#like his walk feels so tortured and heavy bro

[hanjiwuver]

hi!! i really really REALLY love your works so far like USHDNSKSKJZZBNS THEY ARE SO GOOD AND FIT THEM AND JUST THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR HARD WORK

uhm, so uh, i would like to order a skz reaction when they are needy, please. like when they are so desperate and just yearn to fuck or be fucked i dont mind. thank you so much!! 🫶

OT8 HCS:

*~When they’re needy~*

pairing: ot8 x reader

tags: cum, toys, anal, sounding, begging, degredation, praise :3

thank you for ordering!! do you need a recipt?🐶

smut below the cut<3

Chris:

• gets so flirty.

• like he’s usually flirtatious, but when he actually wants it to go somewhere he so extremely smooth with it.

• but it also turns into dirty talk real fast. he’ll spill filthy things into your ears or messages.

• or he’ll send you quick little texts like:

you should come over ha ha..not unless u want too <3

• dick pic sender!! his big, leaky cock twitches under the exposure of his camera, he bites his lip as he snaps the picture. he giggles despite feeling dirty, because a part of him likes being teased.

• he ends up getting himself more worked up on accident. he doesn’t want to jerk off or anything because he wants to save his cum for you. but, he can’t resist touching himself, so he’ll just tease his cock so bad.

• you may come home and see your sexy boyfriend laid out on the couch red-faced and breathing heavy with the bottom of his shirt between his teeth. he’ll run his fingers along his red, dripping cock lightly, whining and squirming his hips at the torture.

• he thinks you’re cute, so he likes to touch you up and tease you.

• honestly is a bit shy to say outright the he “wants to have sex” so he’ll play with you until you’re begging to fuck. (depends on his mood)

• or sometimes he’ll let his actions speak louder, by kissing you as soon as you walk through the door, pressing his hard cock onto your thigh so you can feel how much he thought of you.

“mmh..yeah, feel that? feel me? been like this all day, teasing my cock just for you. its my turn to feel you, hm?”

Minho:

• can’t focus on shit.

• he sees horniness as an annoying ache. he’s so distracted easily, he’s daydreaming about sex, and he’s uncomfortable, he just wants to relieve the desire burning his core.

• so sensitive too, especially when he’s daydreaming. someone touches his shoulder and he’s flinching, if someone whispers something in his ear he’s shuddering.

• he used to be too proud to say he’s horny. but you could see through his curt, sarcastic attitude by how clingy he would get around YOU. the only one that could fix it.

• so because of his attitude, he used to just spam text you a bunch of things for attention. it’s like as soon as he’s horny, he’s laying himself over you like a cat.

• but now, he’s way more comfortable, maybe even too comfortable.

• he’ll just send you a selfie with a dumbass filter and text:

come to the bathroom and suck me off🐰

• like bro what💀 it always works though..

• doesn’t send dick pics. even if he’s away he’ll just facetime you if you wanna see his dick so bad. he’ll pour lube down his cock and jerk himself off so slowly, always shows his blissed out face too.

• when he’s finally got his hands on you, he’s too focused on getting himself off to say anything to you really. but, if you keep him waiting long enough, you’ll hear his frustration.

“can we fuck? like right now? ….please. ill eat you out. i know you can’t say no to something like that.”

Changbin:

• if he’s at the studio, you won’t even notice. you can only tell by the impatient bouncing of his leg and his nervous lip bites.

• once he has you alone, he’s placing a soft hold on your waist, nuzzling your noses and whispering such cute things that equally make you giggle and want to bite on his lips.

• his foreplay consists of soft grabs and sweet kisses that get deeper and deeper until he’s got you straddling him, not breaking the intimate makeout session you’re sharing.

• very comfortable telling you when he’s horny, even if pink still hues his cheeks a little.

• very cute about dick pics. he doesn’t send them unless you tell him to, and the first time he did, he was so excited and aroused. he looked around from his phone, seeing if anyone noticed the flushed expression he had in his face.

• he snuck to the bathroom and sprung his thick cock out of his boxers, he fumbled with the camera for a while, not really knowing how to take a picture of it?

• he snaps a cute picture of his short cock leaking a thin string of precum on his finger. the picture and situation turned him on so much he was begging you to let him jerk off.

• when you aren’t home, he’s usually patient, but you can’t ignore things forever..

• you guys own a few toys, so he’ll pick a few from the drawer that he hasn’t tried yet and play with his cock until you get home.

• it’ll be a pretty picture when you do too. he’ll be on his hands and knees, lightly fucking a small, pink buttplug in and out of his ass, begging for you too finish him off.

“ahn- welcome home, sweet girl… mphh..need your soft pussy on my cock. please please- fuck me with this in?”

Hyunjin:

• stares at you alot.

• he’ll look up at you with such a sweet, loving gaze, analyzing every part of you like a nostalgic toy.

• he loooves frotting. he’ll show you how needy he is for you by rubbing his sweet hard-on along your clothed tummy till his precum stains his pants. its like he’s magnetically drawn to you when he’s hard.

• comfortable telling you when he’s horny. he’ll tell you when you guys are alone/able to, so you don’t feel pressured to make time for his desires, especially when you’re busy or having fun.

• sends way more bulge pics than dick pics. some of his long, hard cock in his sweatpants, maybe his pretty hand gripping the length of it.

• sends vids too, he’ll send you one of him teasing his cockhead with a thick paintbrush of his, begging you to come home and do it instead.

• when you aren’t home, he’ll jerk himself through the silk of his pajama pants, stopping when he’s close to cumming. or he’ll roll his hips into mattress, pretending it’s your wet pussy.

• and when you do get home, he’s meeting you at the door. his hair is messy and he’s somewhat panting. he’ll step closer to you till his lips rest in your hair, and his hips are the only part of him you can promenantly see.

• he’ll pull his sensitive cock out from his cozy pants, jerking himself off right in front of your eyes, his tip pressing onto your shirt. his breath will hitch and he’ll hide his face in your hair, moaning in realization that he’s finally gonna cum.

• it squirts onto your sweatshirt, pumping out of his cock with small, audible thuds. his cum seeps messily into clothes, as he wraps his arms around you, burying his face into your neck.

“mm- fuck…so fucking turned on right now..you see what you do to me? oh god..g’nna cum- gonna fucking cum..”

Han:

• act suprised, he’s pathetic.

• literally dissasociated. he wants you so bad he doesn’t even care about whats happening if it isn’t related to you.

• if you aren’t home, he’ll lay in bed, gripping the sheets around him and even stripping down because of how hot his body gets when he thinks about you.

• no indescribable force could keep this man from jerking off. babe as soon as he gets home and shuts the door behind him, he’s leaning on that shit and quickly unzipping his cock free.

• he’ll be still setting down his bag while he’s twitching and jerking from stroking his cock. as soon as he’s done, he plops down on the bed and continues to jerk himself off till he cums for the first time that day.

• oh he sends dick pics. but weirdly only when he’s in public or at work, never at home. you can’t count how many pictures of his hard cock he’s sent from bathrooms, practice rooms, dressing rooms and even in this hoe’s car.

• when you are home, he’s holding your hands and begging for you to have some type of sex with him. he doesn’t card if your pegging, he’s fucking, he’s domming, or he’s subbing or whatever, he just needs to feel you on him.

• if you say anything other than yes immediately, he’s dropping to his knees and looking up at you, saying such useless, pathetic words in hopes to get himself fucked.

“please! please please- i’ll be such a good boy…just need it. need it so bad it hurts. i’ll take whatever you give me..”

Felix:

• so clingy and desperate.

• but, he’s so happy he has someone to fuck so he doesn’t have to suffer alone.

• biggest pleaser. he’ll pull you into a deep hug, reaching a hand down to toy with your clothed clit, eating up every noise you make.

• he likes clear communication so he’ll just text you and ask when you are returning home.

• his dick pics are usually tame. pictures of him pulling up his sweater so you can see his freckled abs and leaky cock. or he sends videos of his long cock squirting in the company bathrooms, you can only hear the cute splashing sounds and his whiny little gasps, trying to stay quiet.

• but, when he feels really turned on, he might even send little slutty videos of his cute cock humping his pillow till he shoots cum all over the fabric, or maybe one of him sounding his cock slit till his eyes roll back from a dry prostate orgasm.

• felix is a WHORE. so u guys do in fact have large toy drawer☺️

• when you aren’t home he either fucks his ass with one of your old dildos, or humps some other object of yours. though it’s softer than it sounds, he just loves you!

• coming home is the best. on the bed, he’ll be sat up on his knees, holding your shoulders and kissing you messily. his back is arched toward you as you tug on his cock to completion. he may not have the energy left to pound you, but it’s the best suprise ever.

“mmph..ffuck- can’t hold it anymore..mm- ah! your hands- ah..faster faster please..i can take it.”

Seungmin:

• you would think he’s in pain or something.

• it starts off with him just scrolling on his phone, and when he starts getting horny he may just reach a hand down there to softly rub his cock through his pants.

• then, he’ll look away from his phone, feeling it get more intense. his cock starts getting antsy, so he’ll text you when you’re coming home.

• finally, his phone is discarded. he decided to take a cold shower before he got sweat on his bed. but, it didn’t help much. the water hitting his cock made him hiss through his teeth.

• before he knew it, he had the showerhead in his hand, turning the water pressure up and letting it hit his cock. eyes rolling back and trembling before his cock squirts all over the shower wall.

• he doesn’t send pictures like at all. he’ll just explain through words how he’s feeling. he finds it awkward and strange.

• but he’ll send the prettiest voice messages of him groaning your name and the sloppy sounds of his cock.

• when he does get his hands on you, its desperate, not like jisung desperate but like he’s kissing you quickly and deeper, holding the side of your face.

• will pound you like he hasn’t cum in years, unintentionally holding you down and forcing his cock deeper.

“needed this. fucking needed this..nothing’s better. hm? slutty pussy’s all mine right? tightest fucking hole.”

Jeongin:

• being horny is his favorite.

• he’ll position himself in front of his mirror, smiling and spreading precum on his tip.

• he doesn’t usually wait for you, because he likes teasing you anyway, he likes it when you beg him to fuck you instead of his hand or his fleshlight. but he may wait for a little while.

• he’ll walk around in his grey sweatpants, making dinner and washing dishes while his hard cock bulges and twitches excitedly when he frots against the counter.

• genuinely the king of dick pics. he knows his cock is pretty, so every time he’s hard he’s having a full photoshoot before he jerks off. has folders in his camera roll full of just his dick.

• prefers taking pictures when you are there. so he can have a pretty pic of you mouthing and nuzzling into his bulge. his good girl.

• excited for you to come home and beg for him to fuck you again. he’ll pull his fleshlight from his closet, steadily moving it up and down on his cock, waiting for you to find him like this.

“wish this was your slutty cunt i was fucking? mm..sorry. i don’t think i can stop now. gonna cry? go ahead. ah..she’s tight too. ill waste my cum in this toy if you don’t start begging.”

[maximura]

[ylangelegy]

cables and crackle ꩜ jihoon x reader.

♬⋆.˚ It's goosebumps when you hear the drums / The running start before the big jump / It's that feeling, so stellar / Bro, if you like her just go and fucking tell her!

🎸╰› includes: f!producer!reader, feelings realization and denial, jihoon has a crush <3, pining/yearning, fluff, [light] angst, first date, confessions, references to producing (that may or may not be accurate).

💽╰› this is part of my ongoing series, buzz (seventeen's version) + this piece is inspired by track 01, buzz. word count: 13,800+

When you first started working with SEVENTEEN three years ago, Jihoon wasn't all that excited to have you around.

Perhaps it was his pride. BUMZU and PRISMFILTER had been the company's go-to's until they decided they wanted to bring in someone fresh, new, up-and-coming. You had been the result: Someone two years younger than Jihoon. Scrappy and hungry. Experimental, ambitious.

His hesitance at your music production has morphed from begrudging respect, to genuine appreciation, to something akin to admiration. Jihoon would never say it out loud, but you've grown to be one of his favorite producers to work with. (He doesn't have to say it, really. Everyone is already privy to Jihoon's biases.)

Now, three years in, Jihoon finds himself trying to reckon with a foreign feeling—

The flutter of his chest as you walk in to the studio. The stutter in his pulse as your fingers lightly brush over the digital audio workstation. The hitch of his breath as your head, ever so lightly, falls on to his shoulder the longer the evening drags on.

Jihoon is a 27-year-old man. As he tries to stay absolutely still, there's only one thing on his mind: Wasn't he too old to have crushes?

You could usually keep up with Jihoon when it came to these long-night sessions. One had to, considering how he was practically nocturnal at this point. But it had been a long day of minor misfortunes, the type that wear you down bit by bit.

You don't even seem to notice that your head is lolling to one side. When your cheek lands on something solid, you might think it's the back of the chair next to you— except it's Jihoon's shoulder, and he absolutely freezes underneath you.

He would be the first to admit that this isn't the first time you've ever been this close. There's been many times your bodies have gravitated to the same spot on the couch, or times when your heads are practically glued to one another while your hands are both at the keyboard, or during the times your feet accidentally meet with each other under the desk.

It's just never been this close, where Jihoon can feel the brush of each of your lashes against his neck every time your eyes fall shut.

He think he might pass out if he dwells too much on it.

He watches from his peripheral vision as your eyes flutter shut, and he thinks, for a moment, that you're out of commission. But then, you mumble, "The reverb on the snare, just now."

If you hadn't been right next to Jihoon's ear, your words might have been drowned out by the speakers. But, as it is, he hears you loud and clear. "Too heavy," you go on to say, without even opening your eyes. "We need to dial it back for a cleaner sound."

There it is, he thinks with both awe and bitterness. Even half-lucid, even half-asleep, you're still as brilliant as you've ever been.

"Mhm," he hums lowly. "I'll adjust it."

He does as you've asked. When he runs the track back, you let out a soft sound of contentment and shift slightly in your seat, blissfully unaware of how you're leaning more weight in to Jihoon's side. It's absolute torture, he thinks.

"Better," you mutter. A beat. Your drowsy inquiry comes in next. "How do you feel about the tempo in the bridge?"

He forces himself to pay attention. He runs the song back once more, this time paying particular attention to the bridge. It doesn't take him long to identify the issue— one of the main ones, anyway.

"A little too dragging," he replies. "It slows the track down a bit too much. I think it disrupts the flow. Makes the chorus—" He suddenly stops mid-sentence.

Because, for some reason, he's become acutely aware of the way your head fits perfectly into the crook of his shoulder.

He's now fully conscious of how close you are. Of the way your breath fans against his neck. Of the way your knee seems to bump against his whenever you unconsciously readjust your position.

Jihoon feels his pulse pound at his chest as he tries to keep his tone steady.

"It disrupts the flow," he repeats, his voice slightly gruff. "Makes the chorus less of a… high, for lack of word."

When your initial response is a thoughtful hum, he bites back the urge to smirk. It should come to no surprise that you're about to disagree with him. More often than not, you butted heads over minor things like this.

"Thought it was too fast," you grumble, somehow sounding a little sulky because of your drowsy state. You're usually a lot more adamant and fiery when it comes to asserting your opinions. But in the late— or early, since it's already past midnight— hour, you've tamped down my temper.

It does absolutely nothing for Jihoon's poor heart.

Your cheek nuzzles against Jihoon's sweater as you shake your head in a very that won't do manner. "The lyrics might suffer. Try slowing it down by 8 BPM so we have more space for vocal delivery."

8 BPM? Jihoon nearly chokes on an incredulous laugh. The number is so arbitrary, so out of pocket. "The tempo's already sitting at 139 right now," he bites out. "It's not like slowing it down by another 8 BPM is going to—"

Jihoon makes the mistake of glancing down at you, and damn it. You're not just leaning against his shoulder at this point.

You've practically cuddled into him.

Jihoon's breath catches in his throat as you shift once more, leaning your chin against his shoulder.

He finds himself wanting to wrap an arm around you and pull you closer. Press you into his chest until your cheek is up against his. Until your head is tucked right under his chin.

But then you're grumbling out your next words. "139?" you repeat. "Notch it down by 9, then."

The slur in your tone is just enough to remind him that you're not entirely coherent. He swallows hard, his fingers a little too gentle as he inputs the changes. 9 BPM it is.

It's a bad call, one that's made abundantly clear when Jihoon plays the track back. He doesn't even have to tell you; you're already groaning, pressing your face in to his shoulder. Your words are muffled against the soft material of his sweater.

"You were right. Should have amped it up instead of slowing it down," you mutter, though there's a distracted edge to your tone. He gives it a cursory couple of seconds, letting you gather your thoughts.

"There's an issue with the kick and the bass, isn't there?" you note.

He listens closely— and, as always, you're right. There's a dissonance between the kick and the bass.

Jihoon frowns, a little more focused now. "Yeah, I hear it too," he manages to say succinctly.

His brain is still trying to conjure up a solution when you let out a slight huff and finally peel away from Jihoon's side. He doesn't know if he's grateful or disappointed because of it.

You're bleary-eyed and your fingers fumble but your work is efficient as you click away at his mouse, at his digital audio workstation. He watches with a straight face as you add sidechain compression to the bass, as you drag the bridge's BPM up.

It's not just the music that's synced, but the way the two of you work as well. A little push, a little pull, and you manage to find balance. You know exactly what to do, even when you're tired.

Jihoon listens closely as soon as the bridge plays back and he's pleasantly surprised.

"That fixed it," he says, his eyes darting rapidly as he takes in the revised audio levels. "Yeah, I think it's good. We should move on to verse three now."

"Jihoon."

He blinks and glances over at you. You've slumped back heavily in to your chair; it spins slightly on its wheels when you do.

"I'm not going to make it through another verse," you warn. "I think I need, like, a power nap."

"Power nap?"

Despite Jihoon's best efforts, a corner of his mouth twitches. A glance at the clock tells Jihoon that it's past one in the morning. They'd been working on the track for a solid eight hours now.

He lets out a low, considering hum, before looking back at you with a slight frown.

"How long is this power nap supposed to last?" he asks dubiously.

"I only need fifteen minutes," you respond.

There's a decisiveness to you tone, one that brokers no argument even if you're rolling your shoulders from sheer exhaustion.

"You're too stubborn for your own good," he replies, though not unkindly.

He rolls the chair back, moving so that he's facing you fully. One leg is crossed over the other, his eyes studying you carefully. He's going to attempt to convince you, obviously.

"You need a good night's rest. You won't be any use at all when you're this tired," Jihoon insists, but he immediately regrets his choice of words when he sees you wince slightly.

You're no stranger to his bluntness; you know just as well that he can be both brutally honest and painfully inconsiderate. That he shows his care and concern in much more roundabout ways compared to others.

And so when you insist that you'll be good as new in fifteen minutes, he can only sigh, leaning forward to rest his forearms against his knees.

"And if you're still tired after fifteen minutes?" he counters. His tone is gentler, softer, this time.

"I'll go home," you grumble, like the thought physically pains you. "If I'm still out of it after my nap, I'll go home."

Jihoon feels some of the tension in his shoulders abate as you finally agree to a compromise. "Fifteen minutes," he reiterates firmly, holding up a single finger for emphasis. "And if you're not ready to work again by the end of it, I'm driving you home."

You open your mouth, almost like you're about to argue at the thought of Jihoon driving you home, but then you opt to purse your lips. You know how the two of you can go in absolute circles some days and so you merely shoot him a heatless glare before stalking over to his studio's couch.

It's not really the type that should be slept on. With its stiff, black leather, the couch is an awful makeshift bed for anyone. But you and Jihoon have figure out little workarounds after spending so much time working together— like the fluffy, folded comforter at the foot of the sofa and the throw pillow that's shaped like an onigiri.

Jihoon watches with a small smile as you curl up on the sofa, underneath the blanket and with the pillow. "G'night," you call out mid-yawn. "See you in fifteen."

He watches you for a beat longer, his eyes tracing the way your expression relaxes, just a little, as your head hits the pillow. After a moment, he manages to tear his gaze away. He really had to work on his habit of staring.

"Yeah," he huffs as he tries to go get a head start on the third verse. "Night."

It's difficult because he can't help but steal glances, and every single time he does, he's struck by a wave of affection. You're so small, so fragile-looking, burrowed in to the sofa. He notes the way the pillow's slightly squished underneath your head, your face half-buried in the plush material…

He almost feels the urge to take a picture just to capture the scene.

And then he realizes: Why not? You're friends, aren't you? And friends take embarrassing photos of each other.

He picks his phone up from his pocket with one hand and angles the camera with the other. He knows just what he wants to take a picture of. The way your cheek is squished against the rice ball pillow, just barely visible underneath the edge of your tangled mess of blankets. The way your expression is relaxed, softened in sleep, with the slightest pucker to your lips.

He presses down on the snap button, and the shot is just perfect. The way the glow of the monitor catches in your hair, bringing out the natural color. The way your eyelashes fan out over your cheek, and the way the shadows highlight the sharpness of your features.

Jihoon's eyes linger on the image, something akin to longing twisting in his gut.

This time, he doesn't bother to push the feeling away. He does go back to work, though.

Fifteen minutes pass. And then twenty, thirty. The longer you sleep, the more Jihoon's guilt gnaws at him.

He knows he's about to wake you up, to ruin the temporary blissfulness that sleep has brought you. He knows he's about to drag you back to the studio to work again, despite the bags that are under your eyes and the exhaustion that is evident in every line of your body.

He knows he's going to be the cause of your fatigue. And he hates that— hates himself, just a little, for his need, his drive.

Still. At the thirty-minute mark, he makes his way over to your side. He reaches out, fingers hesitating for a second, before he gently shakes your shoulder.

"Hey," he calls, his tone soft and neutral. "Wake up. We need more work done."

It's very likely that the unceremonious way you've been dragged out of your sleep has gotten to you, because how else can Jihoon explain the way you drowsily move to hold him?

Your fingers reach up and curl gently around his wrist. Your eyes are still closed as you exhale, "Jihoon-ah."

It's more of a whine than anything, really, but it's one that he can't deny, not when you clutch his wrist like that. "What," he asks, his tone flat out of panic. "What is it?"

It's surreal, in a way. The way your tiredness has loosened your inhibitions, has stripped you down to the simplest, most vulnerable version of yourself, one that's practically begging for closeness.

You give his hand a gentle tug. "Come nap with me. Y'need to rest, too."

Jihoon's mind goes blank the moment the words leave your mouth, his whole body freezing. Because no, he didn't just hear that, you didn't just ask that—

And then you tug on his wrist again, and he swears his heart stutters.

On one hand, the rational, reasonable part of his mind is screaming at him to push you away, to reject the idea entirely. He needs to focus. He needs to finish the track. He needs to work, not rest.

But then he looks down at your sleepy form, the way you're clinging on to him, and all those thoughts are thrown out the window.

Slowly, Jihoon lowers himself onto the couch, his body sinking against the plush material. It's a tight squeeze. Months ago, the two of you might have called each other ridiculous for even trying to fit in a piece of furniture that was clearly not for two people to lay on.

The thick of comeback season absolutely shatters any attempts of appropriateness or discretion. As Jihoon complies with your absurd request, you somehow manage to throw the blanket over the two of you.

Jihoon isn't a stranger to casual touches— he's had to survive through years of constant skinship between the members— but there was something different about this.

The feeling of your body, curled against his own. The way you hold his fingers in your grip, like a comfort, like an anchor. The scent of your hair, so close he could just nuzzle his face into the messy strands.

He tries very hard to focus on the negatives. On how cramped and uncomfortable the couch is, how he's going to end up with a backache—

— but his mind doesn't want to cooperate. Because all he can see is you, all he can feel is you; the way your soft, warm body is pressed against his own, the gentle rise-and-fall of your chest against his, you, you, you.

His mind goes blissfully vacant, and before he can even think to stop himself, Jihoon is wrapping his free arm around your waist, drawing you in.

Jihoon doesn't mind the sudden increase in body heat that comes with having you pressed so close to him, not when your back is solid and warm against his chest, not when the curve of your hips slots so smoothly against the shape of him.

