#the way he fucking says crawling back to you

[snail-day]

You got this, Nerdjo!

Part One // Next Part // Masterlist

Gojo Satoru was not stalking you. He just happened to be standing in the board games aisle of the popular bookstore near campus. At the same time you were. For the third time this week. Total coincidence. Really. He was just hear for an expansion pack. For Dice. Okay maybe he is here for you. He's been thinking about you since the moment he saw you checking out the Gundam section last week. Really. He wanted to give you his opinion but...he didn't want to seem like a total dick. A mansplainer of sorts.

Oh god, there you are again. Picking up a game. Oh you look so focused. So beautiful. So smart. Wait, is that - oh no. Not that one.

You were reaching for a notoriously convoluted board game, one even Redditors have many complaints about, and before he could stop himself, his feet were moving. Mouth was moving. Everything was moving except his common sense.

Okay, Satoru. Tap the shoulder. Speak. Be your usual charming self. It's just a girl. A very pretty girl. Say something. Be normal.

He tapped your shoulder. Lightly. You turned to look at him with the kind of expression one might give to a stranger who had absolutely no business tapping them in a bookstore. Which, honestly, he didn't have the business to do. Then cleared his throat - loudly, awkwardly - and blurted out:

"Ireallydontthinkyoushouldpickupthatgametherulesaredifficultactuallytherulesdon'tevenmakesenseImeanwhoevencameupwiththem - "

Oh my god. Oh my god. Did I just say that out loud? What did I just say?

First, your brows knit together slowly as you blinked, turning towards him with a touch of confusion and offense on your face.

“You don’t think I can understand… the rules?”

Shitshitshit

His heart dropped straight to his ass.

Going to throw up. Going to throw up. Going to throw up.

How am I fumbling this bad?

He could practically see the social bar above his head draining to zero. As your very pretty, bright eyes stared up at him. He wondered just where did you get those eyes from? His future mother-in-law or father-in-law? Wait no don't be fucking weird.

“No, oh god no! I didn’t mean - uh, that’s not - I think you could totally get it! I mean, you probably solve logic puzzles for fun! You look like you’re really good at thinking! Wait, not that you look like a nerd, but - uh - like, in a hot way - shit, no, I mean - "

End me. Just smite me down right here between Settlers of Catan and Uno.

Waving his hands now, panicking in real time. You, somehow composed, just turned the game box over and calmly read the back, letting him spiral like a dying Beyblade.

“I just meant - it’s a bad game,” he added weakly. “Like, the win condition is unclear and the rulebook has typos and there’s no official errata - it's just, um… bad design.”

You finally looked back up at him. “So what game would you recommend?”

For a second, Gojo just stood there.

You're still talking to me. Oh god. Oh no. You, beautiful and stunning, want my opinion. My professional opinion. I can’t screw this up

“S-Splendor,” Satoru blurted, voice cracking at the edges. “Or maybe Wingspan? No wait. Cascadia? Or - do you like deck-building mechanics? I could make a whole list. I actually have a spreadsheet. A whole reddit. ”

You absolute loser.

But you were… smiling. Just a little. And nodding like you were genuinely interested.

Gojo, poor nerd Gojo, practically short-circuited on the spot.

You ended up leaving the store with a board game you didn’t plan on buying. Not because of the game, really. But because the tall, twitchy, white-haired guy with far too much enthusiasm had somehow roped you into a monologue about probability mechanics, game balance, and “that one time my friend Nanami rage quit a co-op dungeon crawl.”

He was… weird. But kind of charming. In a feral raccoon digging through your trash for affection kind of way.

“So, uh,” he said, hovering beside you outside the store, practically bouncing on his heels, “if you ever want to, y’know, play a game or something - like, totally casually, not like, a date, unless you want it to be, which - no pressure - uh - I just thought maybe you’d be into - um…”

He trailed off. Heart thundering. Couldn't even ask Reddit for Advice You stared. He swallowed. Blinking rapidly, those pretty-blues darted anywhere but you.

“…I run a D&D campaign,” Satoru said suddenly. “Every Friday night. Very low-commitment! Very chill! High-level story arcs. I made all the NPCs. I do voices. I - it’s cool. I swear.”

What are you doing what are you DOING you weren’t supposed to tell them about the campaign yet they’ll think you’re weird this is why you don’t have a girlfriend Satoru you idiot -

But you smiled. Then handed him your phone - little charm dangling off the case. Something cute. You probably picked out without a second thought. God, he’d kill to have matching phone charms with you.

“…Add your number,” you said. “Text me the details.”

He blinked at the phone, questioning how he is worthy enough to text you. Then promptly fumbled it, typed his name with three emojis, deleted them, re-added one, panicked, backspaced everything, and tried again.

You mentioned you had class.

Right. You're busy. That's fine. Yes. He has your number. Oh god why is his heart pounding so loud. Can you hear it? Could you feel it when his hand brushed against yours?

Satoru nodded too fast. Rushed words as you trailed away with a wave. He was left there wondering what your major was. Who you knew. If you'd actually show up next Friday. If he’d just imagined all of this.

When he finally texted you later, it read:

Hey it’s Gojo from the bookstore 🧠 I asked my party and there’s a spot open in the campaign 👀 you’d be perfect. Unless you hate fun. Then we can just play Wingspan lol anyway let me know!! pls 🥺

And before you could even respond, another message came in.

also pls ignore any typos i'm at the gym 💪getting ready for all those monsters we're going to be slayin ⚔️

Friday night. Gojo’s apartment. He had cleaned. Like, deep cleaned. Scrubbed corners no one would ever look at. Decorated the bathroom. Lit a candle that smelled like vanilla and cedar. (He may or may not have spent an hour on Reddit reading forums titled “What candle scents make girls fall in love with you?” and this one had the best upvotes.)

He had set the scene. Maps unfurled like ancient scrolls of destiny. Dice sets lined up in a neat little rainbow offering to the gods of chance. Snacks meticulously arranged in what was supposed to be a dragon shape, though now it looked like a pile with tiny wings. Still. It was the thought that counted.

Everything was ready.

You're coming. Oh god. You're really coming. You're gonna sit here. With me. Maybe next to me. Or maybe not. No - no, no, you can sit next to Shoko. Or Nanami. Shit. What if you like Nanami? Oh my god, what if you like Nanami and not me? He’s got that broody thing.

He paced.

Screw it. Just play my campaign. Laugh at my jokes. Please. Just - please think I’m cool. Just once. Please don’t see through how desperate I am.

He adjusted his glasses. Then adjusted them again. Re-checked his rulebooks even though he wrote half the notes inside them himself. He’d already rehearsed your character’s intro fifteen times. But he did it again.

“…and as the tavern door creaks open, a figure steps through the mist. Cloaked in shadows, yet - no. No, too dramatic. They’ll think I’m trying too hard. Which I am, but like, subtle. Okay. Again - ”

His voice cracked mid-practice. He flopped down into his DM chair, then stood up again two seconds later, muttering, “Nope, can’t sit. Gonna combust.”

They’re gonna be here soon. They’re gonna walk through that door and I’m gonna die. Literally die. Headlines: Local Dungeon Master Dies When Pretty Person Shows Up.

The doorbell buzzed. Satoru physically jolted. Then stood there frozen in front of the door, hands out like he was about to catch a falling star. Or a live grenade.

Okay. Okay. It’s fine. Just breathe. Be normal. Don’t say anything weird. Don't tell them about the custom soundtrack you made for their backstory. Don't confess anything emotionally compromising in the first five minutes.

He opened the door. A stupid smile formed on his face.

Is he blushing? Please don't be blushing. Oh no. They’re even cuter than I remembered. I’m so screwed.

Wearing the coziest hoodie. Carrying a dice bag. Smiling. Beside you - because of course - was Geto Suguru. Satoru’s longtime friend. Fellow player. Tall. Cool. Calm. Hair tied back in a lazy bun that somehow made him hotter. That bastard. Satoru barely had time to panic before you laughed at something Geto said. A soft, amused laugh that curled around Gojo’s ribs and squeezed.

Then it happened. You looked at Geto. Blushed. Just the faintest pink brushing your cheeks. Just a second too long of eye contact. Just enough to punch Satoru square in his already fragile, overly romantic, nerdy heart.

You don’t like him. Right? No. It’s just warm. It’s almost summer. The hallway’s probably stuffy. Your hoodie’s too thick. That’s it. That’s all it is.

“Hey,” you greeted, blissfully unaware of his internal collapse.

“H-Hey!” Satoru yelped, voice cracking at a completely unnecessary octave. “You made it! That’s so cool. That’s - you look. Uh. Dice. You brought dice. Awesome. Good job.”

What the hell are you saying? Shut up.

Geto smiled at him. That smug, easy smile that Satoru had seen melt hearts and start trouble since freshman year.

“You didn’t tell me your new player was cute,” he said, tone maddeningly casual. You blinked. Satoru stopped breathing.

“Oh,” you said, voice softening, eyes flicking away. A little flustered. “Um. Thanks.”

You’re just being polite. That’s not real. That wasn’t real. Right?

Satoru forced a smile that came out more like a grimace. His brain was melting. His heart was clawing against his ribs.

“Haha! Yeah. So anyway! Let’s, uh. Go. Sit. Down. And have a drink. Or a seat. Or both. Whatever people do. When they enter rooms. With other people.”

Oh my god, please shut up. Please shut up. You’re going to die here and your ghost will be a virgin forever.

a/n: if you see any mistakes...no you don't totally not editing this while getting ready for wicked...totally not

[issues4him]

a peek into pervy nerd!rafe’s fantasy journal ! ♡

summary : rafe is a nerdy, perverted freak. he writes these gross, obsessive, absolutely unhinged journal entries in his fantasy journal. they’re written in cramped handwriting with way too much detail. he’s so far gone for cheerleader!reader and doesn’t even care how deranged it sounds anymore.

cw : smut, 18+, f + m receiving oral, handjob, insults, peeping tom behavior, face fucking

sunday 04/13/2025

fantasy #22 – “under the bleachers”

you don’t even know i’m there. you’re laying on your back after practice, skirt still bunched up, panties slightly visible, and your thighs—fuck your thighs—are glistening with sweat. i watch from the shadows, hand already down my pants. you hum something, scrolling on your phone, chewing that stupid pink gum i love. i imagine crawling out from beneath the bleachers and grabbing your legs before you even notice me.

“you scared me, freak,” you’d say, all bratty and sweet. “you stalking me now?”

and i’d just stare, breathing heavily. “you left the door open.”

you’d roll your pretty eyes, spreading your legs wider for me. “fine. just make it fast. i’ve got plans tonight.”

you don’t even look at me while i eat you out. just keep chewing your gum and texting, letting me have you like i’m nothing. like i’m just some pathetic loser on his knees for the girl who never learned my name. i cum in my pants before i can even get my mouth on you.

wednesday 03/14/2025

fantasy #29 – “locker room surprise”

you’re in the locker room after the pep rally, humming while you change. you toss your skirt on the bench and bend over in that thong that makes me physically ache. i imagine sneaking in with my phone, filming from behind the lockers while you put lotion on your legs. you’d have no clue. until i make a noise. you’d turn around all annoyed. “ugh—what the hell, rafe? were you spying on me?”

i’d apologize, drop to my knees, and try to explain myself, but you’d smirk and step forward, pressing your foot between my legs, “ew. you’re hard already? you’re disgusting.”

you’d slap me across the face, then kiss me like a punishment. use me. make me sit on the floor while you ride my face like i’m furniture. and i’d love it. i’d thank you after you’ve cum on my tongue.

thursday 03/27/2025

fantasy #41 – “the gum”

you left your gum in the trash today. i saw you spit it out in a tissue after practice and toss it like it meant nothing. you had no idea i’d dig it out later. no idea i’d keep it in a little bag in my drawer. i imagined you blowing bubbles while i fuck your throat. so messy, so slutty. you’d have lip gloss smeared and strings of spit connecting us. you’d gag a little, tears in your eyes, and i’d ask if you’re okay. you’d smile and say, “don’t be a pussy, rafe. i can take it.”

and i’d lose my mind. i’d grab your ponytail and use your mouth, fucking it like you’re just a toy. the gum would still be in there. you’d blow a bubble right on my dick and pop it with your tongue.

friday 01/17/2025

fantasy #72 – “she makes me beg”

you find me in the library. i’ve got your name scribbled in the margins of my notes like a freak. you grab my pencil and sit on my lap like you own me, “were you thinking about me again?”

you unzip my pants under you and wrap your hand around my already-hard dick, slow and cruel. i’m already leaking. you kiss my cheek so sweetly it makes my head spin, “beg,” you whisper. “beg for it like a loser.”

so i do. i beg so pathetically you’re actually laughing as you jerk me off. when i cum, it gets on your hand, and you lick it off, “mmm. yuck. tastes like desperation.”

[whosmariaaa]

— part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 !

— cw :: suggestive, murder, violence, attempted roofie

college! sukuna was not planning on giving up on you any time soon, no matter how upset you were. to put it simply, he was obsessed. checking your socials all the time, still trying to reach out every single day.

no girl had ever gotten under his skin like this. no one had ever made him feel like this. he didn’t even know he was capable of feeling like this about someone. and sukuna would be damned if he let you go now.

though it barely seemed to be working, because you weren’t falling for it. didn’t exactly stop him, as you would think, but gojo and toji decided to help him out for once.

they were in the lockers after basketball training, gojo and toji yapping about one of the cheerleaders. sukuna wasn’t listening. he was thinking about you, of course. how the hell could he not get you off his mind? did you put a spell on him or something?

then, gojo sat down next to him. “yo, sukuna. toji and i were thinking,” he started.

“shocking. didn’t think you two fucking idiots were even capable of that,” he sneered. gojo’s eye twitched, but he continued nonetheless.

“it’s kind of sad to see you still chasing y/n even after all that shit went down, and you’re kind of pathetic about it too,” gojo told him.

“kind of? you’re really fucking pathetic about it. seriously man, i’m pretty sure you’ve killed people before, and you’re all soft hearted for a girl who hasn’t shown you a speck of attention,” toji criticized.

feeling irritation rise, sukuna was about to snap back, but gojo quickly interrupted, “what toji’s trying to say, is that we want to help you. you’re our best friend for a reason,” he explained.

“why don’t you try to shit you used to pull with other girls? pretend like you don’t care, and they come running back, always works, right?” gojo added, resting a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

sukuna scowled, “you two know how i feel about y/n. she isn’t just a quick fuck. and how the hell would that even work when she doesn’t even look my way?”

“yeah, we get it. but you should try it. because what you’re doing right now isn’t working for shit,” toji replied, sitting down next to gojo.

when sukuna went back to his dorm, he thought about it. maybe, it could work. maybe, it’d catch your attention. maybe it’s not such a bad idea.

so, plan in action, he stopped coming to you every single day. he practically was ignoring you now. he stopped talking to you altogether. stupid as it sounds, it was starting to piss you off. you had every right to ignore him. he in fact did not. was this perhaps a little petty? sure. did you care? no.

but, much to sukuna’s dismay, you let it rest. he had gotten on your nerves enough. he was finally leaving you alone, so you might as well take peace in it.

your not-so-secret admirer was however not taking peace in it, at all.

“damn, she’s still not crawling back?” toji noted, scratching his head when he saw how infuriated sukuna was with the entire situation.

“she’s just playing hard to get,” gojo replied, “she’ll be on her knees before you know it!”

honestly, sukuna would be on his knees for you a whole lot sooner than you would be for him. gojo and toji knew that too, but they were a little afraid of their friend breaking, so they were trying to keep their hopes high.

“no, she won’t. why the fuck did i fall for such a fucking bitch?” he scoffed.

“yeah, she is kind of bitch, though—” gojo laughed.

“don’t fucking talk about her like that,” sukuna warned firmly, grabbing gojo by the collar again.

“you literally said it first—”

“shut the fuck up.”

sukuna was again pried off gojo by toji, before he actually hurt him. though his friends finally stopped being asses about the entire situation, he still felt like losing his shit.

and that feeling continued when even the week after that, you didn’t seem to be losing sleep at all over his absence, while he definitely was over yours (you were actually still feeling petty he was ignoring you now, but you didn’t show it). it was ridiculous. why was he so infatuated with you? sukuna didn’t even know himself, and yet, he couldn’t bare to let you go. he was hooked.

he needed to get his mind off things. when toji invited him to a frat party, he immediately decided to go. last time he went was weeks ago, and he wanted to take his mind off things. what better way to do that than with alcohol, weed, and girls?

when he arrived at the party, gojo gave him a few shots to ease up. and sukuna immediately had his eyes on a girl, pretty, nice body. he just needed some more alchohol and weed to soothe the weird ache in his chest when he thought of other girls. girls that aren’t you.

though, that didn’t matter now. he took a few more shots, took a few blows of toji’s blunt, and went over to the girl. they talked for a bit, he was charming, and before they knew it, the girl was in his lap, making out with him while the music blared in their ears.

when she separated for some air, sukuna looked at her with his intense red eyes, then looked around his surroundings a bit. that’s when he saw you. you were chatting with some friends, but then your gazes met. neither of you were looking away, for a good 8 seconds.

“hey, c’mon babe, we can go upstairs to a room,” the girl whispered in his ear, dragging him back to reality. a scowl appeared on his face. he wasn’t thinking about sex, and definitely not with her.

which was strange, the old sukuna would’ve flashed her his signature grin and took her upstairs without a doubt. it seems you’ve genuinely tainted his mind. for the better or worse, he didn’t know.

he pushed her off his lap. “the fuck are you talking about?” he snarled. she gasped, catching herself barely as he went on his feet. he didn’t spare her a second glance as he went over to you, which is exactly when you two locked eye contact again.

“and what do you want?” you huffed impatiently, though the intense eye contact made you slightly nervous. huh? since when did sukuna make you nervous?

“why the hell are you here?” he demanded. you rolled your eyes, “and why does that concern you?”

he took a step closer, dangerously close as he hovered over you. “don’t play fucking games with me, y/n. i’m not in the mood. let me repeat myself, why the hell are you here?”

you furrowed your eyebrows. “because it’s my friends party? what’s your problem?” you responded.

“my problem is that you’ve been ignoring me for weeks, and i’m fucking sick of it. it was just a project, and you’re such a bitch about it,” he sneered.

“i had every right to be pissed about it, and you know that too. and i didn’t want to talk to you, because you’re an ass, but apparently you’re just stupid and can’t take a hint,” you snapped back, starting to feel annoyed again.

now you didn’t care about the unbroken eye contact, or your friends staring wordlessly, because this man was a champion at getting on your nerves.

“cry me a damn river. maybe you’re just a pissy bitch that can’t handle when life doesn’t go her way,” he scoffed.

you suppressed an offended gasp, but you definitely weren’t suppressing the slap you were about to give this man again. but, just when you were about to hit his cheek, sukuna caught your wrist, in a bruising grip too.

“don’t even fucking think about it. i’m not letting you get away with shit anymore, be glad i’m not breaking your wrist,” he warned. you were silently glaring at him, and he was glaring right back.

then, he dropped your wrist and walked off. “asshole…” you mumbled under your breath. seriously, what was his problem?

safe to say, both of you spend your night at the party away from each other. sukuna making out with several different girls, even around 2AM taking another upstairs, needing to think about something else.

you, however, spend your night with your friends, drinking a few shots, but not too much to get drunk or anything. you were trying not to think of his words, but damn they kind of hurt.

your friends eventually went back to their dorms. they asked you several times if you wanted to come too, but you knew that if there wasn’t any loud music, talking and drama surrounding you, you’d probably wallow in silence, so you refused and stayed. maybe you’d find some distraction, who knows?

and as if someone heard your thoughts, next to you suddenly sat a man with blue hair and pale skin.

“you look distressed,” he commented. was it really that obvious?

“nah, it’s nothing, really,” you smiled, shrugging it off. the guy smiled back, letting the topic rest.

“uh huh, y/n right?” he asked. “people know you’re off limits, because you’re apparently sukuna’s girl. but what i saw from earlier, that’s not so true, is it?”

your smile disappeared, and you rolled your eyes. “seriously? that’s what he’s been telling people? what a loser, honestly,” you grumbled. the guy chuckled.

“so it’s not wrong for me to assume you’re single?” he questioned. your eyes shot to him. maybe he was the distraction you were desperately needing.

“huh, no, not at all. what’s your name, then?” you queried.

he rested his chin in the palm of his hand, looking at you with a charming grin. “mahito, nice to meet you, y/n,” he greeted. you smiled at him. you did recognize his name. it gave you a suspicious feeling, but it was merely fleeting, so you shrugged it off.

you two talked for like an hour or so. mahito was a nice guy, but he did give you the creeps with what he was saying from time to time. but it was probably just the alcohol in your system, so you shrugged it off.

then, he eventually went off and got drinks for the both of you. you quickly checked your phone.

