#something something i love drawing curves on a person

[makeitworse]

BAD HABIT

your best friend who’s hopelessly devoted to you.

𝓬ontains: f!reader x jeongin. indented format. childhood friends to lovers. slowburn. fluff. jealousy. angst. miscommunication. smut. masturbation. 18+

𝓷otes: i wasn’t intending to write so much but the ideas just kept coming. i love this concept and i love my man

since your first playdate as kids, jeongin hasn’t stopped hearing about how you’ll get married some day.

your mothers worked at the same company, and whenever their shifts clashed, they’d swap babysitting duties— handing one kid off to the other like clockwork. it worked out better than they could’ve imagined, because from the moment you met, you and jeongin were inseparable. best friends before you knew what the word meant.

you were birds of a feather. chasing each other in the grass, drawing on the pavement with chalk. you’d always ask for sleepovers; confused and pouty when your mother would turn the idea down. jeongin would bawl his eyes out when it was time for you to go home, clinging to your sleeve like it’d change their minds. you’d share everything without thinking— snacks, utensils, sipping from the same juice box straw.

once, you were playing dress up with him, trying on boy clothes from his closet. the colour drained from his mother’s face when she saw you walking around in his shirt— she gave him an earful for it. that’s when you both learned about boys and girls needing boundaries. at the time, it didn’t make any sense to you. he wasn’t just any boy. he was your favourite person in the world.

when you and jeongin started school together, the other kids caught on quick. you always sat next to each other, shared snacks, held hands on the playground. it was like walking around with a target on your back. they’d sing about you both sitting in a tree, laughing as they’d shove you together during recess. the teasing always made jeongin bright red, ducking his head and mumbling that it wasn’t like that. but once your parents caught wind of it, playdates became scarce. jeongin started wondering if the other kids saw something you didn’t understand yet.

one day, in the shade of his backyard, you’d kissed him. clumsy, silly. just another part of play— the kind of thing kids do on a dare or because they saw it in a movie. nowadays, it’s a running joke between your families, a sweet little footnote in your shared history. you don’t count it as your real first kiss, the titleholder of that coming later in your teenage years, and jeongin never contests that. but for him, that fleeting moment counts. it always did.

once puberty hit, the shift was palpable. he doesn’t know when it started exactly, but jeongin started noticing things he once didn’t pay any mind. the curve of your smile, the way your head throws back when you laugh. how your back arches when you stretch, the way you nuzzle into his shoulder when you’re sleepy. you were his awakening, no doubt about it. but he knows he’s not the only boy to see you.

he tries not to be fixated; you’re his best friend, and his mother raised him better than that. but his once innocent affection for you had become something that embarrassed him to think about. suddenly, he was averting his gaze when you’d cross your arms, pulling away when you’d reach from his hand. afterschool walks became just a memory instead of routine. he thought he was shielding you from these feelings— distancing himself out of respect. he didn’t know you noticed, or rather cared.

jeongin tried to find an outlet for the urges simmering under his skin. hallway crushes, flirting with classmates, anything to distract him from the fact what he really craved was his best friend. and besides, you started getting busy: kissing boys at parties, telling him about the cute guy you gave your number. he had no shortage of suitors of his own, but he never has the courage to go through with any of them— to just say yes when he gets asked out. but one day, it dawns on him: any girl he found himself drawn to reminds him of you. they could be your twin if you squint. it’s no coincidence.

he starts releasing these feelings in the night— when the day’s got him pent up and his thoughts are louder than his morals. in the dark, with his hand around himself and shirt between his teeth, it’s your face he sees. your voice he hears. he really tries not to— not think about how he caught your shirt ride up earlier that day, or how you clutched onto his sleeve in the crowded hallway. it’s never as good when he doesn’t imagine it’s you. but afterward, when he’s calling your name as he coats his hand— reality sinks in when you don’t answer. the shame’s always twice as heavy as the brief pleasure. sometimes he can’t even look at you the next day.

jeongin’s halfway to insanity when you start hooking up with mutual friends. he never thought being so close could become a double-edged sword. it’s an effort to hide his disapproval— nodding with a tight lipped smile when you tell him about last weekend’s hookup. but you know him better than that. you reassure him that they’re nothing serious. short-lived sparks that’ll inevitably burn out. jeongin tells himself not to let it get to him. you’re not his, and you don’t owe him anything. he repeats it like a mantra, even when resentment starts to churn in his stomach.

he wants to be supportive, to be the one you can always count on. even with all these nights spent with other guys, jeongin’s door is always open for you when you need someone. but, every time one of those flings ends and you cut them off without a second thought, a quiet fear settles in him— would that be him, too, if he ever crossed the lines he drew in the sand? he can’t risk finding out the hard way. he locks his feelings in a box and tosses away the key. it’s safer this way. even if part of him is aching to find out what would happen if he put your friendship on the line.

he really tries to force himself to move on. you even set him up with a friend— sweet, pretty, even if she’s not what he’s looking for. they end up making out at some party, her lips warm on his as she presses her body closer— but none of it’s right. nothing about her is … well, you. only when he closes his eyes and your faces flashes behind his lids that arousal finally sparks— sudden, hot, unmistakable as it digs into her thigh and she giggles in his ear. he’s pushing your friend away from him in the next breath. he won’t disrespect her like that, and your gratitude by extension. he won’t put on a farce and lead this poor girl on, when all his body has ever wanted is his best friend.

after a particularly bad breakup, it’s jeongin that you run to. it’s late, too late to knock on the front door, so you climb through his window like you used to when you were kids— only now, you’re older, heavier with hurt, and you’d be in a hell of a lot more trouble if his parents saw. jeongin holds you as you cry, tears staining his shirt as he cradles you into his chest. you sob that you just want to feel wanted— to know you’re enough for someone to stay. and when you look up at him, eyes glassy and lips trembling, his resolve snaps. he kisses you— only gently, a small peck to prove you wrong, that you are enough. it can be just like when you were kids. even if the barely contained desire behind his actions isn’t.

that night was the last time your friendship was ever the same. what followed happened slowly— neither of you sure if you’ll stop now or keep going and find out. his hands trail up your back, hesitant at first, like touching you too much might make you have second thoughts. but you’re the one to pull him closer, threading your fingers in his hair, sliding into his lap. his breath stutters when your lips find his, deeper this time, more certain. your kisses turn frantic, like you’re eager to drown out the ache with something— someone— familiar.

jeongin doesn’t push. he hasn’t gone this far before with anyone. while he wasn’t exactly waiting, it feels like it was always meant to be with you. he’s tentative in how he touches you, memorising every spot that makes you shiver, every sweet noise he can pull from you. he keeps looking to you for reassurance, where you just smile and praise him for how good he’s making you feel. you tug your pants down for him, hands fumbling beneath the covers. you guide him through it all. it’s not rushed, not careless. he must’ve asked if you were sure fifty times over.

with a hand cradling your cheek, jeongin works himself in, and he can’t help how he moans when he fills you to the hilt. he’s messy with his thrusts. a little desperate. he’s wanted you for so long he almost forgets to breathe. he’s sure he must be the worst you’ve ever had until you’re muffling your own cries by wrapping your lips around his fingers. that sends him off the edge. and when you come undone shortly after, in his arms and calling his name like he’s done for your countless of nights before— jeongin realises he’ll never get over you. not now. not after this.

after that fateful night, things fall into a rhythm— casual, easy, like second nature. you keep bickering over what movie to watch, steal bites off each other’s plates, lie side by side talking about nothing until you both fall asleep. it’s almost like you’re kids again, still just playing. only now the games involve tangled sheets and stolen kisses, soft moans muffled into pillows and skin against skin. you’re both having fun. it’s light. no pressure. the same old friendship, just more physical and intense than before. that’s what jeongin tells himself, anyways. he’s happy to be this close to you— to finally have you in the ways he’s been too afraid to admit. but it’s still not everything. is it greedy to want all of you?

home alone one evening, you invited jeongin over for drinks, which usually meant fucking like rabbits before your family got back. though this time, he’s too eager with his liquor— properly wrecked within an hour. and that’s when the words come tumbling out. years of repression soaked in tequila. he’s crying, slurring through the truth like it’s been choking him all this time. telling you how much he loves you. just how long he has. since before he even knew what love really was. and you sat there, stunned, silent. because you’d felt it too.

you’d always wanted jeongin. but it was when he started pulling away— when the touches grew cautious and the looks turned unreadable— that you thought he’d never want you the same way. so you smothered those feelings with attention from other guys, all paling in comparison to how your best friend could make you feel. the shared confessions settle between you both. you sit in the weight of everything unsaid, everything that could’ve been if either of you had just known. and when jeongin’s reaching for you, pulling you into a hug against his chest, you both agree that it’s time to stop pretending.

when you finally start actually dating, it feels both natural and entirely new. the shift from just hanging out to real dates is subtle, but it changes everything. jeongin is clumsy with it, shy in a way he never was when things were undefined. he opens car doors too fast, stumbles over compliments, and keeps checking in like he still can’t believe this is real. the truth is, he never let himself hope he’d get this far. he spent so long loving you in silence, he never once let himself imagine what it would be like to be allowed to love you out loud. it’s something he's learning in real time, one adorable misstep at a time.

jeongin becomes the kind of boyfriend who listens, even if you’re not outright telling him what you want. if you mention something you’ve been craving in passing, he’s showing up with it fresh the next day. he memorises your takeout order, your work schedule, the way you like your hair played with and how to massage you when you’re stressed. he says good morning with a kiss before you even open your eyes, and goodnight after he makes sure you got home safe. he takes candids of you when you’re not even posing or looking. and it’s not because you asked— but because he swears up and down you look prettiest without even trying.

he’ll learn how to cook your favourite dish, even if it takes a few burnt attempts and near-misses of food poisoning. when you’re upset, he doesn’t try to fix it— just sits with you, holds you, lets you fall apart in his arms without judgment. sometimes you’ll catch him staring with a stupid grin on his face. even now, he still can’t believe that he gets to call himself your boyfriend. but despite it all, he’s the same jeongin. still, always, your best friend.

✉️: @lightinbug @sherrayyyyy @ferrarifinnick @namsgyu @riddlerloveb0t @loveesiren @ttturnitup @breakmeoff @pinkpunkdynamite @hydeonysus

[hikariyaps]

505

i'm going back to 505, if it's a seven hour flight, or a forty five minute drive synopsis ☆ what you're doing with him at 5:05. starring ☆ [separate] satoru gojo, suguru geto, megumi fushiguro, yuji itadori, toge inumaki, yuta okkotsu, takuma ino, choso kamo, noritoshi kamo.

satoru gojo

even though he was sure he'd make many more memories with you throughout your lives, he wanted to take this moment and frame it. the sunlight filters through the curtains, the haze of sleep casting a golden glow on your skin. satoru thinks you're an angel. a glowing angel, tangled in his linen sheets, curled up against his chest. head leaning on his shoulder, you were sleeping. you looked so soft and radiant. he thinks he must've won the universal lottery to have you like this. warm and safe. with him. but most importantly his. and he was yours unconditionally. now and forever.

suguru geto

suguru geto would do anything for him to relieve this moment a thousand times. you were sprawled out on the floor with nana and mimi. the three of you giggling and drawing something on paper. he was sitting on the floor, cross legged, after his freshly done makeover, courtesy of the three of you. his girls. he just admires you. the way you colour the spot nana asked you to and the way you boop mimi's nose. the way the girls laugh when you whisper something to the girls and they glance his way. he gives them a quizzical look. you turn to him. and smile. and he knows in that moment he'd made the best decision of his life - becoming yours.

megumi fushiguro

megumi's hair is fussed up. your hands tangled in them. he can't look away from the mirror. you were just too damn cute. the curtains drawn haphazardly, light illuminating your scrunched up features as you try out a hairstyle you saw on pinterest on him. he smiles to himself watching you beam when you secure the hair tie. you look at him in the mirror. your eyes meeting his and you smile. the big grin you give when you tell him he's the best boyfriend ever. and he looks at you, eyes full of adoration. there was nothing in this moment but pure love. and megumi knows the universe has been good to him. because there was no way he'd scored you without luck. you were just too good. and as you kiss his head, everything’s right in this world.

yuji itadori

he can't not take pictures of you. you looked so perfect. so sweet, just like your personality. you guys were filming tik tok trends. well, you were trying. yuji kept ‘accidentally’ taking pictures of you in the middle of filming so you'd had to redo it multiple times. not that you were complaining though, you were laughing. loud and carefree. and that to yuji itadori was the biggest gift of all. he just beams at you, and you blow him a kiss. and as he tucks it away, he knows, he will never, ever, ever find happiness without you again.

toge inumaki

toge smiles at the way your lips curve up when you see the leaderboard on screen. he'd let you win on purpose. not because you sucked at the game, but because you'd had a bad day. and what kind of boyfriend would he be if he let his sweet, perfect girlfriend who’d made him smile on more than one bad day, lose? he loved playing video games with you. loved seeing that triumphant smile on your face. he loved the way you'd pout on losing a game. your look of concentration. when you look at him with a knowing smile, and throw your arms around him, controller still in hand, mumbling little ‘i love you's. he says it too softly, for no one but you. and he knows he would never love anyone but you.

yuta okkotsu

you were grinning at him. oh how he loved that grin. you'd always listen to his stories with a look on your face.

a look he had memorized. and a look he wishes he could forget just so he could memorize it again. he never got to talk much about his life before jujutsu high. but you'd always listen. he'd talk about rika and the little moments of joy he had after she passed.

you'd listen, you'd promise him more happiness and he knew, you would always live up to that promise. you always have.

takuma ino

you were sitting on the bed, scribbling as he talked. he paused and you looked up. he smiled.

no one ever let him talk about his technique or anything about jujutsu in general. and here you were, his pretty little girlfriend, making notes about his latest mission. you urge him to continue and he chuckles, you pout, genuinely interested in whatever he was saying. he leaned down and kissed your forehead.

god, you couldn't be more perfect.

choso kamo

choso adored you. right now, you were on the floor, tummy down, resting on your elbows, choso beside you. you enthusiastically point to something in the encyclopedia and explain it to him.

he has no idea how he ended up with you, but he thanked the heavens for it. here you were, his smart girl, explaining things to him about the human world he didn't understand.

you never got annoyed at him for not knowing something. you'd always respond to his confused look with a reassuring one. and he knew you'd explain everything about it to him once you got home.

today's topic was butterflies.and as you looked at him asking him if he understood, he smiles sheepishly and you launch into explanation again. you never felt frustrated with him.

he didn't know a lot, but he knew that you were the only one for him.

noritoshi kamo

noritoshi didn't know he ended up here. his head in your lap, your fingers in his hair, while you read a book. massaging his scalp occasionally. noritoshi had never feel loved.

but now at this moment, the sunlight falling on his face, him being so close to the person he loved the most.

he felt more than loved. he felt secure. and happy.

a/n: this song makes me feel things <3

©hikariyaps2025

[touchstarvedbbg]

Touchstarved LI General headcanons

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

Pairings : Touchstarved LIs x reader in some!

General : Played through the demo again recently and wanted to touch up on some general headcanons!! I came out of this experience with a new love hate relationship for ais 😭

Warnings : None :)) this is SFW

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

Vere

|🩰| Vere has been alive for an incredibly long time, though I don’t think he’s entirely immortal. He cannot be killed by natural human causes (old age, sickness, murder). But I do believe that he could most definitely be killed by the hands of something more powerful than him (the allmother, or even Kuras)…. Hopefully the devs don’t kill him

|🩰| He seems like the type to have physical touch as a love language, but more giving than receiving. I don’t think he’d be a fan of being touched spontaneously.

|🩰| Typically has a very airy, light tone to his voice. It’s sultry and has a fake innocent to it, but can quickly drop into a more rough tone.

|🩰| Has hundreds of drawings of people he has seen throughout the years in various situations, even people he doesn’t like. Despite disliking some of his subjects, he draws them as they are most of the time. They can be beautiful and, in his eyes, still suck. (Ahem.)

|🩰| Once In a while though he’ll slightly alter the persons appearance just enough to make them question everything. Psychological warfare in a way.

|🩰| Has a surprisingly low alcohol tolerance for somebody who it seems is at the bar with Leander and Ais quite frequently. Very picky with his alcohol, he doesn’t like it tasting too much like straight booze but still appreciates a little buzz to it (his drink of choice is wine)

|🩰| Slightly wavy hair, maybe around 2A-2B. His sprites in game look rather straight, but come on, he’d look so good with wavy hair 🫣.

|🩰| On that note, he definitely takes good care of it BUT also is very bare bones with what that entails. (I.e. it’s always neatly done and brushed, but he probably uses the eridian equivalent of 3 in 1 shampoo or whatever the senobium gives him)

Leander

|🩰| Has a body count higher than one would like (and probably a rice purity score low enough to make most concerned…) but hasn’t had many long-term, serious partners. Has a hard time getting attached to people, but when he falls he falls very hard.

|🩰| Was most definitely a problem child growing up. If Kuras’s clinic wasn’t free of charge he’d be in debt that would take lifetimes to pay off.

|🩰| Tramp stamp. No elaboration needed.

|🩰| Always acts like a tough guy in public and tries to impress others to the ends of the earth… but would probably refuse to watch any movie where a dog dies. (Valid)

|🩰| INCREDIBLY smart academically, but makes tons of poor life choices. He’d simultaneously get in trouble for deciding to light firecrackers in the boys bathroom while having straight 100s in the hardest of classes.

|🩰| Big on gift giving!!! He sees something he thinks you’d like and finds a way to get it. Seems like the type to give his partner a bouquet of flowers weekly without fail. However if you give him something else he’d totally pull the “you don’t need to get me anything” card. (he cherishes it dearly)

|🩰| In a normal world he’d definitely be a frat bro (so sorry.) fishing, and taking photos with the fish, would be a weekend activity for him and his followers.

|🩰| He likes curve on his partners. Out of all of the LIs, I’d see him adoring having a bigger partner! Very supportive of the few people he chooses to give his full love to. (He really saves it for the best people)

Ais

|🩰| HES A PRICK (and one of my favs). Even after getting into a relationship with somebody he won’t stop riling them up unless absolutely necessary. Ask him why and he’ll just 🤷‍♂️

|🩰| Always has his hands on his partner in some way. Personal fav idea is having a hand wrapped around their waist (regardless of gender it’s just so 🫣)

|🩰| Takes a long time to open up to other people emotionally. For a while he’ll keep up the douche act. It’s definitely a way to make sure people around him don’t stab him in the back somehow.

|🩰| Definitely a night person. He does his best work in the dark of night (regardless of how many times he tells you it’s unsafe at night). He also likes the night so he can drink and catch up with Vere.

|🩰| Longer lifespan than a human, but not immortal in the same way that Vere or Kuras are. He’s definitely going to be (and already has been) around for quite some time.

|🩰| Most of his companions are soulless or other animals/monsters. Somewhere in his past he probably has been betrayed in some way, so he’s very locked up emotionally.

|🩰| He’s got big hands😻

|🩰| Really good cook. When he volunteers at the clinic he makes food for those who need it as a rescue effort.

|🩰| Has a really good photographic and numerical memory. Ask him a name for somebody he should know and he’ll have no clue- but ask him the exact number of atoms there are in an element or where he placed a needle in a haystack? He’ll know it.

|🩰| He has some sharp teeth naturally… but he probably tried to sharpen the others at some point to look more badass

Mhin

|🩰| Has a younger looking face, but is definitely way older than they look.

|🩰| Figures out one method of doing things quickly and sticks to it. Doesn’t toy around much with new methods once they’ve found a working one out of fear of screwing up. (To be fair, most of what they do has very little room for error)

|🩰| Mhin strikes me as a horrible student, but they’re not at all dumb. Simply, they would be more suited to more hands on learning than a typical educational experience.

|🩰| Very big on quality time. Especially the silent kind. Their favorite thing to do with a lover is to walk around outside where it’s quiet. Mhin hates that crowded spaces that eridia has an abundance of, a break is always welcome.

|🩰| Hard-headed and doesn’t take no for an answer under most circumstances. They’re resilient and always follow through on things once they agree to it (however hard it may be to get them to agree..)

|🩰| At some point in their past they’ve most definitely experienced being treated as if they’re glass about to shatter. They hate the feeling of it and as such do their best to remain independent unless absolutely necessary.

|🩰| Cat person!

|🩰| VERY random but I’d see them wearing a perfume/cologne with rainwater and musk as the notes! It’s unique and calming while being slightly off-putting. Whatever it is they use though, it most certainly was a gift and is on its last spray. They’re very frugal.