He lets out a shuddering breath as you press his palm against your stomach, the fabric of your shirt slightly rucked up by the motion. You're so soft.

For once, Jihoon finds himself hating everything else— the studio, the album, the uncomfortable sofa, this damn comeback for robbing him of an opportunity to simply hold you.

Jihoon swallows, his throat suddenly dry as the words slip past his mouth before he can even stop himself.

"You're too close," he mutters in your ear, his lips so close to the shell that he's half-convinced you were going to feel his words against your skin. He's being a hypocrite, really, since he's the one holding you, but he needs to maintain some sense of propriety.

"Mmm," you hum, still more asleep than awake. You exhale an apology as you try to sleepily shift away, mumbling something like "didn't notice" in your languid effort to disentangle.

Your movement has to be the most half-hearted attempt at putting space between the two of you. So Jihoon tightens his grip, his fingers curling over your hip to keep you from shifting away.

He doesn't want you to move, not even an inch— and it's greedy of him, really— but the thought of losing the heat from your body is more than he can bear, not when you're here and you're so close.

His hold is firm, almost demanding. As you settle back down, Jihoon buries his face against the back of your hair, his mind going blissfully quiet.

"Dunno why y're so cozy," Jihoon murmurs, his words slightly slurred with the exhaustion that's catching up on him now, too.

He tries not to think too hard about it, the intimacy of it all. He tries not to focus on how he's practically molding his body against yours.

Just a nap, he thinks. It's just a nap.

Your voice is so soft, so quiet, nearly lost against the sound of Jihoon's thrumming pulse in his ears. He catches it anyway. Your quiet murmur of "G'night, Jihoon-ah."

He feels strangely light-headed. It's hard to focus, hard to think, his thoughts fuzzy around the edges as he slowly starts to succumb to drowsiness.

Jihoon lets his lids flutter shut, his mind sinking into darkness. "Sweet dreams," he mumbles back.

In the end, Jihoon is the one who has sweet dreams.

They're fractures of a bigger picture, pieces to a puzzle he could never piece together.

He sees your tired smile, hears your soft laugh, feels the brush of your hair against his chin. He sees you in flashes, in glimpses, always out of reach. Never close enough.

They're so vivid, these dreams— so real— that Jihoon swears he can almost feel you, can almost hold you. When he reaches out for you, for the dream version of you, it feels like he's grasping at air.

There are hints of other things— flashes of studio lights, melodies and songs that drift in snippets. But they all fade to the background in the face of you, the way you shine in his dreamscape like a sunbeam.

Seungcheol is the one who finds Jihoon and you the next morning— or, rather, the next early afternoon.

He's not surprised to hear that Jihoon didn't come home to the dorm. He's not surprised to find Jihoon asleep in his studio. He is surprised to find Jihoon spooning you— his co-producer, the one they all thought he was a little too soft towards.

Seungcheol's eyebrows raise to his hairline. Jihoon was never the affectionate type. And yet here he was, curled around you like a parentheses. Seungcheol takes a quick picture on his phone before gently nudging Jihoon with his foot.

"Yah," the leader says, his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants; his tone, a little too-amused. "Jihoon."

It takes a few nudges for the words to register, for Jihoon's sleeping mind to slowly come back to the world of the living.

He feels… groggy. Exhausted. And strangely warm.

After several long moments, reality catches up with him. As his sleep-addled mind slowly pieces everything together, Jihoon's eyes flutter open and it takes all of two seconds for him to process the fact that he's spooning you.

Jihoon's eyes widen, and his head snaps up to a grinning Seungcheol.

"This isn't what it looks like," Jihoon says immediately, his words tumbling out of his mouth in a rush.

He almost screams when he tries to move away, when he tries to untangle himself from you, and your soft, sleepy whine sounds more like a protest than anything.

He should've let you go. He should've, but when you make that noise, when you curl in closer to him, the part of Jihoon's brain that's awake shuts down entirely.

Jihoon freezes and tries desperately to ignore the way Seungcheol snickers.

Seungcheol keeps his hands in his pockets as he watches Jihoon with growing amusement. Put-together, frumpy Jihoon, stunned in to silence because his co-producer is latched on to him.

It is, as Jihoon had said, very much not what it looked like. Seungcheol can see that the two of you are still fully clothed. Hell, he wouldn't have even imagined Jihoon going that far when the boy barely thought of romance that way.

Still, it's just a little funny. "Long night?" the leader drawls, not even trying to conceal his sheer mirth at the situation.

Long night is a huge understatement, and Jihoon shoots Seungcheol an acerbic look that's not nearly as effective as it normally might be. Not when he's still trying to detangle himself from you without waking you up.

"You have no idea," he grumbles under his breath, his eyes flickering down to your exhausted expression as you cling to him.

He can feel the way his heart stutters at your closeness, the way his chest tightens. Not the time, he scolds himself.

"We were working on the album," Jihoon says, as if that explains everything.

He's given up on trying to move, because he knows that if he keeps trying, you're going to stir— and the last thing Jihoon needs is an awake you, all warm and soft and adorably disheveled.

"Can you... leave?" he croaks to Seungcheol. Jihoon's cheeks are tinged with a furious red color; he prays to any deity that Seungcheol will simply chalk it up to shame. "I'll give you details later, just..."

Jihoon shifts minutely, and a muted noise of protest escapes from you. He shuts his eyes and sends a silent plea at the ceiling of Please, God, not now.

Seungcheol, for his part, lets out an amused huff, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Alright, alright," the leader says, holding his hands up to show he's conceding. "I'll leave. I'll talk to you later."

He grins. "And try not to have too much fun, yeah?"

The smirk only widens when he sees the flush on Jihoon's face. The leader saunters out of the studio, the door clicking shut behind him.

And Jihoon is... well... left with you.

Silence descends, and it's deafening.

Jihoon can feel each and every beat of his own heart, can hear your slow, soft breath coming out in steady, even exhales. You're asleep— still clinging on to him, your body pressed firmly against his own— and Jihoon tries not to focus on the feeling, tries not to think about how you're so soft, so warm.

He should move, he thinks. He should untangle from you, put at least two feet of space between you, and yet.

Jihoon can't, not when you look so peaceful against him. Not when you're making little noises every now and then, the soft, low sounds coming from somewhere in your throat.

It's a special kind of torture, having you so close when he knows he can't do a single thing about it. Just a taste, an inkling of closeness— and now he's hooked, wanting for more.

He knows it's selfish, what he's doing. To have his arm wrapped around you, holding you tighter than he should. To relish in your warmth as you sleep— but Jihoon can't help it, not when he knows this might be the only way he could ever get to hold you.

He knows you're not his. You can't be his, for several reasons.

But for this brief, quiet moment in time, you feel like you could be.

There's no way of telling how much longer you stay there. To Jihoon, it feels like an eternity and then some; in reality, it's probably only a couple more minutes. You shift in your sleep, letting out a big yawn. Jihoon tries to not flinch when you stir.

For one ridiculous moment, he considers closing his eyes and pretending to sleep, so he can have a few more seconds, a few minutes longer with you in his arms. But then you're moving again, and Jihoon can feel his heart in his throat as you blink, shifting to look up at him.

"Huh," is the first thing you say as you squint up at him. "Hi."

"Hey," is his lame response, his tone oddly, uncharacteristically soft. He swallows when he catches the way your eyes flicker all over his face, as if drinking him in.

There's a lot to take in, he's sure. His arm is still around your waist and your leg is slotted between his. The blankets are a mess; the noonday sun, peeking through the studio's heavy curtains.

As your mind finally seems to catch up, you let out a groan. "S'rry," you slur, voice still thick with sleep. "We overslept. I'm a bit clingy when 'm tired."

Yeah, right. Clingy is not a strong enough word for what you had become in your sleep.

Jihoon tries to ignore the feeling of your legs tangled together, the way you're practically molding against him. He tries to tamp down the way his breath hitches, to ignore the way his heart skips a beat when you let out a sleep-filled groan.

"You were hanging on to me for your life," he remarks in a tone that is far more amused than exasperated.

"Yeah, I figured," you say wryly, glancing over at the clock to see the damage. Jihoon's eyes follow your gaze. Two in the afternoon. Your shared 'nap' had lasted a full twelve hours.

"Wow," you huff. "We were out for a while."

"That we were," Jihoon agrees, and he's more than a little reluctant when he lets you go, unravelling his own limbs from yours. The space between your bodies feels like a physical blow, but Jihoon tries not to seem too put off by it.

He sits up, running a hand through his hair. "I haven't slept that long since I was a trainee."

"That's unhealthy."

"Pot calling the kettle black."

There's a calculated casualness in your next words. "Did you at least sleep well?"

The slight concern undercutting your tone makes Jihoon rather light-headed. "I slept like the dead," Jihoon answers easily, and he doesn't even have to lie about that.

His rest had been more peaceful than it had been in years, and if he's truthful, he'd blame it all on the fact that you were wrapped so firmly around him, all soft skin and sleepy warmth. You'd fit so perfectly with him and Jihoon is fairly sure he's never going to get the sensation of you pressed against him out of his mind.

A corner of your lip twitches upward. "Don't say that," you tease as you stretch your arms over your head. "Because we may actually be dead soon enough."

There's still an album to finish. A couple more tracks due in mere days. But Jihoon's suddenly feeling much better in a way that he hasn't in a while.

Even the ever-present stress and exhaustion feels almost like an afterthought, like it's barely even there. In the midst of it all, there's only you, still mussed from sleep.

It helps that you're taking the little cuddle session with surprising grace. "Wanna order in breakfast? Lunch?" you inquire, like you can't quite decide what to call your first meal of the day when it was well in the afternoon.

"Breakfast-slash-lunch sounds good to me," he answers, a hint of a smile visible in the curve of his mouth.

You order Chinese food. Something proper and real, a break from the convenience store rice balls and energy drinks. In the time it takes for the takeout to come, you and Jihoon speed through the song that had been plaguing you both last night. It seemed that being well-rested did you both well.

When the food comes, you go to collect it. In your absence, Jihoon finally checks his phone.

Suddenly, the studio feels ice cold, because he has seventy-something unread messages from his group chat with the boys.

He clicks the little arrow that takes him back to the first unread message, and surprise, surprise— it's from Seungcheol. The stolen snap of Jihoon and you cuddled together glares up at the producer, paired with the world's most annoying message.

🍒: Our Woozi-yah's a big boy now. ㅋㅋㅋ

The messages don't stop there, because Seungcheol had essentially given the others the green light to blow his phone up.

Jihoon scrolls through them, his expression growing more and more irritated as he reads through the suggestive and ridiculous messages the boys have chosen to send.

⚔️: Jihoon-ah~ Who knew you had it in you~ 🐈‍⬛: finally! 🦦: LET'S FUCKING GOOOO

Jeonghan, as per usual, is the worst offender of them all. Jihoon is just about to try and get a word in when a new, rapidfire sequence of texts pop up, the second eldest member clearly having entirely too much fun with this.

👼: So cozy, our Jihoon-ie! So cozy ♡ ♡ ♡ 👼: Finally, our Jihoon found himself a pretty girl 👼: We didn't know you were such a cuddler~~~

Jihoon's fingers are itching to reply something back, but it's hard to even make sense of the messages; they're coming in so fast. Every time he tries to type something back, another notification pops up with more texts, so he's forced to sit and watch as the members tease him relentlessly.

But then—

🐱: Cough up @Joshua @Vernon 🐢: dammit. couldn't have waited four months, woozi hyung? -_- 🦌: I didn't lose as much, so it's okay~ 🐯: WINNER WINNER CHICKEN DINNER

The other boys all chime in with their own odds, and Jihoon realizes with horror that his bandmates had bet on him.

The horror quickly morphs into disbelief mingled with irritation.

So they'd bet on him? And on what exactly? That he wouldn't fall for a girl over the course of three years working together?

He doesn't even look at the odds before he types an aggravated reply.

🍚: You guys bet on me???

No one even tries to deny it. Soonyoung, the menace that he is, is the first to respond.

🐯: Not all of us ఇ ◝‿◜ ఇ 🐈‍⬛: and it's just if you'd get with your fav producer. lol

It occurs to Jihoon, then and there, that the boys presume him and you are dating. It's a misconception he has to amend before any of the twelve can make some wisecrack about it in front of you.

🍚: We're not dating.

Jihoon doesn't bother to hide his irritability.

🍚: We were just napping together.

It's not the last of it, as it turns out.

More texts flood in after his message, and while there aren't as many jokes as before, it's easy to tell that the members are just dying to tease him about this whole thing.

When you return to the studio bearing your takeout, you're greeted with Jihoon typing furiously away at his phone, a disgruntled sort of look on his face. "You alright over there?" you call out amusedly as you pad over to the studio couch.

"Yes, and no," Jihoon answers shortly, a hint of petulance to his tone. If he looks up at you, it's only for a moment.

For someone who tends to be stoic and brooding, he's not exactly having the best morning right now. Jihoon is more than a little annoyed from the relentless teasing, and while he tries to fight it, there's a lingering feeling of humiliation, too.

A part of him wonders if this is what he deserves— for having had that moment with you this morning.

"Well, whatever it is—" you give a dismissive wave of your hand before plopping down on the couch.

He almost smiles at that; you've known each other for an odd number of years. It was enough time to be fairly acquainted with each other's habits and mannerisms, to know when something was worth pressing in to or not.

"Come on," you urge him. "The faster we eat, the sooner we can finish."

"Okay, yes, I'm coming," Jihoon answers hurriedly, and he makes a hasty beeline for the coffee table, where your takeout boxes are set out neatly.

He gives the group chat a final glance, just to make sure they're not texting anything too embarrassing. The more he scrolls the more he's bombarded with messages about you, and you would have thought the group chat was dedicated entirely to you, considering the number of texts.

He groans and locks his phone, turning it face down on the table as he takes his seat.

"Here," you say as you gently place Jihoon's order in front of him. Chao fan with a side of sweet and sour pork; a can of cola.

The way you seem to automatically know all the things he orders, the way you know what the right order to pick for him is, it almost gives Jihoon the sense that you've been working with him for even longer than three years.

He's not sure what to make of it, but it feels strangely nice, somehow, knowing that there's always something or the other that you would already know. He takes a bite out of his meal, wondering when it was that this relationship of his with you had become so comfortable.

It's an odd sensation, really.

Jihoon had always been more than content to keep to himself. But there's no denying that he feels a certain kind of peaceful contentedness when he's with you.

Perhaps it's how the two of you work so seamlessly together. Perhaps it's how you somehow managed to get under his skin. There's a certain comfort that Jihoon isn't used to having that's settled around the two of you.

And it's the kind of comfort that might make him vulnerable.

He can't have that, so he privately decides to keep you at a distance.

It's a distance you reciprocate. Both Jihoon and you know better than to tread the careful line of your friendship, especially in your line of work.

The two of you work like a well-oiled machine, like a lit match being tossed in a haystack. Jihoon and you are relentless, as always, and you finish off the rest of the mini-album in the next three hours.

There's still fine-tuning to hurdle through, but as Jihoon and you replay the last track for the first time, he has to concede. The worst is over.

You slump forward in your chair, your forehead resting against the work desk of his studio. "Done," you breathe. After a moment, you add, "For now."

"For now," Jihoon echoes.

There's a long pause between the two of you as you both relish the peace and quiet of a fully completed mini-album.

"Let's go for coffee?" he finally asks, glancing to where you're slumped in your chair.

You tilt your head ever so slightly until your cheek is pressed against the desk and you're looking up at Jihoon. You smile ruefully as you speak, your tone almost apologetic. "No to coffee. I think I want to go home and knock out for twelve hours."

You go on, "You should do the same. We've been in this studio for…" You pause like you're doing the mental math, and then a disbelieving laugh slides past your lips. "About thirty-three hours, Jihoon-ah."

Thirty-three hours is almost incomprehensible. Jihoon isn't even surprised, because of course, that's the kind of work ethic you've come to expect from an idol— but, thirty-three hours?

Jihoon's head is spinning. There's a strange, odd kind of haze settling around him, almost like he's caught between a dream and consciousness. He's tired, yes, he's more than tired, but Jihoon knows that he doesn't really need to go home to sleep.

Except he can't say no, not when your words are coming with all the weight of a command, not when you're looking at him like he's some helpless, pitiful wreck, needing some sort of care. He hates it.

He hates that you see him.

"Okay, okay," Jihoon says in a rush, standing from his chair. "I'll go home."

He's always known that any work done with you ends with him doing exactly as you say. You might have never said the words to his face before, but Jihoon isn't an idiot.

He's wrapped around your goddamn finger some days.

The thought that he's now more than willing to do whatever you want from him has never occurred to him before now, and it leaves him feeling slightly shaken, slightly unsure of everything.

It takes you both about ten minutes or so to get everything in order, then another seven minutes to head out of the company building. The relief Jihoon feels as you finally find yourselves outside is immense, even if it is a chilly, early winter evening.

You glance at your wristwatch before distractedly asking him, "You'll be okay behind the wheel?"

"'Course," he says as he fishes for his keys. For a moment, he contemplates asking if you want a ride home. It'd be out of his way, but it's something he's almost willing to bear.

Almost.

Instead, he forces himself to say, "See you. Take care."

You give the same pleasantries back before beginning your trek to the train station. Jihoon, for his part, finds his car in his designated parking space.

The drive home is the most boring and uneventful thing ever— except when Jihoon looks in his rearview mirror. The sight of you disappearing into the distance makes him feel strangely hollow and a bit wistful.

His stomach gives a weird, twisting lurch, and he's tempted to make a U turn right there and then and find a reason to be back in his company.

Maybe he'll tell you just how alone he can sometimes feel after an album is completed. How there's always this sort of lull in the days, hours after his work; how he fights it off by doing more work, even if it's not all that necessary.

He wants to ask if you ever feel the same way, too.

But you had never really been a part of that loneliness, and now you were leaving. And— just for the night— Jihoon can't help but feel more lonely than ever.

He doesn't want to be lonely.

He wants to be left alone, in a company of his own thoughts, with nothing and no one to distract him. But, for some odd reason, he wants you around.

It's almost too much to bear, so Jihoon turns the radio on louder and lets the sounds of music drown out the patter of his ragged heartbeat.

Jihoon and you are forced to reconvene a couple of days later, albeit on circumstances that neither of you are particularly fond of.

Sungsoo, the company's CEO and executive producer, is already seated at the head of the table when you walk in. Jihoon sees the way your eyes scan the meeting room; he tries not think too much of the way the tension in your shoulders seem to ease when you spot him.

The sight of you makes Jihoon's heart do a little dance, which makes him want to both pull you close and run far, far away from you.

For now, he just gives you a nod of acknowledgement and shifts his eyes back to the older man sitting across the meeting table from the both of them.

You sit across from Jihoon. Sungsoo doesn't even bother to sit; he merely launches straight in to his agenda.

"Good work on SEVENTEENTH HEAVEN," Sungsoo says right off the bat. Jihoon knows it's more of a cursory greeting than anything; there was always going to be more than just a pleasant compliment.

The other shoe drops soon enough. "I think there's more work to be done, though, specifically on three tracks," the CEO presses on.

Three tracks.

Jihoon feels his jaw clamp tightly. He's been through these kinds of corrections before, of course, both from himself and the company. Sungsoo says things about the lyrics of Back 2 Back, and the organization of Yawn, and the chorus of Diamond Days.

And while Jihoon has been through this, has needed to take things apart or put stuff together to appease the higher-ups, it's never any easier. His hands are clasped tight, and he's trying his best to hold himself together, but on the inside, he wants to scream.

This is a part of him. These are all parts of him, big and small, and it's always just a bit of a jab— to have his heart put in someone else's hand, and then to watch that heart be poked and prodded for the sake of... what? Commercial gain?

At one point, Sungsoo pauses to look between Jihoon and you. "Are you not going to take notes?" the older man asks.

You respond before Jihoon can. "Rewrite the second half of Back 2 Back, tweak the instrumentation balance and structure of Yawn, adjust the rhythm for Diamond Days' chorus," you rattle off. "I— we got it, sir."

"Right. Good," he says, and Jihoon doesn't like the condescending tone that Sungsoo uses with you, but at least it's not aimed at him.

The older man sits back in his chair, and Jihoon lets his eyes drift away from the company boss just for a moment to look at you. A strange feeling fills him. He wants to name it appreciation, wants to claim it's nothing more than a little admiration.

But then he'd be lying to himself. Because that warm kind of feeling shifts into— just a little— something a bit more than what he's supposed to be feeling for a co-producer.

Before he could dwell on this thought any longer, Sungsoo clears his throat and Jihoon quickly tunes back in. He's not thinking about that right now, and that's final.

The meeting wraps up not too long after with some parting reminders on deadlines and the upcoming comeback. Jihoon can tell by the look on your face that you're a bit dazed, and Sungsoo's parting words only add gasoline to the fire.

The CEO says both your names as he readies to dismiss you. "The two of you are a good pair," he notes, and Jihoon almost short-circuits.

Pair.

Right. A good pair of co-producers. Not anything else, not anything more.

Both of you mumble your appreciation for the CEO's remark. And Jihoon, like the fool that he is, feels that warm, fuzzy glow bloom again. He doesn't care what it signifies; at the moment, he's just too happy to work with you again.

By the time you head back to his studio, there's not much that either of you can really say. Marathon edits were not new to either of you; you both slide in to work mode without much preamble.

The music starts playing and the edits start pouring in, and the five or six hours spent on the three tracks fly by without Jihoon even noticing it. It gets to the point where he's working on autopilot— one hand on the mouse, fingers flying across the keyboard.

The thing about working on autopilot was that it made the process quicker but left little room to feel or think, which was both a blessing and a curse.

At the six-hour mark, he finally deigns to glance at you. Your gaze is focused on the digital audio workstation as you cut some low frequencies from the guitar on Diamond Days, but there's a slight quiver in your hands as you do it.

While Jihoon doesn't see what you're having trouble with, he can sense that you're off. He knows the signs of stress and exhaustion better than most, what with the hours he puts in.

"Aigo," he calls out to you, and his voice is a little raspy— hoarse— because he's been humming and singing for the better half of the evening. "Are you okay?"

"Still in the green," you say wryly. You had a bit of a traffic light system to refer to when talking about how far gone either of you were.

He watches intently as you implement the changes to Diamond Days, as you give a disapproving shake of your head at the revision. Still not to your standard.

Of course you wouldn't be at the red light stage— not even close, he muses. But in Jihoon's head, there was already one foot on the red light spectrum— and it wasn't just because of the revisions.

"Let's take a break," he suggests.

The idea comes out of absolutely nowhere, even for him. A break—? When was the last time he had voluntarily done that?

Jihoon's been having more questions than answers lately, but he just chalks it all up to being stressed. And maybe a little tired.

Anything except what it really is.

This time, you actually do glance up from the workstation. There's mild surprise on your expression as you tease, "Yah, who are you and what have you done to the indomitable WOOZI?"

"Huh?" he deflects. For a brief moment, he almost feels a little shy around you.

"I'm just bored," he explains, and he's surprised that he can lie so well and sound so casual. "You don't need to come if you don't want to. I just wanted to get some air."

But of course you're coming, already pushing back against the table at the rare invite from Jihoon. "The usual?" you prompt.

To others, a 'usual' might have indicated a trip to the cafeteria, a smoke break on the sidewalk. But Jihoon and you both hated the company's food and neither of you smoked, and so your breaks were spent somewhere a little more unorthodox.

"The usual," he agrees.

He leads you across the company building, the walk to your destination full of comfortable silence. Eventually, you make it to your designated break place: The company's rooftop.

Jihoon takes his usual seat at the far end while you sit closer to the ledge. The atmosphere is thick and humid from the weather, but there's a breeze to keep the heat bearable.

When Jihoon said he wanted to get some air, he meant it quite literally.

He doesn't want to give away his real intentions on calling for the break. Still, he can't help the question that slides out of him as he watches the glittering lights of Seoul beneath the two of you.

"Are you feeling better now?" he asks, glancing at you.

"I am," you answer quietly, your gaze still fixed on the city. "Thanks, Jihoon-ah. I needed this."

