#or you'd just be reading for a full two hours if not longer as I break down every little thing

[moonlightcanyon]

ASPD/PPD knife post 1

okay so how I want to do these: I'm gonna recap everything I plan on going over (partially so you don't have to go and rewatch it to remember, partially because it helps ME while typing), then analyze it in detail. I tend to analyze like knife canonically has the disorders because he... really might as well

the text in this one is being copied and pasted from discord since I've already got it typed up and it won't take too much time to edit. that said I was talking to a friend who didn't know the show at the time and you might notice this in a few spots

this one's primarily focusing on the dynamic between knife and trophy early s2. I ask that this doesn't get tagged as shipping since it squicks me out and I personally can't see it working anyway

@fansblogs @mr-payjay

ALRIGHT HERE WE GO

at one point in season 1, the rewards for contestants that got to move on was a dora doll. knife was one of them and he ended up getting pretty attached to it

I figure he did because. PPD. this is something he was given that has no capacity for harm. if he's got something personal that he needs to get off his chest he can say it to the doll, and then in the ASPD aspect he can hold onto it for comfort if he needs to or somethin, seeing as he doesn't have anyone who would give him physical comfort if he needed it

in s2 ep1, trophy wants to form an alliance between himself and knife, but knife declines pretty quickly (the jock/jerk thing). trophy presses and knife, evidently annoyed, punches him and takes him out of the challenge

towards the end of ep2, trophy goes to find knife and finds/overhears him talking to the dora doll, saying that the doll is his only true friend and nobody else understands him. trophy snaps a picture and goes to show everyone; knife begs him not to, saying he'll do anything

trophy tells him that if knife does everything he tells him to for the rest of the season, he won't show anyone the picture. and knife agrees bc as far as he can tell there's no getting out of it otherwise

ep 4 opens up with more of knife doing everything trophy says, even using fan as a literal fan. knife then abruptly says 'no' to trophy and to show everyone the stupid picture + he doesn't care

in ep3 we see trophy manipulating knife into doing exactly that; when knife considers not doing something, trophy either shows/mentions the picture to him and knife immediately cooperates. he gets his leg broken because of this

trophy pulls it out, knife goes 'wait!', trophy laughs and says he knew knife was chicken, and then knife says 'no, I just wanted to let you know that you have grape juice on your chin'

trophy then goes and shows everyone. we get a shot of several characters laughing, but it's very obvious not all of them are: baseball and apple look irritated and confused respectively

knife sighs in defeat. cut to baseball saying he honestly doesn't care

baseball goes on to talk about how everyone who got sent to idiotic island each had their own Thing to keep them occupied and knife's was the doll. he then mentions how paper didn't have something to keep him occupied and practically tried to kill everyone and asks if that's what trophy wants: for knife to do the same

trophy is like '????? you support this?????'

a few others agree with baseball and they all walk off, with trophy trying to get them to come back because he 100% believes knife is super lame for this

knife then comes up behind him and gives trophy a mini-lecture about how he must feel like a loser, because he knows he would, reminds trophy that he's a jock and knife is a jerk, and says that trophy never stood a chance against him from the start

cue unexpected moment where trophy tells him to go jump off a bridge

and fuckin- there is so much to break down here okay.

things that back up knife having ASPD and PPD:

trophy has a huge ego and sees himself as above others. a big thing with pwASPD is the disrespect of authority that we find stupid/unnecessary, and that can include people that act like they have authority when they really don't (I personally don't often get along with pwNPD for this exact reason). knife's first interaction with trophy is trophy insulting his capacity to break things with his 'pillow fists'; their second interaction is trophy trying to form an alliance with him, backhandedly calling him a 'sharp guy'. given that trophy made his personality clear right off the bat in both interactions I'm genuinely unsurprised that knife turned him down (and then punched him when he wouldn't back off); pwPPD often have a tendency to be hypervigilant because they're looking for threats to their safety. for me personally, I experience more of the ASPD side of things when interacting with someone I don't know well, and in this instance I can see knife essentially flipping from PPD's 'seeing hidden threats' to 'I don't care about you, actually, get lost.' as an aside, while I am a trophy NPD believer, I'm biased against him and thus won't really be getting into that as I'm likely to unintentionally paint him in a bad light

knife's choice of phrasing to the doll is interesting. he specifically says true friend and not friend, and given that at this point he doesn't really have any bonds with others, thus nobody gets him? entirely accurate- and yet that is an expression of vulnerability, something he's only letting himself express to the doll in a moment of safety. I'm still kind of sorting my PPD stuff out but in my experience, I have a lot of people/friends I can talk to about things, but only two or three that I feel comfortable talking to about Literally Everything and/or being more 'stream of thought' with them. I've spent A LOT of time around them, know how they react to things, and they have continually accepted me and been there even when I display odd or less than pleasant behavior- thus I view them as safe spaces/moments for when I need to be vulnerable. then with ASPD, you will see pwASPD express vulnerability, but it's often in half-lies? for example they might say they're upset and omit why, or give you a convincing reason for their being upset that isn't the real reason. unless either a situation needs to be maintained with genuine feelings or the pwASPD is that comfortable around you/a group, feelings are often expressed in those half-lies. I tend to have this response with basically anyone that falls outside of those two or three people I mentioned, and also with people I don't know very well.

so then to be caught in such a vulnerable moment by someone like trophy? Oh God. it's partially embarrassment, partially 'fuck did he hear me' (which, interestingly, trophy doesn't seem to have), and completely registering as a threat to his safety (PPD response). he absolutely doesn't want to agree to trophy's terms but being caught in a moment like that is considered one of the worst-case scenarios to a pwPPD, so he agrees because the other option is to be seen as weak. and that Cannot Happen.

the stuff in ep3 is… well, classic manipulation? but it's also knife firmly believing that his safety will be compromised if the others find out about the doll, plus what he said to it. this is another PPD response; he's backing up his worries with evidence to something that ultimately isn't the biggest problem ever

knife gets his leg broken when yang throws yin at him, causing him to fall off a bicycle. knife still completes his part of the challenge via dragging himself along the ground; he calls both his broken leg and trophy stupid before saying it's all stupid. when he finally reaches microphone, she's unintentionally loud as she asks what happened, and he gets even more upset with the whole situation because now his ears hurt, taking it out on her somewhat. she asks if he's sure he's okay; he says 'not to be rude' before realizing he DOES want to be rude, says as much, and then yells at microphone to go away and start her part of the challenge. this sequence of events likely caused a symptom flare for both disorders at the same time, and knife calling his leg/trophy/everything stupid is also where he shifts from the PPD perspective to the ASPD perspective. I don't know which disorder would cause this specific response (as I tend to experience both at the same time during a flare), but one of them at minimum makes it very likely to snap at people while having a symptom flare; both the trophy situation and the challenge going to shit is 100% enough to cause an intense flare-up and he absolutely can't keep masking in the moment, he needs to be left alone. in my experience I also simultaneously experience 'I don't want to interact with people' and 'everybody is a threat' during flare-ups; typically one response is stronger than the other, but for really nasty ones both are equally strong.

trophy comes up to him later in the episode and says he can't believe that his blackmailing has led to this. knife agrees and asks to be let off the hook, and trophy reveals that he wasn't concerned for knife at all, he was upset that knife made their team lose the challenge. trophy talks a bit more and knife is VISIBLY angry, and he insults trophy under his breath the second he's done talking (the captions say 'well good grief, bozo' but it sounds more like 'well, good for you, too'. can't figure out which is right or if it's something else entirely). trophy angrily says 'what?' and knife pretty much goes 'huh whuh'. and like… yeah. petty insults during a symptom flare aren't common (an intense one will most likely see the pwASPD/PPD using the harshest insults they can come up with based off what they know about the other person to get said other person to go away), but given that knife knows little about trophy's life he can't come up with anything that'll actually have some kick to it. this interaction also reinforces the switch into a more ASPD way of thinking; a more PPD-focused thought process would be something along the lines of 'I did all this/let myself get hurt for you and you don't even care? why? aren't I doing it right?'

ep4, trophy asks knife something and knife genuinely just replies with 'oh, shut up'. given that in ep3 he was starting to realize that the whole thing is stupid and especially given trophy's lack of care about his leg, he's definitely done some thinking and come to the conclusion that this entire thing isn't worth it. he's being taken advantage of and being treated poorly, he broke his leg, he had a very bad symptom flare- and all this over a doll and some words? sounds ridiculous and stupid when put that way. and like I said earlier: pwASPD do not like authority figures or rules that they deem stupid. a stupid situation caused by someone acting like they have authority also classifies. pwASPD are also way more likely to give a firm 'fuck you' type of response to people when they're fed up with something/someone, or someone implies they can't do something

trophy then asks for more ventilation and knife, annoyed but notably somewhat indifferent, pulls out fan and, well, starts fanning. fan asks to be put down and knife tosses fan up because JESUS CHRIST THERE'S JUST NO WINNING. trophy tells him to keep fanning; fan comes back down and knife starts up again. fan then says he's getting dizzy and that is the last straw for knife; he just drops him and gives a very firm 'no' to trophy. and fucking- ouughgh okay. pwASPD often disregard the rights of others, yes, but we still have a moral compass. if someone doesn't need to get involved then they shouldn't get involved, the end. knife disregarded fan initially but the second fan said he was getting dizzy, he realized the whole thing is causing him to hurt people that don't need to be involved (which also gets into not hurting people that don't 'need' to be hurt) and that's not going to fly, actually. it also appeals to the more sensitive side of PPD, which can be very in-tune with people and their feelings.

the grape juice thing? not just a funny moment. knife is scared to possibly have his safety compromised- PPD briefly taking over, in a way- but he chooses to commit, 'flipping back' to ASPD and covering up his fear by pointing out the juice on trophy. his expression switches back to nervous as trophy turns around to go show everyone the picture, but he doesn't say anything else. enough is enough yk.

in presenting the picture, trophy calls knife 'a girly, doll-obsessed freak'… and doesn't add anything about what knife said to the doll, hence my assumption that trophy didn't hear him. which is a huge win for knife because it registers as an 'oh thank god, this isn't as bad as it could be' type of situation and helps quiet down the PPD. he sighs in defeat, yes, but there's a lot of relief too, I'd imagine- it's not the end of the world, actually. he can recover from this.

baseball saying 'honestly, I don't care' once everyone finishes laughing is also huge for knife because the way pwASPD interpret 'I don't care' is different than how most people interpret it. the phrase is often taken with a negative connotation by the average person, whereas pwASPD (and some normal people) hear it and take it neutrally. it's like saying that you think a piece of food is alright- if it turned up on your plate again, you'd eat it, but you wouldn't go out of your way to seek it out. baseball likely meant 'I don't care' as in 'are you for real/is this seriously what you're occupying yourself with', but knife heard 'I don't care' as in 'this is a piece of information that doesn't mean anything, leave it/knife alone', which also helps quiet down the PPD

in response to trophy asking if baseball really supports that part of knife, baseball backs himself (and knife) up with the stuff I mentioned earlier about idiotic island. not only did this likely comfort knife (even more soothing the PPD), it also convinces the other characters 'actually, even though we laughed at him for it at first, that makes sense. I'd do the same thing in his situation.' baseball pretty much unintentionally got everyone off knife's back and now knife doesn't have to go through all the effort of doing it himself (ASPD. if someone can do something for you, and especially unintentionally: take the opportunity and let them)

knife's mini-lecture is both him putting trophy in his place and reassuring himself. as much as trophy WANTS to have authority, have some semblance of power, he doesn't- knife actually has some due to his reputation, and the others are aware of it. a common fantasy in pwPPD is being in a position of power where nobody can hurt them. while he says that trophy never stood a chance against him from the start, I don't think he fully believes it yet, but he's saying it because he needs to make sure trophy Knows not to mess with him again. I think this also counts as an 'eye for an eye' thing considering trophy's treated him like shit for a while; knife can be shitty right back, which thus makes them both even and helps manage both disorders at the same time. I didn't know this when I initially typed all this out but in pwPPD, there's a strong desire for revenge, which is something I experience all the time.

in response to being told to jump off a bridge, knife reacts with surprise. and it makes sense given that knife didn't retaliate against trophy physically or really do much of anything to him, and that's with this whole thing resulting in knife's leg getting broken. there's not a part of knife that knows how to react to that because it's just- not computing. 'you cause this whole situation, then tell me to do that? okay?? I guess??'

after the intro plays, at the elimination area, knife and suitcase are sitting next to each other when mephone announces they're safe. when suitcase says 'wow knife!', knife initially looks over with some annoyance expecting to be insulted (likely still in the ASPD way of thinking)- but suitcase follows up with 'congratulations!' and it's so genuine knife doesn't know how to react to it. he ends up going 'wow… thanks!' with this somewhat sheepish expression that really strongly implies he has rarely or possibly never been complimented so genuinely before.

trophy starts throwing a fit that he's been voted out and stomps on box; suitcase stands up and shouts 'you monster! you're just jealous because he's (referring to box, I believe, but could also be interpreted as referring to knife) still in the game!' trophy yells at her to shut up and she meekly goes 'okay' and sits back down before trophy's even done yelling. knife is still there and as this happens he's sitting there with this expression that, to me, is him zoning out- but he's still present enough to hear and process this interaction considering he responds to it.

like I just said: given how knife reacted to a genuine compliment, he's not used to that happening. this is his first interaction with suitcase and it's an incredibly positive one, and he can tell it's not fake (goes back to hypervigilance in PPD). so after trophy yells at suitcase, knife gets up almost immediately and says 'alright dude, that's it. no more mr. knife guy.' he is Done with trophy's shit and he's not letting it start up again (very ASPD, since he learned he can go up against trophy and come out on top), especially not towards someone who was truly kind to him a minute ago (very PPD, with the sensitive side to it)

a detail I didn't mention is that in ep1, when knife punches trophy away, he does it before trophy finishes talking. now, when a contestant is eliminated they go through the portal, yeah? trophy is standing nearby said portal as knife approaches him, and in response to what knife said trophy pretty much replies with 'bring it on, I've been waiting for this'- except he doesn't get to finish because knife kicks him through the portal before he can. he just doesn't fucking care about this guy anymore. pretty good way to send trophy off, I'd say

and finally, a funny detail that isn't really related to all this but I want to mention anyway:

in that first scene of ep4 with knife and trophy, knife's leg is fine. in the elimination scene, knife's broken leg is in a cast- but the cast is suddenly gone when he stands up, and he kicks trophy through the portal with that same leg. I know what the animators were going for but it's REALLY funny. especially when the cast doesn't come back for the rest of the episode

a'ight that's about it. peace :P

[honeysickledream]

Who's Who, Darling? | TF!141 x F!Reader

cw: fivesome (F/M/M/M/M), blindfolds, oral (f!receiving), fingering, edging, use of safeword, reader gets overstimulated, aftercare, no descriptions of reader or use of y/n | lmk if i missed something [NSFW 18+ minors and ageless blogs DNI]

pairing: TF!141 x F!Reader | reads as the start of Poly!141 x F!Reader at the end

can be found on ao3 too | pt 2

You complain to the guys that your paperwork is never-ending and that it's completely fucked up your dating/sex life. It’s been a month, almost two, since you���ve had a proper day off and properly gotten laid, and it’s destroyed your ability to focus. They offer out of the goodness of their hearts to cover your paperwork for the rest of the year if you can determine who’s who while they fuck you blindfolded. 2-for-1 special right there: no more paperwork the next few months and you get to end your dry spell. A time and place are set, boundaries and expectations agreed upon, and you spend the next day trying to find ways to make identifying them easier for yourself.

It’s not long after they arrive at your place that you’re blindfolded with some random sleep mask Simon grabbed on the way over, and then lying stripped and spread out on the edge of your bed. The night starts with you trying to determine who’s eating you out, and it’s easy at first. You correctly guess Price moments after he starts to lap at your clit. You know it’s him because of the facial hair (the others showed up clean shaven, smart move). Soap is next and you let him have his go a little longer than you let Price. He’s noisy and sloppy, groaning with each drag of his tongue against you, nuzzling your cunt eagerly. You're certain that if the blindfold wasn't there you'd see his face covered in your slick. He complains about you not being fair as he moves away to let whoever was next have his go. The third man’s hard to name—obviously it's either Ghost or Gaz, but whoever it is, they’re too quiet, too smooth, too methodical for you to confidently say a name. Whoever it is stops right before you come and the second one is tapped in when you’ve calmed down just enough. It becomes a cycle: one gets you to the edge before backing off to let the other tease and frustrate you some more. Price and Soap think it’s fucking hilarious how whiny and worked up you’re getting, you’re lightheartedly plotting revenge against those two. It’s not until whoever is currently between your legs slips a finger in you that you’re almost 100% sure you know who it is: Gaz. He’s got the nicest hands out of them, his fingers the longest you think. He slowly pulls his finger out before pressing it back in while sucking at your clit.

There’s a rush of cold air against you when he pulls off and eases another finger into you. It’s Ghost who suddenly lies half on top of you and latches his lips around your clit. He sucks hard before pulling off to nip and pinch and sometimes trace letters against it with the tip of his tongue. Gaz manages to slip a third finger in right before you finally come. Suddenly it’s all too much: your vision black from the mask and now from your climax, the sudden awareness of their eyes on you, the almost suffocating warmth of the room—you’re mumbling out your safeword and their energy shifts. The sleep mask is carefully pulled off your head and you’re hauled up by your arms as Price moves behind you. You’re shaky and sweaty, whining so pitifully that if your brain hadn’t been so full of fuzz, you’d feel a bit of annoyance that they’d gotten you in such a state. He pats your thighs as you flop between his legs, head against his shoulder. Ghost’s cracking open a bottle of water for you, holding it to your lips to let you drink slowly. Gaz is asking you question after question, Soap’s wiping the sweat from your forehead, Price’s hands have moved to massage your shoulders, and Ghost’s opening another bottle of water while confirming that supper will be here in an hour. The only mention of the round two that was supposed to happen comes from Ghost who says it’ll happen some other time, that you did well enough tonight for the paperwork deal to stand and for you to get your much needed rest. They let you get up from the bed once your shaking has faded and your breathing has regulated. You take your time in the bathroom, Gaz occasionally popping his head in to make sure you’re all good. The food arrives at some point, Ghost’s voice carrying through the house as he tips the delivery person and brings the food up to your room.

You’d expected to see them all scarfing down the food, leaving crumbs on your bed and desk, but that’s not the scene at all. Soap and Price are star-fished on your bed, snoring up a storm while Gaz and Ghost discuss plans to renovate your shower to make it big enough for the five of you--the five of you…you really like the sound of that.

You tell them a second water heater will be needed as you riffle through the plastic to-go bags to find something you’ll like. Gaz asks about color schemes—he’s not a fan of the current beige on ocean foam with chrome accents—and Ghost’s mumbling out mathematical formulas for water usage and shower dimensions that make your head hurt a bit.

If they’re serious about it being the five of you (they are), you’ll need a bigger bed, too. Alaskan King, maybe? Oh…you’ll also need to find a deeper, longer couch, too.

a/n: i honestly ran out of smut-writing steam so round two will happen...some other time. my second proper attempt at writing smut, woo...

[wren-writes-stuff]

From Under The Desk

JaycexFem!Reader

Modern College AU

You have a paper due at midnight. A very important one. You absolutely CANNOT afford to be distracted.

Jayce distracts you.

Warnings: 18+ (this is basically just smut without plot tbh.) Reader is AFAB. Oral sex, cunnilingus, descriptions of genitalia. Small age gap? Like, only a year or two. Does that count? Idk let me know if i missed something <3

You scrubbed a hand across your face, exhaustion tugging at your eyes. It wasn't actually that late- it was only about seven pm. But, you'd stayed up all of last night writing this damned paper, only to go and spend a full day in class afterwards. And now here you were, hunched over your desk like a vulture pecking at your keyboard.

Getting the words down was the easy part. It was making them make sense that made your brain hurt. The amount of words you'd back-spaced over was probably comparable to the ones you'd actually kept.

You took a swig of your energy drink, wincing as the carbonation hit the back of your throat. You don't know why you bothered honestly; it wasn't doing anything for you at this point.

It was then that you heard the lock on the front door click, and the telltale shuffling sounds of someone entering your tiny apartment.

"I'm home!"

You heard Jayce's muffled voice through your bedroom door, but you made no effort to tear your attention away from your computer screen.

"Hon?" You heard him call again, "You home?"

More shuffling. Then, he knocked softly on the door before opening it. "Hon?" He repeated.

"Hey," you said automatically, fingers still flying across your keyboard.

"Hey, you." You could hear the smile in his voice, and it made your stomach flutter a little. "I picked up some takeout for dinner- I even got those little crab rangoons you love."

In your head, you meant to say something like, 'Wow! Thank you, my love. Im so excited to eat my favorite food with you!' But you didn't, leaving only an awkward pause in the back and forth you could barely call a conversation. You scrolled back to the top of your paper to re-read it, skimming for mistakes. Ah- there's a typo here. It should be "perceived", not-

"Hey, are you okay? Did you hear me?"

"What?" You bristled a little bit, annoyed to have been interrupted. You finally turned around to acknowledge him, trying to hide your chagrin. "Oh...sorry. Um, thank you. That was thoughtful."

It had taken a moment to force your eyes to focus on him, after staring at a bright screen for so long. When they did, you found he looked significantly more chipper than you felt. That made sense, you supposed. He had been freed from the confines of student life already, no longer bogged down by trivial things like homework and exams. Lucky bastard.

His eyes grazed across your face, then the rest of your body- and stopped when he found something interesting.

"You're wearing my hoodie,". He said. Irritation clawed at your stomach, and you swallowed the 'so what?' rising in your throat. You really just wanted to get back to work.

"It's comfy," you said instead, shrugging. "Sorry. I hoped you wouldn't mind. Do you want it back?" He shook his head, starting towards you.

"No, it looks good on you. Keep it on." He leaned down to peck you on the cheek, and you smiled tiredly at him. His hair was slightly tousled from a long day at work, and his chiseled cheekbones were smeared with grease. His cologne was mixed with the smell of coal and something vaguely chemical. Truthfully, what you really wanted was to yank off the hoodie, and his clothes too, and pull him into the shower with you- but there was no time for that now. You swiveled your chair around again, going back to your work.

"Im sorry," you said, "This paper is due in a couple of hours and I need to get it done. You should go ahead and eat if you're hungry. You don't have to wait. And please take a shower."

"What?" He teased, "You don't like the smell of hydraulic fluid?" He wrapped his arms around you and dropped his chin on top of your head. You found it difficult to keep yourself upright under his immense weight.

"No, I don't," you huffed. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be rude, but I need to focus on this. But once I'm done, I'm yours for the rest of the night, okay?"

The weight was lifted as he moved away from you, chuckling. "Alright, Alright. I'll leave you to it. God, it's kinda hot when you're mean to me. Maybe you should do that more often."

You swatted his arm, staring incredulously, and he ducked away as he laughed again. "I'm not being mean to you. I thought I was being pretty polite all things considered."

"You are mean to me," he whined. "You wont even let me give you my love and attentioonnn." He gave you fake puppy dog eyes, and you snatched a pencil off your desk, holding it up like you were going to chuck it at him.

"Get out," you warned. He held up his hands in surrender and backed out the door, eyes full of mirth.

"I bet you'd be nicer to me if you ate something."

You threw the pencil as hard as you could, but he shut the door before it reached him, and it bounced off the wood instead. You heard him cackling on the other side, before you heard his heavy footsteps move away.

You huffed, running your fingers through your hair. It was greasy, and in need of a good combing-through. You hadn't really had time for a shower yourself; but it could wait a little longer. You went back to your pecking.

Too soon, you heard the bedroom door open again. "Back already?" You asked mechanically.

"Already?" He repeated. "It's been like an hour." You glanced at the clock on the bottom corner of your screen. He was right. You'd been so focused that you didn't realize how long it had been.

"Whoops." You still didn't cease your typing.

You felt his weight upon you the same as before, forcing a wheeze from your lungs. "Why are you so heavy?" You huffed.

He chuckled, and you felt the vibrations against your back. The two of you stayed there like that for a moment, and you rubbed your eyes again. His warmth was comforting, and dangerously cozy. You were going to fall asleep at this rate. You shrugged, trying to get him to move off of you- but he didn't budge. Instead, he pressed his face into your neck, and his hair tickled your cheek. It was still damp, and you could smell his shampoo- like mint, and something darker, more earthy. You tilted your head to kiss the top of his own, breathing in the scent; but never taking your eyes away from your computer.

"Your food's getting cold, love." His breath tickled your skin, giving you butterflies again. "You should come eat something. You'll feel better."

"Can't," you muttered. Even if you wanted to, the caffeine you'd been chugging all day dampened your appetite, despite your empty stomach. He was probably right, but if you stopped now, you might not be able to start again. You had to capitalize on your focus; you couldn't afford to lose it.

Jayce brushed his lips against your jaw, pressing little kisses into the bone, and down your neck. He trailed a hand down your arm, the one opposite to him, and slipped it across your thigh, into the space between your legs-

'What do you think you're doing?" He stood up straight, taking his hand back. You glared at him, half annoyed, and half aroused. It was only now that you realized he wasn't wearing a shirt- just a pair of sweatpants that accentuated his girth in just the right way. You could see every muscle he worked so hard to build on full display, and your breath hitched. His tanned skin was just as damp as his hair, still shining with water. You wondered if he'd even bothered to dry off when he got out of the shower.

"I'm sorry. I can stop if you really want me to," he said gently. He looked down at you with something on his face you couldn't quite read. He wasn't frowning, nor smiling. His eyebrows were quirked upward just slightly, eyes half lidded. His expression was somewhere between lust and fatigue, you decided. Maybe he'd had a long day, too.

You blinked, trying to keep your eyes open. Maybe you didn't want him to stop- but you had to get this done if you had any hope of graduating next semester. You couldn't afford to fail this class. You looked away from him, feeling torn. In the corner of your eye, you watched him kneel beside you, and felt the weight of his head in your lap. He slid his hands around your waist, one of them between you and the back of your chair, and the other across your lap.

"You don't have to stop," you said quietly. "But I can't, either. This is important."

"Is that what you want though? For me to keep going, I mean?"

You nodded, swallowing thickly. "I do. I just need you to understand that I'm not ignoring you to be mean; I don't want to hurt your feelings because I'm not being an active participant."

He lifted his head, shifting himself between your legs. He had to duck and curl himself up awkwardly to fit himself underneath your desk- it was kind of cute, actually, watching him trying to fit his giant shoulders and long legs into such a tight space.

"I don't think that at all," he said when he was finally comfortable. "I know this it's important to you." He slid his hands up your thighs, letting one of his thumbs land on the spot where he knew your clit to be. He stroked it gently through the fabric of your pants, and you bit your lip to stop the gasp trapped in your throat. His other hand grasped your hip, massaging the soft malleable flesh of your curves with his thumb. He rested his cheek on your knee, looking up at you lovingly.

"You just seem so stressed," he said. "I wanna help you relax." He punctuated his words by swiveling his hand around, sliding his fingers under the curve of your pelvis. Well, 'relaxed' isn't the word you would use to describe yourself right now. A coil had wound itself inside your stomach, and your legs were tense with anticipation. In his hands, you were putty. You couldn't think straight anymore. You tried to focus, tried to keep your eyes on the prize. You were almost done here. Just a couple more paragraphs to go, and then you could-

"Oh-" you gasped involuntarily, something girlish and high pitched. Your face burned with embarrassment- you'd never made a noise like that before. But you couldn't help it- not with the way he was sliding his fingers into you now. You hadn't even realized he had managed to tug your pants down enough to expose you to him.

His other hand, previously on your hip, had slid up your sweater. It was on the small of your back now, pressing you forward. He drew his fingers out of you, slowly, and you bucked your hip forwards with a groan. He was moving so, so slowly. He was being so gentle and sweet, you thought your teeth were going to rot and fall out of your skull. He leaned forward, kissing your stomach, moving down to the side- to your hip, in the crease of your skin where your pelvis met your thigh. You shivered; his lips brushed you so lightly it tickled a bit. Your fingertips buzzed with electricity as you tried to keep typing. But then you felt his tongue sliding between your folds and you couldn't do it anymore.

