#that moment when you impulsively write something

[ild-rllrcstr]

Offline, Online part 3 (final)

Lando Norris X You / slow burn / 3.5K

part 1 / part 2

Summary Online, you know him as your constant racing rival and friend who talks about everything. Unawareingly, offline, he's Lando Norris, the charming, frustrating driver you’re assigned to style, who somehow makes every workday a challenge.At work, you don’t like him. He doesn’t take you seriously. But behind the screens, you both vent about each other without knowing who’s who. Slowly, late-night races and shared secrets start to blur the lines between friendship and something more.As reality and virtual worlds collide, feelings sneak up when you least expect them.

Warnings swearing A/N Hesitated to extend to two parts, but thought this idea is probably better without further dragging. BTW, super happy with the GP result this weekend! Hope you'll like it! New story ideas are already in my head! Just need some time to write them down, I'll see you soon!

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The showroom was nearly empty. You were pinning the hem of a jacket on a mannequin when Lando walked in, still in streetwear, damp hair pushed back like he showered after a workout. You barely glanced up.

He didn’t speak at first, just lingered near the rack, flipping through hangers like he had a reason to be there.

"How are you doing?" he asked finally, voice gentler than usual.

You nodded without looking at him. "Yeah. Just a bit behind."

"You look tired." You blinked at him. It was not something people usually say, especially not him.

"Thanks," you said dryly.

"Not like… I didn’t mean it like that." He stepped closer, hands tucked into his pockets, suddenly looking… sheepish? "Just noticed, that’s all."

You glanced at him then. His expression was... sincere. It unsettled you a little.

"I'm fine," you lied, with a small fake smile.

He watched you for a moment longer before nodding slowly. 

Then, just as he turned to leave, a song started playing faintly from the studio speakers, a track from your shared sim racing playlist. One you mocked endlessly.

Lando huffed a soft laugh. "Honestly, that playlist’s still a crime against humanity."

You looked up. "What?"

"No… Nothing," he said too quickly. "Forget it."

But something about the way he said it… You frowned, narrowing your eyes at his back as he walked out.

You picked up your phone later that night. No message from Late.

You thought about that moment in the showroom. That weird playlist comment. And you hated that part of you, that stupid part, that wanted it to mean something. But it didn’t, right? Because Late was into someone else. And Lando… well, he was just someone you worked for. Just a guy.

You opened Discord anyway. Typed. Deleted. Typed again.

You: Do you think it’s possible to misread someone for months?

The typing bubble appeared.

Late: Yeah. Especially if they’re trying really hard not to be obvious.

You stared. Your chest tightened. And you really didn’t know who you were talking to anymore.

You: Why would someone do that?

Late: Because it’s easier to lose the chance than ruin what’s already there. Because maybe she only likes the version of me she already knows.

You: That’s vague as hell. Still haven’t tell her?

Late: I’ve tried. I think I even slipped it more than once. She just didn’t hear it.

You: Maybe you weren’t clear enough. Or maybe she didn’t want to believe it.

Late: Maybe, it’s just hard to believe I guess.

You hesitated. Your chest felt tight again. Why did this feel personal? You kept typing, backspace, typing, backspace. Then, impulsively,

You: What do you like about her?

There was a long pause. The typing bubble came and went.

Late: She’s sharp. Quiet, but her brain’s always moving. She doesn’t flirt or try too hard. She just… shows up. Keeps people grounded. Keeps me grounded.

You felt your throat tighten. That could’ve be anyone. Right?

You: She sounds lucky.

Late: I think I’m the lucky one. Even if she never figures it out.

You closed the app.

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You were sorting returns in the back, headphones half-on, too aware of every footstep outside the stockroom. The curtain rustled. Lando stepped through, holding two takeaway coffees like he was not sure if he should be doing this.

You blinked at him. "Do you… need something?"

He offered you the cup. You took it without thinking. He didn’t say anything for a moment. 

"Do you ever think about doing something else?"

The question floored you. Lando, who had never spoken to you about anything outside the job, asking something personal?

"Where is this coming from?"

He shruged. "Just… wondering. You’re good at what you do. But sometimes you look like your mind’s somewhere else."

You looked down at your cup. Your hands felt too warm.

"Sometimes," you admitted. "It’s just a job. I like it. But yeah… I think about other things."

"Like racing?"

That made your head snap up. "What...? I thought you were the driver here."

He smiled, soft. Not teasing. "It’s just you talk about it like someone who’s lived it. Not only just watched."

Your chest tightened. It was too close.

"It’s just a hobby."

"Right," he said, but it was not dismissive. He was watching you closely. Noticing things. Seeing you.

"Ever think about what it’d be like to talk to someone every night, think you know them, and then realise maybe you’ve known them all along, just in a different way?"

Your blood ran cold. Your voice was smaller than you want it to be. Confused.

"What ?"

He looked like he was deciding how far to go. 

 "I’m trying not to fuck it up here."

Silence. You stared at him, heart thudding. You didn’t know what to say, what he even meant, or if you wanted it to mean what you were scared it might.

He looked like he might say more, there was something way too deep and way too dangerous in those eyes. Then he stepped back, nodding toward the curtain.

"Anyway. Didn’t mean to interrupt."

And just like that, he was gone again.

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The apartment was dark except for the blue light of your screen. Your coffee from earlier was still on the counter, cold. You haven’t touched it. You haven’t touched anything since you saw the message.

Late: I think I almost told her today. I don’t know if she heard me. Or maybe… she did. And she’s just not ready yet.

You reread it for the fifth time.

You paced. You cursed yourself. You sat back down and opened Discord again.

Your hands hovered.

You: Is this about the same girl? The one you keep saying you like at work?

Late: Yeah. It’s always been her.

You: So tell her. You said you almost told her today. Why didn’t you?

Late: She was right in front of me. And I still couldn’t do it.

You: Why?

Late: Because I don’t want to lose her. And I think she’s already pulling away. I’m afraid she’ll run away.

You: You’re being dramatic. She probably just doesn’t know what the hell is going on.

Late: Exactly.

You: So tell her. What are you waiting for?

Long pause.

Late: It’s you.

You didn’t move. You blinked at the screen and reread that last word like it might morph into something else if you just stared long enough. But it didn’t.

You: What is going on here?

Late: I’m trying to tell you. In the way that won’t ruin it. In the way that lets you walk away if you want.

You: You’re not making any sense.

Late: What if I am?

You: Are you saying what I think you're saying?

Another long pause. He was typing. Then stoped. Then typing again.

Late: I think you already know. But if I say it outright, it becomes real. And real means it could hurt you. Or make things weird. Or worse, make you leave.

You: This is insane. Just say it. If this is some kind of joke…

Late: It’s not a joke.

You: Then who is she?

Late: I’m telling you, she is you.

Your stomach dropped. The silence was deafening. You reread it once. Twice.

You: ...This isn’t funny.

Late: I’m not joking. I was going to tell you at the studio today. I didn’t know how to do it without making you freak out.

You: Who are you?

Late: You already know that too. I’ve been right in front of you.

Your throat dried. Something cold crawled down your spine.

You: No, that doesn’t make sense. You said you’re from Monaco, not Surrey. You’re not saying…

Late: Yeah. I am. I am from Surrey, but I also do live in Monaco.

Late: It’s me. It’s Lando Norris.

You stared at the screen, heart pounding, fingers frozen.

No. No. No. No. No

You shut your laptop hard, the sudden noise echoing too loudly in the quiet room.

Your phone buzzed. A message from Late. You ignored it. Another buzz. Another. You silenced your phone.

Your mind raced, your chest tightened. How long have you been fooled? How much of what you felt was real? And how much was just a mirage?

You didn’t log back in that night. Or the next. Or the next.

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The showroom was quiet in the late afternoon. You were at your desk, focused on a task but trying not to think about how you will have to face the situation eventually. 

The door opened softly. Lando steped in, casual but with a seriousness you didn’t usually see. He moved slowly, as if every step mattered. He approached your desk, hands loosed at his sides, no one was around.

“Can we talk?” His voice was quiet, careful.

You didn’t look up, fingers still typing.

He waited a beat, then sat down on the edge of a nearby table, keeping some distance, respectful.

“I want you to know... this isn’t about me hiding anything from you. Honestly, When I found out, I didn’t know how to tell you. I was scared I’d mess it up.”

You finally meet his eyes, guarded but curious. He continues, voice soft.

“I was scared what thic could change, and it did, you’re not back in race for a while now, and it’s not because you’re tires or whatever, I realised you misunderstood because I messed up, just made everything harder.”

You swallowed hard, feeling exposed.

“I get why you shut down. I think I would’ve too.”

He leaned forward a little, but not too much.

“But I want to make it up, if you’ll let me. No games. No running. If I can hit that reset button to just be straight forward with you in the first place.”

Your fingers curled into fists on the desk. You wanted to say no. You wanted to say it was easier to protect yourself.

But something in his eyes held you. Not pleading. Just steady.

A long silence stretched between you.

Finally, you breathed out.

“How did you find out?”

“Accidentally saw your phone, saw the message I sent.”

“Prove it. Show me you are him.” You breathed hard, part of you still couldn’t believe, you still partly thought Late was catfishing you online.

Ping. He texted, your phone received. 

Late: I didn’t know how to tell you. I wanted to test the water, then I figured that I fucked up. I’m sorry.

You stared at the screen.

Your reflection looked back at you in the dark glass of your phone. Pale. Quiet. Bracing for something that already happened. You thought about it, you dreaded it, but when it became the truth in front of you, it hit differently.

It was his voice, in your head now. His actual voice. Not just Late. Not just the messages. Not just a screen between you.

The room felt still, like the moment was holding its breath.

You glanced up at him slowly. He was still sitting there, hands clenched between his knees now, like he was keeping himself from doing anything that might scare you off. He was nervously anticipating your reaction.

You blinked once. Then again. Your voice barely rose above a whisper.

“It’s you.”

He nodded. Didn’t smile. Didn’t speak. Didn’t know how to react. Just carefully reading you. He just let the words sit there.

“All this time...” you said, the weight of it pressing into your chest. “You were right there.”

“Yeah,” he says, quietly. “And I didn’t want to mess it up. But I did anyway.”

Your hand tightened around your phone. Your throat burnt.

“Should’ve said something sooner?”

His eyes flickered… guilt, hesitation, maybe fear.

“Because the second I realised it was you... It stopped being just fun sim racing at night. It started feeling like real life. And I didn’t want to lose you in either.”

You let out a shaky breath. Something between a laugh and a sob.

“I thought this whole time it was another girl… and I complained about you to you…”

He grinned, soft and crooked. “I know. I also complained to you.”

There was a pause. Neither of you moved.

“So I'm just jealous of myself this whole time,” you whispered.

Lando finally smiled. “That jealousy really didn’t look good on you.”

You punched him lightly on his shoulder, and he finally laughed. 

“This is exactly how I imagined.”

“What?”

“The real you in real life.” He had his hand on his shoulder where you punched. And just looked at you, with that warm smile on his face. You felt your cheeks burnt a bit.

“You sent me a meme mid-race once,” he suddenly said, his voice low. “I couldn’t stop laughing. Nearly missed turn 4.”

You looked at him, really looked into his eye, and for the first time in days, the heaviness started to shift.

“And you deserved it,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I did. But I also deserved to know the person behind it. And now that I do…”

He trailed off. You waited.

“...I still want to. Maybe more than I wanted”

You sat with that. Let it settle into your ribs.

There was no grand gesture. No big romantic confession.

Just him. Just honesty. Just you, finally knowing.

And maybe, that was enough.

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“Do you want to get some dessert? You know, the one I talked about, the world’s best frozen yoghourt. It’s actually not far from here” ‘

After the shoot, Lando approached when there weren’t much people around.

“I can’t believe that place is in this neighborhood this whole time.”

He smiled and shrugged.

“I want to finally spend time with you, out of chat, out of headset, far from camera and clothes racks, just us.”

You smiled shyly “I’d like that.”

Your little dates happened more and more often whenever he's in town, the sim racing also went back on track, no more emotional sulking pauses hidden behind excuses of work. It was like your extended date after actual dates. Racing turned into late-night sessions that felt different now, flirty, magnetic, even your fastest laps couldn’t outrun the pull between you two.

People noticed. Not everyone, but enough. And of course the crucial ones, your brothers.

Your sim racing group chat had started throwing suspicious emojis.

“Why the fuck are you giggling in quali” your older brother Alex asked you in your family private chatroom, not too happy about it. 

“It was the joke, it was funny.” you tried to defend yourself, you know how your brothers can be.

“You went from crazy woman laugh to girl giggle, there’s something fishy about you and Late, I can smell it. We know the guy is funny, but you are high on a whole another level.”

“Are you guys fucking or something.” your second brother Elijah’s always the one without filter.

“Eli!”

“She’d better not even have met this guy just yet, or let’s say never.”

It was not long after you had to admit you guys were dating, and you’ve seen in real life.

“Do you even know what he looked like before you met? What were you thinking, do you now how people get scammed or killed like this nowadays?” Alex not taking it well was an understatement. But you told him you promise you’ll explain him everything. 

You still needed to talk to Lando about revealing to your brother, but then he was away for the race, which had to delay the talk. You tried very hard to avoid every possible serious conversation about it with your brothers. 

The GP was in Singapore, and you were, for once, watching with your brother at your parents’ place.

Seeing Lando on the screen hit very differently since you started dating. You texted privately, sometimes FaceTime, you wished him luck, and he said he missed you. The campaign thing ended, you were meeting at work anymore, but it was better, it was easier not having to act professional everytime he was around. 

“Late is going to be jealous if he sees you fan-girling over Lando like this.” 

Elijah smirked, seeing you overly excited about Lando. It was always one of your favourite drivers on the track, but now you’re not just cheering for him for that simple reason. 

“Late likes Lando too, he probably wouldn’t mind.” You smiled, only if they knew what you were talking about.” 

Elijah squinted at you. “You say that like you know.”

You shrugged, keeping it breezy. “We’ve talked about it before. He respects him.”

Alex turned his head slowly. “Since when did you guys talk about real drivers now?”

You nodded. “It comes up sometimes.”

There was a silence. The kind that made your skin itch.

“Y/N.” Alex’s voice was low. “You’re not being honest.”

“I am!” You shot back, too fast, too defensive.

More silence.

Then Elijah said, “Bring him to karting, then.”

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“If this Late guy is all that, I want to race him. Karting. Real track. You bring him.”

Alex crossed his arms. “Good idea.”

“No,” you said immediately. “Come on.”

“We need to meet this guy, you’re dating someone, and we need to meet him, you know the rule.” 

“What rule, Alex? That never existed.”

“Yes, there is now, since you decided to date some random guy online.”

You sighed, hands over your face. “We met in real life, a couple of times. And no, he’s not a murderer, or a scammer, or some 55-year-old pretending to be twenty. He’s… he’s just a normal guy, okay?”

“Oh, now you’ve met him a couple of times?” Alex looked half-offended, half-concerned.

“Another reason to bring him to karting. How he drives like shit in sim, doubt he can even kart.”

Only if you knew Eli, only if you knew. You bit your lip.

Alex leaned back. “This is going to be so embarrassing for him.”

You didn’t answer.

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You knew you can’t make up no excuses, Lando will be back during the weekend of your family karting, he gladly accepted the invite, he was a bit too excited to know those were your brothers in the group, and he was thrilled to meet them, or a bit thrilled to see their reaction. 

You arrived with Alex, you were fidgeting, you didn’t know how this was going to go, it shouldn’t go wrong, there was no reason to, but still, you were beyond nervous. Lando hadn’t texted that he’d arrived yet, and your brothers were inside signing waivers, still fully convinced they were about to humble some anonymous sim guy who, in their words, “barely knows how to grip a wheel without traction control.”

You texted Lando: You here? Please tell me you’re here. I don’t have the energy to explain grid penalties to my brothers to stall.

Lando: Already inside. Hoodie mode.

You stepped in and immediately spotted him at the back of the lounge, slouched casually on a bench in a black hoodie and cap pulled low. Low-profile. Anonymous. Until he lifted his head and gave you that smile, the one that always felt like it was just for you.

“Hey,” he murmured when you walked over.

“You sure you wanna do this?” you whispered, glancing toward the other side of the building.

He grinned. “Oh, now you’re worried about my safety? In karting?”

You groaned. “Just… whatever, it is what it is, I guess. I’m just nervous.”

He leaned closer, voice low and soft, holding your hand firmly. “Babe, it’s going to be okay. I’m here.”

Before you could respond, Elijah’s voice boomed across the room.

“Is that him?”

Lando turned.

Alex squinted his eyes, then froze mid-step, his jaw visibly tensing. “No fucking way.”

You closed your eyes. “Lando, this is Alexander and Elijah, brothers, this is Lando Norris, well, Late.”

Elijah stared. “No. No, No, No. You’re telling me this whole time, we’ve been racing Lando fucking Norris online?”

“I didn’t tell you because of exactly this reaction,” you muttered.

Alex looked at Lando, then at you, then back. “This is insane. Heh, I’m hallucinating.”

Lando stepped forward, lifting his cap just slightly. “Hi. I’m Lando. I guess you could say I’ve been… seeing your sister.”

“Bro, were you just acting ass to cover your identity? Because those corners, when we raced, don’t look like you're driving.” Elijah went into criticising mode.

“Eli!” you complained. Lando just chuckled. 

Alex rubbed his temples. “You met a random online stranger, and he just so happens to be a Formula 1 driver?”