He almost smiles. "Of course."

This was the first time since he's met you that he'd asked you to do something just because he thought you needed it. And it isn't long until that fact has Jihoon wondering why the heck he's been putting things off so much lately.

He doesn't get to mull over his thoughts for long though— not when there's a sudden urge to do another thing that he realizes he hasn't ever done.

He takes out his phone and opens up the camera app. "Yah," he calls. "Look here for a second."

You do as he asks, glancing over your shoulder, and the soft click of his phone breaks through the white noise of the city below. When you let out a surprised laugh, he thinks it's the second best thing he's ever heard. Only after music.

"What are you doing?" you chide, a bit of a giggle in your tone as you raise your hand— palm facing Jihoon— to your face, as if trying to shy away from the camera.

"I don't know," he admits. A laugh tumbles out of him, and he knows he's blushing— but he's not ashamed of it this time, not really.

"It doesn't have to mean anything," he assures you. He holds in a chuckle at the way you're blocking your face and snaps another picture.

Maybe he's delirious from all his work. That has to be it, he thinks, as he clicks away despite your sputtered protests.

"Alright, fine," you huff, feigning annoyance. And then— oh.

You brace your hands against the ledge and tilt your head to one side so you can flash Jihoon an easy, practiced grin. "Cheese," you sing-song.

It takes quite a lot of willpower for Jihoon not to just sit and stare, that strange feeling welling inside of him coming to fore. He's not proud of it, but it's there, and the fact that there's something about you that makes him feel this way makes everything a little bit more complicated.

"Cheese," he agrees, taking just one more picture of you.

He knows he's smiling too hard, his eyes turning in to crescents with just how damn fond he feels to be snapping photos at your side.

You can never tell from the expression on his face, but he's wrecked with the knowledge that he had just done three things he had never done before:

He's asked you to do something solely because he thought you needed it.

He's taken a picture of you (with your knowledge, this time).

And he's let this thing he has for you be so in control of him.

It's a damning thing, he muses as he tucks his phone away. What would happen next was up to the universe.

Admittedly, it almost all felt like a test, and Jihoon is terrified he had failed.

But then you reach out, your hand casually resting atop of Jihoon's. You don't clasp your hands together or intertwine your fingers. You merely keep it there as you cast your gaze back down at the city, like you're giving Jihoon a chance to pull away.

It's almost instinctual, how he turns his hand over and links his fingers together with yours. His fingers are longer, so your fingertips curl over his and you’re left holding his hand for the first time.

You don't say a thing about it. Jihoon tries to rationalize the action on your behalf. Maybe you're just delirious and tired, too. Maybe it's cold and you need something to hold on to. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

All the while, his heart thumps in his chest.

Did he even deserve this? Was this okay?

Would it be okay if he just sat there, looking down onto the city, holding your hand and nothing more?

His brain refrains the earlier remark he'd given you. It doesn't have to mean anything. It's just a hand in his, a quiet evening, a moment that will eventually pass.

It doesn't have to mean anything, but why does Jihoon want it to?

Back in the studio, neither of you say a word. Not about the photos of you that Jihoon now has in his phone; not about the way you initiated holding his hand. Not about how the two of you held on for just a bit too long before heading back from your break.

The two of you do what you do best: You throw ourselves in to the last of your work.

It takes you two a record of fifteen minutes to fix what had been wrong with Diamond Days, and then some twenty more minutes to make sure the three other tracks are alright. Jihoon does the honors of sending them over to Sungsoo for some final checks.

Once the email goes through, you lean back in to the couch of Jihoon's studio. "And now we wait," you exhale, sounding equally exhausted and elated.

With your work for the day done, it feels like whatever veil of formality had held the mini-album together is broken— and you're now just two people in Jihoon's workplace, tired, and done working for the day.

Jihoon stretches his arms out and sags against his chair, letting out a groan.

"And now we wait," he repeats. A beat, as he keeps his eyes trained to the ceiling. Then, softly, he adds, "You did good, you know."

He sees you glancing at him from the corner of his eyes. "You, too," you offer quietly, sincerely. "You did well, Jihoon-ah."

His eyes remain on the ceiling, his mind taking him back to how it felt when your hand rested atop of his. It had felt strange and it had felt good— and the fact that you'd so boldly initiated it in the first place made it even better.

The thought that there was a possibility of it being a one-time thing made him almost want to cry, for whatever reason.

It's just so weird, and Jihoon has never felt like this before. He's never caught in a complicated sort of feeling like this. But the way you'd held his hand was different— and the more thoughts he thought about it, he realized that your touch was different from the touch of anyone else's.

"Can we talk for a second?" is all he finds himself able to ask, and it's a surprise to him— considering how much the two of you have never talked about things that were just about you and him.

Still, he wonders that perhaps now, with everything that's happened here, there was something he needed to tell you. Something he wanted you to know.

He hears you shifting on the couch, spots a corner of your lip quirking upward in a show of interest. When he fully turns to look at you, he notices the way you've braced yourself against the back of the couch to meet his gaze.

"Sure," you say. "What's on your mind?"

Jihoon rubs his hand over his mouth as he thinks of a way to articulate his thoughts.

There are so many words here that don't need to be said. There are some words that he wants to say but that you simply don't need to hear.

There were a lot of things he wanted to say, but he needed to filter them very well because he wasn't sure if they'd cause a misunderstanding.

"I'd like to keep doing this," is what eventually comes out.

His fingers find his earlobe out of nervousness. His heartrate only seems to spike when you stare back at him for a moment, your eyebrows raised like you're waiting to see if he'll elaborate.

And so elaborate he does. "All of this," he goes on. "Producing for the group, collaborating with you, just… seeing you and talking to you and… having you around."

It feels a bit weird to express after three years of working alongside each other, but it's also the first explicit admittance Jihoon has made abut wanting to keep up your collaboration.

He's not surprised when you try to pass it off with some humor. "I'll stick around for as long as you'll have me," you say almost jokingly, but there's almost a desperate weight of truth in your words.

Jihoon sighs, his expression tightening. There was a whole lot he wanted to say to you— he wanted to make a lot of things very clear— but he also wanted to keep whatever was blooming between the two of you going.

He tries not to dwell on it. Not now, with his feelings as fresh as they were.

"I've been thinking," he starts, his voice quieter now. "Maybe we could… get to know each other or something. Spend the day together— away from the company. Away from this life. Just as… two normal adults."

Another pause.

"Are you asking me out on a date, Jihoon-ah?" you kid after a torturous minute.

Jihoon goes quiet for a moment, the gears turning in his head.

He really was asking you out on a date, wasn't he? How would he even spin this as something simple and innocent?

What had he been expecting in return when he asked you? Why did he ask in the first place if it wasn't to actually find out who you were and why you were the only person he could really say he wanted to spend time with?

Questions, no answers. He's going to go insane.

"You know what," he blurts out before he can lose his nerve. "Yeah. Yes, I am asking you out on a date."

You're both stunned in to silence, and you look like you're just about to say what you should. A 'no'. Something about this not being proper.

But then there's a faint ding from Jihoon's laptop, and he glances over just in time to see that Sungsoo had responded in the affirmative to your revisions for the group's eleventh mini-album.

A stuttering, relieved breath escapes you. Jihoon, for his part, lets out a huff, his shoulders falling. He hadn't even meant to ask you out on a date; he was only going to ask you to spend the day with him.

Now, though, it was out in the open. And he'll be damned to take it back.

"Looks like we're free now," he muses, far too prideful to let Sungsoo derail this conversation. Jihoon's voice is edged with hope as he goes on, "So, what do you say?"

Jihoon has no way of knowing this, but you admire his persistence. When you laugh, it's what changes your mind, what privately convinces you to take him up on his offer.

Because Jihoon had still somehow managed to make you laugh despite it all.

"You know what? Okay," you say readily, one shoulder raising in half a shrug. "Let's go on a date next week, Jihoon-ah."

It would definitely beat sitting in Jihoon's studio, alone and bored, until Sungsoo had sent over their next project.

"Okay," he repeats, his lips curling in a tentative smile. "I'll let you know what plans I come up with, then."

"Alright." You're already rising from the studio couch, preparing to take your leave for the evening.

As you gather your things, Jihoon tries to look back at his workstation instead. Like the sight of it might somehow give him the answers to where to take you, what to do, how to go about all this.

You pause at the door of his studio. "Text me," you say.

It's nothing short of a miracle, how Jihoon is able to respond "I will."

And then you're gone, but the loss doesn't feel as prominent as it usually does. Because now, Jihoon has something to look forward to.

He doesn't remember the last time he allowed himself to be so selfish.

His thoughts over the next few days are consumed with the upcoming date.

Everything he does seems to center around how the date will go, where he'll bring you, and how he would survive a day in your presence without completely humiliating himself.

He takes his time planning. By the time next week rolls around, he's a mess.

His ears are burning as he dials your number and presses the call button.

Your tone is casual on the other line. "Hey, Jihoon-ah," you greet. "What's up?"

Jihoon takes a moment to just hear your voice. He internally groans at how a simple what's up already has his heart rate picking up like nobody's business.

"Hey," he finally says after he gathers himself, his free hand shoving into his pocket. He's pacing his apartment bedroom, fighting for his life to keep calm. "I… just wanted to call about tomorrow."

When you respond, your voice is cautious. "Sure. What about tomorrow?"

There's a slight pause again, and Jihoon can already feel the sweat forming on the inside of his palm.

Surely, you wouldn't think he was calling to cancel? Why would he have waited until the day before?

"Just needed to ask you about something," he admits, his free hand coming up to fiddle with the hair on one side of his ear. "I just wanted to… ask a question. Uh…"

"What… are you going to be wearing?" he finally spits out, his face already going red as the words leave his mouth.

Why the fuck can't he be cool about this? Why can't he be casual and chill about the date and about seeing you? It's so goddamn frustrating— he needed to get a handle on himself and soon, he thinks with despair.

"Oh. Uh…" From the other end of the phone, you seem to be shuffling around. "I was actually going to ask what our plans were," you admit rather meekly. "So I can dress accordingly."

Jihoon's eyes widen, and for a moment, he feels even more like an idiot than he usually does.

You had no idea where you were going, he realizes, and as a result— you had no idea what to wear.

"Oh… right," he says, mentally facepalming himself. He was supposed to be the one giving you information, not the other way around. "Yeah, okay. That makes sense."

He takes a second or two to collect himself, because— God, he did not want to mess this up. If you found out about the amount of work and effort he'd put in this thing, you'd definitely laugh at him.

"Nothing too formal, but don't be super casual," he says slowly. "You'll want a jacket, maybe. And wear comfortable shoes."

He takes another deep breath, steadying himself before he adds, "And I'm going to pick you up at ten. Is that alright?"

Jihoon's instructions are a touch on the vague side, but you don't seem to mind as you let out a huff of amused laughter. "Dress warm, comfortable jacket and shoes, ten in the morning," you repeat. "Okay. Got it."

You go on, "I'll text you my address. I— we've known each other so long, but I don't think you've ever come over, have you?"

Another good point. Jihoon and you spent most of your time at the company. There were rare occasions where you'd join the group's post-comeback celebrations with the rest of the staff, but those were always at some rented-out restobar.

"Yeah. Well. Just text me, then," he says lamely, already mentally berating himself for how much of a fool he's acting. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow, Jihoon-ah," you bid, and he can hear the smile in your voice.

Just like that, Jihoon's heart rate picks up again— except this time, it's not just nervousness he feels.

There's that strange sense of anticipation, the slight thrill of excitement he gets with the mere thought of seeing you the next day, and he nearly lets out an exhale to quell all those feelings.

"See you," he says finally, his voice barely above a murmur.

And then suddenly— he's hanging up, the realization of everything finally settling on him. This was actually happening.

He sits on his bed for a moment, just mulling over the conversation, before he lets himself fall back onto the mattress in horror. He had just hung up, hadn't he? Did he even say goodbye? Did he even say something nice? He was a mess.

He lets out a long, pitiful whine in to a pillow as he wonders for a second or two if he should call back just to say good night to you properly.

In the end, he decides against it. He didn't want to come off as desperate and it was pretty likely that he'd just dig a deeper hole for himself.

Still, he can't help but let out an annoyed, strangled sound as he turns to look at the ceiling.

He was going to have to put a lot of effort if he didn't want to embarrass the hell out of himself.

Come the next day, Jihoon is standing outside your apartment at exactly ten in the morning.

He knocks almost tentatively, and he's only a little surprised that you swing the door open without missing a beat.

You flash him a smile in greeting. "Come in," you say, ushering him in to what he can only describe as uncharted territory. "Can I get you something to drink? Water, juice?"

He's so tripped up over how you look— the smart-casual outfit, focused on warmth, as he'd advised— that he almost misses the offer.

"Ah," he stutters. Barely a minute in and I'm already done for, he thinks ruefully. "Do you have— cola?"

You give a small sound of assent as you move further in to your apartment, towards what he assumes is the kitchen. "Make yourself at home," you call, and Jihoon is left to bear witness to your space.

It looks very much like that of an artist's. There's floor-to-ceiling corkboards on almost every wall and a blackboard full of chalk markings— bearing everything from concepts to half-finished lyrics.

You have bookshelves groaning under the weight of music albums— Jihoon sees a number of SEVENTEEN's— and instruments crammed in to nooks and crannies.

He suddenly remembers how, for some reason, you had never really let him come over to your apartment before. And now, he understands why, because your apartment almost felt like a reflection of your own brain— chaotic, but brilliant. It was a creative genius's studio, and it was more than just a little bit captivating.

You return with a can of Coke. "It's a lot, isn't it?" you muse.

Jihoon shakes his head. It is a lot. But also— he knows how gifted you are, knows how driven you can be. Seeing it here, so openly on display, has something stammering in his chest.

"Is this all your work?" he asks a moment later, still glancing around. "Is this… everything you've been working on? You've been keeping it here?"

"Not all of us have separate studios," you shoot back. There's an easy smile on your face, indicating that you're just teasing.

When you seem to realize that your initial jab hasn't answered Jihoon's question, you amend, "It's not all of my work. You should see my childhood bedroom back in Jeju."

"Jesus," he says with a slight chuckle, his fingers pressing around the metal of his soda can.

He doesn't know why the thought of your childhood room in Jeju having more of this surprises him. But, then again, that was just the kind of person you were. An ambitious, freethinking, creative genius, the same qualities he'd grown to appreciate over time.

And now he was about to go on a date with you. How the hell had he gotten this lucky?

He isn't quite sure what compels him. All he knows is that the question, almost rhetorical in nature, is out of his mouth before he can reel it back in.

"You really love music, don't you?"

The question seems to throw you off-kilter, but you recover surprisingly fast. You're thoughtfully smoothing out the patches on your denim jacket as you retort, "I love it about as much as you do."

If it had been any other person, Jihoon might have scoffed, might have privately thought they were cocky or just outright lying. But it's you, and his heart twists in to a knot at the thought of how willing he is to accept that cardinal truth.

That you and him loved music in equal measure.

In a hopeless attempt to collect himself, he shoots back his soda in several big gulps. The carbonated drink burns as it goes down his throat; he forces it to stay down.

"We should probably get going," he prompts once he's done with his drink.

"Right, of course."

You go to throw away his empty soda can for him, and the way you move makes it abundantly clear that you're unaware of the effect you have on him.

As the two of you step out of your apartment and find your way to Jihoon's car, he can only hope that it won't be that long of an afternoon.

Despite the way he keeps both hands on the steering wheel, Jihoon can still feel the nerves racing up and down his spine. He's nervous, excited, his emotions a mess as he tries to get himself together.

He can't believe that after years of talking about music and just working together, after all this goddamn time, you were finally going on a date together.

The car radio is just a touch too loud, which is to be expected, considering that it was Jihoon's vehicle. You have to pitch your voice above it to be audible.

"Where are we going?" you ask as he peels in to traffic.

"You'll see when we get there," he responds.

The disapproving pinch of your expression draws a laugh out of him. He doesn't give you the opportunity to press any longer as he fiddles with the radio dial, upping the volume just a touch more.

He'd planned this date carefully after spending far too much time agonizing over all the details. He was damned if he wasn't going to keep some things in the dark.

It's a quiet drive for the most part, with only the radio keeping the silence from being too deafening. But, frankly, Jihoon isn't too bothered by the silence because it gives him ample time to collect his thoughts, to try not to focus on the way your hand is right there, a few inches away from his on the gear shift.

He keeps his eyes on the road, keeps his expression neutral, and keeps his cards as close to his chest as possible.

Once Jihoon is finally pulling in to a parking lot, he manages to find his voice. "We're here," he notes, like it's not the most obvious thing in the world.

He waits a moment for you to also unbuckle your seatbelts, and only then does he climb out of the car. He quickly walks around to your side, pulling open the door for you and gesturing for you to follow him as he crosses the parking lot.

"What is 'here', exactly?" you ask Jihoon as you walk up to the building in front of you. It looks rather unassuming; nothing on the outside giving out what it might be. Just white walls and a sign outside that's still too far to read.

Jihoon catches the way you try to make out the sign, and he can't help but find himself feeling a touch flustered because goddammit, was he allowed to find everything you did endearing?

He clears his throat before finally answering. "A planetarium."

Now, Jihoon definitely doesn't miss the way your eyes widen, nor the small tone of excitement that betrays the otherwise casualness of your voice.

"That's cool," you say with your hands shoved in to the pockets of your jacket. "Never been to one before."

He can clearly see how excited you'd gotten just at hearing where he'd brought you. And, frankly, it just makes his pulse race all that much more.

"Well, let's go in and have a look then, shall we?" he offers, his voice a little on the quieter side as he tries valiantly to not mimic your excitement.

As you approach the building façade, the signage comes in to better view. It boasts of an immersive planetarium experience, but what stops you dead in your tracks is a note tacked on the front door.

Closed for a private event.

"Oh?" you're saying, a slight edge of disappointment in your tone. "It's looks like it's—"

But before you can finish your sentence, the door is pulling open, and an important-looking man— the manager— is already stepping up to address Jihoon.

"Mr. Lee, right on time," the employee greets with a bow. "We've set everything up for you."

The oh that escapes you, this time, is a lot softer.

Jihoon can't help the small grin that immediately works its way across his lips at your reaction. He'd been hoping to catch you by surprise, and he can tell that it worked.

He gives a polite, somewhat formal half-bow in return to the manager before glancing over his shoulder to you. There's a hint of smugness in his voice as his gaze lands on you again. "C'mon," he says as he starts making his way in to the planetarium.

The inside is mostly dark; Jihoon gives his eyes a moment to adjust to the change. There's no one else here but the two of you, and Jihoon isn't really complaining about the emptiness. It just means he can have you all to himself, without having to worry about having anyone else around.

He can hear your footsteps, following behind him, and he has to mentally remind himself to keep himself together before he finally glances over his shoulder at you.

"Surprised?" he teases, the ghost of a smirk making its way on to his face.

He revels in the look of awe on your face, the way you all but ignore him to pull a couple of steps ahead. You're surveying the lobby like it's already the main exhibit, and Jihoon has the sudden urge to rent out every gallery in Seoul for you to see.

Your next words are one-two punch on Jihoon's poor, poor heart. "I think you've got some nerve, Jihoon-ah, pulling out all the stops on our first date," you muse, your face still upturned to the entryway.

Jihoon almost trips right over his own two feet as the casualness of your words registers in his mind.

Multiple dates. You were implying that there might be multiple dates to follow. That you wanted there to be multiple dates.

He takes a quick breath, trying to maintain any semblance of a nonchalant attitude as he responds. "What?" he says, the smirk just a touch more shaky on his lips. "You think this is 'going all out'?"

He continues to walk, catching up to you a few moments later. "I'm offended. How dare you think that I'd settle for anything less than perfection."

"If this isn't 'all out' yet for you," you quip. "I'm a bit nervous as to what is."

He only responds with a small chuckle. "You'll see."

He leads you to the next room over, and this particular one is far more darker. The only source of light is from the projector against the back wall, projecting a constellation map on the opposite wall.

Jihoon glances over his shoulder once more, watching the small look of wonder on your face. He leads you to a small couch in the center of the room before sitting comfortably beside you on it.

His face is partially illuminated by the lights of the projector, and he can clearly see the way you're taking in everything around him.

"You like it, hm?" he gently prods, watching you again.

It's a lot to take in, honestly. The high ceiling, the projected constellations, the lights dancing across both your faces. Even the way the room has been rearranged— the single plush couch, the type that allows you to recline and gaze up at the faux sky of constellations— is all so damn good.

"I like it," you concede, your voice barely above a murmur. You speak like you're scared that talking any louder will break an illusion. "It's— yah, Jihoon-ah. It's so pretty."

In that moment, Jihoon almost forgets how to breathe.

There's something so soft and gentle and fond to your voice as you speak, and the way your words came out almost reverently does something to Jihoon that he couldn't quite explain.

"Pretty," he repeats, eyes still trained on you. "It is, isn't it?"

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a long time; Jihoon still watching you instead of the exhibit. You didn't just say it was pretty. You'd said it with words and tone and expression that told him just how much you loved it.

Christ, he was a goner. He was far gone for you.

After what feels like both an eternity and a second at the same time, Jihoon finally shifts his gaze away from you, glancing up at the ceiling above him. He's quiet for a few more moments before he finally speaks again.

"Y'know…" He starts, the sound of his voice just a touch quieter than usual. "When I was a kid, I always thought the stars were my favorite thing."

Jihoon glances over at you again, noticing the way you were still practically enchanted by the projected stars above you. It makes him bite back a small, amused smile, before he continues.

"I used to sit out in the field by my house and count them, name them, make up my own stories for each of them. I thought they were the most magical, most incredible things in the whole universe."

He thinks of his home back in Busan, the way the moon reflected over the sea water. He thinks of a version of him from lifetimes ago— a boy he'll never be again.

He almost misses him.

Jihoon lets out a soft huff. "And then I got older, and life got really shitty and busy, and..." His voice falters a bit. "The stars were no longer as important to me as they were before."

He exhales, the sound filling the quiet room. He can feel you listening, can feel you taking in every sincere word of his. And that's enough. That means something.

"But..." He goes on quietly. "Sometimes, there are moments that come, and the only things that matter are the stars again."

It's just like Jihoon to spew something poetic without pretense or shame. In his peripheral, he sees you glancing at him, and it takes everything for him to not let this feeling overwhelm him.

"I hope you have more moments like that, then," you say, your voice equally soft.

There was something so endearing about the sentiment you'd said, and he knew that you meant every word of it. And that made it all so much worse for his heart.

He's so whipped, it almost makes him want to laugh.

This is one of those moments, he almost says. Even if it's not real stars.

He can't help it anymore. Despite all the times he's had to keep up his usually cool, calm demeanor with you, despite his usual attitude, despite his usual shyness, the urge is just too much and—

He slides his arm around your shoulders, pulling you a little closer.

That was one thing the stars could do: Give him a bit of courage.

When you don't resist his gentle tugging, he figures he can do just one more thing.

His free hand moves to your chin, gently coaxing your head up so that you’re looking at a specific point up at the ceiling.

You're so focused on the stars, you barely even register the sound of Jihoon’s voice again.

"The most special stars," he murmurs. "They all have names."

He’s still speaking into your ear, and you can feel his warm breath against your skin. "That one," he says, his voice like gravel. He slowly, carefully tilts your chin up just a little more. Coaxing you to look up even further. "Is my favorite."

His calmness is belied by the fact that his heart is a jackhammer in his chest. All he can do, really, is try to get you to look at one of the larger stars that's almost dead center in the middle.

"Why is it your favorite?" you inquire, the genuine curiosity in your tone almost mistakable for breathlessness.

"It's the brightest star in the entire sky." His gaze darts between the star and your face, the shadows of the room hiding the way his chest tightens at the sight of you listening intently. "It's called Sirius."

His voice is still soft, but there's a new note to it that you've never heard before. It's quiet, reverent, almost like he's about to tell you a secret.

"The Romans called it the 'dog star'," he continues. "Because it's the brightest star in Canis Major, the big dog constellation."