Kuras

|🩰| Similarly to Vere, he couldn’t be killed by human methods, but certainly could be smited by the allmother.

|🩰| I did my research, and angels do eat- however not a human food (manna- psalm 78:25, though the meaning of it is up to many interpretations). Clearly, he’s not getting this on earth. As such he most definitely hungers, but not for something that he has any hope of getting (similarly to redemption.)

|🩰| Actually cannot tolerate most human foods or beverages. As an angel, he wasn’t made to digest it (it’s been mentioned he fakes eating.) he probably could handle a drink or two, but his tolerance to it is laughable at best.

|🩰| Big on words of service. He praises his partners whenever he finds reason to. He’s incredibly loving, but doesn’t seem touchy or available like the others are (so words are his favorite)

|🩰| He often keeps the clinic frigid. Kuras himself is naturally very warm and doesn’t notice the cold, however his patients (along with Ais and Mhin who both seem to frequent the clinic) certainly do.

|🩰| he is an angel, but since he is in a human form I could see him on VERY rare occasions catching diseases or getting fatigued in this form. However he usually pushes through it and it goes away within a day or two.

|🩰| His handwriting is unreadable but beautiful. No matter how hard he tries to make it look legible, it ends up looking like an ancient text.

|🩰| He has some very androgynous features all over (angels don’t have genders themselves). Honestly he may very well be intersex in some regard. If it wasn’t for his voice and the fact he’s so tall, some features would be a quite difficult to discern as masculine or feminine.

[kaisollisto]

[iris-qt]

between the lines

a very inconvenient discovery

You don’t realize what you’ve done until you’re halfway through your second class of the day and open your notebook to find...

Not your handwriting.

Not your diagrams. Not your very specific color-coding system. And certainly not your very dramatic drawing of Professor Binns mid-lecture, labeled “Sir Snooze-a-Lot.”

You stare at the page. Then flip. And flip again.

Oh no.

You’ve taken someone else’s notebook.

You never make mistakes like this. Your entire personality is built around being the girl who does not make mistakes like this. The girl who labels her tab dividers and rewrites her notes in neat, margin-aligned bullet points.

And now you’ve accidentally stolen someone’s entire academic life.

You're about to panic when a small ink blot in the corner of a page catches your eye.

It’s not a blot. It’s… a doodle?

Of a plant. One you recognize from Herbology drawn with an almost obsessive attention to detail, like someone who secretly loves the subject but doesn’t want anyone to know. Cute. Kind of nerdy.

You flip again.

Another page. Another harmless doodle.

You squint. There’s writing next to it, a scrawled little annotation that reads: cold in the library again. she never brings a jumper.

Your stomach does something weird.

You turn the page one more time.

It’s a sketch of… you.

It’s not a masterpiece or anything, but you recognize yourself immediately: the curve of your cheek, the way your quill rests against your lower lip when you’re thinking. There’s a tiny label under it, scribbled like an afterthought:

"Library girl."

You slam the notebook shut, face hot.

Okay. So.

You’ve just accidentally discovered that someone, an anonymous, emotionally repressed someone, has not only been sketching you in their notes… they’ve noticed things. Like the fact that you’re always cold in the library. Like the way you sit. The way you—

Oh Merlin.

Who does this belong to??

You think back to that morning. The rush of class. The pile of identical-looking notebooks on the desk in the library.

There’s only one other person who sits near you there. Always. Like clockwork. Never speaks. Just reads quietly in his perfect posture and his perfect jumper and his perfect bloody bone structure.

Theodore Nott.

You nearly fall off your chair.

Because if this notebook is his...

You look down at the cover. Nothing. Not a single identifying mark.

Of course. He would be mysterious about it.

You spend the next three hours spiraling.

Maybe, hopefully, it wasn't Theodore Nott’s? What if it is his and he finds out you saw and... Oh no.

He’s going to hex you.

You clutch the notebook like it’s about to self-destruct. You need to return it. Quietly. Discreetly. With as little eye contact as possible. Preferably while pretending you’ve seen nothing at all. Unfortunately, fate (and Theo Nott) are not that kind.

Later that evening. The library.

You slip into your usual spot and there he is.

Seated across from you like always, looking calm and composed and terrifyingly unreadable. His hair is a little messy, like he’s been running a hand through it, and his tie is slightly askew in a way that shouldn’t be attractive but absolutely is.

Your eyes meet.

Something flickers in his.

He looks down at the desk in front of him… where he has your notebook. Oh no. He knows.

You hold his notebook out toward him like a peace offering, trying not to die on the spot. “I, um— We switched. Earlier. I think.”

He doesn’t say anything right away. Just takes the notebook from your hands and flips it open. Your face burns in mounting horror as you take your own notebook back and see that he dog-eared a page where your very detailed to-do list included:

Finish Transfig essay

Ask Theo Nott what his problem is

(or if he just hates me personally???)

(he’s hot tho. unfortunately.)

“You read it,” he says, voice low and maddeningly calm, snapping you back from your brief paralyzation of horror.

“Did not,” you lie immediately.

One of his brows lifts.

Your face burns. “Okay, maybe a little. But like... casually.”

He leans back in his chair, studying you. “You read this casually? Was it a casual read for you?”

You fidget. “I didn’t mean to.”

There’s a long, awful pause. Then, softly and unexpectedly, he says, “I thought you’d be mad.”

You blink.

“What?”

“I thought… you’d be freaked out.” He taps a finger lightly against the edge of the notebook. “That I drew you. That I notice things.”

You stare at him.

“Theo,” you say, voice too high. “You drew me like a Victorian botanist in love. I’m not freaked out. I’m flattered.”

He gives a quiet huff of laughter, then looks down, shy, almost. It's disarming. You reach for your own notebook again, flipping it open and finding a new note on the inside cover. In that familiar sharp script:

“You looked cold. I’ll bring a jumper next time.”

You glance up.

He’s already pulling off his jumper and sliding it across the table to you.

[hwnglx]

pick a pile - what's your fs' first impression of you?

hi lovely reader. let's peak into the first impression your fs could potentially have of you. remember this is a general reading, so not everything will resonate with everyone! breathe slowly, take your time and use your intuition to go with the pile that speaks to you the most. remember to take what resonates, and let the rest flow. 𓂃♡

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ pile 1 ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

immediately heard the word “magnetic”. you will have a powerful impression on your future lover. you will stand out to them. a lot. there is something about your energy, the way you carry yourself, the way you look, the way you act, the way you speak; it's hypnotising, captivating and incredibly intriguing to your fs. it will be an instant attraction. first time they spot you, you just catch their eye right away, and something about you will mesmerize them.

i see this potentially happening in a setting where's there's several people around you, perhaps a party or celebration of some sort. the atmosphere is nice, enjoyable. likely to take place in an environment that's easygoing and pleasant, perhaps among friends or people you feel comfortable with.

your fs could spot you in a position where you're communicating, and the way you articulate yourself could pique their interest. you might give off this very intelligent and witty impression. like you just know what you're talking about, or you're good at what you do.

i see this person perhaps feeling inferior to you, and intimated by your strong presence. the way you make your fs feel could result in them feeling small, like “damn, never knew i could feel this crazy about a person without even getting to know them.” i keep getting the feeling you will stay stuck in this person's mind for a long time. the thought of you will follow them around constantly, and they could get hooked really fast.

there might be hesitation when it comes to actually confronting you, because of this potential inferiority complex they might experience. this person reads as quite hard on themselves, they might not be entirely confident or see themselves as a catch; but you definitely are a major catch in their eyes. that's why it's possible that they could have issues seeing themselves on the same level as you, which could hold them back from approaching you more confidently.

though i have to note; their first impression also consists of you seeing you in a light of empathy, gentleness, kindness. a part of what draws them in to you, could be that they see you as a person capable of providing them with what they don't have, especially in terms of their emotional world. you could bring them the sense of comfort they lack in life. something about you just screams emotional maturity to them. like this person would understand me the way no one else does.

the queen of cups always gives me very cancerian energy. (though you could just have prominent water/4h/12h placements in general!) cancerian people (especially cancer suns, venus' and risings) often have this beautifully feminine energy to them. you might have gorgeous curves, features that are more on the rounder side, like your face shape, which your fs could feel drawn to. something about your eyes could pull them in too, they could be very expressive.

additional physical features they might notice

dark skin

black clothing

white or bleached hair

medium hair

brunette

channelled songs

je te laisserai des mots by patrick watson

“i will leave you words,

under your door

and when you're alone for a moment

pick me up whenever you want

kiss me whenever you want”

nobody gets me by sza

“how am i supposed to tell you?

i don't wanna see you with anyone but me

nobody gets me

you do”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ pile 2 ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

your fs' first impression might include seeing you in a crowded place. this is random, so take what resonates, but for some of you it could be a school, a university; just a place where's a lot of different types of people, whose opinions, words or personalities potentially clash a lot.

your future lover could first perceive you, as a calm, quiet and reserved person, who's more of a lone-wolf. someone who prefers withdrawing, doing their own thing, and living in their own little dream world or bubble.

there is this feeling of you liking to doze off into your own fantasies, detached from the things that are going on around you. they could look at you as someone who doesn't enjoy being around people all the time, and feels more comfortable detaching themselves from fights, conflict, drama, gossip.

your fs could think you're the type to be easily overwhelmed, perhaps more insecure too, which could lead to this tendency of yours to distance yourself from everything that is going on. they might see you as someone artistic and introspective. the type to sit off to the side, quietly sketching or listening to music, while the crowd buzzes with noise.

they might be unable to read you at first, with you giving off more of a complex vibe they can't exactly decipher. they're under the impression that you're likely to have so much going on in your head, which could result in them wondering. there's mystery in your stillness.

the energy in terms of your fs' first impression of you, is more naive, shy, innocent, youthful.. it's likely your future lover is either older than you in age, or just thinks you're probably someone who's younger or more immature than them. you might even look younger than you actually are.

some of you might be quite petite in size. i can also see some of you liking to dress up in a dainty way, which your fs could take note of. some of you might have shorter hair, a bob, bangs or light brown or dirty blond hair.

your fs might not really be sure how to behave around you. it's likely they could look at you as someone very sensitive and soft-hearted, which could cause them to be slightly hesitant to be around you. they might be under the impression that you're someone who needs to be dealt with gently.

this impression you made on your fs doesn’t fade quickly. your presence lingers in their mind, not because you were loud or flashy, but because your quiet mystery made them want to know more.

something about you might give your future spouse the impression that you're well off. this could be in a financial sense; some of them might assume you come from a stable family background that supports you (even if that’s not actually the case, remember this is their subjective impression).

it could also reflect how they see you as someone who’s focused on their long-term goals and building a secure future for themselves. there's a quiet sense of success around you, like you're the type who works hard without needing attention, and is likely to achieve a lot because of that.

your energy reminds me of winter from aespa a little bit. she's a capricorn sun with a pisces moon, which gives her this blend of being a dreamy, head-in-the-clouds hard worker.

additional physical features they might notice

coloured eyes (green, blue)

white or bleached hair

beauty marks

freckles

baby face

square face

channelled songs

my future by billie eilish

“cause i'm in love

with my future

can't wait to meet her”

only love can hurt like this by paloma faith

“and when you come close, i just tremble

and every time you go

it's like a knife that cuts right through my soul”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ pile 3 ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

wow, safe to say you will make an impression on your fs. this person will quite literally be head over heels obsessed with you, from the moment they meet you. it's like “this person awakens things in me i've never felt before” there’s likely to be an intense, almost magnetic physical pull toward you, that they might not even be able to explain.

when your fs first encounters you, they could view you in a very flirty and charming light. there's just something about the way you carry yourself, the way you speak, the way you look at them, that makes them go crazy inside. even your sole eye contact has the ability to light up not just butterflies, but entire fireworks inside of them.

this person's energy is increeedibly emotional, and very passionate. they could be a bit of a player or womanizer. or perhaps just someone who flirts with a lot of people.

i see them falling fast for people, but hard at the same time. it's likely they'll romanticize the heck out of you in their head. definitely a case of rose-colored glasses, where literally everything you do is ✨captivating✨ to them.

interestingly, their first impression of you might come with a moment of humbling. the attraction will absolutely be there. it will be strong, immediate, even overwhelming, but so will a flicker of doubt. they might wonder if they'd even stand a chance with someone like you.

some of you might genuinely give them a little bit of a harsh reality check and blow to their ego, whether intentional or not. again, it's hard to tell if what i'm sensing is actually of substance, or just your fs' extremely emotion-based perception (this person is a big F in terms of mbti, i will tell you that) but something about the way you act, could make humble them, pull them back down to the ground.

some of you might just not pay much attention them, ignore them, give them the cold shoulder, while some of you could literally tell them to get down their high horse, to slow down or friendzone them. some of you might even be taken already, at your first encounter with your future lover. either way, there's a brief moment where their spirit takes a hit... and then they go right back to dreaming about you.

the star card speaks of dreams and idealism, but it's also about distance and longing.

think of what stars are like.. they're beautiful, so so dazzling and radiant, but unbelievably far away. that's how your fs will see you. beautiful and magnetic, but not easily attainable. they'll think of you as someone who rightfully has high standards, and wouldn't just settle for anyone.

physical features they might notice

sharp face

red head or coloured hair

make up

the way you dress

beauty marks

blue eyes

channelled songs

spicy by aespa

“you want my A to the Z

but you won't get it, not a chance

pulled in in a blink of an eye, you'll be mine”

rude boy by rihanna

“come here rude boy, can you get it up?

show me what you got now

baby, if i don't feel it i ain't faking”

thank you for reading! i'd love to hear you guys' feedback on what resonated for you

[isabelckl]

meeting ellie in detention

nerdy ellie williams x popular fem!reader

detention has always been boring—until the last person you expected walks in. now you’re stuck in the same room, and it’s a lot harder to ignore her.

Detention. Again. Second time this month.

You’re slouched low in the hard plastic chair, spine curved in a way that probably screams "I give up," the edge of the desk digging uncomfortably into your ribs. One leg bounces under the table, the sole of your shoe scuffing softly against the floor with every twitch. The room smells faintly like Expo markers and teenage boredom, warm dust floating in streaks of light pouring through slatted blinds. The air conditioner hums in the ceiling like it’s trying too hard and still failing to cool anything down.

Your head hangs forward, a lazy weight, chin nearly touching your chest as you idly flick at the fake nail on your middle finger — the one that went flying across the cafeteria when you slapped the ever-loving shit out of Victoria during lunch. It clicks against your nailbed with each flick, a tiny, hollow sound that breaks the silence like a metronome for your regret.

You exhale sharply through your nose, lips twitching into a sour twist.

“I should’ve just let that bitch go,” you think to yourself, dragging your head back until it flops against the top of your seat with a dramatic, whispered groan.

The oversized clock on the wall ticks with cruel precision, every second dragging its heels like it's stuck in glue. The teacher — some substitute whose name you didn’t bother to catch — is half-asleep at their desk, hunched over a crossword puzzle or a book with the spine cracked flat. They're not even pretending to watch you. It's one of those afternoons where the heat makes everything slow, where even trouble feels sluggish and tired.

You’re just about to give in to the heaviness tugging at your eyelids, your cheek halfway to the cool surface of the desk, when the door creaks open with an uncertain squeal.

Your eyebrows lift.

Huh?

“You’re here,” you blurt out before you can catch the words, your voice cutting through the haze like a pebble tossed into still water. You sit up straighter, something in you crackling awake with sharp interest.

Ellie Williams steps into the room like she’s not sure if she belongs — the usual quiet type, always either with headphones on, a guitar slung across her back, or buried somewhere in the library behind a stack of sci-fi novels and sketchpads. Her eyes flit up and meet yours for a moment before darting away. Then she scans the room like she’s searching for the least cursed seat available.

“You can sit here,” you offer, nodding at the empty chair beside you. Your voice is casual, but there’s a flicker of curiosity you don’t bother hiding.

“I guess...” she mutters, rubbing the back of her neck with the palm of her hand. She moves like she’s being dragged by invisible strings — hesitant, stiff — and drops into the seat beside you like she’s expecting it to collapse underneath her.

You tilt your head, crossing your arms and letting your eyes roam, not subtle about it. Her flannel sleeves are rolled up, revealing a faint ink smudge near her wrist. There’s a nervous energy buzzing off her in low frequency, barely noticeable unless you’re this close.

“What?” you ask, a spark of challenge in your tone.

Ellie glances at you, brows drawing inward. “What?”

You squint like you’re staring at a half-finished painting, trying to figure out what’s missing. “Nothing. Just… Ellie Williams, in detention, here with me? You’re like the last person I expected to see.”

She stares at you for a second, then looks away, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I didn’t know you knew my name,” she says, soft and matter-of-fact, like that’s what surprised her the most.

You let out a small, amused laugh. “Of course I know your name. We’re classmates in like… two subjects. You sit three rows over in Calc, always solving problems before the teacher even finishes writing them on the board.”

Ellie shrugs, clearly uncomfortable with the attention, her fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on her jeans. She looks like you’ve just peeled back something she’s spent years sewing shut.

“So what did you do?” you ask, leaning in just slightly, eyes gleaming with interest. “Come on, I need something to keep me entertained.”

She gives you a look, equal parts wary and annoyed. “No.”

“Oh, come on. I just wanna know what got you here. I mean, I’m here because I bitch-slapped Victoria for spreading a fake rumor about me.” You say it like a badge of honor, chin lifted slightly. “Your turn.”

Ellie lets out a breath, glancing down at her hands again. Her nails are short, bitten at the edges. She chuckles quietly, a low, sheepish sound. “It’s lame.”

“Come on,” you nudge her with your elbow, grinning now.

She doesn’t respond, just offers the ghost of a smile and goes back to staring at the graffiti scratched into the desk.

You sigh and flop back into your seat again. “Fine. I get it. First time in detention. Gotta preserve your image.”

She side-eyes you, and this time, there’s a smirk pulling at her mouth like she’s trying to suppress it. “Why would you think I’m the last person you’d see here?” she asks, her voice lower, curious.

You scoff under your breath and rest your arm on the back of her chair like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Because you’re just... good.”

Her brow arches.

“I mean, a great example of a model student,” you continue, motioning vaguely in her direction. “You’re, like, top of our calculus class, probably gonna graduate with honors or whatever. And you draw, right? I saw some of your stuff in art class. The charcoal sketches.”

She stares at you now, like she’s hearing you through a tunnel. “You knew that?” she says, voice soft with disbelief.

“Yeah.” You roll your eyes a little, but there’s no bite in it. “I pay attention.”

Ellie smiles — not fully, just a quiet, private curve of her lips — and bites the inside of her cheek like she’s trying to hide it.

“No talking,” the teacher calls out without lifting their eyes.

You roll your eyes again and settle into silence, the kind that’s thick but not uncomfortable. The ticking clock sounds louder now, each second ricocheting off the pale classroom walls. Somewhere outside, a locker slams shut, followed by faint, echoing laughter. But your focus is stuck on the girl next to you — the way her fingers drum softly against the desk, the quiet way she breathes, how her knee is still barely an inch from yours.

You rest your chin in your hand, elbow propped on the desk, still watching her. Ellie stares straight ahead like she’s forcing herself not to glance your way. Like she can feel you looking and isn’t sure what to do about it.

“So...” you murmur, voice low and casual, “are you doing anything later?”

Ellie turns her head a fraction. “Uh, nothing... I think. Why?”

“Wanna go to a party with me? Just a house thing at Kendra’s.”

She blinks, clearly caught off guard, and gives you a look like you just asked her to go skydiving. “Why would I go to a party with you?”

You shrug, leaning back. “Nothing serious. Just wondered. Have you ever been to one?”

“Well... yeah. But not the kind of party you’re talking about.”

You squint, amused now. “And what kind is that?”

She shrugs, but there’s a glint in her eyes. “The ‘your kind’ kind. You know... boys and stuff.”

You snort. “Boys and stuff? Seriously?”

Ellie shrugs again, her smirk widening just enough to make your stomach flip.

“No one’s gonna make you do anything, y’know,” you add, raising an eyebrow at her, voice softer now, like an unspoken promise.

She hesitates, her eyes flicking to yours, then down to her lap. The pause stretches — not uncomfortable, just thoughtful — and then she nods slowly.

“I guess so. I could come.”

“Great. It'll be fun,” you say, a grin tugging at your lips as you lean back, arms crossing. There’s a fizz of electricity in your chest now, subtle but undeniable.

There’s a pause again — not awkward, just… still. The kind that stretches long enough for you to start wondering what’s going on in her head. You glance over, your voice a little softer now, curious instead of teasing.

“So... do you, like, have a boyfriend? Or girlfriend?”

Ellie lets out a low laugh — short and breathy, like you caught her off guard. “Nah. Why?”

You lean your shoulder against the back of your chair, studying her expression as if it might give something away. “What’s your type, then?” you ask, tossing it out like it’s no big deal, like it’s just a casual, meaningless question — even though it kind of isn’t.

She glances at you sideways, her brow arching. “Why are you asking me that?”

You smirk, shrugging lazily. “So I can set you up with someone later. Maybe.”

Ellie scoffs, rolling her eyes — but there’s no real bite to it. “Didn’t you just say no one’s gonna make me do anything? And now you’re trying to play matchmaker?”

“I just wanna try,” you say, nudging her foot lightly under the desk. “C’mon, it'd be cute.”

She shakes her head slowly, but there’s a smile creeping onto her lips — small, like she’s trying to hold it back but failing. For a moment, she doesn’t say anything. Then, quieter this time, eyes fixed on the grain of the wooden desk, she says, “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

You nod, and it’s not teasing now — there’s something softer in the way you do it, something that says you’re listening. That maybe you understand more than you’re letting on.

She glances up, eyes flicking toward you, just a little narrower now. Like she’s testing the waters. “How about you? Nathan?”

You blink, caught off guard, then immediately grimace. “Nathan? Nathan fucking Walsh? No way. Do people seriously think we hooked up?”