“I mean, it wasn’t random, it was… a long story…”

“Unreal.” Both of them shook their heads.

“Okay,” Alex said, snapping out of it. “Fine. You’re real. You’re… you. But just know… if you hurt her, it doesn’t matter how many podiums you’ve got. I’m going to make sure you can’t drive again.”

“Alex?” To this point, you just wanted to dig a whole and hide in it.

“I know,” Lando said, voice calm. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

It wasn’t over-the-top. No grand gestures or dramatic monologues. Just him, standing there in beat-up sneakers and a hoodie, being real. And that was enough.

Elijah clapped him on the back. “Let’s race, Norris. Let’s see if you can still win with real pressure. We’ll make sure it feels like Piastri and Verstappen are behind you.”

Lando smirked. “You’re on.”

You watched them walk off toward the karts, shaking your head. But the heavy stone in your heart also dropped.

Somehow, against all odds, your anonymous sim racing crush had become the guy your brothers were now trash-talking in real life. And if you weren’t mistaken, Elijah was already asking him to join their fantasy league.

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[impishjesters]

Insecurities

Ship: Jax x Reader, Ragatha x Pomni (background) CW(s): insecurities, vulnerable Jax, hurt no comfort(?), angst/reality check, cliff hanger, Zooble is briefly an ass and regrets it A/N: Apparently, I started writing this back when this account first started. It was quickly abandoned for whatever reason, and with no clue what its direction was, I simply left it as a cliffhanger because I'm evil. Not my best work.

Today was the day Pomni finally confessed to Ragatha.

After months of the two nearly attached at the hip, Pomni finally caved and came to you and Gangle for help, wanting to do something special. The poor girl was filled with so many emotions that it took the two of you countless reassurances that Ragatha returned her feelings

Pomni wanted to do something for just the two of them, mumbling that it’d be less embarrassing if Ragatha turned her down with no one else around. Mainly so Jax couldn’t use it as blackmail—even after you told her that you wouldn’t let that happen.

That said, she made you hide nearby, out of sight from Ragatha’s view, but still somewhere she could see to give her the confidence to confess. And it was a sight to behold.

Pomni was a mess. Her confession was all over the place, but even without seeing Ragatha’s expression, you could tell she was flustered as well. The moment Ragatha returned her feelings, you shot the two a silent “congrats”. Pomni made brief eye contact with you while they hugged, and you mouthed “I’m proud of you” before leaving the two lovebirds alone.

It wasn’t your place to spread the news; they’d come out when they wanted to. With that task done, you slipped off to find your mischievous boyfriend. Which didn’t take long if the cries of poor Gangle were anything to go by.

Hours passed since the confession, and Jax had taken off to do whatever questionable thing he was going to do, leaving you alone in your room to fend for the boredom on your own. When nothing felt right or entertaining, you settled on the bed, the lights dimmed as if lying down for a nap.

Your eyes closed, but sleep never came. What did come was the muffled sound of a door opening and then slamming shut, and not long after, your bedroom door flew open and slammed shut behind the individual storming inside.

The blanket fell to your lap as you bolted upright to see that your sudden guest was Jax. That slam must’ve been him going to his room to see you weren’t there before heading over here. But why was he slamming—ooookay, screw that question.

“Jax, what’s wrong?”

Jax stormed over to your bed and climbed up until he was over you, pushed you down, and dropped himself on top, burying his face into your chest. His only response was a muffled groan into the fabric. He wanted to tell you, but his brain was still reeling, and his emotions weren’t in check.

You didn’t press him for a response, and he gave his silent thanks. One of the things he loved about you was that you never pressured him into saying anything. You waited until he was comfortable, even if it took days.

The tips of your fingers gently rubbed and scratched at the top and back of his head. It was funny, really, how he was a rabbit but didn’t have an ounce of fur on him. No, his skin was an odd mix of some sort of squishy silicone, and despite the smooth shine, it had more of a matte-like finish. It definitely felt like an odd combination of things to touch on a person, but you’ve long since grown accustomed to his odd flesh, just like he undoubtedly had grown used to your own.

Occasionally, the tips of your fingers would scratch around the base of an ear and gently ghost the shell of said ear, and every time, Jax nearly shuddered. The repetitive motion, along with the silence, gave him the time needed to formulate his thoughts and figure out his feelings.

And of course, it was an unfamiliar feeling, a bitter one that made him want to lash out and do something more impulsive than normal. A feeling he couldn’t quite put a name to.

“Ragatha and Pomni are dating,” he sighed, turning his head slightly.

You hum, it’s old news to you by this point, but this wasn’t about that. “Oh yeah? I’m glad, those two are cute together.”

“Hmm..” The gentle scratches never stopped, and it had him wanting to return the act somehow. His arms crept up the bed to your waist, and he gently palmed the flesh. Not enough to tickle, but enough to give a gentle squeeze, an almost kneading-like gesture. “How long do you think it’ll last?”

“Jax, I’m not betting on their relationship…”

“And I’m not asking you to, it’s a serious question.”

His tone is worrying, it’s soft, and as much as you loathe to say it, frail. Part of you wants to outright ask him what’s wrong, but the other part knows that this might be his brain’s way of getting there.

“I don’t know how long it will last,” and it’s the truth, “but I hope they last a long, long time. Those girls deserve happiness, whether it’s being trapped in here or free in the real world.”

Free in the real world? That’s fun to laugh at, there’s no way they’d stay together if that happened. They’re different people out there compared to who they’ve been forced to become in here. Who knows where either of them lives, or how they’d even find each other if that happened? Would they even remember? If names couldn’t be remembered coming in, who’s to say something wouldn’t be forgotten when leaving?

“Yeah, and what about us?”

The question is so quiet you almost miss it. “What about us?”

“How long do you think we’ll be together?”

Oh. Oh.

Your heart aches at the question, at its implications. Jax has been vulnerable with you before, but never this vulnerable, this raw. Your hands find his cheeks, and he reluctantly lets you lift his face, but his eyes look anywhere but at you.

“Jax,” your voice is watery and he hates it, “honey.. I’d never leave you, stuck in this place or free out there. I’d find you.” Your hands start to shake, and he squeezes your sides before pulling back to straddle you, his own hands engulfing your smaller ones.

“It might not be possible,” he exhales, “there’s no proof of what’ll happen. We might not be where we were when we vanished, we might not rem—” His words shake as he speaks until his voice cracks, it fucking cracks.

“I don’t care, this is us in here. Sure, we forgot our names, but I know—I know that when we get out of here we’ll still have these memories.” It’s been a while since you arrived, and the memory is a bit foggy at times, but you remember where you were and what you were doing. It scares you to think one day you won’t remember, maybe that’s why he—oh, he’s been here a lot longer than you have.

Jax has been here long enough that there’s a high possibility that he doesn’t remember…

Your silence worries him enough to finally make eye contact, and he can see you putting the pieces together. He’s been here long enough that his memories of before get fuzzy. He can vaguely remember what he looked like, what his life was like. And if he thinks hard enough, he can remember roughly what his living situation was like. But at this rate, it feels like all of that will vanish in no time at all.

“I won’t leave you.” It’s soft, barely above a whisper, but Jax hears it and leans further into your touch. “I know that I’ll remember you, so even if you forget me, I’ll find you all over again and make you fall in love with me all over again.”

Oh, there’s that word again, the one that makes him feel things. The L word.

He’s crying and he hates it, hates feeling this vulnerable, hates the wet trickle on his cheeks before it vanishes into your hands. You don’t comment on it. You’re not doing much better after all, he can see your own unshed tears.

At this moment, you are stronger than him in his mind, and he’s silently grateful he’s not having to do this alone.

“What if you don’t like who I am out there?”

“I don’t care what you look like Jax, for fuck sake your a six-foot-two purple rabbit with a grin that could rival the Cheshire cat.” A wet chuckle falls out of him as he sinks down to lean closer to your face.

That’s sweet and all, but it’s not what he meant.

“I meant,” he sighs and stares directly at you, “what if you don’t like who I am?” Sure, you know him now, this rabbit-like avatar he’s stuck in, but he’s different out there—he knows it. His grin isn’t this animated, and his facial expressions are different. He’s even harder to get a read on and—

“What if you don’t like who I am either?”

“Wha—what?”

“You heard me, what if you don’t like who I am out there?”

Now, normally, he’d say he might agree with you, but there’s a gut feeling that he couldn’t find himself hating you. “I don’t think that’s possible…”

“Finally, something we’re in agreement on.” It’s a light-hearted tease, and the two of you share a silent chuckle before he buries his face into your neck, your arms slipping to wrap tightly around him.

“I can’t promise it’ll be easy, I doubt Caine has the power to make it easy enough that we just—” you snap your fingers,”—and poof we’re back out there with all our memories intact and go about our day.” As much as you’d wish that were the case, Caine only has so much power in this place. “But I won’t stop until I find you, even if our memories are gone, I’ll know in my heart that something is wrong. And if our memories are left as is, then I’ll find you even sooner.”

It’s mushy, the longer you talk, the more his stomach, heart, and brain are doing this weird thing, and a part of him wishes he had never even spoken up.

When he’d first heard the girls were dating, he laughed, and made a comment about enjoying it while it lasted because the moment they all get out—if they got out—that relationship is gonna go down the drain. Not that he really thought you guys were getting out, he was just being an asshole like always and stirring the pot.

It was all fun and games to him until Zooble spoke. They used you against him.

“That’s funny coming from you, who’s to say they won’t leave you the second we’re out? I don’t know what they see in you. If you’re this awful in here, I can’t imagine what you’re like out there.”

It was uncalled for, and truthfully, a lot harsher than they meant it. Zooble’s mouth worked faster than their brain did, and it came out with far too much venom. If Jax had that little faith in the girls’ relationship, what did that say about his own relationship? Zooble had always silently worried that you were just being strung along, Jax was the type of person—in their opinion—to toss someone away when they were no longer entertaining.

Jax hadn’t even replied to the comment. He wanted to, but there were too many things that wanted to leave his mouth at once, and his brain was still reeling from the statement. His usual quick-witted self was rendered silent, and that set a few of the others on edge.

“H-hey.. I’m sure Zooble didn’t mean it like that..” Ragatha nervously laughed, rubbing her hands together. “I’m sure the two of you will be together even out there. They really care about you after all.” She still had her doubts and questioned what exactly made you fall for him of all people, but even she could agree that what Zooble said was a bit much.

A response never came. His head, mouth, and chest were too chaotic and static-filled to respond. Instead, he turned away and left, kicking things left and right on the path to his room. Only to find it empty and slam the door shut before storming his way over to your room, which is how he ended up here, an emotionally charged bomb.

[freakyandcool]

.

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

As someone who watched last night’s episode, you had the right idea to stop.

Why’s it so bad

Because Tim Minear is a power-drunk hack.

[maelancoli]

Writing Intimacy

i often see writers sharing a sentiment of struggling with writing kiss scenes which honestly bleeds into other portrayals of physical intimacy. i see it a lot in modernized styles of writing popularized by the recent trend in publishing to encourage short, choppy sentences and few adverbs, even less descriptive language. this makes intimacy come across awkward, like someone writing a script or clumsy recounting of events rather than a beautiful paragraph of human connection.

or just plane horniness. but hey, horny doesn't have to be mutually exclusive with poetic or sensual.

shallow example: they kissed desperately, tongues swirling and she moaned. it made her feel warm inside.

in depth example: she reached for the other woman slowly and with a small measure of uncertainty. the moment her fingers brushed the sharp, soft jaw of her companion, eliza's hesitance slid away. the first kiss was gentle when she finally closed the distance between them. she pressed her lips lightly to gabriella's in silent exploration. a tender question. gabriella answered by meeting her kiss with a firmer one of her own. eliza felt the woman's fingers curling into her umber hair, fingernails scraping along her scalp. everything inside eliza relaxed and the nervousness uncoiled from her gut. a warm buzz of energy sunk through her flesh down to the very core of her soul. this was right. this was always where she needed to be.

the first complaint i see regards discomfort in writing a kiss, feeling like one is intruding on the characters. the only way to get around this is to practice. anything that makes you uncomfortable in writing is something you should explore. writing is at its best when we are pushing the envelope of our own comfort zones. if it feels cringy, if it feels too intimate, too weird, too intrusive, good. do it anyway! try different styles, practice it, think about which parts of it make you balk the most and then explore that, dissect it and dive into getting comfortable with the portrayal of human connection.

of course the biggest part comes to not knowing what to say other than "they kissed" or, of course, the tried and true "their lips crashed and their tongues battled for dominance" 😐. so this is my best advice: think beyond the mouth. okay, we know their mouths are mashing. but what are their hands doing? are they touching one another's hair? are they scratching or gripping desperately at one another? are they gliding their hands along each other's body or are they wrapping their arms tightly to hold each other close? do they sigh? do they groan? do they relax? do they tense? are they comfortable with each other or giddy and uncertain? is it a relief, or is it bringing more questions? is it building tension or finally breaking it?

get descriptive with the emotions. how is it making the main character/pov holder feel? how are they carrying those emotions in their body? how do they feel the desire in their body? desire is not just felt below the belt. it's in the gut, it's in the chest, it's in the flushing of cheeks, the chills beneath the skin, the goosebumps over the surface of the flesh. everyone has different pleasure zones. a kiss might not always lead desire for overtly sexual touches. a kiss might lead to the desire for an embrace. a kiss might lead to the impulse to bite or lick at other areas. a kiss could awaken desire to be caressed or caress the neck, the shoulder, the back, the arms etc. describe that desire, show those impulses of pleasure and affection.

of course there is the tactile. what does the love interest taste like? what do they smell like? how do they kiss? rough and greedy? slow and sensual? explorative and hesitant? expertly or clumsily? how does it feel to be kissed by them? how does it feel to kiss them?

i.e. examine who these individuals are, what their motives and feelings are within that moment, who they are together, what it looks like when these two individuals come together. a kiss is not about the mouth. it's about opening the door to vulnerability and desire in one's entire body and soul.

[stellamarielu]

first thing

jack abbot x female reader

summary: lazy mornings with jack are few and far between, but they always exceed your expectations or jack topping you from the bottom while you ride him first thing in the morning!

content: nsfw, 18+ mdni, literally nothing but smut, established relationship of some sort (let your imaginations run wild), p in v sex, dirty talk bc of course, excessive use of the nickname baby, jack being a veryyy lowkey pleasure dom

word count: 1.1k

author’s note: i’m a firm believer that our dear dr. abbot has a filthy mouth, so of course i had to write something nasty for him. the lack of smut for that smug son of a bitch is criminal. also i am convinced that he would call you baby in bed, but only in bed. i dont think he’d be one for pet names, but something about him being all pussy drunk and calling you baby through low raspy groans. yeah. that is all… enjoy!

“You havin’ fun up there?” Jack’s voice was peppered with self-righteous teasing. His words melted into the air through a lazy drawl as you straddled his lap, his dick buried deep between your legs.

Fifteen minutes ago, you were both fast asleep, bodies intertwined under his linen sheets.

You stirred awake in each other's arms, a tangled mess of limbs in the soft yellow hues of morning light that fought through the blinds. Slow sensual touches on bare skin led to your body on top of his. Feeling the familiar stretch as you sunk down on him, you took your time rolling your hips and coaxing quiet grunts from the man below you before either of you could even think about getting out of bed for the day.

It was rare for you to have an upper hand in the bedroom. When it came to Jack, dominance was his territory, the power associated with it fed his ego. It was uncommon to catch him in a moment of vulnerability, but sometimes you found him trading his strong willed attitude for a more docile demeanor. It often appeared when he was preoccupied or overcome with the need for relief, giving into the soft comfort of your hands on his body. He had to be just needy enough to willingly let take the lead, and even then, he could never fully submit.

He used his words in retaliation.

Maybe his rigid frame would melt under your touch, or his inhibitions would fall to the side at the sound of your pathetic little moans, but he would always rely on his words to remind you who was really in charge. 

“Nice and slow just like that.” The deep rasp of his voice echoed between your bodies; his instruction still laced with sleep. 

A smirk peeked through his slumber worn expression, fingertips resting at the flesh of your waist as your body pressed into his.

His head fell back into the pillow, eyes threatening to close, and you could feel his fingers hug harder into your skin with each rock of your hips.  

“There you go.” He held you, trying his best to let you set the pace, but desperately wanting to tighten his grip and drag you along his body— rough and impulsive. 

Your fucked-out stare scanning him from above was the only thing keeping him in check.

Your pleading eyes begged for control. They practically oozed with desperation as you rode him. It was enough to make his grasp soften as he surrendered to your desire, watching as you used him to please yourself. Used him. His dick pulsed at the notion. 

Jack was addicted to you, mind numbingly obsessed with the soft gasps that fell from your lips every time you came. He swore those sounds alone could give him a buzz unlike any drug. Some nights, he’d make you finish on his fingers so many times he’d lose count. He needed to make you feel good— wanted to watch the way your body reacted to his touch. It held a different kind of control, witnessing you give yourself over to him with your back arched and your head thrown back.

“Show me how you want it baby.” His voice was attentive as he fed into your delusion of power. 

You were grinding into him. Your movements bordering on pitiful with your palm flat against his chest as you held yourself upright. Little whimpers of surrender made their way from your chest with each pass of your hips over his, angling yourself just right so that his tip brushed against the perfect spot with every movement. 

Fluttering shut in the inevitable anticipation of release; your eyes left his. You were basking in the warmth of his hands on your bare body; one of them trailing up your torso, the pads of his fingertips tracing into your skin, higher and higher until,

“Eyes on me.” Delicately, he held the nape of your neck, forcing your stare back on his as he pulled you closer to him. 

