum merge with yours until you’re so full of her that you’re gushing.

“Kafka—!” You gasp out, fingers gripping her loose ponytail, “W-Wait…”

She shushes you with an insistent kiss. She’s close, guiding your hips up and down her throbbing cock. With a particularly harsh thrust, that familiar coil in her stomach finally breaks and her cum spills into you in hot, intense spurts against your inner walls. It’s too much for you to handle even as her thrusts stutter, yet a second orgasm builds inside you, quick and desperate; your body moves on its own accord, further stimulating you and drawing a long, drawn out moan out of you. Kafka’s lips are parted and you miss the sheen in her eyes as she stares up at you unashamedly riding her until you come around her dick a second time.

You’re both coming down from your high some time later, your eyes are shut and the pace of your rising chest slows down enough for you to take deep breaths. Kafka is a comforting presence beside you on the bed, and like you do with many things, you ignore the warmth that is born from your chest and spreads across your torso. A welcomed kind of exhaustion creeps up on you, almost pulling you into a dream, but you hear Kafka move next to you so you turn your head to look at her. She’s fixing her hair, putting back locks of magenta into her ponytail. She feels your gaze on her and meets your eyes with a small smile. There’s that twitch of your heart and fingertips again at the sight of the soft glow of her sweaty skin under your bedroom lights.

“You look exhausted,” her tone lacks its usual teasing edge but you’re too tired to notice, “I’ll use the shower and lock behind me with the spare key. You should sleep. I’ll message you tomorrow.”

You don’t say anything to that. You stare at the ceiling as the shower is turned on in the background.

Kafka doesn’t text the next day.

[bittertasteofhoney]

Like Real People Do | Ch. 5

Being Unknown

Summary: Tommy finally gets to spread you out just the way he craves and you walk into what feels like a new chapter. Joel, however, might have one footnote to share.

|| smut, mentions of smut, doggy style, f receiving oral, dominant! tommy, allusion to emotional affair, mention of smut, jackson!tommy, jackson!joel, smut, jackson!tommy x f!reader, reader is afab, tommy au, maria and tommy are not together in this fic||

Notes: Smutty Tommy is my favorite Tommy so please enjoy. A little Joel featured at the end!

The characters, names and characterizations belong to HBO Max and The Last of Us franchise. This work is my creative property and aside from re-blogs and shares, I do not give permission to share or copy my work without permission or consent.

18+. Read at your own risk. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Minors DO NOT ENGAGE.

Previous Chapter.

You used his curls as a stronghold when you tugged his mouth to yours. His freckled cheeks upturned in a smile that you quickly dissolved with your lips. Lips fit easily against lips and soon your world melted away on his tongue as he kissed you like he was fucking you. A little prequel for what was to come. 

His work worn hands slid down your back to cup your ass cheeks and he squeezed. You moaned into his kiss, and he answered with a soft groan of his own as he tugged you upwards, a desperate command to jump. You complied, and he caught you in his arms, holding you close to him as he continued to kiss you like it was his last day on earth. 

God, he was insatiable. He alternated between soft licks like he was licking an ice cream cone and exploring the sides of your tongue with his own. You kept reminding yourself to breathe through your nose to avoid passing out. This wasn’t your first kiss with him by a long shot, so why were you reacting like a fumbling teenager? You wanted to joke about how he made you see stars, but it being a completely real occurrence might cause him to worry, so you gently broke the kiss by nibbling his bottom lip. He fucking whimpered.

You took a second to catch your breath and look into his brown doe eyes. “Tommy, I’m gonna give you two seconds to either carry me to the bedroom or the couch because if you keep kissing me like that-”

The man was speedwalking to your bedroom before you could finish your sentence. 

You giggled and buried your face in his neck, peppering kisses and making him quicken his step even more. When he reached the foot of your bed, he paused, torn between throwing you like he wanted to and gently laying you down. You noticed his pause and leaned back to assess him. He had a notch between his eyebrows. You smiled softly and smoothed it with your thumb.

“What’s going on up here?” 