“hey babe, hope ur feeling better by now, lemme know how the parties going xxx” your friends text read. you smiled at the sweet message, and quickly texted back about the tea, telling about how you met a new guy.

then, a few seconds after you send press and shut your phone off, he sat down next to you again. the two of you continued talking, and you took a few sips of your drink. but as the minutes past by, suddenly you felt like things were spinning. you felt dizzy.

your heart sank.

with quick thinking, you got on your feet and excused yourself to the bathroom with a calm smile. you were anything but calm. you couldn’t think clearly. you went into the bathroom, locking the door.

had he put something in your drink? had he drugged you? did he attempt to roofie you? you were panicking. all of your friends had gone to their dorms, and they would never make it on time. you didn’t know a soul in this party, and everyone was either drunk or stoned. what the hell were you supposed to do? and when mahito was going to inevitably notice you were gone for too long… you were starting to hyperventilate.

your head was spinning like crazy, and you felt your throat close up.

sukuna wasn’t focusing on shit right now. he had a girl on his dick, but he still felt slightly off. but he forced himself to enjoy it nonetheless. that was until his phone rang. he hung up without looking at the name. it was probably gojo or toji trying to pester him. then, his phone went off again, and again.

“who the hell is that?” she asked, breathlessly but still irritated.

he didn’t even care to reply to her. when his phone went off once more, he let out an annoyed sigh and looked at the name. it was you. he felt his irritation rise.

but he did pick up after two rings. “what the fuck do you want, y/n? if it wasn’t clear already, don’t try shit right now,” he snapped angrily.

it was silent on the other end of the line. sukuna was tempted to hang up, until he heard a little sob. he suddenly felt a rush of confusion, and maybe even concern.

“where are you?” you sniffled quietly.

“still at the party,” he replied as he sat up. the girl, just as stoned and tipsy as him, looked at him confusion.

“please help me, sukuna. i don’t know what the fuck happened, but i— i was talking with this guy, mahito or something, and i think he put something in my drink,” you stuttered out. his breath hitched slightly at the implication, and then he felt his fists clench, a wave of anger hit him.

sure, you guys were fighting, or whatever it was, but that man was still head over heels, no matter how much he wanted to push it down. and he was going to beat this guy to death for ever thinking he could touch you.

sukuna had already pushed off two other girls for you before, might as welk make it three. the girl whined drunkly, but he couldn’t care less. he pulled on his boxer and pants, and quickly threw on a shirt.

“where the fuck are you?” he asked, his tone dangerously low as he left the room, not looking back at the girl.

“bathroom d— downstairs,” you stammered. things were going fuzzy, some parts of your vision even black. you could barely keep your eyes open. “please hurry,” you cried softly.

and that tone, that panicked, helpless tone set something off in him. he was downstairs in just a few seconds, roughly shoving aside anyone in his way. no one dared to say anything, because no one had ever seen sukuna this angry before. people around fell into a tense silence, wondering what the hell happened.

as soon as he saw the bathroom door, he went to open it. and when it didn’t budge, he slammed his fist into the wooden door without a doubt, and turned the lock from the inside. his fist was covered with his blood, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

then sukuna saw you, on the floor, barely conscious. you were trembling, big tears rolling across your cheeks. it was so unlike you. you were always so fierce, and just then, he decided that he loathed seeing you cry.

he grabbed you, an arm around your waist. “it’s okay, baby, i’m here. no one’s fucking touching you,” sukuna reassured. you felt… safe in his arms, as much as you hated to admit it.

“i still fucking hate you, don’t get me wrong,” you mumbled, though your voice cracked slightly.

“uh huh, sure thing, baby,” he replied. but then, everything went black. sukuna had made it on time, but he felt a strange ache in his heart thinking about what if he hadn’t. he picked you up, weirdly gently for his doing, and went to the other side of the house, where he knew toji and gojo were at.

“yo, sukuna, we heard you finally had sex with a girl aga— is that y/n?” gojo questioned, flabbergasted. toji immediately turned his head.

“what the hell happened?” toji asked, immediately stepping over.

“some fucking idiot roofied her. take her to my car,” he ordered, putting you in toji’s arms. but gojo and toji were too slow for his liking.

“i’ll shoot both of you in the fucking head if you don’t get her out of here in two seconds,” sukuna said in a tone that told them he wasn’t playing around.

“chill out, man,” toji replied, though he was already on the move. sukuna had threatened them many times, but this was different. he was genuinely angry now, and he could get dangerous when he was.

“you’re going to kill that guy, aren’t you?” gojo asked, his usual teasing tone gone. he was dead serious. sukuna’s silence told him all he needed to know. gojo nodded and went after toji.

as soon as they were out of the frat house, he turned on his heel and approached the first person he saw.

“where’s mahito?” he asked. everyone knew the guy, everyone but apparently you. he was a real creep on campus. he’d never roofie anyone before, but honestly, no one’d put it past him.

“uh, in the bathroom. the same bathroom of which you kicked my door down, by the way, you’re paying for that—” the guy started, but sukuna’s menacing stare shut him up real quickly.

and just like he said, there mahito was. in the bathroom where you said you were going a while back, he looked around in confusion, oblivious to the storm behind him.

just when he was about to turn around, his head smashed into the stone-tiled wall three times, the white tiles now colored red.

“you fucking dumbass,” mahito heard in his ear as he was turned around, his back now slammed against the wall. a strong hand on his throat keeping him there.

“well, well, well, if it isn’t sukuna,” mahito taunted playfully, as if he didn’t have blood dripping down from his forehead. “was starting to wonder when you’d start looking for your little y/n,” he added.

“say her name again, i fucking dare you,” he snarled. mahito knew better than that.

“i’m just saying, i could’ve had a great time with her, until you had to go and ruin things,” mahito teased, flashing him a sickening smile. then a harsh left hook to his face shut him up, sending even more splatters of blood to the wall.

“let’s see if you can talk this tough when we’re outside,” sukuna replied, his tone scarily even. just like that, he dragged mahito outside, not like anyone was watching anyways because everyone went back to partying.

sukuna beat him up till he was bloody and bruised, and even then he didn’t stop. it was a gory sight, one that would’ve made anyone sick. he didn’t care, even as mahito’s face was crooked from amount of punches he had taken. mahito couldn’t even scream or beg for his life anymore, even though he was in excruciating pain. he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

he had no mercy. his hands were painted red from mahito’s blood, he punched until there was practically nothing to punch anymore. and then, nothing. he wasn’t breathing anymore, no pulse.

sukuna had indeed killed people before, he wasn’t ashamed of it. toji and gojo had done so too, none of them had been caught before. none of the other murders were necessary, just guys who pissed them off. but mahito?

he crossed a line thinking he could hurt you. no matter how much you hated him, sukuna was scarily attached to you ever since that day you called him out. so much so that he would apparently kill for you. romantic, no?

as he stared at mahito’s mangled face, he suddenly got a call from gojo. “what?” sukuna grumbled.

“y/n woke up a few minutes ago, she’s asking for you, well, more like demanding,” gojo replied. you were asking for him? that shamefully made his heart skip a beat.

“you kill the guy yet?” toji asked.

“yeah, we’re in the alleyway. can you guys clean this shit up and take him with your car? i’ll be with y/n in a second,” he proposed. they agreed, and before he knew it he was in his car with you in the passenger’s seat.

you were shaken up, confused, but you felt oddly safe. sukuna was quiet too, giving you time to process as he drived you to the dorms. you decided to not comment on his bloodied hands for your own sake.

and eventually, you found yourself in his dorm. you took a shower, and he gave you his hoodie to sleep in. he even gave you food and water.

all that frustration you felt for sukuna this past weeks, suddenly just disappeared. he had saved you, maybe even saved your life, and now he’s treating you so well.

sure, you were still upset about you failing your class, but you could finally forgive him for all that. honestly, if you told yourself a week ago that you forgave him, you wouldn’t possibly believe yourself.

and you would also never believe yourself if you said that you were now laying in sukuna’s bed, wrapped in his arms.

“how do you feel, baby?” he asked softly, a tone you’d never think he’d be able to use.

“could be better,” you murmured quietly. a silence fell over you two, it wasn’t uncomfortable. you didn’t feel uncomfortable either. who would’ve thought?

you looked up slightly at him, meeting his eyes. “thank you for all that,” you told him, smiling lightly. “i think i can perhaps, maybe forgive you now for that 49%.”

sukuna just slightly furrowed his eyebrows, before grabbing your chin and pulling you into a kiss. you leaned into it, not pushing him away.

he pulled away, looking into your eyes. “no one’s ever going to fucking hurt you again, i’m serious, you got that?” he promised.

“yeah. sounds pretty serious to me,” you replied, not being same to hide your smile. he just huffed, and kissed you again. a few hours later, you fell asleep in his arms.

now, college boyfriend! sukuna was the happiest man alive. he still dominated the basketball court, still got plenty good grades, had his best friends gojo and toji. and the one thing he will forever love most and cherish in life, you, his girl. and with that, sukuna was ready to kill and die for you, always.

──★˙🍓̟!! expectations were high for me, so i think i delivered guys!! genuinely proud of this one. this is kinda crazy since it’s the last part, and again i can simply not express how thankful i am for all of you!!!! and i HAD to eventually let sukuna do something violent for once, because it’s sukuna ofc. and no, i do absolutely not, ever ever, condone violence or murder!!!!! love sukuna to death but if he was real you wouldn’t catch me in a 100 km radius from him🥀🥀

— taglist ! @imlikeacoffeeconnoisseur @totallygyomeiswife @sukubusss @seizecherry @xlilycoco @v1x3n @go-go-gadget-autism @elizabeth-von-winken-universe @paradisestarfishh @misticsilver @whosmarjj @aquariusscollection @satorushousewife @rwirxles @anonnieghost @bitchpleaseeeeeeeeee @iminloveweveryone @poopooindamouf @phisen @ryomku @erintaro @clp-84 @mastermasterlist1p1 @katsukiseyebrows @iioveoldermen @happy2delivur @jup1tersuccubus @nxcxllxsevens @realalpacorn @kxgumi @crankyarchives @itsjustisa @junitries @kodzukensworld @desiretolive @bnbaochauuu @tomsxslvt @flwerie @bwlol7 @szuuyl @yourfavbabigirl @grignardsreagent @my-sin-my-soul-my-hell @nothankyew @yourangel04 🍓

[jungkoode]

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 18

˗ˏˋ on your kneesˎˊ˗

"He didn't picture himself ever begging for pussy... but alas, here he is."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 8,7k

content: wet sloppy kissing, jungkook being too horny for his own good, vibrator usage, masturbation (f), jerking off while eating kitty (idk what possessed me but i had to), vanilla kink (are we surprised), begging, slight praise kink, comfort, endearing moments, these two being stupid as always, post-orgasm sharing bed (yeah sleeping together), thinking about maybes.

✧ author's note ✧

LISTEN. You’re so lucky I have multiple FMU chapters backlogged right now, because if I didn’t? I would have thrown an actual tantrum, declared a two-week hermit arc, and told you all to fuck off while I moved to the mountains. BUT. Thankfully, I’ve written up to around Chapter 23-ish and just need to edit, so you can all calm the hell down.

First of all, no—I still haven’t updated the update post, because I’ve been too busy prepping this chapter for release. I’ve had zero time to sit and ponder. That said, the only valid suggestion I’ve gotten so far is to keep the Tumblr note goal but ALSO require the Wattpad goal to be hit—so that’s what we’re trying this time around.

Also—BIG ANNOUNCEMENT—we now have an official Kiki Nation Community on Tumblr (yay!). That’s where you little gremlins can finally scream together in one place, throw theories at each other, and insult Jungkook and Nix in a safe, protected space. (Mainly Jungkook. Because he’s a man. And this is a matriarchy. HUSH.)

So please check it out! Join, comment under the official Chapter 18 discussion post, and if you feel inspired to make a meme or TikTok or post your spiral—DO IT. If it makes me laugh, I will absolutely reblog it.

NOW. About this chapter.

BAHAHA. Okay. First of all—I am so proud of the kiss. I wanted it to be sloppy and wet and messy and borderline excessive, and I think I delivered. It’s so long. I really put my whole kikussy into it.

And of course… it was time. The vibrator had to make its appearance. It’s literally law. I don’t make the rules (but I do).

Also: Rogue begging. crawling. STILETTOS. Why did I like this chapter so much. It was delicious. I love sexually down bad men. Wait until he’s romantically down bad. It’s going to be so satisfying. Trust me.

And the ending?? Made me soft. Actual progress?? Kind of??? They’re still filthy, but they’re also edging toward something stupidly endearing and I hate how much I love that. The way this story is progressing is so slow-burn it makes my bones hurt, but I’m obsessed with it. We are maybe… possibly… inching toward friendship territory. MAYBE.

I’m really looking forward to the next chapters—soon, we’ll meet a new LI on Jungkook’s side (YES!). Things are gonna get messy (eventually). Reminder: they have zero romantic feelings right now. ZERO. What you’re seeing is just… subconscious tension, subtle shifts. We’re nowhere near falling.

So please. I beg you. If I start getting asks about them being in love, I will throw my laptop out the window and revoke my dictatorship. Don’t test me.

Enjoy the chaos. Let me know how hard you spiraled. Love you forever.

OH. I said it before but I will say it again. This chapter is entirely based on the song "get on your knees" by Ariana Grande and Nicki Minaj so. Do with that what you will. Listen to it. Enjoy.

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

His kiss tastes like four days of wanting.

Your back hits the wall as his mouth crashes into yours—not gentle, not careful, just hungry. Like he's been starving for the taste of you since Tuesday. 

His tongue traces the seam of your lips, a question that isn't really a question at all, because you both know how this ends. You part your lips anyway, granting him access because denying him feels like denying yourself.

His hand comes to rest on your neck, thumb pressing lightly against your pulse point. It's a strange, suspended gesture—like he can't decide whether to pull you closer or hold you exactly where you are. The indecision is so unlike him that it makes your stomach flip.

Then his tongue flattens against yours, and any thoughts of indecision evaporate. He's not kissing you so much as he's tasting you, licking your flavor directly from the source. The sensation is filthy and intimate as his other hand comes to your cheek, fingers splaying across your skin, holding you in place for his exploration.

"Fuck," he breathes against your mouth, the word more vibration than sound. "Missed this."

Not you. This. 

The distinction matters, even as his tongue circles yours in a slow, deliberate drag that makes your knees weak. He's coating himself with your saliva, savoring you like you're some expensive whiskey he's been saving for a special occasion.

You should probably be grossed out by how wet this kiss is, by how thoroughly he's claiming your mouth.

Instead, you find yourself pressing closer, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

Because this is what you've been missing too—not him, not really, but this. The way he makes your body respond without even trying. The way he kisses like he's trying to memorize the taste of you.

And then his lips close over yours—soft but firm—like finishing the kiss just to start it all over again. Chained kisses. One bleeding into the next, seamless and endless.

You follow him because how could you not? The way he kisses—it’s not just skill; it’s instinct. Like he knows exactly what to do to keep you hooked, alternating between tongue and lips so perfectly that you never get tired of either. 

Not that you could ever tire of him. 

You’re pretty sure you could never erase the way he kisses—or fucks—from your mind even if you wanted to.

Maybe it’s him knowing what he’s doing. Or maybe it’s just the two of you—two mismatched pieces of completely different puzzles that somehow fit together anyway. 

Just like your mouths do now.

Just like when your tongue darts out to lick at his lower lip in a kitten lick that has him hitching against you, a small, desperate sound escaping his throat. His hips stutter against yours like his body is telling you to stop messing around and get your tongue back inside his mouth where it belongs.

So you do.

You push forward, tongue meeting his again in a slick slide that has him groaning into your mouth. Then you close your lips to transition into another kiss and he follows, tongues forgotten for three, four open-mouthed kisses before he’s lost patience.

He moves his tongue against yours, seeking more, always more. Because when it comes to you, Jungkook is just this eager.

But this time you catch it. Suck it into your mouth in a soft suction that makes him freeze for half a second before his hand tightens on your neck. 

And the sound he makes?

Undiluted filth.

It spurs you on.

You suck harder, dragging your lips down his tongue before releasing him with a soft pop that leaves both of you panting against each other’s mouths. He doesn’t let the pause last long—doesn’t let you last long—and dives back in with a hunger that feels less like kissing and more like consuming.

Tongues forgotten for other five or six kisses as his lips move against yours with bruising intensity—open-mouthed and messy—but he easily grows impatient and his tongue is soon back, sliding against yours like he wants it there.

You catch it once more—suck it again—and the way his hips jerk against yours tells you everything you need to know about how much he likes it.

Filthy sounds fill the space between you: wet kisses, soft moans, the occasional hitch in his breath when you do something particularly good with your tongue.

And when his teeth graze your lower lip before pulling back just enough to look at you?

You realize there’s no winning here—not for either of you—because this isn’t about who takes control or who gives in first.

It’s about this. About mouths fitting together perfectly even though nothing else about this situation should make sense. About tongues sliding together and lips bruising from too much pressure but neither of you caring because fuck—it feels good.

It feels better than good.

It feels addictive.

Your back hits the table near the entryway, and honestly? You never thought a piece of furniture could be an accomplice in your bad decisions, but here you are. Pressed against the entryway table. The one that holds your keys, Yoongi's forgotten mail, and now, apparently, your dignity.

Jungkook hasn't stopped kissing you—not for air, not for sanity, not for anything resembling common sense. It's like he's on a mission to consume you entirely, starting with your mouth and working his way through the rest of you.

These are not the kisses you exchange with people you tolerate. These are not even the kisses you exchange with people you like. These are the kisses of people who might actually hate each other but have found a much more interesting way to express it.

Your lower back presses against the edge. Hard wood digs into soft flesh, and you're about to complain when—

Fuck.

He lifts you. One hand. One fucking hand curves under your ass and hoists you onto the table like you weigh nothing, while his other plants itself firmly on the wood beside your hip. The display of casual strength makes something molten pool in your stomach.

Unfair. Completely unfair how stupidly hot he makes stupid things look. Lifting you shouldn't be attractive. It's basic physics, not foreplay. But your brain has apparently liquefied, pouring out your ears while he steals the oxygen straight from your lungs.

"Fuck, Nix," he mutters against your mouth, the words more vibration than sound. "Been thinking about this for days."

His mouth is relentless—wet, demanding, precise in a way that makes your toes curl in your shoes. He sucks your lower lip between his teeth and—god—applies just enough pressure to sting, like he's trying to extract something essential from you. Like he needs to squeeze you dry, drain you of whatever it is that keeps him coming back.

Didn't even know your bottom lip was an erogenous zone until Jungkook decided it was.

It's too much. The heat, the closeness, the way he seems to have forgotten where you are, who you are.

You push against his chest—not hard, just enough to create a sliver of space between your bodies.

"Jesus Christ," you gasp, chest heaving. "Let me breathe, you animal."

He grins at that—a scorching, self-satisfied smile that makes you want to either slap him or pull him back in.

Maybe both.

He bites his lower lip, swollen from your kisses, and immediately leans back in like your need for oxygen is a minor inconvenience to his plans.

Your palm against his chest stops him, firm this time.

"Wait," you say, voice rough.

Not because you want to stop—god no—but because your brain is finally catching up to your body. And there's something you want. Something specific.

His eyes find yours, dark and questioning. Patient, despite the hunger radiating off him in waves. He's holding himself back, you realize. Letting you dictate what happens next.

Your eyes drop, hair falling across your face as you gather your thoughts, your courage. When you look back up at him through your lashes, his breath catches audibly.

"Bring me the vibrator you chose for me."

His reaction? Pretty funny. Like watching a computer crash and reboot. His entire body goes still—processing, processing—then his eyes widen a fraction. He blinks once, twice, tension visible in the way his jaw ticks.

"What?" he asks, voice cracking slightly.

Something about his reaction makes hot satisfaction curl through you. You like throwing him off balance. Like matching his chaos with your own.

"The vibrator," you repeat, slower this time, savoring each syllable. "The one you picked out. Go get it."

His eyes dart toward your bedroom door, then back to your face. For a moment, you think he might refuse. Might challenge you. But then:

"Yeah," he nods jerkily, already stepping back. "Yeah, I will."

"Will you?" you press, because you can't help it. Because you like the way his pupils dilate when you push.

"Fuck yeah," he breathes, already moving toward your bedroom with a kind of urgent, stumbling grace that would be comical if it weren't so hot.

You watch him go, breathing still uneven, lips still tingling. 

And you think—not for the first time—that there's something dangerously addictive about the way Jungkook responds to you. The way he matches your energy, then amplifies it, reflecting it back at you until you're both caught in some kind of feedback loop of bad ideas and worse self-control.

Roommates with benefits, you remind yourself. That's all this is.

But as you hear him rummaging through your things, drawers opening and closing with increasing urgency, you can't help but wonder if "benefits" is too mild a word for whatever the fuck is happening between you two.

He sprints.

Jungkook doesn't walk to your room—he fucking jogs, like the vibrator might disappear if he doesn't get there fast enough.

Like this moment has an expiration date he can't afford to miss.

No shame. Not a single ounce of it as he bursts through your door, scanning the bedroom impatiently. The same room he's been in a couple of times, but never with this specific mission, never with this frantic energy coursing through his veins.