You dumbly nodded your head. Handing him back an ounce of authority as you followed his command through a hooded gaze.

“Look at you. So goddamn pretty for me.” 

Your jaw went slack at his words, mouth slightly open and brows knit together as the pressure building in your abdomen threatened its release. 

He could feel each greedy response of your body— could sense your impending orgasm with every clench of your thighs, and he was done letting you take the reins.

His hips snapped up to meet yours. Thrusts moving in tandem with each grind of your hips.

“Shit- you feel too fuckin’ good.” Profanities spilled from his throat at the satisfaction of having full control.

He was holding onto your hips and fucking into you from below. The tensing of your body and the sweet moans dripping from your tongue only adding to his pleasure. You were his. He needed it— craved the promise of your devotion in the breathless praise of his name on your lips.

“Come on baby let me have it.” Growling out in a low moan, he all but begged you to finish for him— finish on him. Pushing you right over the edge with just a few simple words and the persuasive quality of his voice. 

Your walls hugged tight in obedience, a string of whines leaving your throat as you came undone around him.

“There she is.” His statement of recognition seeped with affection while his grip on your hips remained unrelenting.

The high of your release persisted as Jack’s thrusts kept purpose, his hands on your body holding you steady. 

“Got another one for me?” A sadistic warmth took over his voice, and he drove into you harder. The question obviously rhetorical as he made sure to hit the spot that made you clench around him.

The day began around you as gentle sunlight filled the room, but neither of you had a single thought of getting out of bed anytime soon.

[ilovemilestellersmoustache]

Say my Name and Everything Just Stops

Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolts!reader

Summary: If Bob and you were only platonic, absolutely no other feelings… Then why do you feel sick to your stomach when he looks at her like that?

WC: 3.K

*Might have to remake this with more specifics to the song because I added the song after writing it because it lowkey fit the storyline a bit*

⸻

You weren’t sure when it happened.

One day, you were just another warm body at a mission briefing, nodding through tactical discussions, biting your tongue through Alexei’s grating pep talks and Valentia’s obligatory press training. You showed up, suited up, cleaned up, and tried not to get killed. That was the job. That was the team.

Then, somehow, somewhere along the line… you and Bob Reynolds got attached at the hip.

Not officially. Not romantically. Not even consciously, really. You didn’t talk about it. There were no glances across the room filled with meaning, no loaded conversations behind closed doors. It was never dramatic.

It was something quieter. Subtler. Like gravity.

If you were in the kitchen making coffee in the morning, hair tied back, hoodie halfway off your shoulder, still trying to blink the sleep from your eyes, Bob was always there, standing beside you like he’d been summoned. Making tea. Or at least pretending to. Half the time his mug stayed empty, forgotten on the counter while he hovered behind you, offering sugar before you even asked, or opening the fridge before you could.

He wasn’t loud. He wasn’t even particularly expressive. But he was there. His presence made the sterile, metal and glass Tower kitchen feel less like a military bunker and more like home. It was in the little things. The way he shifted when you reached past him. The way he knew how you liked your coffee and made sure no one else drank from your favorite mug. The way he stood just close enough that you could feel his heat at your back.

Game nights made it worse.

Or better, depending on who you asked.

Every week, like clockwork, someone would suggest it usually Alexei or Yelena, high on boredom and low on impulse control. Uno, Jenga, some Russian board game that none of you understood but that Alexei insisted was “better than Monopoly.”

No matter the game, no matter the teams, somehow you and Bob always ended up on the same side. It wasn’t on purpose. No one assigned you to him. It just… happened. You’d be sitting on opposite couches, and by the time the game began, you’d be side by side. Synced up. Aligned.

Charades became a blood sport. You and Bob didn’t even need words. One raised eyebrow from you, and he was guessing the entire plot of The Matrix. He mimed a single motion, and you blurted out Jaws before anyone else even understood it was a movie.

“I don’t even know how they’re communicating,” John muttered one night, tossing a card at Bucky. “They didn’t say a word. Are they cheating? They’re probably cheating.”

“Y/N and Bob have their own frequency,” Ava mumbled from the corner, arms folded but the ghost of a smile tugging at her mouth.

Then came the promo events.

Photoshoots. Talk shows. Those absurd staged press moments where Valentina shoved you all into matching black tactical gear and called it “branding.”

You and Bob migrated toward each other like it was coded into your DNA. Unconscious. Effortless.

Cameras flashed and you were already beside him your shoulder brushing his arm, his hand resting just near the small of your back, not touching, but almost. Always almost. And somehow, no matter how stiff or awkward he looked beside the rest of the team, when he stood next to you, Bob’s shoulders loosened just enough. His eyes softened. His lips curved, barely.

Protective. Steady. Yours.

That’s how it felt.

And still, you told yourself it wasn’t anything.

Just comfort. Just familiarity.

But at night when the compound dimmed, and the war room was dark, and the wind whispered against the windows you started to hear it.

The softest knock. A pause. Then the door creaking open.

He never needed to ask.

He stepped inside like he didn’t want to make a sound, curls still damp from a rushed shower, wearing the same old hoodie that hung loose on his tall frame. Sometimes he’d say your name like a question. Most nights, he just climbed into your bed with a sigh so deep it curled in your chest.

He never reached for you. Not at first.

He just drifted closer, closer until his forehead was resting on your collarbone, his breath warm against your skin, his body folding around you like ivy.

And you’d always find your fingers in his hair. Threading, soothing, grounding. Like they were meant to be there. Like you’d done it a thousand times.

He always fell asleep that way. The Sentry. The most powerful being on Earth. Curled up around you, clinging to the quiet, tucked in by your heartbeat.

And you thought you were subtle. You thought it was private.

You thought no one knew.

Until the night John Walker walked in.

You’d been half asleep, humming something soft while combing your fingers through Bob’s tangled curls. He was a deadweight against you, long limbs twisted around yours, chest rising in the steady rhythm of someone deep, deep asleep.

The door slammed open.

“Y/N! You gotta see the new tech—I finished the—”

He froze.

You cracked an eye open.

Bob didn’t even stir.

And John… just stood there, blinking. Processing. His mouth opened and closed twice before he backed out like he’d walked in on a hostage negotiation.

“…I’ll come back later,” he muttered, nearly tripping over your laundry basket on the way out.

That was the end of the secret.

The next morning at breakfast, the teasing came with knives.

Yelena leaned across the table with a smug little grin. “So… Bob. Y/N. How long has the co-sleeping initiative been active?”

You choked on your coffee. Nearly died.

Bob flushed so red his ears matched his hoodie.

Ava didn’t even try to hide her smirk. “Please. We’ve all seen it. They’re like cats. Always draped over each other. It’s gross. It’s adorable. I hate it.”

“Just don’t bring it on the jet,” John muttered into his eggs. “Some of us like to fly without PDA-induced nausea.”

You didn’t answer. Neither did Bob.

You didn’t have to.

It wasn’t like that, you told yourself.

It was just Bob. It was just you.

But when your eyes met across the kitchen when his hand brushed yours reaching for the honey, and his fingertips lingered just a little longer than necessary, you wondered if maybe it wasn’t just anything.

Maybe it was everything.

And you’d just been too scared to name it.

⸻

Until the charity gala.

You’d pulled out all the stops.

The gown was custom silk that hugged every curve like it was made for you (because it was), with a low, sloping back that shimmered under the chandelier light like molten metal. The color was blood-red, deliberate. You wore it with graceful confidence . Your hair was swept into soft waves that kissed your collarbones. And your eyes, lined lit with something vulnerable and electric, scanned the ballroom for one person.

Bob Reynolds.

He arrived late.

Tugging awkwardly at the cuffs of a tailored suit that fit too well for how uncomfortable he looked in it. Hair combed, clean shaven, tall as hell and radiating nervous energy. You turned the moment he walked in.

He stopped in the doorway when he saw you.

And for the briefest second, everything else in the glittering, champagne soaked ballroom dimmed. His eyes locked on yours across the crowd and something passed between you. Something that hit you low in the chest, unspoken and sharp. You almost smiled.

But then he looked away.

Fast. Like it burned. And he didn’t approach. Not even close. In fact, every time you started to drift toward his side of the room, champagne in hand, casual and hopeful he moved. Ducking away under the guise of conversation or needing air. It was obvious. Painfully so. He was avoiding you.

By the time everyone was seated and smiling for cameras at the table, your chest ached from it.

Had you misunderstood everything?

The closeness, the late nights, the way he always reached for you without thinking, was that just friendship? Just comfort? Had you embarrassed yourself in front of the whole team?

And then came the woman.

An older socialite, jeweled and charming, grabbed Bob by the elbow with a too-knowing smile. She gestured to a girl in satin blue, pretty, long-limbed, her laugh high and flirtatious. Bob looked panicked for a split second. Then he smiled. Small. Polite. He let the woman lead him away.

From across the ballroom, you watched.

The girl touched his arm. He leaned in to hear her. Laughed at something she said. All the alcohol he downed making his eye contact extremely well, didn’t matter that he looked a little stiff. A little out of place. From where you were standing, it looked like he could love her.

And it broke you.

You didn’t say goodbye. Just slipped your clutch under your arm and moved. Valentina caught your elbow at the door.

“Where are you going? You haven’t even spoken to—”

“I don’t feel well,” you said, voice brittle.

“Y/N—”

But you were already gone.

⸻

The Tower was silent when you returned.

You didn’t turn on the lights. Didn’t go to your room. Just stepped into the elevator and punched the button for the roof like muscle memory.

The city stretched below you in a haze of gold and glass. Cold wind bit at your shoulders through the fabric of your dress, but you didn’t care. You needed the air. The silence. The distance from the noise in your head.

Why had he avoided you? Did you look bad? Did he regret all those nights he spent in your bed not with you, but beside you? Holding onto you like you were his only anchor?

You blinked hard against the tears stinging your lashes.

Don’t cry. Don’t be stupid. You’re not sixteen.

The door creaked behind you.

You didn’t move. But your heart knew.

Bob.

He stepped out slow, breath ragged, suit jacket flapping slightly in the wind. His tie was crooked. His hair was messy. He looked like he’d been running.

“You left,” he said quietly, almost breathless.

“I did,” you murmured, arms crossed against the chill.

“I couldn’t find you.”

“I saw you,” you replied, voice sharper than you meant. “You were busy.”

A pause.

“Y/N…” His voice cracked. “It wasn’t what it looked like.”

“I’m not stupid,” you snapped. “She was gorgeous. Polished. Exactly the kind of girl a mother would want for her son-in-law.”

He flinched. “That’s not what I want.”

“No?” You turned now, eyes shining in the low rooftop light. “Because you looked like you were having a great time. Like you were relieved not to be around me.”

“I was avoiding you.”

That stopped you cold.

“I know.”

Bob took a step closer, then another. “You walked into that room and I forgot how to breathe. You were… radiant. Like something out of a dream I wasn’t supposed to be having. And all I could think was, Don’t ruin this. Don’t touch her. Don’t make it weird. So I panicked.”

You stared, wind whipping your hair around your face.

“You avoided me because I looked nice?”

“I avoided you,” he said, stepping right into your space, “because if I didn’t, I was going to tell you I loved you. In front of Valentina. And three senators. And six photographers.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

He laughed, but it was soft. Raw.

“You don’t know what you do to me, Y/N. I can’t think straight when you’re near me. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep unless I’m next to you. You touch me just, like, hand on my arm or fingers in my hair and the world goes quiet. You make me feel like I’m not broken.”

“Bob…” you whispered, tears threatening again.

He took your hands gently. “I don’t know when it happened. I just know I’m in love with you. And if I messed this up tonight… I’m sorry. But I had to tell you.”

You let out a laugh. Choked and wet and unbelieving.

“You idiot,” you said, pressing your forehead to his. “You beautiful, stupid, sweet idiot. I’ve been in love with you since the first time you handed me coffee without asking how I take it.”

His breath hitched. “You have?”

“Obviously.”

The kiss came easy.

Soft, like first light. Like every moment between you had been leading to this, every brush of hands, every shared blanket, every look across the table when no one else was watching. He cupped your face like it was sacred. You buried your hands in his curls like they belonged there. Because they did.

The city sparkled below. And in the quiet, with the wind, and the stars above, the noise finally stopped.

⸻

You woke up in his arms the next morning. Again.

Only this time, your lipstick was smudged on his jaw. His tie was still on your bedroom floor. And when Bucky walked in to grab the TV remote, he paused at the sight of you two curled up, a sleepy smile tugging at his mouth.

“About damn time,” he muttered, shutting the door again.

Neither of you moved.

You were too busy holding onto everything you’d been scared to lose.

—

A/N: PLEASE I NEED MORE IDEAS OR LIKE SONGS TO WRITE THINGS BASED OFF 💔

[frenchkisstheabyss]

☆ ａｂｏｕｔ ａ ｇｉｒｌ☆

☆ Pairing: rockstar!best friend!mingi x chubby!fem!reader

☆ Genre: rocker au/smut/fluff/friends to lovers

☆ Word Count: 4.4k

☆ Summary: During a late night hang out session your innocent request to color in your best friend's tattoos leads to a revelation about the not so platonic feelings you've held for him. Mingi's a rockstar. One of the best guitarists there is. Every boy you know wants to be him and every girl you know wants to be on top of him. In your eyes, the odds that his feelings are mutual are slim to none but a girl's gotta be wrong sometimes.

☆ Warnings: heavily tattooed mingi, he has a tongue piercing too, bestie wooyoung pops in to stir shit up, drug use (just weed), body worship, dry humping, female masturbation, marking, some soft dom mingi moments, oral sex (m & f receiving), fingering, spanking, nibbling, scratching, unprotected sex, his dick is kinda (very) big, doggy style, squirting, creampie, pet names (baby, good girl), affectionate use of the word whore (towards Mingi).

☆ A/N: Rockerteez has a special place in my heart, especially rocker Mingi, so I absolutely had to write something for him. I hope this satisfies something for all of my chubby alt girls out there who crush on this man just as hard as I do. Love you guys xoxo byeee.

Mingi can’t say no to you. It’s been that way since the beginning of your friendship. Craving ice cream in the middle of the night? He’ll drive you to every convenience store in a 10 mile radius just to make sure you get the flavor you want. You want tickets to a sold out concert for your favorite band? He’ll pull every string he can behind the scenes to make sure you get them.

You’ve turned into a brat, spoiled rotten to the core, and he can only blame himself for it. Tonight might’ve been the night that he stood up to you if you didn’t look so adorable making the silliest request he’s ever heard. 

You were standing at the edge of his bed rocking nothing but a baggy Linkin Park tee you stole from his drawer and a pair of black panties not meant to impress but cute all the same. Your cheeks were still stained with glitter from tonight’s concert and remnants of smeared mascara lingered in the wake of some discount makeup wipes that didn’t quite do the trick. 

“Just let me color in your tattoos. Like this, see?” You held your phone up to his face, his nose a fraction of an inch from the screen where a girl was busy coloring in the free space of her boyfriend’s tattoos. 

Mingi had been lying on his back, scrolling his own phone as he patiently awaited your return from the kitchen. Snacks. You were supposed to bring back snacks, not a fistful of random markers you found in the kitchen drawer and some impulsive idea you got from Tiktok. 

“No. I’ll get skin cancer or something” he huffed, rolling his eyes and flopping back down on the bed. 

“Oh, because you’re so concerned about your health” you teased, eyeing the shiny chrome vape pen perched between two plush rosy lips. 

Mingi casually drew in a breath, letting the peach infused smoke fill his lugs. “THC is healthy. Whatever the fuck’s in those isn’t.”

Clearing your throat, you hopped onto the bed, spreading the markers out to inspect. “Actually, these are vegan markers so they’re safe. It’s basically the rules, so…let me do it.”

“No…” he started but you were already pouting, your eyelashes batting away fake tears. It was a cheap trick to pull, especially when you know how it always gets to him, but it worked.

“Fine but you’ve got 15 minutes. That’s it.” 

You wasted no time climbing on top of him, popping the caps of the markers off and getting straight to work. Lucky for you Mingi has more tattoos than free skin on his chest. Even luckier, he has zero ability to track time.

An hour’s passed and you’re still here, straddling his lap and doodling away. You hum along to the song on his record player. It’s a vaguely familiar tune, some alt rock album that dropped before Mingi even hit middle school. 

Mingi’s yet to admit it—he actually hasn’t said a word to you since you started—but this is the most relaxed he’s been in the longest time. Everyone thinks that being in a band is one big party. The tours. The magazine spreads. The concerts. The groupies. But there’s more to it than that. Being an artist takes from you in ways the rest of the world couldn’t imagine. Something about sharing this time with you gives a little bit of that back to him. 

He steals a glance at you, eyes flicking back to his phone before you catch him in the act. You’re pretty. Not the disposable kind of pretty that you admire for one night and forget about when the alcohol wears off in the morning. You’re the irreplaceable kind of pretty. The kind that’s too pure to pursue but too precious to let slip out of his reach.

Your friendship’s never been for show. The bond he has with you—the love he feels—all of it’s genuine. But he can’t say there’s nothing else so he says nothing at all. He just lies here, your human canvas, enjoying the feeling of your weight in his lap and your soft hands brushing against his skin. 

“I’m running to the store. You want something?” Wooyoung asks, bursting through the door. 

It’s a house rule that all bandmates knock before coming in but Wooyoung’s never been one to care. His room is his room and everyone else’s room is his too.