He lowers his head a little so that his chin is almost resting on your shoulder, and his arm around your shoulders tightens just a fraction.

"But to the Chinese, it was known as the 'heavenly river commander'," he goes on. "And the Arabs called it the 'chief star in heaven'."

Jihoon is getting nervous, now, but he has to do this. He has to.

It feels like the first flicker of a neon sign as he goes on, "To all those different people, it was all of those things. To me—"

He pauses, feeling the words stick in his Adam's apple.

The brightest star in the night sky.

For the longest time, Jihoon had wondered whether he would find something to call it, too. The closest he's come has been the boys, his music.

But that felt like an understatement. They weren't just a group, after all; they were his whole life. And so it was more apt to describe them as the universe, as the entire planetarium.

Which left him with the brightest star—

"To you?" you repeat, tilting your head back to meet Jihoon's gaze head on.

"What's it called to you?" you prompt.

In the relative darkness, he can't read you as well as he might have wanted.

It doesn't matter. It doesn't change what's he's going to say, anyway.

He gives you his answer—

He says your name.

And then he leans in— his heart at your feet, all yours for the taking.

[butterfly-lies-chase-them-away]

Hi! I just stumbled upon your profile when I was searching for jonathan crane x reader fics, and can I just say that I loved Behind The Mask so so much! Would it be possible to request a fic Jonathan x reader that is inspired by You are the right one by Sports? If so, thank you so much! 💕✨

You Are The Right One - Jonathan Crane x Reader (Part 1/2)

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x Reader

Word Count: 8016

Warnings: High School!Jonathan Crane, bullying

Summary: !!Request!! High school was a cesspool of misery for Jonathan. After the cruel prank from his crush and biggest bully, he believed his days would be forever marred by the shadows of ridicule and isolation. Until a beacon of light emerged in the form of one girl who reached out with a helping hand.

A/N: (This gif does not match the vibe whatsoever, but oh well!) Bro, I had never heard this song before, but the second I listened to it AHAHHAH!!! the way this song tingles my brain~ chefs kiss. Thank you so much Anon for introducing this song to me 💚 While writing this fic, I really got into the comic book Jonathan, so the whole time writing this, instead of picturing Cillian Murphy, my brain went off and thought about the lanky ginger Jonathan from the comics...smash. This doesn't really affect how you read it or anything, I don't bring up his appearance (I think) but yeah, fun fact! Thank you so much for the request, Anon, I hope you like it and I hope everyone else likes it as well 💚

(Part 2)

-

"Hey! Scarecrow!" The jeering shout pierced the air before a rotten pumpkin collided with Jonathan's head.

With a jolt, he crashed onto the unforgiving concrete, the impact scraping his knees raw and sending his glasses tumbling from his face. Laughter and mocking taunts echoed from the other side of the street, adding insult to injury. Wiping the slimy remnants of pumpkin from his face, Jonathan retrieved his glasses from the ground and carefully replaced them, picking himself off the floor and rushing to his house.

Jonathan hated his time at school, not due to its academic challenges, they were a mere breeze to him. It was the individuals within the school walls who soured his experience. Each day seemed to bring a fresh onslaught of taunts, shoves, and the relentless pursuit to make him feel small. It was an existence he loathed.

Bo Gribbs stood out as the ringleader of torment, his cruelty unmatched by any other. Jonathan couldn't fathom what he had done to deserve such relentless bullying from Bo, but he found himself powerless to retaliate. Physically overpowered and painfully aware of his own frailty, Jonathan's slender frame seemed almost translucent beneath his clothing, a stark testament to his vulnerability in the face of Bo's tyranny.

Yet, even within the supposed sanctuary of his supposed home, peace was still not found for him. If he managed to escape the torment of school, he found himself ensnared in the clutches of his eccentric great-grandmother, whose own torture made every moment a living hell. The irony of her religious fervor contrasted against her treatment of him was not lost on Jonathan.

Though Jonathan's existence felt like a descent into inferno, he clung to the belief that it was merely a chapter in his life, not the entire story. Determined to carve out a brighter future for himself. He vowed to end the torment, one way or another.

-

Walking through the corridors proved to be a difficult journey for Jonathan, each step fraught with the anticipation of another cruel encounter. As he traversed the halls, barely two minutes had passed before a forceful shove sent him careening forward, his body meeting the cold embrace of the linoleum floor. His knees, accustomed to such harsh treatment, absorbed the impact with resigned familiarity.

The clatter of his glasses hitting the ground echoed amidst the cacophony of jeers from passing jocks, their laughter cutting through the air like a serrated blade. With a heavy sigh, Jonathan reached out, his fingers fumbling as they sought the familiar frames now lying abandoned on the floor.

To add insult to injury, the contents of his binder lay strewn across the corridor in a chaotic array of papers and notebooks. With a resigned sense of foreboding, Jonathan began the arduous task of gathering his scattered belongings, readying himself for the inevitable shit day that lay ahead.

Amidst the din of the bustling hallway, the sound of approaching footsteps caught Jonathan's attention, his heart sinking as he braced for yet another harsh confrontation. However, what he beheld was not the expected boot poised for a strike, but rather a figure, a girl, crouched beside him, her hands reaching out to aid in gathering the scattered papers.

Stunned into silence, Jonathan could only watch in disbelief as the girl worked alongside him, her actions a stark contrast to the hostility he had come to expect. Caught in a moment of bewildered confusion, he found himself unable to move, his mind reeling with questions. What was she doing? Was she helping him?

As Jonathan's mind struggled to catch up with the whirlwind of events, he watched in astonishment as the girl collected the scattered papers, her movements somehow appearing graceful. With each piece she retrieved, she seemed to breathe life into the crap that had enveloped his world just moments before. As she stacked the papers before him, Jonathan couldn't help but marvel at the dexterity of her fingers, a stark contrast to the clumsy awkwardness he felt coursing through his own limbs.

When she finally glanced up, her face illuminated by the fluorescent lights of the corridor, Jonathan found himself momentarily transfixed by the sight before him. The delicate curve of her jawline, the softness of her features, and the warmth in her eyes sent a flutter through his chest, igniting a blush that crept up his cheeks. It had been an eternity since he had been in such close proximity to a girl, let alone one this attrative.

Despite the pounding of his heart and the flush of embarrassment that suffused his face, Jonathan couldn't help but brace himself for the anticipated rejection and humiliation. Yet, to his astonishment, the girl's expression remained neutral, devoid of the revulsion he had come to expect from others.

In that fleeting moment, as their eyes met, Jonathan felt a spark of hope ignite within him, a glimmer of possibility amidst the darkness of his reality.

"I'm not sure they're in order, sorry," she offered apologetically, handing the papers over to him.

Jonathan's mind raced, struggling to process the flood of emotions and sensations crashing over him like waves against a rocky shore. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words emerged, his voice lost amidst the thoughts within him. His cheeks burned with a fierce blush, the heat spreading across his skin like wildfire as he fought to steady his erratic breaths.

Despite the turmoil raging within him, Jonathan found himself unable to tear his gaze away from the girl before him. Every delicate movement, every subtle shift in her demeanor, captivated his attention like a mesmerizing dance. He watched as she nervously nibbled on her lower lip, her brows furrowed in a mixture of concern and uncertainty.

A pang of self-reproach stabbed at Jonathan's heart as he cursed his own awkwardness, berating himself for his inability to ease the tension that hung thick in the air. He longed to reach out, to offer some semblance of reassurance, but the weight of his own insecurities held him captive, shackling him in silence.

In the midst of his internal turmoil, Jonathan couldn't help but wonder if he was the cause of the girl's discomfort. Was it his presence alone that had driven her to such nervous agitation? The thought only served to deepen his sense of self-condemnation, a bitter reminder of his own inadequacy in the face of this unexpected encounter.

Taking the papers from her outstretched hand, Jonathan murmured a barely audible "thank you," his eyes remaining fixed on the ground.

"It's okay," she reassured softly, straightening up.

As Jonathan remained rooted to the spot, his gaze fixated on the ground, he felt a sense of regret wash over him as he watched the girl gracefully rise to her feet. Every movement seemed to unfold in slow motion, each subtle shift of her body conveying a depth of emotion that left Jonathan feeling utterly captivated.

The soft rustle of fabric as she straightened her posture, the delicate sway of her hair as she lifted her head, every detail etched itself into Jonathan's memory like a scene from a cherished dream. He longed to reach out, to capture this fleeting moment before it slipped through his fingers like grains of sand, but the weight of his own insecurities held him firmly in place.

As she turned to leave, the sound of her footsteps echoed through the empty corridor, each step a somber reminder of the distance that now lay between them. Jonathan listened intently, the rhythmic sound of her footfalls fading into the silence like a whispered promise lost to the wind.

Only when she was finally out of sight did Jonathan dare to lift his gaze, his eyes scanning the empty space where she had stood mere moments before. The memory of her presence lingered like an echo in his mind, a bittersweet reminder of the connection he had felt, however fleeting it may have been.

-

As the final bell reverberated through the hallways, signaling the end of lunch and the impending arrival of the last period, Jonathan's thoughts were consumed by the memory of the girl he had crossed paths with that very morning. Her image lingered in his mind like a vivid dream, each detail etched into his consciousness with a clarity that was exhilarating and mildly disturbing.

The mere thought of her sent a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He could almost feel the weight of her gaze, piercing through the veil of his thoughts, igniting a fire within him that he struggled to contain.

This crush felt different, unlike any he had experienced before. It wasn't merely a passing fancy or a fleeting attraction. It was a connection that transcended the boundaries of mere physical appearance. There was an ineffable quality about her, a magnetic allure that beckoned him closer with each passing moment.

As he gazed out into the tranquil expanse before him, Jonathan couldn't shake the feeling that destiny had intervened, weaving their paths together. And in that moment, amidst the quiet solitude of the afternoon, he allowed himself to entertain the tantalizing possibility that perhaps, just perhaps, this encounter was the beginning of something truly extraordinary.

It may have seemed naive, even foolish, to harbor such aspirations, but for Jonathan, it was a rare moment of respite in an otherwise shitty landscape. To entertain the notion that perhaps, just perhaps, the universe held something extraordinary in store for him was a welcome change.

Jonathan’s previous crushes seemed like nothing compared to the emotions that stirred by his encounter with the mysterious girl that morning. Recollections of past crushes, like shards of fragmented glass, pricked at his consciousness, reminding him of the superficiality that had defined those fleeting attractions.

Sherry, with her beauty and captivating presence, had been the subject of Jonathan's affections not so long ago. Yet, his admiration for her had always been tempered by the harsh reality of her social circle. Despite the allure of her charm, Jonathan found himself relegated to the sidelines, but he knew he could never have anyone like her anyway.

But it wasn't just Sherry's group that posed a barrier to Jonathan's desires, it was her association with Bo Gribbs, the boy that tormented him every day. Bo's looming presence, like a dark cloud on the horizon, served as a constant reminder of the toxicity that permeated Sherry's world. And yet, despite the danger that lurked beneath the surface, Jonathan remained steadfast in his pursuit, blind to the warning signs that whispered caution in the wind.

It wasn't until Sherry played a cruel prank on him, a twisted joke that left him humiliated and vulnerable, that Jonathan's rose-tinted glasses were shattered, revealing the harsh truth that had eluded him for so long. The sting of betrayal, like a venomous serpent coiled within his heart, forced him to confront the reality of his situation, a reality where he made judgement off appearance alone.

As he reflected on the events of that fateful night, Jonathan couldn't help but feel a pang of regret for the time wasted chasing after hollow dreams. But amidst the ashes of his past disappointments, a flicker of hope ignited within him, a hope born from the promise of a new beginning, forged in the fires of his encounter with the mysterious girl who had captured his heart with a single glance and kind gesture.

This girl, she was unlike anyone Jonathan had ever encountered before. Every detail of her presence seemed to exude an air of kindess, something that he didn’t experience often. 

It wasn't just her appearance that set her apart, it was the way she carried herself, with a confidence that bordered on defiance, as if daring the world to unravel the enigma of her being. There was an undeniable magnetism about her, an intangible quality that drew Jonathan in like a moth to a flame.

And for the first time in his life, Jonathan dared to hope that perhaps, just perhaps, there was a chance for something more than mere admiration from afar. He allowed himself to entertain the possibility of forging a connection with this stranger.

As Jonathan settled into his usual seat at the front of the classroom, he arranged his books on the desk before him. The desks were arranged in pairs, accommodating two students each, yet Jonathan found himself occupying his table alone, a solitude he had grown accustomed to and even appreciated. 

The rest of the class filtered in, taking their usual places. But just as the bell signaled the start of class, the door creaked open to reveal a newcomer, a sight that caused Jonathan's heart to skip a beat. Like a vision materializing, she stepped into the room, the girl who had occupied Jonathan's thoughts since the start of the day.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Jonathan's eyes traced her every movement, drinking in the graceful sway of her stride, the subtle tilt of her head as she looked around at the desks before her. It was as if the very essence of her presence infused the room with a palpable energy, setting Jonathan's heart ablaze with a flurry of emotions he struggled to contain.

What was she doing here, in his classroom, when she wasn't supposed to be? The question echoed through Jonathan's mind like a mantra, a puzzle he couldn't quite unravel.

As she cast her gaze about the room, seeking out an empty seat, Jonathan's breath caught in his throat, a knot of anticipation tightening in his chest. And then, as if guided by some unseen force, her eyes landed on the spot beside him before drifting up to his eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips like a secret shared between them.

The rush of heat that flooded Jonathan's cheeks was as sudden and unexpected as a summer storm, his pulse quickening with a fervor that threatened to overwhelm him. It was a moment suspended in time, a collision of worlds that left Jonathan reeling in disbelief.

He sat there, his heart hammering against his ribcage like a drum echoing in the hollows of his chest. Every nerve in his body seemed to hum with electricity as he watched her draw nearer, her presence casting a spell upon him that left him breathless with anticipation. It was as if time itself had slowed to a crawl, each passing second stretching into eternity.

"May I sit here?" Her voice, like a melody woven from silk and honey, broke through the haze of Jonathan's thoughts, drawing his attention to the question hanging in the air.

Jonathan swallowed hard, the sudden dryness of his throat betraying the ruckus of emotions raging within him. With a shaky nod, he managed to tear his gaze away from her mesmerizing presence, meeting her eyes with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

"Thank you," she murmured softly, her voice like a gentle breeze on a summer's eve as she settled into the seat beside him, her movements fluid and graceful.

"I just moved classes," she continued, her tone casual yet tinged with a hint of frustration, "I had a clash with English and Statistics, which messed up my whole timetable."

As she explained the reason for her unexpected presence in his class, Jonathan found himself captivated by the sound of her voice, each word a symphony of warmth and sincerity that washed over him like a soothing balm.

Jonathan drank in her words like a man parched in the desert, his thirst for her presence growing with each passing moment. He wanted nothing more than to listen to her voice for eternity, to lose himself in the melody of her speech.

"I'm Y/n, by the way," she said, turning to look at him with a smile that seemed to illuminate the entire room with its radiance.

"I'm Jo-" Jonathan's words were abruptly cut off by the sharp impact of a book colliding with the back of his head, jolting him out of his trance with a start.

Laughter erupted throughout the classroom, echoing off the walls as Jonathan winced in pain, his hand instinctively flying to the back of his head, fingers curling around the tender spot where the book had struck.

"Holy fuck! Are you okay?" Y/n's voice cut through the chaos, her hand landing gently on his shoulder in a gesture of concern.

Jonathan's breath caught in his throat at the touch, a jolt of electricity coursing through him at the warmth of her hand against his skin. If he weren't in such agonizing pain, he might have choked on his own saliva at the unexpected intimacy of the moment. "I'm fine," he managed to whisper, his voice barely above a hoarse murmur.

As Y/n leaned in to check on him, neither of them noticed the approach of the culprit responsible for Jonathan's suffering. It wasn't until he spoke that their attention was drawn to him, his smug tone slicing through the air like a knife.

"Sorry, Scarecrow, my hand slipped," Bo said, his voice dripping with malice.

With a heavy thud, Bo's hand landed on Jonathan's back, causing him to flinch and cough in response. Leaning in closer, Bo loomed over Jonathan, his presence like a dark cloud casting a shadow over the room.

"Do you mind?" Y/n's voice cut through the tension like a sharp blade, her gaze locked on Bo with a fierceness that made him falter for a moment.

"Mind what, Y/n? I’m fine, how ‘bout yourself?" Bo retorted, his smirk never faltering, even under the weight of her glare.

"Go be a dick somewhere else," Y/n shot back.

Jonathan's heart swelled with a mixture of gratitude and admiration as he watched Y/n stand up to Bo, her unwavering determination a stark contrast to the fear and apprehension that had gripped him only moments before.

For a moment, Bo seemed taken aback by Y/n's assertiveness, his usual swagger faltering in the face of her unwavering gaze. But then, with a mocking snort, he straightened up, his smirk morphing into a sneer as he turned his attention back to Jonathan.

"Looks like Scarecrow's got himself a little protector," Bo jeered, his words dripping with contempt.

Ignoring Bo's taunts, Y/n turned back to Jonathan, her expression softening with concern. "Are you sure you're okay?" she asked, her voice gentle and reassuring.

Jonathan couldn't help but nod, a surge of gratitude flooding through him at the genuine concern in her eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine," he replied.

As the tension in the room began to settle, the teacher cleared their throat, drawing attention to the front of the classroom. With one last glance at Y/n, Jonathan turned his focus to the lesson.

Jonathan felt a gentle tap on his arm, pulling him from his thoughts. He turned to find Y/n looking at him with a kind expression.

"Sorry, I never actually caught your name before Bo started being a dick," she said, her voice tinged with a hint of apology.

"Jonathan," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/n nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips, before turning her attention back to the front of the classroom.

As Jonathan watched her, a warmth spread through his chest, chasing away the lingering discomfort from Bo's earlier antics. In that brief exchange, he felt a connection form.

As Jonathan sat beside Y/n in class, his mind couldn't help but drift back to her. Her presence beside him seemed to fill the air with a quiet warmth, casting a soft glow over the otherwise mundane surroundings of the classroom.

He stole furtive glances in her direction, marveling at the way the sunlight danced in her hair, illuminating strands of gold like a halo. The gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, the way her eyes flickered with concentration as she followed along with the lesson, every detail of her being seemed to captivate him in ways he couldn't quite comprehend.

He longed to hear her speak again, to lose himself in the melody of her words and the warmth of her smile. But more than anything, it was the way she made him feel, the sense of comfort and ease that washed over him in her presence. For the first time in a long while, Jonathan felt a glimmer of hope stirring within him, a belief that perhaps, just perhaps, there was something special blossoming between them.

As the final minutes of class ticked by, Jonathan's attention remained divided between the lesson and the gentle presence of Y/n beside him. He found himself stealing glances at her whenever he could, savoring the fleeting moments of shared proximity.

When the bell finally rang, signaling the end of the period, Jonathan felt a pang of reluctance as he realized their time together was drawing to a close. He began gathering his belongings, his mind already drifting ahead to the remainder of the day.

But before he could make his exit, Y/n turned to him with a smile, her eyes sparkling with warmth and kindness. "Hey, Jonathan," she said softly, "do you mind if I walk with you?"

Jonathan's heart skipped a beat at her words, a rush of warmth flooding through him at the prospect of spending more time with her. "I don’t mind," he replied, almost too quickly.

Together, they made their way out of the classroom, the bustling halls alive with the energy of students eager to begin their weekend. As they walked side by side, Jonathan felt a sense of contentment wash over him, grateful for the unexpected situation that had brought them together.

As they stepped out of the building, Y/n cast a fleeting glance behind them before returning her focus to the path ahead. "I just really didn't want Bo to bother you any more than he already has. If you don't want me to walk with you, I totally get that," she said, her voice tinged with concern.

"It's fine... I don't mind," Jonathan replied, his words tinged with a mix of gratitude and disbelief.

A smile tugged at the corners of Y/n's lips as she looked at him. "Then I'll walk with you," she said, her eyes sparkling with warmth and sincerity.

As Jonathan processed Y/n's offer, a swirl of conflicting emotions churned within him. 

On one hand, he was overwhelmed by a sense of disbelief and wonder that someone as kind and compassionate as Y/n would willingly extend such a gesture of friendship to him. It was a glimmer of light in the darkness of his daily struggles, a ray of hope that pierced through the clouds of uncertainty that hung heavy over his life.

But as he considered the practicalities of the situation, a nagging sense of apprehension gnawed at the edges of his consciousness. He couldn't shake the feeling that allowing Y/n to accompany him all the way to his house would only invite trouble. Grandma Keeny was not one to tolerate such liberties, and Jonathan knew all too well the consequences of crossing her.

With a heavy heart, Jonathan weighed his options. On one hand, he longed for the companionship and warmth that Y/n's presence offered. But on the other, he couldn't bear the thought of subjecting her to the wrath of Grandma Keeny.

In the end, Jonathan found himself at a crossroads, both metaphorically and literally, as they reached an intersection. With a heavy heart, he turned to Y/n, his expression a mixture of gratitude and reluctance.

"I'm going this way," he murmured, the words stumbling awkwardly from his lips.

Y/n's smile faltered slightly at his words, a flicker of confusion dancing in her eyes. "You don't want me to keep walking with you?" she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Jonathan hesitated for a moment, torn between the desire to confide in Y/n and the fear of burdening her with his troubles. With a heavy sigh, he shook his head gently.

"It's not that," he began, his voice soft but resolute. "I just don't want to inconvenience you. It's a bit out of the way, and I wouldn't want to make you late home or anything."

Y/n regarded him with a thoughtful expression, her gaze searching his face for any sign of hesitation or discomfort. After a moment, she nodded understandingly, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips.

"Alright then," she said, her tone warm and reassuring. "Just know that the offer still stands if you ever need someone to walk with."

Jonathan felt a surge of gratitude wash over him at her words, a sense of warmth and belonging settling in the pit of his stomach. Though he couldn't bring himself to explain the full extent of his situation, he was grateful for Y/n's understanding and compassion.

With a final nod of thanks, Jonathan watched as Y/n continued on her way, her presence a comforting reminder that he wasn't alone in his struggles.

As Jonathan made his way along the footpath, the memory of Y/n lingered like a gentle breeze, offering a brief respite from the turmoil of his thoughts.

But as he neared his house, the weight of reality came crashing down upon him like a leaden blanket. The giddiness he felt began to wane, replaced by a sense of foreboding dread.

He couldn't bring himself to call it a home, not with the constant cloud of tension that hung heavy in the air. Grandma Keeny's presence loomed over the house like a specter, her disapproving gaze a constant reminder of the hell Jonathan endured within its walls.

With each step closer to the front door, Jonathan's stomach churned with a mixture of anxiety and apprehension. He knew that no matter how hard he tried, there would always be something for Grandma Keeny to find fault with.

But as he steeled himself to face whatever awaited him inside, a small voice whispered in the back of his mind, a reminder of the brief moment of solace he had found in Y/n's company. And for that fleeting moment, Jonathan allowed himself to cling to the hope that one day, he would find a place where he truly belonged.

As Jonathan entered the house, the air seemed to thicken with tension, each creak of the floorboards echoing through the house. He braced himself for the inevitable confrontation, steeling his nerves against the onslaught of Grandma Keeny's disapproving scrutiny.

Sure enough, as soon as he crossed the threshold, he was met with the sharp pang of her voice slicing through the silence like a knife. "You're late again, Jonathan," she scolded, her tone laced with thinly veiled disdain.

He hardly needed to glance at the clock to know she made that up. Jonathan bit back a retort, knowing from experience that it would only incite further wrath. Instead, he offered a mumbled apology, his gaze fixed firmly on the ground as he braced himself for the barrage of criticism that was sure to follow.

But to his surprise, Grandma Kenny's response was not as scathing as he had anticipated. "Don't let this happen again," she said curtly, her voice carrying a tone of warning.

Though her words lacked the usual venomous edge, Jonathan still felt the weight of her disapproval bearing down on him like a heavy burden. He nodded silently, knowing better than to provoke further confrontation.