Ellie doesn’t answer — just lifts her eyebrows like, You tell me.

You groan, scrubbing a hand over your face. “Ugh, that’s a no. Like, a no-in-hell situation. I’d rather set myself on fire.”

Ellie actually laughs — a real one this time. It spills out of her unfiltered, her head tilting back just slightly. It’s soft, a little scratchy, and it warms something in your chest.

You can’t help but grin, cheeks already aching. “So… you’re coming with me later?”

She looks at you, really looks this time — like she’s trying to figure out what the hell she just got herself into. Her eyes flick between yours and the floor before she finally nods once.

“Yeah. Okay.”

The music is already pulsing through the house by the time you catch sight of her. It spills out the front door in a steady, throbbing rhythm, matched only by the flicker of string lights and silhouettes moving behind fogged-up windows. Ellie steps in with a slight hesitation, like the air is thicker here — like she’s walking into somewhere she’s not sure she belongs, but she's here anyway. A red solo cup is cradled loosely in her hand. Her shoulders are squared, jaw set, but her eyes move like she’s absorbing everything, scanning for a place to land.

Then they find you.

You spot her from across the room and light up, warmth blooming across your face, already flushed from the shots you took earlier. You break away from your group mid-sentence, weaving through a haze of cologne, sweat, and perfume until you reach her. Your grin is crooked, wide. “Heyyy,” you say, dragging the word out with a giddy lilt as you throw your arms around her.

Your balance tips a little on your heels — you’re slightly tipsy, full of heat and laughter — and Ellie catches you with a hand at your waist. Her grip is hesitant but steady. You’re aware of how solid she feels, how warm, how she doesn’t pull away even though she totally could.

“You really came,” you say against her ear, breath brushing the shell of it.

“I said I would,” she replies, voice quiet, like the volume of the house makes her want to retreat into herself. She looks down at you, eyes soft. The button-up she’s wearing is wrinkled at the edges, sleeves rolled to her elbows, and she smells faintly like clean laundry — sharp and comforting — mixed with the burn of something stronger. Whiskey, maybe.

You take her cup without asking, taking a sip and wrinkling your nose playfully before handing it back. “You’re late,” you say, tugging her by the wrist, your fingers lacing lightly around hers as you pull her toward the kitchen.

Ellie doesn’t resist. She follows you into the warmth and chaos of the party, and you hand her a shot before raising your own. She downs it without a grimace — like it’s nothing — then does the second one just the same.

You blink, impressed. “I thought you were all straight-edge,” you tease, nudging her elbow with yours.

She shrugs, lips curling at the edge. “Never said that.”

You laugh, leaning a little too close as your balance shifts again. “You’re full of surprises, Ellie Williams.”

The two of you end up at the edge of the kitchen, leaning against the counter while people move around you in waves. The music swells and falls, conversations weaving together in fragments. You’re mostly talking — telling stories, rambling through your buzz — while Ellie listens, her body angled just enough toward you to show she’s paying attention. Her green eyes flick over your face like she’s memorizing something, and every now and then, her lips twitch like she’s holding back a smile.

Your fingers brush her forearm more than once. She doesn’t pull away.

At some point — you’re not sure when — someone drags you onto the dance floor. It’s hot and crowded, all limbs and flickering light, and you don’t remember if it was your idea or hers, but suddenly you’re dancing. Ellie’s hand is at your waist, grounding you in the motion, keeping you upright as you spin and stumble and laugh into her shoulder.

“Okay, okay, I’m done, I’m too drunk,” you wheeze out, laughter bubbling up. Your feet trip over each other, and you lean heavily into her as she catches you, both hands sliding to your hips, steady and firm.

You look up, breath warm against her neck, your heart hammering somewhere near your throat. Your cheeks are flushed — from the alcohol, the heat, her. “What if,” you say slowly, words slurring just a little, “what if the person I wanted to set you up with… is me?”

Ellie goes still.

She’s staring at you, eyes wide, mouth parted like she wasn’t expecting that. Her breath catches — just barely — but she doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t laugh it off or deflect. Instead, she leans in close, her lips brushing your ear.

“Let’s get out of here,” she murmurs.

You nod, barely thinking.

Everything becomes a blur of color and heat and motion. Upstairs, the bass from the music fades into a dull thump beneath your feet. You barely make it through the threshold of some stranger’s bedroom before Ellie’s lips are on yours, and your back hits the wall with a soft thud. Her hands are everywhere — in your hair, along your jaw, gripping your thighs as she lifts you up slightly, your legs tightening instinctively around her waist.

You’re breathless. Dizzy. Drunk off her mouth, her warmth, the way she kisses like she’s wanted to for a while and finally stopped holding back. Your hands are under her shirt, fingers skimming hot skin, tugging her closer, closer, until there’s nothing between you but heat and want and the sound of your own gasping breaths.

It’s messy. A little desperate. But god — you've never wanted anything more.

[triptanite]

Headcanons: night routines, cuddles, and sleeping positions with the companions

it's done! we did it! enjoy :3

Pairings: Reader X (Alphabetical) (Astarion - Gale - Halsin - Karlach - Laezel - Minthara - Shadowheart - Wyll) (Gortash - Raphael - Rolan)

Content warning/s: none

MASTERLIST

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Headcanons below

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The Companions (Alphabetical)

ASTARION

Something that may surprise you is Astarion's preference for personal space when he sleeps. Given how enthusiastically he pursues you early on (and his reasons for doing so), you thought that he would be clinging to your side as soon as your tent flap closed.

Instead however, you find that Astarion appreciates a very active goodnight cuddle before separating to sleep. You're both lying down on your sides, facing each other. Your bodies curl into one another, legs overlapping. Astarion traces over the silhouette of your body as you talk about your day, the softest touch of his fingertips bringing goosebumps to your skin. He hovers over the area where neck meets shoulder, lightly scarred from his previous feedings.

You rest your hand comfortably at his side, taking advantage of his stillness to really study his features. The smile lines in his pale skin, the length of his pointed ears, the sliver of collarbone under his shirt. He's constantly on the move during the day, so you drink in the details while you can. He debriefs to you as well, moving his hand to interlace his fingers with yours. His body is cool, and you notice his tendency to press up closer to you on to sap your body heat.

Once it's time for sleep, you untangle from each other and sleep pretty normally. He's not much of a sleep-snuggler. Though, with your nightly conversations you're not left necessarily wanting for more (not that you mind either way). You sleep in your regular position, and he on his back in the typical elven meditative pose. It's comfortable, safe, familiar.

GALE

Your nightly routine with Gale revolves around a lot of tending to the day's wounds and mishaps, paired with a constant flurry of comfortable conversation. A tear in your trousers gets patched up while staffs are cleaned and reinforced. Adjustments for tomorrow's spells are made, trails are planned. Gale sifts through your alchemy pouches, answering your questions about herb origins with gusto. You move as a unit, like two gears in the same machine. As you move about, there are other conversations occuring, subtle ones, silent ones. Gale presses his forehead to yours to stop you from scowling as you mend; you hand him bits of twine and leather as he passes by, knowing that he's looking for them.

Even as you lie together, there is movement. You're tucked under Gale's chin as he lays on his back. If you're quite still, you can feel his pulse in his neck. Gale busies his ever-moving hands by drawing on your back. Alchameic symbols, runes he's seen, trails you've walked. He illustrates his thoughts and your adventures, your body his canvas.

When you start to fall asleep, you'll wriggle your body down so that your temple rests atop his chest. He traces the curve of your neck to your shoulder. Gale switches to words, messily writing incantations over your skin like a tattoo. If you pay attention, you catch him writing 'I love you' over and over, but you elect not to say anything as he does. Before you tuck your arm around his side, you trace love hearts over his stomach. Your head over his heart, you feel it beat a little faster, then slow as you both fall asleep.

HALSIN

Halsin enjoys being present. He drinks in the sight of you slowly, revels in the ability to simply take his time. After living such a long life lived already and the turmoil of the Shadow-Cursed Lands, he has an even greater appreciation for the smaller things in life. You've not lived quite as long as he, but you've already seen and done more than seemingly entire villages of people. Time and circumstance has worn you both down to a point. Resilience bounces you back, but a healthy regular dose of affection helps too.

At night, you both sit close to the fire. Halsin whittles, chipping away slivers of wood to carve out tiny pieces of art. He looks up, stretching his neck, and watches you as you map the stars above. You scrawl over maps and spare parchment, trying to write and doodle down your memories lest you forget them. When you look over to Halsin, your eyes meet, and you chuckle a little being caught off guard.

Taking you by the hand, Halsin leads you to your shared tent. You undress him, taking your time to smooth his hair back, to run your nails over his biceps. He returns the favour, cupping your curves with his large palms, spreading warmth all throughout your body. He lays on his side in the bedroll, one arm bent and tucked under his head. You use this as a pillow, enjoying his scent so close; wood and musk. Halsins free arm drapes over your midsection to pull you in closer. You push your knee through his legs and you slot together like puzzle pieces. You begin to talk about your latest mapping, your need for more parchment, and plans for tomorrow. Halsin kisses you on the forehead, entire being relaxed. You'll sleep squished together like this, encompassed by heat and comfort.

KARLACH

Cuddle supreme. You bet that once that engine is pacified enough to touch that Mama K is all over you like green on grass.

Prior to this, Karlach was sure (if not overly cautious) about maintaining a healthy distance between you. She was excessively worried about setting you ablaze during the night, and often opted to sleep just outside of her tent while you claimed her bedroll inside. Her claims of worry were partially genuine, but she also enjoyed how you left her tent. The smell you lingered on her sheets, and you often left little things behind like a water canteen or a book you'd been reading.

Once her engine was quelled though, the things she imagined could finally come to fruition. You often cuddle facing each other, changing positions like the moon over the sky. Most comfortably, Karlach settles her head under your chin, face pressed up against your neck and chest. Her arms wrap all the way around your middle, her legs crossing over yours. You curl both arms around her head, trying to leave enough room for her to breathe, and use your free hand to run through her hair. When you start gently scratching over her scalp, you get a snoring Karlach in an instant.

You find that you need to leave the tent flap partially open to vent out some of the warmth; even the most frigid nights are no match for Karlach's body heat. With how impossibly close you're smooshed together, there's little room for the cold to find you anyway.

LAEZEL

Given her dedication towards training and being the youngest in the group, it shouldn't be a surprise that Laezel is quite inexperienced when it comes to affection. Before she met you, and even during, quiet intimacy is somewhat foreign. When you first explained what cuddling was, Laezel thought it was some kind of defensive grapple.

When you both settle for the evening, you find yourselves prepping in comfortable silence for the days ahead. Laezel counts rations and sharpens blades. You condition leather and secure packs. Sometimes, she admires you silently as you focus on your tasks. She smiles to herself at your willingness to help, your competence, she feels security in your choosing her as a partner. Once it's time to settle into your bedrolls, you spend a few precious moments facing each other. She grips your hands in hers and studies your face. She stares with such intensity that it's like she's trying to commit every freckle and line to memory forever. There is some truth to this. When she closes her eyes in peaceful moments, she meditates on the things in her life that bring her joy; her accomplishments, her goals, and you, her partner.

Laezel most often sleeps on her back, leaving her more ready to react to ambushes in the night. She refuses to let go of one of your hands though, with you acting as a kind of anchor for her. Laezel's mind is constantly buzzing with what's to come next, reflecting on what's already happened. It's rare, and precious to her, to indulge in quiet moments of care.

MINTHARA

For practical reasons, Minthana rarely falls asleep with her limbs restricted - it's much harder to stab an intruder if one of your arms is cuddled under your lover. A light sleeper, Minthana doesn't mind sleeping on her side with you. She enjoys being the big spoon, and is certain to let you know that it's not solely because of the protective factor as she deems you just as capable as she (though internally, there's certainly a reflexive protective factor at play here).

Before you sleep, Minthana will curl around you, pressing the entire front of her body to your back. She commits your scent to memory, and recalls the days events aloud. You hold one of her hands in both of yours, mostly paying attention. She enjoys the way you massage her hands, rubbing your thumbs against her wrist, testing the sharpness of her nails against your skin.

When it's time to sleep, Minthana untangles from you, laying on her back or side. She likes to know that you're there though, so she crosses one of her legs over yours in some way. Her ankle rests over yours, or your thigh against her hip, or even just your heels touching each other. Enough closeness to feel your presence, enough space to breathe freely.

SHADOWHEART

You and Shadowheart vary your nighttime routines. Most times, you'll be engaging in mutual and self care, reflecting on the day, prayer, and washing. You offer to brush through Shadowheart's hair, carefully working through knots and bumps and smoothing it into something comfortable to sleep in. The feeling sends tingles down her spine, and she shivers like a cat purring, feeling sleepier and sleepier. She, in return, examines your hands. She cleans over them with a warm washcloth, applying healing balms and ointments to your cuts and bruises, filing your nails to shape.

You both spend time setting and resetting your shared bed space. Being adventurers, and with Shadowheart's past, you're used to moving around often. Your bedroll, your belongings, everything is set up ready to pack at a moment's notice. Though, if you take the time you notice small personal touches that make it feel like yours. A dense hairbrush adorned in silver, Shadowheart's. A thick, hand-woven blanket made in fibre native to your home, yours.

When you begin to collapse from exhaustion, more often than not Shadowheart will settle in behind you. You don't mind being the little spoon, indulging in Shadowheart's body heat and mindlessly playing with her fingers in yours. Shadowheart enjoys pressing her face to the back of your neck, sharing your body heat. She feels somewhat protective of you in the night. Quietly, she worries every now and again that something in the dark will take you away forever. You sense that fear sometimes, the way she drifts off in thought before squeezing you a little tighter. It's a feeling you're not unfamiliar with. She falls asleep to the sound of your voice as you tell her of your adventures past. She dreams of your adventures together in the future; this is something you have in common.

WYLL

Wyll enjoys holding you close basically any chance he gets, and bedtime is no exception. You both keep a reasonable distance while doing simultaneous night routines: Wyll polishes and stores your days' weapons, you pack and prep bags for the next day. As you flit past each other, there are subtle passing touches. A lingering glance at your exposed shoulder, the tips of your fingers grazing against his night clothes. Some are less so, you rake your fingers over his hair and horns, pressing your faces together. Or he'll stand behind you as you wipe down your face, body pressed impossibily close to yours. He teases you about the blush that crawls up your neck.

As you lay together, Wyll finds that sleeping on his back with some tactically stacked pillows works best for his horns. You rest your head at his collarbones, holding his hand. It calms you to feel his chest rise and fall as he breathes, and you never pass up an opportunity to ask him about his seemingly endless adventurous stories. Wyll watches you doodle on his palm, his other hand holds you at your waist, occasionally slipping his hand under your nightshirt to caress your skin.

Lying on your side, you fold your leg over his. You relish in how he squirms slightly depending on where your thigh ends up. Revenge. Most nights, you both fall asleep just like this in each other's embrace. Surrounded by a nest of pillows and a light blanket, you fall into warmth. Comfort in the night that takes you away from the horrors of the day.

Bonus!

NPCs (Alphabetical)

GORTASH

Routine is something both you and Gortash appreciate but rarely achieve with your busy schedules. If Gortash gets a moment at home, you're out in combat. If you come back at a reasonable hour, he's in meeting after meeting. The one thing you try in earnest to maintain though is a nightly routine when your times do align.

You both debrief and undress, spewing out the stress of the day with little regard for whether it makes sense or how many tangents you go off on. Gortash stands at your back as you sit in front of your vanity. He loosens your hair while you clean your wounds, chuckling about the injuries you'd inflicted in reply. You take Gortash's hand in yours and sit him down on the mattress. You run your fingers over his temples and he melts like snow. His muscles are tight as you massage over his neck, his shoulders, leaving light scratch marks over his skin.

In bed, you both lie on your sides, facing the window. The night sky casts the dimmest light into your room, the air outside is quiet and still. There is respite here. You curl around Gortash's back, spooning him as he clutches your hands tight in his. This is your routine, your normalcy. Here, neither of you are bloodstained, neither are performing. Comfort is a strange and rare indulgence in your plights to take over the world; but whether here in your chambers, in a bedroll camping in the forest, or in a jail cell, it's the one thing you can find in each other.

RAPHAEL

Raphael is fond of studying you, examining every inch, every curve of your being with all the patience in the Hells. He's currently asked you to pose for a portrait, draped loosely along a red velvet chaise while the light of the outside world shines just right over your body. It's difficult to catch your face, your eyes especially, in paint. Raphael finds your eye contact far too inviting to concentrate for another quiet hour, so he ceases.

Placing his brushes down, you sit up and crack your neck. You stretch the stiffness from your limbs and extend your hands out to encourage Raphael to join you. He kicks off his dress shoes, climbing atop you with his knee inbetween your legs. His spine curves as he lowers down, lips brushing over your ear as he embraces you.

With some effort, you wrap your arms around him, smothered by warmth and the faint scent of sulphur. You do get used to it after a while. An open window allows a gentle breeze in the room, slowly drying the paint. The light diffuses through sheer curtains, and it makes you sleepy. Time is confusing and unruly here, but you crave a lazy afternoon (at least, that's how it feels) nap. Stroking the back of Raphael's hair, you relax back and close your eyes. Despite his reservations, Raphael soon joins you. His face stays buried against your neck, every breath embued with your smell. You're surrounded by each other, neither of you especially keen to move away.

ROLAN

Finding a place to sleep in Ramazith's Tower wasn't the difficult part, choosing where to sleep was. For the first few weeks, you and Rolan explored a great depth, you'd never climbed so many stairs and walked so many invisible platforms in your life.

One night, you'd decided rather adventurously to sleep up high on a balcony. You'd made a nest of sorts with Rolan, harvesting pillows and blankets and a mattress. The weather was clear and mild as the sky slowly turned to black. Rolan had set up approximately four hundred fail safes to ensure neither of you would fall in your sleep.

You both huddle down into the swathes of fabric. You remark to Rolan how different this was to the camps you'd slept in when you met him, or the Emerald Grove where he and his siblings had stayed. You face each other, legs interlocking, and Rolan places both hands on either side of your face. He remarks that it's to keep you warm but the air has barely a chill. You shift slightly to point out constellations in the sky, and Rolan's hands move downward and settle at your sides. He plays with the hem of your nightshirt, eyes affixed to wherever you point and gesture. The spell of night overtakes you both, and you fall asleep with your foreheads pressed lightly together.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

waa we did it gamers my first multi character piece!! Originally this was supposed to be a short and sweet dotpoint-style headcanons post but apparently I can't help myself. Because of how many characters there were to write and because I'm me it took a little longer than expected but I'm really happy

I've been committing myself to doing even just a little tiny bit of writing/creative stuff every day (with some gaps obvs I'm only human) and I gotta say it really does help

so if you're reading this, go write something. Or draw, or edit, or whatever but just do a little bit of something today. its good for the soul

take care! :3

[kxsagi]

this is very specific but wtv, can i request bllk boys (kunigami, bachira, shidou, ness, and whoever else) with reader who has hipdips? readr sint insecure or anything but yeah jsjsjsjs

this mainly stems from the fact that i have them and i wouldve had curvy hips if it wasnt for them lol

“𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐯𝐲”

a/n: HIP DIPS ARE BEAUTIFUL AHHHHHHHHH

ft. kunigami rensuke, bachira meguru, shidou ryusei, ness alexis, kaiser michael, isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, mikage reo, nagi seishiro

kunigami rensuke

kunigami notices your hip dips immediately the first time you wear leggings around him. he blinks, glances, then immediately looks away like he’s been slapped by god. 

he doesn’t understand what they are at first. he just thinks they’re cool. “do those lines mean you’re strong?” 

you explain what they are and he looks so offended. “what do you mean some people are insecure about that? they look like… like battle scars or something.” 

he now thinks they’re elite. will walk behind you like your personal knight, keeping a hand on your waist like he’s guarding royalty. 

sometimes you catch him zoning out and lightly tracing the curve with a finger. “sorry,” he mutters. “it’s just… you’re shaped like poetry.” 

kunigami.exe has crashed. 

bachira meguru

“they’re like little parentheses on your hips!” 

he’s obsessed. like full-on obsessed. draws doodles of your silhouette like some renaissance artist in his sketchbook. 

“they’re like– like dance hips! i bet if you start walking to music your body makes its own beat.” 

he pokes them sometimes, just out of nowhere. then dramatically gasps. “hey! your hips are missing a scoop!! someone stole a scoop of you!! was it rin???” 

he’s your #1 hype man when you wear anything that hugs your hips. starts clapping when you walk out of the room like “HIP DIPS. ICONIC.” 

will absolutely try to balance tiny plushies or snacks in the dip. “it’s a snack shelf, babe.” you let him because he’s funny and gives you chocolate afterward. 

shidou ryusei

“damn. you got the kinda hips i wanna bite.” 

he’s never normal, let’s just get that out of the way. shidou doesn’t just like your hip dips, he wants to start a religion around them. 

drapes his arm around your waist like he owns you and uses the dip to rest his thumb. he calls it his “emergency grip.” 

when you change in front of him he stares unapologetically, like he’s trying to mentally etch the shape into his brain. 

he’s the type to loudly tell other guys, “don’t look at her like that. those hips are custom-made. handcrafted. artisan. you ain’t qualified.” 

his favorite thing to do? grab you by the waist and lift you just to prove he can. “shaped like sin and dipped in heaven,” he says smugly while you hit him with a pillow. 

ness alexis

ness is too shy to bring it up at first. he notices, definitely admires it, but keeps it classy. 

when he finally mentions it, it’s so soft. “i really love how your body curves right there… it’s beautiful.” 

will offer to help you lotion your hips after a shower like it’s an act of divine service. super gentle and reverent. 