“My bad, am I interrupting something?” 

You and Mingi’s heads turn towards the door in unison and your reactions are are identical. “Something like what?”

Wooyoung cracks a smile, tickled by you two syncing up like bluetooth headphones. “You tell me. I’m not the one who has their best friend in cowgirl right now.” 

A marker goes flying across the room at him and he dodges it like a pro. “It’s not like that and you know it’s not” you say, pretending not to know what a lie that is.

It’s not an outright lie. It’s nothing, it truly is, but you can’t ignore what this position’s been doing to you. Mingi’s a gorgeous man. Gorgeous enough to make you wish you were just another groupie some days. It’s inevitable that your vicinity to him might leave your pulse racing now and then. Maybe get you a bit wetter than anything the natural warmth of your body could do. You feel a twinge of guilt for it but not nearly enough to get up. 

“If it’s not like that then what’s it like?” Wooyoung presses, paying no mind to the growing frustration on his bandmate’s face. Mingi’s pisssed but that’s never stopped Wooyoung before. 

“It’s like you getting out of my room” Mingi snaps, “Where’s San? Doesn’t one of you die if you aren’t attached at the hip 24 hours a day?”

Wooyoung cocks an eyebrow, arms folded across his chest, “You should talk.”

“Woo, I’m serious. Mingi and I are just friends. That’s it. You see the type of girls who wait for him backstage. Do any of them look like me?” 

Your question’s met with silence from both men. They share a knowing glance. Wooyoung knows something you don’t and Mingi dares him to open his mouth unless he wants to die. 

“Didn’t think so” you gloat, getting back to your coloring, “I will take something from the store though. Some chips please. My usual. Want something, Min?”

“Just for him to get out of my room. Quickly.” 

“Got it. Chips for the lady and for the gentleman…” Wooyoung flips Mingi off as he backs out of the room.

Mingi returns the gesture, “I love you too!”

You laugh to yourself, shaking your head at their immaturity. On stage all anyone sees are the piercings and the tattoos. They think that they’re edgy…bad boys. But they’re dorks through and through. Ones you’re happy to be around but dorks nonetheless. 

“And what’s so funny?” he frowns, propping himself up on his elbows. 

Tossing your marker aside, you trade it out for the vape resting at Mingi’s side. You take a puff, leaning forward to blow the smoke right into his face. “You.”

Mingi does nothing. He only sits there letting the smoke dance across his face. You’ve done a lot of hot things since the two of you’ve met and that was without a doubt one of them. You’re on top of him, your back arched, plush thighs caging him in on each side. No bra. No pants. And that face—those lips so dangerously close to his. 

A long moment passes between you. The silence adds another layer of tension to what each of you has already been hiding. 

“Just because they wait for me backstage doesn’t mean they’re my type” he says, catching you off guard. 

It takes a second for you to register what he's said and when you do your brain short circuits. “Min, I mean…I wasn’t…it doesn’t matter.”

Mingi cocks his head, strands of platinum hair falling into his face. “What do you think my type is exactly?” 

You sit back up in his lap, taking another puff to calm your nerves. “I don’t know but last I checked you didn’t have a fat girl fetish.”

“It’s not a fetish.” Mingi pushes himself up to face you, refusing to let you run away so easily. His gaze trails over you like fingertips tracing your curves. “I just like what I like and what I like happens to be girls with some meat on their bones. Is that okay with you?”

Brushing off his comment, you place a hand on his chest to push him back down. “You’re being weird.”

He doesn’t budge. He just stares into your eyes, searching for whatever it is that you’re fighting so hard to keep hidden from him. He knows it’s there. It’s in the way your black nails are nervously drumming against his chest. It’s in the shortness of your breath and the subconscious rocking of your hips in his lap. But he wants to see it in your eyes. He needs to. 

“Is that the only reason then?” he asks, slipping an arm around you, “You think nothing’s happened between us because of your body? Which is beautiful by the way.”

You blush, playfully swatting him on the cheek, “Stop. It’s not just that. You and I, we're friends, that's it. Even when you say stuff like that to tease me, I know you only see me as a friend.”

“And what do you see me as?” His voice is deep on any regular day but the way it dips when he asks the question has a bass to it that has you sweating. 

You stumble on your words, fighting to make sense of the alphabet soup that is your brain. You don’t work for the CIA. You weren’t prepped to hold up to interrogation. That’s exactly what this feels like because that’s exactly what this is. Mingi wants an answer, a clear one, and you know better than anyone that when he locks in on something he never backs down. 

“You’re someone who means to me, Min. Someone I’d rather not lose by thinking something’s there when it’s not…”

You have more to say but you can’t for the life of you remember what it was after Mingi’s lips collide with yours. He lays back, finally, and he takes you with him, your body flush against his as he kisses you with a hunger you didn’t know he possessed.

It’s a wild, breathless kiss. It’s wet lips and little nibbles, tongues intertwining and fingers tangling in hair. There’s no more holding back. No reason to pretend that you don’t want what both of you have all along. It’s a relief for Mingi who's been quietly going through hell for the past hour trying not to get hard with you seated on top of him. 

He thought of everything he could to ignore how good it felt to have you resting against his length but now all he can think of is you. It’s dizzying how quickly all of the blood in his body rushes between his legs, his length swelling as he takes greedy handfuls of your figure. You shiver the first time you feel him, a moan as light as air leaving your lips. 

“Where’d that come from?” you giggle, hips rolling to chase the friction. 

Mingi pushes you onto your back, lips latching onto your neck before you even hit the mattress. 

His hands dip beneath your borrowed shirt. It’s one of his favorites but right now he can’t stand the sight of it. He needs to feel the smoothness of your bare skin…feel your curves give beneath his touch. 

“You want some more?” he asks, dragging his tongue across your skin, igniting you like a match.

“Oh, fuck, yes…” you moan at the pressure of his fingertips massaging your breast.

He brushes his thumb across your nipple and it stiffens as if on command. Your whole body’s calling out his name—screaming it—begging for his attention. Mingi presses down onto you, his cock throbbing like a heartbeat against your core with every grind of his hips. Moisture trickles down your slit, soaking your panties to the point of uselessness.

You can’t say it's ever crossed your mind to dry hump a rockstar but thanks to Mingi it’s quickly become your new favorite thing. You could lay here all night moaning and whimpering, making a sticky mess all over his sweatpants while he marks your neck up like you’re his property. Well, maybe not all night. Your mind’s already flooded with thoughts of how badly you need him inside you. Good thing he doesn’t intend to make you wait much longer. 

“This shirt, take it off” he demands, already tugging it up your figure.

Mingi climbs onto his knees, sitting back to give you the room you need to slip the shirt over your head. He can’t tell where it lands, he doesn’t really care. All that matters to him is that there’s a goddess lying between his legs, one ruined pair of panties away from being completely naked. He lights up like a kid on Christmas morning. You’re a gift so perfectly designed to suit his every desire that he must be dreaming. 

“What’s wrong, Min? Never seen a naked girl before?” you tease, your nervous laughter triggering something in him. 

Mingi’s expression darkness like you’ve only seen it when he’s deathly serious about something. “Not like this…” he says, his hands patiently exploring your body, savoring every part of you. “And you thought you weren’t my type? When you’re this pretty—your cute belly, those stretchmarks, these thighs—you think I haven’t worshipped you since the day I met you?”

He pushes your knees up just enough to slip your panties down, “I remember Yunho brought you backstage after the show. You had on those heels and that tiny leather skirt. You were so fucking pretty and all I could think was, ‘I wonder what it’d be like to have those thighs around my neck’. You gonna let me find out?”

Mingi spreads your legs, running his fingers through your glistening pussy. His fingers are coated in seconds, so shiny and wet with your arousal that they slip inside of you effortlessly. He crawls onto his stomach, licking his lips as his fingertips stroke your walls. 

“Aah…mmph…Mingi” you whine, gripping the sheets as he adds another finger.

“I like the sound of my name but that’s not an answer, baby. I need you to tell me.” He licks the tip of your clit, his silver tongue piercing glinting in the light as he teases you, “Can I eat your pussy or you want me to beg for it?”

“No begging. Just fucking do it.” 

Mingi doesn’t need to be told twice. He buries his face between your legs, suckling and slurping, eating you up like you’re the last meal he’ll ever have. Your thighs slip over his shoulders and he grabs onto them with both hands, kneading their softness as his tongue dips into you. You try to keep it together but you’re  too sensitive to control how much you tremble when he laps at the ridges of your walls.

You grab him by the hair, not guiding him, just feeling him. You don’t know if it’s the drugs or the way his tongue’s swirling around inside you but it’s like you're floating. Your body’s buzzing with pleasure and when he reaches up to pinch your clit you’re on the verge of falling to pieces. 

And that’s right where he keeps you, dancing on the edge of complete ruin. Occasionally he glances up at you, not caring now if you catch him looking. He wants to see you…wants you to see him. You lock eyes and he hums his satisfaction at every pretty face you make.

A mentor once told him that every girl’s a guitar. You’ve just gotta pay enough attention to know how to tune her. A skilled musician if nothing else, Mingi knows how to tune you just right. He knows which dials to turn to make you sing. He’s strumming every string, hitting every note that he needs to for that fullness to build in your lower belly. It’s never felt this good to be close before, it’s almost too much to take and you inch up on the bed, desperate for a break.

Mingi grabs you by the hips before you can get too far, dragging you back down onto his face. “No running” he grins, “Now be a good girl and stay still for me.”

There’s no time to be shocked by his boldness. You’re right back where you left off. Back arching, legs shaking, walls clenching. He takes your clit between his lips, licking circles around it as his fingers plunge back into you, tapping your sweet spot until you come undone.

He locks an arm across your waist, pinning you to the bed so that you have to take it. All of it. Your orgasm falls over you like a blanket, clinging to your skin, enveloping you in the overwhelming warmth of it. Your moans devolve into a low, broken whine as you lay there helpless. As if you’d want the help if there were any. 

“Mmm” he hums, taking his last taste of you before his dripping fingers pull out, “I knew you’d taste good but that was…”

He swishes what’s left of your juices around in his mouth, making sure that it lingers behind long after he’s done. “Delicious.”

Pressing his lips to your inner thigh, he kisses his way up your body. Except for a few involuntary twitches from the aftershock, your body’s limp. Far too weak to stop him from teasing you with wet kisses to your curves. He whispers things to your body. Some sweet, some filthy, but the message is the same. You’re beautiful. You’re perfect. You’re everything he’s ever wanted.

A part of you wants to deny the truth of his words, shrugging them off as nothing more than lust. But there’s so much sincerity in them that you can’t fight them off. They soak right into your skin and, by the time his lips meet yours again, they’ve become a part of you. 

Mingi cups your face, his thumb rubbing circles on your cheek. “You came so hard for me, baby. Think you can do it again?”

You may be lying here with glossy eyes and pouty lips but you’re far from the innocent little thing he’s making you out to be. You slip a hand below his waist, palming his length through his pants. 

“Get rid of them” you whisper, kissing him harshly, “Now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He pushes himself up from the bed, standing to the side of you to drop his pants. You crawl to the edge of the bed, settling on your knees to watch him. He makes a proper show of it, sliding them down at an agonizingly slow pace. Your eyes widen when his cock springs free, no boxers to hold them back. 

“You didn’t have any underwear on. You whore” you tease, admiring his cock all the while. It’s much longer than you thought it’d be, thicker too, with pretty veins traveling up the side like rose vines and a nice fat tip leaking precum down to the rim. 

Mingi tucks a finger under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him. “If I’m a whore, I’m your whore.”

“All mine?” you ask, popping the tip into your mouth. It’s a tight fit. Not easy in the slightest but you make it look like it is. You drag your tongue across the slit, collecting beads of arousal on your tongue. 

His body shudders, knees almost giving out from the wispy motion of your tongue around the rim. “All yours” he groans, his voice growing shaky the further you take him into your mouth.

You take as much as you can before it taps the back of your throat and then you take a little more still. Bobbing your head back and forth, you drool down his length, sucking him like one of those long, twisty lollipops you get from the candy store. Mingi throws his head back, swearing he can see stars on the ceiling from how tightly your fluffy cheeks are suctioned around him.

Your tongue sweeps back and forth on the underside of his cock, your throat muscles flexing around the tip. Running your fingers down his stomach, you dig your nails in. Not enough to draw blood, just enough to get his attention. He looks down at you, a mixture of ecstasy and pain clouding his mind.  

Leaning back from him, you let him slip out of your mouth. “If it’s all mine…” you sigh, sliding back on the bed and crawling onto your knees, “Then give it to me.”

You arch your back, ass poked out towards him, and he can see that you’re still dripping, your thighs soaked from your last orgasm. He slaps your ass hard enough to make all of you jiggle and you smile back at him, not minding the sting. 

“You’re lucky you look so hot” he says, aligning himself with your entrance.

You wink, sinking back onto him so that the tip pops inside, “So are you.” 

Mingi grabs you by the hips, slamming into you, and your arms give out in an instant, your cheek lying flat against the blanket as the next thrust sends shockwaves through your system. He pauses before the next to give you time to adjust. Really to give himself time to adjust.

The look on his face would make you think that he hates you—eyes narrowed, brows knitted together, lips tight—but it’s the exact opposite. Being inside of you is like dipping himself into a pool of honey. You’re warm and sticky, hugging him so well that pulling out feels criminal. Nothing has ever felt this good. 

“Shit, baby, I can’t believe this is what you’ve been hiding from me all this time” he grunts, driving into you again and again.

The tears in your eyes are real this time. None of those play ones from earlier. You can’t help how they water as he bounces you on his cock, your quivering hole stretching a bit more each time to accommodate him. Music’s still streaming from the record player and the sound of your bodies slapping together matches the frantic rhythm. You have to give it to him. He’s good at staying on beat, even at a time like this. 

Leaning forward, he nips at your side before grabbing your arm and guiding it between your legs. “Touch your clit for me. Wanna watch you do it.”

You do as you’re told, blindly feeling around to find your bud. Your fingers slip around, splashing in your own slick. They land right at your entrance and you can feel him pulsing as he disappears into you. You let them hover there, stroking him each time he pulls back, but Mingi forces your hand up to where he wants it.

“Aah, Min—fuck, so good…” you moan at the added layer of pleasure. 

With his large hands splayed out on your ass, he sits back to watch you. Your arm’s shaky, mouth hung open drawing in sharp, jagged breaths. The curves of your body sit just right and each time you arch he finds a new way to admire them.

It’s more than enough to break him, your walls clenching and releasing, worsening the rising pressure threatening to ravage him. But he grits his teeth, suppressing his high until he feels your walls flutter off rhythm, legs trembling as your second orgasm of the night washes over you. 

Mingi stills his movements, keeping you flush against him as you mindlessly ride his cock. “Good girl…” he coos, “Use me like I’m your fucking toy.” 

Your whole world’s shattering and his words only make you come harder, juices cascading down your thighs, soaking the space between you. He follows close behind you, his swollen tip pumping you full of his seed until you’re drowning in the warmth of it. You bite down on the blanket, moaning his name into the thick cotton.

When your body finally collapses into the mattress, you’re on another planet and the feeling of Mingi’s arms around you are all that brings you back to earth. Cuddled up behind you, he sprinkles your shoulder with loving kisses, obsessed with the way you look even when you’re wrecked like this.

Minutes pass without a word spoken but nothing needs to be said for his admiration for you to be clear. It radiates from him, making your skin prickle. 

Turning to face him, you brush sweat slicked strands away from his eyes, “You’re staring at me.”

“I like staring at you” he smiles, kissing your inner wrist, “I always have…always will.” 

This is your cue to say something sweet back. Tell him how handsome he is—that in a room full of people your eyes will always find him. But the gravity of what you two have done sets in and with it comes the paralyzing fear that you’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life. When you were his best friend. You were special. Sacred in a way that made you different from all the other girls. So what are you now?

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, searching your expression for any small detail that’ll give it away. 

“It’s nothing…”

Mingi frowns, knowing a liar when he sees one, “Nothing, huh?”

“Really, it’s nothing. It’s just—I don’t wanna be just like one of your little groupies, you know? I don’t want this to mean that you see me differently.” 

“I see you the same way that I always have” he says, fingertips tracing your spine. “But I’d like to see you as something more, if that’s okay with you.”  

The smile on your face is automatic. You can’t even begin to fight it. “Yeah, that’s okay with me.”

“Good. Not that you really had a choice. I can’t let go of a girl like you. Look at you” he growls, locking you in his arms so that you can’t get away.

He tucks his face into your neck, kissing and nibbling at you like a rabid animal. You kick your feet and giggle, hands pressed to his chest in a useless attempt to push him off.

Some things between you will never change. He’ll forever be a menace, always taking every chance he gets to mess with you, but in another sense things will never quite be the way they were before.

And, as you surrender to the relentless assault of kisses raining down on you, you can’t imagine ever wanting them to be. 

[sknyuz]

hello!! I want to make a request ; is it alright if you can write about how seong je would be with a mute!reader? i just think it’d be an interesting dynamic ..! hmm other details i’d add is the reader often giving affection in a form of gifting (letters mayb?), cooking him a meal or quality time :) you may write this in whatever format you want!! thank youu and have a nice week (ps love your writing)

synopsis — seongje is a whirlwind of noise and chaos, but he finds unexpected peace in your silence.

now playing — sweet - cigarettes after sex pairing — geum seongje x gn!reader (hard of hearing, selectively mute) genre — hurt/comfort, slowburn, angst with soft moments, unconventional romance (nothing is conventional with seongje) cw — ableism/mocking of hearing disability, bullying, violence (including implied offscreen physical assault), power imbalance, toxic behavior, minor blood/bruising, strong language wc — ~2.1k

note: this was a pleasure to write <3 i hope i did ur request justice, anon. and please do not hesitate to tell me if i wrote something wrong or inaccurate to the experiences of hoh individuals.