Where the fuck would a girl keep her vibrator?

No. Not a girl. You. Where would you hide it?

Under the pillow?

He lifts the edge of your pillowcase, peeks beneath it. Nothing. Definitely not there—you like sleeping too much, and having a hard plastic toy jabbing into your cheek all night would be uncomfortable as hell. You're smarter than that.

The wardrobe?

He eyes the wooden doors across the room, considering.

No way. Too far from the bed. You're too practical for that kind of inconvenience. If you wanted to get off, you wouldn't want to climb out of bed and trek across the room.

His eyes land on the nightstand. Bingo.

The drawer slides open with a soft sound. First thing he sees: a messy stack of panties, some lacy, some cotton, all of them instantly triggering mental images he doesn't have time for right now.

He fights—really fights—against the urge to pick one up. To feel the fabric between his fingers, to imagine it hugging the curves he's already memorized with his hands, his mouth. Maybe even bring one to his nose...

Focus, dickhead.

Pushing the underwear aside (what? sue him for wanting to fuel his imagination), his fingers brush against something solid. Hard plastic. Smooth curves.

There it is.

He pulls it out, a triumphant grin spreading across his face as he examines his find. It's exactly as he remembers from the store—sleek, purple, designed for both internal and external stimulation.

Still in its original packaging, which means you haven't used it yet.

Something jittery and hot coils in his stomach at the thought of being the first to see you use it.

He grips it tighter, already imagining what it'll look like pressed against you, already wondering if you'll let him control it or if you'll insist on doing it yourself.

Either way, he's about to witness something fucking spectacular, and his body knows it. His cock strains painfully against his jeans as he heads back to you.

He takes a deep breath before rounding the corner from the hallway.

Tries to center himself, to cool down just a little.

To not look as desperate as he feels.

But then—

Fuck.

The vibrator nearly slips from his suddenly sweaty palm.

You're naked on the table. Completely, gloriously naked except for those high heels that make your legs look like they go on for fucking miles. The dress is gone—discarded somewhere on the floor—and your panties dangle precariously from one ankle like an afterthought.

One leg bent at the knee, heel resting lazily on the wooden surface. The other straight up, creating a perfect right angle that showcases everything he's been craving since the moment he walked through the front door.

And your hand—Christ—your hand is between your thighs, fingers drawing lazy circles over your clit.

His eyes stutter back to one thing though.

The heels.

What is it about the fucking heels?

He's never particularly cared about shoes before, but something about the way they elongate your legs, the way they make your calves flex, the dangerous point of those stilettos against the wooden table-it's doing something to him. Something unexpected and intense.

He nearly stumbles. Actually has to catch himself on the wall because his knees go weak at the sight of you touching yourself, waiting for him, spread open on the goddamn entryway table like the world's most perfect welcome home gift.

His grip on the vibrator tightens until his knuckles go white. He forces his face into something resembling control—a smirk, he hopes, though it feels more like a grimace of restraint.

"Needed it that badly?" he manages, trying to sound casual and cool, though he guesses he fails spectacularly at that.

Your eyes meet his, challenging. "Didn't you?"

The question catches him off guard, but he doesn't falter. Not much, anyway. Just a slight hitch in his breathing that he hopes you didn't notice.

"Yeah," he admits, the word barely audible. Then, louder: "Yeah, I did."

He starts walking toward you, vibrator clutched in his hand, but you stop him with a single raised palm. The universal sign for wait.

"Crawl to me."

His feet halt. He opens his mouth. Closes it.

What?

"What?" he asks, not sure he heard correctly.

"You heard me." Your fingers never stop their gentle circles. "Crawl."

He doesn't know why he does it. Doesn't pause to analyze why the command sends a jolt of electricity straight to his cock.

He just... does it.

Drops to his knees, then to all fours, the vibrator still clutched in one hand.

Maybe it's the novelty—you taking control like this when usually he's the one calling the shots.

Maybe it's the way your eyes darken as you watch him approach, like seeing him on his knees for you is doing something for you too.

Or maybe—most likely—it's just the promise of getting his head between those fucking glorious thighs again.

Whatever the reason, he crawls to you across the hardwood floor, too turned on to care about how it looks, too desperate to worry about his dignity. All he can think about is how wet you'll be, how good you'll taste, how he wants to make you come on his tongue before introducing the vibrator.

He's almost there—close enough to smell you, close enough that if he stretched forward just a bit, he could press his mouth to your inner thigh—when the sharp heel of your stiletto plants firmly against his forehead.

The pressure isn't hard enough to hurt, just enough to stop his forward momentum. To keep him back.

He looks up at you, disbelief warring with arousal.

Surely you're joking?

There's no way you're genuinely stopping him when he's this close, when you're this wet, when everything about this moment has been building toward his mouth on you.

Right?

"The vibrator," you say, extending your hand, heel still pressed lightly to his skin. "Give it to me."

His throat works as he swallows, suddenly parched. "Don't you want me to—"

"The vibrator, Ro."

The nickname, combined with the firm tone, makes his cock make a mating dance against the zipper of his jeans. He places the toy in your outstretched hand, watches as you examine it with curious eyes.

You turn it over in your palm, studying it like it's a puzzle to solve. Your brow furrows slightly as you locate the power button, press it experimentally, and soon enough its low hum fills the space as the toy comes to life, vibrating gently in your hand.

"I've never used one before," you admit, and he already knew.

You told him that much before buying it.

Nonetheless, the idea that he gets to witness this first for you—it does something to him.

Makes him feel special in a way he has no right to feel.

"Let me help," he offers, voice strained. "I can show you how—"

"I think I can figure it out," you interrupt, but there's uncertainty in your eyes as you look at the different buttons, the various settings.

Fuck, you're adorable. Even spread-eagle on a table with a vibrator in your hand, there's something so endearing about your determination to figure this out on your own.

He watches, mesmerized, as you press another button. The vibration intensifies, making you jump slightly at the change. Your finger slips, pressing yet another button, and suddenly the toy is pulsing in a rhythm that has him imagining it pressed against you, imagining your reaction to that particular pattern.

He can't take it.

"Here," he says, reaching up, a bit desperate, a tad impatient. "May I?"

After a moment's hesitation, you nod, removing your heel from his forehead and allowing him to rise up on his knees. He takes the vibrator from you, quickly familiarizing himself with the controls.

"This button cycles through the patterns," he explains, demonstrating as the toy shifts from steady vibration to pulsing to waves. "And this one controls the intensity."

He presses it, the vibration becoming stronger under his thumb.

"Start low and work your way up."

He hands it back to you, then you glare at him and okay, he immediately settles back on his heels, waiting. Watching. Fucking aching to see what you do next.

You take the toy, reset it to the lowest steady vibration, and then—God help him—you bring it to your breast first. Circle your nipple with it, eyes fluttering closed at the sensation.

"Fuck," he breathes, the word barely audible over the hum of the vibrator. 

He shifts on his knees, trying to adjust himself without being too obvious about it. His jeans have become a torture device, constricting him painfully as he watches you explore.

The vibrator trails down your stomach, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He can see them form on your skin, can see the way your muscles tense in anticipation as the toy moves lower, lower—

And then it's there, pressed against your clit, and the sound you make—a soft, surprised gasp followed by a deeper moan—nearly ends him.

"Good?" he asks, voice wrecked.

You nod, eyes still closed, hips already starting to move against the vibration. "Good. Really good."

He leans forward instinctively, mouth watering at the sight of you pleasuring yourself. He wants to taste you, wants to feel the vibrations against his tongue as he licks around the toy.

Wants to be part of this moment in a way that's more than just watching.

But as he moves closer, your eyes snap open, fixing him with a look that stops him cold.

You extend your leg, the one that was dangling off the table, pressing the point of your stiletto against his chest this time.

"Just watch," you command, voice breathy but firm.

He blinks, sure he's misheard. "What?"

"I said watch." You adjust the vibrator slightly, finding a better angle that makes your breath hitch, toe of your shoe pressing more firmly against his sternum. "Don't touch. Just... watch me."

Is he dreaming? Having some kind of bizarre hallucination? There's no way you're asking him to just sit here while you get yourself off right in front of him.

No fucking way.

"You're joking," he says, but the steady look in your eyes tells him you're not. "Nix, come on. You can't expect me to—"

"I can," you interrupt, increasing the vibration intensity with a press of your thumb. The change makes you gasp, hips lifting slightly off the table. "And I do."

He blinks, eyebrows tugging upwards in a cross motion. "Do you want me to bust untouched? Is that it? Because that's cruel, even for you."

A smile curves your lips, mischievous and knowing. "Maybe I just want to see if you can behave for once."

"I behave," he protests, even as his eyes remain fixed on the vibrator, on the way it glides through your wetness, on how your thighs have started to tremble already.

On those fucking shoes that, for some inexplicable reason, are making this whole situation at least ten times hotter.

"Prove it," you challenge, and fuck—he's never been able to resist a challenge from you.

Never really been able to back down when you push him like this.

So he stays where he is, on his knees, hands fisted at his sides, watching as you explore the toy, as you find what feels good, as you experiment with different patterns and pressures. Your foot still rests against his chest, not pushing him away now, just... there.

A point of contact that feels both like ambrosia and agony.

It's torture. Beautiful, exquisite torture to be this close and not touch you. To smell your arousal and not taste it. To hear your moans growing louder and know he's not the direct cause.

But it's also—strangely, unexpectedly—one of the hottest things he's ever witnessed.

Because you're not performing for him. You're genuinely discovering what you like, what makes you feel good. And there's something incredibly intimate about being allowed to witness that, about being trusted enough to see you this vulnerable, this real.

"That's it," he encourages as your movements become more focused, as you settle into a rhythm with the vibrator that has your breathing turning shallow. "Just like that. You look so fucking good, Nix."

Your eyes meet his, heavy-lidded but alert, and for a moment, he can’t help but stare back.

Then you close your eyes again, lost in the sensation as the vibrator buzzes steadily against your clit. Your free hand comes up to your breast, pinching your nipple in time with the pulsations of the toy, and he groans at the sight. 

Your foot presses harder against his chest, whether intentionally or as an unconscious reaction to your growing pleasure, he doesn't know.

Doesn't care.

"Cruel," he mutters, because he needs to at least let you know. “You're fucking cruel, you know that?"

His eyes are fixed on your pussy like it's the only thing in the universe worth looking at. Maybe it is. The way you're working that vibrator against yourself, the little circular motions, the way your hips lift occasionally when you hit just the right spot—it's driving him fucking insane.

His dick is so hard it hurts at this point, and he thinks it's going to start a mutiny. He shifts his weight, trying to get some relief, but it only makes things worse. His forehead thumps against the corner of the table in frustrated surrender.

"God fucking hell," he groans, the wood cool against his skin. "Nix, I need to lick you. Please. Just—let me taste you."

You look down at him, eyes heavy-lidded but gleaming with amusement. Your stiletto traces a path down his chest, and when it reaches his stomach, you press slightly, the point digging into the muscle there. 

A warning. 

A tease. 

He's not sure which, but it makes his cock throb painfully either way.

"What was that?" you ask, lifting the vibrator just enough that he can see how wet you are, how your pussy glistens in the low light. "I didn't quite hear you."

Fucking tease. Fucking gorgeous, evil tease.

"I said I need to lick you," he repeats, louder this time, pride completely abandoned. "Let me put my mouth on you. Let me make you feel good."

You pretend to consider it, tilting your head like you're weighing your options. Meanwhile, he's about to combust from the inside out.

"I don't know," you muse, trailing the vibrator up to circle around your clit, making yourself gasp. "I'm doing pretty well on my own, don't you think?"

Your stiletto moves again, tracing along the inside of his thigh. He tenses, breath catching as it moves higher, closer to the straining bulge in his jeans.

“Phee,” he bites back a groan. "You're doing amazing. Fucking incredible. But I can make it better. You know I can."

"Hmm." You press the vibrator directly against your clit again, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before fixing back on him. "Maybe if you ask nicely."

Is this really happening? Are you really making him beg? His cock twitches at the thought, answering that question with an emphatic yes.

He swallows, throat dry.

"Please," he says, voice rough. "Please let me help."

The word lies suspended between you. 

Please. Such a simple word, but one he doesn't use often—not like this, not with this much raw need behind it.

Your eyes widen slightly, like you weren't expecting him to actually do it. To actually beg. But then a slow smile spreads across your face, and you nod.

"Since you asked so nicely," you say. "Go ahead."

He doesn't need to be told twice. He surges forward, hands gripping your thighs, spreading them wider as he buries his face against you.

The first swipe of his tongue makes you both moan—you from the sensation, him from finally, finally getting to taste you.

You taste amazing.

Like always.

Like something he could get addicted to if he's not careful.

"Fuck," he groans against you, the word vibrating against your sensitive flesh. "So fucking good."

He could honestly cum like this. Right now. Just from the taste of you on his tongue, from the way your thighs tense around his head, from the little gasps you make. 

He knows he's got blue balls at this point. Knows his cock is probably leaking precum into his boxers, making a mess he'll have to deal with later. But he doesn't really care.

Until you kind of make him care.

"Jerk off."

He freezes, tongue mid-lick.

Did he hear that right?

Looking up at you, genuinely confused, he asks, "What?"

Your answer is a knowing smile and a slight increase in pressure as the heel traces the outline of his cock through the denim. Not enough to hurt, just enough to make him incredibly aware of how hard he is.

"I want you to get yourself off while you eat me out, Ro."

Jesus Christ.

When did you get so fucking bossy? And why is it turning him on so much?

"Yeah," he says, almost to himself, fumbling with his zipper. "Yeah, okay, absolutely I can do that."

His hands shake slightly as he undoes his jeans, shoving them and his boxers down just enough to free his cock. It springs up against his stomach, hard and flushed and so sensitive that even the brush of air against it makes him hiss.

"Shit," he warns, wrapping a hand around himself, already knowing this isn't going to last long. "Just a heads up, but this might be embarrassingly short."

You laugh, the sound turning into a gasp as he dives back in. Your leg dangles over his shoulder now, heel pressing slightly against his back.

"That's okay," you manage to say between breaths. "I'm pretty close too."

Thank fuck for that. Because the moment his hand starts moving on his cock, he knows he's on borrowed time.

The vibrator hasn't stopped. That's the thing that's driving him absolutely fucking insane. You've got it pressed right against your clit, humming on its lowest setting while he licks at your lips, tasting every inch of you except the one spot you're keeping for yourself.

It's maddening.

It's genius.

It's the hottest thing he's ever experienced.

His tongue traces your entrance, dipping just slightly inside before retreating to lick broad strokes along your folds. He's taking his time despite his own desperation, despite the way his hand is working his cock at a steady, measured pace.

Because he wants this to last, wants to savor the privilege of having his face between your thighs while you take your pleasure so confidently.

"More," you breathe above him, and he's not sure if you're talking to him or yourself.

But then your fingers move, pressing a button on the vibrator, and the hum intensifies. The sound changes pitch, grows deeper, more insistent. Your hips jerk in response, a gasp falling from your lips that sends blood rushing to his already throbbing cock.

His fist tightens instinctively, pace quickening to match the vibrator's new rhythm. It's like his body is syncing with the toy, with your pleasure, his own arousal tied directly to yours.

"Fuck, Nix," he groans against you, the words muffled but still audible. "You're so fucking wet. So fuckin’ good, I swear—I swear I could do this for hours.”

“But you won’t last hours,” you tease, rolling your hips against his face. “Will you?”

He shakes his head, not even bothering to deny it. Not when his balls are already drawing up tight, not when each stroke of his hand brings him closer to the edge.

“Nngh—no,” he admits, the word punctuated by a particularly firm stroke that has his hips bucking into his fist. “Not gonna—ah—not gonna last long at all.”

Because the truth is, he’s dizzy with it—your taste, your scent, the sounds you're making above him. It's overwhelming in the best possible way, a sensory overload that makes his cock pulse in his grip, precome slicking the way as his fist moves faster, more urgently.

You shift the vibrator slightly, angling it for better contact, and your free hand finds his hair. Fingers tangle in the strands, not quite pulling but definitely directing, holding him exactly where you want him.

"Inside," you command, voice breathless but clear. "I want your tongue inside me."

He doesn't hesitate. Doesn't even think. Just obeys, tongue pushing past your entrance, delving into the wet heat of you while the vibrator continues its relentless assault on your clit.

The angle is awkward, his neck craned to accommodate both the toy and his mouth, but he doesn't care.

Can't care about anything beyond the way you clench around his tongue, the way your thighs tremble against his cheeks, the way your grip tightens in his hair.

His cock throbs in his hand, so sensitive now that each stroke sends sparks shooting up his spine, and fuck he's close—so fucking close—but he's determined to make you come first. Wants to feel you pulsing around his tongue, wants to experience every tremor of your orgasm firsthand.

Above him, your breathing has grown ragged; little gasps and moans that tell him you're getting close too.

"Don't stop," you gasp, basically riding his face at this point. "God, don't stop."

As if he would.

As if he could tear himself away from this even if the building were on fire.

Your thighs start to shake in earnest now, little tremors that grow stronger by the second. The hand in his hair clenches, your stiletto digs into his back, the pressure increasing as your body tenses, and now he just knows; knows how close you are to the edge.

It makes his strokes faster, more desperate.

“Shit,” he gasps, pulling back for air. “Fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Don’t stop,” you command, lost in a whine. “Don’t you dare stop.”

And he feels it the moment you start to come—the way your inner walls flutter around his tongue, the sudden flood of wetness, the sharp cry that tears from your throat. His name, maybe. Or just a sound of pure pleasure. He's too far gone to tell the difference.

But it doesn't matter. What matters is that you're coming on his tongue, coming while he tastes you, while the vibrator buzzes against your clit, while his cock throbs in his hand, so close to his own release that he can feel it building at the base of his spine.

He pushes his tongue deeper, wanting to feel every pulse, every contraction of your orgasm. The vibrator keeps buzzing, prolonging the sensation, pushing you higher and higher until your hand finally yanks at his hair, pulling him back when it becomes too much.

"Fuck," you gasp, voice wrecked, vibrator still humming in your grip though you've pulled it away from your oversensitive clit. "Fuck, Ro."

The sound of his nickname—that stupid nickname you’ve given him—paired with the sight of you flushed and trembling from an orgasm he helped create, is what does it. What finally pushes him over the edge.

His release hits him then, stealing his breath as his cock pulses in his hand, spilling onto the hardwood floor in hot spurts that seem to go on forever.

He groans against your thigh, face pressed into the soft skin there as his hips jerk, chasing the last waves of pleasure.

“Ffff—shit,” he slurs as he strokes himself through the aftershocks. “Holy sssh—oh—fuck… Ahhh.”

For a moment, there's nothing but the sound of breathing, harsh and uneven. The vibrator still hums softly, forgotten in your hand until you fumble for the off button, plunging them into sudden silence.

Jungkook rests his forehead against your thigh, trying to catch his breath, trying to remember how to form coherent thoughts.

His hand is sticky, his knees ache from the hardwood floor, his back tingles from the trail your heel left across it, and he’s pretty sure he’ll never be able to look at the entryway table the same way again.

But fuck if it wasn't worth it.

He pulls back, gasping for breath, his hand still loosely gripping his spent cock. He probably looks a mess—hair wild from your hands, face shiny with your wetness, expression dazed and satisfied.

"Christ," he breathes, looking up at you with something close to awe.

"Yeah," you agree, equally breathless.

A moment passes where you just look at each other, both trying to process what just happened. Then, because he's Jungkook and he can't help himself, he grins.

"So," he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his clean hand. "I guess you like the vibrator I picked, huh?"

You roll your eyes, but there's no real annoyance there. Just a kind of fond exasperation that makes his chest feel weird and tight.

"It's alright," you say, casual as anything, like you weren't just having what looked like the most intense orgasm of your life. "Could've been better."

He laughs, full and genuine. "Liar."

Your lips twitch, fighting a smile. "Maybe."

He sits back on his heels, suddenly aware of the mess he's made on the floor. "We should, uh, probably clean up before Yoongi gets home."

You nod, both legs dangling off the table. “Wouldn’t want to scandalize him.”

"He's seen worse," Jungkook says without thinking, then flinches. "I mean—not with me. Just, you know, in general. Living with roommates and all."

You give him a look that's equal parts amusement and skepticism. "Right."

Awkward silence falls as the reality of what just happened settles in, because this? Yeah, it was sex. But this time you took control, you made him beg, you saw him at his most desperate and needy.

And he... liked it. More than he probably should have.

"So," he says, tucking himself back into his jeans with as much dignity as possible. "That was fun."

You snort. "Such a way with words, Ro."

"What can I say? I'm a poet."

He gathers the dress from the floor and gives it to you. You throw the dress at his head, but you're laughing, and he thinks—not for the first time—that he likes that sound. Likes being the cause of it.

He doesn’t analyze it further than needs to be.

He catches the dress, handing it back to you with exaggerated chivalry. "Your garment, m'lady."