“hip dips” is now his favorite phrase. he’ll say it with his lil accent like it’s a fancy dessert: “mein engel, you and your hip dips…” 

if someone else even glances at your body too long, he turns so scary. hand on your lower back, smile fake. “is there something we can help you with?” 

secretly loves watching you dress from behind. may or may not have accidentally walked into a wall while admiring the view. 

kaiser michael

oh this bastard notices immediately. 

“hmm,” he says the first time you change in front of him, leaning against the doorframe like a smug little devil. “so that’s what perfection looks like.” 

you roll your eyes, and he comes closer to wrap his arms around your waist. “i’m serious. you’ve got dangerous curves. like you were designed to be the blueprint for seduction.” 

gets super possessive. like wraps a hand around your hip dip whenever another guy is even breathing in your direction. 

“look at that,” he murmurs with a cocky smile, “your hips fit right under my palm. made for me.” 

posts a pic of you on his private story with the caption: eat your heart out, peasants. 

his new favorite insult? “he probably doesn’t even know what hip dips are.” 

if you tease him about being obsessed, he’ll raise a brow. “i am obsessed. you should be flattered.” 

isagi yoichi

he didn’t know what hip dips were until he dated you. literally thought it was like… a dance move. 

one day you’re walking around in biker shorts and he stops in the middle of brushing his teeth like: “wait. is that… muscle?” 

“they’re just hip dips, yoichi.” 

man immediately googles it. becomes an overnight scholar. “actually, it’s the shape of your pelvis, and it’s totally normal–” 

cue you having to tell him: “love, i’m not insecure about it.” 

he’s still hyperfocused though. will pull you into his lap and wrap his hands around your waist with his thumbs perfectly fitting in the dips. 

always hypes you up. “you look so good today. like unfairly good. are you trying to ruin my day on purpose?” 

isagi gets flustered when you call him out for staring. “i wasn’t!! okay, maybe a little. they’re just really nice okay?? shut up–” 

itoshi rin

rin stares the first time you wear something tight around your hips. like he doesn’t even try to be subtle. he’s glitching. 

the worst part? he refuses to say anything about it. 

like you’ll literally catch him red-handed staring at your hips, and he’ll look away and go, “shut up. i wasn’t.” 

but oh, he loves them. loves how your hips curve when you stretch. how they dip in just right when you wear low-rise jeans. he’s dying. 

sometimes when you two are sitting on the couch and your shirt lifts a little, he’ll silently rest his hand right in the curve and pretend like he’s not melting inside. 

refuses to let you catch him being soft about it. until one day, you’re in front of the mirror and he just blurts, “don’t let anyone tell you that isn’t beautiful.” 

goes stiff. “i mean. objectively. shut up.” 

he’s so awkward it’s cute. he probably whispered “hip dips are hot” into your neck when he thought you were asleep. 

itoshi sae

sae is just so annoyingly casual about it. like he’ll say something ridiculously hot in the most deadpan tone ever. 

“you’ve got nice hips,” he says one morning as you get dressed, sipping his coffee like it’s the weather report. 

“hip dips, actually,” you say. 

“okay. well, i like them… a lot.” 

if anyone dares say anything weird about them, he’s eviscerating them on the spot. “you wish your girl looked like mine.” 

secretly takes mental notes of outfits that accentuate your hip dips. casually hands you clothes like, “wear this. it’ll look good.” 

lies with his face when he pretends he’s not into it. then grabs your waist with both hands and pulls you in like you’re gravity itself. 

“you know what’s crazy?” he murmurs in your ear one night. “you don’t even try and you’re still the hottest thing i’ve ever seen.” 

yeah okay SAE. 

mikage reo

instantly fascinated. takes one look and says “is this a fashion thing or are you just built like that?” 

when you say they’re natural, he grins. “of course. only luxury models have those kinds of details.” 

he insists on buying you custom jeans and dresses that hug your hips perfectly. 

anytime you bend over in front of him? he makes a sound like he’s just been spiritually enlightened. 

if you let him take photos of you (tastefully, of course), they always feature your hip dips. “these are art. we should hang them in a museum. or my bedroom.” 

reo tells you every time you dress up, “you better warn people. those hips should come with a caution sign.” 

nagi seishiro

the first time he sees you in shorts he pauses his game mid-match. like just goes afk and stares. 

“woah… you got dents in your hips.” 

you’re like “yeah they’re hip dips” and he just shrugs. “they’re cool. like little scoops… like if god took a spoon and was like ‘mine now’.” 

loves sleeping with his hand resting right in the dip like it’s a designated nap zone. 

will absentmindedly trace circles into the spot while half-asleep. 

doesn't say much, but you catch him taking sneaky pics of you on his phone when you’re walking away in leggings. caption: best shape in the game. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[rafayelxsylusho]

imagine xav x mc x caleb throuple sex …. them being jealous and frustrated when two guys tried to hit on their girl at the beach and they fuck it all out on her

I just noticed I didn't have Xavier in the "At the same damn time" fics 😯.

I hope you like it ☺️

The update for The land of no return series is next.

⭐Melting point🍎

Tw: smut

You flash the guys in front of you your most charming smile, laughing at their jokes as you subtly angle your body to keep Xavier and Caleb in your peripheral vision. Their stares don't go unnoticed, and you can practically feel the jealousy radiating off them from across the beach. But you act oblivious, continuing your flirtatious banter with the two men, enjoying the little thrill of making Xavier and Caleb a bit jealous.

After a few more minutes of friendly conversation, you excuse yourself and start walking towards Xavier and Caleb. As you approach, their expressions morph from jealousy to possessive.

Stopping in front of them, you tilt your head coyly, batting your lashes. "What are you two scowling about?" you ask innocently, acting as if you have no idea about the effect you just had on them. "Is everything okay?"

You can sense the tension crackling between the three of you. But you simply look at them waiting on their reaction to your little game. Little do they know, you live for moments like these, the thrill of pushing their buttons and the retaliation that's sure to follow.

You grab your tropical cocktail from Xavier's hand, the ice cubes clinking against the glass as you bring it to your lips. The sweet, fruity taste of pineapple and rum dances on your tongue as you take a long, slow sip.

With no answer from them you walk back to your beach chair, as soon as you are setting your glass down on the small side table you hear Xavier ask  "Did you have fun?"

Turning your body, you lie on your stomach deliberately arching your back to expose the skimpy backside of your bikini bottoms. The fabric stretches over the curve of your ass, the edges of your cheeks peeking out teasingly. You can feel the warm sun caressing your exposed skin, but it's nothing compared to the intensity of Xavier's gaze as he stares at your tempting display.

"Nope," you reply, voice dripping with false innocence. The single word hangs heavy in the air between you, a provocation and a challenge all in one.

"How about we go back to the hotel so you can wear something else."

You turn your head slowly to face Caleb, your long hair falling over your shoulder as you meet his eyes. A tiny smirk plays at the corners of your mouth as you respond to his suggestion.

"I really like this bikini," You emphasize each word, drawing out the syllables as if savoring the taste of them on your tongue. It's like you are daring him to do something about his obvious disapproval.

Turning back to face forward, you make a show of adjusting your bikini top. You can feel the weight of their stares, the hunger in their eyes as they watch your every move.

Xavier steps closer, invading your personal space as he leans down, his face mere inches from yours. "You and every other guy around here seems to like it too. Maybe a little too much."

Shrugging you let out a soft scoff. "So?" you ask.

You knew all too well about their love hate relationship with your bratty attitude and it only spurred you on.

Rolling on your side, you prop yourself up on one elbow, facing both men directly.

"What's the matter, boys? Can't handle a little friendly chat?" You taunt, lips curling into a teasing grin. Your eyes dance between their tense faces, reveling in the jealous frustration you see there.

Caleb leans down and presses a soft towel into your hands. "Here, wrap this around yourself"

You glance down at the towel, then back up at Caleb "But I don't feel cold," you reply, keeping your tone playful yet stubborn, and make no move to take the towel from him

Xavier sighs loudly, his patience clearly wearing thin. He leans in close again, so close you can feel his breath against your ear. "Either you wrap that towel around your body, or I'll bend you over this chair to spank that attitude out of you and give those guys a bigger show than you already have."

You let out a soft, tinkling laugh. "What makes you think I wouldn't like that? Maybe I want them to watch..."

As the words leave your lips, you suddenly realize that you may have taken things a step too far, pushing them closer to their breaking points.

So you sit up slowly and swing your legs over the side of the chair. Standing up, you fix your bikini bottoms and adjust the straps of your top.

'I think I'm going to enjoy the rest of our time here before we head back to the hotel," you say, grabbing your sunglasses and slipping them on your face.

With a flip of your hair over your shoulder, you turn and start walking towards the water's edge, putting an extra sway in your hips. You know they're watching you, their eyes glued to your every move. The sand is warm beneath your bare feet as you approach the shoreline, the waves lapping gently at the sand.

You glance back at them over your shoulder, eyes hidden behind your sunglasses, a teasing smile on your lips. "Aren't you two coming?"

⭐🍎⭐🍎⭐🍎⭐🍎⭐🍎⭐🍎⭐

"Caleeeeb..."Why are you doing it like that?

You are spread out luxuriously on the hotel bed, your bikini long since discarded and forgotten on the floor. Caleb's hands grip your thighs, holding them apart. His mouth moves over your folds, tongue swirling sooooo slowly on your clit, as if he has all the time in the world. He takes his time, savoring every inch of your skin, tracing the delicate contours of your femininity with a maddeningly slow thoroughness.

The minutes tick by and your frustration grows, back arching off the bed, fingers gripping the sheets beneath you. You can feel the pleasure building, but it's too slow, too teasing, and not nearly enough to satisfy the need within you.

You toss your head back against the pillows, hips squirming beneath him. "Stop making out with my pussy"

Caleb simply chuckles and lifts his head just enough to flash you a grin, then he parts your folds with his fingers and spits directly on your exposed clit. You gasp at the sudden stimulation and his saliva mingles with your arousal. The slick, warm fluid trickles down between your ass cheeks.

Suddenly Xavier whispers against the shell of your ear, the deep timbre of his voice making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end  "What did we say about sassing?"

Caleb's fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thighs, gripping you tighter as he holds you in place.

"You have two options y/n, you can be quiet and take what we give you..."

As Xavier speaks, you feel the flat of his tongue drag slowly over the peak of your nipple, the wet muscle teasing with gentleness. It draws a sharp gasp from your throat

"So soft" he whispers.

"Or?" you breathe out, your voice trembling slightly

"Or... I will find something to shove inside that bratty mouth and take what we want anyway. What will it be?"

You quickly clamp your mouth shut, a soft whimper escaping your lips.

"Good girl," Xavier praises, the words are barely out of his mouth before you feel the sharp sting of his teeth sinking into your nipple.

A gasp catches in your throat, threatening to spill over into a moan, but you bite your lip hard to stifle it.

Caleb seems to be rewarding your obedience choosing that moment to run the tip of his tongue from your entrance to your clit several times. Then he pushes a finger inside your core, curling and stroking a sensitive spot.

You can no longer hold back the needy sounds building in your throat. A moan escapes your lips, the pleasure overwhelming your previous resolve to stay quiet.

"Caleb, please..." you hear yourself beg "More, I need more..." Your hips buck against his hand, trying to take his finger deeper as your walls clench greedily around it.

"She sounds so sweet when she begs, doesn't she Caleb?"

You feel Xavier's fingers tightening around your breast, squeezing your flesh. Your nipples harden further under his touch, aching for more of his dominant caress.

"Do it again," Xavier commands, "Beg for it, and we'll make you feel good." He licks your nipple again and Caleb adds a second finger, pumping them in and out of your pussy with a steady rhythm.

You feel your orgasm building, that coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter in your core. A breathless smile plays on your lips as you realize the power you hold, even as these two men have you pinned and at their mercy, the knowledge that you somehow have them wrapped around your finger only adds to your arousal.

"God, you are such a fucking brat," Xavier growls "All you had to do was behave yourself, and we would have fucked you the way you deserve" 

Caleb adds a third finger, stretching you further, Xavier fingers pinch and roll your other nipple in time with the thrusts of Caleb's hand.

Your hips buck wildly, rolls only making it halfway through completion "I'm gonna... Fuck, Xav..."

Just as you feel the sweet oblivion of your climax approaching, heaven within reach, and your soul poised to soar through those celestial doors...

You open the doors to heaven, but you don't get to walk in.

Because just as the first wave of your orgasm hits both men stop. Cold air hits your pussy as Caleb abruptly removes his mouth and fingers, leaving you empty and desperate.

Xavier grabs your arms, gripping them tightly as he pins them above your head, preventing you from moving, from seeking more of that glorious friction. Your orgasm, once promising to be earth shattering, fizzles out into a mere flicker, leaving you whimpering and squirming.

"Did you really think, after today, that you deserved to cum so fast?" Caleb mocks. "You haven't earned that pleasure, brat."

Tears of frustration prick at the corners of your eyes as you stare up at them, your chest heaving with ragged breaths. Your body is a live wire of sensation, every nerve ending screaming for more, for release, but they've stolen that from you.

"If you wanted to be touched, you just needed to ask," Xavier reminds you. His grip on your arms tightens briefly, a warning and a promise all in one. "We saw how those fuckers were looking at you, like a piece of meat, a prize to be won. But you don't belong to them, do you?"

Caleb leans in and whispers, "No, you belong to us. So next time, remember this is what happens when you don't ask nicely for what you want."

Trembling and sensitive you begin to move your hands to cover your naked body, but before you can Caleb sits up, effortlessly lifting you up placing you on his lap, your legs straddling his thick thighs as he holds you up.

You look up at him, confusion in your eyes as you mumble, "I thought... we were done?"

He shifts his hips slightly, and you feel the hard length of his cock slide through your folds, the head catching on your entrance. "Oh princess," he murmurs "That was just a warning. Now comes the lesson."

He squeezes your waist tightly, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he starts to push you down on his cock. Your eyes widen and you let out a choked gasp as you feel his girth stretching you open, the thick head pushing past your entrance.

Your head spins and when he starts to sink you lower, you feel something that always makes your mind go completely blank, the cold metal of his piercings.

He starts counting as he pushes you down "One... Two... Three..." You're not sure if he's counting each inch of his large cock as it disappears inside you, or if he's marking the way your pussy swallows up each of his piercings.

Your walls flutter and clench, trying to adjust as Caleb continues. "Five... Six... Seven..."

Then he gives your waist one last firm push, sheathing that final inch of his pierced cock deep inside you. When your ass presses against his thighs and your hips align, he finishes counting "Eight."

His hands grip your hips, holding you in place as he starts to roll his hips slowly, working his cock in slow circles. "This is how it feels to be ours"

You let out a shaky moan when you feel Xavier's hands squeeze your breasts from behind. Driven by instinct and desperation, you find yourself rolling your hips, grinding your ass against the length of his cock .

Xavier's voice is a warning growl in your ear as he feels your teasing movements. "Don't be greedy, bunny, If you keep pressing your ass against my dick like that, I'm going to fuck it."

Caleb, still fucking you so very slowly whispers "Careful what you wish for Pip, Xavier's not as gentle as I am. He might just take what he wants"

But you're too far gone, lost in a haze of sensation and desperation, to heed the warning in their voices. The words spill from your lips before you can stop them, fast and breathless.

"And that would be a problem, why?" you ask, rolling your hips, deliberately grinding your ass against his erection one more time.

"Because, once he starts, he won't stop until he's emptied every last drop of his cum deep inside your ass" he gives a sharp thrust, grinding his pelvis against yours, making you cry out, "and right now, your little cunt is too busy milking my cock to take much more."

"Is that what you want?" Xavier asks, "To be fucked until you can't walk straight?"

Your breathless whisper of affirmation is all it takes to shatter the last of Xavier's restraint. He spits crudely into his palm, coating his fingers with saliva. Before you can process the lewd gesture, he's pressing the slick fingers against your back entrance.

His eyes are dark with lust as he watches Caleb's cock disappear between your wet folds, your walls clinging greedily to every inch of his length. "Tell me, Y/N, do you deserve it?"

You're too desperate with need to lie, so the truth tumbles from your lips in a plea. "I don't," you admit, your voice breaking on a moan as Caleb's buries his cock to the hilt again "But I need you right now, Xav, please!"

Xavier's pupils dilate and without warning, he presses the head of his cock against your back entrance. Your body instinctively clenches, your hole squeezing down on the intrusion.

But jealous Xavier is anything but gentle, so with a single thrust, he buries himself inside your ass, not stopping until his heavy balls press against the underside of your cheeks. The sudden, intense stretch has you crying out, your back arching as your fingers scrabble at Caleb's chest for support. 

"FUCK!" you scream, feeling split open, stuffed so full of hard, pulsing cock that you swear you can feel them in your throat.

Xavier swears under his breath, pressing his forehead against your shoulder "Fuck, Caleb"

"What?"

"I can feel your fucking piercings"

Caleb's hands squeeze your ass and spreads the cheeks apart as he starts to thrust again and says "Your welcome"

Desperation claws at your insides as you clench down on their cocks, feeling every ridge and vein, every piercing and throbbing pulse. You can't form a coherent thought beyond the need for them to move, to claim you, to use you.

"Xav," you whimper, your nails digging into Caleb's skin. "I need you to move, please!" Your hips move between them, seeking more of that intense fullness.

He's testing his control, ensuring he won't embarrass himself by cumming on the spot the second he starts to move. After a few tense heartbeats, he seems satisfied that he can hold back, if only just barely.

"Hold on to Caleb and remember I love you," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. "Because in about five seconds, it will feel like I don't."

With that ominous warning, he starts to move, pulling his hips back until just the tip of his cock remains inside. Then, with a hard snap of his hips, he slams back into you, burying his length deep inside your ass.

The sensation of being so impossibly stretched steals your breath away, leaving you gasping and panting. Your mouth falls open, desperate for air as each of their thrusts drives the oxygen from your lungs.

Caleb takes advantage of your open mouth, leaning in to catch your lower lip between his teeth. He tugs on it gently before releasing it and flicking his tongue out to lave over the sensitive skin, soothing the sting of his nip.

"You wanted to be fucked stupid, princess?"

You don't answer, you can't. Not when the two of them are fucking you like that

"We're getting there...she just lost her ability to talk"

Xavier throws his head back, the tendons in his neck stand out, his muscles coiled and flexing as he chases his pleasure, lost in the tight, silken heat of your ass.

You're sandwiched between them, a willing victim to their lust, your body a plaything for them to use for their satisfaction. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixing with your desperate moans and their harsh pants and groans.

Your body is wracked with sensation, every nerve ending screaming with a dizzying mix of pleasure and pain. Tears stream down your face as you cry out, "I can't take it anymore!"

Xavier leans down, his lips brushing your ear "Yes, you can, stubborn thing. Look at how well you're doing right now."

Caleb reaches down, gripping your thighs tightly. With a sharp tug, he pulls your legs further apart, opening you wider to them. The new angle has Xavier's cock driving even deeper into your ass.

The pleasure is so intense that it blurs the line with pain, leaving you dizzy and disoriented. You can't distinguish one from the other anymore, only knowing that you're drowning in them.

 

"It's too good, it's too much... I'm about to...Xav"

"You don't need my permission, bunny. Don't hold back now."

"Caleb..."

Feeling your body shaking between them, he murmurs words of encouragement "Go ahead, Pip. Come for us, I'll be right there with you"

With a swipe of his finger against your swollen clit, Caleb sends you hurtling over the edge. Your scream tears through the room, your body convulsing violently as your orgasm crashes over you. Tears pour down your face, vision going white as pleasure detonates behind your eyes.

Your nails rake down Caleb's chest, leaving red lines in their wake as you ride out the aftershocks of your orgasm. You can feel Xavier's rhythm start to falter, his thrusts growing erratic as he chases his own release.

Caleb's hands grip your hips tightly, holding you in place as he slams up into your spasming cunt, his own orgasm building rapidly. You can feel his cock growing impossibly harder.

"Fuck!" Caleb moans, his eyes squeezing shut as the first hot, thick spurt of his release paints your cervix.

"Shit, I'm close too," Xavier pants harshly "Don't you dare fucking stop, Caleb!"

Xavier's balls draw up tight, his impending release coiling hot and heavy. With a scream of your name that echoes off the bedroom walls, he hilts inside your ass one last time, his cock pulsing as it begins to erupt. 

Completely spent, you collapse against Caleb's body. Limbs trembling and face nuzzled into the crook of his shoulder as you try to catch your breath.

After a long moment, you start to giggle, a breathless, incredulous sound that turns into a full blown laugh. Caleb looks down at you, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he takes in your expression.

Still giggling, you tilt your head to meet his gaze "You two need to get that jealousy under control."