The corner of his mouth turned up slightly as he locked his smoldering eyes on yours. “Well, I thought about throwin’ you down. But then I thought about layin’ you down real gentle like. Either way, I’m peeling off these fuckin’ shorts of yours. Question is, how do you want it?”

Your eyebrow was back to being raised, and you tilted your head to the side, your smile growing. “Part of me wants to say dealer’s choice, but I like soft Tommy.” You ran your fingers through his curls. “I think that’s my favorite side of you.” 

He nodded, still locking eyes on you, as he leaned down and softly placed you on the bed. You moved to hook your fingers under your shorts, but he gripped your hand hard. 

“No.” Your eyes widened at his sharp tone. “I’ll be gentle with you, baby, but taking these off? That’s my job.”

“Sir, yes sir.” You giggled, but his face remained serious. In fact, his eyes seemed to grow darker. “Well, I think I just unlocked a new side of you.”

He smirked as he slid his fingers under the hem of your shorts and oh so torturously slid them down inch by inch. “Nothin’ new, baby. Somethin’ left over from my army days.”

You blushed as he palmed your thighs and spread them apart, looking at your black panties like they were a fucking beacon. He squeezed your thighs and stared reverently before leaning down to lick a wet stripe over your underwear.

Your fingers tangled in the sheets and your back bowed as he used his teeth to bite dangerously close to your clit. Instead, he tugged your underwear down and discarded it somewhere to his side carelessly. He was too busy returning to his spot between your thighs as he finally, finally attached his lips to your lower ones. 

He wasted no time closing his lips around that bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs, and he nudged one finger at your entrance. He broke contact for a second to say in a hoarse voice, “You want me to finger fuck you?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” What. A. Dick.

You blushed furiously as you stared up at the ceiling. “Yes, sir.”

“Nu-uh. None of that. Eyes on me.”

Your blush only deepened as you trailed your eyes down to see his face half hidden beneath your hips. Fuck. 

He resumed his exploration of your folds, licking and nibbling as he drove you crazy and lazily fucked you with one curled finger and eventually two. Your breath hitched more and more as the minutes passed by, and as you felt that delicious feeling curling in your lower belly, you arched your back again. You felt the fucker smile against your most intimate parts and you wanted to take back your impending orgasm just to spite him but knew you were seconds from coming crashing down.

And you did. It felt like lightning zipping through you and you felt your body go taut as he continued to finger fuck you into oblivion. He sucked harshly on your clit, adding an extra layer to the overwhelming feeling driving you to heaven. “Tommy!” 

Even as you came down from your high, he continued to lick and nibble, absolutely consumed in your essence. He refused to come up for air, even as a second racked through you and you cried out for him as the third built. When he heard your soft voice, he paused and looked up to see that you were absolutely wrecked.

He smirked and licked his lips clean as he rose to his feet. He kept his eyes trained on your panting form as he removed each layer, and once he was finally naked, he leaned over you to help you shed your top. After you were both sufficiently nude, he climbed over, covering you with his body and warmth. 

He left small kisses on your neck and shoulders before grabbing your chin gently and pecking you softly. “Get on your knees, baby girl.” 

You nodded, and with his help, he positioned you and your shaky legs on all fours. “This feel okay?” You nodded again. Concerned, he rubbed circles over your hips. When you finally cleared the post-orgasm bliss from your head, all you could whisper was, “Tommy.”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Please. Fuck me.” Your cheeks flamed again at the brazen request, but it only warmed his chest. 

He lined himself up behind you, shamelessly spreading you open to accommodate his length. Inch by inch, he notched himself inside you, sliding in so slow that you felt forward and fisted your hands in the sheets again. 

He bit his lip and groaned at the sight, sliding a head down from the apex of your ass to your shoulder blades. Once he was fully seated inside you, he began a slow, sensual pace that only drove you wild. You weren’t even sure you were still in the room, but wrapped in a completely blissful feeling that was just Tommy. 

The room filled with sounds of him groaning and you whispering as he carefully brought the two of you that incredible feeling of snapping in half again. He never sped up his pace, going slow but always deep. Close to your high again, you began moving your hips back against him, and he faltered in his rhythm, groaning in approval. 