You let your eyes flutter shut, letting him finally overtake your thoughts completely. You buried your face in your hands, trying to control your ragged breathing as he moved his tongue up, and down, slowly, gently. He pushed his tongue inside of you, lapping at you like he hadn't had a drop to drink in days. You whined, sliding a hand under the desk to grab his hair, to bring him closer to you. You could hear him panting, feel his breath against your pubic mound. His movements grew more desperate at your touch, ever eager to please.

You laid your other arm on the table, resting your head on it like a pillow. You really couldn't stop the sounds escaping from you now. Every gasp, moan, and whimper from you only seemed to further spur him, urging him to move faster. He alternated between fucking you with his tongue, reaching as far inside of you as he could manage, and moving back up to lick tiny circles around your clit.

You moved your hips with his rhythm, desperate for more friction as you felt yourself growing closer and closer to the edge. "Jayce," you whispered shakily, "I-I'm really- mmmfh- close-"

He didn't let up even a little bit, even when you leaned back, pushing his head against you so hard you were worried he'd suffocate. You were almost blinded by pleasure, the coil winding itself tighter and tighter- until it finally snapped.

You cried out his name like a prayer, over and over again as you shook. You clamped your thighs around his ears, wrapping your legs together over his shoulders. You tugged on his hair like it was a lifeline, feeling every crashing tidal wave of your orgasm in full force as your back arched away from your chair. You practically sobbed, your eyes watering. You couldn't help it. It was so good.

He finally stopped when he sensed you'd had enough, slumping in your chair like a rag doll as exhaustion racked your brain through the afterglow. He pulled back, his face shiny with spit and slick. You smiled at him, before letting your head flop back as you closed your eyes.

'That was hot," he whispered. You snorted, not opening your eyes. You felt his fingers brush your skin as he pulled your pants back up, and shivered slightly when the cold wet fabric of your underwear met your overly-sensitive groin. You pressed your toes against the floor to push your chair from under the table so he'd have room to get out.

"That didn't take very long, either" he teased. "You must have been pretty pent up." You heard shuffling as he stood, and you finally opened your eyes when you felt his lips brush against your forehead. You flicked his shoulder.

"You're just good at what you do."

He smiled, his eyes flickering across your face. You reached up to rub your thumb across his chin, trying to wipe off some of the remaining fluids. He grabbed your wrist and pressed a kiss into your palm before you could withdraw it, never taking his eyes off of you.

"Come eat something, please," he whispered. You sighed and glanced at the clock again, considering it- it was almost 9:15. There was still time.

"Alright, alright," you resigned. "Give me five minutes, and I'll be right there."

Jayce made a face you couldn't discern, and let go of your hand. "Okay," he said, and stepped out of the room.

He came back ten minutes later to find you still at your computer. "I couldn't wait any longer," he said- making you jump.

"Augh, I'm sorry, Jayce," you said- and you meant it.

"It's okay," he shrugged, "I had a feeling this might happen. You get so sucked in sometimes. It's endearing, actually."

He set two styrofoam boxes next to you, and opened another for himself. "I thought I would just bring dinner in here. Maybe I could help you edit? Make things go a little faster so we can get you in the shower?" He smirked, sitting on the edge of the bed. It was lodged into the corner of the room, with the desk beside it like an oversized nightstand. There'd be no room to move about, otherwise.

You cracked open the first box, choosing to ignore his quip, and your mouth watered at the sight of your favorite food inside. Ugh, even cold it smelled amazing. You shoveled it into your face with the flimsy plastic fork, newfound hunger making itself evident. You looked to Jayce, intending to thank him for the meal; but you found he was looking at you expectantly.

'What?" You asked through a mouthful of food.

"Did you want my help?"

Oh.

You swallowed.

"Sorry. Um, yes. That might be nice honestly. I could use a break."

He set his food aside, chuckling. "The first one wasn't enough?" He teased. You scowled, only pretending to be upset.

"Whatever man. Switch me places." You stood up to give him your chair, and he complied- though he had to pull the lever under the seat to lower it, to make room for his mile-long legs.

"Alright, let's see, here..."He squinted as he read your work, and you took the opportunity to admire him. God, he really was incredibly handsome. His long, calloused fingers looked enormous over your keyboard compared to your own. His bulky shoulders hunched forward, pulling the skin of his back taught over his muscles. You bit your lip, feeling your arousal coming back through your fatigue. He glanced at you, and you blushed when you caught him staring; as if you hadn't been together long enough by now that this wasn't embarrassing. But he still never failed to give you the warm-and-fuzzies so to speak. He smiled, laughing through his nose.

"What're you looking at?"

You twirled your hair with exaggeration. "Oh, yknow. Just this cute guy I have a crush on, or whatever," you flirted. He rolled his eyes, still grinning to himself.

"Eat your food, dork." He looked back to the screen, and you did what you were told.

It didn't take long. You wolfed down your dinner so fast you even surprised yourself. You stood to collect your trash, and kissed the top of Jayce's head before heading to the kitchen to dispose of it properly. When you came back, he was already standing up to stretch.

"It looks good to me," he said- with his arms over his head, his obliques were in full view and it made you just about weak in the knees. "I think it's ready to submit, if you're happy with it."

You thought about re-reading it one more time- just to be sure- but your brain was so foggy with exhaustion (and maybe some arousal). You trusted Jayce's judgement, too. He'd graduated summa cum laude last year, after all. You were sure he knew what he was talking about.

"Thank you, love. I really appreciate your help." You patted his chest with a weary smile, and sat down to submit it. When you were finally able to click your laptop shut, you were just about to collapse. You looked over to find Jayce already waiting for you in bed, and he opened his arms for you.

"C'mere, you," he crooned softly. You complied, shutting off the table lamp before you crawled across the blankets to meet him. He pulled them over the two of you, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead. You buried your face in his chest, breathing in the scent of mint and clean bedsheets. You suddenly felt self conscious, remembering you had forgotten to bathe.

You sat up. "I'm gonna take a shower real quick actually-" but he yanked you back down before you could move, burying his nose in your hair.

"Nooooo," he mumbled. "Stay with me."

"Jaaaayce," you whined, "I smell terrible. Wouldn't you rather I got cleaned up before bed?"

He didn't move, keeping you pinned between his arms. "Mmm, girl stink."

"You- what?" You sputtered, laughing at the absurdity. You tried to move, but he was already snoring softly. You couldn't tell if he was faking it or not, but you gave in anyway. You tangled your legs with his, letting his warmth overtake you and carry you to sleep at last.

[scarlettgauthor]

A plea

Readers! Billionaire-haters! Comrades! I have a request for you, from the bottom of my self-published indie author heart:

Please buy your books from places other than Amazon.

I am not saying do not buy books. I am definitely not saying pirate books (authors need to be paid in order to keep writing). I am just asking you to shift your purchasing to a non-Amazon platform. Any of the non-Amazon platforms.

We all know that Bezos is using his bajillions of dollars to make the world an actively worse place. We know he's sucking up to Trump because all billionaires are the same, and all they care about is their money. We know he's at least partially to blame for this second Trump presidency. I think the world would be a much better place if Amazon didn't exist.

I hate Amazon and Bezos as much as it's possible to do, but I literally can't survive as a self-published author without selling on Amazon. I earned $1094.26 in royalties (through Draft2Digital) in January, and $863.46 of that was from Amazon sales. Even with the criminally low royalties I get from Audible because I choose to sell elsewhere instead of locking myself into their monopoly, I get between $200-300 a month in royalties from them as opposed to $75-150 a month from Author's Republic, which publishes my audiobooks to everywhere else on the internet.

I hate depending on Amazon, but I can't quit Amazon unless readers do.

My plea to readers is this: Get off Amazon. Get off Kindle. See if you can buy books directly from the independent authors you like (like through my shop on my website!). If you depend on Kindle Unlimited or Audible subscriptions to keep up with your voracious reading habits, try your local library instead. You can get so many books and audiobooks through Libby!

If I was getting 80% of my sales through avenues other than Amazon, it would be easy to take the financial hit and drop them. Currently it's the other way around, and unfortunately I do still need money to live.

I know for many people doing a complete Amazon boycott is not possible. I still occasionally use Amazon for stuff like printer toner, or camp chairs for a concert on short notice, or other housewares I would be happy to buy in an actual store except that in-person shopping has been so degraded by Amazon that's no longer an option. I'm not perfect, and I'm operating within a system that is stacked against me.

But books aren't any of those things. They're not two-day free delivery on groceries and pantry staples for a disabled person who can't safely leave the house. They're not a houseware that you'd have to drive a full hour to buy in person from the one shop that still has it available. There are so, so many other options available in the world for book purchasing, even if you don't have access to a cool local bookstore.

Even if you can't get to a Barnes & Noble.

Even if you don't have a good local library.

There are OPTIONS.

(I, for one, love Bookshop.org, but just look at the Books2Read link for Red, the Wolf, and the Woods! There are 14 non-Amazon retailers, plus I sell direct! Bookshop has just launched ebook sales to support local bookstores, too!)

Please, consider changing your book shopping habits! Ask your friends to change their book shopping habits! It's a small thing, but it's a small thing that means a big improvement for authors, and for the world.

Thank you.

[gurugirl]

I need a breeding kink blurb PLS 🙏🙏🙏

⛔️ WARNING ‼️ SMUTTY SMUT BREEDING KINK SIZE KINK ALL THE KINK (enjoy 🤭) + plus a link to an audio porn on tumblr to really get into that wet pussy sound 🙈 I'm so sorry in advance but I am in fact ovulating according to my calculator and this was... Anyway there's no plot, this is basically only smut. PLEASE DON'T READ IF YOU'RE NOT INTO THIS KIND OF THING THANK YOU

587 words

😈😈😈😈

"Oh baby... look a'you... getting stuffed so deep. Loves getting her little pussy filled up and bred yeah? Need Daddy's come honey? Need me to put more babies in this belly? Fuck you til your tummy's swollen, your tits are full of milk, and pussy ruined?"

"Mmm..." you tried moaning but you were out of breath and your gargled noises were stifled by the way he was plowing into you, long and heavy strokes that dipped into your guts and punched the air from your lungs. All you could do was lie there with your legs spread apart as he fucked the life from you. His fat cock was making your walls ache he'd been going at if for so long.

"Can't speak, little mama? Don't want the kids to hear do we? That's right... just let daddy fuck you til your come hole is full of my sperm and let it sink in deep so I can knock you up over and over again. Likes her pussy stuffed with cock and come and her womb full of babies..."

Harry loved it when you were pregnant. You already had two kids and he was raring to go for a third. But so were you. You loved watching him be a dad. And you'd love to see him holding another tiny baby again - your tall, tattooed, and strong husband holding that delicate bundle against his chest with tears in his eyes, humming a tune and swaying slowly back and forth. Just for that, you'd give him as many babies as he wanted.

"Already had you stuffed with all my cream this morning, now here you are all sweaty and gagging for more. Fucking need it don't you? Gonna take my come honey? Little mama wants it, yeah?"

You could barely nod but you managed to knock your head back and forth. You were exhausted after he'd already given you two orgasms but now you could feel him coming to his end, his arms were shaking and his thrusts were getting sloppy with that big cock twitching as he stretched your walls. His impressive size was addicting.

"You ready? Think you can take another load?"

"Mmmm..." a pathetic wet mumble fell from your lips as Harry choked out a groan, trying to keep quiet so as not to wake the kids and you felt him throb and throb as he dropped his mouth open wide and pasted his hips against yours, unloading hours and hours worth of vital come into your womb, his balls emptying every drop inside of you.

You were very much done for by the time he pulled out but Harry wasn't. He angled your hips up with a heaving chest and stuffed himself back inside, holding his shaft to keep steady as he fucked his come into you, "There we go. Let's get that all in there," he watched as he dipped inward, keeping you full of his sperm, wet squelches (NSFW LINK - opens up a tumblr audio porn, no visuals 😈) coming from your pussy with the way he was plunging back into you to make sure his come didn't leak out, "Get that pussy fed and happy," he hissed as he pumped in gently, his cock sensitive to the touch after his orgasm.

He enjoyed the view of it... your shiny puffy pussy wrapped around his thick shaft as he pushed his come back inside you until he couldn't stay hard any longer. You were sure that was baby number three.

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[auroracalisto]

to call you mine.

anthony bridgerton x gn!reader, 2.4k words summary: anthony comes to the realization that perhaps he needs you more than just a few times a month. can be read as a standalone, but it is a continuation of this short fic here. tw: reader comes from a poorer background which is discussed in the first half of this, mentions of scandals, anxious thoughts, idk man i don't think there really needs to be a tw for this. not really edited though so there may be a few mistakes i missed on my initial two read-throughs. :-)

"I beg you," you softly said. "I beg you to stay, just 'til tomorrow." He looked back at you as he finished buttoning up his shirt, grabbing his trousers from the end of the bed and pulling them on rather quickly. "Y/n, you know I can't do that," he said. "As much as I wish I could." He crossed the threshold to be beside of you, taking your chin in between his thumb and forefinger. He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "I do wish I could. But it's not going to happen. Not today." read the full blurb here.

Scandalous. Unworthy. Only the words of a scandalized mind haunted your every step.

Compared to your lover, you were a simpleton—gullible, unready for the truth that the world was so willing to give. The truth that you weren't worthy of Anthony Bridgerton. A Viscount. Someone of your status wouldn't come close to being with a Viscount, no matter how much pining you did to try and get him to stay with you longer than the early hours of the morning.

You knew this. And yet, your heart pined for him. Your heart ached for him.

Day in and day out, you wished for him to stay just a bit longer. Just a bit longer, in your arms. In your bed. In the warmth of your embrace.

Oh, God, what you would give to have Anthony until your dying breath.

But the world wasn't fair. The 'ton did as it would, and if any suspected Anthony had been with you, the repercussions would be immense. Perhaps not for Anthony, but for you.

Your family would never hear the end of it. You would be scandalized until the end of your days.

You would be happy just to be beside of him. To breathe the same air as he.

We never get what we truly want, do we, dear reader?

The sanctity of your bedroom, despite how run down in may be, was all you'd share with Anthony. It seemed as if that was the only moment in time when you could share your body with his, your thoughts with his, your heart with his.

It would never be enough.

You came from a less than savory background. Your mother married for love instead of status, and married a simple printer from the slums of London.

Happy, yes, but the money wasn't what your mother was used to. At times, it seemed to go up and missing, and it would lead to arguments between your parents. As much as they loved each other, it did not help that they could not agree... financially.

But nonetheless, when the time was right and your mother was able to scrounge together enough money for a new dress and a new set of clothes for you, the two of you walked through the 'ton. She'd go and visit her mother, whom would accept her with open arms unless her father was around. She'd walk the same path as the Bridgertons' and Featheringtons' and ignore the questioning looks that were sent her way. She was after all a mysterious woman—to them, at least.

A woman who married for love. A woman who married a printer. How incredulous to think about for those of the 'ton. When it first happened, the scandal was immense.

And now, it seemed, you were in the same boat. Not wanting to marry for money but wanting to marry for love.

Love of the one and only Viscount Bridgerton. The one who could hardly look at you in the daylight, only seeking your comforts when the moon was high in the sky.

Today was one of the days that your mother finally had a new dress. It was quite charming, the deep green fabric complimenting her skin quite nicely. Your outfit was equally charming, in the color of your choice.

"Darling," your mother said, grabbing onto your arm as the two of you walked the path through the 'ton. You could remember the last time you had walked this path, nearly two months ago.

How time had flown since then.

The time spent with Anthony not only haunting your bed but your heart as well.

"Look," she said, squeezing your flesh with warm fingers. She doesn't point, but she nudges you and motions with her head.

Your eyes flickered towards where she directed, and you could feel your heart plummet.

Anthony Bridgerton and his family were out for a stroll. His brother seemed rather amused over something, even going as far as calling his brother's name.

You looked at your mother, feeling rather... ridiculous for how nervous you felt.

"We should keep walking, mother," you said.

"Nonsense! Long ago, I was quite close to Violet Bridgerton. I'd like to say hello, Y/n."

"But mother—"

"—it is not often that I allow myself a stroll through the 'ton. The carriage out is an expense in itself, Y/n. Please. Allow me to say hello to an old friend."

You paused, a soft frown on your lips. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry mother."

She let out a soft sigh and patted your arm, giving a small nod. She continued to walk forward with you.

When Violet Bridgerton spotted the two of you, she began to smile.

She called your mother's name and immediately left her children's side, coming to the woman she had once called a dear friend.

"Oh, my, how lovely you look!" Violet hugged your mother tightly once she had let go of your arm.

You stood to the side, eyes flickering from your mother to Violet. Then, when you believed it was safe, you glanced towards the bane of your existence—Anthony Bridgerton.

He was looking.

Your eyes widened a bit and you quickly looked away.

Just a few nights before had he been in your bed, looking at you with those delicious brown eyes. Just a few nights before had he ravished your body, looking at you as if you were the diamond he had been searching for all his life.

You could barely look at him without becoming flustered.

As Violet and your mother spoke, you hardly paid attention. Only when your mother said your name did you properly look to them.

"Remember Y/n?" your mother asked.

Violet smiled. "Oh, my," she said. "They certainly have grown, hm? I remember when they were just a little thing. How old are you, now, dear? Close to Daphne's age, yes?"

You blinked slowly and mutter out an answer.

Violet heard anyway. "Well," she softly said. "You are a beauty, through and through. Your mother was always quite beautiful growing up. You are lucky to have that with you, dear."

You weakly smiled. "Thank you, Lady Bridgerton."

Violet smiled softly at your politeness. She looked back at your mother. "Come. Walk with my family. There is much I'd like to talk to you about before you go and hide for the next few months, friend."

Your mother didn't look at you as she happily agreed. You would have protested, but the excited look on her face made you hesitate.

You could deal with being near the one you secretly loved if it meant your mother would be happy, even if momentarily.

The sun is high in the sky as the two of you walk towards Violet's family.

You see as Anthony's brother, the one you believe to be Benedict, nudges him rather roughly. Anthony looked to you, face paling at the sight of you.

He had promised you only nights before that you would see him again soon. You supposed he kept his promise, if not crudely done.

You could hardly look at him as you walked along with your mother, looking anywhere but him.

His sister, Eloise, is the one who comes to stand beside of you.

"You are Y/n," Eloise blurted, looking at you with wide, curious eyes. It wasn't often she met one of her brother's conquests—hell, she wasn't even sure if he knew she had found out. Eloise is rather... studious when she wants to be, when it comes to her brothers.

You blinked slowly as you looked at her. "I... I am, yes."

Eloise let out a soft hum, looking over her shoulder. Anthony is staring, saying something out of earshot to Benedict. Eloise then looked out towards the path as they walked.

"It is nice to have a name to the face," she said. "It is often that I only hear your name and have nothing more to go by."

You blinked slowly. "How did you—"

"—he speaks of you," she quickly said. "Often."

"He does?"

Your voice is small—weak, even. As if you couldn't believe the words you were hearing.

"Yes," Eloise said, a humble smile on her lips. "He does."

Benedict Bridgerton looked to his brother, a not-so-subtle grin on his lips. "You act as if you have never been in love, brother."

"I haven't," Anthony said, walking along the path. He looked towards Y/n and her mother as they walked alongside of his mother.

"Why do you lie?" Benedict teased. "It is as if you have never been so in-tune with your own feelings than now. You know you have been in love. You are staring at the very object of your affections, and yet you are letting them slip right through your fingertips."

He looked back at his brother, going to protest, but it dies on his lips. He knows he is right.

He has told Y/n far too many times that he would go back to them—that he would see them soon enough, that he would ravish them on another night.

He has told Y/n far too many times that he needed to return to his family before morning.

He was a Viscount, for god's sake. He could do as he pleased.

But something within him didn't want to do as he pleased just because of that. He wanted more. He wanted more from Y/n, from himself. From the love he knew he could create with them.

He would be better. For them. For himself, and for his family.

Days passed by rather quickly. It was as if your lonely nights had blurred into one. Not that you were complaining. How could you? The longer time passed, the sooner you would see Anthony once more.

In the early hours of an especially difficult night, the knock at your window is unmistakable.

How childish it was for him to throw pebbles at your window to get your attention. It was as if he hadn't grown, despite being at the right age of nine and twenty.

You go to your window and look down, seeing none other than Anthony Bridgerton. You open the window to peer down at him, a deep frown on your lips.

"Anthony—"

"—please, Y/n," he said, almost desperate. The way he says your name makes you melt. "We need to talk. Now."

You blinked slowly and stared at him for almost a solid minute. You reach over and grab a shawl to keep over your shoulders as you walked to the back entrance, where Anthony would greet you like he did so many other times.

But this time, the greeting was a deep and hungry kiss, hands cupping your cheeks as if he'd not had a comforting touch in a hundred years.

You let out a noise of surprise, nearly losing your grasp on your shawl as you kiss him back, eyes fluttering shut.

When he pulled back, resting his forehead against yours, he spoke.

"I need you," he said.

"Anthony..."

"No," he said. "You do not understand what I am saying, Y/n. I need you like I've—oh, I've never needed anyone as bad as what I need you. Not just your body. Not just—not just your lips, love. I need—I need all of you."

You stared up at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"The last you saw of me. I said you wouldn't be happy with me. I—I hope that it is merely a lie of mine. The way I would burn the 'ton to the ground just to have you by my side—you have no idea what I would do for you."

You just listened as he spoke, wide eyed and breathing heavily.

"You asked me to stay. Stay 'til tomorrow. Y/n, I... I cannot do that unless you become mine. Completely mine. And I—I do not wish to part from you. Parting from you is like parting from a vice that I didn't know I needed. I need you more than I ever believed possible." Anthony licked his lips, looking down at you. His hands cupped your cheeks once more, thumb brushing against your bottom lip. "I do not wish to be parted from you any more than I have been."

"And how will you do that?" you asked, gently grabbing onto his forearms as he looked into your eyes. "You said it yourself. You cannot stay with me."

He shook his head, resting his forehead against yours. "I will make it work. I am a Viscount, and my sister is the Duchess of Hastings. The things that I can do will solve all the problems we may face... if you'll have me, of course."

You swallowed nervously as you watched him. "But the scandal—"

"—to hell with the scandals, Y/n," he said. "I would face a hundred of them if it meant that I could see your face morning, noon, and night. I would face a hundred more just to be able to call you mine."

He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. Not as desperate as the one from before, but still just as powerful.

"Please. I know what I said, and I am sorry for being so foolish. You are the one I want, the one I need. My heart yearns for yours, Y/n."

"What are you asking me, Anthony?"

"I am asking you to marry me, Y/n. Marry me, and I will never leave you alone. Not like I have."

"You wish for me to marry you?"

"More than anything I've ever wished for," he softly said.

"Even though I am not of... of proper standing?"

"You are proper enough," he said, a small smile quirking on his lips.

You let out a soft huff, eyes searching his, before you find yourself nodding in return.

"I will marry you, but only with one condition," you said.

His eyes widened a bit. "Yes, of course. What is it?"

"Do not leave my side. When we are together, do not leave unless it is absolutely necessary. I do not know if I could handle it if you were to leave me to my lonesome," you said. "You have already done so, far too many times."

He smiled down at you, pressing yet another kiss to your lips. "I promise."

"No. Swear it."

He pulled back, tilting his head. "I swear it, Y/n. I will do no such thing for as long as I breathe."

tagging: @captainsophiestark @fall-outgirl219 @bowti3esrc00l

[faith-forgxtten-land]

Come to Bed | Donatello

this started with the idea of seducing donnie into healthy sleeping patterns and then just. spiralled from there. i didn't really have a specific iteration in mind but reading it back, it definitely fits bayverse most, i think, so that's what i'll categorise it under!

warnings: NSFW, swearing, general filthiness? gender neutral reader, everyone is 18+!!

summary: there is only one way to get donnie to come to bed (two if you count blackmail)

word count: 2411

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It’s nearly 3am and your eyelids feel heavy, eyes glassy and beginning to ache just a little, and Donnie is still not in bed. You look at the empty space beside you, cold and untouched, and kick the covers off your bare legs. The air is cool, goosebumps raising the moment you abandon the comfort of bed, and you almost regret getting up as your feet hit the freezing floor.

Donnie is so lucky you love him and care for his health.

He's exactly where you'd left him hours before, sitting hunched over a desk in his lab, and you wonder briefly if turtles with their shells can suffer the same complications as humans with poor posture. Perhaps you'll force him to join you and Mikey for your bi-weekly yoga sessions. “Donnie?”

The terrapin doesn't so much as flinch, instead burying his face further into a screen that is already way too close to his face. Oh, his prescription is definitely going to need updating soon, you think amusedly. You clear your throat, attempting your best grumpy Raph impersonation. “Oi, four-eyes.”

Now Donnie does flinch, beak nearly crashing into his monitor, glasses slipping as he salvages his precious technology from being assaulted by his face and spinning in his seat to glower at whoever dared disturb him. He relaxes when he realises it's just you, shooting you a scowl that's devoid of any real heat. “You need to stop doing that voice, it's creepy.”

You grin at him, noting the exact moment he registers what you're wearing – or, rather, what you're not wearing. His eyes go wide and his lips part, scowl melting like ice doused in salt. He swallows thickly. “You're meant to be a ninja,” you tease, stepping slowly into his space and letting his hands fall to your waist before they curl around your back as he pulls you close, palms flattening against your spine. “You can't hear when one measly human is behind you?”

“You are so mean to me,” Donnie says instead of answering.

“We both know you like it. Besides,” you look down at your naked skin, his own eyes following your pointed gaze eagerly. “I think I'm being pretty kind, actually. Someone was meant to come to bed three hours ago and ravish me, but apparently, I'm not more interesting than,” you peer over his shoulder as best you can, squinting at the tiny squiggles. Lips pursed, you look at your boyfriend flatly, not bothering to finish your sentence.

“I can explain.”

“World of Warcraft? Really, Donatello?”

He winces at the full name. “I wasn’t playing for long,” he defends himself. “I’ve been looking over some things Leo asked for since this morning, I was just taking a break.”

“Taking a break means coming to bed and not staring at a screen for even longer.” Softer, you add, “I’ve been waiting for you for hours.”

You run your hands up the bumpy skin of his muscled arms, over scars and rough tissue that you’ve pressed kisses to countless times, to rest upon his shoulders. A small part of you is resentful, but the larger, kinder part of you is concerned; his eyes are bloodshot to the extreme, and exhaustion is etched deep into the lines of his face. You dig your nails in and massage a little roughly, feeling those worried knots and doing your best to soothe them with gentle palms.

It hits him then, just exactly what he’d missed out on by getting caught up, and his shoulders sag under the tender weight of your caress, twitchy energy that can keep him up for days deserting him instantly. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs quietly.

You smile at him, fond and warm, one hand trailing upwards to cup his jaw. “It’s okay.” His skin is something you’ll never get tired of touching, you think, as you rub your thumb over the swell of his cheek. You pinch him a little, coy and mean the way you know he loves, before soothing it with a whisper of a kiss when he hisses playfully. “Although, you’ll have to make it up to me.”

“And what is my punishment?” he asks dryly, guilt pushed aside to indulge in your teasing as you lean closer to hide your smirk in the crook of his neck.

“You’ll be in bed by 11 p.m. sharp every night for the next week.” You can tell an objection is on the tip of his tongue, and you fix your teeth along his throat in warning. “I’ve already cleared everything with Splinter and Leo.” 

Donnie sighs both in pleasure and in resignation. “Are you trying to seduce me into having healthy sleeping patterns?”

You start to kiss his neck, soft grazes of your lips against his scaled skin. “Maybe. Is it working?”

“Well—”

“If the answer isn’t yes, I’ll be very offended and I’ll be forced to dump you,” you add airily, tongue flicking leisurely over his rapid pulse. “You're incredibly lucky I haven't already for ditching me for World of fucking Warcraft.”