As he retreated to his room. While he was grateful to have escaped unscathed this time, he couldn't shake the feeling that Grandma Keeny's temporary leniency was merely the calm before the storm.

As he settled into bed, the memory of Y/n's kind smile lingered in his mind like a flickering flame in the darkness. It was a reminder that even amidst the chaos and uncertainty, there were moments of warmth and kindness to be found.

But that moment of rest was short-lived. The tranquility shattered as Grandma Kenny's sharp voice pierced through the silence, demanding that he come downstairs to make her a coffee. Jonathan's shoulders sagged as he rolled his eyes, begrudgingly pushing himself off the bed.

-

Jonathan stood by his locker, the light of the hallway casting shadows across the floor. The low hum of students milling about filled the air, punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter or snippets of conversation. He slowly grabbed each book from his locker, the scent of aged paper and faint traces of graphite wafting up as he sifted through the contents.

With each item he retrieved, Jonathan's mind wandered, lost in the potential chance of Y/n walking past. He imagined the rhythmic tap of her footsteps echoing down the corridor, the soft rustle of her clothing as she approached. His heart quickened at the thought of her warm smile, the playful glint in her eyes that never failed to captivate him.

In his mind, Jonathan pictured Y/n strolling alongside him to class, their conversation flowing effortlessly as if they had known each other for years. He envisioned himself maintaining composure, staying cool, without the usual nervousness that plagued him in social interactions. Imagining her radiant smile directed up at him, he couldn't help but glance over his shoulder, hoping to see her.

Sure, he had only met her the day before and their only interactions were brief. Yet, in those fleeting moments, Jonathan felt a something with Y/n that bet any connection he had ever thought he shared with Sherry. The memory of his last crush on Sherry now seemed trivial and shallow in comparison to the depth of feeling he harbored for Y/n, he cringed just thinking about it.

Lost in his imagination, Jonathan nearly missed Y/n's presence walking through the hallway. She was a vision, just as captivating as the day prior. His heart quickened with anticipation, hoping for a fleeting glance from her. Yet, she passed by without so much as a glance in his direction.

Feeling a pang of disappointment, Jonathan turned back to his locker, cursing himself for entertaining such fantasies. He berated his own foolishness, knowing deep down that she wouldn't notice him. As he watched her move toward her own locker, he couldn't shake the sense of longing that lingered in his heart.

Jonathan couldn't tear his eyes away as he watched a guy approach Y/n at her locker. He felt a surge of jealousy rise within him, coupled with a gnawing sense of unease. His mind raced with scenarios, imagining the worst possible outcomes. What if this guy was her boyfriend? What if she preferred his company over Jonathan's?

He had completely forgetthen the about the possibility that she might already be in a relationship. A knot formed in his stomach as he watched them engage in conversation. He strained to hear snippets of their exchange, trying to decipher their relationship. His grip tightened on the books in his hands, his knuckles turning white with tension.

Jonathan's thoughts swirled with insecurity and doubt. He couldn't shake the feeling of inadequacy that washed over him. As he watched the interaction unfold, a sense of resignation settled over him. Perhaps it was best to keep his distance, to spare himself the inevitable disappointment of rejection.

As Jonathan closed his locker, he couldn't help but overhear the exchange between Y/n and the guy who had approached her. He lingered nearby, discreetly eavesdropping on their conversation.

“I shouldn’t have to tell you every time, I don’t want to go out with you,” Y/n's voice carried a firmness, her words laced with frustration.

The guy persisted, undeterred. “And I shouldn’t have to tell you that I’m not a bad guy. What have you got to lose?” he argued.

Y/n didn't mince her words. “I’ve watched you and your friends bully people, yet you’re gonna stand there and tell me you’re not a bad guy?” Her tone was sharp, cutting through the air with conviction.

With a dismissive roll of his eyes, the guy retorted, “It’s just a bit of fun.”

Y/n's response was final. “Goodbye, now,” she stated firmly, closing her locker and walking away, leaving the guy behind.

Jonathan felt a wave of relief wash over him as he listened to the conversation unfold. Not only did it confirm that Y/n was single, but it also revealed her refusal to entertain someone disrespectful like that guy. Yet, alongside the relief, a simmering anger brewed within him. The audacity of that guy to treat her with such disrespect ignited a fire within Jonathan. Upon getting a closer look, he recognized the guy as one of the same guys who had tormented him before, one that hangs with Bo. Aaron was a real piece of shit. 

Jonathan's gaze must have lingered for too long, for the Aaron turned to face him, his expression twisted with anger. "What are you looking at, Scarecrow?" he spat out aggressively.

Jonathan felt a surge of panic coursing through him, his muscles tensing in preparation for confrontation. However, before he could respond, the bell rang, cutting through the tension like a sharp blade. With a sense of relief, Jonathan hastily made his exit, heading off to his own class, leaving the guy behind in the hallway.

-

Jonathan managed to navigate his classes without encountering Aaron again, a small relief in an otherwise nerve racking day. As lunchtime arrived, he found himself in the crowded cafeteria.

For Jonathan, lunch was a simple affair. His pockets rarely held enough spare change to afford a cafeteria meal, and even if they did, the thought of eating the food they served was revolting in and of itself. Instead, he relied on the sandwich he'd prepared at home earlier that morning. A humble meal, but one that brought him comfort.

In the corner of the cafeteria, Jonathan sat in solitary silence, a lone figure amidst rest. With a library book propped open before him, he stole moments between bites of his homemade sandwich to immerse himself in its pages. The book was a refuge, a small rebellion against the suffocating grip of Grandma Kenny's stringent beliefs.

Jonathan didn’t want to imagine the consequences if Grandma Kenny were to discover his forbidden literary indulgence. Her wrath was legendary, her punishments cruel and unpredictable. From stupid chores to brutal beatings. Jonathan shuddered at the memory of being locked in the decrepit church, surrounded by the menacing caws of circling crows. An ordeal he'd endured more than once for daring to defy her rules.

He barely noticed that person approaching his table. Jonathan's heart jumped in his chest as he watched Aaron's hand descend upon the table with a thud, the sudden noise echoing in the cafeteria. His grip tightened on the book, his knuckles turning white, as he braced himself for whatever confrontation was about to unfold.

Aaron's smirk widened as he snatched the book from Jonathan's hands, flipping through its pages with a mocking chuckle. "What cha reading, Scarecrow?" he taunted, his voice dripping with malice.

Jonathan remained rooted to his seat, his silence a stark contrast to Aaron's brash demeanor. Yet, beneath the surface, a torrent of emotions churned within him. Fear, anger, and a deep-seated sense of vulnerability.

With a swift motion, Aaron swatted Jonathan's sandwich off the table, the force causing crumbs to scatter across the surface. Jonathan flinched at the sudden movement, his fingers twitching as if instinctively reaching out to reclaim his meal.

But he held himself back, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on Aaron. He knew better than to provoke further confrontation, especially in such a public setting. So, with a clenched jaw and a steely resolve, Jonathan remained silent, his eyes betraying none of the turmoil raging within.

Aaron's smirk widened at Jonathan's restraint, clearly relishing the power he held in this moment of dominance. With a swift motion, he tossed the book aside, its pages fluttering in protest before settling on the tabletop. 

"What's the matter, Scarecrow? Cat got your tongue?" Aaron taunted, leaning in closer, his breath hot against Jonathan's ear.

Jonathan's jaw tightened further, his fingers curling into fists beneath the table. He refused to give Aaron the satisfaction of a response, knowing that any retort would only fuel the bully's ego. Instead, he focused on maintaining his composure, willing himself to remain calm in the face of adversity.

As Aaron continued to mock and jeer, Jonathan's mind raced, searching for an escape from this uncomfortable confrontation. He knew he couldn't let Aaron intimidate him, not again. With a deep breath, Jonathan forced himself to ignore the taunts, his eyes flickering momentarily to the scattered crumbs on the table.

Just as Aaron seemed poised to escalate the situation further, a familiar voice cut through the tension like a knife. 

"Hey, Aaron, leave him alone."

Y/n stood at the edge of the table, her expression a mixture of concern and determination. Her presence seemed to catch Aaron off guard, his smirk faltering for just a moment before he composed himself.

"Mind your own business, Y/n," Aaron retorted, his tone dripping with disdain.

"And you wonder why I won’t go out with you," Y/n shot back, her voice unwavering.

Jonathan watched in awe as Y/n stood her ground, her confidence radiating in the face of adversity. He felt a surge of gratitude towards her, knowing that she had once again stepped in to defend him.

Aaron's eyes narrowed as he glared at Y/n, clearly unaccustomed to being challenged. For a moment, the cafeteria seemed to hold its breath, or atleast it did for Jonathan.

But then, with a frustrated huff, Aaron shoved himself away from the table, casting one last menacing glare at Jonathan before stalking off into the crowd.

Y/n exhaled slowly, her shoulders relaxing as the immediate threat dissipated. She turned to Jonathan with a sympathetic smile, offering him a reassuring nod.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly, concern evident in her eyes.

Jonathan nodded, gratitude swelling in his chest. "Thanks to you," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/n's smile widened, and she reached out to gently squeeze his shoulder. "Anytime," she said. “You wanna come sit with my friends and me?” Y/n offered, her voice carrying a warmth that melted away some of Jonathan's anxiety.

Jonathan felt his heart flutter in his chest. Was she really inviting him to join her? He glanced down, adjusting his glasses to hide the nervousness he felt bubbling inside.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, I just don’t want Aaron coming back to bother you,” Y/n added, her concern evident in her tone.

“I’d like that,” Jonathan replied, his voice soft but resolute.

Y/n's smile widened. Jonathan began gathering his things, carefully stowing his book in his bag before turning to his sandwich. However, his heart sank as he realized it had been scattered across the table, a casualty of Aaron's aggression.

With a frustrated huff, Jonathan began collecting the remnants of his meal, his movements tinged with embarrassment. Y/n watched him with a sympathetic gaze.

“Do you have anything else to eat?” Y/n asked gently.

Jonathan shook his head, a pang of hunger gnawing at his stomach as he disposed of the ruined sandwich in the nearby bin.

“I have some food you can have if you’d like,” Y/n offered, her voice warm and inviting.

“It’s okay, you should eat your food, don’t worry about me,” Jonathan replied, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“It’s fine, my dad always packs me too much anyways,” Y/n insisted, her smile unwavering.

Y/n reached out a hand towards Jonathan, silently inviting him to join her. He hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding with a mixture of nervousness and gratitude, before accepting her gesture.

As they walked together towards Y/n's table, Jonathan couldn't help but steal glances at her. She walked with an effortless grace, her presence exuding a sense of comfort that eased the tension coiled within him.

Arriving at the table, Y/n pulled out a sandwich from her bag, “You can have this one, I don’t feel like eating two ham sandwiches today.” Without hesitation, she handed it to Jonathan, a small but genuine smile gracing her lips.

Jonathan accepted the sandwich with a grateful nod, his stomach rumbling in anticipation of the unexpected meal. He glanced around the table, noticing Y/n's friends chatting and laughing amongst themselves. They didn't seem to pay him much mind, but Jonathan didn't mind. His focus was solely on Y/n, her presence casting a comforting glow that made him feel at ease.

Settling into his seat, Jonathan began unwrapping the sandwich, the simple act of kindness from Y/n filling him with a sense of warmth that he hadn't felt in a long time. As he took a bite, he couldn't help but steal another glance at Y/n, feeling a sense of gratitude wash over him for her unexpected kindness.

-

It was perfect that he shared lunch with Y/n, not just because Jonathan cherished her company, but also because they had a class together, offering the perfect excuse to stroll side by side. With each step, Jonathan felt a sense of pride swell within him, as if walking with Y/n wasn’t just out of practicality, but because they were together, almost like a couple.

Y/n's lively chatter filled the air as they walked through the corridors, but Jonathan found himself lost in her presence, captivated by her every word and movement. Arriving at their classroom, they settled into their familiar seats, and Jonathan couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement as Y/n's arm brushed against his own, sending his heart into a flutter.

In that moment, Jonathan felt a sense of certainty wash over him. Y/n was meant for him, of that he was sure. Her smiles, her kindness, her very essence seemed to affirm his belief. No girl had ever shown him such warmth, and he couldn't deny the connection he felt with her.

As he sat beside her, Jonathan knew he had to ask her out. It had taken him over a week to muster the courage to ask out Sherry, but with Y/n, it felt different. She lifted his spirits effortlessly, instilling in him a newfound confidence. Though they had only known each other for a short time, Jonathan couldn't shake the feeling that she was the right one.

-

Walking out of class together, their steps echoing faintly in the empty hallway, Jonathan and Y/n exchanged casual conversation. Their last periods were both study periods, which gave them the opportunity to leave school early. As they stepped into the open air outside the building, Jonathan's heart drummed against his ribcage. He knew he had to ask her out. There was no turning back now.

Approaching the familiar corner where their paths diverged, the pair came to a halt and turned to face each other. The soft afternoon sunlight cast a warm glow around them, highlighting Y/n's radiant smile.

"Thanks for walking with me. See you tomorrow," Y/n said, her smile warming Jonathan's heart as she prepared to bid him farewell.

Summoning every ounce of courage, Jonathan spoke up, his words hanging in the air between them like delicate wisps of anticipation. "U-uh, Y/n?" he began, his voice betraying a slight tremor of nervousness.

"Yes, Jonathan?" Y/n replied, her eyes fixed on him expectantly, a gentle curiosity gleaming within them.

This was his moment. Jonathan took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to do. "I-I was wondering… if y-you'd like to go out with me?" he managed to utter, his heart pounding furiously against his chest, his hands trembling ever so slightly with nervous anticipation.

As he observed her reaction, he detected a subtle change in her demeanor. The radiant smile that had graced her lips moments ago seemed to wane, replaced by a hint of saddness that creased her brow ever so slightly. Jonathan's stomach churned with apprehension as he realized he might have misread the situation.

In that moment, he felt like a complete idiot. He berated himself internally for being so stupid, for daring to hope for something more. Jonathan's gaze faltered, his eyes dropping to the ground in a gesture of defeat. He cursed his own foolishness, reprimanding himself for misinterpreting Y/n's kindness as something it wasn't.

"I'm sorry, I never should have asked," Jonathan murmured, his voice tinged with shame.

Y/n's gentle touch on his arm made him glance up, meeting her gaze once more. He was met with a look of sincerity and understanding, her eyes soft with empathy.

"No, it's not that, Jonathan..." Y/n began, her voice tender as she sought to reassure him. "I'm sorry, I do like you, Jonathan, it's just... I'm not really ready to date anyone at the moment," she explained, her words laced with a hint of guilt.

Jonathan felt a mixture of relief and disappointment wash over him. He appreciated Y/n's honesty, but he couldn't shake the sting of rejection. Nevertheless, he managed a small nod, acknowledging her words.

Jonathan's heart sank as he prepared himself for rejection, his mind already forming apologies for his audacity. But then, Y/n spoke, her voice soft yet firm, cutting through the heavy atmosphere like a beacon of hope amidst the darkness.

"It's okay, Y/n," Jonathan replied, his voice tinged with a mixture of disappointment and acceptance. "I understand. Thank you for being honest with me."

Y/n's expression softened, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Thank you for understanding, Jonathan. You're a good friend."

The weight of her words settled over him, and Jonathan couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth blossom within his chest. Despite the outcome not being what he had hoped for, he found solace in the bond they shared and the prospect of their continued friendship.

With a faint smile, Jonathan mustered the courage to meet Y/n's gaze once more. "I'm glad we can still be friends," he said, his voice soft yet sincere.

Y/n returned his smile, her eyes reflecting warmth and gratitude. "Me too, Jonathan," she replied, reaching out to gently squeeze his arm.

Jonathan's heart swelled as she suddenly pulled him closer, wrapping him in a warm embrace. His breath caught in his throat, momentarily stunned by the unexpected gesture. He hesitated for a moment before tentatively returning the hug, savoring the fleeting moment between them.

As Y/n pulled away, Jonathan couldn't help but feel a pang of longing, wishing he could hold onto the moment just a little longer. He watched in awe as she walked away, her figure disappearing down the street. Despite the bittersweet twinge of unrequited feelings, Jonathan couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for Y/n's grace and kindness.

He knew that she was the one he wanted to be with. Her kindness, understanding, and genuine nature spoke volumes to him, reaffirming his belief that she was worth waiting for.

As he watched her walk away, Jonathan couldn't help but feel a profound sense of connection to her, a feeling he hadn't experienced with anyone else before. He knew that their bond was special, even if it wasn't romantic just yet. And while he longed for more, he was willing to be patient, knowing that good things often took time.

With a wistful smile, Jonathan silently vowed to cherish their friendship and support Y/n in any way he could. He was willing to wait for her, confident that their paths would eventually align in the future. And as he continued on his journey home, he carried with him a sense of hope and anticipation, knowing that she was worth the wait.

-

A/N: Sorry this took so long to come out, as usual, uni shit 💀 (cause I'm a dumb ass doing a double major) I set this after the Halloween party, so Jonathan probably should have been more aggressive and all that shit, but in the comic, he's all shy and all that stuff with Sherry (before the prank), so I wanted to keep along those lines. I really hope I did this request justice as I loved it so much. Thank you all for reading and I hope you liked it as much as I liked writing it 💚

[sequinsandfins]

Some more Carlos/Oscar - could possibly be part of this universe. 465 words. rated e.

Oscar thinks he’s going insane. 

Carlos keeps touching him in public.

Oscar wishes he could say that they are just innocent platonic touches, but his cock begs to differ.

“Oscar…” Carlos is leaning forward, to say something into his ear. They are standing on the fucking drivers parade truck, there are a million cameras and people's eyes on them. 

Oscar tries to appear unaffected, even as the truck jolts to a stop and Carlos’ hand reaches out to Oscar’s body to steady him. It makes him feel reckless.

Carlos’ hand sears through his clothes like it's branding him. Carlos laughs at something Lando says, and slings his arm over Oscar’s shoulder, heavy and familiar, and Oscar recalls the weight of Carlos’ body on top of his.

Carlos’ thumb is unconsciously stroking the side of Oscar’s neck, every movement setting his nerves alight, sending signals of desire throughout his body. He needs more.

Carlos removes his arm from around Oscar once they return to the pit lane. Oscar mourns the loss even as he’s relieved he no longer has to focus all his energy on appearing sane. 

He trails behind Lando and Carlos who are still chatting away animatedly. Carlos walking Lando (and Oscar) back to Lando’s driver room. 

Oscar hovers by the door to his room as Carlos gives Lando a quick slap on the back, a bro hug, and then waits until Lando disappears into his room.

Oscar turns and enters his room, Carlos stepping inside after him and shutting the door.

Carlos quickly crowds himself up against Oscar’s back, his body heat causing a pool of desire to form in Oscar’s body and he feels Carlos bury his face into his neck. Hands drag Oscar back against Carlos, he can feel him, hard and eager. Oscar can’t breathe, he’s heady with lust, with the need for Carlos to touch him.

“Fuck, Carlos did you really have to-” Oscar gasps but is silenced by Carlos spinning him around and whispering.

“Chitón mí amor, you will have to quiet sí? We don’t want Lando hearing you moan, that’s only for my ears.” Carlos says and Oscar rocks his body up against Carlos’ in response, urging him to make a move.

He tries to be quiet. He really does. He whines loudly as Carlos swallows his sounds, gripping the both of them, stroking them to completion. They have to be quick. It is risky, so close to lights out, but Carlos is too tempting and Oscar will always give in.

But judging from the suspicious looks Lando throws his way as they are standing waiting in the garage, he thinks he failed. 

Oscar can’t worry about that now. He’s got a race to win and then a stupid sexy Spaniard to torture later in the club.

[aestheticpearl]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ✧·˚ ༘ * ༄

✧·˚feat: kayson mayer, jonah, xanthus claiborne, andrew marston, issac rhoades, elias, zaros athat'lin, luca pearce, rowan

✧·˚summary: this is basically just my headcanons of what kind of music each character listens to and their favorite albums since saku only really listens to soundtracks and can’t really tell what they would like (that is a joke btw i know you also listen to some kpop)

✧·˚a/n: music is a very important thing to me so i hope i did everyone justice and feel free to add your opinions as well!

kayson mayer ✧·˚ ༘ * ༄

favorite albums:

you never walk alone - bts . fine line - harry styles . hard to imagine the neighborhood ever changing - the neighborhood

okay hear me out, i definitely think kayson would be a kpop fan, not like a kpop stan more of a “i enjoy their music” more than anything. i feel like kayson isn’t huge on music but he love the slower stuff when he’s not at practice or trying to get pumped up for volleyball. he seems to have more of a moody taste in music in contrast to his more up beat personality, but i mean we all gotta cry over something.

jonah ✧·˚ ༘ * ༄

favorite albums:

HIT ME HARD AND SOFT - billie eilish . currents - tame impala . brat - charli xcx

this bitch definitely loves billie eilish. only man i know that definitely cries to ‘what was i made for?’ besides kayson maybe. he fucks heavy with tame impala, but not in the master manipulator why that other man fuck with it. he loves having them on in the background of streams mostly. hyper pop king, loves charli xcx and he is having a brat summer. he is definitely on tiktok so much and is very much influenced by what’s trending on the app.

xanthus claiborne ✧·˚ ༘ * ༄

favorite albums:

THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT - taylor swift . firebird suite - igor stravinsky . preacher’s daughter - ethel cain

LISTEN OKAY xanthus is the kind to never admit that he would listen to taylor swift but god damn it he loves her new album and her slower stuff she is his guilty pleasure artist for sure. okay he loves classical music but like classical music don’t really have ‘albums’ per say so i chose his favorite piece. firebird suite is something that he has adored the story that is told through the music, same with ethel cain’s preachers daughter. he loves how the music is telling a story more than anything.

andrew marston ✧·˚ ༘ * ༄

favorite albums:

something to give each other - troye sivan . being funny in a foreign language - the 1975 . harry styles - harry styles

do you feel the rush andrew? sorry. i think honestly he has always loved troye sivan, might be the repressed gay in him but who knows. a full really fond of being funny in a foreign language, loves how raw the whole album is and enjoys the slower ballads. loves the debut album of harry styles, it’s just so soft and sweet he really likes listening to it.

issac rhoades ✧·˚ ༘ * ༄

favorite albums:

cry - cigarettes after sex . laurel hell - mitski . did you know that there’s a tunnel under ocean blvd - lana del ray

bro is depressed. like i don’t know what you were expecting with him. he knows that most of the songs on the cry album are very sad but some are very sweet and he like the mix of the two. mommy issues up the wazoo so of course he listens to mitski. lana del ray is new and a bit more positive of a listen, it’s almost like someone special came into his life and change the outlook of it a bit.

elias ✧·˚ ༘ * ༄

favorite albums:

who really cares - tv girl . star boy - the weeknd . positions - ariana grande

something about this tv girl album just screams elias to me and i think he would really enjoy this album the most out of the others. of course he loves the weeknd just look at him, he is a starboy and a party monster on the weekends. this bitch loves ariana grande’s positions album so much he created a stan twitter just to defend it against the haters.

zaros athat'lin ✧·˚ ༘ * ༄

favorite albums:

the rise and fall of a midwest princess - chappell roan . MEGAN - megan thee stallion . GUTS (spilled) - olivia rodrigo

was it casual when you fought my claim? he loves chappell roan and will definitely tell you he listened to her before she blew up which in his defense he did but he doesn’t need to keep telling people that. loves megan thee stallion her new album is what he listens too before he insults the fuck outta earis. loves the range of emotions he feels when listening to olivia rodrigo, i’m convinced he’s just a teenage girl.

luca pearce ✧·˚ ༘ * ༄

favorite albums:

songs - adrianne lenker . teenage dream - katy perry . MAP OF THE SOUL : PERSONA - bts

soft baby child loves soft songs that can put his ass to sleep in less than fifteen minutes. katy perry is his favorite, teenage dream got him through college and continues to make him romanticize the crap out of his relationship, as he should! he loves kpop, i just feel it in my bones that he loves persona and how happy the album is.

rowan ✧·˚ ༘ * ༄

favorite albums:

louder than bombs - the smiths . AM - arctic monkeys . the game - queen

he loves music that you could find in an old vinyl record store and these albums capture his taste perfectly in my opinion. a bit of indie here and alt rock there and you’ve got a rowan playlist that he will put on anytime he drives you anywhere.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

this is where i would put my glittery divider but i can’t add anymore photos lmao

.love always <3 pearl

.masterlist

[lynnlovesspidahman]

are you bored yet?

peter parker x reader

masterlist

Word Count : 1.1k

Warnings/Tags: Couple of swear words, not too much angst

Summary : Peter notices you and Harry have been all touchy-feely lately. He wonders if you’ve become bored of him already.