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seongje doesn’t do “quiet.” he doesn’t do subtlety, either. his entire existence is loud—his presence is a storm that makes everything feel tense and unpredictable. that’s how he’s known: the unpredictable, impulsive force, the mad dog. so, when he sees you for the first time, it’s almost like a challenge.

you’re sitting there, silently, in the bowling alley, a forced audience to the bullying happening around you. the union’s delinquents have gathered, sneering as they taunt you. they wave your hearing aids in front of you like a sick joke, expecting you to react. but you don’t. you’re quiet, your face unreadable, eyes glued to the floor, trying to stay as small as possible, like you’ve done countless times before. it’s a game for them, nothing more than a way to make you feel like an outsider.

“hey, freak, what’s wrong? can’t hear us?” one of them mocks, swinging your hearing aids back and forth with a smirk.

the noise is deafening to you in a different way—a slow, rising pressure in your chest. you want to speak, to make them stop. but your voice won’t come, and the words you want to say die in your throat, replaced by that quiet ache of helplessness.

that’s when seongje steps in.

he’s not supposed to be there. he’s supposed to be in baekjin’s office, probably arguing or being a general pain in the ass—but the noise coming from the alleyway catches his attention. he comes striding out, a curse on his lips as he surveys the scene, his eyes lighting up with the familiar flash of anger.

“what’s with all the fucking noise, fuckers?!,” seongje shouts, his voice dripping with disdain as he eyes the delinquents, but his gaze lands on the one holding your hearing aids, who freezes up as soon as he realizes who’s standing in front of him.

“aww, you guys are really fucking pathetic,” seongje steps forward, his mood shifting from bored to dangerous in an instant. he slaps the delinquent’s face, knocking the hearing aids out of his grip, and catches them before they hit the floor.

the delinquent stumbles back, startled, and seongje doesn’t miss the way his bravado slips. “hey, if you want to get your ass kicked, i’ll be happy to oblige. otherwise, get the fuck out of here,” seongje growls, and his voice carries an unmistakable warning.

the delinquents scatter quickly, realizing they’re not really looking forward to get beat up by the wolf himself. seongje watches them leave with a bored smirk, but his eyes return to you, where you’re still sitting silently, your gaze downcast. his anger bubbles under the surface, but it doesn’t seem to be directed at you—it’s more frustration at how they treated you. and, maybe… it’s confusion. because why would he be frustrated?

he despises those who put on a front, acting all tough and dominant when they're around someone they know is weaker, but turn into cowards the moment they face someone like seongje. the hypocrisy makes him sick—they don’t even have the balls to face him.

you look up at him then, your lips parting as if to say something, but the words stay locked inside. seongje stares back, a little too long, before he gestures to the now-empty bowling alley with a roll of his eyes.

“shit, it’s way too quiet in here now,” seongje mutters, half to himself. “i need a fucking drink. you coming?” his fist reaching out to you, making you flinch, but he simply turns and opens his palm to reveal your hearings aids, offering it back to you, his gaze not even meeting yours.

you hesitate, a flicker of uncertainty crossing your face. seongje doesn’t wait for a reply. he knows how this works—he doesn’t need words from you to tell if you’re okay. you’ve already said more than enough with that silence of yours.

it’s a few weeks later when seongje starts to notice something he wasn’t expecting—something soft. you’re not the type to speak, but you show him things. you leave him little letters. they’re simple at first, just words on paper—carefully written, neat and soft. but each one has meaning. you might leave him a note after a chaotic day, telling him, thank you for helping me today—a gesture he’s not used to.

seongje can’t stop himself from reading them over and over, even if he pretends they don’t matter. he tosses the first one aside in an exaggerated motion, but later, when he’s alone, he pulls it out again, trying to make sense of it. there’s something oddly comforting in your words. something real. his usual sharpness dulls just a little when he reads them.

it’s a typical night, and you don’t expect anything to go wrong. seongje has always been unpredictable, but you can’t stop yourself from trusting him. there’s a strange sort of understanding between the two of you now. he doesn’t need you to speak, and you don’t need him to be anything but… himself. still, you don’t expect what happens when he calls you to meet him in a parking lot late one evening.

the dim light from the streetlamps makes the whole place feel cold and detached. you spot him standing there, leaning against the hood of a car, his eyes narrowing slightly when he sees you approach. but there’s something different tonight—something unsettling in his stance.

"come here," seongje says, his voice almost too casual for the tense atmosphere.

your breath catches in your throat as the boy on his knees comes into focus. you've seen him around before—he’s one of the delinquents from the union. the same one who’d been taunting you in the bowling alley, waving your hearing aids like some cruel joke. that memory hits you sharply, and your stomach churns with discomfort as you recognize him now, his face bruised and bloodied, a lip split open, looking like he’s been through hell.

but why is he here? why is he on his knees, shaking in front of seongje? what happened to him?

seongje stands over him, his posture casual, his grin wide and wicked as he watches the boy with almost bored amusement. he kicks the delinquent’s side lightly, like it’s a game, and the boy flinches.

"come on, kid," seongje says, his voice teasing but edged with something darker, something almost amused by the kid’s fear. "just like we practiced."

the delinquent on his knees doesn’t speak, his eyes downcast, probably too terrified to even look up at seongje, but his shaky hand lifts. you watch as he tries to make the "a" handshape, his fingers clumsy as he attempts to sign. seongje looks down at the boy, his grin stretching wider as he watches him fumble.

the delinquent hurriedly completes the sign, his hands shaking, his breath coming in short bursts as he struggles to perform it correctly. he spins his hand in a half-hearted clockwise motion, and you can tell how hard it is for him to even try. he looks humiliated, and maybe that’s what seongje wants—to make him feel small, to show that he’s the one in control now. like how the boy probably felt back in the bowling alley with you.

“sorry.” he signed.

as the boy finishes, seongje pats his shoulder with an almost affectionate thud, a grin still plastered on his face. “good job,” he mutters, voice dripping with mock praise. but his eyes flick to you, then back to the delinquent, as if waiting for some kind of reaction.

the delinquent scrambles to his feet, not daring to say a word, but you can see the fear still fresh in his eyes. without another glance, he stumbles off into the shadows of the parking lot, and seongje doesn’t follow him, not bothering with any more theatrics. “now that’s how you apologize,” he sighs contentedly, glancing at you from the corner of his eye as he walks back to where you two came from.

you don’t respond, but you follow him. because, despite everything—despite how messed up all of this is—he’s still the one who, somehow, happened to feel like the safest person to be around. despite his… unique antics.

despite the way he does things no one else would dare to. because even if he’s rough around the edges, unpredictable and loud, seongje never made you feel small. and that, weirdly enough, was enough.

seongje’s desk at the bowling alley becomes a quiet sort of shrine to you—littered with your letters and notes, half-crumpled from him rereading them over and over. he never bothers to clean it up. they’re scattered across the surface like leaves in a storm, but he knows exactly where each one is. it’s an organized mess, chaotic in the same way he is. but if anyone even looks at them too long—tries to pick one up, makes a joke about the handwriting, even breathes too close to the edge of his desk—they’re basically asking for a death wish.

“touch it and you die,” he’ll mutter without even looking up, one foot kicked up on the desk, cigarette dangling from his lips. it’s not even a threat—it’s a promise.

somewhere in between the late night meetups—where the world is quiet and it’s just the two of you—and the stolen moments in back rooms lit by vending machine glow, seongje softens. not in a way that’s obvious to most, but in ways you catch. like when he plays bowling with you late at night at the union headquarters, just the sound of pins crashing echoing through the empty lanes. he’s terrible at it, but he doesn’t care. he would fair better hitting someone at the back of the head with these bowling balls. he only really lights up when it’s your turn.

you roll the ball, knock down every pin, and before you can even react, he’s throwing his hands in the air, exaggeratedly signing applause, a wide grin stretching across his face.

“that’s what i’m fucking talking about!” he shouts, clapping loudly on top of the sign for applause he just made, just because he’s still him—loud, obnoxious, impossible—but now he’s loud for you.

yeah… to seongje, you’re like a stray puppy at first. small, quiet, following him around without saying a word, eyes always wide and watching. at first, he thinks it’s kinda funny—endearing, even. you don’t talk back, don’t flinch when he’s loud, and you’ve got this habit of showing up with little notes or food like some soft, strange ritual he doesn’t understand. he starts calling you “puppy” just to mess with you, ruffling your hair whenever you come around.

but somewhere along the way, that fondness stops being just a game. no, you’re not a pet to seongje. but maybe, you became an equal.

he starts waiting for your notes. starts leaving his office door slightly cracked, just in case you come by. he catches himself watching you instead of his phone. gets weirdly pissed off when other people so much as look at you wrong.

and the night he realizes it’s different—that it’s not just him babysitting some quiet kid—it’s when you sign “stay” with soft hands after a long night, and he does. no grumbling, no jokes, just settles next to you and doesn’t leave.

after that, it’s not a question. you’re not a puppy. you’re his person.

and yeah, maybe he never said you were dating. but everyone knows. you leave your food in the union’s fridge, your letters in his desk, your comfort in the chaos of his life. and he protects you, respects you, listens to your silence more than he’s ever listened to anyone’s voice. and no one in the union dares to bring it up or even question your soft presence in the nitty gritty bowling alley.

seongje is loud. like, really fucking loud. he talks with his whole body, yells when he's annoyed, laughs like he owns the air around him, and never knows when to shut up. he's noise and motion and chaos wrapped in one, dangerously sharp-edged boy. but you—you're quiet. not just in voice, but in presence. you move gently, offer kindness without demanding attention, speak in ways that don’t need sound.

and somehow, in all the noise of his world, your silence is the only thing that ever made sense. he used to think silence was empty, but now it’s where he finds comfort. he’s still loud, still volatile, still the type to throw a punch first and maybe ask questions never. but now there’s this... softness around the edges. a space he carves out just for you. like you’re the eye of the storm, and he’s always, always circling back to you.

in your quiet, he feels understood. and maybe that's the wildest thing about this whole mess—that a boy made of sound found peace in someone who never had to say a word.

note: aaa i feel like this so short >><< i wanted to give them more of a backstory but for now this is what i’m going with. if you’d like to see more of them that’d be nice 🫶 this is such a different take from collarless tho, and it’s nice to also write a softer character to contrast our tough collarless!reader to explore more dynamics with seongje.

i don’t aim to reform or soften seongje, but have the peaceful presence of the reader be incorporated into his life without changing his ideals and personality.

𐔌 . ⋮ taglist .ᐟ weak hero class ֹ ₊ ꒱ @kstrucknet | @loserlvrss @nanamiswifesatorusgf @hateateez @slytherinshua @winnie-bunnie @rexxiiia @mrgzzarella @ilyhachii @youmeshii @actuallynarii @midnight--raine @d4ily-s-nsh1ne @trasshy-artist @crowneve @juicyjam @xh01bri @onyourlisa345 @triciawritesstuff @prettywhenicry4 @dripoftheseus @rosieparkk @gacktsa @sopitadearvejas @satorustorm @d4ily-s-nsh1ne @mirwors @sqacewalkr @l5byrinth @vovoloyo @keumbaku @sarcastic-cookie @v3n0m35 @vitaminbtob @armani78 (ask to be tagged or removed)

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

Rafe catching you applying for more higher level jobs after the incident with telling Ward you’re pregnant

you don’t have to prove anything to me - rafe cameron x pregnant!pogue!reader

series masterlist

content: ward (ew.), pregnancy related stress, pregnant!reader, emotional distress, family conflict, self doubting

au: love writing these. keep the asks coming!

word count: 689

Rafe wasn’t stupid. He might’ve acted impulsively sometimes, let his temper get the best of him, but when it came to you—he noticed everything. That’s why, when he stepped into the bedroom that night and saw you curled up on the bed, laptop open, brows furrowed in focus, something in his chest tightened. You looked determined. Too determined. And that’s when he saw it—the email drafts, the open job applications, the résumés lined up on your screen like a desperate, last-minute attempt at control.

His stomach dropped. He didn’t say anything right away, just leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest as he watched you, waiting for you to notice him. It took a moment, but then your fingers slowed on the keyboard, and you sighed, rubbing at your temples before glancing over. The second your eyes met his, you stiffened. “Rafe,” you breathed, snapping the laptop shut like you’d been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to.

His lips twitched, not in amusement, but in something softer, something sadder. “Something you wanna tell me?” You hesitated, eyes darting away. “It’s nothing.” “Doesn’t look like nothing,” he countered, nodding toward your laptop. “Looks like a whole lot of job applications for positions you swore you weren’t interested in just a couple of months ago.” You swallowed hard. “I just… I just want to be prepared, that’s all.” “For what?” His voice wasn’t harsh, but it was firm. Steady. “Baby, we don’t need more money. You don’t need to prove anything.” Your throat tightened. “It’s not about that.” Rafe pushed off the doorframe, walking toward you slowly, carefully, like he was approaching something fragile. Maybe he was. “Then what is it about?” he murmured, sinking onto the edge of the bed, close enough to touch you, but not yet reaching out. He needed you to tell him first. You exhaled shakily, fingers curling into the blankets.

“Your dad.” Rafe’s jaw clenched. “I just—” You sucked in a sharp breath, shaking your head. “He made me feel small, Rafe. Like I wasn’t good enough. Like I was just… some girl who made a mistake. And I know I shouldn’t let it get to me, but I can’t stop hearing his voice in my head, and—” Your breath hitched. “I don’t ever want to feel like that again. Like I have to prove that I deserve to be in this family. That I deserve to have this baby with you.”

Rafe was silent. Not because he didn’t care. Because he cared too much. Because he knew exactly what it was like to live under the weight of his father’s expectations, to feel like no matter what you did, it would never be enough. And now, Ward had made you feel like that too. Something inside him burned. He reached for you then, cupping your face, his thumbs brushing softly over your cheeks. “Listen to me,” he said, voice low, almost rough with emotion. “You don’t have to prove anything to him. Or to anyone. You are enough—more than enough. For me, for this baby… for everything.”

You swallowed thickly, blinking up at him. His grip tightened, not harsh, but firm. Grounding. “I don’t care what he thinks,” Rafe continued. “I don’t care if he never comes around. I chose you. You are the mother of my child. And there is not a single doubt in my mind that you are exactly where you’re meant to be.” Your breath shuddered. “But what if—” “No,” Rafe cut in, shaking his head. “No what ifs, baby. Not with this.” Your eyes were glassy now, the weight of his words pressing into your chest. Rafe exhaled sharply before pulling you into his arms, wrapping himself around you like he could shield you from every cruel word, every doubt, every fear. “You’re everything to me,” he murmured against your hair. “And I swear to you, I won’t let anyone make you feel less than that again.” You buried your face in his chest, your fingers gripping onto his shirt like a lifeline. And for the first time since that conversation with Ward, you felt safe.

[sesmiq]

a night to remember Underneath the sheets, you enchanted me And whispered sweet nothings in my ear ‧₊˚🖇️ pairing: bottom male reader x secret one night stand ⤹warning: mister/sir kink ?, y/n being bratty,, soft/gentle sex, v vanilla, drunk reader, no condom D: (be safe aa), blowjob (receiving), fingering (receiving), door>table sex,,, aftercare!! always have aftercare ,, age gap(reader/y.n 21, one night stand 32) rlly rushed in general, not proof read, if this flop ill simply explode (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ 𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ word count: 3.3k

today was a shitty day. for y/n, at least, it started when his brand new shoes, in the worst color possibly, white- getting completely ruined when he stepped into dog’s poo. then, he checked his grades on his phone, only to see a big red F. on the class he needed to pass in order to graduate. the reason? one of his groupmate didnt do their part, even worse- they dont even attend the class! and now, because of that person, y/n wasnt going to graduate on time. y/n asked his other teammate who was the one that didnt do their part, he made sure to write down their name into his note app to (maybe) beat them up one day,, just when he thought his day couldnt get worse, he was on his way to his part time job before getting a text from his boyfriend. the message was short, a simple, “lets breakup.” he read the text over and over again, his boyfriend of 2 years- ending things without even a word of explanation, over text at that. y/n didnt go to his part time job that day, asking for a sick leave from his manager. his friends noticed that he looked down, then dragged him to a bar to distract him from whatever was in his head. shots. beer. loud music.. y/n drank everything his friend poured him as he listened to the other’s rant about how can his boyfriend just dump y/n like that. he just wanted to forget. after a few drinks in, feeling a little tipsy, y/n told his friends that hes gonna step out for a smoke and maybe fresh air. he leaned against the cold brick wall, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it, taking a long drag as he tried to calm his racing thoughts. ..its cold. maybe he shouldve borrowed his friend’s coat, He exhaled, watching the smoke curl up into the dark sky, when something warm and heavy draped over his shoulders. “??” he blinked, turning his head. Ah, this guy is handsome, he thought to himself, the stranger stood beside him, he looked like he's a few years older than y/n (maybe around his early 30s, he thinks.) , with messy dark hair, piercing black eyes and only wearing a black turtleneck with slacks. “youre shivering.” the man said, voice low and smooth, y/n glanced down at the coat, then back up at the man “‘m fine.” he slurred his words, swaying on his feet like hes gonna fall any moment. the guy huffed out a quiet laugh, “you sure?” “..’m not that drunk.” “mhm.”