“Oh, blackmail too. Lucky me,” Donnie mutters, but it’s full of mirth and he doesn't push his luck any further.

You grin against his skin, and you grin even wider when he starts as your teeth scrape along the column of his throat. His hands have a bruising grip on your hips, and you bite down harder just to feel his grip tighten.

“You’re such a tease,” he whines, unable to stop himself bucking up into you. His breathing has turned to panting, short and desperate gasps that make heat curl in your stomach, and you trail your nails down the keratin of his plastron slowly.

“You love it,” you murmur coyly, fingers brushing against the elastic of his waistband mischievously. “And you deserve it.”

Donnie curses loudly, head falling back as you pull on that elastic just to let it snap back against him. His pants are soaking, and you feel that familiar rush of smug satisfaction as you slot your knee between his thighs. It does terrible things to your ego seeing him like this; it makes you drunk and dizzy seeing him drenched and needy for you, and you groan under your breath as he grinds against you. 

“Please,” he whimpers.

You hum as casually as you can. “Please what?”

“Fuck, please, I need you—” He cuts himself off with a loud cry of your name as you slide two fingers past his waistband and into his dripping cloaca.

“Keep going.”

He’s quick to turn into a blubbering mess, drool running down his chin and words slurring as he babbles and begs you to continue finger-fucking him. “Don’t stop, please—yes, yes, right there, there, fuck—”

Your fingers pump in and out, scissoring inside him at a harsh pace you know he likes. He’s sopping wet but that doesn’t stop the tiny spikes of pain mixing deliriously with pleasure as you stretch him wide without warning. You can feel his slick coating your hand, running down your skin and over your knuckles, and he only gushes more when you add a third digit.

“Faster, faster,” he chants shakily, almost sobbing when you slow instead. 

“You’re so tight, baby,” you purr. “I wouldn’t wanna hurt you.”

He’s definitely sobbing now. “I can take it, please, please.”

“Oh?” You curl your fingers and fuck him harder and faster, just the way he wants. His cock is there, thick and heavy and ready to drop, and he shudders as you brush softly against it.

His voice is choked as he calls your name again. "Gonna drop, please–”

Your laugh is light and a little cruel and it makes him wail, the sound overflowing with need and desperation. “Don’t you dare.”

“Oh god,” Donnie gasps as your fingers rub along his length still tucked inside, a fresh wave of slick trickling down to your wrist.

“I would’ve been kind,” you tell him nonchalantly, kissing his temple and huffing another laugh when he can’t stop his hips from grinding into you, body begging you to bury your fingers deeper inside him. “But you’ve been such a bad boy.”

He drops with a guttural groan followed by a pathetic whimper, gasping apologies feebly.

You sigh and pull your hand back, your resolve faltering just a little when Donnie whines and cries louder at the action. “You’re being very bad tonight, baby.”

He’s still wearing his pants and you roll your lips to hide a smile as he tugs them down frantically, his cock finally free in the air. His hands grip the arms of his chair so hard that you swear you hear them creak, desperate to touch himself but not wanting to disobey you any further. It’s a bit late to play innocent and good now, and you shoot him an unimpressed look that makes his jaw clench. “Please,” Donnie breathes.

Your hand is still soaked, and you watch him watch you as you raise your fingers to your lips, sticky tendrils trembling as you rub your fingertips together before parting them slowly. Eyes fixed on his, you glide your tongue over his slick, sucking gently and exhaling quietly at the flavour that blooms over your tastebuds. The arms of the chair are definitely creaking now, and you smile coyly as his cock twitches.

“Please.”

As much as you love teasing him into a pathetic frenzy, you remember his weary eyes and decide to put him out of his misery. There’ll be plenty of time to punish Donnie the way he deserves later – lots of edging and whining and begging and very little relief. For now, you’ll give him what he wants.

You kneel between his legs, coquettish as you glance up at him through your lashes; he’s working his jaw, teeth clenched and eyes darting wildly as he barely holds himself together. Grasping his hard cock in your hand, slick and heavy, you begin to pump slowly.

The chirps and churrs that escape him are whining and full of ecstasy, his eyes fluttering as you squeeze your palms around his thick length, hands twisting with an obscene squelch at every stroke. The lab is quiet apart from the wet pumping and his throaty groans, and you wonder if his moaning will be loud enough to wake the others. It wouldn’t surprise you, and the thought makes your hand move faster as you rub your thumb over the sensitive head of his cock.

Donnie can’t stop the stutter of his hips, head falling back. “Fuck.” He swears louder as your lips suckle his tip, your name a rasping prayer spilling from his mouth. You flick your tongue, tasting the slightly bitter flavour of his precum and just how soaked he is, evidence of what you do to him coating your face, and he cries noisily when you suddenly take another few inches into your mouth and swallow around him. He’s hitting the back of your throat, and he feels like he’s about to faint from how tight and warm you feel.

A wave of embarrassment hits him as you pull back and smirk, his head still pressed against your flirtatious smile while you continue to work him with your hands. “Please,” he begs for what feels like the hundredth time that night.

“You’re so good at begging,” you praise, eyes sparkling when it makes him moan lewdly. Oh, that definitely woke someone up. He’s back to bucking his hips and because you’re so kind, you let him dictate the pace as you continue pumping.

“So close,” he breathes shakily. “I’m so close, please.”

“Please, what?”

His eyes roll back, and the arms of his chair finally give way, crumbling under his crushing grip as impressions of his hands mould into the metal. Donnie doesn’t stop rocking and whimpering. “Please let me come.”

You kiss the head of his cock once more, delighting in the way he tremors at the whisper of touch. “Be a good boy and come for me, Donatello.”

There’s nothing Donnie loves more than being good for you and he shows this by coming undone the second his name leaves your lips, body jolting and convulsing like he's been struck by lightning as you continue to milk his cock while his orgasm wracks through him. Your face is completely covered, ropes of his come painting your skin as he groans pitifully, the sound agonised and mewling. 

It’s almost silent for a few moments, the only noises are Donnie’s wheezing pants and whimpers of oversensitivity, and you watch him quietly. He’s so beautiful like this, blissed out, stress a stranger rather than a constant companion, and you wish you could both stay like this.

The moment is over too soon as the terrapin manages to open his eyes blearily, although they nearly shut again in dizzying satisfaction when he catches sight of your come-smeared cheeks. It’s dripping down your chin, threatening to spill down your neck and to your chest, and a part of you wants to leave it, relishing in the way Donnie is entirely transfixed, but you scoop what you can on your fingers and bring the sticky threads to your mouth instead.

Donnie’s lips part and his breath hitches and it’s your turn to shut your eyes in pleasure, eyes rolling and unable to stop a soft groan as you lick and swallow what he’s given you. “Mean,” he accuses again when you finally open your eyes, and you grin at how faint he sounds.

“Just for you,” you agree and he churrs instinctively, flushing as you snicker. He’s so cute, you think fondly, letting him reach out and grasp you closer, seeking comfort. And so easy.

“I think I need that nap now,” Donnie tells you weakly, and you huff another laugh against his sweaty skin, tasting salt and nuzzling further into him. 

You press a loving kiss to his shoulder and reluctantly pull back. “Shower then bed, come on.” His legs are shaky, and you purse your lips to stop from chuckling as he stumbles like a newborn lamb, begrudgingly relenting to leaning against you. “Poor Bambi,” you tease, brushing your lips against his plastron in a loving caress when he grumbles playfully. 

Hopefully, no one has been awoken by your night-time activities and, if they have, you hope they’re not up and roaming because you’d really rather not have to bump into any of Donnie’s family with his come still coating your face.

[macfrog]

hello, gang. i hope everyone’s well.

it’s become clear to me over the last little while that this place has grown into a monster which simply did not exist when i signed up two years ago.

i feel uncomfortable almost every time i open the app these days. there is so much casual cruelty which i find utterly appalling, as well as some of the most shameful name-calling thrown around so callously that it makes my skin crawl.

to put it simply: this is not fun anymore. it has not been for quite some time. frankly, i don’t have the energy or the will to deal with it any longer.

it’s always been most important to me that this blog felt safe and welcoming to anyone who came across it. there are so many of you who’ve helped make it that way, and so i’d like to let you know.

the jellyfish is the last thing i’ll be sharing to this space. my parting gift. i am kissing macfrog on her slimy little nose and logging out. maybe forever, maybe just for a while, i don’t know. it’s been a wild ride, but the sun went down hours ago and i’d like to go home now.

my writing will remain here, as well as over on my ao3 - which i recently updated in full. please feel very free to download any fics for your safekeeping if you'd like to. i'm not planning on deleting anything, but just in case.

i hope you all know how special this was to me and how thankful i am to have stumbled upon all of you. i’m wishing you all the very best for wherever you go and whatever you do in life. be good. be kind. look out for each other. read and write whatever you like and take zero shit for it. give your pets the warmest of hugs from me. and long live jrrmint.

alright. i fucking hate goodbyes so i’ll just leave it there. i love you guys. the porch light is always on.

xx

[levanterhaze]

SUPERNATURAL, BANGCHAN

♡  ― 󠀬󠀬producer!bangchan x f!reader praise kink, unprotected sex, rough sex, possessiveness, creampie, mention of anxiety, slightly toxic relationship, phone sex, dirty talk, fingering, thigh riding, overstimulation, masturbation (both receiving), angst and a bit of fluff bc why not?

♡ synopsis ― You left Bangchan to protect your heart. He waited, hoping you'd come back. A silent month, one crowded room, and the gravity between you never left. Some loves don’t vanish—they haunt, they ache, and if you’re lucky, they bloom again.

[14.2k words ]♡― guys, here is part two as promised! thank you to everyone who read and commented. it means a lot to me!

This love's possessin' me, but I don't mind at all It's like supernatural It's takin' over me, don't wanna fight the fall It's like supernatural

You slipped out of the party minutes later, leaving Jisung fretting behind you, calling your name. But you couldn’t bear the thought of going downstairs — of seeing Bangchan again and pretending like none of it had touched you.

Your pride stung where he'd cut it, even if you knew, deep down, that you’d both been guilty of the same cruelty. He had only mirrored what you once did over the phone — pulling away before you could pull him closer.

But the truth was, you were tired.

Exhausted from the push and pull, the games neither of you wanted to admit you were playing. Tired of waiting for promises that dissolved before they could ever reach you.

Somewhere along the way, you had slipped through each other's fingers. The little celebrations that once mattered — anniversaries, tiny milestones only the two of you would remember — faded into afterthoughts, swallowed up by meetings and deadlines.

You have tried. God, you had tried with everything you had to keep the threads together.

But love cannot survive on good intentions alone.

Bangchan's world demanded everything from him, and he had given it willingly. Again and again, you watched him choose the studio over your shared bed. Choose the endless hours of perfecting someone else's music over the simple, stubborn love you tried to offer him.

You had lain awake more nights than you could count, the glow of your phone painting the darkness, waiting for a message that came too late or not at all.

You understood — you always had — that his dreams were colossal and heavy. You had never wanted to be the weight that slowed him down.

But there is a difference between understanding and acceptance. And you could no longer bear being the afterthought, the thing he returned to only when the work had drained him dry.

If Bangchan had decided to chase his future with everything he had, you would let him. You would not beg for space in a life where you were already disappearing.

Even if it cost you more than you knew how to bear.

It all started to crumble the night you waited for him, heart full and hands shaking with excitement.

You had spent hours getting ready for your birthday — slipping into the dress you knew he liked, the soft blue one that matched the earrings he once said made your eyes look brighter. You dabbed your favorite perfume behind your ears, the one he used to bury his face in when he hugged you after a long day.

You didn’t want anything extravagant. No parties. No gifts.

 Just him.

Just a few quiet hours where life didn’t pull him in a thousand different directions. You understood how hard he worked — the pressure of his dreams weighing on his back — but you thought, for tonight at least, you could be his priority.

So you waited. First by the window, tapping your nails against the glass. Then on the couch, your phone cooling in your hand as the minutes blurred into hours.

When the clock struck midnight, your chest tightened around the truth you didn’t want to accept.

Three hours later, the door finally opened. Bangchan stumbled in with messy hair, a hoarse voice full of apologies.

He kissed your forehead too many times. He promised he'd make it up to you. He swore it would never happen again.

But it had already happened. And the ache had already rooted itself deep in your chest, in a place where no amount of love could reach.

You loved him. God, you loved him enough to burn.

But you had learned, slowly and painfully, that loving yourself had to come first. And sometimes — no matter how deep the love ran — it wasn’t enough to patch over everything that had cracked between you. Leaving him wasn't like slamming a door. It was like tearing your own ribs apart with your bare hands.

And it felt even worse because he didn’t let you go easily. He held you in shaking arms, his face wet with tears you had never seen him cry before. He pleaded, whispered over and over that you were his everything, that he could change, that he would do better.

It would have been easier if he had yelled. If he had turned cold. But instead, he broke down in front of you, raw and unguarded — and you hated yourself for every second you had to pull away from him.

You felt like the villain in a story where he had always played the hero.

And that was what made it so much worse. Because loving someone isn’t the same as being able to stay. And breaking his heart didn’t mean yours survived it either.

There were nights when you cried until your pillow was soaked, your chest aching from the memories you couldn't shut off. Nights when you scrolled through the photos — snapshots of sunlit trips, blurry pictures taken in bed, stolen kisses in crowded streets — and asked yourself if any of it had even been real.

Because sometimes the happiness felt like a story someone else had lived, like you had imagined it all just to make the ending hurt less.

Either way, it didn’t matter anymore. You weren’t talking to each other.

After the party, after the final look he gave you in that mirror, you knew you couldn’t keep playing these small, cruel games. No matter how good it felt for a fleeting second, it wasn’t real — not anymore.

Now you were trying to build a different kind of peace. And today, that peace looked like Jisung sprawled on your living room floor, laptop open, working on a song, while you pretended to study.

You both sat there in a comfortable kind of silence, the kind that only existed between people who had seen each other at their worst and stayed anyway.

The TV murmured quietly in the background, a forgotten drama flickering across the screen, while the smell of greasy food filled the air — fried chicken, fries, and way too many dipping sauces.

You were lying on your stomach, highlighter in hand, pretending to read an article for class. But your eyes were burning from exhaustion and your head throbbed dully.

Eventually, you gave up the charade and turned to Jisung, nudging his foot with yours. “What are you writing?” you asked, grateful for any distraction.

He glanced over his shoulder, cheeks puffed out like a hamster from the mouthful of chicken he had just stuffed in. He swallowed dramatically and narrowed his eyes at you, suspiciously.

“Are you sure you wanna know?” he asked, voice teasing but edged with something more playful.

You squinted at him, smiling despite yourself. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well,” Jisung began, eyes flicking down to the crumpled sheet in his hand, “a while ago Chan gave me these lyrics and the melody to analyze. Said he wanted a second opinion, maybe even help shaping it into a full song.”

You nodded slowly, your body still relaxed on the mattress.

“I didn’t get around to it at the time,” he continued, “had other projects on my plate. But now that he’s—” Jisung hesitated for a second, his gaze shifting slightly. “Now that he’s not doing too well, he asked me to finally take a look.”

You sat up like the air had been pulled from the room. The reaction was so fast, so sharp, that Jisung jumped slightly, his eyes widening.

You were on your knees in a heartbeat, sitting back on your heels. “Wait, wait—what do you mean he’s not doing well? Is he sick?”

Jisung sighed, the sound low and reluctant. He rubbed the back of his neck, like he regretted saying anything.

“Yeah,” he admitted, quietly. “Been a couple weeks now. Nothing serious—I think. He didn’t give me details, and he sure as hell won’t slow down. Stay locked in that damn studio like it's the only thing keeping him alive.”

Your chest tightened. Of course he wouldn’t slow down. Of course Bangchan would keep pushing himself until his body couldn’t anymore. He was relentless like that — stubborn, reckless, and always carrying more than he let anyone see. 

You knew that about him. You loved that about him, even when it hurt.

And now, despite everything, your worry comes back too easily, too naturally. Like your heart still had a thread tied to his and it tugged the moment his name slipped into fragile territory.

“Can I see it?” you asked, your eyes fixed on the sheet in Jisung’s hand.

He hesitated. Looked at the paper, then at you. “If he finds out I showed you this…”

“He won’t,” you said, voice low but firm, a quiet promise wrapped in a smile. “I won’t say a word.”

Jisung held your gaze for a moment. Then he exhaled, defeated by your determination, and handed over the paper. You took it carefully, like it might burn your skin. Your fingers hovered for a second before you unfolded the page.

And then, with a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, you read the first line.

I hate to admit

I still miss you

How could I forget?

Even though you promised

Don't go anywhere, stay by my side

No point in saying it, it's already too late

You, who I've always dreamed of

Have suddenly changed, what happened?

Maybe you could come back

What are you saying? You said that last time too

In my eyes, it's already over

You're the one who made it crumble, yeah

I can't give up on you

His handwriting. Familiar loops and jagged lines, words crossed out with hesitation, tiny question marks hanging at the ends of uncertain phrases, as if he was second-guessing every syllable. As if every thought of you had been too fragile to capture cleanly the first time.

It hit you like a wave. A tight ache blooming quietly in your chest, the kind of sorrow that made your throat burn. You had to look away from the paper or you were sure you'd cry. Right there, in front of Jisung.

Did he feel just as lost? Did he miss you the way you missed him — in the quiet, in the ordinary? Did he ever consider walking away for good, the same way you’d tried to convince yourself to?

Even after Jisung left, those questions clung to you like static. You didn’t know if this was a mistake, if it would only make things worse. But you moved anyway. On instinct. On hope. You made vegetable soup with meat, pineapple juice on the side — and carried it with shaking hands, straight to the studio.

The hour didn’t matter, even though it was well past nine. You weren’t thinking about time. You were only thinking of him. Of whether he was sleeping enough, eating anything at all, or just burning himself out like always.

The security guards let you in without question. They’d known you for years, smiled as if nothing had changed. As if you were still his. Still his girlfriend. You didn’t have the heart to correct them.

Bangchan heard the knock, confused — no messages, no scheduled work. Still, he stood, the silence of the studio wrapping around him as he walked to the door.

And there you were.

Small, uncertain, standing just beyond the threshold with your shoulders drawn in like you’d stepped out of a storm and hadn’t shaken it off yet. And God — his heart. It stumbled inside his chest at the sight of you.

“Hi?” Your voice was soft, uncertain — like you were trying not to break something delicate.

Bangchan looked at you. Your cheeks were flushed from the cold, eyes bright with something between nerves and quiet resolve.

“Hi.”

“I… um, I heard you weren’t feeling well.” You held up the bag in your hand, a little awkwardly, like a peace offering. It was oddly endearing — so much so that he had to fight the small, instinctive smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh. So, now you care?”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. Sharper than he intended. But the look on your face — the way your expression flickered — made his chest tighten.

“Don’t say that,” you whispered. “I’ve always cared.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” He didn’t mean to sound bitter, but the weight in his voice betrayed him.

He wanted to ask why you were here. Why you’d come. But maybe he didn’t want to hear the answer. Maybe it would hurt worse than silence.

“Look,” you said, voice gentler now, as you pressed the bag against his chest. “There’s soup. With protein, so you don’t end up passing out in the middle of a session. And ibuprofen. Just… take it, okay?”

He accepted the bag, but his eyes never left yours.

“I should probably go,” you said quietly.

But before you could step away, his hand reached for your wrist. Not to trap — just to anchor.

“Don’t.” His voice cracked. “Stay. I’m sorry. I was being an ass.”

You glanced around, feigning indifference. “Do you actually want me to stay?”

“Yes.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Do you want me to beg?”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real bite in it. “No.”

He stepped aside.

“Come in.”

Crossing the threshold felt strange — like walking back into a dream you’d convinced yourself you were done with. The studio has always been complicated for you. You loved it because he did, and hated it for the same reason. This room had given him so much — and taken just as much from the two of you.

But tonight, you were here. And maybe, that meant something still could be salvaged.

Bangchan sank into the familiar leather chair, the one worn from years of long nights and endless sessions. He pulled the bag onto his lap, peeking inside, and for a moment — a brief, genuine moment — a soft smile broke across his face.

“Thank you, princess,” he murmured.

“You're welcome,” you replied quietly, easing down onto the sofa behind him.

For a split second, it felt like nothing had changed — you, sitting there, him at his desk — the comfortable rhythm of old times. But the truth sat heavy between you: everything had changed.

“How did you even know?” he asked, swiveling slightly to catch your eye.

“Jisung,” you said, flashing him a guilty, sideways smile. “Don’t be mad at him.”

Bangchan huffed a quiet laugh through his nose, shaking his head.

"You don't have to worry about me," he said. "It's just a cold. Maybe some inflammation. It'll pass."

You crossed your arms, unimpressed. Of course he hadn’t bothered seeing a doctor — you could already see it in the stubborn set of his jaw, the tired sag of his shoulders.

"How long have you been here without a break?" you pressed.

The silence that followed was answer enough. You whined, exasperated, the way you always did when he pushed himself too far. “Ugh. You're so annoying.”

He chuckled at your familiar pout, the sound low and warm, settling somewhere deep in his chest.

“Please,” you said, softening. “You need to rest.”

“Angel," he said, voice low with apology, "I have to finish this song tonight.”

You looked at him then — really looked at him. The dark circles under his eyes, the weary way he held himself upright. Your nose was a little red from the cold outside, your eyes so full of quiet concern it almost undid him.

“You're exhausted, Chan.”

And he was. God, he was. But the need to prove something — maybe to himself — weighed heavier than his own body tonight.

He just didn't know how to stop.

"Why don’t you sit your pretty ass on the couch and wait for me? I swear I won’t take long.” His tone was soft, coaxing — the kind that tried to make a command sound like a favor.

You crossed your arms, unimpressed. It wasn’t like you had much choice, and you hated how easily he knew that. “Still an idiot. And still annoying,” you muttered, curling into yourself and hugging your knees.

Bangchan just laughed under his breath, swiveling his chair back toward the mixing table like your barbs were little more than background noise.

And so you stayed, quiet but close, letting the silence between you stretch and settle — familiar, almost comforting — like all the times before when you watched him lose himself in the only world he never shut you out of.

The hours slipped by quietly, marked only by the soft hum of the computer and the occasional sound of Bangchan sipping soup or juice. His eyes remained fixed on the screen, fingers dancing over the keyboard with quiet urgency. There were still a few final touches to make before the track could be sent off — his name attached to it, his reputation carried in each beat.

By the time he leaned back in his chair and exhaled, the clock had already passed two in the morning.

“Okay,” he whispered to no one in particular, voice low and worn. “I’m done.”

When he turned around, he found you fast asleep on the sofa — curled into yourself like a child, your hand resting gently against your cheek. Your breathing was soft and steady, strands of hair falling into your face, your expression calm in a way he hadn't seen in a long time.

A smile formed slowly on his lips, unguarded and aching. You looked so peaceful. So heartbreakingly beautiful. His chest tightened with the weight of everything he hadn’t said — the apologies, the longing, the love that still clung to him like a second skin.

He didn’t want to wake you. He didn’t even want to breathe too loud, afraid the moment might break. But it was late. You needed to go home.

Still, he moved gently, as if cradling something fragile. Slipping one arm beneath your knees and the other behind your back, he lifted you with the kind of care that said everything he couldn’t.

You stirred in his arms, your voice a soft murmur, your lashes fluttering.

“Shh,” he whispered quickly, brushing your hair away from your face. “No, no, don’t wake up. Keep sleeping. I’ll take you home.”

You were so deeply asleep you didn’t even stir — not when he lifted you, not when the night air kissed your skin. Instead, your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, your face tucking into the crook of his shoulder. The warmth of you, the familiar weight against his chest, sent a quiet ache blooming in Bangchan’s ribs. He inhaled slowly, letting the scent of your hair — something soft and sweet — tug at memories he thought he'd locked away.

He held you a little tighter.

At the car, he draped his jacket around your shoulders before setting you down gently in the passenger seat. His apartment wasn’t far, just a short drive through sleepy streets — yet it felt like a quiet journey through another life. The one where you still belonged to each other.

You didn’t wake, not even when he parked, not even as he carried you up. He laughed under his breath — not mockingly, but in awe of how completely you trusted him, even now. As if no time had passed at all.

Inside, he flicked off the main lights, leaving only the soft glow of the neons — pinks, purples, pale blues — washing the room in a kind of nostalgia. The colors felt like you. The bed, too, still seemed shaped by your absence. He laid you down on what had always been your side, your body curling instinctively into the space as if it remembered more than you’d admit.

You shifted once, a sigh leaving your lips, but didn’t wake.

Bangchan stepped into the shower, letting the heat roll over his tired limbs, trying to shake the heaviness that hadn’t left him in weeks. But it was still there — behind his eyes, in his chest, in the quiet hum of the apartment with you just a few feet away.

When he returned to the bedroom, towel-drying his hair, he moved quietly. Slipping beneath the sheets, he faced you in the low light, watching the calm rhythm of your breathing.

He brushed a few strands from your face and let his thumb trace the curve of your cheek, slow and reverent.

He still loved you. He always had.

And maybe in another life, or maybe even this one, you’d open your eyes and feel it — before the distance between you grew too wide to cross.

You woke to a tangle of soft murmurs, distant and blurred like echoes from a dream. For a second, you weren’t sure if you were still asleep. The world around you was bathed in gentle pink and violet hues, as if reality had melted into something more delicate, more unreal.

But then your heart flipped. Because you knew this place.

The room was unmistakable. The spacious bed you used to share. The neon glow that painted the walls. Even the scent — a mixture of warm cotton and something that was just… him. Wrapped around you like a memory.

You turned your head, slowly, careful not to stir too much. And there he was.

Bangchan, lying on his side, brows drawn as if in thought even in sleep. His lips were a tight line, the muscles in his jaw tense. He didn’t look peaceful — not entirely. Something unsettled pulled at the corners of his expression.

You shifted slightly beneath the covers, your hand moving toward him almost on instinct. But you paused halfway when his breathing hitched, deeper, more erratic. For a moment you thought he might wake.

A few unruly curls had fallen across his forehead, and without thinking, you reached out. Just a featherlight touch, as if you were afraid your fingers would break the moment.

You smiled quietly. Tenderly.

“Sometimes I can’t believe you happened,” you whispered to no one in particular — maybe to the moment, maybe to him.

But then you noticed the sound. Not distant anymore. It was him.

His breath came in broken murmurs, the edge of a whimper slipping past his lips. A quiet sound of discomfort, like he was wrestling with something in his sleep.

“Chan?” you whispered, inching closer. But he didn’t stir.

His body tensed under the covers, caught in some invisible turmoil, and your heart clenched.

He wasn’t just dreaming. He was hurting.

Gently, you laid your palm against his forehead, then slid it down to the curve of his neck. The heat radiating from his skin confirmed what you’d already feared — he was burning up. 

Your heart sank as your hand moved to his cheek, and you stroked it with quiet tenderness, the pads of your fingers slow, as if the gentleness could soothe him.

“You’re burning up, stupid” you whispered, concern thick in your voice.

You reached for his arm through the blanket and gave it a soft shake. “Chan, wake up.”

He murmured something unintelligible, but just as always, he stirred easily — even in sleep, he was attuned to the slightest sound, the smallest touch. His eyes fluttered open after a few sluggish blinks, and instinctively, his hand found your arm.

“Are you all right?” His voice was hoarse, raw at the edges.

But your worry was for him. “You’re not well. You’re shaking with fever.”

He groaned softly and rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, as if even gravity had become too heavy. “Did you take the ibuprofen I gave you?” you asked, your voice gentle but firm.

He didn’t answer right away. Just offered a sheepish smile, eyes darting sideways in guilt — and that was enough.

“Unbelievable.” 

But still, your hand never left his.

You sighed again, this time louder, pushing yourself up from the mattress. 

“You can’t just ignore it, Chan. Come on, I’ll get you some water and a fresh dose of ibuprofen. We’ll bring the fever down.”