I made this with Insomniac’s Peter in mind but I added Ned for the sake of the story and it’s set during high school, so it’s really up to you who you want it to be.

There's something different about the way you've smiled lately.

This wasn’t new, it happened more often lately. Your eyes crinkled more, and your cheeks were rosier. Just by watching you, Peter had an urge to smile just as big. But it wasn't him who made you smile like that.

It was Harry.

Harry was a good guy, and an even better friend. But as he watched you during lunch, sitting diagonal from him, laughing at his jokes, Peter couldn't help but feel jealous.

Biting the side of his cheek (a bad habit Peter picked up, and you always looked so cute when you yelled at him for it), he decided against speaking up.

He knew he wasn't the most exciting guy in the world, but what did Harry have to offer that he didn't? Was it that date he had to cancel last Friday? Spidey duties were important, but so were you. Or was he just not all you wanted him to be?

"You okay, bro?"

"Huh?" Peter blinked a few times, trying to clear his head.

"I said, are you okay?" Ned asked again. "You've been spacing out all lunch."

Peter sighed, "I'm fine," he said. "Just thinking about stuff."

"What stuff?" Ned pried.

"D-do you think that.. Y/N-" He paused. "Is Harry more interesting than me?"

"What? Why would you ask that?" Ned's eyebrows furrowed and his eyes narrowed, taken aback by his question.

Peter's eyes drifted over to you and Harry. You were laughing at something he said, gorgeous as ever. What were you doing to him?

"Oh."

"Yeah." Peter glanced at his lap, his lips forming a line. How could you have looked so beautiful laughing with someone else? Why did he feel like crying?

The bell rang, and Peter felt like he could breathe again. The torture was over. As he got up to go, he glanced at you one more time. Walking away with him, not even batting an eye in his direction.

Peter walked out of school, heart still feeling heavy from earlier. You were standing at your usual meet-up spot. Hair slightly tousled, lips parted and you had your "focus-face" (as he liked to call it) on.

"Peter!" You looked up from your phone and walked in his direction as you opened your arms.

"Hey." Peter said, you threw your arms around his waist and swayed back and forth.

"How was your day?" You asked, peeking up at him while still hugging.

Fucking terrible. "Fine, I guess. Algebra was boring today." He lied, math was never boring for him.

"But I thought you liked that class?"

"How was your day?" He changed the subject quickly.

"It was good, actually. I aced that chemistry quiz, I just know it." you beamed up at him.

He helped you study for that one, he looked back on the "study date" you had during the weekend.

"That's good," he grinned.

"Want to hit up Del-mars? Or just go back to one of our places?" You asked.

"Let's just go back to my place." Peter swallowed thickly. Lie. He wanted to just lay in his bed, alone. Today sucked enough.

"Oh, okay. Are you feeling alright?" You stepped back.

"Yeah, yeah. Just a little tired." Lie.

"Okay." You smiled, reassuringly, and kissed him on the cheek.

"Lead the way, cutie." He forced a smile on his face.

You flopped onto his bed, letting out of sigh of relief.

"Y'know, I've always loved your bed. So soft and comfy." You snuggled up to his pillow. It smelled good, a mixture of fresh linen and him.

"Mhm," Peter mumbled, setting his books down. He just wanted to distract himself with work.

You got up and wrapped your arms around his neck as you stood behind him.

"Whatcha workin' on?" You kissed him on the cheek.

"Trying to work on English." He shimmied out of your arms.

You knitted your brows, he never did that.

"What's wrong?" You asked.

He spun his chair around and looked at you with a blank stare.

"What?" You stepped back, "Did I do something?"

"Y/N, do you want me?"

"What? Of course I do, why else would I be with you right now?"

He chuckled dryly, "I mean, you clearly prefer to be with someone who can entertain you more than I can."

"What are you even talking about?" You raised your voice. What the hell was he going on about?

"I mean, the whole lunch you just couldn't stop laughing at whatever the fuck Harry kept saying to you."

"Are you kidding me right now, Peter?" You scoffed and crossed your arms. "You're mad because I have other friends? Who I laughed with?"

"No. I'm upset because you never smiled like that with me. What does Harry do that I can't?" He stood up out of his chair.

"Nothing! I don't know what you're even getting at!"

"I'm saying, it feels like you're bored of me. Like there's something I'm not able to give you. You didn't mutter a damn word to me all day. Not until school was over." He clenched his fists and stared at the ground. This didn't feel right, being angry at you for his own insecurities.

"Peter, how could I get bored of you? Sure, Harry's a nice guy, but I love you. You're smart, caring, I mean, you're Spider-Man for God's sakes!" You stepped towards him, closing the gap, "You're amazing."

He felt his heart hit the floor. How could he have let his own feelings get to him like that? His fists unclenched, he looked up at you. Your face, tore him apart.

He never wanted that look to ever come across your face again. That sad, puppy look.

"I-I'm sorry," Was all he could get out. He felt pathetic.

"It's okay," You shushed him and hugged him.

"I shouldn't have taken it out on you," He pulled away to look you in the eyes.

"I'm just glad you said something," You smiled, softly.

He tucked your hair behind your ear, and kissed you on the lips, lovingly. You cupped his cheeks, and stood on your tippy toes to deepen the kiss.

He smiled, and laughed against your lips.

"What?" You laughed back.

"Harry is kind of a loser, isn't he?"

"Peter!" You threw your head back in laughter as he giggled back at you.

How could you have ever gotten bored, when all you've ever wanted was right there in front of you.

Hi, I'm hoping you enjoyed my first ever tumblr story! It's obviously not the best. Critical comments are always welcome, however keep it as respectful as possible.

Reblogs, likes, comments, are very much appreciated!

[pi3tros]

INTO YOU

summary: jackson has been gone for months, and the worst thing about it was not seeing you. All he wants to do is please you and make you happy but how can he do that when the two of you are countries apart? Finally. The man was off tour and back home. And he wanted to do nothing more but to show you what you were missing for those torturing months.

pairing: idol! jackson x baker! reader established relationship, smut & fluff, reader is a bit black coded ngl

genre: romance

rating: 18+

warnings: groping, grinding, kissing, p in v sex, soft dom jackson, choking, creampie, spanking, slight degradation, little bit of food play with whip cream, hair pulling, overstimulation, daddy kink, raw sex (wrap it up guys), breeding kink, cum play, fingering, m and f receiving, reader is thick asf, size kink, both hands on the screen y’all PLS 😭, he is a freak like the dirty talk is jaw dropping, bros pwussy whipped, jackson is 8 inches 😝😝😝

Jackson drove quickly down the street, the moon out and street lights flickering on. He gripped on the steering wheel, rings digging into the expensive leather. When he said he needed to see you that was a understatement, the man was literally going insane with the thought of seeing you again. Jackson needed to breath the same air as you again, touch you, look at you.

When he got the call from his manager that the concerts have been cancelled due to the stadium having issues and he was on break for a month, he had never been happier.

Pulling into the driveway seeing your Porsche in the driveway that he had bought you for your birthday, looking through the house seeing that the living room and kitchen lights where on. He rushed out of the car grabbing his luggage, not even bothering to lock the car as he power walked to the door. With shaky hands taking out his keys, unlocking the door carefully. Rolling his suitcase onto the clean floors, leaving it by the door.

Rnb played in the background, the smell of honey and treats filling his nose. He sighed, feeling rather emotional as he took off his coat. He could hear you humming in the background as pans slapped against the marble countertops, it smelt like cookies and your vanilla perfume.

Walking inside the house, being met with your side profile as you cut up the bars of chocolate. Curls put in a ponytail and you were still in clothing rather than pajamas. Tight jeans that fit every single curve of your body, hugged the thickness of your thighs and behind. Then a new sweater that was tight as well, pastel pink and had a low cut showing your white Lacey bra that held your plump tits so well.

He felt like he could bust in his pants right there and then.

Looking up from the cutting board with wide eyes, not expecting to see your fiancé back home so soon. You weren’t complaining tho. The corners of your plush lips turned upward, smiling brightly. “Baby, missed you so much!” You sat down the knife, basically skipping towards him.

He yanked you towards him, muscular arms trapping you in a tight hug squeezing the air out of your body. His nose pressed against the side of your neck inhaling the vanilla perfume that he had missed so much. His right hand trailing down to your behind groping you as his fingers dug into the material.

“Missed you,” smooch “so,” smooch “much.” He kissed every part of your face to your neck, making you laugh from the ticklish sensation on his lips. You had him wrapped around your finger unknowingly. “You don’t even know girl,” he muttered, slamming his lips against yours. Large palm slapping against your ass making you gasp, taking the chance the slip his tongue in your mouth.

You tasted like chocolate and whipped cream, leaving him wanting more and more of your sweetness with ever gasp of your mouth. He made you dizzy, from his hands running up your body to his tongue gliding against the inside of your mouth. Stumbling backwards as his heavy weight pressed against you.

The oven dinged, you pulled your head back making him whine. Already missing the taste of your lips as you rushed towards the oven, grabbing the glove pulling out the pan, then the other. Thanks to Jackson’s wealth you had a luxurious kitchen, atleast 4 ovens for you to cook and bake freely.

Wiping the spit that trickled down his chin with his Dior shirt, following you like a puppy as he watched you press your finger against the hot sugar cookies making sure they where the right temperature. Then bending down picking them with a toothpick making a small opening for inside the cookies. Grabbing whip cream filling the cookies up.

Jackson cursed himself for having a dirty mind, waiting patiently for you to be done. Watching you as you put some of the home made whip cream in your mouth tasting it. “Don’t do that,” he said looking at you with a dazed expression.

“Do what?” You raised a eyebrow, filling your mouth up with more of the whip cream. Some of it dripping down onto your chest. He groaned shaking his head at that, growing a even harder through his sweatpants. Jackson was really trying his best to be a good man and let you finish whatever you were doing so after he could make you forget your own name. But that plan wasn’t going to last with your behavior.

His pointer finger trailed up your chest collecting the whip cream, then shoving his finger in your mouth. “Stop that.” He scolded you, feeling your tongue swirl around the tip of his fingers. At this point in time he was painfully hard, he could feel the pre cum leaning down his girth. Cock throbbing like a heartbeat. It was that bad.

“Your the one who put your finger in my mouth.” You sassed back as his finger slipped out of your mouth, earning a harsh slap on your behind. Giving him a look as you turned back towards the cookies. The counter was quite messy, all your packaging and ingredients displayed everywhere. Grabbing the plastic bags that had your bakery name on them.

Carefully putting the cookies inside humming to the summer walker song in the background. Feeling your fiancé hover on you once again, the taller man pressing into you as he watched you do what you do. Eyes not focused on the cookies tho, more on his crotch pressed in between your cheeks.

He let out a sigh, hips moving slowly as he got a tiny bit of relief from grinding against you. His large hand sliding under your sweater resting on your belly. “Jackson stop, tryna’ focus.” You whined, feeling your panties get sticky from arousal as he bucked against you. Trying to act unbothered even tho you met some of his thrusts.

“Take a break then baby,” he muttered, gently tilting your head to the side trailing wet kisses down your neck. Sucking and biting down leaving dark hickeys on some spots.

“But I have to have these done by the morning,” you let out a moan at the end feeling his hand squeeze your tit under your bra. His thumb rubbing slow circles against your nipple. He twitched against you, the sound music to his ears.

“I’ll do it for you.” He kissed your temple, turning you around in a swift motion. Grabbing the back of your thighs lifting you up easily. He gripped your thighs heading upstairs quickly, your stomach bubbling with anticipation. Opening your bedroom door that was clean as always.

He threw you on the bed, gasping as he yanked you back down by your ankles. Unzipping your jeans grabbing both sides pulling the material down your legs, undressing you himself. The man didn’t want you to lift a finger. He took off your sweater as well, hands slowly running down your side.

“Pretty,” he muttered, eyeing the matching lingerie set he got you before he left. Carefully taking off your panties, all of his movements slow and sensual. Grabbing your thighs spreading your legs. He let out a shaky sigh, thumb trailing down your cunt. Bringing his thumb to his mouth sucking on it lightly.

“So wet, all for me?” He raised a eyebrow looking at you, pressing against your clit rubbing slow and harsh circles. Your legs snapping close but he opened them back up immediately, he smiled at that. Laughing at you tauntingly as you where already dazed out from his simple movements.

“Uh-huhhhh,” you let out a yelp as he stuffed his two fingers in your hole, thick and long filling you up just right. Fingers pumping in and out harshly, his other hand keeping a strong hold on your thigh so you didn’t snap it shut once again. You felt your soul leave your body for a second, eyes rolling back as his fingers curled inside of you.

It’s been months, and you where so damn sensitive. Everything seemed 10x better since you was touch deprived, vibrator and your own fingers not doing as good as him. He had a wicked smile on his face, hand removing from your thigh pressing down onto your stomach to keep you down from bucking up. “You gotta’ stop movin’ so much babe.” He teased, keeping you in place as his finger’s relentlessly moved in and out.

Your arousal trailed down your butt to the sheets, the room loud with your moans and sound of your wet cunt. Legs shaking violently as he collected spit, spitting down onto your pussy watching it trail down. “J-jackson s-slow downnn t’ much!” You whined grabbing his wrist trying to get him to slow down, he slapped your hand away.

“Uh-uh sweetheart.” He grabbed both of your wrist with his free hand, tightly wrapping his fingers around leaning forward as your thighs rested against his. Placing your hands on the bed, he huffed curling his fingers once again. Bullying your walls, thumb working as well.

He groaned, eyeing the soaked bedsheets. “Your so wet, damn.” Watching as your hole squeezed his fingers as he pumped them inside you, taking them out replacing them with his tongue. His nose pressing into your clit, back arching as you let out loud moan that bounced against the walls.

Thighs squeezing his head as he leaned forward, your thighs pressing against your own stomach as his tongue curled pumping in and out. “Mmph!” You bit against your hand, trying to contain your moans since you were so damn loud the neighbors could probably hear. And with one last curl of his tongue you came hard, cum trailing down your fiancés chin as he licked it all up. Panting as he backed up, standing up again.

“What do you say?”

“Thank you daddy.”

“Good girl.” he gave your cunt a loud slap, untying his sweatpants taking them off. Then his shirt, then finally his boxers. His dick was leaking badly, tip angry and red. Veins extra purple. He was thick and long, curving to the right. Wrapping his hand around his dick hissing, stroking himself slowly.

“Ready?” He asked, giving your belly button a kiss as he pushed you farther down the bed, leaning down as his arms rested in each side of your head. You simply nodded, his lips pressing against your cheek as he lined himself up.

The both of you moaned as he slowly slid himself in, his eyes squeezing shut as he bottomed out. Letting out a grunt as you squeezed him dry. He fit in perfectly, he had been inside you so many times your pussy probably was shaped like him.

Leaning upward spreading your legs farther as he waited for you to adjust from the burning sensation that was painful to be honest. “J-jackson,” you whined, covering your eyes with your arm.

“Right here honey,” he ran his hand up and down your thigh, slowly sliding out then slamming back inside, hips beating against yours. You could barely think straight, his cock curving so nicely inside of you kissing your cervix each time. Mouth in a O shape as you let out the sluttiest moans.

“T-taking me so good sugar, d-doing so mmph good!” He praised, eyes focused on the way he slid in and out inside you. Your moans only hyping him up more, squeezing your waist as he pumped inside of you. Legs shutting close but he yanked them back open. It was to much, he didn’t even give you a second to recollect from your last orgasm.

“Keep these legs open baby,” he groaned loudly, hand sliding up in between your breast grabbing your neck squeezing it. Slowing down his thrusts, body flinching as he slammed into you harder and slower. Back arching further as he took the chance sliding his arm under your back lifting you up, heels digging into the bed as he thrusted into you from a whole different angle.

“O-oh my goshhhhh, w-wait!” You whined loudly, slapping his shouler as the feeling was getting overwhelming, eyes squeezing shut as he pushed his hips upward. Gripping your waist so hard it would probably leave a mark.

“Holy—baby your squeezing me so damn tight right now,” he muttered, hand moving down to your already red cheek. Slapping it harshly leaving a print, tears staining your cheeks as you let out a sob, biting onto his shoulder as he switched the position once again. Your ass in the air as he pressed your head down into the pillow.

“Gonna, fuck, put a baby inside you, stuff you full with my cum. You like that? Like the sound of that sweetheart?” He panted, arching your back as you slammed against him. Hand repeatedly slapping against the skin of your cheeks till it felt raw, grabbing your hair yanking you upward. Shoving his tongue inside of your mouth, sliding his hand down your stomach playing with your clit.

He leaned back, spreading your cheeks wide watching himself slide in and out. “Pussy to good, holy fuck.” You moaned against the pillow as he slowed down, fingers moving quickly as your legs shook. Cumming hard as it slid down his cock, he didn’t stop tho. Loud groans echoing in the room as he continued to hit it from the back so hard his hips turned pink.

“Fuckkkkkk,” he groaned, cumming inside of you. Pumping himself inside letting out a whine from how sensitive he was, panting as he slid out.

Cum dripped down in between your ass, but he was quick to collect it with two fingers. Stuffing it right back inside. “Can’t let anything go to waste sweetheart.”

[sarahowritesostucky]

This is only marked with community lables: mature because it was posted back in the days when that staff troll was harassing me, flagging all my gen posts as explicit just to be an asshole.

📖It Started with Helga the Lunch Lady

Rated T

Pairing: Bucky x Steve

Tags: Dom/sub au, sub Steve, subdrop, humor, Sam Wilson is a good bro

Summary: After a slight collapse at work, Steve is forced to admit his status as a high needs submissive.

"So."

"So."

"SO, I'm gonna assume you lied on your paperwork," Sam says, asking and yet somehow stating at the same time. He's looking at Steve from across the shiny top of the conference table with his big googly eyes - his "don't bullshit me" eyes - and Steve's plans to lie through his teeth dissolve into dust and float away.

"Yeah," he mumbles, unhappy about having to fess up. But it's pretty obvious at this point, since he's just come from the mess - where he'd collapsed.

All the lunch lady had to do was tell him a little too authoritatively that she wanted to see him "be a good boy and clean [his] plate today," and the next thing Steve knows, Sam's scraping him off the floor and walking him to the nearest vacant room, dumping him into a conference chair and complaining about how heavy he is.

"It's not a problem," Steve hurries to say, though his speech is still noticeably clumsy from the lunchroom incident.

Sam scowls. "Rogers, just, I mean - well look at yourself!"

What used to be a tuna sandwich is smeared down the front of Steve's shirt and the crotch of his pants, like damning evidence, a metaphor for his shitty and unfulfilling dating life. Steve frowns down at it, feeling miserable. "I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I did. Lie."

"Uh-huh."

"I didn't think I'd get the job if I- "

"YOU wrote down that you were a one," Sam interrupts harshly. "That's what you said when I interviewed your ass." He folds his arms across his chest, eyes flicking up and down disdainfully at Steve's ruined clothes. "And over my dead Titi's grave are you a one. So, what level are you?"

Steve winces. "It's really not that big of a d- "

"What. level?"

Steve's shoulders slump and he glumly admits, "... six."

Sam jerks away from the table with a 'what the fucking hell!' gesture.

"I'm sorry! okay?"

"What the fucking hell, Rogers?"

"I know, I know."

"You could get in big trouble for this, Steve!" Sam jabs a finger in his direction, then turns it on himself. "Hell, I'm gonna get in trouble."

"Nobody's gonna get in trouble," Steve insists, some of his fire coming back at the idea of everybody at his work knowing. "Cause you're not gonna tell anybody. Sam? Sam!"

"Shut up." Sam's not even looking at him. He's pulled his phone out, is looking something up, muttering under his breath about how he's sick and tired of dealing with 'too many goddamn cocky dumbass Army grunt jarheads' until he finds what it is he's been searching for. He taps on the screen and puts the phone to his ear, pointing at Steve with big, wide, angry googly eyes when he sees Steve's mouth open to argue again. "Ah! Not a word."

Steve can only sit there helplessly as he hears Sam's call being picked up, and then he has to suffer through the small torture of not interrupting while his manager has a clipped conversation with somebody on the other end of the line about his "high needs employee."

"Sam," he tries again, once Sam's hung up from the call. "I don't need that, seriously,"

"No, you do, seriously," Sam says tersely, glaring across the table for another second before his angry expression gives way to that of a worried friend. He sighs and stands up, rounding the table to stand next to Steve. "Look, man, I get it. You don't want to tell people, that's your business. But you can't go without getting dropped. Not for however long I know your stubborn ass's probably gone. Falling apart just cause Hilda looks at you sideways?"

"... it's Helga," Steve mumbles. "And hey, you don't know: she can be really intimidating." It's a weak argument that holds up about as well as Steve had, back in the mess. Sam doesn't even dignify it with an answer. "What're you gonna do?" Steve worries.

Sam puts a hand on his shoulder. He pats him. "Nothing, if you take care of yourself." He removes the hand and heads for the door just behind and to Steve's left. "I'll text you the place. You're off on personal leave the rest of this week- "

"Sam!" Steve starts to twist around towards the door but Sam's already out in the hallway.

"You've got that, plus the weekend to handle it. And I'll know if you lie about going!"

Steve turns back around, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he clenches his teeth. A moment later, there's a 'buzz' against his leg. He maneuvers past a glob of mayonnaise to pull his phone out of his pocket. As promised, there's one new text.

[11:59 AM] Sam Wilson (VA job):

"Safe Haven Respite Services, LLC"

1472 Halifax St., Ste. C.

--ask for "Bucky" (and don't be an ass!)

Steve purses his lips, knowing that he's going to have to do it if he wants to keep his job. Feeling both tired and grumpy, he lets his hands fall into his lap and scowls down at the phone.

What the hell kind of simp-ass Dom even calls themself something stupid like "Bucky," anyway?

Masterlist

If you liked what you read and feel so inclined, please consider dropping a tip in the Kofi🍵 cup. It's a big part of what allows me to take time to write. Thanks!

[mybiasisexo]

Entangled - Part 7 Snippet

I feel soooo bad for the delayed update 😭. I want the next chapter out as much as y’all do, but this chapter is hard bro 😭. I’ve literally rewritten it like 6 times and even still I’m not satisfied with it 😪. So, here is a little treat!! Will this be in the final cut?? Shoot, idk tbh 🤷🏾‍♀️. But alas, for your patience ✊🏾😔. Appreciate y’all real bad!!! 💕💕💕

“Are you just going to stand there?” He asks. It takes you out of your hyperfocused stare and you blink up at him, catching the way he grins. He must know what he’s doing.

You clear your throat and start taking off your heels before walking over to him. He remains standing stalk still, his breaths controlled as you slowly prowl over to him.

You watch the way his irises blow out, darkening in a way you haven’t seen in years, but know all too well. When you’re about a foot away, you abruptly turn and sit on the edge of his bed.

He takes a deep grounding breath, running a hand over his face as he lets out a tortured groan before falling onto the chair holding his jacket.

A silence falls over you, but it’s not awkward like it had been in the elevator. If anything, it’s heavy with the weight of your attraction you both have for each other. That attraction is somber though, with the pain you both carry as well. With him so near after so long, the pain in your chest feels ten times heavier. You aren’t sure if you’re going to burst into tears, or maul him–you’re sure either option would lead you to regret. So instead, you stare at your lap, where your hands knot almost painfully into each other. He’s not making matters worse. If anything, you’re getting more self conscious with the way you can feel his heavy gaze. You find it a bit exasperating.