“what are you? my mom?” the guy let out a breath that was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, “go back in, you’re gonna freeze.” “dont wanna.” “dont be stubborn.” he huffed. “I’m not-” y/n stopped, blinking, as the words caught up with him. “..you’re annoying.” on impulse, y/n yank him forward, grabbing the front of the guy’s collar, pulling him down his height and then his mouth was on his.  it wasn’t graceful. hell, it wasn’t even all that romantic. just messy. sloppy. drunken. but the guy kissed back. like hes not going anywhere. y/n wasnt sure how theyd get from the bar to an apartment? or motel, he couldnt tell. the door clicked shut behind and he barely caught it before nearly tripping over if it werent for the other’s steadying him by the waist. “you alright?” the man murmured, before he could say anything, he was pushed against the door, the man covering the back of head with his hand, his back hitting the wood with a soft thud, and then the guy’s lips were on his before pulling away, “you talk too much.” y/n groaned, alcohol still buzzing through his system. he stared back at the stranger, before asking, “whats your name?”

the man paused for a second before tilting his head to the side, as if thinking what to say, he leaned in- just a little closer to touch his forehead with y/n’s,

“does it matter?” he murmured. y/n shouldve said yes, but instead, he pulled the stranger in for a kiss. before he could pull away, the guy already had his hands underneath y/n’s shirt, the sudden warmth against his cold skin sent an immediate jolt through him.

the man's lips left his for a brief second, the man's mouth moved to y/n’s neck, lips hot against his skin, sucking and biting just enough to leave a mark.

“m-mister..”

upon hearing this, the other raised an eyebrow, eyes flashing with amusement. “mister?” he repeated,

y/n only shrugged, before tugging at the man’s shirt once again, as if wanting it off. “mm.”

the man’s hands slid lower, teasing the waistband of his pants, then pulling him closer again, grinding against him in a way that made y/n gasp.

y/n’s hands, impatient and shaky, pushed at the other’s shirt again. “off,” he mumbled, tugging at it.

“eager much?” the man dropped onto his knees, taking off his own shirt before throwing it somewhere in the room.

y/n's breath hitched when the man dropped to his knee, staring politely at the other’s body.

hands firm on his thighs, pressing them apart just enough to show the man his hardening weewee, his fingers tugged at y/n’s waistband once again, tugging it off along with his boxer.

y/n face flushed, his member standing proudly, feeling shy, he meekly hid his crotch from the other man.

“perv.”

the man laugh, before forcefully pulling apart y/n’s thigh. he lightly caresses y/n’s inner thigh, while his other hand strokes the younger’s member,

y/n let out a whine when the man swallowed his length in one go, he immediately covered his mouth with both his palm, stifling any whines that would come out.

gently, he started bobbing his head up and down while grabbing a small bottle of lube from his pocket pants.

y/n noticed the lube, it was almost sweet, like he was handling something fragile. he let out a breathless laugh, “hah, you were really prepared for this?” he murmured, eyes half lidded as the man continued on sucking him and pours the lube into his hand. “i guess you really are a perv.”

the man sighed around y/n’s length, he brought up his hand towards the younger’s entrance, teasingly circling two of his fingers around it.

y/n shivered at the cold feeling against his rim, he was starting to get impatient, “just—” his words suddenly cut off into a whine as the tip of the man’s fingers slid in.

the older of the two hummed, sending vibrations to y/n’s member. he let out another whine when the man curled his fingers, pressing against a spot that had y/n arching his back,

y/n lightly hits the man’s shoulder when he pulled off his member, giving it a small kiss on the leaking tip,

with his head thrown towards the door, y/n covered his mouth with his palm once again, hoping nobody can hear them outside the door. flush spread around his chest, barely hidden from his low neck hoodie.

“feeling shy now?” the older teased, rising from his knees, he grabbed one of y/n’s thigh and hooked it around his waist, fingers still pressed deep onto that one spot, twisting his finger just to hear y/n sigh.

y/n scoffed, hiding his face in the man’s shoulder before letting out a muffled moan, his hand never stopped massaging y/n’s prostate.

when the man pulled his finger out, the younger one let out a huff as if in annoyance, before he could let out another snarky remark, he felt something stiff and warm under him.

glancing down, he noticed the man’s breath growing heavier and heavier, he moved his hips, the tip of his.. weapon? prodding against y/n’s hole.

he paused at the sight ‘thats going in me?’ was the only thing he could think at the moment, the man noticed y/n’s stare, nuzzling into the younger’s shoulder, “im getting impatient.” he murmured, his voice low and raspy as he gripped onto y/n’s waist.

“really?” y/n laughed, wrapping his arm around the man’s neck so he doesnt fall. the man’s breath hitched, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips,

“yeah,”

the man lines himself up against y/n’s, him kindly enough had poured a generous amount onto his length, before slowly pushing himself in.

y/n yelped, while he did have experience, its been a while he had taken anything like the man’s size.

he took his time, moving slowly, one of his hand gripping y/n’s leg, one gentle hand strokes y/n’s back, circling around his back, his movement slow, as if he werent going anywhere.

pressing a soft skin to y/n’s neck, he slowly pushes his length inside inch by inch, taking note of how y/n whine or gasps.

the man grunted when he finally fit his entire length in that tight warmth, he noticed how quiet y/n have been (besides letting out a few whines here and there), concerned, he placed y/n on the nearby table.

he pulled back just enough to check on him, “still with me?” he muttered, brushing a hand though y/n’s hair, though, all he got was a, “mhmm..”

y/n’s face was still buried in his neck, his lips parted slightly as he lets out small, breathless whine, his arms still hung around the man’s shoulder,

the man let out a low curse, yet he gently cupped y/n’s jaw to take a look at his face-, y/n’s eyes were half-lidded, unfocused and dazed (?)

he was about to pull out, thinking maybe the alcohol had made y/n tired, he can just jerk himself off later.. but before he could, he felt something wrapped around his waist, as if not wanting him to go,

“mister..” y/n, still clearly out of it, voice was barely above a whisper surprising the older, “whyd you stop?”

the mans heart skipped a beat, something about y/n’s expression, how his face flushed and how y/n wrapped his legs around the man so he wouldnt go.

he let out a small smile, clearly caught off guard yet amused, the younger one could be so cute when hes isnt letting out sarcastic remarks— but even if he does, the man wouldve still found it cute anyway. “i told you,” he chuckled softly, “im not going anywhere.”

the man chuckled again, he cupped y/n’s face gently, tilting his head to meet his gaze, “i-”

“stop talking and keep moving.” y/n muttered, giving the man a lazy smile.

oh..

slightly amused, the man let out a laugh, his fingers brushing against y/n’s cheek almost tenderly. “alright.”

y/n didnt want to wait, he clenched onto the man’s length, making the older groan.

the man shook his head, “impatient,” he said, his voice soft making something tingle inside y/n’s stomach.

y/n whined when he felt the man pulling away, he was ready to snap something snarky, but his words got cut off into a moan when the other suddenly thrusted into him,

y/n let out a soft, startled gasp as the man’s hands found their way back to his waist, pulling him flush against him, the tip of his member directly pressed against the bundle of nerves inside of him.

the man occasionally lets a low grunt, his hands moving to hike up y/n’s hoodie just enough to see his abdomen and chest, he leans down, his lips ghosting over his skin before nipping at one of y/n’s perked up nipples.

the younger inhaled sharply, the soft whimper that escaped his throat betraying him. his face flushed, trying to bite his lips to hold back another whimper when the man continued his pace.

y/n couldnt help but arch his back whenever the man pulled out so slightly, then bottomed inside him in one go— or the way his hips instinctively move by itself whenever the man pulls away.

y/n’s eyes snapped open just in time to catch the soft smile tugging at the man’s lips. before y/n could protest, he was pulled into a kiss—soft, but deep, silencing the whimpers and desperate gasps that were about to spill from his lips.

he couldnt help but melt into the kiss,, muffling any moans that would leak out whenever the man’s length grazes his prostate.

he relaxes under the man’s touch, hands moving from the older’s shoulder to his back, scratching slightly at his skin.

each movement from the older man was slow, yet y/n felt like he could feel his length in him so deep. pushing y/n closer to edge, he pulled himself away from the man to catch his own breathe,

“fuck-” y/n gasped, his insides tightened, making the man above him grunt. his back arched again, clinging onto the man on top of him, hands desperately gripping the man’s shoulder.

“im gonna..” he squeezes his eyes shut. “M-mister!”

his body tensed up, his eyes slightly rolling back to his skull. thick, white ropes fell onto his own abdomen, some even getting to the man’s body.

the man slowed down for a second, his lips curling into a small smile, he watch y/n’s face contort into pleasure before leaning down to kiss him again.

“you did so well.” he murmured.

y/n, still dazed, only hummed in response.

the man wished he had the stamina to keep going, the sight of y/n in his arms and the noises he makes whenever he moves are just so addicting.

his movements grows erratic, he felt himself throbbing inside of y/n, his grip tightening around y/n, enough to leave a bruise.

his hips stuttered, a deep groan escaping his throat as he buried his face into the younger’s neck. just before he was about to climax, he pulled out and jerked himself off. spilling his come all over y/n’s stomach.

and for once, y/n forgets everything around him, the break up, the bad day he was having,, and the fact he doesnt even knows the name of the man he just spent the night with.

but it doesnt matter, right?

while he felt himself drifting into sleep, he was carefully carried to the bathroom, he felt his hoodie being taken off and before he knew it, the man had gently put him in a bathtub filled with warm water. by the time the man had finished bathing him, he was already half asleep. he was tucked in into the bed, the man climbed into the cover with him, “are you really not gonna tell me your name..?” y/n murmured, too tired to care anymore, but still slightly curious. the man simply laughed, his voice sending butterflies to y/n’s stomach, his hand gently brushing through y/n’s hair. “maybe later.” y/n hummed one last time, before drifting into a well needed sleep. the next morning, y/n woke up with a headache that felt like a hammer to his skull, his body ache from the waist down- though not in a bad way, enough to remember what had happened last night.

he looked around the room, noticing theres nobody else but him. next to the bed was the nightstand, his half lidded eyes landed on whats on top.

a bottle of hangover medicine and an energy drink.

huh, how nice.

so the guy, whoever he was, hadnt left him butt naked and was nice enough to actually give him a bath and dress him up.

y/n exhaled, running a hand through his hair and dragged himself out of the bed,

theres no sign of the man last night, no note, no nothing.

maybe that was the best decision, at least y/n doesnt have to see him again.

with a huff, y/n took the hangover medicine and drinks it in one go, then grabbed his bag (making sure he still have his personal items..) and left.

the motel was coincidentally near his dorm apartment, letting y/n have just enough time to change his clothes from last night, making sure to bring a coat before heading out. (hed rather be caught dead than wearing the same clothes from yesterday ;; )

eventually, with enough convincing from himself, he hauled himself to his university. his friends were already waiting for him, one of them raising an eyebrow at him and his appearance, “you look like hell.” “thanks,” y/n muttered, having no energy to even fight back, sipping his coffee as him and his friends trudged to class. on the way to class, his friends were talking about a rumor, something he have no interest in unless its about him, “have you heard about the new TA?” one of his friend asked, poking y/n from the side for a reaction, y/n only grunted in response, barely paying attention to their conversation (& nearly walking into a pole if his friends didnt tug him aside with his bag.) “they say hes young,” another chimed in, “and apparently hes hot.” y/n only hummed, almost falling into a bush if it werent for his friends pulled him by the collar of his coat. “so?” someone scoffed, do y/n even know him..? maybe hes a friend of another friend. “he probably has those “im better than you.” mindset being so young.” ..whatever he said immediately went into y/n’s left ear and left from the right ear. when they finally reached their class, they sat in their usual place in the middle, all of them still talking except for y/n— whose mind kept drifting to last night, the warm hand, soft kisses, the aftercare.. “dude you’re zoning out again.” his friend lightly waved his hands in front of y/n, finally snapping him out of it. “ugh,” y/n groaned, “and whose idea was it to go to that bar yesterday-” before he could say anything else, the door clicked open, the room immediately went silent as footsteps echoed against the floor, some of the students instantly murmured about the person who had just entered the room, some complimenting their look, some talking about some rumors. y/n looked up from the table, eyes widened at who was standing in front of the lecture hall. the same man from last night? dressed in a crisp shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, looking the same as he had when y/n last saw him. he nearly ran out of the hall, but he needed that attendance. “good morning, everybody.” he greeted smoothly, the same deep voice that y/n heard last night. “ill be your TA for this semester.” you gotta be kidding me he screamed internally, panic shot through his veins, y/n yanked his hood up, tugging it so low it nearly covered his eyes, his friends, thinking hes having another episode, just shrugged it off and continued talking. he slumped forwards, elbows against the desk,, trying to hide himself. please don’t recognize me. please don’t recognize me. he glanced up again, trying to take a peek at the man in front to make sure hes not going coo coo crazy— but to his dismay, the same man from last night- now his TA was staring directly at him, smiling as if they were best friends. y/n froze, his brain short circuited, AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA as if on cue, the man introduced himself to the class once again. “you can call me Seo Seungjae.”

y/n nearly choked.

a/n hooo leee sheet i finished this. hooe lle sheet. smut took me,, 4 hours. aha. stared at my google docs like a madman whenever i typed something since id get distracted to something else TT ( ´ ω ` ) hopefully you guys enjoyed this ;; based on a real story of mine? harhar (excluding the TA part,) but i actually loved writing this,, i liked y/n and oc's dynamic here,! if anyone else liked this character,, ill probably write a second part ; i recently updated my carrd! feel free to check it out at the description,, my inbox r open as well ^^ goodnight everyone!! mwa

[rae-writes]

touches

om brothers; fluffy 'n a bit cracky, short 'n sweet

So, like, I had this thought that sometimes the boys can feel you touching their pact. Not all the time, it only works if you’re intending for them to feel it— and then I had these along with it: 

Slowly tracing over Lucifer’s pact during a student council meeting and watching him stare you down while you try your best not to cackle (or when you know he’s with Diavolo, to which you’ll receive many stickers over text that express his [flustered] disgruntlement) 

Frantically rubbing Mammon’s pact because you guys went to a store and he wandered off and left you and you can’t find him and he’s not answering his phone and you are not happy and then watching him skid around the corner five seconds later like he’s on fire, yelling out an apology 

Tapping over Satan’s pact in Morse code, usually ‘I love you’, but sometimes about cats you're passing by on the streets and receiving texts or calls so he can say it back (and or demand your location so he can pet that cat) 

Having an impulsive moment and deciding to chomp down on Levi’s pact, listening to/watching him shriek and nearly jump through the ceiling

Incessantly poking Asmo’s pact because he irritated you a little, grinning smugly because you can hear him grumbling as he does his makeup (only apologizes when he messes up because of it…he wasn’t being mean or anything! It was just a small inconvenience he didn’t think was important)

Having to smack Belphie’s pack- or get someone else to- because literally no other measures are working to wake him up. He falls off the bed and whines for a few hours, but he’s okay

Writing letters over Beel’s pact to talk to him when you aren’t near each other, asking if he wants to go get something to eat. He’s gotten really good at reading the phantom phrases and beams anytime he feels it

[nayeoniiz]

WEBCAM PERV! (1)

pairings ❥ heeseung x fem!reader

point of view ❥ third person, omniscient

warnings ❥ mutual masturbation, cyberstalking, noncon recording

synopsis ❥ you meet heeseung on omegle and quickly hit it off until you accidentally disconnect. feeling at a loss from not being able to find him again, you give up and live life as if it never happened. unbeknownst to you, however, he turns out to be a hacker who hacked into your camera, resorting to watching your secretly from behind the screen… until he didn’t.

genre ❥ smut

word count ❥ 4.4k

taglist: @rayofsunshineeee

Webcam Perv! (2)

author’s note: sorry it took me a bit longer to release, i ended up rewriting over the whole draft. i was gonna write the full story in one go, but if there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that i love making series. anyway i hope yall enjoy! & a reminder that my requests are open (send as an ask or submission pls do not dm me lol). go check out my other stories while you’re at it bc i have much more cooking! not proofread so don’t come for me!

y/n lay blank faced on her bed with her phone in hand. it had been hours since she’d gotten home from her classes, and now she was just scrolling mindlessly on tiktok out of boredom. her room was quiet except for the occasional hum of her heater and the everchanging audios blasting from her phone’s speakers.

she sighed, tossing her phone to the side resorting to staring at the ceiling. as the days were growing colder, y/n couldn’t help but to feel this growing sense of loneliness creeping in, like there was something missing that she couldn’t quite put her finger onㅡexcitement was the closest word she think of. she didn’t have many friends to talk to, or text, or hang out with—just her best friend natty, but the girl was currently unreachable as she had already fallen asleep after their brief phone call.

midterms were always the dryest times for y/n. after spending hours in the library, forcing far too many categories of knowledge down her throat for her own goodㅡ just to end up with barely above average scores, she was too drained to do much of anything else when she got home. but, it was hard to just sleep. she was intransigent when it came to resting after studying because she wanted to give herself the free time she’d lost instead. usually being on her phone, and rotting her brain away with the useless curated content that she handpicked for herself would suffice. but on days like thisㅡ where her studying ended close to (or in this case, after) midnight, it wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy the dopamine she was longing for.