But as you tried to leave the bed, his fingers tightened around your wrist — not hard, just enough to make you pause.

“Don’t go,” he murmured, voice gravelly from sleep and fever. His eyes were half-lidded, but you could see the truth in them.

He wasn’t just asking you to stay for comfort. He needed you in that moment, in the way people only need the things they’ve missed too long and too deeply.

“Chan—” you began, your voice caught between soft protest and something that ached..

“I feel better when you’re here.” His thumb brushed against the inside of your wrist like a secret. “Just… stay a little longer. Please.”

You gulped. Your body was already leaning toward him, traitorous in its longing. But your brain pushed back, reminding you that no amount of shared silence or pink neon light could fix everything.

“You need medicine. Fluids. Not—” Your words faltered as he looked at you.

“Not me?” he finished quietly.

Your lips parted, but nothing came out. Because it wasn’t true. You wanted to stay.

“I’ll go get you the meds,” you said at last, trying to sound stronger than you felt.

But he sat up, slower this time, fighting the weight of his fever. His hand reached for yours again, warmer now with the heat pulsing from him. “Just five minutes. I swear. Lie down with me.”

You stared at him for a moment, watching his chest rise and fall too quickly, his eyes already beginning to gloss again from the fever. He was too sick to argue. And you were too tired to fight the part of you that still loved him.

“Five minutes,” you whispered, crawling back under the sheets.

The moment you did, he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath. His arms slipped around your waist, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck. The heat of his skin against yours made you shiver.

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

And yet, your heart screamed every word you weren’t ready to say.

You stayed like that for a while — tangled in silence, in warmth, in everything neither of you had figured out how to say. His breath was uneven against your neck, arms wrapped firmly around your waist like he was afraid you’d slip away if he let go.

“Are you comfortable?” you asked quietly, not without a trace of concern. “You’re burning up.”

He hummed low in his throat, voice rough. “Yeah. I don’t care.”

You shifted slightly to look at him, only to find his eyes half-lidded, watching you through lashes heavy with fever. His expression was soft in a way that made your chest tighten.

“You should,” you murmured. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“Maybe I haven’t.” His voice broke a little on the last word. “But you’re here now.”

That silence again — the kind that makes you feel like you’re standing too close to something that still hurts. You swallowed.

“Why didn’t you call me?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

His thumb rubbed the inside of your wrist, slow, almost absent. “Didn’t think I was allowed to anymore.”

Your breath caught. “Channie…”

He looked at you then — really looked. And the playfulness that usually sat at the corners of his mouth was gone, replaced by something rawer, quieter.

“You still care,” he said, more of a realization than a question.

“I do,” you admitted. “I always do.”

He didn’t speak. Just rested his forehead against yours, breathing you in like that alone could steady him.

“You’re still running hot,” you said, breaking the moment before it swallowed you both whole. “You need to eat something, drink more water. Take the stupid ibuprofen.”

He didn’t argue. Didn’t tease. Just nodded and closed his eyes again.

“I missed this,” he said after a beat, voice hoarse. “You. Us. Even when it hurt.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, your hand finding the back of his neck, holding him close like maybe that would stop the ache.

“Don’t say things like that unless you mean them,” you whispered.

“I meant every word.”

And somehow, that made it worse.

Eventually, he took the ibuprofen — reluctantly, like it pained him more than the fever — washing it down with the last of the juice. You watched with your arms folded, waiting for a sarcastic remark, but it never came. He just blinked, slowly, eyes a little unfocused, then reached for you.

“Come here,” he murmured, quieter now. His voice had lost its edge. Softer. Like he didn’t want to scare you away.

You hesitated.

But he didn’t push, didn’t coax — he just pulled. A gentle tug, like muscle memory. And that’s what made you give in. You let yourself be drawn back into his space, your spine pressing to his chest beneath the weight of the blankets.

He was too warm — but not just from the fever. It was everything: his arm around your waist, the steady drag of his breath against your neck, the weight of him folding around you like you were something fragile. The way he held you made your throat close up.

“Just for a bit,” he said into your hair, almost a plea. “Let me hold you.”

Your heart answered before your voice did. You stayed.

The silence that followed was thick — not awkward, not even heavy. Just full. Of everything unsaid, of old comforts and too-recent wounds. His hand found your arm, trailing lightly down it, fingertips like memory. Your skin prickled under his touch. Your pulse quickened. It didn’t feel like nerves. It felt like recognition.

You shifted — trying to make space to think, to breathe — and that’s when you felt him.

Hard.

Your body stilled. His breath caught.

“Shit,” he muttered, the word nearly inaudible. He pulled back a fraction, like he was suddenly aware of himself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t— It’s not—”

“It’s okay,” you said, too quickly, and not quite steadily.

But it wasn’t. Not when you could still feel him against you. Not when your pulse wouldn’t settle. Not when your whole body was remembering what it meant to be wanted like that, by him.

And you hadn’t moved. Not an inch.

He swallowed hard behind you. “You do something to me,” he whispered, like it was a secret he’d been choking on. “Even now. Especially now.”

You turned your face slightly, not enough to look at him, but enough for him to feel the shift. The silence pulsed.

“Chan.”

“I’ll behave,” he said, his forehead lowering to your shoulder. “But don’t ask me to lie. Don’t ask me to pretend I still don't want you.”

You turned in his arms slowly, like the moment might break if you moved too fast. His breath brushed your cheek, warm and shaky, and when your eyes met his—half-lidded, glassy, filled with something raw—it hit you just how long you’d both been holding this in.

You lifted your hand, tracing your finger across his bottom lip, and he froze like he didn’t dare breathe. Like he didn’t want to risk waking up from this.

Then you kissed him.

Not desperate. Not rushed. Just full—of longing, of memory, of everything you’d both left unsaid. Your mouths moved together like you’d done it a hundred times before, and still, it felt brand new. His hands slid to your hips, tentative at first, then gripping like he was afraid you’d vanish. You melted into him, fingers curling in his hair, tasting every soft sound he gave you.

When you finally pulled back, both of you panting, your forehead rested gently against his. Your palm brushed his cheek, still warm, still flushed.

“How are you feeling?” you whispered.

His answer was breathless. “Never felt better.”

But his body told the truth—tense, trembling, undeniably hard against you. The heat between you was unmistakable, alive. And when your hand drifted down, slowly, his eyes widened in disbelief. You didn’t rush. Just rested your palm over him, gentle, steady.

His breath hitched. Then he caught your wrist.

“You shouldn’t,” he murmured, voice rough and low. His fingers around your wrist weren’t firm—they were trembling. “Not if you don’t mean it.”

You looked at him. Steady. Sure.

“I want to,” you said, soft but clear, like a vow. 

The moment stretched—charged, delicate. His grip loosened, and his gaze held yours like he was afraid he’d fall in if he blinked.

You leaned in, your voice brushing his skin: “Let me take care of you.” A beat. “Let me make you feel good”.

Your hand slipped beneath the waistband of his sweats, fingers searching until you found him—already hard, warm, and slick at the tip with need. He sucked in a sharp breath and caught your wrist, his grip tight but trembling.

Whatever resolve he had left shattered right then. His hand fell away.

You touched him through the soft cotton of his boxers, slow and measured, feeling him twitch beneath your palm. His hips shifted, desperate to stay still, desperate not to beg. You bit your lip, gaze dropping as you peeled the last barrier away and took him into your hand—hot, veiny, heavy against your skin, damp with arousal.

Bangchan’s head fell back, a low grunt breaking from his chest, raw and guttural. His fingers dug into your waist like he was grounding himself, trying not to lose control.

You swiped your thumb along the red tip, catching the silky there and spreading it in slow circles. He made a sound—part moan, part exhale—and you could feel the tension melting in him with every careful stroke.

You licked your fingers, then wrapped it around the length of him, slowly beginning to move. The way he responded—every breath, every quiet curse—felt like a kind of worship. 

And through it all, the tenderness didn’t fade. If anything, it burned hotter—wanting him, yes, but wanting to take care of him, to give him something he couldn’t ask for out loud.

“Kiss me,” you whispered, your hand still rubbed around his cock, your breath warm against his cheek.

He obeyed, almost clumsily, lips crashing into yours like he was falling—into you, into the moment. His moans slipped into your mouth, whiny and broken, like he couldn’t hold them back anymore. It was messy, aching, raw—his body snaking beside you as you pumped him slowly, then deeper, faster, your fingers glossy with pre-cum and saliva.

He gasped against your lips, hips jerking into your hand, chasing every glide like he was starved. “Don’t stop,” he begged, breathless, his voice cracking. “Please, please, don’t stop.”

His eyes rolled back, lashes fluttering, head tipping into the pillow. Every sound he made—those ruined, wet moans—tore something loose inside your mind, branding you with the image of him surrendering beneath your touch.

You leaned in and kissed the edge of his jaw, then nipped at his ear gently. “You’re so close,” you murmured, fingers tightening around him, gliding up and down his thick, veiny length. 

Bangchan shuddered, thighs tensing as his whole body arched. His whines turned frantic, throat tight with euphoria as he writhed beneath your hand. His muscles went rigid—then he let out a broken groan, panting through clenched teeth as he came hard, spilling hot into his stomach.

You held him through it, working him through the tremors, his pleasure loud and ragged in the quiet room.

When his eyes finally opened, they were glassy and dazed, but burning with hunger. Like he still couldn’t believe you were real. 

He grabs your waist, dragging you into his lap like he needs to feel your weight, your warmth, your heartbeat pressed to his. His hands tremble slightly against your hips, not from weakness, but restraint—like he’s holding back everything he doesn’t know how to say.

You feel it instantly. The shift. The want. The plea.

He leans in, lips brushing your jaw, your cheek, but not quite your mouth. Not yet. You press a hand to his chest, stopping him.

“Chan,” you whisper, “we shouldn’t. Not like this. You need to rest, not—”

He lets out a low, frustrated sound in his throat, somewhere between a groan and a growl. “Fuck, you drive me insane,” he says, voice low and raw. “You say you want me, then you pull away like you're scared of it.”

You try to explain, to steady your breath, to ease the heat that's already caught between you. “I’m not pulling away. I just… I want to be careful.”

He exhales harshly, eyes flicking up to meet yours. There's nothing careful in his gaze—only fire and ache.

“Please,” he says, almost broken. “Please don’t do this to me. I’m losing my fucking mind without you.”

You can feel every word of it in the way he holds you—desperate, reverent, like you’re the only thing tethering him to himself.

“I don’t care if it’s messy,” he breathes. “I don’t care if I’m not healed yet. I just— I need you. All of you.”

“I think we should sleep now.” Your voice barely carried, but it hung between you like a thread — fragile, teasing, unsure.

Bangchan let out a low laugh, the kind that curled through your spine and settled in your stomach.

“Are you trying to be funny now, angel?”

You gave a subtle shrug, your smile too soft to be convincing. Your hand rose to his neck, thumb gliding along the edge of his jaw before you pressed your palm to his forehead. He leaned into your touch without thinking — the heat of him still there, but dulled, no longer consuming.

“You look better,” you whispered.

He caught your wrist gently, lips tilting into a slow smile. “You just touch me like that and expect me not to feel better?”

Your cheeks flushed before you could stop it. He leaned in and kissed your cheek, then didn’t stop. His lips trailed lower, grazing the line of your jaw, then pausing just beneath your ear. 

The way he moved wasn’t hurried. He kissed like he was trying to memorize you. Like he didn’t know if he’d be allowed to do it again.

His breath skimmed your skin between kisses, his mouth hot and slow. When you shifted slightly, your thigh brushed his, and his hand slid around your waist, pulling you closer with a quiet, shaky inhale.

You felt the tension low in your belly — the ache, the pull, the way his body seemed to mold against yours without trying. Not when he kissed you like this — like your skin was a secret only he knew how to read.

Bangchan kissed your cheek with quiet reverence, then let his lips trail lower, slower — across your jaw, down to the soft skin just below your ear. His mouth was warm and open, tongue brushing in gentle flicks that sent a sharp wave of heat spiraling through you.

“I want you,” he murmured, voice husky against your skin. You felt his breath — hot and uneven — just before his tongue slid along the edge of your neck, tasting the salt of your skin. You gasped, one hand gripping his shoulder, the other lost somewhere in the curls at the nape of his neck.

“Do you want me, princess?” he asked, mouth barely lifting from your skin. “Tell me.”

You shivered, a sound escaping you before you could hold it back. He smiled against your throat, almost like he knew exactly how broken you were — and how much more you still had to give.

“Use your pretty mouth,” he coaxed, dragging his lips up to your ear. “I’ll only touch you if you want me too.”

You didn’t hesitate this time. “I want you,” you breathed, the words tumbling out, raw and honest. “So bad.”

He groaned, low and deep, his hand sliding over your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Yeah?” he whispered. “Show me, then. Show me how much.”

You moved against him without thinking, your body searching for friction, for contact, for the relief only he could give. The fabric between you felt unbearable — too thick, too wrong — and the need coiled tighter in your belly.

“Fuck,” he breathed, eyes on your face, your lips, the heat in your gaze.

Your chest heaved with raw need, every breath ragged. The ache between your legs was unbearable—you needed him inside you, desperately, hungrily. It had been too long since you felt his weight, his heat, the way he filled every inch of you.

Bangchan watched, completely spellbound, as you stepped back and hiked your dress up with trembling hands. There was something so dirty and sensual in the way you undressed just for him—slow, teasing, knowing exactly what it did to him. Your bare tits bounced free, flushed and heavy with arousal, your nipples already hard from anticipation. Your breaths came in short, needy pants.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away. Every curve of your body was seared into his memory, but seeing it again like this made his cock throb—aching to be buried inside you. One brush of his fingers over your skin and goosebumps erupted like fire under ice.

“Holy shit” he growled, then latched onto your breast, lips hot and wet. You leaned back against his thigh, your spine arching to offer him more, to beg without words.

His teeth grazed your skin, then bit—not too hard, but enough to make you cry out. He sucked and licked like he was starved for the taste of you, like your body was something he’d been craving for years. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging hard, and he groaned into your chest before thrusting into you in one smooth, brutal stroke.

His left hand found your nipple again, pinching it between his fingers, twisting, making you tremble. You moaned—low, broken, filthy—as pleasure ripped through you like lightning.

Your hips started grinding faster, the soaked fabric of your panties dragging against the rough texture of his pants. Bangchan muttered under his breath, lifting his hips just enough to shove them down, desperate to feel her heat.

When you dropped down onto his bare thigh—firm, warm, and thick—your body jolted with a violent shiver, your cunt clenching at the contact.

“Is that it, princess?” he rasped against your neck. “You wanna fuck yourself on my thigh like a filthy little thing, huh?”

You bit your lip hard, breath hitching, arousal dripping at the thought alone.

You didn’t even realize how soaked you were until his fingers shoved your panties to the side, letting your swollen clit and wet folds drag directly against his skin. You gasped—loud and unrestrained—as the friction hit you right where you needed it.

“Fuck…” Bangchan breathed, staring down at the way your pussy slid so easily against his thigh, already shining with your soak. His hand grabbed a firm hold of your ass, guiding your movements with a grip that left no room for teasing.

You held on to his shoulders, trying to anchor yourself, but your hips had a mind of their own. You were grinding like you needed it to breathe, chasing the edge shamelessly.

Soft, desperate moans spilled from your lips—raw little cries that only made him harder. His fingers dug into your waist as he watched, jaw clenched, cock twitching in his briefs again. He had just come, but he was ready to lose it all over again just from watching you fuck yourself against him like that.

“Feel that? Your creamy little pussy grinding on my thigh like it needs me to fuck it?” His voice was dark, sinful, hands gripping your waist so tight it made you whimper.

You nodded, biting down on your bottom lip so hard it almost hurt, but the pleasure tearing through your body drowned out everything else.

You were soaking him—slick dripping down his skin, loud and obscene every time your clit dragged across his thigh. The sound alone could’ve made him come again.

“You hear that?” he groaned. “You’re soaked, baby. Can’t even control how messy you get.”

He pressed your hips down harder, locking you in place as you rolled your cunt right over the thickest part of his leg. The friction hit perfectly—white-hot, unbearable. Your body jolted, tits bouncing with every frantic grind. Bangchan leaned in, mouth greedy, sucking your nipples like they were his to ruin.

“Oh, god” you whimpered, voice cracking as your thighs began to tremble.

It was too much and not enough, the pressure in your core burning bright and fast until it snapped. You came hard—hips jerking, abs tightening, a helpless cry tearing from your throat as you soaked his skin even more.

Bangchan caught your mouth with his, swallowing your sounds like they belonged to him. He kissed you through it—deep, hungry, proud.

“Look at you,” he murmured against your lips, smiling like the devil. “Fucked yourself raw on me. Goddamn, angel. You made a mess of me.”

Bangchan flipped you onto your back in one swift motion, his body hovering over yours, eyes dark with hunger. “You want to be filled with my cock, baby?”

“God, yes—please,” you breathed, barely able to speak through the sensitive ache between your thighs.

He tugged your panties down and tossed them aside, spreading your legs wide until you were completely open for him. His cock, hard and throbbing, pressed against your clit, the head rubbing slow, teasing circles that made your whole body tense and shudder.

You purred, soft and wicked, back arching at the torturous friction. Bangchan let out a low, matching groan, eyes locked on your face like he was memorizing every twitch, every gasp.

He slid the tip between your folds, dragging back and forth, never slipping in—just gliding along your dripping heat, slick coating him so well he cursed under his breath. You bit your lip, panting, hands gripping the sheets like you could ground yourself somehow.

Then he pushed in—slow, so fucking slow you could feel every inch stretching you, filling you, your mouth falling open with a silent cry.

“Fuck,” he hissed, staring down at your trembling, spread-open body. “Look at you… already wrecked and dripping, and I haven’t even fucked you properly yet.” His voice dropped lower, filthier. “You love when I drag it out, feel every fucking inch, make that needy little pussy beg for it, don’t you?”

You nodded desperately, words caught in your throat as he stayed deep, barely moving. His voice dropped lower, intimate and commanding.

“Tell me how much you love it, baby. You like when I fuck you like this? Slow and deep?”

“Yes—fuck, yes,” you cried out, trying to lift your hips for more, but he pinned them down with a firm grip.

“Stay right there. Let me give it to you, princess.”

Then he snapped his hips forward—hard. You gasped, legs flying up as he grabbed them and pushed them against your stomach, folding you in half. The new angle had you seeing stars, his cock driving so deep your toes curled and your mind went blank.

He pounded into you, relentless, calling you his good girl, his perfect princess taking all of him so well. You could barely hold on—moaning, twitching, begging.

“Please,” you whined. “Please come inside me—I want it. Fill me up, Chan…”

That broke him.

“Fuck, are you insane?” he groaned, voice wild. “Want me to stretch you out and stuff you full, huh, princess?”

“Yes, I need it, please…”

“You’re mine,” he growled, thrusting harder. “My filthy, perfect girl. You’re gonna take all of it.”

Bangchan’s thrusts grew punishing—deep, fast, each one slamming into you so hard you could barely catch your breath. He angled his hips just right, and it felt like he was reaching places no one ever had, like he was buried so deep inside you he might never leave.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, voice low and broken. “I can feel your pussy squeezing me. You’re gonna make me lose it.”

Your whole body was on fire—nerve endings lit up, overstimulated, your moans spilling out without a hint of shame as he fucked into you with bruising force. The way he stretched you, thick and deep, had your toes curling, your thighs trembling, your nails clawing desperate red lines down his shoulders.

“I’m close,” you choked out, voice cracking as your body tightened around him, walls clenching with every brutal thrust. “Fuck, Chan, I’m gonna cum—fuck, I can’t hold it…” Your eyes rolled back, mouth falling open as the pressure inside you coiled so tight it was ready to snap.

And then you did—hard.

Your body seized beneath him, hips jerking, your thighs trembling violently as the orgasm ripped through you like a wave crashing, dragging a helpless, high-pitched moan from your throat. You could feel him deep inside, still fucking you through it, chasing his own release.

He grunted, his rhythm faltering for a split second before he cursed and shoved deep one last time, cock twitching as he spilled inside you. You both gasped at the same time—it was obscene, messy, perfect. You felt the heat of it fill you, dripping out almost immediately as he slowly pulled out, watching with a fucked-out smirk as his cum started leaking from your swollen folds.

“Look at that,” he murmured, running the head of his cock over your pussy, dragging it through the slick mess he’d made. “Took all of it like a good girl. You’re perfect.”

You moaned at the overstimulation, your body twitching, but still so hungry for his touch. He leaned down and kissed you—deep, messy, all tongue and teeth, like he still hadn’t had enough. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, your lips moving together with a kind of desperation that made your head spin.

After a moment, he pulled back and smiled, a soft contrast to how wrecked you both looked. Without a word, he scooped you up into his arms and carried you into the bathroom. The warmth of the water washed over you as he held you under the stream, his hands gentle now, so different from the way he’d just been claiming you minutes ago. He washed your skin carefully, massaging your hips, your thighs, kissing your shoulder while whispering quiet praises into your ear.

When you were both clean, he dried you off with a towel, helping you into one of his oversized shirts. You didn’t bother with anything else. He liked you like that—bare and soft under his clothes.

Back in a now clean bed, he pulled the covers over both of you, wrapping you in his arms. You lay on your side, his body pressed to yours, warm and solid. He nestled his face into the crook of your neck, breathing you in before trailing soft kisses along the curve of your nape.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice rough with honesty. “So fucking much.”

Your heart clenched. You reached  for his hand beneath the sheets, lacing your fingers through his.

“I love you too,” you murmured, and he smiled against your skin, holding you tighter like he never wanted to let go.

You woke up feeling suspiciously rested — the kind of sleep that made you question if you were dead. Stretching lazily, you reached out, only to be met with cold sheets. Of course he’d vanish and leave the bed like some seductive ghost.

Still groggy, you padded out into the hallway. The murmur of quiet conversation led you to the living room, where Jisung was slouched on the sofa, scrolling his phone, and Bangchan sat across from him, half-curled in an armchair with a mug of coffee, looking far too put together for this early.

You paused. They both looked up. Blinked. Then silence.

“…Morning?” Jisung said, squinting like you were a glitch in the matrix. “What the hell…”

You just raised an eyebrow. Bangchan didn’t even flinch. He glanced at you, then reached out, dragging his fingers down your arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Morning,” he said, soft but smug.

You leaned down and kissed the top of his head, still half-asleep. “Hey.”

“Okay, no. What the fuck is going on?” Jisung asked, tossing his phone aside like it offended him. “Are we just pretending this isn’t weird now?”

“What do you think happened, genius?” you said, resting your hands on the back of Chan’s chair.

Chan, unbothered, tilted his head toward the coffee table. “Brought you coffee.”

Then, as if Jisung wasn’t still having a mild crisis across the room, he pulled you down for a kiss — slow, the kind that ignored all forms of social etiquette.

You smiled against his mouth. “You’re really not gonna explain anything to him, huh?”

“Let him suffer a little,” he murmured.

Then you mumbled a quick thanks and made your way to the kitchen, the coffee already saving your life with each sip.

“You know,” Jisung called out, “it’s kinda nice having you two back. I felt like an orphan. Like… my parents split up and never explained why.”

You gave him a look over your mug. “You’re a grown ass man.”

Bangchan laughed under his breath, clearly enjoying the chaos.

“Hey,” Jisung pointed at you with faux seriousness, “some respect for your kid. I’ve been rooting for this relationship since day one.”

“Appreciate it, bro” Chan said.

You moved back into the living room, the warmth of the coffee grounding you. “Okay, but what are you even doing here this early?”

“First of all, it’s almost noon,” he said, raising his brows. You mirrored his expression behind your cup, mocking him wordlessly.

“Second,” he continued, undeterred, “I couldn’t wait to show this to my guy.”

He held out an envelope like he was about to hand over state secrets. You took it, eyes narrowing slightly. Inside was a glossy invitation. Formal, all-gold serif fonts. A music industry awards event. You scanned the details and caught it near the bottom: 3RACHA nominated for Producer of the Year.

You looked up. Jisung looked like he might actually combust from pride. Your eyes widened before a squeal slipped out. Without thinking, you launched yourself into Chan’s lap, arms around his neck in a tight hug.

“This is huge! Obviously you’re gonna win. No doubt.”

Bangchan laughed, cupping your face to pull you into a kiss—deep and warm, with just a hint of coffee on his tongue. Jisung immediately groaned.

“Oh my god, gross.”

You pulled back, laughing against Chan’s mouth.

“Guess that’s my cue,” Jisung muttered, grabbing his phone. “You two are disgusting.”

You turned to Chan with an exaggerated pout. “Did you hear that, baby? Our son is ashamed of our love.”

Bangchan dropped his head, laughing quietly while Jisung yelled on his way out, “Bye, perverts!”

The door slammed shut. Quiet settled back in. Chan's fingers traced lazy circles over your thigh as he looked up at you, soft and affectionate.

“Sorry I didn’t wake you,” he murmured. “You looked so beautiful. Couldn’t do it.”

You shrugged and curled a little closer. “It’s okay. I slept like the dead.”

One of his brows lifted, teasing. “Wonder why that is.”

You barely had time to roll your eyes before he leaned in again, pressing kisses to your cheek, then your neck, his mouth trailing heat as he bit back a grin.

“Off me, you pervert!” you shouted, using Jisung’s words against him as you slipped off his lap and darted down the hall. Chan laughed, chasing the sound of your footsteps with a low, mock-threatening growl.

Things with Bangchan were better—easier, even—but you still felt like you were tiptoeing through it all. Like if you moved too fast, said the wrong thing, it might all slip through your fingers again.

You texted often, saw each other almost every day. But calling it anything still felt too fragile, like naming it might jinx it. Still, your heart was his. You just had to be careful with it this time.

It was a typical workday, and you had a shoot lined up for a sneaker campaign. You walked into the building feeling good, excited, even. But as you spotted Mingi across the room and smiled, ready to greet him, he walked right past you without a glance. Like you were invisible.

You stood there for a second, blinking. That... was weird.

The vibe had been off for a few days, and you still didn’t know why. Up until recently, Mingi had been friendly—like the start of a solid friendship. Then, out of nowhere, he started treating you like you barely existed.

Later at lunch, you sat poking half-heartedly at your salad while Soyeon was glued to her phone. You’d been trying to ignore the tension, but now it was buzzing in your head like static. You needed to say something, ask someone, before it drove you crazy.

“Haven’t you noticed Mingi acting kind of weird lately?” you asked, cutting through the quiet.

Soyeon didn’t look up from her phone. She just glanced over the top of it and shook her head. “Not really.”

You sighed, pushing a cucumber around your plate. “He’s been cold. Like, actively ignoring me. Did I do something? Say something?”

That finally got her attention. She set her phone down and took a slow sip of her iced tea, like she was trying to decide whether to tell you something or let it go.

“Might be because of that night,” she said casually.

Your brows pulled together. “What night?”

She mirrored your confused look. “Wait… you seriously don’t remember? Girl, you were gone. The drinks knocked you straight out.”

You blinked. “Okay, and…?”

Soyeon leaned back in her chair like she was settling in for a gossip drop. “Some guy showed up, hot, dark hair, built. I’ve seen him with you before, right? He and Mingi got into it. I couldn’t hear much, but it was definitely a thing.”

Your stomach dropped. You didn’t even have to ask. Of course it was Chan. Suddenly, all those unanswered questions clicked into place—how he found you at the bar that night, why Mingi’s been acting weird.

“They argued?” you asked quietly.

“Yup,” she said, biting into her sandwich. “Next thing I saw, mystery guy scooped you up and walked out like some drama scene.”

You sat there, stunned. Bangchan had actually gotten into it with Mingi. At work. Over you.

Your appetite vanished. You pushed your salad aside, jaw tight. You were going to talk to Mingi, clear the air. And then? Bangchan and you were going to have a very real conversation.

Later that day, once the shoot had wrapped and most of the crew had cleared out, you finally caught Mingi alone.