"You're an idiot," you say, but there's no bite to it. Just that weird, fond tone that makes his stomach do strange things.

Fully on both legs now, he places both his arms between your spread thighs, his face hovering close to yours, tilting to the side.

"Yeah," he agrees, because sometimes the simplest truth is the easiest to admit. "But I'm an idiot who makes you cum really fucking hard, so..."

And there it is—that flash in your eyes, that hint of heat that never seems to fully dissipate between you two. 

"Don't get cocky," you warn.

Too late, he thinks. Way too late for that.

He stands there with the taste of you still on his lips and he can't help but feel satisfied.

Good.

“Does this mean we’re not fighting anymore?”

You laugh, the sound bright and genuine in the quiet room. “I guess not.”

“Good. Because that was a fucking stupid fight anyway.”

“It was,” you agree. “But the makeup sex was worth it.”

“Always is with us.”

And that’s the truth of it, isn’t it? No matter how much you argue, no matter how much you drive each other crazy, this thing between you—this chemistry, this connection—always brings you back together. 

No strings attached, just pure, perfect understanding of what the other needs.

It’s not love. It’s not even like, most days. But it’s something. 

Something that works for both of you.

And then, Jungkook feels your forehead press against his shoulder, which catches him off guard. Not because it’s heavy or anything—it’s not—but because it’s you.

You, who usually keeps your distance unless you're actively trying to rile him up. You, who just made him beg on his knees like some desperate idiot a few minutes ago.

And now you’re here, leaning into him like this is normal. Like this is fine.

It’s... nice. He hates that it’s nice.

His lips twitch upward despite himself, a soft smile breaking through the lingering haze of post-orgasmic bliss. His hand moves before he can think better of it, sliding up your back in a slow, deliberate stroke. His palm presses lightly between your shoulder blades, fingers splaying out as he rubs soothing circles into your skin.

Your back is warm under his touch—soft in places, firm in others—and he thinks about how strange it is that he knows what you feel like now. Not just your skin but the way you move under his hands, the way your muscles tense and relax depending on what he’s doing to you. 

It’s intimate in a way that makes something uncomfortable stir in his chest if he lingers on it too long.

So he doesn’t linger.

“Cleanup?” he asks, voice low and rough from everything that just happened.

You grunt. Not a word, not even a real sound—just a grunt. Like the idea of moving is physically painful to you right now.

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through both of you. 

“Alright,” he says, hand still on your back as if that’s going to keep you from sliding off the table and face-planting onto the floor. “Let me get some wipes.”

Another grunt. This one sounds more annoyed than tired, but he can’t tell for sure because your face is still buried against his shoulder.

“Don’t tell me…” He pauses for dramatic effect because he knows how much you hate when he does that. “You’re a cuddlebug?”

That gets a reaction. Your head snaps up so fast he almost flinches, and then you’re shoving at his chest with both hands like you’re trying to push him off the planet.

“Fuck you,” you mutter, but there’s no real heat behind it. Your hands stay on his chest for a second longer than necessary before falling back to your sides.

He snorts, stepping back and giving you space because even though he likes teasing you (maybe too much), he knows when to quit.

Most of the time, anyway.

“Stay there,” he says over his shoulder as he heads toward his room. “Don’t move.”

You don’t respond this time—not even a grunt—but when he glances back, you’re still perched on the edge of the table looking thoroughly unimpressed with life.

Very you, indeed.

Then he's stepping into his bedroom, and of course, it is dark when he steps inside, the only light coming from the hallway spilling in behind him.

He grabs the container of wet wipes from his nightstand (don’t ask why they’re there; that’s none of anyone’s business) and heads back out before his brain can start overthinking anything.

When he returns to the entryway, you haven’t moved an inch. You’re still sitting there with both legs dangling off the table.

And for a moment, he can’t help but think the sight is oddly cute.

“Alright,” he says again as if this is some kind of official business meeting instead of… whatever this is. “Let’s get this over with.”

He crouches down first, wiping at the floor where his cum has left an embarrassing mess that Yoongi would absolutely kill him for if he saw it later. The hardwood glistens faintly under the light as he scrubs at it with more force than necessary—partly because it needs to be cleaned properly and partly because maybe if he focuses hard enough on this task, he won’t think about how close your legs are or how good you smelled earlier or how fucking soft your skin felt under his hands.

When he's done with that part (and only when he's sure it's spotless), he straightens up and turns toward you.

Your eyes are on him—soft but unreadable—and it makes something twist in his stomach that has nothing to do with hunger or exhaustion or anything else logical.

“What?” he asks because apparently silence makes him nervous now.

You shake your head slightly, lips curving into something that might be a smile if it weren’t so small and fleeting.

 “Nothing.”

He doesn’t believe you—not for a second—but decides not to push it because pushing things with you in this state never ends well for him.

Instead, he steps closer until he's standing between your legs again and tilts his head toward yours like he's trying to figure out what you're thinking without actually asking outright.

"Hold still," he murmurs after a beat of hesitation that's barely noticeable but feels significant anyway.

The wipe is cool against your skin as he starts cleaning you up—gentle but thorough in a way that surprises even himself. Your eyes stay on him the whole time—watchful but not wary—and it makes him feel weirdly self-conscious even though there’s no reason for it.

When he's finished (and only when he's sure you're clean), he tosses the used wipe into the trash can by the door without looking away from you entirely.

"Sleep?" he asks after another moment of silence stretches between you like an elastic band ready to snap at any second now if someone doesn’t say something soon enough.

“Yeah.” You murmur. “Your bed.”

Jungkook blinks at you like he’s not sure he heard right. 

Not because it’s weird—okay, maybe it’s a little weird—but because you said it so casually. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world to ask to sleep in his bed after everything that just happened.  

He doesn’t know what to say at first. He’s not used to this part—the after part. Usually, there isn’t an after part. It’s just sex, then goodbye, then see you whenever.

But this? This feels different in a way he can’t quite put his finger on, and it makes his brain stutter for a second before he finally manages to respond.  

“Uh… yeah,” he says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Sure.”  

You don’t say anything else, just lift your arms slightly like you’re expecting him to do something.

He stares at you for a moment, confused, until it clicks.  

“Oh, come on,” he mutters, rolling his eyes but already stepping closer. “You’re not serious.”  

You just raise an eyebrow at him, and yep—you’re serious.  

“Lazy ass,” he grumbles under his breath as he bends down to scoop you up.  

Your arms loop around his neck automatically, and your legs wrap around his waist like this is something you do all the time instead of… well, never. He tries not to think about how natural it feels or how warm you are against him or how your breath brushes against his collarbone when you settle into his hold.  

It’s fine. Totally fine. This is just… practical. 

Yeah. 

Practical.  

He carries you with ease because let’s be real—he could probably bench press you if he wanted to—and nudges his bedroom door open with his foot. 

“Alright,” he says as he approaches the bed and leans forward slightly to deposit you onto the mattress. “Here we go.”  

But instead of letting go like a normal person, you cling tighter for half a second before finally releasing him with a grunt that sounds suspiciously like reluctance. He doesn’t comment on it because honestly? He doesn’t trust himself not to make it weird if he does.  

You flop onto your back with all the grace of a drunk cat and immediately start wiggling around like you’re trying to make yourself comfortable in record time. Jungkook just stands there for a moment, watching you with an expression he doesn't even know how to describe.

“You good?” he asks once you’ve finally stopped moving and are lying still with your eyes closed like this is your bed and not his.

“Mmhm,” you hum without opening your eyes.

He shakes his head but doesn’t bother arguing because what’s the point? 

Then he’s going to lay down too, but you sprawl onto his bed like you’re claiming it for yourself, arms and legs stretched out in every direction like some kind of human starfish. 

Jungkook snorts, standing at the side of the bed with his hands on his hips like a disappointed parent. 

“Move,” he says, nudging at your foot with his knee. “I want to sleep too.”  

You crack one eye open, squinting at him.

“Then sleep,” you mumble, voice muffled by the pillow your face is half-buried in.  

“I can’t sleep,” he says, gesturing dramatically at your starfish pose. “Not unless you move your limbs out of my personal space.”  

You grunt something unintelligible but make no effort to move.  

He sighs—long and exaggerated—before climbing onto the bed anyway, shoving at your leg until you reluctantly curl up enough to give him room.

He flops down beside you with all the grace of someone who’s been awake for far too long and immediately starts adjusting himself into what he considers optimal sleeping position.  

Except there’s one problem: his arm.  

It’s stuck under him, bent awkwardly against his side instead of stretched out under the pillow where it belongs. He tries shifting around to fix it but quickly realizes there’s no way to do that without encroaching on your territory.  

“Hey,” he says, nudging at your side with his foot now.  

“What?” you snap, voice sharp despite how tired you sound.  

“Let me extend my arm under the pillow.”  

“No.”  

“What do you mean no?”  

“I mean no,” you repeat stubbornly, turning your head just enough to glare at him over your shoulder. “Figure it out without bothering me.”  

He stares at you for a second like he can’t believe what he’s hearing before deciding that negotiation is clearly not going to work here. 

So instead, he does what any reasonable person would do in this situation: he forcefully shoves his arm under your neck like it belongs there.

You jerk upright immediately, twisting around to face him with wide eyes and an expression that screams 'what the actual fuck'.  

“Bro,” you say, voice incredulous as you try—and fail—to push his arm away. “Get off me.”  

“Bro,” he says simply, already settling back down like this is perfectly normal behavior between roommates who occasionally hook up but definitely aren’t friends yet (or whatever this is). “You’re in my bed. Shut up and act like a plushie or something.”  

“A plushie?” You sound so offended that he almost laughs but manages to hold it back because laughing right now would probably get him kicked out of his own bed.  

“Yes,” he says firmly, pulling the blanket over both of you with one hand while keeping his other arm firmly in place under your neck. “A plushie.”  

You open your mouth to argue—because of course you do—but he shuts it down with a loud, drawn-out “SSSSHHHHH” that’s so over-the-top, so him, it stops you cold.

“Sleep,” he adds a second later, voice low, eyes already shut like the matter’s settled and he’s the authority on bedtime now.

The room stills. One of those dumb, drawn-out silences where neither of you wants to move first. Like shifting even an inch might make it real. Might make it weird.

But then you sigh. Loud. Dramatic. Flopping back down beside him like you’ve just made the ultimate sacrifice.

“Fine,” you mutter, sharp as ever, head hitting the pillow with a thud. “But if I wake up with a crick in my neck because of this stupid arm thing—”

“You won’t,” he says, already drifting, smug and certain and way too casual for someone who just turned a routine argument into a full-body tangle.

You mumble something under your breath—probably rude, definitely deserved—and go quiet.

And for a second, he just lies there. Listening to your breathing even out. Feeling the slight pull of your body next to his.

The ridiculousness of the situation should hit harder than it does.

But it doesn’t. 

It actually feels…weirdly good.

Not in the usual way. Not in the easiest way.

Just—solid. Like he hasn’t fucked it up yet.

Which is a surprise, considering he really thought he had. 

After Tuesday. 

After the whole Jason thing—the fight that was never really about Jason. The way the guy had looked like every goddamn red flag Jungkook had ever ignored. Too neat, too careful, too condescending behind a smile that felt fake even from a hallway away.

He’d projected. Hard. Got scared on your behalf. Angry in that twitchy, irrational way he hates. Like he couldn’t stand the thought of you falling into something he knew could break you. 

But that wasn’t fair. Wasn’t his choice. You’re not fragile. You’re you. You can make your own calls without his fears bleeding into them.

And he should know better by now. Should’ve remembered that you’ve survived things he doesn’t even ask about.

Instead, he snapped. Like he always does when things get too close. Like he’s got some built-in timer that detonates as soon as someone sees more than they’re supposed to.

So yeah. He’d assumed it was done. That he’d pushed too hard, too fast—again.

That whatever fragile thing had been building between you would crack right down the middle, just like every other almost-connection he’s tried to hold onto.

But then… you’d talked. Actually talked. 

And—somehow—you’d listened.

Not just tolerated him. Heard him. 

And tonight, he thinks—for the first time in a long, long time—he feels…comfortable. With a woman. With you.

And yeah, okay—he kind of likes that.

It’s not some life-changing moment. Not some movie scene epiphany.

Just this quiet flicker of maybe. Of could be.

Maybe he can have this. A woman beside him. No pressure. No angle. No romantic feelings. No attachments, no entanglements. Not drama, not hurt.

Just a dumb, chaotic almost-friendship built on late-night arguments and questionable sleep arrangements.

And fuck—he’s kind of proud of that.

So he lets his eyes fall shut. Lets the warmth settle. Lets the thought linger.

Not friendship. Not yet.

But maybe.

goal: 500 notes, but the wattpad goal has to be reached too

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© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[zevrra]

[professor talis x fem!reader / nsfw / mdni]

the one time professor talis forgot to lock the door during one of your little…encounters, it almost cost both of you greatly. luckily for the both of you it was someone with an open mind.

you had been gone away on holiday recently and were just getting back to campus, so to say you both were a little too needy was a little bit of an understatement. it was after school hours like usual. you had come to his office under the guise of needing some help with homework and he was more than willing to see you.

he sits you pretty up onto his desk, large hands tenderly holding your waist, while jayce himself stood between your parted thighs. his lips pressed into your own with haste, eager to taste you after so long. your name slips from his lips in a soft groan as he breaks the kiss to move on. his beard scratches along your skin, down your jaw and onto your neck as he moves to trail hot, open mouth kisses along your throat; earning a low groan in return from you. one of his hands slides from around your waist to your thigh, inching his way forward until his palm pressed into what he desired.

“rushing today, huh, got somewhere to be?” you gasp as he palms against your core, your finger tangling into the waves of his dark hair.

jayce responds with a hum but with a tug on his hair, he answers you properly; “it’s been almost three weeks.” he groans, biting down onto your skin—as if he was a vampire who hadn’t had a meal in months. he doesn’t give you time to answer before he yanks your shirt up, pushing your bra up with the fabric, and pressing his mouth against one of your breasts. he quickly presses kisses into your skin before his lips wrap around one of your nipples; where he sucks on the sensitive nub harshly, curling his fingers to undo your pants next.

glad to know you weren’t the only one sitting on vacation with the lingering thought of missing this…or really just missing him.

“oh fuck professor…” you moan, arching into his touch as it slithers down along the curve of your throbbing core. it has been too long and you had gone the entire time without touching yourself while away— it was a little reward for yourself and him. once the two of you were finally reunited anyway.

just as his fingers slip beneath your panties, feeling the slippery wet of your cunt for just a brief moment— that’s when you both hear a knock at the door and the clicking of the handle turning. fear and panic set in quickly as you two try to disentangle from one another. he rips his hands away and attempts to help you cover up in the process as well but it’s too late, the door swings open.

and in walks another one of your professors— professor viktor.

and at first you think it’s all over. that you’d have to flee and leave the campus. but then you notice the striking red blush crawling across viktor’s pretty face as he closes the door behind him—oh. oh. things would get just a little more interesting and maybe adding one more to the fling wouldn’t hurt.

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

"all that noise"

Warnings: some angst and sadness.

Word Count: 896

A/N: Boy... this one made me cry when I read it back. I actually can't deal with the softness. I am so used to writing smut and sexual tension and angst that stripping it back to write emotional stuff feels slightly foreign. And then I go in too hard and hurt myself. Lmao. Also probably didn't help myself by having "Atlantic" by Sleep Token playing on repeat while writing this. That song always makes me cry. Anyways, lil Ben drabble based off this ask. Thank you anon. Everyone say thank you to the anon. <3 All the love.

He hasn’t spoken in over an hour.

Which, by itself, wasn’t unusual—Ben could go quiet when the adrenaline ran dry, when his hands stopped shaking and the world finally stopped screaming.

But this silence was different.

He sat on the edge of the bed like a statue, elbows on his knees, jaw locked tight. Dirt crusted his knuckles. There was blood on his boots—probably not his—and his dog tags clinked faintly every time he exhaled too hard.

You didn’t speak either. Not yet. You just moved around the room with practiced ease. Picking up. Softening the corners. Leaving space.

Ben kept his eyes forward, locked on some point in the floorboards only he could see. His mouth twitched like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

Then, rough and barely audible, “…Can’t get it out of my head.”

You paused.

He swallowed hard. “All that noise. Screamin’. Burnin’. Like it’s still there. Like I’m still—”

He stopped himself. Fists clenched.

It takes everything in him to admit it. To say it, out loud, without spitting it through a sneer or hiding behind a joke.

“I think I need—” His voice cracks. Just a little. “I don’t know. Somethin’. You. I just—fuck, I don’t do this.”

You cross the room before he can spiral deeper, before the shame gets loud enough to swallow him whole. Your hands are gentle when they land on his shoulders. And when you kneel in front of him—on the floor, between his knees, just to look up into those angry, overwhelmed eyes—he finally breathes.

His hands find your waist. Your thighs. Your hips. He’s grounding himself with you, gripping like he might drift off without an anchor.

“You don’t have to do anything,” you whisper. “You don’t have to explain it. Just let me hold you.”

He hesitates.

Then: “...You’re not gonna make fun of me?”

You smile, heart breaking and blooming all at once. “Never.”

So you climb into his lap. No hesitation. You wrap your arms around his broad back, press your face into the side of his neck, and hold him like you’ve always known how to.

And when his arms lock around you—hard and desperate and shaky—you feel the way he exhales, deep and guttural, like maybe he’s finally let go of something he’s been carrying since the war. Maybe even earlier than that.

“You’re so fuckin’ soft,” he mumbles into your hair, voice barely there. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

“You won’t.”

“You say that now.”

You lean back, cup his face in both hands, and kiss him. Slow. Steady. Reverent. And when you pull away, he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world that isn’t on fire.

“I love you,” you say, just to say it. Just to remind him.

And he doesn’t say it back—not tonight. He just holds you tighter, presses his forehead to yours, and stays there. Still breathing. Still here.

You don’t know how long you sit like that.

Wrapped around each other like you were made to be. Like maybe the universe owes you this much softness after all the fire.

His arms don’t loosen—not even a little. He clutches you like something might drag you away if he lets up for even a second.

So you just… hold him back. Breathe with him. Run your fingers gently through his thick hair, untangling knots of blood and sweat and pride. Letting your nails scrape softly against his scalp, again and again, until you feel him start to tremble.

That’s when his face tucks into the crook of your neck like he’s trying to crawl inside your skin and live there. His breath is hot. His voice is lower than you’ve ever heard it.

“…I’m not a fuckin’ pussy.”

The words are muffled against your skin. Like they burn to say.

You hum gently, still stroking his hair. “I know, baby.”

“I don’t need this. I don’t—fuck—this isn’t me.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

You feel his jaw clench, pressed right under your collarbone. His whole body taut like a wire, trying so hard not to break even as he melts against you inch by inch.

“I’m a goddamn soldier,” he growls. “Not some... fuckin' housewife in a soap opera.”

You smile, barely. Fingers still moving slowly through his hair, the way he’s secretly always liked. “Good thing I like soldiers.”

“Jesus Christ.”

He says it like a curse. Like a prayer. Like he’s both furious and feral at the same time.

But he doesn’t pull away.

In fact, his grip tightens. And when your hands slide from his hair down to his shoulders—thumbs kneading the knots there, gentle and sure—you feel it. That shudder. That exhale. The one he didn’t mean to let out.

“You’re allowed to need someone,” you whisper, voice soft and close. “You’re allowed to rest.”

Another groan. Low, raw. His lips ghost along your neck now, not kissing, just there.

“…God, you smell good,” he mutters. “You always smell so fuckin’ good.”

“Maybe that’s why you like hiding in my neck,” you tease, even though there’s no venom in it.

“I’m not hidin'.”

“Of course not.”

Another beat of silence. Then, softer:

“…You make it hard to hate myself when you’re this nice.”

That one cuts.

But you kiss the top of his head, just above the crown, and whisper, “Then I’ll just have to keep being nice, won’t I?”

And finally—finally—he lets his body relax. Just a little. Still heavy with you in his lap. Still a little angry. But not running anymore.

For the first time in hours, Ben lets himself be held.

And you hold him like you always will.