His brows furrow as he cups your chin "We don't want you talking to guys like that anymore," he states firmly, his thumb brushing over your lower lip in a gesture that's almost tender, if not for the underlying demand in his tone.

"You can't just order me..."

"We can and we will, see that's where you are wrong bunny, it's our cum filling you up right now. Not theirs" Xavier hips roll lazily against your ass, stirring his release inside you.

"You are ours."

[leriexoxo]

Rumor Has It…

Bully! Jeongin x Fem Reader

Genre: Bully AU, Rivals to Lovers, College AU

Tags: Smut, Angst, Fluff, bullying themes, toxic behavior, jealousy, possessive behavior, rough kisses, emotionally confusing situations, mutual obsession, protected sex, soft aftercare

Word count: 5.5k

Summary: You had a crush on the golden boy junior everyone loved. Jeongin noticed—and didn’t take it well. Now you’re his favorite target, his sharpest insult, his worst-kept secret. The tension between you two builds until it breaks… or explodes.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

A/N: This was a request from an anon. (Next time, ask with your account so i can tag you and also be sure you’re not a minor 😩 I only wrote this cos I actually loved the idea) Hope you enjoy it!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You didn’t mean to draw attention to yourself.

Especially not his.

College was supposed to be your quiet reset. New campus, new people, no more high school drama or cafeteria hierarchy. You weren’t aiming for popularity, just a peaceful freshman year with decent grades and enough coffee to survive it.

And for a while, that’s what you had.

Until Jeongin.

Jeongin was a junior—untouchable in every sense. Smart, smooth-talking, always surrounded by people who hung onto his every word. Girls giggled louder when he passed by. Guys looked up to him like he ran the place. Professors loved him. The kind of person who could talk his way out of anything and charm his way into everything.

You noticed him early on—how could you not?

The way his hoodie always hung loose off one shoulder, the curve of his grin when he was teasing someone, the casual way he leaned against doorframes like they were made for him. He was so far out of your league it was laughable. But you still found yourself watching.

A crush. That’s all it was. Harmless.

Until that seminar.

The class was small—thirty students tops—and you’d arrived late that day, flustered and sleep-deprived. The only seat left was next to him. You hesitated, but the professor had already called your name.

So you sat beside Yang Jeongin.

He didn’t look at you. Didn’t acknowledge you. Not at first.

You didn’t mean to answer the question out loud. You really didn’t. But the professor had asked something you’d actually studied, and your hand went up before you could think twice.

And Jeongin looked at you.

A slow turn of his head. Just a glance. But it lingered. And when he smiled—sharp and unreadable—it felt like the floor dropped beneath your chair.

“Freshman’s got opinions,” he said, not even bothering to whisper it.

The class laughed. You shrank.

He didn’t stop there.

After that day, something shifted. He started showing up next to you more often—always with some offhanded comment.

“Didn’t know they were letting high schoolers audit this course.”

“You sure you’re not lost? Cafeteria’s two buildings down.”

“Careful. That bag looks heavy. Don’t hurt your baby arms.”

It was constant. Subtle enough that no one really called him out, but pointed enough that you felt it. Always you. You’d seen him joke around with his friends before, but this was different. He wasn’t laughing with you—he was smirking at you.

You stopped sitting near him. Stopped speaking up in class.

But it didn’t matter. He always found you.

One time, you heard him tell someone you were “the new campus kitten—jumpy, clueless, probably still using Apple Notes to write essays.”

You hated him. You hated him.

And still, your stupid heart stuttered whenever he leaned too close.

Still, your eyes searched for him in the crowd.

You wished you could stop noticing him. Wished his cologne didn’t stick in your lungs after he brushed past. Wished he wasn’t so effortlessly hot when he was being awful.

Wished he didn’t make you feel so small and seen all at once.

And he had no idea.

He didn’t know you ever liked him. Didn’t know you still kind of did.

Didn’t know that even when you clenched your fists and scowled in his direction, your throat tightened whenever he said your name.

And you swore to yourself, if he pushed you one more time—just once more—you’d snap.

You tried to avoid him.

Switched lecture sections. Ate lunch in the library. Took the long way around campus if you so much as sensed him nearby.

But Jeongin was like smoke—always finding its way into your lungs, no matter how tightly you sealed the windows. And once he’d gotten a taste for your discomfort, it was like he couldn’t get enough.

He started showing up in places you knew he didn’t belong. The student lounge outside your psych class. The library’s third floor where you studied every Wednesday. Once, he even joined your shared elective’s group chat and volunteered for your project team—just so he could be across from you during meetings, watching you squirm.

And yet, he never touched you. Never raised his voice. Just words. Looks. Quiet mockery, sugarcoated in charm.

Golden boy, they called him.

But he was especially cruel when it came to you.

“You always this jumpy?” he asked once, sliding into the seat beside you without warning. “Relax. I’m not gonna bite.”

You didn’t answer.

He leaned closer. “Unless you want me to.”

You’d swallowed hard, gritting your teeth through the heat crawling up your neck. “Do you enjoy this?” you muttered under your breath. “Being a dick?”

He chuckled. “Only when it works.”

You hated that you flushed. Hated that your mouth went dry and your pulse picked up. Hated that he could reduce you to that with a look.

So you buried it. You ignored him. You let him win.

Until the party.

You hadn’t even planned on going. But your roommate begged you, and honestly, you needed the distraction. Music, noise, new people. Anything that wasn’t Jeongin’s smirk or his voice in your ear.

You didn’t expect him to be there. It wasn’t even his crowd.

But of course, he was.

And he noticed you immediately.

He didn’t approach. Didn’t say anything. Just stood across the room—red cup in hand, dark eyes locked on you like he’d been waiting for you to walk in.

You turned away.

Which was probably why you ended up talking to the guy by the drinks table. He was nice. Funny. A little nerdy, but in a charming way. He made you laugh. And it felt good—so good—to be seen without malice.

But then something shifted.

You felt it before you saw it. A weight. A pull.

And when you turned your head, Jeongin was watching again—this time with his jaw tight and eyes sharp, like he was trying not to feel something.

You brushed it off.

Until the next week—when whispers started following you around campus.

Heard she’s easy.

Thirsty freshman.

Already trying to climb.

You froze when you heard it. Your hands shook when you opened your phone and saw the vague, biting posts floating around socials. No names, of course. Just cruel implications.

But you knew. Everyone else might not—but you knew.

And so you stopped avoiding him.

You found him.

He was outside the dining hall, laughing with a few people you didn’t recognize. Sunglasses on. Perfect smile. Still untouchable.

You didn’t wait. You walked right up to him, heart pounding, fists clenched.

His smile faltered when he saw you. “Well, well. Campus kitten found her claws.”

You didn’t blink. “Did you start it?”

He tilted his head. “Start what?”

“The rumors.”

Silence.

Then: “Why? Upset someone finally saw through the act?”

That was it.

You stepped forward, shoving at his chest—harder than you meant to.

He caught your wrist before it could fall. His fingers closed, warm and sure, his grip firm—but not rough. Not quite.

“Careful,” he murmured. “You’re not built for war.”

Your breath hitched. His face was close. Too close.

“You’re an asshole,” you whispered.

“And you,” he said low, eyes flickering to your lips, “should stop looking at me like that if you really hate me.”

And just like that, you weren’t sure if you were about to slap him… or kiss him.

Your wrist slipped from his grip.

And you didn’t hold back this time.

“You’re a fucking coward,” you snapped, voice louder than intended. “That’s what you are. You act like you’re too cool to care, but you’re the one hiding behind whispers and petty rumors. What—scared people might think the golden boy actually gives a shit about someone like me?”

It was the first time you’d ever seen Jeongin freeze.

His smile dropped.

His jaw clenched.

And you didn’t wait to see what came next.

You turned on your heel and left.

Stupid.

Stupid, stupid.

Your hands were still shaking as you pushed open the dorm stairwell door, taking the stairs two at a time just to get away from the weight in your chest. You didn’t know what hurt more—how badly you’d wanted him to say something real, or how stupid it was to expect anything from someone like him.

You barely made it to your floor when the door slammed open behind you.

“What the hell did you just say to me?”

You spun around.

Jeongin stood at the bottom of the stairs, eyes blazing, chest heaving like he’d sprinted the whole way.

“I said you’re a coward,” you bit out, “and a dick. And I hate you.”

He was in front of you before you could blink, cornering you against the wall at the end of the hall. Not touching. Not yet. Just close—his breath ghosting across your cheek, his expression unreadable.

“You hate me?” he echoed, voice low.

You nodded, stubborn. “With every fiber of my being.”

“Funny,” he muttered, “you didn’t look at me like you hated me the other night at the party. When you were smiley and giggly for that guy by the punch bowl.”

Your stomach twisted. “So you did start the rumors.”

“Maybe” he said flatly. “After I saw you with him.”

You blinked, thrown off. “What—?”

“Because I didn’t like it,” he said, voice sharp now, as if he hated admitting it. “I didn’t like watching you laugh with him. I didn’t like how close he stood. I didn’t like that you smiled like that for someone who wasn’t me.”

The air thickened. His eyes dropped to your mouth.

“I don’t like any of this,” he whispered. “And I don’t know what the fuck to do about it.”

And then he moved even closer—just enough to skim your cheek, his lips barely brushing the corner of your mouth. A heartbeat. A single breath between contact and restraint.

“I’m not the only one lying here,” he murmured. “You say you hate me, but your body doesn’t know how to fake it.”

You hated how your breath hitched. How the heat between you tightened into something unbearable.

“Say it again,” he challenged. “Look me in the eye and say you hate me.”

You swallowed.

But you didn’t say a word.

Because you couldn’t.

And he knew it.

“You’re a sick asshole, you know that?” you spat, cornered between the stairwell wall and the weight of his body again.

Jeongin didn’t flinch. If anything, he looked satisfied. Like he wanted you mad.

“Because I didn’t like seeing you with someone else?” he asked, dark eyes narrowing. “Because I made sure no one else would touch you after that?”

Your pulse jumped.

“You spread a rumor that I sleep around,” you hissed, throat tight. “You called me easy, Jeongin.”

“I didn’t say your name,” he said coolly. “They just knew who to talk about.”

Your chest heaved.

“You ruined my reputation just because I talked to someone who wasn’t you?”

His jaw clenched, and this time, he didn’t hide it.

“Yeah. I did,” he said.

Simple. Sharp. No excuses.

“You’re disgusting.”

“You’re the one who made me do it.”

You shoved him, hard.

He didn’t budge.

“Get away from me,” you said, though your voice cracked on the last word.

“Say you didn’t like it,” he muttered, dipping his head lower. “Say you didn’t like knowing I cared that much.”

Your mouth opened—to scream, to curse, to spit in his face—but the only thing that came out was a weak, shaky breath as your back hit the wall harder than before. He didn’t touch you, but his words slid across your skin like hands.

“You want me to apologize for it?” he said, tone mock-soft. “Or do you just want to know if I’d do it again?”

You swallowed hard.

Because you should slap him. Scream at him. Run.

But instead, your thighs pressed tighter together, heat crawling traitorously up your neck.

And Jeongin saw it.

His lips curled into something dangerous.

“You hate me,” he murmured, brushing his knuckles against your cheek. “But you still want me.”

“I don’t.”

“Liar.”

Your heart thundered.

You hated him.

You hated him so much.

And if he leaned in just a little closer, you were going to do something really fucking silly.

You shoved your hand against his chest, breathing hard, trying to steady your voice through the fire crawling up your spine.

“Say you’re sorry.”

Jeongin blinked.

“What?”

“You heard me,” you snapped. “Say. You’re. Sorry.”

He stared at you, eyes flicking between your lips and the frustration trembling through your body. You didn’t think he’d do it—he wasn’t the type. But then something in him cracked.

His hand curled behind your neck, fingers threading into your hair, the tension in his jaw cutting like glass.

“I’m sorry.”

You froze.

His voice was low, but not mocking. Not cold.

Real.

“I’m sorry for the rumor. For the way I talk to you. For being a complete fucking asshole.”

Your breath caught. Your heart stuttered. And before you could react—

He kissed you.

Hard.

It wasn’t sweet or slow, not at first—it was messy, wild, weeks of sharp words and stolen glances crashing together in one devastating second. His lips crashed against yours like he was trying to make you forget every insult, every time he looked at you like you were nothing—and you kissed him back like you knew he was lying every damn time.

His hands slipped down, palms flattening against your waist, dragging you closer. Your fingers fisted in his shirt like you were trying to keep from drowning.

He broke the kiss first, barely.

“I meant it,” he whispered, lips brushing yours. “I’m sorry.”

Your hand cupped his jaw. “Then shut up and kiss me again.”

He did.

And this time, it was slower. Deeper. A different kind of desperate—like he was trying to memorize the taste of your mouth, like he’d waited too long to do it right.

You hated him.

But God, you wanted him.

—

It had been three weeks since Jeongin kissed you in that stairwell.

Three weeks since he muttered an apology against your lips, like it physically pained him to admit he’d been wrong. Three weeks with your heart in your throat and your mouth still tingling from the way he kissed you like it meant everything.

And in those three weeks, Jeongin hadn’t touched you once.

But he texted you.

God, he texted you.

At first, it was random.

[1:47 AM] Jeongin:

can’t sleep

You didn’t answer. The next morning, he texted again.

[9:04 AM] Jeongin:

ignore me like that again and I’ll kiss you harder next time

Then it was constant.

He started sitting behind you in lecture. Not beside you—behind you. Close enough for you to hear his breath shift when you adjusted in your seat. Close enough to drop texts mid-class.

[11:12 AM] Jeongin:

stop playing with your pen like that unless you want me to take it away and put your mouth to better use

You nearly choked in the middle of econ. Your professor shot you a look. And Jeongin? He just smirked when you glanced over your shoulder.

You tried to pretend it didn’t happen. The kiss. The texts. The fact that now, every time he passed you in the hall, your chest got tight and your thighs pressed together instinctively.

And he pretended too.

On campus, he was the same cocky golden boy—loud with his friends, always joking, always charming.

But when you caught him watching you—really watching—you felt it.

All of it.

The tension. The hunger. The subtle claim of ownership buzzing in the air.

Because he wasn’t just watching. He was waiting.

And you were starting to want to give in.

⸻

You didn’t dress up for him.

You told yourself that over and over as you checked your reflection in the bathroom mirror before class.

But the skirt was short—barely thigh length when you stood still. The top? Cropped just enough to tease, especially when you leaned forward. And your lip gloss shimmered in a way that would catch the light—and his eyes—without even trying.

You didn’t dress for him.

But when you passed him in the hallway and caught the way his gaze snapped to your legs, lingered, then dragged up your body like he was physically starving—you didn’t look away.

Not even when he pulled his phone out with a clenched jaw.

You were halfway through your next lecture when your phone buzzed. Then again. And again.

[1:13 PM] Jeongin:

you wore that on purpose

don’t lie to me

[1:14 PM] Jeongin:

I can’t fucking focus

all I can think about is bending you over the desk and making you forget everyone else is in the classroom.

[1:15 PM] Jeongin:

i’m not even expecting a reply

i just needed you to know what you’re doing to me

You stared at the screen, heat crawling down your neck.

For weeks, he’d been needling you—softly, slyly, like he was waiting to see how far he could push before you snapped.

And today? You’d pushed him.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard. Your heart thundered in your throat.

And then you typed—slowly. Just one sentence.

[1:16 PM] You:

Then why don’t you do something about it?

Three dots.

Then nothing.

You smiled to yourself and tucked your phone away.

Class hadn’t even ended yet when your screen lit up again.

[1:27 PM] Jeongin:

be at my dorm in 20

door’ll be unlocked

You stared at his message until your vision blurred.

be at my dorm in 20

He didn’t even ask. He just knew you’d come.

And the worst part?

He was right.

Your knee bounced under the desk as the professor droned on about behavioral economics. You weren’t hearing a single word. Not when your body was buzzing, not when your thoughts were stuck on that stairwell—the taste of his mouth, the way his hand gripped your waist like it was the only thing tethering him to earth.

You hated him.

God, you hated him.

But then why did your fingers burn remembering how soft his voice went when he whispered sorry against your lips? Why did your stomach flip every time your screen lit up with his name? Why did every guy on campus seem suddenly, painfully uninteresting?

And why—why—couldn’t you stop thinking about what it would feel like if he kissed you again?

You exhaled sharply as you stood and left class early, ignoring the stares.

Your dorm was in the other direction.

But your feet didn’t take you there.

You weren’t even sure what your plan was—if you’d knock and leave, if you’d tell him off, if you’d kiss him senseless or slap him across the face. Maybe all of it. Maybe neither.

But you found yourself standing in front of his door anyway, pulse thudding at your throat, your hand frozen mid-air.

You didn’t knock.

You pushed the door open.

And there he was—sitting on the edge of his bed like he’d been waiting the whole time, elbows on his knees, head tilted.

Jeongin looked up. Smirked.

But his eyes… His eyes burned.

His room was warm. Too warm. Or maybe it was just you, standing there like your skin was one breath away from catching fire.

Jeongin didn’t move. He just watched you.

Like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

Like he felt the chaos in your chest because it mirrored his own.

“You really came,” he said, low and casual—like you hadn’t been losing your mind over him for weeks. Like he hadn’t humiliated you, kissed you, texted you filthy things between lectures and then acted like none of it mattered.

You crossed your arms, stepping in but not too far. Not close enough to fall.

“I almost didn’t.”

Jeongin’s smirk faltered. His eyes flicked down to your mouth, then back up.

“But you did.”

You hated that he was right.

“I should go,” you mumbled, even as your feet stayed planted. “This was stupid.”

“You think I didn’t mean what I said?”

“That’s the problem, Jeongin,” you snapped, voice sharp to cover the tremble. “You always mean it. Until you don’t. You kiss me, then you treat me like—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, standing slowly. “Don’t do that.”

You flinched as he stepped closer, crowding your space. He didn’t touch you—but the heat of his body was magnetic, unbearable.

“I do mean it. I meant the kiss. I meant the texts, the apologies. I mean this.”

You shook your head, eyes stinging, throat tight.

“I hate you,” you whispered, chest heaving.

He took one step closer, gaze fixed to yours.

“No,” he said softly, “you don’t.”

His fingers brushed your wrist. Not forcefully. Not demanding.

Just asking.

Your breath caught.

And for a second—just a second—you leaned in.

Not enough to kiss. Just enough to want it.

The air between you buzzed, full of heat and panic and everything unsaid.

He stared at your mouth like it was the answer to a question he didn’t know how to ask.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathed.

But you didn’t.

You didn’t answer with words.

Just leaned in, slow and steady, until your nose brushed his. Until your lips ghosted over his—soft, deliberate, electric.

And when he didn’t move?

You kissed him.

Deep. Slow.

A kiss that said I heard you. A kiss that said I’m still mad, but I want this too. A kiss that let him in.

Jeongin exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for months.

His hands came up, featherlight at first—one cradling your cheek, the other finding your waist, fingertips curling into your hoodie like he couldn’t believe you were real. The kiss deepened, his lips parting, tongue brushing yours with cautious reverence.

But the caution didn’t last long.

Because the second you whimpered—barely audible, barely there—he broke.

A low, strangled groan vibrated in his chest as he backed you against the wall, lips still locked to yours like he’d die if he let go. His hand slid down to your hip, gripping just a little tighter, guiding you flush against him.

You could feel it—all of him.

Thick, hard, throbbing through the denim he probably didn’t even realize he was grinding into you.

Still, his voice cracked when he pulled back enough to breathe.

“Let me make it up to you,” he rasped, forehead pressed to yours, his mouth swollen and trembling. “Please. I’ll do anything. Just let me touch you.”

You shivered, fingers fisting in his shirt.

“Jeongin—”

“I’ll be good,” he whispered, breath hot against your skin as he kissed down your jaw, your neck. “I’ll take my time. I’ll make you feel so good, just, please—please—let me show you.”

You didn’t answer with words.

You grabbed his wrist, turned toward his bed, and pulled.

And the way he followed you—obedient, breathless, burning—it was almost needy.

The second your back hit the mattress, he was on you. Not rough. Not greedy. Just everywhere at once.

He kissed you like he owed you every apology he never said. Like he was trying to etch I’m sorry into your skin with every slow drag of his tongue against your throat, every trembling grip of your thigh.

He took his time undressing you.

Lifted your hoodie like it was sacred. Pressed soft, reverent kisses to your stomach as he pulled it over your head.

“God, look at you,” he whispered, eyes hungry, hands gentle. “I’ve thought about this so many times.”

Your breath caught when he dipped his head and kissed down your chest, your ribs, your hips.

But when he knelt between your legs and looked up at you?

His voice broke.

“Please let me taste you.”

And when you nodded?

He moaned. Not quiet. Not controlled.

Desperate.

And then his mouth was on you—tongue slow, deep, greedy. Like he wanted to drown in you. Like he needed to.

You’d never felt anything like it.

The way he licked. Sucked. Worshipped.

And when your hips started to tremble, when your thighs squeezed around his head, when your hands clawed at the sheets and you tried to push him away from overstimulation?

He didn’t move.

Just growled into your core and held you still.

“You’re not running from me,” he murmured, voice slick with praise. “Not when I’m making you feel this good.”