“Can you stop that?”

“Stop what?” He asks in confusion. The way his voice has deepened doesn’t pass you.

“Staring,” you clarify, lifting your gaze up to him. Once your eyes lock, he turns away shyly.

“I can’t help it,” he reveals quietly. “I just… can’t believe you’re really here. That….” He pulls gently on his earlobe, face turning pink. “That you’re in my hotel room. I feel like I’ll blink and you’ll be gone.”

He sounds so sweet, so sincere, so…heartbroken. That constant push and pull you’ve been feeling towards him this past few days hit you simultaneously. Part of you wants to dismiss him and try to deflect, but another part–that’s a lot bigger than you’d be honest about–wants to fall into his arms. You’re reminded again of last night, of how close you were to giving into him completely. If it hadn’t been for Yerim….

No, no. You can’t go there right now, not with you alone with him in such small quarters.

Time to change the subject.

“Why did you invite me here?” You ask.

“I wanted to apologize,” he reveals.

“For what?”

“There’s a lot to apologize for, I’m sure,” he begins, sinking more into his chair and leaning his head back so that he can stare up at the ceiling. “But I think the biggest thing right now is for last night.”

“You remember?” You ask skeptically. He was really drunk and, well, a lot happened in a short amount of time. A lot that you both need to unpack to be able to do…whatever it is you’re trying to do. You aren’t really sure. Closure, definitely. But what after that? You guess you’d just cross that bridge when you got to it.

“Trust me, the boys refused to let me forget,” he grumbles. That brings out your first grin since the wedding. They really are Team You, and are incredibly insufferable with it. You can only imagine the things Sehun said to him. Damn, maybe you should apologize as well.

“I don’t remember everything,” he says. “But they let me know how I made a complete fool of myself. That I…that I kissed you?”

The tips of his yoda ears turn an endearing shade of red, letting you know that he does indeed feel embarrassed over what the others told him he did. You wonder if he knows what he said to you. How he was practically begging you to take him back.

“You did,” you confirm.

[bnha-dumpster]

Hear me out

Step-brother Shigaraki shoving a vibe in (male) reader during a dinner and Shigaraki is controlling the vibrator and then after dinner Shigaraki fucks the life out of Reader

i was gonna work on monster stuff but this is just *chef's kiss* i think i'm going down the road of a pseudo-incest kink whoops and laughs at myself as i add plot for no reason (also gives you guys a visual reference of the toy in the fic)

pairing: step-brother shigaraki x male reader content tags/warnings: dub-con, pseudo-incest, mild exhibitionism, choking, sex toys, degradation, mind break word count: 2.1k

Things around the household have changed drastically since your mother remarried. You love your mother and want her to be happy, but you feel that things have changed far too fast and far too much.

You had been told that your step-father wanted you to move in with him for two reasons. One; you don't have a job since you're attending university full-time and two; his house is pretty close to your university. You've seen his house from the outside and you can't deny the thought of living in such a large house is pleasant. It's a good deal. But if you had been told that your step-father has a shut-in son that lives with him before moving in, you might've reconsidered it.

Shigaraki is rude and has zero social skills. While you don't actually mind people that don't have social skills- it's often times not their fault- there's something about your step-brother that just unnerves you. You see him and alarm bells go off in your mind.

He likes to catch you off guard. Coming into your room to watch you, pinning you to surfaces, groping you, watching you shower- there's something really wrong with him.

"Tomu-"

You're trying to walk downstairs to go eat dinner with your mother and step-father. Trying, being the keyword. Shigaraki has you pinned to the wall once again. One of his hands is able to completely hold both your wrists- he's not even that much bigger than you! He's using his free hand to tug your sweatpants down to your knees. The pinning isn't exactly new, but he's never actually pulled your clothes off.

"I bought something for you. It's a little present for having such a cute brother." His voice makes you shudder, but the item he holds up next to your face makes you tense up. It's a brand new, probably expensive, sex toy.

"Tomura- hey- let's not-" You squirm and shake your head.

"Don't cause a fuss. Just let me do this, 'kay?"

The lube on the toy is your only saving grace as he nudges your legs apart with his knee and tries to put it on you. It doesn't work very well, the lubed up toy sliding against your limp cock a few times before Shigaraki growls lowly.

"I'm taking my hand off and I expect you to stay still." True to his word, the hand on your wrists disappears. If this were the first time he tried to do something like this, then you might've run away. But you've unfortunately learned through experience that your step-brother is far stronger than he seems. It's only because of your knowledge do you stay.

His hand is cold and calloused, an uncomfortable feeling against your skin. You grimace as he grabs your cock to slip the ring over it, making sure it’s snug against the base before he pushes the vibrating part of the toy into you. It doesn’t actually seem that bad until he turns the toy on. 

“Shit-” You’re not oblivious to the toy’s function but you didn’t expect it to be so snug against that spot inside you. Shigaraki grabs you before your legs buckle, laughing at your state. 

“Wow, you’re that sensitive?” He’s taunting you, making fun of you. “Is my little brother just a slut in disguise?” 

Your pants are pulled up and a small slap is given to your ass. It brings a small yelp out of you, making you turn around to glare at him. He doesn’t seemed fazed by it. Instead, it spurs him on and you can feel him grind against your ass. Even through the fabric of both of your sweatpants, you can feel how hot and heavy his cock is. You can tell it’s thick and that’s barely hard. 

A sliver of arousal makes itself known with a twitch of your cock. The realization makes you stand up straight and shove your step-brother away, adjusting your clothes to hide the erection beginning to strain underneath your pants. 

It’s difficult to sit down at the dinner table and act normal. You give your mother a small smile as you squirm in your seat for a moment. The toy’s low vibration stimulating every part of you- the base of your cock being teased, vibrations going through your balls and taint, the dildo pressing snugly against your prostate- and it’s difficult to hold your composure. 

“Are you okay, dear?” Your mother is looking at you with concern.

“O-oh, I’m alright, mom.” You force another smile.

“Go lay down after dinner, okay?” 

You give a small nod before you start eating, not waiting for your step-brother to sit down. He’s probably snickering to himself and thinking of what he should do. The sudden increase of vibrations of the toy surprises you and you choke on a piece of food. 

“Honey?” 

“Don’t worry, he’s just a little out of it, right lil bro?” A large hand comes to rest on your shoulder. As you turn to look over your shoulder, Shigaraki stares down at you with a small smirk. You can see the small remote in his hand and you almost want to reach out and grab it. But that’d cause a scene- the last thing you want at the dinner table.

He slides into his seat, not bothering to eat. All he’s doing is staring at you and analyzing your reactions as he plays with the remote in his pocket. 

“Yeah, j-just a little bit out of it.” You try your best to keep yourself together. Eating your dinner as fast as possible is your goal, hoping that this torture is only for the sake of humiliating you in front of your mother. 

The vibrations of the toy change rapidly. It seems like Shigaraki’s just cycling through them for the first time, gauging your reactions as he does so. He’s trying to find the best setting for you right now, surely. The one that does you in is the low and slow pulsing of the toy. 

He’s learning so much about you. You’re smart enough not to fight him physically but still have the guts to snap at him with your words. You prefer to be teased with a lack of stimulation rather than overstimulation. You won’t tell your mother about anything he does so she’ll stay happy. The best part... You’re easy to read.

Now that it’s been a few minutes of dealing with the toy, you’re settling down. It’s still uncomfortable, the low stimulation keeping your cock hard, but you’re able to eat your dinner for the most part. You’re eating quicker than normal just so this can end. 

“Thanks for dinner, mom.” As you stand from the table, Shigaraki cycles through the toy quickly to put the vibrations at its most intense setting. You curl in on yourself and groan, facing contorting. 

“Dear?” 

You give her a reassuring smile despite the heat pooling in your stomach. As much as you want to leave the table, you’re not sure you can do it yourself. It seems to be part of your step-brother’s plan. He puts his arm under yours, holding you up to help you shuffle back upstairs.

“I’ll make sure he’s alright, don’t worry.” 

They can’t see it, but you’re glaring at him as he helps you up. With him being the only reason you’re still standing however, that’s all you can manage to do. You hold onto his torso as he takes you up the stairs and opens the door of your room. 

“You’re close, huh? You were about to cum in front of our parents, weren’t you?” Shigaraki throws you onto the floor of your room with a thud, using his foot to turn you onto your back. He stares down at you and steps on your cock, moving it back and forth. 

“Alright little bro, cum for me.” 

With a particularly large amount of pressure, almost painful, you tense and spurt ropes of cum inside your pants. A stain begins to seep into the fabric and Shigaraki looks down at you with a sneer. You’re squirming under his foot, the toy still vibrating aggressively inside you and around the base of your cock. 

He picks you up by the hair and drags you to your bed, manhandling you so your face is against the comforter and your ass is in the air. He doesn’t even bother turning the toy off as he takes it out of you and slides your cock out of the ring. Your ass clenches around the air pathetically, teasing Shigaraki. Even with something inside you, stretching you out, your ass still looks tight and almost untouched. The only thing eluding to its use is the lube smeared around it. 

You’re given no warning when your step-brother grabs your hips and slams his cock inside you. When did he take it out? You don’t know.

“Shiiiiiit- Do you know how tight you are?” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond. Shigaraki begins to fuck you with abandon, thrusting into you with no care for your comfort. The stretch of his cock, how it reaches almost too deep inside you- it’s horribly uncomfortable. There’s a tinge of pleasure from the stretch of his cock pressing against your prostate almost constantly, but not much else. 

His balls slap against your ass with every heavy thrust and the grip on your hips is bruising. You can feel his nails digging into the skin and you’re sure they’ll leave marks. He’s leaving reminders of this.

A hand leaves your hip to hold your limp cock, pumping it aggressively. The sudden stimulation is painful and you squirm. 

“Now, now, little bro. Be a good slut for me and let me play with you.” Shigaraki sneers at the way you stop squirming at his words. “There... See, you’re a pathetic little slut for your big bro, aren’t you?” 

You refuse to answer, only burying your face into the sheets to hide your humiliated tears. It’s not like it matters. He continues to pump your cock at a fast pace, enjoying the way your walls twitch and tighten because of it. Even if you’re not feeling anything, he is. Your pleasure is more of an afterthought, a bonus. Then your cock begins to twitch back to life. 

“Seriously? You’re feeling good?” Shigaraki leans against you, biting your ear. “Getting off from your step bro treating you like a whore and fucking you? You really must be one if you like this.”

“I’m not!” You protest, turning to look at him. Tears are falling down your face, cheeks red from the embarrassment. “It’s your fault! You’re forcing my body to feel like this!”

Both of you know it’s a lie. You’re definitely enjoying it. As cute as your denial is to your step-brother, he isn’t in the mood for you being like this the whole time. He wants to have to shut you up so your parents won’t hear you begging for his cock. 

With a bit of reluctance, he pulls out of you. You’re allowed a brief moment of confusion as he decides how he wants to position you. Once he decides, he flips you onto your back and hikes your legs over his shoulders. In this position, he rubs your cocks together. His is undeniably thicker than yours, but your length isn’t too drastically different. There’s only a few seconds of rutting them together before he lines his cock up with your ass and slams back in.

Much to his surprise and amusement, you let out a confused moan. The new position must feel good. Your face contorting into pleasure with a mix of self-disgust is beautiful to him.

“Little bro, come on. Just let yourself feel good.” His thrusts slow and he reaches for your neck. The grip on your throat is intense and you can feel yourself becoming lightheaded almost instantly. It’s an intense feeling that mixes with pleasure, clouding your senses. 

Maybe it’s the lack of oxygen or just you giving up, but you begin to buck your hips against Shigaraki’s. Your jaw goes slack and your mouth is open, eyes rolling back into your head. The choking keeps you from making much noise so all you can let out are strangled groans. 

“Finally. Let yourself go. Become my whore, my pathetic cumdump of a little brother. Just be my personal cock sleeve, yeah?” 

The words go in one ear and out the other and you let out a string of agreements. Your back arches, cock twitching and covering your stomach in your own cum. It’s the sudden tightness around him that pushes Shigaraki over the edge. He stills inside you as deep as he can and cums, filling your ass. As he comes down from his high, he lets go of your throat. 

“Good boy.” He smacks your face gently and chuckles at your lack of response. “Gone already? Come on, we’ve barely started.”

[allisonlol]

Yo, so like kinda weird but can I request smell hcs for the hunting dogs please

a/n: nah cuz this is actually a cute idea?? plus it's quick for me to write...i like it. maybe i'll do it for the ada / port mafia if anyone wants, lmk

Tecchou

cherry blossom. do i need to elaborate??

always has a sweet and lightly floral scent. it's very feminine but damn is it good

^it suits how pretty he is 😚

doesn't even have to use any colognes or body sprays. literally just naturally smells like that

even jouno doesn't mind how he smells because it's THAT good (he'll never admit it tho)

however after tecchou's done cooking his weird concoctions he tends to smell like all the random spices and ingredients he used

Jouno

so of course he ALWAYS smells amazing

but it's not overwhelming. more like a faint clean linen smell <3

like laundry detergent?? idk but it's nice and only really noticeable when he walks past someone

not a fan of colognes because it's too strong for his senses and gives him a headache

not that he has a need for that stuff anyways 🙄

literally just always faintly smells like fresh laundry,,,not much else for me to say here 🧺

Fukuchi

the hater side of me wants to say he would smell like a mixture of sewage & beer but...

for the sake of this post i'll be somewhat nice ig 😐

ok so. y'all know those axe bodysprays?

yea. he literally douses himself with that every morning before work, AND throughout the day

poor jouno always feels nauseated around him because the smell is so strong

it's not necessarily bad...but it's very um. overwhelming 😁

you walk into his office and there's literally a heavy fog of it in the air??

Teruko

i love her sm bro. the dictionary definition of a girlboss right here

usually smells very sweet, like a sugar cookie? she really loves vanilla and caramel scents

why do i also feel like she owns all the ariana grande perfumes and rotates which one she uses depending on the day?? (maybe cuz i do this)

she'd rather die than smell bad so she's another one who douses themselves in body sprays

except for after she's done torturing people. then she smells metallic, like blood (which isn't necessarily bad)

^no wonder jouno's in a permanent bad mood. mans probably has a constant headache from all this

Tachihara

my bf <3

i just KNOW he smells really good

probably like one of those pumpkin spice candles 😋

^i can't explain my logic for this one y'all just gotta trust me

or he'd definitely have a kind of woodsy / outdoorsy smell??

similar to those old spice soaps

another one who's paranoid about smelling bad so he carries those lil travel size cologne bottles

after missions he tends to smell like a mixture of gunpowder and blood tho,,,ngl it kinda reminds you of a hardware store?? 💀

taglist: @deadmitochondria @miycutie @xelia25 @scul-pted @exorcisedstraydog @chuuyasboots @shy-socially-awkward-intovert @beandaifuku @ravenina14 @sonder-paradise @imhanako @dreaming-of-ambedo @nervousyetconfidentway @beautiful-is-boring

[spacieboi]

𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐏𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞

𝙏𝙮𝙥𝙚. 𝖲𝗆𝗎𝗍

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜. 𝖧𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗍𝖺 𝖲𝗁𝗈𝗒𝗈 𝗑 𝖥𝖾𝗆 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩. 2.3𝗄

"One more" you call as you pick up the ball and began to serve it back to Hinata.

You and Shoyo had been going at it for almost an hour.

It began with Suga setting for you and you spiking to help Hinata with his blocking.

But Suga had to leave within the first ten minutes. Now it was just you two and damn was it getting to him.

The boy wasn't only overwhelmed by the nonstop workout but your uncontainable beauty.

His eyes watched your curves as you darted around the court. Your breast bouncing along with you as you jumped. Your sweat covered face, the heavy breathing, the half lidded eyes had him fantasizing that you two were somewhere else.

He felt bad about picking you apart like this but the heat in his pants was the only thing he could think about.

He was so hard that it was physically painful and having to watch you for twenty minutes more was straight torture.

You didn't seem to notice however. You were just happy that you even got to play with Hinata after your last planned practices got canceled.

As expected your stamina was depleting as you reached your fifty three minute mark.

"Damn, lets take a break" you look up at him in the eyes for what seems like the first time in the past thirty minutes.

You grab your water bottle and sit in the door frame outside letting the chilly evening air cool you down.

Hinata joined you soon after and seemed to be a bit nervous.

"You good, bro?" You query.

"Yeah just tired." He says taking a sip of his water and turning his face away from you.

"That's the first" you chuckle. You adjust yourself and now your thigh was pressing against his.

He chocked down a moan as the thought of you riding him crossed his mind. Those beautiful thick thighs squeezing his together. Your plump ass moving up and down on him. Your breath hitched and shaking desperate to get off on him.

Your moans filling up the area of the gym as your nails dug into his shoulders for dear life.

"It is getting late, maybe we should call it a night?" Your voice awoke him from his day dream.

"S-sure" his length was aching at this point.

You smile as you walk back inside to grab your duffle bag and took it with you to the locker room to change.

"Wish I had packed some pants" you mumbled to yourself, referring to the now freezing weather.

He remembered that the only thing you wore today was a mini skirt. Just bending down left very little imagination to the witness.

You left the gym leaving him a mess. What should he do? If he jacked off you would probably be back before he finished. He would also feel bad if he left leaving you to walk home by yourself. So he just had to fight through it.

Thirty minutes. That's the least that he had to go through and he could finally relax.

"Alright Sho. Thanks so much for staying with me tonight" you said as you walked over to the bleachers to pick up your school bag.

"Ss-sure" He said still fighting the urge to bend you over the bleachers that second.

You caught the shakiness in his voice and turned around.

"Shoyo, you ok? You're sweating really hard. I know we were just practicing but you should be cooled off by now." You placed a hand on his forehead and held on to his right arm for support.

"Y-yeah don't worry about it" he pulls away from you and tries to walk away.

"No sit down you feel really warm" you grab his arm and pull him down to sit on the bleachers.

He was moments away from breaking. You were prolonging his time to get home and he couldn't wait forever.

You go to grab his water and as you bend down to offer it to him your hand rests on his thigh.

Shoyo shutters as you were really close to his raging area.

"Are you ok did I hurt you." Of course you noticed and looked down at what your hand was touching.

Then you realized. Shoyo instantly turns red -redder than he already was- and immediately looked away from you.

"I-I'm sorry! "you jump away from him freaking out.

"I did that didn't I?" Shoyo stayed silent still looking away from you. His hand covering his face.

"I can help you if you want." You offered. You then make a sour face at the suggestion you just blurted out.

His eyes squeezed closed at you words. You immediately start to freak out thinking that he probably thinks you’re creepy asking for such a thing out of the blue.

"I don't want to make anything weird between us." He muttered still not looking at you. You blink at his statement. Was he actually considering it? Or perhaps he already had the idea in mind.

"It won't" you ensured. He finally glances up at you and shrugs. He wasn't sure why you were so set on helping him but hey he wasn't complaining.

You get on your knees in front of him.

"If you want me to stop just let me know" you began pulling down his pants and boxers. His dick sprang out causing him to inhale. Half at the pleasure but also at the nervousness of you seeing him like this.

Horny and thirsty all for you. He felt dirty and perverted but god he couldn't help it. You were so hot but he knew that it would never be a good excuse to act this way.

You lock eyes with him as his dick disappears between your lips.

His eyes shut and hands gripped to the metal seat. You even felt him slightly buck forward causing the tip to hit the back of your throat.

One of your hands placed on his thigh as the other went to town going up and down on his cock.

"Y/n~" his voice airy as your pumps pulled strings of moans from him.

The sight was beautiful. You couldn't help but get off yourself. You curl your own fingers into your cunt fingering your self to his euphoria.

Moans from your throat vibrated adding to the pleasure.

"Fuck Y/n"

Tears prick your eyes as you were coming closer to your high with every moan and each thrust he pushed into you.

You went deeper taking all of him in now. Your hips involuntarily grinded against the gym floor.

Lewd noise of you slobbering over his dick came to his ears and threw him over the edge.

"Ugh~" his head fell back as his body began to twitch. The creamy fluid flooded your mouth some dribbling out past the sides of your lips while the rest you swallowed.

"Y/n.." his hands reached down to cup your face. His thumb wiped the cum off the conners of your mouth and pushed it back onto your tongue.

He then closed the gap between you two, locking your lips with his.

You and your walls craved his touch as your wetness seeped through your underwear and down your legs. You remove them and threw them towards your bag.

"Shoyo~" you breathed in between kisses. Without breaking contact, you rose yourself to straddle his hips and lined yourself with his cock.

He looked at you and then down at your current position.

"Hey are you sure? I don't want to risk anything" Hinata spoke his breathing still staggered. His hands move down to caress your waist.

"We can get something from the drug store on our way out." You mumbled on his lips as your arms wrapped around his neck pulling him in closer to you.

He bites his lip still hesitant with going through with it. God he wanted it so bad, there was nothing more he wanted in this moment than to fuck you.

But he couldn't do that to you. Risk getting you pregnant for a quick fuck. He couldn't bring himself to do it. That is until.

"Please..." your eyes piercing into his as your foreheads pressed against each other.

Teasingly you lower your hips just grazing over the tip. You let out a whimper at the feeling of it against your clit.

His mind is clouded by you overflowing his senses. The sweet scent of your perfume, your body pressing against his just like he had always dreamed about.

You were so needy for him that he almost forgot he was the one who had initiated this moment.

But the truth is you wanted this just as bad as he did, if not more.

Sugawara could attest to that. In fact, he was so frustrated with you two running around each other's feelings that you could say he set this whole thing up. Of course he didn't know it would go this far but that's just a bonus.

Hinata gripped your thighs as he lowered you onto him.

"Fuck!" You spat as his dick stretched you out.

He looks at you, concern written in his eyes. "Are you o-"

"Fuck me~" your outburst catching you both off guard but he complained as he raised his hips to meet yours as you push yourself down.

"Yes~!" Your eyes already dazed as he continued to pump into you. Hinata looked at you with adoring eyes.

The beauty of your half lidded eyes trying their best to look at him. Your mouth hung open trying your best to breath.

Loud moans escaping your lips to the feeling of his length hitting you in all the right places.

Whines left his mouth as well. Your walls clenching around him seemed like something you'd only experience in a fairytale.

Just one thrust into you, thats all it took and now he's addicted. To you or the feeling he couldn't tell but he was too distracted to care.

"So...good...you feel" the poor boy couldn't even form a coherent sentence.

You smile at him and smush his face in between you fingers.

"You make me feel so good Shoyo. Fuck~" you buckle down on his hips and grind on him harder and faster.

"Ahh~" you watch as the blood rushes to his face. The pretty tint in his cheeks made the whole scene perfect.

The sound of your bodies being forced together and panting filled the silent gym.

His moans became more frequent and his eyes glued shut. Hands beginning to tremble as they met your face.

"Y/n, I'm cumming...oh god!"

"Come In me, please"

"Ah, b-but~"

"Just do it!" You increased your pace leaving him no choice but to cum that second.

A loud moan spilled from his mouth as you felt the familiar liquid fill you up.

"So good.." you were close to your orgasm as well.

"Hmm~" you chased after your release despite him being over stimulated.

"Fuck...fuck...ah, Shoyo~" you cursed as your legs spasm around his. Your face buried in his shoulder as you released. Arms wrapped around you as he pumped small desperate thrust into you to help you through your high.

Your juices and his cum mixed as they poured out of you and down his dick.

He held you close as you two steadied your breathing.

"Hmm" he still shook as you slightly moved on his flaccid sensitive cock that was deep inside you.

You pepper small kisses across his face and rub his chest gently.

"I'm glad I could make you feel better, Sho" you cupped his face as you gave him a kiss.

He seemed unresponsive, presumably still processing what just happened. But you were happy to shower him in kisses and hold him until he calmed down.

He let his chin fall on your shoulder as he pulled you closer to him if that was even possible.

"I...am too. Thank you." You heard him say rubbing circles on your thighs.

"Can we just stay like this for a minute" he asked.