@mostlymarvelgirl @losers-clvb @lunaleah. @itshellfire @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @suckitands33 @nevercameraready @0ccvltism @lyarr24 @imtheworst123 @podiumackles @spxideyver @tinas111 @ohgodimgoungtodie @cevansbaby-dove @paristheonewhoreads @winchestersbgirl @blossomingorchids <3

[wonsiwon]

rebirth | s.jy

sinopsis | after years of fighting and growing apart, your relationship with jake is hanging by a thread. you’ve tried to fix things, but it’s always been one step forward, two steps back. what you’d didn’t expect was that having a baby could be the thing that gives you a real chance at starting over.

paring | boyfriend! jake x fem! reader

content warning | smut (mdni) + reconciliation + angst + fluff if you squint + unprotected sex + swearing + pregnancy mention

the car was dead silent. you sat there, seething, arms crossed tightly across your chest, staring out the window as the city blurred by. the same damn argument again. you could feel the heat of anger still crawling through your veins.

jake sat next to you, gripping the wheel like it was the only thing keeping him from losing his shit. his eyes stayed glued to the road, mouth set in a hard line. he hadn’t said a word in at least ten minutes, and at this point, you weren’t sure if he was waiting for you to cool down or just hoping you’d both drop it.

you hated how this always went down. he’d come home late, every time the same excuses, the same apologies that felt like nothing more than words he was saying because he thought he had to. you didn’t know how many times you had to tell him that actions spoke louder than apologies, but he never seemed to hear it.

the worst part was how long it had been since the two of you had spent any real time together. you couldn’t even remember the last time you were happy together, without ending up arguing.

you hated this. hated feeling like the last thing he cared about. but you weren’t sure if he even realized how deep this ran for you. instead, you were here, heading to his mom’s, like everything was fine, like you weren’t both completely pissed at each other. the silence was killing you both.

this morning, you both had woken up calm, but as soon as jake told you to get ready to see his mom, everything shifted. you weren’t angry about visiting her, you were angry because he was so casual about it, like nothing had happened. like last night’s argument didn’t exist. like you hadn’t gone to bed fuming and he hadn’t fallen asleep with his back turned to you.

you weren’t against seeing his mom, but the way he said it so nonchalantly, as if everything was fine, made your blood boil. it wasn’t fine. nothing was fine.

jake slowed the car, pulling into the driveway. you could see his mom’s car parked out front, the same way it always was when she was home and could hear the muffled sound of dogs barking from the neighborhood.

the car stopped, but neither of you moved. you both just sat there.

jake finally exhaled, dropping his head back against the seat. “are you still mad?”

you ignored him, twisting in your seat to check the back. your brows furrowed, eyes scanning the floor before you turned back to him. “where’s the bag?”

jake blinked at you, clearly not following. “what bag?”

you shut your eyes for a second, already feeling your blood pressure spike. “the pink plastic bag for your mom, sim jaeyun. i told you to grab it before we left.”

jake frowned, shaking his head. “no, you didn’t.”

your fingers dug into your arms. “yes, i fucking did. it was on the counter. i literally told you right before we walked out the door.”

jake leaned back in his seat, rubbing his forehead. “well, i don’t remember that. if you told me, i would’ve grabbed it.”

you let out a short laugh, but it wasn’t amused at all. “are you serious? you never listen! like ever!”

jake let out a slow, pissed-off breath. “jesus christ, it’s a fucking plastic bag.”

you turned to him so fast he actually blinked. “it’s not about the bag, dumbass! it’s about the fact that you don’t fucking listen to me. ever. i ask you to do one simple thing, and somehow, it’s too much.”

jake scoffed, shaking his head. “oh my god. here we fucking go.” he unbuckled his seatbelt like he was about to get out, but your patience was officially gone and you threw open the car door before so hard it bounced a little.

“forget it.”

jake let out a heavy sigh, trying to keep himself from saying something worse. you didn’t wait for a response, you slammed the door shut and started walking toward the house. the cold air hit you, but it wasn’t enough to cool the anger simmering under your skin.

behind you, you heard his door open and shut, his footsteps following, but you didn’t slow down.

“are we seriously doing this right now?” jake’s voice was low, frustrated, but not loud enough for anyone inside to hear.

you didn’t answer. you just kept walking.

“jesus christ.” he muttered under his breath, picking up his pace until he was right beside you. “you’re really gonna act like this over a fucking bag? it’s like i forgot your birthday or something. it was a plastic bag.”

that made you stop. you turned on him so fast he actually took a step back.

“stop saying it’s about the fucking bag, jake,” you snapped, your voice sharp but still quiet enough to not cause a scene. “it’s about the fact that you don’t listen. you never listen. and then you act like i’m crazy for being mad about it.”

jake ran a hand through his hair, exhaling, trying to stay patient. “i don’t freaking do it on purpose—”

“but you do it.” you cut in. “over and over.”

for a second, he didn’t say anything. just stood there, looking at you, jaw tight. then, he shook his head and scoffed, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “whatever. i don’t have the energy for this right now.”

you let out a humorless laugh. “yeah? neither do i.”

you turned and walked up the steps, ringing the doorbell before he could say anything else. jake stayed behind you, silent now, probably trying to pull himself together before facing his mom.

the door swung open, and like muscle memory, you forced a smile. it wasn’t real, not even close, but at this point, you were on autopilot. just going through the motions, pretending everything was fine when it really fucking wasn’t.

jake’s mom beamed, her usual warm energy filling the doorway. “well, look who finally showed up!” she said, hands on her hips. “i was starting to think you two forgot about me.”

you forced a smile, stepping inside. “of course not.” you said as you hugged her briefly.

jake leaned down, wrapping an arm around his mom’s shoulders. “hey, mama,” he said, his voice noticeably softer than it had been with you all day.

his mom squeezed him, pulling back with a smile. “it’s so good to see you, jake. you’re looking well.”

he exhaled. “traffic was bad.”

she waved a hand like she didn’t care. “as long as you’re here now. come on in, i made plenty of food.”

jake’s mom, bless her heart, had already prepared for this visit. the whole house smelled like her cooking, and there was a soft hum of background music coming from somewhere in the kitchen.

jake’s mom, bless her heart, had already prepared for this visit. the whole house smelled like her cooking, and there was a soft hum of background music coming from somewhere in the kitchen.

jake’s mom set down a plate in front of you before taking a seat across the table. “so, how have you been handling everything at home?” she asked, giving you a knowing look.

you glanced at jake for a split second before forcing a small smile. “it’s been fine. same old, you know.”

she hummed, cutting into her food. “jake tells me he’s been working late a lot.”

you let out a small, dry laugh. “yeah, you could say that.”

jake glanced at you, but you ignored him, taking a sip of your drink instead.

his mom sighed, shaking her head. “that boy works too much. i keep telling him he needs to slow down before he burns himself out.”

you set your glass down. “i’ve tried telling him the same thing, but he doesn’t listen to me either.”

his mom nodded, giving jake a pointed look. “i just don’t want you to overdo it, honey. you’re working all the time, and you’re not getting any younger.”

jake exhaled through his nose, already over this conversation. “i’m fine, mom.”

but she wasn’t done. “you know, speaking of…” she said, tilting her head slightly, “when are you two going to give me a grandbaby?”

jake choked on his drink, coughing into his sleeve. you froze for half a second before blinking.

his mom just grinned. “i mean, i’d love to spoil a little one before i’m too old to chase after them.”

jake dragged a hand down his face. “mom—”

“what?” she said, all innocent. “it’s a fair question.”

jake barely reacted at first, just sat there with his hands on his lap, slouched in his seat. but then, as his mom kept talking, he glanced at you. it wasn’t much, just a quick look, like he was expecting you to roll your eyes or shake your head, the same way you did whenever his mom brought up something ridiculous.

but you didn’t.

you just sat there, eyes fixed on your plate, quiet. and something about the way you looked, not pissed, not annoyed. in your eyes there was something different in them, something softer. a little flicker, a kind of sparkle he couldn’t quite place.

had you thought about it before?

that was a stupid question. obviously, you had. but had you thought about it with him?

he barely heard what his mom was saying anymore, his focus entirely on you. his fingers twitched slightly against his thigh.

you must’ve felt him staring because you finally turned your head, locking eyes with him. for a moment, neither of you spoke.

your brow lifted slightly and jake blinked looking away fast. he cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. “mom, can we just eat?”

his mom laughed, shaking her head. “alright, alright. i’ll let it go.”

but jake wasn’t sure if he could.

dinner went on, conversation moving to his mom’s garden, some neighbor’s drama, a show she was hooked on. you played along, nodding and laughing where you had to, and so did jake, but his mind was stuck on something else.

that look in your eyes.

jake didn’t know what the fuck to do with that.

by the time dinner wrapped up, you were in the kitchen with jake’s mom, drying dishes while jake stayed at the table, glued to his phone. he hadn’t said much all night, just scrolling through his phone.

his mom handed you another plate and looked over at him. “that boy’s always on that damn phone,” she muttered as she worked. “works too much, too. tells me it’s all just part of the job, but…”

you glanced at jake. he wasn’t even looking up, still absorbed in whatever was on his phone. “yeah, i know,” you said, kind of offhand.

jake’s mom let out a small sigh, shaking her head. “he needs to make more time for other stuff, you know? for you. for… whatever else.”

you just shrugged, drying another plate. “i’ve tried,” you said, quietly.

but jake, even though he looked like he wasn’t paying attention, actually was. he was listening to every word. he kept his face blank, not moving, but his attention was all on you two.

his mom paused, watching you for a second before asking, “how are you, though? really?”

you shrugged, trying to sound fine. “i’m good.”

“i didn’t make you uncomfortable with the baby talk, did i?” she added, quieter now, as she dried her hands.

you quickly shook your head. “nah. no, it’s fine.”

but there it was, the tiny shift in your eyes, just for a second. you weren’t exactly telling her everything, but she saw it. she noticed. she wasn’t going to push, but she was curious.

“have you thought about it?” she asked after a pause.

you hesitated, your fingers tightening slightly around the dish plate. “maybe…” you admitted quietly. “just… not sure if now is the right time.” with things so messed up with jake, of course it wasn’t.

the thought had crossed your mind. how could it not? every time you saw kids playing outside, every time you passed by a baby section in a store, every time a friend shared pictures of their little ones, you wondered. what would it be like? would it change things? would it fix things? but the reality hit you just as fast as the thought came.

let’s be real, jake hadn’t touched you in what felt like forever. it wasn’t just the lack of intimacy; it was everything that came with it. the distance, the exhaustion in his voice when he got home late, the way he barely looked at you some days. there was a time when he couldn’t keep his hands off you, when just passing each other in the kitchen would turn into something more.

now? now, it was like you were just existing in the same space, nothing more.

“i don’t think i would even be a good mother.” you forced a small smile, trying to brush it off.

jake heard it, loud and clear. his fingers stopped mid-scroll, and his shoulders tensed slightly.

his mom set down the dish towel, frowning. “why would you say that?”

you let out a small laugh, but there was no real humor in it. “i don’t know. i just…” you shrugged.

“oh, sweetheart, you’d be a great mother.” her hand approached your shoulder and left a small squeeze.

you swallowed, gripping the dish plate a little tighter. you smiled a little, but it wasn’t real. she didn’t see the whole picture. how lonely it felt sometimes. how every conversation about spending more time with jake turned into an argument and never went anywhere.

they just ran in circles until you both got too tired to keep going.

jake didn’t say it enough. heck, he barely said it at all anymore, but he thought about you all the time. how you held things together. the way you handled everything working, running the house, dealing with him, even when you probably shouldn’t have to.

and hearing you say that you didn’t think you’d be a good mom? it hit him hard. he wasn’t sure if you knew, but to him, you were everything. if anyone could do it, could be a great mom, it was you. you could handle it. you could handle anything.

but had he ever told you that? had he ever shown you? all the stuff you did, all the sacrifices, and how much he appreciated it?

no, he hadn’t. he realized that now. he hadn’t been there like he should’ve been. the late nights, the ignoring, all the times you tried to reach out and he pulled away. how could you believe him if he’d never shown it? how could you believe anything he said if he didn’t back it up with actions?

the drive home was dead quiet, like always. you weren’t even looking at him, just staring out the window, arms crossed, fingers tapping against your sleeve, like you couldn’t wait to be anywhere but here.

jake kept his eyes on the road, hands gripping the wheel a little too tightly. he wanted to say something, maybe break the silence, but he didn’t even know where to start.

when he pulled into the driveway, you didn’t wait. you unbuckled your seatbelt, got out, and shut the door a little harder than necessary. jake stayed in the car for a second, watching you walk up to the house, before sighing and following.

inside, the only light on was the dim glow from the kitchen. the house felt cold, lifeless, probably because it had been for a while now. you kicked off your shoes, didn’t even glance at him, and headed straight for the bedroom. jake exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face before locking the door behind him.

he wasn’t sure what hurt more, the fights or the distance. but either way, it felt like losing.

jake followed you into the room, standing in the doorway as you began to take off your coat, dropping it onto the chair. his gaze followed you for a moment, the silence between you both heavy, almost suffocating. he didn’t want to press, but the words slipped out before he could stop them.

“why didn’t you tell me?” his voice was low, almost like he was asking himself as much as he was asking you.

you paused, glancing over your shoulder at him, brows furrowing slightly. “about what?” you asked, genuinely confused.

jake pushed off the doorframe, stepping into the room a little more, his gaze not leaving you. “about the kids?”

you sighed, shaking your head as you pulled off your earrings, setting them down on the dresser. “it was just a dumb thought” you muttered, not even looking at him.

jake watched you for a second, his jaw tightening. “didn’t sound dumb to me.”

you let out a small, humorless laugh, finally turning to face him. “yeah? well, it is.” your arms crossed over your chest. “not like it matters anyway.”

his brows furrowed slightly. “why wouldn’t it matter?”

you exhaled, shaking your head. “jake, come on. look at us.” you gestured vaguely between the two of you. “we can barely have a conversation without it turning into an argument. you barely even look at me.” your voice was calm, but there was something tired underneath it.

jake stared at you, his fingers twitching at his sides. he wanted to say something, argue, deny it, tell you it wasn’t dumb. he wanted to tell you that he saw you all the time. that even when he came home exhausted, even when he was distracted, even when things were tense between you, he still saw you. he noticed the way you hummed under your breath when you cooked, the way you pulled your sleeves over your hands when you were tired, the way you always waited up for him even when you pretended you weren’t.

but what did any of that matter if he never said it? if he never showed it?

then, you sighed, rubbing at your temple. “jake, i don’t wanna do this right now.”

you changed into your pajamas and climbed into bed, facing the wall. you could hear the faint sounds of jake moving around in the other room, pacing once or twice before finally settling down somewhere.

minutes passed.

then an hour.

and still, you couldn’t sleep.

“how would you name them?”

you blinked, staring at the ceiling. for a second, you thought you imagined it. jake’s voice was quiet, coming from your side. you hadn’t even heard him lay next to you.

you turned slightly, just enough to glance at him. his head was already turned looking at you, his expression unreadable.

“what?” you asked, your voice softer than before.

he exhaled through his nose, shifting his stance. “if we had kids.” he paused before speaking again. “how would you name them?”

your fingers curled slightly into the blanket. you weren’t sure if he was asking just to ask or if this actually meant something to him.

you swallowed, then looked away. “i don’t know.” jake didn’t push, but he didn’t drop the conversation either. neither did you. “…maybe something classic. nothing too complicated.”

jake nodded slightly, like he was thinking about it. “like what?”

you hesitated, then shrugged. “i always liked names like—” you stopped, suddenly self-conscious.

jake tilted his head slightly. “like what?”

“i don’t know. maybe something that lookalike our names or—” you hesitated again, then shook your head. “it’s stupid.”

jake shook his head once. “hey it’s not stupid.” he was watching you, with something different in his eyes now. something quieter, something softer.

you glanced at him, then quickly looked away. “yeah.”

a beat of silence.

“what about a girl?”

you exhaled, staring up at the ceiling. “why are you asking me this?”

“i don’t know,” he admitted. “i just… want to know.”

the room felt heavier now, but not in the way it usually did after a fight. this wasn’t resentment or frustration hanging in the air, it was something else. something uncertain.

you shifted on the bed, pulling your knees up slightly, resting your arms over them. “it doesn’t matter. it’s not like we—” you stopped yourself, shaking your head. “never mind.”

jake didn’t let it go. “not like we what?”

you sighed, looking down at your hands. “not like we’re in the place to even think about that.”

“why not?”

you could feel the weight of his stare, the way he was waiting, pressing for an answer. you swallowed hard. “jake,” you started, your voice almost flat, like you were forcing yourself to say it. “we don’t even kiss anymore.”

“can i kiss you right now then?”

your stomach dropped. you weren’t expecting that, not so direct, not so steady. his voice was low, but there was no hesitation in it. he wasn’t teasing, wasn’t playing around. he was serious.

you blinked at him, feeling suddenly too aware of how close he was. you could see the way his fingers curled slightly against his knee, the way his breathing was just a little heavier than before.

“i’m just going to bed, jake,” you said quickly, your voice tight. you turned away, trying to put space between you, but before you could lie down, his hand wrapped around your wrist.

“come here,” he muttered, pulling you back toward him.

you let out a quiet, startled breath as you shifted, and suddenly, he was closer, closer than he had been in a long time. his grip wasn’t rough, but it was firm, keeping you right in front of him. his face was inches from yours now, his eyes locked onto yours, watching your every move.

your breath hitched. his hand was still around your wrist, his fingers warm against your skin. you could feel how steady he was, how he wasn’t rushing, just holding you there, watching you.

“jake…” you started, but your voice was barely above a whisper. you didn’t even know what you were trying to say.

he didn’t say anything. he just let go of your wrist, his hand trailing down slowly, his fingers barely grazing against your palm before resting on your thigh. his touch was warm, grounding, but not hesitant. he was waiting.

you swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. his face was so close now, his breath mixing with yours, warm and slow. you could see everything, the way his lips parted slightly, the way his eyes flickered down to your mouth for just a second before coming back up.

a shaky exhale slipped past your lips. you weren’t even sure if you meant to do it, but it filled the silence, made it feel more real.

then, so quietly you almost didn’t catch it, he asked again, “can i kiss you?”

you inhaled sharply, but before you could answer, he moved. his hand slid up your thigh, slow enough that it sent a shiver through you, stopping at your waist as he pulled you even closer. you barely had time to react before his lips brushed against yours, just barely, not even a full kiss yet, just a ghost of a touch.

you made a soft sound, something caught between a sigh and a whimper, and that was all it took. jake’s fingers tightened at your waist, and then he kissed you for real, pressing his mouth against yours, warm and firm and just a little desperate.

you gasped softly against him, your fingers twitching before reaching for him, gripping onto his shirt. his lips moved against yours, slow at first, savoring, but there was tension beneath it, something deeper, something that had been left untouched for too long.

he exhaled sharply through his nose, his other hand coming up to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

you could hear the way your breaths mixed together, how your heart was pounding so loudly it almost drowned out the quiet creak of the mattress as he shifted pinning you down.

when he pulled back just slightly, just enough to look at you, his lips were parted, his breathing uneven. his forehead nearly touched yours, and he swallowed,

he looked at you like he was memorizing you, like he was seeing something he wasn’t sure he deserved to touch.

“you’d be a good mom..” he said suddenly.

your breath hitched and you stared at him. you weren’t expecting that.

his thumb brushed over your cheek slowly. “i thought about it,” he admitted, sliding up to your jaw, tilting your face slightly. his touch was so gentle it almost hurt. “i think about it more than i should.”

your chest ached. he was looking at you like he was seeing it, like he could picture it so clearly, it hurt.

“i don’t know if i would’ve been a good dad,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “but you? baby, you would’ve been everything.”

your breath caught. it was the first time he’d called you that in a long time. “jake…”

“you take care of people even when they don’t deserve it. even when i don’t deserve it.” he let out a small, breathless chuckle. “i fucked up so bad, didn’t i?” his lips pressed together before he looked at you again.

jake swallowed. his thumb traced a slow, barely-there circle against your skin. you closed your eyes, inhaling shakily.

“can i hold you?” his voice was quiet, careful. “just… for a second?”

you hesitated. but then you nodded.

and jake didn’t waste a second.

he pulled you in, wrapping his arms around you like he was afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t hold tight enough. his hand cradled the back of your head, his breath warm against your skin as he exhaled shakily. “i’m sorry, baby,” he murmured against your hair. “i’m so fucking sorry.”

and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself sink into him.

jake pulled back slightly, his gaze intense, searching yours. “you think having a baby right now’s gonna make this all go away?” his thumb brushed along your jawline gently. “maybe it won’t fix everything, but it’d damn well give us something real to work toward, something we could both look at and know we’re doing this for something better.”

“we can’t avoid the fact that we need something, baby. we can’t just keep pretending everything’s fine. this…” he let out a breath, his hand dropping to your waist, pulling you closer. “this thing between us, what we’ve been doing. it’s broken, and i know it. but you, baby… i know we can fix this. i want to fix this. and i want you with me while we do it.”

his words hung in the air, the quiet pressure in his tone making it clear that he wasn’t asking. he wasn’t waiting for you to decide for him, either. it was like he already had his mind made up, like this was the path he was going to push for, whether you were ready or not.

“i need you to be on the same page as me, sweetheart,” jake said, his voice dropping lower. “i need you to trust me, like i trust you. no more running, no more acting like we don’t both feel this.” his hands moved down, pulling you even closer, his chest against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

jake’s body shifted against yours, and you felt something hard press against your thigh. the suddenness of it made your heart race, and the space between you seemed to close even more. his breathing was heavier now, his eyes locked onto yours, waiting for any reaction.

jake’s body was shaking, his breath coming out in short, desperate gasps. he was right on the edge, every part of him trembling as he held you close.