He was quietly packing away some gear when you approached, trying not to overthink every step.

“Need a hand?” you asked, voice casual.

He looked up, a little startled, but shook his head with a polite smile. “I’m good, thanks.”

You nodded, stepping back a bit, watching him work as you tried to line up your words without making it weird. Eventually, you just went for it.

“Mingi... did I do something wrong?”

He paused, hands hovering over the camera case. You pushed through the awkward lump in your throat.

“It’s just—lately you’ve been distant. Like I pissed you off and you’re not saying it.”

Mingi sighed and gently zipped up the bag, his jaw tight like this was a conversation he really didn’t want to have. Still, he turned to face you.

“Look, you’re great. Seriously,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “In any other situation, I’d probably try to ask you out.”

That wasn’t the answer you expected.

“But I’m not trying to get caught in the middle of anything,” he added carefully. “I don’t do drama.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?” 

He didn’t say it outright, but the weight behind his words said enough. This wasn’t about you alone. It was about Bangchan. And whatever happened that night.

“Your boyfriend made himself pretty clear the other night,” Mingi said, biting the inside of his cheek, eyebrows lifting just slightly. “I didn’t want to step on any toes.”

“God, no—Mingi, you didn’t do anything wrong.” You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “I’m sorry. I honestly don’t even know what to say.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just studied you for a second, your furrowed brow, your tight-lipped frustration.

“I liked being friends with you,” you added. “Can we... just go back to that?”

His mouth tugged into a half-smile. “If you’re cool with it, then yeah. No weirdness here.”

“I’m cool with it. Promise.”

You forced a smile, but your chest was already buzzing with heat. As soon as you saw Bangchan, he was going to have a lot of explaining to do—because what he did? Way out of line.

Bangchan opened the door with that familiar, easy smile and leaned in like he always did, ready to kiss you. But you turned your face away.

His smile faltered mid-movement. He blinked, pulling back, his hand still hovering near your waist like he didn’t know what to do with it now. "What’s wrong?"

You didn’t answer. Just brushed past him, walked into the living room like it was muscle memory. You sank into the edge of the sofa, but didn’t relax. You sat like a loaded gun. Rigid, coiled, ready.

He didn’t sit. Just stood there, watching you. Waiting. Slowly lowering into silence.

You looked up at him. “What happened at the bar that night?”

Bangchan flinched like he’d been slapped. His lips parted, but no words came out.

You cocked your head slightly, voice quieter now, more dangerous. “Mingi told me you confronted him. That you made it clear he shouldn’t even try talking to me.”

He let out a breath, raking a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to scare him off. I just—he was all over you. And I—”

“You had no right.” You cut him off. Flat. Final. “He’s my coworker. My friend. And you showed up like a jealous asshole trying to mark your territory.”

Bangchan gulped. He wasn’t trying to defend himself anymore, just bracing. “I thought I lost you. I thought he was taking you from me.”

Your laugh was short, bitter. “You didn’t lose me. You were the one who let me go. And now what? You think you get to control who I talk to? Who I laugh with?”

He stepped forward, but you held up a hand.

“Don’t.”

His whole body was tense, as if holding back an impulse to drop to his knees and beg. “I was scared,” he said, voice rough. “That night, I saw you across the bar and it felt like someone had ripped my fucking heart out. I panicked. I acted stupid. I know I did. But please don’t let that be the thing that breaks us again.”

“You don’t get to pull the ‘please don’t leave me’ card every time you mess up,” you snapped, and your voice cracked, finally, under the weight of how tired you were. “I’ve been walking on glass since we started talking again. Scared of saying the wrong thing, pushing too hard, needing too much. And now this?”

He crouched in front of you, not touching, just looking up like you were something slipping through his fingers. “You’re not too much. You never were. I’m just… not enough sometimes. And I know that.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you blinked them back. “I need space.”

His expression shattered. “Wait… No, no. What do you mean? Space how?”

You stood up, gently backing away from him. “I mean I need to think. About us. About all of it.”

Bangchan stood too, like standing would somehow fix it. “So that’s it? After everything?”

“I’m just… pausing. I need to breathe. To figure out what I want, not just what I’m scared to lose.”

His chest rose and fell quickly. Panic was setting in—real panic. “Can I at least text you? Call you?”

You shook your head. “No. Please don’t.”

He looked like you’d just gutted him. “I don’t know what to do without you.”

You gave him a sad smile. “You’re gonna have to learn.”

And then you walked out, not looking back. Not because you didn’t want to, but because if you did, you might not leave at all.

You kept herself busy. Too busy.

Long hours at the agency. Back-to-back shoots, endless edits, meetings that bled into late evenings and left you blinking at your screen, unsure if the headache was from the laptop glare or the ache behind your ribs. When people asked how you were, you smiled. When they didn’t, you drank.

Sometimes alone. Sometimes with friends. Usually with Soyeon, who knew better than to press too hard and kept the conversations light—clothes, gossip, what filter to use on their latest group selfie. But there were moments, in between the wine and the forced laughter, when your mind slipped.

You’d imagine Bangchan's hands curled around a mic cable. His worn-out hoodie with the sleeves rolled up. The soft rasp of his voice when he said your name like it meant something only to him.

And then you'd down another drink. Or change the subject. Or pretend it didn’t matter as much as it did.

Bangchan was unraveling. Quietly. Efficiently.

He lived in the studio now—figuratively, maybe literally, depending on who you asked. Jisung made a joke about it once and Bangchan didn’t even smile, just said “We’ve got work to finish,” and turned back to his screen.

Jisung stopped joking after that.

Changbin picked up on the shift too—the way Chan would bark about small things, like a slightly off-beat snare or a mic being in the wrong place. The way he’d edit the same track five different ways and then scrap it completely. The way he started bringing energy drinks in like they were oxygen and forgot to eat until someone put food in front of him.

At first, they figured it was just pressure. The nomination. The workload. The usual.

But then the silence started to stretch.

Bangchan didn’t talk about you—not directly. He didn’t need to. Your absence was stitched into every part of him, like fraying thread in a sweater worn too thin. He worked like he was trying to sweat you out of his system. Like if he pushed hard enough, stayed busy enough, maybe the memory of you saying “I need time” would stop replaying in his head like a loop he couldn’t mute.

But it never stopped.

He still checked his phone. Never texted. Just… looked. Stared at your name in his contacts like it might light up on its own.

Jisung saw it once. Chan zoning out at the screen, thumb hovering like he wanted to send something but couldn’t.

“You alright?” Jisung asked carefully.

Chan didn’t look up. “Fine.”

But the next beat he dragged into the session was minor key, dark and thick and heavy.

Changbin eventually pulled him aside. “You need to go home. Sleep. Talk to someone. Do something.”

Bangchan just stared at him. Hollow. “She asked me not to.”

Changbin didn’t push again after that.

He didn’t even turn the engine off.

He parked a little up the street, where the shadows of the trees fell just right to keep him out of sight. Not that it would matter, he wasn’t planning to get out. He wasn’t even sure why he came.

Maybe it was just to see her. Maybe that made him pathetic.

But after another sleepless night and another day of making everyone around him uncomfortable with his clipped tone and cold silences, he needed something that felt real. Even if it was just a glimpse. Even if it was through a windshield.

He watched you say goodbye to your coworkers—Mingi, Soyeon, a couple of others he vaguely recognized. They were laughing. Easy, flushed with wine and the comfort of good company.

You looked radiant. Happy. Effortlessly out of reach.

Bangchan’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. Something coiled in his chest, sharp and bitter and so heavy it made his breath catch. You looked like yourself again. Like the version of you he used to know before everything cracked between you.

And maybe that should’ve made him smile. But it didn’t. It only made the emptiness settle deeper in his ribs.

He didn’t move when you waved to your friends, didn’t blink when you turned toward your building. But then—you paused.

Squinted. Tilted your head the slightest bit in his direction. His heart stopped.

You stood there, on the edge of the sidewalk, wine-warm and unsure, eyes narrowing toward where he sat frozen in the driver’s seat. For a second, it looked like you were about to walk over.

But you didn’t.

You shook your head, rubbed your temples, and let out a little laugh that he couldn’t hear but imagined anyway. You disappeared inside without looking back.

Bangchan stayed in the car long after the door shut behind her.

He didn’t cry. He was past that. Or beneath it. Or maybe too tired to bother.

He just sat there, the engine humming quietly beneath him, the ghost of her silhouette burned into his vision.

You looked happy. And he was the one who used to make her happy.

You were already warm from the wine when you got home, shoes in hand, face still flushed from laughter. It had been a good night, objectively. Mingi had been surprisingly chill again. Soyeon made you snort rosé through your nose at one point. For a little while, you felt light.

But as you stood in the hallway, keys halfway to the lock, a chill crept up your spine.

You could’ve sworn you saw his car.

Same make. Same dark silhouette, headlights off, parked just a little too neatly. For a moment, your heart lurched in that old, familiar way—like it remembered him better than your head wanted to.

You waited. Squinted. Tilted your head like an idiot trying to identify a ghost.

Nothing happened. The car didn’t move. The window didn’t roll down.

So you shook it off. Laugh at yourself. You were buzzed and nostalgic and clearly imagining things.

But the seed had been planted.

By the time you were curled up in bed, makeup wiped away, the silence began to crawl in through the cracks in the walls.

What if it really was him? What if he came just to see you? What if he’s out there right now, alone, breaking apart the same way you are?

And then, like someone twisted a faucet inside your chest, the tears came. Quiet at first. Just a couple that rolled down into your pillow, inconvenient and warm. But they didn’t stop. You pressed your face against the sheets and sobbed.

Because you missed him. You missed him.

The dumb way he talked in an aussie accent when he was trying to cheer you up. The feel of his palm between your shoulder blades when you fell asleep on his chest. The stupid nicknames. The way he looked at you like the whole world lived in your smile.

And you hated that. You hated that you still loved him this much.

Because he had shown up at that bar, and he had warned Mingi off, like you were some prize he owned, not a person he was trying to rebuild something with. That wasn’t love. That was possession. Fear. Ego. You didn’t want to be someone’s territory. You wanted to be safe. Trusted. Chosen, not guarded like a secret.

And the worst part, you weren’t sure which side of him would win. The one that cherished you... or the one that couldn't handle not being in control.

You turned to your side, curling up tighter, like it might hold you together.

“I just want to be okay again,” you whispered into the dark. But it came out cracked. Like a lie.

You wiped your face with the sleeve of an old hoodie—his hoodie. You hadn’t realized you were wearing it until now. That hurt all over again.

You missed him. But you didn’t know if missing him was enough.

A month had passed, but you were still caught in that exhausting loop of should I just fix this? and what if he hasn’t changed?

You missed Bangchan—God, you missed him—but that wasn’t the whole story. Missing someone didn’t erase what they did. It didn’t unmake the silence, the possessiveness, the night you cried yourself to sleep wondering if you were loving someone who might ruin you without meaning to.

Jisung had been relentless for the past week, pushing you to attend the upcoming awards event. It was a big night—the kind that could define careers. “Come for me,” he said. “Not for him. Just support your idiot best friend, yeah?”

And how could you say no to him? He’d stuck by you through every raw, unraveling piece of this mess.

So you agreed.

But the moment your heels touched the red carpet, your heart was already in your throat.

You wore black. Not just any black—but a gown that said you belonged here. Strapless, with a structured sweetheart neckline that framed your collarbones and bare shoulders like sculpture. The fabric clung and then flowed, draped in all the right places—sharp on one leg, dramatic on the other, a mix of precision and softness that echoed how you felt inside. Every step made the asymmetrical hem trail behind you like a whispered warning: Don’t look back.

The flash of cameras hit your skin. Strangers turned their heads. And still, all you could think was: he’s here.

When Jisung, Changbin, and Bangchan finally stepped onto the carpet, the world tilted for a second. They looked like they belonged on a movie poster—black and silver in complementary cuts, all sharp edges and polished confidence.

Chan hadn’t seen you yet.

So you slipped through the entrance, breath tight in your chest, weaving between gowns and tuxedos, careful not to turn around.

You took your seat at the guest table tucked just behind the main section, where the nominees were seated. Jisung’s name was on the front table—he’d be right there with Bangchan and the rest of 3RACHA.

You folded your hands in your lap. Your fingers were shaking slightly. You told yourself it was just adrenaline. That this was just an event. That you were just here for a friend.

But deep down, you knew better. You didn’t come for closure. You came because some part of you still wanted to see him.

The lights dimmed. A soft hush fell over the room, broken only by the gentle clink of glasses and the subtle rustle of gowns. You sat still, almost too still, your heart pounding like a drumline beneath your dress. The night was moving forward, speech by speech, category by category—and your eyes kept drifting to the front table. To him.

Bangchan hadn’t turned around yet.

But Jisung had. He’d spotted you the moment you entered and had given you the faintest nod—a silent thank you across the space.

Then it happened.

The presenter stepped up to the podium, smiling wide under the stage lights. “This year’s award for Producer of the Year goes to…”

A beat. The whole room held its breath.

“3RACHA!”

The explosion of cheers and applause hit like a wave. Jisung was already out of his seat, arms thrown around Changbin, and Bangchan—Bangchan just sat there for a second. Stunned. Eyes wide. Until Jisung grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet.

You clapped, too. Mechanical at first, then more sincere as it sank in. They’d done it. He had done it. You felt pride swell inside your chest—unexpectedly warm, unexpectedly painful.

As they climbed the stage, the lights caught him in full. Bangchan looked beautiful. Exhausted, but beautiful. His black suit shimmered slightly at the edges, crisp and tailored, collar loosened just enough to show that sliver of skin at his throat you always used to kiss when he couldn’t sleep.

Jisung stepped up first, hands trembling just enough to notice, his voice soft at the edges. “I don’t think any of us really expected this—maybe we hoped. But it was just long nights, too many near-burnouts, and holding each other up when we were ready to quit. That’s what got us here.”

The room laughed. He softened. “No, but really… this means everything to us. Years of work. Mistakes. Growing. I think the only reason we survived it was because we stuck together. We kept choosing the music… and each other.”

He looked over at Bangchan then, gave him the space.

Chan stepped forward slowly. The crowd quieted again.

He gripped the microphone, cleared his throat, and then searched for his voice. But it wasn’t the crowd he was searching for.

It was you. His eyes found you instantly—and didn’t move.

“I’ve… made a lot of mistakes,” he started, quiet, voice low and raw. “But somehow, I’m standing here. Not because I deserve it, but because I have two people who never gave up on me.” His hand hovered slightly toward Jisung and Changbin without looking away from you. “They pulled me through when I couldn’t find my way out.”

You blinked, and a tear slid down your cheek. He saw it.

Chan’s voice cracked slightly. “And there’s someone else… someone who changed everything for me. Who reminded me why I do this in the first place. If I could thank her by name, I would. But all I’ll say is—if she’s listening… Thank you. And I’m proud of you. And I’m sorry.”

It was too much.

You stood and slipped out quietly, heart in your throat. The claps behind you blurred. The lights blurred. Everything felt like it was breaking at the seams.

In the bathroom, you braced your hands on the marble sink, staring down at your reflection. Your makeup was a mess—eyes glossy, mascara starting to smudge. You didn’t even care how expensive the setting spray was.

You tried fixing your eyeliner with trembling hands. Took a shaky breath. Another. Then the door creaked open behind you.

You caught his reflection in the mirror before you heard his voice.

“Hey.”

Your heart dropped.

He looked unsure—no longer the man onstage. His jacket was undone now, his hair a little out of place, like he’d run a hand through it too many times. His chest rose and fell too fast. Like he’d sprinted just to catch you before you disappeared again.

You turned, slowly, mascara wand still in hand. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know,” he said, stepping in anyway. “But I had to. I needed to see you. I couldn’t let you walk away again without saying something.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.” Your voice wavered, and it made you angry. “I came here for Jisung. I wasn’t ready to see you.”

“But you did.” He stepped closer. “And you cried. I saw you.”

“Because you’re still in my life, even when I don’t want you to be,” you snapped, voice thick. “Because I can’t hear your voice without remembering everything we didn’t fix.”

He swallowed hard. “I know I messed up. I was scared. I handled it wrong. I got possessive, and jealous, and angry—and I didn’t trust you when I should have.”

You stared at him, broken open. “I just wanted to feel safe with you. That’s all I ever wanted.”

“I know.” His voice was quiet now, trembling. “And I broke that. I know I did. But I’ve been trying—every day, I’ve been trying to be someone who could earn you back. I just don’t know if I ever can.”

The silence sat between you like a fourth person.

“I don’t know either,” you whispered.

He looked down, pain flashing across his face.

“I still love you,” he said. “That hasn’t changed.”

You shook your head, tears spilling again. The bathroom air was too still.

Bangchan took one slow step closer, like any sudden movement might scare you off again. You didn’t move. Couldn’t. The weight of everything, the silence, the months, the unsaid things—held you there like gravity.

His hand lifted, hesitant at first, before it brushed against your cheek. Gentle. Reverent. Like he was scared you might disappear.

“I don’t want to lose you again,” he said, voice cracking. “I swear… I’ll be better. Softer. Honest. Whatever you need—I’ll be it. Just… give me one more chance.”

Your bottom lip trembled. You tried to breathe, but the ache in your chest swelled too fast, too full. You’d wanted this—needed this—but the fear was still clawing at you.

And yet… the second his thumb wiped the tear that slipped down your cheek, you folded into it. Into him.

Your arms found his chest, and the moment you buried your face there, your voice came out small, desperate. “Please, please, keep your promise.”

“I will,” he whispered instantly, hands cradling your back like something sacred. “I will.”

“I love you so much,” you mumbled into the fabric of his shirt. “I tried to stop but I… I couldn’t. I missed you every damn night.”

“I know, princess” he said, forehead pressing to yours now. “Me too. Every single one.”

Your lips found his in the middle of a sob—wet, messy, trembling. He kissed you back like he was drowning in it. Like he hadn’t felt anything real in weeks.

And it wasn’t a fairytale kiss.

It was too full of ache and history and months of unspoken things.

But it was yours.

He held you tight, hands in your hair, mouth never leaving yours for too long. The tears didn’t stop—neither of yours—but neither of you cared anymore. Not when you were here. Finally.

You pulled back just enough to look at him. Really look.

His eyes were glassy, rimmed in red. That careful composure he always kept was gone, and what was left was just a man—tired, scared, but still loving you with everything he had.

So you kissed his forehead. Then his cheek. And then curled into him again as he leaned against the wall, arms wrapped around your waist, holding you like he was terrified the world might steal you back.

And then…

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

The bathroom door swung open with a bang.

Jisung stood there, dumbfounded and scandalized. “This is a public bathroom at an awards show!”

Bangchan didn’t even flinch. He just laughed, eyes never leaving yours. “Sorry.”

You giggled, hiding your face in his chest, flushed from crying and kissing and now being caught mid-reunion.

Jisung made a dramatic gagging sound and backed out, hands in the air. “I’m telling everyone you’re a menace.”

Chan snorted. “Do your worst.”

Still grinning, still wiping your cheeks, you laced your fingers with his.

Bangchan didn’t say a word. He just squeezed your hand and took off running, tugging you behind him down the narrow corridor and into the night.

The cold air kissed your cheeks, the slap of your shoes against pavement echoing in the quiet, but none of it mattered. You were laughing—giddy, breathless—and he kept looking over his shoulder to make sure you were still with him, like he couldn’t believe it was true.

He pulled you around the corner, then another, past a delivery truck, past two people smoking near the dumpsters, until finally he stopped—behind the venue, tucked between brick and ivy and nothing but stars overhead. No photographers. No guests. No half-heard conversations.

Just you.

He turned, chest rising and falling like he’d been holding something in for weeks. Maybe he had.

“You’re really here,” he said, almost in awe.

“I’m really here,” you echoed, just as stunned.

You took a step closer. So did he.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, softer now. “For hurting you. For letting fear get loud enough to ruin the good things. I should’ve never made you feel like love had rules. Like I could stake a claim on you. That’s not love. That’s fear. I’m done with fear.”

You reached up, fingers brushing over his jaw. He leaned into it like a man starved.

“I just want to build this with you,” he whispered. “For real. No possessiveness. No games. Just you and me figuring it out. Even if it’s messy. Even if we trip.”

“And we will,” you murmured, hand resting over his chest now. “We’ll probably mess it up again. Say the wrong thing. Forget to listen. But—”

“But we’ll stay,” he finished. “That’s what matters. We stay.”

The space between you vanished. This kiss wasn’t wild. It wasn’t perfect. But it was full. Full of intention, of breathless hope, of a thousand unsaid things. You kissed him like you meant every word you hadn’t said yet.

When you pulled back, your forehead against his, you were smiling through your tears.

“I don’t want easy,” you whispered.

He let out a soft laugh, his hand cradling the back of your head.

“Good,” he said. “Because I want all of it. The stubbornness. The long nights. The weird little routines we’ll make up. I want the morning coffees and the three a.m. fights. I want to learn how to love you better every day.”

You stood there, wrapped up in each other, the world paused just long enough to breathe.

And then he held your face again, gaze steady. “This is real. We’ll make it work.”

You nodded, the weight in your chest shifting—not disappearing, but changing. Becoming something lighter. Something shared.

And in that quiet, in that tucked-away sliver of night, two people made a silent promise: Not perfect. But real.

And that was enough to begin again.

(taglist) — @diary-of-a-lazy-woman @hwangjoanna

[bananayuyu]

Tell Me No {3}

Pairing: professor!Yunho x f reader

Genre: smut, dark academia vibes

Word count: 4.3k

Summary: The semester is finally coming to an end, and the chance is upon you now to have Professor Jeong in every way. You wonder, what will the future hold?

Warnings: smut, MDNI, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex

A/n: I hope y'all enjoy this last part <33

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Masterlist | Read it on ao3

"When are you coming home?"

Your Dad's voice is distant and distracted coming through the phone, as it always is. He hadn't called all semester, just texted every Friday at the same time to ask 'how is school?' You were sure his secretary had put it in his planner, probably even sent the texts herself. He never texted further; you weren't even sure if he read your responses. Which was fine. You always said the same thing. 'Fine'.

You'd just completed your last exam of finals week, day two of Professor Jeong's final, the short story portion. You didn't think you'd written something as unique or atmospheric as you had during your trial run at his house, but it was adequate, you were quite sure. And with good grades on your three papers, you were sure at least a passing grade was coming your way.

When you'd set the completed story on his desk, Professor Jeong's eyes sharply locked onto yours, before he went back to reading his book, trying to ignore you. You had walked in wearing the puffer jacket he'd given you a few days before, that last evening spent together before he told you no more, that you must focus on your finals ahead and not think of him at all. You wouldn't be able to do that. You'd forgotten to wear a jacket when you made your way to his place that day for the same reason; your mind too full of your lust for him to remember how frigidly cold it was. Making it through the week of exams with your focus elsewhere was an unbelievable challenge.

There was something about seeing you in his clothes that had his pants feeling tighter in an instant. Out in the world, no one knew that the oversized black coat was his, but he did, and in his own way it felt like he'd staked his claim, knowing that as you wore it you felt the same, that you belonged to him, that there was no one else in the world you'd rather steal a jacket from.

It made his heart skip, like he was a shy, nervous teenager. Mine, he thought. Another few hours and you'd no longer be his student. He'd let himself have you, in the way he'd wanted to all along. It was tortuous watching you walk out the door of his classroom, knowing he'd have to wait around to answer questions, clean up and lock his classroom for winter break, and check in with his fellow teacher Professor Song before meeting you.

When you walked into the hallway, you opened your phone to find a text from your Dad. It was Friday, and his text came through predictably as it always did, late in the afternoon. His name on your screen made you roll your eyes, but this time you decided to actually answer him. Maybe it would twist the knife in a little more to know you were actually doing quite well. 'Good, just finished my last final,' you typed. Then, to your absolute surprise, he called you.

"You pass them all?" he asked without greeting you, his voice distant and thin, the sounds of his office wafting through in the background.

"I don't know yet, the professors have a week before final grades are due," you said, trying to keep your voice down in the desolate hall, knowing multiple finals were still ongoing in classrooms surrounding you. The walls of this old building were thankfully thick and impenetrable, but it would be your worst nightmare to get in trouble for disrupting another class's exam.

"When are you coming home?"

"I don't know yet," you finally answered him, with a deep sigh. Why did he care? He hardly ever asked you anything about your plans.

"Well I'm going to be in Singapore for business until the twenty-second, I leave tomorrow. And the house was in desperate need of a new paint job, so whole place is going to be in complete chaos until the day I return. If the workers finish as fast as they say they will, we'll see," he says, pausing. "One minute, Mr. Kang," he calls, much louder. Then, to you again, "I wouldn't come until then, unless you want to hang out in the guest house with your cousin."

The thought makes your face crinkle. Your cousin Jake was everything one would expect of a kid who grew up filthy rich: a partier, shit-stirrer, and uncommitted to anything. He was living in your Dad's guest house now because his parents had finally cut him off, and you remember the day he moved in vividly, watching through the window as your Dad slapped him on the back and laughed jovially, the pair two peas in a pod.

You knew he would offer the stupid boy a place in his company soon. Yet another reason you were determined to avoid the same fate for yourself.

"I'll just stay here then," you answered.

"The dorms will be empty though, is it safe?" he asked, and you scoffed. He only pretended to care about your safety when he was trying to control your next move, and you wondered what it was this time that he would try to force upon you.

"I think I'll stay with a friend," you said, sighing.

"A friend? Who, Sana? Jihyo?" he asked, mentioning the only friends of yours he knew by name. You supposed he might think these two were your only friends here at college, and that was by design; they were the only girls you befriended who came from money like you did, and you knew he wouldn't approve of all of the other amazing people who'd graced your life, who'd helped you gain perspective and a better understanding of your place in the world. Your Dad didn't give a shit about that.

"No, it's a new friend I made this semester," you said.

"Don't you dare go stay with a boy, I can't have you getting pregnant and running to me to fix the situation," he chided. "If you come with me to Singapore you can see more of the business, meet a good friend of mine, it would be much better for you."

"I'm not going with you," you laughed, shaking your head at his continued attempts to pull you into his world. "I'm staying here, and I'll see you at Christmas."

With that final statement you hang up the phone, setting it on the bench beside you and sighing into your hands. You pull your knees up and curl into a ball, finally taking a moment. Finals were done. You had done it, you'd survived. You almost couldn't believe it, the last week passing with such exhaustion and your mind full of concrete, it seemed. It was like you'd worked your brain so hard it was turning to stone.

Now that it was all over, the fatigue was hitting you. You yawned, resting your head on your knees. You hadn't planned what you would do after your exam today, having been so focused on just getting yourself through it to think beyond. You feel yourself nearly drifting off, your eyeslids heavy. A quick nap couldn't hurt, you think. You'd seen other students doing this too, and were sure the bustle of students finally leaving their exams would wake you. You sat your bag on the bench beside you and laid your head on it, pulling Professor Jeong's jacket over you like a blanket.

When you wake, the hallway is as empty and silent as you'd left it, but somehow the building feels colder, and completely still. You feel a slight wet spot beneath your cheek, and much to your dismay realize you'd been drooling. Quickly you sit up and wipe at your face, before hearing the jangling of keys coming from down the hall. Two men exit the room by the front door, standing in hushed conversation in front of it. You look over your shoulder through the window behind, and see a line of students meandering towards the dorms and dining hall, others walking in the direction of the train station. The building is empty, you suddenly realize, and you'd completely slept through the end of exams. You snap your head back to the professors, watching them make for the front door to leave.

"Wait!" you call out, the pair turning their heads in unison. Now you see, one has rich black hair and those devilish eyes you love. The other is just as tall as Professor Jeong, but with lighter hair, and glasses.

"You alright?" the other man calls to you, stopping in his tracks.

"I fell asleep, I'm sorry," you call, grabbing for your bag, then realizing you need to put your jacket on first and setting it down again.