And fuck—he was right.

Because you came for him, hard.

And he didn’t stop until your legs were shaking and your voice was wrecked and all you could say was his name.

Over and over and over again.

You were still gasping when he kissed his way back up your body—wet mouth trailing fire across your skin, up your stomach, your chest, your throat. His lips met yours again, soft but needy, and you tasted yourself on his tongue as he murmured against your mouth.

“So sweet,” he whispered. “Could stay down there forever.”

His voice was cracked wide open now—low, breathy, almost reverent. His hands cradled your face like you were something breakable. Sacred. Untouchable—except you’d just let him touch you everywhere.

And he wasn’t done.

Not even close.

He kissed you again. Slower. Deeper.

Then his fingers curled around your hips and turned you over—gently, guiding you onto your stomach with a press so tender it made your spine arch without thinking.

You shivered.

He leaned over you, chest brushing your back, breath hot at your ear.

“You okay?” he whispered.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

His lips grazed your shoulder. “Still want this?”

Your answer came out like a gasp. “Yes.”

He groaned—quiet, strained, like the word physically affected him.

And then he reached into his back pocket.

You heard the foil tear, the soft rustle of denim and the shift of his weight as he got ready.

Still, he paused—one hand pressed flat between your shoulder blades, the other gripping your hip like an anchor.

“Can I fuck you now?” he asked, barely audible.

Like he couldn’t believe he was really asking. Like he needed to hear it from you, one last time.

Your stomach flipped.

“Yes,” you whispered. “Please.”

And that was it.

He lined up behind you—slow, careful, the blunt head of his cock sliding through your slick folds, teasing until you whimpered, pushing just enough to make you ache.

Then he sank in.

Deep.

You choked on a moan.

He cursed softly, both hands bracing on your hips now. “Fuck—baby—you feel so good…”

He moved slow at first. Long, shallow strokes that stretched and dragged and made your body melt beneath him. His fingers tightened around your waist, but not to hold you down—just to stay grounded. Like he needed the contact. Like he was trying to memorize the shape of you.

Every inch. Every sound.

And the second he found the right angle—that spot—he grunted low in his throat, hips rolling deeper, slower, like he was trying to fuck an apology straight into your soul.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, leaning over you again, lips pressed to your shoulder. “No more games. Just this. Just us.”

You whimpered.

“Say it,” he begged. “Tell me you’re mine.”

You turned your head just enough to meet his eyes.

“I’m yours.”

His breath caught.

Then he fucked you harder.

You couldn’t hold back the moans anymore.

Not when he was fucking you like this—slow and deep, every stroke dragging a whimper from your throat, every grind of his hips sending sparks up your spine.

“God, Jeongin,” you gasped, gripping the sheets. “You feel so fucking good.”

He cursed under his breath, hands tightening on your hips. “Yeah? You like that?”

You nodded, breathless. “Yes— fuck!” you confessed, hips pushing back into him. “Give me more.”

That wrecked him.

You felt it—the way his rhythm faltered for a second, the way his grip trembled.

Then he growled.

Deep in his chest.

He pulled out and flipped you over in one quick, effortless motion, pressing you into the mattress with his body before sliding back in deeper.

This time you could see him—his cheeks flushed, blown-out eyes, lips parted as he watched you fall apart beneath him.

And you did.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, hands gripping his back like you needed to hold on or lose your mind entirely.

Every thrust punched little gasps out of you, soft and high and needy.

“Fuck,” you moaned. “Don’t stop—don’t you dare stop—”

“I won’t,” he panted, forehead pressed to yours. “Not until you come all over me. Not until I feel it.”

You kissed him then—fierce, messy, hot—and he groaned into your mouth, hips grinding deep as you rocked up to meet him.

But you wanted more.

You needed control.

So you pushed at his chest until he got the message.

He let you flip him—only because he wanted to see what you’d do.

And you didn’t disappoint.

You straddled him, slick and flushed and trembling, and sank back down onto his cock with a moan that echoed off the fucking walls.

Jeongin’s hands flew to your thighs, head tipping back against the pillow.

“Jesus Christ,” he gasped. “Look at you—fuck, baby—ride me.”

And you did.

You moved like you were trying to make him lose his mind.

Grinding down slow, bouncing just enough to tease, clenching around him until he was a mess beneath you.

He tried to thrust up into you but your hands pinned his chest, keeping him down.

“I’m in charge now,” you whispered, breath hot against his jaw. “You want to make it up to me?”

He nodded, frantic.

“Then take it.”

You started to move faster.

Harder.

And he broke.

Whimpering your name, begging for release, hands bruising your thighs as he tried to hold on.

“You gonna come for me?” you asked, biting his lip.

“Y-Yeah—fuck—gonna come so hard, baby—please—don’t stop—”

You leaned down, moaning into his mouth, and let your hips roll just right.

And that was it.

He came with a shout, deep inside you, fingers digging into your skin, body shaking beneath you.

You followed a second later—head thrown back, spine arching, vision blurring as the orgasm crashed over you like a wave.

You collapsed on his chest, both of you breathing like you’d just run a marathon.

And then—He laughed.

Quiet. Breathless. Disbelieving.

“Holy fuck.”

He didn’t let you move. Not at first.

He just wrapped both arms around you and held you like you might vanish—his face buried in your hair, heart pounding so hard beneath your cheek it echoed in your ears.

“Jeongin,” you whispered.

“Mhm?”

You pressed a slow kiss to his collarbone. “You okay?”

He nodded against you, but didn’t speak. His arms stayed locked around your waist, one hand drifting up and down your back, fingers tracing the curve of your spine like your skin grounded him. Like if he let go, the moment would disappear.

Eventually, he shifted just enough to meet your eyes.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No,” you said, voice low. “You were perfect.”

A shaky breath left him—half a laugh, half a sigh of relief.

“Good,” he muttered, brushing your hair away from your face. Then, he exhaled hard, eyes flicking down to your mouth before settling back on yours.

“I mean it,” he murmured. “No more rumors. No more games. I want this to be real.”

You swallowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” He hesitated, like the words scared him. “I want you to be mine. For real. Like—actual dates, hand holding, annoying you on purpose just so you’ll kiss me to shut me up. All of it.”

Your heart skipped.

You stared at him for a beat too long—just long enough for panic to flicker behind his eyes.

Then you kissed him.

Slow. Certain.

His whole body softened beneath you, arms tightening again as he melted into your mouth.

“I’ll go on one condition,” you whispered when you pulled back.

He blinked. “Yeah?”

You smirked. “You have to stop bullying me in school.”

He groaned, hiding his face in your neck. “Fuck, no promises.”

“Jeongin—”

“Fine,” he muttered. “But only because I like you. So much it makes me stupid.”

You grinned, curling into him as he pulled the blanket over both of you.

And for once, he didn’t have a single sarcastic thing to say.

He just held you.

Like he meant it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: Hey baby girls! Soooooo yeah like i said earlier, requests are open but i wont be taking any from anons, (cos i need to know i’m not feeding minors tbh 😩) feel free to send in requests, i’ll write the ones i can relate to!

Don’t forget to drop that like and comment! And follow for more fics if you haven’t, cos i post almost daily!!! Reblog too!!!!

Taglist: @tsunderelino @innieandsungielover @inlovewithstraykids @reignessance @jeonismm @sttnficrecs @herejusttemporary @krssliu @sagestarlight @kenia4 @miilquetoast @thackery-blinks @leeminho-hall @suga-is-bae @butterflydemons @inejghafawifesblog @malunar28replies @minchanlimbo @mal-lunar-28 @breakmeofftbr @itvenorica124 @slut4junho @deepblueocean97 @thequibbie @yaorzu-blog @imagine-all-the-imagines @just-bria @mischievousleeknow @universeyuto @ifyxu @melanctton @thelostprincessofasgard @binniebb @sillylittlecat1 @darkwitchoferie @m-325 @headfirstfortoro @imseungminsgf @ihrtlix @vernorica123 @hwangjoanna @swordswallower2000 @niki007 @yxna-bliss @firelordtsuki

[frmisnow]

ㅤ▌ ͟CHERRY LOLLIPOPS & CHEAP MOTELS! ‎⠀⠀⎯⎯⠀⠀ ♬᭢ 𝟐.𝟔𝐤 smut . nsfw

SUMMARY in which jungkook picks you up in his shitty car, takes you to an even shittier motel, and makes you forget why you ever said you wouldn’t do this again.

the parking lot outside your boyfriend's apartment, if you could even call it that, smelt like piss and burnt rubber. no, another correction ⎯⎯ the parking lot outside your exe's apartment complex smells like piss. you shake your head, one of your heels clicking against the hard ground in an effort to distract yourself; you keep on having to remind yourself that he cheated.

i mean how horny does one have to be, getting a blowjob at the exact time when you were supposed to have the date. 'the date' is an abomination and an overstatement. by that you mean overglorified sex meeting, or whatever, that you had planned.

you roll your eyes, one of your nails digging into the cigarette that you then put out, your heel digging into the little butt. your fingers work on unwrapping one of the cherry lollipops that he liked so much. now you had a whole pack somewhere in your basement, for no damn reason. you didn't even like cherries.

your brows furrow, as you taste the oversugared candy just as your ears pick up the low, rough engine approaching from your left side. you'd recognize that shitty sound from everywhere. if that ain't love.

jungkook pulls into the dirty street, like he owns the whole thing. one hand slung over the wheel, the other resting against the worn out gear shift, ink-dark tattoos flexing under cheap fluorescent light. while his confidence was certaintly cute, his car was everything but such. scratches and dirt adoring the most likely decade-old car.

the window’s already rolled down, but he doesn’t say anything at first. just lets his gaze drag slow over your frame — your bare legs, your mascara which was ruined well just a little, the slight pout of your lips around the lollipop. it's not even sexual, he's looking over you like he's observing a situation, figuring you out, where you stand, how you're feeling. calculated.

“don’t,” you say before he can open his mouth.

jungkook’s smile curves, the kind of expression that makes you want to throw your lollipop at his face. “don’t what?”

“don’t.” you punctuate it with a click of your tongue, the sharp crack of candy between your teeth. your mood is just a tad bit rotten, and jungkook is the very last person you need needling at your pride.

still, he gestures toward the passenger seat with a flick of his fingers. “get in.”

you hate how fast your body moves before your brain can catch up, your hand reaching out to open the car door, which opens with another sharp noise, barerly. and you hate how the seat smells like him, warm leather and cigarettes, that one perfume that he still wears, no.97 april cotton. it firmly recks, of it all. of familiarity and something you once considered mellow.

but most of all, you hate how he can tell. how he witnesses you lean back into the seat, were anyone else would see it as you getting more comfortable, he could tell it was you chasing the comfort that it itself provided.

his palm settles on your thigh, warm and familiar, like it belongs there. his thumb brushes absentmindedly over your bare skin, just once, just enough to make something tighten low in your stomach.

you should push him off. should cross your legs, turn toward the window, pretend you don’t care. but you don’t. you won’t. instead, you sink further into the seat, pressing into the scent of his cologne like it might drown out the bitterness sitting in your throat.

“so,” he muses, casual as anything, drawing out the vowel, like he wanted to see you squirm under the pressure of what his question awaits. his sadist ass would probably enjoy that. “are we gonna talk about it?”

you roll the lollipop between your teeth., before you let it go with a soft pop, anything to distract him from your heartrate. could he feel your heart through your thigh? god, you hope not. “nothing to talk about.”

he snickers, but it's dim, faint, gentle, there's no real malice. other then the fact that he expected just that answer, and those actions, in that exact order. why was he so smart? it seriously freaked you out, all you were left to resort on doing was continue on with the lollipop.

cherry all over your tongue. rotten.

“you want me to fuck him up?”

you sigh under your breath, lifting one of your legs to rest on your other one, his hand ultimately falling off as a result, "no- i," you pause, eyes out the window, focusing on the bright neon signs and eventual car that drives by, "he didn't promise me anything. i didn't promise him anything either, it's- really." you hate, absolutly despise, how your voice flatters, unsure and uneven, "nothing."

jungkook's fingers drum against the wheel in a steady rhythm, letting your words settle into the thin air. before he echoes your words, "nothing." and you see a muscle in his jaw twitching, before he smiles, though it's all half-lidded and lazy in execution, bit forced perhaps, "you're a shitty liar."

"you used to be better."

you do your best to ignore him, his words and presence all together. just twist the straw of the red candy which by now, has probably painted your tongue in a similair shade, starr out the window because that was all you could fathom doing. stupidly. naively.

being confronted by the past stung because you haven't changed, really. it's the similar sting of sugar against your tongue.

his hand moves again. not to your thigh this time, but to the lollipop stick, tugging it from your lips without asking. the candy snaps from your teeth, cold air replacing it before you can protest.

he licks what was left of the little red circle, as the car stopped at a red light, now his tongue was red as well. just one more thing on the long list, tying you both by fate. his brows furrow only slowly, before his eyes settle on you, thumb gently gracing your lips that carried the same taste which was now between his very own.

"i thought you didn't like cherries."

your tongue darts out instinctively, tasting the sugar still clinging to your lips, "no. no , i don't like cherries." the car behind you honks, sharp and impatient. the red light had long since turned green.

total silence fills the practically broken car as he continues driving, the lollipop lazily rolling on his tongue as you shift in your seat, one leg folding over the other, skin still buzzing from where he touched you. your heel dangles off your toes, threatening to fall, and you wonder if he’s watching, you could never quite tell with jungkook.

“you wanna tell me why I’m driving you to a motel?”

you blink. once, twice, thrice, before it was to unnatural as to not respond.

“you picked me up.”

“you told me to.”

“you didn’t have to listen.”

jungkook huffs, something close to a laugh but not quite. “that’s cute.” god, dimples. beautiful little dimples on both sides of his face.

the lollipop clicks against his teeth when he bites down, cracking the hardened sugar like it’s nothing, as if to break the tension, or worsen it.

you sit still, legs crossed for the rest of the two minutes. before you can clearly witness the motel sign in front of you, one of the lights clearly broken. MTEL, charming.

his voice cuts through the tense air while he's turning the car off, "do you want to be alone tonight? i'll let you."

you'd say you hate how you don't hear your own voice, your lips mouth or don't feel any physical reaction for that matter, but that'd be a lie. because you wanted it, wanted him, the real craving to repeat the past just once more.

the room he gets is upstairs. third door on the left. the hallway smells like cheap lemon cleaner, and there’s a buzzing light that flickers overhead, casting long shadows yet it highlights his tattoos as well, the pretty ink you used to lick and trace patterns off. you want to burry yourself into the grey carpet beneath you.

he steps inside, flicks on the lamp, and tosses the key onto the nightstand. the light casts his face in amber, warm and unreadable. he’s watching you again. that same slow, calculating gaze from the car as the door falls shut, with a tiny click.

“take your shoes off,” he mumbles, arms leaning back onto the dark brown desk, he just tossed the keys onto.

you don't move, a little pout adoring your face, the one you do whne you were unsure of.. well.. what to do.

his gaze flicks down to your heels, then back up, slow. “you wanna fuck on a motel bed in six-inch stilettos?”

you huff, a little defiant, but the heels come off. you bend, slip them off slow, and he watches. of course, he does. that same hooded gaze, tracking the movement like it’s something to be studied.

“pretty girl,” he murmurs, pushing off the desk, and you barely get the chance to straighten before his hands are on you. firm, sure. the rough pads of his fingers skim over the fragile skin of your face, thumbs tracing over your flush cheeks.

his mouth is hot against your throat, dragging slow kisses down the sensitive skin. he lingers just below your ear, exhales long, lets you feel it. then, his teeth — just a little.

“always got an attitude,” he mutters, hands smoothing down your back, “m' gonna fix that,” he rasps, pushing you toward the bed, turning you so you stumble back onto the mattress.

the mattress creaks under your weight. the air is thick, humming with the heat between you. his eyes are half-lidded, burning, dark.

he pulls his shirt over his head, lets it drop to the dirty motel floor, then his belt clinks, the soft shift of a zipper. his cock slaps against his stomach, flushed red, thick, leaking at the tip.

your mouth goes dry.

“spread your legs.”

you do. you don’t think. you just do, and he groans, a deep, pleased sound that makes you squirm.

he grabs your thighs, drags you closer to the edge, and just — sinks in.

you choke on a gasp.

no prep. nothing but how soaked you already are. it’s too much, just right, stretching you open in a way that makes your head spin.

his hands settle on your hips, grip unforgiving, and he doesn’t move. not yet. just sits there, thick inside you, like he’s letting you feel it, making sure you know, making sure you remember. how it was like, how it used to be.

“jesus,” he breathes, looking down at where you’re stuffed full of him. “tight fuckin’ cunt. always so good for me.”

then, he moves.

slow at first, measured, like he wants to see how you take it. then, rougher. faster.

the headboard knocks against the wall. the slap of skin fills the room, slick and obscene.

your nails bite into his forearms. your back arches.

“oh, fuck—”

he grips your jaw, forces you to look at him.

“you have the prettiest fuckin' eyes,” he rasps, thumb pressing into your cheek, "fuck— look at me." and it's practically a whine which you can't help but comply to.

his hips snap into you, deep, brutal. his hand slips between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing quick, teasing circles.

your legs shake. your thighs clench around his waist, body tensing.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, watching you unravel beneath him. “c’mon, baby — fuckin’ come for me.”

you do. hard.

“gonna fill you up,” he pants, grip tightening on your hips, pinning you in place, chasing his own high. “bet your fucking pussy remembers everything, remembers who i am.”

his hips stutter as you clench around him. a sharp inhale. then, warmth. deep.

he doesn’t pull out. doesn’t move, just breathes, dragging a hand up your stomach, up between your breasts, stopping at your throat.

your heart pounds against his palm.

his lips move barerly, a small smile while leans down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips, pulling out just enough to let his cum drip between your thighs.

he lets you breath for about a minute, before he flips you over like you weigh nothing. like he’s got all the time in the world to manhandle you, spread you out over the mattress just how he wants.

your cheek presses into the sheets, legs bent under you, ass up. you barely get a second to breathe before his palm cracks against the curve of your ass, sharp, hot.

“fuck,” you gasp, fingers digging into the sheets.

he just hums, rubbing over the sting, soothing before landing another — harder this time.

“too fuckin’ pretty like this,” he mutters, palming at your waist, dragging his cock through t he mess between your thighs, nudging against your clit. “can’t get enough of you.”

he grips your hips and pushes back in, one slow, aching stroke, stretching you open all over again.

“shit,” he rasps, watching himself disappear inside you, shaking his head like he can’t believe it. “always so fuckin’ tight.”

your fingers fist the sheets. your back arches. he’s deeper this way, heavier, the weight of him pressing you into the mattress as he starts to move.

slow at first. taunting.

then, he grips the back of your neck, pinning you down, and snaps his hips forward.

you moan, high pitched, wrecked, and he groans in response, fingers flexing over your skin.

“that’s it,” he breathes, pace quickening, slamming into you hard enough to shove you up the bed, the headboard banging against the wall. “take it, baby.”

his other hand sneaks under you, pressing against your stomach, feeling the way he’s deep inside you, grinding in hard, slow circles.

“can feel me, huh?” his voice is rough, almost teasing. “fuckin’ you so deep—”

you whimper, clenching around him, and he hisses, dragging you back onto his cock, fucking you harder. the room is filled with noise — the wet slap of skin, the creak of the mattress, groans of the both of you.

“gonna come,” you gasp, fingers slipping against the sheets, weak, small bits of sweat glistening on your skin. your vision whites out while he fucks you through it, his own release hitting only seconds later.

jungkook collapses beside you, pressing a gentle, open-mouthed kiss against your shoulder. you’re just a tad bit ruined, limbs useless, but you hum in contentment when he continues pressing lazy kisses up your spine.

you can firmly feel that signature smile of his against your skin, pressing another kiss to your shoulder before pulling back. the bed dips as he stands, leaving you feeling cold for all of two seconds before he’s back with a warm cloth.

the first press of it between your thighs makes you shiver. he’s careful, gentle, murmuring soft praises as he cleans you up.

“so good for me.”

“always take me so well.”

when he’s done, he tosses the cloth aside and climbs back into bed, dragging you against his chest. his fingers trace slow circles against your bare back, lulling and soothing.

“you want water?” he asks, lips brushing your temple.

you nod, still half-asleep. he reaches over to the nightstand, pressing the bottle to your lips, "c'mon drink." carefully watching as you take a few small gulps before pushing it away.

his fingers move through your hair, once again lulling you into soft sleep.

[mariasont]

hi!!!!

I'm soooo in love your work. bimbo!assistantreader wil always have a special place in my heart!!!

Now i have this of idea that i think can work for either aaron or spencer, but basically bau!reader who kind of always wears the same type of outfit in the field that's always really modest. Buttttt when they kind of like "know" it's just going to be a paperwork day she likes to were skirts... short skirts and Aaron/Spencer are just feral for them...