“fuck..” he groaned, his voice wavering. his breath was hot against your ear, desperate and whiny. “i need this… need you to—shit, baby, don’t stop… please.”

the bed creaked with every movement, the sounds of your bodies colliding filling the room. jake’s breath was ragged, quick gasps escaping his lips as his body pressed against yours, sweaty and trembling.

his hands slid over your skin, the sweat making everything feel slick. “god, you feel so good..” he whimpered, his voice cracking with the effort to stay in control. “i’m close… so fucking close.”

he kissed you deeply, his lips trembling against yours, and he groaned at the sight of you, perfect, needy, ready to break.

“you’re gonna have my baby..” he whispered, as he buried his face in your neck “i’ll give you everything. just let go, baby. come for me, and i’ll fill you up… i need you to… please.”

the bed creaked once more, the sound louder as he thrust deeper. jake’s voice was trembling as he fought to hold himself back. the sound of his voice, so weak, so strained, made you shiver.

“hey, hey… look at me.” he murmured, gripping your chin to make you look at him. “mine. you know that, right?”

you nodded weakly, barely able to form words as he kept squeezing his dick deep inside of you. you hair was a mess and you could barely snort the strands that were getting in your face

“what do you want?” jake asked, hi grip on you tightened as he thrust deeper, his breath ragged against your ear.

you tried to answer, but the way he pushed deeper stole your words, leaving only a shaky gasp.

“a girl?” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “i bet she’d look just—” another thrust, harder this time ”—like you.”

you could only moaned in response, fingers tangling in his hair as he moved against you, completely lost in the moment.

“you want to get married?” he looked down at you. you nodded quickly, the sensation overwhelming as he hit just the right spot. “yeah?” he urged, wanting to hear you say it.

“fuck yes” you breathed, your response coming out desperate and filled with need, lips parting as another moan slipped free.

his teeth scraped against you jaw before he kissed you hard, swallowing every sound you made. his breath hitched as he pulled you closer, his hands shaking slightly with urgency.

“come on, baby… let me feel you.” jake murmured, his voice trembling with a mix of need and desperation. “i need you..” he rasped, his voice almost breaking. “need you to come for me. please, baby… i need to feel you.”

your breath came in shallow gasps, and your body shuddering with the pleasure he was giving you. “jake…” you moaned, your nails digging into his skin as you clung to him.

“fuck—baby—” His voice cracked, his grip on your hips tightening like he was afraid to let go. “I c-can’t—shit, I’m gonna—”

he was so deep, his body stiffening against yours as he let out the neediest whine, his forehead pressing against yours. his skin was burning, damp with sweat, muscles twitching from how hard he was holding back.

the bed rocked with every movement, the headboard knocking against the wall as jake’s body tensed, his breath coming out in short, desperate gasps. his hands were shaking, his fingers digging into your skin.

“you f-feel so—shit—so tight, baby, i’m—” he choked on his words, his whole body trembling as he buried himself as deep as he could, letting out a broken whimper.

the second he spilled inside you, he groaned, his body collapsing against yours, completely spent. his breath was hot against your neck, his arms still wrapped tightly around you like he never wanted to let go.

jake was still panting, his chest rising and falling against yours, his body completely hot, damp with sweat.

“shit…” he let out a shaky breath, still buried inside you, his body jerking slightly every time he shifted. he was sensitive, too sensitive, but he wouldn’t pull away. “you feel so good…” he murmured, voice weak, breathless. “so fuckin’ perfect, baby.”

the bed still creaked beneath you, both of your bodies slick with sweat, sticking to the sheets. jake groaned when you shifted even a little, his hands gripping your hips tighter. “d-don’t move..” he whined, voice barely holding together. “i’m too..fuck—too sensitive.”

his head fell against your shoulder, his lips brushing against your skin as he sucked in a deep breath. “you okay?” he mumbled, fingers tracing circles on your hip, still twitching from how hard he came.

when you nodded, his grip loosened just a little, but he still wouldn’t pull away. “i don’t wanna move..” he admitted, voice muffled against your skin. “wanna stay like this… keep you full.”

you traced your fingers along his back, feeling the way his muscles twitched under your touch. “you really meant it?” you whispered. “about the baby?”

jake lifted his head just enough to look at you, his eyes half-lidded, still dazed. “of course, i meant it.” he murmured. “i want it so bad, baby. wanna see you all round with my kid.” his voice cracked slightly, his hands sliding up your sides, as if he was trying to memorize the way you felt right now. “you’ll be so fucking pretty… carrying my baby.”

your breath hitched, your legs instinctively tightening around him. “jake…”

his lips ghosted over yours, his voice barely above a whisper. “say you want it too..” he pleaded. “tell me you’ll give me a baby.”

you swallowed, heart racing. “i want it..” you admitted softly. “i want everything with you.”

jake let out a shaky breath, his hands trembling where they held you. “fuck..” he whined, pressing his forehead against yours. “i love you so much. i swear, baby, i’ll take care of you.”

you smiled slightly, brushing your thumb against his cheek. “you better.”

he chuckled breathlessly, his lips pressing against yours in a slow, desperate kiss. “i will…” he promised. “forever.”

[cutiecusp]

Newbie.

Keegan Russ x Reader.

TW. One night stand meets new teammate. Smut so MDNI. Kissing, P in V, memories of oral, confident reader, slight dirty talk.

(And it's a long one xD)

"Russ, have you seen the new girl? Absolutely stunning." He hears as he's heading to briefing.

There's been a buzz about you arriving for the last few days, and the way the men have been acting, it's downright thirsty, shameful almost.

"Yeah? Never seen a woman before?" He throws over his shoulder as he steps through the doorway, glad his mask is still on from gear practice.

Because there you were. Stood with your hip against the table, laughing with his team.

Keegans gaze flitters over your body, settling on your face.

"Oh fuck."

Memories of your hands running down his chest blurred his vision as he remembered the night you shared.

You pull away from the table, hand outstretched, clearly not knowing who was in front of you, taking in the figure before you, you breathe out shakily, pausing at his eyes.

You knew those eyes, they darkened at the sight of you.

Visions of his eyes holding yours as he slid the clothes off your body after a night out plague your mind.

"H-hi." You say softly, unsure how to play the situation, so you settle for a wave and a smile.

His gaze betrayed nothing, but you saw his fist tighten. Maybe he did remember you?

He nods in response. Taking your hand in his, both of you unable to ignore the spark that travelled up your arms.

The world closed in on you two, and you shudder under his watchful gaze. A cough startles you both, causing you to separate sheepishly.

The introductions continue, but all you could focus on was his hands, in gloves this time, instead of being wrapped around your throat as he trailed kisses over your shoulders, turning your head to the mirror so you could see exactly what he was doing to you.

Keegan was in a similar situation, as you laughed and smiled with the team, he remembered your soft smile as your hands tangled in his hair, guiding his face between your legs.

He could feel the heat crawl up his neck as he remembered how you smelt, how you tasted, and how the image of you pleading, back arches as you lose control to him made him feel.

Introductions over, Keegan excused himself quickly, heading to his bunk. He needed a cold shower and to remember you were his new teammate.

Stalking the corridor, glad it was empty for once, he grabbed his shower bag and closed the door, his breaths coming in shuddery gasps as his hands find his way down his body, his soul begging for release.

You were a one time thing. It didn't help that he couldn't scrub the image of you from his mind, in front of the mirror, bent over his sofa, legs wide open in bed... Your sweet smile, the noises he pulled from you...

Just as he unbuckled his trousers and shimmied out of them, he heard a noise from outside of the stall.

He flicked the lock open, to find you stood there, your gaze eating him up alive. Your eyes travel over his body, glancing at what was in his hands.

"Need some help? After all, we are teammates now.." You purr, closing the gap between you both, claiming his lips with yours.

Keegan makes little work of your gear, exposing your soft body to the air, making you shudder a little.

"Y-yeah, we should work together." He gasps against your lips, fingers trailing over your waistband before pulling your cargos down over your hips.

You let out a soft mewl as his fingers hooked under your underwear, eager to make you see stars, a brush over your sensitive folds as he captures your moan in another kiss.

His fingers enter you slowly, covering them in your slick as he sets the pace, reading your face for what you like.

It doesn't take long before you reach your first peak, legs shaking, sweat beading down through your top as he pulls out noises not unlike the videos you watch late at night. You had already had a night with Keegan, but this felt different, more urgent, feral.

"Close, Keegan. Im-" you pant, barely able to string a sentence together.

"Gonna come on my fingers babe?" He asks, his voice deep with lust. He didn't have to an idiot to know there was something sparking between you, you were made for him, and him alone.

You nod as you shudder around his fingers, his pace not slowing down until he's satisfied. With a smirk, he pulls down your standard issue cargos, and tugs the shirt over your head.

"Beautiful." He whispers, pressing his face into your chest as he lifts you up, the water hitting you both as he takes you into the stall.

"Ya' want this?" He asks thickly. You nod into his shoulder, cheeks speckled with blush.

"Gonna need words, sweetheart." He insists, pulling eye contact with you.

"Y-yeah, m' yours." You let out, your nails press into his shoulders as he slides home.

"Fuck..." Keegan whispers, pressing a kiss against your forehead as he pulls out, to press back in.

"Made for me."

He takes it deep and slow, your body wrapped around his, both of you forgetting where you are as he pulls pleasure from you like a talented musician playing an instrument.

You feel the licks of heat low in your stomach, your legs turning to jelly as you give in, his lips leaving marks you know you'll have to cover later.

"Squeezin' me so tight." He rasps, voice dark with lust.

His hips snap to yours a little rougher, eliciting a moan unlike he's heard from you before.

His finger traces down your body, to your sensitive bud, before tracing lazy circles over it.

He swallow your next gasp with a kiss, rolling his hips deep into you as he sets a strong pace on your clit. Your body was wound tight, and you were so close...

Until he pulls out, leaving you empty. You pout and he laughs, before sitting on the shower bench and pulling your body on top of his.

"Take what you need, sweetheart." He offers, stance wide, a full satisfied smirk on his face.

You eagerly rise to the challenge, settling down on his length, you feel the stretch a little more this time, and tentatively roll your hips against his.

"S-so good." You slur, your pleasure taking you higher. You set a strong pace, looking down at Keegan, who begins tracing kisses over your chest and collarbone, resisting the urge to snap his hips up to yours.

"Yeah? Feeling good?" He asks tightly, his restraint fading at the sight on you riding him so well.

He plants his feet on the floor, and meets your hips with a single thrust, knocking the air out of your lungs.

"This what you were thinking about in there?" He asks, his hands travelling down to your hips, holding you in place.

He smirks at your nod, your shuddering breath tells him you are close again.

"You gonna come on my cock, sweet?" He coos, watching your eyes glass over, an unintelligible ramble signifies how close you are.

You fall apart, body shuddering, back arched, eyes closed as you come, squeezing down on Keegan, who can't help but finish shortly after you, his face buried in your neck.

You stay there for a few minutes, allowing your bodies to get back under control.

"Welcome to the team." Keegan smiles, pressing one last kiss to your lips.

,.,.,.,.,.,.,.

@kaeyasfuturewife @muneca-lemon-steppa @gardenof-venus @misshugs @soraya-daydreams @frudoo @renpodz @yesornowaitidontknow @thevoiceinyourheadx @shadowdark00 @rynbeerose @lunamoonbby @incredible-walker @identity2212 @pukbadger @urbimom @corvid007 @wordsfromshona @shadows-empress @m00xy @canyonmooncreations @oniraki @evie-119 @havoc973 @kylies-lover-blog @ishipdabands @cmbghost @heckinspooks @midwesternwitchery @eggy-yoke @masterclassofescapism @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @skeletonsucker @xoxunhinged @ghost-soaps-shadow

[hazbinshusk]

husk x gn!reader. i've once again been inspired by the husketeers group chat. on husk's first visit to your room in the hotel, he's a little distracted by just how cozy you've made it in there. dedicated to @mckeeks and @irkimatsu. 1.5k.

featuring: a ridiculous amount of fluff, some suggestiveness, just a lot of cuddles, reader is gender neutral but their bedroom could be considered 'fem'.

“Christ, you’re worse than Angel.”

You roll your eyes with a smile at Husk’s assessment of your room, stepping aside to let him cross the threshold. You’d thought you’d be nervous, inviting him into your room for the first time, but instead it just feels like a kind of natural progression between the two of you.

“Oh, shut up. I just know your room looks exactly the same as it did when you moved in.” you pad across the plush rugs you have thrown across the carpet in a mismatch of soft, swirling colours, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Hus shrugs a shoulder, amusement playing on the edge of his lips despite how tired he looks. There are bags under his eyes, the slouch in his shoulders more pronounced after endless hours behind the bar. Since the reopening, Charlie had been holding event after event to try and capitalise on the Hotel’s new infamy and try and get new sinners through the door, and the poor bartender was run ragged more and more often as a result.

“More or less.” he says, raising an eyebrow at the admittedly large collection of blankets you have strewn across your bed. There’s one of every texture, from soft, crocheted wool that reminds you of home, to plush faux-fur that tickles wonderfully at your bare skin whenever you wrap yourself in it. They’ve all been pushed and tugged across the mattress until they vaguely resemble a nest, and his smile quirks wider despite himself. “Y’know, when you invited me up here, I wasn’t really expectin’ all…” he gestures vaguely. “…this.”

“No?” you smile back, the expression a taunting challenge. You scoot back to sit  against the pillows, patting the empty space on the sheets beside you in invitation. “What were you expecting then?”

Husk smirks, moving to join you. Instead of climbing into bed beside you, he’s daring in a way he hasn’t been with you before. Usually he’s quick, stolen kisses and fleeting touches out by the bar. In private, he crawls up the bed over your legs, his expression teasing as he braces his paws on either side of your hips, face level with yours. “The way you talk after a few drinks, I was at least thinkin’ handcuffs.”

You feel your cheeks warm as you laugh, and you feel daring enough to hook your fingers in his bowtie and pull him gently down into a kiss. Husk meets you happily, his lips soft and warm and his forehead bumping against yours for a moment once you pull away.

“They’re in the drawer.”

Husk laughs, and you thrill at the sound, taking a moment to admire the way the soft white-blue glow of the fairy-lights strung back and forth across your ceiling makes the fur of his face and chest look snow-white. Still, tiredness is etched into his features, and you reach up your other hand to loosen the tie from around his neck. He smiles softly as you slide it free, his paw ghosting over your thigh, bare thanks to the limited length of your pyjama shorts. Setting the red slip of fabric aside, you pull him into another gentle, lingering kiss, listen to the way he groans lightly against your lips. It breaks when one of the pillows from the top of the precarious pile against the headboard bounces off the bartender’s head.

“Oh, for fuck—” he shakes his head irritably, his ears pressed to the sides. You giggle, pushing the offending pillow to the floor. “This room is fuckin’ ridiculous.”

“Are you complaining?” you ask, bumping your nose teasingly against his, lips a breath away from his own.

“’Course I am,” he replies, curling a paw around your thigh and tugging you further down the bed so you’re stretched out beneath him. He smirks down at you. “It’s like you live in a fuckin’ Barbie Dreamhouse.”

You snort a laugh, wrapping your arms loosely around his shoulders. “Is that the only frame of reference you have for girly shit?”

He shrugs. “Pretty much.”

“How do you even know about the Barbie Dreamhouse?”

“How old do you think I am?” he shoots back.

“Old enough that it’s creepy you were playing with the Dreamhouse,” you joke, and he pinches your thigh in reprimand.

“Cheeky bitch,” Husk snickers, kissing you again. You laugh into it, and Husk lets his paw travel higher, smoothing up over your hip. Excitement curls up inside you at the touch, the embrace, but when he presses his thigh up between your knees, you break away with a gasping, unsteady breath.

“Oookay…” you exhale with a shaky laugh, and Husk echoes it quietly, brushing his lips over your forehead. “That’s a threshold…”

He smiles against the space between your brows, and you can feel his own heart thumping beneath your fingers when you stroke your fingers through the fur of his chest. Its reassuring and surprising, feeling his own nerves matching your own, if only by an increment. He sighs, but its patient, kind, and his warm breath tickles against your skin. “Don’t gotta do anythin’ you don’t wanna, pet.”

“I know,” you say simply, kissing him again. This one is briefer but just as sweet, and you sit up, pulling away from him. “I do. Want to.” you tell him sincerely, cupping his cheek. He leans into the touch, fur soft and downy under your palm. “I just need a minute.”

He nods, sitting back into a kneel on the mattress. His tail sways back and forth across the soft fabric of a down-filled comforter. “’Course.”

You climb off the bed, gesturing towards the adjoining bathroom. “I’ll just be a minute. Make yourself at home.”

Husk raises a brow, picking at the edge of the fluffier blankets with his claws pointedly. “Do I look like a stuffed animal to you?”

You consider him, tilting your head to the side. “A little.”

The cat demon throws a pillow at you irritably, and you giggle as it hits your thigh, blowing him a teasing kiss as you slip into the bathroom. You hear him heave a yawn as you click the door closed behind you.

It’s not long before you reemerge, your eyes taking a second to adjust to the fairy-lights after the harsh overheads of the bathroom. For a moment you think Husk has left, and disappointment quickly drops like an ice cube into the middle of your gut. It was silly, but you’d gone to the bathroom to calm yourself down, surprised at the way heat had flooded through you at the slightest touch beyond the publicly acceptable ones you’d shared in the past. But maybe you’d taken too long to—

You notice him then.

Despite his jokes, Husk had made himself comfortable on your bed, and the worry that had been on your face softens into pure affection as you realise he’s finally lost the battle with his exhaustion. The bartender is curled up tightly in the blankets, his body tucked in on itself in that fluid way that only cats can seem to manage. His face nuzzles into the crook of his forearm, the feathered end of his tail switching back and forth slowly against the comforter. You watch his wings, tucked neatly against his back, rise and fall slightly with every slow breath, feathers softly aglow with the lights above him.

You study his expression, sleep wiping away the tension and stress that usually marks his face to leave it smooth and kittenish. Smiling to yourself, you cross to the bed carefully, mindful not to disturb him as you sit on the edge of the bed beside him. One of his paws is curled around a pillow, the cushion tugged close to his chest, an innocence to the position that pulls at your heart. Some part of you had expected the older man to snore, but instead, a low, rusty purr rumbles through the bartender’s chest.

“Oh my god…” you murmur, enchanted despite just how annoyed you know he’d be at the sound rolling through him. He shifts slightly in his sleep, his chin resting on the pillow. You ghost fingers over the fur between his ears, and he leans into the touch. “This is so—”

You jump as Husk reaches up suddenly, catching hold of your wrist blindly.

“Shut up about the purrin’,” he mutters without opening his eyes. “Jus’ get in here.”

“Are you ordering me into my own bed?”

“Shut it,” he grumbles, and you chuckle quietly as you let him tug you into the bed with him. He pushes the pillow he’d been hugging out of the way, instead wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. You wriggle into his embrace, curling your fingers in the fur of his stomach as you bury your face in his chest. The purring grows louder this close to him, but you heed his warning not to mention it, instead humming contentedly as Husk presses a kiss to your hair. You speak into his fur after a moment, enjoying the way the scent of whiskey mixes with his cologne.

“…Husk?”

“Mmm?”

“Does this mean you changed you mind about the room?”

“…Night, doll.”

You giggle into his chest. “Night, Husk.”

[b1eedthefreak]

Fic request/idea, if it gets your writer brain flowing…. (No worries if it doesn’t!)

Comfort sex with daryl- you’ve had a shit day and he gathers you in his arms and under his body and fucks you slow and deep. Maybe holds your hand while he does? And says some sweet things too? Please and thank you so muchhhhhh!!!! 💕💕💕💕

Take Care

Daryl Dixon x F!Reader

Summary: You had a rough day and Daryl knew it so he takes care of you :3

Warnings: Smut with some plot, pet names, if i missed anything let me know!

A/N: bestie thank you for this request i LOVED IT!! this absolutely GOT MY BRAIN RUNNINGGG!! i love this request sm because i know everybody sees daryl as big strong man so he fucks you hard (which i’m not against by the way—🤭) but he can be so soft and loving with you ugh thank you for the request i wrote this all night :D i hope this is what you were expecting <33

⸻

The second you stepped into the bedroom, Daryl knew.

Knew from the way your shoulders slumped, the way you avoided his eyes, the way your breath hitched when you crawled into bed and curled up on your side, hugging yourself like you were trying to hold yourself together.

And Daryl wasn’t having it.

He didn’t say anything, just moved, climbing in behind you, his arms sliding around your waist, pulling you against him.

“C’mere, sweetheart.”

His voice was low, warm, that perfect gravelly rasp that always sent a shiver down your spine. His lips found the back of your neck, pressing soft, lingering kisses against your skin.

You exhaled a shaky breath. “Daryl…”

“M’here, baby.” His arms tightened around you, holding you firm, solid. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

A lump rose in your throat. You knew he meant it.

Slowly, you rolled onto your back, looking up at him. Daryl met your gaze, his expression soft, his fingers trailing slow, soothing strokes along your side.

“Wanna talk ‘bout it?”

You shook your head. “Just wanna feel you.”