"You go ahead Mr. Song, I know the Dean's expecting you. I'll help her," Professor Jeong says to the other man, and in a moment the front door opens and closes, and you're alone in this huge hall with this perfect man, his long strides bringing him to you quickly.

"I thought I told you to just meet me at my house," he says as he nears you.

"I know, I just was so exhausted, I didn't mean to fall asleep for so long. All the exams are over, right?" you ask.

"Yes, I'm glad you called out to us, we were about to lock up the building for the winter."

Your eyes are wide with fear and shock when you look to him, making him chuckle. "It's okay, the Janitor is scheduled to come through tomorrow, so you wouldn't have starved to death." You playfully punch at his arm in shock, shaking your head. Your life here really did feel strange sometimes. You sighed and looked up at him, wishing you could kiss him now and leave all of this behind. But there was still a window, still all of campus to contend with.

"Listen, we have to go out the front door today so I can lock up, so you just head to the station and meet me at my place. Here's money for your ticket," he says, pulling out his wallet and setting it in your hand.

"I just wanna go with you," you say as you stand, starting to walk out with him.

"I know darling, me too," he sighs, pulling you against a corner of the hall by the front doors where there were no windows, and kissing you hard against the wall.

"Just another hour and we can be together in private," he sighs, moving his lips to your ear, your throat, your collar bone. You moan and push him off, shooting daggers with your eyes.

"Stop teasing me," you pout, but you're loving every minute of it, loving that he couldn't even make it out of this hallway without kissing and touching you.

Outside the wind is blowing, the grass on the lawns close to dead, the sky half covered in winter clouds. Without another glance in his direction you make for the train station, hoards of other students doing the same, suitcases and duffel bags in hand. You zip your jacket high up to your neck, pulling the hood over your ears to keep the freezing wind from bruising them. It hits you suddenly that you'll never be his student again, that you'll never be sat in his class daydreaming about the professor in front of you instead of actually listening to his words.

"One ticket to Forthsmith station please," you tell the man at the ticket booth, handing over your dollar.

It's a bit disappointing to know that cozy classroom will never be your classroom again. The making eyes at each other, the stolen glances and brief touches, the way it all felt so wrong and so right. Things would be so different going forward, there was no question.

But as much as you dreaded the change, there was relief in it too. You were pretty sure now things could escalate further, that he'd finally have you all the way. And maybe beyond college, if you were careful enough with him and he with you, you'd find a companion for the long journey called life.

"You heading home too?" Marcus's piercing voice cuts through your daydreaming, bringing you right back to the crowded, stuffy platform you're standing on.

"No, heading to a friend's house," you sigh softly, while he makes his way to stand right next to you, suitcase in hand.

"Were you able to finish your story?" he asks, turning to look at you, but you don't meet his gaze. As much as you'd stopped hating him, you were sort of thankful you wouldn't have to see him anymore, either. You were on different degree paths, only overlapping for this one class. It wasn't sad to think you wouldn't be hearing this voice ever again.

"Yeah, did you?" you ask sharply.

"Barely, just as prof said we were out of time," he says. You look to your right and finally spot your professor, who makes his way in your direction. "I'm sure it was good enough to pass, and if that asshole fails me I'll just have my dad take it up with the Dean."

You hear a soft chuckle behind you, and with a quick glance see the man he's just called an asshole, biting his lip to trying to stop smirking.

"I think he overheard you," you say to Marcus. His face shoots over his shoulder now too, and his eyes go wide at seeing Professor Jeong's face.

"Sir- I- I'm so sorry-"

"It's fine, I grade based on principal, not on how much I like my students," he sighs, shooting a quick look your way. You chuckle, knowing his distain for your classmate. It was one you shared, you supposed. Both glad to be done with him.

But more than anything, both glad to have time to yourselves.

You sit apart on the train, the car packed the whole way to his station, many students heading the full two-hour ride up north to the neighboring city they were from. Few get off at his station, and you're so happy for it, realizing how much the privacy and calm of his neighborhood mean to you. Campus was fun in it's own ways, and you appreciated being so close to so many things, but out just a ways in this tucked away street, you felt completely safe to just be you.

With him, you could just be. It had been that way since the first night, that night when you'd worried and fretted as you walked in his house, that night when your lust overcame you and sent you down a path that now stretched far ahead. The landscape of your love was filled with gorgeous forests and rainy days, with the softness of snow and the warmth of fire. You never wanted to leave this cozy nook, his arms around you, nose in your hair, body strong and warm beneath you.

As soon as you'd arrived, you'd both changed clothes, and for the first time you saw him in grey sweatpants and a baggy hoodie, looking cozier and softer than ever before. You borrowed a hoodie and a pair of shorts; they reached down to your shins, looking almost like pants. With a pair of thick long socks on too, you looked ridiculous, like a twelve year old boy in his dad's clothing. But it was comfortable, and that was what mattered. You laid down on his couch, cuddling in the warmth of the fire, sighing into each other.

"Semester's finally over," he says, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"I'm so nervous for my grades," you respond, sighing.

"You shouldn't be, I know you've worked very hard. Your short story was marvelous."

"You read it already?"

"While the other students were finishing theirs," he says, smiling into you.

"You liked it?" you ask.

"Of course I did, you're quite the little genius," he praises, making your body ache with need. "Do you wanna hear just how much I loved it?"

You giggle into his chest, knowing that he knows just what this does to you, how much it turns you on.

"Yes," you whisper, heat springing in your cheeks, your entire body flushing.

"You set the tone perfectly, you have a way with doing that. The first sentence immediately grabbed me, because it was exactly what I was expecting until the last word. And I had been expecting another gothic or horror story from you, because of your last two, but you went with fantasy instead. It shows me you have such range, you can manipulate words beautifully no matter where they're coming from, or where they're headed..."

His words are going straight to your cunt, your head fuzzy. How could you possibly so lucky to find someone who knew you so well? Who said all the right things, was sweet enough but rough enough too, was balanced and inspiring, setting you in the right direction. He was a mentor to you, not just the man you lusted after; he was keeping you on track, making sure you'd have the confidence you needed to finish your degree and go succeed in the real world.

"You're perfect," you mumble, completely relaxed.

"No, that's you," he says, kissing your forehead again, wrapping his hands all the way around you and pulling you directly on top of him, squeezing you tightly. You giggle at the sensation, lifting your head up to place a quick kiss on his plump lips, but soon it's more, soon your knees are pulled up on either side of him and your tongue is finding his, soon you've forgotten where and who you are, completely lost in him.

He sits up and lifts you, the kiss only breaking for a moment as he starts walking down the hall. He slowly pushes open a door you've never been inside, the hinges creaking slightly, and then he breaks the kiss again to turn on a lamp in the corner, finally illuminating the space. You look to your side to see his bed, his reading corner, the stack of books on his nightstand. You're finally in his room, finally seeing the space he spends every night, and you hope one day it's as familiar to you as it is to him, that you can call it your home, too.

He lays you down gently, holding you with tender care as he kisses you more, your mouths wrapped in a perfect dance, licking and biting in perfect rhythm; just weeks in and you already know everything, how to mold to him, how to be the perfect reflection of his every movement. It feels like angels are singing as he deepens the kiss, as he swipes his tongue over yours harshly, as he grabs onto your ass and leaves your skin red from the strength of it. He snakes his hands under the hoodie you're wearing and feels over your chest too, loving how you moan in his mouth at the slightest touch of your nipple, how they pebble instantly in his hands. His mouth moves to your neck as he reaches under your waist and almost devours you, letting your soft moans escape into the buzzing air of the room, letting them drift into his ears and make his cock hard.

Satisfied with how you're writhing beneath him, he finally sits back, tugging at the waist of your shorts to pull them down and off, then diving into the hot wet spot between your legs, lapping up the arousal already leaking from you. He makes quick work of you, already knowing how you like it, what makes your legs shake and your mouth hang open. He doesn't finger you though, knowing what's about to come and wanting you to wait for the shock of the feeling. He knows he's big, and has no idea what your experience is, but is sure the look on your face will be priceless when you finally feel him stretching you from within.

Your thighs are clenching around his head as he licks slow circles over your clit, and you're tipping over the edge so quickly, still unsure how he can do it so easily, how he's already figured you out. He comes up for air looking deliciously disheveled, and you reach out your arms, beckoning him to you. The taste of you on his lips is intoxicating, musky and heady and the tiniest bit sweet, and you're grasping at him underneath his hoodie, relishing the feeling of his skin, needing more of it. Soon you're pulling at it, and he relents his kissing to allow you to take it off, his muscular torso greeting you, pale skin almost yellow in the soft light of his room. He then pulls at your hoodie too, and soon you're in nothing but your socks, and he is too, and you can see his long cock is hard and flushed at the tip, making your mouth water with need.

You'd only ever felt it through his pants, and now feeling it in your hand is electrifying, how heavy and hot it is, how utterly perfect. He hisses at the feeling, your hand cold against him, sending shockwaves of pleasure through him, his pent up need finally showing itself. He'd lied to himself all semester, pretending he didn't think anything of you; it was wrong to lust after a student, of course it was, but it was something he couldn't help. He'd begun to think you'd never talk to him, that you didn't have even the slightest bit of interest back; after that first night in his office he'd been waiting to do this, to finally feel every part of you, to be locked together in this most perfect way.

He sinks into you slowly, holding the base of his shaft as he does, trying to be careful. He can see already, only halfway down, that you're having trouble taking him; your head falls back with your eyebrows knitted together, as if in pain. But you beg him to go on, to give you everything, and there's no way he can say no to that. With effort he finally sheaths himself, leaning down into you to just hold you, letting your cunt take its time adjusting. With soft kisses and praise he distracts you, and soon you're not feeling any pain, only the perfect sensation of being completely filled, his cock touching every part of you inside.

"Please move," you whisper, pulling on his hair and kissing him deeply, as he chuckles.

"Of course, angel," he smiles into you, slowly pulling out, and pushing back in even slower, dragging out the immense pleasure. You're both groaning messes, completely entranced by the feelings it's bringing, so intense, so sweet, so deep and sating. It's hard to believe you are here, experiencing this; you're coming around him so quickly, shaking and holding onto him as you moan, his arms around your waist again as you arch into him. Again he's reading you so easily, knowing exactly how to make you feel best, even though you've never done this together, before; it's a feeling you want to capture and bottle, so you can bathe in it whenever you need a reminder of just how wonderful life can be.

You quickly come again, slick gushing out of you with force, covering his sheets in wetness. His pace picks up in reaction, and soon his moans are growing too, his movements more erratic, until he's releasing inside you with a low 'fuck,' his warmth filling you. The sensation is delectable, another you wish to know over and over again. His body collapses on top of you and you wrap your arms and legs around him tightly, squeezing tight as you kiss and hold each other, the minutes passing by with ease.

This bed was now familiar to you. And the smell of his skin was, too.

"Can I ask you something?"

It's you who finally breaks the silence, running a hand through his hair.

"Hm?" he responds, lifting you both up to a sitting position, wrapped around each other still as you lean against his headboard.

"I can't go home until the 22nd," you start, "can- can I stay here with you?"

"Of course darling, I'd love that," he says, kissing your cheek. "I will be very busy with grading over the next week, so it might be quite boring for you."

"With your library, I could never be bored," you say, and a huge smile breaks out on his face, his bottom lip catching in his teeth a moment.

"God, you're wonderful," he sighs, tipping your face up to meet his, kissing you deeply.

"I wanna be with you," you say, breaking the kiss, looking into his eyes deeply, knowingly. You couldn't hold it in any longer; it was true, it was all that you could think of, and you needed him to know. It was serious for you, the feelings you were having. It was too early to call them what they were, but you were sure that four letter word described them perfectly.

"I wanna be with you too," he smiles, pulling you into a warm, caring hug. He's still inside you, your bodies still locked together. It was too perfect of a feeling to not savor to the bitter end. That was how he felt with you, in ever way; he wasn't sure how long you'd be there, but as long as you were in his life, he'd savor every minute.

{the end}

Taglist: @iamalily @atzri @marii1087 @dilfkimhjj @yunyuniverse @yourfavoritedeluluspot @wizorbit99 @yeottoks @ateezgurl @hanjiyunho

thank you for reading my work, my loves <33333

[luvwestwood]

"Off Limits" - Gojo Satoru

4,120 words.

warnings. n*sfw (18+), tongue piercing satoru, substance use, satoru is a plug, fuckboy! satoru, oral sex (he eats your pussy OUT) , both characters 🚬 🍃, resolved sexual tension, porn with a BIT of plot, mildly dubious consent, fucking at a party, he makes you squirt

notes. this was originally posted on my ao3, which is much more longer. i've shortened it down and fixed errors I made on ao3 originally (see if you could notice what it is 😭)for tumblr so its more of an easy read! <3

banner cred. @/yunonoai on twt/ig

You had about an hour and half to get ready, before you had to make your way to the Mappa Frat House down the street. Chloe's brother, Satoru, and his friends were inviting you two to some house party they held every year building up to Halloween.

To be real, it took you A LOT of convincing for Chloe to have you come to the party with her. You were never a party person. The thought of throwing up your guts after your system has consumed all types of shit. Or the annoying guys that slap your ass from behind in hopes of getting time with you in the bedrooms upstairs.

You were the total opposite of Chloe, and honestly, you envied her. She was a social butterfly who could blend in with anyone if she needed to, and she was evidently liked by the other students of any clique out there.

Oh, and by party animal, I mean it. Dresses in every colour, length and pattern. Heels of every inch and style. She just knew what to do. Practically, if you got her to go to your party, that's how you'd know if it was a good fucking party. 

Sitting in front of your desk finishing your makeup, which you were surprisingly good at, you giggle as you watch Chloe attached a lasso to her waist.

She had looked really cute in her Woody costume, and you were in fact, dressed as a sexy Buzz Lightyear. Earlier on at Ann Summers, Chloe was begging for you to match with her. You couldn’t refuse. It was a 2 for 1 sale anyway..

You smiled as she started to record a few tiktoks before hitting the road.

"I'm gonna have so much fun with this rope tonight."

"Mhm.." you let out a hum as you focus on doing your eyeliner. It was hard not to laugh at what she said, but you managed to suppress a giggle.

You lined some lashes with glue before placing them on your lash line. Your makeup was flawless tonight, and you were grateful because it had been quite some time since you've done a full glam. A bit of setting spray, and you spun your chair around to face Chloe.

It was as if she was a proud mother from what she was seeing in front of her. "Gorgeous! You look like a doll. A sexy one. Stand up really quickly, let's take a few pictures before heading out."

You stumbled a bit from the high heeled boots you were wearing, and you had to adjust the fabric your ass was practically eating as you stood up. You and Chloe took a few cute pictures before heading out to the Mappa House.

As you guys got there, it was already packed with all shit ton of people spread out on the front lawn doing all sorts of stuff.

The loud music from the inside could be heard from where you were standing. People were smoking, making out, doing keg stands.

Honestly, Chloe was right. You looked at a group of girls huddled and chatting near the door, and one caught your eye. The girl was wearing nothing but black tape on her boobs and underwear.

You nudge Chloe. “Chlo, what is she meant to be..?”

She giggled a bit before replying, “Who knows.”

You got a bit nervous as you walked on the path leading up to the main door. Spooky Halloween decorations were all over the House, and sometimes you were unable to tell what and what's not a decoration..

A man was standing just inside the door, it seemed like he was waiting for Chloe.

The guy dressed up as Johnny Cage from Mortal Kombat. You'd never seen him before, and he looked a bit intimidating.

You heard Chloe call out to the man. "Kento!" ..So that's his name. You stood behind Chloe like a loser as she gave him a hug. She pulled away and stayed pressed up against him. 

He smiled, "I'm glad you came. And who's this pretty girl?"

Kento turned to you as you looked at Chloe, she held you close to her too and gave you a proper introduction. "This is my best friend and room-mate, I convinced her to come along tonight!"

You returned the smile to him, he seemed like an okay guy. "Hi, nice to meet you."

Chloe winked at you, and you smirked, knowing what it meant. You gave her the look of approval as she took her lasso and tied it around Kento, pulling him to a room somewhere in the house.

You laughed as you made your way to the kitchen, after they disappeared up the stairs. How outrageous.

It was more quiet, which you liked. Making your way to the far end of the kitchen, you opened the fridge and scanned what's inside. You decided to take a small can of Pepsi. You sighed as you turned around, closing the fridge shut with your butt.

The presence of someone behind all along startled you, leaning against the island watching you this whole time. 

"Oh my fuck. Why are you creeping up on people like that?"

It was a person, assumingly a guy, his face covered with a ghostface mask. He was dressed in all black. A simple black fitted tee and jeans. He had a fake knife strapped to his belt.

The mysterious guy took off his mask, and placed it on the counter behind him. Of course, It was Satoru, Chloe's brother.

You let out a labored sigh as you leaned against the fridge, unable to move.

"I'm surprised you showed up tonight, I thought you never will."

You slowly slid to the right trying to escape him, turning your back to face Satoru as you popped the can open on the counter. "...It was a last minute decision."

"Seems like you got a costume too, huh?" Eyes sliding down your body as he finished his sentence.

Your eyes widen, realising your ass was on show to him this whole time. I'll kill this man if he thinks I'm up to no good.

You quickly turn back around to face him with the front of your body, and it didn't do you any justice as he was just met with your almost exposed chest. Party in the front, party in the back.

"I'm not complaining, you look good." he reassured you, trailing his eyes down your body from head to toe.

"..Thanks." Quickly, you took a huge sip from the can as you looked at him. This drink will only un-calm my nerves.

"I'm actually not into parties myself either." he spoke, and you almost choked on your drink.

"You? THE Satoru Gojo? I wasn't expecting that."

"No, I just like more intimate parties. Big ones like these annoy me. I don't know and don't care about 3/4 of the people who are here."

He continued, “You wanna come with? I’m going upstairs. There’s one last free room. And that’s the master room.”

Chloe was already busy, and there wasn’t really anyone else you could talk to around here. You had no choice.

”Hmm, okay. I’ll follow.”

He made sure to grab his mask from the counter, and the two of you left the kitchen.

As you made your way up the stairs, you could feel other girls eyes piercing through your back like daggers. Luckily, they couldn’t recognise you that easily.

By the time you set foot on the upstairs landing, you called out to him. "Satoru," you continued, "Who's room is this even?"

"Suguru’s, but it's cool. He won't give a fuck."

You followed behind him for a bit until you reached the master bedroom.

”Lock the door if you don’t want people coming into this room eating each other’s faces off.”

You blankly stared at him for a bit before turning back around to twist the lock. The music from downstairs turned faint and so did the chatter.

For a frat house, Suguru’s room was actually clean, you expected dirty plates and what-ever-the-fuck to litter the rest of the room, but the only exception was the clothes scattered on the ground. You watched and sat yourself down on the bed as he rummaged through the drawers for something.  Is he… reaching for a.. 

He picked up a lighter from deep inside the drawer, taking a joint out that was untouched from the same drawer, but kept away in a tiny zip bag. Phew.

”You smoke?”

You looked at him. “What do you think?”

”I’m guessing no.” You didn't know if you were to be butthurt by his quick and certain answer, but you don't see a reason why you should be anyways. His words went a bit quiet as he concentrated on sparking the joint between his fingers.

He took a hit from the joint as soon as it was burning perfectly. “Damn, that shits good.”

”Is Suguru not gonna be pissed if he finds out you took that..?” You questioned him.

”..Who do you think sold this stuff to him?” He flashed his famous smile as he saw the priceless look on your face.

You chewed on your lip and looked at the ground. “Oh, right.. yeah.”

You forgot that Satoru was basically the one who sold 🍃 on and off the campus.

He walked over to you, and sat beside you on the edge of the bed. “You don’t wanna try?”

Satoru took another hit before blowing the smoke out on his right side, making sure it doesn’t hit your face.

“I don’t know. I’ve never done it before, plus I’m scared.” You continued, “More scared I’ll start coughing like a bitch that I’d make a fool out of myself.”

Even though the only source of light came from the bedside lamp, you could still see that his eyes were glossy, and at this point a tiny bit bloodshot. “I could teach you, here.”

He held out the joint towards you, the smell was so strong it was probably sticking to your clothes by now.

”Quick, it’s burning away for no reason.”

You held the joint between your fingers like a cigarette, and looked at him for assurance.

”No, not like that.” He took your fingers and placed it properly between your pointer and thumb. “You look like a loser if you hold it like a cigarette.”

”Okay, what now.”

”Do it, take a hit.”

You stared at it before bringing it to your lips. Satoru spoke from beside you.

”Like, almost as if you’re sucking. Make sure it really gets to here.” He points to his chest.

You slightly squint your eyes as you take a mistakingly big hit.

”Now hold it for a bit, then exhale. It’s gonna hit better.”

The joint left your lips as you held it for like two seconds, and you let out a laboured exhale.

“Good girl, see? No coughing.”

You passed it back to him and Satoru takes another hit.

”..How’d I know if it hit me?”

He smirked, “You’ll just know. Don’t worry, I got you.”

All of a sudden, it felt like everything slowed down and your face was being grabbed to the ground.

You felt a bit relaxed knowing that Satoru was beside you, and you managed to take a hit without embarrassing yourself and going all snotty.

Unwillingly, you take the joint back from his hand to take another hit.

”What happened to Ms. I don’t smoke?”

You rolled your eyes before you passed it back to him again. 

Satoru smiled at your reaction before speaking again. “You wanna play a game?” 

Stomach churning, and not really liking where this is going, you answered. “..like what?”

”I ask you a couple questions and you answer, then you do the same to me.”

You snickered. “Isn’t that just called ‘getting to know each other’?”

”Yeah, I just wanted to make it sound more interesting.”

“Okay, why not.”

“How about, if you refuse to answer a question you take off one piece of clothing.”

You looked at him with a , ‘nice try’ face. ”Nuh uh. Not happening. Just ask the questions.”

”Aww, it was worth a shot.”

“Start asking questions or I’ll change my mind,” you changed your position on the bed to lie down on your stomach. It was more comfortable than stiffly sitting on the edge of the bed.

”You ever had a boyfriend?”

”Once. But I was like sixteen.”

Satoru just nods. “Your turn.”

“Did getting your tongue piercing hurt?”

He turned to you and smirked, “I’m surprised you noticed it. But nahh. Not really, it was just the healing process that hurted.”

Your face slightly grew warm, “…Yeah, I noticed it yesterday.”

He just smiles, and asks his second question. “You ever gotten your pussy ate before?”

You swallowed your spit as you propped yourself up slightly. “I’m sorry, what?”

”You heard me.” He takes another hit of the joint even though it’s almost shrunken to the smallest it can be.

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “…No.”

”…Good.” Satoru muttered, but you couldn’t really hear.

It was your turn to ask question again.

”..Why’d you want to get it pierced anyways?”

”Dunno. Why’d you think?”

Silence and tension grew between the two of you. You didn’t know if the naughty answer that crossed your mind was right or wrong. 

You didn’t know if it was the temperature of the room or the shit you smoked. You avoided answering his question.

”…Y-your turn to ask the question.”

His next question came out immediately.

“..Wanna see for yourself?”

Your breath hitched as he spoke. You didn’t know what to say. And you didn’t know what he meant.

”Is that a question you’re using up or are you just saying that… as a joke..”

Satoru stood up and walked over to the dresser, placing his costume props on top. In fact, he took everything out of his pockets and placed it on the dresser. 

You watched him glance at his phone for a bit, reading all the messages from his other homies before placing it down on the dresser and not replying.

A pool was forming between your legs, and you gently clamped them together while still lying down.

You’d be lying if you said you totally didn’t want to strip everything off and be naked by the time he turns back around. But you kept your composure.

Satoru turned back around, walking back to the bed. He sat on the same edge he was on a few minutes ago.

”And what if I do wanna find out,” You spoke, testing the waters.

His voice was laced with honesty. “I don’t want to push you out of your boundaries, we don’t have to do this. We can forget that this happened and my sister won’t ever know I was near you.”

A few thoughts were racing through your mind. I mean, Chloe was busy, you literally had weed in your system and you never thought you would’ve. There’s a first for everything, right?

You gently crawled over across the bed,  closer to him. “…No, I do want you to show me.” Your voice trailed off quietly, you grew shy as you drew back.

He turned his head behind to face you, and was able to see the sincerity in your eyes. Not gonna lie, he was very attractive. And I was literally begging to have his head between my legs.

You came closer to him again, and found yourself placing your lips on his first. The two of you melted into each other, with the lingering sexual tension finally resolved. 

The good girl act no longer existed, and time around you felt like it had stopped. This was something you needed, and you finally got it.

He was extremely gentle with his hands, and softly guided you to move back further onto the bed, placing your head down on the pillow.

You slightly squirmed as he placed his knee between your legs. He pulled away from your neck  before looking at you from above, caressing your cheek with his thumb. 

“Just relax doll, I’ll take care of everything.” He left you with a peck on the lips as he slowly peppered a trail of kisses down your body, going lower and lower.

Your breath hitched as he cupped both of his hands around each of your thighs, kissing your inner thigh as he looked up at you in between.

His hands were cold, and caused your nipples to harden from his touch. But the heat of your body cause him to warm up in no time. He paused for a moment. “Can I?”  Satoru points to your tiny shorts before you responded with a nod. You slid them off and threw them somewhere in the room. You’ll find those later.

You watched as he used his teeth to teasingly slide your thong off your body, down your legs. You grew goosebumps from the feeling of the fabric slowly gliding down your skin.

It was painfully slow, but it made you want him even more. He knew what he was doing, and for your first time getting eaten out, it was like winning the lottery if Satoru was the one doing it.

He took them from his mouth, and placed it in the back pocket of his jeans before kissing past your inner thigh, Satoru placed a wet kiss on your throbbing clit before doing a few small licks with his tongue.

The mixture between the metal of his piercing and tongue made you shudder, causing you to whine and clamp your thighs around his head gently.

You felt Satoru's soft hands grip slightly your skin firmer, spreading your legs more apart and keeping them wide open for him. You were expecting his hands to be cold, but surprisingly your skin was met with his warm touch. He sucked on your clit gently, before lapping at it again hungrily.

Your two hands were occupied themselves, one grabbed onto his hair and the other clutched onto the sheets beside you. He only pushed his tongue deeper into you, basically gently fucking your hole with it.

Practically losing your mind from how good Satoru made you feel, you could tell he was enjoying every single noise and reaction you made. You felt the way he smiled against your dripping cunt as he cycled from sucking to licking.

”…Don’t.. stop..” you continued, in short breaths. “…Please”

He hummed gently with his eyes closed, his lips glossed with his spit and the juices from your pussy, and the sound of someone’s phone ringing echoed in your ears, releasing you from your trance.

You looked down at him annoyed as he hauled his head up from your legs. “Not my phone, mines silent on the dresser.”

You turned to the far end of the bed to your left and saw your phone screen was flashing. Reaching for it, you saw Chloe was the one calling.

Turning the phone screen for Satoru to see, he squinted his eyes a bit to read who the caller was. “You can answer,”

Before answering the call you laughed a bit, as you saw how ridiculous you made him look after grabbing his hair.

”Chloe?” You watched Satoru as he tried to listen in on the conversation.

He whispered, “Put it on speaker.”

You nodded, and Chloe could be heard on the other line speaking.

”Hey girl, just checking on you. You okay?” You heard her and Kento giggle as she tried to speak over the phone. But it was a bit louder around her, so that means they were with a bunch of other people now.

”Yeah, I’m…” Your eyes widen and flutter as felt as Satoru placed his head back down between your thighs, slowly and slightly lapping at your clit again with the cold metal orb on his tongue causing you to throb again.

You felt as he carelessly swirled his tongue around like there’s no tomorrow, but this time he let one of your legs go and thrusted a finger in and out of your hole, emitting a squelching noise as he continuously sucked, stimulating you like crazy.

The pleasure overwhelmed you, and you had to bite down on your bottom lip to suppress a moan.

”Heyyy, you there?”

You were unable to answer as your own words became nothing but breathy as you try to form a sentence.