Can either be fluff of smut... I trust you indefinitely xxx

Short Skirt, Long Day - A.H

a/n: hi hi hi hiiiiiii!!! ugh thank u sm i kinda took this an interesting route so let me know what you think!!!! im also heavily thinking about writing a smutty pt 2 for this but id love to hear everyone’s opinions

masterlist

pairings: perv!aaronhotchner x bau!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, suggestive content, aaron being a straight PERV!!! (im into idk man), aaron imagining scenarios he didn’t shouldn’t at work, idk this is quite different from my usual postings but i kinda fuck with it

wc: 1.4k

Aaron Hotchner loved paperwork day.

Days like these meant the ringing of phones and panicked conversations were replaced by the only the sound of air conditioning (when it worked) and the occasional sneeze or cough. It’s the kind of morning he appreciated — time to breathe, to recalibrate without the air of an active case breathing down his neck.

But that's not why his pulse is thrumming more than heavily beneath his skin.

Hotch glances at the clock on his desk. It's early, too early for most of the team to be here yet, save for a couple agents whose faces barely register in his peripheral vision. His focus is elsewhere, fixed on a singular thought. Or, rather, on a singular person.

You.

Hotch leans back in his chair, exhaling slowly as a shameful type of heat rises to his face. It's a little pathetic, he thinks, how predictable he's become, it's not the work that makes these mornings bearable anymore. It's the anticipation.

The knowledge that, any minute now, the elevator doors will part, and you'll step out, wearing something that will completely dismantle his carefully constructed composure.

Hotch had noticed a pattern (of course he did, that was his instinct honed to a razor's edge). In the field, your outfits are a study in practicality: slacks, fitted jackets, muted tones, professional to a T. Nothing flashy, nothing that would draw undue attention. He’d even go as far to say you dressed more modestly than most.

But in the office, when the cases are shelved, and the team is left to wade through stacks of paperwork... it's different.

And it drives him insane.

The image takes root before he can stop it: the curve of your thighs, tantalizingly framed by a skirt that seemed designed to test his limits. The way the fabric molds to you when you move, clinging in places that his eyes are all too quick to follow.

Hotch exhales sharply, clearing his throat as if that could somehow clear his mind. It's unprofessional, he knows this, knows better than to let his thoughts stray so far from where they belong but yet…

The ding of the elevator pulls his attention like a magnet, and there you are. His grip on the pen tightens instinctively, the knuckles blanching as his gaze locks on you.

You're wearing that skirt today — black, fitted, and infuriatingly short, hugging your hips in a way that leaves nothing to the imagination.

He tells himself to look away, and for a second, he manages it — his eyes dropping back to his desk, his breath coming out slow and measured. But that reprieve is fleeting. His gaze flicks back before he can stop it, drawn helplessly to the curve of your waist as you laugh at something one of the other agents say.

You're too good. Too sweet. Too damn oblivious to realize what you're doing to him.

And he knows it's wrong, knows he's toeing a line he has no business approaching. But the way his body reacts to you, the pull you have on him, is beyond reason. It's instinctual, raw, and completely out of his control.

He calls out your name. "Could you come in here for a moment?"

You turn, blinking at him with wide, curious eyes. "Yes, sir?"

"I need you to grab something for me," he replies, his voice level, though every syllable felt like a tightly coiled spring. He motions towards the cabinet near the corner of the room. "The Marcus file. Bottom shelf."

He was a terrible terrible man.

Without hesitation, you step toward the cabinet, crouching slightly as you begin to sift through the lower shelf. The moment your body lowers, his eyes start trailing down where the hem of your skirt lifts, just barely revealing the soft curve of where your thighs meet your ass. 

Then, as you bend further, shifting your weight slightly to reach deeper on the shelf, the fabric stretches taut, clinging to your ass in a way that sends a jolt straight through him.

Hotch's throat feels tight, his breathing shallow as he drinks in the sight before him. You're so close, just feet away, and the angle offers him an unobstructed view. The shape of you, the smooth expanse of skin that's always just out of reach in the field, is right there, so achingly close he feels like his chest might explode.

He knows if you dipped any further, your panties would be on display and he couldn’t help but wonder what color you had on.

You’ve always had a meticulous attention to detail, choices leaning towards deliberate but understated at the same time. In the field, you favored muted tones — greys, blacks, navies. But here in the relative safety of the office you allow a little more personality, more femininity.

His mind turns to your preferences, pink, maybe.

Hotch swallows hard, pulse roaring in his ears. The thought gnaws at him, insistent and unrelenting, he needs to know.

“Careful,” he says, feigning concern. “You might need to check further back on the shelf. Sometimes the files get pushed out of sight.”

You glance over your shoulder at him and he swears he could combust. “Further back?”

He nods, leaning back in his chair to appear casual, though his grip on the armrests were anything but. “Yes.”

You turn back to the cabinet, shifting your weight again as you crouch lower, leaning further to search the back of the shelf. The motion sends the bottom of your skirt riding higher, and for a brief, heart stopping moment, the lace of your panties is on full display.

It was a pink barely there strip of fabric.

His mind betrays him, conjuring images he knows he shouldn't entertain. He imagines his hands on you, running over the curve of his hips, gripping your thighs, sliding that damn skirt higher until there's nothing left to hide. The thought of you like this, pliant and completely unaware of the effect you're having on him, makes his pulse pound in his ears. He wonders what you would do if he were to push those panties to the side and slide a finger in you.

You shift again, leaning deeper into the cabinet as your voice drifts back to him, murmuring something about not seeing it. His jaw locks, teeth pressing together as he fights to maintain control. His fingers dig into the armrests of his chair, the leather creaking faintly beneath the strain. It's a futile effort, though. The pressure building in his chest, his body, is relentless.

The heat pools low in his abdomen, simmering and insistent, a sharp pulse of arousal tightening every muscle in his body. He's painfully hard now, the evidence uncomfortably against his slacks, but he doesn't dare move. His mind a blur of want, what he wants to do to you, what he knows he shouldn't do, and the precarious line he's treading just watching you like this.

The tension in his body seems unbearable, and for a fleeting second, he considers how easy it would be to walk over, to let his hand graze your hip, to tilt your chin up so you'd look at him and see the wreckage you've left in your wake. 

But he doesn't. He can't.

Instead, he forces himself to remain still, staying rooted, the self-restraint biting and bitter. 

"Are you sure it's under here? I still don't see it."

Hotch's lips twitch, the smallest shadow of a smirk threatening to break free on his face. He leans forward, feigning surprise as he picks up the file from the corner of his desk.

"Ah," he says, waving the file. "Looks like it's been right here the whole time."

You straighten abruptly, brushing your hands down your skirt and turning towards him with a soft laugh. "Hotch! So I was practically upside down in that cabinet for nothing!"

He shakes his head, giving a small chuckle to match yours. Not for nothing. The satisfaction still simmers low in his chest, a private indulgence he knows you'll never suspect, the movement was far from wasted.

"My mistake."

"Well, I guess we all have our moments. Let me know if there's anything else you need, okay?"

When the door finally closes behind you, he exhales shakily, the breath spilling out like a confession. Leaning back in his chair, he presses his fingers to his temples, his entire body tense with the effort of restraint. He feels unmoored, like a man balancing on the edge of a precipice, one misstep away from losing everything he’s worked so hard to keep under control.

But for now, he’ll settle for watching, for imagining, for wishing, knowing full well that nothing could ever come of it. And yet, as he glances at the door where you’d just been, a part of him wonders how much longer he can hold out.

It’s going to be an impossibly long day, but the most troubling part of all is how much he’s starting to enjoy the torment.

taglist: @readergf @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @crouchingapple @navia3000 @aaronlovesava @bakugocanstompme @pansexualhailstorm @averyhotchner @looking1016 @everythinglizzy @sky2nd @alexxavicry @spencerssatchel @candyd1es @storiesofsvu @pleasantgardenwitch @kodzukenmaa @hiireadstuff @dilflover-3 @spennciesslut @phoenix-le-danseur-de-pole @jstcln @just-here-to-read13 @c-losur3 @wondergal2001 @oliver-1270 @ssahotchbabe @savagemickey03 @justanotherbimboslxt @imoonkiss @estragos @khxna @de-duchess @raysmayhem-72 @piinksdoll @justyourusualash @whimsicalpolitical @kcch-ns @cool-light32 @reidfile @sugarbutterbailey @ssamorganhotchner

join my taglist here!

[seventeenpins]

nightly

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader word count: 1k summary: Joel is a mistake you just keep making. content/warnings: no specified Joel era so take your pick, dirty talk, literally all just smut, big dick, daddy kink, breeding kink, dubcon undertones, Joel is an asshole a/n: I have been struggling to focus on writing for a minute now, but the horny gods smiled upon me and let me get this together. Praise be to @ozarkthedog for always letting me run my godforsaken ideas past you. Love you lots 💕

You can feel the wet spot on the bed against your back. Joel has you folded like a pretzel, backs of your knees resting on his sun-freckled shoulders, wrists pinned above your head and ass suspended in the air as he drills into you. A single curl bounces at his temple, separate from the rest of his hair that's plastered with sweat to his forehead.

If you make the same mistake five days in a row, can you really still call it a mistake?

He's far too old for you, and a little too mean for you, but damned if he isn't the best lay you've ever had.

Eight inches, uncut, a dick so fucking fat you can barely wrap your hand around it. You can hardly believe he's buried balls deep in you right now. That your body can even take it.

"C'mon, honey, that's it-" Joel's voice is a growl, punctuated by heavy panting, "This pretty lil gash is fuckin' droolin' baby, my own personal slip 'n slide-"

"You're a crass old man," you whine.

"I sure am, honey," he agrees with a grin, "But don't think I can't feel the way you soak me whenever I talk crass, sweetheart."

"I hate you."

He laughs, and a bead of sweat rolls down his temple and along the curve of his nose, splashing onto your cheek. Unthinkingly, you dart your tongue out to catch some of the sweat. Joel's grin turns to a smirk.

"Hate me all you like. You're the one who's come over every night this fuckin' week. Monday through Friday, baby. Hate me so much you can't get enough of daddy's big dick, huh?"

"Fuck you, you're such an asshole-"

This jab is even less effective, punctuated with a moan and a whimper.

"Sure, sweetheart, I am. But don't pretend like we don't both know--you don't have to come here at all."

He grinds against you, coarse hair rubbing against your mound as if to further his point. Pressure hits your clit just right and it's bliss. You have to fully restrain yourself to stop from howling, and even then, you let out a ragged moan.

Joel clamps a hand over your mouth and looks you dead in the eyes.

"I love those pretty sounds, baby, but remember I got neighbors? Thought you said you'd die before anyone finds out about us."

You try to roll your eyes, but he thrusts again and you're caught in another moan. The glide of his body against your clit, especially when he's stretching you out so exquisitely? It's overwhelming. You try to stay quiet, you really do.

It's not your fault though, not when Joel's fucking you silly.

Now, though, he's frustrated.

"Quiet now, settle-"

"I'm not a fucking dog, Joel, I- ahhh-" you mumble and moan between his fingers, barely muffled at all.

"Oh really? Not a fucking dog? Wanna tell me then why you're tryna get bred like a bitch in heat?"

He smacks your cheek, drawing out another pathetic whine that only seems to cement his point.

He sneers. "Those pretty lil noises you're makin' for me? That don't sound like a good girl. That sounds to me like a nasty fuckin' slut who can't help but keep her legs spread so her daddy can fill her up good. Huh? C'mon baby. Tell me to cum inside."

"Fuck you Joel."

Suddenly, cruelly, he stops. Ceases any movement. Relaxes the grip on your wrists.

Panic overtakes you.

"What the fuck-?"

"Sorry sweetheart," he shakes his head, "You don't want this? You can see yourself out."

"No, I-"

You notice he's still sheathed inside you. You feel him do something, flexing his dick inside of you. Frankly, it's cheating.

"Please don't stop."

"What was that, honey?"

"Joooeeel-"

"Quit your whinin', use your words."

"Please fuck me."

"That ain't it, you know whatcha gotta say."

He starts rocking his hips gently, a slippery glide. It's not enough to stimulate. Just enough to make you want more. Need more.

The way you clench around him tells on yourself more starkly than your words ever could.

He's grinning again. "That's it, baby. You ready to admit what you need?"

"Come on, Joel."

"Cum where?"

You sigh. But you know you aren't gonna hold out any longer. He's pressing his thumb just above your clit and the glide of the motion is so fucking delicious it's hard not to buck against it.

Rut against it.

A bitch in heat.

"Fuck me, daddy-" you whine.

"You sound real pretty beggin'. Nearly got it honey. One more try?"

"Cum inside me."

"Mmmmm-" Joel groans, and the grip on your wrists tightens again. "Music to my ears, honey. Tell me where you want it?"

"Inside me, cum inside-"

"You want me to cum inside this lovely lil' pussy?"

"Please Joel-"

"That right?"

"Please cum in me, fill me up, fuck it deep-"

With that, his composure breaks and any restraint he had crumbles. Folds you deeper, fucks you deeper, pins you down and jackhammers into you.

You couldn't move, even if you wanted to, and that knowledge somehow heightens everything. It's blindingly bright, dizzyingly addictive. You barely notice the way Joel's lavishing you with praise, each deep thrust punctuated with good girl, good girl, good fucking girl-

When you cum, you feel the way his balls tighten as if in response, tipping over the edge mere moments after you. It could be romantic, finding yourselves cumming together, if there was any romance between you.

As you start to fade back down, you're able to pay attention again.

"That's it," he's praising you, and you realise his cock is still pulsing. You make to start moving, but he growls and holds you still. "That's right, sweetheart. Gotta let me fill you all the way up. Gonna make sure it takes."

Clarity starts to overtake you and you know that you've made a big fucking mistake. By the time you've come back to yourself, though, your pussy's flooded and pulsing oh so nicely, and Joel's pulling out of you. He moves into the other room and you hear him turn on the shower.

"You can let yourself out," he calls to you. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Your panties are sticky the whole way home.

[shaiyasstuff]

just give me your forever | zayne

synopsis : Zayne has loved you, from the day he met you in high school when he was seventeen, all the way to the present where he finds that you are still the person he silently fell for through stolen glances in the hallway, and laughter between study sessions. content : FLUFF, zayne x non-mc!reader, non-cannon!au, just fluff, and fluff, and more fluff, maybe sprinkle of comedic elements.

It was a quiet winter night, the kind that made the city lights shimmer a little softer and the world feel a little slower.

You were walking ahead with your friends, bundled in your coat, laughter spilling from your lips like music carried by the cold wind.

You looked happy—unguarded, bright, alive.

He trailed behind his own group, just a few paces back, fresh from a dinner reunion with familiar faces from years past.

But it was you he saw—really saw—glowing beneath the streetlamp, laughter like delicate wind chimes, drawing something dormant in him to stir again.

“Hey,” his friend leaned in with a knowing grin, nudging his elbow. “Didn’t you used to have a massive crush on her back in high school?”

His eyes narrowed slightly, more in surprise than annoyance, but he masked it with a half-hearted glare.

“Relax,” his friend chuckled, raising both hands in mock surrender. “Just saying—she’s single now. If you ever thought about trying…”

He hesitated.

The idea lingered longer than he expected, curling around his ribs like warmth against the winter air.

But then he exhaled softly, almost wistfully. “She wouldn’t feel the same.”

His friend gave him a look, brow lifting. “Never try, never know.” He shrugged, casual as anything, then added with a sly smile, “Besides, pretty sure everyone knew she liked you too.”

That made him stop.

His eyes snapped to his friend, disbelief written all over his face.

His friend only laughed, clapping him on the back. “Why do you think she always ended up in your classes? Come on, man. You really never noticed?”

And suddenly, the past didn’t feel so distant anymore.

The way you’d glance his way when you thought he wasn’t looking.

The way you always sat just close enough.

The way you smiled like you were waiting for him to say something he never did.

He looked down, lips parted slightly, the cold forgotten as something warm flickered to life inside him.

Maybe, just maybe it hadn’t been one-sided after all.

His friend nudged him again—sharper this time, a not-so-subtle push that nearly sent him stumbling forward. “Go, before you regret it. She’s leaving for Switzerland soon.”

He froze. “She’s leaving?” The words came out too quickly, too startled.

His friend only shrugged, hands deep in his coat pockets. “Said something about studying.”

And just like that, the air around him shifted.

He didn’t think anymore.

Didn’t weigh the what-ifs or brace for rejection.

His legs moved before his heart could catch up.

He jogged toward you, each step punctuated by the sound of snow crunching beneath his boots and the echo of your laughter lingering in the cold.

He hesitated when he reached you, just for a moment, trying to decide how to say everything he’d left unsaid for years.

Then he reached out—lightly, carefully—and tapped your shoulder.

You turned, confusion flitting across your face at first. But then recognition sank in, softening your features.

Your lips curved.

“Zayne…” you said, voice tender, smile warmer than the night deserved.

His name had never sounded like that before. It slipped from your mouth like it belonged to you. Like maybe it always had.

“I—” he began, but the words tangled in his throat.

Your brows pulled together, concern rising in your eyes. “Is everything okay?”

He swallowed, gathering the courage that had always felt just out of reach. “I’d like to take you out, before you leave.”

The air held still between you.

Your eyes widened just a little. Behind you, your friends were trying, and failing miserably, to stifle their giggles, but you didn’t turn to them.

You were looking only at him.

“I…” A smile bloomed on your lips, hesitant, lovely. “Sure.”

He stared for a heartbeat longer, trying to commit the moment to memory—how the cold had flushed your cheeks, how the snow dusted your hair like stardust, how you looked like something out of a dream he used to have in high school.

“Then, I’ll see you next week,” he said, voice a little breathless, “at the café we used to study in.”

You laughed softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah, I’ll see you.”

And with that, you turned back to your friends, their laughter wrapping around yours as you walked off.

Just before you disappeared around the corner, you glanced over your shoulder and gave him one last smile—quiet, knowing, enough to make him feel like he was seventeen again.

“See, told you,” his friend’s voice rang out behind him, smug as ever.

Zayne didn’t even bother to look back.

He just shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips as he stared at the place where you’d been.

“She’s still breathtaking.” He mutters to himself.

—•

Saturday arrived slowly, each hour dragging like wet leaves on pavement. Zayne sat at the edge of his chair, thumb pressed to his lips in a nervous habit he hadn’t indulged in years.

His phone rested beside him on the table, the screen lighting up every so often—not with a message, not with your name, but with the time.

Mocking him.

He checked it again. Then again ten minutes later.

Just to make sure the date was right.

Just to reassure himself he hadn’t imagined the whole thing.

He exhaled hard through his nose, running a hand over his face.

This is ridiculous, he thought. You’re a surgeon. You perform open-heart operations. You speak at conferences. And now you’re here, pacing like a teenager waiting for a crush to call?

Still, the nerves didn’t ease.

Because this wasn’t just any Saturday.

It was the Saturday.

The one where, for once, he let himself believe in something fragile.

A second chance. A maybe.

The possibility of something that could’ve happened ten years ago if he had just reached out instead of staying silent.

Now he stood outside the café, the one that had once been filled with textbooks and quiet glances across coffee cups.

The wind was sharp, tugging at the edges of his coat, but he barely noticed.

His eyes swept the street again, slow and deliberate—though he wouldn’t admit how desperately he was searching for a glimpse of you.

He shifted his weight, glancing at his phone once more before slipping it back into his pocket.

The café buzzed quietly behind him, couples drifting in and out, laughter trailing through the door each time it opened.

Still no sign of you.

His heart thudded a little louder in his chest.

She wouldn’t have bailed… right?

As if right on cue, you appeared.

You crossed the street with a careful grace, your minidress peeking out beneath a coat that stopped just above your knees. Black leg warmers disappeared into winter boots, and a soft white scarf curled around your neck like a whispered promise of warmth. Snowflakes clung to your hair, glittering under the muted afternoon light.

And just like that—Zayne forgot how to breathe.

For a moment, the years folded in on themselves.

Gone was the surgeon, the calm professional, the man who spent his days in operating rooms and sterile halls.

In his place stood the boy who had once looked across a high school corridor and saw someone who made the world feel quieter, softer.

He stared, transfixed.

You hadn’t even noticed him yet, but his heart had already started racing, his thoughts scattered like pages caught in the wind.

It was like seeing you for the first time all over again.

“Hey!” you called out, your smile blooming the moment your eyes met his.

Zayne froze for half a second, breath catching as you jogged toward him with a kind of eager warmth that made the cold blur into nothing.

There was something so you about the way you moved—unthinking, open, like the world hadn’t ever taught you to hold back.

Your scarf trailed behind you, hair dancing in the breeze, cheeks kissed pink from the chill.

And as you drew closer, he felt it—the sudden, unmistakable pull in his chest.

You were radiant. Familiar.

A little different, a little older, but still you.

And in that moment, watching you rush toward him like you’d never hesitated, he felt seventeen again.

Awestruck.

Wordless.

Like you were the first girl he’d ever fallen for—because maybe you were.

You stopped just in front of him, cheeks flushed from the cold, smile still as dazzling as ever. It hit him like a wave—how little had changed, and yet how much more breathtaking you looked up close.

“Did you wait for long?” you asked, tilting your head slightly.

Zayne blinked, lips parted, but no words came out. He was too busy taking you in—the way your breath curled in the air, the sparkle in your eyes, the softness of your voice.

Everything about you felt surreal, like a memory he wasn’t ready for but never wanted to forget.