after a few moments of lying in a frozen state of staring off into nothing, she reached for her laptop, opening it on impulse. omegle. it had been a while since she’d used it, and honestly, it wasn’t the best idea, but she figured it might help pass the time. and maybe it’d even give her some form of human interaction, though her hopes weren’t too high given the website’s reputation. she typed “k-pop” into the category field, hoping it’d narrow down the pool to people around her age who might share at least one interest with her.

the first few chats weren’t anything special. she ran through the typical brief hellos, the awkward pauses, and of course the familiar “stranger has disconnected.” a few times, however, she was met with the sight of creepy old men who took pleasure in flashing, reacting at lightning speed to skip the chats before things could get worse. some people seemed normal at first, friendly even, but as soon as they’d start saying weird thingsㅡor worse, making noises that gave away their intentions, it’d soil her mood once again as she refreshed her tab.

after getting skipped again for the umpteenth time, y/n found herself hovering her mouse over the “new chat” button, debating. she looked at the clock in the corner of her screen, she had already wasted 30 minutes trying to find a normal human being to talk to. she was beginning to wonder if this was really a good idea to begin with. was it even worth possibly getting harassed for another half hour, in the name of being social? she weighed her options: she could either waste another 2 hours on tiktok, or go to bed. neither seemed appetizing for the hunger of connection she craved. with a sigh, she decided to try one more. and if it didn’t work out, it just meant that it was time to call it a night. she clicked to start a new chat.

stranger is typing…

stranger: hii

you: hello

stranger: m23

you: f22

stranger: cam?

you: earn it?

this one didn’t seem too bad so far, but she wasn’t going to make an early judgement. the man seemed to respect her decision as he quickly changed the conversation. they kept things light, alternating on asking each other random questions back and forth about hobbies, favorite foods, movies, shows, and music. the conversation was easy, fun even, and y/n found herself smiling a little despite the earlier frustration. it was like she was finally getting what she was looking for. with the conversation being tame, he took it as a green light to ask again.

stranger: can i see you now?

you: fine lol

y/n hesitated before turning her camera on and adjusted her hair quickly before looking at the screen. the male in her vision had a sharp, almost angelic face, with delicate features that seemed to be personally sculpted by the man above. his hair was dark and tousled, the slight messiness giving him a laid-back, calm vibe with his headset only adding character to his visual as they laid over his ears. his eyes were a captivating deep brown. they were soft and friendly, it made it hard to look away. even through the webcam, it was clear he had this undeniable charm, his steady gaze hinting that he knew the effect he had on others. the two of them stayed still, ogling each other for a bit, the stare down only being interrupted when he abruptly started typing again.

stranger is typing…

stranger: damn ur fine lol

you: thx so are you

stranger: you in korea?

you: yeah

stranger: me too

stranger is typing…

stranger: audio?

you: yk what? yeah

heeseung and y/n both go to turn on their audio. while her room was silent, disregarding the small noise coming from her room’s heater, heeseung had r&b music softly playing in the background. it only added to this boy next door vibe she was getting from him. the two of them were silent for a second before heeseung decided to break the ice by speaking first.

“hello? let me know if you can hear me.” his voice came through clearly, deep and smooth, carrying a natural warmth that drew her in without him even trying. a part of her was convinced he had to secretly be a weirdo. what was someone as attractive as him even doing on this site, yet alone at this hour? she took a breath before answering.

“hi, yeah i can hear you,” she replied, her tone a little uncertain, unsure of how to match his cool energy. she wasn’t exactly the extroverted type of person to begin with, you can only imagine how much harder it was to speak when such a captivating face was waiting for her response in real time.

heeseung only chuckled softly, the sound seamlessly exuding natural confidence. “so… i guess we finally get to talk now.”

y/n smiled at his words, her need for approval rising as she juggled through all the responses she could make to keep him engaged, “yeah, seems like it,” she responded, her voice was steady now as she tried to shake off the nervousness creeping in. 

heeseung chuckled, shifting closer to his keyboard as his fingers danced over the keys. the music in the background shifted, the beat changing just as he leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head. his voice lowered a notch as he spoke, a hint of amusement in his tone. ”i’m, heeseung, by the way.”

“y/n,” she responded.

“i gotta admit,” he said, “i wasn’t sure if you’d actually turn on your mic.”

“why’s that?” she asked, an almost muted giggle escaping her lips as she twirled a strand of her hair, her fingers displaying how nervous she felt. heeseung watched her with a quiet intensity, noticing every little movement she made. the way her fingers fidgeted and how she avoided meeting his gaze through the screen.

“i don’t know,” he said, his tone lazy and nonchalant, but holding a teasing undertoneㅡ a subtle shift she didn’t quite catch onto. “guess i’m just lucky you did.” he didn’t say anything about her fidgeting, though. he didn’t need to. she seemed like the type to change her behavior once it was called out, and he was more captivated by it than he let on. there was something about her shyness, moreso the way she couldn’t quite hide it, that intrigued him. “so, what do you usually do when you’re not chatting with strangers on the internet?”

his question had caught y/n off guard for a brief moment, another nervous laugh slipping past her lips as she tugged on her shirt’s collar, adjusting it to make sure nothing was out of place though she didn’t actually need to. she didn’t know why, but something about talking to him felt different from the others. “uh, not much… if i’m not studying, i just watch tiktoks or call my friend if she’s not tired.” she replied hoping the answer sounded casual enough.

“hm, sounds like you’ve got some time to kill,” heeseung smirked, inching his chair closer to the screen. he opened a second tab, the soft clatter of his typing blending effortlessly with the mellow r&b drifting through the background.

“yeah, guess i do. life’s… kinda mundane, you know?” y/n replied sheepishly. her gaze followed his, noting the slight movement of his hands just out of view, but chucking it up to him searching for another song to play as the music shifted again. he didn’t back away from the screen this time, though. instead, he kept his eyes locked on hers, unwavering.

“i get it,” heeseung replied, his voice lowering slightly, but still keeping its laidback manner, like they were just two people having an ordinary conversation. “i’m the same, but i'm more of a youtube guy, i found out about this site through a video on there.” as he spoke, his finger subtly danced across the keyboard, the screen flickering with the quiet download of her IP address. his eyes stayed on the camera, his expression open and unreadable, like he was genuinely listening to her.

“that’s interesting, this app usually has a bad rep. like, there’s only creeps on here,” y/n said, though her words seemed to be misunderstood as heeseung furrowed his brows.

“are you trying to insinuate that i’m a creep?”

her eyes widened in shock, and she quickly slapped a hand over her mouth. a stutter broke through her words. “what?! no! i’m just saying—i’ve run into a lot of them tonight before i landed on you. so i was just… i don’t know. forget i said anything.” she sulked, her face reddening with embarrassment at her failed attempt to relate. heeseung watched in awe, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile, at her mannerisms, finding every one of her reactions so cute. sensing her discomfort, he smoothly shifted the topic.

“i’m kidding, y/n.” he grinned, showcasing his pearly whites. “so… what’s one thing you’ve always wanted to do but never got around to?” he asked, his tone light, but there was an underlying intensity to his gaze. he wasn’t just asking out of curiosity; he was studying her, absorbing every word she said, as if her answers would tell him everything he needed to know.

y/n paused, thinking for a moment before she answered. “probably traveling more. i feel like i’m always stuck in the same routine.”

“yeah, routines can be… limiting. but they’re also comforting, right?” he paused, his eyes flickering to a different part of his screen for just a moment before he continued. “you know, sometimes it’s those little moments, when everything feels a little too safe, that you need to shake things up.” he spoke so casually, like he was giving advice, but it sounded a bit odd to y/n. she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to his words, though she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. regardless, she found herself wanting to stay, wanting to know more. and she was always too paranoid for her own good anyway. it was probably nothing.

“i guess.”

“oh. yeah, but is that the only reason you’re on here?” heeseung’s fingers were still moving on his keyboard, the quiet clicking of the keys going unnoticed now. he wasn’t just talking anymore—he was already pulling the strings, weaving a subtle web around her, all while his words remained smooth and harmless. y/n’s lips pursed in thought, the sudden change in the atmosphere making her feel more curious than she was letting on.

“what do you mean?” she asked, confusion creeping into her tone as she leaned forward, trying to get a better look at him. heeseung’s system, working silently in the background, had breached the security of her wifi by now, scanning through the connected devices, its main goal being to gain access to her phone.

“i mean… it’s almost 4am, saturday night. you’re a cute girl, seem kind of introverted, but you give off this vibe... like you’re looking for some fun.”

whatever dimwitted perception y/n formed of him had shattered. he was no different from any of the other men she’d encountered prior. “oh. i don’t really do… that,” she replied, a slight pout playing on her lips. she moved her mouse to hover over the skip button, but she didn’t click it. something was keeping her here. maybe it was the way he looked at her—too attractive, too confident. she wasn’t sure, but she didn’t move.

heeseung noticed her hesitation, his grin widening. “oh, neither do i,” he said in a humoring manner, brushing her reaction off as if his earlier comment didn’t mean anything. “i just had to test the waters. can you blame me though? it’s not every day you meet an attractive girl on here. you said it yourself, there’s usually only creeps on here, right?”

“yeah,” she laughed, the sound effortlessly drawn out as she got caught in the pull of his charm. any cautions she had before seemed to dissipate as she got lost in his eyes. she debated whether she should just give in—it wasn’t like they’d see each other again, right? but then, the stories about girls who made impulsive choices, and got extorted, crept into her mind. the fear of becoming just another statistic arose.

“what do you have in mind?” she asked, her words slipping out before she could think them through. her people-pleasing tendencies had kicked in, but the smile that spread across his face made her heart race. somehow, it felt good, like she was doing something right. and that made it feel worth it. rewarding, even.

“whatever you’re offering, baby,” heeseung replied smoothly, his voice dipping into an unfamiliar, alluring tone that made her body tingle. as he spoke, his hand moved subtly off-screen, clicking to start recording. the faintest smirk curled on his lips as he leaned closer to the camera, his eyes burning into hers with a suggestiveness that made her feel seen in a way she hadn’t before. desired. wanted.

“i don’t know,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. a nervous smile played on her lips as her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. her eyes darting away from the camera before flicking back to his. “i’ve never done anything like this before.”

heeseung tilted his head slightly, his smirk widening as he studied her. there was something about her naivety, the way she danced on the edge of her own boundaries, that made his pulse quicken. he decided then and there that if he wasn’t already obsessed before, he definitely was now. utterly and completely.

“well, i’m honored to be the first,” his voice dripped with seduction, but his eyes glinted with something far more sinister.

her cheeks flushed as she hesitated again, her fingers picking at the fabric of her shirt before she finally blurted, “could you maybe…” she paused, laughing softly at how ridiculous she felt to ask. “show me something, too? just to keep it fair.” her words made heeseung pause for a moment before a low chuckle escaped him, growing into full, unrestrained laughter. he leaned back in his chair, shaking his head in amusement, his eyes never leaving her face.

she was truly a character—everything about her was so… adorable. her openness, her immediate trust in a complete stranger, and the impulsivity that seemed to pour out of her without a second thought. it was intoxicating. she was everything he’d been looking for, everything someone like him—a man with desires he dared not say aloud—would dream of finding. and yet, beneath his amusement, there was a darker realization. if she wasn’t careful and kept giving away pieces of herself so easily, someone would take advantage of her. someone crueler, more reckless, more dangerous than him. he couldn’t let that happen. not with anyone else at least. she was his now. and if she was going to be ruined, it would only be by him.

“would you like it better if i go first?” heeseung inquired, his voice smooth as the corners of his lips nearly curled into a restrained smirk. he watched her reaction closely, catching the way her quick, almost desperate nod betrayed her displayed excitement. it was endearing, almost painfully so. it drove him crazy. he pursed his lips, feigning contemplation, before his smile grew wider, softer. “thought so,” he murmured, his tone carrying just enough teasing warmth to make her feel both at ease. she was completely under his spell. 

he reached for his webcam, the movement slow as he decided to savor the moment. tilting it slightly, he aimed it downward, the lens capturing his relaxed posture, legs spread comfortably wide. the soft fabric of his sweatpants clung to him in just the right way, emphasizing his figure without him needing to do much at all. the unthought of confidence in his movements was enough to hold her gaze, her breath catching as the tension in the air thickened. his hands grazed over the fabric covering his length, a small hiss of relief leaving his lips as he did so. she had already gotten him painfully hard without even trying.

lifting his hips, he slides his sweats down. just enough for him to pull his cock out, an unintentional gasp falling from y/n’s lips at the sight of it. he couldn’t hide the rush of pride that surfaced at her reaction. it was a response he’d grown accustomed to from his long list of other victims on the site, but there was something about y/n that struck him differently. her wide-eyed gaze, the way her lips parted slightly as if she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words—it was enough to ignite a deeper need within him, a desire to draw her in further, to leave her completely captivated by him.

a quiet curse slipped past his lips as he stroked, his hand barely being able to wrap around its girth. his movements were meticulous, unhurried as he moved to spread his precum over the rest of his length. he leaned back slightly, his gaze never leaving her face. his dark eyes carried a silent command, the faintest nod of his head urging her to follow his lead. he didn’t have to say a word—his confidence, his control, it was all laid bare in the way he watched her, waiting to see how far she would go.

it was then that y/n realized she couldn't back out now. not that she wanted toㅡ her curiosity, mingled with the pull he had over her, kept her rooted in place. but it was starting to feel too real, the weight of the moment sinking in as she hesitated, unsure of what he was expecting. the fact that he left it up to her made it even more difficult. her mind raced as she nervously tugged at the bottom of her shirt, praying her choice would be enough to satisfy him.

heeseung's gaze didn't waver, his expression unreadable but intent, as though he were savoring every second of her hesitation. when she finally moved, lifting her shirt to display her breasts. her cheeks burned as she moved her hands over one, massaging and pinching her nipples. his lips twitched into the faintest smile. to her, his reaction was subtle, leaving her questioning if she'd done enough. 

but to heeseung, it was everything. to him, everything about her was intoxicating, from the nervous way she moved, to the unsure glances she gave him. he would have been satisfied just seeing her collarbone. his heart raced at the thought of how easily she gave in, how willingly vulnerable she was in front of him. it inflated his ego even more, knowing he was the first to witness this side of her.

he forced himself to keep his expression composed, though his excitement was nearly impossible to contain. the speed of his fingers absentmindedly sped up, thinking of how he’d be able to relive it again later tonight. and he’d make sure to replay every moment, over and over, obsessing over the way she unwittingly gave herself to him.“ah~ fuck, y/n,” he whimpered, unable to contain the heat growing over him. his eyes snapped shut, immediately imagining his hand to be hers. his hips bucked, as he began thrusting into his fist chasing the feeling of a body he knew now that he just had to get his hands on. tonight wasn’t going to be enough, he needed more. 

y/n didn’t know where her confidence was coming from when her free hand snaked its way down to the hem of her shorts as she pushed past them straight into her panties. she scooted into a slouch allowing herself easier access as she began rubbing on her clit, the pressure soothing its throbbing ache and sending a sweet, shocking sensation throughout her body. she couldn’t bite back the moan that slipped outㅡ the noise sounding like music to heeseung’s ears. oh how jealous he was of her hands now. being able to touch her because he couldn’t. it wasn’t enough, nowhere near it.

”look at me,” he murmured, his voice rough, making her cheeks flush as she slowly opened her eyes to meet his. his gaze was full of desire, making her feel small in a way that was strangely exhilarating. she found herself wanting nothing more than to impress him. she bit her lip as she quickly moved to lower the camera, aiming it to display more of her chest and downward before returning to her prior position on the chair. it didn’t even matter to him that her shorts kept her beautiful cunt a mystery to himㅡ the whole picture was so fucking sexy. the way she was playing with her nipples, pinching and rolling them, the speed of her circular motions increasing as she chased her orgasm, the way her tongue rested on her bottom lip before she bit it, the way sheㅡ

“heeseung~ oh my god.”

fuck. if he was wasn’t already stroking fast enough, he was moving at godspeed now. he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold back. he rubbed his thumb along his tip’s slit as he kept his pace, the action leaving his hips stuttering. he was so close, and y/n was too. she couldn’t control the volume of her moans, gripping her breast like her life depended on it. “i’m gonna cum, oh my god, oh my god,” the desperation in her voice made him come undone as he bit back a loud, throaty moan. but she kept going, still chasing her climax as her moans got choked out the harder she went on herself.

just as she was about to cum, when she was almost there, her computer suddenly shut down. the screen went black without warning, leaving only an empty, lifeless void. heeseung watched as her screen flickered and then turned dark, his heart sinking in frustration. “fuck!” he swore, shooting forward in his chair, eyes fixed on the blank screen. he slammed a fist on the desk in irritation before quickly ending the recording. his hands moved frantically over the keyboard, reopening his hacking program, desperately trying to figure out what went wrong.

y/n didn’t even notice, her orgasm crashed over her as she felt like every nerve, and cell in her body had come undone. she kept her eyes closed as she let out a breathless sigh, regaining her composure. after a few seconds, y/n opened her eyes to see that her laptop was blank. she frantically clicked on buttons trying to turn it on, clicking the power button which only displayed a red drained battery as if to mock her further. of all times it could have decided to die, why now? the frustration and panic settled in as she realized she may never get to see him again. she didn’t have any ways to contact him, but would he even want to hear from her again? doubt clouded her mind. now there was no way of knowing. she wanted to keep talking to him, but the odds seemed slim. with a heavy sigh, she jumped up, scrambling to plug her laptop into the charger.

meanwhile, heeseung was still navigating through her information. he had closed out of omegle and now his focus was entirely on troubleshooting. he noticed her computer no longer showed up on the network, the last activity was two minutes ago. “that piece of shit must’ve died,” he grumbled under his breath. he figured now would be the time to access her phone’s camera as it would be useless trying to find her again on the website. switching servers on the program, he downloaded the data to his phone and went to lay down. he watched through the front camera on her phone, but it remained in the same spot unmoving. he was getting frustrated.

y/n had wasted almost 45 minutes skipping through hundreds of people in search of his face on omegle. but to no avail, his face never came up again. it was 6am, and she had plans with natty to go through with in the evening. as much as she didn’t want to right now, she had to sleep. oth of them, in their own way, ended up resigned to their separate fates. y/n reluctantly accepted her defeat, bitterly acknowledging that the night had slipped away. but at least for heeseung, there was a sense of satisfaction in knowing he would have another chance to see her again. this wouldn’t be the last time they crossed paths. he’d make sure of that.