”…Y-Yeah, everything’s fine. I’m in the…b-bathroom.” You felt his lips curl into a smirk against your inner thigh for a second time as he heard your little lie over the phone.

You furrow your brows, making an “O” shape with your mouth.

Your hand holding the phone fell flat onto the bed, and by now you were no longer listening to whatever Chloe was saying on the other side of the line. Your mind was clouded, and the knot in your stomach tightened as you felt an orgasm approaching.

Lucky for you, Chloe ended the call less than ten seconds ago as it seems like she was busy with something else. Hopefully Kento.

He felt the way you quivered even more than last time, and held one of your legs over his left shoulder as he thrusted another finger in, still lapping and sucking at your dripping cunt as your breathing quickened, becoming irregular.

”Cum all over my face,” He murmured against your warm lips, and that did it for you. You liked the way he was gentle with his hands, slowly using one to rub your thigh on his left shoulder. He was deep in there, and he ate your pussy like it was a five course meal.

You watched as him as you rode out your orgasm, your head falling back against the pillow. Your mind was all over the place as you endlessly squirted all over his fingers that curled inside of you to aid your high, and felt as you slightly pushed your body more towards him.

“S-shit..” Was all you could say. You saw the way the piercing was exposed for a split second as he stuck his tongue out, the juices from your release dripping all over his mouth.

As he gently pulled away from between your legs, a ‘pop’ noise was heard after he gave your clit one last suck. 

You couldn’t help but laugh at the way his face was soaking wet.  Luckily it didn’t go past his above nose. Or he’d be partially blind for the rest of the night.

The neck of his shirt managed to be slightly soaked with splatters from your juices. But he didn’t care.

“..You got a little something on your face..” You say, pointing to your mouth with your finger to tell him where it was.

He smiled, and you watched as he used his tongue to wipe the corners of his mouth, but took a random towel hanging off the door to wipe the rest off his cheek.

“Damn, Suguru’s gonna be pissed when he sees how soaked his sheets are.” Satoru laughed as he looked at you still with your legs spread out, trying to recover.

No can do, the towel that was previously used by Satoru was passed to you after.

The wet circle underneath you had expanded from soaking into the sheets for too long. Satoru grabs your shorts that landed just in front of the door and tossed them back to you, but as he walked away a knock could be heard.

It was Suguru, of course it was. “Yo, whoever’s in there is cheeky enough to lock my own damn door!”

You quickly slid on your shorts as you turned to the body mirror beside you, combing your hair with your fingers.

Honestly, you were a bit upset that your fun was cut short. But you couldn’t stay for too long or eventually someone would break the door down.

“Man shut the hell up, it’s me, Satoru. I’m in here.” He responded. You watched him in the mirror as he slowly came up behind you, turning you around and gave you a sweet peck on the lips. Making sure you knew he didn’t just want to leave you hanging like that. That you weren’t just a toy to him.

The two of you walked to the door, twisting the lock to it. “Here, you go out first. I’m right behind you.”

You nod as you left the room, and shyly smiled at Suguru on your way out who was dumbfounded, followed by Satoru behind you.

And of course, Suguru couldn’t help but notice your pink thong that was still hanging off Satoru’s back pocket.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤳ © luvwestwood ‘24. all works are owned by me, and originally come from my own head. please do not re-post on a third party platform without my permission!

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤳ as always, thank you for the love on each and every one of my posts. 🎀🩷

[h0ttestgrlinm0urgu3]

your friend isn't always a genius

request

dom! aaron hotchner x brat reader

summary: Aaron's been on a case for to long reader decideds to be a brat but he gets home sooner than expected, turns out aaron got some advice from his friend.

warnings: use of y/n, masturbat!on fem, consensual voyeurism, being a brat, punishments, recording, daddy kink, mentions of spencer reid

it's been almost two weeks since aaron went on a case. it wasn't anything major, but with the towns police hindering the investigation due to a lack of knowledge and experience, he's had to stay longer than planned.

you know you can't blame aaron for being on a case, but having a break in routine always results in you bratting. so honestly, he shouldn't have expected less.

you currently sat on your knees infront of your full body mirror dressed in only a pair of pretty pink lace panties and one of aarons sleep shirts, taking pictures that you knew you'd get in trouble for. it didn't matter tho, you loved aarons punishments. you loved the way his hand felt when he spanked your ass or when you'd go brain dead from him fucking you so good. if you were being honest it was one of your favorite things.

sending the pictures to aaron you sit and wait for him to see it. it's around nine, and he's usually in the hotel by now unless they had a break in the case. you check and seeing that he read the text you pussy dampened and your heart speed up. waiting for a reply you sit there, and sit there, and sit. it's about 5 minutes when you decide to call him.

the phone ringing 3 times before he answers. 'hey sweetheart' he answers like he would normally. 'why didn't you answer my text?' you question, opting out of a greeting. 'because your not supposed to do that' he replys plainly. 'so? what you were just gonna ignore me?' you ask him letting your voice raise.

' I was' aaron says as if it's a normal thing.

' you never ignore me ' you say pouting as if he could see you. ' and you continue to be a brat. ya know spencer and I got the talkin and he said that if someone constantly has the same punishment every time they acted out, it'd become less effective.' he states, making you wonder what in their conversation made them talk about this and why he thought it pertained to you.

because it does.

'and? the fuck does that mean aaron?' you pout feeling the urge to really pass him off now. I mean if he was gonna change up punishments you can change up what your getting punished for.

'watch it' he warns urging you to not play this game. decideding he was beyond wrong and that you'd not only play this game, but win. you hung up the phone, removing your underwear you sat up the camera to where your pussy was on full display. hitting record, you let your fingers travel down your cheest, over your stomach past your clit collecting all of your juices on your fingers. bringing then back up to your clit you make eye contact with your camera as you start to play with your pussy.

moaning at the pleasure, you couldn't deny how good it felt, but you also couldn't deny how much it felt nothing like aaron. bringing your fingers down to your entrance, sliding them in as your eyes roll back and toes curl.

'oh fuck it feels so good' you moan out. you continue to fuck yourself on camera for about five minutes before you realize something. 'fuck I can't cum' you groan out. not knowing why but still wanting to win. so you crop the last bit of the video and send aaron the gold parts.

confused on why it's been five minutes of really good pleasure, and yet you haven't cum yet. you decided to get a toy, recording yourself play with it for a while before groaning and giving up at the same out come.

editing that video and again sending only the good parts you guessed that you must have became camera shy out of nowhere. so you play with your pussy while the camera isn't on. you try everything in the span of 6 hours, reaching for your phone at hour 3 to watch porn because maybe you need a little help.

which lead to realizing aaron once again left you on read.

you genuinely felt as though you could cry now. that's when the realization hits you. you've must of been so hardwired to aaron that it's impossible for you to cum without him now.

feeling angry, not necessarily at aaron, but at the fact that he probably knew you couldn't come without him, that's probably why he was okay with ignoring you.

getting cleaned in the bathroom before going back to the bedroom with a frown on your face, you let out a huff as you plopped on the bed.

☆

waking up the next morning, you check your phone. feeling your heart drop and crawl it's self back in place you read the one message from aaron. sent hours after you went to bed, about 1 a.m., telling you how they had a break in the case and caught the guy in the act. which means he'd be home anytime today.

that'd usually make you ecstatic, but with aarons newfound discovery of ignoring you only God knows what your punishment will be.

☆

you spend the day cleaning the apartment, cooking aaron his favorite meal, even going as far as making brownies. also thinking it was better to clean the whole apartment too just in case.

☆

almost perfectly on time, when you're taking the brownies out, aaron walks through the door. 'hey baby' he greets, walking over to hug you. "at least he's not that mad" you think to yourself. 'hi' you reply shyly, letting your head rest on his chest.

you've missed this, and if kinda makes you feel bad for being a brat. looking around the kitchen, aaron smiles fondly at the food you prepared. then picks you up whole he spins to look at the whole apartment, he knows it's because you didn't expect him home so soon after acting out, but he still loves it.

'enjoy the time you have sugar, cause after we eat your ass is done for' he smiles grabbing a handful of your ass and pecking your lips, before letting you down and making his way to the table.

let let out a groan, but honestly expecting that food and dessert wasn't gonna save you from your punishment.

☆

your weren't that hungry so you finished before aaron. as soon as the last piece was gone from his plate, you shot up to start cleaning the kitchen. 'Ah, that can wait baby' aaron tells you as he gets up from the table and motions for you to follow. 'what? noo, I got it' you answer starting to wash the dishes.

aaron walked behind you, an amused smile on his face. which goes away after he sees that your purposely washing slowly 'the longer you take on the dishes, the more time is added to your punishment' he says, making you drop the fork out of your hands. 'what? that's not fair'. you try to argue only for aaron to turn around and make his way to your shared room.

saying fuck it you decided not to do the dishes and follow him to the room. 'you done?' he asks 'fuck you, yes' you reply. making him laugh while he sat on the edge of the bed.

'get undressed baby' aaron commands you. decideding to choose your battles wisely and not have you outfit ripped apart, knowing aaron is not only good for buying clothes but destroying them, you undressed.

moving over, you sit in the center of the bed like he always tells you. waiting for him to say something you patently wait playing with your fingers.

he gets up from the edge of the bed and turns to you 'had fun without me?' your boyfriend asks you. 'not at all daddy, it was so boring' you answer back. ' so glad your back now' you add smiling up to him.

he lets out a loud laugh at your answer. 'seems to me you had all the fun in the world' aaron says. shacking your head no, while he shakes his head yes 'I know you did baby and it's okay.' he speaks as he makes his way to the chair in your room. 'how many times did you cum?' he ask while getting comfortable.

'don't ask me that daddy' you groan. he chuckles while un doing his tie. 'you don't want to tell me baby?' he questions. Shacking your head no he just smiles at you before speaking 'go ahead nd show me baby'.

confusion feels your body as aaron watches you from across the room. 'what?' you whispered, silently praying that you misheard him.

'baby I want you to play with your pussy while I watch' he admitted as if it was a mundane request. 'show me what you did while I was gone' he told you with a smirk.

shacking your head no, you desperatly thank of anything to get you out of this. 'that's so embarrassing daddy' you tell him as you pout.

your pussy is getting wetter by the second but you didnt know if you'd be able to cum. or even worse if you'd be allowed to.

before you could blink aaron got up and exited the room. you were confused to say the least and once he returned with a lighter that confusion only grew.

that was, until he went into your shared closet.

your jaw hit the floor as you see him walk out with one of your favorite pairs of heels. 'aaron what are yo-' 'shh baby' he cuts you off tossing your heels infront of the bed.

'they're just encouragement' he says as he reclaims his seat, lighter in hand 'but know that you'll be punished one way or another' he says plainly.

letting out a whine 'this isn't fair' you tell him wich in return earns you an eye roll. '10 minutes' he speaks. 'huh?' you question '10 minutes' he repeats.

'10 minutes to cum or you'll have 10 minutes to say goodbye to your shoes. you pick.' he clears up slightly shrugging his shoulders.

expecting your embarrassment you lay back down and prop your knees up. 'is that good?' you ask to which you get no reply. you drag two fingers through your slit and to your entrance. collecting your juices before letting them dip in.

you let out a moan, letting your body relax as you bring your finger out and back in. you cant lie about how good it feels, humiliation and all.

dragging your fingers out you bring them to circle your clit. you look at aaron and notice his intense gaze on your pussy in return you let out a whine and feel your pussy clamp around nothing.

you speed up your fingers and bring your other hand up to grope your breast. surprisingly to you, you can feel your orgasm building up.

adding more pressure to your clit to chase your orgasm it seems to finally click for aaron that your about to cum. to say you could see the disappointed on his face would be an understatement, "ill let her have this tho" , he thought to himself.

your shut your eyes as tight as they could as your feel the coil in your abdomen burst 'oh fuck daddy' you moan out as your orgasm washes through you.

breathing deeply as your legs twitched you finally opened your eyes to see your boyfriend on his phone. 'aaron what the fuck are you doing' you question as you see him typing away.

he barley spears you a glance before going back to typing and saying 'spencer said you wouldn't be able to cum on your own by now'

tag : @jxvipike

a/n☆ this is the 3rd version of this story bc tumblr deleted the other two 😺 not proof read, so mb for any mistakes😻😽 - daisy

[lieutenantfloyd]

My Red Thread - Gambit x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: After being sent to the Void alongside your chaotic companions Deadpool and Logan, the very last thing on your mind is the rarity of a soulmate bond. That is, until yours snaps into place. (Soulmate! AU)

Warnings: Fluff, mutant! Reader (undefined powers), a bit of romantic tension, attempts at humor, Wade Wilson ruining The Moment™️

Authors Note: For some reason editing this took way longer than actually writing it did. I’m still getting a feel for the characters, so I apologize if anything is kinda ooc! :)

Read on AO3

Laying with your back against a mostly broken couch, you have a view of the full room, including a set of stairs that allow streams of sunlight to cascade in. Your eyes shift lazily between Logan—who's taking the opportunity to drink himself into oblivion— and Deadpool—who's closing out his second straight hour of snooping through drawers and cabinets.

When the three of you awoke in this new location hours ago, you almost instantly flew into a fit of arguing. First about how and why you were here, then about who would be the first to go up the stairs. After a much heated debate, the consensus became that an unknown person—agreed to be either the ghost of Johnny coming back to avenge himself or the vengeful, forgotten sister from earlier—brought you here for reasons that probably didn't end with any of you walking out of here alive.

Whoever it was most likely got the drop on you first, seeing as how you decided to try your luck at hitchhiking through the void instead of sitting around and watching your two companions tear each other, along with your only ride, to shreds. As for the situation with the stairs, a rare moment of agreement was shared when you decided to stand and fight whatever possible threat was lurking. Once that was decided you all assumed the positions you currently found yourselves in.

With each tick of the dusty clock on the wall, you were growing more and more impatient, You'd been fighting for your life, quite literally, from the moment Wade got you sent to the void. Now your adrenaline had all but crashed, leaving your body to scream in agony over being brought to the brink of death more times over the last twenty four hours than you’d ever care to count. It was at the point now that you honestly began to wish that whoever had brought you here would muster up the cajones and come finish you off for good.

As if on cue, you and Logan sat upright as you sensed movement outside. You rolled off the couch and joined Wade in the middle of the room, taking up fighting stances while Logan simply sat back in his chair and continued nursing the bottle of whiskey he found without a care in the world.

Prepping for yet another fight, you were left feeling as dumbfounded as Deadpool looked when Elektra descended into the room. Your hands stayed raised but your mind began to run with possibilities. Wade began a refreshed round of incessant rambling, not missing a beat as Blade followed Elektra into the room only seconds later.

Your eyes shoot over to Logan in an effort to ensure that someone a bit less prone to hallucinations than you and Deadpool were seeing this too. His eyes flash confirmingly to yours. You swallow hard, having a brief internal battle with the childhood version of you who apparently thinks that now is the best time to start fangirling.

Tuning out Wade's awkward banter, you try and piece together the situation unfolding in front of you together. You were well aware of how people got sent to the void, but you realized then that you never thought any deeper about who exactly you could run into during your stay.

With fatigue setting deeper into your bones, you lean your hip onto the dusty wood table beside you. You fall halfway out of your defensive stance and let Wade command the room as usual, tuning back into the conversation just in time to hear him make an oddly pointed quip about some man named Ben Affleck.

Picking up on more movement from above, your attention shifts across the room. Your eyes lock on the stairs as if glued there. You to watch on silently as a shimmery purple card floats into the room and a man follows closely behind. You barely have enough time to register the flashes of purple dancing away from his hands before a force you have never felt before—and have absolutely no interest in feeling again—slams so solidly into your chest that it sends you flying over the table you were leaning against.

"Fuck!" "Merde!"

You yell out in unison. Instinct has you pulling yourself up off the floor as soon as you hit it, albeit slowly, as you try to call the air back into your lungs. Using the table for support, you manage to raise up on shaking feet. The once busy room has now fallen deadly silent. Quiet in a way you hadn't experienced since joining up with Deadpool several months ago. You suck in a few intentional breaths before letting your head rise up from its hanging position.

"What the hell was tha-" you start, only to fall silent as you take notice of everyone's eyes flashing between you and a man who looks just as confused and winded as you do.

Time seems to slow as your eyes lock with his. A smaller blow hits you somewhere deep beneath your ribs, though this time you only stumble.

"Ho-ly shit!" Wade gasps, bringing his gloved hands up to his face and flicking his head back and forth dramatically between the both of you, no doubt starting to pick up on what's happening.

A second thrumming blooms in your chest then. It's equal parts similar and different from your own. Your mind nearly starts to panic, but it's silenced by something buried in your chemical makeup coming alive.

Wade drops his hands from his face, only to end up pointing at you like an old Spiderman meme.

"You two are-"

"Soulmates," you breathe out.

Absentmindedly, your hand rises to your chest. The feel of your soulmates' heart beating in time with yours is oddly comforting, in a way not unlike finally coming home after a long, difficult mission.

Soulmates were a rare but well documented phenomenon back in your reality. Most people would go their entire lives without meeting someone who was lucky enough to bond, let alone experience it themselves. You silently cursed all of those articles and accounts you read as a hopeful tween for failing to mention just how sudden and violently the bond snapped into place.

"Say something! Suck each other's faces off! Maybe even-"

"That's enough," Logan hisses, slapping a large hand down onto Deadpool's shoulder.

You laugh awkwardly at the absurdity of this entire situation. Unsure of what to say or how to go about any of this. Bonded or not, you and the upsettingly handsome man in front of you were still strangers.

"I've been lookin' for you a long time, mon amour." He drawls. And fuck if his sultry cajun drawl isn't something you'd be happy to hear for the rest of your lifetime.

'Well, It's good to finally meet you, um..." you stammer out, only to remember that you hadn't even learned his name yet.

"Remy!" Elektra whispers to you excitedly.

You repeat his name under your breath, somehow feeling like you miss it as the syllables roll off of your tongue.

"It's lovely to finally meet you, Remy," you try again.

Logan takes the opportunity to introduce you like Elektra did for Remy. He sends you a soft smile as he learns your name, though it shines so bright and warm that you can't decide if you want to fall back against the table or leap into his arms.

You step towards him, happy to feel both of your heartbeats pumping in your chest as you both move to close the distance between you. When you're only a mere inches away from each other, his hand rises into view, silently asking permission to caress your cheek. You wait with bated breath to feel his touch, only for it to fall short when a certain red and black clad anti-hero steps between you—acting as if your entire world wasn't just flipped on its axis.

"Sorry to interrupt this precious little love session you two have going on, but I feel that I must remind you of the very pressing matters still at hand," Wade says with a look that is anything but sorry.

You look to Remy, whose face says only that he's ready to explode Deadpool with his mind and reach around Wade to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. You smile up at Remy, and watch as an unmistakable look of complete adoration flashes across his eyes.

You use your powers to send the mercenary flying backward through the air, leaving him screaming as you finally close the gap between you and Remy.

He brings you into his arms without hesitation. A stray tear slips from your eye as you realize just how right his touch feels against your skin. His nimble fingers wipe away the tear that fell onto your cheek, already coming into tune with the thousands of different emotions flowing through you.

"Don't cry chéri, Gambit's gotcha."

His words bring a fresh new crop of tears to your eyes. You savor the contact for several long moments before reluctantly pulling away. You waste no time in reaching over to interlock your hands, pulling him back a few steps.

A chorus of stifled laughter sounds throughout the room as you spot Wade stumbling back onto his feet. You squeeze Remy's hand when you hear him mutter "couyon," disapprovingly, something that earns another round of poorly dampened laughter from the group.

"Wade,” You call over to him, "Are you done being an asshole for the time being?"

"Never!”

"Can you idiots focus for five seconds?" Logan asks from the corner while taking a swig of whiskey. The rebuttal you’d prepared for Wade does in your throat, but you still give him a disapproving eye roll. Deadpool, unable to have someone speak up before him, pushes his way past Logan.

"Yeah, like I know the writer needs to hit their word count and all, but we've still got a baldheaded bitch to kill."

Getting out of the void has always been your top priority, but with your newfound bond, it felt all the more pressing.

Stepping aside to let Wade through, he begins to command the room as always. Ideas intertwine with his usual self deprecating jokes. You and Remy stand next to each other on the sidelines, as tensions begin to lower.

As the night drug on, the conversation began to buzz with urgent anticipation. Everyone takes a shot at pitching an idea or strategy that plays to some of their strengths. Logan had retreated outside while Blade, Electra, and Wade stood and paced around the room, focused on the task at hand.

With guards lowered and tensions gone, you and Remy retreated to a nearby couch. You both gave out the occasional opinion or bit of intel, but your minds never strayed far from each other.

The conversation slows, and you felt Gambit's hand brush against yours. You reach out and intertwine your fingers with his before he can back away. His fingers tighten against yours gently before letting up. You mirror his squeeze instantly, a thousand words passing in the silence hanging between you. You lift your eyes and meet his gaze, giving him a soft, barely perceptible nod. You can the low kinetic current coursing through his touch. It serves as yet another reminder of how strong your bond already feels.

Your head drops onto his shoulder, earning a low hum. Just above a whisper, and with a smile playing on your lips, you both promise that no matter what lies ahead, you are ready to face it—simply because you now have each other.

[ramp-it-up]

Muse: Three

Muse: Two | Muse Masterlist | Muse: Four

Summary: Three's the Charm. Or the Curse.

Pairing: Art Curator! Ari Levinson x Plus sized model! Reader

Word count: 3.8 K

A/N: Muse will be a series of one shots featuring Muse and Ari, and this the second one. We’re gonna hear from them at least every week. 😏 Big thanks to @princessphilly who basically inspired the premise and then endured me being feral in her inbox. This AU is tangential to the Peach and Knock You Down verses. Here I go again. 🤷🏽‍♀️

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT! Read at your own risk; curate your own experience. Angst and Toxicity. Art Curator Ari. Plus sized model Reader, dating app life, casual sex, toxic situationship, 2 am calls, phone sex, late night texts, 4 am confessions, mean reader, oral (m receiving) rough sex, implied impact play, some guy named Steve ;), masturbation and daydreaming, feelings are flying around, but no one is trying to catch them.

I don’t have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post!

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

--------

The third time wasn’t planned either.

You’d been at a rooftop party in Tribeca, his neighborhood, sipping tequila from someone else’s glass and pretending the skyline made you feel something.  You'd been in Europe for 10 days, all work and no play (well maybe some good wine and good times), and now you were home, dressed to kill and hunting for absolutely nothing.

Not looking for anyone. No one at all.

You wore the kind of dress that made men stutter and women stare, all curve and cling, and a slit so high it epitomized the phrase ‘serving cunt.’ But matter how good you looked, the vibe was off. You were already halfway out the door, bored and buzzed, when your phone lit up.

—-

Someone mentioned to Ari that you were there and his heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t missed you. Not exactly. But you still lived in his bloodstream like a toxin.

Ari: I need to see that O'Keefe, because I’m thinking about how to pitch your pussy wing to the Whitney.

You smiled before you even meant to.

I’ll bring it over.

—---

His place again. Different vibe. Same tension.

He opened the door in a low-slung pair of sweats, shirtless, hair a mess like he’d either just woken up or spent the last hour trying not to text you. You crossed the threshold and flowed into him, your face winding up in his hands.

“You’ve ruined me,” he muttered against your lips.

“Good,” you whispered, sliding your hands down his chest. “I want you cracked open.”

The sex was a war. Bodies tangled, breath was stolen, teeth were at throats, and Ari’s hands left prints on your body that you begged for.

He pulled your hair. You bit his shoulder. Nobody relented.

But after, he asked the question neither of you you were supposed to ask.

“Why’d you really come?”

You glanced at him, a mess with your mascara smudged and your lips bruised. Ari thought you were beautiful.

“Because I was bored.”

It was a lie. But you said it like it was the truth.

Ari nodded once, no smile this time, “Fair.”

You sat up, pulling on your panties slowly. His eyes followed every movement like they always did.

“This is still just sex, Ari.”

“I know.”

You stood. Winked. And didn’t kiss him goodbye.

“Call me when you’re lonely enough to forget that.”

“I always am,” he said, voice low.

You almost turned around. Almost. But you walked out like you didn’t hear it, like your body wasn’t already aching for a fourth time.

Ari listened for your knock longer than realistic, his cock hard again for you and his chest a little hollow.

He knew the game. But the way you left wasn’t detachment.

That was art.

—----

2:14 a.m a week later

Your room was lit only by the glow of your phone You were still dressed, heels kicked off by the door, satin sheets tangled around your legs.

You weren’t drunk. Not really. Just restless. You were annoyed from a night full of people who said nothing interesting, and from hands that didn’t hold a candle to his.

You’d danced. Laughed. Almost let some stranger kiss you. But the whole time, Ari sat in your chest like a slow-burning ember you couldn’t snuff out.

So you called.

Not a text. Not a DM. A fucking call. 

You didn’t even know why you called. He’d sent you his number weeks ago, and you hadn’t used it, only messaged him through the app. He followed you on Instagram and you added him just the week before.

Now he had your number, in more ways than one. He answered on the second ring.

“Muse,” his voice was thick with sleep and something else, something like relief.  “Didn’t think I’d hear from you again.”

You paused and bit your lip.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Same.”

“So you weren’t surprised?”

“I’ve been waiting for this call since last week.”

Silence. 

“You alone?” you asked.

“Always.”

That word sunk into your skin. Deeper than you wanted it to.

“I don’t want to talk.”

“Then don’t,” he said, voice dipping low. “Just tell me what you need.”

You closed your eyes.

“I need to cum.”

Ari groaned softly. You heard rustling, sheets, maybe his hand already brushing over himself. That sound went straight between your legs.

“Are you touching yourself yet?” he asked, voice all velvet and gravel.

“Not yet. I want you to tell me what to do.”

“Fuck.” His breath hitched. “Okay. Take off whatever you’re wearing.”

You did. Slowly. Phone cradled against your shoulder. Cool air kissed your bare skin.

“Now what?”

“Lay back. Spread your legs. I want your fingers where I’d put my mouth.”

Your stopped breathing. He wasn’t even trying to play it cool anymore. His voice got rougher and more unhinged with every erotic instruction.

And you followed each one like a commandment.

He talked you through it, exactly how he’d taste you, hold you open, and suck you until you sobbed. The way he’d pin your hips down and lap up every drop. The way he wouldn’t let you come until you were begging for it.

You could almost feel how hard he was, how close. You were both panting, moaning, and lost in the fiction that felt more like fact. His voice was your undoing.

“Say my name,” he growled, right as the orgasm hit.

And you did.

“Ari...Jesus.....Ari.”

He came right after you, a deep groan that sounded like he’d been holding it in for days. Then silence again. You were the one to break it this time.

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

He laughed softly, wrecked.

Fucking Muse.

“No. Of course not. Just helping each other sleep.”

“Sure,” you murmured. “Just sleep.”

You didn’t hang up. Neither did he. You both stayed on the line. Not talking. Just breathing.

Until eventually, you fell asleep to the sound of him doing the same.

—-----

The next morning. You woke up to sunlight, a dry throat, and a notification.

Ari: Slept well?

You smirked. Stretched. You were still tingling from the night before.

You: Obviously. I sleep like a baby after I cum that hard.

Ari was undone. Hard as a rock at the news that he’d done his job. His job. Christ.

Ari: Then I’m a humanitarian. The UN should give me a medal. Nobel Peace of Ass.

You laughed into your pillow and typed back.

You: Don’t get cocky. You weren’t inside me and I did all the work.

Ari: You like doing the work. I’ve seen how you move when you’re on top. Still think about your pussy clenching around me. Fuck, you’re like a vice. An extremely wet, silky vice.

You stared at the screen for a second, jaw tight, heart a traitor.

You: You’re replaceable, you know.

A lie.

Ari: I know. You’ve had others. But none who make you call first.  And no one else knows the sound you make when you’re trying not to moan.

You left him on read. An hour. Just to remind him you could.

—----

Later. Another ping.