You squinted, amused, and waved your hand in front of his face. “Zayne?”

He startled slightly, blinking out of the haze.

“I—sorry,” he said, voice a little hoarse. “No, I just got here a while ago.”

You giggled, light and effortless—and somehow, it sounded like summer. Like sunlit afternoons and open windows in a classroom, the kind of laughter that once echoed down high school hallways and made him turn his head without thinking.

Even now, surrounded by snow and frost-kissed air, you brought warmth with you.

And Zayne swore he could feel it bloom in his chest.

He cleared his throat softly, trying to steady the storm inside him, and stepped forward to open the door to the café.

The warm scent of roasted coffee and something sweet drifted out into the cold, but it was nothing compared to the warmth you brought with you.

You smiled as you passed him, the corners of your eyes crinkling slightly. “Thanks,” you murmured, your voice quieter now, softer—just for him.

As you moved past, the faint scent of dandelions clung to the air around you. It hit him instantly—nostalgic, familiar.

The memory was immediate.

Golden fields, textbooks open under the sun, your laughter drifting through the breeze while you lay beside him, feet bare and hearts still untouched by time.

And just like that, he was undone again.

You both found a quiet corner by the window, the kind of seat that invited slow conversations and lingering glances.

The server took your orders—two coffees, something sweet to share—and drifted away, leaving you in the soft hum of the café’s warmth.

You shrugged off your coat and unwound your scarf, sighing contentedly as the heat settled into your bones.

The cold still clung to your cheeks, but your eyes were bright—twinkling like they used to when you’d catch him staring during study breaks under the sun.

You looked at him with that same familiar curiosity, the kind that made it feel like no time had passed at all.

“How’ve you been?” you asked, your voice light but sincere. “We didn’t get to talk much that night, did we?”

He swallowed, shifting in his seat slightly.

No, you hadn’t.

He’d been seated a few chairs down, close enough to hear your laughter but too far to do anything about the ache it brought.

The whole evening, he’d watched you—just like old times—while his friend tried, and again, failed to suppress his laughter beside him while he sat there in silent, wide-eyed longing.

Now, you were sitting right across from him.

And this time, you were looking back.

“Yes, you were having fun, I didn’t want to disturb,” he replied coolly, leaning back just slightly in his seat, fingers wrapped around the warmth of his cup.

His tone was steady, smooth—even casual—but inside, his heart was thudding loud enough to drown out the soft clatter of cutlery and quiet music around them. You smiled at him, clearly unconvinced by the calm exterior he wore like a tailored suit.

There was a glint in your eyes now, teasing and familiar, like you could hear the truth behind the quiet restraint in his voice.

“I heard you went to medical school right after we graduated,” you said, your fingers wrapping around your cup as the waitress gently placed your orders down in front of you. You gave a polite thank you, then turned your full attention back to him.

Zayne nodded, lifting his coffee, using the motion to buy himself a second of composure. “Yeah,” he said, eyes meeting yours over the rim of the cup. “Didn’t leave much room for anything else.”

There was a quiet weight to the words—one he didn’t mean to let slip. But with you, it felt impossible to hide behind half-truths and polite smiles.

Especially when you looked at him like that.

Like you saw him.

Like maybe you always had.

You nodded, a soft, understanding expression settling over your features.

“I’m heading to Switzerland to finish my nursing course,” you said, your voice gentle, but steady.

Then you smiled—small, almost shy, but proud too. It lit up your face in that quiet way he remembered. A smile not meant to dazzle, but to share something of yourself.

Zayne stared for a beat too long, something warm tugging at the edges of his chest.

Of course you were still the kind of person who wanted to care for others.

Of course you were still chasing something meaningful.

“When you come back, maybe I’ll recommend you to my hospital,” he said—too quickly, too eagerly. The words tumbled out before he could rein them in.

His eyes flicked away for the briefest second, as if embarrassed by the suddenness of it, the way it betrayed how much he wanted you to come back. Not just to the country.

To him.

But you only laughed, soft and surprised, a smile curling at your lips as you tilted your head.

“Is that your way of saying you want me to come back?” you teased gently, eyes glinting with mischief.

Zayne let out a quiet breath of a laugh, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. “Maybe,” he murmured. “Maybe it is.”

You laughed, the sound warmer now, bubbling up as if his words had stirred something soft in you.

“Well, thank you,” you said between small chuckles, eyes crinkling with amusement. “For the recommendation.”

Zayne smiled—really smiled this time—unable to look away. You always did that. Took the tension right out of the air, replaced it with something lighter, something brighter.

And just for a moment, sitting there with you in that quiet café, he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like if this wasn’t temporary. If you weren’t leaving. If this was only the beginning.

“When are you leaving?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost hesitant.

You took a sip of your coffee, then hummed thoughtfully. “Hmm… in about a month.”

A month.

Zayne nodded slowly, trying to mask the way that timeframe settled in his chest like a ticking clock. Thirty days. Four weekends. Not long—but maybe long enough.

Long enough to see you again.

Long enough to try.

Long enough to wonder what might happen if you stayed.

Then—almost too eagerly, before he could stop himself—he leaned in just slightly, the words escaping like a breath he’d been holding too long.

“Would you mind if…”

His eyes searched yours, hopeful, unsure.

“…if I spent your remaining time?”

The moment hung between you, suspended in the quiet hum of the café. He looked at you not as the boy from ten years ago, but as the man who had waited too long to say something, hoping it still wasn’t too late.

Your fingers paused around your cup, and for a second, you just looked at him—really looked at him.

And then you smiled.

When you nodded, that smile still playing gently on your lips, you said, “I’d love that.”

Simple. Sincere. No hesitation.

And just like that, Zayne felt his heart soar—swift and sudden, like something inside him had finally broken free.

The noise of the café faded into the background.

All he could see was you.

All he could hear was those three quiet words echoing through his chest, anchoring him in something that felt dangerously close to hope.

The conversation drifted easily between you, weaving through memories of awkward high school presentations, cafeteria disasters, and long-forgotten inside jokes.

You were laughing—really laughing—head tilted back slightly, your eyes glowing with nostalgia.

Zayne listened, adding in a comment here and there, but mostly he just watched you.

The way your expressions shifted with every story, how your hands moved animatedly when you got excited, how your smile lingered even in the quiet moments between words.

He sat there, a soft smile tugging at his lips, his coffee long forgotten.

To anyone else, he might’ve seemed distant—but inside, he was entirely present, caught in the gentle pull of a memory made real.

You were here, across from him.

Laughing like you used to. Smiling like maybe, just maybe, you still remembered the boy who had once loved you in silence.

—•

He walked you home afterward, the two of you moving slowly through the quiet streets, the snow crunching softly beneath your feet.

The sky was painted in hues of gold and rose, the last light of day casting a warm, mellow glow over the world. It wasn’t cold enough to rush, and neither of you wanted to. The sunset stretched the moment out, like time itself was taking a breath.

You walked close, shoulders occasionally brushing, boots leaving twin trails behind you.

There was something tender in the silence between words, something that didn’t need to be filled.

The city was hushed beneath the falling dusk, and Zayne found himself stealing glances at you—how the fading sunlight kissed your skin, how your eyes caught the glow, how your smile still lingered even without a word spoken.

He didn’t want the walk to end.

Didn’t want this to end.

So when you reached your apartment and turned to him with that soft, familiar smile—one corner of your mouth tilted just so—and said, “Do you want to come in for a bit?”

Zayne felt his heart skip.

He nodded, carefully, calmly. “Sure.” His voice was steady, but the spark in his eyes betrayed him.

Internally, though? He was a storm of quiet excitement, doing everything he could to keep it from showing on his face. Because even though he was older now—composed, polished, practiced—somehow, with you, it still felt like the first time.

And the thought of one more moment with you—just one—was enough to make the world feel a little more alive.

He stepped inside, the warmth of your apartment wrapping around him instantly. It smelled faintly of vanilla and something floral—something soft.

Something you.

His eyes roamed the space slowly, taking it all in. The cozy scatter of books on the coffee table, the plants thriving by the window, the mismatched throw pillows, the delicate string lights draped along the wall.

It was intimate, lived-in, quiet in the way a safe place should be.

So undeniably you.

His lips tugged into a small, almost wistful smile as a memory flickered to life—your younger self, hands waving excitedly in the air, eyes sparkling as you told him about your dream home.

“I’m going to have a window seat, right there,” you’d said once, pointing to nothing in particular. “Lots of books, soft lights, a kettle always on. It’ll feel like peace.”

And looking around now, he could see it. You’d done it. You’d built it.

“You really got it done,” he said softly, still smiling. “Just like you always said you would.”

You smiled at him from behind the kitchen counter, your fingers tugging off your gloves, then unwrapping the scarf from around your neck. The setting sun filtered through the window behind you, casting a golden halo around your figure.

“Yep,” you said, with a proud little grin. “Took me a while, but months of savings can be miracles.”

Zayne watched you, a flicker of admiration softening his gaze. There was something deeply endearing in your honesty—in the way you didn’t boast, just quietly celebrated what you built with your own two hands.

He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed loosely, and murmured, “Worth every second, I’d say.”

And he wasn’t just talking about the apartment.

Later, with tea warming your hands and the quiet of the apartment settling around you, the two of you drifted to the couch. You sat close, but not quite close enough to touch—just enough space to feel the gravity pulling softly between you.

The window let in the last traces of sunset, casting long shadows across the floor. You spoke here and there, laughter low, voices softer now, like the world had grown too still for anything loud.

Zayne stared into his cup for a moment, then glanced at you, something shifting in his expression. A memory had crept in—one he hadn’t thought about in years.

You, outside the school building, shoulders curled in, your body shaking while your friend held you tightly. He hadn’t known what to do then. He’d stood frozen, heart caught in his throat, wishing he had the courage to go to you.

His voice was quiet when he finally spoke.

“What happened that day?” he asked.

You blinked, the question catching you off guard—not invasive, just gentle. Honest. A piece of a past he never got to understand.

He wasn’t asking out of curiosity.

He was asking because, even now, he still cared.

You gave a sheepish little smile, eyes lowering to your tea. “It was nothing… I was so young.”

Zayne watched you, quiet, patient—he could tell it wasn’t nothing, not to you, not back then.

You turned to him gently, your voice softer now, laced with a quiet kind of nostalgia. “The guy I had a crush on didn’t like me back. Or… so I thought.”

Your gaze drifted then, not quite meeting his, as if the memory still held a weight you hadn’t fully let go of.

There was something knowing in the way your voice trailed, something that brushed the edge of truth—and left it hanging delicately between you.

Zayne’s breath caught, just a little.

And for the first time, he wondered if all those years ago, you had been crying for him.

You let out a quiet chuckle, the sound wistful. “Thinking back,” you said, swirling the tea in your cup, “maybe if I were a little bit braver, I would’ve told him.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and this time, they didn’t waver. There was a quiet intensity behind them, a softness laced with something unspoken—as though the words you didn’t say carried more weight than the ones you did.

It wasn’t just a memory.

It was a question.

One you didn’t ask aloud, but Zayne could feel it—settling between you like the final piece of a puzzle long forgotten.

And for a moment, the air between you shifted—gentle, expectant, and full of things that had never been said.

His brows knit together slightly, subtle but unmistakable. Not in confusion—more like hesitation, like the weight of your words had landed somewhere he wasn’t expecting.

Zayne looked at you, really looked, as if searching your face for some kind of confirmation. His fingers tightened slightly around the mug in his hands, the warmth grounding him while his thoughts spun in quiet circles.

He didn’t speak right away.

There was something vulnerable in your voice, in your gaze, and he could feel it—how close the truth was now, how easily everything could shift with just a few words.

But instead, he just sat there, caught in the stillness of the moment, not quite ready to let it fall one way or the other.

Soon, the conversation shifted—naturally, gently—drifting toward lighter things. You both let it, neither of you acknowledging the delicate line you’d just tiptoed along.

The moment settled into the quiet like snow on branches, untouched but felt.

Eventually, Zayne glanced at the clock, his expression tightening just slightly.

“I should head out,” he said, his voice low, reluctant. “It’s getting late.”

You nodded, trying not to show your disappointment. “Of course. Long day tomorrow?”

He gave a small smile, standing and slipping his coat back on. “Always.”

But as he looked at you—framed in warm light, tea still cradled in your hands—he wondered if maybe, just maybe, he was leaving with more than he came with. And a part of him already missed the quiet between you.

You waved lightly as he left the apartment.

A small smile played at your lips at the encounter.

—•

The next weekend came quicker than expected, and as promised, Zayne took you out again. This time, it was to a bookstore tucked between a flower shop and a tiny café—one you had once mentioned in passing, your voice laced with quiet excitement.

He remembered. Of course he did.

The sky was overcast, the kind of gray that made colors pop, and the faint chill in the air gave the moment a kind of softness, like the world had slowed just for the two of you.

When you arrived, your eyes lit up the way he hoped they would.

The storefront was quaint, lined with old wooden shelves visible through the window, books stacked in uneven towers like little secrets waiting to be found.

“You remembered,” you said, turning to him with a smile that made his chest tighten.

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but the way his lips curved betrayed him. “Of course I did.”

And as the bell above the door chimed and you both stepped inside, it felt less like a second outing—and more like the start of something.

He bought you your favorite books without hesitation, slipping them onto the counter before you could protest. You turned to him with wide eyes, a mix of surprise and delight lighting up your face.

“Zayne,” you said, laughing, “you didn’t have to—”

But he was already smiling, that rare, quiet kind of smile—the one that softened all his sharp edges.

“I know,” he said simply, watching the way your fingers clutched the bag to your chest, like it was something precious.

You thanked him excitedly, almost shyly, and he couldn’t help but admire how something as small as a book could light you up so effortlessly.

Then the two of you stepped out onto the sidewalk, the cold brushing gently against your cheeks, but neither of you seemed to notice.

The world around you moved on, busy and distant, while the two of you fell into a familiar silence—one that didn’t need to be filled.

Just walking side by side, hearts a little fuller than before.

“Y/N,” he said suddenly, your name slipping from his lips with a quiet urgency.

His footsteps slowed, and instinctively, so did yours. You turned to look at him, mid-sentence—something about love, marriage, the kind of life you wanted someday.

But the way he said your name—it stilled everything.

There was a shift in the air, subtle but undeniable. A sudden surge of confidence burned in Zayne’s chest, unexpected and unshakable.

Maybe it was the way you looked at him, eyes so open, so trusting.

Maybe it was the fading light casting soft gold along your cheek.

Or maybe it was simply that he’d waited too long already.

You blinked up at him, curious. “Yeah?”

He hesitated only for a moment—just long enough to remember the weight of every word he didn’t say back then.

“I’d like to be that person,” he breathes, the words soft, almost carried away by the wind.

He steps closer—slowly, deliberately—until you’re just a breath apart. His eyes meet yours then, fully, without hesitation, and for the first time in a long time, he isn’t hiding behind silence or timing or fear.

“That person who loves you like in the books,” he adds, voice barely above a whisper, but certain. His smile is small, gentle, and achingly sincere—like he’s offering you something sacred.

Not a confession.

A promise.

Your lips lifted into a gentle, almost bashful smile, eyes softening as you looked at him—truly looked at him.

A breath of laughter escaped you as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture tender, almost instinctive.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment for too long,” you said, voice quiet but steady, laced with something real—something that had waited years to be spoken aloud.

And just like that, Zayne felt the world shift around him. The past, the waiting, the almosts… all folding into this. Into now.

He reached out, slowly, and took your hand in his—his touch warm, steady, reverent. His thumb brushed over your knuckles like he was grounding himself in the moment, in you.

“I want you to know,” he began, voice low and earnest, “I’ll always be there, right by your side.”

You looked up at him, eyes wide, breath caught somewhere between surprise and something far deeper.

“I want to be the person who kneels before you,” he continued, stepping just a little closer, his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly.

“And whisper confessions and words of comfort,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper now—raw, sincere, every word a piece of his heart laid bare.

Like he wasn’t just speaking of love.

He was offering it.

“I know you’re going away soon,” he said, the words catching slightly in his throat.

He paused, looking at you—really looking—eyes searching yours for something steady to hold onto. Then he took a breath, quiet but certain, like he was anchoring himself in this one fragile truth.

“But as long as you promise me… forever,” his voice softened, thick with feeling,

“I’ll wait for you.”

There was no desperation in it, no demand—just devotion. A quiet vow offered beneath a winter sky, his heart in your hands, and not a single part of him afraid.

You smiled—softly, slowly—like the weight of his words had settled into your chest and made something warm bloom there.

Your eyes never left his as you gave the smallest of nods, but it said everything.

“I’d love that very much,” you whispered, voice laced with emotion, steady and sure.

And in that moment, with your hand in his and the promise of forever hanging gently between you, time seemed to pause—just long enough for two hearts to find their way back to where they’d always belonged.

—•

The day of your departure arrived, quiet and gray, the kind of morning that felt suspended in time.

Zayne stood at the airport, just beyond the glass, watching as you disappeared slowly into the terminal. His hand lifted in a small wave—soft, a little sad—but steady.

His eyes didn’t leave you, not even as the crowd began to swallow you whole.

The final weekends had been filled with everything but goodbyes. The two of you had spent them in laughter and stillness—racing each other at the arcade, sprawled across your living room floor with board games half-finished, sharing stories under the dim light of late evening.

There were no heavy words, no teary promises. Just presence. Just you and him, savoring what you had before the flight, before the months apart.

And now, as he stood there, alone but not lonely, Zayne didn’t feel fear.

He felt sure.

Because you had smiled and said “I’ll come back,”

And he knew—without doubt or hesitation.

That you would.

masterlist

[hattiestgal]

If you don't mind my asking, how do you go about drawing fat? :3

JUST THE EXCUSE I WAS LOOKING FOR

So, for me personally, a lot of the time when I draw fat characters, I'm not looking to specifically capture the specifics of fat as much as the feel of fat. Bulkier, rounder shapes in the right places that has a feeling of weight to em! A lot of that is intuition and simplification at this point, but it all works on the same frame as just any ol' person. Like take this-

For example. This is the basis for any body shape, not just the more average one that it may imply. Sure- it can be that average body shape:

But also a fat one too!

And a big part of that is knowing where fat usually tends to bunch up on the body, so lets take a look piece by piece! (Please keep in mind this is very simplified, and not completely precise in some parts)

THE FACE: Cheeks (in purple) and especially the chin (in light blue) are the places where a lot of the fat is gonna wanna gather and round out on your face! Additionally, theres a small pocket of fat beneath the cranium on the backside of your head. It's small, but it is there. I believe fat can build up elsewhere like the bridge of your nose and forehead, but generally speaking, you're gonna have a whole lot more buildup in other places first.

THE TORSO: A lot of the fat built up on the torso is gonna be sent to your tummy. More cushioning for vital organs, mostly out of the way, it just makes sense. Additionally, the lower backs fat builds up and joins with a patch of fat on your sides that forms what is typically referred to as the love handles to make that double belly look. Along with this, the immediate next target for the torso is the breasts, followed by the upper back!

THE ARMS: For this limb, a VERY notable amount of the fat present builds up on the tricep and bicep areas, lessening once you get towards the flexor and extensor areas. You can almost think of the arm as a sort of triangular shape, wide side starting from the shoulder and tapering towards the hand, which itself mostly builds up fat around the back of the hand and the fingers. The shoulders themselves don't build up too much fat unless you got a lot

THE LEGS: And finally, you can think of the legs having pretty similar curves to what you're probably already used to thinking. The front of the thighs getting a big buildup, along with the back of the calves, the other parts being flatter in turn. As far as the feet go- similarly to the hands, the top of the feet, along with the heels get most of the buildup, as fat on your soles would impede mobility. The glute, hip and crotch area will also especially build up fat, lending to the same triangular shape that you can see in the arm!

A big thing to note with fat is that it tends to taper off towards joints. Your knees, elbows, shoulders, hips, and all the other places are gonna have significantly less fat so that you remain mobile and flexible, as that's important!

Now that we have an idea of where fat builds up on the body, you might have something that looks kinda like this

Which yes, does demonstrate a solid understanding of the places fat builds up, lacks the weight you're probably trying to convey, which brings us to out next point! Fat is well... heavy! Gravity is what gives fat much of it's shape, especially as you tread towards larger and larger bodies.

This is demonstrated really well on the arms especially-

Those big ol' bits of fat'll really start to sag when left hanging, and they will squish like hell if they run into something. I like to think of these bits of fat as big ol' ovals that squash and stretch depending on if there's an obstacle in their way or not

These are the important shapes to remember when it comes to the weightiness of fat! If you take all of this into mind, you should be getting something a lot closer to that shape you've been after!

Oh, and always remember that fat bodies come in all variety of shapes and sizes! Play around with a whole lot, and seek out all the resources you can! it'll really lend to your knowledge when it comes to this kinda stuff!

And as I always recommend when it comes to learning art- look at what your favorite artists do with fat bodies. See what you really like about the fat bodies they draw and try to replicate it in your own work, I promise you it's one of the most helpful things ever.

This is like the most basic of basics when it comes to drawing fat bodies though. If there's any additional thing about fat bodies, or maybe you want clarification on something, don't be afraid to ask! If there's enough to cover, I'll make an addition to this post!