Daryl nodded. He felt the weight behind your words, the way you needed him to pull you out of your head, to remind you that you were safe, that you were his.

And if you needed that, he was gonna give it to you.

He leaned down, brushing his lips over yours.

“Lemme take care of ya baby.”

You whimpered, nodding, and that was all he needed.

Daryl moved.

His lips trailed down your neck, pressing soft, open mouthed kisses against your skin, his hands dragging your shirt up, up, up until it was gone, leaving you bare beneath him.

“Goddamn…” His breath hitched, his eyes dark as they raked over you. “Look at you, baby…”

Heat pooled in your stomach. You shifted beneath him, your thighs pressing together, and Daryl noticed.

“Need me that bad huh?”

You whined, trying to turn your head, but Daryl wasn’t having it. His fingers curled under your chin, making you meet his eyes.

“Baby please . Lemme see ya.” His voice was soft, teasing, but so damn loving. “Lemme see how much ya need me.”

You gasped as his hand trailed lower, sliding between your thighs.

His fingers barely brushed over you, but you were already soaked.

Daryl groaned. “Shit sweetheart…”

You squirmed, hips bucking into his hand, but Daryl tsked, pressing you back down.

“Uh-uh, baby. Slow.” He kissed your cheek, his breath warm against your ear. “Wanna take my time with ya.”

And he did.

His fingers dragged through your slick, teasing, spreading you open before pressing a slow, steady circle against your clit.

Your breath hitched.

“Oh—Daryl—”

“Yeah baby.” His voice was a low rasp, his fingers working you open, taking his time, making you feel everything.

Your thighs trembled. Your hands gripped the sheets. But Daryl wasn’t done.

He slid a finger inside slow, deep, curling just right.

You gasped.

“Fuck baby… so tight.” His lips found yours, swallowing every little whimper, his fingers moving in slow, steady thrusts, dragging out your pleasure.

Your whole body shook.

And then he added a second finger.

Your head fell back, a moan slipping from your lips, and Daryl groaned.

“Tha’s it sweetheart,” he murmured. “Lemme hear ya. Lemme hear how good I make ya feel.”

You couldn’t hold back.

His fingers were perfect, pushing deep, stretching you open in slow, lazy thrusts, his thumb still working soft, teasing circles over your clit.

“You gonna come for me, baby?”

You nodded, breathless.

Daryl kissed your temple. “Go on then.”

And that was all it took.

Pleasure crashed over you, your whole body trembling, gasps spilling from your lips as Daryl worked you through it, murmuring soft praises against your skin.

“Tha’s my girl.”

“Always so good for me.”

“So goddamn beautiful, baby…”

You barely had time to recover before he was moving, lining himself up, his body pressing over yours, his hand still holding yours, fingers laced tight.

And then, he pushed in.

Slow. Deep. Perfect.

Your breath caught, your body stretching around him, taking all of him in one slow, fluid motion.

Daryl groaned, his forehead pressing against yours. “Shit fuck sweetheart…”

Your fingers squeezed his, nails digging into his skin, and Daryl felt it—felt how much you needed him, how much you needed to be surrounded by him, filled by him, owned by him.

So, he gave it to you.

He pulled out slow, only to push back in, deep and steady, filling you completely.

And then, he set a rhythm.

Deep, slow thrusts.

Not rough. Not fast. Just steady, just good, rocking into you with a perfect, lazy pace, his body covering yours, surrounding you.

“Daryl—”

“I gotcha baby.” His lips brushed against yours, his voice wrecked. “Jus’ let me take care of ya.”

You did.

You let him hold you down, let him fill you up, let yourself get lost in the warmth of him, the love in every touch.

His lips never left your skin.

Kissing your forehead. Your cheek. Your jaw. His fingers tight in yours, his other hand smoothing over your side, grounding you.

“So perfect baby.” His voice was low, soft, full of something heavy. “Love ya so damn much.”

You shattered.

A broken whimper slipped from your lips, your body clenching around him, the pleasure hitting you in slow, rolling waves.

Daryl felt it.

Felt the way you trembled beneath him, how your walls squeezed him just right, and with a deep, wrecked groan, he buried himself inside you, his body tensing as he spilled into you, his lips pressed tight against your forehead.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Just breathing. Holding each other. Feeling.

Then Daryl wrapped you up in his arms.

Rolled onto his side, pulling you against his chest, cradling you, his fingers still laced with yours.

His breath was warm against your temple, his voice a low, sleepy mumble.

“M’never lettin’ ya go, baby.”

Your heart ached. You squeezed his hand, burying your face in his neck.

“I know.”

Daryl smirked, pressing a slow kiss to your forehead.

“Good.”

And as sleep pulled you under, wrapped up in the warmth of him, you knew you were exactly where you belonged.

⸻

a/n: i wrote this at 12 am if there’s any mistakes PLEASE IGNOREEEEEEE also feel free to request ^o^

[gotta-spew-words-somewhere]

Countdown: 8

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: a failed date and the promise of a comfy sofa.

TW’s: Smut, nighttime stranger danger, a difficult to understand dress

A/N: Stop reading after * if you’re not about that smut life, I promise nothing important happens except the smut itself. Also turns out I struggle to write it but here we are! Enjoy

Azriel POV

This time, he makes no excuses as he meanders toward your store. It’s not quite as late as usual— usual? It’s evidently habit-forming, being around you— yet this part of the city still holds a stillness that settles his bones.

He knows if he ventured further south the lanes would be abuzz with bustling cafes and tipsy revellers, but it isn’t just any company he’s after tonight. No, it’s your heady mix of brash yet authentic, soothing but energising that he’s finding himself craving.

Here. Here. Wait.

The whisper at his ear makes Azriel pause and step into the shadows, eyebrows furrowing as he scans the star-lit alley for what exactly is ‘here’. It’s not too long before his sensitive fae hearing offers an answer.

Footsteps. Yours, he’s sure, but off. Brisk and clipped and—- are you wearing heels?

You are. The click-clack rings stark against the stone, eating up the distance between you both rapidly— and then nothing.

There’s just a beat where Azriel holds his breath, instinctive stealth taking over, before your voice rings out in low warning.

“Who’s there?”

You’re just around the corner, and with a deep breath that helps him remember this is Velaris, this is you, he steps back into the light with a soft smile.

You’re decidedly not smiling, a fucking dagger in hand and eyes sharp and narrow- for a moment at least. As soon as the cogs click into place, a weary smile of recognition takes over, weapon sheathed with practised smoothness in the band at your thigh.

Your thigh that is largely exposed. Because you’re in a dress. A short, fitting dress of rich navy that makes your skin seem to glow and your curves sing and Azriel’s entire body tense.

What’s going on? The dagger— the dress? He doesn’t know what to say or where to look, blinking lamely at you in the dark.

“Oh, it’s you. You shouldn’t sneak up on women in the night you know.” It’s followed with a barked laugh and rouge-painted grin, and he wonders if you’re doing this to him on purpose.

He swallows, internally begging his body to behave. “Where have you been?” It’s none of his business, really, but he just has to know.

With an incline of your head to follow, you begin to walk on toward your storefront, arm brushing against his own.

“I had a date,” Azriel’s wings flare and settle, “but it was a total dud. Nice enough guy but— eh, you know?” A quick shrug of your shoulders and suddenly he feels much better, momentary flicker of something drifting away on the wind.

“No second date then?” His brow furrows, he meant to ask about the dagger— not that, and you shoot him a grin as you round on the door of your store.

“Well, depends how much longer this dry spell lasts.” With a click of your keys, the door swings open and you step inside, thankfully missing the way the shadowsingers eyes round and lips part.

At this point, he’s sure you’re torturing him for fun.

You’re slipping off the delicate heels before you’ve even fully crossed the threshold, groaning with relief, and the sound crawls its way down Azriel’s spine in the most delicious way.

Fuck. Fuck. Get it together.

“C’mon Shadow Man, I’m finally taking you upstairs tonight.”

What.

The quirk of your brow seems entirely innocent, but there’s no way you can say things like that while dressed like that and smelling like—-

“Unless you want to sit on the stool again instead of a comfy sofa? I don’t bite y’know.”

He swallows down telling you that he wouldn’t mind if you did.

Finally, the realisation of what you’re actually offering breaks through the fog, and he nods just in time to avoid looking completely ridiculous, moving to follow you behind the counter and up a narrow set of stairs.

This feels like something. Being corralled into hot tea and good conversation is one thing in the shop— but here? In your actual home? Some invisible line is being crossed, and with the way his heart is racing, it seems as though he’s almost enjoying the prospect.

———————

Reader POV

After spending the last few dragging hours with a male so perfectly perfect, Azriel’s presence feels like a strong glass of your favourite wine.

Caed was lovely. Smart and bubbly and so sweet it made your teeth hurt with every compliment, every smile. A perfect male for a perfect female— someone with no rough edges. Someone who sleeps well when the sun hides behind the mountains. Someone… not you.

So, a new friend. Maybe. Or perhaps not, given the heat behind his eyes or the gentle brush of his fingers over your thigh— things that would normally stir you, but not tonight. Instead, you find yourself once again enchanted by a quiet Illyrian who’s wings are dangerously close to knocking over every trinket in your tiny apartment.

“It’s not much but it’s definitely comfier than than downstairs.” You’re not the type to be embarrassed by the amass of cushions and trinkets and keepsakes, but for reasons unknown, the quiet contemplation in Azriel’s eyes makes you feel the need to justify it, to seek his approval.

“It’s lovely.” He sounds genuine, and so you offer him a soft smile.

“Make yourself at home, I’m gonna get changed.” The dress is lovely— something saved for special occasions and nights where you need a boost, but it’s not for tea on your plush sofa, and the tightness is starting to wear on you.

Without waiting for him to comply, you pad into your dim bedroom, pushing the door to with your elbow and sighing with relief as you unclasp the leather band from your thigh. You would think by now that the band would have softened with time and use— but no, light red marks wrap your skin same as they do every night, and you scratch at them absentmindedly.

What are you doing?

Why is the Shadowsinger sat in your living room? And why will your heart not stop racing?

From the moment you’d seen him in the street, a part of you had relaxed and another awoken, fizzing down your spine with a heat so inappropriate for someone who clearly just needs a friend.

Your dusky sidekick— who hasn’t left your side for a single moment since left here again last week— tickles across your shoulder and settles at the shell of your ear.

Pretty.

You offer a chuff through your nose and an affectionate smile, before moving to unclasp the catch at the nape of your neck.

It’s done that since last time— since it’s master had given permission to speak, the little menace has evidently decided said permission was blanket, and never seems to waste an opportunity to whisper that same word directly into your mind.

Pretty. Clearly the strange workings of whatever kind of consciousness shadow can conjure—- there’s no way it’s reflecting Azriel’s thoughts. He’s the fucking Spymaster, for Mother’s sake, and you’re just some——

Pretty.

It’s said with enough oomph that you’re snatched from your train of thought inelegantly, laughing quietly into the dark.

“You okay in there?” His voice is low and rough through the wood, tugging at something deep in your stomach, and you take a long, steadying breath as you continue to struggle with your clasp.

“Yeah— the baby shadow is just flirting with me, I think.” There’s a beat of silence, and then his own voice is laced with a smile.

“It’s not a baby, it’s just small.”

“Oh, that’s much more normal. The small shadow is flirting with me, then.”

You hear a long-suffering sigh. “As long as you’re okay.”

And it’s at that point you realise your arms are aching, fingers still fiddling with metal clasps which just won’t budge. You could just rip it— you’d be forced to if you were alone, but it’s such a pretty dress, and maybe if you just asked, and he helped and stood real close—

“Actually, I could use a hand,” it’s out of your mouth before you’ve even thought it through, pink staining your cheeks in an instant.

What are you doing!?

The silence that follows almost ends you, heat crawling up your neck and turning your stomach.

You fucking idiot—-

“Sure, shall I come in?” Mother, his voice. Is it always that low? That rough?

You nod lamely, before remembering to use your words. “Uh, yeah. My dress is caught and I can’t get it to unclasp.”

He’s inside and stood so very close behind you before you’ve even finished your sentence.

The air seems thick, buzzing with what must be your imagination, but his soft breaths near the back of your neck make every hair stand to attention. Your skin is practically screaming for his touch, heart thumping so loudly you’re certain he’d hear even if he was mortal. With a swallow, you will your voice to come out even.

“It’s just the clasp at the top, it’s stu—“ the ghost kiss of his fingers at your skin renders you silent, eyes drifting shut in the dark.

Nothing but the sound of your gentle breaths fill the air as his calloused fingers smooth your hair across your shoulder, baring the curve of your spine— and that damn clasp—- to his hazel eyes.

You’re statue still as he works, deft fingers fixing the catch in a second, the band at your throat falling lax against your skin.

Two fingertips dance over sensitive flesh, tracing each vertebrae with such tenderness that your breath catches, turning to face him in the dark.

He’s so close your chest brushes against him, and you meet his gaze through your lashes, his pupils blown and expression almost dangerous.

“Do you know what you do to me?” Its whispered and gravelled and dances straight to your core, making your arms lift to loop at his neck.

“No,” it’s whispered. “Why don’t you show me.”

He’s on you in an instant.

*

The kiss isn’t timid, it’s hungry— large palms roving across your body and tangling in your hair until all you can feel, all you can think is him.

Your entire world shrinks to the smell of cedar and the feel of muscle beneath your fingers, each kiss stealing your breath and tightening your core.

He walks you backwards until the bed hits the bend of your knees and you fall, his massive body following to hover over you, a knee rising to knock yours apart as he settles between them like he was made to be there.

A hand slides down, down, down, smoothing across your stomach and hips and thighs until settling at your apex, and you moan, already soaking wet through your underwear.

“Fuck,” it’s a broken groan into the kiss, his deft fingers rubbing over cloth and making you keen beneath him.

But you’re impatient, hips rolling as your own hands seek the ties of his trousers, desperately pulling them away and down before palming at—- stars above.

He’s huge, and thick and hot and so hard, and you feel him shiver against you the moment you take him in your hand. A few deep, slow strokes and his lips move to your neck, the fingers at your underwear finally pushing it aside and pushing into you, curling to hit just that spot, and you’re sure you’re going to die.

“A-Azriel,” it’s panted out, and he licks a stripe up your throat as his hips roll into your hand.

“Mm,”

“I need you.”

His movements slow, tenderly pulling your underwear down and away, and then he straightens, hazel gaze burning across your skin.

Your dress is bunched around your middle, hair tangled, lipstick smudged—- but the hunger in his eyes only seems to grow as he looks at you.

“Are you sure?” It’s gravelled honey, and you reach up to grab at his shirt, needing him close again.

“Yes.”

And when he finally pushes into you, you’re both done for.

[awearywritersworld]

quiet and unassuming

astarion x reader summary: you believe astarion is only interested in you for sex, when in reality, that's the farthest thing from the truth w/c: ~700 tags: hurt/comfort. misunderstanding. mentions of sex. reader starts to cry when astarion initiates, but they obvs do not continue. pet names. no use of y/n. gender neutral. race/class neutral. it's implied gale and shadowheart are interested in reader. happy ending. bg3 masterlist

astarion has never been in a relationship before. well, maybe relationship isn't the right word, but whatever it is going on between the two of you... it's entirely new to him.

for the most part, he's rather partial to the experience. he likes that you seem genuinely interested in the things he has to say. he likes that he doesn't always go to sleep alone. he likes the way you smile at him with fondness dancing in your eyes.

what he doesn't like, however, is the feeling that bubbles up in his chest when he sees you talking to gale or shadowheart. he doesn't like the way they look at you. he doesn't like their lingering touches. and he certainly doesn't like how oblivious you seem to it all.

but communication— or more precisely, honest communication— is not a skill he's cultivated over the years, so he resorts to the thing he is good at.

he takes you to bed. he fucks you until there are tears in your eyes, until his name is the only word you can manage, until your legs shake and you can hardly stand.

it's not the way he truly wants to have you though. he wants to know your thoughts, to share your company, to be the person you come to for help— but he knows he's not good enough for those things, so he'll have you in the only way he knows how.

for a while, he thinks it's enough... that his plan is succeeding. until one night, he tugs at your waistband and plants a kiss below your ear, and the tears that well up in your eyes are not a result of ecstasy nor anticipation.

"darling?" he asks, noticing your distress at once. confusion knits his brows together as he studies your face. "what's the matter?"

"n-nothing." you try and fail miserably to sound unbothered. "i'm fine, astarion. keep going."

something akin to hurt passes his features. "you don't have to lie to me."

his sincerity leaves the tears you've been fighting streaming down your cheeks. "'m- 'm sorry."

astarion's face softens and his body seems to act of its own accord when he sits up and pulls you against his chest. "what on earth for? it's okay, just talk to me."

"i... i don't want to ruin this for you," you murmur.

"ruin what?"

you mumble a response into the fabric of his shirt, but he can't decipher your words. "what's that, love?"

pulling away from his embrace, you wipe at your eyes and struggle to meet his gaze.

"i know that this is..." you begin, gesturing between your bodies. "i know that this is just about sex for you, and at first i thought i could be okay with that."

astarion stares at you somewhat dumbfounded and the silence makes your anxiety even worse, so you continue.

"i think i overestimated myself though," you chuckle dryly. "so i'm sorry for ruining this, but i can't do it anymore... because it was never just about sex for me."

astarion could laugh at his own idiocy, were it not for the heartbroken look on your face. "oh, my sweet... come back here."

reluctantly, you crawl into his open arms. he considers telling you of his past, but decides against it. no, this moment is about you.

safely cradled against his body, you can feel the vibrations when he speaks. "it's not about the sex for me either, and i apologize for making you think otherwise. i just thought... i thought that if..."

he sighs and dips his head in diffidence. his lips brush against the top of your head, his voice just above a whisper. "i thought it was the only way to keep your affection all to myself."

your arms snake around his torso as you consider his words, nuzzling further against his chest. "my affection is yours alone."

he hums in response, trying to find the right words. "that... pleases me. more than you know."

the evening is quiet and unassuming, much like the tenderness of the moment the two of you are sharing. a sentiment he's never felt before perches itself upon astarion's heart— it hasn't beat in two centuries, yet he swears he feels it flutter against his ribcage.

"just hold me tonight?" you ask.

"for as long as you'll have me."

[asxgard]

Companionship | pt. 6

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

Previous | Next

Summary: Venting, take-out and unsaid feelings. What a golden combination.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: double update because you guys are great! 😭

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: age gap, foul language, hospital inaccuracies, mentions of patients, mention of an overdose, alcohol, mild angst/anxiety, feelings angst, slowburn

not beta read

Thoughts still reeling from the night only a few days ago, you had vowed to lock away your feelings, find some hole and bury them. It was not good to keep thinking about him in the way you were — he was in your thoughts when you were going to bed, his voice in your ear at your desk at work. It was not good to be so caught up on someone so unattainable. So forbidden.

It still warmed your belly to think about.

Erin watched the way you hovered around your phone, eyebrow raised and smirk forming. You ignored it, trying to focus on your coursework. Marsi had already tried to check in about it — about your “totally not boyfriend” boyfriend, she had said.

“That’s a new laptop.” Erin observed.

Your cheeks blazed. “So what?”

“Did he get you that? Very nice.”

You looked away from your friend.

“Must’ve been like $900.”

Wide eyed, you looked up, “You think so?”

Fuck. That was over twice what he gave you in a month.

“I know so.” She said, with a wide smirk. “Good for you. Slept with him yet? I can see you want to.”

You choked on your saliva, sputtering an intake of breath. “No, oh my god. No!”

Erin looked satisfied before getting back to her studying.

It was impossible to do any of your work after that, moving instead to tear through your refrigerator looking for a snack. Or really something to get you away from Erin’s very perceptive gaze.

Erin offered to take her out for celebratory drinks, but you turned it down. It felt like a bad way to drown out your feelings — but parking yourself on the couch to watch mind numbing tv only seemed slightly better.

Before you could stop yourself, you were clicking on Michael’s contact, staring at your text conversation. Typically he texted first, and it was usually only to set up a time for a phone call.

You clicked call without thinking about it.

Was it really crossing a boundary if the line had already gotten blurred?

It barely rang once before he picked up, “Is everything okay?”

Ten points to me for not even thinking about what to say, you thought.

“Oh, I’m okay—oh, I can see how—yeah, yeah, I’m okay.”

He let out a long breath that almost sounded like relief.

“I just wanted to see if you wanted to talk.”

“I’m actually still at the hospital—”

Embarrassment crawled up your neck to rest at your cheeks.

“—but I can call you on my way home?”

There was only slight ease at his words.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll talk to you later.”

—

Michael was now itching to get off his shift, watching the time tick away painfully slowly, even after seeing countless patients. He nearly sped out of the ED as soon as he gave report to Abbott.

Only a block away from the hospital, he pulled out his phone and clicked on your contact. He briefly wondered what you had wanted to discuss, or if you truly were okay, or if you were just looking for an excuse to talk to him. No, definitely not that last one.

It rang twice.