Webcam Perv! (2)

[xhyjin]

next door neighbour dilfsukuna! who really didn’t think the date through, as he now has to figure out who will watch yuji during the weekend. if the scenario were different, he would’ve asked you, but since you’re the one he’s taking out, he can’t. he thinks he should cancel it and plan it out better but doesn’t want you to think he’s careless or impulsive, so he plans a romantic dinner at home. that way, he can still keep his word and watch yuji at the same time.

next door neighbour dilfsukuna! who thinks a romantic date at home is a dinner in his backyard, decorated with fairy lights, flowers that yuji picked from the garden as the centerpiece, and the most expensive wine sukuna could afford. to say he wasn’t nervous would be a lie. he spent a good 30 minutes purging his closet because he wasn’t sure if wearing a suit was too much or not. yuji sat on his bed, watching his uncle/dad show him potential outfit choices, facepalming and shaking his head at every single one until sukuna finally decided to wear the suit.

next door neighbour dilfsukuna! who hasn’t felt this nervous in his life at all. he sits on the couch with yuji as they watch spongebob, his heart pounding as he glances at the clock above the tv. biting his nails nervously, he starts to think you won’t show up. just as those thoughts begin to consume him, the doorbell rings. both his and yuji’s heads shoot up as they look at each other before he gets off the couch and makes his way to the door, silently praying that wearing a suit wasn’t too much. but when he opens the door and sees you standing there in a pink sundress, he swears he’s fallen in love at the mere sight of you. quickly clearing his throat, he greets you. “glad you could make it,” he says, trying his best to maintain his usual nonchalant and snarky attitude. but the way you’re smiling at him—it could melt an iceberg, let alone him.

next door neighbour dilfsukuna! who is about to say something else as he walks behind you while you make your way into the house when yuji runs up to you and hugs your lower legs. “ms. l/n!” he says excitedly. sukuna watches the scene in front of him with heart eyes, feeling a warmth he hasn’t felt in a long time. the way yuji loves you fills him with so much happiness, especially knowing how much you’ve been there for them during these hard times. yuji grabs your hand and tells you to close your eyes before eagerly dragging you to the backyard. you follow his lead, curious but not expecting much. when you open your eyes, you’re met with the sight of a beautiful backyard, dimly lit with fairy lights. you can’t help but gasp as you take it all in, your heart swelling with surprise and admiration.

“you did all of this?” you ask, turning to sukuna. he stands there with a smug but proud look on his face, clearly pleased with himself.

“sure did,” he says, making his way toward you and placing a hand on your lower back. “right this way,” he adds, his voice smooth as he guides you to the table set up in the middle of the backyard.

next door neighbour dilfsukuna! who takes a seat in front of you, watching as you admire his backyard. “wow, sukuna, i honestly didn’t expect all of this,” you admit, a small smile spreading across your face as you glance around. yuji runs back into the house, only to return moments later with a piece of paper in his hands.

“what? you didn’t think i was a romantic guy?” sukuna teases, his tone light. before you can respond, yuji interrupts, holding up the paper proudly.

“this is the menu!” he announces, placing it in front of you. the “menu” is just scribbles, but as yuji’s teacher, you can easily make out the words.

“wow, spaghetti with house-made sauce?!” you exclaim, pretending to be amazed, and yuji giggles, his face lighting up with pride.

sukuna leans in slightly, his expression half curious, half amused. “you can actually read that little brat’s writing?” he asks, clearly impressed.

rolling your eyes playfully, you respond, “yes, and don’t call him that.”

sukuna chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “whatever you say,” he replies, standing up moments later. “now, if you’ll excuse me, i have to help the head chef. he’s particularly short,” he jokes, smirking as he walks off. his comment earns a giggle from you, and you nod, settling back in your seat as sukuna follows yuji into the house to get the so called spaghetti with house-made sauce

next door neighbour dilfsukuna! who spends the rest of the night completely captivated by you. he notices everything-the way you pick up your fork, the way your lips part as you take a bite, the way you chew so delicately, and the way you cover your mouth with your hand when speaking or laughing. his gaze lingers on your eyes and lips, and he catches you shyly avoiding his stare, which only makes you more endearing to him. he's utterly mesmerized and determined to kiss you at least once before the night is over.

as midnight approaches, you help sukuna tuck yuji into bed, the little boy fighting sleep because he doesn't want to miss any more time with his favorite teacher.

"i'll see you on monday, yuji," you say softly to him. his sleepy eyes light up as his uncle carries him on his hip.

"you promise?" yuji asks, sticking his pinky out toward you.

you chuckle and intertwine your pinky with his. "yes, yuji, i promise," you say, following sukuna as he walks into the house with yuji in his arms. after tucking him in, you both quietly leave the room, making your way to the front door.

"i had a really good time, sukuna," you say shyly, absentmindedly twirling a strand of your hair between your fingers. sukuna smiles at the sight of you, looking so cute and beautiful.

"i had a good time too," he says, his voice dropping to a softer, more intimate tone as he steps closer. "y/n," he says your name softly, almost like a whisper.

you look up at him with doe eyes and nod.

"yes, sukuna?"

"may i kiss you?" he asks, his cheeks flushing a faint pink, matching the hue of his hair.

you involuntarily gasp but quickly catch your composure, nodding as your gaze drops to his lips. sukuna leans in, one hand gently resting on your waist while the other cradles your cheek.

"have i ever mentioned how beautiful you are?" he murmurs, his forehead pressing against yours. before you can answer, he closes the gap, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that is both soft and rough, filled with unspoken feelings. his hand on your cheek slides to your waist, pulling you closer as your arms wrap around his neck.

after what feels like an eternity, he pulls back slightly, his lips hovering mere inches from yours as you both catch your breath.

"i'd love to see you again," he says, his voice hopeful, his eyes searching yours.

"it's a date then," you reply with a smile, your heart racing as you look into his eyes.

should i just turn this into a fic? ><

[wendichester]

hi i’ve never requested before so i hope this is okay?

I was wondering if you could please do something where the reader is bobbys daughter and basically she and dean had their first time together as teens but then he left and later on maybe season four they meet again and there’s angst because he left but fluff and romance and maybe smut ? like teen lovers who meet again as adults

i love your writing and i look forward to all of your future works!!

₊˚⊹⋆ crave,

summary. dean and you share a past. and it feels like no time has passed when you see each other again.

pairing. dean winchester x bobby's daughter!reader genre. angsty smut ( mdni )

wordcount. 1365

notes / warnings. nsfw, unprotected sex (emotional, impulsive, not recommended irl lol), dirty talk, angsty vibes (past abandonment, unresolved feelings), first love, first time mentions, rough-ish in some moments, extra soft in others. messy. reunion. cursing. drinking.

Bobby’s voice carries from the kitchen—gruff, irritated, familiar. Something about salvage yard keys and you always leaving ‘em in your damn coat pocket.

Dean's boots scuff across the threshold, the old wooden floor creaking like it’s groaning at the weight of unfinished business. He’s barely slept. He’s lost Sam twice this month. And he sure as hell didn’t come here for a warm welcome or a trip down memory lane.

But then?

You come into view.

And fuck.

You’re barefoot. Hair thrown up in one of those messy, unfairly sexy things. Tank top loose and soft from years of washing, jeans low on your hips. A little oil on your wrist, probably from the truck you’re working on.

You're not a girl anymore.

But you’re still his first time.

Dean’s whole body freezes. It's not dramatic—it’s just complete. Like something inside him pulls the emergency brake and says: That. That’s her.

Your eyes meet his. You stop mid-step. You were carrying a glass, but you put it down so carefully, like you need both hands free in case this becomes a fight.

“Dean.” Your voice is older now. Deeper. But it still slices clean through him.

He can’t find anything smart to say. Not a joke. Not a line. Just: “Hey.”

You cross your arms, and it’s not even defensive—it’s muscle memory. “Didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“Well. I didn’t think you’d be here either,” he mutters. Then realizes how stupid that sounds. “I mean—I figured you’d be off, I dunno, married. Job. Something.”

“I was sixteen,” you say dryly. “I didn’t pause my whole life because you ran off to be the Lone Ranger.”

Ouch. Fair.

He scratches the back of his neck, eyes darting everywhere but your face. “I didn’t run. I—”

You cock a brow.

“Okay. I did.” His jaw tenses. “I was scared, alright? It was one night and… a hundred feelings and—I didn’t know what the hell to do with any of it.”

“Yeah. That makes two of us.”

Bobby steps in, mid-awkward silence, tossing keys on the table. “You two already throwin’ knives or should I get the real ones?”

You both laugh. A little. You won’t look directly at Dean.

But later that night, when Bobby goes to bed and you’re still in the kitchen, elbows on the counter and eyes half-lidded from the whiskey he brought, the air changes.

“Why’d you come back?” you ask, voice soft. Vulnerable.

Dean sits across from you, arms crossed, stare unreadable. “I needed home.”

“And you thought Bobby’s house would still be that.”

He lifts his eyes. “No. I thought you might be.”

You blink.

He lets the silence hang. For once, doesn’t try to fill it with wisecracks or movie quotes. He just watches you. And you look back, like you're seeing him again—not the Dean you knew in flannel and fumbling hands, but the one who’s lived. Bled. Broken. Hardened. Still so heartbreakingly him underneath it all.

“I waited for you, you know,” you whisper.

“I know.”

You reach across the counter. Fingers brush his knuckles.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just—leans forward, slowly, like he's trying not to spook a memory. His forehead touches yours.

“I missed you like hell,” he breathes.

“Then prove it.”

And oh, baby. He does.

He kisses you like it’s ten years haven't passed and he’s still learning how. Like it hurts. Like he wants to crawl into your skin and stay there. And when he lifts you up onto the kitchen counter and you wrap your legs around his hips, every old ache turns into heat. Every unanswered question becomes something deeper—something raw and molten and full of teeth.

His mouth is hot and possessive on yours, hands everywhere all at once—palming your waist, tugging your shirt up, gripping the backs of your thighs like he doesn’t know what he wants first.

You’re still on the kitchen counter. The whiskey bottle sits forgotten a few inches away, the house quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the sharp sounds of breathing getting heavier.

“You still taste the same,” he mutters against your lips. “Goddamn.”

You huff a laugh, trying not to lose your mind as he presses his hips closer, grinding just enough to make your spine arch. “Still a sweet talker, huh?”

“I’m tryin’ not to be,” he growls. “You got any idea how hard it is—seeing you like this? Touching you again? Feels like I’m chasing after you again like a lost puppy, about to lose my mind in the back of the goddamn junkyard.”

You tug him closer by the belt loops, voice low and teasing. “Wasn’t the junkyard. It was the shed.”

“Right,” he says, lips curving. “The shed. That place smelled like motor oil and teenage regret.”

“And we did it three times in there,” you murmur, fingers slipping under his shirt, grazing warm skin.

He exhales sharply through his nose. “Yeah. Like I could ever forget.”

His hand snakes up your back and pulls you to him, mouth rough this time—teeth scraping, tongue deep, desperate. It’s not a first kiss. It’s a claim. Years of not touching you condensed into one searing press of mouths that makes your whole body tighten.

Your legs wrap tighter around his waist. You roll your hips against the hard length of him pressing through his jeans and it’s like flipping a switch—he grunts, deep and rough, and lifts you right off the counter like you weigh nothing.

“Dean—”

“Bedroom?” he pants.

You nod, breathless.

“Which one?”

“Mine’s still—”

He doesn’t wait. Just hauls you down the hallway like a man on a mission, kissing your throat, your cheek, the hinge of your jaw as you cling to him.

When he kicks the door open and sets you down, it’s with a kind of urgency that makes you feel dizzy. Like he’s afraid you’ll disappear again if he doesn’t get his hands on you now.

“I'm not leavin' this time,” he says, voice thick. “Not until I’ve made you come so many times you forget every year I wasn’t here.”

You moan—open, high-pitched, thighs squeezing. “You talk a big game for someone who used to come in two minutes.”

Dean laughs—actually laughs, full and wicked—and pins you to the bed.

“Oh sweetheart,” he breathes, dragging his mouth along your collarbone, “I’ve learned a few things since then.”

His hands are already working your jeans off, kissing down your stomach, biting lightly at your hip. And when he gets you naked under him, stretched out and flushed and glaring up with those god, where the hell have you been eyes?

He just stares.

Doesn’t move. Doesn’t kiss.

Just… looks.

And says, very softly:

“Fuck, I missed you.”

It guts you. The way he says it. Like it’s not just about the sex. Like he’s been carrying you inside him all these years, tucked away somewhere private. Untouched. Sacred.

You reach up, thread your fingers into his hair, and pull him down into a kiss that says me too. That says don’t stop. That says please, Dean, I want this—I want you.

And he gives. All of him.

When he fucks you, it’s with a slow, deliberate rhythm that drives you crazy. He wants you to feel every second. Every inch. His hands never stop moving—palming your breast, curling under your thigh, brushing your cheek like he’s memorizing you again.

“Goddamn,” he whispers, forehead to yours. “Still so tight. You feel like—like fuckin’ heaven.”

You gasp, nails digging into his back. “Dean—oh my god—don’t stop.”

“Never,” he growls. “Not again.”

You come first. Hard. Shaking, crying out his name like it’s the only word you’ve ever known. He comes second, with a groan so low and wrecked it sounds like it’s been clawing its way out of him for years.

And afterward, when you're curled up against his chest, sweaty and sore and so full of feeling you could burst—he presses a kiss to your hair and whispers: “I should’ve come back a long time ago.”

You kiss the hollow of his throat and whisper back: “You’re here now.”

And for the first time in a long damn while—that’s enough.

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[luna-azzurra]

Writing a Morally gray character

Think about their backstory, what shaped them into who they are? What do they believe in? And, most importantly, what pushes them to get out of bed every morning and keep going? These characters aren’t simple good or bad. They’re caught in the middle, in that murky, complicated space between black and white. That’s where they get interesting because they’re constantly wrestling with themselves, trying to figure out the right choice, or if the “right” choice even exists for them.

You need to show this internal battle. Imagine your character being torn between what they believe is morally right and what they actually want. This is where the real drama comes in, it’s like watching them juggle their principles with their desires in real-time. They’ll mess up, and they’ll make decisions that are sometimes questionable, but that’s what makes them human and relatable. One way to really highlight their complexity is by putting them in situations where there’s no clear answer. You know, those moments in life where everything’s kind of a mess, and you’re stuck trying to figure out what the hell you’re supposed to do? Your character should face situations like that. These gray areas create tension because readers won’t know which direction the character will go, and honestly, your character might not know either.

And don’t forget, growth is a huge part of writing a morally gray character. People aren’t static, they change based on what happens to them, and your character should too. Maybe they start off with a strong sense of morality but, over time, that starts to shift. Or maybe they start with shaky ethics and slowly become a better person as they learn from their mistakes. Growth can also go the other way, they could spiral downward, giving in to darker impulses. Either way, they need to evolve, just like people do in real life. That’s what keeps the story fresh and unpredictable. The last thing you want is a character that stays the same the whole way through.

Also, please, no stereotypes. A morally gray character doesn’t have to be a brooding anti-hero with a tragic past (unless that’s your vibe, but even then, switch it up). Give them quirks that make them unique. Maybe they have unexpected motivations, like they’re doing something shady for a cause they genuinely believe in, or they’ve got a weird sense of humor that throws people off. Whatever it is, make sure they feel like an individual, not just a copy-paste character we’ve all seen a million times.

Even when your character makes decisions that aren’t exactly clean-cut or heroic, the reader still needs to understand why. Show their vulnerabilities, why they doubt themselves, why they hesitate, and why they ultimately make the choices they do. It’s all about making them relatable, even when they’re walking that fine line between right and wrong. People might not always agree with them, but they should at least be able to see where they’re coming from.

And remember, every choice your character makes should have consequences. They don’t exist in a bubble. Their decisions should ripple out and affect not only them but the people around them. Maybe they make a selfish decision, and it ends up hurting someone they care about, or they try to do the right thing, and it blows up in their face. One last thing, just because your character lives in that gray area doesn’t mean they don’t have any sense of right or wrong. They might have their own personal code they follow, even if it doesn’t line up with society’s morals. Maybe they justify their actions in a way that makes sense to them, even if other people wouldn’t agree. It’s all about exploring that space where they’re not totally good, but not totally bad either. That’s where things get really interesting.

Think about where your character is going. Is their journey going to push them to become a better version of themselves? Will they fall back into old patterns and never really change? Or will they stay stuck in that moral gray zone, constantly torn between doing what’s right and doing what feels right for them?