"Yeah" And so you two did.

𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐮𝐬:

Hinata and you walked to the gym together the next morning. The two of you had talked things out and agreed to give a relationship a shot.

As you got to the door, you were stopped by Sugawara.

"Hold it. Hinata fifty laps around the school. You too Y/n also you're banned from the club."

"What!?" You both shriek.

"But only for a week because I love you." He added.

"Why? What did we do?"

"Does last night in the gym ring a bell?" Dachi came into view arms crossed.

You looked down now embarrassed that they had found out. How?

"You two were having so much fun I guess you didn't see me come back to grab my shoes" Suga teases with a giant smile on his face.

"But-"

"I'm glad you two are finally together but damn, get a room"

"I thought that it was so obvious that it didn't need to be said but it seems that's not the case. No sexual intercourse on the volleyball court, God" Dachi lectures.

"Ayo, they did what now!?" Tanaka pushes past the two boys trying to get in on the tea.

"None of your business, Tanaka" Daichi sighs.

"Yooo Hinata, get it little dude." Hinata's face turns red as he mutters a "thank you?"

"Don't encourage them" Daichi scolds.

Tanaka rolls his eyes, "oh come on, as if you and Suga hadn't done it before."

The two immediately shut up completely dumbfounded.

"Lord knows I've heard it. Way to ruin an innocent first year." Noya adds passing by.

"That's it, Noya, Tanaka, one hundred n' twenty laps"

"What?! How come we get more?" Tanaka whines followed by Noya.

"Shit, I didn't even do anything"

"That's for pissing me off, now get to steppin"

[noteguk]

bro bad influence! jk and reader are 100% the type of couple to argue mid-sex i love this culture

They are!!!!

Taglist: @ft-multi @cryinginmypromdress @kooafraid @kissestothesky @dianaaviny @ggukkieland

[ ! ] this drabble is for “bad influence” — it can, however, be read as a standalone. 

— words; 1.8k

— contents and warnings; hmmm smut, semi-public sex, oral (m rec and mention of f rec), unprotected sex, dirty talk, mention of cum play, playfully “arguing” mid-sex, the endless adventures of bad boy!jk x good girl! reader

~

“I can’t believe you, Jungkook,” your voice came out as an irritated murmur against the warm skin of his neck, barely interrupted by a soft whimper. “We’re gonna be late for class.”

His hand grew tighter around your thigh, pushing your leg higher up. Jungkook was buried deep between your folds, filling you up in every way that you loved, and yet you were a bit too paranoid to fully dive into those sensations. “Hmmm don’t care,” he groaned, the slaps of his skin against yours filling that small cabinet in a rhythmic symphony. Twice already, a broom had fallen on top of you, knocking you right on the forehead, and so you refused to let it go. That entire scene was ridiculous. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he moaned. 

You rolled your eyes, amazed at how he managed to ignore everything else but the feeling of your walls clenching around him. The fact that you two were having a quickie in the janitor’s closet, exactly fifteen minutes before your most important class, was bad enough as it was. Your escapade was far from heavenly, with the stiff air impregnated by the nauseating aroma of a hundred different chemical products, the annoyingly flickering lightbulb over you, and, as stated, the paraphernalia that was knocked over every time Jungkook’s thrusts got a little too rough. 

“God, why are you like this?” you complained. 

He hummed, his fingers digging into your flesh. You could tell that Jungkook was starting to lose himself in you, for the roll of his hips started to get slower, less coordinated, as they always did when he was trying to prolong his pleasure. “Like what?” He breathed out.

You leaned your head back against the wall, looking at those devilish eyes of his. Jungkook’s hair was a mess, exploding around his head like a failed scientific experiment, and you knew that one look was all it took to know that it was sex hair. “Why do you always have to pick the worst time to do this stuff?” you clarified. 

He scoffed. “Excuse me, princess, I think it was you who locked us in here,” he said. He wasn’t wrong, but, to be fair, you weren’t expecting that your make-out session would escalate to that. Then again, you were often naive when it came to his antics. “Now stay quiet or people are going to hear you.”

“Fuck off,” you whispered — whispered, because he was right. You had been controlling your moans and whimpers fairly well, but your normal speaking voice wasn’t a good idea either. There was no way to lock the room from the inside, and anyone could open that door at any given second. 

Jungkook smirked like he knew what you were thinking about — that fucked-out, greek god smirk that had your knees weak for a second. His face was bathed by the golden light from the bulb, dripping in shadows and lustful gazes. “Wrong answer,” he teased. “You were supposed to say ‘Oh, Jungkook, I can’t keep quiet when you’re fucking me so well’.”

As if to prove his claim, Jungkook placed his face on the crook of your neck and pressed himself even deeper inside you. The feeling of his cock stretching you open was intoxicating, and the timid moan you let out was enough to make him throb inside you, gasping against the sweet scent of your hair. 

Still, you wouldn’t bulge. “Gooood, shut up, please,” you whined, interlacing your fingers in his hair. There was a thin layer of sweat on his nape, the expected result from fucking in a hot, closed-off enviroment. “Are you close?”

“Yeah, almost there,” he moaned, picking his pace back up. You had to bite your lip to suppress a particularly loud moan after one of his hands slithered up your abdomen and grabbed your clothed breast, playing with it as he continued to seek his own high. His other hand still had its iron grip on your thigh, keeping your leg up as he continued to pound himself in and out of your wet heat. “Fuck, I love these skirts you wear. Easy access.” 

“You’re such a caveman,” you said. Jungkook was breathing heavy against your ear, fighting for air as he mumbled sweet nothings just for you. You were almost overtaken by him — the pounding of his cock inside your pussy, his delicious moans and curses, the praises that he threw your way for being so good for him. Almost. “Don’t cum inside.”

Jungkook visibly tensed up at your request. You could tell that some part of his primitive brain was thinking of repeating one of his past endeavours — one that he came inside you, and made you walk around campus with his cum in you for the rest of the day. It was really hard to keep an upper hand when Jungkook was always knowingly smirking at you from across the room, loving the way that only the two of you knew of that little nasty secret. 

(Miraculously, it was one of the few times that he didn’t feel slightly jealous when he saw you talking to other guys, but you didn’t have to know that). 

Still, you weren't wearing pants that day, so the whole ordeal wouldn’t be so easy to hide. 

A small whimper left his throat as he leaned forward, placing a wet kiss against your lips. You were looking at him with those big, doll-like eyes of yours, and he couldn’t refuse your request even if he wanted to fill you up so bad. “Awn, you’re so mean,” he whined, forehead touching yours. Every shove of his cock inside you had you bouncing up and down against the wall, that stupid broom threatening to tilt once again. “Can I cum in your mouth, baby?”

You hummed, trying to torture him with a fake thinking session. “Don’t know…” You hesitated. Jungkook cursed against your shoulder, his cock throbbing inside you once again. “Do you have gum?”

“Jesus, woman,” he complained, almost choking on his own pleasure. “Yeah, I have gum. Can I do it?”

You smiled. “Suit yourself.” You had to use all the force inside you to place your hands on his shoulders and push him away. Jungkook almost sobbed when he pulled himself out of your heat, his cock glistening with your wetness, swollen and reddened. “And cum quickly or I’ll kill you.” 

You got to your knees before Jungkook had the chance to respond, your hand wrapping around his base and pumping him tentatively. He bucked his hips towards you, hissing at the sensitivity. “Listen, I’m really fucking close,” he told you, “and I don’t think you’d fancy a facial right now, so stop with that teasing.” 

You chuckled at his comment, fumbling closer to him. “You know me too well.” 

With that, you wrapped your lips around his tip, sinking his member inside your mouth until it almost reached your throat. Jungkook cried out in delight, louder than he had the entire time, and you were sure any passing strangers had heard him. 

Yet your paranoia was forgotten when he started talking. 

“Fuck, that’s it,” he moaned, placing his hand on the back of your head and tugging at your hair. Jungkook guided your movements with little force, watching as you had your fun around his cock — sucking and slurping him like it was the best thing in the world, the tears that accumulated at the corners of your eyes looking like a divine gift to him. “God, I love when you suck my cock, fuck—“ 

You moaned around him, the vibrations feeling like heaven to the boy. With a few more pumps of your mouth around him, Jungkook was coming undone with a loud hiss and a desperate buckle of his hips, calling out your name as he released his cum inside you. “Swallow everything,” his voice was hoarse as he told you that, meeting your watery eyes as you fought to drink every drop of his cum that you could. Jungkook smirked at your efforts, fingers caressing your scalp as you finished cleaning him up. “Good girl.” 

You sighed happily at his praise, taking his hand as he helped you back on your feet. You could only hope that your knees wouldn’t be red by the time that you arrived at your classroom.

“Love watching you with my cock in your mouth, baby.” Jungkook leaned closer to you, wrapping his arms on your lower back. He gifted you with a quick peck on the lips, still breathing hard against your mouth. “I hate that you don’t let me snap a picture.” 

You laughed at that, running one hand through his messy hair in an attempt to save it a bit. In the end, you decided it would be better if he just pushed it back. “I’m not an idiot, believe it or not.” You smiled. “Gum?”

Jungkook nodded and reached for his jacket’s pocket. “Here you go.” He handed you the small colorful wrapping. You promptly threw a piece in your mouth, humming at the sweet taste. He pouted. “You’re going to class like this? You didn’t cum, baby.” 

“I’m aware,” you told him, fixing your panties and skirt. Jungkook didn’t seem to worry about the state of his pants, though, because he didn’t follow your movements. “But I’m not gonna be late to this class, today’s topic is half of what’s gonna be on the test. Pick me up after the lesson and maybe you can deal with my delayed orgasm situation. If I’m feeling nice.” 

Jungkook smirked, pulling your body closer to his. “Hmmm, love when you boss me around.”

He kissed you again and, when the kiss started to get a bit too long for your liking, you pushed him away. “Jungkook, listen, I have two fucking minutes—“ 

“Okay, okay, go.” He rolled his eyes, noticing that his attempts at prolonging your little escapade wouldn’t be fruitful. Jungkook stepped back so he could tug himself back inside his underwear, and you turned around to open the door. As your fingers were curling around the handle, he made sure to add, “Don’t exhaust your wrist with all those notes, princess, you’re gonna need it later.” 

And of course he smacked your ass when you walked out. 

~

Thirty minutes after your class was over, Jungkook was happy to have his face buried between your thighs, eating you out on the backseat of his car. Suddenly, it seemed as if you weren’t so worried about being caught, because he never heard you moan so loud. 

He made a mental note to do that more often.

~

BAD INFLUENCE COLLECTION

[gumnut-logic]

Alan loved being part of this family.

Like how many kids got to see their big brother disappear into a wall and sixty seconds later take off in a rocket through the pool? C’mon, you didn’t get much cooler than that.

Alan stood at the edge of the comms room just as the glass balcony doors did their click thing and automatically closed. They met in the middle just as the pool finished disappearing under the villa.

All was silent for one still second and then an explosive rumble vibrated through the soles of his feet as a grin split his face in half.

Thunderbird One shot up through the hole where the pool used to be in a fountain of steam and fiery gases and was gone. A lone snap of broken sound barrier in the distance her only calling card.

It was so coooool! He was almost bouncing on his feet. This would never get old.

An arm wrapped around his shoulders as the balcony doors clicked again and began to slide open, letting in the faint afterburn of biofuel. The pool meandered back into place.

“C’mon, squirt, help choose the movie.” Virgil’s deep voice was little more than a smiling rumble.

The movie? “Oh, can we watch Zombies vs Aliens II?”

Virgil’s face wrinkled up in disgust. “Do we have to?”

“It’s school vacation. My turn.”

His brother’s groan was more operatic like one of those stupid Shakespeare plays he had been studying. Comedic even.

He stuck him in the ribs. “C’mon, you secretly love aliens bashing up zombies.”

There was another groan followed by a retaliatory grabbing and Alan found himself being right and royal noogied by his heavy lifting brother. “Augh! Ge’orf!”

Virgil’s chuckle was almost worth the humiliation.

Untangling himself as they walked back to the sunken lounge, Alan straightened himself out. “You suck.”

Gordon grinned at the both of them. “Definitely. Like a vacuum cleaner, but we keep him around nonetheless. Useful at times like when we need to move furniture.” Gordon ducked as Virgil swiped at him. There followed a very short chase around the holotable that ended with Alan stepping just enough in Gordon’s way on the return loop in order for Virgil to catch him up and deliver a very entertaining noogie fest.

Bro betrayal, yes, but totally hilarious all the same.

John was sitting on the couch rolling his eyes. Recently down from Five, there was no way he was up for any game of chase the fish. So while Virgil tortured Gordon, Alan plonked himself down beside John.

His star brother smiled at him. “Zombie vs Aliens II?”

“Yep.” Alan grinned. “Have you seen the shorts?”

John nodded once. “Looks like they actually threw some money at the special effects this time.”

“Yeah, so totally cool. Rory said the aliens in particular have really cool teeth this time.” Alan grinned. “Wanna bet Virgil jumps at least once?”

“Not taking that one. He startles every time something jumps out of the holoprojector.” John eyed him. “And you wonder why he hates these movies.”

“He watches them anyway.”

“For you.”

Alan frowned at him. “Way to make me feel guilty, bro.”

John smirked and wrapped an arm around his little brother, drawing him close. “It’s the sacrifices we make.”

Alan grumbled. “Shuddup.” But he didn’t pull away. John hugs were too rare for that.

“Okay, boys, Scott will be back in five. Get the table ready.” Grandma really was good at marshalling the troops. Probably because no one would ever ignore her. Virgil, in particular, was ever her minion. Burnt biscuits and all.

Cos she was Grandma and all the cosy, loveable moments that phrase implied. Even though she was also quite bossy.

“Up, squirt. Go find the napkins.” Virgil was waving him up.

“Aww, why do we need napkins?”

“Because you miss your mouth hole too often, rocket boxers.”

“Shuddup, Gordon.”

“Boys!”

“Yes, Grandma.” It was a chorus.

There was grumbling and scampering and acquisition of multiple items out of the kitchen and into the comms room.

By the time the balcony doors clicked into their closing cycle again, there were drinks and cutlery and nibbles and a general feel of anticipation.

Alan hurried over to the doors again, eager to see his brother returning. Before the pool had even fully retracted, Thunderbird One shot into their airspace with a roar. A blink and Scott had her vertical and lowering down into her hangar. With a 1 D R I B R ED N U H T, her red cone caught the light and she disappeared below.

The exhaust cloud dissipated on the wind and once again, as if nothing had happened, the balcony doors clicked and cycled open again as the pool slid back into position.

So, so, cool.

Five minutes later, Scott express delivered the pile of pizzas and garlic bread to the comms room before disappearing again to change out of his uniform.

He didn’t miss ruffling Alan’s hair on the way out though.

But the youngest Tracy did not mind in the slightest.

How many other families had rocket delivered pizza, anyhow?

-o-o-o-

[crymeariveronceagain]

Keefe sneaking out to hang out with the gang

But

Cassius finds out and finds him, and basically lectures him in front of all his friends

Aka: my need for Keefe angst in this world

ah yes same tho my dear anon

keefe angst

yes

____keep reading line goes right down here____

All of his skin was prickling with uncomfortable, unhappy, unpleasant feelings.

They weren't even his feelings. And that made it worse. He could sense not only his dad's emotions, but the emotions of every. Single. One. Of his friends.

It made him want to throw up or run away or both.

But he didn't.

Maybe he was as much of an idiot as his father thought he was.

After all, he'd walked into this situation like there was nothing wrong and he was totally fine and then, of course, as it always did, everything had boiled over and gone rotten and he was the only one to blame for the way his skin felt like aches and bile.

"I didn't tell you you could leave the house," Snapped his father, and Keefe winced.

He could feel Fitz's hot rage blistering over him and he thought fast. "I know," he said, jovially, "Why else would I have done it?"

The heavy hand on his shoulder dug its nails into his skin. He could feel the pricks where hard keratin met soft keratin through the fabric of his shirt and he wanted to pull away. He didn't.

He couldn't.

That would leave blood on his shoulder, and there wasn't any blood on his shoulder, currently.

He’d have liked it to stay that way. The grip tightened, and with a jolt he realized he’d been zoning out for the past minute of his dad’s rant.

Emotions were flooding him, none of them his own, and every one was bad on some level. They were hot and spiky, or thick and slimy, or they were tinged dirty green and hot red. Nothing felt right and the world wasn’t real.

“Are you even listening to me?” Demanded his father.

“No,” Keefe said, because he did not fear gods or men anymore. 

His father scoffed, sharp. “You’re such an idiot. Why do I even bother with you?”

His friends were right there. Everything was prickly and he could feel his heartbeat in his shoulders, right underneath the thudding heat of a blush in his ears. 

He was going to thank every lucky star in the sky when he got home, whenever his father decided this torture was bad enough and dragged him back to Candleshade with its cold walls and icy floors that bit into your hands whenever you landed roughly on them after being flung carelessly with a hissing command to Get out of my sight, you little--

The rough hand on his shoulder that felt like a bucket of bricks and a crunching of bones shook him. 

He winced, feeling like his brain was rattling in his skull. 

Someone in the background said something, and his father’s voice was just a rough blur of sounds over the top of the harsh, bitter emotions that were all Keefe could feel or even focus on at this point. 

The world was fuzzy. 

“--Just leave him alone,” Someone was saying. 

“He is my son,” His father hissed, and Keefe winced, looking around to whoever spoke to shoot them an apologetic glance. Dex’s eyes met Keefe’s with a look of despair. 

Keefe glanced from Dex to his other friends who were there. It had been just a guys get together, dudes being bros, guys being pals, boys being boys, about to start a game of base quest after three hours of trying to find the tallest tree in the forest. 

Tam met his gaze with a venom that looked like it could kill. It bubbled like corrosion as his shadowy friend glared down his father with every ounce of gumption in his being. Keefe knew Tam was in possession of a lot of gumption. “Ah,” Tam said, his voice practically a hiss of shadow. “So you care about him a lot more than you say. Because you’d only be here if he mattered.”

Keefe blinked. 

“He matters only because he is my son,” spat his father. “I gave him everything, he means nothing but the weight I gave our shared name. And he will not drag me through the mud by his worthless, disgusting antics--”

Fitz’s emotions switched from hot-n-cold rage to fear. Slow, creeping, vulnerable fear, and he looked at Keefe with an attempt at calm.

Not for the first time, Keefe wondered what thoughts warred behind Fitz’s emotions. 

“And It would do you all good to let me discipline my son in peace.” 

Dex crossed his arms. 

Fitz took a step away, fear still glittering in his gaze.

Tam took a step forward, his hands clenched into fists.

Wylie set his hand gently on Tam’s shadowy shoulder. “Sir,” he said, calmly. “This is not an appropriate time or place for this behavior. If it continues I will have to ask you to leave.”

“I am not leaving without my son.” 

Keefe winced. The word was laced with disgust. Every time his dad referred to him, it was a  wash of disgust. 

He would have been lying if he said it didn’t ache.

“Well,” Wylie said, extremely calm, hand still on Tam’s shoulder(Tam seemed to be vibrating with an unchecked amount of rage, his shadows hissing cruel words in a thousand unbearable tongues). “That’s a you problem. You may either speak to your son respectfully, or wait for him to return to you. Or you may leave.”

Keefe’s dad’s grip on his shoulder felt like pins and needles were digging into his skin. They grew tighter and harsher with every word that Wylie spoke.

There would be tiny bruises from fingernails, Keefe was sure of it. 

But it could be worse. 

His dad’s grip tightened. 

He winced. 

It could be a lot worse. 

“He is my son, it is not your job to tell me what he needs. He deserves this, and you know it. He didn’t ask my permission, left without telling me, you know my son. What was I supposed to think? For all I had known, this idiot could have made the ludicrous choice to run back to his mother. Even she couldn’t love him, but maybe he thought she’d care--”

Keefe bit his lip.

His dad shook him, and his whole body jolted apart and back together. 

“And it’s the only thing he can understand. It’s his fault I have to do this. It’s the only thing he listens to!”

Keefe could feel fingernails beginning to cut into his skin and he almost-unconsciously arched away from the grip.

Tam growled something harsh and cruel. “Let go of him, motherfu--”

Wylie kicked his brother in the shin. 

Tam broke off into garbled Old Korean curses.

Wylie smiled, tightly, at Keefe’s father. “Look,” he said, calmly. “This is not the place or the time for this. We are not here to punish our friend. We will not be tools you use against him. So, if you’d like to discipline him as you see fit, do it in your own home. Or.” Wylie said, calmly, walking up to Keefe’s father, and prying the heavy and oppressive hand off of Keefe’s shoulder. “Leave.”

And with that word, Wylie gently, softly, carefully, brushed Keefe behind him with a soft touch that echoed of concern and a simmering righteous anger, and placed himself as a physical barrier between Keefe and his dad.

Wylie held his ground like a solid brick wall, holding his father's gaze like he was born to do it.

Eventually, his father scoffed. “Be home in an hour, Keefe,” he spat, over his shoulder, as he turned to leave.

And, with a rush of light, he held up his pathfinder, and was gone. 

Just like that, Wylie turned, and set his hands on Keefe’s arms, gently, looking him over, as though the words his father had been spitting, and the cloying, heavy feelings and pressed their invisible selves in scar like form onto his visible skin. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Keefe said, weakly, lying through his teeth. “Totally.”

And Tam was at his side, and arm gently thrown over his shoulders.

Dex appeared at Wylie’s side. “Did he hurt you?”

Keefe shook his head, still lying, and Tam could tell, his arm tensing where it was on his shoulder. 

Fitz appeared, still looking numb to the world, but focused on the spot his father had been digging his fingernails into. He tapped it, gently, and Keefe winced. 

“Dude,” Dex said, “You’re hurt.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“That’s blood,” Fitz said, still sounding like a monochrome piece of paper. 

Tam started swearing, and pulled away from Keefe, softly. Wylie nodded, and pulled Keefe’s shirt off his shoulder. 

“What a jerkish, no-good--” 

“Tam, shut up,” Wylie said, sharply. “Fitz, do you have anything that will work to patch this up?”

Fitz said nothing, and ripped the bottom half of his shirt silently. 

They all stared at him for a moment. 

“What the hell, Fitz,” Dex said, startled. 

And, the spell cast over Fitz was broken, whatever it was, and he glared, putting his whole heart and soul into it, at Dex. “Do you have a better idea, Deck?”

“That’s not my name, Fix.”

“Oh my stars,” Wylie said, sounding like an ancient, too old already for the ways of this world. “Just give me the piece of cloth. I’m surrounded by idiots.”

There was a hidden warmth to Wylie that Keefe could feel as Wylie wrapped the piece of Fitz’s shirt around his arm.

“You’re going to be okay,” Wylie said, looking Keefe once in the eyes. “And you know you’re not stuck, right?”

Keefe didn’t answer out loud. He nodded.

He didn’t know whether he believed that answer or not.

Dex and Fitz had started shouting at each other, throwing insults and stabby words and Tam was laughing, leaning against a tree. 

“You’re a loser, and a poser, and your hair is stupid!”

“Oh yeah, well I bet you can’t climb that tree, because you’re short, and you’re stuck in a computer all day.”

“That’s stupid.”

“No, you.”

Keefe snorted. “Fight,” he said, “Fight. Fight. Fight.”

“Don’t encourage them,” Wylie said, his hand pressed against his face, looking more like Tiergan than ever.

“Yes,” Tam said, brightly, “Encourage them. My money’s on Dex.”

“Nah,” Keefe said, “Fitz doesn’t look like it. But he fights like a girl.”

Tam’s eyes widened. “No mercy? And goes for the eyes and where it hurts?”

Keefe nodded. “Wanna change your bet?”

Tam snorted. “Maybe. I’ll race you to that sign down there first though.”

And they were off. Running. 

Super fast. 

Wylie shouted something after them, but Keefe didn’t pay attention.

He had a race to win, and a icy crystal mansion to return to in an hour.

But he had an hour.

He wasn’t going to think about what came after that.

It wouldn’t change anything, anyway.