Ari double texted. This was a problem.

Ari: Wearing anything dangerous today?

You: Pencil skirt. No panties. Dangerous enough?

Ari:  The image I just got is illegal in 14 states. I’d risk all of them. Wanna see what you’ve done to me?

You almost said yes. Almost sent a pic yourself. Almost. Instead…

You: Ari, this isn’t a thing.

Ari: If it wasn’t a thing you wouldn’t have called me last night. And I wouldn’t still be thinking about all the ways you said my name.

They all destroyed me.

Your heart pounded irrationally.

You: You’re starting to sound attached.

Ari: More like, intrigued, like I’m staring at a painting I can’t afford but still keep coming back to.

That one hit. You didn’t reply. Not because you were uninterested, but because you were too interested. 

And if he ever knew how often you reread his messages, he'd own you.

—-------------

4:07 a.m.

You woke up for no reason. Your phone was lit up on your nightstand with one notification.

Ari: You’re asleep. I know. Just needed to say this somewhere. You don’t have to respond.

You blinked. Stared. Something in your stomach coiled tight. Three dots blinked. Disappeared. Blinked again.

Ari: I lied. I wasn’t just intrigued. I’m fucking haunted by you.

You sat up, chest tight, throat dry. He kept going.

Ari: The way you looked in that dress. The way you laugh. The way you can leave like it doesn’t cost you a damn thing.

Ari: I don’t want to be a thing to you. But I want to be the thing. And I know you don’t do soft. But fuck, I’d let you break me slow if it meant I got to keep you a little longer.

Five minutes and you didn't reply. You couldn’t. Then he sent another text.

Ari: Ignore this. Delete it. Pretend I was drunk.

Then…

Ari: But if you feel anything close to what I feel….Say something.

You stared at your screen like it might explode. You felt everything and hated that he knew it. Why did he have to know you so well?

You: You shouldn’t say things like that at 4 a.m.

Three seconds later, Ari responded.

Because you said something.

Ari: It’s the only time I can’t lie to myself.

You closed your eyes. Goddamn him.

You stared at his last message until your eyes blurred. It was too much. And not enough.

Your first instinct was to shut it down.

You: You shouldn’t say things like that at 4 a.m. I’m not your salvation. I’m not built for soft landings. I will hurt you.

You hit send. Then tossed the phone aside like it burned you, but it buzzed again and you grabbed for it.

Ari: I’ll take the bruises.

You closed your eyes. God, why him? He was the one that would be your undoing. You hesitated before answering, your thumb hovering over the screen. Then you just did it.

You: …come over. Leave your feelings at the door.

Ari: Halfway there.

—----

Ten minutes later, you opened the door. Ari didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to.

His eyes were already on your mouth, immediately hypnotized. You grabbed him by the collar, dragged him in, kissed him hard and pushed him down on the couch.

You both knew this wasn’t just sex. But neither of you was ready to admit it.

“Your turn,” you murmured.

And then you dropped to your knees.

Ari froze. He hadn’t expected this. Not from you. You hadn’t sucked his dick. Not even once.

Not for lack of interest; he’d dreamt about it. Fantasized. But he never asked. 

And now, here you were.

On your knees. For him.

His mouth went dry. His dick didn’t. Not even close.

“Muse…” his voice cracked, hands fisting the couch, knuckles white.

You didn’t answer. You lifted your arms and unbuttoned his shirt like he was a gift you were unwrapping. Your fingers traced over every line of muscle. He hissed when he realized this was really happening.

“Muse…you’re killing me.”

You leaned in and kissed his chest, tongue snaking out over his nipple. And he let you. You slid his shirt off, fingers brushing his triceps like you knew what made him weak.

“Shhhh,” you whispered. “’M busy.”

Ari’s head fell back on the couch as his blazing eyes watched you. He was utterly undone. 

“Yeah, I can see that…”

With his shirt off, you kissed across his pecs, then shifted to lick and kiss each of his ribs and over his abs, sinking lower onto your knees. Ari was going to blow all over your face, and not on purpose.

“Oh god…”

“Woman at work here. Trying to focus.”

“Fuck. I am focused.. Focused on you…I just…”

You unbuckled his pants and once free, his cock bobbed in front of your face, completely erect and begging for your attention. 

You looked up into his blue eyes, almost too soulful to look at.

“Looks like someone missed me,” you said.

Then your mouth was there, hot breath ghosting over his cock. He was already painfully hard. You hadn’t even touched him yet and he was halfway gone.

“Been too long,” he muttered. He hated himself for how true that was.

You raised a brow. 

“We helped each other sleep yesterday. Fucked a week before that.”

He met your eyes. His were dark now, pupils blown so wide that the blue had almost disappeared.

“Like I said. Too-- fuck!”

He gasped as you stroked him, him up and down gently, then teased the tip, then slid down again, hands working his balls like an artist.

And when you reached out to lick his tip, Ari forgot how to breathe.

“What were you saying?”

“Fuck, Muse… I need…”

He was done speaking when you leaned forward and wrapped your lips around his dick. In fact, he stopped talking altogether. All that came from him were a series of moans and goans, as you worked him over with your tongue and your lips.

His hands found your hair, grasping gently at first, and then with increasing intensity as you bobbed on his cock. 

You relished every moment, the visceral nature of it. At one point, he tried to pull you off, but you weren’t having it and instead took him deeper, forcing your throat to relax and take more of him.

“Oh my god. I… I’m going to cum.”

His fingers tangled in your hair. Not to guide you. Just to anchor himself. Because it was you. On your knees. For him. And he couldn't stop watching. Couldn’t believe this wasn’t a dream.

You worked him over like it was your job, like you were mad at him for not begging for it sooner. And maybe he was mad too, at how good it felt, at how much he needed this, needed you.

At how it made him feel something close to being worshipped. By you.

“Oh my god, I… I’m gonna…”

You didn’t stop.

You just looked him in the eyes and took him deeper.

And he came apart at the seams.

His muscles tensed, and it wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t polite.

It was a raw, guttural sound that settled between your legs like a brand. 

He groaned your name, hips jolting, and you took it all. And did what you never did. 

You swallowed.

Ari watched, chest heaving, sweat dotting his temples as you sat back on your knees and wiped the corners of your mouth as if you were casually adjusting your makeup.

Ari stared at you.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, woman.”

You tilted your head mock-innocently.

“Was it to your satisfaction?”

Ari didn’t answer, just lunged, grabbing your waist and hauling you onto the couch easily. Then he threw one of your legs over his shoulder as he mouthed at the soft skin on your thigh.

You breathed his name just the way he liked, “Ari…”

“You didn’t think I was done, did you?”

You smirked. “Not even close. You did say it’d been too long.”

His look said exactly how long it’d been.

The talking stopped. The fucking started.

And this time, it wasn’t war, it was surrender. The kind that left you both trembling. That kind that left marks you wouldn’t find until morning.

And in the moments after, when your chest was on his, both of you soaked in sweat and breathless, you whispered just loud enough for him to hear:

“Say anything like that again, and I’ll ruin you.”

Ari, still high off the taste of you, decided to be a smart ass.

“Promise?”

But he knew he couldn’t let you tear him apart forever.

----

The next afternoon, your limbs were sore in that satisfied way, and the ache between your thighs left a lingering reminder that you’d had that kind of night. 

One that left you wrecked, wired, and craving more. You stretched slowly and let the memory hit you like a second wave. 

The way he’d looked at you while his fingers worked you open. 

The way his voice slid against your skin when he called you beautiful. 

The way he owned every inch of you without a single promise.

Ari wasn’t there. But you wanted him to be.

That’s what really fucked you up.

Because you were the one who never wanted more. You were the one who always left first. 

But something about Ari’s touch had lingered. It wasn’t just the sex, though fuck, the sex was enough to ruin you. It was the way he looked at you. That was worse.

Those blue eyes were steady and unbothered, and entirely too knowing that you were far from indifferent towards him.

And that was so inconvenient.

You padded to the kitchen, naked and still wearing the imprint of his hands. Every step reminded you of how thoroughly you’d been fucked.

God, he was so good at that.

Coffee brewed while your thighs ached, the good kind of sore. You checked your phone.

No messages.

Good.

No expectations. No complications. 

Just a memory of the way he’d groaned your name, the weight of his body pressing on yours, the deep, slow thrusts that opened you up in the most delicious way. The way his fingers had curled around your throat, not to choke, just to hold. 

Ari's voice in your ear, You like this? Like being used by me?

He knew the answer to that. So did you, but you’d never admit it.

You sat down on the edge of your sofa, legs falling open instinctively, your fingers trailing down the inside of your thigh. 

You weren’t going to call him. You told yourself that.

Swore it.

But if you closed your eyes, you could still feel his mouth between your legs, dragging your orgasm out like it was a performance piece. You remembered the way his tongue had written his name on your clit, the soft hum in his throat that said he was enjoying it more than you were.

Your lip caught between your teeth as your fingers slid lower, slick and ready, your body already betraying you.

All for Ari, even if he wasn’t there.  

You pressed down, finding that rhythm, that pressure, that perfect place where pleasure bloomed behind your eyes.

Your head fell back. You imagined him there. On his knees. Worshipping. That beard scraping your thighs, his hands holding you wide open.

Your fingers moved faster, hips tilting, breath breaking apart in gasps as the edge closed in.

Ari. Ari. Fucking Ari.

You came with a quiet cry, hips jerking, legs squeezing together as your body pulsed around nothing. No cock. No hands. Just the ghost of him and your own damn fingers.

And when you came down from it, breathless and alone, you muttered to no one: 

“…Fuck.”

—----

A couple hours later, you wandered through the grocery store, hair up, face clean, but dressed in a scowl that was meant to intimidate. You told yourself you just needed coffee, but you knew better. 

You lingered too long by the fruit, fingers brushing over waxy apples, mind elsewhere entirely. When the cart bumped into yours, you looked up impassively.

“Guess I owe you an apple,” a deep voice said.

You glanced up. Tall. Handsome. Short brown hair, clean shaven, fit. Handsome.

He looked safe, the kind of guy who’d text the next morning. The kind of guy who’d ask what you were doing this weekend.

He placed an apple in your basket, a charming little peace offering.

“I’m Steve, Steve Kemp.”

You turned the apple over in your hand, feeling the weight of it, the simplicity.

“Smooth,” you said, lifting one brow. “That line usually work?”

He grinned, leaning in just a little, enough to close the space between strangers.

“Only when the person looks like they’re about to run away.”

For a second, it tempted you, the ease of it. A new face. A clean slate. The comfort of something safe. But you didn’t want safe. You didn’t want easy.

You wanted…something from someone you wouldn’t admit to yourself.

You wanted the weight of a body pinning you down, the sharp scrape of a beard on your thighs, every inch of you being owned. And although you could tell him to try to replicate that, this guy wasn’t it.

You set the apple back on the pile, giving the stranger a soft, practiced smile.

“Not in the market,” you said, and walked away without looking back.

Your body was still beholden to the memory of someone else.

—--

Across the city, Ari sat at his desk, contracts open, untouched. You lived in his head, under his skin. He closed his eyes, and there you were, hips rolling, breath hitching, the taste of your skin still on his tongue, the scrape of your nails against his back still stinging, and the breathy, desperate way you’d said his name still echoing in his brain.

Ari closed his eyes, the memory playing out without permission. The sacred image of your cream coating his condom-wrapped cock tormented him.

His hand shifted, cupping the hard line straining against his slacks. For a second, the idea of jerking off right there in the office to the thought of fucking you raw didn’t seem all that crazy.

He was sure he could get off with just a few tugs thinking of you.

Yeah. He was crazy.

The buzz of his phone dragged him back, the screen flashing with a reminder: late lunch date. Ari exhaled, flexing his fingers once before pulling himself upright. The day wanted him elsewhere. But his head stayed with you.

Muse.

—--

The low hum of conversation floated through Cathédrale, the kind of place where everything felt expensive and deliberately dim. Ari sat back in the leather banquette, nursing a glass of bourbon that didn’t do a damn thing to settle the fluttering behind his ribs.

Across the table, his lunch companion was talking, her voice a smooth, practiced purr that he barely registered.

Poppy, Polly, Peggy. He wasn’t quite sure of the nickname.

She was perfect on paper. Stylish, sharp, bred for black-tie galas, fluent in flirtation, and eternally just a little bit bored. She leaned in slightly, perfume clouding the air between them, her voice dropping to that silky soft register women used when they were about to cross a line.

“My husband’s in London for the week,” she said, letting the words hang there, heavy with suggestion.

It should’ve landed. It didn’t. Any other day, maybe it would’ve.

But all he could think about was you. The image of you stretched out under his artwork, flushed and undone. The way your hips had rocked against his hand, head thrown back, mouth open and desperate. 

The way your thighs had tightened around his shoulders, dragging him deeper, holding him there while your flesh shuddered around his mouth. 

His dick twitched against the constraint of his slacks, the memory more vivid than the woman across from him.

His companion laughed lightly, brushing her hand against his wrist, letting it linger, waiting for him to bite. But he didn’t.

“Sorry,” Ari said, pulling his hand away, polite but distant. “Got a lot on my mind today.”

You were a whole hell of a lot.

She tilted her head, mistaking his disinterest for some calculated game. But there was no game. Not this time. The lunch wrapped up fast after that, her parting glance lingering a little too long, and Ari let her go without another thought.

Because the only woman tangled in his head wasn’t sitting across the table.

It was you.

The one who wasn’t supposed to mean more than a couple of nights. 

The one he couldn’t shake.

His Muse.

------

Muse Four

Are you as wrecked as I am?

[thischarmingmandalorian]

I Wanna Ruin Our Friendship

Couple, Bar Chapter 1

Summary: After you help Joel with a work project, he takes you out for drinks. When the bartender mistakes you for a couple, his brain short circuits.

Pairing: Single Dad Neighbor!Joel Miller X Reader

Warnings: Joel thinking being mean is flirting, alcohol, grinding on strangers, getting groped in public, no-no words. In my mind there's an age gap (10 years max) and I envision a mid-40s Joel, but I don't think it'll ever become apparent.

Word Count: 2.3k

Notes: Formatting on mobile is not for the weak, y'all, so if this looks like ass I'm sorry. I don't know what a contractor does. Song mentioned is Jenny (I Wanna Ruin Our Friendship) by Studio Killers. Full playlist is linked on the master post for this series (which I'll learn to link all together soon I promise I'M OLD, OK?!) Also I promise I have an English degree but if I read this one more time I'll lose the nerve to post it so ignore any mistakes I missed. Anyway love you bye.

While you weren't on your neighbor Joel's payroll, every now and then he'd knock on your door and sheepishly ask to borrow your "eye for design," which was Joel talk for "I need help knowing what handles look good on these cabinets I'm building and every other person in my life is busy."  

You and Joel had been neighbors for the better part of 5 years and had become relatively close in that time. If you were being honest with yourself, the first day you met you might have fallen in love, but since immediately jumping into a relationship with a newly-divorced single father wasn't on your five-year plan, those feelings were buried, albeit not always successfully.

Joel was charming, kind, and... Southern.  And while these were all things that made you head over heels for him, they were exactly what made it difficult to interpret his feelings for you. Were he and Sarah baking you Christmas cookies and hand delivering them to your door because he too had a crush, or was he just being neighborly? Was he grinning every time he said hello to you because he was a nice guy? What were you supposed to make of that one time, on his couch for movie night, when his hand lingered a little longer than normal on your thigh? You had no idea, and for the sake of your friendship, you were content not knowing.

On this particular day, Joel needed help matching paint colors to flooring samples and might as well have been color blind. He was building a house for a newlywed couple and their wishes for, as Joel put it, "some 1960s Brady Bunch bullshit" aesthetic meant nothing to him. You had spent the better part of an hour helping Joel match swatches of green and orange in ways that he had previously thought impossible, and as a thank you, he offered to buy you a drink at the first bar you spotted on the way home.

The first bar you spotted happened to be an almost-literal hole in the wall, but the packed parking lot indicated it was a place worth visiting.  Joel opened the door, beckoning you through the threshold ahead of him, and you're hit with a wall of smoke and the bump of a local dj working through his set. 

Luckily most of the people at the bar had already started drinking and were congregated in the middle of the tiny dance floor, making it easy to find two seats. Joel flagged the bartender over and ordered for the both of you, handing his card over to start a tab.

"Got you a beer, this place doesn't look like they'd make a good margarita," Joel shouts over the music. 

You smile, leaning in close to thank Joel. "I appreciate the forethought! Send me a Venmo request for what I end up owing you," you gesture to the frosty bottles that get put in front of you.

Joel tuts and waves his hand between you two in a noncommittal gesture. He leans in close to your ear instead of shouting this time, "consider it payment for your help today. When that couple told me they wanted their house to be 'midcentury Palm Springs chic' I knew you'd know what they meant. The wife kept sending me links to her Pinterest board, whatever the fuck that is. I was too scared to click them because..."

"Because you're fucking old," you finish, barking out a laugh at the frown that Joel gives you.

After one beer turned into three, Joel starts to open up. Despite his gruff exterior, you know he cares and is interested in your life, even if it takes some alcohol to get him asking about it.

"Have you started dating yet?" The question catches you off guard, your eyes growing wide. "What? You've been in town for five years now, it's high time you start putting yourself out there. A pretty girl like you should have no trouble finding a man."

There it is again. Is Joel just being nice calling you pretty? Or is he fishing for something more?

"Have you started dating?" you counter, raising an eyebrow, nodding when Joel shakes his head. "I'm too busy, Joel. I'm…"

"'Focusing on my career,'" Joel finishes for you, having heard it all before.

You roll your eyes. "Why are we talking about this?"

Joel smirks and cocks his head to your beer, the label in the process of being peeled completely off. "You've peeled the label off every drink you've had tonight."

"Oh…kay?"

Joel shrugs, "if Tommy were here he'd say you're pulling the labels off because you're sexually frustrated." He makes a face as if to say 'but what do I know?'

You raised an eyebrow at Joel. "You of all people should know not to take what Tommy says as fact. And you're one to talk; you live across the street, I'd notice if women were coming over. And they're not. You're going through a dry spell, Miller, same as me." You empty your bottle, stuffing the label down the neck and waving the bartender over for you and Joel to order one more round.  Joel tries to think of a witty comeback, but he knows you're right. 

You watch the bartender open your tab on the till behind the bar and chuckle when you notice what she's titled it: at the top of the screen, in bold letters, "COUPLE BAR."

You tap Joel's bicep, pointing to the screen, "look at that, Miller," you shout over the music, "she thinks you and I are a couple."

Joel looks at the screen himself, eyes suddenly going wide. You raise an eyebrow at him, confused as to why he isn't just chuckling at the bartender's misunderstanding, but your expression turns to one of anger once Joel regains use of his brain and the only thing he can think to say is, "... ew?"

You hope you just misheard him over the loud music, but as Joel started to sputter out an apology, looking horrified at what he had said, you realize - a stranger thought you two were dating, and Joel thinks that's gross. You weren't interested in hearing him trip over his words while he tried to backtrack, and you desperately needed a distraction so you didn't start to cry.  You wave your hand in front of Joel's face, telling him to save it as you grab your beer and push past him to the dance floor.

This is definitely not your scene, the middle of a smoke-filled bar on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, but you make the most of it, taking a swig from your bottle as you push through the crowd. Once you've made your way to the center of the crowd, you assume the position - eyes closed, bottle raised above your head, swinging your hips to whatever top 40 hit the dj decides to bleed into the last one he played.  You don't have to wait long before you feel a body push up behind you and you welcome the distraction. You don't open your eyes or lower your hand except to drink from your near empty bottle, but you do back your ass up against the stranger behind you. It's definitely not Joel. This person behind you is way too lanky; when his arms encircle your waist they lack definition, his thighs aren't nearly as beefy as Joel's, and… you get frustrated with yourself.  Joel just insinuated dating you would be gross and all you can do is think about how hot he is? 

You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts and enjoy the moment. The guy behind you is getting handsy, and normally that would bother you, but Joel was right about that dry spell. One song bleeds into another as you gyrate against this stranger who now has his hand splayed across your stomach under your shirt.

You're ripped unceremoniously from your mindless grinding by a large hand on your shoulder. You wink one eye open though you knew it was Joel. You're not interested in hearing him out, especially not with this stranger's hand gliding slowly up your torso, boldly inching closer to your chest.

"Darlin'" you hear Joel shout over the music, "'m sorry. I didn't mean…"

You put your palm in front of Joel's face before moving your hand on top of the stranger's, whose fingers are teasing the hem of your bra. Joel can be sorry, but he's also going to see how decidedly not-ew the thought of being with you is.

"Whatever, Joel. You can think being my boyfriend is gross. This is fine!" You open your eyes and the look on Joel's face is one you've never seen before. At this point he isn't looking at you, he's staring daggers at the man behind you. Whoever he is seems blissfully unaware.

"Honey, I'm out of touch. I'm fucking old, you said it yourself! I don't know how to - hey, buddy, do you fucking mind?" The hand under your shirt loses its grip on you as Joel shoves the shoulder of the guy behind you. Suddenly his body unglues itself from your back.

"My bad, man. Didn't know she had a boyfriend," he shouts over the music as he disappears back into the crowd. You groan and roll your eyes.

"So sorry, Joel! Turns out when you look and act like my boyfriend, people think you really are! How embarrassing for you," you ramble into Joel's ear. You turn to walk off the dance floor, embarrassed, but before you're out of his reach Joel grabs your forearm, pulling gently until you're flush with his body. He towers over you, his eyes bore into yours.

"Please listen," he bends to speak quietly into your ear, "I'm sorry, and I mean it. We're friends, and I value that. I thought I was bantering, bein' funny. I know you don't want to be a couple at this bar. I know you want to be friends, nothing more, with me. But…" he trails off, pulling away to look at your face.

The atmosphere changes in a way that you swear is straight out of a movie. The lights pulsing and flashing are hitting Joel's face in a way that makes him even more handsome, which you'd thought previously impossible. While your beer bottle is empty, clutched into your hand that hangs limply at your side, Joel's drink is nearly full, still frosty, and dripping condensation through your shirt, soaking your lower back. Joel's eyebrows are raised, waiting for you to do or say anything. 

And then the dj changes the song. You are… intimately familiar with what begins to play and you shake your head, chuckling. What divine intervention drove the dj to start playing a song about ruining a friendship at this very moment? You have no idea, but you make a mental note to thank the universe as you smile at Joel. You push away from him for just a second, long enough to rip the label off your empty beer bottle. Joel looks confused watching you ball up the damp paper. 

You chuckle as you toss the label at Joel, it pinging off his temple before you spin your body so your back is plastered against Joel's front. 

You'll show him sexually frustrated.

Joel seems to take a second to read the situation because his body doesn't move. In fact, it goes rigid. Your hips sway against him anyway. Joel only breaks out of his spell when your arm snakes around his neck and you bury your fingers in his hair. Tugging gently on his curls seems to awaken something in him and his hands are on you in seconds. The hand clutching his beer comes to rest on your hip as the other picks up where your previous dance partner left off, creeping under your shirt and splaying across your stomach. 

"What are we doin' here, baby?" Joel rasps into your ear, his voice deeper and more strained than you're used to. "I guess I deserve you teasin' me, but two can play this game." Joel's nose prods at a spot behind your ear as he peels one cup of your bra away from your body, replacing it with his hand. Your eyes fly open to ensure no one notices, but everyone on the dance floor is busy paying attention to their own partners. Joel rolls your nipple between two fingers before giving it a flick; you try and suppress a moan.

Not to be outdone, you reach for the beer bottle in Joel's hand. You make sure Joel's eyes are locked on you as you lick a stripe up the neck of the bottle, taking a generous sip before handing it back. Joel's eyes widen and he smirks, bringing his mouth back to your ear.

"Think it goes without sayin' now, but I really don't hate the idea of people thinking you're mine," Joel accentuates his last word with a gentle nip at your earlobe that makes your head loll back onto his shoulder. 

"Are you listening to the song, Joel?" You reach up to place your hand on Joel's cheek, turning his face gently so your eyes meet.  He looks confused, but you can tell he's training his ear onto the chorus of what's playing.

I wanna ruin our friendship

We should be lovers instead

I don't know how to say this

'Cause you're really my dearest friend

Joel lowers his eyes back down to meet yours and smirks. "You an' me both, darlin'." His hand around your waist pulls you impossibly closer and you feel him grow hard against your ass. 

"Know where I last heard this song?" The final notes start to dissipate, melding seamlessly with the next song. Joel shakes his head and asks where. You smirk, nuzzling into Joel's neck before you lick a stripe up to his ear. "It's on my sex playlist."

Joel stills. You grin, giggling as he pushes you away gently. "I've gotta close out the tab," he says once he remembers how to form thoughts into words. "Meet me at the truck. And think about what song you're gonna put on once I get you home."

[inkdrinkerworld]

Hurt comfort requests you sayyy?

What about post-prison spencer comforting sunshine reader when she got hurt during a case and she’s like physically hurt but trying to still be sunshiney to keep the team from worrying but spencer was like you don’t have to keep doing that, it’s okay to acknowledge your pain

"I don't want anything with opium in it." you say to the nurse who nods, leaving the room in search of your doctor.

Spencer is sat beside you on the plastic chair, watching you intently as he has been since you'd been admitted.

You hadn't cried once, and Spencer knows a little about being banged up and you should've cried at least twice. You've got bruising on your ribs, a couple broken as well as a broken nose- you really should've cried.

Instead, you let the nurses set your nose, bandage your side and read you your prescription like it was nothing.

"I can't wait to leave, I've been missing my ice cream." you sigh longingly as you lean back into the bed, turning to face Spencer.

His fair skin is a little splotchy, two spots from where he'd been fighting with the unsub, and one long red mark on his hand where you had been holding him as they reset your nose.

He's been a little checked out seeing you in the hospital bed. It's hard watching someone you love struggle to let themselves feel the less than desirable emotions.

"Do you think Emily will be upset if I come to work in the morning? I don't think I'll need more than a couple hours, but maybe the full day would be nice."

Spencer's eyes snap to yours at that. "You're not going to be able to be in the field for at least seven weeks."

Your eyes widen, "I'm fine. It's just a couple broken ribs, I can go to the office and fly on the jet no problem."

Spencer rolls his eyes, not at all liking that you're acting so cavalier about your injuries. "Try sitting up then, since it's just a couple ribs."

He doesn't mean for heat to seep into his words, and it's evident you weren't expecting it when he watches your eyebrows jump. Still determined, you try sitting up, wincing the whole time.

"Stop," you don't even lift yourself more than two inches off the bed before his hand is pushing your shoulder gently. Laying you out. "You don't have to pretend that everything is okay. You're injured, you can cry or scream or emote in something other than cheeriness."

You frown, "It's kind of my default." you murmur, Spencer doesn't believe you. He knows a lot about psychology and he knows a lot about you, he knows it's not your default.

"A learned one?" Your eyebrows jump again. He's still just as awkward and to the point as he's always been. Spencer takes a steadying breath, "I won't judge you for being upset or sad or anything else. You're allowed to and I don't want you suppressing it."

Your body sags with his permission. It's not that you needed his permission, and more that you needed the reassurance that it was okay. That you could just be.

"All emotions are good, we're supposed to feel all of them." it's this that does you in. Your throat scratches from the tears building through your chest and neck.

You sigh, shutting your eyes as you feel the sting of tears behind them. "I'm in a lot of pain, Spencer." your voice cracks and he's on the edge of your bed immediately, kissing your forehead as the tears fall. "It also kinda hurts to cry with a broken nose."

He chuckles at that, rubbing your arm as your tears begin to slow.

"I'll take care of you. The doctor is gonna come in and tell you that you can take Ibuprofen and you're gonna be here a couple more hours, but then we can go to my place and I'll have you in tip top shape in no time."

You open your eyes and look up at him. "You'd stay with me the full seven weeks?"

Your eyes shine with more tears under the harsh florescent light of the hospital, "I'd stay with you even longer than that, pretty girl." You know in your bones he means every word.