“That’s it, baby girl. Just like that.” You bit your lip and kept repeating your movements, the two of you moving together in a sinful dance. His hips faltered again, and after the second stutter, you twisted an arm around your back, blindly reaching for him. He gripped it, his fingers sliding between yours. 

“Faster, Tommy.” That was all he needed to hear. The next few minutes were punctuated by his grunts as he finished out your couple with a few desperate thrusts until you screamed his name and he followed closely behind with a grunt that sounded suspiciously like your name. 

He gripped your hips to hold himself back from falling against you, but you couldn’t hold yourself up anymore. A split second before you collapsed down against the sheets, he swept an arm under you and twisted the two of you until you were lying flush against each other, back to front. 

Several minutes passed before you could speak again. You turned your head to look over your shoulder at his sweaty curls pressed against the center of your shoulder blades. “Tommy?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“You better do that again.” His hold around you tightened. 

You didn’t sleep that night. You were too focused on finding new ways to drive each other wild. He spread you out exactly like he promised, taking his time and tasting every inch of you. He fucked you in your bed, laid out on top of the dining table, on the couch and against the bathroom door before the sun began peaking through your curtains. In between, you traced patterns on his freckled skin, asked him to tell you things to make you smile and spent time getting to know this man who knew your body so well. 

However, once dawn crept into your little bubble, it was time for him to run back home to get a change of clothes. You took the opportunity to shower and change before running to meet Joel at the gates for the second patrol. 

He clocked your wet hair plaited in a braid and smiled at your flushed cheeks. You looked happy. 

You were so happy that you didn’t notice the big storm clouds rolling in until you and the older Miller brother were galloping towards a known old barn to shelter until the worst of the downpour passed through. Thoroughly soaked through, you laughed as you tied your horse to a post under the covered building and looked at Joel, who was shaking rainwater off his jacket, standing in just his teeshirt and jeans, both of which clung to him. 

You blushed to yourself and looked back at your horse. “Glad I showered this morning.”

He grunted in response and pointed a finger at an old bench. “Might as well sit until this is over. Horses will be fine.” 

You nodded and followed him to the rotted bench, taking a gingerly seat, not fully trusting the decades-forgotten bench. Once you were convinced it would hold up, you tucked one leg under you and turned to Joel with a smile. 

“Alright, chatty Kathy, now’s your time to shine.” 

He only answered you with a confused look. 

“Catch me up. What’s new in the colorful world of Joel Miller?”

He shook his head and looked down. “Not much really. I guess I could catch you up on Ellie’s birthday. Space museum was a hit.” 

You smiled and wiggled in your seat, giving him an excited dance. “Ahh! I’m so excited to hear about it!”

He scratched his head and looked at you, his brown eyes softening. “But first, I’ve got a question.”

You nodded and gave him a small smile. 

“You know anything about Maria?”

You scrunched your eyebrows, confused. “Maria? I mean, yeah. She’s kind of a pillar of Jackson. She’s nice. Helpful. To the point. I like her.”

He was quiet for a moment before clearing his throat. “My little brother, Tommy. He seems to be getting close to her.”

You felt like your breath completely left your body. Tommy. The same Tommy who spent all night attached to you like an addict?

“Close? Like friends?”

Joel shrugged. “Could be. Could be something more.”

Your gaze drifted downward as you processed the information. Joel noticed your shift in energy but let confusion prevent him from commenting on it. He gave you a moment before continuing, unsure if he even wanted to based on the sparkle fading from your eyes. Why was this bothering you so much?

“My brother’s always been a flirt, but I don’t know. There’s something about the way he looks at her.”

Joel hated himself for even saying anything after he saw your face pale. He saw how your eyes turned downcast, and even as you walked back to town once the storm cleared, it wasn’t just the charge in the air from the storm that made it hard for him to breathe. He couldn’t believe he was the reason you looked like that.

It was a Miller problem, just not a Joel one, that turned you sullen.

Next Chapter.

Tag List :) @lemonboi @spnfic85 @keseqna @elegantduckturtle @woodxtock