“Hi, Michael.” You said, your voice soft, lower than usual.

He swallowed thickly, “Hi, you sure everything’s okay?”

You hummed, “Yeah, I’m sorry. I just wanted to talk to you.”

A smile formed on his lips, “It’s good to hear your voice. We had a pretty rough one today, so this…this is nice.”

It was true. A teenager had come in from a fentanyl overdose and there unfortunately hadn’t been anything they could do for her; she was braindead.

“Do you wanna tell me about it?”

He chuckled, “You called me. Did you want to talk about something?”

“Nothing in particular, honestly. But I was thinking…maybe we could get take-out and watch the Penguins game on Friday? If you’re off, that is. And if you actually want to.”

His face lit up, grin stretching across his face at the thought of simply hanging out together.

“Yeah, I like the sound of that.”

“Great! I mean, yeah, awesome. I’ll meet you at yours with pizza or something?” You offered, tone light and breathy.

His grin got impossibly wider, “Pizza is good. Puck drop is at 7:30, so just come by before that.”

You knocked on his door at promptly 7, which startled him — moving around his apartment and ensuring everything was tidy. He took a long breath through his nose wondering why the hell he was so nervous.

He opened the door quickly, taking in your features. You were wearing jeans and a pretty mauve-y colored sweater. You looked remarkably beautiful.

“Let me take that.” He said, taking the pizza box from your hands. It smelled delicious, making his stomach rumble.

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I got half regular and half pepperoni.”

“Can’t go wrong with either.” He said with a smile.

Michael moved into his kitchen to set down the box and grab some plates. You had moved to that spot in the corner with the large windows overlooking the city. He watched your figure a few moments before turning away quickly, feeling like a creep.

“Still just water, iced tea and wine.” He told you, grabbing two cups from his cabinet. “I’ve got beer this time, though.”

“Iced tea, thank you.” You said, turning to look at him. “I really love this view.”

“It came with the apartment.”

You snorted out a laugh, “Was there a fee for it?”

“Only a small hiccup.” Michael said, grinning, “Nosy neighbor a floor below me.”

You pondered it for a moment, looking back out at the darkening sky. “I’d say it was totally worth it.”

You both settled onto the couch with your plates just in time to watch the puck drop. You each made a few comments here and there, mostly about the game, but it was hard to focus with you sitting so close to him.

During the first intermission, Michael found himself complaining about hospital administration.

“You know, they keep threatening to sell if we don’t get our numbers up. They have for a while, and I don’t think they actually will, but satisfaction scores at other places are better. Whatever the fuck that means.”

“It just sounds like they’re shifting accountability.” You said beside him, turning your eyes to glance at him. “I can see them not wanting to spend the money to hire the appropriate amount of staff, so you’re forced to work with what you’ve got. I get budget constraints, trust me, but I know administration usually looks for the cheap, easy solution. It always has been easier to blame someone else.”

He felt incredibly seen, nodding at you. “I feel like none of the talks I have with them actually go anywhere. We’ve had a need for increased security, too, but all my requests get denied.”

You frowned, “That’s bullshit. It’s like they’re setting you up to fail.”

Right before the second period started, Michael grabbed himself a beer, fully relaxing in your company now — his shoulders feeling lighter. The Penguins thankfully had a much better period, scoring a point and tying the game.

It was in the second intermission that the mood slowly shifted, a tension building. Truth was, it had been there from the moment you stepped into his apartment, but he had been successfully ignoring it.

You reached to grab your drink on the coffee table the same moment he went to reach for his beer, your hands brushing. Your face noticeably heated and his heart sped up. Leaned forward, your faces were right next to each other.

Michael looked into your eyes, finding you watching him and not moving, hand still outstretched. You smelled like lavender.

Each second that passed could have easily been an hour. If he moved just a little, leaned down just enough, then—your eyes flickered down to his lips.

Fuck it.

—

Fuck it, you thought, taking in the sight of his brown eyes — wholly captivating. You heart skipped a beat when you looked down to his lips.

His lips were on yours in the next breath, surprising you, but you melted completely into it. You moved your hand quickly to rest along his shoulder, while his came to cup your jaw. It was chaste in its intensity, but not in its length.

He was warm, and his beard scratched against your skin in a way that sent your thoughts racing. His hand was gentle, the other moving to your knee as he moved slightly to fully face you.

You came up for air first, breathing quickly and looking over all the features of his face. You noticed just the lightest touch of freckles along his cheeks. His face was more relaxed than you had ever seen it, and the smallest hints of a smile touched his lips.

A look of doubt crossed his face in the next breath, and he started to lean away. You chased him to kiss him one more time, just wanting to savor the feel of him before the bubble around you burst.

He accepted it, his hand moving to slip behind your head and hold you to him. As his lips encased your bottom lip, your tongue darted out to meet him. That seemed to be the thing that pulled you both back to their senses.

You stared at each other for a while, so many things unsaid resting between you. The sounds of the third period starting did not even pull your attention away from each other.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to ruin tonight.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, “You didn’t ruin anything.”

Michael’s eyes lingered on your face, back to your lips before he frowned.

“No, I enjoyed tonight.” I’ve enjoyed the glimpses of you.

He just watched you, and you could see the gears turning in his head. You felt desperate to know what he was thinking. Had you overstepped? Sure, he had kissed you first, but you had accepted it.

“I did, too.” was so quiet, you missed it at first.

You felt like you were suffocating under all your thoughts and you stood abruptly.

“I had a good time,” you said, hoping he might catch the hint, make you stay.

Make you discuss it.

“...but I should go.”

He cleared his throat, “Yeah, okay, yeah.”

Michael let you walk out the door, and once you were in the elevator you could not bring yourself to turn back around, run back to him.

Even though that was all you wanted to do.

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Companionship Taglist: @queenslandlover-93 @clementine111002 @virgomillie @emily-b @kaygilles @lt-jakeseresin @imonmykneessir @kniselle @cannonindeez @gabsgabsvaz @rosiepoise88 @calivia @holdonimwalkingmysnail @valhallavalkyrie9 @blahkateisdone @shadowhuntyi @fuckalrighty

All Dr. Robby Content: @cherriready @kittenhawkk @seeyalaterinnovator

the long awaited kisssssss

[vcnillafairy]

voodoo doll

pairing: jj maybank x raspberry!reader.

summary: jj vandalizes the house of one of the richest kooks on figure eight in a weak attempt to get her out of his mind or himself out of hers but everything goes sideways when he realizes she may be as crazy as he is.

warnings: pre relationship. violence (not towards reader). vandalism. past trauma. jj's canonical insecurities and impulsivity. two idiots in love. slight angst. hurt/comfort. fluff. happy ending. english is not my first language.

𝜗𝜚 poppy talks₊ ˚ ･ i just love love love the concept of jayj falling for a kook and his internal conflict, plus i think a lot of 5sos songs fit so well to write jj x reader.

Only a week had passed since JJ had ended whatever you had going on and it already felt like ages, it was probably because you had got too used to his presence in your life all day everyday whether it was texting or in your room or a hotel or your car in some parking lot late at night but it was frustrating.

It all started last summer when at the boneyard party you were too drunk to reconsider your choices and ended up hooking up with a just as intoxicated JJ in the backseat of your car. After that things were awkward between you two for a couple of days whenever you ran into each other but couldn't help but eventually crawl your way back to each other and do it a second time, then a third and a fourth... And before you know you become what could be called fuck buddies.

The problem was when it didn't end there, it kept going for months where you met for stress relief every time one of you needed it but... late nights started to turn into early mornings and you couldn't even remember when sex turned into talking. Just hours and hours of talking about your day, your week and eventually your struggles and dreams getting to know each other so deeply you could tell what the other was feeling without the need to say it.

You were in love... of course. Anyone who got to know the real JJ was doomed to fall for him, not just for his charms and flirtatious antics but the real him, the JJ who was the most loyal and supportive friend someone could ever ask for putting everyone over himself. He was special in a way you could never express with words but you tried when you talked to your mom about him, you didn't need to say much. It only took her a couple of seconds to see the spark in your eyes when you talked about him to know your feelings were genuine.

Lucky for you your parents were one of the very few ones at the island with three fingers of enough forehead to not be judgmental trash against the people on the other side, they had always taught you to enjoy what you had but to never give it for granted and to be aware that there were people who didn't had that much and it was definitely not their fault so when you talked to your mother about JJ she asked you to invite him for dinner. She wanted to meet the boy who had captured her daughter's heart and make sure he was worthy of it.

You could remember that day as if it was yesterday, how you jumped over him when he got into your room climbing for the window. JJ listen to you yap about how he could start using the door from now on and how your mom had invited him over for dinner, his arms were crossed and his face stoic while you could barely contain the excitement running in your veins pacing around the room already planning what you would be wearing but you stopped when the silence in his side had been too long. You had thought he loved you too, from the way your relationship had evolved to how he looked at you when you talked for hours about everything and nothing.

But you were wrong, at least that's what it looked like when he said he couldn't come tonight and that it would be better if you ended it right there before things could 'get ugly.' He wasn't rude but he wasn't exactly delicate about it and with just a couple of awkward excuses he left.

At first you had been sad, cried for a couple of days and didn't wanted to go out with your friends or even go to school but it only took you one party that your friends practically dragged you to, that day something switch inside you when you saw him making out with three different pogues during the night. You saw red, every fiber of your body screaming at you to do something stupid and so you did when you decided to sleep with his best friend that night in the same house he stayed in since he stopped sleeping at yours.

John B was a cute and nice guy so even if he wasn't exactly your type he didn't give you the worst night ever. Sadly other than making you feel good it only made you sadder and angrier when the next morning nothing happened, no fight, not even a glare and that only meant JJ had never mentioned you. You had talked about him to all your closest friends and even your mom when you thought things were getting serious but he had never even mentioned your name to his best friend.

Now all you had left to do was to stay alone in your house on a Sunday night with all this frustration pacing around your room thinking about a thousand ways to make his life miserable when you heard a loud noise coming from your front yard making you stop abruptly. Then another… then you could hear some glass breaking and you could only look around your room for something to defend yourself and your phone to call 911.

But nothing could have prepared you for what you saw when you opened the curtains of your window. JJ fucking Maybank was breaking your greenhouse with a baseball bat like he had just seen a ghost inside or something. The blood on your veins was boiling the second you saw him again, there was no rational thought inside your head when you took your own baseball bat from under your bed and stormed into the greenhouse.

“What the fuck do you think you're doing?” your harsh tone seemed to surprise him for just a second but he recovered just as quickly.

“What does it look like i'm doing?” he asked, standing straight and prideful in front of you as if he had just won some prize instead of vandalizing your home.

You didn't back up either, actually took a couple of steps closer to him and without giving yourself the chance to think about it twice you slapped him, hard, with all the pent-up rage you had been caring all this time apart. The sting in your hand almost made you regret it but you told yourself it was the least he deserved.

He held his cheek and you were expecting him to give you one of his cynical smirks but instead in his eyes there was just anger and a sadness she couldn't understand. “Why John B?” he asked as if just thinking about it made him want to go back to the chateau and break all his best friend's teeth.

“And why not?” you weren't showing any sign of remorse even if deep down a tiny part of you actually felt bad about it, still you felt that you had the right to do worse after what he had done to you. Sleeping with his best friend seemed only fair.

“He’s my best friend!” He slammed the baseball bat against one of the glass walls but without missing a beat you did the same with another one leaving him stunned for a moment.

“Like you care!” your normally non existent patience was specially thin today. “and it’s not like he even knew about me anyway!”

His face fell, guilt washing over him. “Don’t give me that shit again” he tried to look unfazed.

“Am I the one giving shit?” she scoffed, flipping her hair before loudly breaking another glass wall out of frustration “You came all the way here to destroy my house and for what? A hurt ego? You are a fucking child JJ”

“What are you doing? Stop that!” he took your wrists, making you drop your baseball bat. “I did this thinking you were gonna hate me! Never thought you were going to join me”

He looked embarrassed and slightly amused by your little outburst “Why would you want me to hate you?”

At first you didn't believe anything he said but slowly realization hit you, after all he had told you about his father and the childhood he had, he didn't go into much detail but he repeated some of his old man's words and you remembered one that specifically enraged you. You remember that day, JJ having to hold you down on your bed distracting you from going to his house to get Luke's ass.

He always told him he was trash. Always not only told him but showed him with his own actions that he was unworthy of love, so much and so many times he ended up believing it. But you knew the truth, just because his dad was incapable of loving someone that didn't mean he was unworthy of love. You knew because you loved him.

That's why he left when he felt things between you were starting to get serious, and that made you want to both hit and kiss him.

For the moment you choose the first one pushing him by his chest “You’re an asshole!” you hit him again and again until he held your wrists again, your eyes locked and even though he was trying to look ice cold his eyes had always betrayed him. “and I love you…”

JJ was frozen for what it felt like forever. “You have no idea what are you talking about”

“I'm perfectly capable of knowing what I feel!”

“No you don't!” his sudden snap made you take a step back but your eyes never leave his. “You’re just confused! You love all this kook-pogue thing, all you want me to do is to be your little doll that you can fix and show around!”

“That is not true!” what he was saying didn't make sense, because he knew you and you knew him enough to see it in his eyes. “and the worst part is that you know it, you know I really love you”

“Please stop” he was pulling his hair and pacing around trying to deny their feelings for each other but it was useless.

“JJ look at me” you tried to make him stop, to look at you in the eyes but hi turn his back on you, his breath was uneven and he had stop pacing but his right foot was still tapping against the floor.

You walked around him until he was actually looking at you, he looked like he wanted to cry but was too stubborn to do it in a moment like that trying to hold on to whatever ounce of pride he still had left. However all of it fell apart when you pulled him down by his neck to kiss him.

There was no resistance, his hands went to your waist like muscle memory, he pushed you against one of the few glasses that were still untouched by you both. His tongue find its way into your mouth and you could've sworn it had been months since you last felt him like this even if it only had been a couple of days.But the truth is that since the first time you spent the night together there was no way back and nothing, not even yourselfs was going to be able to tear your love apart.

“I love you too…” even if deep down you knew it, hearing it in his own words was what your heart needed to melt completely around him.

[endwersed]

Snippet Sunday

I was tagged into WIP Wednesday earlier this week by the always amazing @dear-massacre & @seaweed-water ❤️ I know I'm delivering a little late - but here's a snippet from the upcoming chapter three of my Sterek High School AU, call it off!

-

“The big fucking deal,” Lydia says through gritted teeth, “is that you’ve made us come to Theo fucking Raeken’s house just so that you can get some goddamn dick.”

And that, of course, is the exact moment Derek Hale chooses to walk into the room.

Instantly, his eyes are on Stiles. There is sharpness there, an intensity clouded in the pale light of his irises, and Stiles knows, immediately and implicitly, that he heard those words from Lydia, that there is no chance in hell that sentiment slipped over his head. He does not look happy it, either; not one fucking bit.

The plastic cup in Stiles’ grip crumples, slightly, with the twitch of his fingers. His cheeks flare with heat as he finds himself utterly, hopelessly incapable of looking away.

Derek’s feet move slowly as he walks over, walks towards their corner, his face twisted into a frown harsh enough to wrinkle up to his hairline. His eyes stay locked on Stiles, and only Stiles, with each and every step. Stiles tips his chin up into the air even as his skin flushes and his stomach sinks down to the soles of his feet.

Coming to a stop directly in front of them, Derek sets his shoulders back, his expression never loosening, never relaxing. He is not wearing his letterman jacket, Stiles cannot help but notice. That probably means it must be adorning Paige’s pretty little shoulders right now.

“Hi,��� Derek says tightly.

No further words follow. His eyes do not leave Stiles. Tension is a thickness in the air that crawls under Stiles’ skin.

Lydia has always been smart, has always been perceptive, so it is no surprise at all to Stiles when she quickly turns to him with a crease between her eyebrows, a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. Scott, thankfully, is still looking ahead at Derek as though nothing is amiss, as though nothing is strange or uncomfortable in the aura surrounding this interaction.

Stiles can only hold his breath and pray to god that Scott manages to speak first.

“Hey,” Scott says cheerily, thank god, thank god. “Good to see you, man.”

For less than a second, Derek’s eyes flick over to Scott. His gaze is right back onto Stiles before he even begins to speak in reply.

“Sure,” he says flatly. “Didn’t think you’d actually come.”

“Stiles insisted,” Lydia chimes in.

If she notices the way a muscle ticks in Derek’s jaw, notices it in the same way that Stiles immediately does – she does not say anything. Her eyes do narrow, though, and there is a refreshed sort of scrutiny to the purse of her mouth as she darts her gaze between them.

“Oh, yeah,” Scott grins, like this is all some big joke, like they are all in on it together. “Any chance your girlfriend’s cousin is around already? Stiles is dying to meet him.”

Derek’s mouth does not turn into anything even resembling a smile in return. He stares, long and hard and silent, at Stiles, his eyes never moving, his intensity never wavering. It is so horribly, palpably uncomfortable that even Scott begins to pick up on the vibe, his face falling out of the ease of his smile, his head swivelling between Stiles and Derek as his face screws into confusion.

He is not given the time to unpuzzle anything, though. Before anyone has the chance to say another word, Paige is bounding in to join them.

“Stiles!” Her smile is a thousand watts as she presses herself up against Derek’s side. His letterman jacket is the perfect complement over her summer dress. “You’re finally here!”

It takes a sharp breath and a ripple through his shoulders for Stiles to be able throw on a smile of his own. However forced that smile may be.

“I’m finally here,” he parrots back.

“Come on.” She uncurls her grip from her boyfriend’s arm to reach out for Stiles, wrapping those same delicate fingers around his wrist and beginning to tug him away. “Let me introduce you to Luke. He’s so excited to meet you.”

-

No pressure tags! @crownofstardustandbone @demonicfaerie @eevylynn @lucky-bishop @renmackree ❤️

[onthewaytosomewhere]

HAPPY SUNDAY LUVS!!!!

thanks for the tags @firstprincehornyramblings @tailsbeth-writes @thighzp @sophie1973 & @suseagull5914

well i had planned to be saying oh that photog alex fic is posted but then I made the mistake of scrolling tumblr and this happened - who’da thunk a cigarette would lead to a bi speedrun? - so if ya want a quick read of alex having a bi speedrun bcuz he sees henry smoking well here ya go - so photog alex will go up 2moro i think as my last @safe-smuttin submission (saved as a draft and ready to go)

and words today will be from photog alex i guess cuz well a lot of my other words are secret right now - under the cut - for kinda smut i guess lolz (and cuz there is no way i'm bothering counting so it's a lot

“So, what you’re saying is we’ve been edging each other slowly in an attempt not to rush this?” “That sounds about right, yeah.” Henry crawls up the bed between Alex’s legs. They spread wider to accommodate him almost of their own volition, and the anticipation makes Alex’s skin prickle. Henry nips at his hips, and Alex squirms. “Any preferences for how we do this?” Alex feels his thighs flex under Henry’s attention and can’t help the sigh that slips from him. “As long as I finally get your cock in me, I’m easy for the rest.” He’s amazed he got that much of a sentence out, as his thoughts seem to be anything but coherent. His head lolls back into the pillow, and he fists a hand into the sheet beneath him. “Easy is not the word I would use to describe you.” Henry chuckles darkly against his skin, and the vibration sends a shiver up Alex’s spine. “It’s been anything but, trying to keep from ravaging you.” Henry runs his finger up the underside of Alex’s cock and he shudders. “Or suggesting a bit of phone sex at the very least so I could hear you come apart.” Alex whimpers and his hips buck up into Henry’s touch. “Fuck, Henry.” Henry hums, as if he’s pleased he’s got Alex so worked up with so little really, and leans to press a soft kiss to the root of Alex’s cock. “Though I am glad that the first time I get to see this beautiful thing is in person.” Alex sits up the best he can, arms around Henry to hold him up, to kiss him. Their lips meet in a clash of want and heat, and Alex barely manages to gasp out, “You’re one to talk about beautiful, I could write sonnets about how tempting that cock of yours is. Getting my mouth on it at some point is going to be fucking amazing.”

OPEN TAG TO ANYONE WHO WANTS TO PLAY and some no pressure tags flinging ur way @adreama-writes @alasse9 @anincompletelist @basil-bird @bitbybitwrites @blueeyedgrlwrites @cactusdragon517 @catdadacd @caterpills @cha-melodius @cricketnationrise @dragonflylady77 @duchessdepolignaca03 @emmalostinwonderland @eusuntgratie @everwitch-magiks @faketrex @firenati0n @firstsprinces @lfg1986-2 @iboatedhere @inexplicablymine @jmagnabo92 @judasofsuburbia @kiwiana-writes @miharaikko @myheartalivewrites @ninzied @orchidscript @porcelainmortal @priincebutt @run-for-chamo-miles @seths-rogens @softboynick @sparklepocalypse @stellarmeadow @stratocumulusperlucidus @taste-thewaste @theprinceandagcd @thedramasummer @typicalopposite @thesleepyskipper @tinyarmedtrex @zwiazdziarka